Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (20 page)

Once up, I lifted the window, latched it onto a small hook on the ceiling beam, and heaved myself up. Not an easy thing to do. I scratched my arm and banged my shin, the same one I’d skinned on the bus steps. I wiggled through the window, thinking of the mess I was making of my
freshly cleaned,
belted thigh-length red Burberry rain jacket with the gunflap, stand-up collar and drawstring hood.

Breathing hard, I flopped out the window and landed in the dirt. I rolled. After taking a few seconds to orient myself, I reached in
to unhook the window. Fast action on my part kept me from tumbling back into the basement. There was a price to pay though. The window slammed down on my fingers. I gave a quiet yelp.

Re-hooking the window was not an option. Stan or Lenny might figure out that I’d been in their basement, but it couldn’t be helped.

I could hear the men out front. I peered around the corner of the house, listened, and sedately walked out with a little limp, which was no longer fake since my shin hurt. Head held high, I stood next to Ce-Ce, innocence personified.

Both men stared. I smiled at them. When I said nothing they went back to arguing.

“Look,” Stan said, “we didn’t hear nothing about you getting the tank. Honest. I swear we didn’t. The damn thing probably won’t start after all these years anyways. It’s been a long time.”

Stan lifted his shoulders in a state-of-the-art shrug that said ‘who knows.’

“Too bad we couldn’t get the top open and look inside.”

Walter said, “
It looked to me like someone had been working on it. I smelled oil. I think I smelled gas, too.”

“
I did open up the garage to look at it. You know that. But working on it? Nah. That’s the smell those things always have, isn’t it?”

“Not after all this time. Next time I come over, I’ll be prepared to work on it. In the meantime
, I want my coin collection. Where is that?”

“That’s for me and Lenny, too. Buster said so. The will leaves us everything in th
e house and on the property.”

Lenny
took a step back as if he needed distance to protect himself, and that’s when I saw the change in his demeanor. He wasn’t stepping back out of fear, he was revving up.

Bravado
replaced his former amenability.

Heavyset Stan yanked on his sagging pants and took a stand. “Nothing here is yours, Walter. So don’t come looking again unless you want to buy the tank. We’d be open to that. Give you a good price.”

Walter looked ready to throw a punch. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t think I won’t.” He stepped forward and poked Stan in the chest as he spoke. “You’re a lying—”

“Get your hands off me,” Stan said, shoving the finger aside, and giving Walter a
push.

Walter was surprised. So was I.

I stepped up to the plate before this turned into a brawl. “Have you found that laptop yet, Stan?” I asked, hobbling forward. “I mentioned it to your brother.”

Walter looked relieved. I think his bravado only extended so far. Stan looked unaffected, as if he could easily take this further if necessary.

“Nope. It’s not around here. Guess we woulda found it by now.”

I believed the part about it not being around here. Stan would not have left so easily if he thought there was any chance I would have access to that laptop.

Walter approached me, his eyes shooting daggers.

“So you couldn’t get into the tank?” I asked, ignoring the anger.

“Turret hatch is jammed. We’ll have to work on it. I’ll be back.”

“First, you’ll need proof that the tank and coin collection belong to you,” Stan called to him.

“We’ll see about that.”

Walter started to walk back
to Stan and I grabbed his arm to distract him. “How far is a klick?”

“One kilometer or one thousand meters.”

“Kilometers. Hunh. I do miles.” I headed back toward Ce-Ce, hoping he’d follow.

“Well then, a bit more than half a mile. Six-tenths of a mile if you’re into fractions,” he said, walking beside me.

He opened Ce-Ce’s door for me.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“No place special. Just around.”

He nodded and looked down at the stain on my sleeve, but didn’t comment.

“You going to visit Vivian?” he asked.

“Yes, I think I will.”

Zeus came charging over and Walter’s hand went to his head. “He’s hungry. I’d better get home and feed him.”

“
You don’t use Humdrill dog food, do you?”

“Are you kidding? I love Zeus.”

“Good. Big recall on that stuff.”

TWENTY-SIX

The dogs in the pen carried on like their territory was being invaded—jumping and yapping. They should recognize me. The noise brought Vivian to the door, and made me wish I were somewhere else.

She was all apologies about not being home the last time I’d come.

“Vivian, I have a few questions and I need honest answers. Now,” I said, not interested in her apologies.

“I’m always honest with you, Nora.”

I was not about to expound on my reasons for doubting that. I explained that I had been at Buster’s house with Walter and thought I’d drop by and see if she were home.

I followed her inside and walked smack into a wide beam of late afternoon sunlight slanting through the front window. Millions of dust motes and animal hairs shifted and eddied around me. I was in the vortex of mild activity. It was one thing to know these particles were present, another to se
e them live and on the offense.

“Have you made progress in your investigation? Who murdered Buster?”

I mentally battled my way out of the swirling particle storm, ignored her question, and came to the point immediately.

“Vivian, I need to know your relationship to Buster and his nephews. Tell me everything. Now. Or I can’t help you.”

“Well … I … Shall we sit?”

I wasn’t dressed for sitting in Vivian’s house unless I removed my red rain jacket, but that would present another problem, like where to put the jacket. Every surface was laden with animal hair and dust.

“No. I’d prefer to stand. Actually, I’d like to see your plant room.”

“Okay. Fine.
The garden room.”

She led me through the kitchen, past the huge bags of dog food. I checked the brand. Hum
drill’s. She still had a lot left.

A tabby slinked along the counter, paused, eyed me suspiciously, and visually tracked my progress th
rough the room. Eyes forward, I pretended not to notice, but I do have peripheral vision, so I knew that feline was eyeing me until we exited the kitchen.

I sneezed six times.

Vivian handed me a box of tissues.

The garden room was a surprise, bright and open with a high ceiling and two skylights that allowed morning and afternoon sun despite the surrounding trees. It was filled with plants, like a greenhouse. I’d never ventured back here when I fed the Poms. The floral scents were a pleasant surprise.

They brought me back to the scent I’d noticed in
the nephews’ bedrooms, not that anything here was similar. It wasn’t. In the bedroom I caught a hint of men’s aftershave, something cloying. I smiled and inhaled the fragrant flowers, knowing for certain that either Stan or Lenny was hiding something important. It might not be murder. I couldn’t draw that conclusion yet, but it was important.

High-stalked lavender plants and pink cone-shaped flowers that resembled daisies dominated the center section of this room. Along the sides were tall spikes with purple clusters of bell-shaped flowers.

“Foxglove,” Vivian said, nodding to indicate the purple-clustered spikes.

“The source of digitalis?” I asked.

Prefacing her answer with a dramatic sigh, she said, “Yes.”

How convenient it had been to set this woman up to take the fall. The pieces fit perfectly—the ongoing war with the victim; the access to, and knowledge of, the murder weapon; the
cracked cup with her fingerprints, the phone call that never came. Each piece of evidence had sunk her deeper into the hole. I had a strong feeling, as if someone tapped me on the shoulder and pointed it out, that the phone calls were key. I didn’t know how, but I would figure it out.

T
he more I knew about Vivian the suspect, the closer I’d be to finding the real murderer.

“Tell me about your relationship with Buster Verney.”

“I told you.”

“Tell me more,” I said
brusquely. “All of it. Was there a time you were interested in him? Romantically.”

She gave me a sharp look. “Yes. But that didn’t amount to anything.” She hesitated, watching me warily. “It sounds like you already know this.”

Without revealing Rhonda’s name, I told her what I’d heard, then waited for her to contradict me. She didn’t, so I went on. “How friendly were you with the family? With the nephews?”

“That’s going back a lot of years. More than ten for the nephews.”

“You haven’t seen them in over ten years?”

“Well, no. They came when my husband died. That was two years ago. Since then I see them off and on. Stan’s plowed the driveway for me. I have a plow, but using it makes me nervous.”

“So they came during the time you were having a row with Buster?”

“Once in a while. Not much.”

“What reason other than to plow?”

“About a year ago Stan came over to get flowers for his girlfriend and I let him pick enough for a bouquet. I even helped him choose some.”

“Was foxglove in the mix?”

“Probably, but I can’t say for sure.”

Stan with the hair in his eyes had a girlfriend?

“And Lenny?”

“He’s wonderful. He helped me when my computer crashed last year. I ran into him in the pharmacy and asked him. Good kid. He had it up and running in a few hours.”

“Were either of the nephews alone in your house at any time.”

She smirked at me. “I’m not one to look over someone’s shoulder when they’re working here. I trust those boys.”

I didn’t.

“Who else knew about your garden?”

“Most everyone in town. Some of the pictures I took of my flowers are posted in the Country Store by the seed packet section. I sell seed packets there. And I’ve made dried flower arrangements that I sell at the high school Christmas Fair.”

“You sell foxglove seed packets?”

“Sh-ur.”

On the way out I stopped at the bags of dog food. “Vivian, there’s one other thing I came here to talk to you about. This Humdrill. How long have you had it?”

“A few months. I buy several
bags at a time. I’m down to two.”

“
There was a recall. You need to check these bags.”

“Recall
?” she said, a look of horror on her face. “You mean I could have poisoned my own dogs?”

“I’m not sure.
Have a sample tested. According to what I read, it’s been cleaned up but there were some cases of bad food.”

It was foolish to be nervous before a dance at my age.

Foolish to be nervous.

Foolish to be nervous.

I repeated the mantra when I was taking my shower, when I was adjusting my ecru lace bra, and as I was pressing the pearl covered snaps closed on my white shirt. I liked this blouse. The white embroidery on the yoke, front and back, was a step out for me.

The mantra got another go-round as I adjusted my denim skirt that hit just above the knee, and again as I buckled the crystal rhinestone-studded black belt with the oval crystal buckle.

For the city, this would be a mistake, but Aunt Hannah had shown me pictures of the Harvest Dance from other years and this was definitely the way to go.

Last, and bravest move of all, I put on the boots, black leather with a white inlaid scroll design and Western heels. Me, in Western heels. Who would believe it?

Once attired, I danced around the room, stomping my feet here and there for effect as I hummed and dee-dee-dummed “Elvira.”

“Nora.
You about ready? Hannah just drove up,” Aunt Ida called from the bottom of the stairs.

Smiling, happy to be going to the Harvest Dance, delighted that I would be with family, and over the moon that Nick would be there and we’d dance, I grabbed my coat and my bag with the cameras and bounded down. I planned to take photos of the aunts dancing, and maybe a few other things.

“I hope you told the other senior citizen dancers that I’d give them each a copy of the movie and some photos,” I said.

“They all know and they’re excited about it,” Ida said as she put on her coat.

Tonight would be a perfect night. Tonight I would not think about who murdered Buster Verney. Tonight was for fun.

The Community Center was alive with people and music. It seemed like the whole town had turned out. Family and friends greeted us and the aunts settled in at one of
the round tables the family claimed. I sat beside Ida.

Everyone was in a party mood and most were festively dressed, Ida in her best polyester pants suit with the
coordinating lavender and green print blouse, Agnes in a long black skirt and print blouse with the pumpkin motif, and Hannah in a red satin dress with a purple scarf flung around her neck. Others simply wore jeans and sweaters or T-shirts.

I scanned the room. The decorating committee had been hard at work. Scarecrows, pumpkins and hay sacks were artfully placed. Every table had a jug of apple
cider. My gaze locked on Arianna Renzo and the attractive woman with waist-length dark hair who chatted animatedly with her. This was a different Arianna, all smiles, her face lit up like a Broadway marquee. One might even go so far as to say she looked … bubbly.

“Ida, do you know the woman talking with Arianna?” I asked, tipping my head in their direction. “Her back is to us.”

One glance and Ida’s expression morphed from happy to hostile in an instant.

“Well? Can you tell?”

“I can.”

I waited. When she continued to stare without elaborating, I broke into her trance. “And she is?”

“That would be Crystal Bruderinski.”

“And she is?”

“Nick Renzo’s former fiancée,” she said as the woman turned in our direction.

“Oh.”

I sounded calm. I was calm. It was none of my concern. Made no difference to me that Nick’s former fiancée, and evidently Arianna’s favorite person in the whole wide world, was back in these Maine woods, chatting it up with a woman who disliked me immensely from day one.

I had better things to do than stare at Nick’s ex, who was probably a lovely woman. I’d probably like her. Maybe we’d become friends. Who knew about these things? Stranger things happen every day.

The recorded music stopped and a local band began to set up on the small stage. More Lassiters arrived. I stood and made the rounds, greeting them with a big smile pasted on my face. Aunt Ellie had come out for the first time since her husband, my father’s brother JT, had been arrested. He was in jail awaiting trial. No one mentioned it. Mainers were private people.

The uncles who sat around the pot-belly stove at the Country Store discussing the news and how to fix what was wrong with the world were in high spirits. They must have solved some international crisis.

By the time I got around to greeting them and the assorted aunts and cousins who arrived, I couldn’t control my wandering gaze. It shot to Arianna. The woman’s state of euphoria hadn’t abated. Amazing.

I saw Nick approach them. I tried to look away, but the train-wreck syndrome kicked in and I was unable to gain custody of my eyes. Since I hadn’t spoken to him today, I didn’t know whether he’d seen his erstwhile fiancée before this very moment, or had even known she was back in town. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have mentioned it to me.

He looked wonderful, really sharp, in perfectly fitted jeans and a crisp taupe button-down shirt, his dark hair curling slightly above the collar.

With his back to me, I couldn’t see the expression on his face as he greeted the former love of his life with a kiss on the cheek. Arianna’s joy seemed to know no bounds. I suspected she wanted to clap, or sing. Mimicking her joy, I mentally burst into song.
The hills are alive…

My head tilted, my shoulders swayed, my arms began to swing as I silently mimed the words, a skill I’d mastered as a kid to keep peace with my mother, who told me many times that I should keep quiet. She abhorred my singing. If I were a soprano it might have been different. I think it was just that she didn’t like the mid-alto range.

Feeling the music, I twirled around, and bumped smack into one of the suspects, Ray Racanelli.

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry.” And so clumsy.

“No harm done,” he said graciously, stepping back into the safety zone. Beside him, Rhonda said, “Hello, Nora. Good to see you.”

“Rhonda. Hello.”

We chatted about inconsequential things as I poked around in my bag. With the band almost set up, I wanted to be ready with my cameras.

I glanced up as Vivian came in, and quickly scanned the room. Only a few seemed to react to her presence, mostly with smirks, some with whispers. The one notable exception was Ray Racanelli. He made eye contact with her and there was not a trace of malice in his gaze. He looked away slowly. Interesting.

The local band played a few notes, the microphones tooted and screeched, sending out a stream of static that put everyone on notice. Minutes later, with mikes adjusted, the opening barrage sounded and the inhabitants of Silver Stream took to the floor. The Harvest Dance had officially begun.

It was difficult to be heard, so we were quiet for a while. When there was a lull, I leaned toward Rhonda and whispered, “Did you ever buy Buster a gift?”

The question caught her off guard and her gaze shot to Ray who was chatting with friends. Warily, she glanced back at me. I wasn’t sure she’d answer, but she finally said, “A leather case for his laptop. I wanted him to have a good one.”

I nodded.