by A W Hartoin
I just couldn’t make the connection. Maybe all these things that seemed too coincidental to be coincidental, were just that. Coincidences. Maybe Maggie’s murder was a crime of opportunity and the killer happened to have hiked on the Snider land once so he put her there. Maybe the arsons in ’65 had zero connection to Tank’s fires. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
I flipped over Maggie’s box and dropped her textbooks inside. “And don’t bring those out again,” I said. “I’m done. I did it.”
Irene walked through the door, smiling. “You should know that Elizabeth doesn’t follow orders.”
“Figures,” I said.
“Are you coming to breakfast? I made a nice casserole, lots of sausage and cheddar.”
“I am.” I must’ve sounded dejected, because Irene came in, the smile sliding off her naturally cheerful face.
“You’ll get there,” she said.
I yawned. “I’m so tired and there’s nothing here. There’s supposed be something here.”
“What makes you think that?”
I pointed at the floor and she came around to see Maggie’s clothing, still breathing on the floor. I don’t know what I expected Irene to do. Maybe roll her eyes or sympathize. That is not what happened.
“Elizabeth, how dare you!” Irene exclaimed. “That is sacrilegious and wrong. You’ve gone too far.”
The clothes instantly dropped to the floor and I got the strangest feeling that Elizabeth was gone, too. I didn’t realize I felt her presence until it left.
“I thought you said she didn’t follow orders,” I said.
“She doesn’t, but she has a sense of propriety. Normally anyway. No wonder you were up all night.” She folded the clothes and gave them a sniff. “These could do with a wash. Musty.”
“The clothes were bad, but it was the eyes that kept me up.”
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere.”
She frowned. “The eyes were in here?”
“All night,” I said.
“Well, aren’t you Miss Popular. They’ve never been in here before. Interesting.”
“Can you get her to knock it off? That was off the hook freaky.”
Irene started looking through Maggie’s books. “That isn’t Miss Elizabeth.”
“Say what?”
She shrugged. “We don’t know what or who that is.”
“That’s…disturbing,” I said.
“They won’t do anything but watch you.”
“You sound like that helps.”
“It’s all I’ve got. I can say that they’re really rare. I don’t think we’ve had a sighting in a couple of years,” she said.
“Swell.” There were shivers racing up and down my spine. “Why don’t you get one of those paranormal investigators in here?”
“You think we haven’t tried?”
“So?”
“Total waste of time. Miss Elizabeth was insulted. They got nothing and made it clear that they thought the whole thing was bunk and, as soon as they left, she filled our toilets with crickets. It was a nightmare. We had to close down for a month.”
“That’s really…weird,” I said.
“And loud. Incredibly loud. We won’t be doing that again.” Irene scanned the books, files, and knickknacks on my bed. “So did Miss Elizabeth give you a hint as to what’s in here?”
“Nope.” My phone buzzed and I glanced at the screen. Spidermonkey. He had info. “I did find out that you’re probably right about Daniel Snider.”
Irene did a fist pump. “I knew it. Those Sniders are all about money. I don’t care what Lefty says.”
“That doesn’t say anything about the Sniders today,” I said. “The sins of the father and all that.”
“They’re no better now. Selling that land for the high school was just the latest thing.”
“Didn’t Robert Junior need that money for his campaign?”
She snorted and went to the door to peek out. “Don’t tell Lefty I said this, but that’s not true. It was ten years ago. He wasn’t running for anything more than alderman. Who needs a war chest for that? The Sniders sell off land when they need to pay some bills, they’ve been doing it since forever. That land was the last thing they had other than the houses they live in. My husband is a huge fan of Robert Junior, but what small town lawyer drives an S class Mercedes?”
Money again.
“That is questionable. I just wish I knew what it had to do with Maggie’s murder, if anything,” I said, picking up the copy of Pride and Prejudice and flipping through the dog-eared pages.
“You need to eat,” said Irene. “Going through these things on an empty stomach won’t help. Besides, even if there is cash involved somehow, it wasn’t hers. Nuns aren’t known for having vast sums of money.”
Vast sums.
“No,” I said slowly.
Irene was reaching to haul me to my feet but stopped. “She didn’t, did she? That would be suspicious.”
“She didn’t. Most of these books are second hand.” I picked up her checkbook and double-checked the balance. Maggie had a grand total of fifty-two dollars and sixty-three cents in her account. Her savings had just under three hundred. Definitely not vast sums, but there were vast sums, just not in her accounts. “Hold on.” I dug around and found the notebook.
“What is it?” Irene asked.
“I’m not sure.” I opened it and started looking through the pages. Numbers. Lots of numbers. I hadn’t paid attention before. It was written in pencil and the writing had faded and was hard to make out. I had a similar notebook on my coffee table. I liked figuring out my bills on paper as opposed to using a calculator and I just thought Maggie did, too. But those numbers didn’t match her accounts. What she wrote in that notebook were vast sums. Thousands upon thousands of dollars. The whole book was filled with pluses of as much as $50,000 down to as little as $250. Little notations appeared, like “January, 1962” or “bed linen March”. There didn’t seem to be any particular organization to how Maggie put the math in. Like my own notebook, it looked like she opened it to a page and started working things out. The first five pages had no notations at all. Then there was “Electricity 1962 October.” The next page had “Laundry—children” with no date. It was mixed up with 1965 stuff between 1958 and 1960. All kinds of expenses were mentioned from a trip to the zoo to rat traps with big additions of cash and lots and lots of question marks.
And then something jumped out at me near the back of book, “M&M Ask them.” That wasn’t about the candy. It was next to $25,000 and several question marks. So hard to see, but “M&M” appeared several times next to large sums. Other names were there, too.
Irene bent over the notebook squinting. “I can’t see a thing. What is it?”
“Money,” I said. “Vast sums.”
“Did she have family money?”
“No. This looks like the asylum’s money.”
“But she wasn’t an accountant, was she?” Irene asked.
I shook my head. “No, but she was involved with administration and fundraising for the asylum. The day she disappeared she was supposed to have a meeting with my godmother about ‘St. Vincent affairs’.”
“And that means what? Money?” she asked.
“Charitable giving has always been important to the Bleds.” I took out my phone, ignoring the messages from Spidermonkey, and I called Joy. “Hold on. I’ll come down in a moment.”
Irene nodded and left me alone to cross my fingers that the housekeeper had stayed over because of the storm.
“Hello?” Joy was not happy to be awakened and I felt a twinge of guilt that was easily ignored.
“It’s Mercy. Sorry to wake you, but it’s important.”
“It better be.”
“Are you at the house with The Girls?” I asked.
“Yes. I didn’t want to leave them with just Rocco in this storm. They were making hot buttered rum, light on the butter.”
“Are they awake?”
>
“It’s a snow day, Mercy. What do you think?”
“I need some information,” I said.
Joy got up and rustled around. I imagined her putting on a robe and slippers that she kept in her room for emergencies. “What kind of information?”
“I want to know if The Girls donated to the asylum where Maggie worked.”
“I’m sure they did. You know how they are.”
I ran my finger over the first “M&M” in Maggie’s notebook. Millicent and Myrtle. It had to be them.
“I need to know how much, when, and if she asked them anything about the amounts,” I said.
“Right now?”
I hesitated. “I can have my guy look into it, but only The Girls know what they discussed with Maggie. I’ve got sums here. I think Maggie was on to something. I want to know where to look or even if I should look.”
“Okay. I’ll get Myrtle up,” said Joy. “Mercy, do you think you’ve solved it?”
“Let’s not go that far, but there’s money popping up everywhere.”
Joy sighed. “Sex and money. Isn’t that always the way?”
“They thought it was sex,” I said. “But it’s not. I’m almost positive. This was money.”
“Good God. A nun murdered over money. She probably didn’t have two dimes to rub together.”
“It’s not Maggie’s money I’m talking about.”
“Then it’s the church’s.”
“In a manner of speaking.” I heard Joy knock, wait, and then open a door.
It took a few minutes to rouse Myrtle and get her situated. I began to feel more guilty for getting her up, but she asked me to do this. I was damn well going to do it.
“Here she is,” said Joy.
Myrtle took the phone and I told her what I’d found. Once I mentioned the numbers she was fully awake.
“Yes, dear, of course we donated to the asylum. They were having such trouble financially.”
“Were they?”
“Oh, yes. But once Maggie took over the fundraising it got better.”
“Better how?”
“They were able to buy the children new beds and expand the staff,” said Myrtle.
“Is that because of you?”
“Partly, but there was never enough. So many children and the illness side also took up a lot of funds. The government had begun cutting mental health programs and it wasn’t giving much at all for the patients there.”
“Is that why St. Vincent’s closed? Money?”
“That’s why the mental hospital closed,” said Myrtle. “As for the children, caring for them shifted to foster care, but the money situation didn’t help.”
“Do you know how much you gave?” I asked.
Myrtle chuckled. “Not at the moment, but we have our account books in the library.”
In the background, Joy said she would go get them.
“Was it a lot?” I asked while we waited.
“Not especially,” she said. “I wish you were here, Mercy. It’s a snow day.”
I smiled and pictured the last time we had one. Aaron came and we had five kinds of hot chocolate and made ourselves sick. It was awesome. “Me, too, but I’m on to something here.”
“You think Maggie’s death has something to do with our gifts?” My godmother’s voice was fearful. I hadn’t thought of that interpretation. Of course, they would think that. I should’ve known.
“It is not your fault,” I said. “Someone did this. It’s entirely their fault. I’m just looking for the motive.”
Myrtle went quiet for a moment. “And it’s not Dominic?”
“No. I’ve ruled him out conclusively.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. He didn’t have access to a truck and there was a truck involved. Plus, he had no connection to St. Sebastian. It was a local I’m pretty sure.”
She breathed out a long held breath and I had the impression that it had been in there since 1965. “Thank you, dear. Even if you don’t find out who did it, we will be forever grateful for that.”
“Oh, I’ll find out. I have a feeling.”
“You and your feelings.”
“It’s a good thing,” I said. “We might not have enough to prove it in court, but you will know why and who.”
Myrtle sniffed and then blew her nose. “Thank you, dear. I wish you would accept payment.”
“Not a chance,” I said.
She chuckled a little. “Here’s Joy. That was quick.”
Joy and Myrtle went through the family expense ledger from 1965 that the meticulous Mrs. Perkins kept. It showed all allocation of funds, right down to how much the milkman was paid and how many stamps were bought in January as well as charitable giving and large purchases, such as cars or plane tickets. The Girls had their own separate accounts for personal use and the money that went into those accounts was noted as well.
The funny thing about The Bleds, as incredibly wealthy as they are, never much bother about their own money, keeping it, expanding it, or hiding it. I knew from when I was young exactly what was going on and how much they were giving. That was the important thing. Giving. My grandad, on the other hand, would burn his checkbook before showing it to me. He gave to charity, but it was considered a private affair. Money was almost a taboo. Not so with The Girls, and Myrtle didn’t mind one bit about telling me exactly what was going on in 1965.
We added up the donations to the asylum and the numbers fit what I found in Maggie’s notebook. All total $120,000. That would be nearly a million in today’s money and a pretty big dollar amount, considering at the time a house cost something like $20,000.
“Why were you giving so much to the asylum?” I asked.
“It wasn’t that much. We gave considerably more for cancer research and the Red Cross.”
“Trust me, it’s a lot.”
“They needed it,” said Myrtle. “Perhaps we should’ve given more.”
“Did Maggie ask for it?” I asked.
She didn’t ask for the money. Myrtle said the asylum had been in money trouble for years. The building was old and needed constant repairs. The state wasn’t giving any funds for the mental patients and the need kept going up with the state institutions closing down. Birth control was just becoming acceptable and there were still a lot of out of wedlock births. Children needed care and the church was trying to provide it.
The Bleds had donated to the asylum for years before Maggie started working there, but they had never visited. Maggie urged them to come and see for themselves and they were appalled by the state of the place. Myrtle and Millicent increased their donations and began serious fundraising on the asylum’s behalf. Things improved and a lot of good came of their efforts.
“Did Maggie ever talk to you about the asylum’s money? Where it was going? How it was being spent?” I asked.
Myrtle thought about it and said, “Maggie wasn’t comfortable talking about money. She thought it was rude.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“I know a lot of people feel that way.”
“So she didn’t talk you about it?” I asked.
“Well, now that you mention it, I think she asked something about how much we gave or when we started. Something like that. I don’t really remember. Maggie was a nun. Money was only important because of the children.”
“I understand. But did she ever seem upset or concerned about it?”
“Oh, dear, I wish I could tell you, but I had little to do with it. She and Millicent may have discussed it more. They were thick as thieves. I do know that she wanted to expand.”
“Expand? The orphanage or the mental hospital?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but they weren’t going to, I don’t think.”
I looked down at those numbers and one name, in particular.
“Do you recognize the names Harvey Kotts or G.T. & S.?”
“No. Who are they?” Myrtle asked. “Wait a minute. I’ll ask Joy.”
; Joy took the phone. “I don’t know about Harvey Kotts, but G.T. & S. is a construction company. My brother worked for them after he dropped out of college.”
Construction? Oh, right.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “This is it.”
“What?” Joy asked.
“I just…I think I know. Is Myrtle’s phone there?”
“It is. Why?”
“I sent her a picture. See if she can identify the people in it and where it was taken,” I said.
The ladies went back and forth. I had to smile at hearing Joy basically interview Myrtle, asking all the right questions. The picture was taken at the asylum as I thought. One of the doctors was Dr. Desarno. I looked at Maggie and the old man in a lab coat next to her smiling shyly. They were living on borrowed time and it made me sad to see their faces next to Bishop Fowler. He was the corpulent priest at the center, looking sweaty for November and like he was smiling because he had to. Myrtle thought the rest of the people were probably staff or board members, but she didn’t remember taking the picture at all.
“What was the meeting about?” I asked Joy.
“The Girls were going to join the Board of Governors in the New Year,” she said.
“But they never did.”
“No.”
“I’ll call you back.” I hung up and dashed down the stairs. Money. Money. Money. All about the money.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SPIDERMONKEY PICKED UP on the third ring. “Where have you been?”
“Someone was stealing from the asylum and Maggie found out about it,” I burst out as I ran down the stairs.
“What? No. That’s not right,” he said.
“It is and I can prove it.”
My hacker was totally befuddled. He’d been up half the night going through the taxes and found nothing off. Nothing. Not a dime out of place. The asylum was a charitable institution that depended on donations and the church to survive. They were barely doing that in 1965. In short, there was nothing to steal.
“They were stealing Bled money,” I said.
He shuffled some papers. “Yes, they donated. I wrote it down. Ten thousand a year since the asylum’s inception.”
