“So where is your uncle going to live?” he asked as they walked along.
“He hasn’t decided yet,” said Scarlett. “For now he’s staying in my guest bedroom.”
“I always thought missionaries retired in the monastery they adhered to.”
“That’s certainly an option, though I have a feeling Uncle Malcolm would rather spend his twilight years living by himself instead of in a glorified retirement home.”
They’d arrived at the Star hotel, whose outside dining area was where Vesta and Scarlett liked to spend many an enjoyable hour doing what they did best: people watching. And of course enjoy the superb beverages the Star is rightly famous for.
Scarlett waved to an elderly man Vesta assumed was her uncle, and who was already seated at their usual table, keeping it devoid of other patrons until they arrived.
Malcolm Philan could have easily passed for a sprightly septuagenarian. He had a kindly demeanor, and was dressed in jeans and a colorfulFrom Tahiti With Love sweater.
“Hey, honey,” he said as he gave his niece three smacking kisses on her cheeks, then proceeded to give Vesta’s hand a vigorous shake, and take Tex’s hand in a vicelike grip, making the latter wince. In front of the retired missionary a large glass of beer stood.
“What’s that?” asked Tex as the rest of the company joined Scarlett’s uncle.
“You have got to try this, Dr. Poole,” said Malcolm. “It’s called Trappist, and is brewed by Belgian monks. Very tasty, though not something you want to try on an empty stomach.”
“I’ll have one,” said Tex when the waiter materialized from thin air to take their order.
“So what are your plans?” asked Vesta.
“Well, I thought I’d see the sights first,” said Malcolm amiably. “Scarlett has graciously invited me to visit New York with her next week, and show me the sights, and in the meantime I’ll have to think about this next chapter in my life and how I will fill it.”
“I see you still have all of your hair,” suddenly Tex said, scooting forward in his chair.
“Tex, not now,” said Vesta censoriously.
“No, but it’s remarkable,” said Tex. He looked as if on the verge of reaching out a hand and touching the man’s mane, but managed to restrain himself with a powerful effort.
“Oh, yes,” Malcolm chuckled. “I’m lucky enough to still have all of my hair.”
“Is it… real?” asked Tex in a sort of choky voice that elicited a frown from Scarlett.
“Absolutely. Do you want to touch it?” he asked, correctly interpreting the eager look on the doctor’s face. He bowed his head and allowed Tex to run a hand through the bristle.
“How do you do it?” finally asked the doctor. “What is your secret?”
“Ah, I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,” the missionary quipped with a grin.
“Okay,” said Tex with a touch of disappointment. He slumped a little in his chair.
“Just kidding, Doc!” said Malcolm, giving Tex a light shoulder punch. “I wash my hair with a special ingredient every morning—something I picked in Tahiti, in fact.”
“What is it?” asked Tex anxiously. The man was practically salivating, Vesta saw.
The aged missionary smiled.“Come here, my boy. And I’ll tell you the big secret.”
And as Vesta watched with amusement, the doctor leaned in and the other man whispered something into his ear. It must have been something pretty surprising, for Tex’s lips formed a perfect O, then he looked at the missionary and said, “No joke?”
“No joke,” said the man with a smile.
All through the rest of the conversation, the doctor was conspicuously silent, presumably thinking about the missionary’s words. And even though Vesta wondered what this secret ingredient might be, she decided not to ask. If Tex wanted to tell her, he would. And if not? Well, what did she care whether the man kept his hair or not? She liked her son-in-law either way, and so, she was sure, did his wife and daughter.
9
We’d left Hampton Cove behind, had passed McDonald’s, and were now walking along a stretch of road where no houses could be seen anywhere in sight, with only trees dominating the landscape. The small procession was still proceeding along, led by not one but two canines, whose noses were doing allthe heavy lifting, so to speak.
“I really hope we’ll find Angel, Max,” said Dooley. “She could have fallen into a ditch somewhere.”
“That’s my guess, too,” I admitted. “That she’s sleeping off her drunken stupor in a ditch.” Though by the same token she could have hurt herself when she stumbled into that ditch, and in that case expediency was of the utmost importance. Which is why I didn’t understand Marigold’s reluctance to involve the police. Fifi and Rufus were doing their best, but they weren’t trained police dogs by any stretch of the imagination.
“So do you think Angel might have spent the night with a boyfriend, maybe?” asked Marcie.
“She would have called me if she had,” said Marigold.
“Not if she fell asleep, or if her phone ran out of battery—or maybe she switched it off before falling asleep.”
“Do you have kids, Marcie?” asked the woman now.
“Two girls.”
“And did anything bad ever happen to them, and you knew—you simply knew, even without anyone telling you?”
“Well, Mia did once have a flat, didn’t she, honey?” said Ted. “And she hadn’t taken her phone so she had to walk home all the way from the station. That was pretty scary, wasn’t it, hon?”
“I did know something was wrong,” said Marcie, nodding.
“Well, then you understand why I know she’s not with a boy, or she would have called or sent a message. Angel isn’t one for passing out drunk in other people’s beds, and she always calls when she can’t make it home on time.”
“I think we’ll find her in a ditch,” said Brutus, reiterating Dooley’s suggestion, “passed out cold and sleeping off her bender.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Harriet.
“So why is it, Max,” said Dooley, “that humans have so much trouble with their brains when they drink alcohol?”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that,” said Brutus. “Is it a design flaw or what?”
“I’ve heard that alcohol shrinks the brain,” said Dooley. “Not sure if it’s true.”
“Oh, you saw a documentary about that, did you?” said Brutus.
“No, I didn’t,” said Dooley, “but it would be a very interesting topic.”
“So if you’re correct, then a person who drinks too much alcohol will have no brain left after a while?”
“Well, I think something will be left, but not much. Some brain dregs, maybe.”
“I think it has something to do with the water balance in the brain,” said Harriet. “Alcohol dehydrates, so it probably dries out the brain until it turns to powder.”
“Let’s hope we find Angel before her brain has completely shrunk to the size of a peanut,” said Brutus, “or has turned into angel dust.”
Suddenly there seemed to be some development at hand, as both Fifi and Rufus suddenly veered sharply off the road and into the woods.
“It’s a shortcut,” Marigold explained. “Angel always takes it. The dogs are on the right track.”
“Of course they are,” said Ted. “Rufus is a very smart dog.”
“And so is Fifi,” said Marcie.
I could tell that both Ted and Marcie had only one question on their minds: why Marigold wouldn’t call the police. But at this point they were afraid to press the woman. Finally Marcie couldn’t restrain himself. “So about Alec Lip…” she began.
“Okay, fine. I’ll tell you the story, but only if you promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
“Of course,” said Marcie, cutting a quick glance of excitement to her husband. They were finally going to find out the big secret.
“Okay, so twenty years ago I was already working for Francis as his housekeeper, and one day there’s a breakin at the church. Someone has gotten in during the night and has stolen several paintings, candlesticks and has raided the offering box. So Francis calls Alec, who was chief of police, even then, and he comes over to make an inventory of what the thieves took, and so he asks Francis a couple of standard routine questions—you know, like: ‘Where were you when this happened?’ So Francis says, ‘Well, home in bed, of course. Where else do you I think I was?’ And then suddenly Alec gives me this intense look and asks, in a sneering sort of way, ‘Your bed or hers?’” The woman’s face betrayed her extreme anger, even now, twenty years on, at the police chief’s sheer impertinence.