by Anne Canadeo
The air-conditioning was kicking in, as well as the overhead fans, and a breeze greeted them as they sat at the oak worktable.
“I have a few minutes, I guess.” Edie glanced at her watch, then took a sip of water from the bottle.
“What happened to your watch, Edie? The gold one,” Maggie asked. She’d noticed, not for the first time, that Edie was wearing an inexpensive digital watch, bright pink, made of molded plastic. Not her style at all.
Edie’s expression puckered and she shrugged. “Just having the battery changed and the insides cleaned out. That timepiece is on its last legs. I shouldn’t wear it at the diner. All the gunk in the air gets inside, messes up the works.” She looked back at Maggie. “It’s a Swiss watch, you know. Patek Philippe.” Edie had mispronounced the brand, but Maggie knew what she meant. “My father’s. He passed it on to me, along with the diner.”
“I know. You’ve told me.” Maggie sipped her coffee. “It’s been at the jeweler’s awhile now. Where did you bring it? Here in town?”
Edie shrugged again. “Yeah, sure . . . up the street, near the harbor. The Jewel Box or something? I think they called me to pick it up. Just haven’t had time.”
Maggie waited a moment, watching her. “Is your watch at the jewelry store, Edie? Or did you give it to Cassandra Waters?”
Edie sat back, looking as stunned as if Maggie had slapped her. She pressed her hand to her chest again and Maggie nearly jumped out of her seat to call 911.
“I’m all right, I’m all right. . . .” Edie raised her hand flat, as if she were a crossing guard in an intersection, directing the traffic to stop. “You just surprised me.” She sat back again and took a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry,” Maggie said sincerely. “But tell me the truth, is that what happened to it? You don’t need to be embarrassed, Edie. She had a long history of tricking people into handing over their most precious possessions. You are hardly her first victim.”
Edie sighed. “Hopefully, I was her last.”
“So you gave it to her?” Maggie persisted. Edie nodded sadly. “When was this?”
“Let’s see. . . .” Edie squinted, trying to remember. “I saw her one night, right before you and your friends had the session here. I know this sounds crazy but . . . I went again. To her house. For another session.”
That did sound crazy to Maggie, after everything Edie had said about Cassandra. “To help Nora?”
“No, not really. Oh . . . it’s a long story, Maggie,” Edie said. She sighed, looking suddenly tired and her full age, or more.
“I’d like to hear it, if you want to tell me.”
Edie looked down at the table a moment, twisting the pink watchband around her wrist. “I’ve been such a damn fool. But she sure suckered me in. I still don’t know how she did it,” she added with an angry edge.
“Did what, Edie? I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.”
Edie looked up at her again. Maggie could sense the words forming behind her furrowed brow. But for a moment, she wondered if Edie would simply jump up from the table and go. The ceiling fan gently whirred overhead; the air-conditioning hummed. Edie sighed, staring down at the table again.
What had Cassandra done? How had the psychic been able to pry loose Edie’s prized possession—her father’s gold watch?
Maggie sat silent, barely breathing, waiting to hear the story. But if Edie didn’t say something soon, Maggie thought she might bust.
Chapter Ten
Finally, Edie said, “I got into trouble when I was a teenager. First time I ever messed around with a boy. I was so innocent. It was laughable.” She shook her head. “I gave the baby up for adoption. That’s what you did in those days.”
“How hard for you,” Maggie replied with deep sympathy. She’d known Edie all these years and had never once expected that, though she had always sensed some distant, deep sadness in Edie’s character; some deeper reason her impatient, prickly side rose to the surface so easily.
“How old were you?” Maggie asked.
“Not even eighteen. Just about finished with high school, luckily. The boy was out of the picture. He was a jerk anyway. I still don’t know why I went off with him. Feeling my oats, I guess. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the situation, even as much as admit the baby was his. I had to tell my mother. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I understand.” In those days, women didn’t have the options they did now. Unplanned pregnancy was much more complicated . . . and ending a pregnancy was dangerous. That was for sure.
“She was pretty good about it, once she calmed down,” Edie continued. “We decided not to tell my father. He was so strict, and had such a temper. My mother was afraid of him. I was, too. You remember my dad, don’t you?”
Edie’s father, Ed Steiber, had run the Schooner his whole life and been a well-known personality around town, a notorious curmudgeon who did not take kindly to customer complaints or suggestions, and didn’t care one whit if he offended anyone with his sour disposition. Reflecting back now, it was amazing the diner had stayed in business, but the food had always been good.
“Of course I remember him,” was all Maggie said. “So, your mother helped you?”
“She managed to ship me out to a cousin in Arizona before I was really showing. I was always a big girl, so it wasn’t that hard to hide my condition. This cousin was sickly and needed a housekeeper,” she continued. “I stayed with her, helping out for my room and board. It wasn’t so bad. The cousin was nice to me. A lonely woman, no husband or family,” she recalled. “When my time came, my mother came out west and brought me to a hospital to have the baby. A little girl. The nurse only let me hold her in my arms one time.” Maggie could still hear the pain and regret in Edie’s voice and her own heart clutched. “My mother had already arranged things with an adoption agency. I signed the papers. No one forced me. A closed case. Different rules back then.”
Maggie nodded, taking in Edie’s sad secret. “And you were never able to get in touch with your daughter, or find out what happened to her?”
Edie shook her head. “I tried a few times. I made out some forms, put it in the file that I’d like to hear from her if she ever wanted to reach out. But I never heard anything back.”
“Cassandra knew about this somehow? Is that what happened when you saw her for a session?”
“Oh, she knew things all right. The hair is standing up on the back of my neck, right now, just telling you about it. She knew the date, time, and location. Even the name of the hospital and the name I wrote on the birth certificate for the baby. I don’t even remember now why I named her. Didn’t make sense, all things considered. But I did and Cassandra knew it.” Edie paused, taking a deep breath. The story was leaving Maggie a bit breathless, too.
“She didn’t tell me all at once,” Edie continued. “Sort of made me tease it out of her. Or gave an initial, or some little clue, and after I said a few things, suddenly the information would come to her. Through the spirit voices,” she added with a sneer.
“Yes, that’s how she worked,” Maggie said. “What did you name your daughter?”
“Sara. That was always my favorite for a girl. Then I couldn’t use it when my other daughters were born, Cecilia and Amy,” she added. “Though I bet the adoptive parents probably changed her name. But Cassandra came out with so much of this stuff, it was just too much not to believe her. I was a naïve dope,” she added emphatically, “but how did she know?”
Maggie was full of sympathy and outrage. Poor Edie, what she’d been through.
“She had her ways, believe me. She’d been living in Arizona before she came here. Maybe she read some files somewhere about the adoption. Lucy uncovered a lot of information about Cassandra. She showed it to us the other night. I think temporary office work and medical billing were on the list of her few and far between legitimate gigs. Or maybe she even paid someone to dig up that sort of private information, which could be valuable to her.”
Edie looked relieved to hear that. Then nervous again.
“What if that witch looked me up and found out I was worth something and came here on purpose to lure me in? That is one scary thought.”
“Yes, it is . . . but very possible. Lucy found a news story about how Cassandra had pulled the same hoax on a minister’s wife, back in Scottsdale, Arizona. That client had also given up a child for adoption when she was young. But how does your father’s watch fit in?” she asked. “How did she persuade you to give it to her?”
Edie blinked a bit. Maggie could tell this part of the story was hard to disclose, too. “Well, she told me that my daughter had passed on and her spirit was very sad and unhappy. She’d had a difficult life and blamed me for abandoning her.”
“Oh dear . . .” Maggie had a feeling she knew where this was going.
“She also told me that my father, being in the great beyond now himself and knowing everything, knew the truth about what I’d done and was plenty mad at me, too. So the only way to get these angry spirits off my back was to cleanse all that bad energy they were sending down. And make them both rest in peace. Amen,” she added with mock sincerity.
“She said the bad vibes were in the watch, didn’t she?”
“She did. She told me she’d pray over it and leave it on a special altar in her house and give it back to me when it was ‘cleared.’ That’s how she liked to say it,” she added. “She even showed me the spot in her house—a little corner with incense and candles going night and day. Or so she claimed. That sounded dangerous to me: keeping candles lit while you were sleeping or weren’t even home?”
“What about your daughter? What did Cassandra ask you to give her to cleanse that connection?” Maggie was already fairly certain of the answer to this question but thought she ought to clarify it.
“Money,” Edie admitted. “Not to her directly. She said I had a grandchild I didn’t know about. My lost daughter had raised one child, a girl. And Sara’s spirit really wanted me to help her daughter and I should send this girl money.”
Maggie sat back. That was pushing it. But she already knew Cassandra had no shame and absolutely no boundaries.
“Did you?” she asked quietly.
“No, thank goodness. We never got to that part,” Edie said meekly, giving Maggie good reason to believe she’d been about to go through with it when Cassandra’s life was abruptly ended.
“Thank goodness, indeed,” Maggie agreed. “I guess someone is looking over you, Edie. And with only good energy,” she quickly added. “Did you tell the police any of this?”
Edie shook her head. “I felt too embarrassed. I know that’s not a reason, but they didn’t pay any attention to me. Some little policeman came into the diner to take my statement. He looked about fifteen. I answered a few questions and that was that. Do you really think it matters to them at all?”
“I don’t know. Probably not,” she conceded. “But you might get your watch back. If Cassandra didn’t sell it.”
“Yes, I might,” Edie said, looking thoughtful again. “I would like that watch back. I do believe that if my father is looking down and knows now what happened with the baby and all, he forgives me. I think when you pass on you see the big picture. The really big picture,” she added. “And you understand that you’ve been a damned fool about a lot of things, and maybe treated people too harshly while you were walking around on this side.”
Maggie smiled at that perspective. “I agree with you, Edie. I think that’s the way it goes up there, too.”
Edie rose and gathered up her purse and knitting bag, which for once she hadn’t opened. “Thanks for hearing me out. I feel about a hundred pounds lighter, getting that doozy off my chest.”
“I’m glad.” Maggie followed her to the door.
“And you know the upside of telling the police? I’m a regular person of interest now. I also had a reason to bash that woman’s head in. If they start asking me a lot of questions, I’ll lead them on a merry chase, believe me. It will take a little heat off Nora.”
“Oh, Edie. Don’t even joke about that,” Maggie scolded her.
Edie shrugged. “I’m old. I’ve lived my life, for better or worse. No regrets, like that French song, from the fifties?” Maggie knew the one she meant. But Edie, a fan of Edith Piaf? This was a morning of revelations. “I’d rather it was me than Nora, any day of the week, and jail doesn’t look so bad. Didn’t you ever see that show Orange Is Black?”
“I think the title is Orange Is the New Black. And no, I haven’t caught it yet,” Maggie added. “The police are not going to suspect you. But you might get your watch back. I do believe they will lose interest in Nora very soon.”
“As soon as this Quentin character is reeled in,” Edie said.
Maggie agreed with that and knew from Edie’s tone that she was counting on it.
* * *
For the next two days, the news barely mentioned Quentin Kestler, just a line or two restating that the police were still looking for him and soliciting the public’s help. But on Tuesday night, right before Maggie was about to go up to bed, the eleven o’clock report opened with a big local story.
“Essex County police announced that they have apprehended Quentin Kestler, wanted for questioning in the investigation of the death of a Plum Harbor businessman, Jimmy Hubbard.”
Maggie was tempted to snicker now at the characterization of Jimmy Hubbard as an upstanding businessman, knowing what she did of his—albeit alleged—drug dealing. But she guessed the television station could not take that much liberty, opening themselves to a possible suit for slander. It was still unproven in a court of law.
A strong-jawed anchorman with a serious expression spoke as if he’d personally taken part in the arrest. “Kestler was found just a few hours ago in Lowell, Massachusetts, at the home of a sister, Rita O’Connor. He was brought back to Essex County and charged with obstructing a police investigation. A spokesman for the police department states Kestler is a person of interest wanted for questioning in the investigation of Hubbard’s murder.”
Maggie wondered if Edie had heard this breaking news, but thought it was too late to call her. She closed the diner early on Monday and Tuesday nights, and was probably already home and in bed by now.
If she hadn’t heard yet, Edie would sleep well tomorrow night, Maggie thought, as she turned in. When even more would be known about Quentin Kestler.
* * *
When Maggie arrived at the shop the next morning, the first thing she did was tap out a text to Dana:
Has Jack heard anything about Quentin K?
Are police holding him?
Dana answered with a phone call. Maggie quickly picked up.
“I was just on my way for coffee and some yarn. Jack did hear a lot about Kestler.”
“Good. I’m here . . . and so is Lucy,” she added, just noticing her long-legged pal headed up the path with her dogs. As Lucy walked in, she said, “Dana is coming down. She knows what’s going on with Kestler.”
“I was wondering. Did you fall off the no-snooping wagon? I thought you weren’t supposed to be so interested in police?”
“I’m not. It’s just about this guy, this sandwich shop kid. It would take a load off Edie’s mind . . . and her ailing arteries . . . if the police can tie him to both crimes.”
“It would take a load off a lot of minds. Including one overworked but much-admired detective we know,” Lucy reminded her.
“I meant Charles, too, of course,” Maggie added hurriedly, though she wasn’t even thinking of Charles at that moment. If I were, she reflected, I actually might not be getting so involved again. But she had already dialed the Schooner and Edie picked up on the first ring.
“They found the guy in Lowell,” Edie said. “Did you see the news?”
“I did. Dana is on her way. Her husband heard about Quentin Kestler’s questioning.”
“I’ll be there in a flash. Don’t let her say a word without me
,” Edie answered.
Maggie could picture her already squeezing out from behind the counter, before she’d even hung up the phone.
Edie and Dana arrived at the same time. Maggie and Lucy watched them walk up the path together, Dana smiling, swinging her purse and knitting tote, and Edie patting her red face and forehead with a wad of tissues.
Edie sighed and dropped into the wing-back chair, which seemed to quietly sag and groan under her weight.
“So, what do they have on the kid? Can they pin anything on him? I’m hoping for the psychic, of course,” Edie stated bluntly.
Dana sat down near her, her knitting tote balanced on her knees. “I just called Jack. To hear if he’s heard more. He just happened to be at the station. The police are about to charge Kestler but all they have on him so far is obstructing an investigation and possession of narcotics. They searched his house and car but didn’t find any evidence relating to either victim.”
“Well . . . it’s a start. Maybe they just have to look harder. What did the kid say about the psychic? Why was he going there? Did he have any reason to want her dead?”
Dana shook her head. “It doesn’t seem so. He did visit Cassandra three or four times. He was very open about that. He said he went to talk to his mother, who died last year. He said he believed in Cassandra’s powers and was very disappointed to hear she was gone.”
“Oh dear . . . I hope his mother’s spirit told him to go straight and stop dealing drugs,” Maggie cut in.
“I can’t say,” Dana replied. “But he claimed to be very angry at whoever did Cassandra in.”
“Anyone can say that,” Edie replied with a snort.
“They checked the story with his sister, in Lowell. Their mother did pass about a year ago, and Quentin had even encouraged his sister to visit Cassandra with him. But more significantly, he has an airtight alibi. He was working late at the sub shop and he’s on a security camera, cleaning up at the time of Cassandra’s death.”
