Chapter 15
Munching on an apple, Abigail walked into town. She needed exercise and the weather person swore it wasn’t going to rain. She was going to meet Frank at Stella’s for lunch. She was carrying a canvas bag full of paperbacks because she wanted to go to the town’s bookstore first, Tattered Corners. Martha had said it had a large collection of used paperbacks she could trade her old ones for. Which fit into Abigail’s meager budget perfectly.
It was the first time she was visiting the bookstore. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside. A narrow framed building squeezed between two larger businesses and two doors down from the general store. She ducked into Tattered Corners stealthily, her eyes on Mason’s window. She didn’t want to see or deal with him right now. She couldn’t look at him without thinking of Emily Summers and afraid she’d give her feelings over everything away if she saw him. A few days ago she’d driven all the way to Chalmers to do her shopping.
Inside the bookstore she made herself stop fretting about the Summers, the diary pages and the hate letter. There was more to life than the past. The walls were crowded with wooden shelves of books from floor to ceiling and the air was filled with the aromas of polish and old paper. There was a table stacked high with old paperbacks of all kinds. Abigail lost herself looking through them and had four or five picked out when a woman came up to her.
“Can I help you?” The woman was dressed in a soft cotton dress a watery shade of mauve. A silk scarf was tied loosely around her neck. She wore her hair long and loose and clasped in a blue barrette. Her eyes were brown and expressive, her skin light and mostly unlined. Her teeth were perfect and white. There was a lot of money in that mouth, Abigail thought. The woman took care of herself. She had style and class and looked to be close to sixty if she was a day. But she was well preserved.
“I’ve been meaning to come in for weeks. I bought the old Summers’ house.”
“Abigail Sutton, I know who you are. I read the Journal every week and recognize you from that first Summers’ story when they ran your photo. And what a mystery it’s turned out to be,” the woman purred in her husky voice, as she extended her ringed hand to shake Abigail’s. “I’m Claudia Mathis, proprietor. It’s nice to meet you. I wondered if you were a book person or not. I know you’re an artist and most artists are readers.”
“I love books. It’s just that I’ve been so busy fixing up the house and working on commissions I’ve had no time to come in until now. I’ve picked out a few books.” Abigail lifted up the paperbacks in her hands. “And I brought in some of my own paperbacks. Can I trade them for these?”
“Of Course. That’s how it works.”
A boy in a Harry Potter T-shirt skipped into the store and scanned the shelf of comic books by the door. He cocked his chin at Claudia and she acknowledged his presence by waving her fingers at him.
“How long have you owned the store?” Abigail inquired, after the exchange had been made and she’d tucked the paperback replacements in her bag.
“Over three decades and I’ve lived in Spookie my whole life. Third generation. And yes, I knew Emily Summers and her family. Come back to the rear of the store and have refreshments and we’ll talk.”
Claudia led and Abigail tagged behind as she paused before a wooden cart laid out with a silver tea set, china cups, saucers and a plate of cookies from the bakery down the street. Abigail recognized the empty bakery box on the corner table. They made excellent cookies.
“Please, sit down, Abigail, have some tea and civilized conversation.” Claudia lowered herself onto a plush chair. “I think we have a lot to talk about, you and me.”
Abigail liked Claudia right away. She made her feel at ease as they talked about the town and its people. Claudia was happily married to a local carpenter, had raised five children, all of whom had grown up and moved away to bigger towns and bigger jobs. She wasn’t bitter her children lived in other places. Her life, she said, was full the way it was with her husband, the bookstore and their traveling. She’d seen most of the United States and some of Europe. Something Abigail had always wanted to do. Claudia was educated, intuitive and had read every book in the shop. She loved to garden and had an orchard of apple trees.
“You know, Abigail, you’re the talk of the town with this mystery of yours. It’s time I tell what I know.” Claudia evaded looking at her, and admitted, “I know who Emily’s married lover was. I’ve always known that and more.”
“John Mason?” Abigail supplied softly, though they were the only ones in the store. The boy hadn’t found what he’d wanted and had left. The bell above the door had tinkled as he went out. “But we didn’t feel it was necessary to put it in the newspaper.”
“Oh, no. Well, I mean, he was one of Emily’s conquests, but not the one she was afraid of. I was talking about Sheriff Cal Brewster. Emily and I were friends and she’d confided in me. She didn’t have much money so she helped me here at the store after hours sometimes for cash or trade. I was just starting out. My bookstore was new. She’d taken accounting classes in high school and helped me set up my books. Emily was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for and she taught me so much. Cal was crazy in love, obsessed, with her and I think he killed her. I can’t be sure, but in my gut I feel it. Everyone wants what he or she can’t have. And some will destroy what they can’t have.”
“But he was married.”
“He was, but that didn’t stop him from wanting Emily. She fought it, of course. She wasn’t like that. She was a good woman. She was just lonely and way too beautiful for this small town. And…Emily loved someone else. She never told me who, I only knew she did.
“And yes, now you mention it, John Mason was involved with her, a little, as well. But then most of us women were involved or in love with John back in those days.” Her laugh was gentle. “You wouldn’t know it from the way John is now, life has embittered him, but he was handsome and exciting once. Charismatically passionate. He used to read three books a week. And he wrote poetry. Every eligible woman in the county had her hat set for him. But he was trouble in capital letters. He drank too much, drag raced his cherry-red mustang into countless accidents, desired every pretty woman he saw, and he was the most ruthlessly ambitious man I’d ever met. Back then, anyway.
“Heck, even I’d loved John for years when Emily showed up that summer. I’d done everything I could think of to get him to marry me. That was before my husband, you see. But I was nothing. I had no beauty or money. John and I dated, but he’d moved on to other women after me. Always looking for something he couldn’t seem to find. Oh, he wanted it all, John did. Adoration, wealth and respect. He played his women against each other and he liked to see blood. Playing women off against each other was sport to him.
“Until he met Emily.
“He fell head over heels for her, real love for the first time, I think, that he’d ever felt in his life. He even risked his engagement to Norma. And Norma was his ticket to success and his way out of the wretched poverty he’d been raised in.”
“Through the store and Norma’s trust fund, right?” Abigail cued.
“Ah, you know it all. John was a nobody, an orphan without a future when he came to town, who’d lived most of his life in foster homes. You have to understand that to understand why he was the way he was. Emily was so wrong for him. She was poor, but he met her and nothing else mattered. Not me, not Norma, nothing. But, here’s the irony, Emily didn’t love him. She dated him briefly and then dropped him just like that.” She snapped her slender fingers. “It drove John insane Emily didn’t want him anymore. It made him mean. He drank more, which made him meaner and crazier. Though, in the end, he seemed to accept it. While Cal Brewster didn’t.”
“So you knew Emily really well, huh?”
“In the beginning I sought Emily’s friendship. Figuring if I got close to her, I’d stay close to John and find a way to get him back. I tried to be like her, copy her. Thinking if he wanted a woman like Emily, I coul
d become that. I went to night school and opened this bookstore. It made me what I am today.” Her slow smile was self-mocking.
“But when I got to know Emily I truly liked her. Emily’s friendship began to mean more to me than John. One day I’d woke up and thinking of John hadn’t hurt so much. I’d met my future husband by then and things had changed.” Claudia’s eyes went to the store’s front door. People were passing by in the sunlight and all in a hurry going somewhere or other.
“I knew about Emily’s stalker, too. I believed at the time it was Norma, John’s fiancée, trying to get rid of her…when she didn’t need to. Emily was no threat to her.
“And I knew about Emily’s sister, Edna, who’d been stealing Emily’s inheritance money from their bank account. Emily was going to sell the house, leave town, and put Edna out on the street.”
Abigail dropped cookie crumbs in her lap and brushed them off.
“Truth was Emily was also leaving to begin a new life with the man she truly loved–the one she wouldn’t talk about–somewhere else. She had her bags packed and everything. She came by one afternoon to say goodbye. She said she was sneaking away with the kids, fearful of what Cal, John or Edna would do if they found out. But coming into town was where she made her mistake. I watched her drive away and saw Sheriff Cal take out after her in his car. And that was the last time I ever saw Emily or her children.”
“You think Sheriff Cal caught up to her?”
“Now I do. You found their graves. I think John knew she was leaving, as well, because I saw him later that night and he was distraught. I assumed it was because Emily had left him. He was drunk, cursing, and breaking bottles in the street. I followed him to his rented room and tried to help. Not that I had designs on him, I was over him, only because I felt sorry for him. He was rude to me, ordered me to leave and told me never to bother him again. I left and that was the last time I talked to John for a long while. He avoided me. He still avoids me.”
Abigail thought as much as Claudia was talking about Mason, she might still have unfinished business of some kind with the man because sometimes love and hate rode side by side.
“Anyway, John married Norma soon after that. I married a year later. End of story. The point is, I think either Sheriff Cal had something to do with the murders or Edna. She also had a crush on John, did you know that? She never had a chance; of course, she wasn’t near pretty, ambitious or smart enough for him. But she tried and she hated her sister, besides for the inheritance problems, even more for her having his heart.”
A couple had come into the shop and were milling around, taking books off the shelves and paging through them. They looked like buyers.
“Just thought you’d like to know all this. I have to take care of business, now, but perhaps you’ll visit again and we can talk some more. On other subjects. It’s been nice finally meeting you, Abigail.” Claudia rose and excused herself.
Abigail stood up as well. It was time to meet Frank. “Thanks for the books, the tea and the interesting conversation, Claudia. It was nice meeting you, too. And I will be back.” She grabbed her book bag, slung it over her shoulder, walked to the front of the store and out into the hot sun, chewing over her exchange with Claudia and not paying attention to anything around her.
She didn’t see Mason come out of his store until it was too late. “Abigail, I caught you!” he exclaimed, placing his hand on her arm.
He’d startled her. Unsettling to have just been talking about him and there he was in the flesh. “Mr. Mason, what do you want?” She tugged her arm away and retreated a step.
“Didn’t you see me waving my arms at you through the window?” He was staring at her, smiling. He seemed so happy to see her.
“No, I didn’t.” Plastering on her own smile, she made herself behave. So he’d been a player in his younger days. So what? So he’d known Emily and lied. She couldn’t meet his gaze.
She tried to imagine what he’d been like when he’d been young; she couldn’t. All she could see was an aging man who’d long ago lost his looks and himself.
“I wanted to tell you I’ve sold three of your watercolors. I bought one, the one I admired with my store in it, and two others sold as well to townsfolk who really loved them. I have the money and was about to call you, then here you are. I thought you might need the seventy-five dollars.”
She looked up. Mason was trying so hard to be nice it made her feel guilty. “Thank you, Mr. Mason. I do appreciate it and I could use the money.”
“Then come inside and I’ll get it for you.” He took her hand and pulled her into his store. It was empty. The last thing she’d wanted was to be alone with Mason, yet she didn’t have much choice. And what was she afraid of anyway, he wasn’t about to make a pass at her in broad daylight in his own store, right? Right.
He gave her the money and a receipt. “I listed what amount you received for each picture. We have a good thing going here, hey? We’re both making money. Everyone who sees your artwork, Abigail, loves them. They rave about your use of color and how exquisitely you recreate inanimate objects. Bring in more pictures. Push up the price at least a third more. They’re worth it. Gretchen Stickley promised she’d come by on payday to buy the large picture of the farmhouse and sunflowers.” Mason made a hand flourish towards the farmhouse picture propped against the wall. It was an old picture she’d had forever. It had a price tag of one hundred dollars and that plus what Abigail had in her hand would pay her utilities for a month.
“I also talked to other storeowners in nearby towns,” Mason said, “and some of them are ready to take your artwork on consignment, as well. Same commission split. Isn’t that marvelous?”
The praise, the money and the promise of more sales flustered Abigail, but she didn’t feel at ease around Mason and it was hard to pretend she did.
“It is and that’s kind of you.”
“Abigail?” She was aimed for the door when Mason demanded, “After all this time, why are you digging up that stuff about Emily Summers and her kids? Can’t you let the dead rest in peace?” And there was more than irritation in his tone, there was suppressed anger. Gone was the amiable man from a minute ago. This was what he’d really wanted to talk to her about.
Abigail’s feet froze and she pivoted around. Mason was so close behind her she could see the desperation in his face, desperation and sorrow which hadn’t been there before. He must have really loved Emily, she thought. All her stories were bringing back sad memories. He was hurting. And her heart softened towards him.
“It just happened, Mr. Mason. If you’ve read the newspaper stories you know that. The notes and stumbling on the graves the way I did. They were all accidents. I never set out to disturb the dead at all. They disturbed me.”
Mason lowered his voice. “You need to let it drop. Now. Spreading her life, her death, and her dirty laundry all over the newspapers serves no purpose. Stop the digging, the articles. They’re just sensationalistic claptrap anyway. There are things in the past best left there. Secrets which don’t need to see the light of day. Believe me, I know.”
She couldn’t tell if the words were a threat or friendly advice.
“I don’t think I have anything to say about it anymore. An official investigation into the murders has already begun. Once the bodies were found, it was inevitable.”
The word murders made him recoil. There was suddenly a controlled fury in his eyes. “You started it and you’re the one keeping it going. Don’t think I don’t know that.”
Then he seemed to catch himself, changed tactics, and gave a resigned sigh. “Just remember I advised you to stop. For your own good…your own safety,” he whispered.
She was about to ask him what he meant by that, when unexpectedly Frank was standing at the door. “Abigail, there you are! I got worried about you. You were supposed to meet me at Stella’s at twelve, remember? So when I saw you dash in here, I thought I’d mosey on over and see what was taking you so long.”
�
��Frank.” Mason greeted the other man, his face reverting to a blank expression.
“John.” Curt. No other banter, but a coolness in his manner Mason must have sensed because he didn’t add to the conversation.
She spoke to Frank, “I was just leaving.” Plucked Mason’s hand off her arm and walked out the door, Frank behind her. She didn’t look back.
“What was that all about?” Frank questioned the moment they were outside.
“I think he tried to bribe me. Or threatened me. I think. I’m not sure.”
Frank took her arm and swung her around to look at him. “Do you want me to go back in there and break his neck?” he said with a hint of humor.
“No. I’m fine. He freaked me out, that’s all. He’s disgruntled over this whole Summers’ thing. If I didn’t know better I’d say he had something to hide.”
“You need to stay away from him, Abby. He was involved with Emily, we know that. Maybe he does have something to hide and a cornered animal is a dangerous animal, don’t forget that.”
“Don’t I know it.” She let out the breath she’d been holding. “I hadn’t planned on making nice chitchat with him but he ambushed me as I came out of the bookstore and dragged me inside on the pretense of giving me money…he’d sold three of my pictures. One to himself. He talked about putting my watercolors in other stores. Then, out of nowhere, he asked me to drop the Summers’ investigation. When I didn’t give him the response he wanted, he turned a little weird. Thanks for rescuing me.”
They went into Stella’s. The usual lunch crowd was there, including an elderly woman and an elderly man who was dressed in frayed bib overalls and had stringy white hair. The old man’s glasses had a band of adhesive tape holding the bridge of the frame together and he was missing a front tooth. The two were bickering over who was going to pay for the food they’d eaten.
“What else did Mason say?” Frank interrupted her people watching. “Your face is still flushed.”
Abigail told him as Stella came over and took their order. Frank ordered the day’s lunch special. She only wanted coffee.
“We’re going to have to be more careful from now on with Mason. As well as I thought I knew him, I don’t know him at all these days. We used to be friendly. But lately he sidesteps me on the street and is barely civil when I’m in his store. He’s not himself. Something’s going on, I just don’t know what. Those articles have affected him and I’m wondering why.”
“I think he hates us dredging Emily’s life up. The woman who broke his heart and got away. He really loved her, according to Claudia at the bookstore. Anyway, I’ll stay away from him for a while. Let him cool down.”
“Good idea. Now let me see those diary pages you found out by the tree house.” Frank held his hand out. “So strange you had that dream and then you go out there and find the missing pages for real. As if the ghosts of those kids were speaking to you. Spooky, if you ask me.” He wiggled his eyebrows until Abigail laughed.
Abigail rummaged through her book bag and handed the pages over. He read them, a frown on his lips. “Whoa, this isn’t absolute proof Edna poisoned those two kids, but it’s pretty close. I’ve been thinking about that old lady so much the last few weeks and I still can’t see a cold-blooded sister and child murderess. She was eccentric, selfish, antisocial and had few friends, if any. But, on the other hand, I’ve known people to kill for less than jealousy, a house and an inheritance. You just can’t tell.”
“Murderers and people who do bad things are born with black souls.” Abigail gave her opinion. “No conscience. They’re evil and can’t help themselves.”
“So you think some people are born evil?” He folded the pages and returned them to Abigail. “Intriguing theory.” He opened his notebook and began scribbling. “What else did you find out from Claudia?” His pen was poised, as if he knew Claudia had revealed something else of interest.
She updated him.
“I never knew this town was such a Peyton Place of smoldering passions.” He huffed. “I remember Claudia from those days. She was shy, her nose in a book most of the time. She was cute, but not flamboyantly pretty like Emily was. Really smart. She went to college, I know that, and ended up marrying a man who worked with his hands. Go figure. I never had a clue she was in love with Mason, too–which, if you think about it, could make her a suspect as well. She had a motive. Ha, but as I remember both of them, John wasn’t her type at all.”
“Or so you thought.”
“I guess I was young and didn’t see things or people the way they really were,” Frank conceded. “So, Abby, you have more information, so what are you going to do with it? Take some people’s advice and drop the whole thing or print what you’ve discovered and keep digging?”
“I’m going to give the information to Samantha for the next story.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I would and I will. Though I won’t let her use any names of living people. Jenny and Christopher would want me to continue. They’d want me to find their killer.” Abigail was solemn. “I’m not going to let anyone scare me off. I’ll just have to be more careful–and have stronger locks installed on my house. I’ll go see Samantha after I leave here. The sooner I do this the better, before I chicken out. She’s going to flip when she sees these missing diary pages.”
“Back flip probably. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you. I’ll be your bodyguard if I have to be. I’ll protect you.”
“I feel safer already. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I always take care of my friends.” After Frank finished his lunch he accompanied Abigail to the Journal’s office where they had a nice long chat with Samantha.
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