Breaking Ground

by William Andrews

  It had seemed like a great idea, and Julie still remembered her excitement when she first described it to Rich. Practical as he was, he had suggested she should focus on one aspect, an idea she eventually came around to, settling on a period—the Depression. “I’ll call it ‘Down and Out in Ryland, Maine,’” she joked to Rich, but instead of finding it funny he warmed to the notion. “Everyone knows about the Depression in the big cities,” he had said. “But what was it like in a small town in rural Maine? That’s a terrific idea.” So Julie began sorting the papers and asking Tabby to do the same as she cataloged, setting aside those from the 1930s.

  “Some new ones?” Julie prompted Tabby.

  “Yes. More letters to his brother in Connecticut during the Depression and some others. They’re over there, in the green folder.”

  “I’ll take them downstairs if that’s okay. I can’t seem to get big stretches of time to work on them, but if they’re on my desk I can read them in between.”

  Since she had first learned about the Tabor papers and settled on her project of researching his description of the Depression in Ryland, she had rarely found uninterrupted time to work on them. Mundane tasks that represented the reality of the job of director consumed her time. Those and the monthly meetings of the board—to say nothing of the endless meetings with Mary Ellen, with or without the rest of the building committee. She really did enjoy her job, but it certainly didn’t leave time to be a scholar, too.

  “I was wondering if we’ll be closing on Monday for the funeral,” Tabby said as Julie was distracted by her own thoughts about the papers.

  “Yes, of course. Mrs. Detweiller will be bringing around a notice about that soon. We won’t open until two, but you don’t need to come in that afternoon. Things should quiet down next week after the long holiday, so why don’t we just agree that the library will remain closed all day Monday.”

  “I’ll be in after the funeral, Dr. Williamson. I just wanted to be sure I could get to it. Mary Ellen will certainly be missed. What a terrible tragedy.”

  Tabby’s anguished look as she said that made Julie aware of how awful the woman’s life had become because of her sister. It was better, she felt, to respond with only a nod and then to change the topic. “I’m really eager to read these,” she said as she held the green folder in front of her. “Thanks for collecting them for me.” Tabby acknowledged the thanks with a slight nod.

  “And one more thing,” Julie continued, trying to sound casual. “Luke Dyer told me yesterday he was working here, and I was sort of surprised because I didn’t realize he had an interest in local history. But then I really don’t know him except in connection with the construction project. He’s from an old Ryland family, I understand, and I just wanted to check to make sure he’s finding what he needs here.” Julie knew the story was lame, but it apparently didn’t bother Tabby.

  “Yes, I think he’s finding what he wanted. Those papers are not really in the best order since Mary Ellen just kept dropping them off in boxes and bags when she felt like it.”

  “Mary Ellen had papers from the Dyer family?” Julie asked.

  “Not that I know of. No, Luke was looking at the Swanson papers.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Julie felt strongly that it was neither professional nor appropriate to monitor the work of researchers. What people asked to see they should be given, assuming of course that the donors had not restricted access. No, it wasn’t up to the archivist to say who could see what. The society’s role was to conserve and provide access, making sure that any documents or books were treated properly and never removed. Copies could be made if the material was not fragile and lent itself to duplication without damage. So if Luke Dyer wanted to consult papers from the Swanson family, and if Tabby supervised their use to prevent damage (ink pens for note taking, for example, were anathema; Tabby kept a drawer of pencils to offer to those who came unprepared), then it wasn’t a fit topic of interest for Julie.

  Except that she was surprised and fascinated, two emotions she tried to disguise when she responded to Tabby’s announcement that Dyer had been looking at papers from the Swanson family. “Oh, I see,” was the best Julie could do.

  “He only looked at the ones I’ve cataloged, of course,” Tabby said. “I’ve got a couple more boxes of Swanson materials in the vault that I just haven’t gotten to, what with the doctor’s papers to deal with first. But there’s plenty of cataloged material from the Swansons, and Luke isn’t an experienced researcher, so I think there’s quite enough to keep him busy till I get to the rest.”

  “Mary Ellen never mentioned that she was donating papers,” Julie said, “but then she was generous in so many ways.”

  “That’s certainly true, Dr. Williamson.”

  “Are these her husband’s?”

  “Not so far. The ones I’ve been through are mostly Dan’s grandfather’s. I started with the oldest ones. Most of the letters and bills are from the eighties and nineties.”

  “Then they must be Mary Ellen’s husband’s,” Julie observed.

  “No, not 1980s—1880s and ’90s.”

  “Oh, of course; sorry. So those were Mr. Swanson’s grandfather’s.”

  “Herbert. My father always called him Herbie. Of course I didn’t know him—he died when I was quite young—but he and my father were friends. Old Dan was also a friend of Father’s. He sort of spanned the two generations.”

  “Old Dan?”

  “Herbert’s son, Dan’s father. He was Daniel O. Swanson I, and Mary Ellen’s husband was Daniel O. II, but everyone called them Old Dan and Dan.”

  “You know so much about all this, Tabby. Did you know Mary Ellen when she was growing up?”

  “Mary Ellen? No, she’s from Connecticut or somewhere. Not a Ryland girl.”

  “Right, I think she told me that. She met her husband during the war, didn’t she?”

  “In Boston. Dan was in the navy, and I guess Mary Ellen was one of those girls who … well, you know.”

  Wow, Julie said to herself. One of those girls. But to Tabby she said: “And they got married and moved to Ryland?”

  “Not right away. Dan came back after the war, and Mary Ellen came to visit, but Old Dan didn’t take to her, and so it was a long engagement. I don’t think they got married until just a few years before Old Dan died. Let’s see, that would have been in the mid-fifties—1950s, of course.”

  Julie nodded. “So Mary Ellen’s not from Ryland, but she lived here for about fifty years.” Julie was silently doing some calculating. “Then Steven must have been born quite a bit later. He’s in his mid-thirties, I think.”

  “Probably. A lot of people thought Dan and Mary Ellen would never have children, but then Steven finally came along.”

  Came along pretty late in the marriage, Julie thought. And Mary Ellen was disappointed that Steven and Elizabeth didn’t have children yet? Interesting.

  “Would it help, Dr. Williamson, if I just jotted down the dates for you? I had to make a little chronology for myself when I started on the papers.”

  “That would be great! I really need to understand the family since we’re going to be having a second Swanson building soon. Have you seen the excavation work?”

  “Haven’t been back there. Not something I wanted to look at.”

  “Yes, of course. Sorry.” Julie silently rebuked herself for the insensitivity of forcing poor Tabby Preston to contemplate the scene of Ryland’s second bloody murder in a year. “Well, I should take a look at those Swanson papers, too, one of these days. You say Luke Dyer was looking at the ones you cataloged—that would be the grandfather’s, Herbert’s?”

  “Yes. But you know, I don’t keep track of exactly what researchers look at, just the general description, the box number and so forth.”

  “Right. Just curious.” There, she had given herself away. Or maybe a little more than just curious. “I’ll ask Luke myself when I see him. He’s probably looking into some town history. Well, if you do ha
ve time to jot down those dates for the Swanson family, that would be really helpful. Sorry to keep you from your work on the doctor’s papers.”

  “I’ll do that today. And I’ll see you Monday, I’m sure.”

  “Good. And thanks, Tabby.”

  Tabby returned her attention to the papers piled on her desk, and Julie quietly exited from the library and returned to her office downstairs.

  It was late in the afternoon when Mrs. Detweiller entered Julie’s office and handed her a piece of paper: “For you. From Tabby. She said you asked for it.”

  Julie had immersed herself in paperwork all afternoon and had lost track of time. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 4:30. Probably Tabby had dropped off the note on her way out. Mrs. Detweiller would be following immediately. And that meant Julie had the office to herself and could put away the business of the Ryland Historical Society that had occupied her for the last few hours and privately return to her notes. From the top drawer of her desk she pulled the manila folder in which she had placed the notes she had made after talking to Henry. She was ready to add to the folder some items she wanted to note from her conversation with Frank Nilsson this morning. But first she looked at Tabby’s chronology:

  Herbert Oakes Swanson, 1863–1932

  Daniel Oakes Swanson I (“Old Dan”), 1888–1953

  Daniel Oakes Swanson II (“Dan”), 1918–1997

  Married Mary Ellen Leighton, 1951

  Steven Leighton Swanson, 1965

  Married Elizabeth Myerson, 1995

  Julie noted again the odd parallel between the last two generations she had picked up from Tabby’s comments. Old Dan had apparently not approved of his son’s choice of wife, just as Mary Ellen didn’t like Steven’s, yet both marriages had occurred, Mary Ellen’s and Dan’s two years before the father’s death. And then there was the fact that Mary Ellen and Dan had not had a child until well into their marriage, fourteen years, and Mary Ellen had been unhappy that Steven and Elizabeth, who hadn’t been married that long, hadn’t yet produced an heir. So unhappy, in fact, that she was considering changing her will. To put pressure on the couple? Or to punish them?

  None of this seemed especially relevant to the question that Julie’s talk with Tabby had presented: Why was Luke Dyer reading the Swanson papers? Julie placed Tabby’s chronology in the manila folder and took out her yellow pad to record what she hoped she hadn’t forgotten from the conversation with Frank over breakfast. She had certainly succeeded in finding out more about him and a little about the condo development he was involved in, and then there was his sharp response to her suggestion that Mary Ellen had considered canceling the deal. Julie noted that very interesting fact on her pad and then started to jot down what she had learned about Nilsson’s earlier work in developing retirement communities and his involvement with Ryland Skiway. The bare facts of his life she had already on his résumé. Early life and high school in southern Maine, attendance at Bowdoin (but still no sense of whether he had graduated—she was willing to bet he hadn’t), meeting and marrying Patty. What was her name? Oh yes, Oakes—Nilsson had said she was from an old Ryland family and that Julie no doubt had seen the name.

  Indeed she had! And just a few moments ago. She pulled Tabby’s chronology from the folder, and there it was: Herbert, Daniel I, and Daniel II all carried the middle name of Oakes. Were Frank’s wife and the Swansons related? And if so, did it matter?

  The growling of her stomach reminded Julie that in the midst of tours, phone calls, talking with Tabby, and paperwork, she had completely forgotten about lunch. She was starved. It wasn’t yet 5:30, but she felt the need to head home to see what Rich had decided on for dinner. The green folder with the Tabor letters sat unopened on her desk. Julie glanced at it and felt guilty. But less guilty than hungry.

  CHAPTER 17

  Julie was especially glad Rich was such a good cook. She felt weak in the knees when she spied the ceramic dish holding two gorgeous swordfish steaks in a marinade. Next to it was a low bowl holding asparagus covered with lemon juice and black pepper. Big slices of fresh tomatoes and red onions were in a third dish, also marinating. A bowl of strawberries completed the picture. Julie really wondered if she would faint.

  “I can grill the fish outside,” Rich said from behind her, “but I think we should eat inside. It’s still pretty chilly.” He embraced her before she could turn and moved his hands gently from her waist up to her neck. “But unless you’re in a hurry …”

  “I’m starved!” she said as she wiggled around to face him. “I skipped lunch.”

  “Oh,” he said with obvious disappointment. “I guess I could start the fire.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Half an hour.”

  “Just enough time,” she said and took his arm to lead him out of the kitchen. “I should take a shower anyway,” she added. “Go light the fire. I’ll be upstairs.”

  The dining room seemed too formal to Julie, or maybe she was put off by its location right across the hall from the living room where she had found Worth’s body. Whatever the reason, she and Rich had avoided it so far. The kitchen was cozy, and without consulting Rich she set up for dinner there after she came downstairs. Rich was placing the asparagus in the oven to broil. “A little heat in here isn’t such a bad idea,” Rich said as he stepped back from the oven. “How about some wine while the fish grills?”

  “God, you’re good,” Julie said as she chewed the first bite of the swordfish.

  “I aim to please,” Rich said, raising his eyebrows in a mockwolfish way. “Everything tastes great when you’re hungry. You really shouldn’t work so hard.”

  “I just got so involved in things that I forgot. This really is terrific,” she said as she took another forkful of the swordfish and then complemented it with the asparagus.

  “What things? Historical society business, I hope, rather than—just to pick a topic at random—solving a murder?”

  “What makes you think they’re not connected?”

  “What’s not connected?”

  “The Ryland Historical Society and Mary Ellen’s murder?”

  “Julie, you promised!”

  “Well, they’re obviously connected,” she continued. “Mary Ellen was killed at the historical society, and I’m beginning to think that it had to do with her gift. So …”

  “There’s no way I’m going to stop this, is there?” Rich asked. “Short of agreeing to do a jigsaw puzzle or something equally exciting.”

  “We could do that.”

  “Think I’ll pass on that. Go ahead, tell all.”

  “Well, if you really want to know,” she began. “Of course I told you a little about breakfast with Frank Nilsson, but here’s what’s really fascinating …”

  “I’m afraid it’s just strawberries for dessert,” Rich said nearly an hour later when both Julie’s report and the main meal were done.

  “They’ll be perfect. Local?”

  “I got them at that farm stand on River Road. Tomatoes, too, though they’re obviously not local. Or not local to Ryland, Maine. Soon though.”

  “They were fine. Everything was, Rich. I don’t deserve you!”

  “True, but what’s a girl to do?”

  “Well, I could end my report with a list of conclusions,” she offered.

  “Why does that not surprise me? Okay, your conclusions, please.”

  “My conclusions, in no particular order: One, Frank Nilsson is definitely a suspect. He was really ticked off that Mary Ellen might have hinted to me that she had second thoughts about the land deal.”

  “Your reasoning?” Rich interrupted.

  “Simple. If Mary Ellen backed out, Nilsson stood to lose a lot of money, or at least not make a lot. So he had a motive to kill her before the deadline, July fifth. And he’s unhappy that someone—me—might know she was thinking about doing that. Ready for number two?” Rich nodded. “Luke Dyer is interested in the Swanson family, at least enough to start readin
g their papers in our archives, which isn’t the sort of work he normally does. He’s in the condo development with Nilsson, so he was also at risk if Mary Ellen canceled. Remember that it was Luke’s father, Paul, who sold the land to Dan Swanson in the first place. Maybe he’s trying to find out why, because if he owned the land instead of having to buy it back from the Swansons, he’d probably make a lot more money. And Frank Nilsson’s wife may be related to the Swansons—her maiden name is Oakes, and that was the favorite middle name for Swanson men.”

  “Pretty weak,” Rich said.

  “Just because I don’t have it figured out yet. But there’s something funny about Luke Dyer’s interest in the Swanson papers.”

  “So you suspect Dyer, too?”

  “For now, because like Nilsson he had a motive to kill Mary Ellen before the fifth of July. Remember when we were talking about this right after the murder? You said—or maybe I did—that the question isn’t just why Mary Ellen was killed, but why at the excavation site. Maybe that’s wrong; maybe the real question isn’t where she was killed but when. If the timing’s important, then Nilsson and Dyer had a motive—each of them individually, and even together—a shared reason to do her in before July fifth.”

  “I see what you mean about timing, Julie, but don’t you also have to add Steven Swanson to the list for the same reason?”

  “Absolutely! Both Steven and Elizabeth had a reason to kill her before she changed her will, which she told them Tuesday morning she was going to do. So they’re definitely on the list.”

  “Beyond the list, do you have any more conclusions?” Rich asked as he stood to begin clearing the table.

  “Two more, actually. First, that I don’t know nearly enough about town history, and especially the families and how they’re connected. I’ve got to find out more about local genealogy. And second, I don’t know enough about the condo development.”

  “I can’t help you with the first one, but I might be able to help with the second,” Rich said. “Coffee?”