“Oh, yes. We should all have a hand in the selection,” Ida said.
“What are we having a hand in?” Agnes asked as she set the crab puff platter on the counter and studied the remaining puff.
“Nick will be there, you know,” Ida said, attempting to sound casual.
“Oh? What difference does that make? I’m mainly interested in seeing you guys do your line dance.”
“Pshaw,” Hannah said, with a dismissive wave. “You think we believe that?”
“My money’s on Nick. Such a handsome devil. Perfect for our Nora,” Agnes said, picking up the last crab puff. “Why would she want anyone but Nick Renzo?”
Why indeed, I thought, holding back the smile I did not want them to see. What I did want them to see was what I intended to wear. I dashed upstairs, rummaged through my latest purchase, made online, pulled out the items I needed and quickly changed.
They were waiting at the bottom of the stairs as I made my entrance.
“Oh, my,” Agnes said as I came down.
“Perfect,” Hannah proclaimed. “Wicked good.”
Ida’s pressed her hands to her heart and her eyes misted. “Doesn’t she look the one.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The sound of water pelting the window woke me the following morning. Uncle Walter was coming today with a surveyor to mark off the area he was interested in purchasing, and I figured I’d be trekking through wet woods with them. I really didn’t want to go. I wished they could go alone.
Last night I’d called to tell him I’d sell him the four-acre segment he wanted. Within half and hour he phoned back to tell me about the surveyor. Such a quick response from a man for whom money might be a problem.
Before I got dressed, I rummaged through my handbag and found the name of the dog food Vivian used and looked it up on the Internet. There was a page full of results. Interesting. I’d talk to her today about this.
Fortunately, the rain let up before Walter and his surveyor friend arrived, so I didn’t get drenched. Unfortunately, every leaf, pine needle and bit of brush held rainwater that splattered on me. Also, unfortunately, Walter brought his dog. He even introduced him as soon as they arrived.
“Nora, meet Zeus.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant the dog or the surveyor so I said hello and looked at both, so as not to offend.
All in all, I spent a horrible morning in the woods, waiting for the surveyor and dodging the huge dog that seemed to relish whooshing past me like a cannonball on legs, going for the extra splatter. He did it on purpose, I was sure.
Good thing I’d worn my belted thigh-length red Burberry rain jacket with the gunflap stand-up collar and the drawstring hood. When I wasn’t able to evade the spotted menace, it helped keep me dry.
Being in the woods made me think of Lenny and the two men with him yesterday. Lenny must have been taking them to see something he’d hidden. In a brown flannel cloth? Maybe covered with a tarp?
The surveyor finished up and said he’d have the paperwork done in a week or so. After he left Uncle Walter said, “The Sherman will be the crown jewel outside the museum that will house my sculpture displays. I’ve been working on a few ordnance pieces, too. Right now, I have to go to Buster’s, talk to the nephews and discuss removal.”
“You think they’ll let you have it?” I asked as we walked toward his jeep.
“Let me have it?” he shouted. The viciousness in his voice was totally unexpected, and had I been a person who buckled beneath such ferocity, I would have stepped back. I held my ground and waited for an explanation.
“Buster wanted me to have it and I will have it,” he said.
This was another side of Walter. I had to find out why Nick placed him on the list of persons of interest. For now, I decided to stay with him and observe the interaction between him and the nephews. While I was over that way, I’d go see Vivian. I thought of one other thing I could handle while I was there. I definitely needed to go.
“Can I go with you? I’d like to see the tank.”
Indicating the passenger door of his jeep, his expression morphed from severe to composed and he made a courtly gesture to match.
“Hop in.”
He motioned for the wet cannonball on the passenger seat to jump in back. The dog eyed me with a little hostility, I thought, then vaulted the seat while I considered fleas, wet dog hairs and general dog slobber.
I couldn’t, just couldn’t, sit in that seat. Besides, there were no seat belts. That was against the law.
“Walter, I’ll follow you in my truck. That way you won’t have to drive me back.
“Suit yourself.”
He drove fast. I almost lost him several times. Road and trees blurred by in the wildest ride of my driving career. I was scared silly, tearing up the road like Junior Gale Bernhart, or was that Earnhardt? What had Howie called him?
No time to think.
Concentrate, concentrate. Steer, brake, gas. Stay on the road. Follow the maniac driver in the army-green jeep.
In less time than it takes me to choose an outfit for the day, Uncle Walter arrived at Buster’s, sailed up the driveway and skidded to a halt in a spray of gravel. Ce-Ce was close on his tail with me behind the wheel, bug-eyed, sweating and panting like the prey in one of those Halloween slasher movies.
Walter hopped out of the jeep like he’d been sitting in an ejector seat. Beside him, the spotted menace pranced around, tail wagging a mile a minute.
Going for casual, I sauntered over and steadied my knees which were still reacting to the death-defying ride. “Do you remember where the tank was parked?”
“If it’s still in the cinderblock garage, it’s about half a klick from the house. That way.” He pointed to the right and down a bit.
I would not ask what a klick was. I draw the line sometimes.
“Buster owns lot of property, more than a square mile, I heard.”
“Ay-uh.”
Uncle Walter was back to his laconic self. Fine by me, at least for now since I was still in maniac-ride recovery mode, and edgy. As I watched Walter advance on the front door, my edginess increased. I couldn’t imagine how Lenny or Stan would react to his demand.
Since Lenny’s truck wasn’t around, I figured Stan was home alone. He might be cautious, answer the door with a gun in hand. After what happened to his brother by the lake, it’s what I’d do.
Instead of going with Walter, I held back, allowing my knees more recovery time. It’s not that I was afraid or anything like that. I thought it best for him to confront Stan alone, that’s all. Seconds later, Walter was banging on the door like the hounds of hell were at his heels.
In reflex, I jumped back and bumped Ce-Ce’s side view mirror, knocking it askew. While I fixed the mirror, Walter continued to bang. No letup.
Finally, Stan opened the door.
“Walter Cooper. Hello. It’s good to—“
“Cut the crap, Stan. I’m here to check out my Sherman tank. You should have called by now and told me to take it.”
Stan’s jaw dropped a few centimeters, a disingenuous reaction if ever I saw one. He raked his fingers through the mop of hair on his head, making it worse, which was hard to do. What a mess.
“Tank? I don’t know nothing about you getting no tank. Buster told me I could have the tank.”
Stan’s eyes darted from Walter to me, and I gave a tiny little wave, which he didn’t bother to acknowledge.
Walter yanked the storm door open and barged into the house, Zeus close behind him. Stan stood his ground and didn’t move to accommodate Walter. I bit my bottom lip and headed for the door. Stan glanced at me, probably wondering why I’d come.
Standing toe to toe it was easy to see that Walter was bigger, more powerfully built than Stan. His build and height compensated for the age difference. Besides, in his late fifties, Walter wasn’t too old to be formidable.
“Where is it?”
Stan knew when to back off a bit. “It’s in that cinderblock
garage, way off to the side, almost down by the road. All overgrown and filled in with dirt from the rise behind it that washed down.”
I stepped onto the porch. “Hi, Stan,” I said, as if the little episode with the book on the bus never happened. “Walter’s buying property from me and he plans to move the tank there. I came to see it, too.”
Stan looked at me for a nanosecond, but said nothing, not even hello as Walter held the door for me. Tension as thick as the haze of cigarette smoke that swirled around the room filled the air.
Both men went into the kitchen, Zeus gamboling around them, ready for high adventure, me following as if I’d been invited.
Stan paused at the back door. “The tank is over that way, almost back down by the road.” He pointed. “But it’s easier to get to it this way. Buster made a tote road through the woods.”
Zeus’s nails clicked double-time as he pranced faster, eager to be on his way.
“If I recall it’s less than a klick away. His tank is now my tank. Let’s go,” Walter said, the tone of his voice mirroring Zeus’s impatience. “You weren’t busy, were you, Stan? I want to see it, see what shape it’s in.”
“Never too busy for one of Uncle Buster’s old friends, but like I said, he gave me the tank.”
Walter ignored that. I wondered why Stan even consented to show the tank to Walter.
I followed them out the door. After a few normal steps, I went down on one knee with a groan, and purposely knocked a yellow flag askew as if I’d tripped over it, my acting ability definitely qualifying as Oscar material. Both men turned. Stan’s expression never changed. This was old hat for him. He’d witnessed my tumbling spectacle on the bus.
I added a wince. Walter offered me a hand, and I waved him off as I jammed the flagstick back in the ground.
“Don’t worry about that,” Stan said to me. “We’re not doing the extension. We have to pull all those flags out.”
“You all right?” Walter asked, his concern evident in his voice and his expression.
“Fine,” I grunted. “It’s just a little twist. But I don’t want to go trekking through the woods. I’ll see the tank another time.”
“You sure you don’t need medical attention?” Walter asked.
“Absolutely positive. Go ahead without me,” I said, “I’ll wait in my truck until you get back. Then, I have to go visit Vivian.”
I limped back inside and moved from sight until I was certain they were safely away. I wished I’d asked how far a klick was. Oh, well. Spilt milk. Let’s see. A mile? No, then he’d have said a mile. Maybe a little more or a little less. Why do people do things like this? They make life more complicated.
I checked my watch, allotted ten minutes, and set about searching for the laptop.
Moving quickly, I began in the living room. I was methodical, checking high areas and working my way down to floor level, crawling around to check under couch and chairs. Nothing but dirt and dust, candy wrappers and dirty paper plates. In the kitchen I opened every cabinet, checked the refrigerator—peanut butter, beer, two slices of congealed cheese pizza on a paper plate and, in the vegetable bin, one dirty sock and two apples. I didn’t want to think about why the sock was there. Eeew.
In a bedroom with clothing covering every inch of floor, the only thing I noticed was the mate to the refrigerated sock and the shirt Stan wore when he drove the bus to the lake. The clothes gave off a faint smell of aftershave or men’s cologne that was familiar.
The last bedroom, the one Buster died in, was probably Lenny’s. It was neater, but not by much. Most of the clothes were piled on a chair or the closet floor. Evidently, these guys didn’t subscribe to the clothes hanger concept. I noticed the same cologne smell. They must sell that stuff by the gallon.
The tower computer on the desk trumped the mess and drew my attention like a beacon on a foggy night. It was in screensaver mode with playing cards flipping and spinning across the screen in random patterns. I was tempted to touch the keyboard. I wondered whether Stan had been in here playing. Maybe he liked solitaire or spider solitaire?
When Lenny was working in the dentist’s office I’d seen cards on the screen, too. I thought Lenny was the card player, but maybe both of them were into it.
If I touched the keyboard I might see the last site either man was on, but there was also the possibility that the home page would come up. Either way, I’d lose because the chance of discovery multiplied with the slightest touch. I’d have to come back.
I knew that Lenny was a computer nerd, but I hadn’t known that Stan knew much about computers. Maybe he didn’t. I was guessing.
I checked my watch. Four minutes to go according to my self-imposed time limit. I ran into the bathroom, looked around, opened the cabinet above the sink, saw nothing that didn’t belong. I glanced out the window. So far, so good. I raced to the basement. Dust city. What a mess. Spinning around, I took it all in. Carton boxes and other junk piled every which way. No labeled boxes. Surprise, surprise. I had the feeling the laptop wasn’t here.
What had I missed?
Without checking my baby blue Invicta Angel watch that I bought because it was on my color palette and an exact match for my eyes, I knew it was time to leave. My foot was on the bottom step when I heard Uncle Walter yell, “Don’t hand me that crap.”
Oh, God, no. They were back so soon. I raced to a closet behind the stairs and tripped into a laundry basket. It toppled over and I went crashing to the floor like a pile of … old shoes? The basket was filled with shoes, most with an offensive foot odor. Working quickly, I righted the basket, scooped up the shoes, and held perfectly still.
No one came for several minutes so I stepped out of the closet, and listened. Their voices came from the front porch. Frantic, I gazed around and saw one window in the rear of the basement. I grabbed an old chair and dragged it over.
Once up, I lifted the window, latched it onto a small hook on the ceiling beam, and heaved myself up. Not an easy thing to do. I scratched my arm and banged my shin, the same one I’d skinned on the bus steps. I wiggled through the window, thinking of the mess I was making of my freshly cleaned, belted thigh-length red Burberry rain jacket with the gunflap, stand-up collar and drawstring hood.
Breathing hard, I flopped out the window and landed in the dirt. I rolled. After taking a few seconds to orient myself, I reached in to unhook the window. Fast action on my part kept me from tumbling back into the basement. There was a price to pay though. The window slammed down on my fingers. I gave a quiet yelp.
Re-hooking the window was not an option. Stan or Lenny might figure out that I’d been in their basement, but it couldn’t be helped.
I could hear the men out front. I peered around the corner of the house, listened, and sedately walked out with a little limp, which was no longer fake since my shin hurt. Head held high, I stood next to Ce-Ce, innocence personified.
Both men stared. I smiled at them. When I said nothing they went back to arguing.
“Look,” Stan said, “we didn’t hear nothing about you getting the tank. Honest. I swear we didn’t. The damn thing probably won’t start after all these years anyways. It’s been a long time.”
Stan lifted his shoulders in a state-of-the-art shrug that said ‘who knows.’
“Too bad we couldn’t get the top open and look inside.”
Walter said, “It looked to me like someone had been working on it. I smelled oil. I think I smelled gas, too.”
“I did open up the garage to look at it. You know that. But working on it? Nah. That’s the smell those things always have, isn’t it?”
“Not after all this time. Next time I come over, I’ll be prepared to work on it. In the meantime, I want my coin collection. Where is that?”
“That’s for me and Lenny, too. Buster said so. The will leaves us everything in the house and on the property.”
Lenny took a step back as if he needed distance to protect himself, and that’s when I saw the change in his demean
or. He wasn’t stepping back out of fear, he was revving up.
Bravado replaced his former amenability.
Heavyset Stan yanked on his sagging pants and took a stand. “Nothing here is yours, Walter. So don’t come looking again unless you want to buy the tank. We’d be open to that. Give you a good price.”
Walter looked ready to throw a punch. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t think I won’t.” He stepped forward and poked Stan in the chest as he spoke. “You’re a lying—”
“Get your hands off me,” Stan said, shoving the finger aside, and giving Walter a push.
Walter was surprised. So was I.
I stepped up to the plate before this turned into a brawl. “Have you found that laptop yet, Stan?” I asked, hobbling forward. “I mentioned it to your brother.”
Walter looked relieved. I think his bravado only extended so far. Stan looked unaffected, as if he could easily take this further if necessary.
“Nope. It’s not around here. Guess we woulda found it by now.”
I believed the part about it not being around here. Stan would not have left so easily if he thought there was any chance I would have access to that laptop.
Walter approached me, his eyes shooting daggers.
“So you couldn’t get into the tank?” I asked, ignoring the anger.
“Turret hatch is jammed. We’ll have to work on it. I’ll be back.”
“First, you’ll need proof that the tank and coin collection belong to you,” Stan called to him.
“We’ll see about that.”
Walter started to walk back to Stan and I grabbed his arm to distract him. “How far is a klick?”
“One kilometer or one thousand meters.”
“Kilometers. Hunh. I do miles.” I headed back toward Ce-Ce, hoping he’d follow.
“Well then, a bit more than half a mile. Six-tenths of a mile if you’re into fractions,” he said, walking beside me.
Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods Page 18