by Lee Doty
Norma tried to satisfy Anne’s last wishes. She destroyed her suicide note before anyone arrived, reasoning, after all, what are best friends for? When she told Laney her Gran’s death was an accident, Laney never challenged the characterization, which proved there are some things you believe because you have to. The DA’s office was too busy prosecuting Derek Dohnan for swindling Old Man Todd and having Norma assaulted, her home trashed, and her dog killed, to worry about tagging a dead woman with Buddy’s murder. They were happy to let any lingering odor from Buddy’s “unsolved” murder linger over Dohnan and his sidekick, Bitty “the Broker” Booty Buchanan, “broker” because she had negotiated a nice fee from Dohnan for connecting him to Rahul Singh and Lancelot Varn, whom Dohnan hired to attack Norma. She’d probably extracted a similar fee from Anne for hiring Singh to find the Old Man Todd letter, but Norma saw no reason to bring that up as Bitty was going down as it was.
As for the Temple brothers, they were implicated in the swindle of Old Man Todd, but no charges were ever brought against them. Just as well, as they were fighting insurance fraud charges when, conveniently during the off-season, the Inn at Cockle Cove burned to a crisp.
She’d not been able to deliver on Anne’s other request, to find the letter. Even though anyone interested in it was in prison or dead, Norma knew Laney could become someone’s prey so long as the letter might resurface. There were plenty of thugs in Bitty’s hotel photo.
In her suicide note, Anne had said Buddy didn’t have the letter with him during his second visit, that he’d hidden it. Norma retraced his steps between his two visits. All indications were that Buddy went nowhere other than his room at the Skaket Seaside Hotel, which had been torn apart during the murder investigation. According to Coigne, even the bed bugs got strip-searched. She figured Buddy must have mailed the letter to someone for safekeeping, except there was no evidence he’d bought stamps. She was at a dead end, and could do nothing but worry.
Coigne arrived for dinner carrying a quart of eggnog and a new CD of Christmas carols. Norma judged by the wrapping he’d made his purchases at the minimart. She glanced at the jewel case. “Is there a message here, Coigne?” She read out loud, “Three Celtic Babes for Christmas.”
“The guy said they sound like Enya.”
Laney looked up from setting the table. “What’s Eeen-ya?”
“Nothin’s eatin’ me. What’s eatin’ you?” Coigne answered.
Laney groaned.
They sat down to honey-glazed baked ham while “O Holy Night” wailed eerily in the background. Something was up. The way Coigne and Laney kept looking at each other, then looking away, was suspicious.
They finished dessert and Coigne folded his napkin three different ways, placed it on the table and stood. “Will you ladies join me in the living room?”
“What’s up?”
“Come on, Aunt Norma. Let’s go.” Laney was halfway to the living room.
“You know what this is about, Laney?”
“Let’s go!” Coigne stood behind her and hoisted her by the armpits.
The CD had ended. Norma and Laney sat side by side on the couch, warmed by the crackling fire and comfortable in their red plaid flannel shirts. Laney’s was tucked in and her hair was coiled on top. Norma’s shirt was threadbare and she’d clasped her hair with a chip-bag clip.
Coigne stood before them. He no longer seemed confident, more like a prisoner facing the parole board.
“Now what?” Norma said.
Coigne cleared his throat. “I have something to say.”
“It’s really neat, Aunt Norma. I hope you’ll say yes.”
Coigne’s eyes shifted from Norma to Laney. “Ahem.”
“Quit clearing your damn throat and tell me.”
“Coigne inherited a farm in West Virginia and wants us to go with him. To live there, Aunt Norma.”
“You’re joking.”
Silence.
“Coigne?”
“She’s right. I’ve inherited this farmhouse on a hundred acres in the eastern panhandle of West Virginia.”
“So sell it.”
“There’s a big barn with a stable, four paddocks and a view —”
“Are you out of your mind? Are you really thinking of leaving the Cape for a-a-a panhandle?”
“Not without you two.”
“Coigne says we could have horses.”
“It’s nuts.”
“Stop shaking your head, Aunt Norma. And which part is nuts, the farm or the marriage proposal?”
More silence.
“I didn’t hear a marriage proposal, Laney.”
“It didn’t come out the way I’d intended.” Coigne dropped down on one knee. “Or at the time I’d intended.” He glared at Laney.
“Oh get up! And where is West Virginia? It’s not even worthy of having its own name.”
“That’s dumb, Aunt Norma.”
“Let’s let her digest the idea, Laney. Come on. Let’s get the brochures out of my car.”
“There’s also this cool college town nearby with a gymnastics program,” Laney said on her way out.
Norma tried to look interested in the pictures of mountains, rivers, and covered bridges they spread before her, but it was all a blur. Coigne’s impulse to move to a foreign country, practically, was lunacy. What about his job? Her job? She wasn’t licensed to practice law in West Virginia. Did they have laws in West Virginia? And Laney? What was she so excited about, leaving everything she’d ever known? The icing on the cake, a marriage proposal. Jee-sus.
She looked over at Coigne and Laney, their heads together, poring over some annual film festival brochure. She didn’t want to spoil their fun. It was Christmas Eve. Laney was more animated than she’d been in a long time.
“Okay, you two. I’ll agree to think over the propositions if you’ll agree to table the discussion until after Christmas. For now, let’s have some Christmas carols.” She looked pointedly at the CD player. “I mean real Christmas carols, not spa music. Laney, let’s tickle the ivories.”
They’d had Anne’s baby grand moved to Norma’s house. It made the whole house feel tight, but when Norma had asked Laney what they should do with it, she’d said, “No matter what, Gran loved me. Selling the piano would be like denying that.” Norma couldn’t argue with that logic.
Coigne cleared away his brochures and walked over to the piano. “It’s your funeral. I can’t hold a tune and I never remember more than the first stanza of any carol.”
“Don’t worry. Gran kept some Christmas sheet music in here.” Laney lifted the lid of the piano seat and waded through sonatas and etudes and stopped. “What’s this? Looks like a letter.” She handed Norma an old envelope. Coigne skimmed its contents over Norma’s shoulder.
“Well, well, well, what do you make of that, Norma?”
“I’d say Merry Christmas!”
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Lieutenant Andrew R. Martin, MSP/Ret (Massachusetts State Police/Retired), who gave tirelessly of his time, expertise and wisdom in explaining law enforcement procedures and little known details about the criminal investigative process on the Cape. Special thanks are also owed to two very competent and busy lawyers, Kathleen E. Kilkenny and Daniel L. Kilkenny, for explaining some of the real estate and corporate law concepts that crop up in Tidal Kin. Any errors pertaining to the law or law enforcement in Tidal Kin are entirely my own. I also want to thank my readers, Janice E. Strobl, and Mary D. McCarthy, both book lovers, who bravely pointed out errors and generously provided encouragement. Rising Tide Writers, my writing group, deserves a week in the Bahamas for providing me with insightful guidance along the way. And last but never least, I want to thank Julia Gabis and the superb lawyers and staff at 401 East Elm Alliance, who have sat through my readings at our office retreats and supported my writing efforts for many years.
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