“Or whether he took one,” Julie interrupted.
“Right. I didn’t exactly ask her that, but I sort of worked around the point enough to get that sense.”
“But then Luke wasn’t likely to say, ‘Oh thank you, Miss Preston, this is exactly what I was looking for; I’ll just take it home with me.’”
“Well, no, of course not.”
“But it’s missing. We know that.”
“Right again. Now do you want me to continue, or have you heard enough?”
Mike’s tone got Julie’s attention. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
His I’ll-believe-that-when-I-see-it laugh eased the brief moment of tension between them. “Okay, then about Frank Nilsson.” Mike consulted his notebook again. “Seems Frank also paid a visit to the library yesterday, earlier than Luke, before lunch. Said he wanted to talk to Tabby about how the historical society preserves papers because his wife was thinking of donating some things from her family.”
“That’s right. The Nilssons mentioned that to me.”
“So anyway,” Mike resumed after clearing his throat, “Frank asked some questions about how papers are handled now and how that will change when the new center is built. Tabby said she showed him the vault to assure him that anything his wife planned to give would be well protected even before the new storage area is ready.”
“Of course the humidity will be controlled in the new area,” Julie couldn’t help interjecting.
“Tabby told him that. Anyway, Nilsson looked around the vault, and Tabby pointed out the Swanson papers and told him they had just been given by Steven and explained about how they would be cataloged.”
“Did he want to see them?”
“Why am I not surprised you asked? It really is a shame you couldn’t conduct the interview with Tabby yourself.”
“I’m sorry! I promise I’ll shut up so you can finish.”
“To answer your question, yes, he did look at them. Tabby said she thought it was okay for him to go through a couple of the boxes so he’d have an idea of the kind of papers the society collects. He brought two boxes out to the table and Tabby said he spent twenty or thirty minutes looking through them. Then he returned them to the vault and told Tabby he was happy with how things are done here and would talk to his wife again about getting the Oakes family papers. And that’s it.”
“So I can ask a question now?”
“Just for a change?”
Julie laughed and continued: “Tabby of course can’t be sure Frank didn’t take the letter?”
“Again, I didn’t ask her quite that bluntly, but I satisfied myself that she wasn’t aware that he did.”
“Of course not,” Julie said. “So what do you think?”
“That both Dyer and Nilsson had the opportunity yesterday to take the letter.”
“Exactly. But there’s another point, isn’t there? Did either one know I made a copy?”
“Ah, I figured you’d get to that. Yes, she did mention the copy to both of them. I had to be real careful in asking her that, but I played dumb about your having the copy—in fact, I didn’t mention the break-in either. Figured that’s best. Anyway, apparently they both asked about copies—Dyer because he wanted to make some himself, Nilsson in his general way of asking about how papers are treated—you know, something like, ‘And could we make copies of my wife’s papers once we gave them?’ So she told both of them that she’d just recently copied one of the letters in the new Swanson materials.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell them which one?”
“What she said was that it was a 1997 letter. I gather she was trying to assure them that it wasn’t old, fragile, whatever.”
“There you are.”
“Where?”
“With proof that both Luke and Frank could have seen the letter from Dan Swanson, could have taken the letter, and could have known I had a copy. Giving the date, 1997, would have been enough to identify the letter, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
They were silent. Mike glanced at the page in front of him and then closed the leather notebook. Julie looked out the window toward the Common. She was the first to speak.
“But wait a second, Mike. If Frank came in before Luke and took the letter, then Luke couldn’t have seen it.”
“That’s true.” The policeman flipped back through his notes. “Here. Tabby said Luke seemed excited about the new stuff and looked through it. I guess that doesn’t prove anything; he could have been excited about that particular letter, or just about more Swanson stuff.”
“So either one could have taken it.”
“I guess we’re back to that.”
“So what’s next?”
“Think I better have a talk with Frank and Luke.”
“To check their alibis for last night?”
“Police business, Julie.” He stood and left.
CHAPTER 32
Although she really wanted to tell Dalton everything—about the break-in, about Mike’s interview with Tabby Preston, about her suspicions of Nilsson and Dyer—she didn’t want to do it on the phone. She wanted to sit down with him at the inn and have a long talk and use Dalton’s intelligence and knowledge of the people to figure out what was happening. But first she had to arrange to stay at his inn. Telling him there was a long story behind the short story, she merely said she wanted to stay at the Black Crow for the night.
“Not a problem,” Dalton told her. “We’re empty. The holiday weekend was wild, but I don’t have a single booking for tonight, so please, be our guest, on the house. If you paid, I’d have to treat you like a guest. Nickie will be here, so let’s all have dinner. Seven okay for you?”
So that was done. Julie phoned Rich to tell him where she’d be, and then called and left a message for Mike to let him know, too. She’d have to stop by Harding House to get some things for the night, and then she’d have to arrange for someone to come change the lock, assuming the State Police crime scene crew had finished. Which, she decided, was worth checking on right now. She walked the few minutes to the house.
A white van with large black lettering announcing itself as the MOBILE CRIME UNIT was parked in front of the house. A young woman and an older man, both dressed in civilian clothes, were working on the door. She identified herself and talked with them long enough to be sure it was going to be appropriate to have a locksmith come that afternoon. “We’re out of here in fifteen minutes,” the man told her. “So go ahead and get someone. And get a dead bolt. Every door should have one. Wouldn’t have had this problem if you’d had a dead bolt.”
Julie decided the presence of the two officers made this a good time to pack a bag. They were gathering up their equipment when she returned to the kitchen with it.
“You could call Holdsworth’s—you know, the hardware store here in Ryland. They do locks,” the woman said.
When she got to the office and made the call to Holdsworth’s, the young man who answered said he’d send someone out by two that afternoon. There were lots of advantages to a small town, Julie told herself after she finished the order by stipulating a dead bolt.
“Always the best idea, ma’am,” he said. “It’s the kitchen door of Worth Harding’s place?”
“Right.” She was about to give the address when she realized that if he knew the house as Worth’s he certainly knew where it was.
“We’ll take care of it. Will someone be there?”
“I can be.”
“Don’t have to. We can lock up and you can swing by the store to pick up the key.”
Another advantage of Ryland, Julie told herself, feeling good about it and realizing how she was settling in.
“Dr. Williamson,” Mrs. Detweiller said from the open door. “Mrs. Nilsson’s on the line.”
Mrs. Nilsson, Julie repeated to herself; not Frank but his wife. What could Patty want? Her husband was much in Julie’s mind, but she doubted the wife was calling
to talk about his possible guilt in either murder or breaking in to Julie’s house.
“Hello, Mrs. Nilsson. I was happy to meet you Monday, despite the circumstances.”
“That’s certainly true, and please call me Patty. Everyone does,” she added pleasantly. “You probably wonder why I’m calling out of the blue like this, but the other day Frank mentioned those family papers of mine—the Oakes papers?”
“Oh, yes, I remember very well.”
“Well, I think our conversation shamed Frank into bringing them home—and shamed me into finally taking a look at them. That’s why I’m calling, but if this is a bad time I can call later.”
“Not at all. I’m very interested in your family’s papers,” Julie replied.
“Anyway, talking to you the other day finally got us going, and Frank got the papers out of the storage unit. I’ve been going through them, and I thought that if you’d really like them for the Ryland Historical Society, I could arrange to bring them in. The trouble is there’s lots of junk—well, it seems like junk to me, and I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to load you up with old newspapers and things you probably have already.”
“You’d be surprised how valuable these things can be to researchers. We’d be really happy to have whatever you’d like to donate.”
“Well, I was wondering if it would make sense for you to look through the boxes first, get an idea of what I have, and then you could pick what you want. Would that be an imposition?”
“Not at all. I’d love to. Anytime you like.”
“I’m going to be gone for a month. We have a camp down at the coast, and I’m going to spend some time there with some old college friends, and then Frank is coming down for vacation with the kids. I know it’s pushy of me, but now that I’ve started this I’d like to finish. Do you think you could come out in the next few days and take a look?”
Julie didn’t want to appear too eager, but the Oakes papers fascinated her, and she didn’t want to wait till Patty Nilsson returned. “Would this afternoon be convenient?”
“Perfect. Why don’t you come around two? You could look through them and we could have tea.”
Julie agreed, and Patty provided directions. Although Julie had lived in a rented condo at the ski area for a year, the Nilssons house was in another part of the development, one of a dozen or so very substantial private residences discreetly tucked in the woods across the road from the main ski lodge. Julie had walked through the area, admiring the houses, so when Patty gave her directions she had no trouble taking them in.
She arrived exactly at two, parked in the driveway, and looked up to see Patty opening the door to greet her. From their first meeting, Frank Nilsson’s wife struck Julie as an odd fit with the trim, handsome man. Patty was short and chubby, not quite fat but definitely a contrast with her husband. While she seemed older than him, Julie remembered they had met when they were college students, so she assumed that the apparent age difference wasn’t real but the effect of Frank Nilsson’s obvious commitment to keeping himself looking fit and boyish. Julie found herself liking Patty Nilsson’s easy acceptance of who she was and how she looked as a nice counter to her husband’s obvious concern for appearances.
Patty led Julie to a large basement room paneled in pine. Below grade, the room had small windows that let in enough light for Julie to see the bar at one end next to a pool table and some overstuffed chairs and a sofa at the other. Family room in a ski house, Julie told herself as she took it in.
“It’s so dark down here,” Patty Nilsson said. “Let me get some lights.”
Fluorescent recessed lights bathed the room with an unnatural quality. “Here they are,” she added as she pointed to five cardboard boxes on the floor in front of the sofa. “I’m sure it’s mostly junk, but if there’s anything worthwhile you’re welcome to it. I can just leave you with them, or I can stay here while you look. Whatever you like.”
Julie suggested she could take a look on her own first if the other woman had things to do. “I do have some packing to get ready for the camp, so why don’t you go ahead. Just call up if you have any questions. Can I get you some lemonade or iced tea or something?”
Julie declined the offer, and after Patty retreated up the steps set about examining the contents of the boxes. Nothing surprised her. It was the sort of stuff you always got when people brought in boxes of “family papers.” There were letters, which qualified, and photos, which Julie always lingered over, trying to imagine why they had been taken. But most of the contents were the typical leavings: old clippings from Portland and Boston newspapers, programs from musical events, receipts, instructions that had accompanied apple corers and washing machines. The boxes were more or less chronological, one containing materials from the late nineteenth century, another with letters and clippings from the period between the two wars, and the last three of more-recent vintage. These contained items like the programs from Patty’s high school and college commencements and clippings about her wedding. Someday historians might value them, but Julie wondered if Patty really intended to give them up now or if she had simply gotten tired of examining the boxes’ contents and decided to hand over the decision to Julie.
“Dear, you must be tired of sorting through those old things!” Patty said as she stepped into the room carrying a tray. “And bored, too, I’m sure.”
“Not at all. There are some very, very useful items here the historical society would be delighted to have.”
“And plenty to start a fire with.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I just meant that some of the more-recent items are probably of personal interest to you now—things you’d like to keep for your own family.”
“Actually, I didn’t get into the last couple of boxes, I have to confess. Are there recent things?”
“Clippings about your wedding, your commencement program, things like that.”
“My kids would think those are medieval! I guess I should go through those boxes again. Now here I am with this pitcher of iced tea and I haven’t offered you any.” She pointed to the tray with the pitcher and glasses and a plate of cookies.
“Do you have time to join me?”
“Absolutely! If I’m not in your way.”
As they were sipping iced tea and nibbling cookies, Julie suggested she could take the three boxes of historical materials and leave the ones with more-recent materials for Patty to review later. She agreed.
“You didn’t happen to come across a diary in those, did you?” Patty asked. “A little brown book, maybe four inches by eight inches?” Julie said she hadn’t. “That’s too bad. I know it was there because my mother pointed it out a couple of times. In fact, when I was in high school I had to do a project on my family, and Mother suggested I use her grandfather’s diary. I read it, but it was so boring—dates and facts and names.”
“What period would that be?”
“Well, Thaddeus Oakes was my great-grandfather. I think it was probably the 1870s and 1880s.”
“I didn’t see anything like that. Maybe it got into the boxes of more-recent things. I went through those pretty quickly, but I think I would have spotted something like a diary, especially an old one. That would be of real interest to the historical society.”
“I suppose so. Thaddeus was a surveyor—the only one in Ryland in his day, my mother said. He kept records on all the work he did in that diary, which means practically every piece of land in Ryland is mentioned in there.”
CHAPTER 33
Julie nearly lost her grip on her glass of iced tea and had to use her left hand to steady it and lower it to the table. Thaddeus Oakes’s diary might contain information about the Birch Brook property. Henry had mentioned that the dispute between the Swansons and the Dyers over the property had been settled by a survey. And it was sometime in the 1880s!
“I should be letting you get back to your packing,” she said to Patty. “About that diary—maybe we should take a quick look together and see if
it’s here somewhere. I’ll just go through these things in the three boxes and that way you can also see what materials I’m taking.”
Patty agreed, and they spent another half-hour examining the contents of the three boxes Julie planned to accept on behalf of the Ryland Historical Society. Thaddeus Oakes’s diary was not in them. Patty suggested they take a quick look at the other boxes to be sure, and again watched as Julie thumbed through the items.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my mother kept all these things,” Patty commented. “Lord knows I’ve kept enough memorabilia from when my own kids were young, and it probably will all end up in the recycling one day, just like these boxes should.”
“Of course if you should find the diary—t” Julie said. But before she could finish the sentence a man’s voice interrupted: “What diary?”
“Oh, Frank, I didn’t hear you,” Patty said. “Julie and I were just going through these boxes. How was Boothbay?”
Frank Nilsson, wearing a crisp cotton shirt and creased slacks, walked into the room from the steps and extended his hand to shake Julie’s. “Everything’s fine in Boothbay,” he said. “Went down to the coast yesterday to check on a project I have going there,” he added in Julie’s direction. “Stayed over at our camp. I finished a little earlier than I expected,” he said, this time in the direction of his wife. “So what are you two up to here?”
“I told you I was going to call Julie about the papers,” Patty said. “She was so great to come right out, and she’s been through the boxes and is going to take three of them for the society.”
“Glad to hear it,” Frank said. “I hope I get some credit for this,” he added to Julie. “After I stopped by your place, I went to see Tabby Preston in the archives, just to be sure Patty’s family papers would be safe, I encouraged my wife to get a move on with it.”
“I appreciate it.” Try as she did, Julie couldn’t read the look on Frank’s face. He paused, looking directly into Julie’s eyes. Then he abruptly turned to his wife: “But what diary were you talking about?”
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