Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “You’re still thinking about the money?”

  I scoffed. “Hell, no. I don’t care about the damn money. It almost killed us. I just want to know about Dad and his past. There’s something that doesn’t add up.”

  Quinn stood to readjust the sun porch blinds. One wasn’t quite the same length as the others, and he fussed with it until it was perfectly even.

  I didn’t say a word. I’d become more tolerant of his obsessions after the past week. I joined him, slid my arms around his neck from behind and kissed just below his ear. “Wanna help me search online for Roberta?”

  He turned around to kiss me, then drew me even closer with a gleam in his eyes. “Maybe. But how about a little nap before we get started?”

  “Nap?” I laughed. “Is that what we call it now?”

  He didn’t answer, but slipped his good arm under my knees and carried me to the bedroom.

  Chapter 40

  After our luxurious and inventive afternoon tryst, I showered and made supper.

  “Thelma?” I pushed into her bedroom with her dinner tray.

  She raised herself up onto her pillows and pretended to frown. “Oh, Marcella. For goodness sakes! Stop mollycoddling me.” Her emerging smile and eager expression betrayed her words.

  I set the tray on the nightstand, sliding her eyeglasses, water cup, and Kleenex box aside. She’d been reading the latest urban thriller by Sonya Bateman, entitled Master of None, and had been completely absorbed for the past twenty-four hours.

  “Don’t lose my peepers, darling. I need them to read tonight. I’m in love with this book.”

  “I won’t, Thelma. They’re right here. And look. I made you French toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs. Does that sound good?”

  “Good? Gadzooks, honey. Any food you make me is gourmet compared to that horrible stuff they pass as food in the hospital. And the crud they served at the hospital was a luxury compared to the cans of pork and beans Tiramisu gave me. God. I’ve never had such bad gas.”

  A laugh snorted from my nose. “Oh, Thelma. I’m so glad you’re back.”

  Her expression sobered. “I still can’t believe you found me on that God-forsaken island. I just kept thinking, ‘Blackbird Island,’ over and over again. I screamed it in my head. I’d been in that damn cabin so long I’d memorized every painting on the walls, including the map.”

  I perched on the bedside and patted her arm where the IV had just come out yesterday. The skin was dark purple and yellow. “Ruby kept repeating it, over and over again. But I just couldn’t decipher what she was saying.”

  “Maybe she needs elocution lessons.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  I chuckled, then turned serious. “I can’t believe the whole thing happened to us. God. It was insane.”

  She put a bookmark in her place and laid her book reverently on the other side of the bed. “I know. And I still don’t believe Raoul could have been involved in anything criminal. That whole thing about the bank heist is just too farfetched. He would have told me. Something. A hint. Even when he died, he never said anything except…” She picked up her fork and took a bite of eggs. Her eyes closed in bliss, and a smile crossed her lips. “God, that’s good.”

  “Except what, Thelma?”

  “Except he gave me the key. That’s what he stressed. He looked deep in my eyes and said, ‘Guard this key with your life. You’ll know when the time is right.’ I didn’t even know it was a safe deposit box key when he died. Then I read that little card and figured it out.”

  I smoothed her bed sheets while she ate with gusto. Although she didn’t mention it, during the past few days at the cabin, she’d had no food and very little water. She’d told the doctors, but not me. I struggled not to get maudlin every time I thought about how close she’d come to dying. Tears pricked my eyes, in spite of my resolve.

  As usual, she read my mind. “Oh, honey. Don’t start thinking about it again. And you know what? I’m glad that prick is dead.”

  I stared at her with wide eyes. My mother never swore. “Mother!”

  “Sorry, honey. But that’s what he was. A prick. I hated him so much.”

  “You really gave it to him, didn’t you?”

  She almost cackled. “You bet I did. I rode him up one side and down the other. Probably why he deserted me on that island. He couldn’t take me anymore.”

  A roar of laughter erupted from me. “Maybe you were safer there than with him in the cabin. He had one helluva short fuse. Didn’t he?”

  Her face grew somber. “He did. My eardrums are still buzzing from all his yelling.”

  “You’re so strong. I’m proud of how you handled it.”

  She patted my hand. “Thank you, dear. And I’m proud of you. You’re the one who found me.”

  Her eyes teared up, and I leaned over to hug her. “With Ruby’s help,” I said.

  “Right. But I’m okay. We’re okay. Life goes on. Right?”

  I wiped my eyes. “I know. You’re right.”

  She took a bite of bacon and rolled her eyes in pleasure. “Oh, baby. I taught you how to make perfect bacon, didn’t I?”

  I chuckled. “Yes. You certainly did.” Bacon was one of the few things my mother could actually cook.

  “You skedaddle now, honey. Your supper must be getting cold.”

  I nodded, kissed her head, and padded back to the dining room. Sitting across from Quinn, I watched him cut his French toast into perfectly even rectangles. Five cuts in one direction, three the other. Each one was dipped individually in the small dish of heated Maple syrup he’d poured on the side.

  “Is it good, hon?” I draped my arms around his shoulders from behind.

  He smiled. “It’s wonderful. I’m starved. We burned a lot of calories this afternoon.”

  I ran my fingers along his jaw line and kissed his forehead, remembering how we’d had to turn up the volume on the TV to drown ourselves out. I didn’t want my mother hearing us tearing up the sheets in the middle of the day. “You’re a real stallion, you know that?”

  He laughed so loudly he almost spit out his food. “Glad you think so, babe. You’re not so bad, yourself.”

  I thought back to our amorous afternoon and almost blushed. I’d never felt so released, so cleansed, and so erotic in my own little beige-walled bedroom. The events of the past two weeks had done something to me inside. Not all of it was bad.

  I’d proven beyond a doubt that I could take on the worst of them. I’d saved my mother. And I’d killed a woman in the process.

  I’d never be the same.

  The discussions I’d had about guilt and culpability with my minister had been long and thoughtful. He assured me that God knew I was standing up for good and that I’d had no choice but to shoot Jaworski. If I hadn’t, I would be singing with the angels in heaven now and looking down on a very sad husband. Yet, I couldn’t help but repeat over and over again during the week those four little words.

  I killed a woman.

  I let Quinn go back to his dinner and sat at my place at the table. During the rest of the meal, we talked about the two weeks we’d been through and the uncomfortable brushes with the law we’d endured. I couldn’t believe it had been only fourteen days since we headed up that winding dirt track in search of the For The Birds Hotel. We decided that when we located Roberta, this time we’d keep McCann in the loop. No more skulking around on our own. I was through playing Nancy Drew, no matter how good I was at it.

  When the dishes were cleared away, we settled on the couch with my laptop. I had expected to have a marathon of false leads and multiple names to sort through. But Switchboard.com showed only one listing for Roberta Mendoza in Hope, New York.

  I dialed the phone and took a deep breath.

  Chapter 41

  “Mountain Memories Café and Gift Shop.” The woman who answered sounded about the right age as Roberta Mendoza, but I’d been thrown off by her greeting. A gift shop?

  I cleared my throat, trying
to calm my nerves. “Uh. Excuse me. I’m not sure if I have the right number. Is Roberta Mendoza available?”

  “Yes. This is she.” She sounded on guard, as if she thought I was going to ask her to pay an overdue bill or try to sell her something.

  “Oh.” My voice failed me for a few seconds. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous.”

  She thawed instantly. “How can I help you, dear? Are you calling about the job in the paper?”

  I uttered a nervous laugh. “No, no. My name is Marcella Hollister. I’m Thelma Rodriguez’s daughter.”

  Roberta was silent for a moment. When she finally spoke, there was a quiver in her voice. “I’ve been expecting this call for a long time.”

  I smiled at Quinn, who encouraged me to go on. “Really? You have?”

  “Oh, yes. Raoul told me you’d be calling soon. And if you hadn’t called me, I was supposed to contact you no later than October.”

  Once again, I was stunned. “He did? You were?”

  “Yes, dear. I visited him at the hospital just before he died.”

  My mind reeled. “But… I never saw you there.”

  “Of course not. He wasn’t ready to introduce me yet.”

  A fleeting thought about my stepfather and Roberta having an affair flashed through my confused brain. Had he been hiding a lover all these years?

  “I saw your photo in the things Dad left us. They were in a safe deposit box.”

  “Yes. I know.” She sounded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This woman, with whom my stepfather had been apparently very close, knew about me. But I’d never heard of her. It baffled me.

  “The box had lots of pictures of you and your sister, Ramona.”

  “Yes, dear. We were twins.”

  I decided just to blurt it out. My voice turned frosty, in spite of my desire to control it. “I see. Were you and my father an item?”

  She laughed, a genuine belly laugh. I pictured her swiping tears from her eyes when she answered. “Oh, good Lord. No! What gave you that idea?”

  I felt contrite and ashamed of the thought. Dad wasn’t like that. Why would I have doubted his integrity?

  “I’m sorry. It’s just all the secrecy, I guess.” I took a deep breath and asked the obvious question. “Then how did you know my stepfather? Are you related?”

  “Sweetie, don’t be upset, but I’d really rather tell you that in person. And I have something to show you, something he wanted me to share with you. Could you possibly come for a visit? Could you bring Thelma, too?”

  I sighed. We’d only been home a day. Quinn had been listening on the other side of the receiver. He nodded eagerly. “Yes. We can come, but my mother’s just getting over… er… an illness. I’m quite sure she won’t be able to join us.”

  “Oh, dear. I did want to meet her.”

  “Is it okay if my husband and I come alone? We could bring Thelma another time.”

  “Of course,” she said. “That would be fine.”

  “When can we meet?”

  She didn’t hesitate, and sounded as natural as if we were planning a picnic at the park. “It needs to be a nice day. No rain. We have to do some climbing.”

  “Climbing?” I tried to make sense of her words. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Oh, honey. You will. Trust me. Bring deep woods bug spray, sunscreen, and wear good hiking boots.”

  “Hiking boots?” I exchanged a quizzical glance with Quinn. “Okay. How about this Saturday, at noon?” I needed a few days to make sure my mother was okay, to catch up on bills, and to return dozens of phone calls for the antique shop. Hopefully, our neighbor Nina would agree to keep an eye on Ruby, Sarafina, and Thelma when we were gone.

  “That’s fine, dear. I’ve got a girl who can run the shop for me.”

  I gave her my cell phone number and finalized the directions. No more Road-Mapper directions for us. When we hung up, I turned to Quinn with a dazed expression.

  “She was expecting my call.”

  He looked solemn. “It sounds like your father left you some instructions. Or something.”

  “She wants us to bring hiking boots.”

  “I heard. Maybe the money is buried way out in the middle of the wilderness.”

  “Mmm. In the meantime, I’m googling her shop website. I might learn a little more.”

  The Mountain Memories website showed a photo of a quaint log cabin dripping with flowers in baskets on its porch railings. The address was on Route 30, north of Hope by about seven miles. I realized with a start that we must have passed it on our first trip to the cabin. It touted Wi-Fi, worldwide eclectic gifts, an array of Adirondack artists’ work, and a café-style menu. The offerings were few, but each item sounded delicious.

  “At least we know she can cook. I’d like to try those pecan praline pancakes.”

  He slid an arm around my shoulders and nuzzled my neck. “Enough of this. Let’s forget about it for a while and go sit by the lake.”

  I looked into his clear turquoise eyes. They swam with exhaustion, pleading me to give it a break. “Okay. I’ll bring the Amaretto, if you start the campfire.”

  He sighed with apparent relief and squeezed my hand. “Great. Meet you outside in ten minutes.”

  Chapter 42

  I’d asked McCann to meet me Friday in our antique shop at ten in the morning, just after I opened. Quinn had to mow the lawn—which he’d figured out how to do one handed—and drive up to Rochester for bird supplies. He’d been buying so many toys and goodies for “the girls” that I wondered if their big bird heads would fit inside their cage when he was done. He credited Ruby with saving my mother’s life, and I happily let her take all the praise. If she hadn’t been able to channel my mother’s words about Blackbird Island, I’d never had found her. Or at least, possibly not in time to save her life.

  I got into the Rav4, still rented until we could figure out a new vehicle, and headed up to the barn on the top of the western-most ridge overlooking Honeoye Lake. I wound up Cratsley Hill Road, along tight curves and steep inclines, until I came to the little plateau where our private dirt road led to the shop. A large white sign swung on a wooden post, simply declaring “The Barn, Fine Collectibles and Antiques.” The dirt road led down a windy track, through a vale, and past a segment of woods, where it ended in a secluded clearing.

  The barn stood tall and proud, alone and unafraid. I often thought of it as an old man who’d weathered many storms and survived. He’d seen his house burn down in 1998. And he’d been abandoned when the poor old woman who lived there was transported to a nursing home after the fire. The square rocky foundation still remained, and in the spring it glowed yellow with the mounds of daffodils I’d planted all around it.

  We’d done a few repairs to the old structure when we bought it. A new roof was needed, and a fresh coat of red paint. But the windows and door hardware had been in good shape, and the overall structure was sound.

  Rectangular in shape, and two stories high, it held treasures from centuries gone by. Antiques crammed every corner of its cool spacious insides, from first floor to loft. We’d built a little staircase to get folks up to the loft, assuming the rickety ladder might not have gone over too well with our older customers, and had added a few extra lights here and there. What resulted was a cool inviting space whose rough-hewn century old timbers matched the vintage of the furniture and glassware we sold. It was a perfect setup.

  I slid open one of the heavy old doors and flicked on the entrance lights. I’d set up a checkout desk on the left side of the doors, where the phone and cash register stood. I slid my bag into the bottom drawer of the desk and walked around to turn on all the lights.

  I wandered past spinning wheels, wicker baby carriages with iron wheels, antique Steiff teddy bears, sets of china, sparkling blue and green bottles, and two sets of Hitchcock chairs. I ran my fingers over the items I passed, as if reconnecting with old friends. Sometimes it was hard to part with the pieces I’
d enjoyed for months or even years. I flipped the lights on at the base of the staircase, then headed back down the other side, treading on the bouncy wide rough boards that had been floors to horses and cows in days gone by. I loved the smell of my barn, and the sound of the swallows who built nests in the eaves.

  Past a pine dry sink with an inset copper water basin, a table of linens, along a pie cupboard filled with etched wine glasses, around a table full of pink Depression glass, and past my favorite bowl and pitcher, I worked my way back to the front. The horse harness with sleigh bells was getting stiff. I’d have to saddle soap it again this month, or it would crack.

  I finally reached the collection of vintage baby clothes and ladies’ hats, and returned to the desk with a sigh of satisfaction. Now I really felt home.

  I took out my calendar and started to plan next week’s tag sales. After a few phone calls to confirm the dates, a shadow crossed my desk.

  “Mrs. Hollister.”

  McCann stood before me. The deep circles that darkened his eyes last week had disappeared. He wore crisp dark gray khakis and a bright white polo shirt. Freshly shaved, smelling of Old Spice, and smiling, he looked positively human.

  “McCann! It’s good to see you.” I got up and took his hand in mine. “How was the drive down?”

  He actually smiled, and I realized his face was really quite pleasant. “It was a breeze. There was nobody on the Thruway this morning.”

  “Good. Have you eaten? Want some coffee or something?”

  He shuffled back and forth. “Uh. Yeah. I had McDonald’s on the way here, but I could use another cup of coffee.”

  I smiled inside, wondering if the man’s cholesterol would shoot through the roof before he met a woman who could change his unhealthy eating habits. With a sudden thought, I realized I knew nothing about his personal life.

  I walked back to the tiny kitchen area where I kept a coffee pot, small fridge, and microwave, and talked to him over my shoulder. “McCann. Are you married?”