by J. D. Shaw
The ringing of her telephone made her jump. She picked up the receiver without even glancing at the caller ID display. “Hello?”
“Oh thank God, I thought you were dead.” Nora’s voice was emphatic. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
“I just saw it on the early local news and my heart nearly exploded.” Nora continued.
“I just got home a short time ago myself.” Vivienne kept staring at the picture of Joshua and it bothered her how secretive he was.
“What did the news say?” Vivienne asked.
“Only that a body was discovered in the alley behind your shop. Were you the one who found it?”
“No, thank goodness.” Vivienne’s stomach turned at the thought of finding Mona’s body.
“Any idea as to who it is?” Nora pressed.
Remembering her promise to Joshua, she held the vital information back. Nora loved good gossip. More than loved, she thrived on it, as the women in her weekly rummy games could more than attest to. “They wouldn’t say. I was stopped outside on the sidewalk.”
“What about your grand opening?” Nora asked.
“I think cutting the yellow crime scene tape with those giant scissors might put a few people off.” Vivienne snipped without thinking.
“Hold your fire.” Nora interrupted. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” She felt guilty about taking the tone she did and chalked it up to her frustration. “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I just wanted you to know that I’m willing to help with whatever you need to get opened.”
“Thanks.” Her voice had softened. “I don’t know when they’ll let me into the shop again.”
“I’ll bet by later tonight.” Nora reasoned. “Maybe you could ask Joshua about that?”
“I’m sure he has his hands full right now.” Vivienne rolled her eyes. “And yes, we had a wonderful date the other night.”
“You did?” Nora sounded genuinely surprised. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“I wanted to say thank you for setting it up.”
“You’re welcome dear.” Nora replied. “So when do you think you’ll go out again?”
Vivienne stared at the handsome picture of Joshua on her monitor. “You’ll be the second to know.”
“I love you, darling daughter.” Nora closed the conversation with her usual nickname. “Call me later.”
Vivienne no sooner hung up the phone before it rang again. The number for Trade Winds Clothier appeared on the display. “Hello Kathy.”
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Kathy asked breathlessly
“I’m fine and so is Nora.” She revealed.
“What happened?”
Vivienne left the computer chair and paced around her home as she filled Kathy in with the basics, withholding the true identity just as she had done with everyone else. She was starting to realize how much she despised keeping secrets. They were so much work.
She was just about to finish her conversation when the phone line clicked to indicate another call was coming through. It was from the Cayuga Cove Sheriff’s office. “Kathy, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“You better.” Kathy demanded and hung up.
“Hello?” Vivienne’s voice cracked as she took the other call.
“May I speak to Miss Vivienne Finch?” It was a woman’s voice.
“This is she.”
“Sheriff Rigsbee would like you to come in for an interview today. Would two o’clock work?” The woman on the other end asked.
“Sure.” Vivienne glanced at her wall clock and it was still only a quarter to eleven. “Do I need to bring a lawyer or something?”
“No ma’am.” The woman replied in a completely neutral tone. “Do you know the location of the sheriff’s office?”
“You’re located in the annex building off the county courthouse?” Vivienne asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“See you at two.” Vivienne hung up the phone and suddenly felt a little nervous. She had watched so many shows on television where characters went into questioning and how eventually someone cracked under the pressure. At least Joshua would be there to make her feel better.
“Please have a seat, Miss Finch.” Sheriff Zeke Rigsbee gestured to a simple metal chair that was in front of his desk. “Thank you for coming down today.” The desktop was cluttered with folders and files, mesh baskets labeled ‘in’ and ‘out’ and an assortment of pens and pencils. Vivienne noticed small photos of his wife, Sally, and their two children Nicholas and Sarah, who were both college students out-of-state.
“It’s no trouble at all.” Vivienne took a seat facing him. The office was smaller than she had imagined it would be. A drab tan color had been painted over the cement block walls in a futile attempt to warm the room but it did just the opposite. It felt cold and sterile. Even the green philodendron plant, dangling its long vines and leaves from a dish garden atop a filing cabinet, seemed washed out and lifeless.
Zeke Rigsbee was in his early fifties, but in surprisingly good shape for a man of his age. He didn’t have the paunchy belly like the small town sheriff’s on television and in movies. His thinning dark hair was parted neatly on the side, and his sideburns were cropped and neat. He sat down after her and folded his hands across the desk. “I know that this has been a terrible day for you.”
“You can say that again.” Vivienne craned her neck to look behind for any sign of Joshua.
“Are you expecting someone else Miss Finch?”
“I thought Deputy Arkins was going to be here too.” She turned back to face him.
“Normally he would, but I was informed of your existing relationship and it wouldn’t be kosher to proceed given the circumstances.” His bushy eyebrows raised slightly in response.
“I wasn’t aware we were actually in a relationship.” Vivienne perked up.
“Relationship, a date, even just close friends, it’s too personal when it comes to an investigation.” He straightened his back against the chair. “I have a few questions concerning your encounter with the victim, Mrs. Mona Clarke.”
“I’ll help however I can.” Vivienne answered. So Joshua had defined them as a relationship to the sheriff? She didn’t know why that surprised her so. It was a good sign, but was she comfortable using the term relationship so early? What did that mean exactly?
“Miss Finch? Are you listening to me?” Sheriff Rigsbee’s voice raised a notch in volume.
“I’m sorry.” She blinked in response. Her cheeks flushed warm and she felt silly for letting her mind wander during the question session. “This is all such a shock.”
Sheriff Rigsbee studied her and his expression seemed to indicate he didn’t buy her cover story. “Yes it is. Would you like me to repeat the question?”
“Yes please.” She leaned forward and pushed all thoughts of Joshua from her mind.
“At what time yesterday did Mrs. Clarke enter your establishment?”
Vivienne tried to recall that exact time but she was stumped. She remembered having something baking in the oven. “It was sometime in the late morning. If I had to guess I’d say ten thirty or so?”
“You don’t recall looking at a clock?”
“No.” Vivienne shook her head. “I had timers set on all the ovens because I was baking for the opening. Looking at the clock would just make me more nervous about running out of time.”
Sheriff Rigsbee scribbled down her statement as she spoke. “Did you expect to see her that morning?”
“No, my day was really too busy to spend time socializing.”
His pen sailed across the yellow notebook paper in a fluid motion, having taken many statements over his years as sheriff. “How did your meeting with Mrs. Clarke come about?”
“She must have been walking by and saw me working in the bakery.” Vivienne explained. “She knocked on the door and asked if she could ge
t a sneak peek at the business.”
“Then what happened?” He waited for her answer.
“I invited her in for a cup of tea and a peanut butter cookie. We talked about the Cayuga Cove Women of Small Business Association and the historic commission meeting taking place that night.”
“How long did you talk?”
“Not long, perhaps fifteen minutes? Before I knew it she said she had something to take care of and placed an order for some tea and baked goods for the upcoming meetings.” Vivienne raised her eyes to the ceiling, noticing that one of the tiles from the drop ceiling wasn’t completely settled into place. How did they end up like that? It never ceased to bother her that no one ever took the thirty seconds to fix it.
“Have you any idea where she was headed?” He flipped the notepad paper over to continue writing.
“She never said. I thanked her for stopping by and then she left.” Vivienne finished.
“Did anyone else come into the bakery while you were together?”
“No.” Vivienne scrunched her lips together. “Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“While we were in the store, Victoria Clemens knocked on the window and waved.” Vivienne recalled. “She was all smiles and sunshine.”
“But she never came inside?” He scribbled the name on his notepaper and circled it.
“No. She looked like she was power walking or something.”
Sheriff Rigsbee put his pen down and scratched his chin with his right hand. “Thank you for coming down today Miss Finch.”
“Is that all?” She had hoped to find out some more details about what happened, but he had made sure she did all the talking. Vivienne figured it was some sort of investigator tactic to weed out fact from fiction.
“Yes.” He stood up from his chair and smiled. “If we need anything else we’ll give you a call.”
She pushed the chair back and rose to her feet. “You know where to find me.”
“Just to be on the safe side, we’re asking you let us know if you’ll be leaving town during the next few days.”
“Am I still a suspect?” Her voice unexpectedly raised an octave.
“It’s simply standard procedure during any investigation, Miss Finch.” He ushered her out of his office with a smile. “No need to worry yourself over anything.”
“Oh, that’s a relief.” She smiled back as they passed the registration desk where a matronly looking officer was working the desk and answering a phone that never seemed to stop ringing.
“If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call or stop in.” He opened the front door, allowing a blast of chilled autumn air to swirl in along with a few stray leaves.
“Thank you, Sheriff Rigsbee.” Vivienne stepped out and took in a deep breath. The reality of the police questioning hadn’t been anywhere near as lively as she had imagined. As usual, the real deal failed to live up to the hype of the crime shows on television.
Chapter 9
As she watched the local news on the television in the living room, she hated seeing her display window surrounded by that awful yellow tape. Gossip had spread fast and the entire town had become aware of Mona’s death. The burden of keeping that secret had now passed and she felt a little better not having to hold back with her friends and family.
The reporter on the scene didn’t have any specifics, only reporting Mona had been killed in the alley behind her bakery and the body was transported to Rochester for an autopsy by the medical examiner.
She was surprised to see the image of Victoria Clemens appear on the screen with a microphone near her face. Vivienne reached for her remote and turned the volume up.
“The Cayuga Cove Women of Small Business Association has suffered an immeasurable loss today. Mona Clarke was a champion for so many business owners here locally. My thoughts and prayers are with her husband, Mayor Clarke, and their family during this time of great sorrow.” Victoria looked calm and composed, but perhaps that was simply shock. She didn’t know if they were close friends or merely worked together on committees, but she was clearly taking charge by granting a small interview.
As the news changed over to the weather report, Vivienne turned it off and walked over to the computer. She was about to turn it on and browse Social Butterfly for status messages about Mona’s death when there was a knock at her door.
She rushed over to the window and pried the closed blinds apart with her fingers. Nora was standing outside with a small cardboard box in her hands.
“Mother?” Vivienne opened the door. “What brings you over on a book club night?”
Nora stepped inside the living room and set the box down on the small accent table next to the sofa. “I thought about our conversation today and I figured you could use these.”
Vivienne peeked into the box and saw a smattering of old books, some rather faded and tattered. “What are they?”
“It’s a bunch of old cookbooks and recipes from Nana Mary.” Nora pulled out an avocado green cloth-covered book. The outer edges of the pages were yellowed with a combination of age and cigarette smoke as Nana Mary always had a cigarette in one hand and a spatula in the other whenever she cooked.
Vivienne pulled out a little tin box that had ‘My Recipes’ written in light blue pen. “This is wonderful. Are you sure Nana Mary won’t mind you giving these to me?” She opened the top and found at least fifty index cards stuffed inside.
“She wanted me to give them to you the last time I visited her.” Nora shook her head. “But her memory has been failing so much lately she’ll probably forget all about them.”
“I didn’t think her memory was failing the last time I saw her.” Nana Mary Darden had been a resident at the Whispering Oaks assisted living facility for almost five years. Despite being ninety years of age, she had remained quite independent and sharp witted. Light housekeeping and general household maintenance helped to ease her daily tasks, but that had been all the assisting she had required or wanted. Vivienne tried to visit her at least twice a month, usually on quiet Sunday afternoons.
Nora put her hands on her hips. “Yesterday I went to drop off a little box of that rocky road fudge from Weiss Chocolatiers that she likes so much. Well, I no sooner stepped into her apartment when she shushed me because she was busy catching up on gossip.”
Vivienne smiled. “Well, you know how social she is.”
“She was talking to a crow that was perched outside the window.” Nora tossed her hands up for emphasis. “Does that sound normal to you?”
“Are you sure she just wasn’t pulling your leg?” Vivienne pulled out a faded book with pictures of cakes and pies on the cover.
“I didn’t stay long enough to find out. She insisted I give you these books and that was that.” Nora eyed the collection. “I’ve never been much of a cook so they’d do me no good.”
“I’ll treasure them.” Vivienne smiled. “This is just what I need to get inspired to do the opening again.”
“When is that going to be?”
Vivienne shrugged. “Well, I think it’d be tacky to do it before Mona’s service. I’d guess a week or so?”
Nora pulled at the sleeve of her gray pea coat and focused on her wristwatch. “Good heavens, I’m running late.”
“What’s the book this time?” Vivienne wondered.
“It’s something about a red balloon and a little boy’s ghost I think.” Nora wondered aloud. “Ever hear of it?”
“Didn’t you read it?”
“I kept falling asleep after the first chapter.” She gave Vivienne a little kiss on the cheek. “I’ll just nod my head and say how moving it was.”
“What if it’s a horror story?” Vivienne asked.
“I can still be moved by a little boy’s ghost, darling daughter.” Nora laughed. “Besides, I’ll just blame the wine if it comes to that.”
“Have fun.” Vivienne waved as she rushed off to her car and drove away.
She shut
the door and grabbed the box. As she sat on the sofa she pulled out the rest of the contents. What looked like a journal tumbled onto the floor and caught her attention. “What’s this?” She asked herself.
It felt warm to the touch as she picked it up. The cover was lined with creases and cracks and appeared to be made of black leather. It was secured by one of those little metal locks that were often found on diaries. She tried to pry it open but it held fast against her efforts. Over the next few minutes she had tried to open it with a butter knife, a thumb tack, a straightened paper clip, and a bobby pin. Yet, it stubbornly refused to give up its secrets.
She gave up and reached for one of the other cloth-bound cookbooks inside the box when she slid her index finger across a sharp edge of paper and was rewarded with a fine cut. She pulled her hand back to examine the wound and a drop of fresh blood splashed onto the lock. She stuck her finger in her mouth and tried to wipe the blood off the lock with her free hand.
There was a tiny gurgling sound as the blood disappeared into the key hole. With a sudden ‘pop’, the cover flew open with a start. Vivienne jumped back in surprise.
The journal’s pages were not the usual lined paper. Instead, it was filled with those uneven pulpy pages that were quite thick and sturdy. She couldn’t believe it. The blood must have lubricated the old lock like oil. She reasoned that her previous efforts to open it no doubt helped with the process. She had learned over the years that things that seemed mysterious and creepy often just turned out to be a series of random luck and coincidence merging together.
Using the soft light from the table lamp behind the sofa, she could barely make out the date of the first entry but it appeared to be March 28th, 1692. She squinted and held it closer to the light to make sure she had read it right. Yes, there was no doubt it was indeed the correct date. Why on earth would Nana Mary have an old book like this tucked in with her cookbooks?
She continued reading the first page. ‘Little Dorothy Good has been accused and we must flee into the wilds for our very lives. That a four year old child could be accused of witchcraft is beyond comprehension, but fear blinds those who should know better. Even though the threat of being attacked by hostile natives is quite real, the larger threat of our coven being exposed leaves us no choice but to flee Salem and start a safe haven far away from this madness. We are leaving tonight under cover of darkness, may the Goddess protect us.’
