by Kathi Daley
Additionally, it was suspected that Pamela’s father might have been the one to steal the artifacts that had gone missing from the dig he was working with his wife. This suspicion was never proven, yet the prosecutor was able to make a case that Mr. Norwood had a motive to remove the items from the collection, given the fact that their existence seemed to disprove a theory he’d postulated and was widely known for. While I did see the logic in this assertion, no proof of wrongdoing on Mr. Norwood’s part was ever proven, and in my mind, even if the prosecution had been able to prove that he’d taken the artifacts, that didn’t mean he’d killed his wife. Still, the prosecution had argued that Mrs. Norwood found out about the stolen artifacts, they’d argued, and, as a result, she’d ended up dead. Based on the outcome of the trial, it appeared as if the jury bought the prosecutor’s story.
The argument seemed weak; however, I didn’t actually have all the data at this point. I was anxious to see the court transcripts, mostly because I had to believe there was evidence offered at the trial that ended with the man’s conviction that I simply wasn’t seeing.
It seemed to me that one of the reasons that Pamela’s father might have ended up serving time in prison for murdering his wife was that there didn’t appear to have been any other suspects. At least not strong suspects. The defense attorney had presented a case against the nanny, which I felt had merit. Still, I really didn’t want it to be her, even though I found her as the killer to be more believable than Mr. Norwood as the killer. She’d raised Pamela since she was an infant, so a close bond would have existed. According to the report, it looked as if the rumor that Pamela’s parents planned to send her to boarding school, thereby ripping her from the arms of the woman who’d been her primary caregiver was true, which I could see might have caused a conflict between the nanny and the parents. Additionally, the nanny had been left alone in the house with Pamela’s mother after her father had taken her to her piano lesson. I could totally imagine a situation where they argued, things turned heated and quickly spiraled out of control. And then there was the fact that the nanny never did leave to go out of town as it was stated she planned to do. Had she been planning to make her move all along? Maybe she hadn’t planned to kill Mrs. Norwood, but perhaps once she did, she knew Pamela would need her, so she stuck around.
The third possible suspect in my mind was one, possibly both, of the grad students who were suspected of stealing the missing artifacts to sell on the black market. For all I knew, he’d actually done just that. The artifacts were never found. Perhaps he’d come by the house for some reason. Maybe the artifacts were being stored at the house. When he’d arrived, he found Mrs. Norwood alone, and he’d killed her in the name of a generous payday.
Of the three, I actually felt that the nanny made the best suspect, but she hadn’t been the one convicted. I had to wonder why she was never a stronger suspect at the time. I figured I had to be missing something important. The fact that the case seemed to have been reopened after Mr. Norwood had been tried and convicted was the circumstance I found most interesting. I still hadn’t figured out why Officer Foster had decided to reopen the case, but I figured the reason could be important. Most of the time, a case wasn’t reopened unless new evidence came to light. If that was so, then what was the new evidence?
I’d texted Colt earlier and told him that I had plans to go to Tanner’s and wouldn’t be available to chat until late, and if that didn’t work, he could just call the following day. He hadn’t called back yet, and I wasn’t sure that he would, so perhaps I’d just go ahead and get ready for bed. I paused to think about what I needed to do the following day since Georgia wouldn’t be around. I knew we had one couple checking in, but I wasn’t sure if they would be checking in tomorrow morning or afternoon. I supposed I should head over to the inn and check the reservation before I got into my pajamas.
When I arrived at the inn, I found Mylie sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a mug of warm milk.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked, pouring myself a glass of milk and sliding onto a stool next to her.
“Not at all.”
“Bachelor trouble?” I wondered.
She shrugged. “Not really. I am disappointed I never had the chance to meet Andrew today, but I know I can meet him tomorrow, so it isn’t really a big deal.”
“And the others?”
She took a sip of her milk. “I like Mark. He’s a nice man, who is successful and good looking but he is definitely not the one for me. Not only do we have totally different goals in life, but there isn’t a spark.”
“And Riley?”
She let out a long slow breath. “Riley seems to be traveling a life path inconsistent with my goals, but in Riley’s case, there is chemistry. The chemistry is one that I have been fighting since we met.”
“Why fight it? Why not see where it takes you?”
“I have very specific goals that are important to me. I know where I want to be, and I have an idea of what needs to occur to get there. I really like Riley, but I don’t see marriage and children anywhere in his future. Still, as I already said, I can’t deny that a spark exists. I just hope that I can find common goals and a spark with Andrew.”
“And maybe you will,” I said. “I’m sorry you missed him today, but he did ask about breakfast tomorrow, so I’m going to suggest you try to get a good night’s sleep tonight and show up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.”
She swallowed the last of her milk. “That’s good advice that I plan to take.” She stood up, crossed the room, and put her mug in the sink. “Good night.”
“Good night to you as well.”
I finished my milk and then went to check the reservation log. Our guests were arriving mid-afternoon. That would work well. I shut off the overhead light in the kitchen, locked the door behind me, and returned to the cottage just as Colt’s call rang through.
“Hey,” I answered. “How was your day?”
“It was great. How was yours?”
I filled him in on my day, and he filled me in on his. We engaged in small talk for a while before the subject of Mrs. Norwood’s murder was broached.
Chapter 12
I tossed and turned most of the night, replaying my conversation with Colt over and over in my mind. He’d read through the notes left by the man who’d reopened the case, and he seemed to think that one of the household staff killed Mrs. Norwood. He’d pointed out, as had the officer who originally researched the case, that given the fact that the house had extensive security and there had been no sign of forced entry or tampering with the lock system, the killer must have been someone with access to the house. It was also determined that the only people with access to the house were the Norwoods and their staff. The nanny hadn’t really come up as a suspect until the defense brought the boarding school motive into play, but according to Colt, based on the notes he’d read, it seemed that Officer Foster agreed with the defense attorney’s assertion that the nanny should be considered as viable a suspect as anyone. He seemed to have taken it upon himself, for reasons unknown to Colt, to do some additional digging on Mr. Norwood’s behalf, even though the case was closed, and Mr. Norwood was doing time by then.
In my opinion, the facts relating to the case that Foster had been able to dig up seemed to have merit. I really wasn’t sure why the investigation had never gone anywhere. As far as Colt and I could tell, Foster looked into it, came up with a new theory, but never followed through with that theory by bringing forward the facts that might have landed Pamela’s father a new trial.
While the nanny did make the best suspect of all the staff members in my mind, Foster was able to make a case that the tutor made a good suspect as well. Apparently, the tutor, a man named Jeffery Oliver, had only been with the Norwoods since August. He was a recent college graduate, who had given up a regular teaching position at a high school in the town where he’d grown up, to work for the Norwoods. Foster had thought this an odd choice for a young man look
ing to build a career, so he dug into the agreement further and found that the Norwoods, who really were quite well known in their field, had not only offered him a temporary position as Pamela’s tutor after the old tutor quit, but had sweetened the deal by promising the ancient history major a position working the dig they planned to begin the following spring in Egypt. Foster was able to track Oliver down at his new job at a small local museum in the state where he’d grown up, and according to Foster, Oliver was more than just a little bit angry that the Norwoods had decided to lay off the staff, including him. It seemed to me that the decision by the Norwoods to send Pamela to boarding school had made everyone mad.
Of course, the theory of the tutor as the killer was similar to the theory of the nanny as the killer in that both were nice stories, but neither was supported by physical evidence. In terms of physical evidence, there hadn’t been much. I honestly didn’t think that it was even possible to find the truth all these years later, and when I thought about the impact it would have on Pamela if one of the staff members she had spent a lot of time with turned out to be guilty, I wasn’t certain I even wanted to find the truth.
I paused and looked out the window at the falling snow. I had to wonder if we weren’t just spinning our wheels. It did appear that other suspects had been considered at the time of the murder but that the investigation into those suspects really hadn’t gone anywhere. Maybe Pamela was wrong. Maybe her father had killed her mother. And even if he hadn’t, it seemed that at this late date, the only chance we had to clear his name was to prove that he hadn’t gone home during the two hours Pamela was at her piano lesson and what were the odds we could do that all these years later?
And then I remembered the snow globe. Initially, Pamela hadn’t been sure where she’d gotten it, but then she remembered that her father had given it to her when he picked her up from her piano lesson. He’d told her that he had a meeting and that there was a snow park near the location of his meeting and that he’d felt bad she hadn’t been able to go sledding with her friends, so he’d bought it for her. Could the snow globe serve as an alibi as to where he’d been? Of course, if it could prove his alibi, why hadn’t he presented his purchase of the snow globe as evidence sixty-one years ago?
I had to wonder about the meeting. I assumed it was a business meeting of some sort, but who arranged for a meeting to occur on Christmas Eve in the first place? And then it all came together in my mind. I picked up my phone and called Velma.
“Hey, Velma. That snow globe you have near your cash register. Where did you get it?”
“The Eagle Valley Snow Park. Why?”
“How long ago did you buy it?”
“I didn’t buy it. Royce bought it for me when we dated the first time. The snow globes are really special. They are all numbered and signed.”
I paused to let this roll around in my mind. “Numbered? Do you think there is a register of who purchased which snow globe and when they purchased it?”
“Yes. I believe the family who has owned the snow park for the past three or four generations keeps a record of who purchases the snow globes. Why do you ask?”
“How far is the snow park from Holiday Bay?” I asked.
She paused and then answered. “I guess around thirty minutes from here. Maybe a few more than that. Why?”
“Pamela has a snow globe very similar to the one you have. She told me that her father purchased it for her on the day her mother was murdered. I guess she had been invited sledding with some friends but had been unable to attend since she was due at her piano lesson. She told me her father felt bad about that, and when he noticed the snow park which was next to a café where he was to meet someone, he bought her the gift. If that is true, and if there is a record of him buying the snow globe on the date of his wife’s murder, that may very well provide the alibi we need to prove he could not have gone home and killed his wife as the prosecution determined he had.”
“If that is true, why didn’t he bring up the snow globe during his trial?” Velma asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know about the meeting he attended. Maybe the reason he met whomever he met so far from home was because he was trying to hide whatever was going on.”
“What could possibly be worse than going to prison for killing your wife?” she asked.
“Having to admit that the theory you had based your entire career on was wrong,” I answered. “I need to call Pamela. Can you text me the directions to the snow park?”
“Sure. I’d be happy to. Call me later, and let me know what you find out.”
I called Pamela and asked her if there were numbers of any sort on her snow globe. Perhaps on the bottom. She said that yes, there was a gold plate on the bottom with a six-digit number, followed by two letters. I shared my idea that perhaps the snow globe could serve as proof of her father’s whereabouts during the time that her mother had been murdered. She, of course, was anxious to check out my theory, so I agreed to pick her up within the hour so the two of us could take the trip north and speak to whoever was in charge these days. I called Lacy as well, but she was out with Lonnie and the kids, so I promised to call her later and fill her in on what we found.
Of course, as I was walking out the door, I remembered about the Trentons and my promise to get them checked in and settled while Georgia was busy at the cookie competition. It was already the twenty-third, and I really wanted to help Pamela to prove her father’s innocence by Christmas, if possible, so I tracked down Nikki and asked her to cover for me. She, of course, was happy to come home from ice skating early to do just that.
When I picked Pamela up, I could see that she was hopeful but nervous. I guess I didn’t blame her. Now that she had committed to the task of proving her father’s innocence, she probably felt she had a lot riding on our little field trip. The trip north was gorgeous with all the fresh snow, which hung heavy on the branches of the evergreens that grew in the area.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the snow globe since you asked about it, and I had a memory of my father giving it to me. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that my memory is real.”
“Your father told you that he had gone to a meeting, had seen the snow park, and decided to stop and buy you a gift since you’d missed sledding with your friends. Do you have any idea why he would have been meeting with someone on Christmas Eve?”
“No idea at all.”
I decided to wade into the next part carefully. “Do you remember that we discussed the missing artifacts from your parents’ dig, and the fact that the exact artifacts that had been stolen were the ones which could have been used to disprove the theory you father had made famous?”
Pamela nodded. “Yes, I remember that.”
“You mentioned that your dad was a proud man and that his theory was very important to him. I keep imagining how it would feel to find, not only your life’s work to come into question, but your identity and reputation as well. It must have been devastating. It might even have been devastating enough to cause him to act out of character.”
“I’m sure that if there were artifacts that disproved my father’s theory on migratory patterns of the indigenous people, he would have been devastated,” Pamela agreed. “But I don’t think he would kill my mother over it.”
“I agree. But do you think he might have been so invested in not having his theory disproven that he might have been willing to go to prison for a murder he didn’t commit?”
She frowned. “What are you saying?”
I changed lanes as we approached the exit we were looking for. “I’ve been asking myself why, if there was a record that your father bought you a snow globe an hour from your home on the day your mother was murdered, he didn’t offer the purchase of the snow globe as proof during his trial. Then it occurred to me that perhaps he’d been meeting with someone who was going to buy or hide the artifacts your father might have stolen. If his professional reputation was
as important to him as it sounds like it might have been, maybe he found that he was unwilling to admit that he had removed the artifacts from the inventory, even if by doing so, he could have proven his innocence in his wife’s death.”
“That’s crazy.”
I nodded. “I don’t disagree that it seems much worse to go to prison for a murder you did not commit than to admit you were wrong, but I suppose that there are those who would, when faced with the choice, care more about their professional reputation than their freedom.”
Pamela didn’t say anything, but I could see she was working to digest my theory.
When we arrived at the snow park, we found it crowded and had to park toward the back of the lot. We made our way past the sledding hill, the ice skating pond, and sleigh rides to the building that housed a small café and a gift shop.
“Can I help you?” A woman with white hair who looked to be in her seventies asked.
“My friend has a snow globe that would have been purchased here in nineteen fifty-eight. We’re trying to confirm that her father purchased it for her. Would you have records dating back that far?” I asked.
“We have records back to the forties when my grandfather established this place. Do you have the registration number?”
I nodded at Pamela, who handed the woman her snow globe. She jotted down the registration number and then headed toward a back office while we waited. After a good twenty minutes, the woman returned to where we were waiting. She had a thick ledger with a dark brown leather cover. “This particular snow globe was purchased by Jeffery Norwood of Holiday Bay, Maine on December twenty-fourth, nineteen fifty-eight at ten-fifteen in the morning. Mr. Norwood paid for the snow globe with traveler’s checks.”
I glanced at Pamela. She was grinning from ear to ear. It looked like we’d just done the impossible and proven that her father could not have been at home at the time of her mother’s murder.