Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (7 page)

I stared back at him, held by his gaze more than his hand. Everything in me was drawn to him. My breath came a little faster and I felt heat suffuse my
face. This was ridiculous. I needed to do something, break the spell.

Pull back, Nora. Pull back.

My mouth actually went dry. I cleared my throat which didn’t need clearing, swallowed dryness, and finally managed to speak.

“I guess you searched Vivian’s house when you arrested her?”

Smiling, he nodded, as if to say well-done. He released my hand and pulled back.

“I did,” he said as he stood up.

We spoke over the top of his vehicle. “You find weapons?” I asked.

“Her deceased husband’s rifle and a handgun.”

“If she wanted to kill Buster, wouldn’t she have used those?”

He shrugged. “It would be too obvious. Guns can be traced.”

“Good thing she wasn’t so obvious as to drop a teacup with poison residue and her fingerprints on it. Oh, wait. She did that, didn’t she?”

Nick grinned.

Clearly impatient, Arianna said, “Nick, I really need to be going. If you’re finished here?”

“I still had to arrest her, Nora.” He glanced back at the house. “I’ll pick up her computer while I’m here. It’s one of those small ones that
fits in a purse, an iPad. The guys missed it when she was brought in. I’ll be right back.”

Then he turned and called, “Can you come by the
station house Tuesday when the tech guy is there?

“Will do,” I answered, pleased.

When he was out of earshot, Arianna said in a voice devoid of its former sweetness and gentleness, “I know you’re leaving town soon which is good because I’m sure you realize he just said that to be polite.”

“You think so?”

Here it comes, I thought.

“This is police business. Common sense should tell you to keep out of it. Your choice of the word
us
was truly revealing and extremely presumptuous. Back off, Nora.”

I stood still and silent for several seconds, processing her blatant disapproval, feeling a little like I’d been kicked, something I hadn’t felt since I’d found my fiancé in the shower with the bimbo.

I was past the point in my life when I let people talk to me like this, even the mother of someone I liked and admired. No one who attended the high school in the Bronx that I attended graduated without taking Handling Insults 101. It was an unlisted degree requirement.

I leaned over and put my head in the open window, close enough to Arianna’s face to make her pull back.

“He’s a big boy, Mamma Renzo, capable of speaking for himself and advancing on his own, if that’s what this is all about. He doesn’t need you threatening me or trying to intimidate me. I don’t take orders from you. So
you
back off.”

I turned and walked away.

NINE

I slammed the back door when I got home. I didn’t mean to slam it quite so loud, but I was too angry to care.

“What’s the matter?” Great-Aunt Ida called from the front room, her voice a bit higher than normal.

I removed
the clunky old boots, tossed them next to the garbage, and stormed through the kitchen, hardly noticing the wonderful aroma of apple pie baking in the oven.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to alarm you,” I said as soon as I saw her startled face. “This has been a crappy day, and I mean that literally and figuratively. Feeding those crazy dogs. Falling in dog poop.”

I plopped down on the hassock in front of her chair as she set her mystery novel aside, concern etched on her face.

“You fell in dog poop?” She actually chuckled. She removed her reading glasses and sniffed in my direction. “Where did you get those clothes? They look familiar.”

“Ay-uh,” I said, using the Maine version of yes for the first time since I was a little kid, emphasizing the Maine accent. “Doesn’t surprise me. Aunt Ida, the day was worse than awful. I met Nick’s mother.”

“Oh, dear. Arianna. That would get you worked up, I’d say. What happened?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Okay.”

I gave a big theatrical sigh. “She hates me. I hate it when people hate me, especially when they first meet me.” I shook my head in dismay. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“Arianna’s a bit
… different, is all. She takes her time … warming up.”

“I don’t think she’ll ever warm up to me.”

I slapped my thighs and stood up, restless, needing to do something to offset the awful morning, needing to shake Arianna Renzo from my head. “I sort of told her off.”

Ida smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Nick said I can sit in with the computer tech when he comes. Four days away. Too many. I have to take action sooner.”

I plopped down on the hassock again and traced the rose pattern on Ida’s upholstered chair as I considered my options. “Computers are out for now, but there are other avenues. When does the choir meet?”

“You’re definitely staying.” Ida’s hand went to her chest and her face lit up. “You’re going to look into this. I just knew it. You can’t resist a mystery, my Nora, can you? You have to solve it and with your intelligence, I know you will.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said modestly. “I’m not sure, but I have a strong feeling Vivian is innocent and I have to finish what I started. I have to prove it.”

“Some good news. Your laptop computer arrived today. I left the box on your dresser along with another package from L.L. Bean.”

“
Good. My binoculars and the netbook computer. It’s very small. Right now, I need a computer that’s bigger than my cell phone. I’ll show you how it works. Maybe get you emailing. I’ll leave it for you when I go back to the city.”

Ida put both hands up in front of her as if she were warding off evil spirits. “Oooh-no. I want no part of those things.”

I stopped tracing the rose. “So when do they meet?” I repeated.

“Meet? Who?”

“The choir?” I asked, jumping up.

Ida worried her bottom lip. “Friday evenings.”

“Tomorrow night. Good. Do they take new members?”

“Sh-ur. Are you interested in someone who’s a new member?”

“No. I want to be a new member. Me. I intend to join.”

“Join. But why?” Ida sputtered, sitting forward, looking like I’d just announced I’d decided to join a cult.

I paced back and forth. “Didn’t you, Hannah and Agnes mention seeing Buster kissing another woman after choir practice a few years ago? I want to find out who it was. That person may be able to shed some light on his life, give me a clue or two about who killed him. If I join I can be casual about the whole thing. Talk to everyone informally. Maybe this woman had a jealous husband? Or maybe she killed him herself? Who knows.”

Ida bit her lip again. “You do have a nice sounding voice, but you must
… be able to carry the tune all the way through and not go off the notes. You’d have to try out.”

“I’m not show biz material, that’s for sure. If they want star quality, well, I won’t make the cut. But I sound okay in a group.” I sang a few notes from a Celine Dion song I loved.

Ida blinked rapidly.

“I wish I could get to Buster’s computer sooner than Monday. Can you imagine? Waiting so many days. That should be done immediately. Meanwhile, a murderer’s lurking, and no one knows who the suspects are. Vivian doesn’t count. She’s not guilty. I just feel it.

“In the meantime—la-la-la-la,” I trilled. “I shall warm up my vocal cords.”

“Yo Yo Ma’s rendition of
My Favorite Things—
my new ring tone
—
blasted from my cell as I jogged around my room in preparation for my shower. I decided to get the blood circulating double-time before I stepped into that cold torture chamber.

I took a deep breath, and answered. “Hi, Howie. How’s everything with the Miami-Dade PD?”

“Nora, I got a call from your friend Lori in New York. She’s concerned about you. She thinks it’s time you came home where you belong instead of getting involved in another crime investigation in Maine. I agree with her. So, are you packed?”

“Lori called you?”

“When are you leaving, Nora?”

“I don’t believe Lori called you. You called her, didn’t you?”

“I spoke to her. That’s the important part.”

“You are such a liar, Howie. My brother, the liar.” I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. “Have you put in for your vacation yet?”

“We’re not coming up to Maine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“But it’s where you were headed, wasn’t it? You want Mom and me to visit the family enclave. Mend fences. I’m not into that. Mom said she doesn’t want to go either. Neither one of us wants a tension-filled vacation. I have enough tension at work. Besides, my vacation starts in November. Who wants to leave Florida for Maine in November? Crazy people, that’s who.”

“Howie,
Great-Grandma Evie made the request. You read the letter that was included in her will. You know she wants me to get the family back together again. Help me out here.”

“No can do, Nora. Besides, you’re returning to New York soon.”

“I’m not leaving just yet.”

“Oh?”

“I’m joining the choir.”

Silence on the other end.

“Howie?”

“The choir, Nora? Is that what you said?”

“My exact words.”

He laughed. Then he laughed some more. He tried to speak a few times, but couldn’t manage it over his stupid laughing. Finally, I shouted, “Howie, I’m glad I was able to cheer you up today,” and c
licked off.

After my shower, I dressed in the outfit I’d laid out this
morning—the white T-shirt, the belt with bling, the sand-colored slim jeans, the cherry cord jacket with the toasty lining. I felt good about how I looked, although the red was risky. It’s not on my color palette. Sometimes I deviate.

I pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office, driving a little faster than usual and bumped—actually it was just a tiny tap, hardly worth mentioning—into the Police Vehicles Only sign. I considered the damage. Nothing to speak of. The sign canted at a forty-five degree angle. Big deal. I backed away and parked farther down the street.

Skinny Trimble was behind the booking desk talking to Nick when I entered the building.

“Vivian’s lawyer is still with her,” Nick said, stepping down from the long dais. “I haven’t
eaten lunch. Want to keep me company at the Country Store?”

“Sure.”

As soon as we were out the door, I cut to the chase. “I know your mother hates me and thinks I’m not needed or wanted, but I can help, especially with the computers.”

What I really wanted him to know, if he didn’t
know already, was that his mother disapproved of me. Maybe he would explain why.

“I want you,” he whispered in my ear as he slipped his arm around my shoulder, “and you want to see Buster’s computer more than you want to see Vivian, more than you want to have lunch with me. Especially more than you want to have lunch with me.”

Not true. You’d think a cop would be more perceptive.

“I’ve heard that the trail gets colder with each day that passes,” I said, rather than mention Arianna again.

“
Law and Order
?”

“Could be. Or maybe it was one of the
CSI
shows. I can’t be sure.”

As we went up the steps to the Country Store, he said, “Are you planning to break into my evidence room?”

“Is there a chance I’d be successful?”

“You have a chain cutter?”

We took the last booth in the back, and the waitress came over immediately, eager to please. Her tight little curls bobbed as she said, “Hi, Sheriff,” and handed Nick a menu.

She looked at me, smiling, waiting for me to introduce myself. Some things are expected in Silver Stream.

“Nora Lassiter.” I extended my hand.

“I’m Alice.” She grabbed my hand and pumped vigorously. “Your assistant told me all about you.

Mary Fran strikes again. “Happy to meet you.”

“And I’m happy to meet you. If I need any investigating done, I know just who to call.” She quickly glanced at Nick. “I mean something you wouldn’t be interested in, not a big crime certainly.”

“If I can ever be of help, let me know,” I said.

Another woman walked in and Alice waved her over. “Rhonda, come meet Nora.”

Rhonda, a petite attractive woman, probably in her mid-fifties, swung her trim hips as if she were walking down a runway to the rhythm of a bass drum.

Boom, ba-da boom, ba-da boom, boom, boom.

Despite the sexy walk, it was her hair that grabbed my attention. It contradicted the walk. It was light brown, gentle and ultra-feminine, kind of a bouffant updo with a few curls fluttering around her face. It was soft, not Mary Fran sprayed, and reminded me of Great-Grandma Evie’s hair in an old photo. The words Ida used when she first pointed out the picture popped into my head. Gibson Girl. I liked the look.

Her smile seemed mechanical as she extended a slim hand to me. “Rhonda Racanelli.” She turned to Nick, her smile evaporating. “It’s terrible about Buster.”

Her tone had me on instant alert. Something there. Behind the words.

Alice left the menus and paper placemats and went behind the counter to get flatware. Since I already knew what I wanted, I slid the menu aside, straightened my placemat and focused on Rhonda who looked genuinely upset about the victim.

“I heard Vivian killed him. Such an awful woman with all those dogs. You did good work catching her so soon, Nick.”

“Sit for a few minutes,” Nick said as he made room for her beside him. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Rhonda. She hasn’t been convicted yet.”

I was happy to hear him say that.

Rhonda slid into the seat. “Well, you must have a good case against her or you wouldn’t have arrested her. She should spend the rest of her life in prison.” Her lips tightened. Then she added softly, “Buster was a good guy. Everyone at the camp misses him. Who knew that call would be his last?”

“Call?” I asked.

She looked at me for a moment. “Oh. You’re the one who found him. He called to say he’d be late. He was expecting someone. You, I guess.”

I nodded. Then said, “You knew him well?”

She stared a moment and I wondered whether she was assessing me or trying to decide whether to answer. Or perhaps it was something completely different.

Nick picked up the menu.

Finally, she said, “About as good as anybody in town, I suppose. His nephews work for me. They were in high school with my son Steven, not exactly friends like Buster wanted them to be, but they knew each other. Steven went off to college and then medical school. He’s at the Maine Medical Center in Portland now.” She took a deep breath and said quietly, “We’re so proud of him.”

I felt the catch in her throat as if it were in my own.

People approach parenting so differently. I couldn’t picture my own parents being emotional over my success. When I was accepted into New York University’s prestigious computer science program on an academic scholarship my mother’s only comment was,
You’d better not spend your time partying and lose that scholarship because we’re not putting out good money for you
.

My father’s comment was shorter:
Congrats, kid
.

“He sounds like a wonderful son,” I said.