Monster in Miniature

by Margaret Grace

  Skip shrugged. “It wasn’t clear from the two-line caption in the database, but I got the impression it was more about sick kids. The database is not maintained very well, by the way, so there’s no guarantee the place is still in operation or even that it hasn’t burned down in the last few years. One of the techs said they don’t have a website, and he didn’t have time yet to Google it.”

  “Do you need Googling?” asked the returning heroine.

  “Nuh-uh,” Skip said, pulling Maddie into a hug while he stuffed the envelope in the pocket of my coat sweater. He kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, squirt, but the Lincoln Point cops have to do something to earn the big bucks they pay us.” He released her and gave me a good-bye peck.

  “Will you let me know how you crack the password?” Maddie asked.

  “Sure will.”

  I guessed Maddie’s fingers were itching to have the drive back.

  My fingers were itching also. I needed to get to directory assistance for Sunaqua Falls, New York. If that failed, I’d have to Google.

  With only one more depressed sigh and whine about not having been able to crack the flash drive password, Maddie was able to return to the crafts room with me.

  We’d almost forgotten about the haunted dollhouse, the project we’d wanted to complete this weekend. The plan was to take the finished house to Maddie’s school to use as a prop for their Halloween play. We still had one more weekend before it was due, but we decided it would be a good idea to get as much done as possible this afternoon.

  “We should put furniture inside, in case some people look in the windows,” Maddie said, helping me move the house to the center of the crafts table.

  “I’ll do that while you make the rest of the ghosts and witches.”

  “I think I’ll add a couple of vampire bats like the ones we saw on Appomattox,” she said.

  “Good idea. I might have some filmy material around,” I said, with a smile. In fact, as we both knew, there was a whole box marked Material—Filmy in my supply closet.

  I supposed I shouldn’t always give my granddaughter the fun parts of projects, but I figured she’d meet enough people in her life who would treat her the opposite way. Though anyone who treated her badly would have me to reckon with for a long time to come.

  Her beaming “Thanks, Grandma” was enough to convince me I was taking the right approach.

  Buzzz. Buzzz.

  The doorbell rang as I was measuring the space for a bathroom mirror over the tiny sink in the dollhouse.

  I’d phoned Susan and told her she could pick up her repaired room box anytime. She was overwhelmed with company, she told me. Oliver’s daughters had arrived in town, as well as his ex-wife, plus her own ex-husband, who now lived in Florida. She didn’t know when she could break away.

  “I’m just so glad to know the room box is safe and sound,” she’d said. “I can’t thank you enough, Gerry.”

  Buzzz. Buzzz.

  I was surprised she’d found the time to pick up the box so quickly. Perhaps she wanted to show the rest of the family the special gift.

  I didn’t plan to tell Susan about the flash drive. We’d added sawdust to the spot where the cork-based bench had stood and, to the best of our memories, restored the box to its original condition.

  “I’ll get it,” Maddie said, zipping her lip as she ran to let Susan in. Her way of telling me that the existence of the flash drive was our little secret.

  “Hello, there,” I heard.

  Not Susan’s voice. A deep voice, and not one I recognized. I dropped the mirror, shattering it, and knocked over the stool as I hurried to the door.

  The Ferguson twins stood in the doorway.

  Chapter 16

  The identical flat smiles on Eliot’s and Emory’s faces did nothing to put me at ease. I drew Maddie away so that she was mostly behind me, though the twins didn’t look at all threatening, possibly because they had their mother’s short, stocky physique, so I still had several inches on them.

  “Mrs. Porter,” said one of the brothers. Probably my former student, Eliot, now back thinking of me as his teacher.

  I was tempted to ask them to stroll back down the walkway so I could tell which one had the limp.

  “I hope we’re not catching you at a bad time,” said the other brother.

  The twins were dressed as opposite images of each other—one wore denim pants and a khaki shirt; the other wore khaki pants and a denim shirt. I thought I saw grease spots on both shirts in the same place, but that was likely my agitated imagination.

  I wondered if they’d chosen their outfits deliberately to be complementary. I remembered identical twin girls in our Bronx apartment building. As teenagers they never wanted to be dressed alike, but inevitably, if they shopped separately, they’d come back with the same items and be annoyed at the fact. Their parents claimed the girls’ personalities were as identical as their looks. Research on twins bore that out, leaving me to wonder about “the evil twin” stories. Wouldn’t they both be evil?

  The thought was no comfort as I stood in front of the Ferguson twins.

  I was aware that the evening had turned cold, and I was leaving guests standing in my doorway while I reflected on twin lore. If I’d been alone, I wouldn’t have hesitated to invite them in and pick their identical brains.

  “Maddie, sweetheart, would you be a dear and go call your Uncle Skip for me? He left something behind and he needs to stop by for it.” In a small town like Lincoln Point, I didn’t have to mention that said Uncle Skip was with the LPPD; the twins would be aware of the fact.

  Maddie ran off without a word. She couldn’t have missed the tension in my body. Sometimes we communicated as if we were twins, and I was glad this was one of those times.

  I turned to Eliot and Emory. “Please come in,” I said.

  I took them as far as the atrium. If Maddie caught my cues, she would have locked the glass doors closest to the bedrooms. “Would you like coffee? A soda?” I asked.

  Was it just me, or did all women think they had to offer refreshments to everyone who entered their homes, suspected murderers included?

  The twins declined, shaking their heads in unison. Now in their late forties, the Ferguson twins wore their thinning hair the same way, with a side part, and sported glasses with identical gold wire frames.

  I wondered what it would be like to go through life with another person who was essentially me. Same DNA, same responses and personality. Only their fingerprints were different, I’d read. I thought one of me was plenty.

  On the way to our taking seats in the atrium, I’d studied the twins’ legs and made up a mnemonic: denim pants equals limp equals Eliot.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chat,” Emory said.

  I tried to keep from wringing my hands in my nervousness. My guests seemed calm, not worried that an officer in the LPPD might show up at any minute. It was up for grabs whether Maddie had actually phoned Skip or had decided that I simply needed to let the men know that we had personal protection at our beck and call.

  “We won’t keep you, Mrs. Porter, we just wanted to set the record straight about recent events,” denim-pants Eliot added, putting quote marks in the air around “recent events.” “Our whole family is upset about Oliver Halbert’s death. We know you’re tight with his sister and we hope you’ll give her that message.”

  “She’s easy to reach, Eliot,” I said, flaunting my keen powers of observation. “You might want to tell her yourselves.” I realized too late that it wasn’t a good idea to sic the twins on Susan, and I hoped they wouldn’t ask for her address. I wondered if there was a class I could take for chatting under duress.

  “It’s awkward,” Emory said. “There are some unresolved issues that might be clouding things.” This time the air quotes went around “unresolved issues.”

  Another characteristic the twins shared: inappropriate use of quotation marks. At least one of them didn’t have me to blame.


  Moreover, the only thing cloudy was this conversation. I needed to clear things up.

  “Are you referring to the fact that Oliver Halbert was investigating the cause of the fire in your factory, and that his findings might have cost you a lot of money, not to mention the possibility of criminal charges?”

  More long-winded than I’d intended, but certainly direct. I’d stirred things up enough for the twins’ facial expressions to stiffen and for them to uncross their legs and lean toward me, elbows on their knees.

  Eliot began, “We’re not the only ones who were on Halbert’s list, you know. There are certain others—”

  “And it could get very embarrassing for you,” Emory finished.

  Now I wasn’t afraid, but annoyed. Maddie was safe in her bedroom; Skip might be on the way; and they were shorter than I was. I wondered if I could change Eliot’s grade after the fact so he’d lose his high school diploma.

  “What are you implying?” I asked. “That you’ll smear the name of my husband unless . . . unless what?”

  Eliot’s turn again. “We saw you at the factory, and we have reason to believe you’ve had access to a damaging fl—”

  “Paperwork,” Emory interrupted.

  I paused a beat and repeated the lines in my head. I was convinced that Eliot had been about to say, “flash drive,” but how would they know I’d found the drive? I’d only known myself for an hour or so.

  All I could think of was the deal Lynch wanted to make with me. Somehow all of these men knew, or thought they knew, that, in spite of Halbert’s being out of the way, evidence of widespread business fraud was about to come to light. I would have bet also that among the deals buried on the drive was the one that caused a fire that claimed a life.

  Where did Ken and I fit into this picture? Was it widely known that he was among those who would be exposed? Were all the others in collusion to hide the evidence, needing only my cooperation? I couldn’t think of any other explanation for the sudden interest in me on the part of Lincoln Point’s business community.

  Buzzz. Buzzz. Buzzz.

  The twins and I all jumped when the doorbell rang, seeming louder and more insistent than usual to me. Skip, I thought, but I’d been wrong the last time.

  I noticed Eliot and Emory stretch their necks and straighten their collars as I got up to answer the door. I used the peephole, just in case it was Lynch and Crowley, which would put me at a distinct four-against-one disadvantage, and even worse if there were guns involved.

  I couldn’t remember being happier to see Henry Baker on the other side of my door.

  The action in my atrium took on that of a clumsily choreographed dance. As Henry entered, Eliot and Emory rose from their chairs, Maddie came from her room, and I let the twins out the door.

  In between, the dialogue was sparse. “We were just leaving,” from Eliot; “We’ll get back to you,” from Emory to me, and, “Bye, now,” from Henry to the Fergusons.

  I didn’t know why Henry appeared so intimidating to my guests. He was taller, certainly, but had a very gentle demeanor and certainly not a hint of a weapon.

  My guess was that the twins were unwilling to share the purpose of their visit with anyone not involved in the drama of their current lives.

  Whatever the reason, I was grateful to Henry and showed it by a quick hug. But not so quick that I didn’t get a comforting whiff of sawdust and paint.

  Henry and I sat at the same table the twins had rested their arms on not fifteen minutes earlier. I’d wiped it down first.

  “I couldn’t reach Uncle Skip on any of his numbers,” Maddie had told us. “So I called Mr. Baker.”

  Good choice.

  Maddie was now finishing her ghosts, witches, and vampires back in the crafts room, probably talking to Taylor at the same time. Or else she’d figured out a way to make minis with one hand and TM with the other.

  “Thank you very much for coming,” I told Henry for perhaps the third time. “I doubt that I was in any danger, but with Maddie in the house—”

  “I’m glad she thought of me.”

  It didn’t take long to update Henry on our finding the flash drive and on the gist of the Ferguson boys’ message to me. He did extract a promise that I’d tell Skip every word of the latter, unless I wanted him to set up camp in front of my house indefinitely.

  The suggestion had a strange appeal, but I chose not to share that feeling with him.

  “Any resolution to that matter of Halbert’s list?” Henry asked. He held up his hands. “If you feel like sharing, that is.”

  I knew the only name on Halbert’s list that Henry cared about was the same one I cared about—that of Ken Porter. I thought a minute and knew it was time to bring Henry in through the wall I’d built around myself in this crisis and share my second concern regarding the late Ken Porter. I took the small white envelope from my sweater pocket, removed the photos, and laid them on the table.

  I felt sure Henry would accuse me, gently but rightly, of overreacting as I explained my fears of Ken’s deception.

  He heard me out, then drew a long breath. “I can see why you’ve been upset lately, Gerry. I don’t know how I’d keep it together if I found something like this.”

  “Then you think Ken—”

  “Not at all. From all you’ve told me about Ken, I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation, just as surely as he didn’t take any bribes or otherwise dishonor his profession. I’m just saying that until we find out the circumstances of these photos, you won’t be able to let it go.”

  I couldn’t have said it better. “It seems I’m always needing to thank you, Henry.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.” He offered a disarming smile. “Have you had a chance to look up what this Sunaqua Estates is all about?”

  “Not a minute.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  I gave him what I hoped he interpreted as my most appreciative look.

  “Maddie has the best computer in the house,” I said, at the same time thinking how Henry wasn’t much better than I was as far as facility with the Internet. “And she’s not one to do things blindly. She has to have her curiosity completely satisfied if she’s going to help.”

  “I have one of those myself,” Henry said. “Let’s start the old-fashioned way.” He pulled out his cell phone and asked for directory assistance for Sunaqua Falls, New York.

  I took a deep breath, feeling as though I were about to enroll in a class I didn’t want to take but needed in order to graduate.

  I grabbed a notepad and pen when I heard Henry take the next step and ask for Sunaqua Estates. A shiver ran through my body as Henry recited the phone number. There really was a Sunaqua Estates in Sunaqua Falls, and it had a working telephone.

  I looked at my watch. A little before five p.m. on the West Coast, eight o’clock in New York. I could only hope that all estates were closed for the day.

  “It’s too late to call,” I said.

  “Not if it’s a hospital or some other kind of medical facility,” Henry said. I frowned at the reasonableness of his argument. “Unless you don’t want to know?” he added.

  Buzzz. Buzzz.

  Ah, another reprieve. A nonthreatening one, I hoped.

  Henry rose quickly and put his hand on my arm. “I’ll get it,” he said.

  He looked through the peephole and opened the door to Susan, who probably wondered at the enthusiastic welcome we both gave her.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting something?” she said. Along with other giveaway forms of dialect, her habit of ending sentences with a question mark had returned, after she’d spent years trying to get rid of it.

  Yes, you are interrupting, I thought, and I thank you for that.

  My breathing was erratic as I carried the (almost) restored room box from the crafts room to the atrium for Susan’s examination. Would she notice a little disturbance on the floor against the far wall? Maddie and I had used fake sawdust and wood shavings in an attempt to cover up
the residual glue where the bottom of the wine cork had rested.

  I had my answer as soon as I saw Susan’s troubled expression. Seated next to Henry, she held the box at eye level.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked. “I was worried about the match to the original shade of brown on the outside. I didn’t have natural light when I was mixing the acrylics, so the color might be a little off.”

  Covering for Maddie came naturally to me, but I regretted having had my granddaughter work on the box with me. I’d thought she was ready to glue splinters together and mix paint, but she should have had more experience before tackling the tasks. There was a lot of skill required in choosing the right glue for each job, and color matching required a trained eye.

  I’d failed my friend in a simple task of patching a miniature scene, something I did on at least a weekly basis for one project or another.

  “The color is fine,” Susan said. On closer inspection I interpreted her frown lines as concern rather than disappointment. “Is this how you found the box in Oliver’s apartment?”

  I hesitated. I looked at Henry, who knew the whole story. “Is something wrong?” I repeated my question to Susan.

  Her lips were almost completely folded back into her mouth; her face had gone white. She looked at the spot where Maddie and I had removed the flash drive-cumworktable. “Wasn’t there a”—Susan squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them—“something else here? Where’s the brown worktable?”

  Now it seemed it was Susan herself who’d painted and hidden the flash drive.

  My head was dizzy with my back-and-forth theories of the camouflaged drive.

  First, I was sure Susan had done a poor, hurried job of painting what I thought was an unimportant piece of plastic, to add an extra element to her little scene. Then I assumed it was Oliver who’d used his leftover house paint to disguise what was actually a flash drive. Now I was back to the notion of Susan’s rushed, uneven painting, but this time to hide the fact of the drive.

  I tried to think of a reason she’d have for wanting to keep the existence of the drive from the police. And from me. The drive’s most obvious import was that its contents could show just how many people had a good motive to kill her brother. Something Susan should have welcomed.