She Stopped for Death

by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli

  The girl handed two sheets of paper to Dora, who took the pages reverently and read the poem to herself, lips moving slightly. She looked up at the others. Her face glowed.

  “Oh, it’s Emily at her best. One from her book.”

  She read,

  Silliness in the cosmic swamp.

  High dudgeon greets the spring.

  A million seek immortality

  Beneath the spackled pollen screen.

  Black water and I hold my breath.

  An over populated log spins, set in place.

  A dread superfluity of turtles,

  Now each a flying carapace.

  Drawn to dark phantasms

  Entailing trespass in the brave.

  In boots and stick, sent flying

  By the slither of a snake.

  Alex turned the envelope over in her hands. “August fifth, 2013. There are ten letters all together. I think there was an attraction. But maybe it was only that they respected each other’s work.” She put her head down. “I even hoped he might be here with her. That’s why I came. To make sure he’s all right.”

  There were tears in her eyes when she looked up. “I’ve been hoping they were in love and he’s here, and happy. Then I thought maybe, if not that, at least I could find his car. Something. I need proof he’s still . . .”

  “His car?” Jenny interrupted.

  “A red Saturn. He loved that car. If he came here, he would have driven it. I’m trying to find anything connected with him. He never renewed his license. The car wasn’t sold, as far as I could find. Not in Maine, anyway. What would he have done with it?”

  They talked on until Detective Minty called to say he and their police chief, Ed Warner, were on their way over. Alex got hurriedly to her feet, grabbing up her backpack and thanking them for their time. Dora reached out to stop her, taking her hand.

  “Where will you be staying? I’m sure we could set up a time for you to talk to Emily. There’s got to be a way.”

  Alex dipped her head and gave a half grin. “You can call me. I’ll leave my number.”

  “But will you be close by? There aren’t many places to stay in Bear Falls. Maybe Traverse. That’s a big town.”

  Alex grinned again. “No problem. I’ll hang around.”

  “But . . . how old are you, dear?”

  “I’m twenty-three, Mrs. Weston.” Alex laughed and put her arm around Dora’s shoulders. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “But I will. Please let me know where you’ll be. I don’t like to think of you some place that’s not, well, safe for a girl your age.”

  Alex shrugged. “I’ll sleep in my car. I’ve done it before.”

  Before Detective Minty arrived to pick up Zoe and Jenny, Alex was settled into Lisa’s old room, still protesting, saying she’d be fine, but she was no match for Dora Weston.

  * * *

  Long shadows lay over the Sutton house when Ed Warner’s police car pulled in front and parked. Silhouettes of tree branches moved across the darkened rock walls, setting the house in motion, making Jenny think of cartoons where houses moved and chased people.

  The two policemen, in the front seat of the Bear Falls police chief’s squad car, gathered folders together and got out, following Zoe and then Jenny through the gate up to the porch.

  Zoe went through her usual routine—knocking then calling Emily’s name.

  They got the usual response—nothing.

  “Here, let me.” Detective Minty leaned in and knocked, then called out, “Emily Sutton? I’m a detective with the Traverse City Police Department. Could you come to the door please?”

  Nothing.

  Ed Warner, Bear Falls police chief, a long, tall man with a head that sat loosely on his shoulders, adjusted the gun on his hip and walked to the end of the porch. He looked first at the already dark swamp and then stretched his body over the rail to get a look at the back of the house.

  “She go out into that swamp?” Minty asked, frowning at Jenny and Zoe as if they were hiding Emily Sutton.

  Zoe shrugged and spread her arms wide. “Who knows? All I’ve done so far is deliver groceries. I don’t know her daily routine. Except that she doesn’t answer the phone or the door.”

  “How do you get ahold of her? To pick up this grocery list you talked about?”

  “She calls me.”

  “Then she’s got to be in there.” He tried again, knocking and calling out her name.

  Nothing. The two cops ambled close together and mumbled to each other. Ed Warner’s loose head wobbled a few times. They headed for the steps, motioning for the women to follow.

  Zoe could have told them, just from looking at the ground, that they’d chosen the mushy side of the house to take toward the backyard. Zoe and Jenny stepped on the highest hillocks of grass they could find, picking their way behind the men, who swore as they sank down into mucky dirt, then shook their heavy shoes and swore again.

  There was nobody around the back.

  “What happened here?” Detective Minty stood with his jacket open, hands at his hips, looking up at the burned stone wall that was the whole back of the house.

  “There used to be an ell tacked on.” Jenny told them what she’d heard from Dora. She’d only been ten when they moved to town so didn’t know a whole lot of history. “Emily’s mother died in the fire.”

  Minty nodded. “Terrible thing. Seems to be an unlucky family.”

  “Thought Jenny would’ve filled you in on the Suttons.” Ed Warner looked vaguely guilty of something, then frowned over at Jenny.

  “Anything else?” Minty asked when Jenny seemed about to answer, then didn’t, thinking he could learn about Emily when he met her.

  The four of them stood in the weedy yard looking around at the outbuildings: a chicken coop, two sheds close to falling down, and one unpainted garage, the windows covered with cardboard.

  They looked out toward the street, Minty asking if this had ever been a farm and Jenny about to tell him what she knew.

  “What are you people doing on my property?”

  Startled, they turned to a woman standing behind them as if she’d popped out of the ground.

  Emily Sutton’s face was flushed with anger. She was dressed in nondescript old pants that must once have belonged to a man, and an outsized sweater. She wore boots that were covered with muck.

  In her hands she held a strange bouquet of white stems, blackened pipe bowls at the end of each stem. Jenny had never seen anything like them.

  “Well?” Emily sniffed and reared back to demand an answer. “And you, Zoe Zola, have you taken it on yourself to bring people to my home?”

  Zoe puffed up and would have pushed right up to Emily if Detective Minty didn’t put his arm out to stop her.

  “I’m with the Traverse City police, ma’am. Detective Minty.” He stuck his hand out, then let it drop to his side when she ignored it.

  “What do you want with me, Detective?” Emily kept her large eyes focused on Zoe.

  “I’ve come with some bad news. Could we go inside?”

  Emily shook her head. “Why should I invite you into my home if you’re all only here to upset me?”

  Emily’s defiance slipped away as she looked from face to face. She grew concerned.

  “Miss Sutton.” Ed Warner had his thumbs stuck in his gun belt. He took a step toward her. “How are you doing? Remember me? I was out here a time or two when you thought you saw prowlers.”

  She looked him up and down, then shook her head. “I don’t think I see prowlers. Like now, people will intrude from time to time. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before, Officer,” she said to Ed Warner.

  “But, ma’am . . .”

  Emily turned from Jenny to Zoe. She shook her head. “I hope I won’t be sorry for confiding in the two of you. Here you are, knowing how I value my privacy.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Her head tipped to one side. The change was instant.

  “Ma�
��am,” Minty stepped in, exasperated and sounding ready to have this over with, “there’s been a death.”

  “A death?” Her eyes popped wider. “Who’s dead?”

  “I believe you’re related to an Althea Sutton.”

  “Althea? My cousin?”

  He had her full attention. Her hands came down, the odd flowers she held fell to the ground and scattered in a small heap at her feet.

  “What’s happened to Althea?”

  “She was found today. In her garage.”

  A hand flew to her mouth. “Not suicide! Oh no. I warned her. Always depressed. Every time I saw her. I told her she had to see somebody.”

  Minty shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. Worse than that. Somebody murdered your cousin.”

  Both hands flew to her mouth. Tears flooded her eyes. She took a step toward them, crushing her dead-looking flowers underfoot. And then another step before she turned and ran toward the house, feet flying over the muck. She was out of sight before any of them reacted.

  Minty watched her go, then followed, saying that he had to talk to her.

  The three of them watched the man go after her and waited until they decided it would be best to go back to their cars.

  “Know what she was holding?” Zoe spoke into the uncomfortable quiet of the car.

  Jenny looked over and shook her head.

  “Indian Pipes. Emily Dickinson’s favorite flower.”

  Jenny nodded. Ed Warner turned to look over the back of the seat but said nothing.

  “They don’t last if you pick them. Emily Sutton should have known that.”

  “Is that so?” Jenny pretended interest, then bent to check the front porch of the house where Emily stood, talking to Detective Minty. She looked at her watch. Six thirty. She was hungry. She was mad. She was disgusted with just about everything and, unable to stop herself, leaned toward Ed Warner.

  “Can I walk home? No reason for me to stay, and I’m tired.”

  Surprised, Ed turned and shook his head. “Not until the detective comes back. I have no authority to let you go.”

  “Oh, Ed.” She’d known him from their school days together. “You know where I live.”

  She reached out to open the door, with Zoe pushing up behind her.

  “Hey.” Ed grabbed Jenny’s arm. “I’m not kidding. You’re not going anywhere until Minty’s through with her. You ever think maybe she might need your help? Just hearing her cousin’s been murdered and all? Usually ladies like to offer.”

  Zoe muttered something that sounded like “ladies” and didn’t wither at the chief’s look.

  Minty came down the steps. Emily went into the house and shut the door behind her. Jenny and Zoe were driven home.

  Nothing more was said beyond Minty’s warning that he might still be calling on them for information. No clue as to what Emily told him. Just a big, unexpressive back turned, then a wave out the window as Ed Warner drove away and Jenny turned to find a familiar truck parked in front of the house.

  Zoe’s eyes filled with pity when she saw the truck. She shook her head at Jenny and went as fast as she could go back to her own house.

  Chapter 12

  Jenny felt as if she’d been trapped by some crummy trick of fate. Why now? Her eyes kept closing on her—she was that tired. The last thing she needed was a reunion or some big confrontation when she couldn’t think, or even feel.

  Maybe she had done something to him. She tried to think hard enough to come up with a terrible sin she’d committed. Nothing there. He was the one who was curt to her. He was the one who didn’t call. He was the one with that woman in town.

  Whatever happened between them wasn’t her fault. And now—between a dead body, hours in a police station, and Emily Sutton’s nuttiness—she’d had as much as a woman could take in a single day.

  She walked quietly through the house toward the kitchen, where she heard voices. Mom was there. And Alex Shipley. Then Tony’s voice. How could she talk to him in front of everyone?

  Jenny whispered a firm “shit” under her breath and stood in the doorway, looking around—from one face to the next—ending with Tony.

  They stopped talking when she walked in.

  “How’d it go?” Dora got up and hurried over to hug Jenny.

  “Bad.” Jenny wanted to stay there, with Mom’s arms around her, but Dora pulled back to point to Tony.

  “Look who’s here. We were showing Alex Tony’s new designs for Little Libraries. You’ll be interested.”

  “Not tonight,” Jenny said and skipped his face.

  “They’re wonderful.” Alex, thoroughly at home in a pair of Lisa’s pajamas, smiled. Her long hair was down and lying across her shoulders. No makeup. Beautiful.

  Perfect homecoming, Emily thought sourly.

  “You should take a look,” Alex said.

  “Not tonight,” Jenny said again. “I’m going to bed, if all of you don’t mind. Long day. My brain’s fogged. I couldn’t tell you good from bad right now.”

  She started toward the hall leading to her room.

  “Heard about what happened. Sorry for what you’ve been through.” Tony’s voice had a deeper rasp than usual.

  She stopped halfway across the kitchen. She looked directly at him. Was he talking about what he’d done to her or just the rotten day?

  “You go on to bed, dear,” Dora said, looking from Jenny to Tony.

  “I was wondering . . .” Tony was out of his chair.

  Dora put out a hand to stop him. “Maybe now’s not a good time, Tony,” Jenny said as he started toward her.

  He took Jenny’s wrist and held on.

  She looked at his hand on her and almost smiled. It felt good to have him that close. Reassuring. Or something else. She was too tired to figure it out.

  “Not now,” she whispered, looking into his eyes for something that probably wasn’t there.

  His shaggy, dark head was too close. The drawn lines on his face sent a message she had no name for. “When? I have to talk to you,” he whispered, close enough for her to feel his breath on her forehead.

  Jenny shook off his hand and hurried back toward her bedroom. There, with the door closed, she fell on her bed and was asleep in seconds.

  By the time she got up the next morning, there was no one around. A note from Dora lay on the table. It said she was having lunch with Abigail and would be home later. The note also said that Zoe had called and wanted her to call when she got up. Next was the news that Alex was going into Traverse to check with the DMV about her uncle’s car and to take care of other business. The note ended with the news that Zoe was coming to dinner later so they could all talk about what was going on and what they could do about it.

  Jenny read the note again and again, having the strangest feeling the paper had nothing to do with her. There was no one she wanted to talk to. She didn’t want to see anybody—least of all Zoe, around whom terrible things seemed to swirl. And there was no way she was going to sit through dinner while they talked as though they could change anything.

  “Tony.” She said his name aloud and supposed he would have to be faced, but not today. She had nothing left inside to deal with him right then. Disappearing sounded like a great idea. Gone. Out of there. Like jumping in a hole and pulling the earth down after her.

  * * *

  She found a lonely beach on Lake Michigan and walked barefoot, bending to examine every stone in case one was a Petoskey stone, state stone of Michigan. She walked at the very edge of the waterline, playing an old game with the lake, daring the water to get her. It always did, and made her jump as spray wet her jeans.

  Up in the grasses, she searched for fish skulls or empty clamshells—treasures she would stuff into her pocket.

  Then she went wading into the lake to rescue a solid piece of driftwood, holding the wet wood in her hands and imagining the sinking ship it came from or, more likely, the old dock broken by last winter’s waves.

  She thought about murder, hol
ding the driftwood. A middle-aged woman slaughtered in her own house. As if nothing she’d done until that moment mattered or could have changed the ending.

  She thought about reasons to kill: hatred, jealousy, money, fear . . .

  And reasons to be cruel. The way Tony had been to her.

  The air got colder. She’d brought a sweater, tied around her neck. She untied it and pushed her arms inside. When she stood to look out at the horizon, she hugged herself, searching the place where the sky and water merged. Nothing but an infinite gray. No sun. A thin dark line began to form above the lake’s outer limit. A storm coming from where most Michigan storms began, over Minnesota, or farther north, in Canada.

  From time to time she shivered, but refused to leave. There was no place to go. No better place to think.

  At first she thought of nothing. And then she thought about Zoe and her belief in reading the signs to understand your life and in a sensitive nose that smelled trouble. Zoe rolling her eyes as a piece fell into place for her and she knew—as she always emphasized with a blunt finger in the air—“You see? If I hadn’t seen that old man sitting in the park I’d never thought of Thoreau and embraced my country life here in Bear Falls.”

  Always a “See! You have to stay alert. Nothing’s either all bad or all good. Everything is a part of something else. You just have to wait to find out what that something else is.”

  She’d tried Zoe’s way all morning and come up with nothing except that she didn’t understand herself and didn’t get Tony at all. Maybe he was hiding a killer in his house and couldn’t tell her. Maybe he had a terrible disease. Maybe that woman at the Brew was a long lost sister.

  And maybe she was the Queen of England, and he knew he wasn’t good enough for her.

  She wasn’t even sure she felt anything for him. There’d been a few kisses. Nothing beyond that, though she’d been coming to think just maybe there would be a time soon when he’d lean over to kiss her and she’d look into those eyes that laughed at her so often and “that” would be “that.”

  “That” was always “that” when sex came into the picture. At least for her. Some old-fashioned ancestral belief stuck in her head like a magic kernel: sleep with the guy, marry the guy. So three men in her life. All starting here on this beach with Johnny Arlen, where she’d lost her virginity and never missed it.