by Jane Tesh
I stopped back by the art room. Rachel was pushing in the chairs. “Quite a day, huh?” she said. “I’ll bet you didn’t think you’d have this much excitement here at Celosia Elementary.”
“I’d like to get my facts straight,” I said. “Start from when you left with Jennifer and tell me exactly what happened.”
She propped herself on one of the tables. “I helped Jennifer carry the drawings up to Thad’s office. One my way back, I remembered I needed to talk to Jacey about making some dough for a bead-making project I’m starting with my third graders. It would only take a minute, and I knew you had the class in hand—they loved you, by the way. I hope you can come back another day.”
“Thanks. I will.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears. The little beads on her ear cuff dangled. “Jacey always has a cigarette break around one thirty. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that Amelia does, too. She almost didn’t let me get past her to speak to Jacey. That’s when she started gasping and having trouble breathing. She fell, and I told Jacey to call Thad while I tried to revive Amelia. A lot of people on the faculty have CPR training. But by the time Thad came, she’d stopped breathing, and I couldn’t do anything else.”
“This may sound unkind, but do you think Brenda Mullins could’ve saved her?”
Rachel wasn’t offended. “I don’t know. But she wasn’t here. I did the best I could.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“The family’s not going to sue me, I hope. I mean, they had to know if Amelia kept smoking like that, something was bound to happen.”
“That’s why I’m asking these questions.”
She looked at her wrist watch. “Well, do you have any more questions? I have to go pick up the girls. Thank goodness they go to Parkland Academy. This would have upset them terribly.”
“Your girls don’t go to school here?”
“I decided Parkland Academy was better for them.”
“No more questions right now.”
“Okay. See you tonight?”
“I’ll be here,” I said.
***
I was a little surprised to find Fiona Kittering waiting for me at my office door.
“Madeline, did you hear about Amelia Lever?”
I wasn’t surprised any more. News traveled very fast in Celosia. “Yes, I happened to be at the school to talk to a class.”
“What was it? A heart attack?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Looks like? Are you on a case?” Fiona’s eyes went wide. “They think someone murdered her?”
“No, I’m just making sure everyone at the school did all they could.”
“I’m sure they did, even though she was a mean old bat—not to speak ill of the dead.” I unlocked my door, and Fiona followed me into my office. “But this isn’t going to interfere with Nathan’s case, is it? He came to you first.”
“I won’t slight Nathan.”
“It’s just that he has only one week.”
“What do you think the riddle means?”
I thought she’d sit down in the armchair, but she paced in front of my desk. “I’ve gone over it a million times, and it doesn’t make a bit of sense to me. Have you been to see Tori Dewey?”
“Yes, I met her this morning.”
“And you got along all right? She didn’t throw you out?”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
Fiona stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”
“She’s a tiny, shy woman who seems perfectly harmless.”
Fiona still didn’t answer my question. “She must have really liked you. Did you find out anything?”
“She doesn’t mind if I look around. I’m going back to her house tomorrow.”
“That’s wonderful. I told Nathan you could do it.”
“I haven’t solved the riddle yet.”
“Well, you’ve certainly made more progress in one day than anyone else.”
“I’m taking Jerry with me. He’s better at solving riddles.”
“She said he could come, too?”
“Yes.”
Fiona looked puzzled. I was about to ask her if she’d like to join us when she said, “You two seem very happy.”
“We are, thanks.”
“I have to say I envy you. Right now, Nathan’s putting all his energy into the kids’ camp. He’s told me as soon as he reaches that goal, he’ll have time for our relationship, and I told him I’m behind him one hundred percent.” She leaned forward. “You know most people think I’m all business. I am all business. I could really help with that end of the camp. I really want Nathan to succeed.”
So finding the answer to the riddle was more important to Fiona than I first thought. “I’m sure we’ll find some answers at the chateau.”
“That’s great, Madeline, thanks.”
I expected her to say good-by. Instead, she sat down in the armchair and twisted her hands in her lap. This was the first time I’d seen her in any way unsure. She looked like a terrier confronted with a high wall.
“Was there something else, Fiona?”
“This might be too personal.”
“You can ask me anything.”
“Personal for me, I mean.” She sighed as if she’d made a decision. “Does Nathan seem to show any interest in Tori? Someone told me they were an item years ago. I always thought she had eyes only for Aaron, but apparently, she was a bit of a flirt.”
I thought everyone in town of a certain age had gone to high school together, and I couldn’t imagine Tori as being flirtatious. “I don’t think they’re on very good terms, otherwise, he would’ve gone to the chateau to check the portraits himself, right?”
“I need to be certain. If he still cares for her, I’m not going to waste my time.”
“I’m assuming you didn’t go to Celosia High School?”
“I moved here about five years ago. Like you, I wanted my own agency in a small town. Maybe I’ve just heard rumors, but I’d hate to put a lot of effort into a relationship that wasn’t going to work.”
I hadn’t seen any evidence that Nathan was longing for Tori Satterfield, or Fiona, for that matter. He seemed set on winning his fortune and setting up camp. I almost asked Fiona if she wanted to hire me to find out and reconsidered. “Does Nathan know how you feel?”
“As I said, we’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. It’s too soon for me to declare myself. I want to know what I’m getting into.”
You’re really interested in Nathan’s inheritance, I wanted to say. “I think you need to talk to him. Maybe he’s ready for a more serious relationship. Maybe he’s not. But if he’s honest, he’ll tell you.”
“I hope he’ll be honest with me. But you could let me know if he says anything about Tori, couldn’t you?”
“It would be better if you asked him,” I said. “He’s my client.”
“That’s not much help.”
“I’m sorry.”
She got up. “Well, thanks, anyway.”
I could tell she wanted to say, “Thanks for nothing.”
***
I’d already planned to meet Jerry at Georgia’s after my school visit. His new schedule gave him the rest of the afternoon off.
“Which is very convenient, because I need to go to Parkland and see Warwick,” I said.
Jerry gathered a stack of music books from the counter. “Great! I can look for a watch.”
“I really need you to run interference.”
Jerry grinned. “Doesn’t Milton know you’re married?”
“That probably won’t deter him. And we need to be back here in time for PTA.”
He held the door for me and we went out. “PTA? I’ll bet that’s something you never thought you’d do. What’s the occasion? Were you so popular they had to have you back right away?”
“After I talked with Tori Satterfield, I went to Celosia Elementary to speak with Rachel Sigmon’s art classes. While I was
there, one of the teachers had what looks like a fatal heart attack.”
“And you were on the scene! You are the Grim Reaper.”
“I want to make sure it was an accident. Mrs. Lever was universally hated and feared.”
“Like Mrs. Meerbaum.”
We both shuddered. We’d spent a miserable semester with Mrs. Meerbaum for Political Science, a subject neither of us liked. We might have liked it if we’d had a good teacher, but Mrs. Meerbaum was overbearing, sarcastic, and unreasonable.
“Yes, like Mrs. Meerbaum,” I said. “The school plans a memorial service tonight during PTA, and I thought I’d scout for suspects. Would you like to come?”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a PTA meeting. It might be fun.”
“Milton first, then PTA.”
“Why don’t you just call him?”
“Well, I feel a little guilty. He’s been so helpful to me in the past, and I haven’t been to see him in a while.”
“You’re such a pushover.”
I unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat. Jerry sat down on the passenger’s side and looked through the music books.
“Is that the Christmas cantata?” I asked.
“Yes. The Glory of Christmas.”
“Are you planning to play it?”
He leafed through the pages. “I don’t know. It’s not difficult. I’m not sure I’m ready for the glory of Christmas in September, though.”
“Choirs usually start on the Christmas music early, don’t they?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, since the last time I was in church, I believe I was wearing a long white dress and crying because my head was wet.” He set the book aside. “How was the chateau?”
“Grim and dark. However, Tori Satterfield’s really sweet and shy. I don’t believe she ever goes out.”
“Is she an invalid?”
“No, just shy.”
“But she talked to you.”
“One artist to another.”
“Did she show you her work?”
“Stacks and stacks of scrapbooks, all lovingly decorated. She wanted to be a ballerina and, except for one happy experience, never got the chance.”
“Did she know anything about the riddle?”
“No, and there must be a hundred portraits lining the walls.”
“Well, if Nathan’s so anxious to solve this riddle, why isn’t he over there examining all the portraits?”
“I’m not sure. There’s something going on or something that used to go on between Nathan and Tori that I can’t figure out. But he hired me. And I’m hiring you to come help lift pictures off the walls.”
“Okay,” he said. “I work cheap.”
***
Milton Warwick met me at the door of his office in Parkland, his broad grin fading when he saw Jerry. But he recovered and beamed like a lighthouse.
“Come in, come in. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Fairweather now, isn’t it? Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” I said.
Milton Warwick’s a tall, thin, gangly man with shiny bald head and protuberant eyes. As a scientist, he’s interested in everything, and he’d made it clear from the first time we met he was interested in me. I knew he was disappointed I’d married someone else, but his professional curiosity was stronger than his disappointment.
“What can I do for you, Madeline?”
“A teacher at Celosia Elementary died from an apparent heart attack. She was a heavy smoker. She was also wearing a nicotine patch. I want to know if that could’ve caused a heart attack.”
“Well, I’m right in the middle of an experiment. Give me a few moments. Have a seat, you two. I’ll be right back.”
Jerry and I sat down in the white plastic chairs Milton keeps for his visitors. Jerry looked through a copy of Astounding Nonsense, a magazine published by Milton’s science club to debunk myths and questionable scientific research.
“Check this out, Mac. There was an actual paper on the ration of toast crumbs found in butter.”
“Our tax dollars at work?”
“An independent study.”
“Thank goodness.”
“And here’s one calculating the number of sled dogs in Alaska. I’ve always wanted to go to Alaska, but not to count sled dogs.”
“Were you thinking of going there any time soon?”
“Sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it? How about a second honeymoon?”
“Sure.”
“And here’s an article on painting.” He turned the magazine so I could see. “‘Simian Impressionists: An Overview.’”
“Monkey painting. How original.”
“That reminds me. How many paintings do you have ready?”
“I’m still trying to decide.”
“What about my picture?”
“If you’d sit still long enough, I could finish it.”
“What about all those little sketches?”
“They’re too small.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
Milton returned. “So sorry to keep you waiting. Now, to answer your question. You say the victim was wearing a nicotine patch and you want to know if that could have affected her heart. It was a bit foolish of her, but unless she was covered in patches, I doubt it would’ve caused a heart attack. Do you have access to her medical records? There are a couple of possibilities, but I’d have to know her history.”
“Do you know anyone at the Celosia hospital? Can you call in a favor?”
He stroked his little chin. “I might.”
“Her name was Amelia Lever.”
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, Milton.”
“My pleasure, and again, congratulations.” He held my hand a little longer than I liked, but I felt sorry for him and didn’t pull away. “Jerry, you’re a lucky man.”
“Yes, I am, thanks.”
“You take care of her. Madeline, I’ll call as soon as I have any information.”
“Okay,” Jerry said as we walked back to our car. “I’m looking for a big gold watch with an ‘S’ on it.”
“Any idea where to find one?”
“Foster’s Pawnshop.”
I might have known Jerry would be familiar with the finer pawnshops of Parkland. Foster’s was not what I expected. Instead of a dingy hole in a back alley, the shop was a gleaming modern building with clean floors and an organized array of appliances, musical instruments, and computers. Jerry headed to the back to the glass shelves filled with jewelry. A small gnarled man looked up from the cash register.
“Afternoon, Jerry.”
“Bilby, this is my wife, Madeline. Mac, this is Bilby Foster.”
I shook hands with the little man, who grinned, showing several gold teeth. “Nice to meet you.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Jerry, have you come to buy this lovely lady a nice trinket?”
“I’m looking for a gold pocket watch, specifically one with an ‘S’ on it.”
Foster frowned and pulled out a tray of watches. “Don’t think I’ve got one like that. Have a look. You might see something else you like.”
There were plain gold watches, plain silver watches, watches decorated with flowers and vines, watches with pictures of horses or locomotives, and one watch that played a tune when opened.
“I need one with an ‘S,’” Jerry said. “Keep an eye out for one, will you?”
“All right. Frankie was asking about you the other day. Wanted to know if you were still interested in what he talked to you about several months ago.”
“No, I’m out of that.”
Foster looked surprised. “Really? Thought with you wanting a special kind of watch you might be running a little fob off game.”
“The watch is for something else.”
“Oh.” He glanced at me and then winked and made a little zipping motion by his mouth. “Gotcha.”
We got back into the car. “Fob off game?” I asked.
�
�Do you really want to know?” Jerry said.
“Not if you’re finished with it.”
“I am, I promise.”
“You just want to fool Flossie Mae and Sylvie.”
“I just want to make them happy. There’s a difference. Anywhere else you need to go?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why don’t we stop by the Weyland Gallery and see where they’re going to hang your pictures?”
I had to admit I was curious. “I suppose we could have a look.”
The Weyland Gallery was in the Parkland Museum of Art, about twenty minutes from the pawnshop. A young woman at the front desk directed us to the gallery. We walked along quiet halls until we reached the current exhibit, a collection of odd sculptures made of pipes and fuzzy blue circles mounted on twisted coat hangers.
“If this were a contest, I think you’d win,” Jerry said.
A severe-looking woman in black, her silver hair skinned back in a tight bun, overheard him and turned to scowl.
“This is a fine example of Late Twentieth Century mood pieces. The artist is one of our brightest young people working in three dimensions.”
“Of course,” I said. “It’s very dynamic.”
This seemed to appease her. “Good choice of words.” She held out a thin hand. “I’m Letticia Booth, curator of the Weyland Gallery.”
Oh, great. One woman I do not want to offend. “I’m Madeline Maclin Fairweather, and this is my husband, Jerry.”
“Fairweather, Fairweather, why do I know that name?”
“I’m entering your New Artists Show.”
Her smile made her look more approachable. “Oh, yes. Your ‘Blue Moon Garden’ is quite a nice piece of modern impressionism. I’m looking forward to seeing more of your work.”
“Thank you. We hadn’t been in the Weyland Gallery and thought we’d look around.”
She gestured toward a wall filled with paintings. “Allow me.”
We followed Letticia Booth as she went from room to room, giving us a brief overview of the collection.
