“No.” Oh, thank God for that.
“He’s got two nephews, Lenny and Stan. I’ll call them when I hang up. They may get there before me. But you should get out of there. Don’t wait for me, Nora. Just in case there was foul play and someone’s lurking around.”
“I’ll get in the truck and lock the door. Mary Fran’s with me. Actually, she’s not exactly here . Oh, wait, here she comes, running like a crazy woman.”
“Mary Fran?” he said. “Why on earth? Never mind. Nora, leave now. I should have said that immediately. Please leave.”
“I saw him.” Mary Fran gasped, flopping down beside me like a puppet with the strings cut. “Omigod, Nora. He’s dead. Poor Buster. What happened to him?”
“Where’d you disappear to?” I asked.
“I went to get something from my car, but when I heard you running, I ran back. Right in the front door. It wasn’t locked. I was going to rescue you.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I eyed her suspiciously. “Get what from the car?”
“My mints. I had a funny taste in my mouth.”
“Nora.” Nick roared from the cell phone propped on my thigh.
I put the phone to my ear again. “See you when you get here,” I said to Nick, smirking at Mary Fran, her with her dumb mint story.
I broke the connection. Mary Fran and I got in the truck and locked the doors. I knew Nick would arrive soon, and that made me feel safe enough. Of course, I wasn’t alone, which helped, but not a whole lot.
Mints, my ass.
I called Great-Aunt Ida and told her what happened. She wanted me to come home.
“Out of harm’s way, Nora. You never know if … ” She paused. “I have a better idea. I’ll call Hannah. You need reinforcements. We’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“No. Definitely not.”
I have three lovable, but nosy great-aunts in their eighties—Ida, who loves a mystery whether it’s in a crime novel, on one of her favorite crime shows, or in the world around her; Hannah who dresses flamboyantly in lots of reds and purples and likes to be in charge of everything; and Agnes, who is a few hundred pounds overweight, hard of hearing and seldom wears her hearing aid.
“No, Ida. Please don’t come,” I repeated. “The police are on their way.” I explained about waiting for Nick, and assured her I’d be home soon.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be a detective any more,” Ida said. “I’m sorry I ever started that rumor.”
“Don’t worry. Buster probably died of a heart attack. I’ll call you back when Nick and the ambulance arrive.” I hung up and we sat quietly for a few minutes.
“Mary Fran, what do you know about Buster? Do you think he would poison Vivian’s dogs?”
“I don’t think so. Nah. He was a good guy. I heard gossip in Hot Heads Heaven but I never heard bad stuff about Buster, except he was cheap sometimes. Tight with money.”
Twenty-five minutes later the Silver Stream Sheriff’s SUV raced up the driveway and skidded to a stop in a shower of pebbles, Deputy Trimble at the wheel, Sheriff Nick Renzo in the passenger seat. Deputy Miller, the hunk with the twitch in his eye, drove up behind them in the unmarked Ford Taurus that everyone in Silver Stream, past the age of five, knew was a police vehicle.
I got out of my truck on rubbery legs. Nick, bless him, was at my side in seconds. Tall, rugged Nick, who belongs in these woods, who is tough and gentle and caring, who could be my hero if I let him. If I let my guard down. But I’m not ready for a relationship and neither is he. Besides, Silver Stream with its woods and wild animals is not my home. I am afraid of wild animals, and I get lost in the woods, on some of the roads, too. I belong in the city with exhaust fumes and blaring horns, taxi drivers and bulky bu
ses, and streets numbered in order.
“About time you got here,” Mary Fran complained.
“Mornin’ to you too, Mary Fran. I did hurry … but first I called Lenny and Stan and told them about their uncle before they found out on the news or from someone else.”
He put his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me to his side for a quick hug that made me feel better instantly, or maybe it was just his presence.
“Take it easy,” he said.
“I’m good.”
“You shouldn’t have risked staying,” he said. “Or risked hanging up on me. I’m the sheriff, you know.”
His last words, meant to make me smile, were whispered in my ear and had the desired effect.
“I’m fine,” I lied, locking my rubbery knees into place.
“I know you are,” he lied back, giving me another squeeze.
Deputy Miller nodded and winked or twitched, it was hard to tell which, as he hurried by. Skinny Trimble with the pointy features in the oval face paused in his rush to the house, gave me a nod that included the once-over. Did he think I wouldn’t notice? I smirked at him and narrowed my eyes threateningly. Trimble took a step back, then continued on.
“I’ll be right there,” Nick told Trimble as an ambulance rocketed up the driveway. “Let the EMTs check him, then secure the scene.”
Mary Fran followed the deputies into the house.
Nick slid his hand to my neck and pulled me to him again. I wanted to melt right into him, so I distracted myself by telling him, “I saw someone running away when I first got out of my truck. Don’t know who it was.”
“Man or woman?”
“Not sure.”
“Which way was the person running?”
“Just back.” I waved my hand in the general direction. “No special direction.”
“Southeast?”
I studied him a moment, annoyed.
“You think I know which way is south or east? Ask me Uptown or Downtown in New York City and I can point you in the right direction. South in these woods? East? I’d need a compass.”
“Of course. What was I thinking.” He kissed my temple and hurried off, calling, “Trimble. Cordon off the woods. No one goes back there.”
Cordon off the woods? The yellow tape. Cops overreact sometimes. Buster Verney probably died from a heart attack or a stroke.
Later, I’d tell him I thought I saw Vivian. Since I was working for her, I figured I owed her a certain loyalty. Not much though. I’d see what she had to say first. Maybe she wasn’t the person running away.
Mary Fran came bounding out of the house.
“See what I mean. Nothing like this ever happens in the beauty parlor. This is where it’s at. You have to hire me as your assistant. You have to.”
“Mary Fran, you don’t listen. I do not have another case. This was it. So I don’t need an assistant. Sorry about that.”
“Leave it to me.”
I shook my head. She could be so obstinate.
Nick ducked under the yellow police tape about ten minutes later.
“The EMTs think it was a heart attack. We’ll know more after an autopsy. He hasn’t been dead all that long.”
A snappy black truck with red and gold flame detailing shooting along the sides, flew up the driveway and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust beside the ambulance. Two men in their early thirties jumped out.
“Buster’s nephews,” Nick said, heading in their direction.
“Stan. Lenny. I’m so sorry about this.” Nick shook their hands. “This is Nora Lassiter. She was supposed to meet with your uncle this morning. She found the body.”
Lenny tipped his baseball hat with Boston Bruins imprinted in yellow on one side. He wore jeans that would have fit an elephant. If a guy favored an underwear display these were the perfect choice.
Stan ignored me, tossed his cigarette, and took off toward the house, his unbuttoned camouflage shirt ballooning around him as he wailed, “Uncle Buster, Uncle Buster.”
“Lenny, I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, my gaze shifting from him to chunky Stan who bulldozed past the deputy at the front door and disappeared inside. My heart should go out to both brothers. It didn’t, and I could not understand why. I usually have empathy for people. I cry at
sad movies, happy ones, too, and although I keep it to myself, there are a few commercials that touch my heart.
Why the plight of these nephews left me feeling nothing, I’m not sure. They had just lost a relative. Was I being judgmental based on their appearance? If that were so, how shallow of me. Shaking the judgmental thoughts from my head, I stepped off to the side, and watched. From this angle I noticed that Lenny’s face seemed free of expression. Maybe it meant nothing, I thought, giving him the benefit of the doubt. People react differently to catastrophic events.
Nick moved away to talk on the radio.
Lenny leaned against his truck, seemingly at ease with the situation. I watched him carefully, studied his body language for signs of anxiety. His breathing was even, his body still. He reminded me a teenager trying to be cool. Whether this was an act or not, I had no idea.
Those judgmental thoughts rocketed back into my head and took another tour. Maybe he didn’t like his uncle. That would explain it. Lots of people didn’t like their relatives.
That made me think of Mom’s cousin. I could hear my mother’s scolding voice as clear as yesterday.
Nora, his new wife is a paragon, a wonderful woman, but as usual you jump to conclusions based on the shallowest of reasons. Just because she wore spike heels and a mink wrap? How absurd. How petty. You just met the woman.
It was more than her shoes and wrap, although that’s the reason I’d given. I was a kid and couldn’t think of anything better. I didn’t understand gut feelings. A few years later, the paragon took him to the cleaners financially. It was hush, hush. My mother never said a word about it.
I felt it now, the gut feeling.
Nick joined Lenny and told him what we knew, which wasn’t much.
Minutes later Stan returned. He hitched up the jeans that looped under his big belly and shook his head. “Terrible thing. And him in such good shape, and all. Always took care of hisself. Uncle Buster exercised and lifted weights. He never ate ice cream that I seen. Wouldn’t even have it in the house. Raises the cholesterol, you know. He didn’t want to have a heart attack like his father, but I guess he did.”
“Shut up, Stan. Who cares about that now?” Lenny muttered as he toed an embedded stone with the tip of his alligator boot. “The thing is he’s gone and we’re sad about that. Period.”
I tried not to stare at the boots. I’d never seen an overlay of red and gold flames on alligator boots before. I’d never seen boots with attitude and a truck to match. Hunh. He turned slightly and I noticed his heels were flaming, too. Double hunh.
No tears were shed by either man.
“He loved his home,” Stan said, shifting from one foot to the other. “It’s sad he has to leave it.”
“It’s a very nice house,” I said, trying for a connection. “I love the way the deck wraps around.”
“The body will go to the morgue for autopsy,” Nick informed them. “It’ll probably be a few days before you can pick it up and arrange the funeral.”
“Military funeral,” Stan said. “He was a Marine, you know.”
By early afternoon I was on my way to Vivian’s house, less than two and a half minutes away. I called my brother Howie, a Miami-Dade cop, and presented a thumbnail sketch of the latest from Silver Stream.
“Nora, you’ve been in Maine two months and this is the second body you’ve found. Do you notice a pattern here?”
“Oh, gee, not at all.”
“Maybe it’s my law-enforcement background that enables me to zero in?”
“You have a keen sense of the obvious, that’s for sure.”
“I hope you intend to stay out of this.”
“Absolutely,” I promised as I negotiated the turn into Vivian’s driveway with only one hand on the wheel. Quite a feat, if I do say so myself. With that thought I swerved a little too far and ran over a cluster of dead flowers in her garden.
“You’re talking on your cell phone while you’re driving, aren’t you? That’s against the law. You’ll have an accident. You, especially, need both hands on the wheel.”
“Honestly, Howie. We’re discussing me finding a dead body and you’re critiquing my driving skills. What does that reveal about you?”
“Your driving needs more than critiquing.”
“Excuse me, but I never claimed to be a Junior Gale Bernhart, that’s for sure, but I manage. Besides, I’m only driving to the house next door.”
“Dale Earnhardt, junior,” he corrected, raising his voice. “The man’s one of the top race car drivers in the country. Everyone knows that.”
“Not everyone.”
I pulled to the top of Vivian’s driveway. The dogs were barking like crazy. Naturally, I was tense. It was more than my animal allergies, which are not to be taken lightly. I mean when I start sneezing, look out. I’ve endured marathon sneezing bouts that should be entered in the Guinness Book of World Records.
“Hear those dogs, Howie?” I held the phone out the window. “It’s enough to give a person a headache.”
“I hear them. Go home and forget all this stuff. Pack up and return to New York.”
“Thanks for the advice. I certainly couldn’t have figured that out on my own.”
“Nora—”
“You know, Howie, if I’d followed your advice when I was checking into that other murder, I never would have uncovered all the information about Dad.”
“I know, I know. That was good work.”
I smiled at the acknowledgement.
Vivian appeared on the front steps and I hung up. Red sweatshirt, jeans, brassy hair. Had she changed out of her gold sweatshirt?
I wondered what she would have to say about Buster’s death, whether she would be relieved or not. One had to assume she wasn’t all that sad, even though the man had been a neighbor for many years. I wondered if she were the one I’d seen running away, and if so, what she’d been up to. All I could think of was that she might have done something to Verney before I arrived. But what? He was a man in tiptop condition, she an overweight, middle-aged woman. Overpowering him was out of the question.
If by some miracle or trickery, she’d managed to murder him, how would she react to me, a possible witness? Sic the dog pack on me? Maybe I should invest in special body armor clothing. Or a bulletproof vest. From what I’ve seen on those crime shows, the vests are bulky and make you look as if you’re packing on the pounds. Very unattractive. Someone should work on that. Slim the profile.
I wondered what Vivian might have been doing at Buster’s place. The more I thought about it the more certain I was that I’d seen her running away.
Maybe there was a good and natural explanation for his death. I hoped so.
Vivian stood on the steps and shushed the Pomeranians again. They paid no attention.
“Tootles. Dandy. Behave now. This here’s Nora. She’s a friend.”
Friend. Oh, like they understood that.
“Vivian, I guess you saw the ambulance and police vehicles over at Verney’s?” I said as we walked into the house amid a chorus of barking dogs bouncing at my heels. “Buster Verney is dead. Not sure about the cause.”
Vivian shrugged. “I know. I went over when I saw the police cars and the ambulance. Some ambulance guy told me he was dead.”
She seemed so unemotional it gave me a bad shiver.
“I didn’t see you.”
She shrugged as if that didn’t matter.
One dog, it might have been Toodles, nipped at my heels with more gusto than the rest. I tried to sidestep him, but he was persistent, and fast. Fortunately, I didn’t have my best boots on today. Again, this goes to being prepared. I’d been here before and I planned to visit her when I finished interviewing Buster. I should have skipped the long skirt I’d worn to impress Buster. I’d mended the hem with a strip of velcro—I avoid needle and thread whenever possible—and now one of the dogs was scratching at it. In another minute it would be loose. I eased him away with my foot.
He returned
.
“Sugar Bottom. Button Nose. Scoot now. Go play with Toodles while Mama chats with Nora.”
Vivian led me into the living room where she shooed an exceedingly chubby Pom from a scruffy upholstered chair and indicated I should sit. Hopping down, the dog passed gas. As it ambled away, it let loose with another loud, odorous one. Vivian didn’t seem to notice.
I didn’t want to sit in this chair. I hesitated, looked from the chair to Vivian. Her red sweatshirt? If she changed from the gold one, she must have pulled this one out of the dirty clothes. It certainly had enough stains on it.
Vivian motioned for me to sit.
The chair was littered with dog hairs. Smiling a lip smile that enabled me to keep my mouth closed and eliminate the possibility of pet hair entry, I sat. A cloud of hairs and fur took to the air, no doubt floating along on the gas currents.
I sneezed. Good thing I wouldn’t be staying long.
I hunted for a tissue in my hobo handbag, pushing aside my shiny red L.L. Bean Swiss Army knife, mace, makeup case, slim digital camera, cell phone, rubber bands, plastic bag of crushed cheese doodles, gum wrappers, toothbrush, hairbrush. I found one small wrinkled tissue. I blotted my nose, sniffled up and tried to ignore the problem. Unfortunately, a floater hair found it’s way in. Rather than cause a scene, I rubbed my nose, blew out just a bit, carefully, discreetly. I’d be out of here soon.
First, I asked the million-dollar question.
THREE
“Vivian, when I went to Buster’s to talk to him earlier today, I thought I saw you running through the woods, away from the house. This was before I found him. Before the ambulance and police cars arrived.”
Silence and a stoical expression greeted that statement.
I waited.
She said nothing, so I asked, “Was that you? Were you over there?”
“Why would I go to Buster’s?”
A non-answer.
“I don’t know. Did you go?” I asked again.
She stared at me, waited a beat, then said, “Too bad he died. Even though I didn’t like him, I didn’t want him to die.”
Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods Page 2
