Clause & Effect

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “Maybe it wasn’t Elise’s husband Grace took up with.”

  “If it had been mine, I’d have let her have him, the no-good louse.”

  “Do you think it’s likely Grace made a play for Elise’s husband?”

  More relaxed now, Judy resumed her place at the table. “Let’s just say she liked to be the focus of attention of every male in her vicinity, and she showed a special interest in the ones she thought could help her career.”

  “As a playwright? I understand she talked about moving to the City.”

  “It costs money to live in the Big Apple, and I can’t see Grace being content to starve in a garret. Maybe what she was really after was a patron, but the pickings were pretty slim in Lenape Hollow. Besides, she wasn’t nearly as irresistible as she thought she was.” She chuckled. “She tried to vamp Tony Welby at one of the rehearsals. He was still teaching at the high school back then, but he was about to launch his political career, and he was married. He shut her down hard and fast, and before at least a dozen witnesses. She didn’t like that experience one little bit.”

  I added the mayor to my mental list of people to interview. I’d completely forgotten that he was once Grace’s guidance counselor, and that he’d written a recommendation for her when she applied for the job of writing the pageant.

  “Do you really think Elise could have killed Grace?” Judy’s skepticism was obvious.

  “After what Gilbert Baxter told me, I thought it was possible, but then Sunny Feldman described her as a small woman, someone lacking the physical strength to murder a big girl like Grace, let alone stuff her body up a chimney.”

  “That’s true,” Judy agreed. “A good puff of wind would have blown Elise away, but I guess I can understand why Gil tried to cast suspicion on her. She isn’t around to contradict him, being dead and all.”

  The suggestive undertone in her voice was impossible to miss. I sat a little farther forward in my chair. “Why would Baxter want to steer me toward anyone?”

  “Well,” she said, “as I remember it, Gilbert Baxter was not one of the ones inclined to resist when Grace batted her eyelashes. They were dating while Grace was working on the script.” Once again, she resorted to air quotes, just in case I wasn’t clever enough to recognize a euphemism when I heard one.

  Funny how Gilbert Baxter had left out that trifling detail.

  When Judy insisted she knew no more and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, elaborate on Baxter’s relationship with Grace, I shifted my focus to the other purpose behind my meeting with her. Sadly, my attempt to bring about a reconciliation between the two sisters never got off the ground. Every time I mentioned Darlene’s name, Judy changed the subject.

  Chapter 25

  Sunday morning, the day after my trip to Monticello to talk to Judy, I got off to a slow start. I toasted a second bagel, topped off my coffee, and returned to the dinette table to contemplate, bleary-eyed, the list I’d made the night before. It was a long one: all the people I hadn’t yet asked about their memories of Grace Yarrow.

  “Why do I even care?” I asked Calpurnia.

  For once, she looked interested, but maybe that was just because there were still a few tiny bits of scrambled egg on my plate. She hopped into my lap, nose twitching.

  “The murder of Grace Yarrow took place a long time ago. The police probably consider it a cold case, something to work on when they have extra time, but not a priority. Still, it’s their job to solve the crime, not mine.”

  Calpurnia edged closer to the food. One paw came up to forage. Rather than let her climb onto the table, I put the nearly empty plate on the floor for her. I know. I shouldn’t encourage her. So sue me.

  While she cleaned up every trace of my breakfast, I continued to ponder what it was that motivated me to poke my nose into something that was really none of my business. True, I’d seen Grace’s remains up close and personal and wanted her killer found and punished for what had been done to her, but I’d never met the woman. Given what I’d learned about her, I doubt I’d have liked her. Was I on a quest to right an old wrong or was this just some sort of intellectual exercise?

  No one deserved what had happened to Grace, I told myself, and I was in a unique position with regard to those who had known her before her death. No matter why I was pursuing this, the fact that these people would talk to me, more or less willingly, and tell me things the police might not think to ask about, seemed sufficient reason to keep asking questions. With only moderate effort on my part, I had a good chance of stumbling upon something relevant to the investigation.

  “Naturally,” I said aloud, “if keeping my eyes and ears open and asking a few questions produces tangible results, I will at once share what I learn with Detective Hazlett.”

  Calpurnia, having polished off my leftovers, responded to this virtuous statement of intent with a yawn.

  “Am I boring you?”

  As if in answer, she flipped her tail at me and walked away.

  Snooping aside, I had plenty to keep me busy that day, activities with no connection to Grace or the historical society. I spent the next six hours working on clients’ manuscripts. After those were done, I tackled the boxes stored in the attic. I wouldn’t be able to start redecorating until I’d gone through them.

  The first carton I opened was labeled “pictures of the kid” and contained old photographs. My father took an extraordinary number of photos of me while I was growing up. Since I have no children of my own to inherit them, I gave serious consideration to tossing the lot. I didn’t know why I’d saved them in the first place. I’d just never been able to bring myself to throw them away.

  Once I started sorting, I discovered one reason why it was helpful to hang on to such mementos. Quite a few of the photographs showed portions of my house as it had been during my childhood. I even found a copy of the Christmas card I’d remembered, the one that showed me sitting in front of the hearth with my Christmas stocking hanging from the mantel behind me.

  I stared at that posed shot for a long while, thinking that maybe I should have the fireplace opened up again. It would be nice to sit by a crackling fire on a cold winter’s evening. I made a mental note to have another talk with John Chen.

  Another picture showed a group of neighborhood children. We stood in the driveway, before the boards from the old barn had been repurposed to build the garage. Behind my head, I could just see the section of trelliswork that covered the gap between the floor of the front porch and the ground. Part of the basement wall showed as well. I frowned, trying to call up another elusive memory. There was something about those lightweight crisscrossed pieces of wood . . .

  All at once, I remembered, and the memory brought a smile to my lips. One section of the skirting pulled out to give access to the area beneath the porch. I recalled how dark and dirty it had been under there, smelling of damp earth and infested with bugs and spiders. At age six or so, I’d thought it was the best hiding place in the whole wide world.

  The second box I opened contained more recent memorabilia—yearbooks from my teaching career. These, I promised myself, I would get rid of. I could do without seeing pictures of myself as I slowly grew older. Avoiding the “teachers” section, I flipped through a few, looking at group photos of former students. I recognized very few faces. Even in the most recent years, it was a struggle to identify anyone.

  Once I’d put everything back in the box, I sealed it with strapping tape. If I couldn’t recall the names of young people from as little as ten years ago, students I’d seen day in and day out throughout an entire school year, how could I expect members of the historical society to have clear memories of events and people from a quarter of a century in the past? If they remembered anything at all, they were likely to confuse the details. I’d already seen proof of that in the stories I’d heard so far. They hadn’t contained too many outright contradictions, but not everyone had remembered events the same way.

  An hour later I went back downstairs. For all my
doubts, I remained committed to learning all I could about Grace Yarrow’s stint as pageant writer and director. The only way to gain a true picture of the past was to continue asking questions of everyone who had been around at the time. The memories were there. They just needed jogging. When I had accumulated enough recollections, I should be able to reconcile the details, weeding out individual biases along the way. Although the effort might ultimately prove to be a waste of time, it could just as easily lead to the discovery of significant information about Grace’s murder.

  That I’d found some old student newspapers in the boxes in the attic inspired a better excuse to use going forward. I intended to say I was writing an article about the bicentennial. That would give me a logical reason to question people who’d known Grace. With that cover story, I should be able to persuade everyone from the mayor to the boys on the stage crew to talk to me. I might even be able to convince Gilbert Baxter to answer more of my questions.

  At best, my subjects would take advantage of the opportunity to reminisce. At worst, they’d humor the annoying old lady with too much time on her hands and cooperate just to get rid of me.

  Chapter 26

  Bright and early the next day, I drove to the municipal building. I didn’t think Tony Welby would be too busy to see me. The only question was whether or not he’d be in his office. Lenape Hollow isn’t big enough to need a full-time mayor.

  The town clerk and other office help have a large work area. The mayor occupies a space not much bigger than my walk-in closet. Granted, I have a large walk-in closet, but I expected the person in charge to have better accommodations.

  He smiled at my bemused expression, once again showing off the large, slightly crooked front tooth I’d noticed when we met at Ronnie’s house. “I have a reputation to maintain,” he joked. “I got this job on the promise I’d pinch pennies. My first act as mayor was to move in here and rent out the original mayor’s office to the State Gaming Commission. They turned it into a Lottery Prize Claim Center. Win-win, as they say. Win-win.”

  I squeezed myself into the miniscule office and took a seat in the single chair facing his cluttered desk. Although the mayor wasn’t a large man, he gave the impression of being the biggest thing in the room. He regarded me with expectant curiosity.

  “What can I do for you? Mikki, isn’t it? What can I do for you, Mikki?”

  I wondered if Welby knew he had a habit of repeating part of what he’d just said. I’d noticed him doing the same thing the first time we met.

  Pasting a smile on my face, I lied through my teeth. “I’m writing an article on spec about the quasquibicentennial, a sidebar to coverage of the event. The big day is coming up fast now. Less than two weeks away. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to share some of your reminiscences about the first pageant and the other events the historical society sponsored twenty-five years ago. I understand you were a teacher at the high school back then.”

  He nodded amiably and leaned back in his chair. “Teacher and part-time guidance counselor. Guidance—what a thankless job! I don’t know where I found the energy to volunteer for so many worthy causes, too.”

  I interrupted before he could find a phrase to repeat. “We were all a lot younger a quarter of a century ago.”

  “Isn’t that the truth! Well, I don’t know that I remember a great many details. It’s all a bit of a blur in hindsight. A bit of a blur.”

  “You didn’t have a role in the pageant, but I gather you went to some of the rehearsals.”

  “Well, yes. I put in an appearance. I was running for office, and of course I wanted to see how my protégé was doing. You’ve heard, no doubt, that I supported hiring young Grace Yarrow to write the script. Grace Yarrow.” He shook his head, a forlorn look on his face. “Such a shame what happened to her.”

  “I had heard.” I’d been wondering how to broach the subject and was relieved he’d introduced it himself. “Did she show promise as a writer when she was your student?”

  He waggled one hand from side to side. “She was only so-so at everything she did. To be honest, I helped her more because I felt sorry for her than because she had any real talent. The poor kid needed someone to give her a break. Her parents divorced and when they both left town, she moved in with an aunt so she could finish school here in Lenape Hollow. The aunt was more interested in her own social life than in looking after her niece. It was no surprise when the girl ran wild. Ran wild,” he repeated, shaking his head.

  “Is she still living?”

  “The aunt? No. She died a few years ago. Years.”

  Another dead end.

  “If you went to bat for her, Grace must have had some ability to string words together.” It made no sense that he’d recommend a complete amateur. “Wasn’t the pageant intended to be the centerpiece of the bicentennial?”

  “The parade was the big attraction,” he corrected me, “and Grace was adequate for the task. Not that she was there to see it through. Still, the script she wrote was produced and people seemed to enjoy it. My wife and I were in the audience.” He nodded as if to himself. “Yes, people seemed to enjoy it.”

  “Did you believe at the time that Grace had run off to pursue a career on Broadway?”

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t give it much thought. I suppose you’ve already heard there were . . . conflicts toward the end. Frankly, everyone breathed a sigh of relief when she left. Ronnie took over as director and the whole thing came off without a hitch. Without—”

  “Ronnie North directed the pageant?” There was another little detail no one had bothered to mention to me.

  “She was Ronnie Henniker then, but yes, she did. Yes, she did.”

  I couldn’t help myself. For about thirty seconds I seriously considered the possibility that Ronnie had killed Grace so that she could take her place. Then I came to my senses. Ronnie liked to be the center of attention, but she’d been on the board back then, just as she was now. If she’d wanted to replace Grace as director of the pageant, she could easily have done so without the use of violence.

  “Ronnie North,” Mayor Welby repeated. “Remarkable woman.”

  “Good thing she never took it into her head to run for your job,” I quipped.

  His laugh had a hollow sound. “True. True. Now, then, what else can I tell you? I’m afraid I don’t recall any particular anecdotes. You’re looking for colorful stories, I assume, to capture your readers’ interest.”

  I stared at him in confusion. I’d gotten so caught up in thinking about Ronnie and Grace that I’d momentarily forgotten the excuse I’d given him for asking questions in the first place. There was a little too much enthusiasm in my voice when I blurted, “Exactly. Exactly.”

  Damn. Now I was repeating myself! The habit was infectious. I hoped he didn’t think I was mocking him, but he appeared to be oblivious to his own verbal quirk.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if his constant repetition of words and phrases had so annoyed his constituents that it eventually cancelled out the force of his personality. Welby had an abundance of charisma, but he’d never been elected to any office higher than state legislator. Then again, maybe he’d decided that being a big fish in a small pond was a better gig. I didn’t ask. I was only interested in his life at the time he first threw his hat into the ring.

  “If you don’t mind,” I said hesitantly, “there is one other thing I’m curious about. This isn’t for the article.”

  “Yes?”

  His eyelids had dipped to half-mast. A fringe of lashes long enough to make any woman envious prevented me from seeing the expression in his eyes, but I sensed a certain wariness in that one-word question.

  “I don’t mean to embarrass you, but someone mentioned that you quarreled with Grace a day or two before she disappeared.”

  “Curious?” he repeated. “No, I think the term you’re looking for is out-of-line. Yes. Out-of-line. You’ve no call to be questioning me about an incident I’d just as soon forget.”

>   “I’ve heard one version of the exchange. I’d like to hear yours.”

  He glowered at me for a long moment before abruptly relenting. “I overreacted to something Grace said.” He shrugged. “It was an overreaction. That’s all it was.”

  “Was she . . . flirting with you?”

  His jaw tensed. “I don’t know what she was up to, but her comments were inappropriate and since the entire cast of the pageant was in earshot, I was not about to laugh them off. There must have been at least twenty people present and Grace not only crossed a verbal line, she rubbed herself against me in a suggestive manner. At that, I’m afraid I lost my temper. I told her what I thought of such behavior in no uncertain terms, after which she apologized and said she’d only been teasing. I accepted her apology, and that was that. That was that.”

  “She’d never tried anything similar before that day?”

  “With me? Of course not.”

  “But you’d known her for some time, when she was a student?”

  He made a pyramid of his hands and stared at it while he spoke. “My duties as a guidance counselor were limited to helping students choose a college. It would have been inappropriate for me to inquire into Grace’s behavior, but I couldn’t help but hear the rumors. She had an active sex life, even before she graduated from high school. Even before.” He shook his head as if he found that difficult to believe. “I attributed her recklessness to low self-esteem.”

  “Someone told me she liked older men, especially if she thought they could help advance her career.”

  “Well, that’s blunt!”

  “Her . . . habits didn’t make you hesitate to recommend her to the board of the historical society?”

  “My intent was to assist a former student in achieving her career goal. Her personal life was none of my business. I can’t say I was surprised when she left so suddenly, but like everyone else, I assumed a better opportunity had come along. I was embarrassed when she left people in the lurch. I apologized profusely at the time. Profusely.”