by Tess Rothery
"That's a pity. Her reputation at the sheriff's office is a pretty funny thing. It's been decades since she worked there, but until the year 2000 Nadine Major still worked for us. She and Ingrid had been trained together. I was just a kid back in 2000, but Sheriff Rousseau and half of the staff worked with Nadine, so they heard all the old Nadine and Ingrid stories. And now they tell them.”
Taylor tilted her head. Nadine and Ingrid stories? She really didn’t know what the deputy was talking about.
“Back in the day they had the nerve to call Nadine and Ingrid secretaries, but the sheriff who hired them was a pretty progressive guy. Some new rules had come out about needing women around when interviewing women, so they deputized Nadine and Ingrid to meet their requirements. Once those two were deputized, there was no stopping them.” Deputy Maria’s jaw tensed as though she were grinding her teeth. “You'd think having a history of well-trained women deputies would make this particular Sheriff's office a bit more broad-minded. But Ingrid and Nadine were so exceptional that the rest of us women don’t measure up. I've been here for seven years now, longer than any woman other than Nadine.”
Taylor wasn't well-acquainted with the sheriff's department, but as far as she’d ever known, there'd always been women on staff. It hadn’t occurred to her it might not be a good working environment for them. "You should call her." Taylor stood and began to pace the room. "She’d love to be consulted. She's probably worried to death about what's going on over here. I was just wondering what you thought we should do next. Should we try to stick with our schedule?"
"Yes, but don't push it. Let everyone know they are free to participate if they want, but they don’t have to. Nobody's under arrest. At least not for the murder."
Letting people do whatever they wanted was fine in theory, but Taylor longed for more concrete boundaries, so she headed off to find Sissy after all. As she climbed the stairs, she contemplated Deputy Maria.
Maria was engaged to a deputy called Reg, who Taylor used to date.
Reg had not been supportive of Taylor getting herself involved in murder investigations. Could it be that he also didn't like the idea of a wife with a dangerous job? It would be hard luck if that was the case. After all, the two had met and fallen in love at work. Taylor hoped the handsome law enforcement officer wasn't pressuring Maria to quit her job for his sake.
Sissy was sitting cross-legged by a window in the ballroom turning over the pages of a three-ring binder.
"Hey, Taylor. What are you planning next?"
"That's exactly what I came here to talk about. It looks like you're up for keeping on with the good work."
"Idle hands are the devil’s something or other." Sissy was far too grim to smile at her loss of words. "I'd like to get everyone outside every day. We might as well all go at the same time instead of running tiny groups. It would help us keep an eye on everyone. Anyway, we need to get you, Aviva, and Belle outside too.”
"I could use it," Taylor agreed. "Should we start this afternoon and go on the way we plan to continue?"
"That's always a good policy. Find your sister and tell her to gather the troops in the lobby. She can give us a history lesson as we walk around the property."
"I can ask her if she wants to, at least."
"Any reason to think she wouldn't?" Sissy gave her the gimlet eye.
“I haven't had a chance to talk to Belle privately about anything. I'm worried about her." No matter how smart, accomplished, or wealthy Belle was, she was still young. Not even twenty-one yet. This was a lot of burden for her to carry.
"I'm worried about her too. I want to get her alone and have a mother-daughter chat."
Taylor didn't bristle at this. There had been a time she would've, but she'd come to realize that Sissy’s offer of mothering was open to everyone. She wasn't trying to take over Taylor’s place as wise elder sister. She merely had one setting: Mom. "I'm sure she could use it. What time do you want to start this walk?”
Sissy glanced at her watch. “The sooner the better so that Aviva will have time to make supper. We’ll check with that sheriff first," Sissy added. "We don't want to find ourselves on the wrong side of the law.”
"What do you think happened?" Taylor stood slowly, hoping Sissy could explain it all to her. Solve the murder. Make the crisis go away. Basically, be her mom for just a little while.
"I think Maddie made a mistake, and someone else couldn’t live with it.”
Taylor shivered.
“I'm not attempting to blame her. She didn't ask to be killed. But somewhere along the line, she upset the wrong person."
"One of us?" Taylor folded her arms. It was too hot in the ballroom to shiver, but she did anyway.
"Not you or me,” Sissy said. “But Comfort is a small town. So yeah, I do think it was one of us, in one way or another.”
Taylor exhaled sharply.
"Go find your sister and Sheriff Rousseau," Sissy directed. "Let's get everyone outside in the sunshine. Maria and the sheriff are going to handle this. Do you understand me?"
Taylor knew a call to action—and a command to stand down—when she heard it.
But she wondered if Sissy knew telling her to mind her own business only guaranteed she would not.
Belle had declined the invitation to give a history lecture, but when everyone had gathered in the parlor for the afternoon walk, Taylor was not surprised that Deputy Maria had joined them.
Taylor hung back with Maria as Sissy led them into the fresh air and sunshine.
“Health and wellness of the early 1900s focused quite a bit on the lungs. Let’s stop here.” Sissy brought the group to a rise in the lawn, free from the shade of the many trees that lined the property. “Everyone take a nice long yawn with me.” Sissy yawned, and whether they wanted to or not, everyone else did as well. “Now swallow in an absurdly exaggerated way, please.” She demonstrated, and the group followed. “Let’s put those two moves together, nice and slow, and repeat, say, three times.”
They did. Aviva caught Pyper’s eye and they both blushed.
"Doesn’t that feel amazing? We’ve opened the lungs and exercised our face and neck muscles. Whether or not faithful practice of this is as good as a face lift, I’ll let you decide. But personally, I think a hearty yawn feels better than major surgery would.”
Jeanne laughed.
“I also like it better than the various pieces of chest-expanding equipment that have been around since about 1850.” She took a deep breath, allowing her ample bosom to expand dramatically. “But maybe that’s just me.”
Taylor laughed softly. Sissy was just so good at this kind of thing. Holding your attention, entertaining while educating. A born leader.
“Our lives used to be a lot smokier than they are now. Not just from smoking cigarettes inside, but cooking over wood fires, and heating homes with wood and coal. It must have been a constant battle for oxygen back in the good old days. And really, I feel better!” She grinned, and her little audience responded in kind. “Lung health can also be improved with a little singing. Group singing was a common activity before the radio and television. Folk songs were made for singing outside, and this classic has been around since before the Boone-Love House. Are you ready to walk and sing?” Sissy stretched her arms, rocked her head side to side and then began to march backwards, singing “Kumbaya” in a deep, satisfying contra-alto.
She stopped when they reached the far fence at the end of the property. "Yesterday Lorraine told us a heartbreaking story of tragedy. And it was followed by an immediate tragedy in our own lives. I long to forget the darkness and stand here absorbing the glory of creation. But we can’t. We need to work with the sheriff, follow his directions, and tell him everything we know. He needs to put whoever did this to our friend behind bars for a very long time."
"Forever." Tansy's frail voice surprised Taylor. The girl looked pale and tired as though the vivacity of her personality had been sucked out by the evening's tragedies.
&n
bsp; Maddie and Tansy hadn't really known each other, but perhaps this murder was too similar to the death of Shawna Cross, Tansy's best friend who had worked at the Flour Mill museum.
Taylor glanced at Lorraine. The older woman looked like she was working hard for her serenity. The death of Shawna Cross had led to the string of murders that had brought Lorraine’s painful past back into the light. She’d been haunted by her fears ever since.
Tansy might be afraid of how her mother would react to another death by stabbing.
Or she might just be afraid.
Anyone would be, locked in an old mansion with a murderer on the loose.
Taylor wished she could help Tansy and Lorraine. She wished she could help them all. "I've been through a lot of counseling over the last several years." Taylor surprised herself with this unplanned statement. "I've been learning tricks and techniques to handle the grief and panic that came from my troubles. I'm not a counselor, and I'm not trying to suggest that I am. But if anyone needs to talk or to hear some of the things I've been learning, I’m up for it. Or if you want an introduction to my counselor, that’s cool, too. Whatever would help.”
"Well done." Deputy Maria’s soft words were just for Taylor.
"In fact, we could go off right now if anyone wants to have a quiet chat. It’s a big piece of property. You could talk. I could share some of my simple breathing techniques. Anyone up for it?”
“Me, please.” Pyper’s enthusiasm was surprising. “Do you mean like right now? Because, seriously, I could use it."
"Definitely. Come on." Taylor and Pyper turned away from the crowd and walked back towards the house.
"I like the idea of learning some coping techniques.” Pyper spoke as soon as they were reasonably out of earshot. "You know I'm studying to be a psychologist myself, so I've got some ideas already. But mostly I could use some advice."
"What's the problem?"
"If I think I know something about the murder, but I’m not sure, should I say something? If I’m wrong, it could really hurt someone, but if I’m right….” Pyper’s brow was pulled in frustrated concentration.
"What type of thing is it?" Taylor was relieved the issue Pyper had was about clues instead of Pyper’s emotions. Though she’d meant her offer, this was better. Less vulnerable.
"I think it could be related to motive. Is that enough information?"
"If you know the real motive, you could help the sheriff a lot. But if you’re wrong, you’re afraid you might hurt someone." Taylor knew from counseling that reflecting back what you heard was the most important step.
"That's essentially it.”
"If you had to rate the strength of the motive on a chart of…" Taylor paused trying to think of a good chart.
"I think it's medium spicy,” Pyper volunteered. “If this was a Mexican restaurant, your tongue would tingle and your eyes might water a little bit.”
Taylor nodded. She liked motives as spice. This was a good analogy. She also wondered if there was a reason food had come to Pyper's mind.
Aviva was sort of friends with Pyper, in that she was old friends with Cooper, Pyper’s brother. And Aviva was the one who worked with food here.
Aviva was the only one with guaranteed access to the chicken bones and easy access to the napkins and plates.
"What are the odds the person you're thinking of would share the necessary information with the sheriff on their own?"
"Absolutely zero. There is no way she would share any of this. If the sheriff's ever going to hear what I know, I'm going to have to be the one to tell them." Pyper’s shoulders slumped as she walked.
"There's no one else at all who knows what you know?"
"I don't think so. Except maybe Mom. I think she knows everything."
"Your mom’s not likely to withhold info from the sheriff." Taylor felt a little wave of relief on Pyper’s behalf. There was something nice about being able to lob responsibility off on someone who seemed like they could take it.
"You don't think she would try to protect someone if she could? Because that's what I was afraid of.”
"That's an interesting thing to worry about," Taylor said. "Perhaps there's a reason for that feeling. Perhaps subconsciously, you know that this person didn't do it. They have a motive, but maybe you know for a fact they didn't have the opportunity."
Pyper exhaled slowly. "Okay. I need to think about that. Maybe you're right."
"Give yourself a deadline. My counselor is strict on deadlines. How about you pick a specific amount of time to think and a specific action to take when you reach your deadline?”
Pyper went pale. "Like think for the afternoon and if I don't convince myself that I'm wrong, then I have to tell the sheriff?"
"Be generous with yourself. Why don't you think about it for the rest of the day, and if you're not sure, then in the morning you can ask your mom some probing questions. Find out if she knows what you know. And if she does, then I think you can trust she'd have told, don't you?” Taylor was tempted to suggest Pyper tell her the info in the morning, but Sissy would be better. Probably.
"I really can't be sure. Mom might strike you as the kind of person who values law and order, but she really just values her law and her order. But thanks for the idea. And Taylor please don't tell anyone will you? This is just between us, right?"
“Definitely. Anyway, all I know is something is worrying you. I can’t do any damage knowing that, can I? After all, this murder is worrying all of us. Before that, exposure to the virus was. Before that…"
“Before that, having to eat some new concoction Aviva came up with was worrying us." Pyper lifted her eyebrows, though those eyes were big and worried. Then she headed back to the group.
Taylor was now sure that the motive in question belong to Aviva. Why else would she have brought her up?
Aviva, who was studying criminal justice and had been keen to be involved in murder investigations in the past.
The Sheriff had suggested the world would distrust Taylor for the same reason.
Did that mean that she should distrust Aviva?
Chapter Eleven
It wasn't that Taylor thought poorly of Aviva, but she did have a sort of superior feeling about the situation. She wasn’t at all intimidated by trying to get something out of her. She thought she could get to the bottom of it quickly and maybe save Pyper some grief.
Taylor contemplated the easy mark as she settled in the parlor with her work basket. The walk had been good for everyone, better than anyone had anticipated. They had returned to the house rested emotionally.
She chalked it up to Sissy's brilliance.
They had needed vitamin D.
They had needed the air in their lungs.
They had clearly needed the distraction.
To prevent restlessness, Taylor had immediately invited anyone interested to join her in the parlor where she would continue the stitchery lessons or just work at their own pace on the project provided.
She took one of the wingback chairs though, in her heart, she knew a proper hostess would leave the most comfortable chairs and take one of those straight-backed parlor chairs. She'd stationed herself so that she had a view out the large, mullioned windows. The Boone-Love house was set far back on their property and the nearest neighbor across the road was also set far back. It created a bucolic view of rolling, grassy lawns, flower-filled beds, and rustling new leaves in elegant maple trees. It also allowed her to see anyone who might be coming or going.
Shortly after she had her own needle threaded, Lorraine joined her.
"I don't know that you will have any other guests attending stitchery today." Lorraine perched on the edge of one of the straight-backed chairs. Her feet just touched the ground, and she seemed to tremble like the slim branches of the trees outside.
“I’m glad you decided to join me." Taylor smiled at her warmly.
Lorraine removed her needle book and a hoop that she must've brought herself. It looked as though she was
in the middle of a red-work pattern on a tea towel. Simple running stitch in red embroidery floss that had been so popular at exactly the time this house was built. Taylor was fond of red work. She’d never been an accomplished needle woman. Her grandma Delma had chided her for being so rough on herself, but it seemed to Taylor that her work was always a little sloppy, no matter how hard she sought perfection. Red work craved perfection. She had done some of her best work in red thread on a white ground, but it had never been perfect.
“I've been worried about you,” Taylor said. “I’m afraid Maddie’s death might be a bigger challenge for you then for the others.”
Lorraine nodded. “I see now that I should never have come home.” Her voice was thin, and broke on the word, home. “I have to try and be strong for my daughter, but I don’t know how long I can. I ran away for years because I knew it would find me again. That this curse would haunt me forever. If I had stayed away….”
Taylor only hesitated a moment before realizing the kindest thing she could do for Lorraine was take her seriously. So few people in her life had ever taken her fears seriously. “You’re not alone, Lorraine. We’re all here for you. You don’t have to try and be strong for us.”
"But I do. Any sign of weakness and he’ll strike again. I know no one believes me, but I carry the evidence with me every day." Lorraine’s needle slipped in and out of her fabric, leaving a trail of red across the simple white cotton.
“I’m glad Sheriff Rousseau and Deputy Maria are here.” Taylor spoke slowly. She didn’t want to feed Lorraine’s paranoia, but she needed to offer her comfort. “If The Cutter is still out there, he’ll be caught.” It was a simple thing to listen to someone, but hard to know how much to say.
Lorraine was good at running the museum, especially since she’d gone back on the wagon, but she needed professional help. Someone to help her see reality.
But first, she just needed someone to listen.