by Lea Wait
“Detective Jeannette Brewer. I like the sound of it,” she said. “I don’t know what I’ll be able to find out. But Maggie’s had experience with these things before. Maybe she can help me.”
Nick hesitated. “I guess so. Just don’t either of you tell anyone you’re doing it for me. You’re a confidential informant, Ms. Brewer. Make sure all three of you keep this under your hats.” He hesitated, and looked directly at Maggie. “And don’t do anything dangerous. Anything which might be even remotely hazardous to anyone else’s health. All right?”
“I’d be happy to help out, Nicky,” said Aunt Nettie, her eyes twinkling. Or maybe bright with champagne.
“Okay. That’s settled, then.” Nick got up. “Sorry to disrupt your Christmas. We’ll stay in touch.” He and Will walked to the door. Maggie could hear them talking softly.
Aunt Nettie reached over and touched her hand. “Maggie, my dear, it looks as though we’re in for some interesting days ahead. But now I’m feeling a bit weary. Since Will’s still chatting with Nicky, would you mind helping me to my bed? I think I’d like a bit of a lie-down. That champagne is making me woozy after all. And I need time to think.”
A few minutes later Maggie found Will sitting on the living room couch pouring the last of the champagne into their two glasses.
“What a Christmas!” she said, accepting hers.
“And we haven’t even opened the gifts,” he said.
“Plenty of time for that. What were you and Nick talking about so seriously before he left?”
“He repeated that I shouldn’t let Aunt Nettie get too carried away with this detective thing. To keep an eye on her. And you. And to remember that she got a letter.”
“Yes?” said Maggie.
“That means that, officially, she’s a suspect. Along with you and me, since Nick has no proof we heard her story for the first time today. Maybe we saw the letter before this morning and wanted to protect her. And we’re each other’s witnesses about where we all were last night.”
Maggie put down her drink. “Seriously? Aunt Nettie’s a suspect?”
“If he has a list, we’re all on it.”
“He never said how Carrie died.”
“I guess that’s part of the police-only information for now.”
“And Aunt Nettie didn’t tell us all of her story, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Who was the father of her child? Who performed the illegal abortion? Who else knew what happened? And how did Carrie know about it?”
Will shook his head. “Aunt Nettie. An affair and an abortion. I never would have thought.”
“Which? The affair? Or the abortion?”
“The affair, I think.”
Maggie smiled. “Sadly, me, too. I wish she’d had legions of admirers. And a dozen children if she’d wanted them. No wonder she gave me those books. She never had a chance to buy books for her own child.”
“Don’t get all maudlin on me, Maggie. It was years ago. In those days single women didn’t keep babies when they got pregnant.”
“But abortions were so awful in those days. Not just illegal, but dangerous. Women died.”
“Well, she didn’t. And it was years ago. No one really cares anymore.”
“Aunt Nettie cared,” Maggie said softly. “I wonder if the father of the baby knew, or cared.”
“I know Aunt Nettie was upset. But the important fact now is that Carrie Folk was killed, and chances are it’s because she was blackmailing people. Or trying to. If Aunt Nettie’s letter was an example, she was doing a pretty incompetent job of it. We need to find out how Carrie knew so much about a part of Aunt Nettie’s life she never told anyone.”
“And what else Carrie knew about other people in town.”
“You’ve been involved in murder investigations before, Maggie. You’ve managed to help the police. Nick appreciates that. But you know I’ve never liked your getting mixed up in dangerous situations. And I have to tell you, I am not at all enthused about my ninety-two-year-old aunt getting involved when a killer is wandering around town.”
Maggie shook her head. “She said she’d be his ‘confidential informant.’ I liked that.”
“I’m afraid she did, too. We’ve got to keep a close watch on her, so she doesn’t get herself in trouble.”
“She doesn’t go anywhere by herself now, does she?”
“No.”
“So you or I will be with her, wherever she wants to go.” Maggie snuggled next to Will. “After she wakes up, why don’t we talk to her about where she’d like to start. Whom she’d like to talk to.”
“And we still need to open our Christmas gifts,” Will pointed out.
“And that, too,” Maggie agreed. She reached up and kissed him. “Merry Christmas, Will. So far this Brewer family Christmas has been one I’ll never forget.”
14
Christmas Presents. Black-and-white wood engraving from December 30, 1865 issue of Harper’s Weekly. Drawn by Solomon Eytinge (1833–1905), it shows a father and mother holding a baby with a rattle, seven other children with their gifts (a watch for the oldest boy, for the others a book, an easel and paints, a box of tools, a doll carriage, a sword.) Grandparents admire a doll the little girl is showing them, and in the background, by the decorated tree, a black woman, perhaps a servant, admires her new bonnet. A sword hangs over the fireplace, symbolizing the end of the Civil War. Eytinge is an American illustrator most remembered today for his illustrations of Charles Dickens’s work. 11 x 15 inches. Price: $50.
Will’s gift to Maggie was a gold necklace with a green tourmaline pendant to go with the earrings he’d given her during her first trip to Maine. (“They reflect your eyes. And tourmaline’s the Maine state gem.”)
She gave him three framed pages of hand-colored engravings from Diderot’s Encyclopedia (“I love the full title: Encyclopedia, or a Systematic Dictionary of the Sciences, Arts and Crafts”) from 1772 illustrating carpentry tools, trunk making, and fishnet making in eighteenth-century France. (“Perfect for my office upstairs,” he pronounced. “And you didn’t even know I had an office here!”) She gave Aunt Nettie two large engraved and hand-colored seabirds by the Reverend F.O. Morris to go with the ones that had been hanging in her bedroom upstairs. (“How thoughtful of you to remember that I love Morris prints, Maggie. I’ve moved my others to my downstairs bedroom, so these will be wonderful additions. I’ll think of you every time I see them.”)
Will’s big gifts to his aunt were a red (her favorite color) comforter for her bed and a brown-and-white alpaca shawl. “Wonderfully warm and soft,” Maggie said, admiringly fingering the shawl. “I didn’t know there were alpacas in Maine.”
“Quite a few actually,” said Will. “Majestic-looking creatures from a distance. But mean up close. When I was at the farm where I picked out the shawl one of them spat at me.”
He helped her fasten her new necklace around her neck, and insisted on hanging his new prints in his office that afternoon.
Maggie helped him find the perfect spot on his office wall. The room was already full of all the supplies he’d need for on-line selling. But he’d added personal touches. She smiled at seeing a shelf of structures made with Tinkertoys in his bookcase. (“My old favorites. I couldn’t throw them out,” he explained.) They were next to a small photograph of his wife.
He’d hung the “adults only” Advent calendar Maggie’d sent him six weeks before on the bulletin board above his desk. “I guess I’ll have to take it down now,” he said regretfully. “Every night before I went to bed I opened one of the little windows and thought of you. It was as though you’d left a gift on my pillow.”
She gave him a quick hug. “I’m glad you enjoyed the brandy-filled Swiss chocolates. I hoped you wouldn’t think the whole idea was silly.”
“Not silly. Sweet,” he answered. “And I don’t just mean the chocolates.”
“It’s been a memorable Christmas,” declared Aunt Nettie when they’
d returned downstairs. “And not all for bad reasons, either.”
Daylight ended by four in the afternoon. Winter days were shorter in Maine even though they were only four hundred miles north of New Jersey.
They’d cleaned up the morning’s food and drink, and wrappings and ribbons from the afternoon’s gift opening, added wood to the fireplace, and settled in the living room. Lights and ornaments were still glittering on the tree and the house smelled of pine, but Christmas morning already seemed long past.
“Have you thought about where you want to begin on your detective mission?” Maggie asked Aunt Nettie as they snacked on crackers and locally made cheeses and a few carrot sticks with Will’s homemade hummus. No one wanted wine after the morning’s champagne, and as planned, they were still too full from breakfast to crave heavier food.
“Since I got that awful letter, what’s bothered me most is how Carrie could have known about what I did so long ago. I thought only two, or maybe three, people still alive knew even part of that story. And I can’t believe any of them would tell Carrie. They’d have no reason to betray my trust.”
“Sounds simple to me,” said Will. “Despite what you thought, someone you know can’t be trusted. One of them told Carrie.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” said Aunt Nettie. “I wish it were simple.”
Maggie reached out and touched Aunt Nettie’s hand. “It’s Betty, isn’t it?”
Aunt Nettie bit her lip and was silent for a minute. “I hope, for now anyway, that you’re brighter than the state police.”
Will looked from one of the women to the other. “Betty Hoskins? She’s not coherent enough to tell anyone a story.”
Aunt Nettie shook her head. “That’s the problem. Carrie’s spent hours and hours with Betty for the past year. And yes, Betty’s thoughts and words are confused. Alzheimer’s does that. But most of what she gets confused is what’s happening now. She has much better recollections of what happened in the past.”
“When she was here, at your party, she was remembering events from years ago, wasn’t she?” Maggie said. “She got confused when Ruth mentioned her new grandson, Jonas. She got him confused with Ruth’s husband, Jonas, who died years ago.”
“I remember that,” said Will. “So you’re thinking Betty may have told Carrie about events that happened when she was young.”
“Sometimes what she says doesn’t make sense unless you know her well. Unless you understand the context of what she’s trying to say. But Carrie’s been with her so many months, she may have been able to put the stories together.”
“How sad,” said Maggie. “Sad that Betty doesn’t know she told your secret, and even sadder that Carrie took the time and effort to try to blackmail you about an event so painful. It hurt you, and forced you to talk about something you wanted to forget.”
Aunt Nettie waved her hand dismissively.
“No,” Maggie continued. “I’m sorry, Aunt Nettie, but that’s the truth. It was cruel. Will and I don’t think any less of you for knowing your secret.” She looked over at Will for confirmation, and Will nodded slightly. “It was a different time, and you were in a horrible situation. But to have someone force you to relive it again, now, was barbaric!”
Aunt Nettie smiled a little. “‘Barbaric’ is a little strong, Maggie. But thank you for understanding, both of you, and for being on my side. It’s funny. I got the letter several days ago. I had time to think about it. And I decided I really didn’t care anymore. Secrets hurt those who keep them, too. I’m glad mine is out in the open now.”
“But knowing how Carrie found out about you doesn’t tell us who killed her. Maybe her being killed had nothing to do with blackmail,” said Will.
“Carrie had a decent job,” said Aunt Nettie. “I’m sure Ruth paid her whatever she asked for, and nursing help doesn’t come cheap. Nicky is going to figure out what she needed the money for. For some reason, she was desperate. That’s why I can’t believe I’m the only one she was trying to blackmail.”
“How much did she ask for?” Will asked.
“She wanted twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“That’s not an amount most people in Waymouth could easily get hold of,” he said. “Although maybe your friend Ruth has that much easily available. But, on the other hand, twenty-five thousand dollars wouldn’t be enough to change anyone’s life.”
“Or to risk going to jail for,” added Maggie.
“Which is why, you see, she must have sent letters to other people, too. And Betty wouldn’t have chatted just about me. My life’s been pretty boring compared to most other people’s.”
“That’s why Nick asked for your help,” Maggie pointed out. “He didn’t think of Betty’s being the source of the information. But he knew you’d guess who else might be vulnerable to blackmail.”
“He has no idea what he’s asked me to do. Betty knew everything,” said Aunt Nettie, softly. “We all knew each other’s secrets. Or most of them. And many had more consequences than mine.”
“Who is ‘we’?” said Will. “‘The girls’? You and Ruth and Betty and Doreen?”
“Those are ‘the girls’ today. In the past there were more of us. Gloria and Susan and Doreen’s mother, Mary, of course, who was Nicky’s grandmother. They’re gone now. Betty might confuse stories about all of us, and our families, and maybe about other people in town, too.”
“But if the only ones of the original group who’re left are you and Ruth and Betty,” said Maggie, “then it’s simple. Carrie couldn’t have tried to blackmail Betty. And you can ask Ruth whether she got one of the letters.”
Aunt Nettie shook her head. “What she wrote in my letter only affected me. But most events weren’t isolated. They have causes and effects that have gone on for years. Even in families, different people know parts of the whole. What Betty might have said could involve a lot of people in Waymouth. And who knows what Carrie was able to put together…whether it was the truth, or some combination of partial truths that Betty dreamed or remembered or imagined.” She paused. “Knowing part of a story doesn’t mean you know everything. It might mean you really know nothing.” She clasped her hands and held them tightly. “I wish I knew exactly what Betty told her.”
“I’m not following you,” said Will.
“I can’t be any clearer now,” said Aunt Nettie. “I’ll talk to people. I’ll ask questions. But I’m not going to be like Carrie or Betty. I am not going to tell what I know about other people unless it’s a matter of life or death.”
“But it might be,” said Maggie. “How long will it be before other people figure out Betty was the one opening the bag of past secrets? Whoever killed Carrie could kill again.”
“It took Carrie a year or more to take bits and pieces of Betty’s words and fit them together. And Betty’s making less sense now than she was even three months ago. No, I don’t think we have to worry too much about Betty. Anyone who knows her will understand she can’t reveal much more now. We’ll tell Nick when we need to, or he’ll figure it out on his own. She won’t be able to help him.”
Will and Maggie exchanged glances.
Aunt Nettie was making a serious decision about what to tell the police and what not. But on the other hand, she was probably right. Betty couldn’t be questioned with any hope of getting clear information. And she certainly wasn’t the murderer. Even if she’d understood what Carrie was doing, she couldn’t have gotten to Carrie’s house, much less been able to focus on why she was there, or been able to kill her.
“You’re right, Maggie. I have to talk with Ruth,” Aunt Nettie continued. “She’s the only one who needs to know what Betty did. She’ll understand, and she’ll be able to keep an eye on anyone who wants to talk to her. Will you go with me to see her tomorrow morning? You can help me get over the snow and ice, and I should have a witness. You’ve helped Nicky before, and he trusts you.”
“I’d be happy to, Aunt Nettie. But what about Will?”
&n
bsp; “Will’s a Brewer. He’s part of my family, and he’s living in Waymouth now. You’re from away, and Ruth doesn’t know anything about you. Sometimes people feel safer talking to someone they may not run into at the town wharf or see at The Gull’s Cry or The Great Blue when they stop for a sandwich. Plus, you’re a woman. It’s easier for a woman to talk with other women.”
Aunt Nettie had planned this out.
“We’ll call first, of course, but with Carrie gone, Ruth will be home. She has to look after Betty. I don’t think that daughter-in-law of hers, that Jenny, will be helping her a lot.”
“What about Betty’s daughter, Miranda?”
“She may be there,” agreed Aunt Nettie. “But her business is in Portland. She doesn’t stay around here long. She loves her mother, but she’s not big on nursing.”
“I’ll go with you tomorrow,” said Maggie. “Maybe Betty’s family will be more help than you think.”
“Family? It all depends,” said Aunt Nettie. “Do you have family, Maggie? You never talk about your family.”
“My mother and father were killed in a car crash about eleven years ago. I do have an older brother, Joe, twelve years older than I am. But he left home when I was six and I haven’t seen him since my parents’ funeral. Last time I heard from him was a Christmas card about five years ago, postmarked in Arizona.”
“So you’re not close.”
“Not exactly,” said Maggie. Where was Joe today? Was he married or single? Was he a father? She couldn’t begin to know, although she often wondered. She sent him silent good wishes, hoping his decision not to be part of her life was the right one. She would have liked having a big brother to confide in; a caring uncle for her child. But maybe, for his own reasons, Joe couldn’t be either of those people.
“The best of families can be blessings. Like Will, moving from Buffalo to come and keep an eye on me,” Aunt Nettie said. “The worst of families can be nightmares. Or emotional or financial drains. But we all crave those ties that bind. And most of the time, for better or for worse, they give back what we put into them.”