The Ring - Chapter 13

 

 

HENRY WILLIS

“I DON’T MIND keeping the dog longer than we originally agreed. Tell your Mom to take care of herself,” Henry told Bethany. His mobile had rung just as he unlocked his car door. He resisted asking how the weather was in Europe, knowing that was a trite question. He quite enjoyed having the pooch around.

He whistled for Camille to stop her sniffing and hop in the back seat. It had been a long day and he was tired. They arrived home from the monthly meeting of his sales agents. This time the conference room was where there was a catered dinner. The staff had a choice of cod or lamb.

He usually held these monthly meetings in a restaurant, varying the towns so everyone would have a chance near their office. This time his decision was based on not leaving Camille alone too long. There had to be advantages to being a boss and making the dog happy was one.

Earlier in the day, the temperature had been spring-like. Now in typical New England fashion, it dropped a good 20 degrees. Henry wished he had taken his coat that morning. Having spent all his life in the Boston area he should know better to be prepared.

Climate change was often a news topic, but New Englanders were used to minute-to-minute changes. Okay, hour-to-hour.

Camille ran around the yard trying to decide where to pee.

“Hurry up, Muttsaball.” Henry had given the dog a new nickname. His yard was surrounded by the clichéd white picket fence. A mailbox was by the gate and while the dog toured the front yard, Henry gathered the mail.

Once inside the house, he called the dog who bounded in, drank from her water dish and hopped on the couch ignoring the pillow bed that Margo provided. She had already eaten well from the lamb served to Henry’s staff having turned her nose up at the fish.

Henry shuffled through his mail, dropping the advertisements directly into the wastepaper basket under the table by the front door. He left the other envelopes in an ever-growing pile.

When his wife was alive, she had been a neat freak. He found those habits she’d nagged him about were hard to break even five years after her death, at least as far as the advertising was concerned. The other envelopes he had taken from his files and needed to double-check before chucking them. Maybe some evening when there was nothing on television.

More bills these days came with codes to pay electronically or were automatically paid. One had his name but no other address. Probably shoved in the door. He reached for the letter opener that he bought at a Denver conference.

The handwritten note said:

I need to talk to you. Not a medical emergency.

Just a family matter.

Heather

Henry knew he served as a substitute father to Medora’s girls. Sometimes he served as a financial advisor, more to Margo than Heather. Her husband was in charge there.

The cuckoo clock in the dining area struck ten and played Nearer my God to Thee. The bird in the clock would now sleep until seven in the morning.

When his wife bought the clock, she had not checked to see what songs the clock played. They had been on vacation in Gruyères, Switzerland, when she had zipped into a souvenir shop. She zipped out a few minutes later with the clock which specialized in simple hymns which even non-religious people knew. Anna had decided the light melodies were pleasant enough regardless of any religious connection.

It was ten nineteen, too late to call Heather. He’d do it in the morning.

*

The alarm went off much too early the next morning: 6:00. Had Henry not had an appointment with three clients looking for an apartment building to renovate he’d have gone back to sleep.

Camille, who had learned how to dominate the bed, rolled over and looked at him as if to say, “It’s too early.”

“Not that early,” Henry told the dog. He was surprised how quickly he had adapted to talking to her. He felt she understood by the tilt of her head.

There were threads of light out his window. He seldom pulled the shades, liking to check the sky through the different seasons. His view was of a small wood which could not be developed. Someone after WWII had not done a good job dividing up the farmland that made up this development.

In the bathroom he just finished shaving half his face when the doorbell rang. Wiping the shaving cream off and grabbing his bathrobe he started downstairs, calling “I’m coming, I’m coming,” as Camille barked her way ahead of him.

Heather stood at the door. “I know it’s early, but I need to get to work.”

She had pulled her car behind his. The engine was running and although it was cold her scarf around her neck was unwound and her down coat was open.

Henry thought good, it all meant he didn’t have to invite her in which he would have done almost happily had it been another time. “What can I do for you? Your note said ‘urgent’.”

“I need you to get my mother’s ring back from Margo.”