“Luke, really, I’m sorry you’re upset about this. It really is just a coincidence. I should have looked at them before, but to be honest I wasn’t aware we even had them until Tabby mentioned you were using them. I should have told you that up front, but, frankly, I’m new here, and I didn’t want to look silly for not knowing what we have in the collections.”
Julie had often heard people say that honesty could be disarming, but she wasn’t prepared for the immediate effect it had on Luke. “That makes sense,” he said in a much friendlier tone. “People here can be tough on folks from away. I can see your point. But you could have told me that when I asked.”
“I’m sorry. But really, that’s all there is to it.” No reason to test the old proverb a second time, she decided.
“Okay then. Thanks for your time.” He moved for the door, apparently satisfied.
“I hope you’re finding what you want,” Julie couldn’t help adding.
“Not yet. But I will. Invoice is with your secretary. No hurry, but we charge interest if you don’t pay in fifteen days.”
Had she imagined it, Julie pondered, or did Luke glance at the four boxes when he said he’d find what he was looking for? How could he know? Mrs. Detweiller was an obvious source. Steven could be, too, for all Julie knew. Or maybe she really had just imagined that Luke was interested in the boxes. But she knew her own interest was real. Unfortunately, so was her watch, which told her it was past 4:30. Tabby would be gone, and Julie could hear Mrs. Detweiller closing drawers to signal she, too, was ready to leave. And that would mean all the volunteers were gone and the Ryland Historical Society was about to shut down for the day. So if Julie planned to secure the new Swanson papers in the vault, she was going to have to do it herself. Of course, she could just keep them in her office. She knew it was bad practice, but it was perfectly safe with the security alarm on and all the doors to Swanson House locked. Tomorrow she would talk to Tabby about them and get someone to do the heavy lifting. She locked Swanson House, set the security alarm, and walked home.
CHAPTER 26
A nursing student who was Julie’s dorm mate in college had told her that hospital staff dread the period from three to five o’clock in the morning because that’s when weak patients tend to die. Something about body temperature, or heart rate, Julie couldn’t remember exactly. But the fact—if it really was that—stuck with her the way odd bits of information always do.
The clock beside her bed read 3:20. It would be nice to think her waking was the result of body temperature or pulse, but she knew the cause was more direct: the soft but insistent scraping of the lower branches of a large pine tree against the house just below the window of her bedroom. Rich had identified the noise last week when it had awakened her then, and she had in turn awakened him. Now, the branches kept rustling, swishing, hitting the siding, waking her, and then keeping her awake.
This was the worst night Julie had ever spent alone in Harding House. As on the other nights, before going to bed she had dutifully made the rounds downstairs, checking and double-checking windows and doors until she was satisfied that the house was secure. From eleven until three she had actually slept deeply, but the pine branches put an end to that. For the next thirty minutes or so she turned and tossed, telling herself that at any moment she would slip back down into sleep. But then the birds arrived, encouraged by the breaking dawn. After another quarter-hour spent trying to identify the sounds of individual birds, she gave up and decided to join them in greeting the day. It was still too dark to run safely, but the absence of full daylight didn’t deter her from breakfast.
As she ate her cereal, she fiddled listlessly with the jigsaw puzzle she had started the night before—the map of Maine, which Rich had given her along with the grill as a housewarming present. She was working her way north, from York County to Aroostook County, and hadn’t yet gotten to Ryland. She couldn’t concentrate and got up to pour a second cup of coffee. She stood at the counter and thought about her less than brilliant performance as a tour guide yesterday with the garden club. She had become more and more confident, learning about Ryland and its history, picking up interesting stories from volunteers and her own reading of documents and old newspapers, developing an entertaining and informative line of patter for visitors. But yesterday’s experience had thrown her for a loop. Had she just glanced at the booking form, she would have known it was a garden group, and while she couldn’t make herself expert on the society’s plantings, she could have made sure Mabel Hanson would be available to handle the flora. Luckily Mabel had been there, but luck was something Julie knew she couldn’t count on.
Instead of concentrating on her job, she was spending too much time thinking about suspects, speculating about motives, digging into town history not so she would be a better tour guide and director, but so she could figure out who killed Mary Ellen—and why. And she couldn’t say her efforts were paying off. The murder was already more than a week old, and Julie knew that as more time passed the odds of identifying the killer waned. If Mike and the Maine State Police were unsuccessful in that time, what hope had she of sorting it all out?
Maybe, she decided, it was a good thing that those pine branches woke her. The boxes of Swanson family papers Steven had brought in yesterday were there waiting for her in her office. She abandoned the puzzle, left the dishes in the sink, showered and dressed rapidly, and entered her office at five-thirty, feeling that early hours were becoming too common. And it was going to be a long day; the building committee didn’t meet till four.
The boxes were where she had left them, just inside the door of her office. She lugged the first one to the long table and began her search. Bills, newspaper clippings, more bills, some canceled checks. The second box contained more of the same. The third box was all letters to and from Dan Swanson. Julie was pleasantly surprised that he had been so orderly; he kept copies of his letters and attached them with paper clips to their responses. Most dealt with business matters of one kind or another—dunning letters to renters tardy in paying up, appeals to the town tax board about assessments, instructions to brokers about buying and selling. Near the bottom of the box was a handwritten letter to Paul Dyer, dated October 12, 1997:
Dear Paul,
Considering the tangled web surrounding the ownership of the river property, I would be pleased to make an offer to you to purchase the land outright and end once and for all the disputes and bad feelings that have arisen over the years between our families because of it. Naturally, once I obtained free and clear title to the land, I would have no further interest in pursuing the matters we discussed on Saturday. You have my word as a Christian and a gentleman that any and all disputes, including the clouded nature of the 1883 survey, would, from my point of view, be put behind us and forever buried in history—a history neither of our families need ever revisit.
Please let me know your intentions. I will instruct my attorney to draw up the necessary papers as soon as I’ve heard from you.
Sincerely,
Daniel O. Swanson II
It was a copy, not the original. Had the letter ever been sent? There was no appended response. But she knew Paul Dyer had sold the land to Dan Swanson. She extracted from the manila folder the sheet of notes she had written after talking to Henry LaBelle.
1890s: Herbert Swanson (Dan’s grandfather) owned land west along river; Leonard Dyer (Luke’s great-grandfather) owned land east along river; current Birch Brook parcel was between and disputed; they went to court, Swanson got Birch Brook.
Depression: Old Dan Swanson (Dan’s father) sold Birch Brook to Paul Dyer (Luke’s father).
1997: Paul Dyer sold it back to Dan Swanson for $700,000.
This year: Frank Nilsson and Luke Dyer buy from Mary Ellen Swanson for $2.5M.
After the 1997 entry, she inserted:
WHY? “Clouded nature of the 1883 survey”; what does this mean? How to find out?
Then she turned back to Dan Swanson’s letter. What was al
l this about “disputes,” the “tangled web,” the “clouded nature of the 1883 survey”? And what matters—apparently discussed in a conversation between the two men—would Dan Swanson be willing to give his word about dropping?
The letter had such a melodramatic tone, especially concerning the promise to bury the past and not revisit it. And it was so flowery. Did people still write like that in 1997? Julie glanced back through several of the other letters and decided they didn’t prove much on that score since their content was mostly straightforward. But the handwriting on all of them matched. She felt confident the letter from Dan Swanson to Paul Dyer was genuine. And very important.
Obviously something funny had gone on with the Birch Brook land, something Dan Swanson was willing to overlook, in return for buying the property at what at least Paul Dyer’s son Luke considered too low a price. Is that why Luke was spending time in the Ryland Historical Society archives? Did he know—or at least think—this letter existed? Did he have the original? No, because, if so, why would he be looking for this one? Or did he wonder if his father had responded to it, without keeping a copy, and was seeking that? If she could think of a way to do it, Julie would ask Luke. But right now she couldn’t.
In fact, right now all she could think about was Dan Swanson’s letter and what to do about it. The first thing was obviously to put it back in the box and put that box and the others where they belonged, where Steven intended them to be—in the archives. First, though, a copy, Julie thought. She needed to make a copy. But here her instincts went to war. One side of her, the side that was trying to solve Mary Ellen’s murder, was prepared to march out to the copy machine in Mrs. Detweiller’s office, wait for it to warm up, and then make the copy. The other side, her museum professional side, told her to wait till Tabby arrived and could make the copy according to standard procedures, which meant allowing Tabby to examine the paper and be sure that copying was safe. But, it was already a copy, Julie reasoned, and a copy of a copy couldn’t do harm. Still, it just didn’t feel right to her. It was only 7:30, and Tabby wouldn’t be in for another two hours. Well, there was another box, and she might as well take a look at it. She went item by item through the final box and discovered more bills, checks, and short business notes, but nothing more related to Birch Brook or to the Dyers. So she read the 1997 letter again. If I keep this up, she thought, I won’t need to make a copy of it—I’ll have a copy in my head! After the fourth rereading, Julie decided enough was enough.
She was actually pleased to hear Mrs. Detweiller in the outer office. Tabby followed shortly behind, and Julie was happy that Swanson House was coming to life after the long and quiet early morning she had spent alone. The high school boy working on the grounds for the summer came to carry the boxes of Swanson papers to the library. Julie went upstairs to explain the papers to Tabby and awkwardly worked her way around to requesting a copy of the 1997 letter. “If it’s safe to copy, of course,” she said.
“It’s already a copy, Dr. Williamson,” Tabby replied as she examined the sheet of paper. “Nothing fragile.”
Julie knew that, but she felt better getting the librarian’s permission. So she took the page downstairs, copied it, and returned the “original” to Tabby. “These don’t seem to be in any order,” the librarian said, looking at the box it had come from, “so I’ll just put this on top. The boxes can go in there,” she added, directing the boy to place them inside the vault.
“Maybe I should put it where it was, near the bottom of that box,” Julie said. If Luke Dyer came today, she didn’t want to make it too easy for him to find the letter.
“Whatever you say, Dr. Williamson. Luke said he’d be back today. I should tell him about the new ones.”
Julie couldn’t come up with a good reason to disagree. She knew why she hoped Luke Dyer would not find the letter, but she just couldn’t manage the lie necessary to bring that about. With luck, she said to herself, he wouldn’t be in today. If she just had a bit of time, she might be able to figure out the letter’s significance before Luke read it.
CHAPTER 27
When Dalton stopped by at 3:45 to talk with her about the upcoming building committee meeting, Julie wasn’t sure she could keep her eyes open. It had been such a long day, and she was still agitated about the Dan Swanson letter. She had tried to concentrate on her work, and the tour she had given at noon was, she felt, back to her old standard. But she was definitely drooping.
“The excavation’s done, and the foundation should be poured next week. We’re off and running, and if the committee agrees, we can recommend full steam ahead,” Dalton said to her across her desk.
Dalton’s enthusiasm gave Julie an immediate burst of energy. “It is exciting, isn’t it?” she said. “Such a shame Mary Ellen isn’t here to enjoy it.”
“Really sad, but you have to admit, Julie, the committee will probably be able to actually accomplish something today. I know that’s terrible to say, but just think—we can finally get the Swanson Center under way, and Mary Ellen would have been happy about that, even if she had a few questions.”
Julie laughed. “I know what you mean, Dalton. Do you plan to take up the issue of renaming the center for both of them?”
“I thought we should, but obviously that’s up to the full board. We meet Friday, right? So if the building committee agrees, we could make that one of our recommendations.”
“What else do we need to do today?”
“Just confirm the plan and recommend to the board that the project go ahead. Is the money issue settled?”
“Henry LaBelle said it looks good. The probate judge seemed sympathetic, and Steven Swanson’s letter asking him to release the $500,000 was really important. Henry thinks we’ll hear within a week.”
“That’ll keep Clif at bay. I was afraid he’d resist moving ahead because without Mary Ellen’s final gift we’d have to borrow so much. This ought to persuade him.”
“I hope so. Um, Dalton? Before the meeting, do we have time to talk about something else?”
Dalton looked at his watch. “If it’s short, or we can talk on the way to Holder.”
Realizing it was five minutes before four, Julie said there wasn’t really time and asked if Dalton would be free afterwards for a few minutes. “Assuming we have a nice short one. I’ve got a busy night ahead at the inn,” Dalton said. “We better go.”
When the new Swanson Center was finished, the society would have a comfortable conference room for board and committee meetings, but for now it was forced to set up the classroom in Holder House for such purposes. When Dalton and Julie arrived there, Clif and Mabel, the volunteer whose knowledge of plants Julie had relied on for the recent tour, and a member of the building committee, were waiting.
“Thought maybe I’d got the time wrong,” Clif said. “Mabel and I were about to leave.”
“It’s exactly four,” Dalton said with exasperation. “And Loretta’s not here yet.”
“Never knew her to be on time,” Clif said. “Might as well begin.”
Julie explained that Loretta had left a message with Mrs. Detweiller that she was running late on school business.
“Like I said,” Clif repeated, “might as well begin.”
“It’s so sad not to have Mary Ellen here,” Mabel said as they took their seats at the table.
“Dalton and I were just talking about that,” Julie said.
“Should speed things up, though,” Clif said. “Mary Ellen did like to ask questions.”
“Very good ones,” Mabel said.
“Well, it was her money, so I guess she had a right. We going to replace her on this committee?”
“That’s up to the board,” Julie answered. “But I can see that another member would be a good idea.”
“Steven would be wonderful,” Mabel said. “Carry on the tradition.”
“Don’t think he’d be interested,” Clif said. “Never was. You heard what he said at the funeral—didn’t spend much time here becaus
e Mary Ellen didn’t like that wife of his. I guess they’re married—she doesn’t use his name, I understand.”
“Of course a lot of the issues are settled,” Dalton said, ignoring Clif’s remarks. “When you think about it, we may not need to add a member since the design questions have all been answered and our role as a committee now is just to supervise the construction and deal with any change orders. Maybe we should bring this up on Friday and let the board decide? That okay with everyone?”
Clif nodded, as did Julie, but Mabel was about to speak when Loretta entered the room. “Sorry to be late, folks,” she said in her pleasant but rushed way. “With school over you’d think I’d be on time for things, but the superintendent called a special meeting. I’m glad you started.”
“We were just talking about the committee,” Dalton said, and reviewed what they had discussed.
“I’m okay either way,” Loretta said. “If it would help to put Steven Swanson on, to sort of keep the family tied in, that’s fine with me. But like Dalton says, we probably won’t have a lot to do now—not the way we have in the past.”
“Let the board decide,” Clif said. “What’s our business here today, Dalton?”
Dalton summarized what the building committee needed to do.
“Then let’s do that,” Clif said. “I’ve got my own business to run.”
Dalton reported on the excavation work and said the foundation would be poured within a week. “That’s the extent of what the board authorized,” he reminded them, “because we hadn’t given final approval to the construction documents. Our main goal today is to do that—if we agree, of course—and recommend that the board sign the construction contract.”
“What about the money?” Clif asked. “I’m not in favor of a lot of borrowing. Do we have enough in hand now to proceed with only the bridge loan at the end?”
Everyone in the room knew what Clif was asking: Could they count on the remainder of Mary Ellen Swanson’s gift? “You want to answer that, Julie?” Dalton asked.
Breaking Ground Page 15