by Lea Wait
A lot had happened since I’d been here for pizza and revelations of Sarah’s past and her hopes for the future.
Hopes that had been dashed during the past few days.
Now I was here to deliver more bad news.
I knocked on her door. Then knocked again.
A few seconds later it opened.
Patrick was standing in front of me, his hair wet. All he was wearing was one of Sarah’s purple and pink beach towels.
“Shit. It’s Angie,” he called back over his shoulder. Patrick had wanted us to have dinner together this week. He’d kissed me. He’d implied that . . .
I turned to go. To get away. I didn’t want to see him, and I certainly didn’t want to see Sarah.
“It isn’t what you think, Angie,” she said as her face appeared over his shoulder.
It seemed pretty obvious what to think. I turned back. “I came to tell you the medical examiner thinks both Ted and Silas were poisoned. Ethan Trask’s been called in, from Homicide. He and Pete are questioning Ted’s children up at The Point right now. Later today they’ll probably be contacting both of you. I wanted to warn you.”
I turned and went back down the stairs as quickly as I could.
“Angie . . .” Patrick started, and then I heard Sarah’s voice. “Angie, come back.”
By that time I was at the bottom of the stairs, heading back up Main Street.
The three of us—Patrick and Sarah and I—had spent the weekend thinking about family. We’d finally agreed that families might be challenging, but you were born to them, so you had no choice about who they were.
Friends, on the other hand, could be trusted.
Except, clearly, my friends.
I hadn’t realized I’d cared that much, but the brisk winds were drying tears on my face. I dodged through an alley, taking a shortcut home.
I didn’t want to see anyone. Or have anyone see me.
Chapter Forty
“Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be deft
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breath
There shall the morn her careless tears bestow
There the first roses of the year shall blow.”
—Worked by Sally Gorham of New Haven, Connecticut, October 20, 1798. She was seventeen. Two years later, in December 1800, she married Enoch Ives.
Why was I so upset? I didn’t have any claims on Patrick. This past June, when Sarah and I first met him, Sarah had been the one who was interested. She’d even good-naturedly told me to stay away: she’d seen him first.
And I had. Even when I’d sensed chemistry between Patrick and I.
I hadn’t even sent him a get well card during the months he’d been in Massachusetts in the hospital.
Then last month he’d come back. Come back, he said, to stay. And Sarah had told me she wasn’t interested.
Of course, that was when she was spending so much time with Ted Lawrence.
But she’d encouraged me to stop in to see Patrick, welcome him back to town.
He and I’d had dinner together a few times. He’d been supportive of the Save the Cormorants campaign.
When Dave’s kittens had needed homes Patrick had adopted Bette and I’d adopted Trixi.
I’d thought we might have a chance. To be close friends? A couple? I hadn’t allowed myself to think too far ahead.
I wasn’t ready for anything serious. I sensed he wasn’t either.
And, all right, I didn’t want to open my heart to someone and have them turn away. Rejection hurt too much.
It hurt like hell.
Trixi jumped up on my lap and started purring. “Okay, young lady. I’ll be all right. We have each other. We didn’t really need him anyway.” I put her down and covered my face with a cold washcloth. How did my eyes and cheeks get swollen so quickly?
I wasn’t an hysterical teenager. I had no claim on Patrick. We were just friends.
But if he didn’t want me, why did he have to choose my best friend?
I wanted to pour myself a drink. Something to deaden my feelings.
Instead, I poured a cup of tea and waited for Luke to call.
It didn’t take long.
“Angie? The police have left.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I promised.
And I was. I had a job to do.
Luke met me in the driveway. “Glad you’re here. And that those cops are gone.”
Luke looked pale and exhausted. His eyes were puffy, and shadows of light purple were beneath them. It wasn’t a fashion statement.
“You said Pete and Ethan questioned each of you; I assume separately,” I said.
He nodded.
“What else did they do here?”
“Those two just interviewed us. But after I talked with you a couple of other cops and some crime scene investigators showed up. They had a search warrant for the house and grounds. They took Dad’s computer and phone and safe, and those bags of garbage you and the others collected on the beach. They looked through the house, including all the personal stuff in the bedrooms.” He hesitated. “They weren’t thrilled when I explained why the window was broken in Dad’s office and the safe had been shot. Oh, and they took Silas’s gun, the one I’d hidden.”
“What about your telephones?”
“Only Dad’s.”
“Did they give you any idea what poisoned your dad or Silas? Was it the same thing?”
Luke looked blank. “I assumed it was the same. I didn’t ask.”
“And they didn’t say,” I pointed out, taking a notebook and tape recorder out of my bag. “What about the clams?”
“The Marine Resources people took the clam shells yesterday. When the police took the rest of the garbage, I assumed they were looking for bad clams, too,” said Luke. “They told the three of us to stay in the living room while they searched the place. I don’t know exactly where they went or what they were looking for.”
“I know you’ve been through this already, but as I said on the phone, I’ll need to talk to each of you separately, in private. You understand?”
“I told Michael and Abbie you’d be coming. To be honest, they weren’t happy I’d hired you. But they both agreed they wanted this situation over as soon as possible. They want to go home, go back to their lives.”
“Do the three of you have any ideas about what happened? About who would have wanted Ted or Silas dead? Or why?”
“Not a clue.” His lips tightened. “When Dad said he was going to change his will, all three of us were upset. No secret there. But he hadn’t changed his will. The only one who missed out was Sarah Byrne. If she’d expected to inherit, then she was disappointed.” He looked at me. “I’d like to think it was Sarah, that maybe she was mad at Dad or something. But why would she kill him before he changed his will? That doesn’t make sense. And she had nothing to do with Silas. None of us did, except Abbie. And why would she kill her husband?”
“So no ideas.”
“That’s why I called you. I suspect the cops don’t have any ideas yet, either. But I don’t want them dreaming up some plot that implies my sister or brother or I killed my father. Or Silas. We might not be a close family. But we’re not murderers.”
“Why don’t I start with Abbie?” I suggested. “I’d guess she’s the one most upset about all this. Silas was her husband. After I talk with her she can have quiet time, or whatever she wants.”
In this family, maybe a few drinks. But that was their problem, not mine.
“Come on in. I’ll make sure Abbie’s ready to see you,” said Luke, opening the kitchen door for me.
I glanced into the kitchen. The bottles were gone. “The police took the empties?”
“Empties and partially empty.” Luke grimaced.
“Michael wasn’t happy. They took the last of the Oban.”
An empty lasagna pan and the cheesecake plate were on the counter.
“Is Michael sober?” If he was, maybe I should talk with him
first, before the day was any longer, and more bottles emptied.
Luke followed my glance at the bar.
“I don’t think he’s been sober since LaGuardia. But he talked to the cops.”
Then it probably wouldn’t make a difference. “I’ll talk with Abbie first,” I decided.
This wasn’t going to be a fun job.
Chapter Forty-one
“Life’s uncertain—Death is sure.
Sin’s the wound—And Christ’s the cure.”
—Sampler elaborately stitched in silks and gold on linen by Christian Hutchison Macduff in 1843 Scotland. She included delicate floral borders of wildflowers, an embellished alphabet, and a large basket of flowers flanked by two peacocks, but, as was common in Scotland, did not include the town or city where she lived.
Abbie Lawrence Reed was curled up in the same corner of the living room couch where she’d been the last time I’d seen her. Like Luke, her face was pale. Her hair and makeup had been arranged carefully when I’d met her Friday afternoon. Now her hair was uncombed and her face was naked. As I entered the living room she looked up at me blankly.
“Abbie, I know this is a difficult time. But Luke hired me to see if I could find out anything more about your father’s death. And your husband’s.”
“Luke told me,” she said quietly.
“Can we talk a little, then?”
Abbie nodded, but glanced in back of me. I turned around. Luke was standing in the doorway.
“Luke, I’d like to talk with Abbie alone. If that’s a problem, we could go up to her bedroom.”
“It’s not a problem,” he said. “Abbie, can I borrow your truck? Since we’re staying a few more days we need groceries. Dad mustn’t have cooked, and I can’t find the keys to his car.”
“My keys are near the toaster,” Abbie said. “When you’re out, would you get me something for my headache? All Dad had in his medicine cabinet are prescription meds and aspirin, and I can’t take those.”
“I think the police took everything he had anyway,” said Luke. “I’ll get you something.” A minute later we heard the kitchen door slam.
Abbie looked at me. “I agreed to talk with you, Angie. But only if you interviewed everyone who was here this weekend. Including Sarah.”
I felt my stomach tighten. “I’ve promised Luke I’ll do that.”
“Dad ate a bad clam. Silas drowned. I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss,” she said. “The police were here this morning, and crime scene people were all over the house. And now you’re here.” She looked up at the portrait of herself and her mother, and then back at me. “No one killed anyone. Maybe it was their fate for the two men in my life to die the same weekend. All I want now is to be left alone to grieve.”
“It’s possible both deaths were accidents.” I acknowledged. “Your father could have eaten a bad clam. One bad clam would have made you or I very sick, but in his condition, and at his age, it might have killed him.”
Abbie nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I think. I can’t believe anyone here would have killed Dad. We didn’t all get along, but we’re not murderers.”
Almost Luke’s exact words.
“And your husband?”
“Sometimes he drinks too much. This past weekend he did; he was nervous. My father didn’t approve of me, but he disliked Silas even more. When we married he told me I’d made my choice. I’d only seen Dad a couple of times in the past twenty years. Silas had met him once before this weekend. So Silas wasn’t looking forward to the weekend. Dad had never called us all together before.” Abbie stared down at her hands. They weren’t as chafed as they’d been Friday. “We’ve had a rough time, Silas and me. I thought maybe if I was nice to Dad, maybe he’d change his mind. Give me a little money. It would have made a big difference to us.”
“That’s why you came.”
“He pretty much ordered us all to come. We figured it must be really important for us to be here. Important enough to miss a few harvest days.”
“Did you get a chance to ask your father about the money?”
Abbie got up and walked to the fireplace. She stood by the mantel for a moment, and then turned back toward me. “Friday afternoon, you remember, Silas and I got here before my brothers. I figured it would be a good time to talk, before everyone was here. Of course, I didn’t expect you to be here, and a woman claiming to be our long-lost cousin, and a couple of guys from the gallery. When Dad invited us he’d said it would be a family weekend.”
That’s what Sarah had called it. I knew I’d been invited in case Sarah needed a shoulder to lean on. Of course, we now knew Jeremy was family. Patrick had worked at Ted’s gallery. I was the only one invited who didn’t have a direct connection to Ted.
“I finally had a chance to talk with Dad privately when we took a walk together before dinner,” Abbie continued. “I asked him to help us out, and he refused. Said he’d always been clear about how he felt about my marriage, and he hadn’t changed his mind.”
“Sarah told me you were thinking of leaving Silas,” I said.
“Thinking about it? I’ve thought about it for years. But I have no money, no place to go.” Abbie shook her head slightly. “I even told Dad that on Friday. I asked him if it would make a difference to him if Silas and I split. He said it was too late for that.”
“You must have been angry.”
“Hurt. Sad. Confused. And on top of that, Dad said he wanted my brothers and me to be a family again.” She shook her head. “He had no clue. He thought I was asking for a bribe.”
“A bribe?”
“To make sure I kept in touch with my brothers and with him.” Abbie’s laughter verged on hysteria. “A family? We hadn’t been a family since Mom died.”
I looked up at the portrait. “She was very beautiful. And you looked so much like her.”
“I did, didn’t I? I was pretty when I was young. Everyone said so.”
“How old were you when your mother died?”
“Seven. She died the year after that portrait was painted. Luke was five and Michael was four.”
“The portrait’s beautiful,” I said, staring at Lily’s face. She was painted with a Madonna-like smile, not seeming to look at either the daughter sitting next to her or the viewer. “I wonder why your mother didn’t have all her children painted.”
“She did,” said Abbie. “Dad painted a portrait of all of us, about the same time Grandpa did that one.”
I glanced around the room. “Where’s the other portrait?”
“After Mom drowned, Dad burned it,” she said, coming back to sit on the couch. “The boys probably don’t remember the painting, or the bonfire. But I was older. I remember. He and Grandpa had a big fight. Dad wanted to burn both paintings, but Grandpa said he couldn’t burn that one.” Abbie pointed to the oil over the fireplace. “He said that was his painting, and Dad had no right to destroy it. That’s when he hung it there.”
“Your grandfather hung a painting your father didn’t want over the fireplace?”
“He stood on one of the dining room chairs and hung it there himself.” Abbie leaned back on the couch. “We lived with him. It was his house. His studio. His gallery.” She looked at me. “Why are you asking about the past? I thought you were supposed to find out what happened last weekend.”
“Sometimes the past interferes with the present,” I said. “Especially in families. Understanding what your family was like in the past may help me understand all of you today.”
“There’s nothing to understand. We lived here until each of us left. We went to elementary school here in town, then we were sent to different boarding schools in the winter and camps in the summer. We only saw each other on holidays. We really don’t know each other. I suspect that was clear to everyone last weekend.”
“You haven’t kept in touch.” I’d already guessed that, but I was glad Abbie’s confirmed my assumption.
“I get a Christmas card each December from
Luke. I assume he sent them to all of us. I think Dad and Michael met Harold, maybe in New York, but Luke didn’t bring him to Caribou, and didn’t invite us to New York.”
“It must have hurt to have your brother marry someone you’d never met. And not even to have been invited.”
“It did. Silas said he wasn’t sure he wanted to go to a gay wedding anyway, that it was just as well we weren’t invited. But I would have loved to have been there. To see Luke, and meet Harold—he’s an actor, did you know? And see New York. I’d hoped Luke would bring Harold this weekend. I was looking forward to meeting him.”
“Haven’t you ever been to New York?”
“Never. Went to school in New Hampshire, and then got married. Her voice turned bitter. “On a big weekend we sometimes get to an event at UMPI. Or maybe go to Bangor. I haven’t been this far south in years.”
“You said your dad never gave you money. But he paid for your college, right?”
She nodded. “He made out the checks to the university, and I sent him a copy of my report every semester, to prove I’d been there. He said he was doing that for Mom. That she would have wanted me to go to college.”
“She was an educated woman?” I looked again at the portrait.
“She wanted to be. I think she went to college for a year or two, but didn’t finish. I don’t know all that much about her. By the time I was old enough to ask questions, Grandpa was dead, and Dad said he didn’t want to talk about her. The only time he did was when I got pregnant. Then he said I was like her—a beautiful slut. That she’d broken up his family, and I was doing the same thing. That I should leave.”
“And you did.”
“Silas said he’d take care of me, and he did. I didn’t have a choice.”
The portrait of Lily was haunting. I kept looking at it. “My mother disappeared when I was ten. I wasn’t much older than you. Sarah’s mother died when she was two.”
“So we were all motherless brats,” said Abbie. “Do you have children? Does Sarah?”
