Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (24 page)

“Seems to me that you did most of the stirring. Cheating on your wife. Tricking Buster into leaving all those years ago?”

I moved closer. I wanted to make him angrier, get him to say more, perhaps incriminate himself. “How did you manage to trick him?”

“Didn’t take much. I doctored a little picture of Rhonda and me. When I showed it to him he went white as a dead man. I thought he was going to pass out.”

“Stay away from him, Nora,” Mary Fran called from the safety of the library door. “The guy is nuts.”

I glanced at her as Rhonda walked out dabbing at her face with a tissue. Margaret and two other library patrons filed out slowly, keeping close to the building. I heard a police siren around the corner. Trimble was on his way.

Rhonda stopped a few feet from her husband, like she was about to deliver a parting shot. Personally, I thought there wasn’t much that could top the encyclopedia to the testicles.

“Two things you should know, Ray. First, and maybe least important, I made the bedroom aesthetically pleasing so I could
tolerate
being in there with you.”

Okay, maybe I was wrong about the encyclopedia.

“And second, Steven knows you’re not his father,” she said with the force of a prize fighter delivering the knockout punch. “When I told him the truth, he was shocked. But after a while he came to me and said he was proud he was Buster’s son. Proud,” she said again, clearly, distinctly, her head held high.

Ray’s face seemed to collapse.

The second one definitely hurt more. I wasn’t sure whether it was true or not. She’d told me that Steven didn’t know. Either way, Ray would find out soon, but right now the man was crushed.

With that, Rhonda walked out of the parking lot and into the back entrance of the Country Store.

Looking like he’d been punched by the Hulk, Ray headed toward the pharmacy. I figured he’d get his car and go home. I wondered whether Rhonda was safe.

Mary Fran dashed over to my side. “I knew this wouldn’t be a dull day when you called back this morning.”

I headed into the Country Store, Mary Fran beside me. Rhonda wasn’t around. I needed to find her and ask one more question. I hurried down the center section past tackle boxes and tank tops, mini-figures and Milk Duds.

I spotted her in front of Hot Heads Heaven getting into her camp truck. I ran down the street as she made a U-turn. I waved my arms and yelled. Mary Fran followed, also waving her arms.

Next thing I knew Trimble passed us in a sheriff’s car heading back to the station house. He slowed and called, “Need help?”

“No, thanks.” He hesitated, so I added, “Keep an eye on Ray. He’s upset.”

I stopped at Rhonda’s door and she rolled down the window. Mary Fran stood beside me, listening.

“I know you’re upset, but please answer one more question. I have to know.”

Tears slid down her face. I felt rotten interfering with her hasty escape, but I asked anyway, “Did Walter know that Buster planned to use the coin collection money for the camp?”

“Yes, he knew. I was there when Buster told him.”

“He must have been disappointed. Angry even?”

“Yes. But he didn’t say much at the time.” She reached for another tissue and blew her nose. “About a week later Buster ran into him in town and Walter told him it was a mistake to throw away money like that. They had words.”

“So Walter was angry?”

“Definitely. He wanted the c
oin collection and the tank. He expected it.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“A few weeks before Buster was murdered. I don’t remember exactly.”

Time enough to set up the kill, I thought.

Rhonda blew her nose again and, hand shaking, reached for another tissue. “I have to go, Nora.”

As Buster’s lover and confidant, she knew the most so despite her distress, I persisted.

“And the nephews knew about Buster’s plans?” I asked.

“Yes.” Her fingers tapped an angry tattoo on the steering wheel. “Buster
began to mark off the area. They saw that. They’d been around his place a lot that last month. Buster was really angry with one of them. Don’t know what happened or who was involved. Buster wouldn’t tell me so I figured it was really bad.”

“Dammit, Rhonda,” I said before common sense kicked in and clamped my mouth shut. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

My hands gripped the edge of her door. She had to know this was important. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t mentioned it before. I touched her shoulder in apology. “I’ll talk to you another time, Rhonda,” I said gently.

I called Nick’s cell. He answered immediately.

“Hi, Nora. Trimble told me what happened in the library. I know there’s more, but I can’t talk now. I’m on stage in about three minutes. Don’t do anything. Promise.”

“Not to worry
. I don’t know what to do, Nick. All I know is that Ray or Walter or either of the nephews could have murdered Buster. Take your pick. They all had different reasons to want him dead, but the one thing they all had in common was their need for money. And they knew he had some.”

“And none have an iron-clad alibi. Gotta run, honey. I’ll be home tomorrow night or early the following morning, as soon as I can get out of here.”

“Ray used an altered an image of Rhonda and him. It was a way of lying. He made Buster believe something that wasn’t true. Buster took off because of it.”

“They’re announcing my name. I’ll call you back.”

“Time is running out.”

“What do you mean?”
he asked, his impatience evident.

“I’m not sure what I mean. It’s just a feeling.” I didn’t say it was like something creeping around inside of me.

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning. It’s going to be a late night. The Awards Dinner and… ”

I heard clapping in the background and a speaker announce, “A
nd from the Silver Stream Sheriff’s Office, Sheriff—”

The phone went dead.

Ray had tricked Buster by altering a photo, by making it seem like something other than what it was. I stared at my phone and realized it was possible to do the same thing with a phone. Make a caller seem like someone else. Hacking. Hoaxing. There was a name for it, but I couldn’t remember what it was.

The front door whooshed opened and the aunts filed in. “We heard what happened,” Ida said, hurrying over to me. “One of the Uncles called Hannah from the Country Store. Are you all right?”

“We heard people were throwing books and you were in the middle of it,” Hannah said.

“You didn’t knock anyone out
again, did you?” Agnes asked.

“No, nothing happened that involved me directly,” I said.

After hugs all around, each one took a seat and I recapped the library incident. They were stunned.

“Such goings on,” Hannah said.

“Poor Rhonda,” Ida said.

“Good for her,”
Agnes said.

THIRTY-TWO

Somewhere a cello was playing. Usually I liked the sound. Not now. Annoyed that Yo Yo Ma should bother me while I was snuggled under the warmest, coziest and best quilt in the whole world, I told the cellist to take a hike. Finally, he stopped and I rolled over, resettled and drifted off.

He didn’t give up.

He played again.

Really irritated, I grabbed my cell with the intention of turning it off when I saw that Uncle Walter was calling.
At quarter to five in the morning? Curious, I answered.

“Nora, I found something. Evidence. You’ve got to come,” Uncle Walter said in a hoarse voice. “Take pictures.”

Still groggy, but recovering fast, I sat up. “What evidence?”

“Stolen goods. Lots of stuff.”
He coughed.

“Did you call the sheriff’s office?”

“Not yet. I know Nick suspects me. This will clear me of any suspicion but Nick is away.” Walter cleared his throat and coughed before continuing in a rougher voice. “Miller is injured. Trimble’s incompetent and could mess this up. I need photos of everything before I call Trimble.”

“It’s dark out.”

“It’ll be light in a little over an hour.”

“Can’t this wait?”

It didn’t sound like Uncle Walter.

“If he sees me, I’m a dead man.”

“If who sees you?”

“Lenny.”
He paused for another coughing fit. “Please come. Please help clear me.”

“Where are you?”

“In the tank.”

I almost fell out of bed. “What?”

He had another coughing fit. When it eased, he said, “You know where it is?”

“Near the white birch
grove?“

“Yes.
I’ll meet you there. About half a mile before Lenny’s driveway.”

The hoarseness of his voice
raised red flags. Vivian mentioned Buster’s hoarse voice. Was this how it had gone down?

My
Caller ID indicated Walter, my recent insight into phone hoaxing screamed
Possible Killer
. I set a verbal trap. “How many klicks from the birch to the tank?” I asked.

‘
Walter’ suffered another coughing fit, then said, “I wish I had my own camera. I promise I’ll call the sheriff’s office as soon as you get here. That way you’ll be done before Trimble comes.”

His
answer was all the clue I needed. A murderer, not Uncle Walter, wanted me to meet him in the dark. I would not walk into that trap.

“Nick should know,
” I said, stalling while I considered how to handle this.

“If you tell anyone, that idiot Trimble will end up coming, and he’ll screw things up.”

“Well …” I hesitated, playing for time.

The killer jumped into the
silence. “Here’s what we can do,” he said. He coughed and spoke more hoarsely as he attempted to convince me, while I considered options. If I kept the mace handy and stayed close to Ce-Ce, I’d see who it was. Knowing I was dealing with a murderer gave me an advantage. My little palm camera had a camcorder with low light capability. I’d be able to record in almost complete darkness. I’d get the evidence needed, verbal and visual, then take off and call 911. If I called now, Trimble might scare him away. Just seeing a sheriff’s vehicle would be enough to send this killer into hiding.

I decided to go. I’d
find out the identity of the murderer without getting close.

I pulled on jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt, wool socks, the L.L. Bean duck hunting boots that I’d found in the tag sale bin, and finally, my latest purchase from L.L. Bean, a brand new, never before worn, dark mulberry heather, hip-length, Swift River button-front cardigan. I was mixing old with new.

Okay. I was good to go. I grabbed my white jacket with the hood.

Uncertain, nervous
about meeting a murderer even though I didn’t intend to get close and almost as nervous about driving in the dark, I fished out my keys. The flat flashlight on the keychain fell off. I picked it up and slipped it into my jeans’ pocket. I’d fix it later. I grabbed my camera bag and flashlight and headed for Ce-Ce. More than anything I wanted to tell Nick where I was and what I was doing. I should tell someone, but if I did they would try to stop me.

About forty minutes later, I pulled up
a short distance from Lenny’s house next to the white birch grove, thankful that I’d found the spot with so little trouble. I checked my watch in the dashboard light. Five-forty. Mace in one hand, camera in the other, I left my headlights on, got out and looked around. I stood by the door.

I didn’t like this one bit.
He said he would wait by the side of the road. I decided to leave. I opened the door to get back in the truck when the sound of coughing stopped me.

“Uncle Walter?”
I called, playing along.

“Come-on,” came the rough
, hoarse voice.

I turned in the direction of the voice and pressed record on my camera. I should have angled my headlights into the woods. All I could see was a dim light farther back. I slipped the mace into my pocket, grabbed my flashlight and
shifted it in a wide arc, looking for the murderer. Nothing. I took a few steps forward, then decided to leave. I spun around quickly.

“I’ll be right back. I l
eft the camera in the truck,” I said.

T
wo steps later my feet left the ground. I was airborne, and not in a good way. I landed with a hard thump, and was pressed belly-down into dirt and leaves by a big man. My camera and flashlight went flying. He pulled my arms back and wrapped a plastic cord around them, like handcuffs. With a ruthless yank I was on my feet, panting, in tears.

He checked my pockets, grunted, and took the mace.

“Move.” The voice was crystal clear without a touch of hoarseness. The shove was callous without a hint of deference. We moved toward the tank, me stumbling on downed twigs and debris, him with his hand on my back, pushing.

Ahead, a dull light dangled from the open turret of the tank.

With my eyes puddling up with tears and the woods so dark, it was hard to see. I tripped a few times. Strong hands kept me upright until we reached the open garage door. It was built into the side of a hill. Over the years dirt washed down on the roof and small trees flourished along with a perfusion of foliage. Without the light on the hatch, I never would have seen this. I glanced around and realized this would not be clearly visible even in the daylight.

Although Uncle Walter had been here.

When we reached a ladder next to the tank, the killer cut the handcuffs, yanked my arms in front of me and secured them again with new plastic. He was prepared.

“Up,” he ordered, placing my bound hands on the ladder.

“Why? What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer.

“I thought you were my uncle,” I said, my voice trembling as I tired to stall.

“Spoofing,” he said
, giving me a push.

Spoofing.
That was the word. “How do you do that?”

“
Get a spoof card. Ain’t technology great? I can call anyone and Caller ID shows any ID I want it to show.”

“So you
masquerade as someone else and disguise your voice. That’s how you killed your uncle? And fooled Vivian into coming over?” I asked slowly, ever so slowly, as I climber the ladder.

When I reached the top, m
y fears multiplied and I stopped. He prodded me to the edge of the opening.

“Yep. I
t was as easy as that.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked,
a small sob escaping as I stared into the dimly lit maw of the tank.

In answer, he pulled out a knife. I screamed. He cut the handcuffs and
a split second later jabbed the knife at my neck.

“Make one wrong move and I’ll slit you
r throat. You’re going in the tank. One way or another.”

He nudged me forward.

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” I crouched and lowed myself into the dank cave. My feet connected with the solid base and I buckled, twisting my left ankle painfully and banging my sore shin. “Talk to me, please. Tell me why you’re doing this.”

He towered above me like a giant in a children’s fairy tale.
Fee-fi-fo-fum
.

Hands on his hips, he said, “I’m gonna leave you here, Nora the detective. No one will find you. You’ll starve. Or suffocate. Or die of
dehydration. Don’t know which’ll come first.”

I couldn’t control my shaking limbs. Keep him talking, I thought. “Why did you kill
Buster?”

“I hated him. Old
tightwad wouldn’t lend me the money I needed to buy my own bus. He had plenty. And I woulda paid him back. He made fun of me for years, you know. In front of other people. Stan, Stan, the fatso man. He thought that was funny. Do you think it’s funny?”

“No. No, I don’t,”
I said quickly. “Rhonda told me that, and I felt sorry for you. Please tell me why you want to kill me?”

“Have to. You know too much. Lenny says you’re a meddler. I know you were in my basement. My refrigerator. You took my sock with the flash drive, didn’t you?”

“Please let me out. Please. It’s too small in here. I’m claustrophobic.”

“It’s eight feet tall. A five-guy crew could fit in here.” He knelt at the edge, stared down at me with calculating eyes. “Maybe we can make a bargain? You help me. I’ll help you.”

“Yes. I’ll help you. What do you want?” I spoke in a rush. Desperate, pathetic me, trying to bargain with a killer.

“Where did you put my sock with the thumb drive?”

Truly puzzled, I stared at the shifting shadows that scored his face. They were almost as frightening as he was.

“It’s in the refrigerator. I didn’t take it.”

He stood and stamped his feet on the metal tank. “Don’t lie to me.”

I covered my ears as he continued to pound. Suddenly, he dropped to the opening again. “Where is it?” he said fiercely. “Lie again and I’ll smash this cover down and seal it forever. You’ll die in here.”

I told him exactly what I’d done, hoping the truth would ring true and sway him. “I downloaded the documents onto my little computer. Then I put the flash drive back so you wouldn’t know I took it. That’s the truth. I swear it. If it’s not there, someone else took it.”

“Maybe Lenny
. He steals things all the time. He was even in your house. That’s how he makes money to pay his gambling debts. Uncle Buster found one of his goody bags in a tree a while back and threw a fit. But I didn’t think Lenny would want the flash drive. I’ll get it back.”

“My house?”

“Your aunt’s house. He knocked over a chair and you came running down with a golf club so he took off.”

“I didn’t see him.”

“He’s slippery as an eel.”

Did he help you kill your uncle?”

“Lenny?” Don’t be ridiculous. “He’s just a thief. One of the best.” Stan’s stare turned malevolent. “Where’s your computer?”

“Home.”

“Where at home?”

“I
… ”

“Last chance.”

I knew I should not tell him, but he held all the cards so I blurted, “On the table in the front room.”

Hope soared. Then
I saw him reach for the hatch cover and all hope was dashed.

“Don’t. Wait.” Panic rose up like a tsunami, drowning every other thought. I had to keep him here, had to keep the lid open. “I thought you cared about your uncle. You seemed so upset when you ran into the house the morning I found the body.”

“Had to plug the phone back in before the police noticed. Unplugged it so that ditz couldn’t call the cops when she found him.”

He was bragging.
To keep him talking, I said, “Yes, she told everyone the phone was dead. It seemed like a lie to the sheriff.”

He snickered. “
It was like the perfect storm. All it needed was me.”

My breath came in ragged gasps. “What do you mean by perfect storm?”

He took his hand off the hatch cover and leaned over. “I planned this a long time ago. Sort of. I stole the cup and the foxglove. And held onto it. I didn’t know what to do with it until Lenny and me got the call from Uncle Buster.  He ran on at the mouth about that stupid broad calling him. He tells us to bring supplies and set up stuff for the group he’s taking out. He tells me to bring tea. Bingo!” Stan laughed.

“
I surprised him and brought tea to the house. Early. Special tea, special delivery. With a bit of digitalis in it. I added lemon and sugar. He liked it.” Stan laughed again.