Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream

by Bernadine Fagan

  * * *

  I drove to Buster’s house and knocked on the door. No one answered. A truck was parked in the driveway, so I knocked a few more times. If Buster had poisoned Dora, I wanted to nab him. Although I had no great affection for animals due to my body’s adverse reaction to most of them, I would never harm one, and I detested anyone who would sink so low.

  Vivian loved her Poms. I understood love. And loss.

  I left without seeing Buster Verney.

  But I thought I saw a curtain flutter as I was leaving.

  TWENTY-THREE

  With a sinking feeling, I laid out my recently delivered L.L. Bean order on the bed Monday morning, wondering whether I’d lost some part of myself by doing this. A six-pack of white socks, two pairs of jeans, a blue sweatshirt, a natural Irish fisherman crewneck sweater, a second red-patterned sweater, several plain blouses, and—a mental drum roll here—Gore-Tex waterproof hiking boots with soles thick enough to walk through fire, protect from snake bites, and grip the snow like tires with chains.

  There was also a Swiss Army knife. Can’t say what compelled me to add this to my purchases. I needed a weapon? A tool? I was letting Maine things go to my head?

  All of the above.

  I hefted it in my hand. Well, I could use this. It had a can opener and I ate lots of canned stuff. I opened all the little sections. How useful was this. Everyone should have a Swiss Army knife, a nice red one like I had. Besides the can opener, there was a bottle opener, screwdrivers, a saw, a key ring, tweezers and a toothpick. I wondered about the tiny saw. I closed the sections, then flipped them open again. Amazing. Maybe for Christmas I’d buy my friends a knife like this. But not shiny apple-red like mine. I’d get them New York black.

  I set the knife on the dresser where I could look at it, and selected a pair of stonewashed jeans and a dark denim blouse. They were comfortable clothes. I had to admit that. The jeans fit well. I put on the socks. With a grimace, I pulled on the Gore-Tex hikers. I’d selected the light gray, a good choice, I thought. Everyone else probably chose the darker charcoal so they wouldn’t show the dirt. I would keep mine clean. I turned them this way and that. How different from my great-grandfather’s dumpy boots. I walked around.

  “Testing, one-two-three-four.”

  Not bad. Comfortable. They wouldn’t aggravate the blister on my heel caused by the clodhopper boots. I was good to go. I picked up my knife. If I wanted, I could hook it onto the belt loop at my waist. For now, I slipped it into my pocket. Later, I’d try it hooked to my loop, something to look forward to.

  I found Aunt Ida reading a mystery in the front room. Ignoring the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen, I asked, “Did you ever notice that Grandma Evie spent time in the woods?”

  She put her book down. “My-oh-my!” Her eyes lit. “Don’t you look the one today. I like the boots. And the jeans. And the blouse.”

  I looked like I was on my way to a hoedown or something, but I acknowledged her praise with a simple, “Thank you.” Then, “About Grandma Evie?”

  Ida wrinkled her forehead. “I wouldn’t say she spent a lot of time in the woods. ‘Course, every now and again she’d go berry picking and would be gone a while. It always seemed she should have found more berries considering how long she was at it. In her last year, of course, she didn’t go at all.”

  I sat on the hassock in front of Ida.

  “She buried a box. I didn’t tell you about it before because I thought she wanted me to keep it secret, but I’ve decided there’ve been enough secrets in this family.”

  I handed her the letter and the map. “Here, read this.”

  I wandered out to the kitchen to investigate the aroma. Bless this woman. She’d made fresh berry scones. I took one, added a bit of raspberry jelly she’d set out, poured a cup of coffee into a violet-flowered, bone china mug, and carried my treasure to the front room.

  Ida looked up. “I don’t suppose you found the box?” she asked, surprising me by not commenting on the sexual harassment business. That was the important part of the letter. I shouldn’t be surprised. Why was I surprised? What was wrong with me that I couldn’t understand her reluctance to discuss sex, or the problems that made my father run to a place where no one knew him and he could get lost in a crowd?

  I shook my head. “No. I tried to find the box. No luck. I’m going to get Nick to help me today.”

  I took another nibble of the scone, and closed my eyes in pure ecstasy.

  “No need. I know trees as well as Evie did.”

  Oh, no.

  My mouth full of scone, I rasped, “Yes, but—”

  “This should stay in the family.”

  I swallowed quickly. “You can’t go tramping through the woods, Ida. I don’t want that.”

  “Sure I can. I still walk in the woods.”

  “Not a good idea. The box could be a distance from the house.”

  Fortunately, she stopped arguing and accepted. “Family,” was all she said as she reached for the phone. “You need family.”

  “Okay. I guess I could do that instead of having Nick.”

  I wasn’t sure who she intended to call. One of the cousins? Uncles? Resigned to having a relative accompany me, I sighed, more for dramatic effect than anything else, and went back to the kitchen for another scone. Maybe I’d try the blueberry jam with this one.

  “Who’s coming?” I asked when I saw her going up the stairs a little later.

  “Hannah and Agnes. This will be great fun. They weren’t doing anything today either.”

  “Ida,” I said as she bustled up the stairs. “I thought you were calling one of the uncles. I am definitely not going to traipse into the woods with you, Agnes and Hannah. Absolutely not. Someone will fall and break their neck.”

  She waved her hand, dismissing my concern.

  “Nonsense. We’ll manage just fine.” She disappeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Agnes has trouble getting out of a car,” I called up.

  “Luckily, we won’t be using a car,” Ida called back.

  Half an hour later Hannah and Agnes drove up in the big teal GTO. Ida had the front screen door open before they knocked.

  “We have our work cut out for us today. I hope you’re both up to it. Nora’s concerned we won’t be able to manage the woods.”

  “Pshaw.” Hannah said, showing me her work gloves. “We may be slow, but we’re fit. Let’s get on with this before it’s time for my nap. Or Agnes’s potty visit.” Chuckling, she winked at Ida.

  Cute. Very cute. I was crazy to go out with this trio. I should have my head examined.

  Agnes bagged two scones on the way to the back door. Her jeans, which were probably size super-jumbo, stretched tightly across her lumpy rear end. I followed the trio at a snail’s pace, out the back door, map in hand.

  “I thought we could all use a bit of adventure,” Ida remarked as I handed the map to Hannah and opened the shed door. “There’s a mystery here and we shall solve it.”

  “Do you think we should bring a thermos?” Agnes asked. “We didn’t bring a thermos, you know.”

  “A shovel would be better,” I suggested as I passed one out. Not that I expected the aunts to dig. I would handle that.

  Hannah studied the map. “Trust Evie to make a treasure map. That woman loved pirate stories.”

  “Doesn’t our Nora look wonderful today?” Ida asked as we inched through the high grass toward the stream. It was ten-fifteen in the morning. The box was probably a few hundred yards from the house. If we made it back before dark, I’d consider myself lucky. Agnes had the right idea bringing rations. I should have considered a picnic lunch, at the very least.

  “I did notice,” Hannah remarked. “Lovely. Not that she doesn’t look lovely in her city togs, but … Oh, down this way.” She pointed toward the stream. “There’s the red pine. We cross here and go past the grove of white pine.”

  Fortunately, the stream was barely a trickle a
t this point, and there were big flat stepping stones. We crossed easily. Agnes made me nervous, but she waddled across without mishap. Slowly. Very slowly.

  “Maine is the Pine Tree State because of the abundance of these white pines,” Hannah informed me.

  “Interesting,” I said, not interested at all.

  We moseyed along at a tortoise pace for about half an hour.

  “Sunlight ahead,” Hannah called over her shoulder. “That’s probably where the quaking aspens are. “Oh, yes. Here we go. North for a bit.”

  “I hope we’re almost there,” Agnes boomed. “I’m ready for a break.”

  “Don’t complain,” Ida admonished. “You wanted to come.”

  “I do not want gum. It sticks to my false teeth,” Agnes said loudly.

  “Come, not gum,” Ida clarified.

  “Come where?” Agnes asked.

  “West at the poplar tree,” Hannah directed in an officious voice. “Step lively everyone.”

  Lively, I had come to understand, was one notch above pause.

  Ida fell back and walked next to me. Smiling, she said, “Hannah always has to be in charge. It’s her way. Her Henry used to call her Queen of the World.”

  “Good title. It fits.”

  We moved onto a narrow path and hiked along single file.

  “What are we looking for next?” Agnes asked as we approached the aspens.

  “Should be a hawthorn a short ways northwest of the aspen grove. That’s our final destination.”

  There was a trace of fall in the air today, no mistaking it. It was past the middle of September, still summer in New York. Here, the air was brisk, pure, with a hint of things to come. I breathed deeply. No exhaust fumes. No city buses. No loud noises. No pollution. Some of the leaves were touched with gold and bits of red. In another week, this area would be spectacular. Too bad I’d miss it. I’d do more photography and take the beauty home.

  When we reached the hawthorn, Agnes, breathing heavily, plopped down on the trunk of a fallen tree. I paced off ten steps from the hawthorn in the direction Hannah indicated, and found the spot beneath the leaves where some rocks had been arranged in a circle. I began to dig. Hannah pulled on her gloves and offered to dig.

  “I’ll start. You can dig once I loosen this up,” I told her.

  She joined Agnes and Ida on the downed tree trunk, and watched the show. I was glad I had heavy boots on. It made shoveling easier.

  In short order the shovel connected with the metal box. It wasn’t buried too deeply. Grandma Evie didn’t want to spend much time digging, I guess. Smart woman. When I pulled the box out, Hannah and Ida eased off the tree trunk and came over. Agnes remained behind.

  I pried the cover off with my L.L. Bean Swiss Army knife.

  Opposite me, the aunts waited as I opened the box. There were two envelopes inside. I opened the top one.

  “Hey.” Agnes called from the tree trunk. “What is it?”

  “Money,” Ida yelled, staring at the bills in my hand. “And a paper.”

  “It names my father, then Mom, then Howie and finally me, as co-owners of this money,” I said.

  Astounded, I stared at the money in my hand. How had Grandma Evie managed this?

  “I’m stuck,” Agnes called, breaking into my thoughts. “I can’t get off this tree trunk.”

  We walked back and I helped Agnes up.

  I decided not to open the sealed envelope right away. I had a strong feeling it contained something important, more important than the money or even the land.

  Back at the house, I set the box on the kitchen table and we all read the short note again.

  “Thought her savings account was low,” Ida commented. “This is where the money went. I wondered about that.”

  “I was surprised in the lawyer’s office when there wasn’t more inheritance money,” Hannah said. “Now we know why.”

  These women amazed me. “Why didn’t you say something then?”

  Rubbing her butt, Agnes shrugged. “No need.”

  Ida and Hannah looked at me blankly and Hannah said, “It was Evie’s business,” in a tone that implied I should have known that.

  How easily they accepted this. No rancor, no anger. These three Lassiters were not a greedy group, that was for sure. Maybe it had something to do with their age. Maybe not. But I did wonder about JT.

  Then I opened the second envelope and took out an old yellowed newspaper clipping encased in Saran Wrap.

  “What on earth?”

  I held the clipping gently in my palms. The front page headline jumped off the page and slammed into my chest.

  Percy Kendall Murdered.

  The breath snagged in my throat. Why had Great-grandma Evie included this? Please, God, it wasn’t what I thought. I had to force myself to drag air into my lungs. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  The article was dated twenty years ago.

  Hit in the head with a baseball bat …

  My hands began to shake. Did this relate to my father? I knew it did. Knew it without reading another word. Knew it as sure as I knew I was standing here.

  I looked to the aunts and they looked away, even Hannah, stalwart Hannah, couldn’t look me in the eye. I raced through the story, glancing at details, looking for a name. There, near the end of the article I found it:

  Thomas Lassiter, who’d had a fight with Kendall that was witnessed by several employees at Kendall’s Auto Mart two days prior to the murder, was brought in for questioning, but released when his alibi checked out.

  Dad had been a suspect.

  “You knew this and you didn’t tell me? How could you?”

  “Nora, honey,” Hannah began. “We knew. Yes. I didn’t think it would help you, help anyone, to rehash this. It’s over. No amount of talking about it will undo what’s been done. Your father is at peace now. Let it stay that way.”

  I had one more question to ask them all and I dreaded asking, because I dreaded hearing the answer. I prayed it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. But Great-grandmother Evie had included this clipping for a reason and it had something to do with the money. She was giving me, actually she had wanted my father to have, eight thousand dollars. She was paying for more than money lost when dad sold his home and business and fled Maine.

  This was guilt money.

  The reason went beyond her feelings about the sexual harassment incident. She was paying for a bigger mistake.

  I thought I understood.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  My father didn’t leave because his family didn’t back him up when he wanted to press sexual harassment charges. He might have been pissed, as he used to say, but that wouldn’t have made him pull up stakes and haul his own family to New York.

  I closed my eyes briefly, then finally asked what I needed to ask.

  “Did you all think he was guilty of killing Percy Kendall?”

  Ida started to cry. I wanted to run to her and take her in my arms. Agnes sniffed. I loved both of them and wanted my arms around them, but I couldn’t make myself budge. This revelation had the quality of a physical blow.

  Hannah said, her voice low, cracking with emotion, “I am ashamed to say that we didn’t think he was innocent. There was such anger in him back then. Anger at Percy. At us, too, for not immediately believing him.

  “Maybe we should have lied and told him we thought he was innocent, but that night when he came to the family, I’m sad to say we let him know how we felt.”

  Anger flaring, I fought back. “How could you? You knew him. Knew what kind of a person he was.” My throat clogged. My eyes filled with tears. “He was a good man, the most ethical man I ever knew. Not perfect, but moral. Honorable. He never would have done such a thing. If I know that, why didn’t you?”

  Her face a mask of sorrow, Hannah’s hands went to her cheeks. Ida wept quietly, her arm around Agnes.

  Agnes said. “He hated Kendall. He’d punched him a few days before. And he had no alibi for the time of the murder.” />
  “No alibi? It says here he was released because he had an alibi.”

  Hannah said quietly, “I supplied it. Without an alibi he would have been arrested for sure, then tried and possibly convicted. He told us he was out walking by the lake, looking at the stars. I offered to supply an alibi. He was angry that we didn’t believe him. He wanted to tell the truth, but we convinced him that would have been suicide. I’d lie. Tell the sheriff he was visiting me. He reluctantly agreed because the alternative was jail, a trial, a lawyer. He had his wife and children to consider. So, I told the sheriff he was with me.

  “What we really thought was that there might be extenuating circumstances, things none of us understood that made him do what he did. All he could see was that we thought he might have murdered a man. He couldn’t take that. Your father never could abide disloyalty.”

  But he accepted the fraudulent alibi, I thought, swiping at the tears that wet my cheeks.

  * * *

  I was still upset when I spoke to Howie that evening.

  “You’re telling me they all thought he murdered someone? Bashed some guy with a baseball bat?” Howie asked when I finished telling him what I’d found out.

  “They thought he might have,” I corrected. “Of course, they weren’t sure.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t know, Howie. I get the feeling they still don’t believe in his innocence one-hundred percent. I couldn’t bring myself to ask.”

  After a long pause, he said, “You don’t think that he did it, do you?”

  “Wash your mouth out with soap. He would never do that and you know it,” I said. “A baseball bat? Give me a break. The person who did that was a lowlife. Cruel, savage.”

  “You’re right,” Howie agreed. “Unless Dad was a different person back then, and I don’t think he was, he sure doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “It seems to me that the person who gained the most in all this was Uncle JT. He got our house and land for a lot less than it was worth.”

  “You’re not suggesting he killed Percy, senior, are you?”

  “No. But it’s strange that he disappeared after that guy Collins was murdered. If I were the cop on that case, JT’d be at the top of my suspect list. He’s involved.”