Erin Solomon Mysteries, Books 1 - 5

by Jen Blood

  Diggs and I took the three steps onto the deck slowly, making sure to make eye contact and smile nicely. If we could avoid disturbing the natives, it would be a nice change of pace. The woman kept her eyes on the ground as she continued to smoke. One of the men ground out his cigarette as soon as he spotted me and hurried toward us, however. I glanced at Diggs.

  “Hi,” the man said, his voice low and tinged with a kind of aggressive pleasantness. I guessed his age at somewhere between forty and fifty. Good looking, with shaggy hair and baggy jeans. He stuck his hand out toward me. “Hi. I’m Walt. What’s your name?”

  I shook his hand. “I’m Erin. This is Diggs. We’re looking for Edie.”

  He let go of my hand and shook Diggs’ hand vigorously. “Hi, Diggs. I’m Walt. This is your girlfriend?”

  Diggs smiled easily. “She is. You think you could find Edie for us, Walt?”

  “Sure. Yeah, I can do that,” he said. “I’ll find anybody you need, Diggs. Just follow me, okay? You just follow me.”

  He strode past the others without acknowledging them, a sense of self-importance in his gait. A man on a mission. Diggs glanced at me, shrugged, and together we followed Walt inside.

  “Wait here, okay?” Walt said as soon as we got through the door. “I’ll bring her to you. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Thanks, Walt,” Diggs said.

  “Sure, Diggs,” the man said. “Sure. Just wait here, Diggs.”

  Diggs and I waited. The house opened on a small foyer, with what looked like a large sitting room just off to our left and another one straight ahead. In the one to our left, an episode of CHiPs played on a giant old TV set. I couldn’t tell if anyone was in the room, but a man stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watching. He turned when we came in, but didn’t say anything. He wore sunglasses despite the dim interior.

  A minute later, Walt returned with Edie in tow.

  “Here she is,” he announced to us both.

  Edie was five feet tall, and a little rounder than she’d been when I’d seen her last. Her gray hair was curled in a tight home-perm over her visibly pink scalp. Though she didn’t appear visibly homicidal, she did seem harried when Walt led her through the door. At sight of Diggs and me, she brightened.

  “It is you!” she said. She wiped her hands on her apron.

  “I told you,” Walt said. “Edie, this is Diggs. And this is his girlfriend, Erin. They’re just visiting.”

  “Thank you, Walt,” she said. “Walt’s been working on introductions this week.”

  “Nice job,” I said.

  “Thanks, Erin.” He took a step into my personal bubble. “Now you say you’re welcome.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. I fought the urge to step back.

  ◊◊◊◊◊

  We settled in a dining room off the kitchen, a bowl of fruit at the center of the table beside a pitcher of water. Walt wandered off on another mission, but three other residents—all men—stood watching us from the doorway. They weren’t exactly in the conversation, but they weren’t quite out of it, either.

  We’d already been through pleasantries, caught up on family, traded condolences… My head ached, my lip hurt, and I was beyond ready to move things along. Jack, thankfully, hadn’t arrived yet.

  “Lilah?” Edie asked, when we finally got to the point. “Of course. She’s a friend of mine.”

  “From where, exactly?” Diggs asked.

  “We met a couple months ago,” Edie said. “We struck up a conversation over to Wallace’s—it was pizza night, so I was there with a couple of the boys, picking up dinner. She’s a real nice lady. Helps out here every so often.”

  Diggs and I exchanged a look. “With the residents?” Diggs said. “One on one?”

  “Not really, no,” Edie said. “But she’ll take Nate over there out sometimes—to the store, that kind of thing. They’ve kind of taken to each other.”

  If her nod was any indication, Nate was the youngest of the three men watching us—the one we’d seen in the foyer. His eyes were still hidden behind dark sunglasses. He was dark complected, with curly black hair and a goatee.

  “Why do you ask?” Edie said.

  “Do you know how we can get in touch with this woman?” I asked, rather than responding. “Do you have a phone number? An address?”

  “We usually just do e-mail, to be honest,” Edie said. “We’ll Facebook each other.”

  “She has a Facebook page?” Diggs said.

  “Of course,” Edie said. Like it was one of the dumber questions she’d been asked today.

  “Would you mind showing us?” I asked.

  Edie nodded warily. “Sure. Just let me get my laptop.”

  A minute or two later, she returned with an older Compaq laptop. The three men who’d been watching us—two of them older, one with thinning gray hair and suspenders that barely covered a substantial gut, the other well over six feet tall and nearly as wide as that—went back into the living room and turned on the television. Edie had just succeeded in getting online when Nate came over to join us.

  His sunglasses were still in place. His hands remained in his pockets.

  “Hey,” he said with a casual nod.

  “You know how we feel about sunglasses inside,” Edie chided. There was a tiny tic in Nate’s jawline before he took the sunglasses off.

  “Sorry. Forgot,” he said. He had startling, electrified green eyes set in an undeniably handsome face. “What are you doing there?” he asked. He nodded toward the computer.

  “Just looking something up,” I said. “We’re reporters. I’m Erin. This is Diggs.” I started to offer my hand, but he took a step back. I let it drop.

  “You’re from around here?” he asked.

  I told him we were. He took in the information with a nod, then asked a few more questions, listening with keen attention to every answer I gave.

  “Here it is,” Edie interrupted. “Lilah Salvator.” Diggs and I joined her at the computer. Nate followed, standing beside me but well away.

  “Lilah,” Nate said. “What are you looking at her for?”

  “I think I know her,” I lied. “I’m just trying to figure out where from.”

  I looked at the screen.

  It’s not like I expected her to have a roster of Facebook friends who also happened to be J. operatives, but an update on her timeline indicating what she was planning to blow up in the next few months would have made things so much easier. It looked like Lilah rarely used her page, though. She didn’t even have a profile picture.

  “She’s not much for online stuff, huh?” I said.

  “Lilah’s too private for that,” Nate said. He looked like he was getting uneasy with our fixation on his friend.

  “You guys know each other pretty well, then?” Diggs asked.

  Nate tensed. He’d avoided any interaction with Diggs up until that point, focused more on Edie and me. Now, he shot Diggs a glare that could have disintegrated a lesser man.

  “Why are you asking about Lilah?” he said. “She’s a private person. We’re both private people. You come in here, start snooping on her personal internet space, start asking questions that aren’t relevant.” He shoved his sunglasses back on. He wasn’t shouting, but the intensity of his words was unnerving. “You know, people nowadays feel like they can just find out about anyone they want to. They put eyes in the sky that can see everything. You know that? You know there are satellites that can listen in on every single thing we say?”

  “Nate,” Edie said gently. “There’s no one watching you. There’s no one listening to you. You’re safe here. You know we respect your privacy.”

  He nodded vigorously and took a step back. “I know. I know. I know. Sometimes I just forget. I’m going for a walk. Grab a smoke. Sorry.”

  He walked away mumbling to himself, his hands still in his pockets.

  “Sorry about that,” Edie said. “He’s a good boy. It’s hard on him, being here—most everyone else s
tarted out in tough circumstances, doesn’t know much other than this. For most of them, this is the best their life’s ever been. But Nate grew up in a good family, got good grades, led a pretty normal life. Smart, smart man. Then when he was about twenty-two, he got into drugs. That triggered his first big episode. Before that, he got a good glimpse of what he could have—what he thought he would have, one day. It’s been hard for him.”

  “Would you say he’s an angry guy?” Diggs asked. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “No more than most, really,” she said. She hesitated. I knew then that she was holding back—she would have to, both legally and morally, for the sake of her residents. I also knew there was a damned good possibility she could pay with her life if we didn’t get more information from her.

  “You were about to say something,” I said. “Diggs asked that question, and something occurred to you. What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she said. The two men who’d been watching us before returned. Neither of them came in, but both lingered in the doorway and continued watching our every move.

  “Bert, Stan, why don’t you go in and decide what you want for dinner tonight. And we’ve got movie night, too, so if you want to pick out snacks, that’s fine.”

  “I already know what I want,” the bigger of the two said. “I got two bags of chips stored away for tonight. Been saving them all year long.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Edie said. “But you know you’re not allowed to eat two bags of chips in a night.”

  I saw a little flash of fire in his eyes. The man was a mountain. He looked at me. “Beautiful tits,” he said. That was it. He turned and left with his friend.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Edie said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I assured her. “A compliment’s a compliment, right? I’m more worried about Nate.”

  “What kind of precautions do you have in place here if something goes wrong?” Diggs asked. “If someone does become violent? There must be a protocol in place.”

  “We call the police. They come in, and we’ll usually take the resident to the psych unit at the hospital, where they’ll stay overnight. A lot of times it’s just a medication issue. If it’s more serious, they’ll go to Augusta and be admitted to the facility there until they’re stabilized.”

  “So I assume no one has access to weapons here,” I said.

  She laughed outright. “Contrary to what it might look like, I don’t have a death wish. Fred has guns, but he doesn’t keep ‘em on the property.”

  Fred was Edie’s husband. “Where does he keep them?” Diggs asked.

  “He’s got a fishing shack over by the water.”

  “Do the guys know where that is?” I asked. “Does Nate know?”

  She pulled up short, staring at us both. “I’d appreciate it if one of you would give me a straight answer. What in the name of Johnny’s blue underthings are you talking about?”

  “You just have to trust us, okay?” I said. She looked far from convinced. Time was marching on, though, and I knew we were onto something. I glanced in the direction Nate had just gone, and lowered my voice.

  “Listen, do you ever do room searches?”

  “Erin—”

  “It’s important,” I stressed. “Please. I swear, I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t. Do you ever search the residents’ rooms? Could you do something like that now?”

  “These people trust me,” she said. “I’ve set it up so they can come here and feel safe—like they’re human beings with rights, something more than just the label society gives them.”

  “We’re not trying to destroy that,” Diggs said. “But this is serious. We have some concerns about Lilah—what her motives might be. If she was alone with Nate, it’s possible she could have planted some…ideas.”

  “Just look in his room,” I pleaded.

  “I’ll ask,” she said after a few seconds’ deliberation. “I’ll ask him if I can go in there. If he says no, I won’t push it.”

  “But—“ I started. Diggs shot me a warning look. I shut up.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “Whatever you can do.”

  We heard footsteps in the hallway. A second later, Walt reappeared in the doorway. His face was flushed.

  “Jack’s here,” he announced. “Just visiting. He’s a good guy. Jack. He said he’s a friend of yours, Diggs. He can’t stay for dinner.”

  Edie looked at Diggs and me like we were termites in danger of infestation. It stung, but I was guessing she wouldn’t be so snippy if we ended up saving her life.

  We met Jack back in the foyer. On Edie’s advice—which felt more like insistence from where I was standing—we decided to wait outside while she and another aid talked to the residents. And, hopefully, checked their rooms.

  The only problem was that Nate refused to even talk to her. Instead, we found him smoking outside when we stepped onto the porch. The wind had picked up, as had the snow. Nate stood and moved away from us, his back to us and his shoulders hunched. Everyone else had gone inside.

  I went over and stood beside him, while Jack and Diggs kept their distance. “Can I bum a smoke?” I asked. Addiction: the universal tie that binds. He glanced at me, then dug into his pockets and came out with a pack of Camels. He handed me a lighter.

  It was my first cigarette in a year; I was relieved to find with that first inhale that I’d pretty much lost my taste for it. I smoked it anyway.

  “Are you from around here, Nate?” I asked.

  “Grew up here,” he said. “A couple streets over, on Sunset. You know where that is?”

  “Sure. I grew up in a place on Main Street. So you graduated from Medomak?” He nodded. “What year?”

  “Class of ’96,” he said. “You went there too, right? Erin? Graduated a couple years after me, I think.”

  “That’s right,” I said, surprised. We talked a little more about high school. He’d been more popular than me. Played sports. Had a band. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Jack and Diggs left the porch and headed for the car, giving us some space.

  “Listen, Nate,” I said after a while, once he’d relaxed. “I wanted to ask you a couple of things about Lilah.”

  He was on his third cigarette. I’d declined a second, vaguely nauseous by the time I was halfway into the first. At mention of Lilah’s name, Nate closed himself off again.

  “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “Why not?”

  “There are people like me everywhere, you know. People who need to pay for their sins, and some who never sinned at all who deserve to be set free. No one should be stuck in a cage. Lilah knows that.”

  “And that’s why you don’t want to talk about her,” I clarified. “Because she understands you.”

  “Because she’s a friend. And she knew people would talk about her—ask questions about her. Want to define her.”

  “Define her?” I said. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  He turned to face me. His sunglasses reflected a distorted image of my bruised face. I hated that I couldn’t see his eyes.

  “Define her,” he repeated. “Who she is. What she stands for. People always want to define you. I’m Nate. Schizophrenic. That’s all.”

  “But you’re not,” I said. I kept my tone easy. “I just met you and I already know that. You’re Nate. Great taste in music. Chain smoker.” He smiled at that. “Left handed. Former Medomak track all-star. A man who has schizophrenia.” I paused. I had his attention, but I didn’t know if I was getting through. “You see what I mean? I’m not looking to define anyone. But I would like to know about Lilah.”

  Seconds ticked by, while snow continued to fall around us. He shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s Lilah. She’s pretty. Older than us, though. She speaks Spanish. Knows about politics and governments. Doesn’t like cats. Knows how to swim.” He paused, and looked away from me. “And she can read my mind.”

  I stayed cool, despite what I was thin
king. “Can you explain what you mean by that?”

  “She knows what I’m thinking. And sometimes, it’s like…” He frowned. “She has the radio frequency inside my head. Before, only my father had that. My father, and John.”

  I looked at him blankly. He clamped his mouth shut. “John who?” I said.

  “John Booth,” he finally said. “John Wilkes Booth. He could speak to me—inside my head. He had the frequency.”

  “And now Lilah has the same frequency,” I said.

  “I’m not defining her,” he said.

  “No,” I agreed, beyond serious. “That would be a bad idea.”

  Not unexpectedly, Nate had strong objections to Edie going through his room. He had some choice words for me when he learned I was behind the request, then locked himself in his room and turned up the Beatles on his stereo as loud as it would go. It was a nice stereo, too—it went pretty damned loud.

  The rest of the residents were on edge by this time. Walt was no longer affable and pleasant—a storm had descended. He eyed me and muttered under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching, his face scarlet with rage about to ignite.

  Edie wouldn’t let us back in the house, instead blocking the entrance.

  “It might be a good idea to get some help out here,” I said.

  “Ya think?” she said. “Thanks to you, you’re right. It’s not that I don’t like you, hon, but you’ve got a hell of a mess going on in here now. Sheriff Finnegan’s on his way. If I can get Nate to turn that bleeping stereo of his down, everyone else will settle down. But as long as that’s going, this place is full of ticking time bombs.”

  Great. J. hadn’t needed to send Lilah—apparently, I could bring out the homicidal rage in people just as effectively.

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about Lilah?” I asked before I left. “Where she lives? What does she do for work?”

  “She lives on the peninsula,” I think,” she said. “Over by the Olson House.”

  The Olson House is an old saltbox farmhouse in Cushing now owned by the Farnsworth Museum, made famous in a series of paintings done by Andrew Wyeth over the years. It’s an easy reference point if people are talking about the tiny fishing village, but I would bet money Lilah didn’t live anywhere near there. I made a note of it anyway, though, just in case.