And still, I’m left with that last image of Del running from me, frightened. For years, this is how she’s haunted me. I should have known she wouldn’t let it go at that.
10
November 15, 2002
THE MORNING AFTER NICKY RETURNED my runaway mother and her dead cat, the phones were back up. I took out the list Raven had given me and made some appointments to visit nursing homes, and also phoned Meg Hammerstein—the memory specialist—who offered to see me that afternoon. I called over to the big barn and Gabriel agreed to come sit with my mother while I was out. Apprehensive as I was about putting my mother in a nursing home, it felt good to be making calls, crossing things off my list. Gabriel was overjoyed that I’d finally put things in motion.
I was jotting down some questions to ask Meg when the police knocked on the door. They were the same two men who’d been by to question me about the night of Tori’s murder, then returned to ask about Del—they wore plainclothes and carried their badges in their pockets, their guns strapped into shoulder holsters. They reintroduced themselves—detectives Stone and Weingarten. I stood out on the steps talking with them, leaving my mother inside, busy with her oatmeal at the kitchen table.
“We understand you’ve been out walking in the woods,” Stone began. He was always the one to do the talking; the other guy just seemed to take notes.
“Sure. And?”
“Were you out in the woods the night Tori Miller was killed?”
“No, I told you already. I was home all night with my mother.”
He nodded, then raised his eyebrows. “With your mother who has a questionable memory.”
“She has Alzheimer’s.” My voice shook a little. I strained to stay in control.
“Tell us about your mother’s cat.”
“Magpie?” The absurdity of the question caught me off guard.
“The young lady…Raven, showed us the cat. She said you were in the woods a few hours before the cat was found.”
That’s when I lost my temper.
“Just let me get this straight—Raven thinks I killed Magpie. That’s great. Did she mention a motive? Do I make out like a bandit in Magpie’s will?” They both stared at me, expressionless. “Listen, I liked that cat,” I finished lamely.
“The night before last, we understand your mother called nine-one-one and reported that you’d hurt her cat. She also said you knew the girl who was killed. Did you know Tori Miller?”
“No! I never even heard of her until a few days ago. My mother is sick and very confused. How many times do I have to explain that to you? Jesus, you met her. Didn’t you pick up on the fact that she’s suffering from dementia? She was talking about Del Griswold. She was saying I knew Del thirty years ago!”
“Why don’t you tell us again about your relationship with Delores Griswold.”
Here we go again. It always came back to Del.
I took a breath. Regained my composure. “There’s nothing to tell. She lived at the bottom of the hill. We rode the bus together. That’s all.”
“One more thing, Ms. Cypher,” Stone said. “Do you own a Swiss Army knife?”
I thought about lying, but it seemed silly. “Yes, I do. It’s in my pocketbook.”
“Would you mind getting it?” he said.
“Not at all.”
My pocketbook was on the table by the door and I opened it and began rummaging through it. Powder compact. Keys to the rental car. Key ring from home. Cell phone that was totally useless in the hills of Vermont. Pack of spearmint gum. Assorted pens.
“I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” I said. “Everything but the kitchen sink seems to be.”
I got no response. It was a pretty lousy joke anyway.
I unzipped the seldom-used side pocket, feeling something hard stuffed into it. Had to be the knife. But what I saw made me nearly cry out.
“Got it, Ms. Cypher?” Stone asked.
“No, it doesn’t seem to be here.”
My hands were trembling slightly now. My right hand was stuffed into the purse, touching what I prayed neither detective had caught sight of because if they did it was Go to jail, go directly to jail for me.
Tucked into the side pocket of my leather purse was Del’s old silver sheriff’s star.
I’m sheriff of this whole rotten town.
My upper lip and forehead were damp with perspiration.
Just breathe, I told myself. Act natural.
“Could this be your knife?” Weingarten asked, holding out a small plastic bag with a red knife inside.
I squinted at the bag.
“I don’t know. It looks like that. Maybe. But I always keep my knife in my pocketbook.”
And now it’s gone. Replaced by Del’s star. Did whoever took the knife give me the star? Was this some kind of setup? And how long, exactly, had my knife been missing? How long had I been carrying that star?
Breathe. Do not panic now.
“Well, we’re running some tests on the knife.”
“Tests?”
“Blood tests. Just to make sure it’s only cat blood on the knife. Ms. Cypher, would you consent to being fingerprinted?”
“What? No! I mean, it’s a waste of time. The whole thing is absurd. I did not kill the cat, even if it turns out it was my knife that was used.”
But I am holding on to Del’s old sheriff’s star, right this moment as we speak.
“If we find anything to connect this weapon to Tori Miller’s murder, I’m afraid we’ll have to bring you in and get those prints,” Stone said.
I slowly pulled my hand out of the bag, making sure the star was tucked into the deepest, darkest corner of the pocket, then zipped it up tight.
Was I being framed? And if so, how far did the killer go? Was my little yuppie wine-and-cheese knife used to cut off a piece of Tori Miller’s skin?
I gave an involuntary shiver.
“Is that all, gentlemen? I have to get back to my mother.”
“We’ll be in touch,” said Stone.
I WAS IN A LOW, brick, ivy-covered building of faculty offices looking for Meg Hammerstein and trying desperately not to think about my missing knife or the dead girl’s star in my purse when I saw the name on one of the doors—Zachary Messier.
Find Zack, Deputy.
Well, here he was, only it felt more like he’d found me.
The door stood slightly ajar and when I peeked in, I saw a man with a receding hairline and a goatee sitting behind a desk. His hair, once a vivid auburn, was now dull and giving way to gray but still long, worn back in a ponytail. He’d filled out over the years and looked the part of the college professor: white shirt, open at the collar, tan corduroy jacket with elbow patches. The only out-of-character-for-a-professor thing was a large round silver pendant dangling from a strand of leather around his neck.
“Zack?” I called from the doorway.
“Hi!” he called back, smiling as he studied my face, struggling to put a name to it. He squinted over the top of the small rectangular glasses perched on the end of his nose.
“It’s Kate, Jean Cypher’s daughter.”
“Oh Jesus, sure. Of course. Raven said you were in town. Come in, please.” He gave a warm smile and gestured me in.
I made my way into the tiny office. The back wall was covered by shelves sagging with books. The ones that didn’t fit on the shelves sat in piles all over the desk and floor—many of them seemed to be about the Revolutionary War. He had a couple of diplomas framed on the wall along with a picture of a group of people on a sailboat. It seemed he’d come a long way since his days at New Hope. Then I noticed the elaborate mandala painting and a guitar stashed in the corner, beside the desk. Maybe none of us really change, despite the diplomas, thinning hair, and spiffy wardrobe.
He stood up, the clunky silver pendant swinging out a little as he reached across the desk and took my hand, wrapping it securely in both of his.
“It’s really good to see you, Kate.” His hands were as war
m as his smile.
“I only have a minute. I’m actually here to see Meg Hammerstein.” I stood awkwardly, waiting for him to let go. When he did, he gestured toward the empty chair across the desk from him and I sat down.
“How’s your mom, Kate?” I glanced down under the desk and was relieved to see he wore shoes. Black penny loafers polished to a shine.
“Um, not so good. I was hoping to get some advice from this woman Meg. Raven recommended her.”
“Meg’s great. She’ll be a wonderful resource.” He sighed, leaned across his desk, put one hand to his heart, and reached for mine with the other. He held my gaze, his blue eyes moist and sincere, the whites flecked with red. “I’m so sorry about Jean. I get up there from time to time but work’s been crazy the past few weeks so I haven’t had a chance.”
I nodded understandingly.
On his desk was a plastic bag of cookies. He saw me eyeing them and offered me one. I declined. He helped himself.
“You sure?” he asked. “Oatmeal carob chip. I’m addicted.”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t even know you were in town. Last I heard you were in Canada.”
“I was. When I left Vermont I drifted around for a while and eventually ended up in Halifax, where I apprenticed as a boat builder. After a few years of that, I decided it was time to go back to school and ended up in Toronto. Once I got my Ph.D., I took a job teaching there. I stayed until just about two years ago, when I saw an ad in a journal for this position. It was like the job found me and told me it was time to come home.”
“New Canaan must seem pretty dull after Toronto,” I said.
“On the contrary. It’s the best move I’ve ever made. My only regret is that I waited so long.”
I nodded, then my eyes went back to the sailboat photo on the wall.
“Is that my mother on the boat with you?”
He smiled and took the silver-framed picture off the wall and passed it to me for closer inspection. On the deck of the boat were Zack, Raven, Opal, and my mother, all with wind-tousled hair and sunburned cheeks.
“It was taken just last year. God, Jean loved the open water. She got such a kick out of the boat. She was a hell of a sailor, too. You should have seen her.”
“Is it your boat?”
He smiled proudly. “She’s moored up on Lake Champlain. Know what her name is? Hope Floats. An homage to New Hope. Gabriel was thrilled, but I haven’t been able to get him out on the water. Too bourgeois, I guess.”
My mother had never mentioned these sailing trips to me. I didn’t even know Zack was in town, never mind taking my mother out on Lake Champlain in his boat. How many little details of her life were there that I would never know now, gone forever?
“So you and Raven have gotten to know each other?”
“Raven’s wonderful. She’s working on a psychology degree, you know. She’s actually taking a class of mine now. She comes by to borrow books and bounce ideas off me. She’s the one who baked the cookies. Sure you don’t want one?”
I shook my head. Zack helped himself to a second cookie.
“And Opal,” he said. “She’s a hell of a kid. I’ve been so worried about her since her friend was killed. How’s she doing?”
“Not great. Raven’s made an appointment with a psychiatrist.”
“God, what a horrible thing to go through. I should call over there and see if there’s anything I can do.” He brushed the crumbs out of his goatee.
I looked at his necklace, which I thought might be a small clock or pocket watch. It was thick enough to have tiny gears inside and looked like it had a catch on the top to open it up.
He saw me looking and held it out for closer inspection.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? It represents the Wheel of Life. It’s Tibetan.”
Engraved on the face were three concentric rings divided into spokes. The outer ring had twelve, the next six, and the final ring, two. In the center were a snake, a pig, and a rooster. Inside each spoke were other engraved pictures: a potter, a monkey picking fruit, a woman giving birth, and various gods and humans engaged in acts I couldn’t identify from such a quick look.
“This outer ring represents the twelve links of causality,” Zack said.
I nodded as if I had the slightest clue what he was talking about.
“And here, in this ring, we have the six realms of existence: gods, titans, humans, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell.”
My eye was drawn to the image of the hungry ghosts: three ungainly creatures huddled together with long, thin necks and desperate eyes.
“Hungry ghosts?” I said.
“Those who, after death, are so attached by desire to this world that they remain ghosts, longing for food and drink but unable to partake.”
“That’s rough,” I said.
He chuckled.
Then I noticed that above the wheel itself was a horrible face with fangs and furious eyes.
“And who’s this fellow?” I asked, pointing.
“The God of Death. He turns the wheel.”
“So Death is turning the Wheel of Life? Isn’t that sort of cruelly ironic?”
“It’s really not as macabre as it seems,” he said.
You can give the hippie a Ph.D. and a membership at the local yacht club, but he was still a hippie deep down. I had to smile.
“Zack, can I ask you something that might seem kind of strange?”
“Sure. Not much is strange to me, though. Not for an old resident of New Hope.” He winked and settled back into his chair. Could this really be the nervous boy I remembered from my childhood, now so charming, so eager to please?
“I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Nicky Griswold. He did the oddest thing—left me this message that I should find you. Can you imagine why he might do that?”
Zack’s jaw tightened a little and he drew in a breath. I’d hit a nerve. He stood up and walked behind me to close the door. I felt a little like the bad kid in the principal’s office.
“What did this message say?” His head was cocked to one side, his eyebrows raised.
“Find Zack. That’s all.”
He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. He seemed to use the time to study the books on his shelves as if they held whatever answers he was looking for.
“Poor Nick,” he said at last, placing a hand on his chest again, but laying the other across his desk blotter this time. “My heart goes out to him, it does. I just can’t get involved anymore. The past is the past and he needs to let things go, walk his own path. Nicky comes around sometimes, wanting to go out for drinks. I’ve gone a few times, just for old times’ sake, you know? I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. But I may have sent the wrong message.”
“Message?”
“You know…” There went the reddening ears I remembered so well. “That I was, ah…interested again. Nicky’s a great guy. I care about him, I do. And I’m not saying I have regrets about what happened back then, but we were kids, you know?”
I struggled to understand what he was getting at, not quite willing to jump to the conclusions he was leading me to.
“So, what, are you telling me you two had an affair?”
Zack studied me a moment, his whole face reddening this time. Then he laughed nervously, shook his head.
“Oops. I thought you knew. I don’t mean to shock you. I guess you could say it was part of my free love period.” He grinned crookedly, then quickly looked away, eyes focused on his guitar. Was it the same instrument after all these years? The guitar he serenaded my mother with back in the tepee?
“God, Kate. I was sure he told you. You two were close for a while there. I was sure you knew.”
“I had no idea,” I admitted.
He plucked at his goatee.
“I was nineteen. I thought bisexuality was another road toward freeing the mind. Letting go of preconceived notions of gender and identity. Balancing the male and the female, the y
in and the yang. God, it was 1971. It was in then.”
I nodded understandingly. I’m not a closed-minded person. It wasn’t that I found the idea of Zack and Nicky sleeping together offensive, but it was quite a surprise. Nicky’s determination to keep this a secret made sense to me, but I was a little hurt at the same time.
“Did Del know? I mean, about the two of you?” As I asked the question, I heard Del’s voice in my head: B-A-D spells bad, she warned.
“Yeah,” Zack said. “She walked in on us once. Poor kid. I think it scared the hell out of her. Then once it sank in, she held it over his head. Blackmail, really. She knew his big secret and she used it against him any way she could. She was really struggling to find her place in the world, wasn’t she?”
I nodded, chewed my lip, wondered how far Nicky would go to keep Del from revealing his secret.
“Can I ask one more thing?” My voice came out small and timid. My ten-year-old voice.
“Why not? We’ve already dragged this many skeletons out of the closet—so to speak.”
“Did my mother know about you and Nicky?”
He hesitated, looking at me with what I imagined to be thorough consideration. I understood. I mean, this was my mother we were talking about. How in-depth do you want go when it comes to intimate secrets about someone’s own mother?
For whatever reason, he decided to go for the full reveal.
“Sure she did. She thought it was sexy, I think. She said she didn’t mind my being with a guy, but if I started sleeping with another woman, we were through. She didn’t want any repeats of the Lazy Elk scene.” Here came his hand again, reaching for mine across the desk. “Kate, your mom was an amazing woman. I was crazy for her back then. I know you weren’t thrilled about it at the time, and I’m sorry. I never meant to ruffle anyone’s feathers. I was just trying to follow my heart, you know?” He clutched at the Wheel of Life pendant again.
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