Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

by Kasi Blake

Chapter 19

  It was the night before Thanksgiving, and the Milltown Tavern in Millbury was an absolute madhouse. It was also the cleanest I had ever seen the neighborhood pub. The wood floors were shining with polish, every table gleamed, and even the air smelled fresh and crisp. The team at the restaurant had done their utmost to prepare for the waves of home-comers.

  For surely it seemed as if half of the people stuffed into every corner of the pub had come home for the holiday. There were greetings from old school friends, cheers of welcome from across the bar, and the bartenders worked at a frenzied pace trying to keep up with the constant stream of requests for refills.

  I sat at the table nearest the dance floor, watching while Jason lugged in speaker cabinets and amplifier units. Only the rhythm guitarist was here; it was barely six p.m. The others wouldn’t be coming for a while yet, as the band didn’t go on until nine.

  I looked over the one-sheet menu, considering my options. They had lobster on the menu, as well as scallops and haddock, but I finally decided to go with a New York Sirloin with steamed vegetables. There was little chance of a bartender coming to check on me in this throng; I pushed my way through the crowd to get to the bar. It was a center island in the middle of the building’s floor. To its right was the dance floor and tables, while the left area held a large TV and smaller stools for the non-dance crowd.

  “A New York Sirloin, and what comes with it?” I called out over the noise.

  “Oh, we don’t have that today,” she shouted back.

  I glanced down at the menu. “OK, a Delmonico,” I amended. “What are my options?”

  “Fried, mashed, rice –”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I meant what vegetable.”

  “Oh, tonight’s vegetable is carrots.”

  I winced. I used to hate carrots with a passion. Recently, with a great amount of effort, I had pushed myself so that I could at least tolerate them. Barely. Apparently the efforts had been worth it, if they were going to be half my meal. “All right,” I agreed, and got a Diet Coke before heading back to my table.

  I pulled out a stack of origami paper and began folding paper cranes. It was a way I passed the time, and I hoped that the crowds would appreciate having a free gift as part of the evening’s entertainment.

  The lead guitarist arrived, with his girlfriend Morgan right by his side. I found it fascinating that we shared such an uncommon name. She came over to sit opposite me, dressed for fun, with an elegant, draping top in crimson over a pair of jeans. She and her boyfriend were training for triathlons and it showed in her lean form.

  I put aside my paper folding. “What are you two up for Thanksgiving?”

  “Going to see relatives,” she said. “And you?”

  “I usually have Thanksgiving dinner with my father,” I said. “I figured we’d go out to the Publick House in Sturbridge. It’s an inn dating from 1771, and George Washington stayed there. My dad loves their turkey dinners even at other times of the year, so I thought that he would appreciate their full spread.”

  “That sounds lovely.” She looked around. The drummer had arrived, but his girlfriend, Abigail, wasn’t in sight. “Is Abigail coming?”

  I glanced around. “I didn’t hear either way.”

  She went up and talked with her boyfriend Todd for a moment. “Apparently she’s sick,” she reported as she came back to the table. “It’s just you and me tonight.”

  “I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

  The bartender came by. “I’m sorry, we don’t have carrots today after all,” she stated. “We only have corn.”

  The options were moving as far down the starch chain as possible, apparently. “Can I have a garden salad instead?” I asked.

  She nodded, and in a moment she was off again.

  The steak arrived, and the salad was just right. I was only able to eat half the steak, but Jason was thrilled when I waved him over and offered the rest.

  In short order the band was doing its sound checks, and soon the gig started. The floor filled up almost instantly with fans eager to have some fun. Jason had said that Meredith had been feeling sick, but you couldn’t tell by hearing her voice. She was fantastic, hitting the notes with ease, ripping through classics like “Rock and Roll” and “Barracuda.”

  There was a movement to my right, and suddenly a handsome Asian man was coming toward us.

  “Jeff!” I cried out with a smile. “I’m so glad you could make it. Morgan, this is Jeff; he’s involved in that matter I’m researching.”

  “Of course,” agreed Morgan, moving to the side of the dance floor with me. Her voice became somber for a moment. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Morgan is a great help in my research,” he stated, nodding to me. “I think we might have some more information to go on soon.”

  “Oh?” asked Morgan. “What happened?”

  “A new file we found that might have interesting information in it,” he explained. “We’re in the process of accessing it.”

  “Good luck,” offered Morgan.

  I heard the opening notes to “My Own Worst Enemy” and my ears perked up. “Time to dance!”

  Morgan nodded and Jeff moved to sit at our table while she and I danced. Soon Meredith took a break to help her voice, and the band drew two guest singers out of the crowd – a man and woman who fronted local bands. Both were phenomenal.

  Finally the band took a break and Jason came over to the table. “Jeff, great to see you,” he greeted, offering his hand.

  Jeff smiled in welcome. “Jason; your band is fantastic. I love your music mix.”

  Jason sat down at my side, giving me a warm hug. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m having a blast,” I told him. “You guys are alive tonight, and the crowd is loving it.”

  He looked out over the stuffed room. “This is probably our largest crowd ever,” he agreed, “although I think it’s the pre-Thanksgiving timing rather than our mad skills.”

  “Ah, but if you guys were awful they all would have left,” I pointed out. “They’re all staying, even though they could go elsewhere or even head home to prepare for tomorrow’s festivities.”

  He gave a warm smile. “True enough. I suppose they must like us.”

  Meredith, the lead singer, came by. “Hey there, Morgan,” she greeted. “What does your t-shirt say?”

  I looked down at the black Japanese kanji on the face of my ivory shirt, and held out the cloth so she could see it more clearly. Below it, in black letters, was the word “Peace.”

  “Very nice,” she praised. She looked out over the origami cranes which stretched down the center of the table. “And these are yours?”

  I nodded. “Yes indeed.” I had made a small sign to lie next to them, stating free – please take one. “I figured people might like them for their loved ones, with the holidays being tomorrow.”

  “A nice idea.” There was a call from further down the bar and she headed off.

  Jason looked over at Jeff. “No word from Matthew yet?”

  Jeff shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect any,” he pointed out. “I don’t think that program will make any progress for another few days. Although I suppose you never know. The password might be something beginning with the letter B, and we could hit it fairly quickly.”

  I chuckled. “That seems a good incentive to begin your password phrase with the letter Z, and to have it be fairly long but easy to remember,” I stated. “Something like ZebrasLoveGrass. A hacker program would be working for thousands of years before it got to the Zs, never mind going through all the letter combinations leading up to that.”

  Jeff raised an eyebrow. “That’s assuming modern processor speed, though,” he grinned. “It could easily be that ten years from now the manufacturers would have made some sort of a quantum leap in processing speed, and programs could try every combination known in the universe in under an hour.”

  Jason nodded. “After all, isn’t the saying that
all the processing power used to put man on the moon in the Apollo mission is now held in a typical calculator?”

  I smiled. “How things change.”

  The drummer gave a wave, and Jason gave me a quick hug. “Back to work.” He stood and moved over to the stage area.

  Jeff came around next to me, patting me on the arm. “I’m going to see if I can make my way to the bar without being squashed like a bug,” he chuckled. “Want anything?”

  “Bacardi and diet Coke, please.”

  He nodded, turned, and began wending his way through the crowd.

  The band played a slow song, drawing couples onto the floor, then the male guest singer was up again. I got to my feet. It was “Ramble On” by Zeppelin, a song I adored, although admittedly hard to dance to. I was the only one who made the attempt. I figured I should do my best to help the guest singer feel at home – it must be a bit disappointing to take the microphone and watch the dance floor clear! Luckily the following songs, also Zeppelin, were more dance-able and the floor was soon crowded again.

  Finally there was a slow song break and I made my way back to the table. Jeff was in the seat next to me, and he leant over. “Was a lime in that okay?”

  “Just perfect,” I agreed. I took a long sip of the drink, thirsty from dancing. There was an interesting scent to it, one I struggled to put a name to. It was like a forest, crisp …

  “This smells like juniper,” I said at last, puzzled.

  He chuckled, leaning forward again. “I think that might be me.”

  I gave a sniff near his chest and smiled. “Yes, it is,” I agreed. “It smells nice.”

  “They were giving out after-shave samples at the senior center,” he commented. “My father hated the aroma, so he gave me his. I finally decided to give it a try tonight. I think it’s not half bad.”

  I drew in an exaggerated breath and expressively sighed, giving him a wink. “Maybe I’ll have to get some for Jason.”

  The beginning notes of “The Middle” sounded, and I was back on my feet, dancing as if no one was watching. The second set ended with enthusiastic applause and cheers.

  Jason came back to sit at our side. “Enjoying the music?” he asked Jeff.

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Adam has offered to have me over for a full Thanksgiving dinner, since it will be my first without my dad. So we’re going to start early on it.” He stood, smiling down at us. “Thank you so much for a delightful evening. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”

  I gave him a hug. “Drive safely!”

  He nodded, and made his way through the crowds to the door.

  Jason watched him go. “Jeff is a good guy,” he murmured. “It’s a shame his father was taken from him like that, and so near the holidays, too.”

  “Adam is taking good care of him, it seems,” I pointed out. “And with that new aftershave he was wearing, maybe he’ll lure in some women as well.”

  Jason’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “Oh? Anything I should look into getting?”

  I shook my head. “While I did tease him about that, I love the way you smell naturally. You smell of woods and moss and safety. He just smells like juniper.”

  His eyes drew down to focus on me. “Juniper?”

  I blinked. “Yes, why?”

  He glanced around, then lowered his voice. I had to lean forward to hear his words. “You said you had smelled juniper near the body,” he pointed out.

  I froze in surprise. I had completely forgotten about that. “But surely I just smelled an actual juniper tree; they are scattered all over Purgatory Chasm.”

  He shook his head. “I have been back over the stretch of trail where we found John’s body several times now,” he stated. “There are no juniper trees near there at all. The only evergreen there is pine.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “Maybe, if Jeff likes the scent, his father did too. Maybe it was something on his father’s body that you smelled.”

  I shook my head. “No, Jeff said that his father hated the aroma. I can’t imagine John would have put it on.”

  His brow creased in concern. “Jeff seems like such a nice guy. It’s hard to imagine that he would have been involved in his own father’s death. Maybe he had just talked with his father earlier in the day and didn’t mention it to anyone for some reason? Maybe they had argued? What had he said about his activities for that day?”

  “He said he was in Boston attending a series of seminars. He was there when he got the call from the police about his father,” I explained.

  Jason’s gaze shadowed. “He could have always skipped out on one of them.” He looked toward the door for a moment. “It’s about an hour drive each way, but certainly it’s doable. He could claim that nobody happened to see him because of crowded sessions or something like that.”

  “I suppose,” I agreed doubtfully. “But what would be his motive? Getting his inheritance more quickly?”

  He nodded. “There’s that, of course. The recession has hit everyone fairly strongly. I’ve heard Jeff saying that money was tight.”

  “I suppose it could be about this book, too,” I suggested. “He adored his mother and he treasured their memories together. Now John was going to come out with a book all about how much Eileen meant to him, how he worshipped her, and how she was the one true love of his life. Would Jeff really want to hear about this day-in and day-out, to have his father talking about it non-stop? What if the book actually became popular?”

  “So why would he have given us the PC, then, if he was so worried about its content? Why not keep it himself, as a spare computer of some sort? Nobody would have questioned that in the least.”

  I pondered that, taking another drink of my cocktail. “Maybe he didn’t want it in the house, reminding him of the novel and all it represented. And maybe he felt he’d done such a great job of deleting his father’s files that the story never would come to light again. The system would be given to a 90-year-old grandfather, used occasionally for email, and soon it would fail or become obsolete, ending up in a landfill somewhere.”

  “And then we began digging up the files, but luckily they didn’t tell us anything, so he felt safe,” Jason added. “He has been watching us this entire time to see if anything else materialized. Maybe his visit tonight was a sign that he’s getting worried.” The corners of his mouth turned down in a doubtful frown. “I’m still not sure I think the theory could be true.”

  “Well, if this program actually works, we might know then,” I pointed out. “We can make sure Jeff is there when we open the file, and watch his reaction.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  I pulled out my smartphone. “I’ll email Matthew right now,” I told him. “Let him know not to open the file until all four of us are present. That way we can see what any reactions are.”

  “That sounds best,” he agreed. “It’s better to keep an open mind and look at this from every angle. It’s definitely a strange situation all around. To think that an event from 1968 is still having repercussions in this modern year.”

  A wave from Meredith, and he looked up. “Time for the last set.” In a moment he was up on stage again.

  I looked around the pub. It was heading toward eleven p.m. now, and the room was definitely quieting down. Most weekends I imagined the pub was buzzing until well past midnight, but this was a Wednesday, after all, and tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Jason and I had made 1:30 p.m. reservations at the Publick House, and we were barely going to get any rest in between getting home from the gig and heading out. I was sure that many other people were going to have full days tomorrow and needed to get at least some sleep.

  Morgan and I had fun dancing through the last set, and soon the band was packing up. At last I was offering hugs good-bye to the rest of the band and Jason wrapped an arm around my waist.

  “Ready to go home?” he murmured.

  His fingers did a circling slide against the edge of my hip,
a sigh escaped my lips, and it was all I could do to nod.