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

by Lea Wait

  “They were murderers, Zelda. They murdered babies.” Jon looked from her to Owen to the reverend. “They killed unborn children, Reverend. They should be the ones arrested.”

  “It was a different time,” said Zelda. “I’ve heard that back then girls died from abortions. Maybe they were trying to help.”

  “Help by killing innocents?” said Jon.

  “I told you not to talk like that,” said Zelda. “I wanted to talk to Grandma and find out what it was all about. But I was afraid she’d be mad. I’d taken her private letter. And Mrs. Folk wanted money. I knew we didn’t have that kind of money. Grandma’s been saving so I could go to college, like we talked about the other day,” she said to Maggie. “You remember?”

  “I remember. We talked about your going to school outside of Maine.”

  “Away from my father,” said Zelda. “Grandma understood. I was grown up. It was time to leave Waymouth. See the rest of the world. Be where my father couldn’t worry about me. That’s all he did. He worried about me.”

  “You wanted to leave me, too, then,” said Jon. “You know I was going to stay here and work at my father’s store.”

  “We could have seen each other on vacations,” said Zelda. “But if Grandma paid that Mrs. Folk the money she wanted, then there’d be no money for me to go to college. I’d have to stay here in boring Waymouth for the rest of my life. Get a job at Bath Iron Works. Or work as a waitress.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t stand that.”

  “So what did you do?” asked Maggie gently. “To make sure the money would be there for you to go to college?”

  “Christmas Eve, after Grandma was asleep, Jon came over, like he did lots of nights when Dad was working. I knew I could get away. I wanted to talk to Mrs. Folk. To tell her she shouldn’t bother my Grandma. To tell her why she couldn’t have the money she was asking for.”

  “And you did that?” Owen asked. “You both talked to Carrie Folk?”

  Zelda nodded. “But it wasn’t anything like I thought it’d be. She said she needed the money for her son. That it wasn’t any of my business. That I was too young to understand.” Zelda appealed to Maggie. “I’m not a child. I’m not too young to understand. I didn’t want to be stuck in this town forever. College was my only chance to get away. To be free! She couldn’t take that from me. I wouldn’t let her!”

  Jon spoke softly. “I tried to stop her. I did. But they were yelling at each other.”

  “What happened, Zelda?”

  “I got so angry. I didn’t know I could be that angry. I kept seeing her face, keeping me from living the kind of life I wanted to live.”

  “And …”

  “I picked up one of the logs she had piled next to her fireplace. And I turned and hit her with it. Just once!” Zelda sobbed. “I only hit her once.”

  “Jon?”

  “She’s telling the truth. She only hit her once. But Mrs. Folk fell down, and her head was bleeding all over the floor.”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I covered her up with the afghan that was on the couch. I didn’t want her to be cold. I didn’t know she was dead. I was too scared to call anyone. My dad would have killed me if he’d known I’d sneaked out again.”

  “I threw the wood in the fireplace,” said Jon, “and we got a dishtowel that was hanging in the kitchen and wiped everything we could. For fingerprints, you know? I’ve watched a lot of TV. That’s what the detectives check for. We didn’t want anyone to know we’d been there.”

  “And then we left,” said Zelda. “Jon took me home and I went to bed. I hoped no one would ever know.”

  “We promised never to tell what happened,” said Jon. “But it’s right to tell now, isn’t it, Reverend?”

  Owen pulled out two pairs of handcuffs.

  “Deputy Trask, before you take them away,” said Reverend Adams, “would you mind if we said a short prayer?”

  32

  The Dark. 1909 Lithograph by Jessie Willcox Smith (1863–1935) showing a very young boy about to ascend a flight of steep, dark stairs. Smith, who studied with Thomas Eakins and Howard Pyle, was only the second woman (of ten) to be inducted into the Hall of Fame of the Society of Illustrators. Known as one of the “Red Rose Girls,” a group of women artists who lived together near Philadelphia, she was known for her illustrations and paintings of children. 6 x 9 inches. Price: $60.

  “Zelda Strait killed Carrie?” Aunt Nettie shook her head in disbelief. “That nice young girl. And her friend Jon, shooting Nicky. I can’t get my head around it all.”

  “Are you sure Nick’s going to be okay?” Will asked.

  “Owen checked with the hospital before he dropped me off. Nick’s going to need surgery on that knee, and it will never be quite the same again. But he’s in good physical shape, and despite the delay, he got to the hospital quickly enough so he didn’t lose too much blood. After physical therapy he’ll be fine,” said Maggie.

  “Poor Doreen. Her son in the hospital and her granddaughter in jail.” Aunt Nettie shook her head. “I’ll call her tomorrow and see if there’s anything we can do to help. But her problems are the kind a casserole and flowers can’t cure.”

  “And who knows how long the courts will take with this,” added Will. “Nick must be furious. His own daughter. He always said that friend of hers was no good.”

  “But if Nick hadn’t been abusive to Zelda, maybe this all wouldn’t have happened,” Maggie put in. “Although of course there’s no excuse for murder or for shooting Nick. They’re teenagers, and they overreacted to everything.”

  “What about those of us who were involved with the abortions?” said Aunt Nettie. “Are they going to question us all about that poor girl’s murder back in the nineteen-seventies?”

  “I don’t know,” said Maggie. “I guess that’ll be up to Nick, when he’s better, or to someone else with the homicide division. Owen said that for the moment, anyway, nothing will be done about it. Doreen says none of you was involved; if they do question you and Ruth, I’m guessing you’ll say the same thing.”

  “Certainly. No one ever died in our place. If anyone had, heaven knows, we wouldn’t have left her body naked and out in the elements.”

  “If they have no more evidence than the fact that you were all involved with abortion, I don’t see how they could put together a case,” added Will. “Unless they had DNA evidence. And I remember Nick’s telling me years ago that because the body had been outside in the rain, they found no evidence.”

  “I keep thinking of Doreen. And Nick. And Zelda, locked away tonight. She had such a bright future ahead of her. To do something like this,” said Aunt Nettie.

  “She must have been desperate to leave Waymouth,” said Maggie. “And she and Nick both had tempers. Doreen admitted there’d been fireworks at their home during the past months. Zelda panicked, and snapped.”

  “And Carrie Folk died. Will, do we have any good sherry? I think I’d like a drink tonight.”

  “We do. Maggie’s favorite, Dry Sack. I bought a bottle before she came.”

  “I’ll join you, Aunt Nettie,” said Maggie, as Will got up. “And if you have a little lemon to go in it, that would be perfect.”

  “Will do,” came Will’s voice came from the kitchen. “Two sherries coming up. And I think I’ll have an Irish whiskey. I agree, this is a night for a drink. Then I’ll go ahead and put the potatoes in the oven. When they’re baked I’ll broil the steak I bought when I was out buying bananas.”

  “Steak and potatoes…sounds like a man’s winter meal,” Maggie couldn’t help smiling. “It sounds perfect. And simple. And then, if we dare, banana splits for dessert. But right now all I want to do is sip my sherry and be very glad I’m here with both of you.”

  Will handed around the glasses. “To us. And to our friends who’re dealing with major problems tonight. May they be as strong as this whiskey.”

  Aunt Nettie and Maggie raised their glasses of sherry in response. “Perhaps a strange sentiment,
but a true one, Will. And to Maggie, for helping so many people this week. At least now we know the answers to our questions. Whether we like the answers or not.”

  33

  Santa Claus Knows His Business. 1902 lithographed full-page illustration from Harper’s Weekly by Clarence F. Underwood (1871–1929). Handsome young couple in evening attire (a flowing off-the-shoulder blue gown for her; a tuxedo and top hat for him) looking down at the red rose (a symbol of passion) he has just given her. In the background, a green-hatted Santa is pushing Cupid, complete with wings and arrow, into the room. 8.5 x 12 inches. Price: $50.

  Later that night, after Aunt Nettie had gone to bed, Will and Maggie sat quietly together on the couch, sipping cognac. For a while, neither of them said anything. Then Will spoke.

  “After all that’s happened today, and that big dinner, I’d really like to get some fresh air. How about taking a walk?”

  A few minutes later they were outside. Light snow was falling as they headed down the street toward the town wharf.

  “While you were solving crimes this afternoon, I was busy, too,” Will said, reaching for Maggie’s hand.

  “I know. Getting all the ingredients for those banana splits.” Maggie put her other hand on her stomach. “It was fun, and we needed a little fun tonight. I can’t believe we ate so much. Thank you for doing that. And for understanding why I had to stay with Owen.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the dessert. And I do understand what you had to do. If there’s someone in trouble, especially a young person, you want to help. That’s part of what makes you Maggie. But that’s not what I meant. Something else happened this afternoon.”

  “What?”

  Will looked down at her. “I bought the house. It’s all done but the closing, and that’s set for next week.”

  “That’s fantastic! Congratulations. Now I know what you’ll be doing this spring,” Maggie reached up and kissed him lightly. “I know you really wanted that house.”

  “I did. For a lot of reasons.”

  They kept walking, snow crunching under their feet and snowflakes dancing in the glow of the small lights on storefronts and streetlights.

  “A lot of reasons? You mean so you’d have a project to work on this spring, and then open the mall you’ve planned,” Maggie answered.

  Will headed them toward the river. As they passed the snow-covered hidden garden, he squeezed her hand, but neither of them said anything.

  A block or so farther, Will paused. “With all that’s been happening in the past week, I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten the reason you came to Maine for Christmas was so we could talk.” He swallowed hard. “In fact, I think about that every hour of the day and night.”

  “I do, too,” said Maggie. “I suspect we’ve both been delaying the inevitable.”

  “I know I have. But for good reasons. Maggie, Christmas morning, when Aunt Nettie gave you those children’s books, I almost opened my mouth. But it wasn’t the right time. And then we heard about Carrie’s murder, and all my plans seemed unimportant. You haven’t said anything specific, but I assume you’re going through with your plans to adopt.”

  Somehow it was easier to talk while they were walking. “It’s very important to me, Will. I’d always regret it if I didn’t. My home study was finished in December.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. But then, he knew her well. “When do you think you’ll have a placement?”

  Maggie noticed Will was using the correct adoption terminology. He’d never done that before. “I don’t know for sure. But I applied for one or two older children. Older children are waiting in both this country and overseas. I have an appointment to talk with my social worker in January. I’ll know more then.”

  “I’m guessing you’re planning to take a sabbatical from teaching after your child, or children, are placed with you.”

  “If I can afford to. And it will depend on when my daughter arrives.” Maggie swallowed. My daughter. It felt so good, and yet so scary, to say that out loud. Especially to say it to Will.

  “I checked with an adoption agency here in Maine. They said it would depend on the circumstances, but that if someone had a placement from a New Jersey agency, in many cases they could continue the post-placement supervision if the person adopting moved to Maine.”

  Maggie stopped. “You called an adoption agency?”

  “Maggie, I love you. I want to be with you. And I’ve realized one of the parts of you that I love is the part that wants to adopt. Remember in October, when I asked you to marry me?”

  “Of course. How could I forget?”

  “That’s what I want. More than anything. For us to be together. But I’m torn between caring for Aunt Nettie and loving you. And you’re torn between adopting, and I hope, loving me.”

  “Yes.” He’d said it perfectly.

  “So instead of a full proposal, this time I have a proposition for you.” Will turned and looked into her eyes. “I just bought a wonderful house. You’ve already agreed to display your antique prints in it.”

  “Yes?”

  “How would you like to be my partner? My partner in business as well as in life.” Will’s words raced. “I’d hoped it would be settled before Christmas, so I could tell you, or ask you, then. But I’ve thought it all out. I can make the third floor of that house into an apartment, with space for you and even two children. After you have your placement you could move to Maine. Live here. You could be with your child, and manage the day-to-day operations at the mall. I’d be there, too, when I could, and we could hire someone else to help out. You wouldn’t be tied down. But you’d have a place to live, close to me and Aunt Nettie. And Maine’s a wonderful place to raise children.”

  Maggie was speechless as Will continued.

  “If you’re willing, I’ll fix the apartment however you want it. It could be ready for you when your spring semester is over, if you have a placement. Or if you haven’t had a placement by then you could have your home study transferred to the agency in Maine. But you could move here as soon as May, when school’s over.”

  This wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been prepared to say good-bye to Will. To drive back to New Jersey alone, never seeing him again. “But if I move to Maine…my job…”

  “If you take a sabbatical you’ll have time to think about where you want to live, and look for a teaching job here, if you want to. You’d keep your options open. And we could see each other all the time, and I could get to know and love your child, too.”

  “Being in Maine, and near you, sounds wonderful. But what if… if it doesn’t work out?”

  “Then at least we’ll know we tried. A year from now I don’t know what my situation with Aunt Nettie will be. You don’t know whether you’ll have one child or two.”

  “But we’d be together. While all those issues are working themselves out.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I wanted to make sure you loved that house as much as I did. I wanted to know if you’d want to live there. To look out over Waymouth from the tower. To bring your children home there. For now. Because I don’t want to spend any more time away from you.”

  Maggie’s mind flashed with images. Leaving New Jersey. Moving to Maine. Living in an apartment with a tower overlooking the harbor, in a house full of antiques. Space for one, or two, children. And the man she loved, close, if not present every hour.

  “I thought you might be falling for Jo Heartwood,” she admitted. “You were spending so much time with her, and she’s so young and pretty.”

  “Jo? She’s great. I hope you get to know her better. But she was helping me with the house. She even had a friend who connected me to the adoption agency. She’s been helping me get all this taken care of before you left, Maggie. I love you. Only you.”

  “And I love you. And …” Maggie took a deep breath. “And I’ve always wanted to live in a tower.”

  “Then your answer is ‘yes’?”

  “Yes. You have a partner and a t
enant for your antiques mall.” Maggie put out her hand to shake Will’s, but the shake quickly turned into an embrace, which turned into a lingering kiss.

  Will reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box. A ring box.

  Inside was a simple gold ring, set with a green tourmaline. The stone Will always said matched her eyes.

  “Will you, my dear Maggie, wear this ring? For now let’s call it a promise ring. A ring that says I promise to love you, and be there for you, no matter what life brings to either of us. For now, and forever.”

  Maggie’s eyes filled with tears of happiness as she nodded. Will slipped off her left glove and put the ring on her engagement finger.

  In front of them, the Madoc River was filled with tiny lights. “What are they?” whispered Maggie. “It’s as though there were fireflies on the river.”

  “I hoped we could see them,” said Will. He put his arm around her as they looked at the river. “When I was out this afternoon on my quest for local ice cream in December, I heard about a farmer upriver. Every morning this time of year when he goes to his barn he finds the water in each cow’s bucket frozen solid, except for the center. He empties them and saves the ice buckets, which look like enormous votive candle holders. Then, one night after Christmas, he invites his friends over for a party and they put a candle in the center of each ice bucket, and set them all afloat. That’s what we’re seeing. A river of lights, drifting downriver to the sea.”

  Maggie leaned against Will, and looked in wonder, her eyes shining like the lights. “They’re beautiful. Unexpected. And magical. Just the way I hope our life together will be.”

  Acknowledgments

  As always, writing a book takes the support and assistance of many people. I’d especially like to thank John and Susan Daniel and Meredith Phillips of Perseverance Press for bringing Maggie and her friends back, and Eric Larson for his inspired interior and cover designs. You’ve all been wonderful!