The Devil's Puzzle

by Clare O'Donohue

  “Any news on Winston after South America?” I asked, as Jeremy tugged at my hair.

  “Not a thing. He must never have come back to the area.”

  “Or he never left.”

  Natalie sighed. “Do you really think it’s him?”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it? It was his house, after all.”

  “How did someone with his background end up buried in the backyard?”

  “Someone put him there.”

  “It’s weird,” Natalie said, “considering we never met her, but it just breaks my heart for Grace that her son could have been murdered.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  We were both silent for a moment before Natalie finally spoke. But she’d moved on to another mystery we were trying to unravel.

  “By the way, I made a couple of calls about Ed Bryant. No one had anything bad to say about him, at least as a teacher. He was friendly but not too friendly. He was fair in his grades. He wasn’t big on school activities, but he did what was required of him,” she told me. “The only interesting piece of gossip was that he had an affair, or that’s what people thought, with someone named Glee.”

  “Glad’s sister?”

  “You’re kidding! The only sister I’ve ever heard of is Mrs. Shipman, that recluse of a woman who lives in the ugly brown house.”

  “That’s the one. Apparently her nickname was Glee.”

  “We have to find out more,” she said excitedly.

  “Why, Natalie? What does that have to do with Eleanor not wanting to get married or a skeleton in the backyard?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just interesting.” Natalie curled her lips into a frown. “What’s happening to you, anyway? You used to be the town—”

  “Busybody, snoop, nosy neighbor . . .” I finished her sentence for her.

  “I was going to say ‘the town’s most curious citizen.’”

  “Any way you say it, it’s not exactly the reputation I want to have for myself. Besides, we can’t just run around looking into the secrets of everyone in town.” I could see Natalie’s disappointment. “If it has something to do with the rest of it . . .” I started.

  “We won’t know unless we look, right?”

  “I guess.”

  I was worried about more than my reputation. We were pulling a thread from a sweater, unraveling an entire town’s secrets, for no good reason. It was the sort of thing that probably had driven poor John Archer to come to this area in the first place. Digging up the past, literally and figuratively, was turning out to be a complicated proposition.

  “Can you watch the shop by yourself for a while?” I asked Natalie. “Eleanor will be in at noon. I just need to run a few errands.”

  “Sure. It’s not exactly busy this morning and I’m just working on my quilt for the show.” She headed toward the back of the shop and the longarm machine.

  I put Jeremy into his playpen and stared for a moment at the young boy as he picked up and dropped a stuffed toy. He picked up the toy a third time and handed it to me, laughing, and then lay down and wrapped himself in the blue and white log cabin quilt that lined the bottom of his playpen.

  “It’s hard to believe that we all start off as innocent as Jeremy, and somewhere along the way, some people become killers—and others their victims,” I said, more to myself than anyone. Then I called back to Natalie, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” I left with the hope I’d have some answers to something before I returned.

  As I walked out to my car I saw Carrie across the street, waving to me.

  “Everything okay?” I called over to her.

  She ran across the street and met me at my car. “The shop got broken into this morning.”

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Nothing was stolen. Someone broke the lock on the back door and dumped the trash all over my office. Luckily, nothing was done in the rest of the coffee shop, but I’ve been cleaning up all morning,” she said. “Can you imagine someone doing that? I called Jesse and he filled out a report, but he didn’t think there was any chance we’d figure out who it was. It made it completely impossible for me to look into the Winston thing.”

  “It seems like a pretty pointless thing to do,” I said. “Someone breaks in and just messes up the place? Why?”

  “I’m just grateful it wasn’t worse. I’d already made the deposit at the bank, so I guess whoever it was didn’t find anything to steal.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Listen, don’t worry about researching Winston Roemer. You have enough going on, and I think it’s under control. Natalie found out a lot.”

  “Thanks,” Carrie said, “but I do have some information for you. When Ed came in this morning for his usual coffee and muffin, I mentioned the anniversary celebration this summer. Just casual, you understand.” She stopped—waiting, I guess, for a reaction.

  “Yes,” I prompted. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing interesting about that. He just said he was doing his part to help the community, and I told him that it looked to be a wonderful celebration.”

  “I’m interested, Carrie, but you have a shop full of hungry customers.” As she talked, I watched four people walk into Jitters.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” She looked back toward her store and then began talking faster. “Anyway, we started chatting, and I told him that I was making a quilt for the show that would be part of the celebration. I said something about how much I’ve loved quilting and how I learned everything from Eleanor.” She took a breath. “And his whole expression changed.”

  “Angry?”

  “No. The opposite. His face just lit up. He went on and on about what a good woman Eleanor Cassidy is, how much she has helped the community and been an example of the sacrifices of motherhood. He said I’m lucky to count Eleanor as a friend.”

  “So why would Glad say Eleanor doesn’t want to be in the same room with him?” I asked.

  “Maybe she’s lying.”

  “Maybe. But why?”

  “I don’t know.” Carrie shrugged and glanced toward my windshield. “I need to get back. And you need to figure out why Jesse gave you a parking ticket.”

  As she ran back to Jitters, I saw a piece of paper stuck underneath my driver’s-side wiper blade. It didn’t look like a ticket. As I unfolded the paper, I saw that it was a handwritten note with very careful printing in large block letters that read: MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, NELL FITZGERALD. OR YOU’LL REGRET IT.

  I steadied myself against the hood of the car. It was a threat. And it had to be tied to the skeleton—to a murder that had taken place long before I was born that I wasn’t even, technically, investigating.

  “Unless someone really doesn’t want me to run the quilt show,” I said, hoping to lighten my mood. It didn’t work. I could feel my shoulders tense up and that knot in my stomach begin to tighten again.

  I drove the block to the police station. Jesse wasn’t in, and I didn’t feel like sharing the note with any of the other officers, so I left the name and address of Elizabeth Sullivan, the woman I assumed to be Grace’s daughter, with one of his detectives. Knowing Jesse, it was likely he had the information by now, but if he didn’t there was no use in him wasting time looking for something that had already been found.

  I stuffed the note in my pocket and tried to ignore the strange reality that someone was trying to intimidate me. I drove over to see Maggie, the one person who actually might have answers to all the questions that were crowding my brain—about Eleanor, the house, Ed, and Winston. Assuming, of course, she was willing to tell me.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Two visits in one week. Either you’re lonely or I am,” Maggie said as she motioned for me to sit in the same kitchen chair I’d been in days before. “I have some oatmeal cookies if you’re hungry.”

  “I’d never turn down a cookie,” I said.

  She handed me a plateful and poured me a coffee. It was my third and it was barely ten o’clock, but I
drank it.

  “It’s just as well you’re here,” she said. “I’ve gone through some of my quilts, and I have several reproductions that would look lovely in the show. Where is it going to be?”

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “I tried to get the library, but Glad already has it booked for a special reception. I may end up showing quilts in the alley or out of the back of my car.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Maggie said.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Outside. We could hang them outside in store windows and in the park and all around town. There are several places, like Sisters, Oregon, that have outdoor quilt shows. People wouldn’t have to come to the quilt show. We would bring it to them.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I took a deep breath. All it would take would be permits from the police chief—Jesse would give me those—and the permission of a few shop owners. Somehow, amazingly, this show was coming together. “I appreciate the idea, Maggie, but I’m not really here to talk about the quilt show.”

  “You’re here about Winston,” she said. “I’m surprised you didn’t run after me yesterday.”

  “Eleanor and I had the guys over for dinner last night. I needed to go home and cook.”

  “So this is your first chance?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I can tell you what I know so far. Winston was Grace’s son. He worked in South America a lot. He got his doctorate in 1957, so that probably would put him in his forties in 1975.”

  “I think so.”

  “So you can fill in the rest.”

  “Like what?”

  She was being deliberately coy, which was very unlike the forthright, opinionated Maggie Sweeney I’d come to know.

  She sighed. “This is just a lot of old memories, and it’s making me feel sad, I suppose. I don’t like to talk about the old days. I prefer to live in the here and now. Keeps me young.”

  “Well, here and now, there is a lot going on in Eleanor’s life, and I’d like to help, if I can.”

  She looked away for a moment but then met my eyes. “What about Winston would you like to know?”

  “I don’t know. For starters, was he in Archers Rest in 1975?”

  “I wasn’t his travel secretary, Nell. He was Grace’s son. He came and went. He was always on some archeological dig or something.”

  “He was an anthropologist.”

  “Okay, he was always on some anthropological something or other. I had kids to raise. I didn’t pay that much attention to Winston.”

  “His sister’s name was Elizabeth, though, right?”

  “Yes. Lovely woman. She was married and living out west when I met her. She would come back to visit her mother from time to time.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “Grace’s funeral, I suppose.”

  “And that was in August of 1975?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. Your grandmother would know better than I would. I remember it was summer. It was a very hot day. I was pregnant with Brian. Very pregnant. I didn’t stay long at the funeral.”

  “What about Winston? Was he at the funeral?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “I don’t remember.”

  “If he was, then that’s fine. But if he wasn’t, there might have been a very good reason.”

  “Such as?”

  “If he didn’t show up for his own mother’s funeral, it may have been because he was buried in Eleanor’s yard.”

  “What? You think he’s the . . . does Eleanor know?”

  I shook my head. “Jesse wanted to find out what we could about him before we said anything. Besides, I know how close she was to Grace’s family. If I said anything and I was wrong, it would just upset her.”

  “So you don’t know for sure?”

  “No. But he seems to have disappeared after 1975.”

  “Good heavens. All this time . . . in the backyard of his own house?”

  “Maybe,” I cautioned. “Anything you can tell me would really help.”

  She poured me another cup of coffee, and I drank it. Her hands were shaking slightly, but so were mine. It may have been the caffeine, but I sensed it was something else.

  “I didn’t like him much,” Maggie admitted after she’d poured the last of the coffee for herself. “He was smart and he cared for his mother, but he had the arrogance of a man who thought inherited wealth made him better than the rest of us, instead of just luckier.”

  “Did Eleanor like him?”

  “More than I did. But your grandmother had such affection for Grace, it spilled over to her children.”

  “Was she in love with him?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re sure about that?”

  Maggie cocked her head. “If you’re imagining that Winston was the love of your grandmother’s life, and a broken heart is what’s keeping her from marrying Oliver, you’re wrong.”

  One theory shot down. “Was he in town a lot?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I only met him a few times. He came in ’65 or ’66, when Eleanor was new at the house. I think he was checking to make sure his mother was well cared for. Then he went on one of his trips and didn’t come back for years. He stayed a little longer that time. It was maybe in ’73 or ’74, but he left again. And then he came back one last time, shortly before Grace died. And that was the last time I saw him, as far as I remember.”

  “Did he make enemies?”

  She laughed. “What a thing to say. He wasn’t the type of man who made enemies. He was a snob, maybe. Archers Rest had been the family’s summer home, so he’d never bothered to get to know any of the locals well. I think he regarded all of us as inferior. But did anyone dislike him enough to kill him? I doubt that.”

  “Someone must have,” I pointed out.

  She looked at me, taking it in. “I suppose so,” she muttered. Then she sat back and for a long while seemed lost in her own thoughts.

  CHAPTER 24

  As I drove back toward the shop, I noticed Molly O’Brien walking out of city hall gripping a legal-size file folder. I parked in front of the police station.

  “Just the person I was looking for,” I lied.

  Molly looked like a deer in headlights. “Me?”

  “Yeah. You are supposed to help the committee members with the celebration, right?”

  “What do you need?” As she spoke she tightened her hold on the folder.

  “I need to get a permit to have the quilt show outdoors.”

  “Who do I get that from?”

  “The police chief.” I said it with a straight face, hoping she’d forgotten who I was with the day we met.

  She hadn’t. “Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

  “Yes, but . . .” I hadn’t thought this through. All I wanted was a peek at that file folder and now I sounded like an idiot. “We’re kind of fighting, so . . .”

  She nodded. “That’s too bad. But he does seem a little more, I don’t know, straightlaced than you. And the mayor said you were always getting in the middle of his cases.”

  I bit my lip. “What have you got there?” I pointed toward the file folder. “You’ve got quite a death grip on it.”

  She looked down at the folder as if she were just noticing it was there. “Just something the mayor asked me to look at.”

  She tried to hold the folder more casually, which was just the opportunity I needed.

  Before she could object, I grabbed it and flipped it open. Right on top was the deed to my grandmother’s house.

  “What do you need with this?” I asked.

  “That’s where the body was found.”

  “Which has nothing to do with the anniversary of the town.”

  Molly grabbed the folder back. “Well, I got the folder for the mayor, so I guess you’ll have to ask him.”

  I smiled just a little, in my best Clint Eastwood imitation. “I will, Molly. I’ll ask him right now.”

  “So what did the mayor say?” Nat
alie asked when I got back to the shop. Eleanor was sitting in the office going over the receipts. Barney and Jeremy were rolling a plastic ball back and forth, to their mutual amusement. There were no customers, so Natalie and I had the front of the shop to ourselves. But even though there was no danger of being overheard, we whispered as I told her about running into Molly.

  “He wasn’t in his office at city hall,” I told her. “I checked the travel agency, too, and it was closed. Weird that he’d close it in the middle of a workday, don’t you think?”

  Natalie shrugged. “So what did Molly do?”

  “Nothing. She just walked away with the folder and a copy of the deed to my grandmother’s house.”

  “What would she need that for?”

  “Confirm ownership,” I guessed.

  “Or to find out when she bought the place,” Natalie suggested.

  “Maybe to find out if Eleanor was living there when the skeleton was buried. Maybe the mayor wants to know.”

  “He worked at the house,” I pointed out. “He doesn’t need to confirm when Eleanor took over. He was there. Molly took those documents for herself or for someone who might not have been as personally involved in Eleanor’s life at the time.”

  Natalie’s eyes got wide. “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. At the meeting yesterday there was something weird going on between Glad and Molly. They said they’d never met, but they both seemed uncomfortable.”

  “I saw Glad about twenty minutes ago. She was heading to the library. She stopped in to see if you’d found a location for the show. She’s very worried you’re going to mess it up.”

  I let that pass without comment. I didn’t have time to be insulted. “I guess I’ll have to reassure her,” I said, and headed out the door to look for her.

  As I walked past the movie theater toward the library, I had the same feeling I’d had days earlier, that I was being watched. I caught a glimpse of something in the ticket booth, but when I moved closer, there was nothing there. I really wanted to talk with Glad about Molly, but if someone was watching me, I wanted to know who, so I reached for the door to the theater. Just as I was about to pull on the handle, the door flew open.