Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (2 page)

I continued on more slowly
until the smell from the bathroom slammed into me with the force of a well-swung baseball bat. Reeling, I gasped, but curiosity got the better of me and I stepped forward. Vomit all over the place.

With trepidation I looked toward the last room in the hall.

TWO

“Mister Verney,” I shrieked, hurrying in. “Are you all right?”

I froze a few feet fro
m the bed, knowing this man wouldn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and that he would never be all right.

Although I didn’t know what Buster looked like, I figured this
must be him, the same guy I’d spoken to yesterday to confirm our appointment. He’d sounded so robust. He looked robust, what with his military buzz cut and muscular build. He was in good shape. Except, I think he was dead.

His skin was a mask of faded parchment, his mouth slack, the drool still wet on his chin. I’m not an expert, not a physician or medical person, but some things are obvious. Without taking another step, I stared at his chest, looking for any whisper of movement. At times like this, I wish I were a braver person.

If I were an Emergency Medical Technician, for example, I might rush to him and try mouth to mouth. The thought made me gag.

Forcing myself to act, I walked to the bed and touched his bare arm with my index finger.

“Buster?” I squeaked, as I forced a few more fingers into action and searched for a pulse in his neck.

No answer. No pulse. His skin was warm. Almost warm. Strange. He must have died a very short time ago. Of
a heart attack? Whoever I’d seen running into the woods might have been the last person to see him alive.

Completely unnerved, I suddenly fled down the hall like a maniac, out the back door, around the house to my truck, grabbed the cell phone, dropped it, scooped it up, dropped it again, sat down in the dirt next to the truck, and hit Nick’s number on
my Favorites list, all the while looking around, super alert.

Had someone killed him, or had he died of natural causes? A murderer could be lurking. No, probably not. No marks or obvious wounds were evident. No blood. I hadn’t looked all that carefully, but still
…

I was breathing hard.

Mary Fran. Where had she disappeared to? Had someone gotten her?

“Silver Stream Sheriff’s Office. Nick Renzo speaking.”

“Nick.” I yelled. “Verney’s dead.”

“What?”

“You can’t hear me? I’m shouting. You should be hearing just fine. Buster Verney is dead in his bed.”

“You sure he’s dead?”

“Am I sure? Am I sure!” My voice went up an octave, into the soprano range. I’m normally an alto. Or at least a mid-alto, if there is such a thing. That’s where they placed me when I was in my high school music class. “Lassiter, go into the alto section. Stand at the end of a row, in back,” is what the chorus director said.

“Nick, read my lips,” I shouted into the phone. “The guy is dead. Maybe a heart attack. Something quiet. I mean he wasn’t shot or anything obvious that I could see. I touched him. He wasn’t too cold, but I’m not sure how cold a person has to be.”

I heard him giving orders in the background, something about an ambulance.

“Did you feel for a pulse? Check for breath?”

“He’s not breathing. At least, not noticeably. I don’t

think he has a pulse, but I’m not sure. I checked. Sort of. Who kno
ws whether I had the right spot?”

“Where are you?”

“Sitting in the dirt.”

“At Verney’s?”

“Yes, this is Verney’s dirt.”

“I’m leaving now. An ambulance is on the way. Do you know CPR?”

“No.” Oh, thank God for that.

“He’s got two nephews, Lenny and Stan. I’ll call them when I hang up. They may get there before me. But you should get out of there. Don’t wait for me, Nora. Just in case there was foul play and someone’s lurking around.”

“I’ll get in the truck and lock the door. Mary Fran’s with me. Actually, she’s not exactly here . Oh, wait, here she comes, running like a crazy woman.”

“Mary Fran?” he said. “Why on earth
? Never mind. Nora, leave now. I should have said that immediately. Please leave.”

“I saw him.” Mary Fran gasped, flopping down beside me like a puppet with the strings cut. “Omigod, Nora. He’s dead. Poor Buster. What happened to him?”

“Where’d you disappear to?” I asked.

“I
went to get something from my car, but when I heard you running, I ran back. Right in the front door. It wasn’t locked. I was going to rescue you.”

“Yeah, I bet.” I eyed her suspiciously. “Get what from the car?”

“My mints. I had a funny taste in my mouth.”

“Nora.” Nick roared from the cell phone propped on my thigh.

I put the phone to my ear again. “See you when you get here,” I said to Nick, smirking at Mary Fran, her with her dumb mint story.

I broke the connection. Mary Fran and I got in the truck and locked the doors. I knew Nick would arrive soon, and that made me feel safe enough. Of course, I wasn’t alone, which helped, but not a whole lot.

Mints, my ass.

I called Great
-Aunt Ida and told her what happened. She wanted me to come home.

“Out of harm’s way
, Nora. You never know if … ” She paused. “I have a better idea. I’ll call Hannah. You need reinforcements. We’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“No. Definitely not.”

I have three lovable, but nosy great-aunts in their eighties—Ida, who loves a mystery whether it’s in a crime novel, on one of her favorite crime shows, or in the world around her; Hannah who dresses flamboyantly in lots of reds and purples and likes to be in charge of everything; and Agnes, who is a few hundred pounds overweight, hard of hearing and seldom wears her hearing aid.

“No, Ida. Please don’t come,” I repeated. “The police are on their way.” I explained about waiting for Nick, and assured her I’d be home soon.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be a detective any more,” Ida said. “I’m sorry I ever started that rumor.”

“Don’t worry. Buster probably died of a heart attack. I’ll call you back when Nick and the ambulance arrive.” I hung up and we sat quietly for a few minutes.

“Mary Fran, what do you know about Buster? Do you think he would poison Vivian’s dogs?”

“I don’t think so. Nah. He was a
good guy. I heard gossip in Hot Heads Heaven but I never heard bad stuff about Buster, except he was cheap sometimes. Tight with money.”

Twenty-five minutes later the Silver Stream Sheriff’s SUV raced up the driveway and skidded to a stop in a shower of pebbles, Deputy Trimble at the wheel, Sheriff Nick Renzo
in the passenger seat. Deputy Miller, the hunk with the twitch in his eye, drove up behind them in the unmarked Ford Taurus that everyone in Silver Stream, past the age of five, knew was a police vehicle.

I got out of my truck on rubbery legs. Nick, bless him, was at my side in seconds. Tall, rugged Nick, who belongs in these woods, who is tough and gentle and caring, who could be my hero if I let him. If I let my guard down. But I’m not ready for a relationship and neither is he. Besides,
Silver Stream with its woods and wild animals is not my home. I am afraid of wild animals, and I get lost in the woods, on some of the roads, too. I belong in the city with exhaust fumes and blaring horns, taxi drivers and bulky bu
ses, and streets numbered in order.

“About time you got here,” Mary Fran complained.

“Mornin’ to you too, Mary Fran. I did hurry … but first I called Lenny and Stan and told them about their uncle before they found out on the news or from someone else.”

He put his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me to his side for a quick hug that made me feel better instantly, or
maybe it was just his presence.

“Take it easy,” he said.

“I’m good.”

“You shouldn’t have risked staying,” he said. “Or risked hanging up on me. I’m the sheriff, you know.”

His last words, meant to make me smile, were whispered in my ear and had the desired effect.

“I’m fine,” I lied, locking my rubbery knees into place.

“I know you are,” he lied back, giving me another squeeze.

Deputy Miller nodded and winked or twitched, it was hard to tell which, as he hurried by. Skinny Trimble with the pointy features in the oval face paused in his rush to the house, gave me a nod that included the once-over. Did he think I wouldn’t notice? I smirked at him and narrowed my eyes threateningly. Trimble took a step back
, then continued on.

“I’ll be right there,” Nick told Trimble as an ambulance rocketed up the driveway. “Let the EMTs check him, then secure the scene.”

Mary Fran followed the deputies into the house.

Nick slid his hand to my neck and pulled me to him again. I wanted to melt right into him, so I distracted myself by telling him, “I saw someone running away when I first got out of my truck. Don’t know who it was.”

“Man or woman?”

“Not sure.”

“Which way was the person running?”

“Just back.” I waved my hand in the general direction. “No special direction.”

“Southeast?”

I studied him a moment, annoyed.

“You think I know which way is south or east? Ask me Uptown or Downtown in New York City and I can point you in the right direction. South in these woods? East? I’d need a compass.”

“Of course. What was I thinking.” He kissed my temple and hurried off, calling, “Trimble. Cordon off the woods. No one goes back there.”

Cordon off the woods? The yellow tape. Cops overreact sometimes. Buster Verney probably died from a heart attack or a stroke.

Later, I’d tell him I thought I saw Vivian. Since I was working for her, I figured I owed her a certain loyalty. Not much though. I’d see what she had to say first. Maybe she wasn’t the person running away.

Mary Fran came bounding out of the house.

“See what I mean. Nothing like this ever happens in the beauty parlor. This is where it’s at. You have to hire me as your assistant. You have to.”

“Mary Fran, you don’t listen. I do not have another case. This was it. So I don’t need an assistant. Sorry about that.”

“Leave it to me.”

I shook my head. She could be so obstinate.

Nick ducked under the yellow police tape about ten minutes later.

“The EMTs think it was a heart attack. We’ll know more after an autopsy. He hasn’t been dead all that long.”

A snappy black truck with red and gold flame detailing shooting along the sides, flew up the driveway and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust beside the ambulance. Two men in their early thirties jumped out.

“Buster’s nephews,” Nick said, heading in their direction.

“Stan. Lenny. I’m so sorry about this.” Nick shook their hands. “This is Nora Lassiter. She was supposed to meet with your uncle this morning. She found the body.”

Lenny tipped his baseball hat with Boston Bruins imprinted in yellow on one side. He wore jeans that would have fit an elephant. If a guy favored an underwear display these were the perfect choice.

Stan ignored me, tossed his cigarette, and took off toward the house, his unbuttoned camouflage shirt ballooning around him as he wailed, “Uncle Buster, Uncle Buster.”

“Lenny, I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, my gaze shifting from him to chunky Stan who bulldozed past the deputy at the front door and disappeared inside. My heart should go out to both brothers. It didn’t, and I could not understand why. I usually have empathy for people. I cry at sad movies, happy ones, too, and although I keep it to myself, there are a few commercials that touch my heart.

Why the plight of these nephews left me feeling nothing, I’m not sure. They had just lost a relative. Was I being judgmental based on their appearance? If that were so, how shallow of me. Shaking the judgmental thoughts from my head, I stepped off to the side, and watched. From this angle I noticed that Lenny’s face seemed free of expression. Maybe it meant nothing, I thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt. People react differently to catastrophic events.

Nick moved away to talk on the radio.

Lenny leaned against his truck, seemingly at ease with the situation. I watched him carefully, studied his body language for signs of anxiety. His breathing was even, his body still. He reminded me a teenager trying to be cool. Whether this was an act or not, I had no idea.

Those judgmental thoughts rocketed back into my head and took another tour. Maybe he didn’t like his uncle. That would explain it. Lots of people didn’t like their relatives.

That made me think of Mom’s cousin. I could hear my mother’s scolding voice as clear as yesterday.

Nora, his new wife is a paragon, a wonderful woman, but as usual you jump to conclusions based on the shallowest of reasons. Just because she wore spike heels and a mink wrap? How absurd. How petty. You just met the woman
.

It was more than her shoes and wrap, although that’s the reason I’d given. I was a kid and couldn’t think of anything better. I didn’t understand gut feelings. A few years later, the paragon took him to the cleaners financially. It was hush, hush. My mother never said a word about it.