A Dawn of Death

by Gin Jones

"Like what?"

  "I wish I knew," Cory said. "I know the police are looking at Dale for it, but she believes in peaceful protest. With all the causes she's adopted, she's lost more than a few battles over the years, even some involving Sheryl, and Dale has never once come close to getting violent."

  "I hope you're right."

  Cory's smartphone, sitting on the table near the saw, beeped. He went over to check it. "Sorry. I've got to go sign for a package being delivered. I'll be right back."

  Helen checked her own phone as Cory left, on the off chance she'd missed a ping. No returned calls from her nieces though. Just a text from Tate to say he was tied up in court until 1:00, if she could wait a bit for lunch.

  At least he wasn't canceling entirely, she thought as she texted back that she'd see him then. He'd get a totally swollen head if he knew how anxious she was to talk to him again. If she were being as honest with herself as she was with other people, she'd have to admit that she didn't just want his insights into Sheryl's death. Their lunches together were the highlight of her days, even when the food was mediocre and she couldn't remember afterwards what they'd talked about.

  Perhaps at lunch today she ought to tell Tate what she'd come to realize just now—that she could never be anything more than friends with Cory. She probably wouldn't have even considered the possibility if Tate hadn't put it into her head by acting jealous. But now she knew for sure. Today had felt like a second date after a first one that had been nowhere near a love-at-first-sight experience but pleasant enough to agree to a second one. Which had then turned out to be just "meh." Not bad exactly but not sufficiently better to be worth pursuing a third date.

  She wasn't sure where that left her with Tate. Neither of them was looking for a committed relationship, and in any event, both of them had baggage that made that sort of commitment tricky.

  Cory reappeared. "Sorry about that. Are you hungry? There's a great diner just down the street."

  "I've already got plans."

  He seemed so disappointed that Helen felt the need to cheer him up but without giving him false hope. She glanced around, looking for something nice to say about the latest addition to the golf course. The toy bulldozer caught her attention, and then she noticed some marshy areas that had been created near the back edge of the garden, complete with weedy little cattails.

  "You really do a great job with all the water features," Helen said. "I never would have thought to add marshlands."

  "I'm not sure why I do it," Cory said, his disappointment forgotten. "They're something of a nuisance. Not just for the golfers who lose their balls in them but also for me to maintain. I just couldn't help it in this case. That's where they are in real life."

  Helen thought back to the plans in Quattrone's office. There hadn't been any water features on them. In fact, if she remembered correctly, there were paved parking lots where Cory had wetlands. "Are you sure that's where they are?"

  "Absolutely." Cory led her over to the drawing tacked to the back wall of the strip mall and flipped it over to reveal additional pages, each one providing a different view of the property near Wharton Meadows. "See? I've got the topological maps with the wetland overlays from the assessor's office. There are wet patches in the back of both the community garden and the Avery property."

  "Aren't those protected areas, then? Places that can't be touched?"

  "Definitely," Cory said. "The gardeners work around the wet areas. The Avery house was built before anyone worried about wetlands, but the senior Avery was an environmentalist before it was popular. He let that area revert to its natural condition decades ago."

  "So if Wharton Meadows expanded over here, they couldn't just pave over the wetlands?"

  "Not unless they create a comparable wetland somewhere else on the property," Cory said. "In fact, the existence of wetlands was another reason why I thought acquiring the land for the school would be good. The students could learn about the wetland habitat in addition to the more artificial environment of a garden."

  Maybe the wetlands had been replicated somewhere in Quattrone's plans, and Helen just hadn't noticed them. But if they weren't on the plans at all, that would tell her a lot about him. If he planned to ignore protected habitats, he was either delusional or he was prepared to commit all sorts of illegal acts to get his expansion, starting with bribery of governmental officials and possibly going as far as murder. Dale would make sure that the local conservation commission and planning board took things like wetlands very seriously.

  Helen needed to see those plans again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  While Jack waited for instructions on where to drive next, Helen called Quattrone's office to arrange another appointment with him. The assistant apologized profusely, explaining that he was at a meeting with the mayor and wouldn't be back for at least an hour. He did have an opening in his schedule then, but there was no guarantee he'd come directly back to the office instead of stopping off to get lunch.

  If Quattrone was running late, then Helen might be late for lunch with Tate. Still, she needed to see those plans and how they addressed the wetlands in the garden and the Averys' property. Tate would understand. Unless he hadn't gotten over yesterday's silliness.

  "I'll risk it," Helen said to both herself and the assistant. She hung up to ask Jack to take her to the nursing home where she could pass the time until Quattrone would be in his office.

  A few minutes later, Helen signed into the nursing home and went looking for Betty and Josie. Helen wished she'd remembered to bring her yarn bag when she got into the car this morning, but she'd been in too much of a rush and still a bit foggy from oversleeping.

  Helen stopped in the doorway of the activity room to look for her friends. Betty and Josie weren't in their usual seats by the fireplace, although their yarn and their layette projects were still there saving their spots. Helen scanned the room, finding them in the puzzle lady's corner, chatting with her. Geoff had apparently arrived just before Helen and was in the process of sitting across from Daisy. The puzzle lady gave him her lopsided smile and then held out her good arm, offering him a puzzle piece.

  Geoff didn't hesitate to take the offering and lean forward to search for where it belonged. He was a good man. And good at his job. It wasn't the glamorous, Pulitzer Prize-winning work he'd once aspired to do, but he made a difference in people's lives by listening to them and sharing their stories. Despite the successes Helen had shared with her husband establishing programs that helped thousands of people, in the end, it was probably the small, everyday actions that really mattered. Like RJ taking care of his father, Paul Young nurturing new gardeners, and Betty and Josie making chemo caps. Helen would like to think she'd also done some good deeds since moving to Wharton between her volunteering at the library, contributing yarn to the Charity Caps Days here at the nursing home, and even catching the occasional murderer.

  The two elderly women seemed to have realized they weren't needed at the puzzle table any longer and were heading toward their usual spot near the fireplace. Helen caught up with them halfway there.

  "So, did you solve the murder?" Josie asked eagerly as she approached her chair.

  "It wasn't murder," Betty said from behind her. "Just an accident."

  Helen dragged a chair over to sit with her friends. "I'm afraid that Josie's right. The investigator said the death was suspicious, and the bulldozer's key is missing, which does suggest there was someone else there when she died."

  "See?" Josie picked up her crochet hook and what looked like the beginning of a yellow bootie to go with the dozen other pairs she'd already made for Laura. "I told you it was murder. No way Sheryl Toth was going to die of something so mundane as an accident that could happen to anyone. Not with all the enemies she's made. Starting with the town clerk. I mean, I like Dale and all, but she really hated Sheryl. More than anyone else did."

  "Dale wouldn't kill anyone." Betty's current project was a little purple sweater. "She knows how, of cour
se, from her military training, but she would never hurt anyone except in self-defense."

  "Or to defend someone else," Josie insisted. "She thinks of the environment as a living being. Even more so when it comes to the community garden."

  Betty looked up from her knitting. Apparently, even she had to pay attention when she was doing a lacy pattern. "Dale didn't do it."

  "You don't think anyone did it," Josie said to her friend before turning to Helen again. "What about the owner of the retirement community? Wes Quattrone. He wanted to buy the community garden's land."

  Helen agreed that he was a prime suspect, but she wasn't sure if she was being as biased as Detective Peterson was, looking for a reason to pin the crime on someone she disliked. She decided to play devil's advocate. "He's lost out to Sheryl on other deals without killing her. Why would this time be any different?"

  "Maybe he just reached his limit." Josie added with obvious relish, "And he snapped and killed Sheryl in a blind rage. Her showing up with her bulldozer right across from his retirement community and rubbing it in his face could have been the last straw."

  Betty's hands stilled. "You know, much as I don't want to think Sheryl was murdered, Josie does have a point. Wes Quattrone is not a nice person. We've heard some terrible stories about him from Daisy." Betty nodded in the direction of the puzzle lady, whose face was a bit contorted with the effort of trying to answer Geoff's questions. "Not the sort of uplifting things that Geoff is hoping she'll tell him about either. Wharton Meadows is lovely, but Wes is a jerk with a bad temper."

  Josie peered around the room before leaning toward Helen and whispering, "And he's connected. Mob, you know. He didn't have to kill Sheryl himself. He could have hired someone."

  "I don't know about that," Betty said, "but I do wonder if he might not be on the up-and-up. Annie mentioned having to deal with an IRS audit of the retirement community's returns last year. It struck me as odd because Annie's such a good bookkeeper. I would have expected any tax returns based on her work to be squeaky clean."

  "It was probably just the luck of the draw." Helen had been through a few audits herself when she'd been married. Nothing had come of them, but it had been a stressful experience, triggering a brief but annoying lupus flare each time. Having a facial rash that made it look like she was constantly blushing didn't exactly present the right picture to the auditor. "Still, I'll ask about it when I talk to Lily to see what she can find out about the retirement community's finances."

  "What about Paul Young?" Josie said. "Have you met him? He's in charge of the Park and Rec Department."

  Helen nodded. "He gave me some pea plants."

  "That sounds like Paul," Betty said. "A very generous man. No way he could have killed Sheryl."

  "Hey, no fair," Josie said. "You can't keep information from Helen just so you can win our bet. Everyone knows that Paul killed someone once. It was an accident and all, but it's not like he's a saint."

  Helen couldn't trust everything Josie said. She did tend to make up stories about people, although they were usually based on some germ of truth. Betty was less inventive. "Is that true?"

  "No one knows exactly." Betty's hands stilled, and she paused for a moment. "He definitely hurt someone once. Badly, but I don't know if it was fatal. There weren't any official charges, but it happened on tribal land, so it's hard to get any solid information."

  "Still," Josie said, "Helen's got to consider him a possibility."

  "If Sheryl was killed," Betty said, "and I'm still not conceding that she was, it's more likely it was one of her competitors. If you look through the archives of the Wharton Gazette, you'll find a dozen other developers from here and the surrounding towns who've lost out on big projects to her. Some of them weren't happy about it either. Claimed she'd cheated and bribed her way to success."

  "Did she?"

  Betty and Josie exchanged a glance, and then both shrugged. Betty answered. "I think she was just good at her job, knowing how to make a development palatable to the review boards. But you should know that politicians aren't always as resistant to bribery and other illegal forms of persuasion as they should be."

  "I'll see what I can find out about her business competitors then." Helen checked the clock on the wall, confirming that it was time to leave. "Including Wes Quattrone."

  * * *

  Jack pulled up next to the sidewalk in front of the entrance to Wharton Meadows, a few feet from that awful crosswalk sign. "I don't like leaving you here alone," he said. "Not after what happened when you crossed the road yesterday."

  "I'll be fine," Helen said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "I really don't need you hovering over me."

  "I never hover," Jack said, his voice reflecting just how much of an affront to his professional-driver's pride that would be. "I'll go find a parking spot, and you can text me when you're ready for me to pick you up."

  Like he'd need her to do that, Helen thought. He'd be back here and waiting for her before she could even turn on her phone. "There's no need to wait for me. You'll be late to pick up Jay and Zee at the airport if you don't leave now."

  "It wouldn't hurt them to have to wait a few minutes," Jack said. "Their flight will probably arrive late anyway. I don't really need to leave for another half hour or so. I'll text them to let them know I got delayed."

  "That's really not necessary," Helen said. "I may be here for a while, and when I'm done talking to Quattrone, I'm going across the street to check on my garden, even if I have to do it from outside the barricades. I'll ask Tate to pick me up. He's away from the studio already, so he shouldn't mind swinging by here on his way back there for lunch."

  "What if he's busy and doesn't answer his phone?"

  "Then I'll call Barry." He was the only cab driver in Wharton who met Jack's stringent requirements for driving Helen. "I haven't talked to him in ages."

  "Not since Vic Rezendes was killed, and Barry bailed on you."

  "He wouldn't have left if I was in any danger," Helen said. "I'm perfectly safe with him."

  Jack grumbled something unintelligible before his professional-chauffeur demeanor reasserted itself. "Whatever you say, Ms. Binney."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jack had barely left when a dark SUV pulled up next to Helen.

  The window rolled down to reveal Detective Almeida behind the wheel. "I thought you were going to keep a low profile."

  "I am," Helen said. "I thought you were looking for Sheryl's killer."

  "I am." Almeida made an annoyed face. "Or at least I was, until Peterson sent me here to make sure everyone was observing the police line. I'd consider it a big favor if you'd refrain from confessing to me if you just left your garden plot."

  "Don't worry. I know better than to cross the police line."

  Almeida snorted. "What you know is the legal thing to do and what you actually do are often two completely different things. I can understand your choices, but it's my job to warn you to stay out of trouble."

  "I consider myself duly warned. Not that I'm doing anything wrong. I'm just here to have a quick chat with the owner of Wharton Meadows." She realized that might not sound good if the police also considered Wes Quattrone a suspect, making it obvious that she was looking into who might have wanted to kill Sheryl. Helen stretched the truth a little, adding, "Quattrone has a scale model of the expansion plans, and Annie wanted me to consider what good things could be done with the land if the garden was moved to a different location. I didn't have the heart to turn her down."

  "I don't see why not," Almeida said with a grin. "You've got a reputation for telling people to leave you alone."

  "I'm only blunt with people who can handle it or who won't listen when I try being nicer. But Annie, well, I think she gets bullied by her husband, and that makes her susceptible to other people doing it to her. Dale certainly does, although I doubt she means to. In any event, I don't want to take advantage of Annie's susceptibility."

  "Fair enough."

  "Actu
ally, I meant to ask you about Annie and her husband," Helen said. "I know he's verbally abusive toward her, but I was wondering if he'd ever gotten physical. Has anyone ever reported him to the police?"

  Almeida shook her head. "Not that I know of. But I've only been DVO a short while. I haven't combed through the old records."

  "Thanks anyway."

  "Be careful," Almeida said. "I've got specialized training, and I still take backup with me when I'm dealing with a potential abuser. No matter what anyone tells you, it's almost impossible to predict who will get violent and who won't. Oh sure, there are always warning signs that make sense in retrospect, after someone's been beaten. But before that? Things could go either way. People who think nothing of displaying their tempers in public aren't necessarily the ones who get violent in private. And vice versa. The ones who are pleasant in public may be vicious in private. You can get hurt if you convince yourself you can predict whether someone's dangerous."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Helen hadn't intended to provoke Quattrone, just take a look at the model of his expansion, which he'd wanted her to see. "My own immune system causes me enough pain. I never go looking for more."

  * * *

  Considering that Wharton Meadows catered to an older demographic that included a significant number of people who had arthritis and bad hips, the straight-backed wooden visitors' chairs outside Quattrone's office were extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps intentionally so. He'd seemed far more interested in Helen's political connections than in the possibility that she'd be a resident someday.

  Quattrone's mousy administrative assistant had explained that her boss wasn't in his office yet but would probably be back in the next half hour or so. It was obvious the assistant didn't have authority to let anyone into the office while he was gone, and Helen didn't want to make the woman's job any more unpleasant than it undoubtedly already was, so she didn't ask.

  Helen fidgeted in her seat, trying to ease the pain in her hip. She would not let the discomfort keep her from being here when Quattrone returned from lunch. She was determined to get another look at the scale model of the Wharton Meadows' expansion plans. Unfortunately, it was beginning to look like that meant she wasn't going to get back to the cottage by 1:00 for lunch with Tate.