Chapter 42
C HAPTER 42
It is considered good sportsmanship not to pick up golf balls
while they are still rolling.
—Mark Twain
Dr. Oliphant stood at the porch door with Officer Parker trailing behind coming up the porch steps. "Although something did put a hole in him—two holes, deep enough to puncture his lung and perforate his liver, right between the fifth and sixth ribs." He made a thrusting gesture with two fingers. "But it wasn't bullets—the holes were clean. Whatever went in went back out."
Marigold felt a relief so profound she nearly gasped—she had not realized quite how anxious she had been for Daisy until that moment.
"And whatever did that probably would have killed him eventually," the doctor continued. "But he drowned first—his lungs were full of water."
"I told you," Bessie muttered.
Cab spoke over her to divert the officials' attention. "Along with the evidence of Mr. Hatchet's things you collected on the path on Great Misery, we've taken some testimony from lobstermen Roger and Harvey Brown that they rowed a preacher presumed to be Ellery Hatchet out to Great Misery Island two days ago. Harv Brown related that Hatchet was in a bad way—sweating and doubled over with stomach pains, guzzling down that bottle of patent medicine you've got."
"Which I tested for poison—that accusation having been made, however recklessly or without evidence." Dr. Oliphant nodded toward Marigold in a rather nice form of apology. "I found no trace of strychnine or arsenic, the most common domestic poisons," the doctor informed them.
"He wasn't poisoned!" Marigold felt a second wave of relief—this time for both Bessie and Sophronia and their larders full of tonics.
"I didn't say that." Dr. Oliphant looked over the top of his glasses. "I said I have yet to identify the poison. But I still suspect it."
"Was he poisoned, stabbed, or drowned?" Officer Parker was still confused.
"All, maybe," the doctor declared.
"So let me get this straight." Parker hitched up his pants, as if that helped him think more clearly. "Hatchet left to preach with that tent revival over in Manchester—"
"But then he left the revival and came down to the fishing docks"—Cab added their new information to the narrative—"wanting passage to Great Misery. It seems pretty clear from the lobstermen that Hatchet thought he'd been poisoned, although it might have simply been something he ate. But he was sick enough to leave the tent revival and go home to Great Misery. He must have made it home before he was stabbed, since there was no sign of blood on the path or in the house."
Marigold tried to picture the sequence of events—given that Ellery was already dead when Samuel and Seviah hung him up on the scarecrow, something must have happened at Hatchet Farm two nights ago—something no one else in the house wanted to acknowledge. Washed clean of his sins , Cleon had said. Which made Marigold wonder what else gawney, gulping, eavesdropping old Cleon knew.
Cab had his own line of reasoning. "Perhaps it might make more sense," he offered, "if we don't assume only one person was responsible for all that happened to Ellery Hatchet."
"More than one?" Officer Parker was baffled. "What in tarnation? How many god-blamed people did it take to murder Ellery Hatchet?"
Cab looked at Marigold. "I think we'll have to return to Hatchet Farm to find out."
"Aww." Officer Parker rubbed the back of his neck. "It's nigh onto supper time. By the time we get all the way out there, it'd be full dark. And …" He groped around for an excuse.
"And I'd like to take another considered look at Hatchet's liver first," the doctor offered. "I'd like to see how the cat jumps before we proceed."
"All righty then." The policeman seemed relieved to have that settled. "We'll maybe get some of Miz Dove's good ham, then reconvene in the morning and head out to Great Misery once the tide turns." He cast a narrow-eyed glance Marigold's way. "Tho' I can't say I like leaving her at loose ends. Or anyone—I want to get ahold of the rest of these Hatchets, the other son and daughter. And it seems like"—he scratched his head, as if it would stimulate his brain—"there's something else …"
Cab stepped forward into Parker's line of sight. "Then I'll reiterate my earlier pledge as an officer of the court. Miss Manners will abide here for the night, if that's all right with Mrs. Dove?" But he seemed conscious of turning Parker's attention from Bessie. "Miss Manners will be here under my supervision, just as I attested to you before, sir. And we'll get out to Great Misery first thing in the morning, just as you said, and get the answers to your questions."
"Fair enough," Parker conceded.
"Fair enough." Dr. Oliphant took his leave. "I'll see you all in the morning."
Once both officials had left, Bessie sat heavily. "Thank you, Cab. I appreciate your keeping my Samuel out of it."
"I've done what I can—for now." Cab swept his hair off his forehead in a gesture of frustration. "But I doubt I can shield him, or Seviah—or anyone else, for that matter—forever."
"Like a dog who can only smell the first rabbit, that Parker," Bessie muttered. "Lazy, no account—"
"I've often noted how the mere sight of an independent woman brings out the littleness in some men," Marigold agreed. "But I had not understood how the sight of an independent Black woman would bring out more than littleness. I am sorry you have had to endure that meanness, Bessie. Deeply sorry you should have to endure any of what has befallen you."
"Thank you for that kindness, child. I don't dwell in pain—I've made a good life for me and mine. And I tell myself I'm not alone—that men like old Hatchet been taking their selfish pleasures down through the ages—though I do worry about what might happen should word get out. You know how folks like to talk."
"I do," Marigold acknowledged. "Which, by the way, is why I need to send a message to Mrs. Isabella Dana at the Ryersons' home. I'm sure rumors have been circulating, and I'd like to let her know that I'm fine. And that I'm here with Mr. Cox." That would suit Isabella's sensibilities.
"One of my other boarders can do for a messenger. Consider it done, child." Bessie squeezed Marigold's hand before she wagged her finger at Cab. "But I'll be back in no time, you hear me?"
"You mistake me, Bessie," Cab swore with his hand over his heart.
"I doubt that!" Bessie sighed as she made her way out of the kitchen. "I've got eyes!"
Once Bessie had taken her leave, Cab held out a chair for Marigold. "I doubt you've had anything to eat today."
"Nor you." But Marigold sat. "Another one of those excellent biscuits wouldn't go amiss."
"I'm sorry you have to endure this, Marigold."
"I've endured nothing compared to Bessie." She gave him a confident smile. "I'm quite sure we will prevail upon Officer Parker to see sense."
He reached out to hold her hand, but of course he found a soft spot just beneath the cuff of her shirtwaist—which she noted was smudged with dirt from the rigors of their day. "I'll have to wash this out. I didn't think to pack a change of clothes when I decided to come with you."
"No." He shook his head. "But I have to admit, I'm glad you're staying here tonight—I'll be able to sleep." He took a deep breath and let it out. "In fact, I'd like to ask you to stay here until we can get this business sorted out at Hatchet Farm. With your sharp mind and eye for the telling details, you'll be needed tomorrow. But"—he looked her in the eye—"it's not going to be easy, Marigold. One or more of your relatives is more than likely to prove themselves to be a killer."
Trust Cab to get right to the heart of the matter. "I know. And I know I don't want it to be any of them."
How strange—when she first came to Hatchet Farm, she had been rather convinced that more than one of them might be trying to kill her . But not anymore. "Ellery Hatchet was clearly alive when he set foot upon the island, but …" She shook her head, as if she might bring her thoughts into better order. "Something happened at the house, but it didn't sound like murder."
"It need not have happened at the house," he reminded her. "There's also the fire. So, Seviah is Sophronia Hatchet's bastard?"
"Cab." Marigold's tone was chiding. "Illegitimate will do, please. And I for one don't fault her for looking elsewhere. Ellery Hatchet raped Bessie, Cab." She hated saying the ugly word, but it was an ugly truth and an even uglier crime that had long gone unpunished. "He was a terrible husband and a worse sort of person."
"I don't dispute that." He put his hands up to placate her not-unreasonable anger. "But however much I might agree, that gives them all motives, Seviah and Sophronia as well as Bessie, Lucy, and Samuel."
Marigold hated to agree with him. "But Ellery knew about Seviah—he must have for years—just as Sophronia knew about Bessie and Lucy."
"Do you know who Seviah's father is?"
"I haven't figured that out yet." Not that it mattered, as far as Marigold could see—Seviah had wanted to leave Great Misery and not look back, and he was sure to stay away now.
Cab exhaled on a little huff of laughter. "You will figure it out. And likely before the rest of us do. So where does that leave us?"
"Can we eliminate Daisy as a suspect?" Marigold knew this was wishful thinking, because instinct told her Daisy had lied to her about the commotion the night before she left.
"I was relieved Doc found that Hatchet hadn't been shot—I was worried about Daisy's thirty-eight." He ran his hand through his hair before he tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. "You weren't going to tell me about that, were you?"
"Not until I had to," Marigold admitted. "How did you know?"
"Tad—he told me all about getting a gun for Daisy when I inquired about getting one for you."
So Tad had armed Daisy—there was a certain poetic justice in that. "One has to admit, as a romantic gesture, it cuts a certain dash."
Cab laughed. "So … any thoughts about your part of all this?"
"My part? I told you, I had no part in this!"
"Don't be disingenuous, Marigold. You're a part of it, because I have no doubt you did say, ‘Leave him to me,' and make one of your Machiavellian plans—"
"All I did was to suggest— suggest ," she emphasized, "that Ellery's ambitions as a preacher were wasted on Great Misery and that he might think to try the traveling tent revival circuit. He was the one who decided to go, not I—I did nothing to coerce the man. He went of his own accord."
"You certainly did manage a heck of a lot in a few short weeks."
"Don't flatter me."
"I don't mean to. You did put the idea in his head. Same as you did with the others."
Marigold threw up her hands. "You call me managing just because I can articulate a goal and recognize the steps needed to achieve it? Were I a man, the world would be acclaiming my skills and acuity and offering to make me a junior partner in a law firm or the head of the archaeology department. But since I'm a woman, the world just calls me bossy and interfering."
"I did not call you bossy."
"You called me Machiavellian, which is a ten-dollar way of saying bossy. And also a way to flatter the college girl in me."
She finally managed to break the strange tension between them—Cab smiled. "So where does that leave us?" he repeated.
"Alone," Marigold said, determined to get some small victory from the day. "And wondering if, by any chance, you'll engage in some of those liberties you alluded to earlier?"
"Marigold." His voice was full of something that wasn't quite a warning.
"I wish—" She wished they were on his narrow bed there at the boardinghouse, or even on the lumpy mattress in her attic at Hatchet Farm, alone and free with nothing between them but their attraction.
She felt his hands rub up and down her arms as if he wanted that, too, before he set her away. "Marigold, I wouldn't do you the dishonor."
"Cab, I'm not some medieval maiden—my honor is mine to share as I choose."
He nodded and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "So is mine, Marigold. So is mine." He stood and stepped away. "I'll see you in the morning."
She took her defeat like the sportswoman she was—bested but vowing to try another day. "You most assuredly will."