Chapter 29
When Manny and Stella turned down the street where Dolly Browning lived, Stella could feel her pulse rate quicken, and it had been racing since they’d left her house.
Ahead, she could see the cemetery, and overlooking it on the hill, Dolly’s old mansion.
“I keep thinkin’ about how folks say she paid cash for that house,” Stella said as they drew closer. “Like how they say her suitcase was full of cash.”
“If she’s lived on what was in that suitcase all these years, it would’ve had to be something more valuable than paper money.”
“Jewels maybe?”
“Who knows. It was after the war. Most people lose a lot during a war, their homes, even their lives. But a few actually profit.”
“I can’t think about that now,” Stella said. “For all I know, she’s invited me over here to give me more of those garden tomatoes of hers. She saved my grandbaby’s life only a few days ago.”
“She diagnosed Alma like a professional would,” Manny observed. “A doctor or trained nurse couldn’t have done better. If she had medical training like that, why hasn’t she ever told anyone? Why didn’t she continue to practice medicine in some capacity?”
“I know! I know, Manny! It’s driving me crazy wondering. I don’t wanna accuse an innocent woman, a woman I owe a debt to that I can never repay, of a terrible crime. We don’t have any real evidence that—”
“We aren’t accusing her of anything,” Manny said. “We’re just weighing the evidence that we have, sorting through it, and seeing what it shows us. No accusations involved.”
“Not yet. But that’s what you’re thinkin’, ain’t it?”
“What I’m thinking isn’t important right now. At the moment, all that concerns me is your safety, and it should concern you, too. Never mind what you mean to me and your friends. Those grandangels, as you call them, depend on you. They depend on you hard, Stella. I can’t stand to even think about what would happen to them if anything happened to you.”
“Do you think that hasn’t crossed my mind, too, Manny? Crossed it, churned it up, and spit it out. I can’t stand the thought either. But I could hear it in her voice. Dolly’s in trouble. I have to go in there and see if I can help, ’cause if I don’t, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
Manny pulled over to the curb and parked the vehicle in an area that was poorly lit. “Okay,” he said, turning off the key. “This is as close as I can get without risking her seeing me.”
“It’s fine. You just stay here and wait for me. Hopefully, I won’t be long.”
When he didn’t reply, she said, “You’re gonna do that, right? You’re gonna wait here in the car till I come out, like I waited for you at the motel. Promise me, Manny.”
“She won’t see me. I promise you that.”
She held up her little finger, as they had when they’d been children. “Pinky swear.”
He grinned, crooked his finger around hers, and gave it a squeeze. “Pinky swear.”
Their ritual finished, she took a deep breath and said, “I’d best get goin’.”
“Go. Be careful!”
“I will. Jeepers creepers, you sound like a broken record.” As she climbed out of the car, he blew her a kiss, which she “caught” with her hand and blew back to him.
Then she was on her way. Where to, she wasn’t sure. But Manny was right. She had to be very careful; those grandbabies were depending on her to return home to them safe and sound.
She thought of Savannah and Elsie sitting on her couch at home, no doubt, making small talk to cover their nervousness as they waited.
Yes, she was important to a number of precious people—one being the man sitting in the cruiser, watching her every step.
She was grateful for their love, but more nervous than she had let on to any of them.
As she climbed the loose, splintery steps leading to the ancient house, she had a bad feeling. Deep inside, the calm voice that abided in her spirit, the source of what she and others called her “intuition” or her “higher self,” told her that what was about to happen next was going to haunt her for the rest of her days.
However many of them remained.
Chapter 30
No one answered when Stella knocked on the door of the old mansion. She heard Valentine’s toenails on the tile as he approached and his sniffing around the doorframe. She hoped he would remember her scent and the fact that she had patted him on the head and scratched behind his ears on her recent visit.
Knocking the third time, she said, “Valentine. Go tell your mistress she’s got company, okay?”
All she heard in response was more sniffing, but no human footsteps or voice bidding her to open the door and come in.
She twisted the knob and pushed a little to see if it was unlocked.
It was. It creaked open an inch. Enough for her to see the quivering black nostrils of the gigantic dog on the other side.
“Hey, Valentine,” she whispered. “Don’t eat me now, ’kay? I’m a friend, and your mistress wouldn’t take kindly to you rippin’ the arm off somebody she’d invited over.”
She opened the door a bit more and could see the dog’s tail waving vigorously. She reminded herself that, although that was usually a good sign, some dogs wagged their tails while chomping on a burglar’s leg, simply because they liked the taste.
“You gonna let me in?” she asked him. “Can I come into your house, big boy?”
She held her hand out so he could smell the back of it. She wished she’d rubbed some bacon grease on it before she’d left the house.
“Dolly?” she called out, “it’s Stella Reid. I’m here in the doorway. . . with Valentine,” she added, hoping the mistress of the house would take the hint and come rescue her.
When there was still no response from inside the house, Stella slowly opened the door the rest of the way and gingerly stepped inside.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold, Valentine growled. A chill went through her as the sound rattled deep in his chest. It touched some primitive part of her being that recognized it as a critical warning. A life-threatening warning, coming from a dog that was twice the size of a German shepherd or rottweiler.
She stood very still, wondering what to do, then she recalled what Elsie had said. One quick look into the house told her that Dolly wasn’t within earshot, so she whispered to the dog, “Aw, it’s okay . . . mein liebling.”
Instantly, the dog stopped growling and started to whimper like a joyful puppy who had been waiting all day for his owner to come home and play with him.
He began to gamble about, clumsy, all legs, tripping over himself. He gave a joyful bark and licked her hand, covering it in an instant with saliva from her wrist to her fingertips.
“Atta boy,” she told him as she walked on inside and shut the door behind her. “Where’s your mistress, huh?”
She saw several cats—a tuxedo kitty, an orange tabby, and a solid black mini-panther—scurry away and hide behind some boxes, where they sat, peering out at her with golden eyes.
“Dolly!” she called out, louder than before. “It’s Stella, honey. I’m here. Where are you?”
“In here,” was the reply, but the voice was so soft, Stella barely heard it.
She walked into the parlor, where Dolly had entertained her and Manny before, and there she was, reclining gracefully on the sofa.
To Stella’s surprise, Dolly was wearing a beautiful, peach-colored cocktail dress that appeared to be from the forties. The shoulders were generously padded, the velvet bodice heavily embroidered with lace and iridescent crystals. It fit Dolly’s slender figure perfectly, the color lending a comely glow to her otherwise sallow complexion.
She looked like a vintage movie star, relaxing after having attended some regal ball where she had danced the night away with royalty.
Stella hurried over to the sofa and knelt beside her. It was only then that she noticed the mink stole lying beside her
. It was one of the old-fashioned sorts that included the heads, legs, and feet of the animals who had, no doubt unwillingly, contributed their pelts to the making of the piece.
Stella shuddered and looked away, as she realized this was probably the very outfit Dolly had worn on her trip to Atlanta today to “reclaim” her home.
How very eccentric, indeed.
As Stella leaned over to take Dolly’s hand in hers, she smelled the strong odor of whisky that seemed to be not only on the woman’s breath but emanating from her very pores. Mixed with the exotic scent of Dolly’s heavy, floral perfume, it was a strange odor and not a particularly pleasant one.
“Thank you for coming, Stella,” Dolly said, grasping her hand and holding it tightly. “I was afraid you wouldn’t. You’ve always been so kind to me. Kinder than I deserve,” she added, tears filling her watery blue eyes.
“Now, now. No crying. What’s this favor you want me to do for you?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. But first I want to give you your present. I’ve only just started it, so it’s far from finished. I ran out of time. For everything.”
“What do you mean?” Stella said, feeling a bit chilly, in spite of the warmth of the space heater glowing in the corner.
“Over there. In my knitting basket. I can’t get up now. Will you fetch it for me?”
“Sure. You just rest.” Stella rose from her knees and walked across the room to the large wicker basket Dolly had pointed to.
“In here?” she asked, looking down at the assortment of yarns, half-finished projects, and miscellaneous stuff that had been tossed into the oversized hamper.
“Yes, it should be close to the top. I was working on it yesterday. Just throw the junk out and you’ll find it.”
Stella wasn’t listening. Her mind was frozen as she stared at the first bit of so-called “junk” she had lifted out of the knitting supplies.
Duct tape. An almost empty roll. Along the sticky edges, Stella could see the fuzz. The blue fuzz stuck to it.
“There’s a blue blanket in there, not much of it done,” Dolly was saying. “I was going to give it to the next person in town who has a new baby. I hear you’ve got a new grandchild on the way. So it’s yours. I’m sorry I ran out of time. If you know how to crochet, maybe you could finish it, or Savannah or your friend Elsie could. Take those extra skeins of yarn, too. You’ll need them to make it big enough for the little one.”
Stella lifted the blanket out, fighting the nausea that was rising in her. Not knowing what to do, she removed the blanket and the spare skeins, and replaced the duct tape on top, where she had found it.
As she walked back to the sofa, she found her voice and said, “Thank you, Dolly. That’s so kind of you . . . to think of me, of our new baby.”
“I used the best yarn I had. Some I’ve been saving for a special occasion. I’m glad it’s going to you, Stella. You and your family are precious to me.”
Stella looked down at the blanket and realized her hands were shaking. “It’s beautiful yarn. Angora.”
“That’s the softest kind. It’s nice for babies. Soft against their delicate skin.”
“I know. Thank you.”
For a moment, Dolly’s eyes closed, and Stella thought she might have nodded off to sleep or passed out from the liquor. But she quickly opened them again and said, “Okay. You have your present. The other thing is the favor.”
“Yes,” Stella said, standing there with the soft yarn in her hands and what felt like a cold, hard stone in her heart. “What would you have me do, Dolly?”
Pointing to the rolltop desk in the corner, she said, “On the desk there’s a letter. It’s addressed to Sheriff Gilford. I want you to give it to him for me as soon as possible. It’s very important. Could you do that, Stella?”
Stella walked over to the desk. The first thing that caught her eye was an old photograph in a silver frame, one she hadn’t noticed before when visiting Dolly. It was a yellowed picture of an elegant, Tudor-style mansion, much like the one in Atlanta that Dolly had infamously visited every year. But, unlike Atlanta, there were snow-capped mountains in the background.
Standing in front of the home was a pretty blonde woman, holding a curly haired baby in her arms. The woman bore a strong resemblance to Dolly.
“Is it you in this picture?” Stella asked her.
“No, it’s my mother. I’m the baby.”
Something clicked in Stella’s mind. “This was your family home,” she said. “It’s where you grew up.”
Dolly nodded and smiled wistfully. “I miss it terribly. It was so peaceful, so beautiful there. Before. Before everything changed.”
“The house you visit every April in Atlanta . . .” Stella ventured.
Dolly sighed. “I know. I know it isn’t mine. I saw a picture of it in a magazine, and it reminded me of home. One day, I got drunk and went there and . . .” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I make a fool of myself when I drink, and every year I drink to celebrate that day.”
Stella tucked that information away to share with Manny later.
Looking around, she spotted a letter lying near the picture and picked it up. The envelope was fine parchment with “Sheriff Gilford” typed on the front. The print was dull, the edges blurry, as though the typewriter had been an old one. The tops of the letters were black.
The lower halves were red.
The shakiness in Stella’s hands had spread to her knees, making it difficult for her to stand. On unsteady legs she walked over to a chair next to the sofa and sat down, abruptly and hard.
“You can read it,” Dolly told her. “I want you to. Now.”
“Okay.” Stella put the yarn and blanket on her lap and opened the unsealed envelope.
The inside was typed, too, with the same black and red print, and the letter was signed at the bottom with a large, scrawling signature in bold, black ink.
“Dear Sheriff Gilford,” Stella began. “I write this letter to confess to the murder of Billy Ray Sonner, a self-proclaimed Nazi, who attacked an innocent girl and did her great harm.”
Stella looked over at Dolly and saw that her features registered only grim satisfaction. There was certainly nothing resembling remorse on the woman’s face.
Stella returned to her reading. “I understand that Raul Ortez and Franklin Tucker are suspected of committing this crime. I assure you, I did it alone, without anyone’s participation or knowledge.”
A rush of relief flooded through Stella. The cloud that had been over both Raul and Franklin would be lifted now, from them, as well as their families.
She drew a deep breath and continued, “I killed Sonner the same way we killed millions of innocents, whose memories are now dishonored by fools who deny their sufferings or attempt to rationalize that which cannot be justified by any philosophy on earth, in heaven, or hell. I killed Sonner to stop him from spreading a poison more vile than the deadly chemicals I employed to end his miserable life. His attitudes and words, his attempts to convince others of his vicious lies, are manifestations of an evil that must not be allowed to exist. To my everlasting shame, I witnessed and participated in the horrors born of those attitudes and words. To my credit, I ended him. I leave this life satisfied that I have done what little I could to atone for my sins. Sincerely, Adolpha Brandt.”
Chapter 31
“Dolly, is this true?” Stella asked, hardly able to believe the words she had just read.
“You know it is, Stella,” Dolly replied, wiping away tears from her cheeks. “In your heart, you know.”
“What did you mean when you wrote, ‘the same way we killed millions’? Why would you say, ‘we’? Why would you say you participated in the horrors?”
“I was a member of the Nazi Party, Stella.”
“A lot of regular German folks were. Some didn’t have a choice and—”
“I chose. I was a nurse in Ravensbrück. Do you know Ravensbrück, Stella?”
Stella recalled
the pictures she had seen when she was younger, the ones that had scarred her soul. Among them, photos of Ravensbrück, a concentration camp for women.
In that moment, in her mind’s eye, Stella could see those pictures as clearly as she had as a child, and Stella realized that they weren’t scars on her soul after all. They were still open wounds. Some knowing could never be unknown, and some wounds never healed.
“That’s why . . .” Stella choked on her own words, then tried again. “. . . why you were able to save Alma?”
“Yes, I saved your Alma. I wonder, does that take away the sin of one? One of the many that I killed? What do you think, Stella?”
“You killed . . . ?” Stella couldn’t believe she was sitting in the same room, breathing the same air as one of the monsters she had read about, had nightmares about.
But she looks so . . . so normal, she thought. This is my friend Dolly.
She glanced down at the signature. Adolpha Brandt. Dolly Browning.
How could they be the same person?
“But you brought me tomatoes from your garden,” Stella said, knowing it was a ridiculous thing to say under the circumstances. “You bought my granddaughter a teddy bear.”
“I’m a person, Stella. We were all just people. Regular people, like—”
“No! You were not!” Stella jumped up from her chair. The yarn, blanket, and letter fell to the floor. “Don’t say that! Regular people don’t do what you did!”
“Yes, they do! That’s what you have to understand. You think people in McGill are different from the little town outside of Dresden where I grew up? They aren’t. We rode our bicycles down the streets like children here do. We celebrated holidays with our families, kissed our sweethearts, had jobs, married and raised families, just like you.”
“Then you changed!”
“Hate-filled people told us hateful lies, and it served our purposes to believe them. They told us we were stronger and smarter and more beautiful than those who looked different from us. They told us they would put money in our pockets and give us good jobs and enable us to have better things than those ugly, stupid, weak people who didn’t deserve them.”
Murder at Mabel's Motel Page 23
