by Leslie Meier
“Julia.” He peered over his reading glasses and the paper he’d been studying. “Can I help you find something?”
“I’d like to talk about Mrs. Zelisko.”
“Ah.” His smile disappeared. “I heard you were there when the body was found.” He gestured to a stool in a corner of the office. “What can I tell you?”
“Anything at all. The police are looking for her next of kin. Did she ever speak about her family, or maybe a husband?”
“Never. We’ve only worked together for nine months or so. My brother-in-law Frank used to work here in the back office. He did all our bookkeeping. I hired Mrs. Zelisko when Frank retired.”
I remembered Frank, a short, round man with a permanent squint. All he was missing was the green eyeshade.
“Once we got things set up,” Al continued, “we didn’t speak often and then mostly over the phone. The information she needed—employee timesheets, sales, inventory records—went to her electronically. Occasionally, she’d walk over with a document I needed to sign, but that was it.”
“Did you ever have any trouble with her work?” I was thinking about Barry Walker’s notice from the IRS.
“Never,” he said, and then reconsidered. “Nothing except maybe the occasional timing thing. Let me put it this way, I had a lot more trouble with my brother-in-law when he did our books.”
“Did you know Mrs. Zelisko’s first name?” I asked.
“No. She did me the honor of calling me mister. I returned the respect.”
Chapter Nine
Our ugly, modern town-hall-fire-station-police-headquarters was on my route home from Gleason’s. The parking lot out front was full. Several sullen teens, accompanied by a glowering parent or two, were entering or exiting. I couldn’t imagine Lieutenant Binder and Sergeant Flynn were having a good day.
I decided to stop in and tell them what I’d learned, which admittedly wasn’t much. Still, I thought every little bit might help. While some of the teens might turn out to be good witnesses, it was hard to believe one of the students at Busman’s Harbor High had killed Mrs. Zelisko. What possible reason could they have? Unless the town was nurturing a budding serial killer.
As I’d guessed, Binder and Flynn were more than happy to squeeze me into their busy schedule. The civilian receptionist nodded that I should enter the multi-purpose room the detectives used as an office when they were in town. It was a cavernous space intended for large meetings and assemblies. The pair sat together at a plastic folding table on the far side of the room, Binder pecking at his laptop, Flynn bent over his notebook.
“Tough day so far?” I asked.
Binder wiped a hand from his chin up over his ski-slope nose and onto his bald head. “Brutal. The kids are mostly useless. They were drunk, or making out, or otherwise distracted. And the parents are so mad. About the party, about the drinking, and about having to take time out during their Saturday to come down here and sit through this.”
“Have you interviewed all the kids who were at the party?”
He shook his head. “We still don’t know who most of them are.”
“People are terrible at estimating crowd size, and kids are notoriously worse,” Flynn said. “The texts have been flying around all day, and now it’s like Woodstock. Every kid in town was there or is saying they were there. We’re going to be looking for these kids and taking statements for days.”
“We ask each kid who else was there. But they’re with their parents. They don’t want to get their friends in trouble.” Binder leaned back in the folding chair. “So while ‘everyone’ was there, we have the names of precious few.”
“And we can’t quit until we’ve found everyone.”
“Because one of them might be the killer,” I said.
“Yes, that, and we need some reliable witnesses.”
“I’ve been talking to some people around town,” I started. “Trying to find out what I can about Mrs. Zelisko’s personal life.”
Flynn sat forward. “And did you?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “She was active in the Star of the Sea Catholic church, as you’ve already heard. It seems she found most of her clients there. I’ve talked to a few at small businesses on Main Street. They all speak very well of her but know nothing about her next of kin, her husband’s name, or even her first name.”
“Ah.” Binder picked up an envelope from his desk. “Apparently, it’s Helene. If the billing department at her cell phone provider is to be believed. But that’s as far as we’ve gotten. No next of kin yet, though we have her laptop and phone in the lab back in Augusta, so I hope we’ll know something soon.”
“Barry Walker at Walker’s Art Supplies told me he has all his financial mail from the IRS and the state of Maine sent directly to Mrs. Zelisko,” I said. “Did you find a lot of client mail?”
Flynn looked at Binder and then spoke. “Not so far. The crime-scene folks are still at the apartment. I’ll tell them to be on the lookout, though I imagine most of it is electronic nowadays. I’m sure either the crime-scene people or the tech people will find it.”
“Barry is particularly disorganized. It may have been something she did only for him,” I told them.
Binder looked at his laptop and then back at me, anxious, I could tell, to get on with their busy day.
“Was Mrs. Zelisko really wearing a wedding dress or a nun’s habit when she died?” I asked.
“She was dressed in a white nightgown and wrapped in a white sheet,” Binder answered, “when Pete Howland found her in the shed.”
“Is the autopsy final? How did she die?” Sometimes they would tell me, depending on their mood and whether they thought I was helpful or in the way.
“Not final, but pretty definitive,” Flynn said. “She was strangled. Though the body was pretty banged up. We should hear today whether that damage was pre- or post-mortem.”
Would all those kids have heard nothing? I wanted to ask, but both men had stood.
“Thanks so much for coming in, Julia,” Binder said, slowly and deliberately.
“Anytime,” I said. “See you soon.”
* * *
I looked around the cubicle wall that separated the reception area from the bullpen that all six of Busman’s Harbor’s sworn officers shared to see if Jamie wanted to grab lunch. There was no one in the room. I wasn’t surprised. The local police had no doubt been drafted to help with the murder investigation, in addition to their usual duties. I was headed out the glass door into the cold when Emmy Bailey and Vanessa hurried up the walk.
“Julia, I’m so glad we ran into you.” Emmy sounded mega-relieved. “Can you be present while Vanessa has her interview? Livvie said you were there for Page, and it really helped her stay calm. You have so much more experience with this.”
I looked at Vanessa to see if this intrusion was welcome. She gave a tight but encouraging smile.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
We walked along the corridor toward the multi-purpose room. “It’s not hard, and the detectives won’t be mean like they sometimes are on TV,” I told Vanessa. “You’re a witness, not a suspect. Tell the truth and be as accurate as you can, and you’ll be fine.”
Vanessa’s shoulders, which had been somewhere in the vicinity of her ears, dropped visibly.
“We’re here to see Lieutenant Binder and Sergeant Flynn,” I told the civilian receptionist. “Emmy and Vanessa Bailey.”
She glared at me. “And Julia Snowden,” I added.
“Just a moment.”
Binder and Flynn stood as we came in. “Ms. Bailey, Vanessa.” Binder squinted at me in a way I hoped signaled amusement. “Ms. Snowden.”
We acknowledged who we were. Binder and Flynn shook hands with Emmy and a flustered Vanessa and indicated they should sit on the other side of the plastic table. I dragged a chair over from the opposite side of the room and sat, too.
“I hope you don’t mind I asked Julia to come,” Emmy said.
Her story was the same as Page’s and Talia’s. The sleepover, the invitation to the three girls, and then the party spiraling out of control. Unlike Page and Talia, who were taller, Vanessa was tiny. In a house crowded with older kids drinking, dancing, and horsing around, she’d been buffeted by the crowd and had ended up pushed into the kitchen. That’s why she hadn’t been with Page and Talia when they went upstairs looking for Mrs. Zelisko.
“Did you see anyone go out the back door?” Binder asked.
“Lots of people.” Vanessa didn’t hesitate. “People were going in and out the whole time. The backyard was, like, part of the party. Two boys were fighting out there, too.”
Flynn read her a list of the kids they’d identified already and asked her if she’d seen them at the party. Vanessa answered, “yes,” “no,” or “I don’t know who that is” in about equal measure.
Binder leaned forward, the fond father. “I get that you didn’t know all the kids, but did you recognize them all, like from the hallways at school or around town?”
Vanessa shook her head. “I’m sure there were kids there from other schools.” For the first time, she paused. “Maybe even, like, older kids. Not in school anymore.”
Binder glanced at Flynn. “You think there might have been kids there who were beyond high school age?” It seemed like this was the first he was hearing this.
“Uh-huh. I think so. Some of them looked older.”
What did that mean? Kids were terrible at judging ages.
“Did you recognize any of these older kids? Like maybe from working around town? Hannaford? The convenience store?” Binder’s tone was still gentle.
Vanessa shook her head.
“Were they mostly boys or mostly girls, these older kids?” Flynn asked.
“Boys, I think. But I couldn’t say definitely. There were a lot of people there.”
“What happened after you ended up in the kitchen?” Binder asked.
“I heard Page calling from the living room. I couldn’t reach her and Talia through all the people. They were in the archway between the living room and the front hall. I should have gone through the kitchen door into the hall, but I didn’t know, so I-I . . .” Vanessa’s speech slowed down, her confidence deserting her.
“It’s okay,” Binder said.
Emmy, who’d been silent and still during the interview to that point, laid a hand on her daughter’s arm. “It’s okay, sweetie. Nothing you say here is going to get you into trouble. More trouble,” she amended.
“What happened then?” Binder brought her back to the point where she’d left off.
“Then Mrs. Zelisko fell down the stairs.”
“She fell down the stairs?” Flynn attempted to clarify. Page had said “flew”; Talia had said “floated.” Heaven knew what the other kids they’d spoken to had said, if they’d even been in the hallway when it happened.
“Not fell exactly,” Vanessa said. “Everyone was screaming and shoving and running. When I got pushed into the hallway, Mrs. Zelisko was tumbling down that last set of stairs. Then she was at the bottom in a heap.”
“What did she look like?” Binder asked.
“At the bottom of the stairs, she was all wrapped up like a mummy.”
“What did you do then?” Binder kept the interview moving.
“I screamed and ran out like everyone else. I ran until I found Talia and Page at the end of the block. We decided to go back. There were still kids running in the other direction. Kids who probably weren’t in the hallway when it happened. One kid knocked me over, right on my bum. It still hurts. But I got up and kept going.”
“And when you got back to the house?” Binder prompted.
“The door was wide open.”
“And Mrs. Zelisko?”
“Wasn’t there.” Vanessa’s brave façade crumbled. Her voice quivered. Tears weren’t far away.
“Did you see, at any time, either before you left the house or when you got back, anyone approach Mrs. Zelisko at the bottom of the stairs?” I could tell Binder was trying not to push her, but he needed to know.
“No!” Vanessa wailed. “I told you. I ran out as fast as I could. When I got back, she wasn’t there. Nothing was there at all!” And then the tears did come.
Chapter Ten
Emmy and I had a hurried conference on the sidewalk in front of the police station. Page, Vanessa, and Talia were supposed to be grounded, but Emmy had to get to work. It seemed cruel to leave Vanessa, who was red-eyed and shaky, on her own. Page was still at Mom’s house. I called Livvie, who’d gone home. She listened patiently and agreed the girls could be together now that they’d all had their interviews.
“Do you think they’ll work each other up into a lather?” she asked me.
I glanced down the block, where Vanessa stood, awaiting a decision, her big, green eyes trained on me. “I don’t know, but I think it’s good for them to be together. They’ve had this traumatic experience. Not just Mrs. Zelisko, but the party. In some ways, they’re the only ones who understand what they’ve been through.”
“Okay,” Livvie said. “I’ll call Mom and let her know.” She paused. “I’ll call Blair Davies and invite Talia, too.”
Emmy took off for Crowley’s and her waitressing shift after giving Vanessa a fierce hug. “Promise you’ll be good. I’ll have my phone in my apron pocket, on vibrate. Here’s yours.” She reached into her bag and gave Vanessa her phone. With permission, Flynn had scrolled through it, as he had with Page and Talia’s phones. “Call if you need me,” Emmy said.
By the time Vanessa and I made it to Mom’s house, Page was on the porch. Vanessa ran to her, and they hugged each other so hard Vanessa squealed. Across the street, the front door of the Snuggles Inn burst open. Talia flew out and ran across the street, pausing to look both ways, but otherwise her feet barely touched the ground. Page and Vanessa opened their arms to embrace her, and then all three of them went into the house.
Blair Davies came out the Snuggles front door and watched them go inside. She raised a hand in a dispirited wave and sat heavily in one of the two Adirondack chairs the sisters had left on the porch for late-season guests. I felt bad for her. It had been poor judgment to leave three girls with Mrs. Zelisko in charge, sure. But the Davies hadn’t thrown the party or bought the beer. The whole thing had spiraled beyond their wildest imaginings. I crossed the street and sat down next to her.
Blair smiled, a small, tentative smile. Despite the events of the last day, we didn’t really know each other.
“I appreciate your sister asking Talia to be with the other girls. She’s been like a caged animal. I want to be mad at her. Inviting those friends over was clearly out of line. But all I can do is worry.” As if to underline her concern, Blair rubbed her hands together, the universal sign for worry. And for being cold. Either was possible. “Howard’s gone to work,” she said. “Talia’s with her friends. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
I tried to come up with ideas for her, though I suspected “helpful suggestions” wasn’t what she was looking for. She was new in town, barred from her home, her tenant murdered. I opened my mouth to respond a few times but, on reviewing every possibility, thought better of it.
“Howard loves his work at the oceanographic lab,” she said. “He’s happy as a clam. Which is what he studies, by the way, clams. Talia had a hard summer. Seventh grade is a tough time to move a kid, particularly one who’s lived in the same house and hung out with the same kids for almost her whole life. Particularly an only child. But now that she’s settled into her new school and has found Page and Vanessa, she’s much happier. Or she was until last night.”
The cold seeped through the slats on the bottom of the chair. I would have loved to go home and get warm, but Blair clearly needed to talk.
“I�
�m the one who can’t make the change,” she continued. “The summer was great. Buy a big house in Maine and you’ll discover friends you never knew you had. All summer people from our old hometown visited. And relatives we hadn’t seen in years. The house was full and noisy. We went to the beach, took harbor cruises, toured the lighthouses and the botanical garden. We went out to your family’s clambake once and loved it. Visiting friends gave us an excuse to learn about our new home.”
The door opened, and Fee appeared on the porch, two folded blankets in contrasting plaids in her arms and Mackie at her heels. Wordlessly, she tucked a blanket around Blair and then one around me. I thanked her. Blair gave Fee a wan smile, and she and the dog disappeared back inside.
“It felt so strange not to go back to school. I miss it terribly,” Blair said when the door to the inn had closed. “But I’ll have to wait for someone to die to get a job around here.” She stared into the middle distance. “Sometimes I would hear Mrs. Zelisko walking around in her apartment upstairs. She didn’t have a separate entrance. She had to come and go through our house. Somehow that made it worse. I was alone all day, but I felt I had no privacy. She was there all the time. I couldn’t forget her presence. It drove me crazy. That house, which I loved at first sight, has never felt like home. They say a house is not really your home until you’ve been alone in it. I never felt like I was.”
“I’ve heard Mrs. Zelisko was deaf,” I said. Maybe Blair had more privacy than she thought she did.
Blair shook her head. “Not deaf. A little hard of hearing. Sometimes I would call to her from across a room, and if she wasn’t looking in my direction, she wouldn’t hear me. And she kept her phone and TV up loud. But in conversation, face-to-face, she understood every word you said.”
Blair shifted in her chair and drew the blanket tighter around her. “I wanted to tell Mrs. Zelisko to leave. I begged Howard. But he liked the money, even though we didn’t need it. Our house in Massachusetts sold for way more than we paid here. And”—she paused—“he was concerned about where she would live.”