I nodded. The pieces were beginning to fall into place.
. . .
By the time the sheriff arrived, the snow had stopped falling. He knocked on the door and I opened it. In the dim light, he was kicking his boots against the bench on the porch. He looked up and smiled. "Smells good in there. I see the Misses Hyacinth and Grace are here."
I closed the door behind me and looked at him for a long moment. His smile faded. "They told you."
I nodded. Like Hyacinth had said, I wasn't used to the cold and it seemed like the tears at the edges of my eyes were going to freeze. I brushed them away before they could.
He stood where he was for a long moment. "I was going to tell you tonight."
I nodded again. Finally I put my hand out.
He looked surprised but shook it.
I said, "Thank you."
He held my hand. "For what?"
"For loving my mother and giving her a family."
He shook his head. "No, son. She was a gift in my life. In our lives." He pulled me in and hugged me. We stood there for a long moment as he clapped me on the back.
Finally, I stepped back and said, "Damn. I'm not used to this cold."
He grinned. "I'm sure you aren't. Let's get inside. If Grace has been cooking, I know it's going to be good."
. . .
Over dinner, I told everyone about what Hyacinth had said about Dr. Farber and what I'd found on my own. As I talked, I noticed that the sheriff was getting antsy.
Finally, Maria asked, "Sheriff, are you OK?"
He stood suddenly, dropped his napkin on the table, and walked over to the fireplace. He savagely kicked one of the logs, causing sparks to fly everywhere. We all waited for him to speak.
He turned and looked at me, his eyes blazing. "How could you?"
I stood and said, "What?"
He sighed and began to cry. It was ugly. After a moment, he caught his breath. In between jagged sobs, he said, "I wanted someone to kill. I wanted to find someone down in Boston or over in England to collar and punch hard in the face. I wanted to kick him until all his teeth fell out. And now you took that away from me."
I didn't move. I just nodded. I understood. Completely.
. . .
Once dinner was over, the Misses Hyacinth and Grace announced that it was their bedtime. Before they bundled up, hugs were given all around the room. Carter and I walked them out to their truck, huddling against the quiet and still cold. The wind had stopped blowing and I could see a big full moon in the sky, illuminating the landscape and giving the few clouds in the sky a silver glow.
Once they were loaded in and the engine was running, Carter and I stood at the passenger door while Grace rolled down the window. She said, "Meeting you, at last, has been a real treat, Nicholas. And Carter." In the dashboard light, I could see her frown suddenly. "I'm sorry it looks like my sixth sense wasn't right this one time. But I'm glad we could help you. Now that you have a house in Vermont, promise that you'll come and visit us. But come back in the summer. It's glorious." She smiled. "Simply glorious."
From the driver's side, Hyacinth said, "Quit your yackin', Grace." Leaning around, she said, "Be good to each other, young men. Your mother would be proud of you, Nicholas."
Grace nodded. "Oh, yes. She would. Have fun!" I was pretty sure I saw her eyes twinkling.
. . .
Once dinner was cleared away and the dishes had been dried, we decided to play a fast-paced card game that the sheriff taught us. It must have been a New England game because Johnny knew the rules. I never got the name but it seemed to be a kind of competitive solitaire. After we'd played a few rounds, we decided to close out the evening by sitting in front of the fire in the living room.
Carter and Frankie went into the bedrooms to build the fires in there. The cooking earlier had warmed things up a bit, but the house was beginning to cool off again. Maria and I made coffee while the sheriff and Johnny talked in the living room.
Once we were all seated and drinking coffee, I said, "I think we should go down to Boston tomorrow and find this Dr. Farber."
The sheriff nodded. "I'd like to go with you but I can't leave. You're going to need someone to help you get around. The roads are impossible down there."
I looked over at Johnny who smiled. "We have a former Boston cabbie as a driver, so we should be good."
Carter put his hand on my arm. "What about the plane?"
I said, "We can call Captain Kilkenny from the payphone in front of the grocery store in the morning." I'd seen one earlier when we'd been at the sheriff's office. I looked over at the sheriff. "We may have a telegram from them wondering where we are."
He nodded and then sat up. "Damn. I forgot again." He stood and walked over to where his coat was hanging. After a moment, he returned and gave me the letter from Zelda that he'd picked up off the counter at the post office.
I sighed and looked at it. Before I could ask, Carter reached over and took it out of my hand. I wanted to lean against him and close my eyes but wasn't sure what the sheriff would say, so I just sat very still and watched the fire as Carter tore open the letter.
He read it quickly and then said, "Goddam, that woman has a lotta nerve."
I closed my eyes and said, "Just read it, Chief."
He took a deep breath and did just that.
Tuesday, May 12, 1953
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco 9, Cal.
Dear Alexandra,
By the time you receive this letter, you may have already seen this in the newspapers, but your daughter Janet died last night at St. Mary's Hospital. She was in some sort of car accident. Parnell has the police investigating.
Yours,
Zelda Markinson
The sheriff responded first. "That's it?"
I opened my eyes to see Carter waving the letter in the air. He stood and threw it on the sofa next to me. He began to pace. "'Parnell'? 'Alexandra'? Who does that bitch think she is? 'Parnell has the police investigating'? I'd like to strangle her myself."
I stood and walked over to him. He was rubbing his jaw. He looked down at me. "You and Mike solved that case." He put his finger on my chest. "You. Not your father. Not fuckin' Parnell!" He ran his hand through his hair.
I said, "It's OK, Carter."
He shook his head without looking at me. "No. It. Isn't. Nick!" He looked around the room wildly. "This woman destroyed so many lives." He pointed at the sofa. "And this is the kind of letter she writes to a woman, who she deprived of caring for her own children, to tell her of the goddam death of her only daughter." He walked over to the wall and slammed his fist into the wood panel. I heard it crack.
Maria jumped up and ran into the kitchen as I walked over to look at Carter's hand. I knew him well enough to know that the crack was in the wood, not his hand. He let me look at his knuckles and, sure enough, they were fine. The wood, however, was splintered.
The sheriff walked over and looked at the place where Carter had slammed his hand. He shook his head. "I remember every piece of pine that I sanded for this room." He ran his hand up and down another one of the panels affectionately. Looking up at Carter, he tilted his head to the side and said, "I know it's no consolation to you or Nick, but I'm glad Alexandra came into my life. I wish it could have happened some other way but I can't be sad that I knew her. I just can't."
Carter nodded and put his big hand on the sheriff's shoulder. "I know. And it's not your fault and I'm glad you were here for her. I am. And I know Nick is, too."
I nodded. "Yeah."
The sheriff coughed and ran his hand over his face. "Well, I guess I should be getting home, boys."
He quickly made his way over to where his coat was hanging. As he put on his coat, he said, "Come see me in the morning. I'll give you Kenneth's and Robert's addresses. I want you to meet my boys. I know they'll both be glad to meet you." He looked over at Carter. "Both of you."
Before we could say anything, he ducked out th
e front door and was gone.
. . .
Once we were in bed and snuggled under three thick blankets, I finally felt warm for the first time since we'd landed.
Carter snuggled up against me. He rarely did that since there wasn't much of me to snuggle with. But, every now and then, he held me like a teddy bear. A thin teddy bear. It usually meant he was upset about something.
As he put his head on my chest, I asked, "Are you OK?"
He sighed but didn't say anything. I stroked his head for a moment. Letting them go where they wanted, I ran my fingers around the contours of his exposed right ear, down his jawline, around his lips, and up the bridge of his nose. Getting no response, not even an attempt at biting a finger, I let my hand go down his chest. I ran my fingers through his chest hair and finally got a deep breath out of him.
"I love you, Carter Woodrow Wilson Jones."
He shifted and pulled me in tighter.
"When we get to Boston, I bet we can find a gymnasium for you to punch things in."
That got a chuckle.
"Maybe they'll have a heavyweight boxer who'll go a few rounds with you."
"Heavyweight?"
"Isn't that the word?"
"Sure. But since when do you know boxing classes?"
"Dunno. Maybe I read it in Life Magazine."
He snorted.
Now I knew he was feeling better.
"Those dames were something, weren't they?" he asked.
"They were." I laughed as I remembered what Grace had said about us having fun together.
"What?" he asked.
"Don't you think we owe it to them to have a little fun tonight?"
I could feel him stiffen. I suddenly realized what was going on. "It's because of whose bed we're in, isn't it?"
He sighed but didn't reply.
"Look. For some reason it doesn't bother me." I thought about that for a moment. I realized I'd been feeling lighter ever since I'd stood in the same room earlier in the day and had realized what had likely happened.
"It bothers me. I feel like we're violating some inner sanctum."
"It didn't bother you the first night we slept in my grandfather's bed."
"Yes, it did. Remember? We both sat on the edge of the bed and didn't move."
"I thought you were just humoring me."
"I was. Humoring you is one of the ways I get through the tough moments. I can focus on you and that makes it easier for me."
"Huh." I thought about that for a moment. "Like with the smoking. How you were only smoking when I smoked."
"Sure. Not really the same thing but close enough."
I tried to figure out if I did something like that. Suddenly I had it. "I guess that's like why I hardly carry a gun anymore."
"What?"
"Ever since we started working together, I hardly ever think about my revolver. I'm not even sure where it is."
"It's in the safe in the office at home. With mine. But why?"
"Because you can handle anyone who comes along."
Carter huffed. "That's not true."
"Really?" I asked. "When was the last time you couldn't?"
He thought for a moment. "Well. OK. I guess you're right." He sighed. "When you're right, Nick, you're right."
"You know I like it when you say that."
I couldn't see his face because it was turned away from me but I could swear that I felt him grin when I said that.
Very slowly, he lifted up. In the moonlight, I could see the shadow of his head over me. He sat up on his side and put his left hand lightly over my mouth and said, "Shh."
I knew what was coming, so I started laughing before he could do it.
He giggled as he said, "Nick. Shh."
I laughed even harder and he started laughing as well. He ran his right index finger across my ribs. As he did so, he made a noise by rolling his tongue to make it sound as if he was playing a xylophone in a cartoon. I burst out laughing with a yelp. Giggling, he fell on me, saying, "Shh!"
After about thirty seconds, someone banged on the bedroom door. I heard Frankie say, "Either let us in to watch or shut the fuck up."
We both rolled over in the bed laughing and didn't stop for at least five minutes.
. . .
I woke up and looked at my watch. It was about half past 5. We'd all agreed to be up by 6 so we could close up the house and be on the road by 7.
I could hear it raining outside, which I assumed was a good thing. It meant the snow would be melting and that it might actually be above freezing.
I bounded out of bed and immediately said, "Shit!"
"What?" was Carter's murmured reply.
"It's fucking cold in here." I felt around for the matches, found them, and lit the candle on top of the bookshelf by my side of the bed. I watched as Carter pushed the covers off himself. Without getting up, he softly said, "Damn, son. It is."
I pulled on my trousers, buttoned them up, and then pulled on my socks, not bothering to use the garters. I reached over and put on my shoes, tying them as quickly as my cold fingers could. Then I pulled on my undershirt, my previous day's shirt, and the thick sweater we'd bought in Lebanon. Without stopping to tuck anything in, I made my way to the add-on bathroom at the end of the hall and relieved myself. It was colder in there than it had been in the bedroom.
Walking into the living room, I saw that Johnny was sitting at the dining table. He had a steaming cup of coffee and was reading a book by candlelight. He looked up. "Mornin'"
I nodded. "Coffee?"
He pointed to the stove where a thin blue flame was under the old-fashioned percolator. I grabbed a cup from the cupboard and poured a cup. Adding two sugar cubes, I stirred them in, and then held the cup with both hands to warm them up. Finally, I took a sip. It was strong but it was good.
"Whatcha readin'?" I asked.
"Old favorite of mine. Moby Dick."
"Favorite of mine, too."
Johnny nodded and went back to reading.
. . .
By 7, the rain had stopped and there were some indications that we might see the sun. Johnny had the Plymouth warmed up and we were loaded. We'd put all of what we hadn't used the day before on the dining table. I put all our garbage in the carton from the grocery store and set that on the kitchen counter. Carter went around the house and made sure the candles, lanterns, and fireplaces were out and would stay out. We were ready to go.
Everyone else headed out to the car while I fussed around a little bit in the kitchen. Once they were gone, I walked back into the bedroom and looked for something to take with me. I didn't want Carter to see me do so. I tried to remember what I'd come across the day before. There wasn't much personal that my mother had left behind. Then I remembered the one piece of jewelry that I'd found in an unlikely place. It was a silver or platinum brooch set with rubies and was in one of the bureau drawers under a pile of thick wool socks. I reached in, pulled it out, and looked at it in the dim morning light. I could see my mother, as I'd imagined her thousands of times, sitting upright in the bed with her long, brown hair cascading over her shoulder. She was smiling and holding out her arms. I nodded and slipped the brooch in my inner coat pocket and made my way out the front door and into the waiting car.
Chapter 6
Sheriff's Office
Grafton, Vt.
Wednesday, March 9, 1955
Just past 7 in the morning
As we were driving the short distance into town, I suddenly realized we hadn't planned very well. I'd suggested we leave around dawn so we could get to Boston as early as possible. Everyone had agreed and that's why we were up and out by 7. However, none of us had considered whether the sheriff would be at work at that time.
Nonetheless, whether it was kismet or Yankee virtue, when we pulled up, the county car was parked in front of his office door. There was a wisp of smoke coming from the office stove's chimney on the right end of the building. That could only mean that the sheriff was there.
<
br /> As Johnny pulled the car in, the door to the sheriff's office opened. Ed stood and watched as we all piled out and made our way up the step. "Mornin'"
We all nodded.
Ed said, "Mr. Jones, if you wanna run across the street, Roberta's already making fried egg sandwiches for everyone."
My husband smiled. "Since we're practically related, Sheriff, please call me Carter."
Ed smiled and nodded. "And, I'm Ed. And those sandwiches will be gettin' cold, so git on over there, son." He said that last part with his version of a Georgia accent.
Carter laughed and headed across the street with Frankie and Johnny in tow.
"Come on in, you two."
We followed Ed inside. I shut the door to the cold. Even with the fire in the pot-belly stove, it wasn't warm in his office, but it wasn't too chilly, either.
He sat down behind his desk and motioned for us to sit in the chairs in front. He picked up a note and handed it to me. "Western Union phoned this in about ten minutes ago."
I looked at his block writing. I chuckled as I realized he'd literally transcribed what the operator had read to him.
NICK WILLIAMS C/O SHERIFF GRAFTON VT. CONTACT AT LEBANON INN. JAMES KILKENNY.
"Thanks," I said.
He picked up the black phone on his desk and said, "What say let's make that call first?"
I nodded.
He clicked the switch hook a couple of times and waited. After a long moment, he said, "Good morning, Martha. How are you?" He winked at me as he listened and nodded. "They're on their way to Boston. That's right."
I looked over at Maria who looked as surprised as I was. Maybe that was how everyone knew everything so fast.
"Yup. Can you call the Lebanon Inn over—" He paused. "That's right. I'll wait." He put his hand over the mouthpiece. With a grin, he said, "You two look like I was just talking about how to build an atom bomb to a Russian spy."
I shrugged. "It explains a lot about yesterday."
Maria nodded. "It sure does."
Ed frowned and asked, "What happened yesterday?"
I realized we'd never told him. "We got run out of Lebanon on a rail. A police sergeant told us to leave and then a local merchant would only sell Carter and me clothes at double the price."
The Paradoxical Parent (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 13) Page 7