“After all, she’s still young and healthy,” Esther said. “Harry makes a decent salary, and he’s just as fond of children as she is, I think. Don’t you agree?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Neither have I, really. But it’s not the kind of thing that needs much. I mean, the way he horses around with our two boys, you can tell he loves children. I think a baby would do them both a world of good.”
A baby, yes, Turee thought. But not this baby. He remembered what Harry had said while they were driving back to the lodge from Wiarton: “I haven’t told Thelma yet, I want it to be a surprise, but I’ve visited two adoption agencies this week, making inquiries.”
“Well, don’t you agree, Ralph? That’s what they need, a baby?”
“Yes. For heaven’s sake, yes.”
Esther looked at him in surprise. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden? Did I say something wrong?”
“No. I just consider it a subject that’s none of my business.”
“And none of mine either, is that what you’re implying?”
Her face had hardened. “Very well, let’s drop it. I don’t like Thelma much anyway, if you want the truth.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
“Am I so obvious?”
“Obvious enough.”
“Well, do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Like Thelma.”
“I don’t like anybody this morning,” Turee said with an attempt at lightness. “Not even myself.”
Esther smiled without humor. “We’re in the same boat, then... Listen, do you hear a car?”
“No.”
“I’m sure I heard a car.” She hurried to the front door, pulling her plaid coat around her in anticipation of the cold air. “Maybe it’s Ron. I’m sure it’s Ron.”
In spite of all the things she’d said about him she sounded excited and eager at the prospect of seeing him. Turee followed her outside. He could hear the car now quite plainly, and a moment later it came into sight, winding up the driveway between the spruce trees, leaving parallel black tracks in the frost.
It was a black and white car bearing the insignia of the Ontario Provincial Police on the front door. Esther turned, without a word, and went back into the lodge.
Turee waited while two uniformed policemen climbed ponderously out of the car and began walking toward him. Well, this is it. Ron’s been hurt. Or killed. They’ve come to tell us. This is it.
The two policemen moved slowly, looking around at the property with the careful scrutiny of a pair of assessors. The older man was heavy-set and red-faced with a scar along the crease of his right cheek that gave him a false one-sided smile.
He spoke first. “Hello there. Is this where Mr. Ronald Galloway lives?”
“Yes,” Turee said. The single word came out with difficulty. His contact with policemen had been limited to minor traffic tickets and he felt tongue-tied and uneasy, as if they had come to accuse him of a crime he had committed unawares.
“You’re not Mr. Galloway, by any chance?”
“No. A guest.”
“Mr. Galloway is here, then?”
“No. We — the other guests and myself — have been waiting for him since last night. I thought — that is, when I first saw you, I presumed you had some news of him.”
“A missing report, if that’s news. I’m Lieutenant Cavell and this is my colleague, Sergeant Newbridge. May I ask your name, sir?”
“Ralph Turee. I’m an associate professor at the University of Toronto.” The words and the tone sounded snobbish and pretentious, as if he were deliberately attempting to lay a cloak of respectability over himself, like a child covering himself with a blanket and thinking he was well hidden. Yet the image irritated him. It seemed unfair to himself. He had committed no crime, he had nothing to hide, no reason to feel guilt.
Lieutenant Cavell’s eyes narrowed, and the scar along his cheek deepened into a smile, as if he was quietly amused by such boyish antics as hiding under blankets. “Is that a fact, sir. Now suppose we go inside and talk a little about Mr. Galloway. Newbridge, you can look around out here.”
“Yes sir,” Newbridge said, but he appeared puzzled, as if he hadn’t any idea what to look for or what to do if he found it.
Turee and Cavell went into the lodge. Esther had taken her place in front of the fire and was sitting with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap, looking poised and casual. Too casual. Turee suspected that she’d been hiding behind the door listening to the conversation.
She acknowledged the introduction to Cavell politely enough, but she didn’t rise or offer her hand or even appear anxious to hear what he had to say.
It turned out to be very little. “I have only the barest facts. Less than an hour ago I received a radio message from the Toronto division that Mr. Galloway had been reported missing by his wife. I have the time and place he was last seen, the make, model of his car, and that’s about it. I am not in charge of the case or anything like that. I was merely asked to check up at this end, see if he had arrived or anything had been heard from him.”
“Nothing,” Esther said brusquely, “Not a word.”
“Well now it seems to me that if he’s still on the road it will be an easy matter to spot him. Late model Cadillac convertibles aren’t common in this neck of the woods, and if he had the top down in this weather, as I’ve been informed, he should stick out like a fire engine. If, on the other hand, he got tired and pulled into some motel for the night, we shouldn’t have too much trouble there either. Motels aren’t common in this area.”
“Suppose he isn’t in the area.”
“Why should we suppose that, Mrs. Galloway? He intended to come up here, didn’t he?”
“Intentions can change.”
“Is he the unpredictable kind who might take a notion to go off on a trip somewhere?”
Esther shook her head. “No. At least, not in the past.”
“Is he a heavy drinker?”
“He gets drunks sometimes, but it’s a quiet thing with Ron. He simply goes to sleep.”
“I hesitate to ask this, Mrs. Galloway, but it’s my duty. Have you any reason to believe he was interested in another woman?”
Esther glanced briefly at Turee before she answered. “Absolutely none.”
Her tone was so positive that it seemed to fluster Cavell. As if to cover his confusion with some activity, he removed from an inner pocket of his jacket a small brown notebook. “According to my information, Mr. Galloway was last seen by a Mrs. Bream who lives in Weston. Is she a friend of yours, Mrs. Galloway?”
“Her husband and mine have been friends since Upper Canada College. Ron went to Weston to pick up Harry, that’s Mr. Bream, and bring him along to the lodge. Only Harry had an emergency call to make first, so he came on alone. He’s upstairs now, still asleep. I can wake him up, if you like.”
Turee made a grimace of protest, but if Esther noticed it she paid no attention.
“I don’t think Harry can tell you any more than you already know,” Turee said. “I suggest we let him sleep. He had a rough night.”
Cavell raised his eyebrows. “Rough in what sense, Mr. Turee?”
I’ve got to learn to curb my tongue, Turee thought, and not to volunteer any information. Eventually they’ll find out everything, about Thelma and the baby and Ron, but it’s not my business to bring it out. He said cautiously, “We were up nearly all night attempting to track Ron down.”
“We?”
“Harry Bream and I, and the other two guests, Bill Winslow and Joe Hepburn.”