by Sharon Pape
Common courtesy demanded I wait until at least nine o’clock to call someone who didn’t know me. To pass the time, I puttered around the house, fed the cats, drank two cups of coffee, and read the news online without absorbing a single word of it. I wasn’t able to concentrate on paying bills, returning emails, or any one of a dozen chores that required my attention. I finally dressed and roused Sashkatu from his post breakfast nap and went off to Abracadabra to wait out the second hour.
I’d already decided not to open until I’d made the call. I didn’t see how it could last very long. Either Martin’s widow would be receptive to talking about her late husband and his brutal murder or she wouldn’t. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the latter.
I cheated the clock and made the call a few minutes early. The phone rang three times. I was formulating the message I would leave on her voice mail, when she finally picked up with a cautious “hello?” Curiosity must have won out. But if I wasn’t careful, she could still hang up.
I explained that I was a private investigator looking into a number of unsolved homicides in the county and that I was hoping she could spare a few minutes to meet with me at the time and place of her choosing.
“I don’t know,” she said, “I’ve tried to put that awful time behind me.” I didn’t push. No high-pressure sales pitch. She sighed, clearly on the fence. “I suppose I owe it to Martin to do everything I can to pursue justice for him.” She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, probably wishing I would speak up and tell her she was doing the right thing, the decent thing.
“There’s no right or wrong decision,” I said, “but most people want to know who killed their loved one and why. It helps them find peace.” I had no actual data to back that up, but it seemed like a logical conclusion. With only five names to pursue, Travis and I couldn’t afford to let even one slip through our fingers.
“Okay, yes,” Nina said finally. “How is tomorrow at ten?”
“You’re the boss.” At least I wanted her to feel that way. If she thought she was in control, she was more apt to speak freely.
“At my house.”
“I’ll be there,” I said, “thank you.” I thought she would insist on a neutral location, anywhere but her home. She didn’t know anything about me. For a woman in her fifties, Nina didn’t seem to have much common sense. Maybe it was a product of having lived her life in an area that, until recently, had known little violent crime. Investigating two murders had opened my eyes to the potential dangers lurking in the most peaceful of places and in the minds of the most benign-looking people.
* * * *
The Lewis residence was on a tree-lined street that was no doubt beautiful in summer, but in autumn the trees were leafless and skeletal. Had I been in charge of the town’s landscaping, I might have gone with evergreens. The house itself was a stately brick colonial with crisp white trim and a circular driveway. Although I had no idea about Nina’s circumstances when she was married to Martin, she seemed to have done well for herself the second time around.
I rang the bell and Nina ushered me inside with a smile that kept twitching on and off like a faulty light bulb. The house was well-appointed; the hardwood floors gleamed and the light fixtures sparkled. She led the way into a formal living room, where pale fabrics indicated that no young kids resided there. She offered me a seat and after I chose one of the tufted side chairs, she perched on the edge of the couch as if she might change her mind about the interview at any moment.
“I want to thank you again for agreeing to meet with me,” I said, when she didn’t initiate the conversation.
She gave a wobbly laugh. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I did. I recently spoke to a reporter too—that poor man who skidded off the road and into a tree. I’ll ask you what I asked him—‘If the police failed to make headway in Martin’s case back when it happened, why do you think you can six years later?’”
“My partner and I are looking at your late husband’s murder from a different angle, as part of a larger case. I can’t guarantee we’ll be successful in finding his killer, but we believe it’s worth our time to take another look.”
“Who hired you to undertake the investigation?” she asked. “I’m sure you’re not just doing it out of random curiosity. Someone must be footing the bill.”
“Someone is,” I said, “but they prefer to remain anonymous, at least for now.” If I told her we were doing it for free, I was afraid she might not take me seriously.
“This all sounds very mysterious, but if there’s no fee involved and there’s a chance to find out who killed Martin, I’m in.”
I took out the list of questions Travis and I had compiled and opened the record app on my phone. Before starting, I asked Nina’s permission to record our conversation. She was reluctant, but finally agreed.
Most of the questions were not the standard ones you hear on every cop show on TV. The police would have covered those back when they were working the case and it clearly didn’t net them the killer. Travis and I were looking for a common thread that linked all the names on Ryan’s list. Until we knew what they had in common, we weren’t going to find the killer. “Tell me about your late husband,” I said instead. If allowed to speak freely, I hoped Nina might reveal things that more specific questions might fail to elicit.
“Let’s see—he worked for Horizon Cable. He came home every night for dinner, then he’d skim through the paper, mostly the sports section, and watch TV until he fell asleep. He didn’t gamble. The most he ever drank was a glass of wine with dinner or a couple of beers watching TV and never on the same night. He was a good man. Our lives weren’t exciting, but we were content.”
“What sort of things did he like to do on the weekends?”
Nina took a moment to think back. “He liked to tinker with cars. If he hadn’t gotten the job at Horizon straight out of high school, he probably would have been a mechanic.”
“Did he read a lot?”
“No, he used to complain that his eyes were too tired at the end of the day.”
“Did he have any regrets in his life?” Nina wriggled farther back on the couch as if to put more distance between her and my question.
“He wasn’t much of a talker,” she said finally, “especially when it came to emotions and stuff. In other words, a typical man. One thing I do know is that he regretted never going to college. I could see it bothered him when someone asked where he went to school. And he was passed over for promotions a number of times in favor of younger men with college degrees.”
“Was he vocal, argumentative when it came to politics or religion?”
“He definitely had his opinions on politics,” she said as though she hadn’t agreed with him, “but he didn’t bother much with religion.” The more she told me, the more I suspected she hadn’t known Martin very well in spite of nineteen years of marriage. Their connections didn’t seem to run deep, but who was I to judge? My only experience of marriage was my mother’s and grandmother’s, along with glimpses into Tilly’s union and discussions I overheard between the women in my family. And when the marriages failed, I was only privy to the women’s points of view. My takeaway was that men should not be counted on, because sooner or later they would leave. By the time I was in my teens, I had no interest in marriage. I was never that girl who fantasized about her wedding day.
“Did he belong to any fraternal or charitable organizations like the Elks?”
Nina shook her head. “Neither of us was much of a joiner. I have to say, your questions sound a lot more like a survey from Good Housekeeping than an investigation into my husband’s death.”
“I did say we were going about it differently.”
She looked at her watch. “Will it take much longer?”
“We’re almost done,” I assured her. Five minutes later, I heard the front door open and close, followed by footsteps coming our way
. Nina didn’t appear surprised, but a frown flitted across her brow. It was gone by the time a young man came through the living room doorway and headed toward her. I saw his resemblance to Nina immediately.
“Hey, Ma,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. I wondered if Nina’s question about when we’d be finished had anything to do with her son’s arrival. Had she been hoping I’d be on my way before he got there?
“Jeremy, this is Kailyn Wilde, the woman who’s looking into Dad’s death. Ms. Wilde, this is my older son.”
He acknowledged me with a head bob and turned back to his mother. “You never told me you were actually going to meet with her,” he said with barely veiled contempt. I felt like waving my hand and saying, Hello, I’m right here. You may want to have this discussion after I leave. I could only imagine how appalled Nina had to feel about her son’s behavior.
Jeremy appeared to have no such concerns. He peeled off his parka and threw it onto the far end of the couch. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes were narrowed and there was a challenge in his tone. “My mother said you were looking at my father’s murder as part of a larger case. Exactly what kind of larger case?” If Detective Duggan ever needed an assistant, Jeremy could probably wrest a confession from any perp he skewered with those eyes.
“That’s correct,” I said, determined not to let his attitude derail me, “but I’m not at liberty to go into more detail at this time.”
“Of course not,” he said with mock gravity. “You listen to me, Ms. Wilde, my mother seems to have forgotten about all the scam artists we had to deal with after my father was murdered. Phony psychics who swore they could contact him to find out the name of his killer, financial advisers who scared my mother into making risky investments, and the list goes on. There’s no way I’ll let that crap ever happen again. Is. That. Clear?”
“Jeremy, please, this is nothing like that. I apologize, Ms. Wilde.” Nina sounded mortified. I could see why she might have hoped to avoid this encounter.
“Not everyone is out to profit from your loss,” I said.
“Yeah, well until I come up with a way to tell the scam artists from the saints, I’m going to protect my family the best I know how. For starters, this little interview session is over now.” I could see by the expression on Nina’s face that she wasn’t going to argue with him. To spare her further embarrassment, I excused myself.
She hurried over to walk me to the door, apologizing again for Jeremy’s attitude. “You’re lucky to have your son looking out for you,” I said.
“Family,” she said wryly, “you know how it is.”
Chapter 14
Driving home I was lost in thought about Nina and Jeremy and forgot to turn off onto the back roads, until it was too late. I was stuck in the traffic snarl at the construction site of the new hotel. I’d expected the novelty to have worn off by now, but I was wrong. Everyone still slowed down to see what progress was being made. It was going to be a long, long siege if people considered a foundation all that interesting.
The flagmen compounded the problem. They were constantly stopping traffic to allow construction vehicles and workmen to enter and leave the site. Travis had laughed at me when I complained about the situation. “You are one spoiled country sorcerer. This kind of traffic would be a welcome change on the streets of New York City.” He was right of course. Bronwen used to say, “Life is all a matter of perspective.” I preferred Mary Chapin Carpenter’s more colorful version: “Some days you’re the windshield, some days you’re the bug.”
I chafed at being the bug. I’d been gone from Abracadabra longer than I’d intended. I consoled myself with the thought that the traffic would ease up once I made it past the construction site. But even after I’d passed the construction, I was still moving at a crawl. When I finally saw the reason, I almost jumped out of my car in the middle of the street. Common sense prevailed. I pulled into the next parking lot I came to and ran back to the block where Merlin was parading up and down the sidewalk carrying a sign like a doomsday prophet. With his wild white hair, ragged beard, and burlap pants he even looked the part. Odds are everyone would have ignored him and his sign if all it predicted was the end of the world. It was the message on Merlin’s sign that was stopping traffic:
All ye Fools
Wake to the Truth
Your town began as New Camelot
Merlin was flipping the sign around to show the message on the back as well:
Learn the Truth
Sat. 2PM at the Library
Free Refreshments Served
People had to slow down if they wanted to read both sides. Merlin knew his audience. If curiosity didn’t grab their attention, “free refreshments” would. Unfortunately some people took exception to being called “fools” and sitting in traffic only made them angrier and more vocal about it. Car windows were opened and epithets hurled in Merlin’s direction, along with a host of other things, including empty beer cans, a takeout coffee cup, and a rotting tomato, the latter by a motorist who clearly traveled well-prepared to express his opinion. So much for trying to keep Merlin out of the public eye. I had to shut him down before a camera crew arrived. But it wasn’t easy. He fought me off as valiantly as he did the garbage raining down on us. He didn’t cave until I threatened him where it hurt. “For every minute you stand here arguing with me, you’re going to lose a week of TV.” He thought about it for several seconds, before following me back to the car, muttering and grumbling into his beard until I deposited him at Tilly’s shop.
“Oh thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “I was doing a reading and didn’t realize he was gone until five minutes ago. I was frantic. You weren’t here and I didn’t know where to begin looking for him. I didn’t know whether or not to call the police, because…” She’d run out of breath and was about to collapse onto a chair that wasn’t there. Merlin ripped into action, shooting a chair across the floor. It arrived beneath her without a second to spare. He looked at me like a puppy expecting a reward.
“Okay, fine,” I said, both grateful and defeated. “We’ll call it a wash.” He walked away grinning, headed no doubt to scavenge for leftovers in the kitchen.
Once Tilly’s breathing quieted and her color pinked up, I showed her Merlin’s sign and explained what he’d been doing. “Do you know if he actually arranged for the time at the library?” I asked.
“I… I have no idea.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find out.” The minute I opened Abracadabra, the bells over the door jingled and Beverly marched in. “You know there’s no point in having a clock sign that says when you’ll be back, if you don’t honor it,” she said huffy with indignation. “I was beginning to think something dreadful had happened to you. I tried to ask your aunt, but she wouldn’t unlock the door or answer the phone.”
“When she’s doing a reading, she doesn’t allow interruptions,” I said.
“Well, this is my third time back here today. It’s wreaked havoc with my schedule. Now I’ll have to spend part of tomorrow doing laundry.” Flexibility had never been one of her strong suits.
“The circumstances couldn’t be avoided. I’m sorry you were inconvenienced,” I said in a tone that wasn’t the least bit apologetic.
She seemed to be debating a comeback, but then she must have decided there was nothing to be gained by antagonizing me. “I’d like to redeem my gift certificate,” she said. I opened the register and presented it to her. Judging by her neutral expression, she was neither amazed nor disappointed by the amount, the exact middle ground I’d been aiming for. “Thank you, Kailyn,” she said formally.
“Take your time and let me know if you have any questions.”
“I can’t take my time, since I wasted it by waiting for you.” She grabbed a basket and headed off to the first aisle. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to her that the giver of the gift certificate could just as easily rescind it. And af
ter the Merlin incident, I was already close to the end of my rope.
“You should have called to find out if I’d returned,” I said sweetly. I realized I was burning a bridge I might one day need to cross again, but at that moment it felt awfully good. If Beverly wasn’t hooked on our beauty products, I think she would have turned on her heel and walked out, slamming the door shut behind her. All things considered, not the worst thing that could happen.
She’d only been gone a few minutes when Lolly walked in. I came from behind the counter to chat with her near the door. She liked to keep an eye on her shop ever since the candy thief struck. Until then she hadn’t felt the need to watch it so closely if she ran across the street for a few minutes. But the week before Halloween of last year, she’d come to give me a sample of her new eggnog fudge. When she returned to her shop, she found she’d been robbed—entire trays of candy gone. She was more upset about the wasted hours on her feet making the candy than the actual loss of revenue. And she was irked, because she didn’t even catch a glimpse of the thief for the police report.
Since that day, we chatted at my door, where she’d be able to see anyone entering her shop. “Beverly popped in a couple of times today,” Lolly said after we hugged, transferring a bit of fudge from her cheek to mine. She pointed it out and offered me a tissue from her purse.
“I bet it was every time she came back to look for me.”
“The first time, she seemed so upset I gave her a piece of candy.” Which explained why she didn’t want to just call to see if I was back yet. You don’t get free candy that way. “The second time, she was more agitated. When I didn’t offer her another candy, she had the nerve to ask for it. ‘I felt so much better after that piece of chocolate you gave me earlier,’” Lolly said, doing a great imitation of Beverly. “‘Considering the circumstances, do you think you could spare one more?’”