Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods

by Bernadine Fagan

  Ida warned that hunting season had begun, so red or orange was mandatory. Not that I’d ever be mistaken for a moose, but still you have to take precautions, I suppose. Most of the guys wore orange vests over camouflage jackets. Orange hats were the color of choice.

  The roads, and I use the term loosely, snaked this way and that, far from the main road, making me feel like I was in the middle of a Where’s Waldo challenge.

  “There’re almost no signs. Are you sure we’re going the right way?” I asked Mary Fran as we dipped into a deep rut and I bounced so high my head hit the roof.

  “Last sign said go north. Didn’t you see it?”

  “How could I miss it? No other signs for miles. Of course, you have to figure out which way is north.”

  My mouth was open when I hit the next pothole and my jaw slammed shut.

  “I think I have a pebble in my mouth,” I said, swirling a new little object around with my tongue.

  “Take the path to the right,” Mary Fran said, pointing, as if I didn’t know which way was right.

  I veered onto a new trail. More ruts. After we leveled off and I regained control of the wheel, I spit the pebble into my palm. It was either a filling or a nugget from a nearby silver mine that flew into my mouth through the open window.

  “Some folks bring their RVs and set up miles and miles away from this road,” Mary Fran said as I divided my attention between the road and my nugget, giving short shrift to her conversation.

  “I could not picture ever wanting to do such a foolish thing. They come even in winter?”

  “Sh-ur. Best time for some.”

  “I lost a filling.” I carefully set the little chunk in my pristine ashtray.

  “Hunh. A filling.”

  After what seemed like an hour, but according to the dashboard clock was fourteen minutes, give or take a few seconds, we finally sailed into port in front of a large rustic building with All-Season Wilderness Lodge and Campground carved in block letters on the porch overhang.

  I was a little nervous about seeing Rhonda, hoping she didn’t have a huge lump on her head, hoping even more that she could tell me something about Buster and his girlfriend. I brought her a little houseplant, a purple African violet, one of the few plants I recognize. I tried to grow violets in my apartment in New York once when I was on my nature kick because everyone was talking about going green, but the plant died from either too little water or too much, not sure which. I admit to being a poor judge of water.

  Rhonda stepped out on the porch before we were out of the truck. She could walk, a good sign.

  “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” I said as I handed her the plant. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, fine.”

  And do you know who Buster was having an affair with?

  “Hi, Rhonda,” Mary Fran said, looking around. “Gee, I haven’t been out this way in a long time.” She gave Rhonda a kiss on the cheek. “You hold up well for a lady who was knocked out a day ago.”

  Rhonda smiled. “Come. I’ll show you around, Nora.”

  We entered a huge main room with a vaulted ceiling, log beams and pine walls that exuded more of a woodsy smell than the woods outside. No doubt due to the flickering scented candles on the mantle of the huge stone fireplace.

  “We have fly fishing and bird dog hunting,” Rhonda was saying as we climbed the stairs to the upper level, a huge expanse that overlooked the great room below. “Or folks can rent a canoe or a kayak or take our bus down to the lake or beyond that to the rapids if they’re the adventurous sort.”

  “A bus. Good idea,” I said, not really interested in her transportation facilities as I poked my tongue into the new hole in my back tooth, and checked out the hunting photos that lined the wall next to the stairs. Someone was into photography.

  Oh, crap! I quickly averted my head as we passed three huge moose heads mounted on a wall in the upper room. On an opposite wall, offsetting the animals, were beautiful photographs, mostly landscapes of trees and lakes in every season, at every time of day. “Exquisite,” I said, looking at one sunset photo.

  “Ray’s an amateur photographer.”

  She showed me another display that spanned many years. “Ray used the self-timer for this first photo. It was taken the day we were married. We eloped.”

  “To someplace warm?”

  “No. He used photo software on this, like he did on lots of his work. He said palm trees looked more romantic than a City Hall in Maine.”

  Mary Fran rushed to the large section of back wall that was mainly windows, passing beneath several deer heads without a glance. She opened the window and yelled, “Hey, Stan.”

  I glanced down. “Is that Buster’s nephew? The heavyset one?”

  Rhonda nodded. “Yes. Stan drives a bus for us. Heavyset is a nice way to put it. Buster used to tease him something awful. Used to do this sing-song, ‘Stan, Stan the fatso man,’ whenever he saw him eating anything.”

  I felt a tiny twinge for Stan. “That must have done a number on his self-esteem.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Buster wanted his nephews to follow his example. You know, stay in shape. That, and earn an honest living. Honesty was important to Buster.”

  “It should be,” I said. “To everyone.”

  “When the boys came to live with him after his sister and her husband died in a car crash Buster decided it was his duty to get them in shape. He laid down the law, made them tow the line.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Must be over fifteen years. They were in their teens at the time. Lenny’s thirty now. Stan’s two years older.”

  “Was Buster harsh with them?”

  Would that be a reason to kill him, I wondered.

  “Yes, but I’m sure they’re grateful for his guidance or at least over the harshness,” Rhonda said.

  I found that statement amazing on two levels. First, it demonstrated a resistance to criticism of Buster, whether she was aware of it or not, and second, because she should realize that some things are never forgotten or forgiven.

  “I don’t know about that,” Mary Fran said as she joined us. “Buster didn’t come by his name by accident. He was tough. A real ball buster.”

  Rhonda gave her a dirty look.

  “Do you think Lenny or Stan hated him?” I asked.

  “Enough to kill him you mean?” Rhonda said in a huff.

  “I don’t know them and I didn’t know Buster,” I said.

  “Absolutely not. It was plain to see how much Buster did for them. They were grateful.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Buster was a wonderful man. Period.”

  Such pride in her voice. It sounded a little like love. Certainly more than friendship. I pushed a bit to see her reaction. “Women must have been attracted to him?”

  If I hadn’t been staring directly at her, partly to avoid the animal heads fighting for my attention on the walls, I never would have noticed the sudden misting of her eyes. In a flash she turned aside and began talking about ATV trails and wilderness waterways.

  I came here to find out who Buster was seeing and I may have found her. If I was right, I wondered whether her husband knew, or suspected.

  Rhonda continued her pitch with barely a breath, as if she were dealing with a potential customer. No, I corrected, as if she didn’t want me to ask any more questions.

  “And our lodge is a high speed internet wireless hotspot. Lots of folks bring laptops. Buster used to sit over there when he used his computer.” She tipped her head toward a burgundy leather chair by the window, then took a deep breath and said, “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the lodge.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve never seen more than the kitchen,” Mary Fran said.

  “Buster came all this way to use a computer?” I asked.

  She gave me a strange look. “He worked here, off and on for the past two years. Took out hunting parties and hiking groups. Did white wat
er rafting. So of course, he used his computer here.”

  “Your family and Buster’s were close?”

  “I wouldn’t say close.”

  Rhonda opened the kitchen door. “Oh! Lenny, I didn’t know you were here. When did you come in?”

  “Just getting coffee.”

  I wondered if he heard what we said about him.

  He gave me a guarded look and hitched up his jumbo jeans. Mary Fran gave him a wave.

  He left with his coffee and we toured the kitchen. I’m not a kitchen person but I pretended to be impressed with the array of pots and pans hanging from hooks, the massive refrigerators, the sparkling metal countertops.

  We headed down the hall.

  When Rhonda opened the door to her bedroom, I was stunned, and stood frozen for several seconds.

  “Holy crap,” Mary Fran said, echoing my silent sentiments.

  It was like we’d stepped back in time. Or maybe there should be a velvet rope draped across the entrance to prevent tourists from entering this Victorian shrine. As Rhonda walked across the Aubusson carpet, I followed, studying her updo and wondering if she owned a white lawn afternoon gown, something with a high neck and tons of embroidery and lace.

  Mary Fran said, “Do I have to wipe my feet before I enter?”

  “Ray loves this period,” Rhonda said, ignoring Mary Fran. “I believe an aesthetically pleasing environment is essential in a bedroom, don’t you, Nora?”

  “Um-mm,” I said.

  Mary Fran twirled around. “I feel like I’m onstage.”

  Rhonda tilted the pink nosegay on the dresser so it caught the light streaming through diaphanous layers of ornate curtains.

  I wondered whether she needed this distraction to keep her mind off Buster.

  She looked at me, then around the room, brows raised, expecting a comment on the décor. I fumbled mentally, thinking, thinking, thinking as I scanned the room. What could I say?

  “What a clever use of beads,” I said finally, indicating the strands of crystalline gems cascading from the canopy, creating a waterfall effect around the bed. I couldn’t resist fluttering my hand through them. I should have resisted. What a racket. They collided all over the place, making me want to cover my ears. I tried to stop them, but made it worse and stepped away. Rhonda watched me.

  They were still clanging as we left the room. Omigod, that would make me crazy.

  Later we sat in the family dining room at a long table that wouldn’t have been out of place in a castle. I felt like a queen. Or a princess. But that only lasted until I took a sip of cold water and yelped like I’d been stabbed.

  “What?” Rhonda cried out.

  “Sensitivity to temperature,” I mumbled, holding my jaw. “Lost a filling.”

  Mary Fran shook her head. “Get some of that temporary filling paste until you see the dentist.”

  “Good idea,” Rhonda agreed as she hopped up from the table. “I’ll call my husband and tell him what you need so he’ll have it ready for you. He’s the pharmacist in town. The dentist has an office right behind the pharmacy. Actually we own the building he’s in. Isn’t that convenient? You can make your appointment today.”

  “I’ll wait until I get back to New York and see my own dentist. He knows how much sweet air I need.”

  During lunch, an assortment of salads, I tried to think of a way to ask Rhonda about her relationship with Buster without being blatantly rude. Nothing came.

  On the way back to my truck we waved to Lenny and Stan who stood at the far end of the porch watching us. Again, I wondered if Lenny had overheard our conversation. If so, he might know that I suspected him of murder.

  When we were back on the potholed road, Mary Fran rambled on about dentists she’d gone to and the mess one made of her teeth. My thoughts wandered. I had the feeling that if I picked up on a possible relationship between Rhonda and Buster, Rhonda’s husband could have, too.

  All I knew for certain was that Rhonda cared a lot for Buster. What bothered me was that I never had the courage to ask outright what needed to be asked.

  Feeling uncomfortable, like something was not right, I drove most of the way in silence.

  TWELVE

  As soon as I dropped Mary Fran off at Hot Heads Heaven I drove to the drug store at the end of Main Street, a small brick building next to the Country Store. I was more interested in meeting Ray than in buying tooth filling paste.

  I parked in front and phoned Nick.

  “Why don’t you come over?” he said, skipping the hello part of the conversation. Smiling, I turned to see him standing by the open door of the sheriff’s office. We waved to each other.

  “I have a tooth problem. I also have some info on the case.”

  “Case? You don’t have a case. I have a case. Have you forgotten?”

  “Is Vivian still in jail on a technicality?” I countered.

  “Murder evidence doesn’t fall under the heading of a technicality. Besides, she’ll be out on bail later today.”

  “She hired me, so I have a case.”

  “Nora, when are you going to tell people you’re not a detective?”

  “Another technicality? You’re full of them today.”

  I watched him smile. “Have you been out to feed her dogs and cats again?” he asked, walking across the street toward me.

  I put my phone away. “Mary Fran agreed to do it.”

  “You’re taking the fun out of my life,” he said, pocketing his phone and placing both hands on the open window of my truck as he smiled his Nick smile.

  “I try never to take the fun out of anyone’s life,” I said. “I lost a filling.”

  “So you have a tooth problem?”

  “Yes. I’m here for paste to fill a gaping hole.”

  “I can recommend a dentist.” He nodded in the direction of the drug store.

  “I don’t like dentists. They cause pain and then charge for it.”

  “So you’re going to keep the gaping hole?”

  I liked the feel of his hand on my arm. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the info I have on the case?”

  His hand went to my chin and he trailed his index finger along my jaw. I felt flutters in my stomach. Oh God, stop me. I am falling for this guy.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “I think Rhonda had an affair with Buster.”

  “Think?” His eyes narrowed, and I knew he hadn’t known this. “What makes you think that?”

  “She cared about him. I’m guessing she was in love with him.”

  I told him about the conversation I’d had with Rhonda. “There’s a good possibility they had an affair. I don’t know her husband. Is he the jealous type? Vengeful, maybe? Could he have found out and killed Buster?”

  Nick looked up, waved and called a few ‘hi-yas’ to some old guys heading into the Country Store. Recognizing three uncles in the group, I waved too. I knew from experience they wouldn’t talk to me once they were seated around the potbelly stove in the back room. It was a guy thing around here that required getting used to. I still wasn’t used to it.

  “Have you met Ray Racanelli?” he asked.

  “No. I’m going there now.”

  “I’m checking him out.”

  “You didn’t know about the affair, did you?”

  “No. But you’re guessing about that.”

  “It’s a good guess, Nick. It’s based on a strong feeling I have. And that is based on her reactions to what I asked about Buster. Why are you checking into Rhonda’s husband?”

  “There was bad blood between Ray and Buster.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Not yet. Not until I know what really went on between them. I think it had to do with money. Maybe there was more to it.”

  “But you think he could have killed Buster?”

  “Nora, he’s a person of interest. I don’t have the answer to what you’re asking.”

  After a moment he ducked his head back to me. “You going to be
around a week from this Saturday?”

  “Maybe. The aunts have been talking about Silver Streamfest nonstop for over a week, planning box lunches for the bus trip to the river. I offered to drive them, but they tell me the bus trip is part of the fun. Being from New York City, a bus trip is not on my list of fun activities.”

  “The pumpkin boat races are this Saturday. The Harvest Dance is next Saturday.”

  I forced myself not to smile but my heart did kick up a notch. “Would you be asking just out of curiosity? You know, to pass the time of day?”

  “Not just passing the time of day. Curiosity is involved, but I admit to … other motives.”

  Smiling, I said, “You willing to share those motives?”

  “I’d like to make an official request that you save a dance or two for me.”

  Because I’m a strong woman my expression didn’t change. The smile held. Because I’ve been hurt before, my demeanor didn’t alter. How foolish of me to think he was going to ask to take me to the dance. How irrational. When would I learn?

  “Certainly,” I said. “I’ll do that.”

  Nick’s cell rang and he took the call.

  He walked away, then turned and waved. I headed for the drug store.

  It was busy, with a crowd of three people, two shopping, one at the drug counter. I stood off to the side, watching Ray, identifiable by the Ray badge attached to the pocket of his white lab coat, as he waited on a customer, chatting as if he had all the time in the world and a person wasn’t standing in line shifting from one foot to the other, thinking about the hole in her tooth and trying not to stare at him, trying not to think of him as a possible murderer.

  To distract myself, I stared at his nose. From the side, it was shaped like Florida. As I watched, he scratched Miami.

  He reminded me of someone. I know it’s rude to stare, but I stared anyway.

  Who did he remind me of?

  Finally it popped into my head. It was a character in a famous story. Yes. Some nervous skinny guy with an odd name who believed in ghosts and goblins and was terrified of a “headless” horseman who came charging at him through the woods.