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

by Bernadine Fagan

  He kissed a path down my neck. I melted, turned my head and boldly sought his mouth again. It felt so right, like I was where I belonged.

  That thought brought me up short. I didn’t belong with him. Much as I wanted this man, I knew I couldn’t have him. It would constitute a level of commitment I was unwilling to make. As I reeled from his touch, my eyes closed tightly and I felt a moment of loss so stunning that the weight of it almost sent me to my knees.

  With more reluctance than I imagined possible, I pulled back.

  “I have so much to tell you,“ I said, smiling to soften the fact that I ended our embrace, and to make me feel better about doing it.

  “We can talk at my place. I did make that spaghetti dinner I promised you. All I have to do is reheat it and boil the pasta.”

  I knew for certain that if we went to his place right now, I would not be able to resist him. I needed time to figure this out. My plan had always been to return to New York. Maine was a place to visit. Nick was someone to … to what? Be friends with? To kiss?

  I tried to shake the thoughts from my head. Life in Maine was getting murky where Nick was concerned. He was in the way of my plan. I was coming to care too much. Dangerous.

  “It’s been an awful day. Could we postpone dinner until tomorrow?”

  “We could.”

  I read disappointment in his eyes, but he didn’t press. I liked him for that.

  To turn his thoughts, I told him about the two men at Lenny’s house and the fact that they were walking in the woods.

  “Lenny wanted to show them something. I’m sure they were headed in a definite direction.”

  His frown of concern had me worried.

  “What?”

  “You know what. This is dangerous. You could have gotten killed or seriously hurt. I wish you’d be more careful. These guys play hard ball. You don’t even carry a gun to protect yourself.”

  “Gun?” I shivered. “I don’t do guns.”

  “My point exactly. You are not equipped to handle murder investigations.”

  “I went to visit Vivian,” I said. “Not to investigate a murder.”

  “But you ended up in a tree because you wanted a plate number.”

  “I didn’t get the number, but—“ I rummaged around in my bag and pulled out the scrap of material and the plastic— “I did find these.” I handed him the evidence.

  “And this is?”

  “I think it’s important. Smell it.”

  He took a quick whiff. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “It’s very faint, I admit, but I think it’s men’s cologne, something cheap. Don’t you wonder what it was doing in that tree?”

  He turned the scrap of cloth over and stared at it. “It’s not evidence of anything, except maybe someone once had something made of brown flannel and now a bit of it is floating around the woods.”

  “This material is important. So is the plastic. I know it. This stuff must belong to one of the nephews and it was up a tree. Do they wear clothing made of brown flannel?”

  “Lots of guys probably have brown flannel shirts.”

  “This was used for something that someone wanted to hide. Why would anyone store something in a tree?”

  “Keep bears from getting into food, or in some cases to attract bears in order to kill them when it’s illegal. I’ll talk to the game warden. See if there’s been anything like that going on around here.”

  “What about the scent?”

  “I told you I don’t smell anything.”

  “I have a wonderful sense of smell, very well developed. Let’s ignore your lack of that sense. Just tell me, why would someone spray cologne on a bag in a tree? Would it keep animals away or attract them?”

  “It would repel. It’s a good place to hide something. I’ll send this to the lab. See what they come up with.”

  I stepped back and looked around. “Let’s not stand here in the middle of the road. The moose might find me again, or a car might come along.”

  We got into his SUV.

  “Nick, I can find out important things without a gun, like Lenny and those guys by the lake.”

  “When I spoke to Lenny, he insisted it was all a misunderstanding on your part. Said he tripped. Period.”

  “You know he lied. Right?”

  “Ay-uh.” He turned down the static on his radio.

  “He’s scared and I don’t blame him. He owes money to someone, Nick. Those guys must have been sent to collect or at least give him a message. If I’d taken a picture, the flash would have gone off. I didn’t have time to set up anything else.”

  “I know Lenny’s into them for something. I’ll check it out. You do have good instincts.”

  “Remember, I saw cards on the computer screen. Do you think he’s involved with gambling and lost a lot of money?”

  “Probably. I’m checking.”

  He held my hand.

  “Remember when you told me there was bad blood between Buster and Ray. Why was that?” I asked.

  “Had to do with a business arrangement that Ray disapproved of. He figured Buster was getting the best of him. Buster put in a lot of hours at the camp with different groups and he wanted a bigger percentage of the profits he brought in. Can’t say as I blame him.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That and the fact that Buster took vets out for free. On his own time, but he used the grounds of the All-Season Wilderness Lodge and Campground and sometimes used their boats, too. ‘Course, Ray would never admit to being annoyed about that, at least not publicly, but I think that had something to do with it.”

  “I have something to tell you,” I said, “that you must try to keep secret. I need your word on this.”

  Nick shook his head as he spoke. “I can’t make promises like that.”

  “Please. Try. I mean you don’t have to write it down, do you? Or tell anyone else?”

  “It might not be important. I won’t write it down, but about telling anyone else, I can’t guarantee it.”

  I accepted that.

  “I figured. Anyway, Buster was the father of Rhonda’s son. Ray may not know. She could never bring herself to tell him.”

  Nick’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned down the chatter on his police radio even further. “My God,” he said softly. Then, “I wonder if he suspected. Steven looks nothing like Ray. Now that I think about it, he resembles Buster in build.”

  “Can you keep this secret?”

  “At least while I investigate. This is good information, Detective Nora. Thank you.” He leaned over and kissed me. “I have some info for you.”

  “Sharing. I love it.”

  “You might not love it. It’s about Vivian. We checked the phone records of all calls made to and from Buster’s house the morning of the murder. Vivian called him early in the morning, just like she said. But the return call to her, the one she said was from Buster asking her to come over? That never happened. No out-going calls were made from Buster’s home phone or cell to Vivian. He called Rhonda and his nephews. He wanted the nephews to pick up supplies. No other calls.”

  “Why would they pick up supplies?”

  “They lived in a small apartment over the Country Store and were going to work at the camp that day.”

  “Why would Vivian lie?”

  “To hide something? We checked her Caller ID. There was one incoming call from a company selling insurance. That’s it. To double check on Buster, we called her house from his phone and his name and number came up on her Caller ID.”

  “His cell, too?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “Nora, we think she went over there on her own.”

  Another shock.

  Although I didn’t understand how this was possible, and could not be sure of her innocence, I was quick to defend her.

  “Some diabolical person is involved. Whoever it was, planned to kill Buster. It was definitely premeditated. Someone set Vivian up.”

  “If she didn’t do it, I’
m up against a phenomenal planner. A real manipulator. The timing here was impeccable, Nora. I’d even go so far as to say close to impossible. I can’t figure it out and no one in the department has a clue either.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  Nick stared at me, but didn’t comment on the we. I figured he was thinking about it. Good thing he said nothing. It wasn’t every day I ventured into the woods, got attacked by a moose, climbed a tree to escape and ruined my iceberg blue Islesboro cotton zip-front bird’s eyes cardigan with the festive, Nordic-inspired motif. It had been on clearance. If he said a word I would have felt obligated to give him a rundown on my efforts and it wouldn’t be pretty.

  “It was a crime of opportunity. Someone saw the opportunity and took it,” I said.

  “You might be right.”

  He didn’t sound convinced.

  My phone vibrated, indicating a text message. I checked the name of the sender, grinned, and dropped it back into my bag.

  “Not important?” Nick asked.

  “I have to be going,“ I said, reaching for the door handle. “And no, it’s not important at all.”

  I checked Vivian’s house before heading back home. She still wasn’t home. I wondered if she’d really gone to the library.

  By the time I pulled into Aunt Ida’s driveway, my unruly thoughts were focused on Nick, romantically speaking. Determined not to think about him for at least an hour, I turned off Ce-Ce’s engine just as Yo Yo Ma’s tones played on my cell. It was Mary Fran.

  “Hi. What’s up?” I asked, thinking about Caller ID.

  “Vivian finally left the pharmacy. She was in there a long time. She could have counted all the sour balls in that jar by now. The one on the counter?”

  “I know. Did you see where she went?”

  “I did. You know, Nora, when I’m given a job, I do it right.”

  “Yes. So where… ”

  “She just drove by the door of Hot Heads Heaven. If she’s going back to her place she’s heading the wrong way. I’m watching her taillights now.”

  “Thanks, Mary Fran. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Should I follow her?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Right, boss. Call anytime.”

  I made a decision. I sent a text to Whatshisname telling him he could rent the apartment on a month to month basis only. I called Lori and told her.

  “Can I handle the paperwork?” she asked. “I just got my real estate license. He can be my first client. He’ll pay top dollar.”

  “Go for it,” I said. “You can text him.”

  I sent Lori the details about the apartment. I would charge exorbitant rates and get back some of what the cheater owed me. I hung up and opened Ce-Ce’s door.

  That’s when I heard it.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  If I’d been blindfolded when I opened Ce-Ce’s door and stepped out I would have presumed I was at the wrong house. My best guess would have been somewhere in Nashville, perhaps near the Grand Ole Opry House. What on earth was going on? I rushed up the front steps, and headed for the source.

  My heart’s on fire, Elvira.

  Although I’d never followed country music very closely, I recognized the Oak Ridge Boys’ rendition of “Elvira.”

  I stopped short at the kitchen door and stared.

  The aunts were dancing.

  The table had been pushed aside and they were lined up in the middle of the floor, stepping this way and that with Hannah calling the moves. Their backs to me, they were too intent to notice my arrival.

  “Left, slide. Down and tap.”

  Elvira, Elvira.

  Ida bumped into Agnes. “Left, Agnes. Left.”

  “Stomp, clap,” Hannah called out, her voice loud enough to carry, although I’m not sure Agnes heard it above the loud music.

  Hannah turned the music down. “No, no. The stomp is first, Agnes, then the clap.”

  Omm Poppa, Mow Mow.

  “Well, I like clapping. No harm in an extra clap, if you ask me,” Agnes said with a double clap to punctuate her words. “But maybe we should sit a spell.”

  Suddenly, they spotted me, all activity ceased and a grinning, ruddy-faced Ida switched off the music.

  “Nora. Glad you’re back. We’re practicing the electric slide for the Harvest Dance. Want to join us?”

  “So it wasn’t as bad as you thought, Ms. Rockette?”

  “No high kicking,” she said as she held me at arms length, studying my tattered sweater with a look of concern. “You look like you were the receiver of some high kicking. What happened?”

  Hannah took hold of my hand. “Tell us. We can see you’ve been in the woods. Your sweater looks like a rag.”

  “Well, she’s a bit messy, but she certainly doesn’t look like a hag,” Agnes said. “Our Nora is pretty.”

  “We’re ready for a break,” Ida said to me. “The hors d’oeuvres I put in the oven are about ready. Let’s have them in the front room while you tell us about the goings on.”

  “Nora, take my advice. Throw that sweater out. It’s past saving,” Agnes said, looking me over.

  I gave Great-Aunt Agnes a kiss. “It’s headed for the garbage. And Hannah said it looks like a rag.”

  Seated in the front room with the three aunts, a platter of crab puffs and mini spinach quiches, three cups of tea and one coffee—I don’t do tea—I swore them to secrecy, then brought them up to date on Buster’s murder investigation. I told them about the men involved with Lenny at the lake and at Buster’s house; the moose episode; the telephone records that showed Buster never called Vivian; everything except Rhonda’s big secret. Although I did mention that I had reason to suspect Ray Racanelli might be involved.

  So many clues, I thought as I was verbalizing the situation, and yet I couldn’t pull them together and come up with an answer.

  They listened quietly with a few oohs and aahs sprinkled here and there, especially when I described the moose incident. When I finished, Hannah said, “So much going on. How will you ever figure this out?”

  “Oh, our Nora’s a puzzle solver. Always has been, even as a child. She’ll figure it out,” Ida said, her pride and confidence reassuring. “Don’t you worry. And if she thinks Vivian is innocent, she probably is.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Ida.” I swallowed hard. “First, I’ve got to find the laptop. Nick hasn’t had any luck.”

  Hannah said, “You mentioned the dentist’s office. Maybe you should start your search there. Or in Buster’s house. I mean a thorough search, of course. Did you find out who Buster was kissing under the weeping beech?”

  “I did. I’m not sure I should tell you.”

  “Rhonda?” Ida asked with a knowing look.

  Aunt Ida’s mystery fan side was showing. I figured she’d probably been thinking about this for some time. I wasn’t surprised she’d guessed since I’d mentioned Rhonda’s husband Ray as a suspect. I decided not to sidestep the question. “Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it, okay? And you must all promise to keep everything secret.”

  “We know the drill,” Hannah said, raising her hand, palm out, as if she were taking an oath.

  Agnes reached for a crab puff. “Our lips are zipped,” she said, making the universal mouth-zipping motion with her free hand.

  “So you’ve mentioned four suspects … Lenny, Stan, Ray and Vivian. Anyone else?” Ida asked.

  I thought about Uncle Walter. “I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “For now, those are it. I’ll ask Nick when I see him tomorrow. Maybe he’s got someone he hasn’t told me about.”

  I pretended not to notice Ida’s suspicious gaze. I was pretty sure she realized I was holding back, but Walter was family and the evidence linking him was slim. I figured it was best not to mention it yet.

  “Nick should search the dentist’s office,” Hannah said, spooning a bit of sugar into her tea. “Not you, of course.”

  The rich sound of sterling pinging against fine chi
na filled the silence as Hannah stirred her tea, and I took a few short seconds to consider that.

  “I suppose Lenny could have hidden something there, but I don’t think so. Anyway, Nick could get a search warrant, or maybe it wouldn’t even be necessary. I don’t see any reason the dentist wouldn’t let him. Lenny may work there, but the office belongs to the dentist.”

  I took a crab puff, and followed it with a mini spinach quiche. Delicious. I should learn to make these.

  “It’s odd that Vivian would say Buster called if he didn’t. She must have known they’d check,” Agnes said. “Even I’d know that, and I’m not a mystery fan like Ida or Hannah.”

  “Yes, it’s odd and it bothers me,” I said, spreading my hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I’m working for Vivian and I’m inclined to believe she did not murder Buster. So much of the evidence against her is odd. I can only deduce that it was planted. But how? That’s the real mystery.”

  “The killer is wicked smart. For sh-ur,” Ida said, narrowing her eyes.

  “Well, it bothers me that she wasn’t home when you arrived today,” Hannah said. “I wonder what she was up to?”

  Everyone nodded, including me.

  When we finished eating and were carrying dishes to the kitchen with me at the end of the slow line, Hannah said, “Nora, we never did decide what you should wear to the dance tomorrow night. You must look particularly pretty. Of course, you’re always pretty. I don’t mean to imply that you aren’t, but tomorrow is special.”

  Decide? They wanted to decide what I should wear?

  I stopped short, causing the cup to rattle in its saucer.

  The last time anyone chose an outfit for me I was about seven years old, maybe younger. My mother never cared what I put on as long as it was clean. When I look back at elementary and high school pictures, something I do with a frequency ranging from seldom to never, I wonder what I was thinking when I chose some of those outfits.

  I’ve come a long way, baby. Ever since I had my colors done and it was determined that I was a summer, I’ve made it my business to follow trends, select the proper colors and dress for the occasion. Summers should wear the softest dusty tones. The most flattering garments are the solids on my palette. However, I can select, with the greatest care, soft watercolor prints as well as complex patterns. Fashion faux pas are a thing of the past, except for a few of my Maine choices, but that can’t be helped. Maine is different.