“You mean he’d . . . smell?”
“Enough that the dog should have picked up the scent, even with snow covering the ground. Still, I guess Wyatt Purvey could have steered searchers away from the maze, assuming he was the one who buried Snowe there.”
Liss heard the doubt in Sherri’s voice. Her friend still thought Purvey was a dishonest cop, but her certainty that he was behind everything else that had happened had begun to erode.
Liss doodled a tombstone on the legal pad, complete with the letters RIP. “Maybe Snowe wasn’t there yet.”
“Explain.”
Liss shook her head, uncertain herself what she meant. “If the dog didn’t find the body, maybe it was because it wasn’t there. I don’t know where Snowe could have been, but maybe he wasn’t in that grave until after the search was called off. What else did Mike say?”
“That there was nothing suspicious about that field. He remembers it—the one area where the trees were much smaller than any others on the property. The ground didn’t seem to have been disturbed.”
“But it was covered in snow.”
“He said the snow melted pretty fast, the same way the snow from this last storm did. By the time they called a halt to the search, they would have been able to spot signs of a fresh burial.”
“Why was the search called off?” Liss asked.
“Why do you think? The police couldn’t justify wasting any more of the taxpayers’ money. The state police and the police from New York were convinced that Snowe had killed John Doe and was long gone. Most of the local searchers didn’t agree, but after they found Snowe’s truck, they figured he was dead of natural causes or maybe suicide, somewhere above ground. They expected his body would turn up during hunting season.”
“Two deaths and then nothing.” Liss drew a line across the middle of the page. Below it she wrote the date she and Dan arrived in New Boston. “What did we do to alarm the killer?”
Sherri’s answer was prompt and unequivocal. “You showed an interest in the maze. That has to be it. Who did you mention it to?”
“The subject kept coming up that day—the day Dan was hurt. Outside the police station when we talked to Mike Jennings. In Madison’s during lunch. I told you about the acoustics in there. Anyone could have overheard what we said to Miranda.”
“Harlan Woolgar was there at the time, right?”
Liss nodded. “But the grapevine in New Boston is in good working order. If someone overheard us talking or was told what we’d said, and if that person knew there was a body buried in the center of the maze, he or she might well have thought we were getting too close for comfort.”
“Was anyone in Rowena’s shop when you bought that book about mazes?”
“I don’t think so. But she could have mentioned it to someone. She was very interested when we told her about it. Well, we know now that Snowe built it for her.”
“All that was before Dan’s fall. So it could be cause and effect. And then, when you didn’t leave, the same person could have set fire to the maze.”
“We’ve been through this before,” Liss reminded her. “If the person who buried Snowe wanted to keep us from finding the body, it makes no sense to do something to call attention to that particular field.”
“I hate to point this out to you—again!—but none of this makes much sense.”
Liss sighed and put down her pen. Clarify the situation by making a list? Fat chance! All she’d done was raise more unanswered questions.
Andy Dutton turned up on their doorstep just as dusk started to fall.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she demanded the moment Liss opened the door. “You found him, and you didn’t tell me!”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have let you know what was going on.”
She’d never given Andy a thought, or Rowena, either, but the New Boston grapevine had apparently been working overtime. When she’d ushered Andy into Simeon Snowe’s office and made her sit in the green armchair, Liss decided this was good to know. It was to their advantage that everyone in the county, especially the killer, hear that a body had been found at the center of the maze. That should put an end to attempts to prevent the discovery. There was no longer any reason for anyone to hurt the innocent people staying in Simeon Snowe’s house.
“The body hasn’t officially been identified yet.”
Andy glared at her, hands balled into fists. “Who else could it be? It isn’t as if people go missing every day of the week around here. You should have called me right away.”
“I agree it’s a poor excuse, but everything happened very fast.” She turned the desk chair around and sat, studying Andy’s face. The glint of unshed tears shone in her eyes. “I didn’t realize you were so fond of Simeon Snowe.”
“He gave me a break. I owed him. Who killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
Andy leaned forward, her features earnest. “They’ll find out, won’t they? The police?” She sounded very young.
Liss reached across the short distance between them to place one of her hands over Andy’s. “There are lots of people working on the case. And they never give up when the crime is a murder.”
“Did he do it? The man in that sketch?”
Liss shook her head. “He died first. But the two deaths are connected. They have to be. Simeon Snowe was probably killed because he knew something about the other man’s murder. Maybe you can help the police figure out what that was.”
“Me? How?” Her anger had faded, leaving bewilderment behind.
“You were here that October. Think back to what you remember.”
Andy frowned. “Harvests kind of run together. That was the third year I worked for him. The two years before that, he paid me to help out, even though I was too young for him to hire legally. I worked off the books.” She shrugged. “Well, why not? I’d known him all my life. He was our nearest neighbor, after all.”
“So you knew him well.”
Another shrug. “I guess. I spent a lot of time here. I helped with both planting and harvesting from the time I was big enough to pick up a spade. He tolerated me when I was little. Later he encouraged me to get more interested in Christmas tree farming. He didn’t have any kids of his own.”
“He never married?”
She shook her head.
“No girlfriends?”
Andy considered this for a moment. “He wouldn’t have talked about that to a kid, but I remember there was one woman who came out here once when we were netting trees. Not that last year. The one before, I think.” Andy sank lower in the chair. “I wish I could think of something that would help find his killer, but it wasn’t like he confided in me.”
“Tell me more about the woman you saw. Did she have fluffy white hair?”
Andy shook her head. “No. It wasn’t dark hair, but it wasn’t white, either. She was tall. Taller than Mr. Snowe. And built.” A suggestive gesture at bosom level indicated the relative proportion of that area of the body.
“And you didn’t recognize her?”
Andy shrugged. “I don’t know a lot of people from town, except for the ones I went to school with. I’m not much of a joiner.”
The description was vague, but what there was of it seemed to fit Juliette Cressy.
“Do you think that woman had anything to do with Mr. Snowe’s murder?” Andy asked.
“I doubt it.” But Liss sincerely hoped the incident had taken place before Snowe started courting Rowena. She didn’t like to think he’d been two-timing the mother with the daughter, especially since he’d have had to pay for the daughter’s affections.
“Does Ms. Snowe still want to open this place up to cut-your-own customers?” Andy asked in an abrupt change of subject.
“I’m sure she does.” Gina would never pass up an opportunity to make a buck or two. “As soon as the police let us back into the fields, we can take a look at the trees that are ready to sell. We need to talk about publicity, too.”
“We don’t have much time. Thanksgiving is only a week away.” Andy got up, starting to button the coat she’d never bothered to remove.
Liss stopped her, catching hold of one lapel and easing the fabric aside to reveal yet another marvel of Christmas kitsch. “What’s with the sweaters?”
Looking down at herself and a four-part design that included the Grinch, a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, the leg lamp from A Christmas Story, and Grandma getting run over by a reindeer, Andy heaved a deep sigh. “My mother . . . likes Christmas.”
“Ah.”
“And when she’s not making wreaths, she knits.”
And Andy, Liss thought with a smile, instead of stripping off the results the moment she was out of the house, wore her mother’s creations. Not every daughter would be such a good sport.
“I’ll make a list of what needs to be done,” she promised as she showed the young woman to the door.
On Friday, a week to the day after Liss and Dan left Moosetookalook to begin their adventure in New Boston, Liss once again woke up early. Once again, she left Dan sleeping to start the coffee. As she waited for it to brew, she went over the to-do list she’d made the previous evening.
After hearing Andy’s description of the woman Snowe had shown around the tree farm, Liss had debated with herself about whether or not to attend the last of her prepaid aerobics classes. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop wondering if Juliette’s intimate relationship with Simeon Snowe had continued after he began seeing her mother. Juliette had known he was involved with Rowena. Rowena had said so.
She shook her head. “Don’t think about it.”
“Talking to yourself?” Sherri asked as she entered the kitchen. “That’s a bad sign.” She opened the refrigerator, foraging for juice. “What’s your plan for the day?”
“Into town for aerobics. Then a meeting with Andy.” Liss tapped the list. “There’s a lot to be done before she can open that cut-your-own Christmas tree business. Do you want to come with me?”
Sherri shook her head. “Mike Jennings said he’d come by this morning. I have a few things I want to ask him about.”
She reached into the pocket of her jeans for her car keys and tossed them to Liss, then turned the legal pad around so she could read what was on it. Liss put two slices of whole-wheat bread into the toaster and stood beside the kitchen counter, waiting for it to pop.
“Busy, busy,” Sherri said, “but I don’t see any mention here of driving back to Moosetookalook.”
“We left what time we leave here up in the air,” Liss reminded her.
“You know Dan wants to hit the road early.”
Liss sighed. “I know. I just hate to walk out in the middle of the movie.”
Sherri chuckled. “I’d like to find out who dunnit, too. Heck, I’d like to be the one to arrest that sucker. But I expect we’ll both have to settle for hearing about it on the six o’clock news, if and when they catch him.”
“I guess we should both go home and forget all about Simeon Snowe and John Doe and the rest of it.”
“Yes, we should.”
Sherri downed eight ounces of orange juice, and Liss ate her toast, sipping coffee between bites, each lost in her own thoughts.
As Liss had expected, Rowena had already heard the bare facts about the discovery of the as yet unidentified remains at the Snowe farm. Everyone in the aerobics class had heard something. They peppered Liss with questions the moment she walked in. While they changed into exercise clothes, she shared what few tidbits she knew to be fact with an attentive audience, but she refused to speculate.
“So he was there all along, right on his own property.” Rowena looked sad but resigned.
“They can’t be one hundred percent sure it’s him until they do some tests,” Liss said.
“Who else could it be? I guess I always knew he’d turn up dead one of these days.”
Juliette poked her head into the room. “Isn’t anyone going to work out this morning? You aren’t going to stay in shape if you do nothing but gossip.”
A few of the women looked torn, but they all trooped out into the studio.
“Everybody may have figured he was dead,” Josie observed in a carrying voice, “but if someone buried him, doesn’t that mean he was murdered?”
Rowena paled at the suggestion.
“Don’t look so thrilled, Jo,” Kitty snapped. “For all you know, the murderer could be living right next door to you.”
“More likely it was some stranger who has long since moved on.” Juliette didn’t try to hide her irritation as she waited for her students to settle down. She was accustomed to having their full attention during class.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if it turned out to be a serial killer?” Josie’s eyes went wider, while her smile got bigger. “Old Man Snowe wasn’t the first victim, right?” She turned to Liss for confirmation. “That was the guy in the sketch your friend showed us.”
“Enough!” Juliette reached for the volume control, cranking up the sound until none of them could be heard above the blaring music. Only after they’d completed the first routine did she lower the decibel level.
Rowena bent close to Liss. “Will you come back to the shop with me after class?”
“Of course.”
Juliette’s glare stopped her from saying more.
An hour later, Liss followed Rowena into All Things Mystical. Since her last visit, there had been changes, although the cat next to the cash register was the same.
“You’ve redecorated.”
“The magic of Christmas theme,” Rowena said as she began the routine of opening her shop. “When you think about it, there are all sorts of paranormal elements—flying reindeer, elves, a fat man who can navigate chimneys without getting burned.”
“Or stuck.” Liss admired the displays, thinking she really ought to get started on her own Christmas shopping. Books for her nieces and nephews. She’d have to go online and see what was new in mysteries for young people.
Lost in thought, she did not immediately notice that Rowena’s usual joie de vivre was conspicuously absent. She’d retreated behind the sales counter to toy with the contents of the tray of jewelry. The jumble of items was in dire need of sorting, but Rowena’s efforts were only making the tangle worse. Liss didn’t recognize even half the symbols that decorated the amulets and armbands, necklaces and earrings. Occult stuff, she supposed. Or, more likely, pseudo-occult stuff. A pair of Goth girls, their garish makeup and the unrelieved black of their clothing marginally less jarring in these surroundings than in the rest of New Boston, entered the store and began to browse. Liss wondered if young people in other parts of the country still dressed that way or if rural Maine, as usual, was running a decade or two behind the times.
She was reluctant to broach the subject of Simeon Snowe as long as there were other people within earshot, but Rowena, having worked up her courage, had no such qualms. In a harsh voice, she blurted out the thought that had been haunting her. “It must have been someone local who killed him.”
Long, thick hair dyed a flat black shifted as one of the Goth girls turned to stare at the proprietor. “The guy at the Christmas tree farm?” She had a high, fluting voice.
“Ooh, I heard about that,” said her shorter, stockier companion. A silver skeleton dangled from one ear. An ear, Liss couldn’t help but notice, that was an angry red, as if it had been pierced by an amateur and left to fester.
“Who was he?” the first Goth asked.
“He was probably the gentleman who owned the place.” Rowena answered readily enough, but her firm tone of voice discouraged further questions. “Cash or charge?” she asked with a nod toward the rhinestone-studded dog collar the second girl was holding.
The transaction complete, the two young women left. Rowena breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“Are they typical of your customers?” Shopkeeper’s curiosity aroused, Liss really wanted to know.
“I have no
typical customer. I get everything from sweet little old grannies to preteens who wish they attended Monster High.” At Liss’s blank look, she shook her head. “Never mind. It would be impossible to explain to anyone over twelve. And, of course, I also sell dried herbs for cooking and healing and what have you.”
“And crystal balls,” Liss said, remembering.
Rowena laughed. “Yes, and crystal balls. A pity I can’t really see anything in them.”
“Why do you think it was someone local who killed Simeon Snowe?”
“Because I’m not a fool. Nor am I blind. Somehow, you stirred things up when you came to town. That fire was no accident.”
“No, but why would Snowe’s murderer call attention to the very place where he was buried?”
“Are you certain there’s no connection between the two murders and the arson? It seems an awfully big coincidence otherwise.”
“I’m not certain about anything,” Liss admitted.
“That’s the problem. Can you think of anything that might help us—I mean, help the police? Did anyone visit Snowe at the Christmas tree farm in the months before his death?”
“He didn’t encourage visitors.”
“Why not?”
“He was a very private person.” Rowena’s brow furrowed. “No, that’s not quite right. He was sociable enough when the occasion called for it. He volunteered his time at civic events and was generous with donations. But he also liked his privacy. That’s why he blocked off the driveway.” Her lips quirked.
Liss found herself grinning back. “Snowe put that sign up? The one that says that trespassers will be shot?”
Rowena nodded. “He wouldn’t really have shot anyone, of course. He didn’t even own a gun.”
“And you, I take it, were always welcome?”
“He never kicked me out of bed.” Voice dry, Rowena resumed sorting and untangling the items in the tray. This time, her fingers worked deftly to restore order. “Usually, though, he came here. He hinted that he’d like to make it legal, but of course, marriage was impossible. I’m still married to my fifth husband. He took off on me without a word.”
Ho-Ho-Homicide (A Liss MacCrimmon Mystery Book 8) Page 20
