Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (9 page)

ELEVEN

Early the next morning I got a call from my ‘assistant’ who had heard about the fiasco in church. I gave my version and told her I was bound for Rhonda’s All-Season Wilderness Lodge and Campground to check on the book crash victim. She suggested I take her along, something that would be more exciting than working in her beauty salon, and in exchange, she would feed Vivian’s animals.

Feed the animals? Yay and yay again.

And since my chances of getting lost multiplied a hundred-fold with the word wilderness, I figured I got the best of the deal. I did not yell
Yay
until I hung up.

By late morning I was one my way. Everything was going well today. This would be a perfect day. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, the birds were singing and I was bumping
along a dirt road in the woods of Maine with Mary Fran. Okay, the dirt road part wasn’t ideal.

On the downside, I was dressed in a pair of L.L. Bean jeans, and a red and black check jacket that Ida said was Grandpa’s Irish Setter Deer Camp jacket. Whoever heard of such a thing? It was massive and made me smell of cigar smoke, or was I imagining that because I knew he smoked cigars?

Ida warned that hunting season had begun, so red or orange was mandatory. Not that I’d ever be mistaken for a moose, but still you have to take precautions, I suppose. Most of the guys wore orange vests over camouflage jackets. Orange hats were the color of choice.

The roads, and I use the term loosely, snaked this way and that, far from the main road, making me feel like I was in the middle of a Where’s Waldo challenge.

“There’re almost no signs. Are you sure we’re going the right way?” I asked Mary Fran as we dipped into a deep rut and I bounced so high my head hit the roof.

“Last sign said go north. Didn’t you see it?”

“How could I miss it? No other signs for miles. Of course, you have to figure out which way is north.”

My mouth was open when I hit the next pothole and my jaw slammed shut.

“I think I have a pebble in my mouth,” I said, swirling a new little object around with my tongue.

“Take the path to the right,” Mary Fran said, pointing, as if I didn’t know which way was right.

I veered onto a new trail. More ruts. After we leveled off and I regained control of the wheel, I spit the pebble into my palm. It was either a filling or a nugget from a nearby silver mine that flew into my mouth through the open window.

“Some folks bring their RVs and set up miles and miles away from this road,” Mary Fran said as I divided my attention between the road and my nugget, giving short shrift to her conversation.

“I could not picture ever wanting to do such a foolish thing. They come even in winter?”

“Sh-ur. Best time for some.”

“I lost a filling.” I carefully set the little chunk in my pristine ashtray.

“Hunh. A filling.”

After what seemed like an hour, but according to the dashboard clock was fourteen minutes, give or take a few seconds, we finally sailed into port in front of a large rustic building with All-Season Wilderness Lodge and Campground carved in block letters on the porch overhang.

I was a little nervous about seeing Rhonda, hoping she didn’t have a huge lump on her head, hoping even more that
she could tell me something about Buster and his girlfriend. I brought her a little houseplant, a purple African violet, one of the few plants I recognize. I tried to grow violets in my apartment in New York once when I was on my nature kick because everyone was talking about going green, but the plant died from either too little water or too much, not sure which. I admit to being a poor judge of water.

Rhonda stepped out on the porch before we were out of the truck. She could walk, a good sign.

“You look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” I said as I handed her the plant. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, fine.”

And do you know who Buster was having an affair with?

“Hi, Rhonda,” Mary Fran said, looking around. “Gee, I haven’t been out this way in a long time.” She gave Rhonda a kiss on the cheek. “You hold up well for a lady who was knocked out a day ago.”

Rhonda smiled. “Come. I’ll show you around, Nora.”

We entered a huge main room with a vaulted ceiling, log beams and pine walls that exuded more of a woodsy smell
than the woods outside. No doubt due to the flickering scented candles on the mantle of the huge stone fireplace.

“We have fly fishing and bird dog hunting,” Rhonda was saying as we climbed the stairs to the upper level, a huge expanse that overlooked the great room below. “Or folks can rent a canoe or a kayak or take our bus down to the lake or beyond that to the rapids if they’re the adventurous sort.”

“A bus. Good idea,” I said, not really interested in her transportation facilities as I poked my tongue into the new hole in my back tooth, and checked out the hunting photos that lined the wall next to the stairs. Someone was into photography.

Oh, crap!
I quickly averted my head as we passed three huge moose heads mounted on a wall in the upper room. On an opposite wall, offsetting the animals, were beautiful photographs, mostly landscapes of trees and lakes in every season, at every time of day. “Exquisite,” I said, looking at one sunset photo.

“Ray’s
an amateur photographer.”

She showed me another display that spanned many years. “Ray used the self-timer for this first photo. It was taken the day we were married. We eloped.”

“To someplace warm?”

“No. He used photo software on this, like he did
on lots of his work. He said palm trees looked more romantic than a City Hall in Maine.”

Mary Fran rushed to the large section of back wall that was mainly windows, passing beneath several deer heads without a glance. She opened the window and yelled, “Hey, Stan.”

I glanced down. “Is that Buster’s nephew? The heavyset one?”

Rhonda nodded. “
Yes. Stan drives a bus for us. Heavyset is a nice way to put it. Buster used to tease him something awful. Used to do this sing-song, ‘Stan, Stan the fatso man,’ whenever he saw him eating anything.”

I felt a tiny twinge for Stan. “That must have done a number on his self-esteem.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Buster wanted his nephews to follow his example. You know, stay in shape. That, and earn an honest living. Honesty was important to Buster.”

“It
should be,” I said. “To everyone.”

“When the boys came to live with him after his sister and her husband died in a car crash Buster decided it was his duty to get them in shape. He laid down the law, made them tow the line.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Must
be over fifteen years. They were in their teens at the time. Lenny’s thirty now. Stan’s two years older.”

“Was Buster harsh with them?”

Would that be a reason to kill him, I wondered.

“Yes, but I’m sure they’re grateful for his guidance or
at least over the harshness,” Rhonda said.

I found that statement amazing on two levels. First, it demonstrated a resistance to criticism of Buster, whether she was aware of it or not, and second, because she should realize that some things are never forgotten or forgiven.

“I don’t know about that,” Mary Fran said as she joined us. “Buster didn’t come by his name by accident. He was tough. A real ball buster.”

Rhonda gave her a dirty look.

“Do you think Lenny or Stan hated him?” I asked.

“Enough to kill him you mean?” Rhonda said in a huff.

“I don’t know them and I didn’t know Buster,” I said.

“Absolutely not. It was plain to see how much Buster did for them. They were grateful.”

“
That’s good to hear.”

“Buster was a wonderful man. Period.”

Such pride in her voice. It sounded a little like love. Certainly more than friendship. I pushed a bit to see her reaction. “Women must have been attracted to him?”

If I hadn’t been staring directly at her, partly to avoid the animal heads fighting for my attention on the walls, I never would have noticed the sudden misting of her eyes. In a flash she turned aside and began talking about ATV trails and wilderness waterways.

I came here to find out who Buster was seeing and I may have found her. If I was right, I wondered whether her husband knew, or suspected.

Rhonda continued her pitch with barely a breath, as if she were de
aling with a potential customer. No, I corrected, as if she didn’t want me to ask any more questions.

“And our lodge is a high speed internet wireless hotspot. Lots of folks bring laptops. Buster used to sit over there when he used his computer.” She tipped her head toward a burgundy leather chair by the window, then took a deep breath and said, “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the lodge.”

“Oh, good. I’ve never seen more than the kitchen,” Mary Fran said.

“Buster came all this way to use a computer?”
I asked.

She gave me a strange look. “He worked here, off and on for the past two years. Took out hunting parties and hiking groups. Did white water rafting.
So of course, he used his computer here.”

“Y
our family and Buster’s were close?”

“I wouldn’t say close.”

Rhonda opened the kitchen door. “Oh! Lenny, I didn’t know you were here. When did you come in?”

“Just getting coffee.”

I wondered if he heard what we said about him.

He gave me a guarded look and hitched up his jumbo
jeans. Mary Fran gave him a wave.

He left with his coffee and w
e toured the kitchen. I’m not a kitchen person but I pretended to be impressed with the array of pots and pans hanging from hooks, the massive refrigerators, the sparkling metal countertops.

We headed down the hall.

When Rhonda opened the door to her bedroom, I was stunned, and stood frozen for several seconds.

“Holy crap,” Mary Fran said, echoing my
silent sentiments.

It was like
we’d stepped back in time. Or maybe there should be a velvet rope draped across the entrance to prevent tourists from entering this Victorian shrine. As Rhonda walked across the Aubusson carpet, I followed, studying her updo and wondering if she owned a white lawn afternoon gown, something with a high neck and tons of embroidery and lace.

Mary Fran said, “Do I have to wipe my feet before I enter?”

“Ray loves this period,”
Rhonda said, ignoring Mary Fran. “I believe an aesthetically pleasing environment is essential in a bedroom, don’t you, Nora?”

“Um-mm,” I said.

Mary Fran twirled around. “I feel like I’m onstage.”

Rhonda tilted
the pink nosegay on the dresser so it caught the light streaming through diaphanous layers of ornate curtains.

I wondered whether she needed this distraction to keep her mind off Buster.

She looked at me, then around the room, brows raised, expecting a comment on the décor. I fumbled mentally, thinking, thinking, thinking as I scanned the room. What could I say?

“What a clever use of beads,” I said finally, indicating the strands of crystalline gems cascading from the canopy, creating a waterfall effect around the bed. I couldn’t resist fluttering my hand through them. I should have resisted. What a racket. They collided all over the place, making me want to cover my ears. I tried to stop them, but made it worse and stepped away. Rhonda
watched me.

They were still clanging as we left the room. Omigod, that would make me crazy.

Later we sat in the family dining room at a long table that wouldn’t have been out of place in a castle. I felt like a queen. Or a princess. But that only lasted until I took a sip of cold water and yelped like I’d been stabbed.

“What?” Rhonda cried out.

“Sensitivity to temperature,” I mumbled, holding my jaw. “Lost a filling.”

Mary Fran shook her head. “Get some of that temporary filling paste until you see the dentist.”

“Good idea,” Rhonda agreed as she hopped up from the table. “I’ll call my husband and tell him what you need so he’ll have it ready for you. He’s the pharmacist in town. The dentist has an office right behind the pharmacy. Actually we own the building he’s in. Isn’t that convenient? You can make your appointment today.”

“I’ll wait until I ge
t back to New York and see my own dentist. He knows how much sweet air I need.”

During lunch, an assortment of salads,
I tried to think of a way to ask Rhonda about her relationship with Buster without being blatantly rude. Nothing came.

On the way
back to my truck we waved to Lenny and Stan who stood at the far end of the porch watching us. Again, I wondered if Lenny had overheard our conversation. If so, he might know that I suspected him of murder.