Over the Darkened Landscape - By Derryl Murphy Page 0,73
me—better, even—as to anyone else on this train, and well beyond: Mackenzie King, Psychic Detective.
Greatest detective of our age, my fragrant rear. Not without a little help, at least.
We reached the South River station late that afternoon. As usual, I allowed Mac to put a leash on me, and we waited on the platform while Simon sent out a porter with our bags. Of Mac’s client, there was no sign. By the time the train pulled away fifteen minutes later we were the only two, aside from the ticket agent, who remained at the station.
“He’s late,” I said, scratching behind my right ear. “I don’t like it when people are late.”
“Be patient,” said Mac. “He’s probably had to fight off vicious bears and nasty black flies to get here.”
“Nothing quite so civilized,” came a voice from behind us.
We turned to greet a man wearing a gray wool suit (well, really, almost everything is gray to my eyes, but later Mac assured me that it was indeed gray) and carrying a handsome walking stick. “Dr. James McCallum at your service, sir,” he said, and held out his hand.
Mac shook it. “Mackenzie King, Dr. McCallum. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
McCallum gestured for Mac’s bags and a manservant stepped out from a nearby doorway and took them in hand. “Please follow me, Mr. King. We’ll have you at the house in no time.”
“Is this your house, Dr. McCallum?”
He shook his head. “I live in Toronto,” said McCallum. “And I have a cottage at Go Home Bay on Georgian Bay. But we’re here because this work recently came to my attention, and I wish to buy it.”
“Which work is that?” asked Mac.
“More after we get there,” answered McCallum.
We rode in a horse-drawn carriage instead of a motor car, following a dirt road for the better part of an hour until we reached the house—really a mansion—where McCallum was visiting, and where we would stay for the night. South River was a pleasant little town, primarily there for the lumber industry it seemed, and that industry was the source of the homeowner’s wealth.
“Our host has been called away on business,” said McCallum as we made our way to the house. “You and I will have dinner alone tonight, Mr. King. I shall see you at seven.”
“I suppose that means I’m not invited to the table,” I said, after the manservant had deposited our bags in our well-appointed room.
Mac shrugged. “We saw three dogs coming in, so it’s not like the owner hates them.”
“Hunting dogs,” I replied. “Big hulking brutes that live outside all year round, I suspect. None of them ever come to the dinner table.”
“Yes, well, you’ll just have to take your meals in here, then, or perhaps in the kitchen. But whatever he needs me to solve, you’re a part of the equation, so don’t feel too left out.”
I turned and nibbled at a sudden itch in my left thigh, and after Mac retired to the toilet to freshen up I jumped onto the bed for a nap.
Supper, Mac later told me, went well. A veritable feast, as a matter of fact, with only McCallum and a strange prickling sensation on the back of Mac’s neck, coming, he was sure, from the next room over. After they were served the manservant brought me a silver bowl filled with various meats and cheeses, placed on an old rug so I wouldn’t make a mess all over the floor. Apparently they had bad luck with dogs in this house.
After the meal, McCallum asked Mac to join him in the sitting room. The prickling sensation came from that same room, and as Mac entered, the feeling practically jumped onto his scalp. He promptly asked for my company, and McCallum sent word that I was to be brought down immediately.
I could feel it too, and I sniffed worriedly at the entrance to the room for several seconds before following McCallum. Mac hesitated another moment, and then came in as well. “What is it?” he asked our host.
McCallum shook his head. “All I know is that it comes from the item I wish to buy. Here, let me show you.” He took us over to a wall that held several paintings, a variety of sizes and styles and, I imagine, of colours as well. All were of trees and lakes and clouds and other things that reminded the viewer of the northern woods, although each one exercised the artist’s own particular vision. “Quite beautiful art,” said Mac.