The Lure: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mountain Mystery Series Book 2)

by S. W. Hubbard

  “What about what Mr. Stiler said?”

  “He didn’t say anything. It’s not even hearsay. It’s less than nothing.”

  “But when Mel comes around, we’ll get them, right?”

  Frank sighed. By the time Mel came around, Constance Stiler and the Veeches would have had two full days to destroy evidence and cover their tracks. Even then, it would just be her word against theirs. He needed concrete proof now that they were running an illegal adoption business. Finding Diane Sarens would help—she might be able to identify Anita or Constance. But if she couldn’t, Mel’s testimony alone would not be enough to bring the whole operation down. A good lawyer could tie that girl up in knots on the witness stand.

  He could see now what he was up against. They were much shrewder than he gave them credit for; they wouldn’t collapse and confess.

  Earl continued to yammer. “I should have known. My cousin Donald warned me about Anita Veech. He said she was really mean, and smarter than she acts.”

  “How does Donald know Anita so well?”

  “They were in the same class at school.”

  “Anita went to school with your cousin Donald? I thought he was only a few years older than you?”

  “That’s right, he’s twenty-seven.”

  Frank let some papers slip out of his hands onto the desk. “Are you telling me Anita Veech is only twenty-seven? She looks like she’s forty.”

  “Nah. Maybe she’s twenty-eight, or nine, if she got held back, but definitely not forty.”

  The fat and bad teeth had misled him. But now he remembered something Olivia had told him right here in this office. She said, ‘I had a brother but he went away.’ He’d assumed she had an older brother who’d left home. But if Anita had been twenty when Olivia was born, an older brother would be too young to leave home. Which meant he had to be younger than Olivia.

  “What about Anita’s other child, her son?” Frank asked Earl.

  “Son? I never knew she had a son.”

  “Olivia told me she had a brother who went away.”

  Earl shook his head. “She was trying to put one over on you. All those Veeches lie.”

  “No.” Frank answered out loud, but he was talking to himself more than Earl. “No, she wasn’t lying. She had no reason to lie. I think Anita had another child recently, and I have a feeling I know what happened to him.”

  Frank and the Essex County prosecutor sat in the Chambers of Judge Roland Kovally. Chambers was a pretty glorified term for Kovally’s very ordinary office, and “your honor” was a pretty glorified form of address for a mild-mannered, middle aged man who looked more like a social studies teacher than a judge. When he’d sized up the setting, Frank had been quite confident that Kovally would quickly grant them the court order needed to access Anita Veech’s medical records at the Saranac Lake Hospital.

  “Absolutely not,” Kovally was saying. “You have no evidence that this woman is involved in anything illegal. Medical records are accorded the highest level of privacy. And adoption records are even more protected.”

  “But there’s a good chance that the adoption was illegal,” Frank protested. “And the father of Mary Pat Sheehan’s baby was denied—”

  Kovally held up his hand for silence. “You’ve explained all that to me Chief Bennett. Until you can bring me more evidence that Ms. Veech was involved in this illegal adoption scheme, her medical records are off limits. I think we’re finished here.”

  “Sorry, Frank,” the prosecutor apologized out in the hallway.

  Frank glared at Kovally’s closed door. “I thought everyone up here was a Republican law-and-order type. Where did Mr. Civil Liberties come from?”

  “He falls into the ‘keep government out of private citizen’s lives’ camp, I think.”

  “Fine. He wants more evidence, I’ll get him more evidence.”

  “What makes you think Anita had her baby in the hospital?” Earl asked. They were in the patrol car on the way to Verona to see if anyone had witnessed the meeting between Melanie and Constance. “She mighta had it at home, just like Mary Pat.”

  Frank shook his head. “I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. You see, I don’t think Anita necessarily tried to hide her pregnancy. She’s just so fat, nobody noticed. And don’t forget, she’s only been working at the Stop ‘N Buy for the past six months—before that, I never used to see her around town.”

  “Yeah, the Veeches really keep to themselves. You know, I heard she only took that job because they were going to cut off her welfare. This way, she gets to keep her food stamps,” Earl said.

  “That plays right into my idea of why she wanted to give the baby up,” Frank agreed. “It used to be, you got extra welfare money every time you had another baby. It doesn’t work that way anymore; you don’t get anything extra if you have the baby while you’re collecting—it’s supposed to discourage people from having more kids they can’t support. This baby was going to be a drain on the family finances, but then Anita, or maybe Pap, saw one of those ads in the paper and they realized they could actually get money for it if they gave it up for adoption. And when Anita noticed that Mary Pat was in trouble, she connected her with Sheltering Arms. And got a cut of the action, I’m sure.”

  “Couldn’t you try to get Olivia to tell you more about the baby brother who went away?”

  Frank sighed. “I thought of that, but a parent has the right to be present whenever a minor is interrogated. And Olivia certainly won’t volunteer anything with her mother in the room.”

  “You could try to trip her up.”

  “I’m afraid, Earl. Can you imagine what Pap would do to her if she were the one to blow their cover? I can’t put Olivia in danger.”

  “You oughta get Trudy Massinay to take Olivia away from them,” Earl said righteously. “The way those people live is disgusting. They use an outhouse, for God’s sake.”

  “It’s not that easy, Earl. I know it seems to us like Olivia would be better off with just about anyone compared to Pap and Anita, but they’re her family. Lack of indoor plumbing is not enough reason to take a kid away from her mother.

  “No, I’ve decided that Constance Stiler is the weakest link. If I can scare her enough, I can get her to talk. She’s not used to lying.”

  “Not like the Veeches. Why would a nice lady like Mrs. Stiler get mixed up with them anyway?”

  “It has to be money, I think. She’s running out of money for her husband’s medical care. She must’ve been desperate for cash to get involved with this adoption scheme.”

  “Mrs. Stiler and the Veeches—you think that’s all there is to Sheltering Arms?”

  “No, there has to be someone coordinating the whole operation.”

  “Dr. Galloway?”

  Frank shrugged. “He’s got the brains for it. And I’m sure he’s lying to me about Diane Sarens. But there could be someone outside the area—all that Internet stuff could be done from anywhere. I just hope I can get Mrs. Stiler to tell us the rest.”

  Earl looked unconvinced, but crossing the one lane bridge over Stony Brook just before the Verona town limits forced a change of topic.

  “Where do you want to start?” Earl asked as Frank parked the car in the center of the two-block long main street of the village.

  “You ask in all the stores if anyone noticed Melanie and Mrs. Stiler here yesterday. Don’t just ask the workers, ask the shoppers. They’d be more likely to have seen them on the street, or in the park.” Earl nodded, taking a picture of Melanie along to jog people’s memories, although it was possible he wouldn’t need it. Verona and Trout Run were part of the same regional school district, so families in both towns with kids tended to know each other. Constance would be less well known since she hadn’t raised her kids in the area, but, of course, she wasn’t about to give them a picture.

  Frank headed directly for the town park where Mel had agreed to meet the mysterious woman who was supposed to help her give her baby up for adoption. The weathe
r had changed dramatically since yesterday. With low gray clouds blocking the sun, the temperature barely hit fifty. The wind blew steadily from the west, carrying occasional spurts of drizzle. Frank pulled his collar up and buried his hands in his pockets as he walked the block from the main street to the grassy area on the bank of the brook.

  A swinging wooden sign announced that he’d arrived at the Carl W. Fahey Memorial Park. He didn’t know who Carl had been, but his tribute amounted to a picnic table, two wooden benches, a trashcan and some rickety playground equipment. Not surprisingly, the place was deserted.

  He looked around. The closest building had a shop on the ground floor with two levels of apartments above. Six windows faced the park. Frank walked over and climbed the stairs in back that led to the apartment doors. No one was home at the second floor apartment, but the blare of the TV on the third floor told him he was in luck.

  The door was opened by a woman in her seventies with keen brown eyes and gleaming white dentures. She looked delighted to find a policeman on her doorstep. Before long she had him settled at her kitchen table with a cup of coffee and some really excellent molasses cookies.

  “You came at the right time. Oprah was just finishing up, and I can’t stand that fella who comes on next. Now, you want to know who was over at the park yesterday?” She stretched forward to improve her view out the kitchen window. “No one there today, but yesterday was nice. There were quite a few folks in and out, as I recall.”

  Frank pulled out his photo of Melanie. “Do you recognize this girl? She was pregnant.”

  “Can’t say as I do.” She looked disappointed. “It’s hard to make out faces at this distance. And everyone was wearing heavy coats.”

  “Did you recognize anyone who was at the park yesterday? If I could talk to someone who was there, they might remember seeing Melanie.”

  Her face lit up. “You know who was there for quite a while–Ruthie Phipps and her boys, Jason and Mason. I know it was her cause she’s got one of those big double strollers, and she always dresses the twins just alike. This year, their jackets are bright orange. She musta picked ‘em up on sale.”

  “That’s very helpful, ma’am. You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives?”

  “Oh, sure. Over on Fowler Street. Pink house, second from the corner.”

  When the young woman answered the door, Frank had no doubt he was at the right house. Behind her on the floor rolled a writhing mass with four legs, four arms and two identical heads. Ruthie quickly identified Mel’s picture. “I know it was her. My younger sister was a cheerleader with Melanie. But I didn’t talk to her—she was so caught up in what this other woman was saying, I don’t think she even noticed me.”

  “What did the other woman look like?”

  Ruthie shrugged. “She was sitting down, and wearing a thick coat and a hat.”

  Great, it did no good to prove Mel was there—he had to be able to prove to Constance that someone had identified her in Verona. “Think, Mrs. Phipps. Was there anything distinctive you remember about her?”

  “The hat, Mommy!” One of the little boys piped up from behind her.

  “Oh, that’s right. Her hat blew off and rolled right across the playground. Jason chased it down for her and brought it back. And before she put it back on, I noticed she had the prettiest pure silver hair I’d ever seen.”

  “Trudy Massinay called,” Doris announced as soon as Frank got back to the office. “She says to call—it’s very important.”

  Frank rushed to his phone and dialed. Trudy answered on the first ring.

  “I found Diane,” she announced. “She’s okay.”

  Now things were looking up. “Great! Where is she? I want to talk to her.”

  “There’s no need for that. She’s been staying at the battered women’s shelter in Lake Placid. It never even dawned on me to check there, but when I was placing a client, there she was. Dr. Galloway helped her get in.”

  “A shelter? Galloway helped? What are you talking about?”

  “It seems Diane’s father has always been abusive, mostly to her mother, but since Diane got pregnant he’s been hitting her, too. Dr. Galloway’s been treating her, and he noticed signs of the abuse. He convinced her to go into the shelter so she’d be safe until the baby came.”

  “But why did she run out on me like that?” Frank asked.

  “I guess she freaked when you started talking about adoption. Everyone’s been encouraging her to give the baby up, but she wants to keep it. That still hasn’t been settled.”

  “What do you mean ‘everyone’ has been encouraging her to give the baby up? Did Constance Stiler try to persuade her?”

  “No, I mean her parents, her friends. I asked her about Constance—she claims she never saw her at the clinic. She only went three times, always when the other nurse was on duty.”

  “Why the hell didn’t Galloway tell me where Diane was? What was the point of keeping the secret from me?”

  “Diane said Dr. Galloway told her about a nurse he worked with during his residency. She was being stalked by an ex-boyfriend and got a restraining order against him. The police did nothing to protect her, and the guy came into the ER one night and shot her dead in front of Galloway. He’s been mistrustful of the police ever since.”

  “I still need to talk to Diane,” Frank insisted. Galloway might be honest, but Frank couldn’t believe a perfect candidate for Sheltering Arms could present herself at the clinic and Constance wouldn’t know about it. “Tell her I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  Constance Stiler sat in the interview room of state police headquarters looking as perfectly relaxed as a nun in a cathedral. Frank watched her through the one-way glass for a moment. He wanted badly to wipe that composure off her face. The interview with Diane Sarens had been a bust. The girl insisted that Constance had never treated her at the clinic, and that Dr. Galloway had never offered to help her give her child up for adoption. Still, she’d been jumpy as a cat, and reluctant to say much about Galloway. And Galloway was still away.

  A tap at the door signaled him. Constance’s lawyer had arrived—the interview could begin.

  Frank took a seat opposite them. Constance’s eyes met his without hesitation.

  “How long has your husband been sick, Mrs. Stiler?” Frank began.

  Constance looked a little startled. She glanced at her lawyer, but he nodded.

  “About five years.”

  “And he’s not going to get any better, is he?”

  “Parkinson’s is a progressive disease. Eventually it’s fatal,” she answered coldly.

  “His treatment must be very expensive. Does your insurance cover all that?”

  “Get to the point, Chief Bennett. This is all irrelevant,” the lawyer objected.

  “And taking care of an invalid must be very time-consuming,” Frank went on. “I imagine your children have careers and young kids to take care of—they’re probably not able to help much. In fact, if something were to happen to you, I suppose your husband would have to go into a nursing home.”

  Constance took a drink from the water glass on the table. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m quite healthy.”

  “I can see that,” Frank replied. “I meant if you should have some legal trouble that would put you out of commission for a while…”

  “That’s enough! You’re threatening my client. Ask her what you intended to ask about Melanie Powers, or we’re leaving.”

  Constance looked approvingly at her lawyer, and Frank could see that he’d rattled her a little. Now he was ready to move in.

  “Melanie Powers received an email offering to help her give a baby up for adoption. She arranged to meet that person in the park in Verona to discuss it. That person was you, wasn’t it Mrs. Stiler?”

  “No.”

  “I have a witness who saw you talking to Melanie in the park on Monday.”

  “Who?” the lawyer interjected.

  “A young mother playing th
ere with her twin boys. You probably remember seeing them, Mrs. Stiler.”

  “Since I wasn’t there, Chief Bennett, I don’t.”

  “This woman can identify you.” Frank insisted.

  “I don’t know any young people in Verona. I don’t see how she can say she knows me,” Constance said.

  “She knows Melanie, and she saw who Mel was talking to.”

  “Did she identify my client by name?”

  “She described her in detail.”

  “What detail? How she was dressed?” The lawyer gestured toward the winter coat hanging on a rack by the door. “My client wears a green LL Bean jacket. I think I’ve seen about ten of them walking around this week—they’re very popular.”

  Constance Stiler let go of the glass she’d been holding and sat back in her chair.

  “The witness said the woman she saw had striking silver hair,” Frank answered.

  “Put my client in a line-up with five other mature ladies with silver hair, Chief Bennett. If your witness can pick her out, then maybe we have something to talk about. Let’s go, Mrs. Stiler.”

  Frank waved them back into their seats. “By tomorrow I’ll be able to speak to Melanie Powers in the hospital. She’s going to tell me how you coerced her into going to the Veech place. She’s going to explain what you did to her up there. Why don’t you make it easier on yourself and tell me what part Anita and her family played in this adoption scam?”

  Constance stood up. “Everyone on Harkness Road knows about the Veeches’ dogs, Chief Bennett. I wouldn’t dream of going up there.” She fixed him with a sphinx-like smile. “When you find out what inspired that poor girl to take such a chance, do let me know.”

  She slid her arms into the coat that her lawyer held for her. The man opened the door and glanced back over his shoulder.

  “Good afternoon. I hope this has been helpful.”

  Frank listened as their footsteps petered out down the hall. If Constance Stiler was the weakest link, this case was bound up in an anchor chain.