“We’re pretty excited,” Mason admitted. “I’d been talking to Hilary about adoption, but you can guess how well that went over.”
“You hoping for a boy?”
“I really don’t care, as long as the baby is healthy.” Mason’s smile couldn’t get any wider. He took a bite of his pasty. “But back to the body in your basement.”
“Do you know for sure yet if it’s murder?”
He nodded. “Autopsy came back this morning. The skull was crushed in three places. Blunt-force trauma.”
A familiar voice interrupted. “Hey, you two mind if I join you?” Steve Asters, his tie askew, stood beside their booth.
“Hey, Steve. Where’ve you been?” Bree moved over, and Steve slid into the seat. “I didn’t get a chance to do more than say hi at the wedding, but I haven’t seen you around in weeks.”
“Bank seminar in Boston. I heard what’s been happening here. You can never seem to stay out of trouble, Bree. Though I guess I can’t complain.”
Steve’s eyes darkened at the allusion to his wife’s murder. Bree patted his hand. “I see you have your house up for sale.”
“Yep. It was always more what Fay wanted. I’m content with a smaller place over by the Lake. I think I have a buyer already.”
“Anyone we know?” Mason asked.
Steve nodded. “Cassie Hecko. I haven’t met her yet, but it sounds like it’s a go.”
“Cassie!” Bree exclaimed. “I had no idea. She just showed up to train her dog a couple weeks ago.”
“You know her?” Steve picked up his coffee cup.
“Just from a few days of training. She doesn’t say much.”
“She’s some kind of scientist. I guess she does research wherever she wants to.”
Bree made a mental note to get to know Cassie better, though so far the woman had been resistant to Bree’s prying.
The trio conversed while Bree and Mason finished eating. Mason took a last swig of coffee. “I guess I’d better be going. Bree. I’m heading out to check on some leads. You want to come along?”
“Sure.” Bree laid a tip for Molly on the table while Steve stood to let her out. “Let’s get together for coffee soon,” she told him.
“You got it. See you guys later.”
Mason held the door open for Bree. “You want to ride with me, or should we take your Jeep?”
“I’ll drive. I’ve got Samson.” She snapped her fingers at Samson, and he got up from his post by the door and followed them to the car. “Where to?”
“Beulah Thorrington’s. This isn’t something I’m looking forward to,” Mason said as he got in the passenger side of the Jeep.
“Surely she won’t be shocked. The newspapers have speculated for days that the remains might be her husband’s.”
“She’ll still be upset at the confirmation.”
Bree nodded. “So where we heading?”
“Beulah lives just past Konkola Service Station.” Mason’s voice turned grim. “I’ve been through the old files when he was first reported missing. The previous sheriff was pretty lackadaisical about it. The final note was that Peter had likely run off with his mistress.”
“You don’t suppose she’s buried in my basement too, do you?” Bree shuddered.
“I’m going to look around a little more. Did you hear from the insurance company this morning?”
Bree nodded. “They said they’d have it cleaned up next week. I should be able to go home by next Monday or Tuesday. What about Quentin Siller?”
Mason shrugged. “Nothing yet. He seems to have disappeared into the woodwork like the cockroach he is.”
“Cockroach?”
“Any man who would kidnap his own child and put her through that trauma should be stomped into the ground.” Mason scowled and turned off the radio.
“Spoken like a soon-to-be father. But of course I agree with you.” Bree glanced at him and grinned. “Hilary have the nursery ready yet?” she quipped.
Mason pressed his lips together and looked away. “Almost. She hauled out the Penney’s catalog last night and ordered a bunch of stuff online.”
Bree’s smile died. “I hope . . . I hope things turn out all right.”
“I wish she’d waited too. We’ve had our hopes crushed before. Of course, this time she’s really pregnant. But things can happen.”
“We’ll pray she has a perfect pregnancy.” Bree passed the service station. “Which house?”
Mason pointed. “The small yellow one.”
A gold Chrysler PT Cruiser that nearly matched the house color sat in the driveway. Bree pulled in behind it and killed the engine. “Thanks for letting me come with you,” she told Mason.
“I knew it would be next to impossible to keep you out,” Mason said. “Besides, I need all the help I can get if I’m going to solve this one.”
“Stay,” Bree told Samson. He whined, then lay back down on the seat, his dark eyes morose.
She walked ahead of Mason to the front door. Painted a bright red, the door made for a cheerful welcome. A red porch swing moved lazily in the cool breeze. Beulah Thorrington had a good eye for color and balance. The lot to the side was filled with plants and shrubs for her landscaping business, Beulah’s Bounty.
Bree had been past here many times but had never stopped. Beulah seemed to have done okay by herself, like Anu.
Mason rang the doorbell. A TV blared from inside the house. The sound was suddenly cut off, and heavy footsteps echoed through the door. Bree’s stomach tightened.
The door swung open, and a woman stood blinking at the bright sun that flooded her face. In her sixties, she’d obviously used the color bottle to hold back the gray hair, but nothing could stop the ravages of wind and sun from etching her face. Her dark hair was cut in a bob that just touched the curve of her sagging chin, but the effect was somehow softening and youthful. She wore black and white sweats that did nothing to flatter her round figure.
Her smile faded as her gaze traveled from Bree to Mason’s uniformed figure. She paled. “Sheriff, you have news?”
“Beulah Thorrington?” Mason asked.
“Yes.” Her gaze switched to Bree. “You’re the dog woman, aren’t you?”
“May we come in a moment?” Bree said. “We need to talk to you about your husband.”
Beulah nodded and stood back to allow their entrance. She shut the door and led them to the living room. Folding her hands over her ample bosom, she glared at them. “I’ve said all I’m saying about Peter. I didn’t have anything to do with his death. Those bones are his, aren’t they? Now you’re back here wanting to know if I killed him. Well, I didn’t!”
“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Mason said.
With obvious reluctance, Beulah sat in an overstuffed wing-back chair near the window. Mason and Bree both sat on the sofa.
“Just quit pussyfooting around and tell me the truth.” Her tone was truculent.
“I’ve received confirmation that the remains are those of your husband.”
Beulah looked away, but not before Bree saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. Her shoulders slumped as the defiance leached out of her face. “I knew it,” she said softly. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. It’s obviously murder. His skull was crushed.”
Beulah twisted her plump hands in her lap. “Well, I didn’t have anything to do with it. I haven’t seen him since 1976.”
“Apparently no one else has either.”
Mason’s tone was deceptively casual, but Bree knew he was missing nothing of Beulah’s reaction. Bree stayed silent and watched too.
Beulah held a hand to her chest. “The jerk ran off and left me.” Beulah’s face sagged. Several tears ran down her face, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I got over him long ago.”
“What can you tell us about your husband?” Mason took out a pen and paper.
Beulah’s stunned expression
began to fade, and she blinked rapidly. “You already know he was the lighthouse keeper. When we were first married, things were good. He was always laughing, playing jokes. A good man. Then about six months before he disappeared, he changed.” She looked at Mason. “You want to hear all this?”
“Yes. It might be important.”
“He started staying out late, sometimes even all night. And he had money I know he didn’t get from his job. Once he brought me a diamond necklace. I took it to the jeweler, and he told me it was worth a thousand bucks. That was a lot of money back then.”
It was a lot of money now. Bree leaned forward. Beulah seemed to be telling the truth, but nothing was making any sense.
“You have no idea where he got that kind of money?” Mason asked.
“I asked him. He said his ship had come in. Well, the only ship I knew he’d had anything to do with was when he rescued the captain of the Seawind.”
“When was that?” Bree asked. She pulled out a notepad and made a note.
“About the time he started acting so weird. Maybe six months before he disappeared.”
“What was the rescue about?” Bree hadn’t heard anything about the Seawind. She needed to get back to the library.
“The Seawind was a cargo ship that went down in the same storm that sank the Edmund Fitzgerald. All the crew died except for the captain, Argie Hamel. But I can’t see how it could be related,” Beulah said.
Bree remembered the old Gordon Lightfoot song. The Edmund Fitzgerald went down in November 1975. That would have been about six months before Peter started acting strangely, as Beulah said.
“At this point, we don’t know what’s related and what isn’t,” Mason said. “Go on.”
Beulah looked away. “Not much more to say. His drinking buddies were more important than me and the kids. One night he just didn’t come home.”
“Is Susan Hamel, the photographer, related to Argie?” Bree asked.
Beulah nodded. “She’s his sister.”
“When did you find out about Peter’s girlfriend?” Mason asked as tactfully as possible.
Beulah shot him a look of disgust. “I didn’t find out about that until after he went missing. The sheriff asked if I’d killed him because I’d found out about her. I got a little upset.”
“I have witnesses who remember you saying you would like to see him dead—before he disappeared.”
Beulah blanched. “No, that was after. And I was just spouting off. I wouldn’t have hurt him, though I might have scratched her eyes out if I had the chance.”
So she said. Bree thought Beulah was hiding something. But what?
15
What do you think?” Bree’s hands gripped the steering wheel. Samson was asleep on the backseat, his fluffy tail curled around him. Bree couldn’t gauge Mason’s reaction. He stared out the Jeep window, his gaze distant and contemplative.
“I think she knows more than she’s saying.”
“You ever heard of Seawind ?” Bree knew there were many wrecks from the deadly nor’easters in Lake Superior. And the old song about the lake never giving up her dead was quite true. The cold water preserved the bodies, and they never floated to the top.
Mason shook his head. “I need to go to Marquette on business this afternoon. Could you head over to the library and see what you can find out?”
“Sure. I was planning on taking Davy anyway. Story hour is this afternoon.” Bree smiled at the thought of her son’s delight in story hour. His books were his most prized possessions. Maybe someday he’d be an author himself.
Bree dropped Mason at the office, then parked outside The Coffee Place. She got out and let Samson out. He licked her hand as though he sensed the disquiet she felt after talking with Beulah. She snapped her fingers, and they both set off toward Nicholls’. Davy was helping his grandmother with a display of Finnish Earthreads, a new import earring. Bree had bought her first pair last week and loved them. A gossamer-light gold chain threaded through her lobe and hung down at the back of the ear. The weight of the chain kept the earring in place without a back that pinched. She knew Anu would sell dozens once women tried them.
Davy looped the chain of one earring around his wrist and held it up for Anu to see. “Look, Grammy, it makes a bracelet. Maybe Mommy would like one.”
Bree stopped in her tracks with Samson’s cold nose nudging her leg. A smile tugged at her lips. So he did think of her when she was gone. She felt like skipping, but she moved forward at a more sedate pace.
Davy saw her. “Me and Grammy are having fun. I don’t want to leave yet.”
“You have a doctor appointment, and I thought we’d go to the library early. We could get you some new books before story hour starts.”
His smile returned. “Can you come too, Grammy?” He tugged on Anu’s red smock. Samson left Bree and went to Davy. Davy knelt, then threw an arm around the dog and leaned his head against Samson’s flank.
“I must stay and work at the store, pojanpoika. But you and your äiti will enjoy your day together.” Anu caressed his red curls.
Bree never got tired of looking at Davy. The awful dark brown hair coloring had grown out, but his sleepwalking was taking its toll. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he was pale.
He finally gave up his pleas and stood, his fingers still touching Samson’s head. The dog walked with him as Davy came toward Bree. She held out a hand and smiled at him. His small hand fit into hers, and she squeezed his fingers gently.
She reminded herself that God would see them through this. Bree had to trust in that. He’d already wrought miracles in her life. She just had to hold on and wait for him to work it out, something that was easier to think about than to do. She wanted Davy whole and free of the past now, but she knew that wasn’t realistic—not after what he’d been through.
She squeezed her son’s hand and felt an answering pressure. “After we go to the library, would you like to stop and get ice cream?”
His eyes widened. “With nuts?”
“Sure.” They reached the Jeep, and she buckled him in his seat in the back. “Speaking of nuts, do you want some pistachios?”
His smile brightened. “Thanks, Mommy! I was getting hungry.” She dug in the glove box and pulled out a bag of pistachios. It was hard to say which of them loved pistachios more.
He sucked the salt from a nut, then struggled to split it with his thumb. Bree smiled at the concentration on his face and climbed into the Jeep. Samson yawned and then hung his head over the seat to rest his chin on Bree’s shoulder. She patted his nose and started the car.
Today was turning out to be a good day after all. Davy was smiling, and the sullenness that had so darkened her spirits had lifted from his face. At least for now. Humming the Elvis tune “Hound Dog,” she drove to the doctor’s office at the corner of Ingot Street and Rock River Road.
She took Davy’s hand and went inside. The brick building held a small surgical room as well, and the office still smelled of new carpet and fresh paint. She checked in with the receptionist; then she and Davy settled in to wait. As usual, her son went straight for the books. His lips moved as he sounded out the words to Harold and the Purple Crayon: Dinosaur Days.
The words were too big for him, but he was trying. Although he was only four, he could already read most first-grade primers, a fact that had Bree curling her fingers into her palms. Before the accident he was already learning to read easy words, but Rachel Marks had taught him even more. Bree had missed that time, and it would never come again.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. But what was she complaining about? There was so much to look forward to that she could forget what lay behind. School days, his permanent teeth coming in, his first baseball game, learning to whistle . . . the list went on and on. Just a few months ago, this bright future did not exist.
She flipped through a copy of Dog Fancy, but her mind wasn’t on the photos or articles. Puzzling over the death of the lighthouse keeper, she wonde
red again what Beulah was hiding. Nothing criminal, she was sure. Bree’s gut told her the woman was innocent of Peter Thorrington’s murder. But why not tell Mason everything?
A nurse called Davy’s name. Bree put down her magazine, but Davy took the book with him down the hall to the first examining door on the left. It had been decorated especially for children with Winnie the Pooh wallpaper and brightly colored leather chairs that matched the examining table.
The nurse left them in the room, and Bree looked at Davy’s file still sitting on the desk. She always had to resist the urge to look through a medical file. Today the desire to open that manila folder was even stronger than usual, but before she could decide whether to risk the doctor’s reprimand, she heard his footsteps outside the door.
Dr. Max Parker’s booming voice filled the room as he stepped inside. “How’s my favorite boy today?”
“I’m okay.” Davy kept his nose stuck in the book.
Dr. Parker grinned. “Let me be the judge of that.” He listened to Davy’s lungs and heart, then sat on the stool and rolled over to the desk, where he jotted down some notes in the record.
Bree leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Could I talk to you a minute?”
He looked up, his brows drawing together. “Something wrong?”
“Yes . . . no. I don’t know.” She bit her lip and looked over at her son.
Dr. Parker stood and went to the door. “Sally, we have a young man ready for his new pack of crayons and coloring book.” He helped Davy down. “In fact, I think we’ve got one with dinosaurs.”
“Really?” Davy’s eyes were wide.
“I believe so.” The doctor handed him off to the nurse, then shut the door behind them and settled back on his stool. “What’s up?”
Bree twisted her hands in her lap. “His night terrors are no better, Dr. Parker. What can I do to help stop them? At least two or three times a week I have to go looking for him. Is there something I should be doing to give him more security? I feel so helpless.”
“Are you spending enough time with him? Search-and-rescue is a demanding job. Maybe you should give it up for a while.”
Beyond a Doubt Page 12
