It was a more recent photograph than the one she’d found online and looked even more like the man she knew as Homer Crane, although he still had hair in this shot. The odd little dip at the end of his nose was clearly visible.
“That’s him. The man who bought the old funeral home. I talked to him in bright sunlight in front of the post office, standing as close to him as you and I are now. I’m certain of the identification.”
“So were Dolores Mayfield and Julie Simpson. Okay, then.”
“That’s a picture of Lowell Danby, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Tandy nodded toward the door she’d just locked. “Shall we go back inside? I’d like to hear how you think things went down.”
Over Gordon’s shoulder, Liss saw Dan’s truck pull into their driveway. “We’ll have to talk at the house. You’re welcome to stay to supper if you like.” Without waiting for an answer, she descended from the porch and crossed the street, leaving Gordon to follow.
He wasn’t happy about the change of venue, or about Dan’s presence, but knew better than to argue. He and Dan discussed the University of Maine Black Bears’ performance in the Hockey East Tournament—must-see mid-March TV for most of the men Liss knew—while she fed the cats and then quickly assembled an eye round roast, potatoes, carrots, and an onion in her old reliable black enamel pan and stuck it in a 350 degree oven to roast for an hour. That, she hoped, would be long enough for Gordon to finish grilling her.
Accompanied by Lumpkin, Glenora having already deserted her for Dan’s lap, Liss rejoined the two men. She brought one of her lined yellow tablets with her and handed it over to the state police officer ensconced in her living room. It had come with her from the Emporium in her tote bag. The top five pages were filled with her scribbled notes on the case.
“I’ve listed events chronologically,” she said, referring to the writing on the top sheet.
“Lowell Danby in same prison as Blackie O’Hare,” Gordon read aloud. “Hears story of Blackie’s buried treasure.” He shot Liss a skeptical look.
“Keep going.” She didn’t blame him for having doubts, but her theory made sense to her. If it wasn’t right on the money, it wasn’t far off. She sat on the sofa next to Dan and Glenora and scooped Lumpkin up to hug. For once, the big Maine Coon cat didn’t fight her show of affection. He seemed to sense that she needed the comfort of holding and stroking him.
“Danby later in prison in Maine with Ned Boyd,” Gordon read. “Learns Ned from same town Blackie mentioned and pumps him for information.”
“Why else would Danby have come here?” Liss asked. “Changing his name, buying that house—all that took time and careful planning. What he didn’t count on was Ned getting out of jail early.”
“Ned sees ‘Homer Crane’ in Moosetookalook and recognizes him as Lowell Danby,” Gordon read. “Demands cash to keep quiet about what he knows.”
“The money had to come from somewhere,” Liss reminded him. “You haven’t found any other source, have you?”
Instead of answering, Gordon asked a question of his own. “How did Ned come to see Danby? He was keeping a pretty low profile of his own. We’ve only found one person who saw him here in Moosetookalook.”
“Where?”
“Out near Hilary Snipes’s trailer, and that was only a possible sighting. The point is, if Ned didn’t want to be recognized, it would have been stupid of him to come into the center of town, even in a car. That being so, how did he run into Danby?”
“He must have seen him out at the Chadwick mansion. In fact, that makes even better sense.” Liss had considered the possibility already and didn’t lose any time expanding on it. “Maybe he caught Danby picking the lock to get in, or actually found him inside the place. Danby probably never figured out that Ned was living there.” She remembered again what Boxer had said about the unlocked kitchen door and once more thanked God that Ned’s son had not crossed paths with Lowell Danby when he was out at the mansion all alone.
Gordon, however, didn’t look convinced. He went on to the next item on the list. “Danby and Ned quarrel and Danby stabs Ned.” Gordon cocked a brow at her. “Only one problem, Liss. We didn’t find Lowell Danby’s fingerprints at the scene.”
“He’s a career criminal. Maybe he was smart enough to wear gloves.”
“Smart isn’t usually part of his MO. He’s spent most of his adult life in jail.”
“His conviction was overturned in Massachusetts.”
“On a technicality. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t guilty. And it doesn’t mean he was clever, just that he was lucky enough to have a good lawyer.”
“Why are you being so stubborn about this? You know he’s a better suspect than Hilary is.”
“No, I don’t know that at all.”
Liss found his tone condescending. Annoyed, she clutched Lumpkin too tightly and got a kick in the solar plexus for her trouble. As the big yellow cat took off at full speed for parts unknown, Liss was left trying to catch her breath. The moment she recovered enough to do more than sputter indignantly, she fully intended to give Gordon a piece of her mind, starting with the words pigheaded and narrow-minded, but when she looked his way again, something in his posture had changed. She realized that he’d just read the last entry in her chronology.
“Danby doesn’t try to hide the body because leaving Ned as he fell feeds his obsession with blood and gore. Where did you get an idea like that?”
“From Julie Simpson. The postmaster. She saw the contents of one of the packages he got. It was full of pictures, and the top one was a ghastly image of dead bodies, with lots of blood showing. He invented some foolishness about being an illustrator for graphic novels. You know—comic books. But that never quite sounded right to me.”
“You haven’t seen many graphic novels lately, have you?” Gordon muttered under his breath. In a louder voice, he asked, “How much did you see when you found Ned’s body?”
“More than I wanted to.”
“Do you need to get into that?” Dan interrupted. Dislodging Glenora, he reached for Liss’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay.” Liss squeezed back and kept hold of his hand even as her attention returned to Gordon. “That afternoon is kind of a blur.”
Were there details she’d missed? Details she really did not want to know about? Liss swallowed hard.
“Can you take me through what you do remember one more time?” Gordon asked.
“Tandy,” Dan warned in a low, threatening voice.
Liss let go of her husband to rub her temples with both hands. She closed her eyes.
“The only light in the parlor was the one I’d rigged up—that spooky greenish glow. It made everything look unreal which, since it was Halloween, was the whole idea. I saw what I thought was one of the manikins from the dining room scene lying on the sofa. I was ticked off that someone had been messing with my set pieces and upset because the skeleton that was supposed to be there was nowhere in sight. I noticed the wound in Ned’s neck, although I didn’t yet realize that it was Ned, or even a real body. There was more blood staining the cushions and a pool of blood on the floor. It looked fake.”
Her stomach roiled at the memory. She cleared her throat.
“Anyway, I started to look around for Napoleon Bony-Parts—that’s what we called the skeleton we’d borrowed—and I’d just spotted it behind the sofa when I realized . . . when I saw . . . when—”
“Yeah. When. Okay. Try not to think about it anymore.”
“Easy for you to say!” She’d had nightmares for weeks after discovering Ned’s body. She had the feeling that she was in for still more bad nights.
Dan glared at Gordon as he slid one arm around Liss’s shoulders, tugging her closer to him, silently offering encouragement and support. She was glad of the warmth of his touch, but she had more she needed to say. She’d come to a few conclusions in the course of the hour or so she’d spent making notes.
“That murder sce
ne was staged, Gordon. The bones moved. The body arranged. Maybe Hilary Snipes could have killed Ned in the heat of anger or in self-defense, but she’d either have stabbed him and run or she’d have tried to stop the bleeding. If she tried to save him, she’d have ended up with blood all over her. She’d have called for help. She’d have been in shock. Never in a million years would she have been able to arrange him on that sofa and then walk away.”
“You may be right,” Gordon said.
“I may?” Astonished that he’d admit it, Liss fell silent. Had she really convinced him Hilary was innocent?
“May,” he repeated. “Neither of us is qualified to judge what Hilary Snipes might or might not be capable of in a desperate situation. Leave that to the shrinks. But I’ve had time to skim Lowell Danby’s record. There are no previous charges of murder against him, but . . . well, let’s just say that when he robbed somebody, he liked to leave his victim with a wound of some sort. A slash on the arm. A stab in the leg. A bloody nose.”
A spurt of blood from the neck?
“Why stab him with the fork?” Dan asked. “Why not the knife?”
“What?”
“Why not use the carving knife from your Death by Poison scene?”
“Because the knife was a fake with a retractable blade. But the fork . . . the fork was real. It came from our kitchen. Whoever stabbed Ned knew just where to aim so Ned wouldn’t have a prayer of surviving. He knew what he was doing.”
“Cold-blooded bastard.” Dan looked as shaken as Liss felt.
“He set the scene,” she repeated in a whisper. Dan’s arm tightened around her when she shuddered. “If anyone saw the blood on his clothing, they’d just think it was a Halloween costume. Maybe he was even dressed up as a ghoul or a zombie. How easy that would have made things for him! Go home. Shower. Destroy the blood-stained clothing. Then all he had to do was wait for someone else to be blamed.”
It had been on a Friday that Lowell Danby fled, minutes ahead of the local police. By the following Tuesday, there was still no sign of him. His house had been searched and the state police had found enough evidence—Gordon refused to tell Liss what evidence—to prompt the Attorney General’s office to drop all charges against Hilary Snipes.
On Tuesday morning, Sherri called to tell Liss that another pawn shop owner had identified Danby’s photograph.
“We already knew he was the one selling things from the mansion.”
“There’s a difference this time. Danby sold this object—an antique brass spittoon—before Ned got out of jail. It looks as if he may have been in and out of the mansion from the moment he moved to Moosetookalook.”
“There must have been days when that house resembled Grand Central Station,” Liss muttered, looking up as the bell over the Emporium’s front door jangled. Any further comment she might have made went right out of her head when she saw who’d walked into her shop. “Uh, I’ve got to go, Sherri. Talk to you later.”
“Hello, Liss,” said Hilary Snipes.
“Hilary.” Liss stayed where she was behind the sales counter.
Hilary shoved a lock of mousy brown hair out of her face as she gave the Emporium’s contents the once over. In contrast to the other times Liss had spoken to her, Hilary’s eyes were sharp. Her manner was different, too. She’d spent only three weeks in jail, but in that time something fundamental seemed to have changed. Warily, Liss waited for the other woman to speak.
“I’ve come for my kid,” Hilary said when she’d finished a cursory survey of the shop.
“He’s in school.”
“I’ll wait. Meanwhile I want to pack up his things. And get my TV back.”
“It’s in the stockroom.” Liss gestured toward that door. “Boxer didn’t want to leave it out at the trailer for fear someone might walk off with it.”
Hilary’s lips twitched. “Always knew he was smart.”
“If you haven’t got room in your car for the TV, it will fit in the back of mine.” Liss half expected Hilary to refuse the offer of help, but apparently she’d done some thinking since their last encounter.
“Appreciate it,” she said. “Teddy’s been living upstairs, right?”
“Yes. With his grandmother. Let me give her a call at the hotel.”
“Afraid to let me into her place alone? I promise I won’t walk off with the silverware. Nothing like a couple weeks in the slammer to convince a girl to go straight for the rest of her life.”
“I’m not questioning your honesty, but I am calling Margaret. I know she’ll want to talk to you before you take Boxer away.”
“Teddy. His name is Teddy.”
Liss made her call and then, with Margaret’s permission, led Hilary upstairs and into the room her son had been using during Hilary’s incarceration in the county jail. In a relatively short time, he’d made it his own, adding movie posters to the walls and scattering his personal possessions over every available surface. The bed was neatly made, but one abandoned running shoe stuck out from beneath the spread and a denim jacket had been carelessly flung atop the pillow. It was nearly the middle of April, one of the hardest times of year to predict what the day’s temperature would be. Liss imagined that Boxer, or rather Teddy, had gone off to school that morning in shirtsleeves. She hadn’t bothered with a sweater or jacket herself.
“Your suitcase is in the closet,” Liss said. “The pink one. Teddy used it to pack his things in when he first came to us here.”
“All this isn’t going to fit now,” Hilary observed as she lifted the bright pink case off the closet shelf. Every hanger held clothing. Every inch of floor space was likewise filled with Boxer’s possessions.
“He made a few trips back for more.”
“Yeah, but she’s also been buying him stuff. Margaret. Probably trying to make him love her more than he does me.”
“Teddy’s grandmother has been feeding him, giving him a roof over his head, and getting to know him. Would you rather have seen him go into foster care?”
Hilary ignored the question and started filling the suitcase with Boxer’s clothes.
“Look, Hilary, I’m glad you’ve been exonerated and I’m sorry you were ever suspected in the first place, but none of what happened was Margaret Boyd’s fault. She didn’t know Ned had a son. He told her the boy wasn’t his and she believed him . . . until she actually met Boxer. Teddy.
“Well, then she knew different, didn’t she?” Hilary slammed a pair of jeans into the already overflowing suitcase and tried to close the lid. She had to sit on it to get it fastened and she’d barely made a dent in the contents of the bedroom.
“You know, there’s no rush about this. You’ve got all day. Why don’t I make a pot of coffee and—”
“Don’t you have a store to mind?” Hilary had returned to the closet. Her muffled voice sounded no less rude.
“I left the stairwell doors open, bottom and top. I should be able to hear the bell if anyone comes into the shop.”
Emerging with her arms full of clothing, Hilary regarded Liss through narrowed eyes. “Not a lot of walk-in traffic, huh?”
“Not so you’d notice, no.”
“Why do you bother to open up at all, then? I hear you do pretty well with the website and your catalog.”
“Tradition, I suppose. The business has been in the MacCrimmon family since my grandfather’s time.”
“Huh. Got any trash bags?”
“What? Why?”
“So I can pack these.” She nodded toward the garments she’d temporarily dumped on the bed.
“Oh. Look, Hilary. Leave that, will you. We need to talk. Lowell Danby’s still on the loose, you know. We don’t know where he is. Are you sure you want to move back out to Owl Road where you don’t have any neighbors nearby?”
“This Danby guy doesn’t know me from Adam.” But Hilary made no move to collect more of Boxer’s belongings and when Liss once again suggested coffee, she went along quietly into Margaret’s kitchen.
“
We don’t know what Lowell Danby knows,” Liss said as she measured Margaret’s favorite blend into the pot, “or what he’s thinking.”
Hilary eased onto one of the stools drawn up to the central island, her alert brown eyes once again darting here and there to take in every detail of her surroundings.
“We do know he’s dangerous. I, for one, won’t rest easy until he’s safely under arrest.”
“He’s not going to bother me or Teddy,” Hilary insisted. “The cop asked me about him. Told me he’s an ex-con and that he’s been living in the old funeral home and calling himself Homer Crane. Harmless-looking little guy, I always thought.”
“You met him as Crane?” Liss paused in the act of adding water to stare at Boxer’s mother.
“Everybody in town comes into the High Street Market, Liss. Even you. So, yeah. I know who he is. But he doesn’t know me, or that I had anything to do with Ned.”
“Of course he does. The local grapevine aside, the report of your arrest was on the evening news. He couldn’t have missed it.”
“Even so, why would he bother me?”
“Did Gordon Tandy tell you anything else about Danby before you were released?”
She shrugged. “Mostly, he just asked more questions. I told him what I’ve been telling the cops right along. I don’t know where the money Ned deposited came from. I don’t know who was out at the Chadwick mansion besides Ned and the members of your Halloween committee.”
“And your nephews,” Liss said, turning to face her again while the coffee dripped.
Hilary laughed. “That was before Ned got out of jail. I don’t think they count.”
“I suppose not. They weren’t, apparently, searching for Blackie O’Hare’s treasure. Danby apparently was. And Ned. So was your son.”
“What are you talking about?”
While Liss filled two mugs with coffee and set out creamer and sugar, she ratted Boxer out to his mother. She felt bad about that, but not sufficiently guilty to keep the information to herself. Hilary fumed silently, falling on her coffee and downing half of it in one gulp.
7 Vampires, Bones and Treacle Scones Page 22