***
Sam slowly re-read the letters he’d trivialized before and looked at my office log. He reached for his pipe, coaxed it to life.
“You okay, Lottie?”
“No. If I was in any way responsible for the death of Judy St. John, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
“No one is responsible for the minds of crazy people, lady. And there’s still a chance this person might be messing with you. Exploiting Judy’s death to get to you.”
“Doesn’t hold water, much as I would like to believe someone is just out to torment me.”
“How’s that?”
“No one’s supposed to know officially until the coroner gives his report today that it was murder.” I gazed at a slipping wanted poster dangling from his bulletin board. Needing to restore order wherever I could, I rose and pinned it back on straight. “Fiona spread the word around that it was suicide, and all my fault. I know Judy was murdered, you know it, but it’s not common knowledge.”
“Official don’t mean diddley squat. There’s plenty of people who knew different when they saw FBI agents at St. Johns. Word gets around fast, and like I told you, this wasn’t the most intelligent crime I’ve ever seen.”
“Even so, Sam. For someone to have time to write and send a letter overnight? They had to know.”
“By God, now.” He rubbed his nose, then held the bowl of his pipe as he listened.
“Josie’s wondered all along if my pen pal wasn’t living right here in this county. Now I’m convinced they were using a mail drop to cover up that fact, but they would have had time to drive to Stanton yesterday and send this letter to arrive in today’s mail.”
“I’ll turn all the letters over to the KBI today,” he said. “Jim Gilderhaus will have an opinion. Count on it. Tell your sister about these right away. She might have some special insight.”
I winced. Josie’s “special insight” was that my move to Western Kansas had been a waste of a first class brain in the first place.
“I hope we’re not putting you in harm’s way. Bet Keith’s thrilled with all this. I can’t even offer you police protection,” he said bitterly.
“Sam, I am the police. Remember?”
He puffed his pipe and looked at me with a sour smile.
***
That evening, I waited for Keith to come home, dreading telling him my work as an historian had taken a darker turn than my job as a deputy.
I met him at the door.
“You look like hell, Lottie. What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been accused of stealing the Custer letter.”
Stunned into silence, he took off his denim work jacket walked into the mud room and hung it on a peg, thinking, thinking, before he spoke. “For god’s sake, why? That would ruin your life’s work. Your reputation. What have you done to anyone?”
“Nothing. And there’s worse. Those anonymous letters I told you about might be from the SOB who murdered Judy.”
“My God. I wish you’d never…”
“Become a deputy? It’s my work at the historical society that’s bringing this on.”
“Two murders. Now this.” He smacked a fist into the palm of his hand, and stared out the window at our leafless cottonwoods before he came over and pulled me close. “I feel helpless,” he whispered.
“We are helpless. Both of us. But the FBI will take a look at the letters. Sam thinks there’s a chance someone is just pushing my buttons.”
“Thinks or wishes?”
“Hopes.” I lifted my face for a kiss. “I want to stay home with you tonight, but I need to call on Max. Take him some food.”
“He’s back at the house? Already?”
“Yes. The FBI processed and released the house yesterday, because we’ve already turned it inside out looking for that letter, and we know Judy was strangled right outside the barn with the same rope used to hang her.”
“Poor old Max.”
“Come with me? I’m done in. Between the anonymous letters and the Hadleys trying to throw me to the wolves over the Custer theft, I can hardly think.”
“You on duty?”
“Nope. Couldn’t, wouldn’t ask you if I was.”
“Good. Then I get to hover. I don’t want you out of my sight.”
***
There were cars parked the length of the lane. Inez Wilson opened the door. Lanky, bird bright, she motioned me inside.
“How’s he doing?”
“Just terrible,” she said. “Terrible. He won’t eat a thing. Won’t talk to anyone.”
“Let me try.”
It was as though there was nothing left of Maxwell. He was a skinny old shell that just happened to breathe because his lungs made him.
On the table were enough cakes, casseroles, salads, and pies to feed an army. I leaned over and kissed his old withered cheek. His eyes clouded with tears. The vacant look in his eyes told me he might as well have been on a desert island.
“Max, would you like me to pick out clothes for the service?”
He nodded and I went upstairs and started through the clothes in Judy’s closet. Her bedroom appeared to be unchanged since she’d graduated from high school. The décor was too young, too frilly. She probably didn’t have either the time or the money to replace things since she’d moved back.
When Mendoza removed the contents of Judy’s little cedar hope chest, piece by piece, she’d admired the embroidered pillowcases.
I settled on a soft coral two piece dress, turned off the light and started down the stairs. I paused and looked back, hoping Judy’s letter would somehow glow in the dark. Although Brian had given his mother an alibi for Zelda’s death, Judy had been adamant the letter proved Fiona was the kil ler. Proof that was gone now. I knew Fiona hadn’t murdered Judy, but I could not be sure she wasn’t responsible in some way for Zelda’s death.
***
Brian gave the eulogy at the funeral. It was sweet. Poignant. Just right. With a few well-chosen words he captured his cousin’s wistful personality. He told of Judy’s love of nature, their walks along the creek bank, her fascination with dragon flies.
As I listened to him speak, watched his face, I noticed how much better he looked. His eyes were clear, and his hands steady as he held his note cards. He was the epitome of honesty and sincerity. The all-American boy. The entire Hadley family had developed deception into an art form.
I scoffed as I watched. Visine does wonders for the eyes. Perhaps a touch of the hair of the dog to stop the trembling hands. His massive will could keep him together long enough to make a good speech.
At the burial afterward, when they were lowering Judy into the grave, Max looked like he wanted to pitch himself on top the coffin. The funeral was enormous. I clung to Keith’s arm as if my feet would give way if I didn’t. It was a terrible day, a terrible time for us all. I was bitter that those who would not have given this girl the time of day in real life felt compelled to attend her funeral and feign the deepest mourning.
My own grief was genuine. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so desolated over the death of a woman I had known such a short length of time.
Despite my show of bravado at the board meeting, I had not slept well for the last three nights. In the daytime, my startle reflex was on overdrive. All someone had to do was walk up behind me, and I either jumped or dropped something.
Yet the service strengthened my anger. Two murders had been committed in my county. Two. Right under our noses. Two murders, and I was getting letters from the person who very well could have committed them.
I looked around at the sea of faces. Many with black glasses. Cousins to old-time veils. Historically, worn so Death couldn’t see you, wouldn’t seek you out.
Fiona wept uncontrollably. For show and for the record, of course. She had just watched the biggest threat to her son’s career put six feet under. Yet, I remembered her fury the day we had found Judy. On that day I knew she had cared about her niece as much as she could care
about anyone she couldn’t use.
Fiona didn’t have access to the noble emotions that inspired poetry. Her deepest most heartfelt feelings were reserved for herself, but in her own crippled way, I knew she had either cared about Judy more than she had known, or she was deeply frightened.
As was I.
Chapter Thirty
Once home, I called Josie to tell her about the latest letter. “Are you there?” I asked, after a good sixty seconds of silence on the line.
“Just barely,” she said. “I don’t like the sound of this. Can you send me copies of all those letters?”
“Sure. You don’t think it’s someone who’s trying to push my buttons like Sam thought? Or Sam hoped.”
“Not any more. If it’s someone living right there in your own county, you’re dealing with a person who is very dangerous. Perhaps someone who has killed twice.”
“And smart enough to know how to arrange for letters to be mailed from different towns.”
“Okay, here’s what I think, or suspect. Pick your word.”
“Yeah, I know, and all your words are going to be qualified with buts and maybes.”
“You bet. I’m not a profiler. This is not my field. I am not a forensic psychologist and I don’t want to be one. Ain’t gonna be one either, despite your attempts to make me one. I never should have agreed to be a consultant for your little piss-ant county, but you are my sister, and I would like to keep you around a little while longer. I think.”
I smiled.
“My gut feeling here is your correspondent is not a newcomer, is middle-aged, and has lived in the county a long time. Possibly single or a widower.”
“Widower? You think it’s a male.”
“Funny I would have said that. In the beginning, I was thinking female.”
“Why have you changed your mind, Josie?”
“I haven’t.” She laughed. “It was a slip of the tongue.”
“Oh, right.”
“They do happen, you know.”
“That’s not what you’ve always said before.”
“Let’s start by eliminating newcomers. Check out strangers, then see if you can gather some gossip for me.”
“Gossip is this town’s specialty.”
“I want to know if someone is disintegrating. If this person holds a job and is in the state I think he or she is in, there would be signs at work. Definite signs of change. They would be noticeable to co-workers. See what you can find out and get back to me.”
***
A week later, I took Judy’s box over to Max St. John. I would visit a while, then let him know about the treasures in his attic. Considering his state before the funeral, I had expected to be let in by a home health person, but that’s not what happened.
It took forever for him to answer my ring and longer still for him to recognize me.
I took in his old chino pants. They were food stained and needed washing. He smelled. I wondered if he had had a bath since the funeral. Why hadn’t Inez arranged for care? His going to the hardware store every day had been a sham even before Zelda’s death. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t competing. Walmarted into obscurity.
I didn’t give him a chance to turn me away. “I’ll bet I caught you at suppertime. Don’t let me interrupt. In fact, I’ll go right on back to the kitchen with you while you finish. I just came over to bring Judy’s things and see how you’re doing.” Wanting to see what he called supper nowadays, I brushed right past him.
The odor nearly knocked me over. Food from the funeral set on the counter. Meat reeked, cakes and pies were dotted with green fur. Milk clotted in at least seven glasses. Dirty plates ringed the table as though Max had just drug out food at random and eaten his next meal without washing a thing or putting food away again.
Shamed, he stood before me.
“I’ve kind of let things go, I guess.”
I closed my eyes, turned away for an instant, not wanting him to see my tears. I composed myself, faced him.
“It’s understandable.” I hoped my voice sounded gentle. I couldn’t bear to have him think I was scolding. Not after all he had been through. “It’s so very understandable, Max.”
I moved toward him and held him. He wept silently, shoulders shaking. Wept as though he couldn’t make it through another day. I rubbed his back. “It’s understandable, but wrong. I’m not going to let you live this way. You need help. You know that, Max.”
“I don’t care. I just don’t care.”
“If I were in your place, I’m not sure I would either. But you must try. You owe it to Judy, and I owe it to Judy. I’m going to call the hospital and arrange for you to go into respite care. While you’re there, I’ll find someone to come in and clean things up. Then we can talk about your coming back. If you want to.”
“I just don’t care.”
“Haven’t any of the Hadleys been here? Looking in on you? Seeing if you need anything?”
Angry again, I realized Fiona and Edgar Hadley were still able to make my blood boil. Why in the name of decency hadn’t they offered to help this poor old soul?
“Fiona’s been here. Said she wanted to go through stuff in the attic.”
I closed my eyes and prayed.
Please God, please God, please God.
“She said there was Rubidoux things that belonged to her family. I said she could damn sure have it. Lot of junk. Wasn’t doing nobody no good. Not rightfully mine, anyway.”
I started to protest, then stopped. Under Kansas law, he inherited all of Zelda’s goods. He could give his possessions to whomever he chose. If he had specifically given Fiona permission to take what she wanted, it was a done deal.
Please God, please God, please God.
“Sit down for a minute, Max. I want to check something in the attic myself.”
I eased him onto a chair, walked out of the room, then flew up the stairs. I looked around, lowered my head into my cupped hands, and rocked back and forth in anguish.
Stripped. All of it. Stripped bare. Not a trace of the priceless old comics, the trunks, the vintage clothing, the art deco jewelry, the picture frames, the books. Or the journals. Those priceless old journals. Nothing. I slid down the wall to the floor and muffled howls of pure rage.
When I could compose myself, I walked back downstairs. There was no point in making this poor old man any more miserable then he already was. He had never known the worth of the items in the attic, and it would not do him a bit of good to know it now.
“Do you know what Fiona did with everything?”
“Think she hauled some of it off to the dump, kept some of it. Burned some it.” His eyes welled with tears. “Don’t care. Didn’t want to see any of it anymore. She would have gotten it all in the end anyway. Might as well all be burnt now as later.”
My soul cried to heaven with outrage, but my face managed a small smile and my hand reached for his, gave it a squeeze.
Ninety thousand dollars hauled off. At least. Enough to provide decent care for several years. I grieved over the money and what it would have meant to Max, and I grieved over the lost history. Would Fiona recognize the worth of those priceless journals, or were they now ashes in the Carlton County landfill?
I took Max back into town with me. I did not have to persuade Dr. Golbert to admit him into the hospital. One look, and he knew Max was in the process of slow dehydration. Then I called Inez Wilson to bawl her out. As county health nurse, she should have arranged for care. Her voice hot with self-righteous protests, Inez argued that Fiona had called and assured her that Max was doing just fine. Family was family. The Hadleys would look after him.
***
I pulled into our lane when a late breaking news announcement came over the radio.
“At a press conference this morning, Sam Abbott, sheriff of Carlton County, announced that due to the results of an autopsy, the death of Judy St. John, cousin to Senatorial hopeful Brian Hadley, is being investigated as a homicide. While Sheriff Abbott stres
sed there is no apparent tie-in with the murder of Judy St. John’s mother, Zelda St. John, earlier this month, he cannot rule out the possibility at this time. Sheriff Abbott announced that the KBI, once again, would be assisting with the investigation.”
Finally. Even thought it was common knowledge Judy had not committed suicide, this would officially put a stop to Fiona’s campaign to convince people I’d overstressed a vulnerable young woman. Although it was cold comfort having folks know she had been murdered instead, at least Max was now safely settled in respite care where he would be protected from the press.
Chapter Thirty-One
I spent the next morning at the historical society working both jobs to locate my elusive letter writer. Shamed over his dismissal of the letters to begin with, Sam had grudgingly acknowledged that the positions sometimes intersected, and I was in the best position to know when that was an advantage. In return, I’d sweetly agreed to call him to decide when there was a “situation” looming.
Margaret looked tired when she came in. The murder had taken a toll on everyone. We didn’t feel safe in our own county now.
“It wouldn’t be a sin, if you took a day off, you know,” I said.
“That applies to you too, Lottie.”
“I need to keep my mind occupied.”
She sighed. “Me too.” She placed her purse behind her desk.
I stopped and stretched. “Since we’re here by ourselves, perhaps you can fill me in on some things I’d like to know.”
“Like what?” She tensed and curled her fists into tight balls.
“Oh, relax. This isn’t a sheriffing question. I just want to know more about The Ladies. How do you see them? Or did see them, I guess. In particular, do you know of anything strange going on with Fiona about the time Zelda was pregnant. Some incident? Or event?”
“Funny you should mention it. I’d almost forgotten.” She sat with her hands clasped on top of the desk. “Fiona was fit to be tied. Don’t know what got into her. I’ve seen other women turn weepy like that when they had a lot of miscarriages or were infertile, but she already had Brian.”
“Still, if she’d wanted a large family, and it wasn’t going to happen that might have done it,” I said. “Some infertile women are very envious of another’s pregnancy. Or it could be simply that Zelda was the center of attention for a change.”
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