We came onto the Brousseau property on the side of the barn that served as a garage. I pulled Sam in that direction and eased the door open a crack. I shined the light inside the door and saw the black Subaru parked inside. “That means the intruder is at home,” I said.
We approached the house. One small light was on in the kitchen. I tried the back door. It was unlocked. As we entered, Sam barked loudly and began pulling me through the kitchen. I thought I heard a door slam somewhere above us. The knife rack stood on the kitchen counter. Instinctively I pulled out a large carving knife as Sam began to pull me to the back stairway.
The bedroom doors were open and nothing looked disturbed. I walked into the hall bathroom and saw that the tub had water droplets on the tile surrounding it. At least the intruder is clean, I thought.
Sam sniffed as we went down the long hallway. He stopped at the door that was locked when I stayed in the house. I tried it now and it was still locked. Sam pawed at the door.
“Okay,” I yelled. “Come out of there now. I’m armed and I’ve got a police dog.” My hand holding the knife was shaking. What a stupid idea this was. I started to turn away from the door, but Sam jerked hard on his leash and jumped against the door.
The door flew open. A young guy stepped out. He was wearing shorts and a stained tee shirt. The stains were dark red and the idea of blood raced through my addled mind. He wore glasses. His eyes looked startled behind the glasses. All of these details were obscured by what was in his hands; the largest rifle I had ever seen.
“Don’t shoot my dog,” I screamed. “What are you doing in this house?” In my panic I dropped the knife.
“What are you doing in my house?” the gun holder shouted back.
“I asked you first,” I said.
“Don’t fool with me.” The rifle pointed from Sam to me. “What police agency are you with, or are you a private investigator?”
“I’m not the police. I’m an attorney from Florida, visiting here. My name is Mary Katz. Who the hell are you?”
I’m Tom Brousseau. I own this house. You’ve got a lot of nerve barging in here again. I know you were using my house.”
“If you will please lower that elephant gun, I’ll explain why I was in your house.”
I watched the man who said he was Tom hesitate and then lower the gun. If he was actually Tom Brousseau what was with the hiding in the attic and cat and mouse game he’d been playing with me?
“Okay. I’m a good friend of Lucy Stern. Her grandmother left her the house down the road. She let me use the house for a vacation and I got lost and thought this house was hers. I left as soon as I saw the mail on the hall table with the Brousseau name on it.”
“That story is unbelievable. You’re really here to arrest me. Tell me the truth,” the man said.
“Your story is not believable. Why are you hiding in your own house, if you really are Tom. I am the furthest thing from law enforcement. I’m a criminal defense attorney. I defend people who are arrested. I don’t arrest them.”
Sam had begun to wag his tail. Tom, if that was his name, reached over and petted him.
“Let me get my wallet and show you some ID. Come with me”. He pointed to the door he had popped out of.
I saw a stairway leading up. “That’s okay. I’ll wait right here,” I said.
“Oh come on. This whole situation is actually funny,” he said.
“Well, what are those stains all over your shirt?”
“You’ll see in a minute.” He started up the stairs.
I bent over and retrieved the carving knife. Then Sam and I followed him up the stairs. We entered a large attic. Windows looked out of three sides of the room. An astonishing sight explained the stains. Colorful paintings lined the whole room. Some were propped up on easels. Others leaned against walls or sat propped on chairs. There was a half- finished work and fresh paints on a large easel near one of the windows.
“You’re a painter. I mean an artist.” I mumbled
The paintings depicted autumn scenes in the area. There were also snow scenes and pictures of barns. Figures of children appeared in several of the works.
“These are magnificent. Where do you exhibit? Are you in any galleries?”
The artist was holding out some cards. “Here are my ID’s. Please look at them.”
“They all say Thomas Brousseau., but why are you hiding in your own house?”
“I know it seems crazy. Sheriff Parsons believes that I killed my own mother, and I think half this village does too. He questioned me even before my mother’s funeral. I figured I owned the house and no one would look for me right under their noses. I guess I panicked.
“I always wanted to have my studio in this house and do nothing but paint. The whole hiding thing just sort of fell into place I thought I’d stay in the house for a few weeks and get my bearings. I thought about going to France to paint and study, but I figured the sheriff would have people watching airports. Then I started painting and I got comfortable here. I concentrated on just doing my paintings. I never had that luxury before.”
“First of all, questioning you was just routine. Police always start with family members and you seem to be the only family left. Didn’t Dash explain that to you?”
“You know Dash? I thought he was against me too. Half of this town hates the Brousseaus because my dad sold the mill to people who moved it to China. Everyone lost their jobs and they blamed me for that.”
“Why would they blame you? You didn’t sell the mill.”
“Father sold it because I refused to work there and take it over. I’m not a business man. All I ever wanted to do was paint and draw. My father thought that was a waste of time.”
“Okay, Tom, I have a big news flash for you. This week the killers of your mother were arrested.”
“Are you serious? Who are they?”
“Francie Wallace, your family’s housekeeper and her son Otis and Paul Conrad.”
“I can’t believe it. I knew Francie was very upset about her husband losing his job. I guess she blamed my family for his suicide but killing my mother, good God.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot more to their story, but you’ll never find out if you don’t come out of this hermit existence and rejoin the world. You could have saved yourself a year of grief. When you disappeared. it just added to Sheriff Parson’s suspicion. If you had stuck around, maybe he would have found the real killers sooner. I wish that had happened because these same bad guys kidnapped a lovely young woman who I know quite well, and she almost lost her life.”
“You mean Francie did that too? What about our dog?”
“What do you mean?”
“Another reason the sheriff thought I did it, you know murdered Mother, was because our dog would have barked and carried on if a stranger broke in. The dog was missing when they found mother.”
“I guess the dog knew the housekeeper. Maybe now that Francie is in jail, you can find out about the dog. Can we go downstairs and continue this conversation?”
“Oh, sorry, of course we can. Come on, I’ll make us some tea.”
We headed down the attic stairs and the back stairs to the kitchen. Tom lit the flame under the tea kettle and produced an assortment of teas. He gave Sam a cracker and put a plate of crackers and jam on the kitchen table.
“What I don’t understand is how you managed to live undetected up here,” I said, “especially, when this place is filled with nosey people who know everything about everybody.”
“It wasn’t that difficult. It’s so remote up here that no one sees who’s up here. You stayed in the house without anyone seeing that you were in the wrong house. I took the car out at night and drove to different towns to shop for supplies. I got my mail at a post office box in Randolph, about forty-five minutes away, or at my friend’s place on the Cape. The solitude and luxury of painting full time was wonderful.”
“Was that you that took a shot at me on the road?”
“I
wasn’t shooting at you, just trying to scare you, hoping you’d go away.”
“You were stalking me, weren’t you?’
“I was trying to find out who you were. I was sure that you were brought here to investigate me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in Lucy’s house. I guess I became paranoid. And when I saw Sam, I thought he was a K-9 police dog.”
“You’ve got to reintegrate into this community if you want to continue to paint here. Start tomorrow by going to see Dash.”
“Will you come with me?” Tom looked like one of my scared juvenile clients.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-TWO
The phone in the kitchen woke me. I reached for my alarm clock and nearly fell out of bed. The alarm clock I pictured was the one on the bedside table in Miami. I opened my eyes and remembered I was still in Vermont.
Sun was streaming in the windows and my watch said nine o’clock. The phone was still ringing as I ran to the kitchen.
“Mary, are you okay?” It was Dash.
“Yes, I was so exhausted that I was still sleeping. You’ll never guess who I met last night. Tom Brousseau has been living in his house. I told you someone was in there. He’ll be over to see you later.”
“That’s interesting. No that’s bizarre. The reason I’m calling is that the FBI people want to talk to Ken Upham today. They’re meeting with the lawyer who found Roland’s body this morning. I guess Curtis is actually meeting the lawyer while the FBI guys go through Roland’s house.”
“I’ll bring Tom over to your office later this morning. Have Ken come over and I’ll be there while he talks to Curtis. They’re not wasting any time with their investigation, are they?
“No they’re not. They’re appalled at the inefficiency of the local sheriff’s office.”
At eleven o’clock I was seated in Dash’s office. Tom had finished his explanation of his weird behavior. Ken was waiting in the reception room listening to Daisy’s constant conversation.
I walked out to speak to Ken when a tall man walked in. He was beginning to turn grey. The graying hair made his round face look young.
“I’m Curtis Lemay, here to meet with Ken Upham,” he said.
“So pleased to meet you,” Daisy jumped up from her desk and pumped Curtis’s hand. “Thanks for coming to help our little community.”
I wasn’t sure whether she meant High Pines or the Jewish congregation.
“This is Mary Magruder Katz. She’s going to be representing Ken, and this is Ken Upham,” Daisy said, sounding like she was introducing guests at a cocktail party.
Just then Dash came out of his inner office. Dash and Curtis shook hands. .
“Please use the library,” Dash said. “If you need me, just dial one on the intercom and I’ll come right in. I have a young client in my office who needs me right now.”
I led the way into the library followed by Ken and Curtis. We seated ourselves around the table. Curtis pulled a number of papers from his briefcase.
“Mr. Upham, I understand you are retired from law enforcement. As a matter of fact, I checked into your background and career and spoke to your chief in New Haven this morning. You have had an enviable career and a flawless record. Even so, I need to have you sign this Miranda rights form before we go any further.”
“I understand,” Ken said. He took the form and quickly initialed each line and signed it at the bottom.
“Tell me everything you know about Roland Behr, how you met him, what transpired leading up to his lawsuit, anything you observed about him,” Curtis said.
Ken described in detail the problems he had encountered with Roland, even including much of the hearing in Barre on our motion to dismiss. I was impressed with the details he was able to describe.
“Mr. Upham, what was your opinion about this secret club that met at Behr’s house?”
“Please, call me Ken. I never thought they were an environmental group. All the target practice that went on in his backyard was suspicious. I told my wife it was unsafe, and I wanted to talk to Roland about it, but my wife told me not to start any more arguments with the man. I thought he might be part of some right wing militia group, but when I asked others here in the village about this, everyone said he was just a crazy old coot.”
“I appreciate your input. I am not looking at you as a suspect in this case. In fact I would be happy to hear any insights or theories that you may develop as this investigation unfolds.” Curtis stood up and gathered his papers.
“I’m sure Dash doesn’t mind if you stay here to question any other witnesses,” I said.
“Thanks, but I’m headed to investigate some other names that have surfaced. I spoke to Rabbi Goldblatt earlier today. He is bringing some of the congregants to his office today or tomorrow. One of the FBI agents will be spending the day there doing the questioning.”
“Do you have a theory as to who the killer is?” Ken asked.
“Let’s just say I have some ideas to follow up on,” Curtis said as we followed him into the reception area.
As soon as Curtis walked out the door, Daisy looked at us with a strained expression.
“Are you okay, Daisy?” I asked.
For once she was quiet. She reached for a handkerchief in the pocket of her sweater and finally spoke very slowly. “Do you think someone in the Jewish community killed Roland Behr? If that’s true, this village will never be the same.”
Ken and I were standing in the driveway outside Dash’s office when Ken’s cell phone rang.
“Yes, Rita, I’m fine, dear. Not to worry. Mary? Yes I know where she is. She’s standing right next to me. I’ll tell her.” Ken signed off and turned to me. “Lillian Yarmouth is looking for you. Better call her right away.”
CHAPTER
SIXTY-THREE
Sherry Revisited
Sherry was feeling sick again. Her ears buzzed and she couldn’t shake off the feeling of being constantly cold. The Dartmouth psychologist that she met with said the feelings that weren’t subsiding would take time, but would eventually be erased when she got back to a normal schedule.
Mother had already set up appointments with a medical doctor and a psychologist in Miami. Brett was getting her transcripts from the college for her to take with her back to Miami. Most of her things were packed and ready for the UPS truck to pick up at her dorm to be shipped home.
The other sick feeling she had was from the constant arguing with Mother. Sherry had decided she wouldn’t leave until she went to the jail to talk to Paul. Mother was adamant that she wouldn’t permit her to experience “any further trauma” as Mother portrayed this. The psychologist sided with Sherry, explaining to Lillian that it was important that Sherry have a chance to close the door on her feelings of betrayal. But still Mother would not listen.
Mary was meeting with Lillian in the coffee shop downstairs. Sherry stretched out on the bed in their little room in the inn. It was early afternoon, but Sherry felt as if she had been awake for hours. She had no energy. It was hard to believe that she had been walking to classes, riding her bike, playing lacrosse, just days ago. Now the thought of so much physical activity brought waves of nausea.
She must have slept a little because she was startled when the door opened. She looked up and saw Mother and Mary standing looking down at her.
“Hi Sherry. Sorry we woke you. How are you doing?” Mary asked.
“I’ve been better.” Sherry answered.
“See, I told you Sherry doesn’t need any more emotional events, Mary”
“Sherry, your mother tells me that you are insistent about visiting Paul at the jail. She is opposed to this, as you well know. We’ve been discussing this and I think you should have the opportunity to say what is on your mind. It will make things easier when you have to appear as a witness at the trial.”
“What do you mean appear as a witness?” Sherry sat up and gasped to catch her breath.
“Didn’t Sheriff Parsons explain to you that you would be called to
testify? It won’t be for a while, and I’ll come back with you for the trial, if you like.”
“No one told me anything about this. I’m never coming back here. That’s why I want to see Paul Conrad before I leave here.”
“Well, we don’t have to discuss the trial now. The important thing is that your mother has agreed to your visit to the jail as long as I go with you,” Mary said. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, you can go with me.”
“Ken Upham found all the directions to the jail. It’s a twenty-five mile ride from here, so as soon as you get ready, we’ll get going. Ken said visiting hours are in the afternoon, but they end at four so we should go as soon as you’re ready.”
Sherry got up and went into the bathroom.
“Please be careful with her,” Lillian said.
In a few minutes, Sherry came out of the bathroom. She had applied a little makeup but her eyes looked sunken and her cheeks were hollow. She wasn’t that young innocent coed anymore.
The drive to the prison was a dichotomy of feelings. Mary kept pointing out how the hills were crimson and yellow with the changing leaves. She pointed to spectacular crimson oak trees or bright red maples. Sherry looked at them without really seeing them. She was putting all her effort into planning what she would do and say when she saw Paul.
“Are you sure that you don’t want to finish college here at Dartmouth? It’s such a beautiful campus and you’ll be leaving friends.”
“I’m sure. I’ll finish at the University of Miami. I want to be where it’s warm. Miami was what I thought about when I was in that cold barn. Anyway, you went to Miami and you turned out great.”
“I think it’s a fine university. I just want you to decide your future based on what you really want, not because of what anyone else wants.”
“You mean my mother. I want to see the sun and swim in our pool and wear shorts and flip-flops, and feel incredibly warm all the time.”
They drove through several small villages and turned off the state highway onto a narrow road. Mary glanced at the directions she had on a piece of paper. Soon they pulled into a parking lot in front of an old brick building.
Barbara Levenson - Mary Magruder Katz 03 - Outrageous October Page 21
