“So? I’ve never heard anyone around here mention them as suspects.”
“They were at the time, though,” Gordon said. “The only reason the police settled on the theory that Brian shot Diana, and either turned the gun on himself or died in a struggle, was that Earl and Garth both had alibis. They claimed they were at The White Stag when the killings occurred.”
“Well, then.”
“Ah, but consider the source: their brother and their drinking buddies. Hillbillies protect their own. They’ve got a code of silence so tight that even the $50,000 reward I offered after Diana’s death couldn’t crack it. But now it looks like someone’s finally decided to come forward.”
“What’re you talking about?”
Gordon removed a piece of paper from his wallet. “I know who killed your wife” the typed message read. Kathryn noticed the k had been typed over several times.
“I received four of these over the past several months,” Gordon said. “That’s another reason I came back to New Nottingham. But it’s been frustrating because the writer of the notes hasn’t contacted me again. I’m hoping he will, unless this is a hoax.” He put the note back into his wallet. “I’ll mosey up to the attic now. I suppose you heard about the violence at the Barkers the other day?” he said over his shoulder.
“I heard Garth shot himself.”
Gordon turned back to her, his yellow-flecked eyes intent as a cat on its prey. “If you believe he was the shooter, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. He was blind for heaven’s sake, and his wife Cheryl had the key to his gun case. His wife whom he’d been beating up on for years. Diana tried to get her to go to this place in Great Barrington where they provide counseling to battered women. I think Cheryl did go a few times, till Garth found out and threatened to kill her. Then he went and knocked up her sister. At least that’s taken care of now, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“She lost the baby.”
“That’s awful. She must be very upset.”
Gordon shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned Sis did the world a big favor. Now there’s one less Barker bastard to worry about.”
If she’d disliked Gordon before, now she hated him. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”
“You don’t know these people the way I do. They’re the worst kind of trash, and the sooner you understand that, the better.”
“Let me know when you’ll be coming to the house again,” she said icily. “I don’t want to be around.”
“Suit yourself.”
Kathryn waited until Gordon had disappeared into the attic before going upstairs herself. In the bedroom she examined the file containing Emily’s typed correspondence with her great-aunt just to be sure.
*****
Halfway up the steps to Emily’s porch, Kathryn heard raised voices within.
“I won’t go!” Emily cried.
“Please,” Millie said. “Your daughters are expecting you.”
Kathryn started back down. She’d return another time.
“Quit pussyfooting around, and come on in,” Emily hollered. Reluctantly, Kathryn entered the house.
“She wants me to go all the way to Springfield just to have Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant,” Emily told Kathryn.
Millie sighed and caught Kathryn’s eye, obviously hoping to enlist her support. “The arrangements have already been made. Earl will take you to the bus stop in Lenox tomorrow, and your daughters will meet you on the other end.”
“I’m not going. My daughters and their families want to see me so much, they can come here and we can have a home-cooked dinner with you all on the hill.”
“That’s not possible,” Millie said. “I mean, we’d love to have you and your family join us, but this year we’re keeping things small and quiet. Nobody’s much in the mood for a celebration.”
“Why not?” Emily demanded.
Millie bit her lip and looked away.
“Oh, you mean . . .” The light went out of Emily’s face. She looked like someone who’s fallen to the bottom of a deep well with no hope of rescue. “That baby didn’t have to die,” she said in a voice heavy with sorrow. “Aurelia would have taken care of it.”
“I’m sure she would have,” Millie said, “but your daughters—”
“I’m staying right here.” A cunning look came over Emily’s face. “With Kathryn.”
Kathryn exchanged startled glances with Millie. “Actually, I’m spending Thanksgiving in Maine, with my boyfriend and his family.”
“But you can’t leave now. You’ve got to stay and—” Emily broke off.
“What?” Millie asked.
“None of your business,” Emily snapped.
“Gordon’s going to North Carolina for Thanksgiving,” Kathryn volunteered.
“How do you know? Did he—”
“What’s Gordon got to do with it?” Millie interrupted.
“Nothing,” Emily said.
“How are you getting to Maine?” Millie asked Kathryn.
“I’m driving to Boston in a little while to meet my boyfriend. Then we’ll head up to Maine tomorrow.”
In the silence that followed, Kathryn could almost hear the wheels spinning in Millie’s brain. “If Kathryn’s driving to Boston, she could drop you off in Springfield,” she said to Emily. “That way, you can avoid a tedious bus ride, spend some time with your friend here, and see your daughters for Thanksgiving. It’s the perfect solution!” She clapped her hands and looked at them hopefully.
“I guess so,” Kathryn said.
Millie didn’t wait for Emily’s response. “Then it’s settled. I’ll help you pack.”
Chapter 38
Emily was waiting on the porch when Kathryn returned later that day. In her green dress with the matching coat and hat and an overnight bag by her side, she looked like a small, worried child being sent off to stay with relatives she didn’t like.
“Are you sure Gordon’s going to North Carolina for Thanksgiving?” she asked in the car.
“That’s what he said when he came to the house this morning.”
“Why didn’t you say he was at the house? How long was he there? Did he take anything?”
“We spoke briefly in the kitchen, he went to the attic, and I came to you.”
“You left him alone!” Emily sputtered. “Why didn’t you stay and keep an eye on him?”
“He said something that bothered me. That’s why I came to you.”
“Still badmouthing Earl and Diana, is he?” Emily said. “Calling ’em sex addicts and all that other nonsense. You best believe Gordon didn’t talk that way about him and his chippy in the city.”
“Gordon had a lover?”
“I said chippy. Diana and Earl were lovers, but the only person Gordon’s ever loved is himself. He only took up with his chippy because she worked at a gallery in New York, and he wanted an exhibit of his photographs. He didn’t get it, but she did give him an alibi for the night Diana was murdered.”
So Gordon had an alibi, too. That meant he’d been a “person of interest” also. Kathryn tightened her grip on the wheel, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road. It was hard to drive and have this conversation at the same time. But she was determined to get to the bottom of things. When they were stalled behind a line of cars at the entrance to the Massachusetts Turnpike, she asked the question that had been on her mind since Gordon’s visit that morning.
“Gordon showed me a note from someone claiming to know who killed his wife. It was typed on an old machine with a stuck letter ‘k’ like the one you used for your letters to my great-aunt. You wrote that note, Emily. Why?”
Emily’s blue eyes blazed. “I promised myself I’d bring Diana’s killer to justice before I died.”
“If you know who the killer is, why not go to the po
lice?”
“I don’t have enough evidence yet.”
“How will you get it?”
“Gordon’ll show his hand eventually.”
Kathryn stared at Emily, astonished. “You wrote those notes to—”
Loud honking from behind interrupted her. The way to the toll booth was now clear. Once they were on the Pike, Kathryn repeated her question.
“Flush ’im out, bring him back to the scene of the crime, at the time of year it was committed. He took the bait, so he’s guilty.”
“If he killed her, why would he offer a $50,000 reward for information?”
“Same reason as what’s-his-name, that other crook who offered a big reward for information about his wife’s killing, when everyone knew he did it.”
“But what was Gordon’s motive—jealousy?”
“Not by a long shot. He didn’t give a hoot about Diana and Earl as long as she stayed married to him and he had the use of her money. It was when she was going to leave him that he decided to kill her.”
“How do you know she was going to leave him?”
“She told me. Said she was gonna have a second will drawn up. She’d been told that under Massachusetts law she couldn’t cut Gordon out of her will while they were still married. But she wanted to be sure he got as little as possible in case something happened to her before the divorce.”
“She was afraid of that?”
“You bet she was!” Emily cried.
Kathryn was silent a moment, while she considered this. “What happened to this second will?”
“Her lawyer claimed he didn’t know anything about it, that if there was one, she must have made it herself and put it away somewhere. You can do that, you know, and still have it be legal.”
“Yes, but . . .”
She must have looked skeptical, because Emily lit into her. “I’m telling you there is a second will, and now Gordon’s scouring the attic for it—if he hasn’t already found and destroyed it. He knows someone’s on to him, and he wants to get rid of the evidence.”
“I didn’t come across any will when I was in the attic.”
“What were you doing up there?”
“Looking for the tapes of your recollections. I searched all the boxes and file drawers, although there was one box I couldn’t reach. It’s in a corner of the attic where there’s no flooring. When I tried to get to it, I almost fell through the ceiling.”
“Damnation! That box is probably in Gordon’s hands now.”
“I’m not so sure. If I couldn’t get to the box, it’ll be even harder for him. He’s not in the best physical shape.”
“He’s a fatty, all right,” Emily agreed. “Diana used to be after him to exercise, but all he ever wanted to do was lounge around and dream about being a famous something-or-other.”
“Aside from this second will, is there anything else that suggests Gordon might’ve killed Diana for her money?”
“She says so on one of the tapes of my recollections.”
Kathryn looked at Emily, dumbfounded. “Why would she bring up Gordon there?”
“You listen to it, you’ll see.”
“I’d love to, Emily, but, as I’ve told you many times, I don’t have those tapes.”
“They may turn up yet.”
“What if they don’t? Couldn’t you just tell me what’s on them? I want to know about Marguerite, Clyde and Jared Cutter. I’ve done everything you wanted, visited the house foundation, the mill ruins and the hilltop cemetery where Marguerite and Clyde are both buried, but I still don’t know the whole story.”
“You’ll hear it in good time. But not now. You’ve worn me out with all this talk about Gordon.” Emily yawned. A few moments later, her eyes closed and her head drooped onto her chest. Emily looked so tiny and vulnerable that Kathryn half wished she’d made Emily sit in the back as children do for safety reasons. She sighed. So much for getting Emily to tell her about Marguerite, Clyde and her ancestor, at least on this leg of the trip.
What to make of Emily’s suspicions about Gordon, though? Could he really have followed his wife into the woods and shot both her and Brian Russo? She had a hard time imagining him exerting himself that much, though he could have hired someone to do the job. And the whole business of a second will as evidence against him seemed farfetched. Kathryn wished Emily would wake up so she could question her more.
The old woman didn’t stir until they reached the Springfield exit. “Are we there yet?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with her fists.
“Almost.”
“Good. It’s been a long trip.”
“Emily,” Kathryn said, voicing a worry that had been knocking at the back door of her brain since their conversation earlier. “If Gordon did kill Diana and he finds out you sent those notes, I’m afraid he’ll try to harm you.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed to gimlets. “Don’t worry. I’ll be ready for him.”
*****
Emily’s older daughter, Irene, a middle-aged woman who had her father’s features and who towered over her mother, greeted them at the door. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mother,” she said, then to Kathryn, “Thank you for bringing her. Won’t you stop for coffee before continuing on to Boston?”
“Thanks, I’d like that.”
Irene ushered them into the living room, returning a few minutes later with a pot of coffee, mugs, and a plate of cookies. Emily snatched a cookie and bit into it. “Store-bought,” she said with a frown, putting it back.
“I didn’t have time to bake,” Irene apologized.
“Is that why we’re having Thanksgiving at a restaurant, because you don’t have time to make the dinner?” Emily demanded.
“No. It’s just easier at a restaurant where they can accommodate different people’s food preferences. Sarah’s allergic to turkey, and Ruth’s new boyfriend will only eat gluten-free meals and—”
“When my great-grandmother Aurelia was alive, we always had Thanksgiving at home, and we ate what was put on our plate and were glad of it,” Emily retorted.
“Yes, Mother, but that was then, and this is now.” Irene’s weary look told Kathryn she and her mother had been over this ground many times before. Brightening, Irene said, “Mary and Jack’s daughter, Cynthia, is due in March, so you’ll be getting another great grandchild. Won’t that be nice?”
“Really?” Emily appeared surprised. “I thought she lost the baby. I’m sure that’s what you told me. I remember thinking what a shame it was because Aurelia would have helped take care of it.”
“Cynthia has not lost her baby,” Irene said firmly. “I think you’ve confused her with that girl in New Nottingham who had the miscarriage. One of the Barkers, wasn’t it?”
“Sis,” Emily murmured. “Her baby didn’t have to die. Aurelia would have taken care of it.”
“Yes, Mother,” Irene soothed, putting a hand on Emily’s arm.
“I want to lie down,” Emily declared irritably.
“I’ll take you upstairs.”
When Irene returned to the living room, Kathryn stood. “I should be going. Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” Irene followed her to the door. “My sister and I really appreciate your bringing Mother here. The shooting and that girl’s losing her baby have taken their toll on her. It’s good for her to get away for a few days.”
“Yes.” Kathryn lingered on the threshold. “There’s something I don’t understand. Why does your mother keep saying her great-grandmother would have taken care of Sis’s baby?”
Irene glanced warily toward the stairs, as if she expected to see Emily’s childlike figure crouched there, eavesdropping. Lowering her voice, she said, “Mother gets things mixed up sometimes. She’s confused that girl’s baby with another baby Aurelia Judd took care of a long time ago.”
“Wh
ose baby was that?”
Irene stole another glance at the stairs. “Why don’t we step outside?” When Irene had closed the door behind them, she said, “I don’t know how much you know about Mother’s family background.”
“I read in her recollections that she’s a Judd and grew up on the family farm on Rattlesnake Hill.”
“She was raised by the Judds, but she’s not one of them,” Irene said.
“I don’t understand.”
Irene looked at her watch, then at the shadows creeping toward them across the patch of lawn in front of the house. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want you to get stuck in rush hour traffic.”
“I’m in no hurry.”
Irene sighed heavily. “All right. I’ll try to keep it short. You see, Aurelia Judd had a good friend named Marguerite Soule.”
Kathryn’s pulse quickened. Maybe now, she’d finally find out what had really happened all those years ago.
“They were classmates at a female seminary in Connecticut and kept in touch afterward. During a visit with Aurelia, Marguerite met a man named Jared Cutter at a ball at his house. He was smitten with her, and they soon married.”
So that was how they’d met. She could almost picture the scene: the ballroom filled with local girls, each vying for the attention of the town’s most eligible bachelor and, as the evening wore on, becoming more and more disappointed and envious when they realized he only had eyes for the beautiful stranger.
“A few years later,” Irene continued, “Marguerite fell in love with another man, Clyde Barker, after he rescued her from drowning. They used to meet secretly in the woods.” Irene hesitated, as if reluctant to say more. Even in the dimness Kathryn could see her frown.
“What?” she probed.
“There was . . . well . . . a child,” Irene said in a hushed voice.
“Clyde was the father?” Kathryn guessed.
“He thought so. Marguerite, too. But in those days it wasn’t so easy to establish paternity. Anyway, after the baby was born, Clyde begged Marguerite to run away with him. Finally she agreed. On the eve of their departure, Marguerite left the baby girl in Aurelia Judd’s care, planning to send for her later. She and Clyde set off through the woods.”
Rattlesnake Hill Page 17
