Mad Dog and Englishman: A Mad Dog & Englishman Mystery #1 (Mad Dog & Englishman Series) (30 page)

“I hope it isn’t too late,” he said.

Nearly, she thought, looking at the shotgun, neatly polished and oiled and loaded. “No, not quite.”

She sat on the chair at her sister’s bedside, the gun propped against the adjacent dresser. She had a lovely little Victorian writer’s box in her lap. She had chosen a piece of her favorite stationery. On it was neatly printed her list of reasons and apologies, her bequests and benedictions. It had taken only half a page, and though it seemed such an inadequate attempt at summing up two lives, she found that she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“My name’s English,” he said. “I’m the Sheriff of Benteen County. I’m afraid I have some difficult news for you.”

“Yes,” she said, wondering what remained that could seem difficult at this stage. She rather supposed something terrible had happened regarding Ellen or Ben or the Simms family. The doctor she’d spoken to earlier had hinted as much.

“It’s about your brother-in-law and your nephews. It’s about your niece, too, Sarah, or Ellen, the girl you raised, and her former husband as well, I’m afraid.”

“I thought it might be,” she said without emotion. “Dr. Jones called earlier with a number of questions. I couldn’t help putting together some conclusions of my own. What’s happened, Sheriff? Have any of them survived.” Not that it mattered much, except that she might want to rewrite the suicide note and revise some of her bequests.

“No,” he said. At least he wasn’t the kind to beat around the bush and waste her time…though time was all she had now—seconds, minutes, hours—it depended on this call. “No,” he said again, “I’m sorry. None of them survived.”

“May I ask what happened to them?” She thought she knew, and it was just one more reason to go ahead with her plans, but she found that she was still curious. It still mattered to her. She wanted to know just how totally she had failed in her obligation to Ellen, and what that failure might have cost others.

“Mr. Simms died of heart failure, sometime Friday we believe. Both his sons were murdered, maybe last night or early this morning. Then Ellen and Benjamin Todd were killed tonight.”

“I suppose it was Ellen or Ben who killed the boys, or the two of them together. Did Ellen and Ben murder each other then? Some kind of suicide pact,” she asked, “or did the one kill the other and then take the coward’s way out alone?” Her phrasing surprised her. Did she really consider herself a coward too? Well, she supposed so. What was one more failing?

“No, not exactly. They were done in by a tornado, plucked right out of a building and, technically speaking, we don’t know that they’re dead yet because no one has found their bodies, but someone saw the funnel cloud take them. There’s really no doubt.”

“A tornado?” It was impossible to keep the amazement out of her voice. “They were together and they were alive and a tornado swooped down and carried them away?”

“Yes ma’am. If it makes more sense to you, it seems likely they were trying to kill each other at the time.”

She found herself smiling a little. “Yes, I’m afraid it does. It’s tragic, of course, but then they were each tragic figures, as everyone in our extended family seems to be, so I suppose the result is for the best. I do hope, though, that they didn’t hurt anyone else along the way.”

“No ma’am, not seriously, though there’s still one pending.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry. I do hope that person will be all right. I wish I could have done more to prevent it, but then there are so very many things I wish I could have done.”

“There’s nothing left to do for this generation, or their predecessors,” he said, “but there’s still a way that you can help.”

“Of course, Sheriff.” She glanced at the shotgun. It would wait a few minutes more and the note needed editing now. She supposed there was still something he didn’t understand. She didn’t mind trying to explain, she just didn’t think she could accept the responsibility anymore. “What would you like to know?”

“Well ma’am, it’s not me really. There’s a young lady here who, all of a sudden, doesn’t have any parents. She wants to know if she can maybe come stay with her Aunts Mary Ellen and Linda for a while.”

“Oh my God!” Mary Ellen said. “Heather? I thought Ellen had left her safely behind in that New Mexico convent. Poor dear Heather was involved in all these new tragedies? Is she all right?”

“Physically she’s fine. As for the rest, I suppose it’ll take awhile to tell. All her life maybe, and the answer might depend on whether you can take her in.”

“Us? You want us to take Heather?” It was unthinkable, even if there wasn’t that lump in her breast and a loaded shotgun waiting beside her, both prepared to put severe limits on her ability to interact with yet another damaged child. “No, I don’t think that would be possible. We just couldn’t….”

“Yes, I suppose I understand,” the Sheriff was saying.

“My God, we can’t take care of ourselves, how can we take care of a teenage girl. It’s too much responsibility.” Mary Ellen said it to the phone, but she wasn’t really justifying things to the sheriff. She was trying to convince herself.

“Yes ma’am,” he was saying over that distant telephone line. “I’ll tell her.”

It wasn’t right. She knew that. She should try. She was still responsible, and that’s exactly what this was all about. Who knew what this experience had done to Heather. Who knew what Ellen had put her daughter through already, and Annie to Ellen before that, and her parents to her sisters and herself, and so on and so on. One generation failing another. And every time, that failure perpetuated itself. And would just go on perpetuating itself until someone took responsibility and stopped it. Mary Ellen wasn’t foolish enough to think she was the one who could do that. But maybe, just maybe, Heather could find a way to assume the responsibility for herself, take charge of her own fate…if only she had help.

“Sheriff, I’m sorry,” she said. “You just don’t understand. I’m seventy-two years old. I…. I think I have cancer. My sister, Linda, is seventy-four. She does have cancer. They say it’s spread throughout her body, terminal, just a matter of time. I know we should do something for poor Heather, but how can we…two old ladies, one practically dead, the other following hard on her heels. If only we weren’t alone. If only we had help, some family left who was willing to pitch in.”

“Ms. Chandler,” he interrupted. “What if I told you that you have that family? What if I told you your sister’s granddaughter is right here in Buffalo Springs and wants desperately to help?”

“Linda has a granddaughter?” She couldn’t believe it. And more, she couldn’t believe that Linda, who had not responded to anything but the morphine for weeks, had her eyes open and was staring at her. Linda’s lips were moving, trying to form words. She’d been so sure everything that was Linda was already gone, but something was left, enough was still there to whisper a faint and hopeful question.

“I have a granddaughter? May I see her, please? “ Linda had so little breath, she was only able to whisper the first sentence. Her mouth merely formed the words of the second, but Mary Ellen recognized them, and how terribly important they were to the spark inside Linda that refused to let the cancer win.

“Your family here will help all they can, but you have to let us. You’ll have to accept custody and then help us prove the relationship,” the sheriff was saying. “Will you do that? Can I bring her?”

Mary Ellen picked up the shotgun. It could solve everything so quickly. Heather and an unexpected family would make things terribly complicated. Linda wasn’t up to it. Mary Ellen wasn’t sure she was up to it either. Linda watched her and waited. Mary Ellen opened the breech, removed the shells, and deposited them in the waste paper basket beside Linda’s bed. She folded the note she’d so painstakingly transcribed and let it follow. Linda smiled and Mary Ellen realized there were tears on both their cheeks. She answered the distant voice at the other end of the telephone line, and she answered Linda, too.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes you may.”