FIVE
“It’s Vivian,” Ida whispered as she handed me the phone. “She’s hysterical. Wants to talk to you immediately.”
Oh? The animal-lover who couldn’t spare a tissue for a sneezing woman with a severe allergy to pet hair is hysterical and wants my attention?
I took the phone and walked over to the kitchen window. I looked over the lace café curtain. Gee, it was a nice day. Deep blue sky, azure I think it’s called. Cerulean might also work. Just look at those puffy cloud formations. Most people don’t appreciate nature enough, that’s for sure. On the spot, I decided not to be part of that unappreciative group. Filled with awakening admiration, I stared at the cloud formations. One looked like a big dog, another like a … like a what? It was hard to decide. A mountain maybe.
Across the kitchen, I caught Ida’s quizzical look. I smiled at her and turned my attention to that cloud again. Not a mountain, a bus. That’s what it looked like.
Phone in hand, I walked over and gave Ida a kiss on the cheek, and tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear. “Love you,” I whispered.
Finally, I put the receiver to my ear and said coolly, “Hello, Vivian.”
“You have to help me, Nora. I’ve been arrested. For murder. And I didn’t do it. You have to find out who did.”
* * *
The Silver Stream Sheriff’s Office is in the middle of town across from the Country Store, a place that sells everything from ketchup to computer paper, functions as a U.S. Post Office, a meeting place, a diner. If you need to find out what’s going on in town or the surrounding area, you go to the Country Store. Behind that building, sitting at the end of a small cul-de-sac, is the Silver Stream Library. I love the library. It hasn’t changed much since I was a kid and took out that book on Abraham Lincoln that I still have. I found it when I was unpacking in my apartment. Some day I’ll work up the courage to return it. When I pay the overdue fine they can build a new wing. Until then the guilt feelings will hang around.
I decided to wear my New York clothes into town, so I changed into gray wool slacks, a black cashmere sweater set, and my good black leather Bruno Magli boots with the three-inch heels. I went so far as to wear gray freshwater pearls, which is pushing it for Silver Stream, Maine, but sometimes you gotta step out of the box.
From his perch behind the long desk which was set on a dais against the back wall, skinny Deputy Trimble with the pointy features looked down on me. I noticed that the door to Nick’s office, off to the side, was open.
“Afternoon, Ms. Lassiter. Sheriff’s waitin’ for you. Ay-uh. Waitin’ all morning.” Deputy Trimble tipped his head in the direction of the open door, his tone implying I was in big trouble. He was such a jerk. I shot him my phony smile and kept walking.
Deputy Miller walked in from the back. “Finally finished those burglary reports,” he said to Trimble as he placed a pack of papers on the long desk. “Hello, Ms. Lassiter. Nice to see you again.” His eye twitched. It looked like a wink, but I knew it was only a twitch.
“You too,” I said, smiling my genuine smile.
As soon as Nick saw me, he frowned. He’d never frowned at me like that before. I didn’t like it. Worse, I had no idea why.
He didn’t come out from behind his desk. Didn’t get up.
“Close the door, Nora.”
No hello, how are you, Nora? I didn’t like his tone either, but I complied. I walked over and sat on the chair in front of his desk, clasping the hobo bag on my lap, feeling very much like I’d been called into the principal’s office for some infraction. That happened a time or two when I was in high school.
“What’s wrong?” I said, uncomfortable, wondering, not really wondering. Vivian had been arrested, so I figured this was about her.
“What did the autopsy show? What makes the medical examiner think it was murder? And why has Vivian been arrested?”
“You didn’t tell me you recognized the person running away from Buster’s house the morning of the murder. That’s called withholding evidence.”
“Withholding evidence?” I jumped out of my chair. “I didn’t think he’d been murdered. You knew that. How was he killed?”
“Sit. Please.” He repeated his question about me spotting Vivian running away. Cop mind. One track when it came to a case.
“Withholding evidence, Nora. If you’d told me when you should have, I could have interviewed her immediately and the case would have proceeded differently. Now I’m playing catch-up.”
“I can explain,” I said, sitting, rearranging myself in the chair, shifting my bag in the process. I hadn’t closed the zipper completely, and my cell phone fell out and clanked on the floor. Instead of zipping immediately, which I should have done, I bent to retrieve the phone. A few other items joined the cell. The half-empty metal box of cinnamon Altoids was particularly loud. I prefer wintergreen but the Country Store was all out of those today. My second choice would have been spearmint, but they were flat out of those, too. Also on the floor was the eight-gigabyte disk for my camera, and three pens, each in a different color. Often, but certainly not all the time, I coordinate pen color to my outfit. I hadn’t done that today, hence, the three pens.
“No need,” he said, tapping an annoying tattoo on his desk with a black Bic. “What’s done is done.”
I focused on the pen. He stopped tapping.
“But I want to explain,” I said calmly.
Nick and I had kissed a few times. I tried not to think about that now. Sometimes when I try not to think of something that’s all I think about. Right now I remembered the intensity of his eyes and the love in his smile when he gathered me in his arms. I could almost feel his mouth as it captured mine.
“Not necessary,” he said, breaking into my erotic thoughts. He sighed his annoyed sigh.
“Vivian is waiting in a cell. She wants to see you. I’ll take you to her.”
He got up from behind his desk, grabbed a set of keys, and headed for the door. The overhead light reflected off the shiny star he wore, the symbol of his authority. He still hadn’t explained why she’d been arrested.
“She needs a lawyer,” he said, all business-like. “I don’t know why she insisted on calling you.”
When I had more time I’d analyze his reaction, but my gut feeling was that he was hurt. Maybe he thought I didn’t trust him? I wondered whether he had trust issues. Yes, he must. His ex took off and left him for the big city of Boston. I wondered whether she’d returned the ring.
Desperate times. Desperate measures. I jumped ahead of him, flung myself, clunky purse and all, at the door, and plastered outstretched arms across it, blocking his way.
He stopped short, a stunned look on his face. With some people, it takes a bit more to get their attention.
“I don’t like you when you’re like this. A bad trait, not being willing to listen,” I chided.
“Nora. This is ridiculous. Get away from the door.” He put his hands on his hips. He looked very cute that way. Sexy, too.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I said, trying to steady my dangling purse along with my pulse. “Now, here’s what happened. I saw someone I thought was Vivian running through the woods. I wasn’t sure. I called her name, and whoever it was didn’t stop. I decided I should talk to her first, then tell you. It was a courtesy to her. I am a very courteous person, in case you had not noticed. I mean, she asked me to look into her Pomeranian problem, so technically I was working for her.
“But when the police are involved—”
“Shush. I’m not finished.”
That stunned look was back again. I don’t suppose many people shushed him.
I continued. “I planned to tell you. Then when everyone figured Buster died from natural causes, that was that. I put it out of my mind.”
He did the eye roll, and gave an impatient sigh. Cute and sexy does not begin to describe this man.
I took a deep breath, and lowered my voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was a mistake.”
> He threw up his arms and turned away a moment, but not before I saw his mouth twitch. When he turned back, he was straight-faced again. “I was angry at you.”
Was. Past tense. Good. “But you’re not any more, are you?” I asked, lowering my arms.
The one supporting the purse had begun to ache. I carry too much in this bag, way too much. I should consider cleaning it out soon. Maybe I’ll weigh it first, just out of curiosity.
He leaned down and kissed me, a quick brush on the lips that made my scalp tingle. If it had been more of a kiss, I would have buckled. But he stepped back.
“I suppose not,” he answered, his gaze on my mouth.
He stared.
I stared back.
Then, he stepped up to the plate again, gathered me in his arms and kissed me like he’d never kissed me before. Such passion in this man. He took my breath away. If he hadn’t been holding me so tightly, I might have slipped right down that door and landed in a big blob on the floor of the Silver Stream Sheriff’s Office. Good thing he was holding me. My arms slid around his neck and my purse smacked his back.
That was like a signal, one I hadn’t meant to give. He broke away, and reached for the doorknob.
“Vivian’s in a holding cell. I’ll take you there. She refuses to say a word to me. She asked to see you. Maybe you can get her to tell you what happened.”
“Why did you arrest her? What makes you think Buster was murdered, and by Vivian of all people?”
“Her fingerprints were on a cracked cup we found in the woods at the edge of Buster’s property and also on his bedroom phone. The cup had a poison residue.”
“Vivian was in Buster’s bedroom? Are you sure?”
“Fingerprints don’t lie. Neither do toxicology results.”
“Toxicology? So soon?”
“The official toxicology reports from the autopsy won’t be back for a month or more. But we found digitalis on his clothing and around his mouth. The same substance was found in the cup. We’re fairly certain Buster died from cardiac glycoside toxicity.”
Another shock. “Glycoside toxicity? What is that?”
“Poison from a flower. Digitalis overdose.”
Vivian was in Buster’s room and gave him poison. Incredible. So incredible in fact, it probably wasn’t true.
“Can someone plant fingerprints?” I asked.
“I suppose so, but it would take a ton of preparation. It’s not likely.”
SIX
Vivian looked awful. Her hair could not have been flatter if she’d slicked it down with motor oil, her golden sweatshirt was grubby, her makeup splotchy. She looked every one of her fifty-something years, and then some. She began to cry when she saw me. I wanted to be angry at her, but as soon as Nick opened the cell door, I hugged her. I’m such a pushover. I know I have to work on that.
Nick showed us to a small private room in back. No two-way mirror. No cameras. At least I didn’t think so.
Vivian and I sat opposite each other at a small table and Nick left us alone.
“Vivian, what—”
“I’m sorry I told him,” she interrupted. “When I told him you called my name, he was surprised. I didn’t consider that you might not have told him about seeing me the day Buster died. Thank you for not telling. And I’m sorry I didn’t get you some tissues.”
She began to cry again, and I got up and put my arm around her shoulder.
“Vivian, don’t worry about it. Everything’s okay with Nick and me.” I skipped mention of the tissues. I wasn’t ready to put that to bed yet. “What were you doing at Buster’s?”
“I didn’t kill him. I swear I didn’t.” She grasped my wrists. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”
I pulled back.
“No,” I said, not a hundred percent sure of that. I didn’t know Vivian very well. I knew less about her relationship with Buster. But finding a cup with her fingerprints on it? The more I thought about that, the more preposterous it seemed. Vivian was in the crosshairs, the red dot flickering on her I-Love-My-Poms sweatshirt. If she were framed, and it looked like that to me, someone had gone to a lot of trouble. Amazing planning. Slick. Hard to believe it was even possible to set up such a thing.
“Tell me what happened, every last detail.”
Hands up, palms out, she said, “I found my sweet Nutmeg, poisoned I’m sure, just like Dora. I called Buster immediately and blasted him. That was around five-thirty in the morning. Hours later I got a phone call from him. His voice was strange, kinda fuzzy-sounding. Hoarse. He said he was coming down with laryngitis. He asked me to come over immediately. He wanted to tell me something important about the dogs.”
“So you called him first, and then he called you back. How long between calls?”
“A long time. I went back to bed and didn’t get up until eight. It was hours later when he called back. I remember now. It was just about the time my ten o’clock cable news show began.”
“So, you called him at five-thirty.” I ticked off the time on my fingers and said, “And about four and a half hours later someone with laryngitis called for you to come over.”
“It was Buster. His name came up on my Caller ID.”
“Was there a car or truck in his driveway?”
“No. I checked to see whether the nephews were around. Only Buster’s red truck was in the driveway.”
“You went outside and checked? From the end of Buster’s driveway?”
“I went outside, but not to the end.”
“So there’s a chance you missed seeing a vehicle in the part of the driveway not visible from your house?”
Vivian shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“But it’s possible, “ I said. “Anyway, you couldn’t resist going over there?”
“I guess not.”
“Did you ever have a romantic relationship with Buster?”
The quick shift took her by surprise. Her mouth dropped, and her brow wrinkled.
Seconds later, she fired back. “How could you say such a thing? If someone paid me a million bucks I wouldn’t go near that man.”
As soon as the words were out she saw the inconsistency. Before she could backtrack, I asked, “How long before you got to his house?”
“About five minutes. I put my sneakers on first.” She closed her eyes and began to rock back and forth in her chair.
“He was on the bed. I think … he was in a coma. He was so pale. There was a glass of water on his nightstand and I tried to give him a drink. He didn’t even twitch. I know CPR and I tried that. Nothing worked. I picked up the phone to call 911 but I didn’t get a dial tone. His phone was dead. Then I heard someone pull up in the driveway.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“I panicked. Who would believe I tried to help Buster Verney? Just about everyone in town knew how I felt about him. They knew I thought he poisoned Dora. They’d think I murdered him. Wouldn’t you run?”
“Probably. Nick mentioned fingerprints. Maybe they found DNA, too. I’ll find out.”
She continued to rock, her chair squeaking on each forward shift. “What does it matter? They know I was there.”
She started to sob again. “Rotten … Buster … Verney. Wasn’t enough he played me for a fool, then poisoned my dogs. Now he’s reaching out from the grave to torment me. He’s got them claiming I poisoned him. Ridiculous.”
Played me for a fool.
“What do you mean he played you for a fool? Did you date Buster?”
She waved her hand in dismissal and rocked faster.
“Vivian, I need to know what you meant. I can’t help you if I don’t know the whole story.”
“Nothing much. It had to do with the dogs. He once told me he liked them. That was a big fat lie. I need a good lawyer,” she said quickly. “I figured your family must know someone. They’ve lived here forever and know everyone.”
I did not believe her. But I realized she wasn’t going to say more at the
moment.
“I’ll speak to my aunts today.”
“Nick read me my rights. I didn’t want to speak to him before I told you what happened. I trust you, Nora. I know you’ll find the killer, so I wanted you to know the whole story first.”
“Okay, Vivian.” I stood to leave.
“I’ve watched a few cop shows,” she said, “and I know that sometimes a person thinks they’re saying something completely innocent to the cops, but it gets twisted around to make them look guilty.”
“The aunts will recommend a good lawyer, Vivian. No need to be afraid of incriminating yourself.” I paused. “Then you have to tell me about your relationship with Buster, all of it.”
“I did,” she said, looking so indignant I almost believed her.
Trimble escorted Vivian back to her cell, and I accompanied her. We said our good-byes. As I was walking away, she called me back.
“I have one more favor to ask.”
“Anything. Just name it.”
I was way too quick to promise. Way, way, way too quick. I would regret that later.
Both hands gripping the bars, her chubby cheeks pressed into the narrow opening between them, looking beyond pathetic, she said, “Please take care of my babies.”
Babies?
SEVEN
Since venturing into the lions’ den does not require a shower, I skipped that. With trepidation that bordered on panic, with knees actually knocking, I donned my L.L. Bean jeans and a blue T-shirt. Normally, I am not an L.L. Bean kind of woman. I prefer designer labels but you go with what works. The plan was to feed the dogs and clean up their pen, then feed Vivian’s cats and change their litter.
Omigod, what had I gotten myself into agreeing to such insanity? I was not an animal person. Because of my allergies, we never had a pet in our house, not even a little hamster. Oh, how I’d wanted a pet when I was a kid, a cute little kitten to cuddle, a puppy to play with and call my own.
My mother had the final word.
I won’t risk it, Nora. Bad enough I had to lay out money for your braces. I refuse to spend time in a doctor’s office because of your allergies. No pets. End of discussion.
Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods Page 4
