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

by Bernadine Fagan

  Nick sounded tired and disgusted. “Some drunk we were chasing plowed into a liquid propane tank at the side of his house. The impact loosened the connections. Sparks flew and the rest is history along with his house which is now a pile of ashes. Miller was hurt rescuing an occupant. He’s got a sprained ankle.”

  “Oh, Nick, how awful. I’m so sorry to hear this. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine but there’s more. Miller was supposed to head down to Portland on Monday to present a seminar at the Maine Sheriff’s Conference. Originally, I was scheduled to do it, but I gave it over to him weeks ago. Since that’s not happening now I’ll have to go. I won’t be back until Thursday.”

  Disappointment hit me harder than it should have.

  “I won’t see you for days.”

  “Can’t be helped.”

  We were both quiet for a bit and then he said, “I enjoyed dancing with you.”

  “Me too you.”

  “I wanted more.”

  “Me too.”

  “Crystal said you had a bloody knee. What happened?”

  “I tripped. I’m fine.”

  More silence.

  “You were in detective mode?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Spying on who?”

  I hesitated. “Stan and two guys.”

  “Were you going to tell me about this?”

  “Do you think I wouldn’t?”

  “You indignant?”

  “I am.” For effect, I produced my indignant huff.

  Nick chuckled. “Find out anything interesting?”

  “I only caught snatches of conversation. It’s hard to put it together, but I think Stan or Lenny destroyed the laptop. Can’t be sure unless they confess.”

  “It’s probably gone. I’ve checked the dentist’s office, pharmacy, the Wilderness Camp, Lenny’s truck, Stan’s Chevy Blazer that should have been retired years ago, Buster’s house and his Dodge truck. They allowed it all without a search warrant.”

  “No big surprise. They weren’t afraid of you finding anything. What if there’s a backup?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin looking. A backup could be on another computer, or another external hard drive.”

  “Yes. Anyplace.”

  “You plan to look for it, don’t you?”

  “Would that be a problem?”

  “Spinning your wheels, Nora. But if it makes you happy, spin away. Just keep it legal.”

  “Certainly. Sheriff.”

  “Good night, Nora.”

  “I wish you could say that in person.”

  “Not more than I wish it.”

  “I feel like we’ve got so little time.”

  “Your call, honey.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Location, location, location, I thought, as I shivered my way from the shower to my room the next morning, the huge towel doing little to ward off the coating of frost I pictured forming on my shoulders.

  It was all about location, which is why I decided to visit Vivian today, or rather Vivian’s property.

  Fingers crossed, I phoned her.

  “Hi, Vivian. Just wondering if you were going to be home this morning?” I danced in place to warm up.

  “Oh, Nora. I’m glad you called. I was going to call you later and tell you I sent samples of the dog food out to be tested and I bought another brand for the dogs. Thank you so much for that information.”

  “You’re welcome. I wish I’d found out sooner. I hope this solves the problem.”

  I heard a sob. “I’m devastated. I may have fed my dogs tainted food. I could have caused their deaths and I blamed Buster.”

  “You didn’t know, Vivian. Be at peace with yourself.” I danced a little faster, and repeated my question. “Will you be home this morning?”

  “No. I won’t be around till late this afternoon.”

  Perfect.

  “Okay. Another time then.” My teeth actually began to chatter. Nerves and cold, I suspected.

  I was about to hang up when she began, “I … I’m … volunteering at the library. That’s why. They’re having a book sale of old books and sets of encyclopedias, in case you’re interested in buying.”

  I hesitated a few seconds before saying, “I don’t think I’ll have time for the library today.”

  “Oh, okay.” She sounded relieved. That was odd, but maybe she was embarrassed to see me.

  When I clicked off, I danced into my undies and my flannel shirt. God, help me, I was wearing a flannel shirt. My thoughts centered around Vivian and her apparent need to explain herself to me, as if I’d be checking up on her. Odd. Very odd.

  Next I called Rhonda and found out that Lenny and Stan were both expected at her place this morning.

  Perfect.

  Everything was falling into place.

  I tossed the cell on the bed, finished toweling my wet and cold hair, and got dressed. Vivian’s usually meant super casual, but since I wasn’t planning to actually visit the animals that populated the place, I chose my newest jeans and a white T-shirt. The cranberry wool socks were a nice touch meant to break up the white monopoly. I finished up with my treasured and freshly cleaned Uggs.

  I’d wear my new white jacket with the fluffy trim around the hood. That would keep me warm. True, white was risky, but I wasn’t planning on rolling in the dirt today. No dogs on the horizon, no basement windows either.

  After breakfast and a chat with Ida, I was off.

  I noticed that Lenny’s truck was still in his driveway. That was fine. I knew he would be leaving soon. I pulled into Vivian’s driveway, and parked as far from the dog pen as possible. The racket was incredible. As soon as I got out of the truck the noise ratcheted up a few notches and was accompanied by lots of hopping and jumping. When I gave the Poms a little smile and a big wave, the tail-wagging increased. I felt compelled to visit. I stood outside the chain link enclosure and chatted a bit, filling them in on my plan. They were cute and if they could understand, I’m sure they’d approve of what I was about to do.

  I pulled my hood tighter against the breeze and looked around for a good spot to watch from.

  It was colder than usual, breezy too. I was glad I had the hood.

  I rooted in my bag for the mace canister, found it and slipped it into my pocket. Best to keep it nearby in case I was faced with moose danger, which I didn’t think was a possibility because I wouldn’t be in the woods long and I did not intend to go far. Besides, I was close to Ce-Ce and close to Vivian’s house, both excellent escape sites.

  Just to be on the safe side, I picked up a good-sized rock, hefted it from one hand to the other and put that in my other pocket.

  I pulled out my new binoculars and tested them. Wonderful. I hung them around my neck. With my hobo bag angled cross-body in back, mace canister and rock in my pockets, I made my way through the trees until I located a great spot, a downed log next to a tree with a low branch. I lifted my binoculars and looked around. Everything was quiet.

  Perfect.

  Once up in this tree, I’d have a prime view of Lenny’s house. As soon as he left I would go there and do what I had to do.

  This was going well.

  I studied the relationship of the log to the branch. The placement of the two brought back memories of gym class and the parallel bars. I’d never mastered those. But these should not be a problem.

  I had a flashback to Sport’s Night in middle school, and my adolescent attempt to do something graceful on the parallel bars. My mother’s only comment after she saw me execute my moves was that perhaps it had been a mistake to cancel my ballet lessons, regardless of my lack of ability.

  Pushing negative thoughts aside, I stepped onto the log, quite gracefully, I thought, and reached for the branch. I pictured myself in the gym with everyone watching my elegant moves. Then I threw my right leg over the branch and hoisted.

  Next thing I knew, I was spinning upside down by one leg, swinging back and forth, back and forth as the contents o
f my hobo bag tumbled onto the log and bounced into the underbrush. I should have zipped it. The binoculars swung to and fro and the jacket flopped down around my head. I couldn’t see. Breathing wasn’t that easy either. But the worst, if I were ever asked to choose, would be the rock in my pocket, obviously stuck in the lining, that thumped against the side of my head.

  Using all my skill and, I think, every muscle in my body, I grabbed the branch, pulled myself up a bit, and unhooked my knee. Both feet slammed onto the log. After picking up my equipment and replacing the contents of my bag, I tried again, this time with a little less oomph in the initial hoist. It was not graceful, but it worked.

  From here I could see Lenny’s truck. He hadn’t left yet. I used my binoculars and scanned the area. Not a moose in sight.

  Okay. Now it was going well.

  Everything was in place.

  I honed my plan. As soon as Lenny left, I’d go into his house and follow my hunch.

  Backup.

  If there was a flash drive where I suspected, I’d make a copy on my netbook and take off. I’d drive home at a nice leisurely clip. Aunt Ida was making pot roast tonight, something to look forward to.

  It seemed to take forever, but Lenny finally appeared, got in his truck and left. I waited about ten minutes before I headed for the house. Lenny left the door unlocked. Good. I slipped inside and ran to the refrigerator. I stopped, my hand poised in mid-air.

  It had to be here.

  Had to be here.

  Had to.

  I closed my eyes for a brief second, wishing, praying, hoping. When I opened them, I yanked the refrigerator door open. The dirty sock was still nestled between the jar of pickles and some moldy cheese. Holding my breath, I reached in and felt the flash drive through the material and gave a silent ‘yes.’

  I pulled out my netbook and set it up on the kitchen table next to paper plates with smeared egg yolks and toast crusts. I pushed the drive into the USB port, breathing hard. Waiting. Waiting.

  I hated being here. I should have told someone I was coming. Not that anything was going to happen, but as a safety precaution a person should always tell someone where they’re going. I’d neglected to do that.

  Six documents came up. I highlighted all and dragged them to my documents’ folder. Three had the word ‘will’ in the title.

  THIRTY

  When I finally arrived home late in the afternoon, I was surprised to see the driveway full of cars, most parked every which way. I recognized Hannah’s GTO but not the others. I couldn’t imagine what was going on.

  My three great-aunts were waiting when I walked in the door. Clustered around them and filling the entrance hall were about fifteen members of the senior citizens’ line dancing group from last night. They clapped when I stepped inside, and yelled, “Surprise.”

  Stunned out of my socks, I stood and stared at them. No one ever clapped when I entered a room. No one ever yelled ‘surprise.’

  In a move that seemed as well-choreographed as their line dance, Ida stepped to my right, Agnes to my left, and Hannah faced the group in front of me. “Let’s have a cheer for our Nora who has taken movies and photos of us all and has promised to give everyone copies.”

  More clapping took place.

  “Okay, okay,” Hannah said in her efficient way, “Let’s show her the party we’ve set up.”

  “A party? For me?” I asked.

  “Who else?” Ida said with a smile as big as her welcome. “It’s a thank you celebration. We decided on a Victorian High Tea because with thought you’d probably never been to one. We wanted something a little different, something special … because you’re special.”

  I had the reaction I always have when someone does something nice for me. I got teary-eyed. To keep everyone from noticing, although I don’t think much got by Ida, I made a show of setting down my bag and removing my jacket. Then I rummaged through the bag for a tissue.

  “My allergies,” I explained to all.

  Agnes took my hand. “I made the cucumber sandwiches, Hannah did the scones and clotted cream, and Ida made the lemon poppy muffins,” she said as she showed me into the dining room where the table was set with Lassiter fine china elegantly arranged on a white linen tablecloth. An array of delicate foods filled the sideboard—finger sandwiches, lemon tarts, chocolate dipped strawberries, ginger snaps. The nice part was that most items were labeled. These women thought of everything. Well, almost everything. I glanced at the tea urn.

  Hannah touched my arm. “Not to worry,” she whispered. “We have coffee for you. It’s not Starbucks, but it’s good.”

  I gave her a hug.

  We ended the wonderful day with a showing of the movie I’d recorded and a slideshow of the photos. Once again, the strains of “Elvira” filled the air. A few ladies got up to dance in front of the television, Agnes among them. More clapping. They were a lively group.

  No one left until every dish, every cup and every crumb was where it belonged. When Aunt Ida finally said good night to me, she looked tired.

  “Thank you so much for the party,” I said. “Every moment was special. I loved it.”

  We went up the stairs together.

  Once in my bedroom, the laptop on my dresser was a stark reminder that I had work to do. I resented the intrusion, resented the theft of warm feelings that filled me moments ago.

  Much as I wanted to read the documents I’d transferred from Lenny’s flash drive, I wished I could skip them tonight. Not a good idea. These documents could hold the key to a murderer’s identity.

  With more reluctance than I anticipated, I turned on my little computer. Two of the document titles began with the word Letter. I decided to read them before going through the wills. I clicked on “Letter to Walter Cooper” first.

  I read quickly. Shaken, wondering whether this was true or not, I read it a second time. This was different from what Walter told me, worlds away from what he’d implied. Hannah warned me that he was a liar, but this was over the top.

  Nick said that he hadn’t cleared Walter. I wondered what he knew that he hadn’t told me. I picked up the cell to call, paused with my finger hovering over his number in Favorites, and changed my mind. First, I’d read the rest of the documents. That way I’d have more to discuss with him.

  When I finished, I called him.

  “Hi, Nora,” he said, his voice warm.

  With those two words some of the tiredness vanished and my mood shifted.

  “Sheriff Nick Renzo,” I whispered. “This is a mysterious caller.”

  “So it’s not Nora Lassiter, the lady I danced with the other night?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “How can I find out?”

  “Say the magic words, and the truth will be revealed.”

  “I’m smiling at you. And I miss you.”

  “Close enough. This is she, the lady you danced with, the one you’ll miss when you take off for Portland in a few hours.”

  “Good. I like that one. Tell me about her day.”

  “It was not an ordinary day, Sheriff. There was a party, just for me. The aunts and the senior citizen dancers surprised me.”

  I told him all about the party, giving details I normally wouldn’t have bothered with. Padding the story, I think it’s called, or maybe stretching the good moments.

  Finally, I cut to the chase.

  “Nick, I found the flash drive that the wills were stored on, at least I think they’re the wills. There are six documents.”

  His demeanor took a sharp turn. “What. Where? How did you get them?”

  I sat up, letting the warm covers drop to my lap. “Stan or Lenny put a dirty sock in the refrigerator. I saw it when I visited Buster’s house with Uncle Walter. It was out of place, if you know what I mean. I think it was Stan’s sock, the one he wore when he drove the bus, but I can’t be sure about that. One never knows about socks. He could have a bunch of the same socks. A socks six-pack, for example. Maybe Lenny and Stan share s
ocks.”

  “Out of place? And you saw it how?” He paused. “You tripped and there it was, a sock with a flash drive that contained exactly what I’ve been looking for?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Nora.”

  “Nick.”

  A few moments of silence followed.

  “Here’s how it happened, Nick. The thought process began with the idea of a backup. From there I naturally progressed to methods, which took me to external hard drives, which made me think of flash drives also called thumb drives. From there I thought digit. Ta-dah! Thumb? Toe? Think about it. Digits. When I thought toe, I naturally jumped to socks. Wouldn’t you?”

  He said nothing so I continued. “Then I remembered the sock that didn’t belong and I thought of something Great-Aunt Hannah said about how she once hid jewelry in the refrigerator. From there, it was a piece of cake, a short mental hop to deduce the rest.”

  More silence followed. I was determined not to step into the silence a second time.

  Finally, he said, “You broke into the house, didn’t you?”

  “Of course not. I just—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Stop right there. Don’t say another word.”

  “Okay. I’m good with that. Do you want to know what I found out?”

  “The suspense has me on the edge of my seat.”

  I hopped out of bed and got my little laptop.

  “I’ll read the letters first, two of them. They’re more interesting than the wills, akin to reading the diary of a troubled man.”

  “How many wills?”

  “Three. But letters first. Here’s the one to my uncle, by marriage, as Hannah always says.

  Walter: Your true colors showed when I told you about the camp I planned to set up for veterans and their families. You pretended to like the idea. What a phony you are. I was stupid not to see it sooner. You would probably kill for the coin collection and the tank. Not happening. You can have my old socks. Buster.

  “Nick, this was dated eight days before Buster was murdered. Do you think Walter knew about it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out. I’ll also find out if Buster’s lawyer knew about the new will even though it wasn’t filed. He said there was only one will and that was dated several years ago. No addendums. No letters.”