Murder Scene

by Richard Montanari

  ‘It’s bad.’

  20

  As they passed through western New York and eastern Pennsylvania, Will had done his best to be upbeat. Detta was more sullen than ever. She seemed to be pulling further away from Will, from life.

  In the days and weeks that led up to the move, Will had tried to include Detta in every decision he made, decisions that were going to deeply impact their lives, both short and long term. He printed off the details on the move, the route, the general map of their new location, the details on the school system, the libraries, the town’s history, the stores. He’d even bound it all into a book. In the end, though, he’d made all the decisions himself, and probably all of them for selfish reasons.

  As to their destination, he’d done due diligence. Abbeville, Ohio was equidistant between Cleveland and Akron. While neither place was New York, these two cities were urban centers and had large populations. Will was certain that, in time, he could engage Detta in what these cities had to offer in terms of theater and culture and the arts.

  The Abbeville school system was highly ranked in the state. For a while Will had considered the move in terms of where Detta might choose for college, but he soon realized that this was a very long time away. Just six months earlier it had felt like it was rushing towards them, but now Will thought in terms of days and weeks, certainly not years.

  Even as he was doing these things, he knew in his heart that there was no long term. He had no idea if this move was a good idea or not, this total destruction of their lives in an attempt to rebuild.

  They exited I-271 at Mayfield, Ohio, and stopped at a small café and bakery called Casa Dolce. Will ordered for Detta, even though he knew it wouldn’t matter.

  The food was delicious but, as expected, Detta didn’t touch hers. Before leaving the café Will carefully rewrapped the sandwich and put it into his messenger bag.

  They got back on the road and headed east on Route 322. The suburban sprawl of newer colonials and ranches and townhome clusters soon gave way to the country, and the four-lane highway became a two-lane highway, with steep hills and broad winding curves. The road took them through towns and villages called Gates Mills, Chesterland, Chagrin Falls. Will wondered what these roads would be like in the dead of winter.

  The signs announcing villages appeared every few miles or so, the center of the hamlets often nothing more than an intersection, with a church and a small cemetery.

  As they neared their destination the silence became unbearable.

  ‘What do you think, honey?’ Will asked. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  Detta stared out the passenger side window, chewed on a fingernail.

  When they passed the sign that announced they were entering Holland County Will felt as if he recognized the road, the trees, the landscape, as if he knew what would be around the bend in the road.

  But that was not possible, was it?

  They entered Abbeville from the south, at just the opposite side of the town square and the small commercial strip of stores and offices. Will had booked rooms at the town’s only bed and breakfast, a newer establishment built in the 1990s called Red Oak Inn.

  The inn had a large center hall, flanked by a pair of two-story wings. There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot.

  Without a word, Will exited the vehicle, walked to the back, opened the rear door. He took out both of their suitcases and a shoulder bag containing their toiletries.

  They walked beneath the porte-cochère, entered the building. Will’s first impression of Red Oak Inn was a good one: polished wood, brass fittings, sparkling glass.

  ‘Hello there,’ came the voice from the other side of the lobby. The woman was in her fifties. She wore a red flannel shirt with a black vest, black jeans. ‘Welcome to Red Oak.’

  ‘Hi,’ Will said. ‘Will Hardy. This is my daughter, Bernadette.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Will and Bernadette,’ she said.

  She stepped behind the counter, touched a few keys on a computer keyboard. ‘Any trouble finding us?’

  ‘None at all.’

  She continued to work on the computer for a few moments. She then hit the return key, and a printer behind her came to life. She reached into a drawer, took out a pair of electronic key cards.

  ‘You are in rooms 304 and 306, two of our Valley View guest rooms. They are usually booked far in advance for this time of year, but we had a cancellation. I think you’ll like them.’

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ Will said.

  She handed the key cards to Will. ‘Name’s Reina. If you need anything, just pick up the phone and touch 8. Day or night.’

  She pointed to the far end of the lobby, where Will could see into the dining room and, through the floor to ceiling windows, out on to a vast green field and a tree line beyond. ‘Breakfast is buffet style, six to nine-thirty.’

  Reina glanced at Detta, then back at Will. Will sensed that the woman had a daughter or two that had once been Detta’s age. It was a look of compassion and understanding and empathy.

  Will handed one of the cards to Detta. She took it from him and glanced around the lobby.

  ‘Elevators are right through there,’ Reina said. ‘Stairs are right next to the elevators.’

  Without a word, without acknowledging the woman in any way, Detta crossed the lobby and disappeared down the hallway. For a moment Will was ashamed of his daughter, a feeling that instantly morphed into his own shame. It was his way of late, and the feeling neither surprised or upset him. He looked back at Reina, a sheepish grin on his face. She winked at him. She’d been through this.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ she asked. ‘Coffee or tea?’

  ‘Coffee would be great.’

  Reina pointed to the dining room. ‘I’ll put on a fresh pot.’

  Will grabbed his bag, walked to the dining room. He was surprised at how large it was. There were thirty or so tables, with a pair of buffet tables with gleaming steam pans on one side. He looked out the large windows.

  The rear of the property gave way to a gentle slope that fell to a line of trees and a forest that stretched for many miles. It was a panorama of soft and peaceful green. Will was suddenly aware of how quiet it was here.

  To the left of the field was Centennial Village. The grounds were dotted with rectangular white structures, as well as circular white tents. It was surrounded with apple trees.

  A few minutes later Reina approached him, in each hand a steaming mug. She handed one to Will.

  ‘Cream and sugar is just over there.’

  ‘Black is fine. Thanks.’ Will turned back to the view. ‘This is so beautiful.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Every time I start taking it for granted the season changes and I am wowed anew.’

  Will sipped his coffee. It was strong and flavorful.

  ‘I had no intention of ever being in the hospitality business,’ she said. ‘My husband and I stayed here twenty years ago, right when it opened, and we fell in love with the place. Five years later we heard it was for sale.’

  ‘May I ask what you did before this?’

  ‘My husband was an executive with Lincoln Electric in Cleveland for thirty years. I was a library administrator. We have a nice little library here, by the way. Just off the square.’

  ‘My daughter is a big reader,’ Will said. He suddenly felt as if he had to sell this woman on the notion that Detta was not some kind of brat.

  ‘What brings you to Abbeville?’ she asked. She had a manner about her that did not make the question sound as if she were prying. Will suddenly was at a loss for the words to describe the move. He couldn’t figure out how to put it all into a sentence or two.

  ‘Just visiting, really,’ he said. ‘We’re looking into moving to the country. Thought this might be a good place to start.’

  Not a lie, really. Just a thin slice of the truth.

  At this Will heard the sound of the front door to the inn open and close.

  ‘I think you’re g
oing to be seduced by the many charms of Holland County,’ Reina said. ‘I think you’re going to find this home.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

  ‘Of course.’

  As Reina took her leave, Will looked out the windows. The forest at the far end of the field was thick with old growth trees. Pin oak, maple, ash, sycamore. The inn was on a rise, and he could just see the canopy of the woods as it stretched out for miles.

  How was Detta going to adapt to not only the next few weeks, but also the possibility of living somewhere like this? When they left the city it was with the proviso that they might one day move back. Will knew he had to keep open that option, but in his heart he hoped and planned to never return.

  But it isn’t just about you. Is it, Dr Hardy?

  No, Will thought as he finished his coffee and headed back to the lobby and the elevators.

  It is not.

  If the first floor of Red Oak Inn had been welcoming, the guest rooms were even more so. The walls were a soft cream, with a deep green Berber carpet. The room boasted a king-size bed, two wing-back chairs and a secretary’s desk. A pair of French doors gave way to a small balcony, which offered an even greater view of the forest. In addition was an armoire with a decent sized flat screen TV and DVD player.

  After putting everything in the drawers and closets, toiletries in the bathroom, Will stepped into the hallway, walked down to Detta’s room. He put his ear to the door, heard nothing. He knocked.

  ‘Detta?’

  No response.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Will heard the TV volume get louder.

  ‘I’m going to go for a walk,’ Will said.

  He thought about asking if she wanted to accompany him, but knew it would be pointless.

  ‘I’ll be back in a while.’

  Nothing.

  Will waited a few moments, then walked down the hall, the silence a hot, dry wind at his back.

  21

  Tucked between the winding paths behind Veldhoeve, just north of the seven sacred groves, was a small, private solarium. This structure was not open to the public. Indeed, no one not named van Laar had ever entered.

  While seedlings for Zeven Farms were cultivated and refined in a large greenhouse at the north end of the orchards, in this hothouse was grown many secret and delicate plants, among them belladonna, brugmansia, datura, henbane. Stubborn germinators all, over the centuries the van Laar family had developed exotic hybrids of these forbidden plants.

  Jakob stepped into the greenhouse, slipped on a pair of gloves. In the cool light thrown from the T5 fluorescents, he examined the plants. There was one in particular with which he was most interested on this day.

  Rinus van Laar had originally brought the mangradora officinarum to Holland County from the coast of Yugoslavia as a homeopathic preparation. With it came many legends and folkloric myths, one of which included the belief that digging up the plant would cause it to shriek, thereby scaring the digger to death.

  A distant cousin to the deadly nightshade, the plant had been used as an aphrodisiac and sedative. Its hallucinogenic properties, when administered in precise amounts, made it mythical, used in magic rituals and ancient witchcraft.

  To know its full effect, Sébastien van Laar, Jakob’s father, had brewed it into a strong decoction made from the roots of the plant. Jakob recalled that night, the evening of the summer solstice, as if it were yesterday.

  Ten-year-old Jakob had sipped the tea until it was cooled, then drank it all in one gulp. At first he’d thought it was not going to have any effect. He’d thought himself too young. But before long there was suddenly a depth and breadth to his vision, a dimension he had never experienced before.

  He saw so many things that moved his heart. He saw the roots beneath the soil. He saw Eva Larssen waiting beneath the octagonal roof of the gazebo in the town square.

  On this day, as Jakob prepared the root of the plant, he thought about this extraordinary strain, the first and last of its kind. Over the centuries it had been called many names: Silver Vine, Angel’s Trumpet, Four o’Clock Plant, Mexican Tarragon.

  It was also known as Satan’s Apple.

  22

  Will walked the short distance to the town center, a leafy green square marked by a huge water tower, and a large painted ox.

  He saw an inviting bench, standing in a wedge of warm sunlight.

  He sat down, closed his eyes, and saw the studious-looking redhead who sat alone that day on Washington Square, her headphones connected to her Sony Discman, a half-eaten apple in one hand, a worn paperback copy of Madame Bovary in the other.

  Washington Square had been busy that day, bustling with students fresh to the new academic year. Will sat down at the other end of the bench, searching for something clever and witty to say as a sort of amuse-bouche to a conversation. Someone nearby had a radio playing Lisa Loeb’s ‘I Do’.

  Over the years Will tried mightily to recall how their conversation began, but could not. It seems as if he’d just found himself talking to Amanda Kyle, as if he had known her forever.

  They talked until the sun began to go down, the conversation ricocheting from topic to topic, each one a revelation to Will.

  As the day turned into early evening, they both knew they had things to do, books to pore over, a full semester of classes to prepare for.

  ‘Tell you what. I’ll make you a bargain,’ Will said.

  ‘I love bargains.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘Despite my elegant appearance, I do most of my shopping on Seventh Avenue on Saturday.’

  ‘I would never have guessed. I pegged you for a trunk show junkie.’

  ‘Stop stalling,’ she said. ‘What’s my deal?’

  ‘Okay. Four years from now, on this very day, assuming we’re both still here, and I haven’t been kicked out, I’ll meet you right here.’

  ‘Right here as in right here?’

  ‘Right here as in right on this very bench.’

  Amanda nodded, looked away for a few moments, then back. ‘I’m not seeing the value, my friend. I mean, I like you and all, and you’re kind of cute in a mismatched pair of socks sort of way, but I need a prospectus of some sort.’

  ‘I’m getting to that.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘All things being equal, if you can still stand to look at me, and I haven’t yet blown what is clearly a wonderful relationship up to this point, I’m going to propose to you.’

  Amanda opened her mouth, surely to reply with some sort of clever rejoinder, but said nothing. He had caught her off guard.

  ‘You don’t have to say yes now,’ he added.

  ‘See, that’s a huge relief right there. I was starting to feel the pressure.’

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  Amanda made dramatic business of counting off the years on her fingers.

  ‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘You have a deal.’

  They dated other people during those next four years, none of their relationships lasting more than a month or two, each time returning to each other. They had a terrible sense of timing for awhile, each involved with someone while the other was free.

  Will knew that he had hardened his heart after his father’s death, and the fire in Dobb’s Ferry, as well as in all the cloistered corners of his boarding schools. He had steeled himself to relationships with any measure of intimacy. As he got to know Amanda he learned that this was also true for her. She’d lost both her parents at a young age.

  In his junior year Will had the crazy notion that he might have found someone about whom he could be serious, but soon realized that most of that was based on the fact that Amanda had been unavailable, at the time dating a Sarah Lawrence transfer who ate his pizza with a knife and fork.

  Will spent much of his senior year abroad, communicating with Amanda mostly by letter, save for a pair of ill-advised and ill-timed phone calls, calls during which he
was certain Mr Prissy was nearby.

  He returned to the states with Trevor Butler’s idea floating in his mind, a prospect that sat high in his thoughts. The notion of getting to ply his clinical skills in an exotic but dangerous place like the Middle East, experience he knew would serve him well in grad school. He knew that his father had been a man who had run toward the fire, not away, and knew that this was something he needed to prove about himself.

  At long last the day arrived. Will changed his clothes a dozen times, shaved more closely than he ever had in his life. Because they had not specified a time of day, he got to Washington Square around 8 a.m., a dozen roses in hand. By noon he was beginning to feel stupid. When she didn’t show by 5 p.m., he was certain of it.

  That night he got drunk, and faxed the signed papers. In that order. He was going to the Middle East.

  The next day he wandered around the NYU campus, mostly considering how he’d screwed up any chance with Amanda with his fear of commitment.

  Before heading back he stood behind the bench, watching the students walking quickly across the square, feeling really old.

  ‘You’re here.’

  Will spun around. Amanda was standing right behind him.

  She looked more beautiful than ever.

  ‘You didn’t show yesterday, so I just figured . . . ’

  ‘You figured what?’

  ‘I figured you weren’t coming.’

  ‘Wrong day, buster.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You forgot Leap Year.’

  ‘I did?’

  Amanda nodded, put her arms around him. ‘So, about that deal.’

  Will told her about his upcoming year in the Middle East. For a long time she just stood there, looked off into the distance. He’d blown it. He was sure of it.

  ‘Well, then,’ Amanda said. ‘There’s only one option.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Forty-eight hours later, they were married at city hall.

  On the way down the steps, Amanda said: ‘So, about that Leap Year thing?’