The diaper pin.
I shut the drawer, headed up the steps and went to retrieve my car. I was going out to the Finch estate.
Eighteen
I agreed to meet Rudy and the kids at Wisteria General as soon as I was finished at the Finch house. I left him to make ravioli and phone calls. There are days when I think that I am the most terrible wife and mother in the universe. But then I think about all the psychotic people who come out of perfectly structured homes and I figure my kids will turn out all right.
I have to admit that when I pulled into the driveway of the Finch estate, I expected thunder overhead and Vincent Price music to play. I also hated getting out of my car to open the heavy wrought-iron gate. I shoved and it squeaked. I hopped back in my car and noticed that there were clouds forming on the horizon, the setting sun turning them crimson and orange underneath. It had been a pretty dry summer, the farmers would welcome rain.
I drove up the driveway, anticipating and dreading what I might discover in Byron’s nursery. I got out, unlocked the back door and went in. There were boxes and covered furniture everywhere on the bottom floor, due to my half-finished cataloging job.
I went first to the second floor, where Catherine’s office was, partly because it was on the way to the third floor and partly because I was putting off going up to the nursery until the last possible moment.
Her office was done in blond wood and lavender fabrics. The desk was a monstrosity of turn-of-the-century woodworking at its best. A large oil painting hung on one wall, featuring what I assumed were Catherine’s three children. Cherubic faces stared out at the artist with nearly textbook innocence. They each wore a gauzy outfit of pastels and were situated perfectly in front of one of the house’s many fireplaces.
Catherine’s desk was covered with old photographs in antique frames; most of the photos were of her with other people. One of the faces I recognized was Benny Goodman. The type of music she sang wasn’t Big Band or swing, so I assumed that she and Goodman had just been friends.
I opened the drawers one by one, looking for an address book or a party list, something that might tell me if the Finches knew the Thurmans. I found an address book. Names had been crossed off, I was assuming as the people died or moved. There was no listing for anybody with the name of Thurman. I did find a list for a caterer, musicians, maids, housecleaners, you name it. Everything Catherine would need to throw a party for the rich and famous.
In the closet I found boxes on top of boxes of letters, tied in bundles about three inches deep with purple crochet string. A sofa by the window held pillows with a cross-stitch design of some sort, and the light fixtures in the wall were antiques that had been wired for electricity. This was a room well used and well loved.
I went back downstairs and found one of the small boxes I had brought in earlier last week. I took it back upstairs and put the address book, the lists, a few of the bundles of letters and a journal of some sort in the box. I looked around the room one last time to see if there was anything else that might be of importance.
On a shelf in the corner I spotted three photo albums. I opened them and they were the old kind with black pages and corner tabs on sepia photographs. Beneath the albums I found two old tins, also full of photographs. I put them in the box.
Then I went upstairs to Byron Finch’s nursery. I tried not to look around too much. I went straight to the changing table and found a silver tray. Silver boxes with carved lids sat on top of it, and I opened each one, looking for diaper pins. In the third one, I found eight or so diaper pins. They looked exactly like the one Deputy Duran had shown me at the Yates house. One side of the large sterling pins was flat. A fairy with her wings spread wide was etched into the silver. Just as on the one Duran had found.
I shivered from the inside out.
Nineteen
Rudy and I were awakened by a pounding at the door. After we had come home from the hospital last night, I had stayed up until midnight reading Catherine’s journal, so the sleep did not clear from my eyes very easily. At first we just lay there, waiting to hear if the noise would come again, because when one’s sleep is interrupted this early, in this manner, it’s as if your mind is playing a trick on you. Did I really hear that knock on the door?
Bang, bang, bang.
Yes, I really did.
Rudy and I both jumped at the same time. I glanced at the clock. 7:02 A.M. I couldn’t imagine who it could be. I threw on a robe, tripped over Fritz snoring on the floor beside the bed, and took the steps two at a time. Rudy followed close on my heels.
We gave each other a worried glance as Rudy turned the knob and opened the door.
Somebody snapped our picture, the flash momentarily blinding me. At that point it was as if the world gained speed. A small microphone was shoved in my face and a wiry man with sandy-blond hair began speaking so fast, it hurt my head to keep up. All I understood was something about Somebody from Somewhere News, wanting to know about Byron Lee Finch.
“Uh…” That came from both Rudy and me.
He went on firing questions at us until finally I held up my hand and screamed, “Stop!”
He looked at me oddly. He was perfectly still; the only sign that he was alive was the blink of his eyes.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked.
“I’m Colby Stevens from the Newsworthy. I understand that the body of Byron Lee Finch has been found and that you have intimate knowledge of the case,” he said and put the microphone back in my face.
“No comment,” Rudy said.
“Nobody knows whose body was found,” I said.
“My source says that it’s the body of the kidnapped baby of one of the most famous singers of the jazz era,” he said.
“Your source is jumping the gun,” I said.
“No comment,” said Rudy.
“Is it true that you have intimate knowledge of the case?” he asked.
“No comment,” Rudy said.
“No,” I managed.
“Is it true that you’re writing a biography of Catherine Finch and that you have access to all of her personal papers?”
“No comment!” Rudy yelled and slammed the door in Colby Stevens’s face. Then he turned to me. “What the hell was that?”
“I have no idea,” I said. It was obvious that Rudy didn’t believe me. “Don’t look at me like that; I really don’t know.”
“Deputy Duran isn’t spreading it around that the body found was Byron Finch. So, who is?” he asked.
“Rudy, I’m not the only person who thought instantly that it was Byron Finch. I mean, a kidnapped baby makes a national sensation—almost as big as the Lindbergh kidnapping—and sixty-something years later a baby skeleton is found in a wall less than two miles from the scene of the crime. I mean, it doesn’t take Einstein to jump to those conclusions,” I said.
“My head hurts,” he said. “I need coffee.”
He headed for the kitchen and I followed. “But in case you’re interested, I’m positive it is Byron.”
“Oh, of course you are,” he said, reaching for the coffee in the canister.
“The diaper pin that Edwin found is identical to the ones I found in Byron Finch’s nursery. It’s him, Rudy.”
“So, it’s him.”
“I’m just saying, I’m not going to be the only person to put two and two together and get four.”
He held his hand up. “Just don’t talk to me until the coffee at least starts to perk.”
“All right,” I said and ran my hand through my hair. I was walking over to the cabinet to get out my Cheerios when the phone rang. I immediately thought of Wilma. Phone calls at unusual hours are usually bad news. I grabbed it on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Is this Torie O’Shea?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Amanda Hauer and I’m with the Post. I’ve been informed that you are Catherine Finch’s biographer. What is your comment on the wall baby found yesterday in y
our small town?”
“What is going on?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Ma’am. Do you deny having knowledge of the wall baby?”
“No comment,” I said and hung up.
Rudy shook his head. “Don’t speak until I’ve had at least one sip.”
I leaned up against the counter and ate Cheerios right out of the box. I watched Rudy as he watched the coffee perk. He wore blue-and-green-plaid boxers and a Ramones T-shirt. His hair stood up on end and his mouth was wide in a yawn. Finally the coffee was done and he poured himself a cup. As he took a drink, his eyes rolled back in his head and an exhausting sigh escaped over the rim of his cup.
“Now, what is going on?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Somebody must have leaked that there was a baby found in a wall and people have jumped to conclusions,” I said.
“Why are they calling you?”
“I guess somebody has let it out that I’m cataloging the estate or writing a biography or both,” I said.
“And who would that be?” he asked.
I thought a minute. Bright orange shorts stretched tight across a top-heavy body appeared in my mind’s eye. “Eleanore. She’s the only one.”
The phone rang again.
“Don’t answer that,” Rudy said.
“I can’t go all day and not answer the phone.”
“Don’t answer the phone until we get Caller ID.”
“Rudy, that’s preposterous,” I said and answered the phone. It was my mother. “Mom! Am I glad it’s you.”
“We’re coming home,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Wilma is sick and Deputy Duran called and told us about the baby skeleton,” she said.
“Mom, isn’t it like three in the morning there? Why are you guys up so early?” I asked, popping a handful of Cheerios into my mouth. Rudy slurped down more coffee.
“Our flight is at five, so we had to get up this early,” she said.
“So Duran called you?” I asked.
“Yes. And we actually heard it on the late news,” she said.
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Dead babies are headline news, I suppose. Not that many of them. Plus, I think most people are thinking that it’s the Finch baby. Imagine if somebody had the chance to solve the Lindbergh case today. It would be all over the news,” she said. “I suppose this is about the same.”
“Unbelievable,” I said.
“Bill will be happy. Free publicity for the town.”
“Oh, great,” I said and shook my head. Rudy never took his eyes off his coffee cup.
“How’s the casino issue going?”
“It’s been really quiet. There’s a lot else going on. I think Bill was focusing on the Yates demolition. Thank goodness,” I said.
“All right, well, we’ll talk more when we get home. Can you or Rudy come and pick us up at the airport?”
“Certainly,” I said.
She gave me the flight number and time of arrival and said good-bye. I hung up the phone and the kitchen was perfectly quiet. The only noise in the room was the coffeepot sizzling every time water bubbled onto the surface. Finally Rudy put his cup down on the table and looked straight ahead.
“So, Colin’s coming home early,” he said.
“On his white horse,” I said snidely.
Finally Rudy looked at me, circles beneath his eyes. “It must be the Finch baby if Colin is leaving Alaska early.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Twenty
I picked up my mom and Colin at Lambert Field later that afternoon. To somebody born and raised south of St. Louis, North County can seem like a completely foreign country. So I made sure I watched the signs carefully, exited where I was supposed to and crossed my fingers a lot. To me, Lambert Field is far enough away to be a day trip.
I knew my mother would get irritated if I talked while trying to load everything in the car, so I waited until we were away from the airport and safely southbound on I–270. Even with all the clouds that had formed yesterday, only a few drops of rain had actually fallen, which just made it stickier outside. I threw the AC on high.
“How was your trip?” I asked.
“Splendid,” my mother said. “Colin got sneezed on by a moose.”
I looked in the rearview mirror at my stepdad blushing all the way to his shirt collar.
“I would have paid good money to see that,” I said.
“Very funny,” he said.
“It was very funny,” Mom said. “He was totally covered in moose snot, he had to go back to the hotel and take a shower.”
It was quiet a second and then my mother burst out laughing and, begrudgingly, Colin followed from the backseat. I, of course, chimed in because it was a joke at my stepfather’s expense. Sheriff Brooke covered in moose snot. The fact that I had not been there to see it just shows you how completely unfair life is.
“Did you miss me?” I asked.
“Yes,” my mother said.
“No,” said Colin.
We chatted a few more minutes about how beautiful Alaska was and how relaxing their trip was. I was hoping Colin would be the first to bring up Byron Finch and the strange goings-on in New Kassel as of late. If I had done it, my mother would have probably berated me for it, whereas if he did it, it was his job. A few minutes later, I got my wish.
“So, what’s the scoop, Torie? And don’t even try and tell me that you don’t know anything about what’s going on, because you would be lying,” Colin said.
Instantly he went from stepdad to sheriff. I even felt different talking about the whole Finch mess than I had talking about him and the moose snot.
“Okay, here’s what’s happened as far as I know.” I took a big breath and then let it rip. “Bill tells me they are going to introduce riverboat gambling for the next election. So, I find out he wants to tear down the Yates house, because that’s where he wants to put the casino. Of all places. So, sometime last Thursday night, Patrick Ward has a bowl of poisoned clam chowder and he wanders into the Yates building and dies.”
I put on my blinker and got over in the right-hand lane. “Then, Friday, they go to tear down the building and they find a baby skeleton in the wall. But the bizarre thing is that Patrick Ward, although he’s originally from New Kassel, has lived in Chicago for the last twelve years or more. He has a sister who lives in Wisteria but she didn’t even know he was in town. Which makes no sense whatsoever. So then, I go to the Finch house and find that the diaper pins there match the diaper pin that Duran has found with the wall baby, so I’m almost positive the body is Byron Finch.”
Gravois passed and I knew the next exit was Telegraph, then finally Highway 55, which would lead us home. I had to be careful not to miss it in my excitement of telling the story. “Now the really weird part is this. Patrick Ward and Byron Finch were first cousins,” I said, looking in my rearview mirror at Colin. “Is there anybody on the planet who is going to believe that was a coincidence? I’m betting he knew that Byron was in the wall.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Colin said, undoing his seat belt and leaning forward. “Let’s just say for one minute that the baby is Byron. And let’s just say that Patrick knew that Byron was in the wall. Why would he go there? Why would he come all the way from Chicago to be in the Yates house that night?”
“I don’t know, but you need to put your seat belt on. You’re going to get me a ticket,” I said. “And we wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?”
He let out an exasperated sigh and put his seat belt back on.
“I think that somehow, Patrick Ward found out that Bill was going to tear down the Yates house, and I think that he was trying to get the skeleton out before the wrecking crew found it and the whole world did like we did—assumed it was Byron. Thus bringing the story back to the front-page.”
“Which would mean he had something to hide,” Colin said.
“That would be my guess.”
> I let the silence hang in the air for a minute. “Which brings me to the next bit of news.”
“Oh, no,” he said.
“The media has gotten a hold of it. I had two reporters this morning try to get me to comment on what is going on,” I said.
“How did they find out?”
“This particular time, I think it was Eleanore. But you know, Colin, it really was just a matter of time until they found out by other means,” I said.
“True. But it could have bought us some time to at least get something together. The FBI will probably be visiting, too.”
“Which brings me to the next bit of news.”
“Can it get worse?” he asked. He held his hand up. “No. No, don’t answer that.”
“I tried to convince Duran to let me read the original sheriff’s file on the Finch kidnapping,” I said. Out with it. If he heard it from me, he wouldn’t be as angry as if he heard it from Duran. “Which he refused to do.”
“Remind me to give him a raise,” Colin said.
I ignored the little remark. “No, now listen. I’m doing her biography, and if her children don’t care if I see the file, why should you? The FBI came in and took over the investigation, but still, there should be preliminary stuff in there. You know, like who all was present and accounted for at the house that night. Maybe Patrick Ward was there. If so…”
“I see what you’re getting at.”
“What are you getting at?” my mother asked.
“If Patrick was there the night Byron disappeared, and then he’s found dead in the abandoned house, chances are he had something to do with the kidnapping.”
“But there are two things that you’re forgetting,” Mom added.
“What’s that?”
“Number one, who killed Patrick? I mean, you said he was poisoned. Which means that there is somebody else out there who would have to know that Byron was in that wall all these years, too.”
Colin and I let that settle on us like a lead weight. Only the rhythm of the tires against the highway invaded the moment.
Killing Cousins Page 10
