Murder on the Brewster Flats

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  He turned to me with knowing eyes. “She killed him, didn’t she?”

  “I’m so sorry, Beckett.” I locked eyes with him. “She did.”

  He swallowed hard. “It was bound to happen. She threatened to kill him all the time if he didn’t follow her instructions, bow down to her will.” A lone tear formed in one eye, trickling down his cheek. “But to tell the truth, I never thought she’d actually do it.”

  “I think it was quick. One shot from the rifle, through the heart.”

  “Figures. She and that rifle were inseparable.”

  We sat without speaking for a long while, listening to the gulls call overhead and watching them land on the wet sand to hunt and peck for tasty morsels of crab.

  Beckett broke the silence. “He was a very weak person.”

  “I guess he had his own set of problems.”

  “She pushed him around since I can remember. Made him go out for her when she wanted a sundae from Kate’s—even if he’d already put on his pajamas and was reading in bed. Forced him to answer the door whenever someone rang the bell. She was always afraid of the door. And he made all the meals, did the laundry, and so forth.”

  “What did she do all day?” I asked.

  He thought about it. “She watched television, read a little, went shopping to buy outlandishly expensive things. Mostly she tried to be a part of my life. Before she made me sick, she liked to garden. She’d have me out there, helping her weed the flower beds and such.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  His mouth turned down. “Not really. But I didn’t feel I had a choice.”

  “Did your father ever pay attention to you? Play with you?”

  He thought for a minute. “Once we played ball in the yard. It was fun. He taught me how to use the mitt.” He paused and sighed. “Then my mother put the kibosh on me joining Little League. She said it was too dangerous.”

  “That must’ve been hard.” I looked down the beach, watching mechanical cranes pull boats out of the dunes to set them right side up on trailers. People were all over now, checking out their boats, trying to see if the smaller ones still floated, and just milling around in the debris that floated up from the sea. I imagined they were searching for treasure.

  “It was a pretty lonely childhood. If I wasn’t being kept home from school for being ‘sick,’ she’d then tire of me and lock me in the dungeon for some minor infraction, like leaving my dirty socks on the floor.”

  “Seriously? That’s a pretty bad crime, Beckett.”

  He turned to me with a smile. “Yeah, I know. And I think I was paying for actually breathing every day. Paying with my sanity, I guess you could say.”

  “For sure. I wonder what she actually put in that concoction she fed you?”

  He gestured toward the McNabb property down the way. “I think she used these weeds that grew on the edge of the lawn in a hedgerow. I used to help her pick them when I was young, and she kept them in a glass vase by the door to ‘keep them fresh,’ she used to say. I don’t know the name of them.”

  “Would you like to show me?” I got up, gesturing down the beach.

  “Sure.”

  “We can show them to the police later. You can tell them your story. And maybe they’ll be able to help identify what it was.”

  “But why? She’s dead now.”

  “I know.” I kept pace with him as he walked along the sand. My knee felt fine today, and I was grateful for the lack of pain. “But I think you should be seen by a doctor who might understand the side effects of this plant. Maybe you’ll need some blood tests. Some extra vitamins, or something to counteract the effects of what you’ve been fed all this time.”

  “But I feel fine now.”

  “I know. But just in case. You know, maybe you’ll have a relapse. God forbid, but you could have a recurrence of some of the hallucinations. You want to be prepared for that, if it’s likely.”

  “True. I wouldn’t want to scare Jane or Mason.”

  “Hopefully, the stuff goes right out of your system when you’ve digested it. Perhaps you’ll never notice another strange symptom. That would be ideal.”

  “I like that idea better. But I’ll see a doctor, just in case.”

  “Good fella.”

  We waited for a few minutes for a beach crane to swing past us with a yacht in its massive clutches. The poor craft had a jagged hole in its hull. It was lowered to the back of a truck in the parking lot of the Saints Landing Beach, and the crew began to lash it down.

  “Did your family have a boat?” I asked.

  Beckett nodded. “Yeah. I’m still looking for it. It’s a white cabin cruiser. So far I haven’t—” He stopped and stared. “Wait. There it is.”

  On the dunes just above the high tide line sat a pristine white boat, its bottom dug into the sand so that it balanced perfectly upright, as if it were floating in the water.

  We approached and circled around it.

  “I don’t see any obvious damage,” I said. “Unless there’s a hole where it’s buried under the sand.”

  Becket nodded. “Let’s check the inside.”

  He reached over the starboard side and lowered a flexible ladder to the sand. “Here we go.”

  We climbed aboard.

  Aside from a few dead fish and some seaweed that Beckett tossed over the side, it appeared to be intact. Even the bottom of the boat appeared solid.

  “Do you have a boat trailer?”

  “We do. It’s parked behind the garage.”

  “If you want to keep it, maybe we can bring it down here and load the boat on it, then put it back in the water if it looks okay.”

  “I’d like that. But I think I want to moor it closer to Jane’s house.”

  “Makes sense.” I ran my hands over the teak dashboard. This was one very nice boat. “Did you ever go out in it with your family?”

  He looked pensive for a moment. “Actually…” His voice caught in his throat. “I do remember a couple of nice times when we went out fishing. I caught a big flounder once. And my father said how proud he was of me.”

  I waited until the dreamy look faded from his features. “That’s a good memory. You should hold onto that.”

  Beckett straightened, smiled. “I will. Maybe that’s how I’ll survive this whole mess. Good memories. There weren’t too many of them, but I can try to find them and add them to my list.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We disembarked and wandered up the shore toward his home. It was the first time he’d seen the burned out hulk, but he surprised me by not seeming agitated or upset. He stared for a while, and then shrugged. “Old McNabb’s place was built on other people’s losses. On murder and violence. So maybe it’s fitting that it’s gone now.”

  “Do you think you’ll rebuild?”

  He grimaced. “No. I haven’t really thought of much beyond my life with Jane and Mason. Maybe I’ll make it into a seaside park. Something for kids.”

  “That’d be wonderful.”

  He stopped and pointed to a cluster of broad-leafed weeds growing at the edge of the lawn where it met a hedgerow and an adjoining hay field. “This is it.” He led me to the area and stooped to pick some. “Don’t know its name.”

  “I’m sure the police will figure it out,” I said, hoping the leaves didn’t emit an oil that could make you sick by touching them, like poison ivy. “Hey, let’s wrap them up in something.” I glanced around the yard and came up with a piece of fabric that I thought might have been the kitchen curtains in the mansion. I quickly wrapped the greens in the fabric and stuffed it in my pocket. I also stooped to take a photo of the plant in case the wilted variety wasn’t clear enough to identify. “There. That should do it.”

  Beckett stood staring at the house for a few minutes. “I wonder if I can salvage anything from the ruins?”

  I glanced at the still smoking timbers. “Maybe.” But I didn’t think he’d find anything other than plumbing fixtures or silverware. It
looked like the whole thing had thoroughly burned.

  “Well, your vehicles were spared, anyway.” I pointed to the garage, which showed scorching on the side but which hadn’t burned. “That was lucky.”

  “Yeah. I could probably use them over at Jane’s. They only have one car.”

  “Do you want to choose one to drive back?”

  “Sure.” He ambled toward the garage, but in that instant his composure crumbled. He fell to the ground, sobbing.

  I waited, patting his back and murmuring what I hoped were calming words.

  After a while, he wiped his eyes and slowly got to his feet. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  I knew, and knew too well. I’d never suffered the losses this poor boy had experienced, but I’d lost my loved ones, year after year, from my grandparents, to my parents, to Elsbeth, and now to my dog. I’d felt those waves of pain hit me in the strangest of times, unbidden, and unexpected. The only way to deal with the onslaught was to let it out, no matter how much it hurt.

  Beckett had been holding it in all day, and the feelings had to come out. It would probably happen many more times over the weeks and months and yes, even years, to come. But it wasn’t up to me to give him advice in this arena. He’d need years of counseling and plenty of love from Jane and her family.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Now, which car do you fancy?”

  Chapter 43

  Beckett had been drawn to the old Chevy truck, but after thinking about it, he decided on the Cadillac. “We’ll need a safe car for Mason,” he said. “The truck can be my vehicle, and I’ll give this one to Jane.

  We tooled over the roads in the direction of Paines Creek, and I noted that much of the water had subsided. Construction crews were already at work on some of the damaged houses, and the local traffic had picked up.

  Out of the blue, Beckett said, “I don’t want a funeral for my parents.”

  We’d just reached the intersection of Paines Creek Road and Route 6A, where Kate’s was located. Beckett took a right in the direction of the Cooks’ house.

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “I know you’re supposed to have such a thing. But for now, I just want them cremated. I don’t want a church service. My mother doesn’t deserve such a thing, and my father…well, maybe he doesn’t, either.”

  “Would you like to talk with a minister about it?” I was thinking about the Reverend Zimmermann and his kindly ways.

  “Maybe. But it’ll be hard for me to understand why God would make people like my mother and father. Why He would let me live such a life.”

  I understood the boy’s inner turmoil. I’d had such questions throughout my life, but I’d worked through them with the help of our pastor, Reverend Hardina. “Sometimes we’re put in horrible situations that seem to make no sense,” I began. “The one thing I’ve taken away from my own questions like this is that God isn’t necessarily making us go through these trials, but He is always there by our side to help us through them. He loves us. He loves you. And He’ll be here with you, supporting you, loving you, for the rest of your life.”

  Beckett turned into the Cooks’ driveway. “Do you think my mother was sick? Is that why she did those things?”

  I unbuckled and turned toward him. “I’m certain of that. She was very ill, and those who are afflicted like she was really aren’t at fault, are they?”

  “So she was a victim, too, in a weird way?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “I’m so angry at both of them.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll have a memorial service. Maybe next spring. But right now…”

  “There’s no hard and fast rule you have to follow, Beckett. It’s totally your call.”

  He cocked his head at me. “You know, I’ve had so few choices in my life, it feels really odd to hear you say that. But in a way, it feels really good, too. A little scary. But kind of freeing.”

  “Naturally. Being able to make your own decisions now will feel marvelous. And yes, maybe a little scary.” I patted his shoulder. “You just let us know how you want to handle this, and we’ll help you deal with the funeral home, okay?”

  Jane opened the door and waved to us. The smile that blossomed on Beckett’s face was priceless. Although the two kids were so young and inexperienced, they really did seem to love each other.

  When we got to the door, Jane said, “Wow. Those are some pretty fancy wheels, Mr. Waterford.”

  Beckett chuckled. “I know. This one’s gonna be yours, Jane. So you can drive our son around town in a nice, safe car.”

  She glanced at the shiny black vehicle again. “Mine?”

  He leaned in to kiss her. “All yours.”

  She laughed. “I’ve never had such a fancy car. But maybe I can get used to it if we scuffed it up a little, added some rust?”

  Beckett laughed. It was a nice sound.

  Camille took my hand when we entered the living room, leading me into the library. I didn’t see Albert or Robbie. “How’d it go?”

  “As good as can be expected, I guess.” I kissed her and told her about our walk down the beach, how we’d found the Waterfords’ boat, and about the plant from which I’d taken a sample. “Let’s put this in a baggie and seal it up good. I don’t want any of it getting into the food around here or even the air we breathe. Who knows how potent it is?”

  We rummaged in the kitchen and found a gallon sized zip bag, then stored it in the living room on top of the desk.

  “The police are coming back tonight at seven. They want to interview you and the others. They’ve already been to The Seacrest to talk to Jack.”

  “Okay, good. I’d like to put this whole part behind us.” I glanced at Beckett and Jane, who stood hugging near the front door. “We’ve got to help him with the funeral home arrangements.”

  “They’re doing autopsies on the bodies,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure when they’ll release them.”

  “That’s what I figured. But Beckett doesn’t want a funeral. Maybe we can help him find a cemetery, or something like that.”

  “Of course,” she said. “When do you plan to contact the museum?”

  I motioned toward Beckett. “That’ll be up to him. I think Robbie’s offered to take charge of the whole thing, though, which will be good for Beckett. The poor kid is exhausted.”

  “We need to prepare them for what’ll come next. Once the news media finds out about the treasure…”

  “I know.” Camille was referring to the finds we made in our own home back in East Goodland, N.Y. The secret room behind our fireplace had been used to help slaves escape on the Underground Railroad. Once the news had hit, we had to make some special exclusive deals to keep our family out of the news. “Maybe we can handle it discreetly.”

  “I hope so, for their sakes.” She motioned to the young couple, who’d collapsed onto the couch and sat in each other’s arms. “They’re so young, Gus.”

  “Wait a sec. What about Jane and Robbie’s parents? They should be able to take over here and help the kids out. Aren’t they due home soon?”

  She nodded. “They actually called in from the jungle or wherever they were while you guys were down in the tunnels. Jane got them up to speed and told them about Robbie. She put him on the phone with them and…well, you can guess there were tears on both sides, so Robbie said. They’re coming back in a few days. Very relieved that we found their boy. And glad they can stop their fruitless search.”

  “Did she mention Beckett staying here?”

  “She did. I guess they agreed when she told them what had happened to his home, and how Marla drugged him. Apparently the family feud hatred didn’t extend to them. Thank goodness.”

  “They should be able to help with all of this mess, I suppose.”

  “Right,” she said. “And maybe then we can get back to our vacation.”

  “Vacation?” I laughed. “What’s that
?”

  ***

  We met with Detective Warren and Officer Pierce for three hours.

  Warren was a no-nonsense, get-to-the point fellow, while Officer Pierce was a pretty black woman who softened the edges of some of his harsher questions. She took a particular interest in Beckett, making sure he was okay.

  When all of us had been interviewed—I was surprised they’d kept us all in the same room—they finally left. It was clear they believed that Marla had murdered her husband and that she’d subsequently leapt from the burning house. Jack had paved the way earlier with his own account as witness to the scenes, which helped us from being considered as suspects. Apparently Jack had some history with these people, although he hadn’t shared that story with us yet.

  “So,” Camille said when Warren and Pierce finally left. “Shall we go home?”

  Jane turned and ran to her, giving her a huge hug. “Oh, Camille. You’ve been so good to me. I’m going to miss you.”

  Camille hugged her back and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. We’re not going back to New York yet. We’ll still see each other.”

  Albert approached me, motioning me over to the hallway. “Will you come back, too? We sure could use your help movin’ that treasure tomorrow. Then Robbie’s gonna contact the museum people in Boston. It might be nice to have help with them.” He shuffled and looked at his feet. “That is, if you’re free. I guess it’s pretty bold of me to expect—”

  “I’ll be back,” I said. “I promised Beckett we’d help with the, er, arrangements.”

  “Tomorrow morning?” Albert said hopefully.

  “Sure thing. But I want to walk on the beach first. I’ve missed that.”

  “Course you do,” he said apologetically. “Don’t blame ya one bit.”

  I signaled to Camille, who said her goodbyes to everyone and followed me out to the car.

  Chapter 44

  I started my walk on Paines Creek Beach very early the next morning. It was low tide and rose-tinged shafts of sunlight had just begun to kiss the patterns of rippled wet sand.