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

by Bernadine Fagan

  “I needed the shots of Percy and Marla. You would have stopped me from coming.”

  “Damn straight, I would have stopped you.”

  “I’m sorry. But Percy would have been arrested, and Mary Fran would have no case. This was to be their last time together, my last chance to shoot photos. Don’t worry,” I risked saying, “if you don’t get him today, you can get him in Clinton next week.”

  I heard Nick talking to someone in his office, issuing orders to get ready to move out.

  “They’re getting ready to leave. Percy’s meeting Marla at some motel or hotel or bed and breakfast. I’m not sure. I’ll call you when I know.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Stay away, Nora. This is way too dangerous.”

  I started the engine and took off after Percy, clicking the phone on speaker phone, and setting it on the console next to me.

  “What the hell are you doing now?”

  “Following Percy.”

  “You do, and I’ll lock you up for withholding evidence.”

  “I got pictures of everything.” I gave him the license plate number of the Outback and a description of Michelle.

  “A New Hampshire plate. Hold on.” I heard him say something to someone about putting out an APB on the car. “Nora, where are you now?”

  “Still in Gray. There are two cars between Percy and me so he won’t make me.”

  “Make you? Get out of your damn cop mode, Nora. My God. I can’t believe this. I thought you had more sense.”

  I shot through a red light to keep up with Percy. So did the huge white van in back of me. I heard Nick issuing orders to someone.

  The cars ahead turned off on a side road and I fell back a bit more.

  Percy took a sharp turn. I slowed and the van almost plowed into my back bumper. I hate it when people tailgate. Well, evidently I had taught that driver a lesson. He dropped back.

  “These people play for keeps, Nora. Collins got killed because of what they’re up to. Don’t think they won’t kill you, too, if they find out you’re on to them. In a heartbeat, babe. In a heartbeat.”

  Okay. So now I was scared. More scared, that is. “I’ll be careful. I’ll leave after–”

  “Back off right now. I’m notifying the Gray Police. Tell me what road you’re on.”

  “Don’t. I’ll never get the pictures.”

  “Pictures? The hell with the pictures. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I promised her I’d get them.”

  “If you need money that badly, I’ll give it to you.”

  “It’s not the money, Nick.”

  “Then what?”

  “I promised.”

  “And what else?”

  “He’s been cheating on her. In her own bed.”

  I heard his door slam, his engine start, his police scanner crackle to life.

  “Like your fiancé cheated on you?”

  I felt a sob work its way up and I forced it down. “Yes,” I admitted on a wobbly breath. “Yes. He has to pay.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you that I haven’t already said. I can’t remember being this worried about another person in a long time. Or being this angry.”

  “I won’t let them see me,” I assured him. “I’ve been super careful so far. I’ll continue to be. I wish I had a gun. I do have mace.”

  “Mace? You have to be within eight to ten feet to use that stuff. They use guns.”

  “I know.” I slowed a little more, keeping a good distance between Percy and me. “I have Hannah’s Highlander, not my truck. I’m being careful. Percy’s way ahead of me.”

  I heard him giving more orders to someone.

  Another bend in the road. I lost sight of Percy’s Expedition, but I didn’t speed up. I slowed and moved to the right. The white van slowed, then passed me. Good, I now had another buffer.

  When the road straightened, I saw Percy signal a turn, and pull into a driveway. I kept going.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The bed and breakfast was a two-story white contemporary set back from the road and surrounded by woods. A well-kept lawn, and a garden with dead flowers, fanned out around the front. When I’d passed it, Percy’s Ford Expedition hadn’t been there. He must have pulled around back. Only a small pickup, and a red Honda Civic were parked in the driveway.

  The Civic set off bells in my head. I’d seen one like it in the library parking lot. Seen it beside Margaret at Kendall’s Auto Mall. Margaret must be Marla.

  About a half mile past the house, I came to a cleared section just wide enough for the Highlander. I pulled off, got as far into the woods as I could, and parked. No one would see the SUV from here.

  I wasn’t sure what to do next. The only thing I could think of was to walk down by the bed and breakfast, hide in the woods and wait for Percy and Margaret to emerge. Except, there was a possibility they could both come out separately. No, that was unlikely in a place they didn’t expect to be recognized.

  I had to get closer. I wasn’t crazy about going into the woods, home of the animal kingdom, and my least favorite place to be, but I couldn’t see any other way.

  I loaded up my saddlebag pocketbook with cell phone, camera, mace, Swiss Army knife, corn chips, ginger ale, napkins. With a light jacket tied at the waist, I set off, my thoughts still on Margaret. Ida hadn’t thought the voice in the library was Margaret’s, but she had been wrong about that. An angry woman can sound a lot different than a sweet-as-sugar woman or a game-playing sex machine. Even I couldn’t identify Marla from her voice, and how long had I listened to that from my post under the bed?

  I circled around back of the house, keeping to the security of the trees. After being cramped in the truck for so many hours, it was good to be moving. From here, I spotted two other vehicles in the upper part of the driveway behind the house. One was Percy’s. I figured the other, the white van, belonged to the owner. Maybe he was the one behind me on the road. I came back to the side of the house. Better view. From here, I could see the front and back door. Perfect.

  I had to pee, so I moved deeper into the woods to handle that need. Gee, how I hated doing this, but what a relief. I hoped I wasn’t squatting in poison ivy or something just as nasty. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? I chuckled and almost fell over before I finished. Nerves.

  I wondered how long Percy and Marla, no, no, I meant Margaret, would stay in the bed and breakfast. I certainly hoped it wouldn’t be overnight. The thought of spending the night in the woods made me shiver. Well, I wouldn’t spend it here. If they didn’t appear before dark, I’d go looking for them. Many of the rooms were on the first floor, and the windows were low. Convenient, but risky. I could shoot pictures through the window. That might be better.

  If necessary, I was prepared to go inside. Ask for a room for myself. As soon as I got the shots, I’d run like the devil was at my heels.

  I dug into my pocketbook and pulled out the tuna sandwich, hoping I wouldn’t get ptomaine, or worse, when I ate it. I dug out the can of warm ginger ale and dropped it. Great. It hit a broken limb, bounced and rolled down a few feet before it lodged between two protruding roots.

  I grabbed it, then froze when I heard a rustling sound. In the next instant, I was scanning the area, my head swiveling and bobbing like one of those bouncy dolls that people with no sense of the appropriate put in the back window of their cars. I didn’t see a thing. But I’d heard something. An animal? A person?

  The tree line, the lawn, the back of the house and the woods looked clear. Then I heard it again, from the woods. No mistake this time. Someone or something was near. Scared silly, I scooped up my gear, dropped the soda can in my bag and glanced around. Unsure of what direction to run, I waited, alert now in a way I had never been before.

  That’s when I saw it.

  A moose.

  He was a huge behemoth of a thing the size of King Kong, just lumbering through the woods, his antlered head swinging from side to side. Every moose story I had ever hear
d, horror stories the lot of them, flew through my head. He stopped about a hundred feet from me. His ears rotated. I froze. Held my breath.

  I thought about the mace. No good.

  I had to get away. Climb a tree. Hide behind a tree. Slowly, making no spastic moves, I adjusted my saddlebag pocketbook so it hung down my back. Even more slowly, I began to move. Inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter, I stepped toward a large tree with a low-hanging branch. Once I was close enough, I grabbed the branch and swung up. I could do this. I could. I climbed to the second branch and out of reach.

  Safe, finally.

  I breathed easier. I braced myself against the trunk and straddled the limb, careful not to catch my purse on any smaller branches. For the next twenty minutes, I sat there. I had a good view of the bed and breakfast, so I knew I wouldn’t miss anything.

  The moose munched on tree bark and leaves, not even bothering to look in my direction. But I stayed put, just in case.

  I managed to open my purse, find the cell phone and call Nick, all without falling out of the tree.

  “Are you all right?” he yelled as soon as he heard my voice.

  “Sort of. I’m in a tree in back of the bed and breakfast.” I gave him the location. “The Gray cops don’t need to come racing over, so don’t be calling them immediately. I want those photos. Give me some time.”

  “Get out of the tree before you’re spotted.”

  “There’s a dangerous moose below. I’m waiting for him to leave.

  “Oh, God, Nora.”

  “He’s leaving now, finally. Gotta go.”

  Relieved, I worked my way down to the lower branch. I was about to ease to the ground when my purse strap snagged, throwing me off balance. I took a header, landing on the ground with a thud loud enough to alert the moose.

  Precious seconds flew by as I took inventory of my body parts. Nothing broken, just bruised. I looked around for the monster, but couldn’t see him. Gingerly, I stood, scooped my purse and leaned against the tree, still surveying the area.

  Disaster averted, I fished in my purse for my cell phone.

  “Drop it!”

  Shocked, knowing before I turned who had spoken, I whirled around. “You?”

  “Drop the phone. And the bag. Now!”

  “Amy. You’re Marla?”

  A look of surprise flashed across her face. “Only Percy uses that name. He made it up.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Who cares, Ms. Nora Lassiter from the big city? I said drop it.”

  I would rather have faced the moose. This woman wanted to kill me. The white-knuckle grip on the bat, the anger etched on her face, the combative stance … she wanted me dead.

  * * *

  Drop my saddlebag purse with the mace canister jammed in the bottom?

  I think not.

  It didn’t take a detective to figure that for a stupid move. Run. I had to run. It was my only chance. Negotiation was not an option.

  In the seconds we stood staring at each other, several things clicked through my head like photos being snapped at a fast F-stop. Green. Her lime green cotton sweater stretched tightly across her ample breasts. There was a pull in the sleeve. Loose threads. I knew where the missing thread was. In an evidence bag.

  Lime. I saw her wearing that shortly after I came upon Collins’ body. I would have made the connection. I know I would have. But Nick had told me they analyzed a green cotton thread. Did the man not know his colors? One doesn’t say green when one means lime.

  “Did you kill Al Collins?” I blurted.

  She grinned as she flexed her hands on the bat. “Oh, you’re the smart one, you are.”

  Keep her talking, I thought. Keep her talking. “Why?”

  “He wanted more money. Little shit thought he could blackmail me. Nobody does that and lives to tell about it, not even Al. I told him to set up a meeting between him and JT. In the woods. Wanted him to take out JT, the chickenshit, then I intended to take him out. Surprise, surprise. No JT. Just me and my shotgun.” Amy rested the bat on her shoulder like a player at home plate.

  “I meant to see that JT got what he deserved, too. I set up the frame. Right there in his beautiful Maine woods I planted his patch on a branch. I’m surprised he never noticed it missing. It fell off in the Country Store one day and I kept it.”

  “You planned this in the library, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. How … never mind. I’m finished chatting. Drop the bag.”

  I wanted to take a step back, but was afraid to move, afraid she’d start swinging. I wondered how long it would be before the Gray police arrived. I knew Nick must have called them. Would they even know I was here? I’d hidden the Highlander down the road. Percy’s truck wasn’t visible from the road.

  Please, God, send them fast, let them find me somehow. Send someone, even the moose. I would love to see that moose again. Really, I would.

  “What does JT have to do with this?” I asked to keep her talking.

  “Mighty slow for a detective,” she said, a touch of superiority in her voice. “His land, big city girl. His land. He’s got over a hundred acres.”

  So my uncle was involved.

  Time. I needed time. I sensed she wanted to brag so I encouraged her. “Land for what?”

  “Hah. You don’t know shit from Shinola. Whatever the hell Shinola is.”

  “I believe it used to be a brand of shoe polish,” I said, shaking in my boots.

  She looked at me as if I were crazy. “Who the hell cares? I needed land for weed. Pot. Marijuana. What’d you think Percy was selling? Air filters?” She snorted. “My stuff is grown underground in beds dug by my dear, departed husband. After he croaked, JT wanted to cancel everything. I made him see the light. Poor, wimpy JT. He took off when things got a little too hot.” She gave a harsh laugh devoid of humor. “He musta thought he was next after Al. He was right about that.”

  She shifted the bat from hand to hand. I sensed her impatience.

  Playing for time, scared in a way I’d never been scared before, except maybe on those first days in high school when someone tried to throw me down the stairs, I asked, “You would have killed JT? Who was next? Percy?”

  “No one takes advantage of me. Never again. Hear me?”

  I nodded my understanding, inched back, hoped she wouldn’t notice. Perspiration formed a river between my breasts. I could feel sweat puddling under my arms.

  “Who else took advantage of you, Amy?”

  Watching her arc the bat back and forth, I thought I already knew the answer to that one.

  “That fat slob. Percy’s father. You asked me about him a few days ago. He raped me when I sixteen. I worked for him. I cleaned his damn showroom, his damn toilets, his damn offices. He considered me trash. If I told anyone, who would have believed me, a kid from the wrong side of town?”

  “He harassed my mother,” I said.

  “Big deal. He cornered me in the storage closet. They kept baseball equipment there for the office team. Fat fool turned his back when he zipped his pants. Do you believe that? Mister Modesty. After what he’d done. Last pair of pants he ever zipped. Since then I’ve carried a bat in any vehicle I’ve ever driven. Quieter than a gun. Sometimes you need quiet. Know what I mean?” she said quietly as she stepped toward me.

  Terrified, I turned and ran.

  My fears ratcheted up a notch as I zigzagged through the trees, ducking branches, hopping over downed limbs. I smashed into a tree stump and went airborne, ass over teakettle, as they say. Stuff flew from my bag. In seconds she was there, the bat raised above her head.

  Terror gave me strength and I rolled, avoiding the worst of the blow. But it caught the pinky on my left hand and I screamed. I rolled over the soda can and snatched it up.

  As the follow-up blow descended, I held up the can to ward it off. Stupid, I know, but you go with what you have. The bat connected with the can of ginger ale, and it exploded, catching her in the eyes, giving me precious seconds. I wa
s on my feet, running again, holding onto my pocketbook for dear life. The mace! I had to get the mace.

  The pain in my pinky was excruciating. Such a little body part, such a huge pain. I knew it was broken. No X-ray needed when a person can see a little bone jutting through the skin. Every jolt, no matter how small, increased the pain. A bat to the head would put an end to pinky pain. That was a given. So I kept on running because my life depended on it.

  She was gaining ground. Friendly waitress Amy with the Pam Anderson breasts, murderer Amy with in the lime sweater, widow Amy with the weed patch. Her widow’s weeds.

  I should have returned to New York City where it was safe.

  I didn’t turn again, just focused on navigating the woods, hopping over brushes and branches, avoiding depressions, Nora the gazelle, who should have taken ballet instead of tap. Tears flowed, blurred my vision. I couldn’t turn off the damn water works.

  I had to get the mace from my pocketbook. Had to. Had to. Had to. I needed to reach for it with my good hand. I needed time. God, give me time.

  Shoving low branches aside, I ran full out. My mind whipped and spun. The only plan I came up with was holding the next large flexible branch back a few seconds, a kid thing to do. Mary Fran had pulled that one on me when I was eight or nine. I gave it a try. It worked. Unable to avoid the fast whip-like motion, the branch connected with a solid thwack. Amy let loose with a yelp of pain and a string of curses.

  Good, good, good.

  Clutching the pocketbook between my left arm and my body, I reached in for the mace, dropped the pocketbook and spun around. I flipped the cap as the bat came at me again, knocking the canister out of my hand.

  No.

  I dove in the direction it had flown. She came at me again and I squeezed under a dense bush with a web-work of thick, gnarled branches crisscrossing the top.

  “Think you’ll get away?” she rasped, her cigarette voice making her sound like a female version of Freddie Krueger from the horror movies.

  “You come up here for a few days from the big city and think you can ruin what took me years to build.” She swung the bat, connected with branches, and I rolled to the trunk. Twigs jabbed everywhere.