Shadows on a Maine Christmas (Antique Print Mystery Series Book 7)

by Lea Wait

  “As long as this is the last time,” he said.

  “So you’ll take me to the station?”

  “I guess so.”

  Maggie turned back to the telephone. “I’ll be there soon. Will’s going to drive me.”

  Owen’s voice hesitated. “I’d rather he wasn’t with you.”

  “That’s right,” Maggie answered. “Could you drive me back to the Brewers’ house after we talk?”

  “I could.”

  “We’re on our way back from Walter English’s Auction House. I’ll see you soon.” She pressed the Off button and turned to Will. “Owen said he would drive me home after we talked. Would you do me a favor while I’m there? It won’t be for long. But I’ve been dying to taste that Round Top ice cream we had last summer. Do you think you could find some while I’m taking care of this? Aunt Nettie loves sweets. We could have ice cream for dessert tonight.”

  “I don’t like leaving you at the station,” said Will. “Not after what Nick said this morning.”

  “Nick’s in Augusta, remember? He won’t know. And I’ve had this incredible craving for ice cream.”

  Will looked at her. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. Whatever flavors you can recommend. You know what Aunt Nettie likes, too.”

  “I suppose this craving of yours also includes hot fudge and whipped cream?” Will asked, smiling. “And a few cherries?”

  “If you got bananas, too, we could make banana splits.”

  “I’m convinced. That all sounds crazy in December. But you’re making me hungry. I may have to make more than one stop to find all the ingredients, though.”

  “Take your time,” agreed Maggie.

  A few minutes later Will had been safely dispatched to find ice cream, and Maggie was sitting across from Owen Trask at the Waymouth Police Station.

  “We brought Brian Weston and his wife in this morning for questioning.”

  “His mother told me.”

  “I’m not surprised. And I have to tell you, Nick seems ready to arrest him. Did you know Brian got one of those blackmailing letters?”

  “Brian? Not his mother?”

  “Brian himself.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “Under a little duress. We found a list of people who’d gotten the letters at Carrie’s house, and he was on it. We didn’t tell you, because we wanted to make sure. She could have made a list of possible blackmail targets and then changed her mind. But he admitted it. Carrie gave him the letter in person the first night he was in Maine.”

  “What information did she have about Brian? I can’t imagine what Betty might have said about him. You said Brian had problems when he was young, but …”

  “We had no idea, of course. Turns out this time what Carrie knew about him had nothing to do with Betty Hoskins. Brian blurted it all out as soon as we separated him from his wife. When he was in college he ran up a lot of debts. Thousands of dollars. Most of it, according to him, was because he was incredibly unlucky at playing poker with his fraternity brothers.” Owen shook his head slightly. “To pay them back, he borrowed a car, drove up from Massachusetts, and broke into his own house when he knew his mother and aunt would be at a church event. He stole pieces of their good jewelry and silver. We checked. Ruth Weston had reported a burglary then, but no one was ever charged.”

  “How did Carrie Folk know Brian did it?”

  “Seems our Carrie was working the night shift in a house across the street from the Westons’ then. She happened to be looking out the window at the right time. She saw Brian go into the house, come back out with several cartons, and then drive away. Later she heard about the burglary, and put everything together.”

  “And she never said anything to anyone? That must have been ten or fifteen years ago.”

  “She kept her mouth closed. But in her letter to Brian she threatened to tell the police, and to notify the bank where he works.”

  “He’s a lawyer. He could lose his job for even being accused of burglary,” said Maggie.

  “Exactly. Which is why he didn’t tell anyone about the letter. He’d called his broker and cashed in a little stock he had, we think to give to Carrie, but the check from the broker hadn’t come before Carrie was killed.”

  “And yet he told you about it.”

  “If there’s a choice of being accused of burglary or murder, which would you admit? Brian’s a lawyer. He knows the statute of limitations for burglary in Maine is six years, which was up a while ago. We couldn’t arrest him now even if we wanted to and his mother agreed to press charges, which she probably wouldn’t. But the accusation could still mess up his personal and professional life enough that he was willing to pay Carrie to keep quiet. Or kill her.”

  “Did Nick arrest him this morning?”

  “I convinced him to wait a day. Brian’s not my favorite guy, but he was pretty panicked when we talked to him. I’m not convinced he’s guilty of murder, and he isn’t planning to leave for Philadelphia until after New Year’s Day. So we bought a little more time.”

  “Good,” said Maggie. “Because I think there has to be another suspect.”

  “I hope you have an idea of who,” said Owen. “Especially after Nick told me he thought you were confusing the issue. I wanted to hear from you what the confusion was.” Owen hesitated. “I’ve worked with Nick on perhaps a dozen cases over the years, and this time he seems distracted. I don’t remember a time when he was so focused on one suspect without overwhelming evidence. He may be right about Brian. But Brian’s wife and mother agree he was only away from his mother’s house perhaps half an hour on Christmas morning. That’s not enough time to get to Carrie Folk’s house, murder her, clean up, and return home. And a search warrant we executed a couple of hours ago on the Westons’ home didn’t turn up any bloody clothing or money or anything else linking Brian to the murder.”

  “Did you know Doreen Strait also received a blackmailing letter from Carrie Folk?”

  “Nick’s mother? No. I hadn’t heard that.” Owen looked at her closely. “Are you sure? Her name wasn’t on the list we found.”

  “I can’t explain that. But I believe Doreen when she said she got a letter. Why wouldn’t she tell the truth? Maybe Carrie thought of her after the others and didn’t add her to the list.”

  “Nick never said anything about his mother getting a letter.”

  “Doreen didn’t tell him, or anyone, about the letter when she got it, and now the letter’s missing. Whoever took it is likely involved.”

  Owen picked up a pencil and started making notes. “When did you hear this?”

  “Doreen told me, yesterday, at lunch.”

  “Who does she think took the letter?”

  “The only person in that house besides her and Nick is Zelda. If Nick or Zelda found it, wouldn’t they have talked to her about it?”

  Owen shook his head. “I can’t imagine Zelda getting involved in anything like that. She’s a sweet kid, and her boyfriend, Jon Snow, is one of the most reliable young men in town. Just last month his picture was in the Waymouth Herald. He’d killed his first moose. That’s a big event in a kid’s life. To be lucky enough to win a moose hunting permit in the state lottery, and then to actually shoot one? His dad was so proud of him. And you should have seen the smile on that kid’s face.”

  “So he’s a hunter.” Maggie’s father had been a hunter. He’d even taught her to shoot. But to end the life of a magnificent, harmless creature had never made sense to her. Unless the hunters were killing to fill their freezers. Then she could understand. And here in Maine, that was usually the case.

  “If we started checking hunters, we’d have to call in half the men in town, and a fair number of the women. And Carrie Folk wasn’t shot.”

  The telephone on Owen’s desk was ringing. He glanced at it and then shrugged. “Excuse me while I pick this up.”

  The expression on his face changed a second later. “Stay in the house. I’m on my
way.”

  He grabbed his jacket. “Looks like Nick didn’t go to Augusta. That was his mother. He’s at his house, and Zelda’s friend Jon Snow has his rifle on him.”

  “What happened?” Maggie wasn’t sure she’d heard right. But if she had, Owen would need all the help he could find. “I’ll go with you,” she said, following him. “Maybe I can talk with Doreen or Zelda.”

  Owen hesitated. “I really shouldn’t…but we haven’t time. And maybe you can help. C’mon.”

  In the car, which was breaking speed records on the back roads, all he added was, “Shit. How’d that kid catch Nick without his weapon?”

  The Straits’ driveway was full of vehicles. Owen reached for his gun. “You stay in the car until I tell you it’s safe.” He was headed toward the house when the sound of a gunshot came from the barn. Owen changed direction.

  Who was in the barn? Owen had told Doreen to stay in the house. Had she done that? Where were Nick and Jon? And Zelda?

  How could she be of any use sitting in the car? Maggie put her hand on the door handle.

  But she didn’t have a gun. Owen was by the barn now, getting closer and closer to the door. Could he hear whatever was happening inside? Was someone injured? Or worse?

  If everyone was in the barn, maybe she could get to the house. Doreen should be there. And maybe Zelda. She opened the window so she could hear what was happening.

  “Police! Nick, this is Owen. Jon, drop your weapon and come out with your hands above your head. Zelda, if you’re in there, you do the same.”

  Nothing happened.

  “I want everyone out of the barn, with their hands up. Now!”

  Silence. Then Owen went into the barn.

  Maggie couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on. She ran toward the ell connecting the barn and the house. If she were closer, maybe she could help in some way. Do something. Anything. What was happening in that barn?

  She looked back at the house. Doreen’s face was at one of the windows. Good; Doreen was safe inside, where Owen had told her to stay.

  Then she heard voices coming from the barn. And a tall young man, presumably Jon Snow, was backing out of the wide barn door into the snow-covered yard. But his hands weren’t up, and he hadn’t dropped his weapon. His rifle was pointed toward the barn doors.

  Maggie gasped. Zelda was with him.

  She heard Owen’s voice. “Drop the gun, Jon. Zelda, move away. Whatever’s happened, we need to talk about it.”

  “Jon was just trying to protect me,” Zelda yelled. “He didn’t mean to hurt Dad.”

  “I sure did,” Jon called to Owen. “He hurt Zelda. She didn’t deserve to be treated that way. I don’t care if he is a cop.”

  Owen followed them out into the yard. He glanced at Maggie. For a second he looked angry. Then he shouted, “Maggie, call 911! Get an ambulance here, stat. Tell them it’s an emergency. Officer down. Gunshot wound.”

  Maggie pulled out her phone and did as she was told. Then she ran toward the barn. “I have EMT training,” she called to Owen.

  “I could’ve killed him,” Jon said loudly, backing further, getting nearer to where the vehicles were parked. “I didn’t. I just kept him from beating Zelda.”

  “You’ve hurt him enough,” said Owen. “He needs to get to a hospital. He’s bleeding, bad.”

  Nick was on the floor of the barn. His belt was next to him. Jon’s bullet had hit his left knee. Blood was seeping through his pant leg onto the concrete floor. Maggie grabbed the belt and tied it around Nick’s thigh as a tourniquet. “That idiot kid,” he swore, trying to get up. “Let me get at him. I told her to stay away from him.”

  “Don’t move. You’ll lose more blood,” Maggie said, looking at the growing pool of blood under Nick’s leg. “I’ve called an ambulance.”

  “What’s happening?” Nick asked. “Did Owen get him?”

  Maggie moved so she could see into the snowy yard. “Looks as though they’re talking.” She didn’t tell Nick that Zelda and Jon seemed united. Despite Owen’s threats, they were both moving closer to a faded green Ford pickup.

  As she watched, Zelda and Jon both turned and ran toward the truck, Zelda jumping into the passenger seat and Jon opening the door to the driver’s side, which was away from Owen. Owen fired a shot—toward where? Maggie couldn’t see.

  The kids were trying to get away. Jon backed up his truck and turned it toward the road, his tires spinning in the snow as he accelerated. Owen ran toward them and fired another shot, but the truck kept going down the drive, sideswiping the Waymouth town ambulance that was turning in, pushing it into the snow so it blocked the entrance to the driveway.

  Jon’s truck spun out, but he kept it on the road and gunned it. Owen ran toward the ambulance as the truck disappeared down the road.

  Doreen opened the door from the ell connecting the house to the barn. “How’s Nick?” she said to Maggie, who was kneeling next to him.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood. But if they can get that ambulance out of the snowbank and take him to the hospital, I think he’ll be all right.”

  Nick was still lying on the ground, moaning.

  Doreen went over to him. “What in the hell happened out here?”

  “That idiot Jon Snow shot me. I was trying to have a civilized talk with him and he grabbed that rifle from his truck and followed me in here. I didn’t have time to get to my gun. The one time I wasn’t carrying it.”

  “Zelda went with Jon?” Doreen asked Maggie.

  Maggie nodded. “They took off. Owen could have shot him, but didn’t.”

  “That’s something,” said Doreen. She bent down to check the improvised tourniquet and nodded. “Not a bad job, Maggie. Not what I would’ve expected from an antiques dealer from New Jersey. That should hold him until the ambulance crew gets in here. There’s not much else you or I can do.”

  Doreen was a nurse. But although she’d checked out the makeshift tourniquet Maggie had created, she didn’t do anything else to help Nick.

  Owen ran up to them, followed by two men and a woman who must have been in the ambulance. Two carried a stretcher. “How’s Nick?”

  “Nick’s mad as hell,” said Nick. “Where’s that damn ambulance?”

  “Stuck in a snowbank,” said one of the EMTs as he knelt to see what Maggie had done. “We’ve called for a second ambulance and a tow. In the meantime, are you allergic to any medications?”

  “How the hell should I know,” said Nick. “Just get this knee of mine fixed up so I can go after those dumb kids.”

  “He’s not allergic to anything,” said Doreen.

  A trim woman wearing a faded blue L.L. Bean barn coat deftly cut his pants away from the bullet site. “Nice job with stopping part of the blood loss.” She reached up to one of her partners, who handed her a hypodermic needle. “This should help with the pain while we get you on the stretcher and wait for the other ambulance.” She shot the medication into his hip.

  Nick groaned at the needle. “Why didn’t you shoot him, Owen? He assaulted an officer.”

  “He’s a kid. We’ll find them both. I’ve already called in his truck description to the department. I doubt they’ll get far.”

  “He could have killed me.”

  “But he didn’t,” said Owen calmly. “You relax and let these people take care of you.”

  “Why haven’t you gone after my daughter? That kid is armed and he has her with him. He’s kidnapped her.”

  “She went of her own accord. And I didn’t go after them because my car is blocked in by the ambulance they hit. I’m stuck here until the tow truck arrives and pulls the ambulance out of the snowbank.”

  “Shit.”

  Nick’s voice was getting quieter. Had there been something besides a painkiller in that injection? While they were talking the three EMT folks had managed to lift Nick onto the stretcher, fasten him down, and get an IV started.

  “Owen, I’ve got hot coffee in the kitchen,” said Doreen. “
Can I offer you a cup while you’re waiting?”

  “Seems to me you just did,” said Owen. “I’ve got several questions, and coffee sounds good.” He looked down at Nick. “You’re in good hands.”

  “Maggie, you come, too,” said Doreen.

  This wasn’t the time to say she didn’t drink coffee. With a last glance at Nick on the stretcher she followed Owen and Doreen into the house.

  29

  December. 1888 lithograph by Maud Humphrey (1865–1940), one of foremost American illustrators of babies and children in late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. She’s also remembered because she was the mother of actor Humphrey Bogart. This is one of a series of illustrations she did for Frederick Stokes and Company called Babes of the Year, illustrating each month with a picture of a toddler. The December girl is dressed in a white fur-trimmed coat and white feather hat, and is standing before a spray of holly. 7 x 9 inches. Price: $70.

  “Doreen, you’ve had more experience with injuries like this than I have. Is Nick really going to be all right?” Owen said as Nick’s mother poured three pottery mugs of coffee.

  “I’m a nurse, not a doctor,” said Doreen calmly. “Jon got him in the knee. He’ll probably need surgery, and then a lot of physical therapy. He’s going to be off the job for a while. He may walk with a limp when this is all over. But he’ll live.” She offered milk and Owen nodded.

  “Thank the Lord,” said Owen. He paused. “I couldn’t shoot Jon. Maybe I should have.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. We don’t need two people in the hospital. Or worse.” Doreen stirred two teaspoons of sugar into her mug. “Jon has a temper, and he was defending Zelda. Nick was lighting into her again, and this time he had his belt. If Jon hadn’t happened to drop in, Zelda would have been in bad shape by now.”

  “And you knew that?” Maggie couldn’t help saying. “And you didn’t do anything to stop it?”

  Doreen flinched. “I’ve done everything I could too often. This time Nick was angrier than I’d seen him, and I didn’t know what to do. Call the police?”

  “You could have called me. You did this afternoon,” Owen pointed out.