She Stopped for Death

by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli

  Zoe shook her head. “I just need to know for sure.”

  Myrtle’s face was set. She walked toward Zoe, drying her hands on her apron, rubber-soled shoes sticking to the tiles.

  Myrtle stopped and spread her feet wide. “You know how your Emily was at that meeting Abigail had?” She finally asked. “Everybody in town knows about it. She went there half naked, like she’d make a big impression that way. Same thing back at the hospital. She had a hard time keeping her clothes on there, too. She said men liked her to do that.” She shook her head. “They didn’t.”

  “Wait a minute,” Zoe put up a hand. “First of all, she’s not ‘my Emily.’ Second, it wasn’t Emily in the hospital with you. It was Lorna Sutton.”

  Myrtle shook her head. “You saw the picture. I never said it was the other one. That’s me and Emily Sutton. Not the sister. Nose in the air, like she was better than the rest of us.”

  Zoe didn’t dare argue.

  “You want proof?” She poked deep into her apron pocket again. “Here, you talk to this lady. She was one of our nurses.”

  Zoe took the envelope Myrtle held out; it was the size of a Christmas card, with a candy cane–shaped stamp. It was addressed to “Myrtle Lambert, 221 Pine Street, Bear Falls, Michigan.” The return address, written with a fine pen point, read “Constance Proust, 89 Fortune, Fife Lake, Michigan.”

  “Remember what I told you about her? She was always good to me. Nurse Proust. Didn’t like Emily any better than I did. Call Nurse Proust. She’ll tell you what kind of human being Emily Sutton is.”

  Chapter 21

  Bear Falls was quiet—not many cars out yet. It was Friday, a day when people were usually shopping, but maybe it was still too early. Zoe had already dropped off Emily’s groceries—quite a lot for one person, but you never knew about people—and she was leaving almost enough money now. Zoe suspected that maybe Emily was into stockpiling food like a lot of people in the north. Supplies for the apocalypse or when the big one dropped. Or, in Emily’s case, when she ran out of people to shop for her.

  Zoe left the bags on the porch and got out of there, no longer worried if the food would rot. Days were cooler now anyway. And the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Emily. The last few times had been about nothing but the opera house event: high drama and demands for things she would need—otherwise, of course, she couldn’t possibly be there.

  Zoe knew a blackmailer when she met one and was having trouble keeping a smile on her face around Emily Sutton.

  Zoe wanted to check in with Ed Warner that morning. After that, she planned to go into Traverse City and drive by Althea’s house again. Then maybe over to the old hospital. She was convinced Myrtle had it wrong about Emily. From everything Zoe had heard so far, it didn’t seem possible Emily was the one who got put away, but she didn’t want to open her mouth asking questions that would start more gossip.

  At the station, the chief was happy to see her. He offered her a chair at the other side of his desk and asked how her writing was going, how plans for the opera house were proceeding, then ground to a halt and sat waiting for her to talk, hands folded across his stomach.

  “I was wondering if you had any suspects yet.”

  “You mean Althea Sutton’s murder, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Talked to Detective Minty just an hour ago. They got info on the blood samples from the garage. Two different blood types. Waiting on DNA. He’s hoping for that. They’ve picked up a few guys with B&E records. Some drug dealers. A couple of alcoholics who can never find their own house when they’ve been drinking—over and over, those poor guys end up pounding on a neighbor’s door, demanding to be let in. Officer Minty had the idea maybe one of them got in and scared her, then decided to ransack the place while he was there. Couple of homeless guys—looked at them, too. That’s about all for now.”

  “I thought he said it had to be someone she knew?”

  Ed shrugged. “You have to look at a lot of people, Miss Zola. We’ll get him. We always do. Not many unsolved murders up here. Most are relatives, drunk and getting into a fight. Some are husbands killing their wives, and everybody knows why. Or wives killing their husbands—and everybody knows why. Sometimes it’s a kid with a gun that should have been locked away. Not many killed the way Miss Sutton was killed though. We’ll get him. Unless he was from down below. Like a hit man. Can’t imagine that’s the case up here, but you never know.”

  “Remember when you came over after you went through Chief Arnow’s file on the Sutton house fire?”

  He leaned back, sniffed, then nodded. “What about it?”

  “You said you had questions the chief couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.”

  Ed nodded.

  “If he thought the fire was arson, did he say who he thought did it?”

  “Nobody was named in the file.”

  “Who do you think could have done it?”

  “You’re asking me to speculate about something going back a lot of years. Something I don’t know anything about. Must’ve been about sixteen then.”

  “But if you had to take a guess. Would you say it was one of the girls?”

  “You mean Emily or her sister?”

  Zoe nodded.

  “I’d say that’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”

  “Didn’t Lorna go away right after the fire?”

  “If she did, I wasn’t aware of it. Like I said, I was a kid then.”

  Zoe didn’t like what she was feeling and didn’t like that she was saying things behind Emily’s back. She stood and told Ed she just remembered another place she had to be and hurried out of the station.

  She called Jenny before heading for Traverse City.

  “Sorry,” was the first word out of Jenny’s mouth. “I was just going to call you. Got time to grab lunch? Abigail called. She wants to make sure the two of us will supervise Emily the night of the opera house event. She’s afraid her secretary doesn’t have the backbone to stand up to her. Remember the committee meeting?”

  “Does she mean dress her?”

  “Something like that. At least not to let her out of the house without a bra. I’m to stick a small sized one in my purse in case Emily doesn’t have any.”

  “Ooh. That’s sounds like fun,” Zoe said. “You hold her down, and I’ll snap the thing around her.”

  “And she wants us to look over what she’s going to read that night. If it’s very, very bad, or even horrid, Abigail wants to make sure she reads only her old work.”

  “People were promised new poetry. That won’t go over very well.”

  “What else can we do, Zoe? Abigail is having fits. She can’t cancel and doesn’t trust Emily as far as she can throw her. That’s what she said.”

  They agreed that they were the only ones close enough to Emily to watch out for her.

  “Will we be taking her to town?” Zoe asked.

  “She didn’t say. I think there’s some arrangement that’s already been made to pick her up.”

  “So, guess we’re on for lunch then. I’ve got some things I have to tell somebody before I burst wide open. Makes me feel like a terrible gossip, but I don’t know what’s true and what’s not true anymore. Remember that picture I showed you? The one Myrtle says is her while she was in the state hospital?”

  “Her and Lorna Sutton. I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, now she’s saying something else. I don’t know if I believe her.”

  “Lunch is okay. But not the Brew.”

  “Yeah, the ghost of a past girlfriend might still be haunting the place.”

  “You stop it right now,” Jenny laughed.

  “Got it. But you two seem to have made up. I hope he had a good excuse for that ugly girl with him.”

  “She wasn’t ugly. She was great looking.”

  “I know. Just wanted to cement our friendship. So you aren’t going to tell me what happened?”

  “Someday, Zoe. Right now it feels goo
d to be happy.”

  “Just tell me if I guess right: long lost sister? Old kindergarten friend? A buddy from the police force in Detroit? A nurse from when he got shot. I’ll bet that’s who she was.”

  “Zoe! You cut it out. I’m happy with things the way they are.”

  “Sure thing, Jenny. Now, what about lunch?”

  * * *

  Since Zoe was driving, she decided they would start at the old hospital. She was curious to see the buildings for herself. She’d read all she could find on the Internet, but nothing took the place of being there.

  From Division Street, she turned at the triangular fieldstone marker, following a line of cars that were turning before what was known as Building 50, an imposing structure lost among the trees.

  Zoe drove slowly, looking at the buildings, many left as they were, windows empty though the grounds were well mowed. The buildings that were still abandoned, with windows broken in and paint peeling from the walls, looked sad, unoccupied, worn. Some of the windows were still covered with the old wire mesh.

  “Imagine being confined here for years.”

  “I can’t,” Jenny said. “I can’t imagine children being kept here.”

  “From what I found, it was because their families said they couldn’t control them. Some were dyslexic, can you imagine? Epileptic, too.”

  “That’s crazy. Inhumane.”

  “They didn’t know what those things were back then.” Zoe drove past a building with a squat dome on the top.

  “Kids.” Jenny said the word under her breath while looking at the institutional buildings they passed. She blinked her eyes and shook her head. She blinked and shook her head. “I can’t imagine sending my kid to a place like this.”

  “Myrtle gave me the name of a nurse she liked when she was in there.”

  “Did you call her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe we should. Just to check on what Emily told us. That’s a serious charge, that Lorna set the fire on purpose and killed their mother.”

  “I know.” Zoe was slow to bring out the rest. “But that’s not even the worst of it.”

  “What now?”

  “Myrtle swears the woman she was confined with wasn’t Lorna Sutton at all.”

  “Well? What’s all this about then?” Jenny waved her hand toward the hospital buildings. “Why are we here?”

  “Myrtle swears it was Emily.”

  Jenny didn’t say a word. She stared out the window, thinking hard.

  She finally turned to Zoe. “Do you believe her?” Jenny asked.

  Zoe shrugged. “I hate to think it. That would mean it was likely Emily who set that fire. And Emily’s the only one who says Lorna and Walter ran away together. Emily’s the only one who was still in touch with Althea.”

  “You can’t blame Althea’s death on her,” Jenny said. “She doesn’t drive. How would she have gotten to Traverse City and back?”

  With too many things to think about, they stopped talking. After a while, Jenny offered to contact the nurse if that would take some of what was happening from Zoe’s shoulders.

  It was agreed. Zoe would keep on delivering groceries. Jenny would contact the nurse and ask her which Sutton woman had been confined with Myrtle Lambert.

  After the hospital, they drove by Althea’s house again. There was something, Zoe said, that she still wondered about. Back in front of the little ranch house, Zoe pulled to the curb. The grass was tall—the gardener wasn’t getting paid anymore.

  “You think anybody will buy it?” Jenny asked, looking at the ordinary little house. “I mean, with the history of murder?”

  “Probably Emily owns it, if she’s the only family left. Maybe she’ll move here. You think?”

  Jenny laughed at the hope in Zoe’s voice. “And leave a musty old house at the edge of a swamp? Would you?”

  Zoe’s face fell. “I guess not.”

  Next door to the house, the same neighbor was out in her gardening hat and gloves. The woman stood with her back to them, watering her grass again.

  “I’m going to ask her something,” Jenny said.

  Zoe pulled to the curb and Jenny was out of the car, heading toward the woman.

  She stood talking to the woman for about five minutes before turning back to the car and hurrying across the lawn.

  “What she’d say?” Zoe asked. “Anything new?”

  Jenny shrugged, thinking. “I was wondering about that car she saw in Althea’s drive. I never asked her what color it was.”

  “What’d she say?” Zoe knew something was coming. She could feel it right down to her toes.

  “She said it was red.”

  “A Saturn?”

  “That’s all she knows: red.”

  “Did she tell Detective Minty?”

  “Said she did.” Jenny looked hard at Zoe. “Minty probably won’t think anything of it.”

  Zoe nodded. “But we do, don’t we? We know a lot of things.”

  “Maybe we should go home first,” Jenny said. “Let’s talk about it on the way. Then you go talk to Ed, and I’ll call Myrtle’s nurse.”

  “And then what?” Zoe was almost afraid to ask.

  “Maybe we’ll have to visit Abigail. She should be warned that the problems with Emily might be a lot worse than we thought.”

  “What about lunch?” Zoe groaned.

  “Later,” Jenny said.

  “Too much later and I’ll be dead.”

  Zoe wasn’t happy.

  Chapter 22

  Ed Warner was just going inside the police station when Zoe pulled up for the second time that day. He stopped where he stood. He narrowed his eyes to see who was calling his name.

  “Come on in, Miss Zola,” he invited.

  He called over to Edna Mark, the older woman manning the phones, who waved to Zoe as they went by her, back to Ed’s office.

  The first thing he asked was how everything was going with Abigail’s event. “Town’s sure buzzing. Hope it’s a big success for Abigail. I’ll tell you something, Miss Zola, that woman’s been through a lot. I sure hope the town council agrees to take that statue of her old man down. She wants it bad, and if you ask me, she’s got it coming to her. Everybody knows the history of that family. You don’t keep that kind of meanness under a bushel for long.” He shook his head. “Look what all that catting around and treating people like dirt did for Joshua Cane. Money doesn’t change character, does it? I plan to be there, clapping the loudest when they bring old Joshua down. Now.” He leaned back in his chair, head lolling off to the left. “What can I do for you?”

  Zoe took a deep breath. “It’s about Althea Sutton’s murder. Ever since I found the poor woman I can’t get her out of my mind.”

  “Understandable, considering the shape she was in.”

  “Is there anything new?”

  Ed thought awhile, sitting up very straight in his chair. Finally, he said, “To be honest, Miss Zola. There isn’t much.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure. Go ahead. I’ll do my best to answer.”

  “A neighbor of Althea’s told us about a car parked in her drive a couple of times. I suppose it could be anything from an insurance agent to a friend of hers.”

  He nodded. “Detective Minty mentioned it, but with no make or model, no license plate, it’s pretty hard to put out a BOLO. None of her friends from church had any idea who it could be. Not one of them. Her bird watching group never got together except out in the woods somewhere. Couldn’t remember who drove what kind of car.”

  “Jenny and I stopped back to talk to that neighbor of Althea’s. She remembered the color. Red.”

  He shrugged. “A lot of red cars in Michigan.”

  “Do you remember when Alex Shipley was picked up on Emily’s property, looking in those out buildings?”

  He nodded, waiting for more.

  “Do you remember what she was looking for?”

  “A car. Thought she found one in t
hat old garage.”

  “Do you remember the color of the car she was looking for?”

  He thought a while, then he smiled at Zoe. “Sure. Red.”

  “A red car. Her Uncle Walter’s car. The car he loved. And he’s been gone now three years. Along with his red car. A red Saturn.”

  Ed stared down at his desk, then shook his head. “Still, as I say, Miss Zola, a lot of red cars in Michigan. No knowing if the covered car in Emily Sutton’s garage is the same one you’re talking about.”

  “But what if it is? What if it’s a red Saturn?”

  “Nothing I can do about it. Without probable cause, no judge is going to give me a search warrant. And I’m not taking it on myself to go over there and get caught trespassing.”

  Zoe lowered her head, wondering how to go after this from another way.

  “Remember what you told us about that fire?” she said.

  “At the Sutton house?”

  She nodded. “Were they sure it was Lorna who set it?”

  “Lorna’s the one went off to the mental hospital, far as the old chief knew.”

  “Myrtle was in that hospital at the same time. She says she was in there with Emily Sutton.”

  “Now, Miss Zola. She may be a lot of things, our lady poetess. I heard she was half naked over there at that meeting at the Cane’s house. Everybody’s just putting that down to poets being half cracked anyway.” His face reddened. “Present company excepted, of course.”

  Zoe frowned hard at him. “I may be half cracked, but I’m not a poet.”

  “And,” he went on, “you know how much we all like Myrtle. Salt of the earth. But I’ve got a feeling she came up with this new story after Emily Sutton got talked about so much. I wouldn’t take what she says now too seriously. Fine woman. We all know her story. But . . .” He shook his head. “No sense adding to the fire with a lot of dead birch—if you know what I mean.”

  Zoe got up and walked to the door, where she turned, thought better of asking another question, and left.

  * * *