Rattlesnake Hill

by Leslie Wheeler

  One of Jerry Spitzer’s restless hands closed over his wife’s. “It’s all right, Vonnie. Of course, Gordon didn’t kill Diana. But Mrs. Goodale believed he did. That’s why she set him up.”

  “What?” Yvonne Spitzer looked surprised.

  “Don’t you see, Vonnie? Mrs. Goodale wrote anonymous notes to lure Gordon back to the Berkshires. She figured he would find out she’d written the notes eventually. Then, when he confronted her, she used it as an excuse to shoot him.”

  “But that’s so twisted and evil!” Yvonne Spitzer cried. “This is an awful place with awful people. I never understood why Gordon and Diana moved here. If only they’d stayed in New York, she’d be alive and so would he!”

  Her voice shook and her upper body wobbled dangerously. Spitzer reached out a hand to steady her. Kathryn leaned forward also.

  Pulling herself together, Yvonne Spitzer asked in a calmer voice, “Did you have much contact with my son before he was killed, Miss Stinson?”

  “We only met a few times when he came to the house to get things.”

  “That’s a pity because if you’d gotten to know Gordon, you would have seen what a kind, gentle man he was. Not a mover and shaker perhaps, but an artist and a dreamer who was just starting to come into his own. He seemed so happy when we saw him at Thanksgiving. He loved living in France, his photography was going well and a gallery in New York was planning an exhibit of his work. This never should have happened. Something went wrong, dreadfully wrong!”

  This time Yvonne Spitzer didn’t regain her composure, but collapsed inward onto herself in a paroxysm of emotion. Kathryn’s heart went out to her. However disagreeable Yvonne Spitzer might be as a person, right now she was first and foremost a mother who’d lost her child.

  “I’m sorry about your son.” She probably should have said this when the Spitzers first arrived, but had forgotten in the press of the moment. “And if there’s anything I can . . .”

  Jerry Spitzer, who had his arms around his wife, trying to comfort her, replied with a curt headshake. He held her until she seemed calmer, then he rose and held out his hand. “Come Vonnie, let’s have a look at the rest of the house.”

  “No!” Yvonne Spitzer batted his hand away and stood. “I don’t want to stay here another minute!”

  “All right then, we’ll go,” her husband said. “Brandy Russo will be in touch with you about arrangements for the house,” he told Kathryn. “Our lawyer may want to take a deposition from you at some point, so make sure Ms. Russo has your address when you move out.”

  The Spitzers’ words remained with Kathryn long after they’d gone. She kept hearing Jerry Spitzer’s comment about Emily setting up Gordon. A set-up in which she had played a part, albeit unwittingly. And what Yvonne Spitzer had said about Earl. Like her son, she’d called him trash, and also like Gordon, she’d suggested that either Earl or his brother could have killed Diana.

  When Earl emerged from the woods at dusk, she ran to meet him. “What’s the matter, Star?” he asked, noticing the tears in her eyes.

  “The Spitzers, Gordon’s family, came to the house this afternoon. They aren’t nice people, and I disliked them for same reasons I disliked Gordon. But when Mrs. Spitzer broke down over her son’s death, I felt bad for her.”

  Earl slipped an arm around her and drew her close. “God knows I hated Gordon, and I probably wouldn’t have liked his parents either. But to lose a child is just about the worst thing that can happen to anyone. I know how I’d feel if one of my boys were killed . . . But try to put it behind you.” His fingers brushed her cheek. “I thought we’d go up the hill for dinner. The rest of my family’s eager to meet you.”

  Chapter 48

  “Iwant you all to meet Kathryn,” Earl said to the group gathered in the kitchen of the main house. “This is my mother, June.” He indicated a large, placid-looking woman with gray-blonde hair standing by the stove. “My sister-in-law, Suzy.” He pointed at a slim, young woman with flaming hair who stood by the stove with his mother. “And my dad, Roy.” He gestured at a big, handsome man with a florid face, who sat drinking beer at the kitchen table with Wayne and an elderly man Kathryn recognized as Earl’s grandfather. Black and tan dogs sprawled on the floor, creating an obstacle course for two young boys racing trucks around and occasionally over them.

  “Well, well, what have we got here?” Roy Barker drawled. “I thought Pete was the only one who had any luck the other day, but I see you’ve bagged yourself a nice little doe, Son. And don’t she just look good enough to eat?”

  Kathryn squirmed inwardly. She’d sensed the meeting would be awkward, but this was worse than she’d expected.

  “Saw ’em going up the ledges together,” the grandfather volunteered.

  “Is that right?” Roy leered at her.

  “I wanted to see one of the graves,” Kathryn explained.

  “Sure, that’s all you were doing up there?” Roy asked.

  “Yes, Dad,” Earl said firmly.

  Roy chuckled. “I’m surprised at you, Son.” Turning back to Kathryn, he said, “How come you’re interested in those old graves?”

  “One of them belongs to a woman who was married to my ancestor, Jared Cutter.”

  “The bastard who blinded poor Clyde?” Roy said.

  Blood rose into Kathryn’s face. She opened her mouth to protest, but Earl beat her to it. “Nobody knows exactly what happened that night. And it was a long time ago.”

  “Maybe so, but—” Roy began.

  “I’m glad you could join us, Kathryn,” June Barker interrupted. “Why don’t you have a seat? Dinner’s almost ready.”

  At dinner the conversation was mostly about hunting; Kathryn was glad to have the attention off her. The men swapped stories of previous hunts and argued the merits of stand-hunting versus stalking, deer calling, and the use of scent trails and fake scrapes.

  “Know what a scrape is, Kathryn?” Roy asked suddenly.

  No, but I have an awful feeling you’re going to tell me. She shook her head.

  “It’s what a buck does to attract the ladies during rutting season. He scratches the ground with his hoof, then he urinates on the spot.”

  Charming. Hunters all, Alan and his family could have told her what a scrape was, but they were much too polite to mention such things in her presence. Not Roy. He wasn’t just earthy, he was downright crude.

  “Do you like venison?” June asked Kathryn, perhaps sensing her discomfort.

  “I’ve never tried it.”

  “Then you’re in for a real treat,” Suzy said. “The only question is how to cook it. I clipped a stir-fry recipe from the newspaper I’d like to try. But that venison sauerbraten you made a few years ago was awfully good, too,” she told June.

  The women continued their talk, the men theirs. During a lull, Roy turned to Kathryn. “Bet I know how you and Earl got together. My boy’s got pheromones something fierce and if he was to—”

  “Dad,” Earl interrupted warily.

  “Let me finish,” Roy insisted. “As I was saying, if my boy made a full-sized scrape like a buck in rut, he’d attract every doe in creation. But he only wanted one doe. You, Kathryn. So he made a teeny scrape, just enough to draw you to the spot.”

  Kathryn couldn’t believe her ears. This was turning out to be a dinner from hell.

  “Jesus!” Earl exploded.

  “Now, Son,” Roy said sternly, “you know I don’t allow swearing at the table.”

  Kathryn stared at Roy, dumbfounded. Evidently cursing was prohibited, but coarse remarks were acceptable.

  Earl stood angrily. “We’re leaving. C’mon, Kathryn.”

  Suzy and Wayne exchanged glances, but stayed out of it. Kathryn was about to rise when June held out a restraining hand. “Sit down and finish your dinner,” she ordered Earl in a voice she’d probably used with
him as a child. After a moment’s hesitation, he obeyed. “Suzy and I worked hard on this meal,” June continued. “And I won’t have it spoiled with silly talk about bucks and does.” She glared at her husband, who shrugged, and lowered his gaze to his plate. Kathryn felt as if she’d witnessed a long-established family dynamic in which father and son sparred and mom played peacemaker.

  To her relief, the rest of the meal passed without incident. When it was over Earl told her to wait in the truck while he had a word with his father. “I’m sorry about Dad’s behavior tonight,” he said after he rejoined her. “He’s always had this thing about comparing women in the family to the female of one animal or another. Millie was a filly and Suzy was a heifer. Or maybe it was the other way around. Cheryl was definitely a bunny, though. We put up with it because after awhile he quits. But tonight he went too far and I let him know that.”

  “It was a bit much,” Kathryn agreed. “But I hope, as you say, he’ll quit of his own accord.”

  “He’ll quit because I told him to. I’m not going to let Dad or anyone else come between us.” He took her hand and squeezed it so tightly she winced with pain.

  Chapter 49

  Millie was occupied with a customer when Kathryn slipped into the post office the next morning.

  Convinced that Millie knew about her and Earl, she’d avoided the post office for the past several days. Now, she expected to find her box full. Instead, there was a yellow slip with instructions to pick up her mail at the window. No avoiding Millie now.

  “I hope you didn’t stay away, because of . . . you know,” Millie said with her usual friendly smile, as she handed Kathryn her mail.

  “I’m afraid I did. I thought you’d be angry I went against your advice.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m not. Disappointed, yes but—” Millie broke off as a customer entered the post office. Lowering her voice, she said, “Let’s talk more later.”

  “Want to meet at the historical society room at noon?”

  “I know a better place. Come to my house around twelve-fifteen. You know where I live, right?”

  *****

  Even before Millie opened the front door of the white house, Kathryn was aware of a wonderful cooking aroma emanating from within. “I hope you didn’t go to any trouble on my account,” she said.

  “No trouble,” Millie assured her. “I made the soup yesterday, so I just needed to heat it up. Didn’t seem right having you over without giving you lunch. Would you like a grilled cheese sandwich with the soup? I’m going to make one for myself.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Good. While I finish getting lunch together, have a seat and make yourself at home.” Millie gestured toward a large, flowered couch in the living room before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Kathryn did as she was told. Glancing around, she found herself thinking how different the living room with its plush carpet, comfortable couch with fluffy pillows, and lacy curtains on the windows was from Earl’s Spartan trailer. A couple of glossy home decorating magazines were neatly arranged on the coffee table in front of her, but what especially attracted her attention was the array of family photos on the mantel above the fireplace. She went over to examine them. There was a formal wedding portrait of Millie and Earl. They looked solemn and every bit the teenagers they’d been. The rest of the photos were candid shots, showing the couple and their three boys from babyhood to young adulthood and beyond, for the two older boys. They made an attractive family. She noticed a candid half hidden by one of the family shots. She picked it up to get a better look. It was a wedding photo; Millie’s mouth was wide open, as if she were whooping with joy. Instead, she was about to receive the piece of wedding cake a grinning Earl held out to her. “Almost ready!” Millie called from the kitchen.

  Kathryn put back the photo and joined her in the kitchen. “Can I give you a hand?”

  “Sure.”

  Millie ladled steaming tomato soup into bowls then flipped golden brown sandwiches dripping with cheese from the hot griddle onto plates beside the soup bowls. “I forgot to ask what you’d like to drink. Coffee, tea, water?”

  “Water’s fine.”

  Millie filled two glasses and handed them to Kathryn. “You take these and I’ll bring the plates.”

  The soup smelled so good Kathryn could hardly wait to have a taste. It was rich and tangy. “This is the best tomato bisque I’ve ever had.”

  “Thanks, but it’s simple fare. The sandwich too, though the bread is homemade. I’m sure you’ve had much fancier meals eating out in Boston.”

  Kathryn shook her head. “For lunch, I usually just grab something to eat at my desk, and dinner’s often Chinese take-out.”

  “I’d probably do the same if I were single in the city, but as the mother of a hungry teenager, I can’t afford to. Your boyfriend must have taken you out to some nice places, though.”

  “Oh, he did, but . . .” Kathryn looked at Millie inquiringly, wondering why she’d brought up Alan.

  “He’s a lawyer, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I just thought he might be someone I’ve read about in the papers. There’s this Boston lawyer who’s in the news a lot.”

  “You mean Alan Madden?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Well, my boyfriend’s name is Alan, but Marquette, not Madden. And he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

  Millie’s soup spoon stopped in mid-hair. “You’ve really broken off with him?”

  “I had to, didn’t I? Now that I’m with Earl.”

  Millie brought the spoon to her mouth and swallowed. “Of course . . . How’s the research going?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “I think I’ve found out all I ever will.”

  “Then you’ll be returning to your job in the city?”

  “Not right away. When I first came here, I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay. Now that’s changed. I want to remain as long as I can. Fortunately, when I asked my boss if she needed me back, she reminded me that the weeks from Thanksgiving until New Year’s are always a slow time. So it’s fine for me to stay until the beginning of the year. After that, I’ll only be able to come for weekends.”

  “Nice . . . but haven’t you missed your job? It must be fun being a curator. There aren’t opportunities like that around here.”

  “Maybe not, but this place has its advantages.”

  “You’ll rent the Farley house until you return to Boston?”

  “I’d like to, but I need to talk to Brandy. I don’t know what Gordon’s parents will want to do with the house now. I don’t have a formal lease, and they . . . might want to sell it quickly.”

  “Well, I hope you can stay there, because I don’t think you’d be very comfortable in Earl’s trailer. We lived there when we were first married. But we were young and didn’t mind roughing it—using the woods for a john and taking showers at his parents’ place. After he moved back to the trailer, he added an outhouse, but he still comes here for showers, the occasional meal, and to watch sports events on TV.”

  “He does?” This was news. But then she hadn’t given much thought to what Earl did when he wasn’t with her.

  Millie nodded. “But enough about that. When you’re as smitten as you obviously are, you don’t want to be worrying about such mundane matters.”

  Then why did you bring them up in the first place?

  “Earl’s and my romantic relationship ended some time ago,” Millie went on. “Now we’re just friends. And as a friend to you both, I hope things work out.”

  “You’re not concerned about ‘trouble down the road’ anymore?”

  “Trouble?” Millie repeated. She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “No, not particularly.” She glanced at her
watch. “Goodness! I’ve got to get back to the post office. Time sure flies.” She jumped up and cleared the table in a blur of motion that reminded Kathryn of the videocassettes of her childhood, after she’d hit fast-forward.

  As they were leaving, Millie suddenly turned to her and said, “Just don’t do anything to make him jealous.”

  Chapter 50

  “This’ll have to be repainted.” Brandy pointed at the ceiling in the master bedroom, through which Kathryn had nearly fallen. “But the rest of upstairs rooms look all right.” Brandy had arrived later that day to inspect the house for things that needed to be done before she started showing it.

  “Do the Spitzers want me to move out?” Kathryn asked, remembering her lunchtime conversation with Millie.

  Brandy looked up from her note pad. “Actually, they told me it was okay for you to stay. They’d just as soon collect rent until the house is sold.”

  “Any idea when that will be?”

  “I’ll start showing it as soon as the painting and other minor repairs are finished, but I doubt there’ll be any action until spring when the serious house hunters start coming. Sure you’re not interested? They’ve lowered the price, you know.”

  Kathryn shook her head. “It’s a nice house in a beautiful setting, but not for me.”

  “Too bad. But you’ll stay until I find a buyer?”

  “Yes, though I’ll only be able to use it on weekends after the first of the year when I go back to work.”

  “Good, because I’d rather have the house occupied when I show it. There’s nothing more off-putting to prospective buyers than a cold, empty place, especially when both owners have died. Lived-in is better for sales, provided the occupant isn’t a total slob. Which you obviously aren’t.”

  “The furniture will stay then?”

  “Yup, it’ll be the last to go.”

  “What about all the stuff in the attic?”

  “The Spitzers didn’t mention it, so I suppose it can wait, too.”