A Founders' Day Death: A Mt. Abrams Mystery (The Mt. Abrams Mysteries Book 2)

by Dee Ernst

  I shook my head. “That’s not fair. You know I want you to stay here, because Tessa and I will miss you terribly if you go. I can’t give you objective advice, Cait.” I sat down next to her. “What does Kyle say?”

  She crumpled the letter in her hand. “Kyle wants me to go. He says he can fly over every couple of months, and that nothing will change between us. But it will. It’s still…new between us. If I stay here, we can take our time and see what happens. We can grow together. We have a chance of seeing if this is real. If I move to France, everything becomes artificial. Everything we say and do when we are together for those few days will be because we aren’t together the rest of the time. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded. “Yes. And you’re absolutely right. Long distance relationships are all about urgency and making up for lost time. You’re a smart girl, Cait. At least you’re looking at this with a very clear eye.”

  “So how am I supposed to decide?”

  “Make a list. And stick to what you know absolutely, not what you want or think will happen. If you go to France, you will study and live in a country you’ve always wanted to live in. That’s what you know. Don’t write down that you’ll love living there, and you’ll meet amazing people. That’s a wish. If you stay here, you and Kyle will have a chance to grow this relationship. That’s a known. You will get married and live happily ever after? That’s a wish. Got it?”

  She nodded, then made a face. “That’s what it’s come down to? Deciding my life based on a list?”

  I shook my head. “It’s all I got. Sorry.”

  She smoothed out her letter and stared at it. Then she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Got it.”

  She got up and left the kitchen. I sat for a few minutes more, then put water on the stove to boil the corn. I had no energy left to even try to light the outside grill.

  Shelly Goodwin and I had been friends for a long time, since two weeks after Marc and I moved to Mt. Abrams. She and I had been through a lot together, and had long ago reached a point where we had to be polite with each other. So when she appeared in my kitchen without so much as a knock, a call of hello, or even Boot bothering to bark, it was fine. It was more than fine. It was what real friendship was all about.

  “So, how do we know David Butler is gay?” she asked, opening my refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of white wine, and then pouring efficiently.

  “Joanie heard Sharon telling Lynn they were getting a divorce.”

  “I never would have guessed. Not that gay men are instantly identifiable, because of course, they’re not, but…” Shelly shook her head. “I’d divorce him because he’s a little odd and creepy.”

  “Very odd and creepy,” I said, taking a long gulp. I told her about what had happened at the boathouse. Her eyes grew wide.

  “You have to tell Sam,” she said when I was done. “Immediately.”

  “Sam does not want me sticking my nose in. Besides, tell him what? That I was snooping around, met someone else snooping around, and got freaked out?” I slumped in my chair.

  “Drink,” she said.

  We sat there in silence for a while.

  “Cait says she’s in love with Kyle and doesn’t know if she should go to France,” I told her.

  “Oh, the poor kid,” she said. “True love versus life’s dream. That really sucks. What did you tell her?”

  “I told her to only consider the reality. Is it really true love, or just the possibility? Is it really a life’s dream, or a result of years of imagining what it would be like?”

  “That’s actually good advice.”

  “Yeah, I get it right sometimes.” I poured some more wine. “Who do we need to talk to?”

  “You mean besides Sharon? And every single person between Rita’s house and the clubhouse?”

  “Maybe just the Olsens,” I said. The Olsens lived at the beginning of Abrams Lane, where the parade swerved off the road into the drive to the clubhouse. They were an older couple who spent most of their time sitting on their porch, watching the world go by.

  “Another good idea. But one I’m sure the police have already thought of.”

  “True. The thing I can’t get my head around is how lucky this guy got. He wasn’t just there, you know. Rita had to have been followed.”

  “Exactly. We know that, because we know that no one knew she’d be there in the first place.”

  “But somebody did know,” I said suddenly. It hit me so hard I almost couldn’t breathe.

  Shelly grabbed my arm and gave it a shake. “Earth to Ellie. What are you talking about?”

  “Rita had the key to the clubhouse,” I said.

  Shelly looked blank, then the penny dropped. “Oh, my God. Who gave her the key?”

  “Who has a key?”

  “Well, Noah Bishop is president of the lake association, he’d have one, and the maintenance guy, what’s his name, George something?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but I don’t think George would have motive for killing Rita.”

  “Sharon would need a key, right? As president of Founders’ Day, she’d need to get in and out of the clubhouse all weekend.”

  We looked at each other. Sharon?

  “David had a key to the boathouse padlock,” I said slowly.

  “He’s on the lake association board,” Shelly said.

  “And he lived here back when Walt was killed, and he’s gay, and Butler is an Irish name.”

  She frowned. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  I repeated Carol’s theory about Walt and his lover being a man. She nodded thoughtfully.

  “So, we have opportunity, because he gave her the key and knew she’d be here. But why kill her? Even if he killed Walt, why was Rita a threat?”

  “Remember Friday night? When we were talking about the Real Housewives of Mt. Abrams? And secrets? Remember what Rita said?”

  “What, about seeing who was digging in the Malleck’s yard? But that was a joke.”

  “Maybe. But Sharon was there. And she heard it. And she left before Rita admitted it was a joke. Maybe she thought it was true, maybe she told David.”

  We were quiet again. Shelly poured herself another glass of wine.

  “You need to tell Sam,” she said at last.

  “Oh, I know. I’ll call him tomorrow morning.”

  She fiddled with her wine glass. “Are we still going to talk to Sharon?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  She grinned. “Excellent.”

  Fridays I visited my mother.

  Mom was in a nursing home and had been ever since my father had died. It was interesting. When she called me, which she did every week, she knew exactly who I was and pretty much remembered everything about me and the girls. She still thought I was married to Marc, even though in the past few months she had been convinced that he beat me, beat the girls, was cheating on me with her cousin, Isabel, and had abandoned his family and moved to Dubai.

  Visiting her was another story. She was always glad to see me, and knew I was not a casual visitor, but she didn’t always remember my name. When the girls came with me, it was even harder, because although I could sometimes convince her I was her daughter, she never believed I was old enough to have children of my own.

  This never upset Cait and Tessa. They enjoyed visiting their batty grandmother, who could always make them laugh and gave unsolicited and often outrageous advice.

  I had begun to compartmentalize. This bright but dotty Leona was no longer my mother. She was, instead, a sometimes sweet, sometimes difficult person in my life. That way, I stopped mourning for the loss of the person I had loved, and instead began to enjoy this bewildered, familiar stranger I could no longer count on to share anything with me other than the here and now.

  Tessa drove up with me on Friday morning. She was a great favorite of the residents, who were drawn to her bright energy and limitless patience. My mother did not mind sharing Tessa, except with poor Justine Caldwell, who my mother had marked as Pub
lic Enemy Number One and accused her of everything from petty theft to global conspiracy.

  Mom was not having a good day. She did not know who I was. She completely ignored Tessa. Then, she thought Tessa was ten-year-old me and started to get frightened.

  We left after fifteen minutes.

  I sat in the car, looking down at the dashboard. Tessa was very patient, but finally suggested that maybe I should start the car.

  “And maybe we could have lunch with Detective Sam instead?”

  What a brilliant child. I called Sam, he said he would meet us, and off we went.

  “Mom, will you be like that someday?” Tessa asked.

  “I don’t know, sweetie. I hope by the time I’m Gram’s age, there will be a cure for what has happened to her.”

  “What did happen to her?”

  “She got old.”

  She looked at me skeptically. “Do you really think anyone is going to find a cure for that?”

  “No, but maybe they’ll find a cure for dementia. That’s what Gram has.” I glanced over at her. “It’s not her fault.”

  “I know. Do I really look like you did when you were little?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “Good. Then I know I’ll be pretty when I grow up.”

  I really shouldn’t have a favorite child, but sometimes…

  Sam met us at the local Applebee’s, where a cheerful person seated us, another cheerful person gave us water, and cheerful Heather promised to come back and get our order. Tessa, who knew the menu by heart, still carefully read every laminated page.

  “Sam. I need to talk to you about Rita.”

  He lifted his eyes from the menu. “Ellie, really?”

  “Sam, the clubhouse was locked Saturday morning. Rita walked by Maggie’s porch and told us where she was going, and I told her it might be locked, and she said she had gotten a key.”

  He immediately put the menu down. “Say that again.”

  I did. He narrowed his eyes. “There was no key found on her body.” He glanced over at Tessa, but she was oblivious. “We did find her phone.”

  “Also, Aggie and Rita borrowed a very tall ladder.”

  He flipped a hand. “We know all about that. They were getting into the garden. They were trying to get Emma to sell them half the lot.”

  “What! You didn’t tell me.”

  His mouth twitched. “Last time I checked, you were not actively investigating this case.”

  I was a little annoyed. “Sam Kinali, you know perfectly well I am very actively investigating this case.”

  He threw back his head and laughed out loud.

  Tessa looked up. “What?”

  “Your mother is a very honest woman, Tessa,” Sam said. “Even when she shouldn’t be.”

  Cheerful Heather took our order, and I sat back and glared at Sam. “I bring you important information, that you never would have found out, and you don’t even have the courtesy—”

  “Ellie, now calm down.”

  “No, I will not.”

  He sighed and folded his hands together. “All right, then. You tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll tell you what I’ve got.” He shot a look at Tessa. “And you will repeat none of this.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m just a kid. Who would believe me anyway?”

  Sam grinned. “True.” He turned to me. “Rita and Aggie had been climbing into Emma’s garden at night. They hid the ladder on the other side of the house during the day. They just wanted to discourage her from doing any more work, because they wanted her to sell them part of the lot. Malicious mischief, but Emma has declined to press charges.”

  “What about Walt?”

  “Cause of death was a blow to the back of the head, probably the sharp edge of a shovel. Death probably instantaneous. There are still tests to do, but chances of finding any physical evidence are pretty thin. Wife and sons have alibis. The so-called lover is the only other viable suspect, but that could be anyone.”

  “Whoever it was, they were Irish.”

  He nodded. “Yes. We got that from the wife.” Drinks were delivered. Sam sipped his coffee and nodded at me. “Your turn.”

  “I ran into David Butler in the boathouse yesterday, and he had the keys to lock it back up.”

  “Why were you in the boathouse?”

  I made a face. “Because the clubhouse was still off limits.”

  He chuckled. “Of course. Who else would have keys?”

  I shrugged. “You’ll have to talk to Noah Bishop. He’s the president of the lake association. Sharon may have a set, to get things going for the weekend. She could have gotten them from David, who’s on the board. Or he may have gotten them from her.” I glanced at Tessa. She was staring up at the television screen over the bar. “What if David was Walt’s lover? He’s gay. Butler is an Irish name. Rumor has it, he and Sharon are splitting up.”

  Sam took out a little notebook and was scribbling things down in it. He glanced at his watch. “This is all very helpful.” He looked up from his notebook. Thank you, Ellie.”

  “You’re welcome. You should also talk to the Olsen’s.”

  “We did already. They saw Rita.”

  “Go back and ask them about David Butler.”

  Cheerful Heather appeared with our food. I stared at Sam’s cheeseburger, dripping with cheese and bacon, surrounded by fries, and looked down at my salad, which looked disgustingly healthy and low-calorie, but not nearly as appetizing.

  “Why?” he asked, before taking a bite.

  “Because the reason they noticed Rita was because she shouldn’t have been there. But David is on the board of the lake association. Seeing him around the clubhouse might not have registered because seeing him there was expected.”

  He chewed thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting theory.”

  “It’s not mine. Thank Mary Rose.” Tessa was dipping her chicken tenders into a sweet and spicy smelling sauce. I speared a cucumber and chewed thoroughly. “Is everything delicious?” I asked.

  Tessa nodded, because her mouth was full of crispy chicken. Sam nodded because he just bit down on three French fries, with ketchup.

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “Mine too.”

  Chapter 10

  I got a call from Shelly right before dinner.

  “Hey, I don’t know if this is good or creepy, but I ran into Sharon and told her we wanted to talk to her about last week.”

  I pulled my marinating chicken out of the fridge. “That’s good,” I said.

  “She said she’d meet us in the boathouse around eight.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “That’s what I said. What do you think?”

  I thought I wanted to call Sam. He was coming by anyway, probably around nine. I also thought he’d not be pleased if I asked him to hide behind the boathouse to hear what Sharon had to say.

  “Can you come up?” I asked.

  “Yep. See you at eight.”

  Why the boathouse? Why the same place I had run into David?

  Dinner was easy. Grilled chicken legs, corn, and sliced tomatoes. Cait was working, so Tessa and I ate outside by the grill, then she packed up to spend the night at Bennett Fahey’s house, along with six other girls, all celebrating Bennett’s eleventh birthday. Knowing Bennett’s mother, Lynn, I imagined there would be games, a craft, healthy snacks, and finally, a politically correct yet little-girl friendly video to lull the girls to sleep. Lynn was even more organized than Sharon Butler.

  I walked Tessa down Carver Road to the Fahey house, and on the way back, saw Lillian and Jack Olsen sitting where they always sat, in twin rockers on their front porch. We were neighbors, not really friendly, but stopping for a chat on a lovely summer evening wasn’t totally out of line, was it?

  “Evening, Lillian, Jack. How are you both?” I waited on the street, calling to them with a wave.

  “Evening, Ellie. We’re good. How did your girls make out?”

  They always walked down to see how the
girls decorated the porch. I took this as encouragement and moved from the street up the walk.

  “They won. Again. The shelf is getting crowded.”

  Lillian beamed. I never knew my grandmothers, but I always wished that at least one of them would have been like Lillian—kind, sweet, always concerned about others. Jack was a bit of a scoundrel. He had a wicked sense of humor and liked to watch the ladies, but he was also a generous man who never said no to helping a neighbor.

  “Too bad about Saturday,” Jack said. “Just a shame that had to happen to that poor girl on Founders’ Day.”

  A-ha. There it was. “Yes. Saturday was just awful.” I made my way up to the bottom of their porch steps. “Poor Rita. Why, I bet you two could have seen who did it and never realized it.”

  “Well, that seems to be what the police think,” Jack said. “Your boyfriend was here just a bit ago, asking more questions.”

  “Sam? Really?” He certainly had moved fast.

  Lillian nodded. “He’s a very attractive man, Ellie.” She wagged her finger at me. “Hold on to that one.”

  Jack cackled. “I told him to make sure to hold on to you. You’re quite a looker yourself these days, Ellie.”

  I felt myself blushing. “Thanks, Jack. So, what did Sam ask you?” That seemed a perfectly normal next question, right?

  “Who we saw going up to the clubhouse,” Lillian said. “Again. This time, he asked us if we’d seen David Butler. Now, why would he ask a thing like that? David would never hurt a fly.”

  I had to force myself to not rush up onto the porch and shake Lillian by the shoulders. “Can’t imagine. So, did you?”

  Lillian shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Funny, though,” Jack said. “He didn’t ask about Sharon.”

  “Who didn’t ask? Sam? Why would he ask about Sharon?”

  “Well,” Lillian said. “She was up at the clubhouse. But way before Rita. I’d forgotten all about it until Jack and I were just talking. But Sharon had been up there all the day before, hadn’t she? I mean, she was pretty much everywhere on Saturday.”

  My heart started pounding very hard. “Yes. Of course she was. So you didn’t tell Sam? About Sharon?”