Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (19 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

If I’d been blindfolded when I opened Ce-Ce’s door and stepped out I would have presumed I was at the wrong house. My best guess would have been somewhere in Nashville, perhaps near the Grand Ole Opry House. What on earth was going on? I rushed up the front steps, and headed for the source.

My heart’s on fire, Elvira.

Although I’d never followed country music very closely, I recognized the Oak Ridge Boys’ rendition of “Elvira.”

I stopped short at the
kitchen door and stared.

The aunts were dancing.

The table had been pushed aside and they were lined up in the middle of the floor, stepping this way and that with Hannah calling the moves. Their backs to me, they were too intent to notice my arrival.

“Left, slide. Down and tap.”

Elvira, Elvira.

Ida bumped into Agnes. “Left, Agnes. Left.”

“Stomp, clap,” Hannah called out, her voice loud enough to carry, although I’m not sure Agnes heard it above the loud music.

Hannah turned the music down. “No, no. The stomp is first, Agnes, then the clap.”

Omm Poppa, Mow Mow.

“Well, I like clapping. No harm in an extra clap, if you
ask me,” Agnes said with a double clap to punctuate her words. “But maybe we should sit a spell.”

Suddenly, they spotted me, all activity ceased and a grinning, ruddy-faced Ida switched off the music.

“Nora. Glad you’re back. We’re practicing the electric slide for the Harvest Dance. Want to join us?”

“So it wasn’t as bad as you thought, Ms. Rockette?”

“No high kicking,” she said as she held me at arms length, studying my tattered sweater with a look of concern. “You look like you were the receiver of some high kicking. What happened?”

Hannah took hold of
my hand. “Tell us. We can see you’ve been in the woods. Your sweater looks like a rag.”

“Well, she’s a bit messy, but she certainly doesn’t look like a hag,” Agnes said. “Our Nora is pretty.”

“We’re ready for a break,” Ida said to me. “The hors d’oeuvres I put in the oven are about ready. Let’s have them in the front room while you tell us about the goings on.”

“Nora, take my advice. Throw that sweater out. It’s past saving,” Agnes said, looking me over.

I gave Great-Aunt Agnes a kiss. “It’s headed for the garbage. And Hannah said it looks like a
rag
.”

Seated in the front room with the three aunts, a platter of crab puffs and mini spinach quiches, three cups of tea and one coffee—I don’t do tea—I swore them to secrecy, then brought them up to date on Buster’s murder investigation. I told them about the men involved with Lenny at the lake and at Buster’s house; the moose episode; the telephone records that showed Buster never called Vivian; everything except Rhonda’s big secret. Although I did mention that I had reason to suspect Ray Racanelli might be involved.

So many clues, I thought as I was verbalizing the situation, and yet I couldn’t pull them together and come up with an answer.

They listened quietly with a few oohs and aahs sprinkled here and there, especially when I described the moose incident. When I finished, Hannah said, “So much
going on. How will you ever figure this out?”

“Oh, our Nora’s a puzzle solver. Always has been, even as a child. She’ll figure it out,” Ida said, her pride and confidence reassuring. “Don’t you worry. And if she thinks Vivian is innocent, she probably is.”

“Thank you, Aunt Ida.” I swallowed hard. “First, I’ve got to find the laptop. Nick hasn’t had any luck.”

Hannah said, “You mentioned the dentist’s office. Maybe you should start your search there. Or in Buster’s house. I mean a thorough search, of course. Did you find out who Buster was kissing under the weeping beech?”

“I did. I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Rhonda?” Ida asked with a knowing look.

Aunt Ida’s mystery fan side was showing. I figured she’d probably been thinking about this for some time. I wasn’t surprised she’d guessed since I’d mentioned Rhonda’s husband Ray as a suspect. I decided not to sidestep the question. “Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it, okay? And you must all promise to keep everything secret.”

“We know the drill,” Hannah said, raising her hand, palm out, as if she were taking an oath.

Agnes reached for a crab puff. “Our lips are zipped,” she said, making the universal mouth-zipping motion with her free hand.

“So you’ve mentioned four suspects
… Lenny, Stan, Ray and Vivian. Anyone else?” Ida asked.

I thought about Uncle Walter. “I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “For now, those are it. I’ll ask Nick when I see him tomorrow. Maybe he’s got someone he hasn’t told me about.”

I pretended not to notice Ida’s suspicious gaze. I was pretty sure she realized I was holding back, but Walter was family and the evidence linking him was slim. I figured it was best not to mention it yet.

“Nick should search the dentist’s office,” Hannah said, spooning a bit of sugar into her tea.
“Not you, of course.”

The rich sound of sterling pinging against fine china filled the silence as Hannah stirred her tea, and I took a few
short seconds to consider that.

“I suppose Lenny could have hidden something there, but I don’t think so. Anyway, Nick could get a search warrant, or maybe it wouldn’t even be necessary. I don’t see any reason the dentist wouldn’t let him. Lenny may work there, but the office belongs to the dentist.”

I took a crab puff, and followed it with a mini spinach quiche. Delicious. I should learn to make these.

“It’s odd that Vivian would say Buster called if he didn’t. She must have known they’d check,” Agnes said. “Even I’d know that, and I’m not a mystery fan like Ida or Hannah.”

“Yes, it’s odd and it bothers me,” I said, spreading my hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I’m working for Vivian and I’m inclined to believe she did not murder Buster. So much of the evidence against her is odd. I can only deduce that it was planted. But how? That’s the real mystery.”

“The killer is wicked smart. For sh-ur,” Ida said, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, it bothers me that she wasn’t home when you arrived today,” Hannah said. “I wonder what she was up to?”

Everyone nodded, including me.

When we finished eating and were carrying dishes to the kitchen with me at the end of the slow line, Hannah said, “Nora, we never did decide what you should wear to the dance tomorrow night. You must look particularly pretty. Of course, you’re always pretty. I don’t mean to imply that you aren’t, but tomorrow is special.”

Decide? They wanted to decide what I should wear?

I stopped short, causing the cup to rattle in its saucer.

The last time anyone chose an outfit for me I was about seven years old, maybe younger. My mother never cared what I put on as long as it was clean. When I look back at elem
entary and high school pictures, something I do with a frequency ranging from seldom to never, I wonder what I was thinking when I chose some of those outfits.

I’ve come a long way, baby. Ever since I had my colors done and it was determined that I was a summer, I’ve made it my business to follow trends, select the proper colors and dress for the occasion.
Summers should wear the softest dusty tones. The most flattering garments are the solids on my palette. However, I can select, with the greatest care, soft watercolor prints as well as complex patterns. Fashion faux pas are a thing of the past, except for a few of my Maine choices, but that can’t be helped. Maine is different.

“Oh, yes. We should all have a hand in the selection,” Ida said.

“What are we having a hand in?” Agnes asked as she set the crab puff platter on the counter and studied the remaining puff.

“Nick will be there, you know,” Ida said, attempting to sound casual.

“Oh? What difference does that make? I’m mainly interested in seeing you guys do your line dance.”

“Pshaw,
” Hannah said, with a dismissive wave. “You think we believe that?”

“My money’s on Nick. Such a
handsome devil. Perfect for our Nora,” Agnes said, picking up the last crab puff. “Why would she want anyone but Nick Renzo?”

Why indeed, I thought, holding back the smile I did not want them to see. What I did want them to see was what I intended to wear. I dashed upstairs, rumm
aged through my latest purchase, made online, pulled out the items I needed and quickly changed.

They were waiting at the bottom of the stairs as I made my entrance.

“Oh, my,” Agnes said as I came down.

“Perfect,” Hannah proclaimed. “Wicked good.”

Ida’s pressed her hands to her heart and her eyes misted. “Doesn’t she look the one.”

TWENTY-FIVE

The sound of water pelting the window woke me the following morning. Uncle Walter was coming today with a surveyor to mark off the area he was interested in purchasing, and I figured I’d be trekking through wet woods with them. I really didn’t want to go. I wished they could go alone.

Last night I’d called to tell him I’d sell him the four-acre segment he wanted. Within half and hour he phoned back to tell me about the surveyor. Such a quick response from a man for whom money might be a problem.

Before I got dressed, I
rummaged through my handbag and found the name of the dog food Vivian used and looked it up on the Internet. There was a page full of results. Interesting. I’d talk to her today about this.

Fortunately,
the rain let up before Walter and his surveyor friend arrived, so I didn’t get drenched. Unfortunately, every leaf, pine needle and bit of brush held rainwater that splattered on me. Also, unfortunately, Walter brought his dog. He even introduced him as soon as they arrived.

“
Nora, meet Zeus.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant the dog or the surveyor so I said hello and looked at both, so as not to offend.

All in all, I spent a horrible morning in the woods, waiting for the surveyor and dodging the huge dog that seemed to relish whooshing past me like a cannonball on legs, going for the extra splatter. He did it on purpose, I was sure.

Good thing I’d worn my belted th
igh-length red Burberry rain jacket with the gunflap stand-up collar and the drawstring hood. When I wasn’t able to evade the spotted menace, it helped keep me dry.

B
eing in the woods made me think of Lenny and the two men with him yesterday. Lenny must have been taking them to see something he’d hidden. In a brown flannel cloth? Maybe covered with a tarp?

The surveyor finished up and said he’d have the paperwork done in a week or so. After he left Uncle Walter said, “The Sherman will be the crown jewel outside the museum that will house my sculpture displays. I’ve been working on a few ordnance pieces, too. Ri
ght now, I have to go to Buster’s, talk to the nephews and discuss removal.”

“You think they’ll let you have it?”
I asked as we walked toward his jeep.

“Let me have it?”
he shouted. The viciousness in his voice was totally unexpected, and had I been a person who buckled beneath such ferocity, I would have stepped back. I held my ground and waited for an explanation.

“Buster wanted m
e to have it and I will have it,” he said.

This was another side of
Walter. I had to find out why Nick placed him on the list of persons of interest. For now, I decided to stay with him and observe the interaction between him and the nephews. While I was over that way, I’d go see Vivian. I thought of one other thing I could handle while I was there. I definitely needed to go.

“Can I go with you?
I’d like to see the tank.”

Indicating the passenger door of his jeep, his expression morphed
from severe to composed and he made a courtly gesture to match.

“Hop in.”

He motioned for the wet cannonball on the passenger seat to jump in back. The dog eyed me with a little hostility, I thought, then vaulted the seat while I considered fleas, wet dog hairs and general dog slobber.

I couldn’t, just couldn’t, sit in that seat. Besides, there were no seat
belts. That was against the law.

“Walter, I’ll follow you in my truck. That way you won’t have to drive me back.

“Suit yourself.”

He drove fast. I almost lost him several times. Road and tre
es blurred by in the wildest ride of my driving career. I was scared silly, tearing up the road like Junior Gale Bernhart, or was that Earnhardt? What had Howie called him?

No time to think.

Concentrate, concentrate. Steer, brake, gas. Stay on the road. Follow
the maniac driver
in the army-green jeep.

In less time than it takes me to choose an outfit for the day, Uncle Walter arrived at Buster’s, sailed up the driveway
and skidded to a halt in a spray of gravel. Ce-Ce was close on his tail with me behind the wheel, bug-eyed, sweating and panting like the prey in one of those Halloween slasher movies.

Walter hopped out of the jeep like he’d been sitting in an ejector seat. Beside him, the spotted menace pranced around, tail wagging a mile a minute.

Going for casual, I sauntered over and steadied my knees which were still reacting to the death-defying ride. “Do you remember where the tank was parked?”

“If it’s still in the cinderblock garage, it’s about half a klick from the house. That way.” He pointed to the right and down a bit.

I would not ask what a klick was. I draw the line sometimes.

“Buster owns lot of property, more than a square mile, I heard.”

“Ay-uh.”

Uncle Walter was back to his laconic self. Fine by me, at least for now since I was still in maniac-ride recovery mode, and edgy. As I watched Walter advance on the front door, my edginess increased. I couldn’t imagine how Lenny
or Stan would react to his demand.

Since Lenny’s truck wasn’t around, I figured Stan was home alone. He might be cautious, answer the door with a gun in hand. After what happened to his brother by the lake, it’s what I’d do.

Instead of going with Walter, I held back, allowing my knees more recovery time. It’s not that I was afraid or anything like that. I thought it best for him to confront Stan alone, that’s all. Seconds later, Walter was banging on the door like the hounds of hell were at his heels.

In reflex, I jumped back and bumped Ce-Ce’s side view mirror, knocking it askew. While I fixed the mirror, Walter continued to bang. No letup.

Finally, Stan opened the door.

“Walter Cooper. Hello. It’s good to—“

“Cut the crap, Stan. I’m here to check out my Sherman tank. You should have called by now and told me to take it.”

Stan’s jaw dropped a few centimeters, a disingenuous reaction if ever I saw one. He raked his fingers through the mop of hair on his head, making it worse, which was hard to do. What a mess.

“Tank? I don’t know nothing about you getting no tank. Buster told me I could have the tank.”

Stan’s eyes darted from Walter to me, and I gave a tiny little wave, which he didn’t bother to acknowledge.

Walter yanked the storm door open and barged into the house, Zeus close behind him. Stan stood his ground and didn’t move to accommodate Walter. I bit my bottom lip and headed for the door. Stan glanced at me, probably wondering why I’d come.

Standing toe to toe it was easy to see that Walter was bigger, more powerfully built than Stan. His build and height compensated for the age difference. Besides, in his late fifties, Walter wasn’t too old to be formidable.

“Where is it?”

Stan knew when to back off a bit. “It’s in that cinderblock garage, way off to the side, almost down by the
road. All overgrown and filled in with dirt from the rise behind it that washed down.”

I stepped onto the porch. “Hi, Stan,” I said, as if the little e
pisode with the book on the bus never happened. “Walter’s buying property from me and he plans to move the tank there. I came to see it, too.”

Stan looked at me for a nanosecond, but said nothing, not even hello as Walter held the door for me. Tension as thick as the haze of cigarette smoke that swirled around the room filled the air.

Both men went into the kitchen, Zeus gamboling around them, ready for high adventure, me following as if I’d been invited.

Stan paused at the back door. “The tank is over that way, almost back down by the road.” He pointed. “But it’s easier to get to it this way. Buster made a tote road through the woods.”

Zeus’s nails clicked double-time as he pranced faster, eager to be on his way.

“If I recall it’s less than a
klick away. His tank is now my tank. Let’s go,” Walter said, the tone of his voice mirroring Zeus’s impatience. “You weren’t busy, were you, Stan? I want to see it, see what shape it’s in.”

“Never too busy for one of Uncle Buster’s old friends, but like I said,
he gave me the tank.”

Walter ignored that.
I wondered why Stan even consented to show the tank to Walter.

I followed them out the door. After a few normal steps, I went down on one knee with a groan, and purposely knocked a yellow flag askew as if I’d tripped over it, my acting ability definitely qualifying as Oscar material. Both men turned. Stan’s expression never changed. This was old hat for him. He’d witnessed my tumbling spectacle on the bus.

I added a wince. Walter offered me a hand, and I waved him off as I jammed the flagstick back in the ground.

“Don’t worry about that,” Stan said to me. “We’re not doing the extension. We have to pull all those flags out.”

“You all right?” Walter asked, his concern evident in his voice and his expression.

“Fine,” I grunted. “It’s just a little twist. But I don’t want to go trekking through the woods. I’ll see the tank another time.”

“You sure you don’t need medical attention?” Walter asked.

“Absolutely positive. Go ahead without me,” I said,
“I’ll wait in my truck until you get back. Then, I have to go visit Vivian.”

I limped back inside and moved from sight until I was certain they were safely away. I wished I’d asked how far a klick was. Oh, well. Spilt milk. Let’s see. A mile? No, then he’d have said a mile. Maybe a little more or a little less. Why do people do things like this? They make life more complicated.

I checked my watch, allotted ten minutes, and set about searching for the laptop.

Moving quickly, I began in the living room. I was methodical, checking high areas and working my way down to floor level, crawling around to check under couch and chairs. Nothing but dirt and dust, candy
wrappers and dirty paper plates. In the kitchen I opened every cabinet, checked the refrigerator—peanut butter, beer, two slices of congealed cheese pizza on a paper plate and, in the vegetable bin, one dirty sock and two apples. I didn’t want to think about why the sock was there.
Eeew.

In a bedroom with clothing covering every inch of floor, the only thing I noticed was the mate to the refrigerated sock and the shirt Stan
wore when he drove the bus to the lake. The clothes gave off a faint smell of aftershave or men’s cologne that was familiar.

The l
ast bedroom, the one Buster died in, was probably Lenny’s. It was neater, but not by much. Most of the clothes were piled on a chair or the closet floor. Evidently, these guys didn’t subscribe to the clothes hanger concept. I noticed the same cologne smell. They must sell that stuff by the gallon.

The tower computer on the desk trumped the mess and drew my attention like a beacon on a foggy night. It was in screensaver mode with playing cards flipping and spinning across the screen in random patterns. I was tempted to touch the keyboard. I wondered whether Stan had been in here playing. Maybe he liked solitaire or spider solitaire?

When Lenny was working in the dentist’s office I’d seen cards on the screen, too. I thought Lenny was the card player, but maybe both of them were into it.

If I touched the keyboard I might see the last site either man was on, but there was also the possibility that the home page would come up. Either way, I’d lose because the chance of discovery multiplied with the slightest touch. I’d have to come back.

I knew that Lenny was a computer nerd, but I hadn’t known that Stan knew much about computers. Maybe he didn’t. I was guessing.

I checked my watch. Four minutes to go according to my self-imposed time limit. I ran into the bathroom, looked around, opened the cabinet above the sink, saw nothing that didn’t belong. I glanced out the window. So far, so good. I raced to the basement. Dust city. What a mess. Spinning around, I took it all in. Carton boxes and other junk piled every which way. No labeled boxes. Surprise, surprise. I had the feeling the laptop wasn’t here.

What had I missed?

Without checking my baby blue Invicta Angel watch that I bought because it was on my color palette and an exact match for my eyes, I knew it was time to leave. My foot was on the bottom step when I heard Uncle Walter yell, “Don’t hand me that crap.”

Oh, God, no. They were back so soon. I raced to a closet behind the stairs and tripped into a laundry basket. It toppled over and I went crashing to the floor like a pile of … old shoes? The basket was filled with shoes, most with an offensive foot odor. Working quickly, I righted the basket, scooped up the shoes, and held perfectly still.

No one came for several minutes so I stepped out of the
closet, and listened. Their voices came from the front porch. Frantic, I gazed around and saw one window in the rear of the basement. I grabbed an old chair and dragged it over.