by Maggie Bruce
I poured dressing over the salad and tossed it, ignoring the stray pieces of romaine that dropped onto the counter. Maybe he was right—I’d been too worried to think clearly.
“Okay, fine, talk this out with me. Someone’s trying to frame me for murder. They leave the murder weapon in my house and they drop a note in the toy store bathroom, and then they slip an address book under my stove. All meant to point to me. To give Castro credit, she seemed pretty skeptical. But nobody’s coming up with any good ideas about who might have done those things.” I paced, my brain and my body buzzing with energy.
“So my friends decide we’ll check out the neighbors, and we each try to listen more carefully, with a focus on a couple of people who might have wanted to keep Marjorie Mellon quiet. We’re supposed to look for odd behavior, maybe even prod people into saying things. And one of the things that keeps coming back to me is that Trisha Stern appears to have quite a lot to lose if the casino is built. Sometimes she really does sound as though she’d do anything to stop it.”
A grimace of disbelief replaced Neil’s smile before he looked away. “You can’t really believe that. Trisha may have strong feelings about her house and the land, but murder? She’s a healer.”
“Right. But I can’t count anyone out. So I have to look under rocks to see what’s hidden.” Getting Trisha Stern to open up to me would take a bit of doing. I hadn’t gotten very much past civil pleasantries with her. “You can do it more easily than I can. Talk to her. Find out what she thinks about Marjorie, where she was the afternoon Marjorie was murdered.”
He tossed the oily lettuce leaves into the bowl and then looked up and met my gaze. “Nope. Won’t do it. I heard you guys the other night. You made it perfectly clear that you wouldn’t go poking around into Seth’s dark corners. For the very same reason, I will not try to trick Trisha Stern into saying things I don’t want to hear. The woman is helping me, for Pete’s sake. I need her to trust me, and I need to trust her. Find out another way. You know that you’re asking me to choose between you and Trisha? Not a good thing, Lili.”
He was right, of course. It would have been easier for him to get information from her that she might not reveal to me . . . but he wasn’t willing to taint his relationship with her. He needed to believe in her. As I wanted to believe in Seth.
“Okay, okay, you’re right, sorry. Forget it. If I find out anything I won’t tell you. You can be surprised when Michele Castro stops by to arrest Trisha in the middle of a leg lift.”
“And you,” he said with a smile, “can be surprised when you find out that Trisha Stern was teaching a class in anatomy at Walden High School when the murder was committed.”
“She was?” I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or disappointed.
Neil arranged two slices of red pepper on top of the salad. “I don’t know. I made that up. But it’s a little more plausible than her being a murderer, isn’t it?”
I didn’t say that I’d come to the point where I believed anything was possible. Even things I wished weren’t true.
Chapter 16
I bit into my toast, but it tasted like cardboard. Nora’s homemade fig jam didn’t interest me. And it certainly didn’t make up for my lack of sleep. The valerian and warm milk weren’t working. After that semi-argument with my brother, my sleep had been even more disturbed. The dark circles under my eyes made me look like a magazine ad for hangover chic.
Neil looked up from his oatmeal. “Mom and Dad want to come up on Monday. I forgot to tell you last night. She reminded me that they’ve been pretty good, staying away all this time. They’d just be here for the day.”
“Huh. When I spoke to Mom yesterday she said something about waiting until Dad got adjusted to his new meds. I think they want to make sure I’m taking good care of you.”
My brother smiled placidly and traced circles in his oatmeal with his spoon. “And that I’m taking care of you. Mom suggested that while they’re here you might want to take some time off, maybe go somewhere with your pal Seth, let yourself off the hook for a couple of hours. Dad has a new chess strategy he wants to try on me, and you know Mom. She’ll sit here and stare at me as though that will keep me safe.”
“Mom said I should leave? She can’t stand to spend a whole afternoon with me? And you went along with the plan. That’s just great.” I tossed the last bit of toast toward the plate and watched it land, jam-side down, on the floor. “I do not appreciate sneak attacks, Neil. You shouldn’t have done this.”
He reached across the table and touched my hand. “It’s not a sneak attack, Lili. Mom called to find out if Monday was okay for a visit, we got to talking, and the next thing she was saying that she was worried about you, but that you’d probably object if she said so. She’s just trying to do something to give you a little space. She was being nice. Is that so terrible?”
“No. But someone could have asked me if that’s what I wanted.” I started slamming the breakfast dishes into the sink, realizing that my anger put me in danger of breaking something, maybe even something I’d regret for the rest of my life. “Listen, I need to pick up a few things in town, and this seems like a good time to do that. Can I get you anything?”
He started to say something, looked down into his bowl, then lifted his head. “I need a refill on my Vicodin. I’ll call it in so you don’t have to wait.”
I nodded, pulled on my sweater and marched out into the bright sunshine. I didn’t need this, my own family sneaking around behind my back. I had enough on my mind without having to worry about consoling my parents and assuring them that I was fine, thank you very much.
By the time I’d driven a mile down Iron Mill Road, my anger had turned to confusion. What was so bad about what Neil and my parents had done? Only the way they went about it . . . Why couldn’t they just have said that they were concerned about me and left it at that?
Because I would have put them off.
Because I might have felt that they didn’t trust me to take care of Neil properly and that they were coming to check up on me.
Because they had anticipated my reaction and had tried to get around it so that they could make sure things were all right with me. The only way they could do that was to slip in under the false pretense of seeing Neil.
Which I hated.
And that was exactly why I was having trouble getting started talking to people I hardly knew about Marjorie Mellon, about where they were the day she was murdered, about how they felt about her. My distaste for dishonest behavior was keeping me from checking out a couple of things that would be useful to know. For instance, if I could find out what Sue Evans knew about the note that was found in the bathroom of her store, that would be really helpful. Probably the best way to do that was through indirection, which I’d always considered to be a polite term for lying. Maybe I was being a tad too absolute about not telling truth—and had been all my life.
Wait just a minute, Miss Honesty, a small voice piped up. What did you think you were doing when you told Ed Thorsen that you needed time alone and that’s why you were moving to the country? You could have said that you knew you didn’t want to marry him right then.
And there were other times, lots of them. I dialed Neil’s cell phone from mine, and was glad, in a chicken-hearted way, when his message came on. “Sorry I was so stupid just now. I overreacted. See? Even your elders can be jerks. But at least I can admit it. Which is what I’m doing, along with apologizing. I’ll see you later. Love you.”
When I parked in front of Wonderland Toy Town, a new and more devious me emerged into the bright morning sunshine. I would find out as much as I could about Sue Evans and the note and any other secrets she might be hiding.
The bell above the door tinkled happily, but except for the Barney theme song playing in the background, the store felt deserted. I poked around among the electric train accessories for a while, then headed for the book section to see if I could find any Tintin comics that my nephew Cameron didn’t yet
have.
After several minutes, Sue Evans appeared, her patchwork vest bright against a navy silk blouse. “Lili, hi. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I should carry a list,” I said, “but I’m looking for a Tintin for my ten-year-old nephew. Are these all you have?”
She laughed. “We carry every single one we can get. They don’t sell fast but there’s a steady demand. We’re missing two of the more recent ones, but I’d bet he already has them. What about this one?” She handed me “Tintin in America,” with its picture of a tomahawk-wielding Indian on the cover.
I flipped a couple of pages. “Great, I don’t think he has this one.”
As she slipped the book into a plastic bag, she said, “Sorry, I didn’t hear the bell right away. I was in the back and I sat down for a second and must have dozed off.”
“Wish I could do that. I’ve been having so much trouble sleeping lately.” Before I plunged into full snooping mode, I needed to make sure her guard was down. “Joseph Trent gave me some herbal thing a couple of weeks ago but it doesn’t work for me.”
“That’s odd,” she said with a bright smile. “He gave me something two months ago and it did the trick. I don’t even know what it is. I just took those little tan pills twice and they worked. Maybe if I’d remembered about them last night I wouldn’t have fallen asleep at eleven this morning.”
Tan pills? Not white capsules? I’d have to ask Mr. Trent for whatever he’d given her. But I wasn’t here to find out about sleeping remedies. “You know, if I could make the tension in my life disappear I think I’d sleep better.”
Sue’s rueful smile never quite reached her green eyes. “Good trick. Let me know if you figure out how to do that. God, there’s always something.”
“Right. I don’t know about you, but I’m always going a little crazy trying to keep up with my family.” I waited for a response, but her expression didn’t change. “Or all the contradictory advice you hear about how to stay healthy. Now, there’s something good for a load of stress.”
Again, nothing. She was listening politely, but I hadn’t yet found a sore spot. “And work. Boy, if it’s not too much work, it’s too little.”
Bingo. Her eyes widened and she nodded vigorously. “I know what you mean. Except for weekends when my nephew comes in to help, I’m it around here, and it drives me nuts. I do the ordering, I stock the shelves, I help the customers. When business is good, I’m exhausted. When it’s slow, I think I’m going to have to turn the key in the door and walk away.”
“So, you really have to put up with extremes in the toy business.” Would my mediator tactic encourage her to talk? Reflecting what someone said without either judging or advising usually helped them to open up. Giving a person an opening might even help her to fall into the trap without too much pushing. “Sometimes I think I should just buy up a ton of lottery tickets or invest in a casino or something.”
“What do you mean? I thought—” Her confused frown turned into a smile. “I get it. You’re joking. Well, you never know what it’s going to take to stay afloat. You do what you have to, right?”
This fishing expedition wasn’t even landing me a soggy breadcrumb. “I guess I should have been clever enough to have rich parents.”
“Anita Mellon’s not going to have to worry, if she takes care of that money.”
My kahuna tuna might just have nibbled at the bait. I willed my face not to show my excitement as I looked at Sue. Her expression changed in a blink, as though she’d erased her frown and drawn a smile onto her face.
I matched her smile and said, “You really think Anita had anything to do with it?”
All I needed was a little more line so that I could reel in what might turn out to be the Big One. Maybe she knew who Anita trusted, someone she might have taken into her confidence and promised a piece of the modest little pie that Marjorie had left behind. But Sue Evans stiffened, visibly shutting out the question. “I have no way to know. I don’t mean to rush you but—”
“I’m sorry, really.” Time to switch tactics. Maybe a little self-disclosure would open her up. “Listen, we both know that someone found that note in your bathroom. I don’t know what you believe, but I didn’t write it. I just want to know what it said. You can understand how hard this is for me, I’m sure. I don’t know who’s trying to point a finger at me, but I had nothing to do with Marjorie’s murder. I’m trying to put the pieces together so I can help defend myself.”
That felt so much better.
She seemed to get it right away. Her body unclenched and her face softened. She still didn’t look at me when she said, “I’m not supposed to talk about what was in that note. I wish I could help you, but Michele Castro made a huge point of telling me that I was to say absolutely nothing. To anyone. Not just you.”
“Of course, I understand.” I wouldn’t put her on the spot, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t find out more. “Would you answer one thing for me? Marjorie was killed on a Thursday. Yet the note wasn’t found until the following Monday. Did you use the store bathroom between those two times?”
“Every day. Several times a day. Customers use that bathroom too, kids, parents. Salespeople. The UPS man. It’s almost as busy as K-Mart’s toy department,” she said ruefully, as she fingered her seed necklace, rubbing one as though it were a protective talisman.
“But if Marjorie dropped it when she was cleaning, that means that nobody noticed it until nearly ten days later.” That was difficult for me to believe, given the traffic that had been in and out of that small room daily. Unless Sue made it a practice to snooze in her back room . . .
“All I can tell you is that it must have been under something and then it got moved by maybe a curious four-year-old and then—” She paled and clapped a hand across her mouth.
“What is it?”
She shook her head, silver earrings swinging wildly. “Look, I know you’re concerned, but I can’t talk about this anymore. I almost said what was in the note. I really am sorry but I can’t talk to you any more.”
She handed me the plastic bag containing the Tintin comic and walked to the back of the store. I heard a door click shut—she’d taken her secret and disappeared into the back room.
I stepped onto the street into an afternoon that had turned blustery. Thick clouds piled up on the western horizon. The air had a yellowish tint that I’d never seen before, and it made me uneasy. No need to linger in town when I had so much to work do. Best to get Neil’s medicine and go straight home.
I ran across the street, dodging the sparse traffic and skirting half a bale of hay that must have dropped off the back of someone’s truck. The fluorescent lights inside the pharmacy flickered and blinked a silent warning. The hole in the rug seemed to have gotten larger since the last time I was here, and the whole place had an air of weariness about it that made me understand why some Walden Corners residents had taken to driving the extra six miles to go to the Walgreens.
“Mr. Trent,” I called into the void. This seemed to be the day shopkeepers had decided to hide in the back of their stores. That wasn’t much of an incentive for doing business here. Maybe they were all caught up in a community depression and needed some community Prozac.
I picked up a jar of vitamins, then set it down on the counter a little harder than might have been necessary. In a few seconds, Joseph Trent’s nose and his granny glasses appeared, followed by the rest of him.
“Hi, Mr. Trent. Seems like a quiet day around town.” I’d learned that getting right to business felt rude to some long-time residents. My Brooklyn-bred habit of saying what I wanted had taken conscious effort to change.
Joseph Trent’s tight lips spread into a smile. “Everyone’s getting ready for the storm, so they’re out buying batteries and stocking up on bottled water and candles. They never catch on that television stations need to make everything a big deal to keep people watching the commercials. Usually, it’s just an ordinary thunderstorm that they blow all
out of proportion. What can I do for you, Miss Marino?”
Nobody had called me that since I went to a Park Avenue doctor to see if I’d torn any ligaments or tendons in my knee playing Frisbee in Central Park when I was twenty.
“My brother called in a renewal for his prescriptions. He gets the generic, not the brand name, right?” Making conversation might not get me quicker service today, but it had become something of a personal challenge to see if I could get this dour man to like me. “Should I be worried about that? I mean, you never know what you’re getting when you buy pills, but the generics are fine, aren’t they?”
Trent pushed his glasses up on his nose, then took them off and set them on the counter. His brown eyes squinted at me and his upper lip twitched. “The government thinks so, most doctors think so.”
Somehow, I had managed to insult him. I was definitely not cut out to play at being something I wasn’t. I wondered whether Nora or Melissa or Susan were having as hard a time as I was when they poked around to try to help me. Elizabeth was probably accustomed to questioning by indirection.
But if I tried too hard, I only ended up with both feet in my mouth.
“Sorry, I was just wondering. You know, you read so much in the papers, it’s hard to know what to believe.” I watched his face for signs that he was no longer offended, but saw only same stoic expression. I was zero for two with Walden Corners merchants today. “Oh, and I was wondering. You know that sleep-inducing herbal thing you gave me? They don’t seem to be working. I wanted to check with you before I took two instead of one. What do you think? Would that be all right? Or should I try whatever you gave Sue Evans?”
Finally, his frown turned to a bright smile. People love to be recognized for their expertise, and I’d pushed the right button.
“I have a stronger version in the back,” he said. “If you take two of the old ones, they might upset your stomach. This formula is stronger and it’s mixed with something to counteract the digestive problems. I’ll get your brother’s meds and give you a couple of capsules to try. Take two or even three. If they work, then you can buy a bottle.”