Julie wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that no one asked for details. Maybe they already knew what happened. Or maybe, good Mainers that they were, they were just practicing avoidance, a trait Julie had noticed more than once in her time in Maine. Among themselves, they might gossip and speculate, but, around an outsider like her, they went on about their business. So they left the building and took up the places Julie had suggested, two by the parking area and the third at the corner of Ting House, to intercept those who would arrive on foot and go between the buildings toward the site. Realizing that others might come down Main Street and enter behind Swanson House, she decided to go there herself. The first person she encountered was Rich.
“God, I’m so glad to see you!” she said as she grabbed hold of him. “Mary Ellen Swanson was killed—at the construction site. We’re stopping people from going back there. Can you help?”
“Jesus! What happened?”
“I don’t know. Howard Townsend found her, and came to tell me, and Mike Barlow’s there, and Town Rescue. I can’t believe this is happening. Not after Worth. What is it with me? I come to town and Worth is killed. Now poor Mary Ellen. Am I a jinx or something?”
CHAPTER 5
“I canceled the lunch,” Mrs. Detweiller informed her as Julie returned to her office.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Detweiller. I didn’t even think of that.”
“We’ll have to pay for it because we canceled so late.”
“We’ll work it out,” Julie said. “I’ll be in my office for a while.”
Crying, she added to herself as she closed the door behind her. Julie wasn’t a natural crier; she tended to keep her emotions both under control and to herself. But the enormity of Mary Ellen’s brutal death simply had to be recognized. Her tears flowed.
“Anyone here?” Mike asked from the outer office several minutes into Julie’s crying session.
“Yes, come in,” answered Julie, wiping her eyes.
Although Julie didn’t consider Mike exactly a friend, she liked and respected him. Last year when items went missing from the historical society and then Worth had been murdered, Mike had discouraged Julie from trying to solve the cases. But when she persisted, he accepted the futility of his position, and Julie really considered that they had been partners. Not that she expected Mike to feel the same. Still, they had a good relationship, and Julie regarded him the way everyone else in Ryland seemed to: as a neighbor who wore a badge because he genuinely wanted to help.
“Just a few things I need to talk to you about,” Mike said when he was seated across from her. She nodded. “I just got back from telling Steven.”
“That must have been hard.”
“Always is, but telling someone his mother was a homicide victim sort of raises the ante. Anyway, he said he and his wife and mother had breakfast and then Mary Ellen said she had to meet you at the tent at ten o’clock.”
“Me?”
“That’s what he said. I didn’t remember you saying anything about that, but maybe you forgot.”
“No, we didn’t have plans to meet. I mean, I figured Mary Ellen would be around this morning, to make changes in the ceremony or something. But we didn’t have an appointment. I told you that I took the shovels over around nine-fifteen or nine-thirty, and Mary Ellen wasn’t around.”
“What did you do then?”
“I came back here, and Mrs. Detweiller suggested I go to the inn to check on the arrangements for lunch. So I was over there until about ten-thirty, and when I got back here, that’s when Howard came in to tell me about Mary Ellen. You know the rest from there.”
Mike wrote some more notes on his pad. “Okay, between say nine-thirty and ten-thirty you were at the Ryland Inn. Who did you talk to?”
“You’re checking my alibi!”
“I am, sorry, but Steven said his mother was meeting you at the tent, and I have to know where you were since you say you weren’t there.”
“Brian is the catering manager,” Julie said. “I can’t remember his last name.”
“Handley,” Mike offered.
“I think so. Anyway, he can tell you I was there—I’m sure he wasn’t happy about it. But, I can’t be absolutely sure of the time—I mean ‘from nine-thirty to ten-thirty,’ like you said, doesn’t sound right. I don’t think I spent an hour with him, but I’m not sure of the exact time I got back here from the tent, or the exact time I left for the inn, or how long it took me to get there and back. Is it so important?”
Mike looked at her for a few seconds before responding gently. “Take it easy, Julie. I know you’re upset. Just bear with me. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask these questions. You understand how these things go. Frankly, I wish the State Police detective would get here and take over, but until he does I have to get this investigation going.”
“Fine,” Julie said. “Do what you need to do. Is there anything else Steven Swanson said about me?”
“Not a thing. And understand that he wasn’t accusing you. He was just answering my question about where his mother was this morning.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so upset. I can’t believe someone would do something like that to Mary Ellen. But it’s more than that, I guess.”
She continued, “I know this is crazy, but I keep thinking of Worth Harding. Finding him on the floor. Seeing Mary Ellen, and all that blood, just brought everything back from last year. Just when I’ve finally moved into Worth’s house …”
“You’ll be fine there. Remember the police station is just a block down Main Street. You can call anytime if you’re nervous.”
“Thanks. And I’m sorry about jumping all over you. It just threw me—what Steven said, which isn’t true, and then you asking me about where I was and when.”
“I understand. Is this going to delay things?” The sudden change in topic brought a blank look to Julie’s face. “Mrs. Swanson’s death,” he said. “I mean, can you still go ahead with your new building?”
“Oh, I guess we’ll be delayed—that depends on how long before the digging can start.”
“Which is up to the staties. Depends on how long they need to cover the crime scene. But I meant about the project itself.”
Julie went blank again.
“Sorry,” the chief said. “I don’t mean to be talking in riddles. Everyone knows Mrs. Swanson was the sponsor of the project, or at least the biggest donor since it’s going to be named for her husband. I was just wondering if her death affects that.”
“I’d assume Mary Ellen’s pledge would be paid by her estate.”
“That’s good then. And I guess it means no one killed her to keep her from giving away the money. Well, I need to go.”
What a strange idea, Julie said to herself after Mike left. Why would he even think someone would kill Mary Ellen to keep her from giving money to the Ryland Historical Society?
Mrs. Detweiller came in with a phone message. Howard Townsend had called an emergency meeting with the trustees for that evening.
CHAPTER 6
Rich stopped by Julie’s office after helping usher arriving guests away from the site.
“Are you going to be tied up all day here?” he asked.
“Howard just called a special board meeting for six tonight, so I have to be there. And, I guess I should call the contractor and let him know what happened, and that they can’t start work until the police say they can. But other than that, it’s hard to know what to focus on. I’ll try to stop home before the meeting.”
Julie was happy Dyer Construction’s phone was answered by a real person, and even happier when that person put her through immediately to Luke Dyer. “I know all about it,” he interrupted as Julie started to explain the situation. “Word travels fast. Talked to Barlow. Terrible shame about Mrs. Swanson. I liked her. Known the family for a long time,” he continued. “My dad and her husband were friends—well, acquaintances, anyway. And she was pleasant enough to deal with about the land we’re buying off h
er for the condos. Sad. How long do you think it’ll be before we can get started?”
Julie marveled at how quickly people seemed to dismiss the hours-old tragedy and move on from it, but she concentrated on the practical. “It’s up to the State Police,” she replied. “I’ll check with Chief Barlow and keep you informed.”
“I guess that’s okay,” Dyer said, “but I’ve got the condos to get to, and I can’t let that backhoe sit around down there for too long. If you don’t get a go-ahead by the weekend, I may have to pull it for a few weeks. We only need a couple of days to dig your foundation. Just keep me informed, okay?”
Dalton Scott, the architect and board member who chaired the trustees’ building committee, had been enthusiastic about letting the construction contract go to Luke Dyer, but Julie had never been totally convinced. She accepted Dalton’s opinion that Luke did good work, efficiently and at a reasonable price. She just didn’t warm to Luke. He always seemed in a rush and was rarely more than polite. But then she had never been responsible for overseeing a construction project before, and that was another reason she was glad Dalton was the chair of the committee. Dalton had given up his architectural practice near Boston and moved to Ryland six or seven years before Julie had. He was now the proprietor of the Black Crow Inn, and Worth Harding had wisely invited him to join the board of the Ryland Historical Society in anticipation of building the Swanson Center. She liked Dalton a lot, and she and Rich had quickly become friends with him and his girlfriend, Nickie Bennett. Dalton, in fact, had helped Julie solve the previous year’s apparent thefts at the society, and she valued his intelligence and good humor at board meetings, and especially in dealing with Mary Ellen over the project. So if Dalton recommended Luke Dyer, that was enough for Julie, even though she still was uncomfortable with him.
Howard phoned to see if she had gotten his earlier message about the six o’clock meeting, but Julie knew he was mainly curious about any new events. Julie reported on her conversation with Luke and how he might be taking the backhoe for another job.
“Yes,” the board chair said, “Luke and Frank Nilsson are doing that big condo development out at Birch Brook. You must have heard about it. Mary Ellen sold Frank the land, in fact. Sort of surprised me because I always thought Luke’s family owned it, but it turned out Dan Swanson had bought it just before he died. Imagine Mary Ellen made a pile on that—it’s a big plot, beautiful site just above the river. Anyway, Luke won’t stiff us—old Ryland family, after all, very community-minded. If he said he could handle both projects, he will.”
Looking out her window after the phone call ended, Julie saw Mike talking to a sheriff’s deputy and went out to meet him.
“Any luck?” Julie asked when the deputy had headed off to the crime scene.
“With?”
“The shovel. It just has to be—”
“We don’t know that, Julie, and even if it is, whoever killed Mrs. Swanson wouldn’t be dumb enough to throw the murder weapon into the woods so close.”
“Then you think it was the shovel?”
“A working hypothesis, Julie, but let’s drop that.”
“How about my alibi?”
“Haven’t had time to check. Was that what you wanted?”
Julie didn’t like Mike’s abruptness but understood it. “No, I’ll let you go now. Sorry to interrupt your work.”
She decided she was exhausted—physically and, especially, emotionally. It was time to go home for a break—and a nice glass of wine—before the meeting.
CHAPTER 7
The members of the board of trustees of the Ryland Historical Society were assembled. Julie was relieved to see them—or most of them. There was Dalton, of course, and Loretta Cummings, also a favorite of hers. Julie couldn’t fathom Loretta’s perennial cheerfulness, but it was a canny, practical cheerfulness that Julie attributed to Loretta’s role as principal of the local high school, popular with parents, teachers, and even students. Henry LaBelle, an attorney, was equally canny and practical, but in a more sardonic, world-weary way. Then there was Clif Holdsworth, nearly as old as Howard and as well established in the community. Clif was normally polite with Julie, if slightly condescending. She knew he’d never fully accept her since, unlike him, she wasn’t a fourth-generation Rylander.
“This is a tragic day,” Howard said to the small group after they had settled into their seats. “We’ve lost a very valuable trustee and friend,” the chair continued. “I can’t tell you much, but this is what I know at this point in time.” After Howard briefly described what he knew, he paused to ask if there were questions.
“We’re sure Mary Ellen was killed?” Dalton began. “No chance of a natural death?”
“So it seemed to me, Dalton,” Townsend answered, “and my sense is that Chief Barlow considers it murder. Do you agree, Julie?” She did. “And perhaps you’d like to add to my report,” he continued.
Julie said she couldn’t improve on the chair’s report except to add that the chief had asked her not to discuss with anyone else what she had seen.
“That’s quite correct,” Howard said, “and I was told the same. I trust I haven’t said anything I shouldn’t have, but I believe the trustees are entitled to some explanation. Are there any other questions?”
“Is there anything we can do as trustees to help you, Julie?” Henry asked.
“I can’t think of anything now, Henry. We just have to wait till we hear from Mike Barlow, I guess.”
“I know this sounds harsh, but it needs to be asked for practical reasons: What about the construction?” Dalton asked. “Luke Dyer was all set to start the excavation today as soon as the ceremony ended.”
“I’m sure Barlow will keep the site protected for a bit,” Henry said.
“He called for the Maine State Police and the Sheriff’s Office to do that,” Julie said. “So I think we’ll have to wait.”
“I understand,” Dalton said, “and, again, I know this sounds awful, but I hate to lose good weather. We really need to get the site work done so we can get a shell up before winter.”
“I’m sure Mary Ellen would agree with you about proceeding, Dalton,” Howard said, “but we’ll just have to see what the police tell us. Perhaps you could be in charge of that, Julie—checking with Barlow, and then letting Luke Dyer know?”
“Of course,” Julie said.
“There won’t be any other problems about the project, will there?” Clif asked. Julie and Howard exchanged glances, neither sure how to respond. “About the money,” Clif said. “I am the treasurer, after all, so I suppose I’m the one who has to ask. Do we still get Mary Ellen’s money for the building?”
“I wouldn’t see why not,” the chairman answered. “Julie?”
“I agree. Mary Ellen pledged $1 million, as you know, and then she added that $100,000 challenge last year so we could finish the fund-raising, and at least half of that is in, isn’t it, Clif?”
Julie knew very well that $600,000 of the pledge was already in the society’s construction fund. She also knew that Mary Ellen had told her she wanted to complete the pledge with a $500,000 gift over the summer. But Julie had learned to defer to Clif on financial matters. Doing that was easy, but what wasn’t easy for Julie was participating in this conversation about the project and its funding so soon after Mary Ellen’s death. She couldn’t quite believe her ears.
“I believe we have at least half, yes,” Clif replied. “But I’m thinking about the rest of it—is that pledge binding on the estate, Henry?”
Henry paused before answering. “Let me make my situation clear,” he began. “I can speak as our solicitor, but most of you know that I’m also Mary Ellen’s attorney. So I have a conflict of interest here. As your solicitor, I can advise you that Mary Ellen’s written pledge clearly protects the society by indicating that in the event of her death, her estate will honor it. It’s quite specific, and frankly, I made sure of that, to protect the society, but I also made it clear to Mary Ellen
that she had every right to have another attorney draw it up for her or to ask me to withdraw as the society’s solicitor in that instance. But she was content, and I feel confident of my ethical conduct.”
“Of course, of course,” Howard said. “No one here doubts your ethics, Henry.”
“Thanks, but I just want to be sure everyone here understands how the pledge was written—and that the society will get the rest of the gift. I’m sure of that.”
“Enough money in the estate to cover that?” Clif asked suspiciously.
“That’s not for me to say under the circumstances,” Henry answered, “but if I were the treasurer I would sleep soundly.”
“I assumed Steven Swanson would get it all,” Clif continued, undeterred by Henry’s tact. “I’d say he needs it, to keep that wife of his. Not that Mary Ellen would be happy about that. But I suppose Steven can’t stop the rest of it, can he?”
“No, but I wouldn’t think that would be an issue.”
“So there’s a lot of money, enough for us and Steven, too?”
“Clif, you know I can’t really say any more about that.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Any other questions?” Howard asked, clearly eager to put an end to the exchange between Henry and Clif, questions of money and estates not being matters the chair considered fit for public airing.
Loretta said, “I’m wondering about tomorrow’s concert. It’s such an important community function, I hope we can go ahead with it.”
Julie hadn’t thought that far ahead—tomorrow, the Fourth of July, seemed years away. When she admitted that, Loretta was quick to support her. “Oh, of course you haven’t; I don’t know how you keep on top of everything so well. I just thought while we’re together we should discuss it and make sure the board is in agreement. For my part, I’ll repeat that I hope we have it.”
Breaking Ground Page 3
