by Lea Wait
“Sounds that way,” said Maggie. “He hasn’t told me much. I guess he’ll tell us when the deal does or doesn’t go through.”
Aunt Nettie shook her head doubtfully. “I’ve said my piece about that place. He’ll do as he pleases. Doesn’t make much sense to me. But he’s got to have something to do other than take care of an old lady, and there are a lot worse things a man could do than fix up an old house.”
Put that way, it was hard to disagree.
“I’d better call Nick,” said Maggie.
This time he answered immediately. “Maggie! I was trying to reach you yesterday, but Nettie Brewer didn’t have your cell phone number. She said you were in Portland talking to Miranda Hoskins. How did that go? Did she say anything helpful?”
“We spent maybe fifteen minutes together. She seemed very open. She didn’t know anything about the blackmailing, or have any idea about what was being kept quiet.”
“Really. I’d like to get together with you and Nettie today, and maybe pull Owen in, too, and see what we have so far. Would you be free?”
Maggie turned to Aunt Nettie. “Could we meet with Nick and Owen today?”
“I’d have to check to see if Queen Elizabeth would mind moving our date for tea to another day, but…of course, Maggie. You go on and tell him, yes.”
Maggie hesitated. What if Will had plans? But he was still upstairs. “Nick? Nettie and I could meet with you and Owen. Perhaps this morning? If you could come here it would be easiest.”
Aunt Nettie was nodding her approval.
“Eleven o’clock, then. We’ll have coffee ready.”
“So, they’ll be coming?” Aunt Nettie confirmed.
“I don’t think they’ll be here long. We haven’t found out a lot. But the sooner we let them know we’ve done all we can, the sooner they can get on with finding the murderer.” She’d uncovered killers in the past. It had been exciting. But it had also been dangerous. Will had been right. It was definitely not anything ninety-two-year-old Aunt Nettie should be involved with.
Not to mention how Will felt about her amateur sleuthing. Although solving murders wasn’t exactly a hobby she went looking for. In the past couple of years several people near her had met horrible ends. She’d been lucky enough to figure out why, and who was responsible.
All she was doing this morning was brewing a large pot of coffee. And wondering how long Will would be upstairs on the telephone.
It must have been a complicated conversation. Will hadn’t come back downstairs before a rap on the front door announced that Deputy Owen Trask and Detective Nick Strait had arrived, a little before 11:00.
Maggie sent them into the living room while she followed with two large mugs of coffee, one black and one white.
“So can you tell us what that medical person up to Augusta said about Carrie?” Aunt Nettie asked. “What killed her?”
Nick and Owen exchanged looks.
“I guess it’ll get around soon enough. Carrie Folk died from blunt force trauma. That’s a fancy way of saying someone crushed her skull, probably with one of the logs waiting to be burned in her fireplace. Sorry to be so direct, Ms. Brewer,” said Owen. “There’d been a fire in the fireplace, so we suspect the log in question was burned.”
“We also know now it was Carrie who was sick. She had pancreatic cancer. Stage four. The medical examiner said she didn’t have long to live.” Nick sipped his coffee. “Which probably explains why she needed the money, and needed it quickly. Part perhaps for medical expenses. But we also found brochures in her home for a couple of expensive private facilities for developmentally disabled adults.”
“She was blackmailing people so she’d have enough money to provide for Billy, then,” said Maggie.
“Looks that way,” said Owen.
“What will happen to him now?”
“So far we haven’t found any trace of his father. He hasn’t provided support for Billy in over thirty years, and Billy doesn’t seem to know anything about him. He may have died, or left the country. And no other relative is known, or has come forward. Billy’s used to being cared for, and doesn’t have many skills. He’ll probably be placed with a foster family that specializes in working with special needs adults. When they feel he can manage living semi-independently he could move to one of the group homes in the state for developmentally challenged adults.”
“So there are options for him,” said Maggie. “I’m glad.”
“Absolutely,” Owen answered. “He’ll have an adjustment period, of course. But if Carrie was worried about Billy being locked up in an institution, she was thirty years too late. We don’t have places like that in Maine anymore. She didn’t have to leave a lot of money with him. The best thing she could have done for Billy was help him develop as many day-to-day living experiences as possible, so perhaps he could hold down a job, under supervision.”
“So all her worry about Billy wasn’t necessary.”
“He won’t be cared for the way she catered to him,” said Owen. “But Billy will be all right. Maybe better than all right. He’s going to meet with a case worker this afternoon who’ll write up an evaluation and develop a placement plan for him.”
“Billy isn’t the reason we’re here.” Nick inserted, impatiently. “I want to thank you for the help you’ve been. Especially for talking with Ruth Weston. You won’t be surprised to hear that we don’t consider her a serious suspect. But we haven’t ruled out everyone in her household, and there might be other people we haven’t thought of yet. Our investigation is far from over.”
“Other people in her household?” asked Aunt Nettie.
“I assume anything we say here is strictly confidential,” said Nick. “You’re Ruth’s friend, and I have to know that nothing I say to you will get back to her, or to anyone else.”
“Certainly,” said Aunt Nettie. “I’m no gossip.”
“I don’t think Betty’s daughter, Miranda, knows anything helpful,” said Maggie. “She didn’t know about the blackmail, and didn’t seem to have any idea of what it could be about.”
Nick nodded. “That fits what we suspect. We’re checking out Ruth’s son, Brian. Nothing definite so far. Just a few questions. But Owen talked to a neighbor who says he saw Brian leaving the Weston home at about two o’clock on Christmas morning.”
“I remember Ruth’s saying he went for a walk the night before. The baby was crying, and he needed to get away for a while. Maybe he makes a habit of late-night walks,” Maggie suggested.
“That may be his story,” Nick said. “But he left the Weston home at about the time the medical examiner thinks Carrie Folk was murdered. And we checked the bank he works for in Philadelphia. He’s employed there, but although he’s a lawyer, his salary isn’t a large one. And that new house he’s bought is a small pre-fab, and it’s eighty percent mortgaged. For a newly married man, at his age, with a new baby, I’d say he’s struggling. Especially since, based on their credit card bills, his wife seems to have expensive tastes.”
“Not being wealthy doesn’t make the man a murderer,” Aunt Nettie pointed out.
Owen shrugged. “We didn’t find any money in Carrie’s house. No cash at all. Ruth Weston said she’d given her ten thousand dollars a few days before. So the cash may have been in the house when she was killed.”
“If she was robbed, maybe Carrie was killed by a burglar? Maybe her murder had nothing at all to do with the blackmail,” Maggie suggested. “Someone could have known she’d recently cashed a large check and gone looking for the money. They might not have expected to confront her.”
“If so, it was a pretty smart burglar. We’ve found no fingerprints; everything was wiped clean.”
“And why would all of this lead you to suspect Brian Weston?”
Nick started to count on his fingers. “He wasn’t at the Weston home at the time of the murder. He needed money. Maybe he thought he could take the money his mother had given to Carrie and no one would know. I don’t know ex
actly what he had in mind, but we’re checking all possibilities.”
“It’s not an airtight case. Not yet. We’re just saying Brian’s on our radar,” added Owen.
“Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” asked Aunt Nettie.
“I think we have all the information we need that you can help us with,” said Nick. “If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“We appreciate your talking to Ruth and Miranda.” Owen stood up.
“You’re quite welcome,” said Aunt Nettie. “We’re glad to have helped out.”
Maggie walked with the two men toward the back door. “How is Zelda?” she asked Nick. “I saw her at the concert Christmas Eve, and I’ve been thinking about her.”
“She’s fine,” he said. “Why would you ask?”
“She had a black eye.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Zelda. She and the Christmas tree ran into each other. Then she insisted on covering her face with makeup, making herself look even more ludicrous.” He shook his head. “Zelda’s fine.”
Owen looked at Maggie. “You’ll be here a few more days?”
“Through New Year’s.”
“Enjoy your vacation.” He tipped his hat, and both men headed out.
“What were they here for? I heard voices.” Will had finally come downstairs.
“Nick and Owen Trask were here.” Maggie looked over at Aunt Nettie, who nodded slightly. They’d promised not to tell anyone what they’d been told, and Will qualified as “anyone.” “How’d your phone call go?”
“I’ve got problems with the building inspection. I’m going to have to spend part of the afternoon at the house with the inspector going over the details. I need to make sure we agree about what needs to be done to make the place livable.” Will ran his hand through his hair, clearly vexed. “This isn’t at all what I’d planned to do. I’d hoped all this would be over before Christmas. I’m sorry, Maggie. I’d much rather be spending time with you. But this is critical.”
“I understand. I’m sure Aunt Nettie and I can amuse ourselves.”
“We certainly can. You go ahead. Maggie and I’ll be fine,” agreed Aunt Nettie.
“Thank you, both. I’m going to pull together the papers I need and head over to Art Krieger’s office, then.” Will went back upstairs, as Maggie sat down near Aunt Nettie.
“What do you think of the idea that Brian Weston killed Carrie Folk?” Maggie asked.
“It’s rubbish. Doesn’t make sense. That boy hasn’t got enough energy to kill anyone. He might steal her money. I could see that. But kill her? Not Brian.” Aunt Nettie frowned. “And it sounded to me like Nicky wants us to stop asking questions.”
“I thought so, too,” agreed Maggie. “So? What do we do now?”
“We ignore Nicky. We need to talk to Betty,” Aunt Nettie said. “She’s the center of all this.”
“Betty? But she doesn’t always make sense.”
“She may not to you. But she might to me. And besides, Maggie. I haven’t seen her room in a long while. But as I remember Ruth had hung pictures on the walls there.”
“Will and I saw them there. We looked in when we were at her house Christmas Eve.”
“Did the pictures have names on them? Labels that said who the people were?”
“I think so. We didn’t go inside the room. But there were signs on everything.”
“Then Carrie would have known who was in all the pictures. We definitely need to pay another call on Ruth.”
20
Girl in a Hood. Lithograph of young brunette woman wearing a warm brown corduroy hood whose ends tie under her chin. Part of illustrator and painter Harrison Fisher’s (1875–1934) 1909 American Beauties portfolio. Fisher drew popular covers for Cosmopolitan, and had a talent for drawing beautiful women. Gibson’s successor, his “Fisher Girls” helped define style for a generation of American women in the early twentieth century. 8.5 x 11 inches. Price: $75.
A few minutes after Will left the house Maggie and Aunt Nettie were on their way. This time they hadn’t called ahead.
“Ruth will be there,” Aunt Nettie said. “Where else would she be? You don’t think Jenny or Brian would know how to check Betty’s sugars or help her use the commode, do you?”
But it was Miranda who answered the door. “You again!” she said, looking at Maggie. “Oh, and hello, Ms. Brewer.”
“Good day, Miranda. We’ve come to pay a call on your mother and your aunt Ruth. Would you invite us in?”
“I’m sorry. Of course, you’re welcome,” she said, moving back and allowing space for Aunt Nettie and Maggie to move past her into the hallway. “They’re both in Mother’s room. I’ll tell them you’re here.”
“No need. We’ll join them there,” said Aunt Nettie, her cane briskly leading the way.
“Are Brian and Jenny still here?” Maggie asked Miranda.
“Oh, yes,” said Miranda. “The gang’s all here. But Brian decided to show Jenny the coast, so they drove to Camden for lunch. It’s been blessedly quiet for an hour now.”
“Nettie, what a surprise. Look, Betty, Nettie and Maggie’ve come to visit us.” Ruth looked less than thrilled at their appearance. “First Miranda stopped in, and now we have more company.”
Betty was in her wheelchair in the corner of her room. She smiled uncertainly. “Who are these people? Is this a party?”
“It feels a little like one, doesn’t it, Betty,” agreed Ruth.
Miranda stepped in front of Betty. “Mother gets confused when more than one or two people are here. I know you’re an old friend, Nettie, but you really should have called before you came.”
“Old friends are the best friends,” said Betty, clearly. “Are you one of my old friends, dear?”
“I’m Miranda, your daughter? Remember, Mother? We’ve been talking about when I was a little girl. When I was a baby.”
“Miranda, I don’t think you should be bothering your mother about that anymore,” said Ruth. “I told you before. It was years ago. She’s already confused. You know anything she says now can’t be taken seriously.”
“But she was so close,” said Miranda. “She said my father was tall, and had dark hair, like I do. She’s never said that before.”
“Lots of men are tall and have dark hair. That doesn’t mean anything,” said Ruth. “Maybe she doesn’t know. Maybe she never did.”
Miranda looked at her. “You’re telling me my mother never knew who my father was? I can’t believe that of her. And then who was Robert Hoskins? His name is listed on my birth certificate.”
Aunt Nettie took a step further into the room. “We’ve come at a bad time then.”
“Where is my baby? I want my baby now,” said Betty, looking around the room.
“I’m here,” said Miranda, kneeling down by her mother’s wheelchair. “I’m here, with you, right here.”
“You’re not my baby. You’re a grown woman. I want my baby.”
Ruth picked up a lifelike baby doll dressed in pink pajamas from the floor near the bed and put it in Betty’s lap. “Here’s your baby.”
“My baby.” Betty gently held the doll and started rocking it back and forth, as though it were a real baby. “She’s been crying again. She needs her mother.”
Miranda just stared.
Ruth touched her gently on the shoulder. “About a month ago she started asking for her baby. She must be remembering when you were born, Miranda. She loved you so much. Nothing would console her. So I went and bought her that doll. It seems to help.”
Miranda stood up and backed away, not taking her eyes off her mother. “Thank you, Aunt Ruth. I’m sorry for pushing her about my father. But for years I’ve tried to find out more about him, and she’d never tell me.” She glanced back at Maggie, who was near the door. “When Maggie said she was talking about the past, I hoped, maybe, she’d say something about him. Who he was, or where he came from. Anything. I didn’t mean to cause her pain.”
&nb
sp; Ruth shook her head. “I don’t think you caused her any pain, Miranda. She can’t help you. She’s buried parts of her life so deeply that now they’re gone. But the parts about you, about having you, are memories she relives with happiness. She loves you very much.”
Miranda watched her mother rocking the doll that might be her. “I don’t know how you deal with this day after day.”
Ruth reached over and hugged her. “One day and then another day. Some are easier than others.”
Miranda broke away and looked at Nettie and Maggie. “I’m so sorry this happened when you were here. I’m embarrassed. I kept thinking, Maggie, after you left the store yesterday, that maybe this was my chance. I could find out more about my father than his name. I guess I was wrong.”
“You’ve searched for him?” Maggie asked.
“I started looking years ago. I was born in Boston, so I checked Massachusetts newspapers and directories and Social Security and on-line sources. I haven’t found anyone with that name with a connection to New England who sounds remotely the right age to be my father. It’s like Robert Hoskins is a ghost.” Miranda pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “My head says it doesn’t make any real difference. But it’s like having an empty spot in my life, not to know.”
Maggie looked past Miranda. Ruth was pursing her lips, looking from Miranda to Betty.
Ruth knew Robert Hoskins, Maggie suddenly thought. Ruth knew. And she knew why Betty hadn’t told Miranda anything about him. Whatever the reason was, it must be important.
While they’d been talking Aunt Nettie was looking at pictures on the walls. “Ruth, you did a wonderful job with these. I haven’t thought of these people and places in years.”
“Since Betty was living so much in the past I wanted to put things in her room that would help her remember. Especially the good times.”
“I love these pictures of all of us in elementary school.” Aunt Nettie pointed at several photographs on the wall near the bathroom door. “I’d forgotten. Betty played the flute, and you played the violin.”
“Viola, actually,” Ruth said, joining her. “Father thought all girls should play instruments. He had the mistaken idea we were musically talented!” They both laughed. “All those hours practicing. We hated it! That’s why we never asked our children to take music lessons.”