Home For the Homicide (A Do-It-Yourself Mystery)

by Bentley, Jennie

  “So if one of them got pregnant, chances are your father would have been the doctor they went to. Unless they went to another town’s doctor, just so no one here would know?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Dr. Ben said, “but neither Dad nor I remember a pregnancy, or any rumors, or either Mamie or Ruth disappearing for any length of time and coming back, looking or acting different.”

  It had been a long shot anyway, the possibility that the baby skeleton in the attic was anyone other than Arthur Green.

  I thanked Dr. Ben and went back to what I was doing.

  At two o’clock, when we opened the doors, there were people literally waiting on the porch, programs clutched in their fists, waiting to get in, and for the next two hours, we weren’t alone in the house for more than a minute.

  It was overwhelming, but fun, too, and they gobbled up cookies faster than we could get them out of the oven. Derek stayed on KP duty, while I hung out at the front of the house and praised his renovating abilities and handed out Waterfield R&R business cards. (Renovation & Restoration, not Rest & Relaxation. Rest & Relaxation were what we’d need once the tour was over.)

  A lot of people had questions about Aunt Inga and what happened to her, and about the house itself, and I talked until my throat was sore, and then I talked some more.

  About halfway through the afternoon, Darren Silva showed up, and walked through the house—the downstairs, since I’d strung a ribbon across the stairs with a sign forbidding people to go up to the second floor—looking at everything with a critical eye. I guess maybe Henrietta was busy with her own open house, and had dispatched him to check out the competition, or maybe he just wanted to see how the rest of us stacked up. (If so, he didn’t have to worry. None of us came even close to the splendor of the Silva house, with the possible exception of Kate’s B&B.)

  Or maybe he wanted Derek. He disappeared into the dining room and from there into the kitchen, and stayed there awhile. I’m not sure how long, because I was busy myself and hadn’t checked what time it was when he arrived, but he and Derek had time for a nice, long chat before Darren sauntered back out with a smirk at me. I made a mental note to ask Derek later what they’d been discussing. At the moment, I had too many other things to worry about.

  The visitors kept coming until four o’clock, and then it took a while to get everyone out of the house, because of course you can’t stop someone in the middle of a sentence, in the middle of a conversation, to say, “Sorry, but I have to close up shop now.” And then there are always a few stragglers running up to the door at the last minute, begging to be let in and swearing up and down they’ll be quick. They’re usually not, although by four thirty, the house was empty of strangers, there was nothing but crumbs left of the eight dozen cookies we’d baked, and Derek and I were alone.

  He looked like he’d been through the wars when he came out of the kitchen, with his hair standing straight up and his eyes wild. He peered from side to side suspiciously, as if expecting strangers to jump up from behind the furniture and yell, “Surprise!”

  “They’re gone,” I told him, and he ventured a little farther out of the kitchen, raking his hand through his hair. That was probably how it had gotten into its current state in the first place.

  “That was crazy.”

  I nodded. “Not sure I want to do that again next year.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” Derek said.

  We walked into the living room in silence and flopped down on the sofa, side by side. And sat there, wordlessly, for long minutes, just breathing and enjoying the solitude and the silence.

  “I feel like I don’t ever want to move again,” Derek said eventually.

  “Me, either.”

  “I just want to stay right here.”

  I nodded. “Me, too.”

  We stayed there. After a few minutes I turned to him. “It went well, I think.”

  “People seemed to have a good time.”

  “They were very complimentary of the house. The decorations, too—several people asked me how I made the Chinese lantern ornaments—but especially the house. I handed out a lot of business cards. Hopefully it’ll turn into a lot of business.”

  “That’d be nice,” Derek said. “Not that I wouldn’t love to spend all my time on our own renovations, but it’s nice to spend other people’s money from time to time, too.”

  Definitely. “What did Darren want?”

  “Not sure,” Derek said, making himself comfortable against the soft pillows and propping his stocking feet on the coffee table. “Nothing in particular. He was just making small talk.”

  “He smirked at me when he left.”

  Derek turned his head on the back of the sofa to look at me. “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”

  “Positive. He smirked.”

  “Huh,” Derek said. “I don’t know why he’d do that. Your name didn’t come up in the conversation.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  He shrugged. “Just stuff. The house. The Green sisters’ house. The home tour. Mamie.”

  “The funeral is Tuesday,” I said. “Judy told me.”

  “Darren didn’t tell me. Maybe he doesn’t want us there.”

  “I don’t care whether he does or not. I found her; I’m going to the funeral.”

  “Fine with me,” Derek said with another shrug.

  Silence reigned for another minute or two.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.”

  “You feel like cooking?”

  I shook my head.

  “Takeout? Or go out?”

  “Pizza,” I said. “I want to get out of these clothes”—the Christmas dress and high heels I’d worn for the home tour—“and into something comfortable, and I don’t want to have to worry about looking good.”

  “You always look good.” He glanced down at me. “Pretty dress.”

  “Thank you.” I’d made it myself. Dark blue velvet with snowflakes and glitter on the skirt, so it looked like the snow was accumulating along the hem. Very festive, if I do say so myself.

  “Need help getting it off?”

  It slipped right over my head, so no, I didn’t. However . . . “That’d be nice.”

  “Let’s go upstairs and change,” Derek said, pushing himself out of the slothful grip of the sofa and reaching out a hand for me. “C’mon, Tink.”

  I took the hand and let him lift me to my feet. We headed up the stairs hand in hand.

  • • •

  It was an hour later by the time we left the house and got into the little green Beetle. I was out of the dress and into jeans and a comfortable sweater, and so was Derek. Comfortable, I mean; not out of the dress.

  I drove down to the cul-de-sac at the end of Bayberry Lane, Aunt Inga’s street, and turned the car around. We rolled down the hill toward downtown, picking up speed as we went. The Christmas decorations along Main Street were lit: outlines of bells and stars and anchors and ship wheels hanging from the light poles.

  As we crossed Cabot Street, I saw other lights in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t even have time to react before Derek grabbed my arm, hard. “Turn around!” If it hadn’t been for the puffy down coat and sweater, it would have hurt. And his voice was laced with panic, not something I’m used to hearing.

  “Hold on.” I took a right on the next street and then another right a block later. We ended up on the corner of Cabot and Fraser, looking around.

  The flashing blue lights were farther down, but not as far away as Dr. Ben and Cora’s house. I think we both let out a relieved sigh when we realized it.

  “Sorry,” Derek said. “I thought—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I’d thought so, too, once I’d realized what was going on.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  I shook my head. “The coat took the brunt of it. If it had been summer, it would have hurt.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem. Looks
like everything is fine at your dad’s and Cora’s house.”

  He nodded. “Drive down there to make sure anyway.”

  “Of course.” I took my foot off the brake and slid around the corner slowly.

  The closer we got, the more and more certain I became that the trouble—whatever it was—was at the Silvas’ house. Two cars with flashing blue lights—one a police cruiser and one an ambulance—were parked outside the fence, and as we got closer, we could see several dark figures exit the house. As they made their way toward us, they resolved themselves into two paramedics—the same two I had seen three nights ago when the ambulance came for Mamie. A taller shadow behind them turned out to be Wayne, his face grim.

  I slid the Beetle up to the curb on the other side of the street, and stopped.

  The paramedics were wheeling a gurney with a form on it. It was dark, and the figure on the gurney was mostly covered with a blanket, so we couldn’t make out who it was, but Darren was standing in the doorway of the house, watching, so at least it wasn’t him.

  Derek muttered a word I won’t repeat, and I nodded. “The Silvas sure are dealing with a lot these days.”

  There was movement behind Darren in the doorway, and then another tall figure, this one with a head of silver hair, slipped past Darren and down the front steps, still in the process of wrapping a coat around himself. But instead of following the paramedics—and gurney—across the yard, Henry Silva made for the garage on the right side of the property. He must plan to follow the ambulance in his own car.

  “It’s Henrietta on the gurney,” I said.

  Derek nodded. “Must be. Unless one of the guests on the tour was taken ill suddenly, and surely they would have resolved that by now.”

  At this point Wayne had noticed us sitting there, and was on his way over. I rolled down the window.

  “What are you two doing here?”

  “We were on our way out to dinner,” I explained. “Can’t face cooking after baking eight dozen cookies this morning. We saw the lights on our way down the hill.”

  “And you thought you’d see what was going on?”

  “Actually,” I said, refusing to take offense at the hint of recrimination in his tone, “we couldn’t see clearly in passing, and we were worried you might be outside Dr. Ben and Cora’s house.”

  Wayne had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry.”

  “It’s OK. We were really just driving by. If I’d realized this was the Silvas’ house, we would have just kept going.”

  Derek snorted softly, but didn’t actually contradict me. Instead, he said, “Has something happened to Henrietta?”

  “Heart attack,” Wayne said.

  “Oh, no. Is she . . .”

  “Dead” was the word I couldn’t quite bring myself to utter.

  He shook his head. “She’s hanging on. Barely. But I’m not looking forward to telling Kate about this.”

  “Why?” Not that it’s ever fun to give somebody bad news, but I hadn’t gotten the impression that Kate and Henrietta were all that close. No reason why it would be more difficult to tell Kate than it had been to tell, for instance, me.

  “She’ll blame herself,” Wayne said. “For inviting Henrietta to take part in the home tour. For letting her do too much.”

  “It was her choice, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to accept.”

  Wayne shrugged. “Kate will still blame herself.”

  “So you think the stress was too much for Henrietta’s heart? Is that what happened?”

  “Something like that,” Wayne said. “Dr. Ben is meeting the ambulance at the hospital. Her cardiologist will be coming up from Portland just as soon as he can.”

  “Is she going to make it?” Derek asked.

  “Not sure. I don’t have a lot of experience with heart attacks, but she didn’t look good. It may have been too long before anyone found her. The tour was over almost two hours ago. It was more than an hour before Mr. Silva came home, and he didn’t realize anything was wrong right away. Too much time may have passed.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Derek asked as the ambulance took off down the street, lights flashing and siren wailing. The Mercedes with Henry Silva inside pulled out of the driveway and fell in behind. I caught a glimpse of his face as he passed, and his expression was grim.

  “I don’t think so,” Wayne said. “Unless you want to keep Darren company.”

  We both glanced at the doorway, where Darren was still standing, outlined against the light. Either he was too much in shock to go inside and close the door, or he was wondering who Wayne was talking to.

  “I’ll go see if he wants company,” Derek said and opened his door. “Just wait here, Avery.”

  I nodded. I had no desire to approach Darren. I didn’t like him, and I was pretty sure he didn’t like me. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t stay if he wanted us to. He and Derek went back a long way, even if they’d never been as close as Derek and some of his other friends. But if Darren needed company, I certainly wasn’t about to refuse.

  Derek headed across the street and into the yard, and I turned back to Wayne. “Poor Mr. Silva sure has had a lot to deal with this week.”

  He nodded.

  “How did he take the news about the baby skeleton? And Mamie?”

  “The same way anyone would,” Wayne said. “Shocked. Dismayed. Upset.”

  “And of course he’s upset about Henrietta.”

  “Of course.”

  “Does he have a bad heart, too?”

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Wayne said. “The heart problems are a Silva thing. Henry takes after his mother’s family, I guess.”

  “Where was he this afternoon during the home tour? Here?”

  Wayne shook his head. “Henrietta was alone. Darren was out looking at the other houses—”

  I nodded. “He stopped by ours.”

  “And Henry has a lady friend he was visiting.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “It’s personal information,” Wayne said, “and none of your concern.”

  “Just answer me one question. Is he seeing Kerri Waldo?”

  There was a pause. And although Wayne didn’t answer, I could see the truth in his expression. “I thought I saw him there the other night,” I said apologetically. “Yesterday, when Kate and I were out walking around.”

  Wayne didn’t respond. Not to that. “Why are you so interested in where everyone was? Surely you’re not thinking that there’s anything suspicious about this? She had a weak heart.”

  “There’s just been a lot of deaths lately in the Silva family.”

  “Henrietta isn’t dead yet,” Wayne reminded me. “And Mamie and Arthur were both Greens, not Silvas. And they were accidents, Avery. Mamie froze to death and Henrietta had a heart attack. Between the skeleton and Mamie’s death and now the home tour, it’s not surprising the stress may have gotten to her.”

  Maybe not. Although Derek and I had seen Henry and Henrietta having an argument—or at least a heated discussion—at the Waymouth Tavern a few nights ago.

  Maybe Henrietta had disapproved of Henry’s relationship with Kerri? Maybe she didn’t like the age difference and thought her brother was making a fool of himself with someone so much younger? He must have twenty years on her, if not more. Kerri was closer to Darren’s age than Henry’s, and by quite a lot.

  If they’d been together during the home tour, one of them could easily have snuck out and down the street to do something to Henrietta, while the other held down the fort.

  Then again, Henrietta’s disapproval surely wasn’t enough reason for Henry to want to get rid of her. He was the one who had made her move in. He was the one holding the purse strings, too. If he wanted a relationship with Kerri, he probably wouldn’t worry overmuch about his sister’s opinion.

  It was probably as Kate said: I’d gotten so used to murders and sinister happenings that I saw them everywhere, even in perfectly harmless occu
rrences.

  I turned my head as Derek opened the passenger door again and slid in beside me. “He doesn’t want company.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine,” Derek said. “He just said he had phone calls to make, and then he was going to drive up to the hospital, too, and stay with his dad.”

  “We should go,” I told Wayne, and got a nod in response, so obviously he thought so, too. I thought about asking him to let us know if she pulled through, but I caught Derek’s eye and realized it would be just as easy to call Dr. Ben and ask him. That way I wouldn’t have to deal with Wayne telling me not to butt in where I didn’t belong.

  So we wished Wayne well and rolled off down the street. Dr. Ben’s car was already gone from outside the Folk Victorian, so he must be on his way to the hospital. Wayne overtook us after a couple of blocks and zipped past us and around the corner, lights flashing but no siren.

  “Still hungry?” Derek asked into the silence.

  “I could eat.” Although the thought of Guido’s Pizzeria, with its hustle and bustle, had lost some of its appeal.

  Derek must feel the same way, because he said, “D’you just wanna grab something quick somewhere nearby? I’m not sure I’m up for a lot of people right now.”

  “That’s fine with me.” The question was where to go. Waterfield rolls up the sidewalks pretty early, especially on a Sunday night.

  “The cafés on Main Street usually stay open late the day of the Christmas Tour,” Derek said, reading my mind again. “Maybe we can grab a couple of roast beef sandwiches or something.”

  Roast beef sandwiches sounded great. I made another turn, and we were on our way back toward Main Street. Downtown was mostly quiet now, when the home tour was over and done. Just a few people walked the sidewalks. The greenery strung across the street swayed gently above us as we drove, and the seahorses and anchors lit our way.

  We ended up in a little café and ate our sandwiches right there, on opposite sides of a little marble-topped table. Neither of us said much. There wasn’t much to say.