She hoped her bizarre appeal would be matched by his own quirkiness. The code of the Batcheldors or whatever.
He sighed and looked at his watch.
“All right, but I’ll try to be brief. Why don’t you get the coffee while I talk. You see, I plan to knock you out and put your head in the oven. It is gas, I hope.
Then, I need to stay around for a bit to make sure it’s working.”
Faith knew all the color was draining from her face.
She decided not to tell him that, although the burners were gas, the ovens were electric—a better combination. She didn’t want him to opt for something short and sweet such as a pistol shot before burning the place down. He’d used the same basic method before.
Nelson perched on the stool across from her and eyed the large copper bowl. “What’s that?”
“Egg whites for meringues. Are you hungry? I have some cookies—or I can make you a sandwich.”
“Margaret didn’t like to cook. I’m afraid she wasn’t very domestic. Of course I knew that when I married her. That wasn’t the problem.”
Faith slowly ground some coffee beans. “What was the problem, then?”
“Not a very interesting story, I’m afraid. We married too young. I was just out of the service, the Vietnam War. Thank goodness I didn’t have to go over there. I can’t stand hot climates, and the jungle would have been the end of me. That’s where I got my gun, though. Margaret never knew I saved it. I won a medal for marksmanship. For a long time, I thought I would shoot her, but it’s so difficult to cover up that sort of thing. All my friends were getting married. No excuse, mind you. But I’ve always been a bit of a follower. Margaret did know that.”
The last phrase was spoken bitterly.
“I never even got to choose the color of my own socks, let alone make a big decision. Never even got to open my mouth. She wanted to live here. I wanted to live farther out in the country, but her family was from here. So Aleford it was. I wanted children. She didn’t. And those damn birds. I would have liked to sleep late just once. Since she died, I haven’t gotten up before eight.”
Faith found herself in the extremely odd position of feeling sorry for the man who was about to end her mortal life.
“You should have talked to Tom or his predecessor.
Tried to work things out.”
“Talk about our personal life to an outsider? No, I don’t think Margaret would have liked that. I know I wouldn’t.”
Faith was boiling water. The kettle whistled and Nelson was startled again. She quickly turned it off and poured it into the coffeemaker that sat on the counter to the left of the stove. It hissed as it hit the grounds and filled the room with a pungent smell. She set out two large mugs and waited before pushing the plunger down, straining the grounds in the glass cylinder.
“None for me, thank you,” Nelson said. “It keeps me awake.”
Keep him talking.
“All right. You killed Margaret, but why Joey Madsen? I assume you did, right?”
Nelson nodded. “I may not have shared Margaret’s passion for ornithology, but I agree about Beecher’s Bog. The man’s plans were reprehensible.”
“You killed him to save the bog?”
“No, of course not. I killed him because he was blackmailing me.”
Faith poured herself a cup of coffee she didn’t want. Even if she threw the scalding liquid at his face, he’d still be able to get her before she could reach the door—if not by racing after her, then with his gun.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” She hoped this new appeal to his reference librarian’s inherent sense of order would work.
He looked at his watch.
“A synopsis. You know Margaret was feeling incensed about Alefordiana Estates. I realized I could capitalize on that fervor, and we began to plan little forays into the bog to drill, as it were, should it become necessary to confront the developers head-on, disable their equipment, whatnot. You surprised us one day and were no doubt surprised yourself by our uniforms. Margaret thought they lent verisimilitude. I was able to convince Margaret that Joey was writing those anonymous letters and that the threat to the land was increasing. In fact, I wrote the letters myself. The library was getting rid of a great many of its outdated magazines and it was quite easy to find the appropriate means.”
Nelson had always taken pride in his work. Faith remembered the way he’d shown her and Miss Lora the finished shelves and storage areas he’d built for the school.
“We decided that we had to send a strong warning to the Deanes, and burning down the new house appealed to Margaret. I’m afraid I fanned the fires of her conviction a bit, overriding her objections with some of Machiavelli’s old arguments. Margaret had never been a part of the radical movement, since I’d been in the army and she thought it would be disloyal. She always thought she’d missed out on something. She certainly entered into my plans with gusto. We were going to destroy their excavator together, but it didn’t work into my schedule. I was sorry she missed it.” All Faith’s prior sympathy for the man plummeted, leaving a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach.
Poor Margaret, duped to death.
“We took the gas can to the house and as she was pouring it, I hit her on the back of the head with a wooden cudgel one of her ancestors had brought back from an Amazonian adventure. I made sure to place it in a pool of gas, and presumably it was destroyed in the flames.”
Along with your wife, you bastard, Faith said to herself. All the while Nelson had been talking, she’d been surreptitiously glancing about the kitchen, seek-ing a means of escape.
“So, Joey saw you at the house?”
“No, I was very careful. I disposed of my clothes—they smelled of gas and smoke—in the small pond on the way back to our house, taking the shortcut. No one saw me. Who would be about at that hour? I took a bath and went to sleep. Joey didn’t see me the night of the fire; he watched me take the chloral at the Minuteman breakfast. He figured things out after I was stricken.” It was on the tip of Faith’s tongue to ask why Madsen hadn’t gone straight to the police, but she had her answer. Joey needed money, a lot of money. Blackmailing Nelson was going to help pay for Alefordiana Estates. Simple—and Joey would have gotten a kick out of the whole thing, too. Making Nelson foot the bill for something he abhorred.
“Margaret had been having trouble sleeping a number of years ago and the doctor prescribed chloral hydrate. I substituted cherry cough syrup and an over-the-counter sleeping pill. It wasn’t as effective and the doctor kept giving her the chloral in greater strengths. I was able to put quite a bit aside. My plan was to kill her with it, but then Alefordiana Estates and POW! came along. Really much better.” Faith was confused. “But weren’t you afraid that you might overdose yourself?”
“I am a librarian, you know, and I thoroughly researched the drug and its effects before trying it out.
As I mentioned, I had been able to put plenty aside, so I ran a few tests. To get the timing right.”
“But how did you manage to get it into the breakfast? The police searched the trash at the church and all the bins on the green. There wasn’t a bottle or other container, and there wasn’t any chloral in your flask. And how could you have taken it right under the eyes of the state police?”
Nelson permitted himself a self-congratulatory smile. Most murderers were extremely egotistical, Faith had heard, and Nelson was no exception.
“I filled a sturdy balloon with the dose and carried it in my shot pouch. My flask simply held water, as it might have on that famous day. Before leaving for the green, I told my bodyguard I had to relieve myself.
Then I went into the bathroom, where I quaffed the chloral, then flushed the empty balloon down the toilet.” Nelson seemed to be reverting to 1775 speech. “I also drank two nips of vodka to help the chloral work faster. I was sure the police would not find those out of the ordinary, although I did not see any other liquor bottles in the trash at the time. And it
worked perfectly. Except, unbeknownst to me, Joey Madsen was in one of the stalls, watching.”
It hadn’t worked perfectly for Margaret, or for Joey.
And not now for Faith.
It still seemed like an enormous amount of trouble to go through to get rid of someone who perhaps nagged too much. What were those references to marriage and things changing last fall?
Nelson was still reminiscing about Patriots’ Day. “I felt a bit groggy, but I knew that everything would be all right. If I died, then it would be God’s will and my love would not have proved as pure and holy as I had believed.”
At some point soon, he would be coming around to her side of the counter to knock her out, with the pistol butt probably. He wouldn’t expect her to put her own head in the oven. There was a smoke alarm. It was hooked up to the alarm company. If she could set it off, help would arrive quickly, but perhaps not fast enough. And setting it off would involve starting some sort of fire. Nelson would not stand idly by while she burned some newspaper and held it to the alarm.
“I love the reenactment. It’s one of my favorite days of the year. She looked so lovely in the morning mist. A goddess.”
The only possibility was to get to Nelson before he got to her. It would have to be when he came near.
Faith had often thought what an ideal setting a kitchen would make for murder. Batterie de cuisine could easily become battery by cuisine. Knives, heavy pots, pans, cleaning fluids, the oven—Nelson’s own choice. . . . She tuned back in to what the man was saying. She thought she had a plan. Under his watchful eye, she backed toward the coffee and poured another cup. Quickly she turned the burner next to the pot on simmer.
“It was a shock when Joey called me and said he’d figured out that I had killed my wife and staged the attack on myself. But I wasn’t too worried. I played along and gave him three thousand dollars in cash to start. He was to collect another seven and we arranged to meet at the bog. I’d been keeping some cash on hand for some years. You see, I wasn’t sure exactly what I might need. I was glad I had been so foresighted, because this has been rather expensive. I had to give five hundred dollars to POW! Anonymously, of course. The last thing I wanted was for the group to disband due to lack of funds. Then Joey’s blackmail money, although I didn’t even bother to bring the second payment. I used that for the ring.”
“The ring?” Faith was paying close attention now.
But Nelson was off on his own tangent.
“Blackmail. A terrible thing. And if a man can’t have privacy in the bathroom, where can he, I ask you!” It was a rhetorical question and he did not pause for an answer; although at this point Faith would have agreed with anything the man said just to keep him talking.
“He had such a smug expression. I expect he thought he could bleed me dry. I’d have had to sell my house, although I do hope to move. Sauntered down the path to meet me. ‘Got something for me, Nelson, old buddy?’ he said. As if we could ever be friends. I grabbed his hand—he’d actually had the nerve to extend it in greeting—then inserted the knife. The library had a wonderful medical text I was able to study at length. I had never realized that you could employ a knife with such a relatively short blade—one a little over four inches, and we happened to have exactly the right size at home.”
It was as Faith had imagined, even down to Joey’s greeting. She didn’t think she could stand to hear Nelson say any more, but the hands on the clock had barely moved. Unless Charley and John decided to come early, too, she had to keep the conversation flowing.
She asked her question again. “What ring, Nelson?
You mentioned a ring.”
“The engagement ring for Lora. Didn’t I tell you?
We’re getting married.”
Faith sat down on the stool. It was that or fall down.
Her knees had buckled beneath her.
Nelson spoke dreamily. “I think I must have always loved her. You know how she is with the children. We plan to have a large family. She comes from a large family, but I’ve never known the pleasure of siblings.” Some siblings might dispute that characterization, but Faith wasn’t about to interrupt.
“Of course, I’d seen her in town. Watched her grow into full womanhood, but it wasn’t until last fall that I knew my destiny had arrived. I had a kind of epiphany the day the Story Lady came. It might be interesting to talk to your husband about this sometime. It was a religious experience.”
Faith thought now would be as good a time as any, but was sure that Nelson would not.
“The Story Lady?” Her questions had been brief ones throughout Nelson’s monologue. It was so unbelievable, more complex inquiries eluded her.
“Lora has a friend who is a professional story-teller and actress. She came to entertain the children one day. I’m surprised Ben didn’t mention it,” he said accusingly.
In her son’s defense, Faith spoke at greater length.
“I do remember now. Ben was very upset at missing the visit from the Story Lady. The children talked about it for weeks afterward. But he was home with chicken pox. Amy had it, too.” Faith had soaked them in so many Aveeno baths that the skin on her own arms had never been softer.
Nelson was mollified. “I’m sure she’ll come back.
A wonderful performer. She brought a suitcase filled with costumes and had the children act out the various stories with her. At the end, she spun a tale about a beautiful enchanted princess whose heart had been turned to stone because no one loved her. The Story Lady loosed Lora’s lovely hair. It fell to her shoulders in a gleaming cloud.” Nelson was quite the weaver of tales himself.
“She put a gold crown on Lora’s head and draped her in a purple velvet cloak. Lora took her glasses off and sat in the story chair.” At least Faith knew what this was—an oversized rocker where the children gathered to hear Lora read.
“The princess could only be rescued by true love.
The Story Lady had the children think of all their favorite people and things. One by one, they expressed their thoughts to their teacher. It was a very moving experience. As they went around the circle, Lora began to glow, lifting one arm, then the other. Her eyes opened wider. She smiled. Their love was working. I directed all my thoughts toward her from the corner where I had been working. I’d stopped when the program began. At the end, Lora kissed each child. I thought for an instant she might kiss me, too, but that would have given us away.”
Lora with her hair down, Lora without her glasses, Lora with a crown—Faith knew what all that would have looked like. The Story Lady had unwittingly signed Margaret’s death warrant.
But Lora and Nelson? What would Lora get out of the relationship, although it was clear that the Batcheldors had more money than Faith thought. You could get quite a decent diamond for seven thousand dollars, especially at the Jeweler’s Building in town, but Nelson would have gone to Shreve’s. He was a man who stuck to tradition.
He looked at his watch and uncocked the gun.
Quickly, she tried to stall with another question.
“Have you set a date for the wedding? We’re pretty booked, but it’s possible we could fit it in. Niki does a beautiful cake—and it tastes good, too. Lots of butter-cream frosting with a hint of orange and—”
“You’ve finished your coffee.”
The innocuous phrase had never sounded so chilling.
Nelson stood up and moved toward the end of the counter. She couldn’t act too quickly—or too late. He wasn’t saying a word now and was holding the gun by the barrel, ready to strike. He seemed much taller. She watched him intently. He was coming around the edge. Dozens of eggs were lined up in their cartons.
He knocked into one with his elbow but didn’t look away from his prey.
When he was almost next to her, she jumped off the stool and pushed it straight in his path. At the same time, she kicked some of the large pots stored under the counter out onto the floor. They made a loud clattering sound. He stumbled, as she hoped he woul
d, and the pots added to his confusion. He leaned down slightly to push everything out of the way, shoving the stool aside with his foot.
Using her apron as a pot holder, Faith immediately grabbed the heavy copper skillet she’d planned to sauté the beef in from the burner she’d turned on. The pan was red-hot. She brought it down on Nelson’s head as hard as she could, letting it rest a moment.
Her fingers were burning. He screamed in agony. The smell of his singed hair was nauseating. She hit him again full force and he fell to the floor.
“I thought you might need help,” a voice at the door called out.
It was Pix.
Chief MacIsaac and Detective Lieutenant Dunne were punctual men. Faith had said 6:30, so 6:30 it would be. They were sharing some supper at the Minuteman Café—meat loaf—when their beepers went off. They jumped in John’s car and arrived at the kitchen with several other officers of the law, sirens blaring—and Tom.
The first thing Pix and Faith had done was to make sure Nelson would not be mobile should his unconscious state prove brief. They did a thorough job of trussing him with twine Faith kept for the purpose, although in the past it had bound poultry and beef. Pix was good with knots. Then they called the police, Sam, and Tom, in that order. Sam walked into the parsonage to watch the kids just as Tom was hanging up, frantically wondering what to do about them.
“I’m not sure I’m made of the same stuff as Charlotte—you know, the one who continued to cut bread and butter as her lover was carried past the kitchen window stiff and cold on a shutter. Nelson wasn’t my lover—far from it—but I still don’t feel much like cooking tonight. It’s going to be a while until I forget the sight of his body on the floor, and I may have to get rid of this perfectly good skillet.”
“Early days yet,” Pix advised. “We can wash the skillet and Twinkle its bottom.” It was at this point that the police arrived.
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