Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (16 page)

“You’re saying this to me in the middle of a field with a thousand people around us? And a murderer on the loose?”

He scanned the area. “I don’t think there are a thousand here.”

“Umm.”

“I’ve never seen a more beautiful mouth,” he said, watching a group of
guys haul a huge pumpkin toward the lake. “Just full enough. Perfect.”

As if on automatic, my gaze shot to his mouth. Later, when I had some time, I’d analyze all this. Figure out why I was so attracted to him when I knew it was not going to happen between us. Maine was not my home. Wasnot, wasnot, wasnot. I had to return to New York, and very soon.

To break the spell he was weaving, I asked, “What did Stan tell you?”

Nick returned to cop mode.

“He swears it was left under one of the seats on the bus. Since he doesn’t check regularly the way he should, he’s not sure when it was left. Says he found it this morning when he was checking the bus.”

“Oh, right. And if you believe that, I’ll bet he has a bridge for sale.”

“In Brooklyn, I think he said.”

Beyond us, the loud speaker boomed. “Ready. Set. Row.”

TWENTY

By the time I noticed Lenny, the Lassiters’ three boats had raced. We won a first place, a third, and suffered one shipwreck. Lenny was walking with two men toward the parking area. Something struck me as odd about it. Maybe it was the size of the men, both as big of NFL linebackers, or maybe the fact that they flanked him, or maybe it was their posture. Both men glanced at him off and on, but Lenny never looked up at either. His head was down the entire time. I watched their progress until they disappeared into the woods.

I looked around for Stan. St
an, Stan, the poison book man was not in sight.

“Aunt Ida, I’m going to wander over to Mary Fran and her friends. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Tell her we loved her pumpkin cookies.”

“I will.”

Instead of cutting through the crowd, I skirted around back, close to the small parking area, looking, searching. Except for the single road and the cleared area by the lake, the place consisted of trees, trees, and more trees, many with their spectacular fall colors already fading.

That’s when I spotted the distinctive red and orange flame detailing on Lenny’s truck. Its front end was wedged between two trees. I could have done a better parking job and parking is not my forte.

I moved farther away from the crowd and into the trees. I glanced around. No Lenny. I decided to mosey over and check out his truck. Could be a laptop in it, the one that belonged to Buster, or other evidence. If that were the case, I’d call Nick. Do this right.

As I got closer,
I heard voices in the woods not far from the truck. I approached the back of the truck and ducked down. Men’s voices. Angry voices.

I ducked lower
by the tailgate, making sure my red-jacketed self was concealed. The voices stopped. Who were these guys? I hoped they hadn’t seen me. I glanced back. The lake, the crowd, the family seemed far away. No one would hear me if I screamed. Ridiculous. There was no need to scream.

“Honest, I’ll have it soon,” I heard Lenny plead in a choked voice.

I moved closer, careful not to step on anything that snapped or crackled, and hid behind a giant tree with sharp pine needles and a million pine cones. I didn’t notice the gummy substance on the cones until I accidently touched one. Afraid of being spotted in my red jacket, I peeled it off, then stepped on it to get it off my sticky hands.

I heard a horrible
thud, followed by a yelp. I peered around the tree.

Omigod.

Three of them were with him now, the two linebackers and another team member. One big guy had his ham-sized hand wrapped around Lenny’s throat. Lenny gagged, gasping for breath. I had to do something. They might kill him.

“We’ll give him time, won’t we, Tiny.”

I peered again. Tiny crashed his huge fists into Lenny like he was pummeling a punching bag. I needed to act now. To stay hidden I leaned against the tree, lowered myself to the ground and reached for a rock. Without getting up—because the back of my sweater was hooked on something and I wasn’t sure I could get up without being spotted—I threw the rock as far as I could in the opposite direction. I have a pretty good arm. That sucker sailed through the trees.

I didn’t aim. I should have aimed.

The rock hit a parked car and bounced twice. Glass shattered. I was scared silly but didn’t dare look. The bad guys were alert.

“Drop him,” the guy with the ham hands ordered. “We’re out of here. We won’t be so nice if we have to visit you again, jackass.”

Keeping low, I pivoted around the tree, jacket in hand, so I could remain hidden. My entire sweater, a mid-blue marled cotton, split-neck pullover, did not complete the rotation. Bits of yarn remained on the tree. Maybe Ida could darn it. She mentioned darning last week. I wasn’t exactly sure what that entailed because I wasn’t paying close attention, but I suspected darning would help.

The three guys crashed through the woods. When I heard
a car start up and take off spitting pebbles, I figured the coast was clear. I picked up my sticky jacket, and hurried over to Lenny.

He was gone.

I ran back to his truck, approached from the passenger side, and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him slumped over, his head resting sideways on the steering wheel, his New England Patriot’s hat jammed low on his forehead.

Had he died when he reached the truck?

With his head at such an odd angle, he might be dead.

Omigodomigodomigod.

Why was I always finding dead bodies? I was going to get a reputation. People would start running when they saw me coming, and who could blame them. “Here she comes,” they’d yell. “Run for your lives.”

I foraged through my bag, shifting camera equipment,
my nice new binoculars, wallet, mints, makeup, mace, my multi-function Swiss Army knife from L.L. Bean. I carry way too much, and now much of it was sticky from the sap on my hands. I should clean this bag out. My hand finally closed on my cell. I yanked it out and used it to knock on the truck window, just in case, before calling Nick.

The body moved.

I jumped.

Lenny’s hat fell off.

Blood. There was blood on his face, a lot of it.

I rushed to the other side and opened the door. He toppled sideways right into my arms, and the two of us tumbled to the ground, me landing on the bottom, him on top. My bag and cell phone went flying.

He moaned.

I yelled.

We were nose to nose. I twisted and turned to get away. He was heavier than he looked and didn’t budge. I controlled the urge to vomit as blood from his nose leaked onto my face. I pushed at him again. Nothing happened. With each damp splat every blood-borne disease I’d ever heard of became a terrifyingly real possibility. This triggered the fight-flight response. Adrenalin went coursing through my body at warp speed, enhancing my physical ability. With one mighty shove Lenny was airborne. I think I could have lifted a car. Hand me my cape and bracelets. I was Wonder Woman.

I sat up, painfully, and reached for my cell.

“I’ll get help,” I said, shaking as I wiped my face on the sleeve of my nice red Burberry rain jacket, which was now smeared with blood and dirt and sap. Damn. I loved this jacket. I’d have to have it cleaned. I wondered whether the blood would come out. Club soda for stains I remember Aunt Ida saying once. So maybe I’d try club soda.

Panting, I said
, “I’ll call the sheriff.”

Lenny’s
hand manacled my wrist in a vise-like grip.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

He actually bared his teeth at me, displaying a mouthful of yellow teeth and broadcasting a bad breath problem that would knock a moose over.

I pulled back. Instead of releasing my wrist, he tightened his hold.

“I tripped over a log,” he said. “I was resting up in my truck when you banged on my window. You probably put a crack in it. I’ll have to check. If you did, you’re paying up, lady.”

Crazy man.

“Let go,” I ordered as I strained all my arm muscles trying to escape his grip. “I’ve had a very bad day and I am not in the mood for your crap. What did those men want? I saw what happened.”

“Oh, really?”

I finally broke free and stood so quickly that I almost went over backwards. Fancy footwork kept me upright.

“Yes. Really. Who do you think rescued you? Some magic genie? Or maybe some bird came along and dropped a rock on that car? Hmmm? What do you think, wise guy?”

Still sitting, he dusted off the front of his jeans, like that would help his appearance.

“And F-Y-I, I did not crack the window on your stupid truck. It’s obvious you’re hurt so I’ll call the sheriff. He’ll get an EMT.”

“I don’t need the sheriff. Or an EMT. You’re one of those women who has to meddle in everyone’s business. You’re a meddler.”

“I am not a meddler. I think the word you’re looking for is Samaritan. I’m a Good Samaritan. Trying to help my fellow man.”

“Meddler.”

“Fine. Sit there and
bleed all over the place. See if I care.”

My wrist hurt, my shin, my elbow, my rear end, too. I stalked away.
The jerk.

I stopped and shot back, “Who do you owe money to, Lenny? What are you into?”

I didn’t expect an answer and I didn’t get one. The look he gave me showed how much I annoyed him so I couldn’t resist adding more fuel. “Next time I may not be around to help and they’ll probably finish the job. Or maybe they’ll just kneecap you.”

With that, I left.

Lenny was a person of interest, for sure. I’d have to figure a way to find out more about him. As I headed for Mary Fran and her friends, wearing my sticky red rain jacket and my mid-blue marled cotton, split-neck pullover with the loose threads, I hit Nick’s number on Favorites.

“Hi. I was at the back of the parking lot by Lenny’s truck. I think he go
t into a fight with an eighteen-wheeler. You might want to check him out.”

“Are you hurt?”

I loved that he was concerned for me.

“No. Why would you think I got hurt?”

“As a law enforcement officer I’ve been trained to look for patterns.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll check him out. What were you doing in the back of the parking lot?”

I was hoping he wouldn’t ask that. “On my way to see Mary Fran. Gotta run.”

I clicked off and looked back at Lenny struggling to his feet . I should let him know the sheriff was on his way.

Nah. The surprise would be better.

The rain I’d been expecting started to fall. Yo Yo Ma blasted “My Favorite Things” from my cell phone. Nick calling.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, yourself. You didn’t dodge the bullet. We’ll get into this later.”

“Is that a threat? It sounds like a threat.”

“A promise. In the meantime I think we should dine together soon. I’ll cook. After dinner, I plan to kiss all the information out of you.”

“You cook?” I asked, more captivated by the idea of kissing.

“I do. You interested?”

“May-be.” I drew the word out and paused for dramatic effect. “Is this a date? I hope it’s not a date.”

“You know I don’t date.”

“Just checking. A woman has to verify these things
periodically.”

The predicted rain finally came, a short shower that was hardly worth the name. Then, just before dusk when everyone was preparing to leave, I was treated to a sight I’ll remember for a long time, maybe forever. Suddenly, the setting sun broke through the clouds. The beauty stopped me right in my tracks. I stared at the lake. My daydreams about Nick and my suspicions about Lenny faded as I took it all in.

It was as if an artist had visited the lake with a palette of colors that matched the setting sun—reds and golds, rusts and purples—and permitted those colors to seep into the water. The resulting canvas was incredible. So fleeting, I thought as I pulled out my camera and shot a series of pictures.

Some things were meant to be preserved.

TWENTY-ONE

I do some of my best thinking just before I fall asleep. As I lay in bed with the patchwork quilt pulled up to my chin, the one Great-Grandma Evie created from scraps of material from every dress, coat or scarf she’d ever made, I considered the suspects. Outside, the wind howled through the trees and sent the rain splattering against the windows. This was the big rain that had been predicted.

I thought Vivian was innocent, but I shouldn’t rule her o
ut. According to Rhonda, she wanted an affair with Buster, and he’d turned her down. Vivian was a woman scorned. How awful she must have felt when she realized he didn’t want her.
Hell hath no fury …

Of course, Vivian
told the tale another way, but I suspected Rhonda’s version was on target.

Revenge was a strong motive. I’d wanted to kill Whatshisname when our engagement came to such an ignominious end, toss the jerk and his bimbo out the window along with his stuff. Naturally, I wouldn’t go to such lengths, but the desire wormed around inside me like a dark thing.

With Vivian, the hitch was that I was working for her, originally to solve the Pomeranian problem, but now on a more serious level. I needed to find evidence that proved she did not kill Buster. Such a conundrum.

Would she have asked me to do that if she were guilty? Possibly to make herself look innocent?

I didn’t think so. She thought I was a real detective, a secret I’ve kept well hidden from the population of Silver Stream. Only a few people know I’m not a detective. The aunts knew from the start and Nick guessed quickly.

I had to look harder for the murderer.

I only knew of three other possibilities. I’d check with Nick to see if there were more. He’d better share what he knew. I’ve shared with him.

Thinking of him distracted me, made me smile.

A flash of lightening jolted my thoughts from Nick to Ray and on to Rhonda in her Victorian bedroom. With Ray. I shuddered and pulled the quilt tighter beneath my chin. I couldn’t picture sleeping with that man.

Suddenly it came to me.

Icabod Crane.

That was who Ray reminded me of, the gangly school teacher in
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
who was frightened off by the headless horseman. I couldn’t remember why.

I tossed the images out of my head and thought motive.

With Ray, the revenge motive was front and center. If he’d found out about Steven after all the years of thinking the boy was his son, the anger generated had to be monumental. He’d realize, too, that he’d been tricked into marriage.

To
add insult to injury, Buster stepped back into the picture making it clear that Ray’s wife of twenty-something years had always loved another man. In all that time she’d never really loved Ray. Maybe she thought of Buster when Ray was making love to her.

What a blow to Ray’s ego, his manhood, his sense of self. He must have considered the possibility of killing Buster, maybe even Rhonda. He was a man who had access to all manner of poisons in his pharmacy.

I wondered if he looked down on Buster or held him in high regard. Either way would add to the anger quotient. Either an idol had toppled, or the guy he’d always regarded as beneath him turned out to be above him in his wife’s eyes.

If Ray were the murderer, it was possible that Rhonda’s life was in danger. She must have thought of this, but just in case, I’d mention it.

I put that aside and thought of other possibilities.

The root-of-all-evil was high on the list. Stan, the overweight bus driver, wanted to buy his own bus, but was turned down by his uncle for a loan. He’d also stashed a book about poisons under his seat. That was a big clue, even if he did try to mask the fact by giving the book to Nick before he had a chance to ask for it. Clever move? I think not. Transparent.

According to Rhonda, Buster used to make fun of Stan’s weight problem. Maybe he made fun of him in other ways, too. People and events that affect us when we are young stay with us. Like threads they weave their way through our life and color our actions. I’d find out. Money and resentment. Double motive.

Lenny needed money too, maybe more than Stan. He could have killed his uncle to save himself from getting his bones pulverized by the mob, or whoever those guys were who knocked him around. Definitely possible.

The mob.

I could be getting mixed up with the mob.

I shivered, hopped up and got another blanket, yanked the covers under my chin, and switched my thoughts to Lenny’s tooled leather computer case with the padded handles. I liked that case, so stylish, and so at odds with those stupid droopy jeans and tacky flame-thrower boots. It didn’t fit.

I think I must have known on some level when I first saw it that it was not his case. Actually, I didn’t think it was something Buster would cho
ose either. Even though I didn’t know Buster, I’d seen the magazines on his coffee table—
Guns and Amo, Girls Gone Wild, Bullets and Babes
—and had made a quick judgment. If the magazines weren’t a valid way of judging, the interior of his house certainly qualified. Bottom line, style was not high on Buster’s list of priorities.

Rhonda said he worked at her place on his laptop. I had a flash of insight. Since it should have come sooner, maybe it didn’t qualify as a flash. But here it was. Maybe Rhonda bought Buster the case as a gift. Perhaps a birthday gift? Or Father’s Day gift? Imagine Ray’s reactio
n if he found out about it. If she used a credit card. No, she would have been more careful.

The probabi
lity was high that the case once contained Buster’s computer, which contained the latest will, which mentioned Uncle Walter’s Sherman tank and coin collection, which the nephews had not mentioned. They could be interested in selling both. They’d have to get the tank moving and find a buyer first. The coins would be easier to get rid of. Lots of places had websites online that dealt with coins.

I still hadn’t found out about the coin collection, but I didn’t hold
out much hope for it. My dad owned a coin collection that he’d left me. It wasn’t worth much, except in sentimental value. Maybe Buster’s was worth more. Walter thought so.

I had to see the will. That meant I had to figure a way to locate Buster’s laptop.

The possibility that Uncle Walter murdered Buster seemed remote. Although the tank and coin collection were needed for him to move out of his sister’s house and set up his squirrel-carving business, I didn’t really suspect him. After all, he’d been friends with Buster for years. He didn’t seem like the kind to turn on a friend. Yet, something about him bothered me. I couldn’t put a name to it. Yet.

Tomorrow I’d
tell Uncle Walter that I’d decided to sell him the land. Even though he only wanted a small parcel, it was a start. No other relatives had come forward and I really needed the money. The aunts might object, but I could handle that. Transactions like this took a while, so I’d be able to check Walter out more thoroughly.

So much to do. I was a woman with a mission.

I thought about how to handle the tasks ahead, and decided to start with Vivian.

I allowed myself the luxury of thinking about tomorrow’s non-date with Nick. He was cooking dinner for me. I think I drifted off with a smile on my face.

“Nora, you up yet?” Aunt Ida called from the foot of the stairs. “Blueberry pancakes on deck.”

“I’ll be down in five.”

That was a huge exaggeration. I could never be ready in five for anything and Aunt Ida knew that.

I did take the quickest shower this side of the Rockies, shivere
d my way into jeans, a white T-shirt, and my latest L.L. Bean purchase, an iceberg blue Islesboro cotton zip-front bird’s eyes cardigan with a festive, Nordic-inspired motif.

I slipped into my L.L. Bean boots, just in case, and headed down. No Uggs this time.

“Ida, I think these jeans are getting tight on me.”

“Good. You were too skinny when you first came here. I was worried.”

As I set the table and she poured batter into the fry pan, I told her about my decision to sell a section of the land to Uncle Walter.

“Are you okay with the partial sale?”
I asked.

“Not crazy about the fifty-acre parcel being broken up, but it’s yours to do with as you wish.
Great-Grandma Evie wanted it that way. Do you have a plan for the rest of the land?”

“I’ll try to sell it.”

“So I guess you won’t be going home any time soon, what with Vivian’s case to solve and the land to sell.”

She tried to sound casual but I can
spot joy when I hear it. Great-Aunt Ida definitely wanted me to stay. Off and on I’d wondered about wearing out my welcome, but that didn’t seem to be happening.

“It’ll keep me in Maine for a while,” I said, not in the lease unhappy with the prospect.

I finished setting the table and helped myself to a cup of coffee as Ida flipped the pancakes. She made great pancakes. I’d have to learn how she did it.

“So what are you up to today, Aunt Ida?”

Her shoulders tensed.

“Hannah and Agnes are coming and we’re all going to a senior citizen’s meeting. With the choir master’s wife.”

Uh-oh. Trouble ahead.

I waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t I said, “You don’t want to go today?”

Ida stacked the pancakes and brought them to the table before answering.

“That woman has
choreographed
a line dancing routine for the Harvest Moon Dance and is teaching it to us today.”

Great-Aunt
Ida adjusted her ruffled bib apron, one of her own creations, as if the cherry pattern had to be perfectly horizontal before she continued.

“I know I won’t like it, that’s for sh-ur. Line dancing. Such nonsense. I’m not a show girl, not one of those fancy dancers. What do you called them?” She waved her hand around trying to recall. “Rockettes.”

“Aunt Ida, I don’t think she’ll be teaching you a Rockette routine.”

Ida made a huffing sound.

“Hannah talked me into this. Talked us all into it. She steamrolled it right through the committee. Ever since she saw that New York Christmas show back in the day, Hannah has always wanted to be on stage at Radio City Music Hall. When the choir master’s wife mentioned that she used to teach dancing years ago, that was all Hannah had to hear. Next thing we knew, we were all in a chorus line.”

I shook my head. “But she didn’t teach the Rockettes, did she?”

“Who knows. Maybe. She could be a disco gal or hip hopper for all we know.”

“The choir director’s wife?”

Ida grimaced.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” I said.

“Pshaw. It’ll be worse. I just know it. Maybe I’ll stay home.”

Nothing I could say soothed her, but I suspected she would not stay home.

Intent on keeping an appointment with Vivian and asking some very pointed questions, mainly about Buster and the nephews, and about Uncle Walter, too, I headed out. Two things happened that affected my plan.