Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods

by Bernadine Fagan

  As soon as the words were out, Arianna’s rebuke sounded in my head like a gong.

  This is police business. Common sense should tell you to keep out of it.

  Too bad about her. I was going.

  “We’ll take care of it,” Nick said.

  I was about to blast him when he turned and reached for my hand, pulled it to his heart. “I think it would be better if you didn’t come. I’m going to visit your dentist, then Buster’s place.”

  Smooth operator. Thought he could charm me.

  Then he lifted my hand, turned it gently, and kissed the back of it. “Thank you, Nora. I think you’re wonderful.”

  Oh, all right. I was charmed. But I was still going. I didn’t acquiesce that easily.

  “I’m coming,” I said. “Even though you make me feel like a princess at the ball.

  “No. If you come, he’ll know it was you who tipped me off, and you’ll become a target. Or your family will.”

  Damn. He was right.

  “One of your guys made a video recording the morning Buster’s body was found,” I said. “Of the whole house?”

  “Aye. And I’ve gone over it several times. Nothing unusual. No laptop.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “You think you’ll find something I missed?”

  “I don’t know. I was in there before you. I don’t walk with my eyes closed, you know.”

  “I know. Miller will set it up for you before we leave.”

  He kissed me again. “See you later, princess.”

  I watched the video several times and couldn’t see anything unusual. I had the feeling I’d missed something, but whatever it was eluded me. I’d replay it in my head and come back in a few days.

  I could feel myself getting pulled in, needing to do more, find out faster who killed Buster Verney. What had I missed?

  FIFTEEN

  I mentally replayed scenes from the video recording as I drove back to Ida’s to keep my appointment with Wild Walter, but thoughts about the nephews popped in and out of my head stopping the action. It was possible that one, or both, of them murdered Buster. I pictured Stan running into the house for that last look at his uncle, saw Lenny standing there in his flame-shooting boots, berating his brother, and I wondered if part of it had been an act.

  Something niggled at the back of my mind, something about Stan at the scene. I wondered what he had done when he ran inside. Had he rushed to his uncle’s room to contaminate the scene, or hijack the laptop? Unkind thoughts when he may have been genuinely upset. But possible. I tried to remember if I’d seen a laptop in Buster’s room, or any place else in the house. Nothing came.

  I wondered how angry the nephews were at Buster for withholding money from them. Evidently they knew he had money to dole out. Most of all, I wondered whether either of them were vicious enough to kill.

  I was getting better at finding places, cutting down on my driving time. I was finally feeling comfortable behind the wheel.

  An army jeep, a real one, I think, was parked close to Ida’s house. Dull green, old looking, small, no top, low-slung doors, but in good condition, at least paint-wise. It reminded me of one I saw in an old movie Ida had on a few nights ago.

  The man in the driver’s seat stepped out when I pulled in back of him. He was big, a few inches over six feet, with a rock-solid look and a tanned face mapped with wrinkles. He wore well-worn jeans and a brown leather jacket that hugged his waist. When he angled around I noticed the American flag high on his left sleeve. He didn’t look wild or daffy to me. Determined, I’d say, like a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

  We shook hands. Up close, he looked like he was in his late fifties. Hard to tell.

  “Walter Cooper,” he said, his hazel eyes unsmiling, looking at me with a piercing gaze that seemed to search inside my head.

  I returned the scrutiny.

  “Nora Lassiter.”

  I was a New York City woman, after all, and not easily intimidated, if that was what he was trying to do. “Glad to meet you, Walter. Glad a family member is interested in the property. Thought I might have to sell outside the family.”

  “Umm,” he replied, still staring.

  “Well. Let’s skip all this chit-chat,” I said, wishing there were some chit chat. “You know I have fifty acres for sale, don’t you?”

  “Ay-uh. Not interested in all of it.”

  “Oh. That might be a game-changer.” If I sold this off in bits and pieces it could take forever. “How much are you interested in?”

  “Three, four acres.”

  “Such a small section.”

  “You don’t want to sell?”

  “I’m not sure. It might work,” I said, trying not to let my disappointment show. This called for a family conference. I’d get the aunts’ input.

  “Still interested in showing me the land?”

  “Sure.” I wondered whether Nick had cleared him yet. We started walking around the house. “What do you intend to use the land for?”

  I was tempted to ask about his relationship with Buster, but decided to hold off a while. Get a feel for him first.

  “Well, Ma’am. I’m finally going to get a place of my own. Right now I live with my sister. My place burned down years back and I had no insurance so I lost everything. I only had a small parcel of land and I sold that off to stay solvent.”

  “Sorry to hear about the insurance problem.”

  I wondered about the divorce and who was living in the house when it burned down. “Was anyone at home when that happened?” I asked, ducking under a low branch.

  “No.”

  “Fortunate.”

  We walked toward the water.

  “The property begins on the far side of the stream,” I said, wondering if he’d saved the money for the property or come into a windfall. Was he paying alimony? Why had his wife moved to Arizona? So far from him, so far from family? I’m too nosy for Maine.

  “One thing more,” he said.

  Pausing by the tool shed, I raised my brows and looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “I want the parcel that touches on the road on the far side. I plan to set up a little … shop.”

  Shop. Why my thoughts flew to porn, I’ll never know. Maybe because I’m a city girl.

  Cautiously, I asked, “What kind of shop?”

  Wild Walter finally smiled at me, I think. A tiny movement of his lips occurred at the right corner of his mouth. This had to be his version of the smile. Who could say for sure?

  We stood by the shed for another awkward moment. Finally he said, “I’m a chainsaw artist.”

  I stepped away from the shed, which I knew for a fact contained a chainsaw.

  “An artist? Wonderful.” I sounded earnest. I know I did.

  Without hesitating, I headed for the stream that marked the end of Ida’s property.

  I would not think about The Texas Chainsaw Massacres. At all. Besides, the aunts would have warned me if Uncle Walter were dangerous. Great-Aunt Agnes did think he was a little nutty. That was all.

  “I do sculptures of animals. Squirrels are my favorites,” Walter said.

  “Squirrels,” I said. “I love squirrels.” Big fat lie.

  “I sell online now, but I know I’ll do better with an actual store.”

  The relief I felt had me checking the water level of the stream. I should have worn my sturdy, tough and oh-so-practical L.L. Bean boots since the flat stepping stones in the stream were submerged after last night’s rain. My cuffed Uggs might not be up to this challenge. They came with warnings about visible water stains if not handled properly.

  Oh, thank God Uncle Walter created sculptures of squirrels.

  “When we seal the deal, I’ll make you one,” Walter said as I studied the stepping stones. “And we can do that as soon as I get the coins. And the tank. Buster’s coins. His tank, too.”

  Damn. The stones were submerged deeper than I expected.

  “I thought you just said
Buster’s coins and a tank. Did I mishear?”

  “You heard right.”

  “Buster gave you coins? Like a coin collection, you mean? And a tank to go with them?”

  We stopped at the edge of the stream and I watched the water flow over the stones, several inches high from what I could tell.

  “Ay-uh.”

  “What kind of tank?”

  “Sherman tank, Ma’am.”

  “What exactly do you mean by Sherman tank?”

  “A World War II tank. One built in the 1940s. This one’s an M4A3E8 with an M2 plow.”

  I gaped at him, and I am not a person who gapes. It’s been many years since I last gaped.

  “Oh, yes. That one,” I said finally.

  He stared at me, puzzled.

  “I’m not sure what I expected, Walter, but that wasn’t even in the ball park. You’re making me crazy. Tell me about the damn tank. And I’m warning you, if you give a clipped answer or anything with numbers or letters I may have to hurt you.”

  “Ay-uh.”

  He smiled his Walter-style smile again. “Buster’s father bought this army tank at the end of the WWII and used it to plow trails on his property. I rode in it when I was a kid. About forty years ago he stored it in a cinderblock garage next to a hill. Trees grew up around it. The garage became part of the hill.”

  “But it’s not yours.”

  “A while back I told Buster I wanted to get my own place again. Time to move out of my sister’s place. Set up my sculptures. Then find a way to draw attention to them. He suggested the tank to attract attention and mentioned starting an ordnance museum, too, maybe doing some military sculptures. Buster was partial to military equipment and personnel. Like me. It was time to get rid of that tank. He said I could have it when I got around to taking it.”

  “He wrote this down?”

  “Since he was doing up a new will, he said he’d include the tank and his coin collection. Just in case.”

  “So you don’t have the coins yet. How much is the coin collection worth?”

  “Don’t know exactly. Good amount, I suppose.”

  Humph. I had the feeling he knew the approximate worth of the collection. I wondered how I could check this.

  Meanwhile, this man was going to park a tank on my property. For one reckless moment my imagination took wing and I saw myself driving a tank. The fantasy came to an abrupt end as I fumbled with the controls and crashed into several trees and a house.

  “Is any of this a secret? I mean about the will?”

  “Don’t know.”

  My gaze went from Walter to the stones in the stream and back to Walter. My thoughts doubled back, also. “So do you have any idea when you’ll have possession of the tank and coins?”

  “Soon.”

  I should listen to the aunts on this one. Walter had no money for land.

  I hadn’t seen any hint of a will on the computer. We had to find that missing laptop.

  Being a rush-to-judgment person, it took about three seconds to decide the nephews knew about a new will.

  My heart beat a little faster. Lenny and Stan were in the outer circles of the target, inching toward the bull’s eye. Again.

  “How new was this will?”

  “Several months old, I think. That’s if he filed it. He was doing it on his computer first, then he was gonna take it to the lawyer.”

  “Do you know whether he ever gave it to the lawyer?”

  “Wouldn’t know that.”

  I wondered whether the stones were slippery, so I waved my hand indicating that Walter should cross first.

  What a crappy day. First the dentist, then the lisp, followed by the missing laptop, and now I’m faced with the possible destruction of my beautiful Uggs. As if all that weren’t enough, it was possible that a military tank would be moving into my backyard. Good thing I’d skipped the visit to Vivian and the animal kingdom.

  I needed to get back to the city.

  Agile Walter crossed rapidly, not even bothering to put his arms out for balance, not caring that his Wolverines were wet. I rose to the challenge, sort of, and headed over, arms extended like a gymnast on a balance beam, my heart breaking a bit with each step, especially when I saw the long hairs of my Mongolian sheep cuffs floating outward. I couldn’t remember whether I’d brought the cleaning directions with me. I probably needed a special cleaning solution which I didn’t have. Dreamer that I was, I wondered whether the Country Store carried Ugg cleaner.

  “So, look around. My land begins here. There’s access from the other side, about fifty acres in that general direction,” I said, pointing. “North, I think.”

  “That’d be west, Ma’am.”

  “Fine. West.” I hoped the boots weren’t ruined. “I think it’s a few miles. Not sure how you calculate.”

  We walked a bit.

  Buster’s land. Buster’s will.

  “I hadn’t heard about a new will,” I said, “although I’m not sure I would have. I mean, why should I? It’s none of my business.”

  “Ay-uh.”

  “Lenny and Stan have moved back in the house. I guess they miss their uncle very much,” I said, reaching for his opinion of the nephews.

  “Wouldn’t know about that.”

  I gave up. “Who would be interested in a Sherman tank?” I asked as Walter surveyed the land.

  “Don’t know. Some folks, I suppose.”

  “How much to buy one?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. I know one sale that went through for quarter of a million. But that one was in fine shape. Others go for less. It depends.”

  A quarter of a million? This day was filled with surprises.

  I told Uncle Walter I’d decide whether to sell in a few days and get back to him. I didn’t know how likely it was that someone would buy the entire fifty acres that I was paying tax on. To go piecemeal or not, that was the question.

  But then, how likely was it that he would come up with the money? I had a strong feeling that most of the money would come because of Buster’s death. Something to think about.

  I stood on the front porch and watched Uncle Walter bump down the driveway in his jeep that really was a jeep, the kind that actually had been over hill and dale along a dusty trail.

  The October sky was overcast, the cold moving in like a warning of things to come. I flashed back to a snowy day in my childhood. I was trudging down our driveway to get the mail, pretending I was lost in a blizzard. Fierce winds howled through the trees and swooped down to send me tumbling into a drift. Undaunted, I fought my way up and faced the elements with unfailing bravery, with courage unmatched by friend or foe. I was Supergirl.

  I could have picked up the mail when the snow stopped, or after my father plowed, but I was a kid who had just finished reading The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and I needed to trudge.

  I was not a kid any more. I’d be gone before this winter set in, that was for sure. Good. I didn’t want to be here for all that snow. I stepped back out of the wind, snuggled into the collar of my wool jacket, and hit Nick’s number on the top of my Favorites list. He answered immediately. I smiled at the sound of his deep voice, and yes, his sexy voice, if I do say so.

  “Can’t talk now. I’m handling another burglary investigation.”

  “Something big?”

  “One of the cabins near the lake.”

  “Just tell me whether you cleared Uncle Walter yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What’s holding you up?”

  “He’s reluctant to talk about Buster. More specifically, his argument with him.”

  “How about Lenny and the laptop?”

  “He has the case and admitted it belonged to Buster, but the laptop inside belongs to him.”

  “You believe him?”

  “Didn’t have to. I saw the proof. It’s his computer. He showed me the receipt for it. Brand new.”

  SIXTEEN

  With all the chore
s Great-Aunt Ida and I did the next morning, I didn’t get to visit the former jailbird until late in the afternoon. After the horrendous experiences I’d endured at Vivian’s place when I fed the Pomeranian pack, I dressed appropriately. In rags.

  I discovered suitable stuff in a black plastic garbage bag in the back of the closet—huge canvas overalls that could not have belonged to petite Great-Grandma Evie, whose room I occupied. I could have done without the mothball smell. When I finally had the guts to check myself in the mirror, I wished I hadn’t. Add a little straw and I was a scarecrow come to life, a woman in search of a yellow brick road.

  Vivian’s dogs greeted me like their long lost pal, yipping and scrambling, vying for position around the L.L. Bean duck hunting boots that I’d purchased in a bin of used shoes at a tag sale. That I would even stop at a tag sale, let alone look in such a bin, shows a side of me I wish had never surfaced. If anyone asks, of course I will deny everything.

  I wasn’t about to wear the nice boots I’d bought from the L.L. Bean catalogue a few weeks ago. Well, nice is stretching it. All I can say is they were serviceable and didn’t look overly hideous. My Uggs were stashed safely in my suitcase, out of harm’s way. I’d managed to repair most of the stream damage, but I wasn’t taking any more chances with them. I’d ordered Ugg cleaner on the Internet. When it arrived, I’d complete the job, if it wasn’t too late.

  Vivian hadn’t cleaned much. I smelled cat litter. Evidence of the gas-blaster lurked in the kitchen. She did not offer me coffee for which I was grateful, and believe me, I love my coffee. I should buy stock in Starbucks. If I had money to spend on stocks, maybe I would.

  “What’s going on, Vivian?” I asked as I sat across from her on a cracked vinyl kitchen chair, careful not to touch anything with exposed body parts. Next time I’d wear gloves. Life is a learning process. “You look awful.”

  Her solid gold hair was greasy and not so solid at the roots, a fitting complement to her stained white sweatshirt and baggy jeans.

  “I don’t care how I look and neither do my dogs,” she fired back, then shook her head sadly. “My life is in the toilet and I don’t know what to do about it. Which is where you come in.”