Chapter 13
Early Monday morning Abigail arrived at the newspaper’s office. All day Sunday, as she’d kept busy and finished Frank’s watercolor, she hadn’t been able to stop speculating about the letter Samantha had for her and obsessing about the possible ghost in her basement. She hadn’t ventured into the basement since she’d cleaned it and was miffed at herself for being a silly nitwit. There was no such things as spooks.
“Good morning, Abigail.” Samantha was poised at her desk, camera and purse dangling from her shoulder. “You caught me on my way to a story. I can’t chat. Here’s the letter.” She thrust an envelope at Abigail and dashed for the door where she paused, turned, and spoke as fast as she’d moved, “I didn’t open the letter. Let me know later what it says. I’m d-y-i-n-g of curiosity. See you later.” And she was rushing out the door and gone.
“Nice to see you, too, Samantha!” Abigail yelled after her. There was no answer but the slamming door.
Abigail plopped down at Samantha’s desk and read what was on the outside of the envelope: Urgent and personal for Abigail Sutton! She tore it open and began to read.
Dear Abigail Sutton,
I live in Orchard, about twenty-five miles from Spookie, and I was a friend of Norma Mason, who lived here in Orchard the last few years since her divorce. We were neighbors. Norma used to live in Spookie and was married to the John Mason who runs the general store. Recently she was sent copies of your newspaper stories about the missing Summers family by an old friend who still lives in Spookie. I’m writing you because Norma had something very important to tell you about the Summers. But three days ago she died, under circumstances I believe were suspicious, before she could contact you. As she confided in me before her death, I feel it’s my duty, to tell you what she told me. If you’re interested call at the telephone number below and we’ll arrange a visit face to face. Alone, please. I think that’s best.
Yours truly,
Lorna Henreid
Abigail didn’t think Samantha would mind if she used the newspaper’s telephone and she dialed the number at the bottom of the letter. A few minutes later she was on her way to Orchard to meet the letter lady.
Lorna’s home was a small brick house, but well kept, the grounds immaculate and landscaped with bushes and flowering plants. Abigail walked up to a porch with a white trellis intertwined with miniature roses. White wicker furniture was on the right of the porch and a glider swing was on the left. An attractive woman around sixty years old, in an apricot pants suit, opened the door. “Abigail,” she breathed. “Come in.”
Abigail stepped inside. “Thank you for letting me talk to you like this and for sending the letter.” The living room was a pale pink and filled with expensive looking oak furniture. The plump woman in front of her had dark cropped hair and warm gray eyes.
“Ah, honey. I was Norma’s friend. I have to do something.” She gave Abigail’s shoulder a motherly pat and smiled. “Come on into the kitchen. I made us rolls and tea.”
“You didn’t have to do that for me, but thank you.”
In her sunny kitchen Lorna poured a cup of tea for Abigail and offered her a roll from a porcelain plate with a pretty rose pattern. “Since Norma passed away it’s been lonely. She used to come for breakfast most mornings and we’d go to neighborhood yard sales, to the mall or putter around in our gardens together. I’m going to miss her so much. She was a good friend.”
“I’m sorry.” Abigail took a bite of a roll. “When did she die?”
“When I wrote the letter it was three days after Norma’s death. We’d just buried her. Let’s see, that was…four days ago. She’s been dead seven days. The coroner said she fell down her basement steps. An accident. I wrote you that letter because I don’t think it was an accident.”
If it wasn’t an accident, then what was it? Her inner voice brooded. “Why would you think that?” Abigail added sugar to her tea and finished her roll as she admired the cozy kitchen. The whole house was so clean and organized and so different from Brown’s dingy place.
“Because Norma had become afraid of someone from her past. She wouldn’t tell me who. Ever since her old friend sent her those newspaper articles, especially after the one where you found the graves, Norma was behaving strangely. One night before she died she knocked on my door and asked if she could speak to me. She had something to get off her chest, she said. She was frightened and kept jerking every time there was a noise outside.
“She spoke about her old life with John Mason. Those newspaper articles, she claimed, had revived unpleasant memories about Emily Summers and the affair John Mason had had with the woman thirty years ago, when he was engaged to Norma. Norma hated Emily Summers with a passion. She confessed she nearly killed Emily herself, she was so worried over losing John to her. Norma was obsessed with John in those days. You have to understand, as Norma put it, thirty years ago Mason was a dreamboat. He had a wit and a smile which thawed any woman’s heart. He was sensitive, smart, and had this smoldering animal magnetism that was so sexy. He had, when he was young, great potential and a passion for life. Women threw themselves at John all the time–when he wasn’t drinking. Ha, that was the catch, Norma said. When he drank he was a brute, a monster.
“Anyway, Norma and John were supposed to be married in October but she’d felt him slipping away more each day that summer. Rumors were John had a woman on the side, Emily. He was in love with Emily, but since he was to get the store from Norma’s father, and a lot of money–Norma had a good-sized trust fund which would kick in when she finally married–John lied to Norma about Emily, and kept seeing both. Emily was poor and she had two kids John never warmed up to, but John wouldn’t let her go. Greedy, he played his women against each other to get what he wanted. And, by what Norma said, it all ended badly.
“She never knew how badly until she learned you’d found Emily and the children’s graves…and the pieces fell into place for her. She’d always believed, like everyone else, they’d just moved away. She figured out, she thought, what might have happened and guilt was eating at her. Mostly about what she’d done to Emily.”
“Norma was Emily’s stalker, wasn’t she?” The second Abigail said it, she knew it was true.
“I think it was Norma. Norma hinted she was but never really admitted it.” Lorna sighed. “The stalker was alluded to in the last newspaper installment, but no one knew who it was. The Norma I knew was a quiet simple woman. Thirty years with that womanizing ex-husband of hers had worn her down. It was a miracle she had the courage to leave him. She was much happier divorced and living here alone. She must have been a firecracker when she was younger, though. She told me she’d loathed Emily Summers for trying to steal her man, blamed her for everything, but she never actually hurt the woman or her kids. She just tried to scare her off.”
“She left the hate notes in the mailbox?” Abigail wanted it clarified. “She killed their cat, burnt down their shed, and injured Christopher with her car?” And killed Emily–because a spurned woman’s jealousy could be deadly? Abigail wanted to ask, but didn’t.
“She practically confessed to most of that, and she wasn’t proud of it, but Norma adamantly denied being the person who ran Christopher over. She’d never hurt a child. Only wanted to scare them so they’d leave town. And she swore she had nothing to do with any of their deaths.”
That didn’t mean Norma hadn’t killed one or all of them, Abigail mulled the possibility over, merely she’d lied about it. As Frank said, most murderers were liars.
“Norma regretted her treatment of Emily and the children more than anything else in her life, except marrying John Mason, especially when she found out years later John had had other girlfriends on the side at the same time, not just Emily.”
Oh, now that was interesting. “That cad. But back to the other thing, why was Norma afraid?”
“She never actually said, but she was afraid of something or someone. The last time I saw Norma she told me the story of
the night she threatened to call off the wedding and she and John had an awful fight. He went off to see someone afterwards but the following day he came begging Norma to take him back. He had scratches on his face, behaved oddly, and told her he’d had an accident in his car. He drank in those days, had blackouts, and sometimes was violent. So Norma thought little of it. He swore to her he was done with other women forever and reported Emily was planning on leaving town. Good riddance to her. Two months later Norma and John were married. Their marriage was awful, to hear Norma tell it, with his controlling nature, tight fingers on her money, drinking and running around on her. Years later she wished he had taken off with Emily Summers–or any one of the other women. She would have been better off.
“Anyway, Norma had all that and more information on John’s relationship with Emily and was going to send it in a letter to you. She’d been getting threatening phone calls and was afraid someone was targeting her. She ranted about vengeful ghosts and being haunted if she didn’t tell what she knew. Not like Norma at all, who didn’t believe in such things. She was so frightened those last days and when I found out she’d died by falling down the stairs, it got me thinking: Something’s not right. She was always careful going up and down those steps. She had terrible arthritis in her legs so she held the banister tightly and took her time. She wouldn’t have fallen. I know it.
“So I sent the letter to you. If someone pushed Norma down those stairs, and it was partly because of your stories, you needed to know. That someone is still out there.” Lorna’s face was serious.
“You’re saying someone could have killed Norma and might want to hurt me so I should be careful?”
“That’s the sum of it. I’m positive Norma wrote you a letter the night before she died, but didn’t, I don’t think, have time to mail it. I wish there were some way we could find it. It’s probably in her house somewhere.”
The plan formed before Abigail could stop it. “Norma lived next door in the white house on the left? Is it empty now?”
“Just sitting there empty. Norma and John have a son and a daughter. They’re putting it up for sale, but haven’t cleaned it out yet. No one’s been there since the funeral and they asked me to keep an eye on it for them.” There was a glint in the woman’s eyes as her lips curved upwards. “I kept an eye on the place for Norma, too, and have an extra key, so I can’t see the harm in going in and looking for that letter. If it’s addressed to you, it’s rightfully yours. Right?”
Abigail kept a straight face. “Right. It’s lawfully mine.” Then she grinned. “And if you have legal access to the house….”
Lorna took a key off a wall hook. Abigail followed her outside to the back door of Norma’s house and Lorna unlocked it. Once inside they stood in shock gawking at the piles of debris strewn everywhere. The floors were covered with them. The cabinet doors were open and their contents had been tossed on the floor. The place was a mess.
“My, my,” Lorna whispered. “I don’t think the police or her kids did this. The kids are neat freaks like their mother was. Someone’s broken in here.”
Deja vu, Abigail reflected, looking around. Was a curse following her or what?
“I imagine,” Lorna moaned in a meek voice, “we need to report this to the police.”
“We will. After we find my letter. Unless someone beat us to it. Any idea where it might be?” Abigail didn’t want to spend any more time in Norma’s house than necessary. “And let’s not leave any fingerprints if we can help it. I don’t want the police to think we did this.”
“Good idea. Norma had a couple of secret hiding places for money and such. Let’s look in them first. Maybe your letter wasn’t found. One place was behind her bathroom medicine cabinet and another was in a secret compartment in her desk. I’ll show you.”
The medicine cabinet was on the floor, ripped from the wall and empty. Well, scratch that hiding place. She hoped the letter hadn’t been hidden there. They made their way through the wreckage to the bedroom and checked the desk.
“Got it!” Lorna exclaimed as she pulled an envelope with a stamp and Abigail’s name on it out of a crevice of the desk and handed it to Abigail. “I knew she wrote you a letter.”
Opening it, Abigail scanned the sentences, her breath an ice cube in her throat. She finished and recapped for Lorna. “Norma suspected John strangled Emily during a lover’s quarrel the night they had their big fight. He got drunk one night years later and blabbed some things to her which made her think that. Confessing Emily had wanted to leave him, wanted to sell the house and escape town to be with another man–not her ex-husband–Mason was so enraged he attacked her in a fit of passion. Unfortunately John passed out and stopped talking before he could actually incriminate himself. But after that Norma feared he’d killed Emily and he’d spent the next three decades covering up his crime. To Norma it made sense. That’s why, after he’d broken up with her that summer, he’d come begging to get her back. He’d killed Emily, saw his life and freedom slipping away, and, in the end, didn’t want to lose the good life marrying Norma would have brought him as well. It’d been damage control. Norma believed he did it, but had no proof. Not even verbal.”
“Does it say anything about Emily’s kids?” Lorna asked.
“Only that, as Norma remembered it–and I’d wager she was watching Emily’s house plenty–Emily and the children weren’t seen for weeks at the end of that summer and then Edna, Emily’s older sister, announced one day they’d driven away for a fresh start. And no one questioned it.”
“You think Mason was the one who broke in here because he knew about the letter and was afraid of what might be in it? Could be he remembered what he said to Norma during their marriage, that night he was drunk in particular, or what she might lie about to get him in trouble.”
“Could be.” Abigail couldn’t imagine charming Mason breaking in anyone’s house. But then, she couldn’t imagine him doing any of the other things Norma’s letter said he might have done. The paper felt funny in Abigail’s hands. The woman who’d written it only days ago was dead. Suddenly she was uneasy standing in the middle of a vandalized and vacant house. “Where are the steps Norma was supposed to have fallen down?”
“This way.” Lorna forged ahead and Abigail trailed behind through the rubble.
The basement was as untidy as the upper floors. Someone had been frantic to find something. What? Yet the basement stairs looked sturdy, the banister heavy and the steps were carpeted. It would have been difficult, but not impossible, to tumble down them. People fell all the time. She wished, not for the first time, that Frank had been with her. She could have used his expertise. The best Abigail could do was examine the scene. Nothing looked suspicious, to her anyway. The banister was intact and there weren’t any scuffs or rips in the carpet on the steps. Lorna said Norma had died of head trauma of some kind and the casket had been closed.
Lorna held back from the stairs and made the sign of the cross. “I can’t bear to look at where poor Norma died. It makes me sad. She’d turned her life around the last few years. She went to church each Sunday and had she had friends. The funeral was magnificent. There were so many flowers.” The woman was weeping, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “She didn’t deserve to die like that, alone at the bottom of the steps. Poor Norma.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Abigail had seen enough. “It’s time to call the police.” She was thinking about the letter, about Norma and Mason. Norma’s accusations made no sense. Had she lied to try to hurt her ex-husband? Mason was such a pillar of the community, although a boring pillar. And hadn’t Frank offered Mason a beer the day of the picnic and he’d turned it down saying he didn’t drink? Yet Norma claimed he’d once been a violent drunk. Interesting.
Well, well. Norma thought Mason had killed Emily. But, in Abigail’s mind, there were also a fistful of other possible candidates.
Norma, not to speak ill of the dead, had had more than enough motive to want to hurt the woman and ye
ars later put the blame on her hated ex-husband.
Todd Brown had had his own reasons to harm his ex-wife.
Then there was Sheriff Cal.
And Edna, of course.
Who else had hated Emily enough to kill her? And what about the twins…who’d killed them? Abigail’s head hurt. Sherlock Holmes she wasn’t.
The two women left Norma’s house and returned to Lorna’s kitchen. Lorna made the call to the police and said she’d noticed lights on in Norma’s house and had discovered the mess and thought they should check it out. Soon after, thanking Lorna for her help and the refreshments, Abigail headed home. With the letter safe in her purse and her mind full of questions she couldn’t answer she drove straight to Frank’s house.
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