Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (21 page)

“Is that important?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Do you know where it is? Have you seen it lately?”

“No. Lenny probably has it.”

“Rhonda.” I hesitated, looked around to make sure no one was listening, and asked softly, “If Ray knows, do you think he would ever
… take it out on you?”

There, I’d said it. Ever since she’d told me about her son, I’d wondered whether she was afraid of Ray.

“I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure. He’s not a violent man.”

Ray returned and they took seats at a table with the
dentist who was with Margaret the librarian. I thought they made a good match.

Stan came in with a woman, which surprised me. So did his hair. Evidently he’d found a comb and it came with a book of directions. Lenny arrived with a girl and two men. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought they were the same men I’d seen at his house, the guys from the woods. I watched the woman to see if she might be Lenny’s girlfriend, but she took the arm of the tattooed guy to her left.

Disguising my intent with smiles and chatty remarks to the uncles, I shifted, positioning myself for a clearer view of the nephews.

“Hi, beautiful,” Nick said in my ear.

I jumped, but not much. I hadn’t seen him slip up behind me. Unbidden, came the thought that he must have greeted Crystal the same way when they were engaged.

Suddenly annoyed with the petty bent of my thoughts, I made a conscious decision not to allow these feelings to occupy space in my head. After all, Nick Renzo and I were not in a relationship, and I’d better remember that.

Turning, I smiled up at him, genuinely happy to see him.

“Flatterer,” I said. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“For the record, I don’t say that to all the girls.” He glanced around, meaningfully. “Just some.”

“You’re a paragon to be emulated, for sure.”

He looked in the direction of the lovely Crystal. “My ex is here. At my mother’s table. I know you noticed.”

Nick was a man who got right to the point.

“Back for good?”

“Not sure. She said living in a city was not as great as she expected. She missed Maine.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“You mean
… about her?”

I didn’t bother to reply. He knew exactly what I meant.

He took my hand and led me through the maze of people and tables. I could feel folks watching us, but didn’t care. On the outside steps, he came right to the point, again.

“You know how someone says ‘Let’s be friends’ when a relationship hits the rocks? Both people know it’s a save-face attempt to blunt the pain of the breakup.”

“Crystal wanted to be your friend?”

“She did.”

“And?”

“I said no. I didn’t want it then, and I sure as hell don’t want it now. And just to be perfectly clear, I do not want to get back together with her either. I’ve never talked about this to you, or to anyone else for that matter, but her leaving was a blessing for me.”

“I thought it was a nasty shock.”

“Both. When I got over the shock part—and don’t misunderstand, that took a while and it wasn’t easy—I realized that I’d dodged the bullet, avoided making a huge mistake. She was not who I thought she was. Seeing her again brought back no warm fuzzy feelings, no desire to rekindle something I’d lost.”

“She’s attractive.”

“She is.”

“Her hair is beautiful.

“And very long.”

“Your mother—“

“Will be very disappointed,” he interrupted, “when she finally accepts the truth of it. She’s friends with Crystal’s mother.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

He put two fingers over my mouth. “Don’t say anything. We both know where we stand. You’re going back to New York City. I’m staying in Maine. I care about you, a lot, and I wish you were staying, but I respect your choice.”

He paused and nodded to several people entering the hall.

“There are times when I think I should stay away from you,” he said. ”But what fun would that be?”

“Ditto, me.”

“I guess I’m just weak,” he said, looking serious, his
focus back on me, “where you’re concerned. ”

If hearts were capable of flipping without being physically damaged, I guess you could say mine did some major flipping. But I’m a New York woman and some
where along the way caution seeped deep into my soul. It kept me silent in the face of this emotional onslaught. I wanted to say so much, but I remained silent.

Nick is nothing if not a quick study when it comes to people so when the music drifting from the hall of the Community Center became loud and bouncy, he shifted the mood. “Want to dance?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Taking my hand, he headed into the hall. “We’re good, then?”

“We are.”

My smile widened when I
recognized the opening strains of “Elvira.”

“Can’t dance yet. I have to run,” I said, turning toward the door. “I’m filming the senior citizen’s dance. Come watch them.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Camcorder in hand and the heavy Canon with the special lens dangling around my neck, I settled on the best angle as the seniors lined up on the dance floor. Other folks gathered too, but Hannah waved them away as the band leader, a guitarist, announced, “The Silver Stream Senior Citizens will now present their interpretation of the electric slide.”

A few eyebrows shot up and
one woman who obviously wanted to dance began to protest and was led off by a friend. I captured it all with my camcorder.

Aunt Agnes jockeyed for position in the front row, then began her warm-up exercises which consisted of shuffling her feet, flailing her arms and bending a bit from the waist.

The lead guitarist watched her with interest and nodded to the band when she wound down. Then the music began in earnest.

Elvira, Elvira.

Step and tap, shuffle and slide. They were off and doing well. Ida was a big surprise, really into it, tossing her shoulders in time with the music. Petite Hannah was a star, in perfect sync, light on her feet, every step precise, displaying the form that won dance contests. Agnes … well, Agnes enjoyed herself immensely, stepping and clapping, turning and tapping, sometimes with the rest of the group, sometimes not so much. But it didn’t seem to matter, except when she bumped into Ida or Hannah, who simply moved farther away to accommodate.

I left my chosen spot and captured the scene from different angles, walking around the hall to include all the participants in the movie. When the last notes sounded, the room went wild. Well, sort of wild. Some clapping and yahooing occurred.

The Silver Stream Senior Citizens were a hit.

The dancers were pleased as can be—Ida grinning and flushed as she walked off the floor, Hannah brandishing her scarf in that theatrical way of hers, and Agnes bowing to the audience.

I joined them, gave each a hug and went back to filming, catching every poignant moment from every angle so they could watch and savor later.

The band switched to a slow number with their female singer taking the lead on a romantic song made famous by Shania Twain,
“From This Moment On.” I saw Nick heading in my direction, and I smiled. I’d anticipated dancing with him since I first heard about the Harvest Dance, and it was finally going to happen.

Then my peripheral vision picked up a danger signal,
a woman with a long, gray braid and full length faded denim skirt hurrying over.

Mary Fran
joined the Lassiter clan and spotted Mama Bear, too.

“Incoming. Incoming,” she s
aid in my ear. “Hostile forces at your 2:00 o’clock.”

“I see.”

“I’ve gotta watch this,” she said.

Arianna’s attempt to head her son off at the pass was not as successful as she probably intended. They both arrived a few feet from me at the same time.

“Nicky, darling.”

She paused when she saw me, as if she hadn’t noticed me before this very second. “Hello, Nora. How are you this evening?”

“Hello, Arianna. Good to see you again,” I lied.

Am I polite or what? I even smiled.

Arianna smiled back, graciously, and greeted Mary Fran. To Nick, she said, “Crystal’s father wants to talk to you, something about a business problem. He’s worried. He said he started to talk to you about it earlier and was interrupted. Can you come over for a few minutes? He has to leave soon, and I told him you’d see him now.”

She threw her hands out in a helpless gesture. “Please forgive me for being presumptuous, but I thought you’d want to talk to him before he left.”

“He can wait. I promised this dance to Nora.”

My heart soared.
The Shania impersonator put her heart into the song, feeling the words and the music.

Right beside you
…

Arianna turned to me, an imploring look on her face. I could see the lie before it spilled from her lips. I wondered if Nick saw what I saw. He must.

“Nora, be a sweetheart and forgo a dance this one time. Please. Nick will be right back, I promise.” The supplicant touched my arm lightly.

I was about the say, “Fine” when Nick put his arm around me and said to his mother, “If it’s that important, he’ll stick around a few minutes.”

Next thing I knew we were on the dance floor and I was in his arms.

I wanted to sing along, but decided not to. I wanted to talk, but sensed he did not. I wanted to hold him, and knew beyond a doubt that was what we both needed right now. So we held each other and made the rhythm of the music our rhythm. For a few precious moments we blocked out the people around us and lived in our own private world, like we had
at the lake.

Life grants people
few perfect moments. I will always count this dance as one of mine, regardless of the twists and turns our relationship takes.

I felt at ease in Nick’s embrace, hands joined, bodies touching, mind at peace. As a gift to myself, I accepted the moment without analyzing, without questioning. I simply let it be.

Reality stepped in on the last turn as I glimpsed Crystal looking our way. Her face mirrored her thoughts. I knew, as clearly as if it were painted on a forty-foot billboard in Times Square, that she wanted him back. I suspected she regretted her move. I didn’t know how any of this would work out. But I understood one thing.

It was Nick’s call.

I would not stand in the way or try to influence him.

Stan left his date sitting alone at the table and went out the front door for a cigarette. I saw him take the pack out of his breast pocket as he was walking. What was odd, was that the smokers seemed to congregate around the back of the building. Maybe Stan wanted to be alone. I didn’t really believe that, but what did I know.

Next thing, the two guys who came with Lenny got up and went out the front door, too.

Sometimes when I know I shouldn’t do something, I’m so pulled in that direction I almost can’t stop myself from acting. I try to resist. It doesn’t help. I try some more. It’s no use. I take a step, then another and another and the internal struggle becomes a memory.

When Lenny went to the bar for another beer and his back was turned, I headed for the front door. Since the ladies’ room was that way, no one thought much of it. I paused in front of the door with the symbol of a woman on it. After a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, at least that I noticed, I continued out the front door and slipped to the side of the building, keeping in the shadows.

Down a ways from the Community Center I spotted three figures beneath the weeping arms of the beech tree that grew near the church. I couldn’t hear, so I crept closer. And closer still. Snatches of conversation drifted out.

“ … tire … smashed that sucker.”

Low laughter.

“ …
driveway … no trace
.”

I wondered what had been
destroyed. I strained to hear more. It didn’t take an ace investigator to figure these guys were up to no good. Whether it was murder or not, remained to be seen.

I heard branches colliding and leaves rustling. Meeting adjourned.
That was quick. They were on the move, coming my way.

I turned to run, caught the toe of my boot on an exposed root, and stumbled. An unexpected
yaagaaa
escaped my locked lips. With superhuman effort I managed the momentum, preventing a catastrophic ass over teakettle somersault which would have drawn kudos from my high school phys-ed teacher, but would have left me in a vulnerable heap on the ground. I ended up on my right knee with my left hand splayed in the gravel alongside the root.

At times like this my imagination tends to run amok. They were going to find me. Snatch me up, throw me in some dingy van and ferry me away. They would either shoot me or force me to drink foxglove-digitalis juice, and leave my body in the woods for the animals to feast on. A vegetarian moose might trample me, just out of spite.

I glanced at the beech tree, a dark flowing silhouette against a fat moon, a harvest moon I think it’s called. The idea that I might never know what it was called caught me by surprise. What, exactly, was a harvest moon? I wanted to know with a desperation that was bewildering. Harvest moon, hunter’s moon, full moon. Life was full of mysteries about the moon.

The aunts
saw Buster and Rhonda in a lovers’ embrace under this very tree. Their love may have set everything in motion and ultimately caused Buster’s death. Or maybe it began many years before with a teenage nephew or two, or even years before that with the conception of a son.

“Yeah, I heard it,” one of the guys said.

I swallowed hard. This would never do. This was like giving up, and I never did that. Since staying on my knees and waiting to be accosted was not an option, I reached into the front compartment of my pocketbook—I always keep my keys there—and yanked out Ce-Ce’s chain. A small flat flashlight the size of my thumb dangled from the chain. Pointing it down, I pressed the pressure switch and a super bright LED flashed.

I held it up and pointed in the direction of the boot sounds. “Who’s there?” I called in a brash voice that signaled I might be an annoyed woman possessing ninja skills.

“What’re you doing down there?” one of Stan’s buddies asked.

I stood up, keeping my scraped, possibly bleeding, knee in shadow. “I was planning to have a cigarette and I didn’t want anyone to see me. I’m a reformed smoker. And if you tell a soul, I’ll come after you.” I flashed the light from one face to the other. “You’ll regret it.”

All three stepped closer. That’s when I caught a whiff of that atrocious aftershave or cologne that I’d smelled on the cloth in the woods and on the dirty clothes in the bedrooms. Stan and Lenny must share the jug.

“I know her
,” Stan said, angling his head and squinting in the bright light I flashed in his direction. “She’s that foreigner. The Lassiter foreigner who keeps showing up. Like at my house with Walter and on my bus.”

“You are correct. I am from New York, an alien territory if ever there was one.”

“Aren’t you a de—“

“I’ve decided not to have that cigarette,” I interrupted before the word detective hit the air waves. Sometimes it’s good to be a detective, sometimes not. “You men smell of smoke and I don’t like it.” I skipped the part about the cheap cologne.

With that I strode off, shining my little light on the ground to prevent further tripping, and holding my breath, hoping I wouldn’t be grabbed from behind.