"I found the record for a marriage I was looking for, and now I need to find a birth record. It does all seem remote from today and these awful murders. Let's talk about something else. Gardening for example."
They had a lot to talk about with the spring gardening season just beginning. Anne's garden at home was still snow-covered or had been when she left. It was a gardening zone or two cooler than Catherine's. Catherine focused on vegetables and herbs for her kitchen, with raised beds behind the house. She did have some flower beds and especially a cutting garden, as she liked to have flowers in the rooms when the guests came.
Anne described her home on a Northern lake. The lawn behind the house sloped down to a stone breakwater. She had developed several rose gardens near the house, mostly the tougher Canadian Explorer roses. Against her grey stone home, she grew a William Baffin climber, covered with strawberry-pink blossoms in the spring. By the time they had got this far, Anne was ready for bed and said good night.
Chapter Seventeen
It was only 5am when Adam pulled on his jogging clothes and started out for a run. Not yet dawn. He talked to his advisor after class about the possibility of taking his law degree full-time.
He started taking classes to help him be a better policeman, but he had to decide if he wanted to go one further, complete the degree and change careers.
He enjoyed his present work, but with a degree, he would have a lot more choice; the FBI if he wanted to stay in law enforcement or the Attorney General's department, a practice in one of the many large firms, legal or otherwise, if he didn't. Recently, he had a feeling he was marking time, but he put that down to more personal matters: no wife, no family, and the essential loneliness of his life.
He stopped at the weir where mist rose from the open river below.
What about Erin? He really liked her, and he thought she liked him. He worried his job might come between them. A safe job might appeal to her more, or was he projecting his own doubts onto her?
HIs route took him past Erin's shop, but he didn't stop.
And what about money? He had enough saved to do a year of, but it would leave him with no savings at all. This dreary thought found him in front of his little house. At least it was rented. He could turn the key and move to Burlington at any time or commute. Sam was waiting for him inside, indignant at the lack of food in her dish.
After he had showered and shaved, Adam checked in at the station on his way to interview Ada Warren. Pete had the address of the owner of a grey Camaro who had been released from jail that week Assault with a deadly weapon. Pete had gone to check him out. Anne was going back to the library when it opened.
Brad was at the computer but followed Adam to his office door. He had a hangdog look on his normally cheerful face.
"What's up?"
Brad quickly told him the story of his visit to the lake.
"Dammit. What if you had run into trouble? No backup, no one even knowing where you were."
"I know, boss. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"Okay. I'm going over to Ada's. You sniff around a bit. See what you hear about Morrison."
Adam liked the old neighborhood around Ada's home. The houses were small and well cared for. He found Ada working on her front garden. She seemed to be raking mounds of rotting material off the beds.
"What are you doing, Ada?"
"Pulling the mulch from the beds."
"What's it for?"
"It protects the plants from heaving out of the ground during thaws in the winter, and the ground from thawing too soon when there is still a danger of frost in spring," she said. "I doubt you came for here for gardening information. Come inside and have a coffee with me. I need a warm-up."
Adam followed the vigorous old lady into her kitchen. Sometime in the past, it had been expanded to make room for a fireplace, comfortable sofa, and a table and chairs. Adam sat in front of the fireplace as Ada poured their coffee.
"You're right. I want to ask you about some gossip."
"Gossip?"
"Old gossip. Anything you might have heard when you were very young of a scandalous nature about the Culvers or the Beauchamps."
"Why on earth—”
"We're trying to get a handle on Jennifer's blackmailing activities."
"It's hard to believe any Beauchamp could be blackmailed. That hardheaded bunch wouldn't take that from anyone. Publish and be damned would be their attitude, each and every one of them." Ada shook her head at him emphatically.
"That's what Thomas Beauchamp said too."
"He would."
"What about the Culvers?"
"They're a different story. Very proud and quite determined their line is pure aristocrat back to Revolutionary times. David Culver is particularly touchy on the subject. One day in class I suggested many families in this part of the world had some Native American in their background, and the further back a family went the more likely it became. He was almost apoplectic, and he was only fifteen years old."
"Who does the attitude come from?"
"Naomi, I think. She's a New York Armstead herself. She wrote me a stiff note the next day. Either she took it as a personal affront, or she wanted to protect David."
"Why?"
"Lord knows. Maybe they do have something to hide."
"Have you heard anything like that, specifically about them?"
Ada shook her head. "No, but I'd have Anne McPhail looking if I were you."
"The whole town knows she's helping me?"
"Yes, indeed."
Adam thanked her and left. When he reached his car, the phone was ringing.
"Pete. You'd better come over to this guy's place. Someone beat me to him."
"Where are you?"
"Eighty-seven Arthur Street, in the back."
Eighty-seven Arthur Street was a dump. Ramshackle was too kind a word for it, with its almost non-existent paint, a yard full of car parts and tires, and a porch barely hanging onto the front wall.
Pete called down the stairs as he came in the front door, "Up here, Adam."
The body hung on the windowsill, at the end of a trail of blood that started inside the door. An exit wound gaped through the hole in a pale blue shirt. The contents had been dumped from a battered dresser, and the door to the closet stood open. The room smelled of blood and dirty clothes.
"Looks like he interrupted someone tossing his room," Pete said.
"Is this the guy you were after?"
"Yeah, Dave Lauder. I knew him. The grey Mazda out in front is registered to him. He renewed the plate when he got out of prison. He was a small-time crook working his way up. Assault with a deadly was the last."
"Who was his lawyer?"
"Don't know. I'll check the court records."
They worked on with the crew they shared with the county for forensics. By the end of the afternoon, they were no further ahead, except for many different fingerprints.
When Adam came into the squad room, Anne met him with a huge grin.
"I found the Culver baby and the descendants."
"Who are they?"
"Your friend, Peg, and her sister, May."
"You're kidding. I never heard they were Culver relations. How did you find out?"
Anne was pleased. Not "are you sure?" but "how did you find out?"
"The Culver baby was a girl, Mary, born at seven months into the parents' marriage in 1917. She had no school record in Culver's Mills. An obituary of the grandmother mentioned a granddaughter, Mary, living in New York City."
"How did you find the obit?"
"The librarian's mother keeps cuttings of obituaries and pastes them into a keepsake book. You know a lot of people in the last generation did the same. My mother keeps hers in a pickle jar."
Anne took a breath and looked poised to continue on the subject of storing obituaries.
"Anne."
"Sorry. Both parents had died of influenza in 1919. I found her marriage to David Jenkins, of New York City
in 1937. The trail is cold here in Culvers Mills, but Vital Statistics lists two daughters. Peg married Ian Watson in 1970. May married a man called Peterson in 1964. Neither have children. I don't know how they ended up back in Culver's Mills. "
"You know, the Beauchamps told me their wills were always carefully written. Do you suppose the same is true of the Culvers?"
"This child, Mary, might have inherited something from both sides. I bet Peg Watson doesn't know she's their cousin."
"Can you find out about old wills?"
"They're public record if they haven't been lost or destroyed by fire. Fire took a lot of records in the old days."
"What relation are Peg Watson and Thomas Beauchamp?"
"Second cousins. She's a cousin to the Culvers too."
"I wonder how Leticia's father left his money and land?"
"I suspect a trust fund for a few generations, for the girls. That's how it was usually done. The boys got their money and property when they came of age."
"Could you find out for me?"
"I can try."
"Thanks. I have to tell you there's been another murder."
"Oh no. Who?"
"A man called Dave Lauder. We think he was the one who shot at us."
"Another murder. Why was he killed? Do you know?"
"Someone tidying up, maybe. We are looking for connections with the other victims. I have to go. Are you okay?"
"Sure, fine," said Anne, a little shakily.
Adam left, intending to put off talking to Peg until he had more information about wills and trusts and bloodlines.
Chapter Eighteen
April rain, steady, not too cold, washed away the dirt from the gutters on Friday. The grey morning matched Adam's mood. The case was eight days old; they had had two more murders and two attempts. The Burlington press was starting to nose around, well, more than nose around, and he didn't have a suspect yet.
Pete was making a house-to-house around the latest killing, and Bill Perkins was doing the same in Greenbank. Whoever this medium guy was, he sure blended into the woodwork.
Brad was in traffic court and wouldn't make any progress on the Morrison connection. Anne worked on her own research at the library.
The yellow police tape and the curious had disappeared from the library a few days ago. It was business as usual in the adult section: a few retirees, reading the morning newspapers in the comfortable chairs near the magazine racks, two or three students staring into the computer screens and an animated lady talking fiction with the librarian at the desk. A shy-looking teenage girl, likely a co-op placement, checked books in and out. He stopped to ask where he might find the genealogy reference section and the student directed through a door to the new addition.
Anne's bored-looking minder, Dave, lounged outside the door, straightening when Adam appeared.
"She's inside, Lieutenant."
"How's it going?"
"Looks like dull work to me, but she can keep at it for hours."
Adam found Anne in front of a microfilm reader watching a dizzying progression of names on a census or tax roll or something.
"Morning, Anne. Sorry to interrupt you."
"Not at all. I take frequent breaks, or I'll lose my excellent breakfast. How can I help you this morning?"
"First you can tell me if Brad or Pete drove you here?"
"Yes, Brad did, before court. And Dave met us here. Don't worry. I'm not so foolish as to go out alone."
At least not yet, she thought, knowing how restless she was.
"Okay. Did you find anything after I left yesterday?"
"Not yesterday, but today I found details of Pierre Beauchamp's will. He was a wealthy man with railroad interests, banks and land. He left his major business interests to his son and a large trust with money and land investments for his daughters and their offspring. The only ones still living and benefiting from the trust are the descendants of Isabelle, the youngest daughter. Her family lived in New York. There are about 5 cousins who share a substantial income that would, of course, be smaller if divided seven ways. I don't understand how Peg and May became excluded. Their grandmother Leticia was the beneficiary of an irrevocable trust, and even if her father was angry with her, she couldn't have been cut out."
"Who were the trustees?"
Adam smiled. She hadn't been able to leave it alone.
"His son, his lawyer, and his man-of-affairs sort of an accountant or business manager."
"Could they have arranged to forget this troublesome little cousin, if they had tried?"
"I suppose so."
Anne was doubtful, but Adam knew trustees often had enormous power. He needed to talk to Peg Watson, and not at her lunch counter. He phoned and asked her if he could visit her at her home on business.
Peg lived on a quiet street in the older part of town. Her house sat back from the street, with a white picket fence surrounding a tidy front lawn. It looked cared-for but not the home of a woman receiving a significant income from a trust fund.
Peg offered him coffee, and they sat drinking it in her large blue and white kitchen. Adam began to tell her the story of their investigations.
"Anne McPhail has been working on the Beauchamp genealogy, and she found something that concerns you and your sister."
"Concerns us? We have nothing to do with the Beauchamps."
"Do you know anything about your own family?"
"Not a lot. My mother died when I was only one and May, you know my sister, May?"
Adam nodded, and Peg went on. "May was only three. Our dad and Granny Jenkins raised us. In fact, they never said much about my mother, and I never asked after the first few times. They were both so upset because she was murdered."
"Murdered?"
"Yes, gunned down outside our apartment. The police thought she was an innocent victim of some kind of gang violence. It happened in New York City in those days, too."
"Did you get the impression your father disliked your mother's family?"
"All he ever said was they would have nothing to do with us, and that suited him just fine."
Adam told her what Anne found.
"If you're Leticia Beauchamp's granddaughters, you should be getting a large income from the grandfather's trust."
"But why wouldn't the trustees make sure my grandmother and grandfather knew?"
"Maybe they didn't want to share the wealth. I'm going out to have another talk with Thomas Beauchamp who is one of the current trustees. The other two are trust officers of a bank, so once you produce your identification and your mother's I am sure they will see you get what you are entitled to."
"Adam, I'm overwhelmed. My sister has a chronic arthritis, and this will make such a difference for us. I'm so grateful to you."
Adam smiled but shook his head. "Not to me. To Anne McPhail. She did all the work. And your great-grandfather wanted you taken care of. If you have any trouble with getting documents for your mother, I'm certain Anne will help you."
Peg gave him an impulsive hug at the door. It wasn't often a policeman got to deliver good news. He was cheered up all the way to his vehicle. Now for Thomas Beauchamp and the redoubtable Andrea.
Chapter Nineteen
At the Beauchamp home, cleaners' trucks, painters, and a furniture van all suggested a major undertaking. The young maid opened the door.
"Good morning, Tracey. Is Mr. Beauchamp at home today?"
"Yes, but he's busy."
"He'll see me. Tell him I need to talk about the Beauchamp Family Trust Fund."
She bustled away to the library.
"Mr. Davidson, do you usually announce private business to the maid who opens the door?"
"Only when I'm being stonewalled, Mr. Beauchamp. Where can we talk?"
In the library, the florid-faced Beauchamp confronted Adam. "What do you mean by all this?"
"Mr. Beauchamp, you told me Beauchamp wills were always water-tight, so you didn't care whatever Jennifer turned up. Are you sticking t
o that?"
"Of course, I am."
"What about Leticia Beauchamp Culver's descendants and the fact they haven't received one red cent from the trust set up for them?"
A perplexed look came over Beauchamps' face as he sat down in the nearest chair.
"Leticia and Douglas didn't have any children, as far as I know," he said.
"They had a daughter, Mary, born seven months after they were married. A distant cousin in New York raised her after her parents died. She died young, and her husband lost touch or was ignored by the family here. There are two granddaughters, one of them ill. The other is an honest, hardworking person.
"Are you sure? Do these people have documentation?"
"These people have no idea about any of it. We found it in the course of our investigation. And yes, it is well documented."
"I'll call my mother."
When Andrea Beauchamp appeared, she hurried to her son's side, alarmed by his pallor.
"What have you been bullying Thomas about?"
Thomas reached out a hand to stop her angry tirade. "Mother, do you know anything about a child called Mary, of Leticia and Douglas Culver."
"Of course. She died in New York City."
"Did you know she had children?"
"No, I didn't. She was always angry with the family for sending her away after her parents died."
"Why was she sent away, Mrs. Beauchamp?" Adam said.
He knew Anne would want to know.
"I think my mother-in-law was embarrassed by the circumstances of her birth—she was a seven-month baby, you know—and my mother-in-law was a ferocious and unkind old Victorian.
"To your knowledge, was a deliberate attempt made to deny her share of the trust?"
"No. Certainly not. Did she have children?"
"Yes, ma'am. Two daughters."
"Thomas, you're the trustee. You must check all this and, if true, do what is right for those girls."
The old lady stood up in her dignified manner and held out a hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Davidson. We will look after them."
"Mrs. Beauchamp, Jennifer Smith never said anything about this to you?"
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