O' Artful Death Part 17

"How's everybody doing?" Patch called out. It was almost impossible to hear him in the wind. Trip let out a whoop and stood up halfway, his arms in the air. Sweeney knew exactly how he felt. She never could have imagined it would be so much fun.

As they came up on the edge of the field, she could feel the horses start to speed up. Patch must have pulled on the reins then because the horses bucked and the sleigh leaned to the side. Sweeney could feel all the bodies s.h.i.+ft toward her, as though they were on an amus.e.m.e.nt park ride.

She loved them all, she thought, drunk with the alcohol and the cold night air. She loved Toby, and his uncle, and Rosemary, who had been so kind to her, and the twins, their lives ahead of them. She loved them all and they loved her.

They sped on gracefully across the snow.

At the end of the field, the sleigh slowed and she could see a dark mound looming in the distance. "That's Maple Hill up ahead," Patch called back to them. "There's a great view of the river from the top." They began to climb and by the time they reached the top of the hill and came out onto a little plateau, the horses were walking ponderously, pulling the sleigh with great effort. Sweeney felt sorry for them.

Patch pulled them up next to the dark silhouette of a pine tree. "Now," he said, lifting a box from the sleigh. "Hot chocolate, anyone?"

He poured the steaming chocolate from a plastic thermos into Styrofoam cups and added a few drops from the flask to each. Then he reached into the box and brought out a portable tape player, pressing a b.u.t.ton on the top. A waltz-Strauss-started up and they all got out.

Above them, the stars were brilliant in a black sky. It was so dark, it was almost impossible to see anything beyond the sleigh, where Patch had placed a small flashlight on one seat. The Styrofoam cup was warm in Sweeney's hands. She gulped the steamy liquid and felt the spirits rise against the back of her throat.

"That's the river down there," Willow said, pointing to a glimmering serpent of ice and water below them. "Be careful. It's a good drop down." They all approached the edge and looked over. There was something magical about the sight of the water, the dark night, the stars above. The music floated out across the hill, mingling with the gentle wind. Patch grabbed Willow and waltzed away with her across the snow. Toby and Rosemary followed, laughing as they disappeared into the dark.

Sweeney felt suddenly dizzy. She was tired and had had too much to drink. She breathed in the cold air and wandered a couple of hundred yards away from them, to stand under a tree where the hill fell away. She tipped her head back to look up at the sky. The Little Dipper shone brightly, and she picked out the other formations she knew, Orion's Belt and the Big Dipper. It was so beautiful. She closed her eyes and felt peace wash over her. She heard Toby's voice calling out, "Where'd you all go? It's so dark," then Patch's laugh.

Suddenly she heard a crunch of snow behind her and just as she opened her eyes, someone pushed her from behind. It was a surprisingly gentle push and she felt herself fall in slow motion, her upper body teetering over the edge of the hill, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her footing. For a moment, she thought she might be able to regain her balance, but then she felt the snow give way beneath her and she fell backward and started sliding. The hill was steeper than it appeared from the top, and she gathered speed as she slid. Grab something, she told herself. Just grab something. And at that moment her right shoulder hit something hard and she reached with her other hand and got hold of a small tree. It bent discouragingly, then held. She tried to catch her breath, and tried to block out the pain in her right shoulder. Then she was able to get a firm footing and could stand as long as she hung on to the tree.

"Hey!" she called out. "Help me! Please! Someone pushed me over." She felt her hold on the tree slip a little, her boots slide on the snow and she called out again.

Patch's voice came out of the darkness. "What? Sweeney?"

"It's Sweeney." That was Ian's voice, directly above her. "Sweeney, where are you?"

"I'm right here. I grabbed hold of a tree, but I think I hurt my arm. I can't hold on much longer."

"s.h.i.+t!" That was Patch's voice. "Wait, let me get the flashlight."

But she heard a cras.h.i.+ng above her and then Ian's voice saying, "Where are you? Say something so I can find you."

"Here," she said weakly. "I think I can get back up. It's just my shoulder."

"No, wait. You might be hurt." Suddenly, he was right in front of her in the dark and he put an arm around her, holding her up.

"Did you hit your head?" Patch shone a light down on them and she turned to find Ian's eyes searching her face.

"No, I don't think so. Just my shoulder."

"I've got my foot braced against a tree," Ian said. "Hang on and I think I can get us both up."

They made their way slowly, Sweeney holding his gloved hand and allowing herself to be towed along, her shoulder throbbing, her teeth chattering from cold and shock.

"Are you okay, Sweeney?" Patch helped them up the last few yards.

"I think so." She was s.h.i.+vering violently and Willow brought a blanket from the sled to wrap around her shoulders."

"What happened?" Toby asked.

"I ... I think someone pushed me."

"What?" Toby sounded incredulous.

"We were all right here," Patch said. "n.o.body would push you. That's ridiculous."

"It was dark," she said quietly. "You wouldn't have known."

"You must have lost your balance. It's so dark and we were standing too near the edge."

Sweeney's mind raced. Was it possible she had just stepped over? She supposed it was. Yet, she thought she remembered someone standing there, the feel of a hand on her back. But now she wasn't sure. Had she imagined it?

"Let's head back really slowly," Patch called out once they were settled in the sleigh again. Toby put his arm around her and let her lean into him, her face against his chest.

They started for the house in silence, the cold air whipping at the sleigh. Sweeney huddled against Toby for warmth and comfort, wanting to cry.

WHEN SHE SAW the police car, its blue and red lights swirling in front of the house, her first thought was that someone had called ahead to say there had been an accident. But before she could work through the a.s.sumption and realize that there was no way the news could have reached the house so quickly, a second, much worse thought entered her head. Something had happened at the party. The house was alight and through the first floor window she could see a Christmas tree here, a couple dancing there. the police car, its blue and red lights swirling in front of the house, her first thought was that someone had called ahead to say there had been an accident. But before she could work through the a.s.sumption and realize that there was no way the news could have reached the house so quickly, a second, much worse thought entered her head. Something had happened at the party. The house was alight and through the first floor window she could see a Christmas tree here, a couple dancing there.

"It's Cooper. Wonder what he wants?" Patch said as they pulled up alongside the driveway and the sleigh came to a halt.

"Maybe he's here to arrest you," Willow said, then laughed a little too loudly.

"Mr. Wentworth," Cooper called out.

"Is everything all right, Chief Cooper?" Patch jumped down and Sweeney could see in the low light from the house that he was scared, too.

"Oh yes, just fine," Cooper said. "It's just the bridge. The ice floes are up quite high and I think we may want to close it tonight. I thought you could make an announcement to your guests."

The party in the sleigh listened and Willow said, "This happens nearly every winter. When there's been a heavy rain, chunks of ice come rus.h.i.+ng down the brook and get all jammed up underneath. You'd think they'd fix it instead of closing it every December. What a pain."

"Of course," Patch told Cooper. "You want everyone off now?"

"If they want to go at all tonight," Cooper said. "It's getting bad. The fire department thinks we'll have to close it up within the hour to avoid doing any damage. I'd appreciate it if you could make the announcement."

"I will." Patch helped the rest of them get down off the sleigh. When Sweeney walked past Cooper cradling her right arm, he looked at her suspiciously and nodded.

Patch asked Cooper if he wanted to come in for a drink, but the police chief just shook his head. "Got to get back to the bridge," he said and turned to go.

"Sweeney, are you okay?" Britta and Sabina came over as she entered the living room, their faces full of motherly worry and she rea.s.sured them that she was just fine. Sabina studied her for a moment, as though she were trying to put together the elements of Sweeney's face like a puzzle.

"I'm fine," Sweeney told her, taking her hand.

Rosemary came back with a gla.s.s of brandy and a little plate of hors d'oeuvres for her, toast with caviar and salmon and a couple of cookies. "That should help," she said kindly. "Caviar's a good balm for just about anything."

"Thank you," Sweeney said to her, downing the brandy. "I'm much better now."

Patch was standing in front of the Christmas tree, knocking a fork against a champagne gla.s.s as though he were calling for a wedding toast.

He explained about the bridge and said, "You may think I'm just trying to get rid of you and trying to get you to stop drinking my champagne, but Chief Cooper tells me that in fact you really must shove off. So put down your gla.s.ses, come on ..." Everyone laughed.

His guests filed out slowly, saying their goodnights and thank you's and exiting into the cold air. Toby came over and put an arm around her, then whispered that he was taking Rosemary and Electra home. Sweeney raised her eyebrows at him and smiled.

"I like Rosemary," she whispered. "I wanted to tell you that."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure."

He smiled at her. "You know that you owe Ian a giant thank you?"

"I know, I know." She wasn't as sure as Toby was, but she let it go. She hugged him goodnight and, through the front windows, watched the long row of car headlights crawling toward the bridge.

IN HER DREAMS THAT NIGHT, Sweeney was standing on the platform of the tube station, watching the faceless commuters drift slowly from the train, seeking out Colm amongst them. She waited, watching the crowd, looking for his black hair, the red sweater he'd been wearing.

He walked past her, striding very quickly, his red sweater stained with blood, his trousers in tatters. His face, its sharp lines and laughing green eyes, his twisted, crooked smile, was untouched.

"Colm!" she called to him. But he only turned and smiled at her, then lowered one dark eyebrow in a rakish wink.

"Colm!" she called again. "Are you okay? There was a bomb on the tube." But still he kept walking. She followed him out of the station and suddenly they were in a summer field, tall gra.s.s and wildflowers undulating in the breeze. She recognized the landscape as Byzantium and she called out to Colm to ask him what he was doing there. But he kept walking very fast and she had to run to keep up with him. Then they were in the cemetery and when she came through the gate, she saw him sitting on Mary's stone, holding a book of Tennyson's poetry.

In an instant, Charley was there, too. Sweeney was watching her swimming in a pond or a lake, everything seemed perfectly normal except that she was wearing all her clothes. All alone, she laughed and splashed in the water. It was brilliantly sunny and hot and Sweeney wanted to go swimming. Then Colm ran by again, as though he was chasing someone. Once again, she followed, yelling after him, asking him what was going on.

But he disappeared into the woods. She kept running, and came out onto a bluff, overlooking the water. Charley wasn't there. She called her name, but there wasn't a sound in the silent forest. She looked around for Colm, but he was gone, too. She was all alone.

And she woke alone, her heart racing, her head pounding, her hands clutching at the sheets. Her feet were cold, and she got out of bed to put on another pair of socks.

Awake with adrenaline and the middle-of-the-night beginnings of a hangover, she wandered over to her window and looked out over the Wentworths' back gardens, down toward the cemetery. At first, she mistook the figure coming over the snow toward the house for a shadow, drawn in the moonlight by the profile of a fir tree, but as it drew closer, it took on the aspect of a man, bundled up in winter clothes and walking quickly, his arms swinging at his side. The clock by her bedside table read 4 A.M A.M.

As he came closer, into the halo of light given off by the fixture next to the back door, Sweeney saw that the figure was Patch. She hadn't heard him go out, and what could he possibly be doing walking around in the woods at almost midnight? Maybe he'd taken the dogs out. Or gone to check on the bridge. That was it, he'd probably gone to check on the bridge.

She found another comforter in a blanket chest at the foot of her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders before getting back under the covers. It had been a long time since she had dreamed about Colm, and it was awhile before she was able to sleep.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

DECEMBER 22.

SWEENEY WOKE UP the next morning piteously hung over, her shoulder throbbing from her fall, and lay in bed for a moment, only partly conscious. From downstairs, she heard the sounds of the household, faint voices calling to each other, a radio blaring hoa.r.s.ely somewhere. An overwhelming urge to roll over and go back to sleepstarted to take hold, but the clock on her bedside table read 10 and her ears told her that the household was awake. She put on jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt and closed her bedroom door behind her. the next morning piteously hung over, her shoulder throbbing from her fall, and lay in bed for a moment, only partly conscious. From downstairs, she heard the sounds of the household, faint voices calling to each other, a radio blaring hoa.r.s.ely somewhere. An overwhelming urge to roll over and go back to sleepstarted to take hold, but the clock on her bedside table read 10 and her ears told her that the household was awake. She put on jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt and closed her bedroom door behind her.

"This is awful," Britta said as Sweeney came down the stairs, one hand to her pounding head. "The house is a mess." She looked as though she were about to cry and Sweeney murmured something sympathetic as she looked around at the post-party carnage: half-full champagne gla.s.ses everywhere, marked with oily lipstick kisses on the rims; plates covered with food sc.r.a.ps, bones and skin and fruit rinds. It made her nauseous and she closed her eyes as the floor rose up to meet her, squeezing her temples to make the throbbing stop.

Toby and Rosemary were working on the living room, picking up gla.s.ses and plates.

"We just told the caterers to go home because of the bridge," Britta was saying. "We didn't even think."

The bridge. Sweeney had forgotten about the bridge. "Have they fixed it yet? I was thinking about going downtown for some Christmas presents."

"No. But it should be clear soon." Britta s.h.i.+vered a little. "I hate it. It makes me feel claustrophobic. At least Carl Thompson's in jail."

Patch came in from the kitchen, holding a giant garbage bag. "Okay, let's do this. I want to get outside this afternoon."

"Can I help?" Sweeney asked bleerily.

"You look like you're going to be sick," Toby said. "How's your shoulder?"

"Sore. But not as sore as my head." Sweeney rubbed her temples.

Patch said, "Why don't you have some coffee, Sweeney. Brit and I can handle clean-up duty. Everyone else is down by the river, watching the cops try and get rid of the ice. You might want to head down and see what's going on."

"Actually," Sweeney said. "I think I'll go for a walk. The cold air will be good for my head."

Britta looked as though she wished Sweeney would grab a garbage bag and get working. But she said, "Go ahead. By the way, there's a paper bag on the table in the hallway. Charley Kimball came up and dropped it off for you this morning."

"Charley Kimball? Did she say what it was?"

"No. Oh, Patch. Don't throw those away. We can wash those ...."

Sweeney, feeling she had been dismissed, got dressed to go. On her way out, she tucked the little bag into the pocket of her parka.

THE WICKEDLY COLD AIR was was good for her head, and the headache pa.s.sed after the first twenty minutes or so of hard walking. Despite the thin layer of new snow that had fallen during the night, she was able to follow the deep tracks left by the runners of the sleigh, and she walked along in them, on the path they had taken last night. good for her head, and the headache pa.s.sed after the first twenty minutes or so of hard walking. Despite the thin layer of new snow that had fallen during the night, she was able to follow the deep tracks left by the runners of the sleigh, and she walked along in them, on the path they had taken last night.

When she was a couple hundred yards from the house, Sweeney took the small bag out of her pocket and retrieved from it a blue, faux leather bankbook, a note paperclipped to the front. The note read, in extremely neat printing, "I thought about it and I thought I should give you this. Love, Charley." Sweeney folded the note into her pocket, then stopped and held the little book in her hands, turning it over.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The book had Ruth Kimball's name on the inside cover and listed a balance of $12,762. On a piece of masking tape stuck on the back someone had written, in red pen, "Charley's College Account."

The first page was faintly printed with a record of deposits that started in July and went on quite regularly from there. Each one was $1,500. When she flipped through the little book, she found, stuck in the back, a small sc.r.a.p of paper with some dates jotted on it. They were different from the dates in the book, and didn't seem to have any significance that Sweeney could identify.

Why had Charley given it to her? It was sweet that her grandmother had established a college account for her, but what could it possibly have to do with Mary Denholm? She slipped the book back into her coat, disappointed, and when she felt the quick twinge in her shoulder, her mind was suddenly back on Maple Hill.

She went over the list of everyone who had been there. Patch, Willow, Toby, Trip, Rosemary, Gally. And Ian, of course. Ian had been there, too.