A History of Murder

by Lynn Bohart

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Applegate?” she said. “I heard about the book you’re writing.”

  Did everyone know about what we were doing?

  “Yes?”

  “I might know something about your property,” she replied. She wore glasses and kept pushing them up her nose. “My family used to live across the street from the St. Claire home. I remember when the Formosas used to live there.”

  Blair and Doe came up behind me to listen in.

  “We haven’t learned much about the Formosas,” I said.

  “They were very strange,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Verity Small,” she said, holding out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  I shook her hand. “These are my friends, Blair Wentworth and Doe Kovinsky,” I said, turning to include Blair and Doe.

  Verity said, “I brought you this.” She held out a manila folder for me.

  The folder was filled with copies of newspaper articles. I scanned the headlines, and then crinkled my brow. “I don’t understand. What does the trial of Colton Halfmore have to do with my property?”

  “You don’t remember that trial?” she asked with a disappointed downturn to her mouth. “It was in all the papers. It went on for months.”

  “I remember it,” Doe said, coming up to my side. “He was the CEO of some big industrial chemical company that was dumping waste over by Alki Beach. There were several deaths associated with the case. In fact, one person who was scheduled to testify against him was shot to death, as I recall.”

  “I remember that,” I said. “But what does he have to do with us?”

  “Look here,” she said. She pointed to a section in the first article that spoke about a man named John Yang. “Yang was Halfmore’s chief financial officer. He testified against Halfmore and helped to put him in prison. My family always thought that John Yang was Mr. Formosa.”

  Lightbulbs sprang to life in my head. “So the St. Claire property was what? A safe house?”

  “That’s what we thought,” she replied.

  “That would explain some things,” Doe said.

  “Yeah, like the guys hanging around in dark suits,” Blair said.

  Verity’s eyes brightened. “Yes, the men who hung around tried to keep out of sight, but of course we lived right across the street and would see them all the time.”

  “Did you ever see the Formosas?” Blair asked.

  “Only twice. But big, dark cars would come and go. And we never saw the Formosas leave the property. Until May nineteenth of that year.”

  “Why do you remember the date?” I asked.

  She pulled out a second newspaper article and handed it to me. “Because it was only a week later that John Yang testified against his boss.”

  “But we heard there were shots fired on the property, and that’s when they left,” Blair said.

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s true. No one’s ever been able to tell us what that was all about. But the family moved out immediately after that.”

  My mind was racing, trying to connect the dots. “So you think someone compromised the safe house, and the police, or the FBI, or whoever, moved the Formosas to another safe house?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Then he testified and the family disappeared. We think they were in the witness protection program.”

  “Whoa,” I exclaimed. “That’s a pretty dramatic story. That would be great for our book. I just wish there were some proof.”

  “But there is,” Verity said, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “If you read the stories in here,” she said, indicating the folder, “you’ll read about Mrs. Yang. She was blind and had a guide dog. A golden retriever named Cory. Well, guess what?”

  We waited in anticipation, until Blair said impatiently, “What?”

  “When I was out gardening one day, a golden retriever came into our yard. He was the friendliest dog. Anyway, then one of the men we’d seen patrolling the grounds showed up to take him back. And he said, ‘C’mon, Cory, let’s get you back to the house.’” She rocked back on her heels and beamed with pride.

  “No kidding,” I said. “Well, thank you, Verity. May I keep these?” I asked, referring to the folder.

  “Of course. And feel free to use my name if you use the story.”

  I thanked her again, and she returned to her table, while Doe and Blair and I huddled up.

  “Well, that’s a bombshell,” Doe said. “Do you think we ought to use it?”

  I shrugged, glancing down at the articles in the folder. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Makes me think maybe we ought to talk to Milton Snyder, too,” Doe said. She nodded to where he was sitting again with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Is he even making a mask?” Blair asked. “I didn’t see him sculpt anything last week.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” I replied. “I’m more inclined to think that it was Mabel who wanted to take the class, and he’s here as her guardian.”

  “Or bodyguard. But against what?” Doe asked. “It’s not like Richard Welping is going to make a pass at her.”

  Blair was studying Snyder, her eyes narrowed in thought. “No. He wants to make sure Welping doesn’t have us sculpt anything suggestive. I bet if he even showed a picture of one of his nude sculptures, Snyder would be on his feet complaining.”

  “What a bore,” I said. “Who’d want to go through life that way?”

  “Well, it doesn’t change the fact that he may know something important about your property, Julia. Something we could use in the book,” Doe said. “Look, I’ll go talk to him. I haven’t contributed much to this enterprise yet, so it’s the least I can do. Let’s see what he has to say.”

  “You’re a brave woman,” I said.

  She gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, no worries. Remember, I’m the queen of garbage. If he gives me any grief, some of his neighbor’s trash might suddenly start showing up on his lawn.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I heard on the news the next morning that animals had unearthed the remains of a young woman off a trail outside of Everett. Jewelry found with her body had already helped to identify her. She was a young high school student who had disappeared in 2008.

  Too many young girls had died with no way to find the killer. Add to that our own discovery of the destitute young Lollie Gates and the baby, and it all left me feeling dispirited. As I helped April with breakfast, I filled her in on the news about Aria Stottlemeyer’s memoir and the Formosas. Then the discussion turned to the serial killings.

  “Boy, after the Green River Killer and Ted Bundy, I’d hoped we were done with serial killers in the Pacific Northwest for a while,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’ve avoided reading about the case in the newspaper. But David and I have talked about it.”

  She began to whisk some eggs. “Do you think the press will pick up the story about the baby?”

  I shrugged. “Eventually, I suppose. Once police start investigating.”

  “I guess the first challenge will be to find out who he or she is. Or was,” she said, correcting herself.

  “Yeah,” I said, cutting up melon for the fruit salad. “You said you thought her name was Mary.”

  “I heard the name ‘Mary.’ But I’m not sure it was in reference to the baby. It sounded like there was more to the word, but I just couldn’t grasp it.”

  “Like what? Mari…time? Marry me? Merry month of May?”

  “No,” she said, stopping to think a moment. “More like mari…marigold,” she said, turning to me.

  “Marigold? The marigold?” I said. “The one we found in that box from the hidden room.”

  “It could have been that.”

  I turned and hurried across the kitchen to where the old box still sat on the counter. I opened the lid and lifted out the necklace with the marigold pressed into the pendant. I returned to where April stood.

  “What do you think?” I said, handing it to her.

  She put the
bowl of whisked eggs onto the counter and took the necklace, placing the glass pendant in between her thumb and index finger. All of a sudden, one of the cupboards above our heads opened and closed twice in quick succession. We looked at each other in surprise.

  “Was that Elizabeth? Or Chloe?” April asked.

  “More like Elizabeth. Unless Chloe is climbing on the counters now,” I replied. “But I wonder why?”

  The cupboard did it again, making us both jump. April opened her fingers and glanced down at the necklace. “I have an idea. Elizabeth, is the baby’s name, Marigold?”

  Short pause. And then…tap…tap.

  “Oh my gosh,” I said. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

  “But now what?” April asked. “We know her name, but it’s not like you can tell David. I mean how could we explain how we got it?”

  “Agreed,” I said. “But what if we could learn more? Her last name, for instance. Maybe Elizabeth can tell us more.”

  A sudden rush of air blew through the kitchen, forcing the back door open and closed with a bang. We both stood staring at it.

  “I guess not,” I said with disappointment. “Maybe she’s still mad at me for suspecting her.”

  “You think?” April said.

  ÷

  After breakfast, I ran to the art store and picked up my newly framed Wizard of Oz poster. I had scheduled the morning to clean my apartment, and so once I was done, I hung the print in the corner of my living room. It was offset by a shelf that held a collection of Wizard of Oz snow globes. Then I stood back to admire it, as the dogs danced around my feet.

  “What do you think?” I asked them.

  Minnie looked up at me and barked, bouncing up and down. Mickey began to spin in a tight circle. Something he did whenever he got excited or thought I was going to give him a treat. I just laughed.

  “You two,” I said. I leaned down and gave them each a pet. “No treats right now. I have to go back to work.”

  The Wizard of Oz always made me happy, so by the time noon rolled around, my spirits had lifted considerably. After lunch, I decided to spend some time at the front of the inn, weeding and fertilizing my roses. The sun was out, and there was a light breeze. I donned my wide-brimmed straw hat and floral gloves and took the dogs with me outside. As I pulled weeds and turned the earth humming to myself, my cell phone rang. It was Blair.

  “Hey, Julia, any chance you’d like another guest for a couple of days?”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “We have pests. And by pests, I mean carpenter ants. They’re in the walls. We have to fumigate to get rid of them, so the pest control guys want to come out tomorrow and put a tent over the entire house. Mr. Billings is in Houston, but I’ll have to move out.”

  I smiled. “Maybe you have ghosts and just don’t know it.”

  “No. These aren’t the kind of pests that walk through walls. They’re the kind that live in the walls. It’s creepier than having Elizabeth here.”

  “Well, c’mon over. You can stay in the apartment with me.”

  “Thanks. The pest control guys will be here first thing in the morning. I have some errands to run, so why don’t I plan on being there right after lunch?”

  “Hey, why don’t I call Mansfield Foster and see if we could get an appointment for tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Okay. It will be like trading one disgusting pest for another. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hung up and was about to resume my gardening when a voice stopped me.

  “Your flowers are beautiful, Julia.”

  The dogs barked once and then threw themselves at the feet of my new neighbor, Caroline Keefer. She had crossed the street and come up to the rose garden with her daughter, Amelia. She and her husband had bought Ellen Fairchild’s home after Ellen had driven her new Lexus off a cliff back in December.

  “Thank you,” I said, standing up. “We lost so many roses after that harsh winter, I had to plant new ones,” I said, stretching my back. “How are you settling in? I noticed you had some workmen over there. Are you doing some remodeling?”

  Caroline was around five foot nine, with short, curly black hair. Her husband worked for Boeing, and Caroline had worked for Microsoft before she had Amelia. Now, she worked as a programmer from home. Caroline leaned down to pet the dogs. They were licking Amelia’s ankles and making her giggle

  “We’re retiling the downstairs bathroom. Jack doesn’t want to do too much yet. He thinks we need to live there awhile before we’ll really know what changes we want to make.”

  “And I get the feeling you know what you want already.”

  She smiled at me, showing a perfect set of whitened teeth. “I like to cook. I’m actually kind of a foodie. So there are some changes I’d like to make in the kitchen. And I’m definitely going to start an herb garden.”

  “April has talked about putting in an herb garden. You two should get together.” I looked down at Amelia, who was ignoring the dogs now and pulling at her mother’s hand. She faced the inn’s front porch and seemed to be staring at something.

  Amelia was four years old and a Down’s Syndrome child. Although mildly challenged, she had an impressive vocabulary and a bright, engaging smile. Today she looked adorable in a bright pink jumper with matching sandals and a headband to accent her own dark curls.

  “Do you like to cook, Amelia?” I asked her.

  She turned and squinted up at me. “Mummy lets me bake cookies,” she said, her scrunched little face alight with enthusiasm.

  “I bet you bake good cookies, too,” I said. “April makes really good cookies. You should come over one afternoon when she puts them out for guests.”

  Amelia turned back to the front porch. “Okay. Can I play with Chloe?”

  I bit off a sharp intake of breath. While I often saw Elizabeth’s ghost, I had only seen brief glimpses of Chloe, her daughter. Instead, Chloe usually made herself known by playing tricks on people. Now, twice in two days someone had admitted to seeing her: Emily Foster and Amelia.

  “She’s been talking about Chloe ever since we all sat on your deck a couple of weeks ago,” Caroline said. “She says Chloe lives at the inn. In the walls,” she emphasized in a whisper.

  Caroline gave me an apologetic nod, as if we should just humor her daughter. I watched Amelia a moment and then turned to her mother.

  “Are you busy right now?”

  “Uh…no. Why?”

  “Why don’t we go sit on the back deck again?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost three o’clock. April will be putting the cookies out soon.” I looked down at Amelia. “Would you like that, Amelia?”

  She turned her face up to mine again, her small, slanted eyes squinting into the sun. “Uh huh. But can I play with Chloe?”

  “Of course, honey.” I turned to her mother, whose wide-set eyes were clenched with curiosity. “Then I can tell you all about Chloe.”

  The three of us traipsed inside. I told Caroline that I’d meet them on the deck and turned for the kitchen. Ahab called out behind me, “What have you learned, Dorothy?”

  I chuckled to myself, but ignored him and pushed open the swinging door. April was there, filling a tray with peanut butter cookies and brownies.

  “I heard voices,” she said.

  “Yes. It’s Caroline and Amelia from across the street. I invited them over for lemonade and cookies.”

  April smiled. “I think Amelia is adorable.”

  “Yes, and guess what? She said she wants to play with Chloe.”

  April turned to me wide-eyed.

  “Have you told her about Chloe?”

  “No. That’s the point.” I went to the sink to wash my hands. “She seems to think she can see her.” A slight shiver ran down my back at the thought.

  April stopped gathering cookies. “I suppose that’s not unheard of. You see Elizabeth. Amelia is a special little girl. Perhaps Chloe purposely lets herself be seen by her.”

  “At least she hasn’t played any tric
ks on her,” I replied. “Caroline said Amelia talks about Chloe a lot. So I thought maybe it was time to explain.”

  “Good luck with that,” April said with a brief smile.

  I dried my hands and then found a small plate and filled it with several cookies. I grabbed a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses and put everything on a tray and took it out to the deck. Amelia was already sitting on the steps leading to the side yard, laughing and talking excitedly to thin air. Her mother looked up at me with concern.

  “I’ve never seen her do this before,” she said. “I’m beginning to wonder if she has an imaginary friend.”

  I put the tray on one of the patio tables and sat down. “Her friend isn’t imaginary, at least not in the traditional sense. Perhaps I should explain.”

  For the next few minutes, I related the history of the inn and the ghosts. Since Caroline was a computer nerd, and her husband Jack was an engineer, I presumed they were linear thinkers and not the sort to believe in ghosts. So I was prepared for a negative reaction.

  Instead, Caroline listened, glancing over every once in a while at her daughter. When I was finished, she said, “So you think Amelia might actually see Chloe, the little girl who died here?”

  I shrugged. “It appears that way. I didn’t think too much about it before. But if you think back to when you were here before, Amelia was on the swings and kept yelling, ‘Higher! Higher!’ as if someone was pushing her.”

  Caroline’s eyes popped open. “Oh, dear, that just gave me the chills. Yes, I do remember that. But Amelia is such a creative little girl, I just thought…well, I don’t know what I thought. But why can’t I see Chloe?”

  “There’s the rub. I don’t know. I’ve never fully seen Chloe myself. And I’ve never seen Fielding, her brother, although I think he’s here somewhere. As I said, I have seen Elizabeth many times. But I’ve just caught glimpses of Chloe. But maybe because of…because of Amelia’s condition, maybe she’s more sensitive.”