“You won’t have to leave. I’ve taken care of it.”
“Did Jessie change her mind?”
“Forget about Jessie. I had some trouble with her.” Harry seemed to be sorting himself out. “I’ve put her in her place.”
As Mary concluded her program that afternoon, Clem Foy watched her through the studio window. When she signed off, he came in and said, “What’s on your mind?”
“Does it show?” She described Jessie’s disappearance and her brother’s cryptic comments. “He’s so spooky. He’s gentle with the kitten, but he has a mind full of violence. He sees a psychiatrist and he’s been institutionalized.”
“You think he’s killed her?”
“There’s a big garden behind the house. He loves the kitten I gave him. He wants to help me. Yes, I think he’s killed her.”
“Are you going to tell the police?”
“What’s your advice?”
“Tell the police.”
Chief Greb’s wife listened to Town Topics and had raved to her husband about the new broadcaster. Greb took it upon himself to hear Mary’s story. He was impressed. “Harry Hay gave us some trouble when he came back from California. He was off his medication. His sister called us in and we ended up driving him down to the Ontario Hospital in Kingston.”
“Do you think he may have done something with her?”
The chief came out from behind his desk. “Let’s go and find out.”
Harry must have seen the police car pull up and park outside. He was in the front doorway as Greb approached with Mary at his heels. “Where’s your sister, Harry?”
Harry’s eyes darted back and forth between the visitors. “She isn’t here.”
Mary said, “Are you trying to help me?”
“She shouldn’t have ordered you to move out.”
Greb said, “I want the truth from you, Harry.”
Annabella, rangy now and fast, darted between Harry’s legs and out onto the lawn. Harry ran after her. Then, when he was within reach of her, he changed direction. Before the policeman could react, Harry was through the gate and behind the wheel of a battered sedan parked in front of the cruiser. He switched on, pulled out, and raced away up Station Street.
“Stay here,” Greb ordered. He left Mary watching as he got into the police car and drove off in pursuit.
Mary went looking for Annabella — with no luck. She started up the back stairs, then changed her mind. She was too nervous to go inside. What made Harry run? It looked suspicious for him to take off when the chief began questioning him. There was no way he could escape in such a wreck of a car.
The garden behind the house was not well tended. Halfway up the stairs, Mary noticed a clear patch in the tangle of weeds. Somebody had been working there.
The hair stood erect on the back of her neck as she walked through deep grass and stood looking at obvious signs of digging. Fresh earth lay in a mound beside rose bushes run riot. Her heart pounding, she fled to her apartment.
The telephone rang. It was Chief Greb. “I’m at the General Hospital. He’s asking for you.”
“What happened?”
“I think the kid is suicidal. He drove that wreck faster than it went when it was new. I chased him down 401, almost as far as Napanee. He lost control and went into a concrete overpass. Or maybe he did it on purpose. Can you get here?”
It was too far to walk. Mary called a taxi and arrived at the hospital on Dundas Street within the half hour. Greb was waiting outside Intensive Care. He spoke to a nurse and obtained permission for Mary to go to Harry’s bedside.
Harry’s head was bandaged and i.v. tubes were taped to both arms. His eyes were closed.
“Harry?”
He recognized her. He smiled. “A whole platoon got through the perimeter in the night,” he whispered. “There was a hell of a firelight. Did you get a body count?”
“Not yet.” She squeezed his hand. “You sleep now.”
Outside in the corridor, she said, “He believes he’s been wounded in Vietnam. He’s told me stories before.”
“Believe it or not, they say he should pull through.” Greb said he’d drive Mary home. On the way out of the building, he said, “Having Harry in this condition delays my investigation into his sister’s disappearance.”
“Lord, I forgot,” Mary said. She described the recent digging in the back garden.
The chief said nothing, but on the way to Station Street, he radioed for another car to meet him at the address.
A younger officer with a shovel made short work of the excavation behind Jessie’s house. It wasn’t a grave at all — but it did contain some of Jessie’s dresses, some costume jewelry, articles of makeup, and a framed photograph of Jessie and Harry taken years ago, all of it buried in a shallow hole.
Mary shivered. “This freaks me more than if Jessie was in there.”
“Where the hell is she?” Greb wondered.
Several days went by. The disappearance of Jessie Hay was now a topic of conversation around town. Greb told Mary he was convinced Harry had killed his sister. When he became lucid enough to respond to questioning, he would tell what he had done with her. Mary wasn’t so sure. “I think her clothing in the ground is symbolic,” she said.
Greb blinked at that and soon made his goodbyes.
Clem Foy asked again about possible candidates to fill the vacancy on CBAY’s announcer staff. Mary felt guilty about not recommending Tim Melton, but the feeling lasted only a few moments. She had trouble enough in her life without importing more. And she grieved for Annabella, who seemed to have run off for good.
The house at night was quiet as the grave. When she turned off the television before bed, or popped Berlioz or Dvorak out of the cassette player, there was nothing to be heard except the occasional car passing on Station Street. With her head on the pillow, she could listen to her own heartbeat. The old frame building creaked and settled as the temperature changed. Sleep would come eventually, she would be patient.
The door slammed downstairs. People were moving around. Mary sat up in the dark. She could hear muffled voices. Somebody had got in! There was the scrape of something heavy on the floor — what was that, burglars shifting the stereo? And how long before they decided to come up here?
Mary quietly lifted the bedside telephone, dialed the operator, and asked for the police. She told the answering officer what was happening, adding that Chief Greb was investigating a possible murder up here. The policeman on the line knew all about Jessie Hay’s disappearance, and where her home was. He said he’d have a car there fast.
Mary hurried into a sweater and jeans and waited at the top of the back stairs with the door open. An occasional sound from below indicated the intruders were still there. When headlights swept the road, Mary crept down the steps and moved around the side of the house to meet the uniformed officer as he got out of the car.
“They’ve put a light on,” she said. “I could still hear them.”
“Stay back here.” The cop unsnapped the cover on his holster and rested a hand on the butt of his gun as he approached the door and knocked.
“Who’s that?” Jessie Hay’s voice sounded full of joy. She opened the door. She knew the policeman by sight. “Keith Miller! What’s up?”
“Hi, Jessie.” The young man was abashed. “We got a report somebody was messing around inside your house.”
“And you checked it out. Good for you. And you found it’s me.” She sounded a little tipsy. “You can be the first to congratulate me, Keith. I’m not Jessie Hay any longer. I’m Mrs. Melton. Meet my husband, Tim.”
The door of the police car was open. Mary sank onto the upholstered front seat. Tim was in the doorway, shaking hands with the officer. Miller was giving the bride a kiss, refusing a drink because he was on duty. Mary decided to sneak away upstairs before she could become further involved, but the front door closed and Keith Miller spotted her moving across the lawn as he headed back to the car.