by Sofie Kelly
“Where I come from, when you don’t deliver what you promised you give the money back. The end,” I countered.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Harry Junior leaning back in his chair, an amused expression playing across his face.
“So what you’re saying is you’re not taking the check back?” Harrison had one hand on his cane and I half expected him to bang it on the floor to make his point.
“No, I’m not,” I said.
To my surprise he smiled at me. “I guess I know you pretty well,” he said. “So I pretty much knew that’s what you’d say.”
“Does that mean we’re not going to argue about this?” I shifted my leg a little, which got me a look from the big German shepherd still leaning on me.
“It most decidedly does, seeing as how this envelope is empty.” He waved it at me. “I took that check back down to Everett’s office this afternoon and told him where to put it.”
I glanced over at Harry, who had given up trying to stifle his smile.
“You’re a sneaky old man.” I mock-glared at Harrison.
“Guilty as charged,” he agreed, struggling to get to his feet.
I made a move to stand up myself, but he waved me back down. “Sit,” he said. “You’re a guest.”
He looked across at his son. “You’re not.”
The younger Taylor got to his feet. “Welcome to my world,” he said softly as he passed me. The delicious aroma of apples, cinnamon and nutmeg filled the air as he opened the oven door and took a look inside.
“You’re letting all the heat out,” Harrison grumbled.
“Do I smell apple crisp?” I asked, leaning on the arm of my chair so I could see what they were doing.
“That you do,” Harrison said, putting a blue glass pitcher of ice water on the table. “Mary Lowe’s apple crisp.” He smiled at me. “She likes me.”
“That’s because you flirt with her like the two of you are sixteen,” Harry countered, using a kitchen towel to lift a heavy blue-and-white casserole dish out of the oven.
“Like I told you before, it’s not my fault women find me irresistible,” his father said, winking at me.
Harry just shook his head.
Harrison opened the fridge door again, studied the two cans of beer for a moment and then took them out and set them on the counter. He reached up into the cupboard next to the sink and lifted down two tall glasses.
“You don’t have to use glasses on my account,” I said.
“I’m not.” He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “None of us were born in a barn. And we’ve got perfectly good glasses. No reason not to use them.”
He poured the beer into the glasses and set one at his place and one at his son’s.
“Kathleen, my son needs a woman,” the old man said as he moved around the table.
Harry’s head came up and he looked over at his father.
“If I hadn’t invited him over tonight, he would probably have had just a peanut butter sandwich for supper. When the kids are out he doesn’t cook.” He jerked his head in the direction of his son. “He thinks I don’t know that.”
Since I wasn’t sure what to say, I didn’t say anything.
“So do you have any suggestions?” the old man asked.
“I’ll find my own woman, thank you very much,” Harry said.
Harrison raised one eyebrow and gave me a conspiratorial grin. “We’ll talk later,” he said.
He looked over at the table. “If you want to wash up, looks like we’re ready.”
I gave Boris one last scratch. He made a soft noise that sounded a lot like a sigh.
“Go lie down,” Harry said to the dog. He padded over and lay down next to the old man’s chair, head on his paws.
I washed my hands at the sink and took the seat Harrison indicated at the table.
Over shepherd’s pie and Mary’s apple crisp—which was delicious, no surprise—we talked about the library and the problems with the roof at the community center. After Harry poured me a second cup of coffee, I leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs and fixed my gaze on the old man.
“So, why did you invite me to dinner?” I asked. “It wasn’t just to tell me you’d already done an end run around me with that check.”
“I can’t just enjoy the pleasure of your company?” he said.
I folded one arm over my chest and behind me Harry Junior gave a quiet snort of disbelief.
I smiled. “You can,” I said. “And I think you know I enjoy your company or else I would have said no to the invitation, but I also know when I’m being played like a five-string banjo.”
Harrison laughed, which made his resemblance to Kris Kringle even more pronounced. “I figured you’d like to know more about Burtis and his ex-wife,” he said.
I studied the old man. He might have been in his eighties, but he didn’t miss anything. “Why do you think that?” I asked.
I wasn’t going to admit he was right, even though he was. As I’d told Owen and Hercules, the Mayville Heights grapevine could be just as good a source of information as the Internet.
His expression grew serious. “Just because you and Marcus Gordon are keeping company doesn’t mean you’re going to sit around on your hands when your friends are in trouble.” He studied my face for a moment. “Burtis Chapman is your friend, isn’t he?” It was more of a challenge than a question.
That was really what it all hinged on. Was Burtis Chapman my friend? After a long moment I nodded.
Harrison leaned against the back of his chair and folded both his arms over his midsection, his eyes fixed on my face. “Good,” he said. “Then you’d better get to work and find out who killed his ex-wife before your fella arrests him.”
13
We moved back to the chairs by the fire. Boris got up, stretched and padded out to the kitchen.
“So, what do you know about Burtis?” Harrison asked me.
I turned sideways toward him, pulling one leg up underneath me so I could see his face. “Not a lot,” I said. “I know Burtis worked for Idris Blackthorne.”
Harrison nodded. “The Chapmans didn’t have a pot to piss in,” he said. “Excuse my language. A pile of kids and not a lot of money. Burtis grew up poor and hard.” He ran his fingers through his beard. “He quit school to work full-time for Idris and put food on the table for his younger brothers and sisters. That’s not to say there weren’t other jobs around here then—there were, good ones, but not if you didn’t have an education.”
I nodded.
“Everything Burtis has he worked for. I know what people say, but most of his enterprises are legal.”
Harry gave another snort.
“Well, close to,” his father amended.
“Dayna came here with her parents, on vacation,” I said.
“That’s right.” Harrison rubbed his hand absently over the chair arm. “She was seventeen. Pretty as all get out. Every teenage boy in town noticed her and every teenage girl wanted to run her out of town. You know how kids can be.”
Boris wandered back into the room, nails clicking on the floor, and settled at the old man’s feet, head against his legs. “I think the girl was smitten with Burtis the first moment she saw him, which was when she fell off the dock at the old marina and he fished her out of the water.”
He narrowed his gaze at me. “Would it surprise you to know that Burtis wouldn’t go out alone with her because she was just seventeen?”
I shook my head. “No, not really.” As I’d told Maggie and Roma, Burtis seemed to follow his old code of ethics—like a knight during the crusades—or a Klingon warrior.
Harry Junior got to his feet, reached for my cup and inclined his head toward the kitchen—and the coffeepot—without saying a word.
I nodded. “Please,” I said softly.
“It was late in the fall,” Harrison continued, “right before Thanksgiving. Dayna’s eighteenth birthday. She arrived in town on the bus and showed up where Burtis
was working.” He shrugged. “They were married four days later.”
Harry handed me a fresh cup of coffee. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m surprised. Burtis doesn’t seem the type to be so impulsive.”
“Probably the only time in his life he was,” the younger Taylor said.
Harrison shifted again in his chair. Boris lifted his head and waited until the old man was settled again.
“They were happy. At least they looked like they were. Didn’t last.” He exhaled with a soft sigh. “After a time I think Dayna just got overwhelmed with the reality of bein’ married. She had little kids, no friends or family, damn little money and a husband whose livelihood was a little sketchy. Not to mention parents who were pressuring her to come home.”
I thought about what life must have been like for Dayna Chapman back then and felt a twinge of sympathy for her.
“One day she was just gone,” Harrison said. “You can imagine the kind of loose talk that went around town.”
I nodded.
“Burtis wouldn’t talk about her and it wasn’t long before people learned to stop fishing for information.”
I took a drink, then balanced my cup on one knee. Harry made a good cup of coffee. “She never came back to see her children?” I asked.
Harrison smoothed a veined hand over his head. “Never. In the beginning Burtis took the boys to see her in the summer and a couple of times at Christmas, but pretty soon that stopped.”
I took another sip of my coffee and saw a look pass between the two men.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.
Boris was asleep. Caught in a dream, he moved his back legs and made a low whining noise. With a bit of difficulty, Harrison leaned forward and patted the dog’s back. The movement stopped. The dog sighed and settled back into sleep.
Harrison looked at me as he straightened up, and his mouth twisted to one side. His gaze moved to his son again.
“Dayna used to send gifts at Christmas and for the boys’ birthdays. Dad’s always been skeptical anything actually came from Dayna,” Harry said, stretching his legs out in front of him.
I eyed the old man and after a moment his eyes met mine. “You think it was Burtis doing all that,” I said.
He nodded and let out a soft sigh. “I may as well say it as think it. I do. Say whatever you want about the man, he’s a damn good father.”
Harry nodded his agreement. “He’d protect those kids with his life.”
Harrison eyes locked with mine. “You can’t fault a man for that,” he said, and it seemed to me that there was a bit of a challenge in the words.
“No, you can’t,” I said.
“I don’t want to see Burtis railroaded for something he didn’t do.”
I exhaled softly. “Neither do I.”
Boris moved again then. His back feet scrambled as if he were chasing something and he yelped a couple of times.
Harrison leaned over again and gave the dog a couple more reassuring pats on the back. “He chases more things in his sleep than he does in real life,” he said with a grin. “That reminds me, what about those two cats of yours? How are they?”
So we were changing the subject. “Spoiled,” I said, smiling back at him. “I made sardine crackers for them yesterday and my house still smells like fish.”
At the word “fish” Boris lifted his head, looked around and gave an enthusiastic bark. “Hush, Kathleen’s not making treats for you,” Harry said.
The dog’s response was to drop his head down on his paws and look at me sadly. I thought about Owen doing the same thing. He and Boris had a few things in common.
I leaned over and stroked the top of the dog’s head. “Next batch I’ll send you some,” I whispered. “I promise.”
As if he knew what I’d said, he licked his lips.
I left shortly after that. Standing at the back door, I wrapped Harrison in a hug. “Thank you for supper and thank you for telling me about Burtis.”
“My door’s always open.”
I smiled at him. “We’re putting up another tree in the library tomorrow. Come and see it when you get the chance.”
“I’ll do that if someone will let me out of the house.” His eyes darted sideways.
“That can probably be arranged,” Harry said. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his father. “I’m just going to walk Kathleen to her truck.”
We started across the side yard and I waited until I was sure we were out of earshot of the little house before I spoke. Harrison might have been over eighty, but his hearing was excellent.
“So, what did you want to tell me?” I said.
Harry looked at me and then he kicked a clump of snow across the yard. “What makes you think I have something I need to say to you?” he asked.
I pulled the hood of my jacket closer around my neck. “You were watching me on and off all night. Either you were struggling with whether you wanted to say something to me, or you were afraid I was going to steal the silver.”
“Silver’s locked up,” he said, kicking another lump of snow that disintegrated when his boot hit it.
I stopped by the side of the truck. “So what is it?”
“I know it was one of the chocolates that killed Dayna Chapman.”
I nodded. “It seems to be the worst-kept secret in town.”
“Burtis handed Dana that box, Kathleen,” Harry said. The words hung between us in the cold night air.
“I know. I saw him, too,” I said.
Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “There’s not that many years between Burtis and me. And we both had wives that decided they’d rather be anywhere else, so I get how he feels about his kids because I feel the same way.”
I nodded, wondering what he was building up to.
“When he was young Burtis had this thing he’d do when he wanted to impress a girl. He’d pull a flower out from behind her ear. A little magic trick.” Harry held out both hands. “A tulip, a rose, even a dandelion.”
I saw his mouth twist sideways in a half smile.
“It worked every time.” He scraped at a small chunk of ice with the toe of his heavy boot. “I think the old man’s right. I think all those parcels and cards over the years for the boys that were supposed to be from their mother were really Burtis’s doing. Not a whole lot different from surprising a pretty girl with a flower when you think about it.”
I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “No, it’s not.”
“I can see why a man might not want his children to know that basically their mother hadn’t really ever given a goddamn about them. And he might go to any lengths to keep them from finding out.”
“Including kill her?” I asked.
Harry made a face. “Or make her sick enough to land her in the hospital.”
I just couldn’t see Burtis doing something like that. He was far more direct.
“I don’t want to be thinking what I’m thinking, Kathleen,” Harry said. “But it’s kind of hard not to.”
“I don’t know how I can help you,” I said.
Harry jammed his hands in his pockets. “You have a way of seeing past the things that don’t matter. If you can see into the heart of this mess, then maybe you can keep some people from getting hurt who sure as hell don’t deserve to be.”
The conversation reminded me uncomfortably of the one I’d had with Harry when Agatha Shepherd died.
“Harry, I’m not the police,” I said. I’d said that to him then, too.
He shrugged. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” He looked up at the night sky. “Looks like snow’s coming,” he said. He smiled. “Drive safely.”
I nodded. “I will. Good night.”
I got in the truck, started it and headed out the driveway. In the rearview mirror I could see Harry still standing in the yard.
I thought about what he’d told me as I drove home.
Had Dana abandoned her children even more than anyone knew? Had Burtis used a little misd
irection and subterfuge to keep them from finding out?
With all her faults I’d never doubted the depth and ferocity of my mother’s love for me or Sara and Ethan. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to discover it was all a lie.
All I had was speculation, I reminded myself. And just because Burtis could seemingly make a flower appear from behind a young girl’s ear didn’t mean he could switch one chocolate box for another.
One thing that wasn’t speculation was Burtis’s love for his kids. But just how far would he go to protect them?
14
I’d had more coffee than I should have, so when I got home I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat at the table with it. After a moment I felt a cat wind around my leg. I looked down to see Owen’s furry face looking up at me.
“Hi,” I said.
He murped a hello in return.
I turned my mug in a slow circle on the table. “Burtis knows how to pull a quarter from behind your ear. Or a dandelion.”
Owen looked blankly at me.
“Or in theory a little box of chocolates.”
He still didn’t see why that piece of information was important.
I thought about what I’d just said, that in theory Burtis could have switched the box of chocolates that he’d taken from Olivia’s tray with another box that held three chocolates coated with pistachio oil.
“All he would have had to do was find out Dayna was going to be at the fundraiser, then break into the office at the Stratton, steal one of the boxes of chocolates and put pistachio oil on them.”
Even a small gray cat could see how preposterous that was.
I sighed. “Okay, that sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
Owen murmured his agreement, then jumped up onto my lap and nuzzled my chin to show he’d meant no offense.
I leaned back in the chair and stroked his fur. “This is crazy,” I said. “I’m tilting at windmills.”
He gave me a quizzical look.
“Tilting at windmills. Don Quixote.”
Owen’s expression didn’t change.
“He’s a character in a Spanish novel. I’ll read it to you sometime,” I said.
All that got me was an unenthusiastic “Mrrr.”
