Madness in Brewster Square

by Narielle Living

  As my mother bounced down the hallway toward the source of the screams, I turned to my father. “Danny’s here?” I asked.

  He nodded, a broad smile crossing his face. “Giuseppe dropped him off this morning. He went down for a morning nap, and now it sounds like he’s raring to go.” The smile quickly fell from his face with his next words. “Both Giuseppe and Janine told me what happened last night, and they’ve told me you’re going to do some digging on your own.”

  I wondered if either of them had mentioned they had put me up to the digging, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to set my father off on another rant about coming home.

  “What did they tell you about last night?” I asked, wondering how much my parents knew.

  “They told me you were going on a ghost hunt in the old McAllister house, and you went into the basement and found Ethel dead at the bottom of the stairs.” My father’s gaze narrowed as he poured from the coffee pot on the counter. “And they told me you weren’t very helpful to Oliver.”

  The first thing I thought was that my brother was a rat. Then I wondered when my parents had become friends with Detective Rialto, but before I could ask, my mother came sailing into the room with baby Danny in her arms.

  “Would you like to hold your nephew?” she asked, smiling at him and bouncing him up and down. The child seemed to be in a better mood than he had been a minute earlier, but I knew what was going to happen.

  “Um, maybe I’ll hold him later,” I said.

  “Nonsense. Take the child so I can go get his food for him,” my mother said, handing the kid to me and walking away.

  Sure enough, as soon as he was in my arms he looked up at me with adoring big brown eyes. He was a cutie, all right. Then he promptly threw up all over the front of my shirt.

  “Oh, dear,” my mother said, coming back into the room. I wordlessly handed the child back to her and went to my brother’s room, where I knew there were still some old sweatshirts of his. I wasn’t surprised the kid had vomited on me, but I was surprised my mother hadn’t seen it coming. The kid was a regular machine when it came to spewing his food.

  After changing into an old, soft Yale hoodie and throwing my soiled shirt in the washer, I went back into the kitchen where I could hear my parents talking.

  “I think the baby is better now,” my mother said. “I don’t know why he throws up so much, but at least it doesn’t seem to bother him.”

  I didn’t want to point out the obvious reasons, such as the fact that all babies threw up a lot, along with the fact that Giuseppe insisted on feeding the kid that awful organic food. Give the kid a hot dog, get rid of the rice milk, and I knew he’d be fine, but since I didn’t have kids of my own I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut on this one.

  Grabbing some grapes off the counter, I popped a few in my mouth and asked the question that had been nagging at me. “So how do you guys know Detective Rialto?”

  I watched a look pass between my parents and felt a flare of annoyance. I knew that look because I’d seen it my whole life, and it meant that they knew things they were not going to discuss with me. “He’s a very nice man, and I think we’re lucky he decided to settle in our little town,” my mother said.

  “How do you know him?” I could be persistent even when I knew it wouldn’t get me anywhere.

  “It’s a small town, Ava. We cross paths with everyone eventually,” my mother hedged. I suddenly felt like I was twelve years old again, trying to figure out what the grown-ups were talking about.

  “He’s a nice enough guy who is very qualified in law enforcement,” my father said. “Let him do his job, and everything will work out fine. Now let’s talk about someone else. Do you have anything else you want to tell us?”

  It was only a matter of time before I killed my brother. Really, what was he thinking, telling my parents all about my business? I knew where this conversation was headed, but in all fairness, if our situations were reversed, I would have done the same thing. In fact, I might have been a little bit worse when he started dating Janine.

  “Your father and I like Stanley,” my mother said. “It’s about time you two planned a date. You’ve been circling each other for months now.”

  “Circling each other?” What did my mother think I was, a wolf?

  She nodded, smiling. “He’s a lovely man and has such an interesting job as the mayor. I’m sure you’ll have a good time with him.”

  “Take things slow,” my father warned, frowning. It was such a typical father reaction that I had to laugh, and I hugged him.

  “Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll make sure I’m home by curfew, and I won’t leave my drink unattended,” I said. I reminded myself I was lucky to have a family that cared, and nosiness came with caring.

  My father cleared his throat. “What’s all this about you doing some sort of looking into this situation with Ethel? Let the police handle this.”

  I shrugged. “Giuseppe and Janine are really worried, so I told them I would see what I could find out. I’m not going to do anything that gets me into trouble, I’m just looking into things that the police might not have time to do.” I was skating the edges of the truth with that statement, but I knew they would worry if I told them too much.

  “You always used to read mysteries when you were a kid,” my mother said.

  She was right, but what my mother didn’t realize was that I still loved a good mystery. Some nights I stayed up until the early morning hours just to finish a book I’d started and see if I was correct in guessing whodunit.

  I decided to change the direction of the conversation to see what they knew. “I’m sure this is hitting the two of you pretty hard,” I said. “Haven’t you known Ethel for, like, forever?”

  My father shook his head. “We grew up together. I still can’t believe this kind of thing could happen here.”

  “Were you friends with her?” I asked. I knew the answer only because Ethel wasn’t someone who’d been around much when I was growing up, and I knew who most of my parents’ friends were.

  “We used to be,” my mother said. My surprise must have shown on my face, because my mother kept talking. “I know we weren’t friends with her recently, but when we were in high school we knew her. Once upon a time she was a very different person.”

  I always wondered what had happened to make Ethel an angry, bitter woman who plowed through life determined to make everyone conform to her personal set of rules and standards.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  My father shook his head. “A man, that’s what happened.”

  “Who?”

  “I thought you knew this,” my mother said. “One day they were madly in love, then something happened, and he married someone else after college.”

  “Who?” I repeated.

  “It was Win,” my father said. “I never did like that guy.”

  “You’ve always said that after the fact,” my mother said. “You liked him well enough when we all went out together.”

  My father shook his head. “No, I never trusted him. He was a snake.”

  I couldn’t imagine why my parents were talking as if I knew who they were talking about. There was only one person named Win that I knew, and it couldn’t possibly be him.

  “Who is this guy?” I asked.

  My parents looked at me as if I’d grown another head.

  “You know Win,” my mother insisted. “Winthrop Thurgood, Fred’s father. If all goes as Charlie plans, Win will be her father-in-law.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As I was getting ready for my date with Stanley that night, I had trouble staying focused. My mind was buzzing with the news that Fred’s father Win had not only dated Ethel but allegedly had carried on with her as if they had a future together.

  Maybe he murdered Ethel and he’ll go to jail and leave Charlie alone, I thought, then felt bad for thinking like that. Negative thoughts about others never helped, but they sure were hard to avoid sometimes.
/>   The thing is, I knew what had happened as soon as my parents started talking. They didn’t really have to tell me. I’d figured it out from what I’d heard from Charlie. Win might have loved Ethel madly, but in his heart he probably always knew they would never end up together. Ethel didn’t have the money or social standing that was so important to Win’s family, and that meant he wasn’t in it for the long haul with her.

  I had trouble imagining Ethel as a fun, feisty girl in love. The woman I’d known was always no-nonsense, professional and businesslike. She set her agenda for what she needed to get done and made sure it happened. Ethel was known for her pushy, abrasive manner, but honestly, I think she just saw herself as a sort of champion for various causes. She was a rule follower, not a risk taker, and she lived her life within the boundaries of propriety.

  I shook my head, disgusted with Win and myself for wasting anger on him. I’d known for a while he was not very nice from the way he treated Charlie, but this proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d always been a jerk—and if he did have something to do with her murder, he really would go to jail.

  Except it wouldn’t work that way, not in the case of a man as powerful as Winthrop Thurgood. He wouldn’t have murdered Ethel, he’d have hired someone to do it, someone sleek and professional, someone who cost boatloads of money and had hidden bank accounts, someone who couldn’t be traced.

  But what about motive? According to my parents, after Win came home and broke Ethel’s heart, they never spoke again. I’d never heard this story before, and I always paid attention to gossip. It didn’t make sense that Win would wake up one day and go crazy, having an ex-girlfriend murdered, the girl he’d been the one to dump as he climbed the social ladder of Connecticut society. Especially since it had been almost forty years since they’d dated.

  I played with my hair, trying to decide if I should wear it up or down. I pinned the curls up with a barrette, then decided it looked messy and left it down. Rifling through my closet, I found a long gray skirt that went well with my short denim jacket. I liked to wear fun clothes, but, like Ethel, I followed the rules. Unlike Charlie, who laughed at me for my fashion dos and don’ts, I wore my outfits according to the season. Even though most people ignored the rule now, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing white after Labor Day.

  Stanley was prompt, arriving at exactly seven. He had on khakis and a button-down shirt, and I had to stop myself from leaning into him to inhale his aftershave. I love the smell of aftershave on a man.

  Aunt Marie and Aunt Claudia were standing outside the building, having an innocent conversation right on the front steps. They didn’t fool me for one second.

  “What time are you going to have her home?” Aunt Claudia asked. Her question was immediately followed by Aunt Marie’s comment. “That coat won’t be warm enough.”

  “I’ll have her home at a reasonable time,” Stanley said, flashing his dimple at my aunts. Spoken like a true politician, whether he meant to be or not. Offering his arm, he said, “Shall we?”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Where are you going?” Aunt Claudia said. “We need to know in case we have to come looking for you.”

  I kept my smile hidden at Aunt Claudia’s words. I knew she was looking out for me, and I was curious to see how Stanley handled the aunts.

  “I thought we would have dinner and maybe a few drinks at the Lilac Inn. It’s close enough for us to walk,” Stanley said.

  “All right, but be careful. There’s a murderer running loose around here,” Aunt Claudia said.

  “Shush,” Aunt Marie said. “Ava’s waited a long time to go out with him, don’t spoil it for her.”

  I ducked my head down, not sure if I was going to laugh or just be embarrassed.

  After reassuring the aunts that we would be careful we started walking. A slight chill hung in the air, but I ignored it and focused on walking close to Stanley.

  The Lilac Inn Bed and Breakfast is located on the north side of the green, a quick walk around the square from where I lived. The gorgeous Victorian style home was painted in a variety of purple hues reminiscent of its name. The owners, John and Claire Murray, had inherited the house from John’s parents. As long as anyone in Brewster Square could remember, that house had been either a boarding house or bed and breakfast. It might have a new coat of paint and a different name, but the intent was the same: good food and a comfortable place to stay.

  Saturday nights were generally crowded at the Lilac Inn restaurant. The chef had been written up in some tourist magazine as being an undiscovered treasure, and since then people flocked from all over the state for the food. I was looking forward to our night out.

  Stanley must have made reservations, because John greeted us in the front entryway, grabbed some menus and led us straight to a table. A few people were milling around or sitting on benches, obviously waiting for a table to open up.

  The room had very low lighting, but each table had a candle, which had the effect of creating a soft glow in the dining area. There was a single yellow rose next to the candle, and classical music played in the background, the perfect setting for romance.

  We had barely gotten into our seats when a rotund man whose neck seemed to be rolling out of his shirt stopped at our table. “Mr. Mayor, so good to see you tonight,” he said, offering his hand to Stanley. “I have to say, that’s some bit of news we’ve had, isn’t it?” He nodded a hello to me, and I tried to place him but couldn’t. It didn’t matter to him whether he knew me or not, though. “I voted for our fine mayor here,” he continued. “The name’s Bob. Anyway, I’ll let you folks get back to your dinner, I just wanted to stop over and say howdy.” Nodding at me again, he started to walk away, then turned and smiled at me. “It’s a good thing you have this man here to watch over you, young lady. Hopefully he’ll be able to keep you safe and away from any trouble with a murderer running loose.” Nodding once more, he left us in peace.

  I’d barely had a minute to look over the menu when the next person came to our table. This time it was someone I knew. “Well, hello, you two,” said Jeanne Duchay. Jeanne and my mother had been friends for a long time, and she was one of the nicest women I knew. “Ava, dear, I heard it through the grapevine that you’re asking questions about Ethel,” she said. “I hope our steadfast mayor here can persuade you to leave it alone. It’s a terrible thing that happened, but it’s a police matter, dear.”

  I might have to amend my original thoughts on Jeanne. She might be nice, but she also had a pushy side to her I hadn’t known about.

  It went on like that all night. People stopped by our table as we were talking, ordering and eating. I didn’t dare hold Stanley’s hand for fear that somebody would mention something about inappropriate behavior.

  The sad part was that almost everyone had something to say about Ethel, and most of it was not in the least complimentary. One woman went so far as to say, “It’s not such a bad thing she died, is it? She was so mean, I’m sure she didn’t have much in her life to be happy about.”

  A slow simmer started inside me. I couldn’t imagine where this attitude was coming from. Didn’t anyone consider what would be said when they died?

  As we were ending our dinner with a shared slice of cheesecake, I looked up to see Linwood and his wife walking over. I wondered if she’d been in to order more candles today.

  Linwood’s wife Valerie smiled down at us. “It’s so lovely to see you both. I hope you’re enjoying your evening.”

  I nodded. “The food is wonderful,” I said. “Linwood, how are you tonight?”

  Linwood looked at me, and I could have sworn he looked right through me. His stare was vacant, and for a moment I wondered if he’d taken some sort of medication.

  “Linwood, dear, don’t you think it’s lovely to see the mayor and Ava Maria out having dinner together?” Valerie said, winking at him.

  He smiled at her, as if he’d suddenly woken. “Yes, yes it is, dear. I think it’s abou
t time they went out on a proper date.”

  Can’t beat small town life, that’s for sure.

  Placing a hand on her husband’s arm, Valerie said, “We’ll leave you to it then. Enjoy yourselves.”

  I stared after them as they walked away, wondering why Linwood had acted so weird. He’d been strange in the store yesterday, too. It was probably none of my business, but it sure made me curious.

  “So long Mr. Mayor,” Bob the ass called out in his booming voice as he walked to the door. “You’ve got my vote for the next election, plus you won’t have to worry about any rule-following dames harassing people. Ding dong, the witch is dead, right?” With a bray of laughter, he left.

  I couldn’t move. Had I really just heard him say those words? I didn’t think it was possible that someone could be so callous.

  “What did he mean by all that?” I asked Stanley.

  With a sigh Stanley pushed his glasses up. “In the election before I ran for mayor, Bob wasn’t allowed to vote because he hadn’t registered by the deadline. Ethel was working the voting booth that day and wouldn’t let him in. I guess he never forgave her for that.”

  “But she was just doing her job,” I said, upset that someone could have such an utter disregard for human life.

  “I know, people can be harsh,” Stanley said. “Let’s try to ignore them for tonight.”

  But I couldn’t, and I knew in that moment I was going to look into this to the best of my ability. This situation had taken on a whole new dimension. Nobody had an ounce of sympathy for Ethel, which meant that the investigation into her death was going to be perfunctory, at best. Knowing that, I couldn’t let it go. At this point it had nothing to do with Giuseppe or Janine or their concerns. Now it was about justice.

  What kind of person would I be if I just let dead people stay dead without any hope of justice?