Maple Mayhem (A Sugar Grove Mystery)

by Jessie Crockett

  “Do you think someone was trying to rob him and Frank caught them? Could that be why he was killed? He walked in on a robbery in progress?”

  “That is one of the scenarios I’m considering.”

  “But Frank was so vigilant about anyone being on his property. You would have thought an intruder couldn’t have gotten very far before Frank spotted him or her.”

  “That’s one of the things that makes this look worse for Phoebe. She was already on the property and the dog would have never given her a second glance.” Mitch looked even more miserable.

  “How did she explain her sudden upswing in spending?”

  “She didn’t want to. She said the money was hers and she didn’t have to explain to me where she got it from.”

  “But did she answer you when you pressed her?”

  “I was just doing my job but she got really defensive and angry. I’ve never seen that side of her before. She’s usually so sweet.” Mitch looked like a small boy whose ice cream cone had just landed on the sidewalk. I felt sorry for him until he spoke again. “Unlike some women I’ve dated.” Mitch managed to squander any soft feelings he dragged up in me almost as soon as they came to light.

  “If Phoebe really cares about you, she’ll come to realize you have to do your job no matter what. If I hadn’t brought any of this up would you have just swept it under the rug?”

  “Of course not.” Mitch rubbed his face with his hand and tipped Lowell’s chair back on its rear legs. “I just care about her a lot and don’t want her to be angry with me. I really thought we had a chance at something long term.”

  “I’m sorry, Mitch. Maybe if you decide to stop worrying about me borrowing Lowell’s cruiser, I could talk to her for you.” The words were out of my mouth before I even realized what I offered.

  “Even if I could convince myself you aren’t a carjacker, I’m not sure you would be the best advertisement for me when it comes to relationships.”

  “Just because I don’t want to date you doesn’t mean I think no one else should want to either. Besides, Phoebe always looked up to Piper and me in school, remember?”

  “So what’s that got to do with anything?”

  “She values my opinion and if I tell her how sorry you are about having to do your job, she just might listen to me.”

  “Do you really think so?” Mitch dropped the chair back onto the floor with a bang and leaned across the desk.

  “I’m pretty sure. I can at least try.”

  “Then what are you still doing here? If you hurry, you might still catch up with her.”

  * * *

  I had a pretty good idea of where Phoebe might go after an upsetting time with Mitch or anyone else for that matter. Phoebe was a reader, always had been. When we were kids she was the one who was sitting on one of the swings in the playground with her nose in a book while everyone else ran around playing tag and jumping rope. I pulled into the library parking lot right next to her car.

  Felicia Chick sat behind the desk checking out a stack of picture books for a young mother and her two toddlers. I gave her a wave and headed to the back of the adult-fiction section. Far in the back corner, tucked up in a cushy chair, Phoebe hunched over a paperback novel with a dragon on the cover.

  I slipped into the seat next to her and cleared my throat to get her attention. Not that she hadn’t noticed me. She clearly had from the way she raised the book up in front of her face to block me out. Or to hide from the embarrassment she felt from me having been privy to the scene at the police station.

  “Phoebe, I want to talk to you,” I whispered loudly enough to wonder if Felicia was going to come on over and threaten to kick us out.

  “Go away.”

  “I want to talk to you about Mitch.” She lowered the book ever so slightly.

  “I don’t want to talk about Mitch.”

  “Well, he can’t stop talking about you.”

  “I bet. He thinks I’m a murderer. And a thief.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He was just doing his job. You wouldn’t respect him very much now, would you, if he was the sort of policeman who put his personal feelings before his duty.” Phrased like that there was no way someone as basically nice as Phoebe could say she would resent him.

  “I guess not.”

  “And you certainly want him to get to find out who hurt Frank, right?” I felt a little silly softening the question so much but I couldn’t bring myself to say murdered to Phoebe.

  “Of course I do. I want whoever killed him to get what they deserve.” Phoebe hugged the book to her chest and I wondered if she was feeling scared for her own safety as well as angry.

  “Besides, if he didn’t question you, how would it look later?”

  “What do you mean, later?” Phoebe dropped the book all the way into her lap.

  “Well, say the two of you got married someday and had a family. Don’t you think it might spoil your happiness if people said Mitch had let a criminal go unquestioned because he wanted to marry her?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t want people to think something like that. Do you think Mitch is really interested in a long-term relationship?”

  “I know Mitch is really sorry to have hurt your feelings and that he is very interested in continuing your relationship. I think you two have a real chance of going the distance but not with the sort of dishonesty that has been rearing its ugly head lately.”

  “I don’t know how to fix this.”

  “You could start by telling the truth about Frank’s money. Where he got it, where he kept it, who knew about it.”

  “I told Mitch about Frank’s money, how he hid it around the property.”

  “Did anyone else know about him stashing his money instead of putting it in the bank?”

  “Frank was always spouting off about how he didn’t trust banks. And he would get to drinking a bit too much from time to time at the VFW hall. He liked to brag about how much money he made from his sugaring or from logging or from selling stuff other people thought was junk. He made it sound like he was rolling in dough.”

  “That wasn’t very smart, was it?”

  “No. He ended up moving his money around to new hiding places after every time he’d been on a bender. Sometimes I’d wonder if even he knew where he’d put it all.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t remember a place Frank had forgotten?”

  “Are you accusing me of helping myself to Frank’s money?” Phoebe tried to meet me in the eyes but she couldn’t. Her hand holding the book began to shake and she shifted in the seat, untucking her legs and placing them on the floor like she was preparing to flee.

  “I was just talking with Byron the other day and he mentioned you were one of the only people who might know where Frank kept his stash of cash.”

  “Did Byron also tell you he has plenty of reasons of his own to have killed my father?”

  “No, he didn’t. He just said they were friends.” Interesting. Phoebe was riled up again. For the second time in only a few days her voice was loud and her tone strident. She jabbed her arm in the air like she was swatting invisible flies.

  “He had about a hundred thousand reasons to want him dead.” Phoebe leaned back and crossed her thin arms over her chest.

  “Are you talking dollars?”

  “Of course. Byron borrowed one hundred thousand dollars from my father to branch out into the restoration business. They were friends and Dad wanted to help Byron out.”

  “How does this make Byron a suspect?”

  “Byron wasn’t making any money in the business. He bought a bunch of old cars that needed fixing up and he had big plans for them. But when push came to shove Byron wasn’t getting orders completed or there weren’t any buyers. There was always a reason he didn’t have the monthly payment for Dad they had agreed upon.”

  “Wh
en did all this start?”

  “About a year ago. Byron came to Dad with a business proposition but Dad wasn’t interested in being in the car business. He offered to just lend Byron the money instead at a really low rate.”

  “And Byron agreed?”

  “He jumped on the offer.”

  “Did they put anything in writing?”

  “Not that I know of. Dad was a handshake kind of guy.

  “Even for a sum that large?”

  “Especially for a sum that large. He would never have loaned that much money to someone he didn’t trust without reservation.”

  “Still, it seems like a bad idea.”

  “I said so myself but he just told me that it would all be fine and if there was no paper trail the government couldn’t interfere and ask for income tax from the interest he would earn from the loan.”

  “You still haven’t explained where Frank would have gotten the money to loan it to Byron in the first place.”

  “We had a nest egg from the life insurance money from when my mother died. And I know the syrup business did well over the last couple of years.”

  Frank had a large holding and he was a good sugar maker but if he was pulling down that kind of money and was able to just lend it to someone else, I would be really surprised.

  “He sold a bunch of syrup over the Internet and through a catalog. And at farmers markets.”

  “Still, a hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. Did the loan leave you high and dry?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean was Frank worried about the cost of groceries or the electric bill all of a sudden when Byron didn’t pay him back on time?”

  “No. Nothing changed. Dad was worried about Byron and then as time went on he became angry because he felt betrayed by a friend.”

  “What did he say?” Now, we might be getting somewhere.

  “He said a man had to live up to his commitments and he asked Byron to come up to the house on Saturday night.”

  “Did he show up?”

  “He did. I was worried about Dad so I canceled my date with Mitch and stuck around to hear the conversation. I felt bad about eavesdropping but I was worried about the situation so I did it anyway.”

  “And? Did you hear anything?”

  “It was ugly. You know how my father was when he got going.” Everyone in town knew how Frank was when his dander was up. He was one of the reasons Lowell set up a police presence at all select board meetings. Before that, Frank could be counted on not only to start a screaming match but to quite possibly throw things that were either putrid or heavy or both at the members of the board. Especially at Kenneth Shaw.

  “What did they say exactly? Do you remember?”

  “Dad said Byron had not lived up to their friendship and he wanted to know what was really happening to the money. Byron said sales were just slow and his other commitments made it hard to get the restorations done. Dad said that wasn’t his problem and that repayment was due no matter what. He wanted Byron to give him back the bulk of the money right then and there.”

  “What did Byron say about that?”

  “He said he had no way to pay that month or any of the previous months either. He said the money was all tied up in cars and parts and advertising and he didn’t have it. He said Dad would have to be patient.”

  “Frank wasn’t exactly a patient man.”

  “No. And telling him to be one always made things worse.”

  “This situation would make more sense if your father had killed Byron in a fit of rage,” I said but Phoebe shook her head.

  “Dad’s bark was far worse than his bite. He never would have killed anyone. And besides, if he had killed Byron, how would he have ever gotten his money out of him?”

  “But since there was nothing on paper, if Byron killed Frank, then it would be like the loan had never even happened. Did Byron know you knew about the loan?”

  “I have no idea. I wasn’t there to see the transaction take place if that’s what you are asking. Dad told me about it later.”

  “Did they ever speak about it in front of you? I mean that Byron would have known about?”

  “I don’t think so but I can’t be sure. It had been a while.” So if Byron needed to cancel out his loan he might think canceling out Frank would be the best way to do it. Especially if he thought no one knew about it but himself and a dead guy.

  Twenty

  The phone in the hall rang just as I shucked my boots into a tray to dry. My mother’s voice came over the crackly line.

  “Dani dear, just the one I wanted to speak with.” My stomach sank. Her last call had been accurate enough to worry me about another. I told myself maybe she just wanted to get in touch. Maybe she missed us. Over the years I had noticed she was easily distracted. Maybe it would work now. Although I realized a lack of knowledge about the future didn’t mean it wasn’t going to occur anyway.

  “How was the belly-dancing lesson?”

  “It works wonders on the sacral chakra. When we get home I’ll be sure to show you and Graham some moves. Excellent for opening you to your sexuality.” My mother had never been one to feel intimidated by the birds or the bees.

  As a matter of fact, every time Grampa carved a roast chicken in front of her or someone slathered honey on a biscuit in her presence I held my breath waiting for her to be reminded of just such things. Her ability to judge other people’s comfort with the topic was negligible. Or maybe, she thought she was doing them a favor by running roughshod over their sensibilities. I think there’s every possibility Celadon’s first marriage ended because our mother embarrassed it to death.

  “I’m not sure Graham would be into that sort of thing.”

  “Don’t be silly. All men love belly dancing. It’s primal. But that’s not why I called.” Suddenly the sound of her voice was more muffled and I heard her giggling. I didn’t really want to think about what she and Lowell had been up to with their chakra tune-ups. I was tempted to hang up on her before she decided to share her itinerary. “I’ve had another vision.”

  “Two in less than a week. Wow.”

  “It’s the sea air. All the negative ions, I think. I do have a lot more visions than I share with the rest of you. I know they upset you so I keep them to myself.”

  “I appreciate that, Mom.” And I was surprised. I hadn’t realized my mother came out of her spiritual bubble long enough to notice how her proclamations affected the rest of us. Maybe I was the one who wasn’t doing the noticing.

  “You’ve always been an appreciative girl, Dani. Your father was saying so just last night.” My mother thinks my father drops by to chat with her from the great beyond, apparently on a regular basis. I had no idea until a few months ago when he sent a message for me that turned out to be important. Still, it wasn’t always easy to credit. And if I was being entirely honest, I was disappointed that he had never gotten in touch directly with me.

  “Dad dropped by for a visit while you were on vacation with another man?”

  “Why wouldn’t he? Your father always loved to travel.” As strange as the idea was, I felt a bit better about what she and Lowell were up to if my father was happy to stop by for a visit.

  “Speaking of travel, don’t you need to get back to some shipboard activities?”

  “Not until I tell you why I called. That was the real reason for your father’s visit. He wanted me to tell you something.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if he tried getting ahold of me directly?”

  “What makes you think he hasn’t?” Her sigh came through the phone so clearly I wondered for a second if Celadon had picked up the extension and was adding her own two cents. “You aren’t always the most open to unexplainable experiences.”

  “You’re right. Tell him if he visits again that I’ll try harder to hear him.
What was it he wanted me to know?”

  “He says to eat more cake, especially at night. And he says not to be scared of the dark.”

  “I eat cake as a midnight snack all the time. And I haven’t been scared of the dark since I was eight. What did he actually show you?” My mother receives her communications as images. Her interpretations are where things seem to break down.

  “He was holding out the pieces of that night-light you had when you were six.”

  “The one shaped like a unicorn with the horn that lit up?”

  “Exactly. Remember how upset you were when Loden backed into it and snapped off the horn. You told him you didn’t love him anymore.” I’m not sure when I started having night terrors so intense I thought I’d die of fright but they all went away when Grampa brought home that night-light one afternoon, plugged it in, and showed me how to turn it on. Loden had been so distraught at breaking it he snuck into my room after bedtime with a flashlight he had found in the junk drawer. He spent the whole night leaned up against the wall in my bedroom with it switched on.

  “How could I forget?” I looked down at the jagged scar on my finger. I had picked up the broken unicorn horn and had cut myself badly enough to need stitches. “That’s it? Dad showed you the broken night-light?”

  “There’s more. Then I saw a little candle, like a birthday candle flickering in the dark. The light from it was very weak but it bobbed slowly through the air toward a giant heart-shaped card.”

  “A broken bit of childhood, a candle, and a card?” I paused to think of what it could all mean but didn’t have a clue. I hated to ask but I heard myself doing it anyway. “What do you really think it means?”

  “Maybe to never give up on love because it cuts like a knife through the vast darkness of life.”

  “Even from beyond the grave you think Dad is giving advice on my love life? If he keeps showing up on the cruise with you and Lowell, I’d think he’d be more interested in giving you advice.”

  “Who says he doesn’t?” That was unsettling. I had never appreciated until that moment how complicated things could get if you really could have dead loved ones dropping in unannounced. Maybe I didn’t want to hear from my father directly after all.