Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (4 page)

FOUR

“It happened about three years ago,” Hannah began, adjusting her scarf. “Agnes is right about that. It was before her gall bladder operation. I remember. We left our senior citizens’ meeting early because she suffered one of her acid reflux attacks.”

“I st
ill say it was that horrible fried chicken. Must have been soaked in fat,” Ida said.

Agnes nodded in agreement.

“We saw Buster kissing a woman outside the church after choir practice,” Hannah said.

“What fire was that? I don’t remember any fire.” Agnes shook her head. “Believe-you-me, I would have remembered that, gall bladder attack or not.”

“They were under the big weeping beech next to the church. Imagine. Doing that right next to the church. And his wife still alive,” Hannah said.

“Adultery. Near God’s house. It’s a wonder
the tree wasn’t struck by lightning and didn’t crash down on their heads,” Ida said. “They thought no one could see them, all those draping branches and leaves to hide them. We just happened along.”

“Did light
ning start the fire?” Agnes asked.

“Choir,” Hannah corrected. “Choir, not fire.”

“Maybe it was his wife?” I suggested.

“Oh, no. Not his wife,” Ida said, heading for the
hall. She stopped in the doorway. “Too short. This woman only reached his shoulder. No more. His wife was tall, almost his height. Besides, his wife wasn’t in the choir. We’re not sure who it was.”

“It was dark and those branches were in the way,” Agnes said. “I wanted to move closer and you both stopped me.”

“We don’t abide snooping,” Hannah said, lifting her chin a notch.

“We don’t gossip, either,” Ida said.

Agnes smirked and reached for another cracker. “We did want to snoop, though. And I don’t know about you two, but I wanted to gossip.”

“But you didn’t and that’s what’s important,” Ida said.

“We’ve never shared this with a soul,” Hannah said.

“This happened three years ago? Not much help,” I said.

They all shrugged. Then Hannah said, “Who knows how long he carried on after that. All we can say is it was probably someone in the choir. And his wife was still alive at the time.”

We
all headed to the kitchen. The incredible aroma of warm honeyed ham and simmering baked beans wafted down the hall pointing the way. For one crazy moment I closed my eyes and let my nose lead me. Seconds later, common sense prevailed. I caught myself before I bumped into Hannah, who was behind Agnes who was behind Ida.

Everyone helped get the food on the table.

“I don’t use salt pork in my beans anymore,” Ida announced as she set a bowl of beans on the table. “Just so you know.”

Agnes made a throaty noise of disapproval. “What’s gotten into you, Ida? I never heard of such a thing. I probably won’t like them. Baked beans need salt pork and that’s that.”

Hannah shook her head. “You’re turning into quite the risk taker, Ida.”

“I’ll try them anyway,” Agnes said, “but only a few.”

“Tell me what you know about Buster,” I said, filling the water glasses.

Hannah set the salad down and said, “For years he was wrapped up in his river tours, his hunting and fishing and such. Worked at the All-Season Wilderness Lodge and Campground. In the past few years he did a lot for the veterans. I don’t know as Ray approved of him using the camp facilities for them. There was some talk.”

“What facilities?” I asked.

“I think he took a group of veterans white water rafting and used camp boats. I don’t see the harm. I heard they weren’t being used at the time anyway.”

“How about Lenny?” I asked.

“He plays in front of a computer all day,” Ida said.

“Plays?”

“He does accounting for Rhonda,” Hannah explained as she rearranged the bowls on the table to make room for the bowl of macaroni and cheese that Ida
held. “And for a few other businesses around here.”

“What did you use in place of the salt pork?” Agnes asked.

“A little olive oil and a bit of
pancetta,” Ida said

as she filled a small basket with rolls.

“Who’s Rhonda?” I asked.

“Rhonda Racanell
i. She and her husband Ray run the wilderness camp. Well, mostly Rhonda runs it. Ray only works there when they’re very busy ‘cause he’s the pharmacist in town,” said Hannah.

“That must keep him busy,” I said.

“What are you going to do now, Nora?” Agnes asked. “Wasn’t Buster Verney your prime suspect in the dog poisoning?”

“He was. So I guess the case is closed.” I paused. “Vivian will be satisfied now that Verney’s gone. I can return to the city.”

I should return. I know that.

We all took a seat.

“You could take another case,” Ida said.

I shook my head. “No more cases. I need a full-time
job with regular pay, something in the computer analyst field. Much as I’d love to stay with you guys, I have to head back home.”

All three stared at me. Agnes’ hand flew to her heart; Ida grabbed the edge of the table; Hannah, strong Hannah, merely studied me.

“What are you going to do about the property Great-Grandma Evie left you?” Hannah asked. “You’ll have to continue to pay taxes on it, you know.”

“I’ll sell it. Fifty acres should be easy to sell.”

“You can’t sell to an outsider.” Agnes warned. “Remember.”

“Lassiters keep their land in the family,” Ida said with a nod to affirm her statement.

“Tradition. An unwritten family law,” Hannah added.

“Yes, I’ll sell to someone in the family.”

With all the Lassiters in Silver Stream that should be a piece of cake. There were cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews and nieces galore. I don’t think I’ve met all of them.

“Remember what
Great-Grandma Evie asked you to do, Nora,” Hannah reminded.

“I know,” I said with a sigh. “She wanted the impossible. But I think my mother will never come back up here and make peace with the family. And my brother Howie’s not looking good on that front either.”

In between cleaning and packing for my return trip to New York, I spent the next week calling relatives and telling them that the fifty acres of land I inherited from Great-Grandma Evie were for sale. Everyone I spoke to said they’d get back to me if they were interested, or knew anyone in the family who was. A lot of wishy-washiness going on, I thought.

A shocker arrived in the mailbox on Thursday, a tax bill with my name on it. This, plus the rent on my apartment, would make my meager savings a memory. Wonderful. I
needed to get back to New York City, and get a real job, fast.

By Friday, with no takers for the property, I was feeling just a tiny bit sad that my time in Silver Stream, Maine, home of my birth, home of the Lassiter clan since Jed Lassiter founded the town in 1842, was almost up.

I was going home tomorrow.

I called my friend Lori in New York, and she told me she’d sent out my resume to thousands of firms this past week. Probably closer to ten or so. Lori exaggerates.

I called Ida’s oil burner guy about the hot water. He said he’d be by when he had the chance. Might not be till next week or the week after. I figured he might schedule this place by next spring.

On my final Ma
ine morning as Ida finished ladling scrambled eggs onto my plate, the phone rang. I had the strangest feeling she shouldn’t answer it. I almost told her not to, but how silly would that have sounded.

Ida listened for a moment, her face a mask of alarm. “Stop crying,” I heard her say in a soothing voice. “Calm down. I’m sure Nora can help you.”

FIVE

“It’s Vivian,” Ida whispered as she handed me the phone. “She’s hysterical. Wants to talk to you immediately.”

Oh? The animal-lover who couldn’t spare a tissue for a sneezing woman with a severe allergy to pet hair is hysterical and wants my attention?

I took the phone and walked over to the kitchen window. I looked over the lace café curtain. Gee, it was a nice day. Deep blue sky, azure I think it’s called. Cerulean might also work. Just look at those puffy cloud formations. Most people don’t appreciate nature enough, that’s for sure. On the spot, I decided not to be part of that unappreciative group. Filled with awakening admiration, I stared at the cloud formations. One looked like a big dog, another like a … like a what? It was hard to decide. A mountain maybe.

Across the kitchen, I caught Ida’s quizzical look. I smiled at her and turned my attention to that cloud again. Not a mountain, a bus. That’s what it looked like.

Phone in hand, I walked over and gave Ida a kiss on the cheek, and tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear. “Love you,” I whispered.

Finally, I put the receiver to my ear and said coolly, “Hello, Vivian.”

“You have to help me, Nora. I’ve been arrested. For murder. And I didn’t do it. You have to find out who did.”

* * *

The Silver Stream Sheriff’s
Office is in the middle of town across from the Country Store, a place that sells everything from ketchup to computer paper, functions as a U.S. Post Office, a meeting place, a diner. If you need to find out what’s going on in town or the surrounding area, you go to the Country Store. Behind that building, sitting at the end of a small cul-de-sac, is the Silver Stream Library. I love the library. It hasn’t changed much since I was a kid and took out that book on Abraham Lincoln that I still have. I found it when I was unpacking in my apartment. Some day I’ll work up the courage to return it. When I pay the overdue fine they can build a new wing. Until then the guilt feelings will hang around.

I decided to wear my New York clothes into town, so I changed into gray wool slacks, a black cashmere sweater set, and my good black leather Bruno Magli boots with the three-inch heels. I went so far as to wear gray freshwater pearls, which is pushing it for Silver Stream, Maine, but sometimes you gotta step out of the box.

From his perch behind the long desk which was set on a dais against the back wall, skinny Deputy Trimble with the pointy features looked down on me. I noticed that the door to Nick’s office, off to the side, was open.

“Afternoon, Ms. Lassiter.
Sheriff’s waitin’ for you. Ay-uh. Waitin’ all morning.” Deputy Trimble tipped his head in the direction of the open door, his tone implying I was in big trouble. He was such a jerk. I shot him my phony smile and kept walking.

Deputy Miller walked in from the back. “Finally finished those burglary reports,” he said to Trimble as he placed a pack of papers on the long desk. “Hello, Ms. Lassiter. Nice to see you again.” His eye twitched.
It looked like a wink, but I knew it was only a twitch.

“You too,” I said, smiling my genuine smile.

As soon as Nick saw me, he frowned. He’d never frowned at me like that before. I didn’t like it. Worse, I had no idea why.

He didn’t come out from behind his desk. Didn’t get up.

“Close the door, Nora.”

No hello, how are you, Nora? I didn’t like his tone either, but I complied. I walked over and sat on the chair in front of his desk, clasping the hobo bag on my lap, feeling very much like I’d been called into the principal’s offic
e for some infraction. That happened a time or two when I was in high school.

“What’s wrong?” I said, uncomfortable, wondering, not really wondering. Vivian had been arrested, so I figured this was about her.

“What did the autopsy show? What makes the medical examiner think it was murder? And why has Vivian been arrested?”

“You didn’t tell me you recognized the person running away from Buster’s house the morning of the murder. That’s called withholding evidence.”

“Withholding evidence?” I jumped out of my chair. “I didn’t think he’d been murdered. You knew that. How was he killed?”

“Sit. Please.” He repeated his question about me spotting Vivian running away. C
op mind. One track when it came to a case.

“Withholding evidence, Nora. If you’d told me when you should have, I could have interviewed her immediately and the case would have proceeded differently. Now I’m playing catch-up.”

“I can explain,” I said, sitting, rearranging myself in the chair, shifting my bag in the process. I hadn’t closed the zipper completely, and my cell phone fell out and clanked on the floor. Instead of zipping immediately, which I should have done, I bent to retrieve the phone. A few other items joined the cell. The half-empty metal box of cinnamon Altoids was particularly loud. I prefer wintergreen but the Country Store was all out of those today. My second choice would have been spearmint, but they were flat out of those, too. Also on the floor was the eight-gigabyte disk for my camera, and three pens, each in a different color. Often, but certainly not all the time, I coordinate pen color to my outfit. I hadn’t done that today, hence, the three pens.

“No need,” he said, tapping an annoying tattoo on his desk with a black Bic. “What’s done is done.”

I focused on the pen. He stopped tapping.

“But I want to explain,” I said calmly.

Nick and I had kissed a few times. I tried not to think about that now. Sometimes when I try not to think of something that’s all I think about. Right now I remembered the intensity of his eyes and the love in his smile when he gathered me in his arms. I could almost feel his mouth as it captured mine.

“Not necessary,” he said, breaking into my erotic thoughts. He sighed his annoyed sigh.

“Vivian is waiting in a cell. She wants to see you. I’ll take you to her.”

He got up from behind his desk, grabbed a set of keys, and headed for the door. The overhead light reflected off the shiny star he wore, the symbol of his authority. He still hadn’t explained why she’d been arrested.

“She needs a lawyer,” he said, all business-like. “I don’t know why she insisted on calling you.”

When I had more time I’d analyze his reaction, but my gut feeling was that he w
as hurt. Maybe he thought I didn’t trust him? I wondered whether he had trust issues. Yes, he must. His ex took off and left him for the big city of Boston. I wondered whether she’d returned the ring.

Desperate times. Desperate measures. I jumped ahead of him, flung myself, clunky purse and all, at the door, and plastered outstretched arms across it, blocking his way.

He stopped short, a stunned look on his face. With some people, it takes a bit more to get their attention.

“I don’t like you when you’re like this. A bad trait, not being willing to listen,” I chided.

“Nora. This is ridiculous. Get away from the door.” He put his hands on his hips. He looked very cute that way. Sexy, too.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I said, trying to steady my dangling purse along with my pulse. “Now, here’s what happened. I saw someone I thought was Vivian running through the woods. I wasn’t sure. I called her name, and whoever it was didn’t stop. I decided I should talk to her first, then tell you. It was a courtesy to her. I am a very courteous person, in case you had not noticed. I mean, she asked me to look into her Pomeranian problem, so technically I was working for her.

“But when the police are involved—”

“Shush. I’m not finished.”

That stunned look was back again. I don’t suppose many people shushed him.

I continued. “I planned to tell you. Then when everyone figured Buster died from natural causes, that was that. I put it out of my mind.”

He did the eye roll, and gave an impatient sigh. Cute and sexy does not begin to describe this man.

I took a deep breath, and lowered my voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was a mistake.”

He threw up his arms and turned away a moment, but not before I saw his mouth twitch. When he turned back, he was straight-faced again. “I was angry at you.”

Was.
Past tense. Good. “But you’re not any more, are you?” I asked, lowering my arms.

The one supporting the purse
had begun to ache. I carry too much in this bag, way too much. I should consider cleaning it out soon. Maybe I’ll weigh it first, just out of curiosity.

He leaned down and kissed me, a quick brush on the lips that made my scalp tingle. If it had been more of a kiss, I would have buckled. But he stepped back.

“I suppose not,” he answered, his gaze on my mouth.

He stared.

I stared back.

Then, he stepped up to the plate again, gathered me in his arms and kissed me like he’d never kissed me before.
Such passion in this man. He took my breath away. If he hadn’t been holding me so tightly, I might have slipped right down that door and landed in a big blob on the floor of the Silver Stream Sheriff’s Office. Good thing he was holding me. My arms slid around his neck and my purse smacked his back.

That was like a signal, one I hadn’t meant to give. He broke away, and reached for the doorknob.

“Vivian’s in a holding cell. I’ll take you there. She refuses to say a word to me. She asked to see you. Maybe you can get her to tell you what happened.”

“Why did you arrest her? What makes you think Buster was murdered, and by Vivian of all people?”

“Her fingerprints were on a cracked cup we found in the woods at the edge of Buster’s property and also on his bedroom phone. The cup had a poison residue.”

“Vivian was in Buster’s bedroom? Are you sure?”

“Fingerprints don’t lie. Neither do toxicology results.”

“Toxicology?
So soon?”

“
The official toxicology reports from the autopsy won’t be back for a month or more. But  we found digitalis on his clothing and around his mouth. The same substance was found in the cup. We’re fairly certain Buster died from cardiac glycoside toxicity.”

Another shock. “Glycoside toxicity? What is that?”

“Poison from a flower. Digitalis overdose.”

Vivian was in Buster’s room and gave him poison. Incredible. So incredible in fact, it probably wasn’t true.

“Can someone plant fingerprints?” I asked.

“I suppose so, but it would take a ton of preparation. It’s not likely.”