Lily took a deep breath, then said, “I understand everything you’ve said, Ben. But there are other factors. Things that convince me with the utmost certainty that the garden, whatever Justin took from it or didn’t take from it, has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with his murder. Things aren’t always the way they seem.”
“That’s certainly true enough,” Nell said. “But what if Ben’s right, Lily? Think about it. Martin Seltzer knew what was going on in your clinic. He knew Justin was taking those plants and he was angry about it. He tried to get you to fire Justin. He hated him. He wanted him gone. He’s told a dozen people that. You . . . you could be in danger.”
For a minute they thought Lily was going to fold up into herself right there on the comfortable slipcovered couch. But instead, she straightened up, took a deep breath, and looked around the table, meeting their eyes.
“No,” she said. “I’m not in any danger. And yes, he didn’t like Justin, that’s absolutely true. I didn’t fully realize why until today because I didn’t know about the garden. But the one thing I do know is that I am not in any danger and he didn’t have anything to do with Justin’s murder. Nothing. I promise you that. And that’s why you can’t tell the police about this. They will think exactly what you are thinking right now. That Martin Seltzer was involved in a murder. They will investigate him and make his life miserable. And he’s already had enough of that.”
“Lily, how can you be sure Martin didn’t have anything to do with it?” It was Sam, his voice gentle. Reasonable. Sincere.
Lily looked him in the eye. Her words came from deep in her throat and were tinged with pain, but spoken with solid, unbreakable assurance.
“Because he’s my father,” she said.
Chapter 27
Someone’s cell phone, hidden in a purse or pocket, rang, but it went unanswered, its sound intrusive in the quiet room. A couple more followed at uneven intervals, then silence.
Ben refilled glasses and sat back in his chair. Lily took the tissue Izzy offered her. Sam’s arm looped around Izzy’s shoulder, as if to assure her that things would be okay. This, too, would pass.
Finally Lily took a deep breath and thanked them all for not dismissing her completely, at least not yet.
“Of course not, Lily,” Nell said. She had busied herself in the kitchen and returned with turkey rolls, a platter of bruschetta, more olives and pickles, warm bread, and cheese. “It’s been a long day.”
Lily ventured a slight laugh. “And it’s about to get longer, I’m afraid. My story isn’t a short one. We may well need nourishment.”
Izzy laughed, and she and Cass began filling plates for everyone. “We’re good listeners,” she said. “Especially with Aunt Nell’s turkey rolls in our mouths.”
Lily took a sip of water and started in. “Martin Seltzer was an anesthesiologist for many years in a small town in western Massachusetts. He also taught at the local college. He was brilliant—in all aspects of medicine, not just anesthesia. My mother used to tease him that he specialized in that because it gave him the most time to study all the other areas. He loved the research, the genetics, the multitude of tests available to patients. He was an excellent doctor—until my mother died. That’s when he started drinking.
“As it progressed, my sister and I worried and fretted and did everything we could to get him to stop. I was a doctor; I knew how dangerous it was. But nothing seemed to work, and then he began going to work while drinking. Like some alcoholics, he was very good at hiding it. His associates didn’t even know. He seemed steady and in control.
“But my sister and I were afraid something terrible would happen, that he’d kill someone on the operating table. Finally, when he refused to admit he had a problem or to get help, we were left with only one recourse: to report him to the medical board. It was awful, the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. He wouldn’t comply with the program the board put in place for him and he lost his license, along with a part of his soul and lots of friends. Everyone in the town knew about it—it even made some larger newspapers. It was a horrible time for all of us— for several years he didn’t speak to my sister or me. But finally we worked through it and he got the help he needed. By the time I got divorced and moved here, he was having some health problems, so I invited him to come with me. I convinced him I needed his help in setting up the clinic, though mostly my sister and I wanted him near family. He agreed to come on one condition—that I didn’t reveal our relationship. He was still ashamed of everything that had happened, and somehow he thought if people knew—if someone here, somehow, had heard and remembered the story—it would reflect poorly on me. I didn’t agree, but sometimes you give in, you know?” She brushed her hair back from her cheek. Her eyes damp. “With my father I’ve always had to pick my battles carefully.”
“So he doesn’t really work in the clinic?” Izzy said. “I thought . . . I remember Janie telling me once that if there was anything I didn’t understand, Dr. Seltzer was available to talk to. But I guess I never asked her what she meant. You were always so wonderful about explaining everything yourself.”
“And you, Izzy, are one of those patients who practically ends up with an honorary M.D., reading books, learning everything you can about your pregnancy, but not everyone is like that. And some patients need to have more testing than you required, or simply want it for their own peace of mind.
“My father doesn’t work in the clinic as a practicing physician. But he would lose his mind doing nothing. So he spends a lot of time talking to patients, answering questions, explaining all the tests and lab work. He loves all of that—it’s like he’s back in the classroom again. And the patients who talk to him are impressed and appreciative—he’s actually a very good listener, kind of like a priest in the confessional sometimes.” She smiled with a daughter’s pride, and shades of pink made their way to her cheeks. “He’s truly brilliant.”
“That explains many things,” Nell said softly. Lily’s story had touched each of them, but in a way, it almost made the situation for Lily’s father worse. Martin Seltzer had suffered through such difficulties in his life. How do such experiences affect a man’s psyche, his mind? His emotional control?
“Justin truly came in and disrupted that life,” Izzy said.
“Yes . . . Justin,” Lily said, her tone expressing what she wouldn’t say out loud—that she regretted the day she let Janie talk her into hiring him.
“Justin and my father’s relationship was everything you said it was. My father didn’t like him. He thought he was no good. But he never told me about the garden, so I didn’t realize the depth of his bad feelings toward Justin and that they were born of Justin’s intrusion into a part of my father’s private life. Then pillaging it as he did. If I had known, of course, I would have let Justin go immediately. But my father didn’t want me to know about the garden. He thought it would be one more disappointment, one more thing he had done that might reflect poorly on me.” She shook her head. A soft auburn wave fell across her cheek and she pushed it back absently, her thoughts moving to other events, other moments. “So many misunderstandings, so many heartaches . . . ,” she murmured, more to herself than the group around her.
“Were you . . . were you surprised that your father had planted a garden up there?” Izzy asked.
Lily smiled at her. “You’re being kind, Izzy. You mean, why did he plant pot on the roof of our clinic? A fair question—but there’s an easy answer, though not a happy one.” She took a drink and then leaned back into the cushions for the first time since she had sat down. “My father has cancer. It’s under control right now, but painful at times. He has an oncologist in Boston, but Dr. Hamilton is caring for him here—he and I share a clinic dispensary, as you probably know, and he prescribed morphine for the pain. But my father hated the way it made him feel—dizzy and disoriented. He couldn’t be completely present to the patients seeking his advice and his knowledge. So he experimented with the cannabis without
telling me. It has helped ease the pain, he told me, and it allows him to be more active.”
“No wonder he was so upset with Justin,” Sam said. “He was depleting the supply, probably having no idea of your father’s need.”
“I suppose that was a part of it. But I think my father’s anger went beyond the fact that Justin was stealing it from him. After you left today, he told me that when he found out Justin was selling it, he was livid. He could hardly contain himself. He had gotten to the point that he was going to tell me all about it, about the garden, everything, so we could confront Justin and do whatever had to be done.”
“But someone murdered Justin before you had a chance,” Cass said.
“Yes.” She looked at them, her eyes filling. “But it wasn’t my father. He didn’t kill him.”
Ben refilled glasses again and Nell got up and switched on the low lights near the fireplace. Outside, the sky was growing dark.
Nell looked at Lily, feeling a rush of compassion for the anguished doctor. “Lily, you know the police won’t stop looking for the person from whom Justin got the plants. They think that it’s a key to his murder, and maybe Horace Stevenson’s, too. A critical missing piece to this awful puzzle.”
“Yes, I know that. But my hope is that as they search for that person, they’ll find the real murderer and never have to approach my father. They can’t possibly know about the garden, unless . . .” Her words dropped off, but those that went unspoken roared in the quiet room.
Unless someone sitting in this room tells them.
• • •
They never had to answer Lily’s question, to affirm or negate her request, though they would talk about it later.
What would they have done? The police needed to know about this. It would be their duty, their responsibility, to report it. But Lily was their friend, Izzy’s doctor, and a kind and lovely woman who spoke from her heart.
But as much as each one of them wanted to believe her, they knew that the strength of a daughter’s love could melt cold, steely facts into something else in the blink of an eye.
What would they have said if they’d had to answer her question?
But the Endicotts’ phone rang soon after Lily pleaded for their silence, during the time they were each assembling their own thoughts, wondering how to respond.
It was Janie Levin on the phone, asking for Lily. She had tried calling cell phones—Lily’s and Izzy’s and Nell’s, the only numbers she had on her own phone—but when no one answered, Tommy suggested she call the landline number, and he had given it to her. She said she had foolishly forgotten that some people still use landlines—not just offices and shops . . . and police stations.
Nell listened to Janie’s rush of words—a nervous flow. Then she put Lily on the phone.
Lily mostly listened, as Nell had done, but the words that Lily heard were ones that once again robbed the doctor of all the color that had slowly made its way back into her cheeks.
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away before turning back to the others.
“My rather brazen request is no longer of consequence,” she said. “My father called the police himself. They’re at the clinic now.”
• • •
Sam and Ben both drove back to the clinic with Lily, brushing aside her protests.
“I was there, Lily,” Sam said. “I might be able to help clarify what happened today.” And then he reminded her that Ben was a good friend of Jerry Thompson and it never hurt to have Ben Endicott in your back pocket, which drew a smile from the doctor.
By the time the men returned, Cass had left to join Danny on Harbor Road for dinner, and Izzy was nearly asleep, curled up as best she could on the couch. She awoke with a start when the two men walked in.
“As Lily expected, Martin Seltzer will now be closely investigated,” Ben said. “He’s definitely a suspect. Jerry assured Lily he would go easy on her dad, as easy as he could. The fact that he called the police, knowing it would put him in the spotlight, will be in his favor.”
Sam added, “The garden was the least of their concerns. For now, anyway, they won’t bring any charges against him for growing the cannabis. Jerry’s wife died of cancer. He’s sensitive to that part of the story—”
“But it would certainly be a preferable charge to that of murder,” Izzy said.
The thought was sobering. Far preferable. Nell had thrown together a goat cheese pizza and brewed a pot of coffee, and the four of them moved out to the deck and the blanketing comfort of a velvet sky.
“It’s complicated, for sure,” Ben said. “In the meantime the guys took lots of photos, and recorded in detail Justin’s days of employment, times he was spotted going back and forth from the rooftop. It was hard on Janie, and after she answered lots of questions, Jerry excused her and Lily sent her home with Tommy.”
“What a spot for Tommy to be in, being on the force—and clearly in love with Janie, and right smack in the middle of this mess,” Izzy said. She caught a strand of melted cheese on her finger and licked it off.
“Janie’s tough, just like you,” Sam said, wrapping one arm around her. “Jerry doesn’t have Tommy working on this case, although I think for Janie’s sake he’d move a granite boulder to find the murderer and put this all behind them. It can’t be easy on a relationship.”
“How did Martin handle everything?”
“It was difficult,” Ben said.
Sam agreed. “The man looked wiped, but he was determined not to have Lily hide his sins, as he put it. There was real affection between the two of them, each trying to protect the other. I got the feeling it had been a long time since that had been expressed.”
“I noticed that, too,” Ben said. “As for Justin, Martin made it clear he had nothing to do with his murder, though they would find a handful in people in town who had heard him say he’d like to have done the deed.”
“That’s not good,” Nell said.
“No,” Ben agreed. “Not at all. Martin had motive, opportunity. And, as Jerry told me when we left, he also had ‘know-how.’ He was an anesthesiologist—he’d have no trouble manipulating a diving tank regulator.”
“So the police will go after him,” Izzy said, feeling suddenly sad.
“What an awful thing for Lily,” Nell said, reading her thoughts.
“Knowing all this, it’s not hard to understand why she came over here. She was desperate that it wouldn’t come to this,” Izzy said.
Ben agreed, finishing off his piece of pizza. He got up and returned with the coffeepot and a plate of oatmeal cookies. “Yeah. It’s hard. I don’t know what to think.”
“Some residents may hope it’s Martin. Everyone loves Lily, but may not be so fond of him,” Nell said.
“Except for Henrietta,” Izzy said. “I wonder . . .”
“What?” Sam said.
“Henrietta doesn’t take things lying down. If she’s a friend of Martin’s, he couldn’t have a better person having his back. I wonder what she will say about this.”
It would take them a little less than twenty-four hours to find out.
Chapter 28
Henrietta stood in the shadows at the top step to the knitting room, softly tapping her cane in perfect four/four time. Her white head swiveled side to side as she took stock of the room a few steps below.
Behind her, Mae Anderson bustled about, preparing to close the shop, one eye on the back of the formidable five-foot-tall woman who had bustled into the shop minutes before with fire in her eyes.
Unaware of being watched, Nell stood at the table, uncovering a pan of baked potatoes. Steam curled up in front of her face. Nearby, Izzy turned up the vocals of Marvin Gaye singing about mountains.
Birdie was seated in her favorite chair near the fireplace, talking to Cass. Her small arthritic fingers moved rapidly, stitch after stitch, bringing shape to the remaining arm in baby Perry’s romper.
Only sweet Purl, curled up on Cass’ lap, was watching Henrietta watch t
hem.
Finally Henrietta increased her taps, now loud and insistent, drawing everyone’s attention away from their business and to herself. Before anyone had a chance to say hello, she moved down the steps and over to Nell’s side.
“Baked potatoes.” She frowned, peering into the pan. “Word on the street is that there is a gourmet spread in this room every Thursday night. But baked potatoes?”
“Twice baked,” Nell said. “And stuffed with chunks of fresh crab in an amazing, if I do say so myself, cheesy wine sauce. We have extra. Try one. It may surprise you.”
“Aren’t the Irish supposed to like potatoes?” Izzy asked.
“No,” Henrietta said, leaning her cane against the bookcase and eyeing the potatoes again, “but I will try anything once, dearie. And I do enjoy fresh crab.”
In minutes they were seated around the table, plates of crispy-skin stuffed potatoes and Caesar salad in front of them. Birdie had poured wine and water, and everyone was glancing at Henrietta expectantly as they dug their forks into the creamy potatoes. Why was she here?
“I’m barging in, now, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” Cass said. “But you’ve been known to do worse, Henrietta. And you are always fun to have around. But what’s up? Why are you here?”
Henrietta laughed, a booming sound that went straight up to the ceiling. “And wouldn’t you know the frankness would come from a Halloran? We Irish understand each other.” She winked at Cass and wiped a dribble of sour cream from her ample chin. Then she put down her fork and took a sip of wine, and her round face grew serious.
“It’s this ridiculous notion that Martin Seltzer could have hurt anyone, much less a young pip-squeak like Justin Dorsey or an old fogey like Horace. Of course he didn’t. It’s ridiculous, so that’s why I’m here, though I suspect you had anticipated as much. What are we going to do about it?” White eyebrows shot up above lively blue eyes.
Nell wiped her hands on a napkin. Somehow knitting seemed more satisfying right now than eating. She took the baby blanket from her bag and settled it across her lap. The sections were coming together now, tiny seed stitches bordering the soft yellow cables.
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