I nodded, stuffed my hands in the outer pocket of my new wool coat and followed her up the steps. There were three doors. One was for the post office. One was for the town office. And the third, the one on the right, was for the Windham County Sheriff. Maria walked through that door.
Inside, we found a man standing in front of a wood-burning stove reading a book. He turned, grinned, and said, "Mrs. Vasco. What a surprise."
She offered her hand which he shook. "Good to see you again, Sheriff. This is my employer, Mr. Nick Williams. His mother is Alexandra Williams."
The man looked up at me for a long moment. I had the feeling that he recognized me from more than just the papers. He stood about 5'7", wore a tan uniform, had a gray flattop, and a small belly. I put him at somewhere north of 50 but probably not 60. He nodded and said, "Good to meet you, Mr. Williams." He extended his hand and we shook. "Fly in from San Francisco, did you?"
I nodded. "Into Lebanon, New Hampshire."
"And drove over, did you now?"
I nodded.
"Well, it's a good thing you got a place here to stay because I doubt you'll be able to get back over to Lebanon today or even tomorrow."
"Really?" I asked.
"Just got a call from Bellows Falls. Snow's coming down thick as can be over there and they're gonna close the road in an hour or so."
Maria said, "We must have just missed that."
The sheriff nodded. "Good thing, too. Not good weather for strangers to be drivin' in."
"Oh, Nick hired a man in Lebanon to drive us over."
"Did you, now?" asked the sheriff.
I nodded.
He pulled on his coat and then put on his hat. "I suppose you'll want to see your mother's house."
I replied, "If you have time, Sheriff."
He grinned. "Sure. But, why don't we step over to the post office before we go to the house?"
I followed him out and along the porch. I noticed that Carter, Frankie, and Johnny were across the street, walking into a small grocery store.
The sheriff led us into the post office, which consisted of a counter, a row of combination-lock boxes, and a small waiting area.
"Ed," said the tall, gaunt man behind the counter. He was wearing at least three sweaters that I could count and had on cotton gloves with the fingers cut off at the last knuckle. He was making some notations in a big ledger.
"Josiah," answered the sheriff. He turned to me and pointed. "This is Miss Alexandra's son."
The tall man looked up at me. "Yah." He leaned over and peered at me. "I see it." Turning to the sheriff, he said, "But, you know the law, Ed. I don't have the authority to hand over her mail to anyone but her. We've been over that."
The sheriff nodded. "I know. But what harm would there be in bringing out the box of it and spreading it out on the counter for him to look at?"
The tall man sniffed. "I don't know about that."
I said, "We're trying to find out what happened to her."
"Yah," replied Josiah. He nodded slowly for a long moment and then closed the ledger book. Without saying anything, he walked through a back door and was gone for a few minutes.
The sheriff said, "Josiah's a good man. Oh!" He fished into his coat pocket and pulled out a telegram. "Nearly forgot. This came for you earlier. I had no idea you were coming and was getting ready to call Western Union and tell them you weren't here." He handed me the envelope. I opened it and pulled out the telegram.
NICK WILLIAMS C/O SHERIFF GRAFTON VT. YOUR FRIEND DISAPPEARED ABOUT 9PM LAST NIGHT. BE ON THE LOOKOUT. MIKE.
I stuffed the message and the envelope into my inner coat pocket.
"Everything OK, Mr. Williams?" asked the sheriff.
I nodded. "Just a note about something happening back home."
He looked at me for a long moment before saying, "Seems like I remember seeing half a cord of wood outside of Miss Alexandra's house. When we get there, I'll take a look up her chimney and see if it's safe to use." He turned to Maria and asked, "Is your husband with you?"
Maria nodded. "And Nick's friend Carter Jones, as well."
The sheriff nodded thoughtfully but didn't say anything.
A few moments later, Josiah returned with a carton. He put it down on the counter as I walked up closer. Looking down his nose at me, he said, "I'll put out the bundles and you can look at them. I don't want you pulling at the edges or nothing like that, mind you."
I nodded. "I'm a private investigator. I'll be careful."
"Yah, you do that."
He spread out the rubber-banded stacks of letters. Once he'd emptied the carton, he removed the rubber bands, one by one, and then said, "Have at it."
I turned to Maria. "Can you go through them first and pull out the ones you think are relevant. You know more about who some of these people might be than I would."
Maria walked to the far end of the counter and began to carefully look through the oldest stack. After about ten minutes of seeing nothing she recognized, she looked at an envelope and gasped. "Look at this, Nick."
She handed me a plain white envelope. The return address was San Francisco and the name above the address was Zelda Markinson. Even if it hadn't had her name on it, I would have recognized Zelda's perfect penmanship anywhere. I took a deep breath and put the letter on the counter, away from the rest. "Are there any others?" I asked.
Maria shook her head. "No. Some of these are from people we interviewed in New York. But there are some names I don't recognize. That's the only one from her." She turned to look at me. "What do you think that letter was about?"
As calmly as I could, I replied, "It was telling my mother that Janet had died."
Maria's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
I nodded. "The postmark is for the day after it happened. Janet died on May 11th in '53 and this was mailed on May the 12th."
Maria frowned sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, Nick."
"Yeah. Me, too."
The sheriff cleared his throat. "I, uh, don't suppose there's something you need to check on in the back, is there now, Josiah?"
The tall man, whose eyes were red, nodded, turned, and disappeared behind the back door.
The sheriff walked up next to me, picked up the letter, and put it in his inner coat pocket. He cleared his throat again and said, "Let's get you over to the house."
Chapter 4
Townshend Road
Grafton, Vt.
Tuesday, March 8, 1955
A little before noon
The snow was coming down more heavily when we pulled up in front of the single-story house that was set back about a hundred feet from the road the led west away from the center of town.
The sheriff opened the door. Maria and I walked in while Carter and Frankie looked for the woodpile and Johnny unloaded the car. While we'd been in the post office, they'd been across the street in the grocery store, stocking up for the possibility of being snowed in for a day or two. I brought in a lantern that the gal at the grocery store had already filled with kerosene for us.
The front door opened up into a small entryway that included a wall of pegs for coats and hats. Beyond that was a wide-open living room and dining room with a kitchen on one side. I put the lantern on the dusty oak dining table, raised the glass, and, using my beat-up old Zippo, lit the wick. The dining table was by a window so I moved the lantern over to the darkest part of the living room which was the fireplace. I put it on the mantel and then got to work.
The wood floor was covered in dust. I could see where Maria, Frankie, and the sheriff had left tracks when they'd walked around the house on Saturday.
Maria found a broom and dustpan in the pantry. I found a small stash of old paper bags under the sink. We started in the front of the house and, bit by bit, were able to get most of it up and into one of the larger bags in short order.
The sofa and all of the chairs in the living room were covered in canvas. Maria and I quickly removed them and rolled them up, careful not to sc
atter the dust they'd collected. We piled them into a corner and then began to lay out the rugs that were rolled up and laid out on the sofa. One was a large oval and obviously went in the middle of the room, in front of the small coffee table. The second one had small scorch marks, so Maria put that out in front of the fireplace. The third one was a long runner, so I laid that out in the hallway between the two bedrooms.
Once we were done, the place looked like a movie set. I stood in front of the mantel and looked around the room. The furniture and the rugs reminded me of the film White Christmas, which Carter and I had seen a couple of times just before Halloween of the year before.
The sheriff, who had been helping move the firewood outside, walked up and asked, "Can I use that lantern?"
I handed it to him. He knelt down and stuck his head, along with the lantern, into the fireplace. After a moment, he put the lantern on the brick hearth and grabbed a poker. He reached up into the flue and poked around. As he did, some bits and pieces came falling out.
He stood and replaced the poker. "I'm off to see Charlie Partridge. He's the local chimney sweep. He should be able to clean this right out. If you wanna hire him, that is."
I nodded. "Thank you, Sheriff."
He smiled. "Be back in about twenty minutes, Mr. Williams."
"My name's Nick."
He extended his hand. "And I'm Ed." We shook again and then he made his way out the front door.
. . .
Sometime later, the five of us were seated at the dining table and eating a quick meal of grilled cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup. Charlie Partridge had been by and had cleared out the chimney in the living room and each of the ones in the two bedrooms. While he was still working in one of the bedrooms, Hiram Watson, a local plumber, had dropped by to turn on the water, flush out the toilet, and reconnect the outside gas canisters. Once that was done, Maria and I had started cooking, using the gas stove. Frankie got to work at washing enough dishes and silverware to eat our first meal with. Carter and Johnny had finished moving all the wood up to the porch. Carter had then built a roaring fire in the living room fireplace.
We'd invited the sheriff to join us for lunch but he'd politely declined. However, he did agree to return later for supper. It turned out he was a widower whose two married sons lived in Boston so he was happy to join us for the evening.
We were done eating. Maria and I were washing the dishes while Carter was in the middle of telling the story of how we'd met back in '47 when, through the kitchen window, I saw a farm truck drive up.
"Wonder who that is?" I asked as I dried my hands and walked to the door. I opened it just in time to see two older ladies, both dressed in thick men's coats, and wearing thick boots, get out of the truck and make their way through the snow to the porch.
"Hello, there," I said.
The taller of the two nodded. In a gruff voice, she said, "Hello. I'm Miss Hyacinth and this is my friend, Miss Grace." She began to stomp her boots to get the snow off.
The shorter, rounder of the pair looked up at me and smiled. "You must be Nicholas. You look just like your mother. We heard so many wonderful things about you and your sister, Janet." Looking around me, she asked, "Is she here with you?"
"Now, Grace, quit your yackin' and let's get inside. This boy is from California. He can't take the cold for too long."
"Oh, my, Hyacinth, you're so right. Yes, well, let's get inside, shall we?"
I stepped back to let them both pass. I realized that both of them had a very different accent than the sheriff or the postmaster. I wondered if they were from New York City.
As they took off their coats and boots, I walked into the living room and announced, "We have our first house guests. Two ladies."
Their chairs scraped against the floor as Carter, Frankie, and Johnny stood.
As she came into the living room, Hyacinth said, "I ain't no lady. Grace is. I'm more of a gal." She shook my hand with a grin. She then walked over to Carter and offered to shake his, which he did. "I've seen you both on the front page of the New York Herald-Tribune."
Grace walked into the living room and said, "Oh, my, yes. We have a special scrapbook just for the articles about you two. We're collecting it for when Alexandra returns. Do you know when that might be?"
None of us said anything. Hyacinth shook her head. "You've really stumbled into it this time, Gracie. Why do you think they're here?"
"I really don't know, Hyacinth." Looking at Maria, Grace smiled. "Now, dear, are you Janet? You don't look like Alexandra."
I introduced everyone and invited the ladies to have a seat on the large, overstuffed sofa. I then explained about Janet.
"Oh, I am so sorry, Nicholas. I really am quite terrible at saying just the wrong thing at the wrong time." She tilted her head at me. "Or would that be good? Am I good at saying the wrong thing at the wrong time?" She blinked. "That must be it. I'm really quite good at putting my foot into things." She giggled.
Hyacinth laughed as I asked, "Would either of you like any coffee?"
Grace smiled. "Yes, please. And with two sugars and milk, if you have any." She looked around the house. "Why it looks just like the way it did when we were last here, doesn't it, Hyacinth?"
The other woman groaned. "That's because it's been sitting here empty for nearly eight years, Gracie."
"Oh, my, well of course it has. Dear me."
Trying not to laugh, I asked, "Miss Hyacinth, how about you? Any coffee?"
"Black, if you don't mind."
As I walked towards the kitchen, Maria said, "I'll take care of that, Nick. Why don't you and Carter have a seat with your guests while the rest of us make coffee and clean up?"
"Thanks."
She nodded and shooed me away with her hands.
Grace said, "I hope we're not interrupting anything but when the sheriff came by and mentioned you were here we simply had to come by to see you." As Carter walked over to the fireplace and grabbed the poker, she asked me, "Isn't it odd to see a fireman stoking a fire?"
I sat down in the chair next to her end of the sofa and smiled. "I think about that a lot, to be honest."
"And he's so handsome and big. I imagine the two of you have such a fun time rolling around in bed."
Everyone in the room laughed as soon as she said that, including Hyacinth who added, "Leave it to Gracie to get right to the point."
Carter stood and turned, with a grin on his face. He walked over and stood next to me. "Well, ma'am," he said, using his best Georgia accent, "we do have quite a lot of fun in bed, now that you mention it."
Everyone in the room laughed at that as he leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips.
. . .
Carter asked, "How long have you ladies lived here in Vermont?"
Grace put her cup down and looked up at the ceiling. "Let's see. We moved here the summer after Pearl Harbor, isn't that right, Hyacinth?"
"Yes, it is, Gracie."
"What brought you here?" I asked.
Grace replied, "Your mother, of course."
"Really?" That was Maria. She was seated on the floor with her back to the fire and next to the chair where Frankie was smoking a cigar.
"Oh, yes. You see, Alexandra first discovered this charming little town back in 1939, I believe it was. She and her wonderful friend, Lady Eldredge, decided to take a summer trip through New England. I don't know how, but they found themselves here. That's when your mother bought this house and began to restore it. It was in such terrible shape. But she hired some men in Bellows Falls to work on it and, by the end of the spring melt in 1940, it was ready to decorate and she did just that." Looking around the room, Grace smiled. "Didn't it all turn out so lovely?"
I nodded. "It reminds me of something out of a movie."
Grace nodded. "That's your mother all over. She told me once that she'd had three rooms in her house in San Francisco made up in the same identical style. Art Deco, I believe it was. The only difference was in the colors. N
ow what did she call them, Hyacinth?"
Before the other lady could answer, Carter said, "Emerald, Sapphire, and Rose."
Grace laughed and nodded. "Exactly. What those rooms must have looked liked." She sighed.
I said, "They're just the same. We haven't changed them."
Grace looked around the house. "Now, where is Alexandra? It seems like she's been gone a very long time."
Hyacinth took her friend's hand and said, "She has, Gracie. Remember? She left in 1947 to go to Boston."
Gracie patted Hyacinth's hand and said, "Yes, dear, I'm not quite senile yet." Looking over at me, she asked, "Do you know where she is?"
I shook my head. "I don't."
Grace reached over and patted my hand. "I don't think she's gone, my dear. She's just missing or, maybe, misplaced. I have a sixth sense and I would know it." Tapping her index finger to her temple, she said, "I'm never wrong about these things, am I Hyacinth?"
"No, Gracie, not so far."
. . .
"Will you ladies be able to join us for supper?" That was Maria.
Hyacinth looked at Gracie who blinked. "Oh, yes, that would be lovely. We so rarely go anywhere these days."
I asked, "What about your neighbors?"
Hyacinth answered that. "What do you think, Nicholas? Two women, sleeping in a double bed, with no men friends. Not even widows. Or even ever married. Everyone knows everything in this town."
Carter asked, "Do they ever bother you?"
Hyacinth shook her head. "Never. But if they come over to bring us a bushel of apples, they leave it on the back porch instead of bringing it in the kitchen like they do at other houses. No one, except for the sheriff and your mother, has ever once stepped into our house. We've asked them over, of course. Many times." She rolled her eyes.
"Now, Hyacinth, dear. This is Vermont not Harlem or Greenwich Village. We of the third sex are just not so known here."
"There've been others," added Hyacinth.
"Others?" asked Maria.
Hyacinth nodded and looked at Maria for a long moment. "Yes. One like you, for example."
"Like me?" Maria put her hand to her throat and blushed. She was still sitting on the floor, leaning against Frankie's legs. He put his hand on her shoulder.
The Paradoxical Parent (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 13) Page 5
