“Yuck.” Zoe gave her a sick look.
They pulled in front of the station on Woodmere and went in. The woman at the front desk was waiting for them and showed them to Detective Minty’s office, pointing to chairs, even offering coffee, setting their stomachs bouncing again.
They’d been there for an hour and a half before Detective Minty bustled in, his tanned face deadly serious, his large body dropping into the desk chair as he first apologized for keeping them waiting then took a pad of paper from a drawer, slapped it on the desk, and settled back in his chair. He wrote on his pad of paper before looking up again, first at Jenny and then at Zoe.
His small eyes narrowed to slits. “Althea Sutton’s a friend of yours?”
Both women shook their heads fast, as if innocence would be measured in headshakes.
“Then what were you doing in her garage?” He folded his hands on top of the pad of paper as if he was only asking a casual question. Had nothing better to do with his time. He played his pen across the back of his fingers.
“Look, Detective,” Jenny wanted this miserable day to end. “We’re tired. You’ve got our names and contact information. I’m upset. Zoe’s upset. We don’t usually find bodies . . .”
Detective Minty put a hand up in a “stop” motion.
Zoe elbowed Jenny in the ribs, making Jenny turn to her.
“What? You want to stay here forever? I’m tired and hot and also hungry, despite watching you heave up your guts.”
“Let’s hold on a minute here.” The detective eyed Jenny as if assessing guilt and scoring her pretty high. “Let’s start with why you were there again, and how you found the body.”
Zoe repeated the story of Emily Sutton and why they came to town to find the cousin who used to buy groceries for her but had left her alone with no help.
He wrote as Zoe spoke and Jenny filled in.
“And you went in the woman’s garage—why?”
“Because it was there.” There was a slight hiss to Zoe’s words. She was beyond tired and hungry now. Any minute, she expected to fall right out of her chair.
“Try again, Miss . . . eh . . . Zola.”
Zoe sighed. “I wanted to see if her car was there. She didn’t answer her phone when I called. Didn’t answer the door. I figured if she’d moved, the car would be gone. It wasn’t. I went in to take a look and found her like that.”
“Got any ideas what happened to Miss Sutton?” He laid his pen down and stared from Zoe to Jenny and back.
“She’s dead, I know that much.” Zoe almost groaned.
He nodded. “Hope neither one of you had anything to do with it.”
Zoe said nothing. Jenny fought to keep her anger in check.
“Did that look like fresh blood to you?” Zoe spoke fast.
“How long ago did this Emily Sutton say her cousin stopped coming out there?”
Zoe looked at Jenny then back to the detective. “She didn’t really say. Maybe three weeks. Emily probably had enough groceries for that long and then panicked.”
He seemed to have run out of questions other than rechecking their addresses and phone numbers so he could reach them.
He asked for Emily Sutton’s address. “Have to go break the news.” He shook his head. “Always a tough thing to do. I’ll get out there soon as we’ve got things wrapped up here. Have to talk to your police chief first. He’ll be brought in on this. You won’t be going over there, to the cousin’s house, will you? I’d like it if you left that to me. I’m not a tough guy. I don’t want to hurt the woman, it’s just that sometimes it’s better if we’re there when the family gets the news of a murder. Actions and reactions, it’s called. Watching to see if the response is what we think it should be. I don’t mean to be cruel. It’s just the way things are in a murder investigation.”
“Emily Sutton won’t answer the door,” Zoe warned. “Not the phone either, unless she knows ahead of time that you’re going to call.”
He looked puzzled. “She an invalid or something?”
“Kind of eccentric. She was a well-known poet—once. She doesn’t like strangers. Rarely sees anybody, or talks to anybody at all.”
“You two see her.”
Jenny nodded. “And my mother’s seen her.”
“Think you could go with us, then, to see this Emily Sutton? Make it better all around if I don’t have to burst in on her. I wouldn’t want you saying anything though. You’d be there in case she needs you.”
He smiled, a kind of peace offering, as he took them to the front waiting area. At the door he offered his hand, then told them, with a chuckle, that he didn’t think either of them had anything to do with Miss Sutton’s murder. “If that will make you feel any better,” he smiled. “Looks like she was hit on the head inside the house then stabbed when she was trying to get away.” He watched their faces, seeing how they took the details.
“You know anybody who was mad at Miss Sutton?”
They shook their heads. “Didn’t know her, Detective.”
“So there’s only this cousin—that’s all the family?”
“There’s Emily’s sister. But she’s gone.”
“Got a name or address?”
Zoe shook her head. Jenny said, “Her name is Lorna Sutton. That’s about all we know.”
He thought awhile. “Looks personal, the way that house was torn apart. Sure would like to talk to that other cousin.”
“Ask Emily, but I can tell you now, she doesn’t know where Lorna went.”
They assured him they knew nothing more but would go with him to break the news to Emily.
“Have a good day.” He waved from the doorway as if they’d just shared a pleasant social call.
“Oh, we certainly will,” Zoe shot over her shoulder.
Jenny pulled her arm, hissing at her to be quiet. The last thing they wanted was to piss off a cop after they’d found a dead body.
The ride back to Bear Falls was long. Every mile could have been a hundred. It wasn’t only the horror of finding Althea Sutton dead, but there was still Tony’s treachery stuck in the back of Emily’s mind. Or not treachery at all. Maybe they’d never been anything but friends. The rest was in her head.
Nope, Emily assured herself. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d seen the looks, the smiles. Damned if he hadn’t been flirting and she’d flirted back. Flirting wasn’t a prelude to being cut out of his life completely. Or maybe it was. Her experience in these things wasn’t that extensive.
Damn, she told herself. There should be a book—with diagrams—that listed the ways men got out of relationships. And another book that warned women about men who couldn’t commit in the first place. Women needed to know these things. It wasn’t that dating was a waste of time. It was just that if a woman invested the slightest bit of feeling, a light should go off. Red—run like hell. Green—looking good.
Maybe there was a look a man gave another man—like “HELP!” Or maybe a secret code he used, thinking the woman would pick up on it and cut the cord before things got beyond critical mass.
She made herself angry all over again, but at least the problem with Tony was real and human, maybe even explainable. There was nothing explainable about Althea Sutton sitting in that car. The awful smell in that garage. The flies.
Jenny’s cell rang as they drove through Acme, still miles from home.
“Jenny? Is that you?” It was Dora, in a state. “Minnie Moon called. She said Randy Solomon got a call from a friend in Traverse. Is Althea Sutton really dead? That’s what he told her. He lives right down the street from Althea. I knew you two were going to town to see her so I wanted to warn you not to go over there.”
“Zoe found her, Mom.”
“What? Dear! Dear! Dear! Is she all right? I mean, poor Zoe. You know how excited she can get.”
“She didn’t kill her, Mom.”
“Kill! You mean somebody killed Althea? Why, this is just awful. Terrible.”
“We’re on our way home.”<
br />
“Were you there, too?” Dora demanded.
“I was.”
“For heaven’s sakes. Poor Emily! What now! I can’t think . . .”
“We’ll be there in half an hour.”
“But what about Emily? Who’s going to tell her?”
“A detective’s coming out to Bear Falls. He said he’d pick up the police chief and meet us later. He wants me and Zoe there when he breaks the news.”
“Well, yes. You both should go. Poor Emily. Imagine, and after all the heartbreak she’s suffered in her life.”
Dora was quiet.
Jenny thought the call was over and was about to hang up.
“Oh, and dear. I hate to bring up anything else at a time like this, but there was a young woman here this afternoon. Police Chief Warner sent her to our house because she’d been to Emily’s and there was no one home. Well, that’s what she said, but we know Emily won’t answer the door to a stranger.”
“What did she want with Emily?” Jenny glanced over to see that Zoe was, understandably, sound asleep in the seat beside her.
“Well, it’s the strangest thing . . .” Dora hesitated. “I’m . . . anyway, this young woman claims she’s Walter Shipley’s niece. He’s quite a famous poet. Probably a lot better known than Emily. It seems he’s disappeared. Quite a while ago, according to this Alex Shipley. I might have heard something, but I don’t remember much about it. She’s here because Walter Shipley and Emily were friends. Or they knew each other. Something like that. Her parents live in Europe but she goes to school here in Michigan and thought she’d try to track down Emily. To see if she knows where he went. The police in Maine—that’s where he lives . . . or lived—have come up with nothing.”
Dora sighed. “I’m sorry now I invited her back, what with the day you’ve had. I think I’d better call Abigail, too. You know how she’s being about Emily. This will be a blow and you know how upset she was with me last time.” She stopped talking, then said, “Did you say Althea was killed?”
“Not really, Mom. More than that. She was murdered.”
That Jenny lost the signal right then felt almost like divine providence. If Mom was any indication, the town was already buzzing. All she could hope was that no one took it on herself to tell Emily.
In the seat beside her, Zoe’s head tipped, blonde hair hung over her eyes. Her small hands were crossed in her lap. Jenny already knew this woman to be tough and hard-nosed . . . and vulnerable. If only she could spare her some of what was ahead of them.
Back home, Zoe popped awake, jumped from the car, and ran through the trees to her house, hurrying to Fida to hold her and hug her, while Jenny went to her mom—each to her own point of comfort.
Chapter 11
“She’s here, dear.” Dora hurried out to the porch to hug her daughter and then to break the news. “Walter Shipley’s niece. She’s in the backyard.”
Jenny groaned. “Detective Minty and Ed Warner are coming later. They want me and Zoe to go to Emily’s with them. Break the news about Althea. All I want to do now is lie down awhile. Can’t you explain to her?”
“I know. But the poor girl is deeply worried.”
Jenny hurried into the house and dropped into the first chair she came to. “I wish I didn’t have to deal with something else right now. I didn’t see the body up close, but poor Zoe was in that garage. I don’t think she needs another worry, if you plan on bringing Zoe into this, too.”
She leaned her head back and closed one eye. “Didn’t you say this man’s been gone quite a while? Could she hold off at least until Emily’s been told her cousin’s dead?”
Dora shook her head. “Come out and meet her. Please. She is such a sweet girl. I think you’ll like her.”
“Mom!” Jenny complained, but Dora was headed back toward the kitchen, leaving Jenny with nothing to do but follow.
The girl sat in the backyard, on the ground under the huge walnut tree. Her head was bent, examining a leaf, long fingers running over the rough surface of the fanning veins.
Alex Shipley was in her early twenties, wearing the uniform of her age group: long narrow-legged jeans, a striped T-shirt that hugged her curved shoulders, and strappy sandals. Her face was thin and lovely. She saw Jenny and Dora and jumped to her feet, swiping her hands along her jeans, then sticking a hand out to take Jenny’s.
Classic bone structure. That was what Jenny noticed first. And billows and billows of messy blonde hair caught on top of her head with combs. Long strands of hair hung around her face. A crammed backpack lay on the ground at her feet. A nervous little smile ran across her full mouth as she brought one shoulder up to her right ear as if, turtle-like, she was trying to disappear.
Dora shepherded them to a table on the back porch where they could sit.
“Your mother told me what happened today. Awful.” The girl set her backpack down and flicked strands of glossy blonde hair from her eyes.
Jenny could only nod. She was wrung out.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known. I went to Emily Sutton’s because the last I knew of my uncle, he was going there. I have letters. He and Emily Sutton exchanged quite a few. I only have hers. It seemed as if there was something between them.” She rubbed one hand hard over the other. “I knocked and knocked but Emily didn’t answer. Your police chief—I didn’t know where else to go—said to come talk to you. That you might be able to get Emily to see me.”
“You’re in school in Michigan, dear?” Dora leaned in to ask, giving Jenny a minute to absorb everything.
“Yes, ma’am. U of M. Grad school.”
“And what are you studying?”
“English literature.”
“What do you know?” Dora glanced at the figure coming across the lawn, through her garden, Fida snapping at her heels as if getting even for the hours Zoe’d been away. “Here comes someone you should meet right now.”
Zoe came up the steps without her usual thump and waddle. One step at a time. Holding on to the bannister. She took Alex’s outstretched hand, sat down with a huge sigh, and listened to why this Alex Shipley was there, on the Westons’ back porch.
“She studies English literature,” Dora said, smiling wide at Zoe. “Imagine that.”
“I’ve heard of you, Miss Zola. One of my professors gave me a book of yours to read. Wonderfully thought-out. I hope to write the same sort of thing someday. I love research and tying thought and the writer’s life and work together.”
Soon Zoe was smiling, perking up at having someone of like mind sitting at the table with her. For just a minute, she seemed to be herself again.
“I’ve read your book on characters in Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Scary, all that death and horror. Comparing them to Freud and Adler was genius.” Alex leaned forward, as close as she could get to Zoe.
Color slowly came back to Zoe’s face. Her eyes glowed again. Back to places inside her head, populated with all sorts of weird creatures and the weird thoughts that followed when ogres and monsters were allowed to run loose.
And then they were back to Alex’s reason for being in Bear Falls, and everyone grew deadly serious.
“Three years?” Zoe shook her head after she heard.
Alex took a deep breath. “My parents haven’t heard anything from him since August of 2013. I was living in Maine then, so I went to Kennebunkport to check on him. His landlord had already put his things in storage. My father’s been paying the fees ever since, thinking Uncle Walter will return from wherever he went to and need his belongings. He’s done this before. For maybe a month or so at a time, gone off to write where he can be alone. But never this long.”
“And”—Zoe moved her chair closer—“what brought you to Bear Falls?”
“I found letters from Emily Sutton to Uncle Walter. She invited him to visit here. They’d been writing back and forth for a few years. The summer he was supposed to come here is the summer he disappeared. I was hoping . . . well.”
“I can
imagine what you were hoping.” Jenny knew the girl wasn’t going to find her uncle at the house on the swamp. No man in that house. “But I don’t think Emily can help you.”
Zoe nodded. “She’s alone. There’s nobody else with her. Her mother’s dead. Her sister’s gone. And well . . . her cousin . . . just died.”
“Mrs. Weston told me what happened. That’s awful. She was murdered?”
Zoe nodded.
“Then this isn’t the time for me to be bothering her.”
Her disappointment was palpable. She looked down at her hands, opening them wide as if considering why those hands couldn’t reach out and find her uncle.
“Have you thought maybe your uncle found he needed to be away from everyone? Emily’s like that. She left the life she had and disappeared into that house and stayed there. Writers are an endangered species, Alex,” Zoe said, meaning to be kind. “The world is such a constantly demanding place. Poets need to replenish. Some go away for years.”
“But I can’t get it out of my head that he wouldn’t do that to us. Our family’s always been close. And I have these letters . . .”
She patted her backpack then pulled it around to her lap. She took two faded envelopes from one of the pockets. Looking at the women, she carefully opened one of the envelopes and scanned it before reading a couple of lines: “I don’t often see people, as you know, Walter. But I will certainly see you. I look forward to it like nothing I’ve looked forward to in years. Please come so I can show you my swamp. Like you, I need silent places. And places where I can hear the breath of small, slippery streams. You will laugh, as I do, at the turtles, and the frogs. We can shiver in the cool shadows and be frightened by wet earth that grabs at our feet and threatens disappearance.”
“Goodness, that sounds exactly like Emily.” Dora sat back and clapped her hands together.
Zoe made a noise. “I’m amazed.” She snapped her mouth shut. Not a word of what she truly thought about Emily Sutton leaked out.
“She was expecting your uncle’s visit?” Dora asked.
“It seems so. I don’t know if he came here or not. But I’d like to find out. She included a poem in this one.” Alex opened the second letter.
She Stopped for Death Page 9
