Carrying her Frostie Grape Soda and the letter from Buckingham Palace, Sharol nodded toward a set of curtains along the wall opposite her desk. Angus had noticed them earlier and wondered what was behind them. He followed her into an alcove. Gazing around, he saw glowing coal oil lamps, which had to be imitations, mounted on the walls. There were two leather armchairs and matching ottomans, resting on a rug before a fireplace. In the firelight, his eyelids drooped and his voice lowered in tone.
“A snug.”
“Sorry?”
“This is a snug.” Angus grinned at Sharol. “You know, a snuggery? Like in an English pub? A separate room for quiet conversation.”
“That it is.”
Angus knelt before the fire. “An imitation grate, with fake coal. Neat.”
“There’s nothing imitation about it.” Sharol extended a bare foot toward a coal scuttle.
“It’s real?”
“Famous Reading Anthracite. And those are genuine coal oil lamps.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.” Although Angus had never been to England, he imagined he was there in that moment. Back in time, no less, with an engaging hostess. A model of a sailing ship on the mantelpiece did little to dispel the illusion. “Hey, that’s Lord Nelson’s Victory. Flagship of the Battle of Trafalgar.”
“Royal Navy, First Rate.”
Angus raised his eyebrows. “She carried 104 guns.”
“A crew of 820 men.”
“Never decommissioned. Who built the model?”
“My dad and I, when I was a girl.”
His jaw dropping, Angus eased into one of the armchairs and swigged his Frostie Grape Soda. “I build models too, but nothing like that.”
Sharol smiled. She sat down on the ottoman facing Angus, an arm’s length away, sipping her drink.
Diverting his gaze over his left shoulder, Angus spotted a framed photograph of Sharol. In the image, she was standing beside a middle-aged gentleman who shared her facial features. “Is that your dad with you?”
“Yes.” Sharol swivelled sideways, staring at the picture. “We used to have fun together.”
Angus stole a glance at Sharol’s toned legs. “When was it taken?”
“About 15 years ago, after I graduated from university.”
“You still look the same.”
Sharol leaned back in Angus’s direction, her eyes glowing in the light of a wall lamp. “And you’re a delight to know.”
“I’m not kidding. You haven’t changed.” Angus felt himself back on shaky ground. He adopted a formal tone. “What did your dad do for a living?”
“He’s still working. He’s been with the Chemistry Section at the Centre of Forensic Sciences in Toronto since 1968. He’s also an associate professor in Forensic Chemistry at the University of Toronto.”
“So he’s Dr. Courtney?”
“That he is.” Glancing at the picture, Sharol’s eyes took on a faraway look. To Angus, she appeared to have turned melancholy. “All through my girlhood, I spent hours with him, learning about every topic under the sun. I helped him in his lab. Those were the happiest days I’ve ever spent with another person. Then I went off to university and time sped up. Now I hardly see him anymore. He lives five minutes away from me. Sometimes I wish I could go back to being his lab assistant.”
“If you were interested in being a girl again, a mystery like the King’s Puzzle would do the trick.”
Sharol laughed. She turned back to Angus. “If only. I did have a project like that once, tied to the past.”
“And that was?”
“Colonel Smythe’s biography. I fell in love with my husband while I helped him research The Colonel’s story. It was too big a challenge, though. We sacrificed it when I ran for office in 2007.”
Angus had been nursing the illusion that Sharol was a girl without a husband. He fumbled for something to say. “Smythewood Estates looks like a great place to live. Do you have fun exploring all its neat spots?”
“Well, no. And I’d like to do more. There’s a trout stream on the property which I’ve never tried. No one has, since The Colonel and his sons in the 1930s. Do you like fishing, Angus?”
“I do. Big Jim’s been offering to teach me how to use a fly rod.”
“That’s so cool. I’d love to try that someday.”
“We could do it together.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Consulting a calendar in his mind, Angus calculated that trout season was ten weeks away.
“So, the Wolfe family never got the note?”
Angus blanked. “What note?”
“The one from The King to Duncan.”
“We have no way of knowing. Duncan kept everything connected with the King’s Puzzle a secret.”
“The note might be all you could hope to find. You wouldn’t find the puzzles if he mailed them to The King.”
“Unless Duncan made copies for himself.”
“How likely would that be, in 1939?”
“I don’t know.” Angus sighed. “It’s probably a moot point, with the Riverview ready to come down. I need to buy some time. From your end, I’d hoped to get an idea why Duncan ran away from The King.”
“Ran away?”
“Yes. One of my grandmother’s friends saw him at Carley the night the Royal Train stopped. Apparently, he bolted. I figured that if The Colonel took a note for Duncan, maybe he knew him. He also may have known why he ran away.”
Sharol drummed her fingers against her lips and stared into one of the lamps. Then her eyes opened wide. “You know, someone said something at one time.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. One of my late inlaws. Connie.” Sharol leaned back and closed her eyes. Her hair dropped behind her head. “I vaguely remember.”
Torn between coaxing something out of Sharol and studying every contour of her body, Angus said nothing. As she drew her head up, her hair tumbled forward. She had a dreamy look in her eyes.
“Connie—my mother-in-law—mentioned a boy and a puzzle for The King.”
Angus’s pulse quickened. “That confirms what Buckingham Palace said.”
Sharol picked up the letter. “But, if Duncan kept the King’s Puzzle a secret, and ignored The King’s letters—”
“Then he’d just as likely have hidden or discarded The King’s note.”
“Right.” Sharol furrowed her brow, rereading the letter. “This says Duncan lived in Oshawa. That was a long drive from Carley in 1939. Why would he come up here?”
Angus shrugged. “His family had a cottage near Hawkestone. I figure they went there the weekend the Royal Train came. It would have been a 40-minute drive to Carley in 1939.”
Sharol’s eyebrows rose in an inquisitive manner.
“I checked an Ontario Motor League road book from the 1930s.”
“I’m impressed.” Sharol’s face softened. Her lips parted in a smile, her lower jaw dropped, and she studied Angus with a look of admiration.
“Do you think The Colonel would have kept the note from The King, if he didn’t know where to find Duncan?”
Sharol bit her lip. “He may have, but finding it would be another thing. It would be an exercise in frustration looking through The Colonel’s belongings. I’d never wish it upon you. Let me give you an idea of how much work it would be.” Her eyes took on a look of mischief. “When I was in residence at university, we pulled a prank on another girl. She was away for the weekend. We got old newspapers—at least a hundred bundles of them—and crumpled them up. We packed them into her room, floor to ceiling, right to the door. You should have seen her face when she tried to walk in.”
Angus guffawed. “You have a wicked streak.”
“Of course.” Sharol affected a sly look. “Anyway, that’s what The Colonel’s pile of papers looks like. It fills his study. We’d barely made a dent when we quit our research in 2007.”
“Might Colonel Smythe have said anything about Duncan or The King’s note that your husband remembers?”
“I’m afraid not. Sloan was only two when The Colonel died a widower. And Sloan’s parents have been gone for ten years. Connie only mentioned a boy and his puzzle in passing. It’s too bad I didn’t pay more attention at the time. Sorry.”
Angus fell silent, staring into the coal fire.
Sharol touched his knee. “So, you just turned 16 as I recall. How old is Amanda?”
“She’ll be 17 in May.” Angus grinned. “I’m dating an older woman.”
“Hardly. Now, me and my husband, that’s an age difference.”
“He’s older by a lot?”
“Oh, yeah.” Sharol spun sideways on the ottoman and looked into the fire too. “I envy you, searching for the King’s Puzzle. Intrigue, excitement, romance. It doesn’t get any better.”
“I was thinking that way myself, until the boxes collapsed. I hope we get another crack at it.”
“Me too.” Sharol fell silent for several seconds. Then she tilted her head toward Angus. “So, you and Amanda are homeschooled. Tell me about that.”
“This is my fourth year. She started in Grade One. I got started after we met. We’ve been working together ever since. We alternate back and forth between houses.”
“Neat.”
Someone knocked on the door to Sharol’s office, then opened it. Angus smiled. That would be his dad. Just wait until he sees this place. The curtains flapped and a head jutted into the snuggery. It wasn’t Nelson. It was Corrin.
“Sorry to interrupt, but the Premier’s on the line.”
Angus tensed. So much for a relaxed conversation with his companion in the snug.
Corrin rocked on her heels. It was obvious to Angus that she was waiting for an acknowledgement from Sharol, who didn’t even turn her head. Instead, she trained her eyes on Angus. He shifted. The look on Sharol’s face was one he hadn’t seen before. She was perturbed at the interruption. He diverted his eyes to Corrin. She stood there, mouth breathing, while he counted off 15 seconds in his mind. At about the half-minute mark, she huffed and strode out, leaving the office door open behind her.
Sharol slapped her palms on her thighs and stood up. Her neck muscles tensed. “Okay, that’ll be word about a cabinet post. I have to take the call.” She brushed through the curtains.
Angus drained his Frostie Grape Soda, arose, and followed Sharol. When he emerged into the main part of her office, she was already in her desk chair. She swivelled away from him, pushed a button, and picked up a telephone handset.
Walking to the door, Angus put on coat and shoes. He took a last look at Sharol. She was flicking her hair from side to side, tapping a heel on the floor. He plodded into the hallway, pulling the door behind him.
“Hang on a minute.”
It was Sharol, calling Angus back. He wasn’t sure how to read her cues about when to stay and when to leave. Turning around, he went back into her office.
Sharol was cradling the telephone under her chin, still facing away from Angus. She was on hold, by the look of it. He shuffled around, looking for something with which to occupy his attention. There was a bulletin board near the door. He studied a number of 4x6 pictures pinned to it. They were of political volunteers, by the red-and-white Liberal Party signs and buttons visible. One girl, in her late teens, stood out from the others. She had a smile and vibrant eyes that leapt off the photo. Amanda often looked that way in pictures.
Angus’s throat was dry. It might have been due to the coal fire, or residual dust from the Riverview. His grape soda was gone. He licked his lips, but his tongue was dry too. He tried to swallow away a tickle in his throat. He coughed, then coughed again. And again. His eyes watered. He doubled over at the waist, hacking. It felt as if his adenoids and tonsils were coming loose.
Bolting from her chair, Sharol yanked open the fridge. She grabbed a bottle of apple juice and twisted off the lid. Standing in front of Angus, she put the drink to his lips. He took a slug and the coughing stopped. Then he tipped his head back and drained the bottle.
Sharol walked to the ledge behind her desk. She pounded a flashing red button and dropped the telephone into its cradle. “To heck with him.” She turned to Angus and her voice softened. “Would you and Amanda like to visit Smythewood for a horseback ride on Sunday afternoon?”
Angus opened his eyes wide.
Sharol laughed. “I’ll take that deer-in-the-headlights look to mean yes.”
“Definitely.”
“Boy, you’re still sounding croaky.” Sharol walked over and put a hand on Angus’s forehead. “And overheating. Here, take one for the road.” She fetched him another bottle of juice. “Would two o’clock be okay? That should give us enough daylight.”
“Yup.”
Sharol dropped her voice to a whisper. “I know you’re busy with the King’s Puzzle. But I might have something else for you to work on. If you’re interested, that is. It’s a Smythe family mystery from days gone by.”
Feeling his insides tingle, Angus spoke in a voice matching Sharol’s. “Can’t wait to hear about it.”
Sharol smiled. “See you on Sunday, then.”
Walking out of Sharol’s office, Angus held her gaze, lest she call him back again. Then his foot caught on a recycling box. He flailed around, off balance, then fell headlong toward a wall. He dropped the bottle and thrust his palms out, catching himself at the last moment. The bottle thumped into the box. He heard Sharol laughing and shrieking in a girly kind of way. She jeered something about them being even now, after the parking lot. Angus wanted to get out before anything else happened. He didn’t look back and he didn’t pick up the juice. He strode toward the door, past Corrin, who appeared to have just scampered back to her desk. She was buzzing Sharol and starting to nag her about hanging up on the Premier.
Outside, the cold air brought Angus back to the everyday world. He saw his dad pulling the van up toward him. Back in the office, he’d made an enemy, a cantankerous one at that. But he’d also made a friend, a gorgeous one. And how should he report to Amanda on his visit with Sharol? That they’d spent their time chatting in intimate surroundings? He also wondered how he’d be able to sell Amanda on a visit to Smythewood Estates.