“Stella,” she said motioning to me.
Agnes, Cherry, and Flo sat shoulder to shoulder, not far from Old Holly’s empty recliner. Agnes was in the middle, and her friends’ hands were reassuringly pressed against hers. Escaping the proximity of Andy, I entered the living room and sat on the arm of the recliner next to them.
“We saw you talking to Leigh,” said Cherry.
Agnes adjusted her pearls.
“Poor girl,” Agnes said. “Oh, what have I done? I was so darn sure I was going to protect Patience and the Coopers’ legacy. Instead, a man is dead.”
“There, there. It was Stella’s idea, not yours,” said Cherry, summing up my fears nicely.
“What happened on your side of the yard after we all left you and went to look for Leigh?” I said.
The ladies shook their heads.
“We sat there, feeling helpless, until the firemen arrived,” said Flo.
“It was terrible,” said Cherry. “We could hear you all banging away in the brush, trying to get to her. Then we heard falling and yelling. We thought you’d gotten to Leigh, but then that man Bellows gave such a shriek.”
“We knew something was wrong,” said Agnes. “But all the action was on the other side of the fallen tree and brush. We had no idea what was going on.”
“So no one saw anyone else join us in search of Leigh?”
The ladies shook their heads. I knew they didn’t have the best eyesight. Someone who was moving stealthily might have been able to join us in the brush without their noticing. I hoped that wasn’t the case. The fewer the suspects, the better.
At that moment, my cousin Docker stuck his head inside the house.
“Andy,” he said, “can we speak with you outside?”
Another officer, who looked younger and slightly overwhelmed, took Andy’s place in the house. I knew his job was to make sure none of us left.
“Who do you think did it?” said Cherry, eyeing Fontbutter and Bellows.
I joined them in looking at the two men.
“My money is on Fontbutter,” said Flo. “No one can really shriek like Bellows did and be guilty of committing a murder.”
“I think it was Bellows,” said Cherry. “I could see it in his eyes the moment I saw him. I’m good at reading eyes. Plus he has a motive. Solder was going to rat on him to the Historical Association about his unprofessional behavior at the Morton house. And he wanted to keep him from participating in any of the excavations. We all heard it.”
“His reputation is all he has,” I said, agreeing with the ladies. “Plus, with Solder now out of the way, he’ll probably be able to take over the case of Nancy Holland and Patience Cooper.”
“I’d be willing to wager my new, hand-quilted jacket that Fontbutter did it,” said Flo.
“I love that jacket,” said Cherry.
“Ladies!” I said. “Betting on murder? What’s become of you?”
“I’m sorry,” said Cherry. “But I do love that jacket.”
“I agree with Stella,” said Agnes, looking very agitated. “A man is dead.”
“There, there,” said Flo. “Too soon. I see. I was just trying to lighten the mood. I’d never part with my jacket.”
I was tempted to share a giggle with the ladies, but I noticed that Agnes flinched when Flo touched her.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” I said to her.
“I must have hurt it moving some firewood yesterday,” she said.
Cherry suddenly became very interested in straightening some fringe on the throw pillow that was shoved between her and Agnes.
“You know Agnes,” said Cherry.
“Such a flibbertigibbet,” said Flo.
“That’s exactly what I am,” said Agnes, touching her pearls again.
“Flibbertigibbety?” I said. “You gals might trick everyone with your old-lady bit, but I know you better. What are you hiding from me?”
“Would you like an Altoid?” said Agnes. “I have spearmint.”
“This must be bad,” I said.
“Oh, just tell her,” said Cherry. “It’s Stella. You can trust her.”
Agnes clasped her hands on her lap and looked at them.
“I went into the woods,” she said.
“Not long after you all went in,” said Flo.
“Tell her what happened,” said Cherry.
“I wanted to try to help, so I went into the woods,” said Agnes, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “I took the direction of Fontbutter’s path, because there was more room to walk there.”
“And because we thought he’d just film the search but not really look for her,” said Cherry. “They call it B-roll.”
“Fontbutter was faster than I was, and I couldn’t keep up,” said Agnes, “so I decided to try to make my way to Leigh on my own. Then I tripped and fell and hurt my arm. I didn’t want to return to the girls empty-handed, I guess. I sat there for a long while, so they thought I was on the track to finding her. When I heard the firemen come, I stepped back out to the yard.”
“Why didn’t you tell Andy?” I said.
“Because I don’t have anything to add, and I don’t want to be a suspect in a crime that I know I didn’t commit,” said Agnes.
“OK,” I said, ignoring, for the time, the fact that she was withholding information from the police. “Then tell me. Are you sure you didn’t see anything while you were in the woods?”
“Not a thing. I mean, I might have,” she said, “but it was hard to tell anything. It could have been one of us searching for Leigh, or even a deer.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. Tell her what you saw,” said Flo.
“Oh, fine. I saw something that looked like a ghost. Are you happy?” she said. “But it’s very gray outside, and it was a little foggy out there. I’m sure it was something real and not a ghost.”
“But it looked like a ghost,” said Cherry.
The kitchen door opened, and Old Holly stepped into the living room.
“The next game is on,” he said. He shoved me off of the arm of his seat and settled into his La-Z-Boy chair, pulling a lever that raised his feet. Then he popped open a beer.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Gil Holland did it,” whispered Flo, looking at our host with some suspicion.
“It would take too much effort for him to get down the hill,” said Cherry.
Flo had a point. Old Holly had been MIA during the entire excavation—from the moment we headed to the well until the moment people were ushered into his house after Solder’s body was found.
Motive, however, was the question. I tried to think of any reason why Old Holly would want Solder dead. I considered that with a murder on his property, Fontbutter’s movie had more value, which would translate to more money for him. The idea seemed extreme, but my list of suspects was growing. I added Old Holly to the lineup.
Reluctantly, I also added Agnes to the list now that I knew she had been in the vicinity of Solder as well. I found it hard to believe she could be a suspect, but she had been in the right place at the right time, and she’d chosen not to tell the police.
“Oh, look,” said Flo. Her gaze was through the window. “They’re taking Leigh’s fingerprints.”
“They’ll probably take all of ours,” said Cherry. “And I just had my nails done.”
I looked at the officer who had taken Andy’s place in Old Holly’s house. He was distracted with the activity outside the window too.
“Excuse me,” I said to the ladies, and headed to the dining room while everyone was looking out the window.
I found Bellows picking at a thread on the hem of his tattered fleece.
“How is the Paik lady?” he asked, straightaway.
“Fine. You know, I heard Fontbutter saw Solder speak once. That’ll probably put him at the top of the suspect list.”
“You think if he met Solder before today he’ll be on the top of the list?” said Bellows, turning paler.
My comment was meant to pu
t him at ease and to make him think I was suspicious of Fontbutter. Instead, he seemed even more alarmed.
“Have you ever met Solder before today?” I said.
“As a matter of fact, I have. Last year,” he said. “Solder was among a panel of experts at U Mass, and I was interested in learning more about new discoveries. Actually, I’ll admit it. I was out of work and had time. It was a rare appearance, I hear. Arrogant fellow. I shook his hand afterward, but obviously he didn’t remember when he met me again yesterday.”
I was fascinated. Both men had a previous history with Solder. I wondered if there was a connection to one of their past meetings and the murder.
“What was Solder talking about at the conference you attended?” I said.
“The risk of overlaying historical legend with scientific fact,” he said. “Didn’t surprise me when Solder was skeptical about the PC embroidery on the Morton house skeleton yesterday. He would have probably had issues with today’s find too. That’s why I wanted to go down the well. I see things differently, but my perspective is equally valid.”
His last few words sounded defensive to me, but I supposed I understood where he was coming from.
“What do you think about the map?” I said.
“Good question. Needlework was a popular pastime, although I feel like the map, given the context of the body and whatnot, is odd. Finding anomalies is the most exciting part of a historian’s life. I’d like to see it as soon as possible.”
“Me too,” I said.
“No offense, but I’m having a hard time with small talk, knowing we’re with a murderer,” said Bellows. “It doesn’t surprise me that a man like Fontbutter would be reduced to a murderer. His last production was Ghostly Ghouls of Georgia. Let’s say he needed a hit, at any cost.”
” Do you think you’ll be in Fontbutter’s film now that Solder is gone?”
Bellows turned red, and did not answer.
Seeing I’d overstayed my welcome, I left Bellows to stew and walked over to Fontbutter, who had taken a seat in an old armchair and was studying Old Holly’s bookshelf.
“How are you doing?” I said, quietly.
“I’d like to return to the scene of the crime,” he said. “The sun is shifting, and soon the light won’t be very good. I want to get shots of the well, and ideally the body too, before they take it away. This is going to be my best show ever.”
“You’ll have a lot of good interview opportunities,” I said, secretly horrified by his cavalier attitude toward filming the murdered body for his show.
“That’s for sure,” said Fontbutter, quite calmly. “I heard you talking to the Cooper relative, Agnes. She thinks she saw a ghost? That’s pure gold for a show like mine. She’ll be at the top of my list of interviews.”
“Did you see anything in the brush?” I said.
Fontbutter tossed off a laugh and shook his head, then crossed his legs and put his index fingers to his chin. His leather-soled shoes were shot. They were both covered in mud and scuffed beyond repair. I had to give the man credit. He was willing to do anything to get a good story. Did that include murder?
“I think the discovery of the map is very interesting,” I said.
Fontbutter leaned back in his chair and gave me a cool stare, which I returned.
“‘My Treasure, My Love’—with an X for extra drama,” he said. “That’s an odd line to stitch across a map. What do you think it means?”
“What do you think it means?” I said.
He smiled coyly and shrugged.
“You mentioned that you saw Solder speak once in Boston,” I said. “Have you ever wanted to use Solder in any of your shows?”
“No,” said Fontbutter. “Solder’s not what we call a camera-friendly type.”
“Leigh is,” I said.
“That she is,” he said.
“I’m not the silver-screen-type,” I said, “but if you need extra help, I’d love to assist you in production.”
“Not a bad idea,” Fontbutter said with genuine enthusiasm. “I don’t have an assistant on the island with me. This opportunity to work on the show came about quickly. I saw a chance and took it before anyone else could.”
“It’s a deal,” I said to Fontbutter as I stood to leave, pleased with my success at having secured future interaction with the man. I’d know where to find Bellows, but Fontbutter might have been harder to keep track of.
“Speaking as your assistant, I’d talk to the officer over there about what he knows and how much longer we’ll be here today. I know those guys. He’s more likely to talk than anyone else.”
Fontbutter smiled.
“Good idea,” he said, and headed across the room.
The moment Fontbutter engaged the officer in conversation, I slipped out of the house.
Chapter 11
I stepped out of Old Holly’s house as the ambulance pulled away with Leigh in it. Before the officer inside noticed my absence, I walked quickly down the field. My gait was fast enough to make headway, but hopefully casual enough that I didn’t attract attention. As I made my way, I considered the suspects. I knew that people killed for lust, greed, power, and revenge.
Leigh was experiencing problems in her relationship with Solder. Perhaps she had found a way to slip out of the brush and kill her lover. With him gone, she would inherit his reputation and work.
Bellows had felt threatened by science’s upper hand in the focus on forensics. He was angry that Solder had not appreciated his ability to piece together the story of Nancy and Patience using historical fact. And had Solder succeeded in taking possession of Patience, and even Nancy, he might also have felt undermined in his efforts to join the Nantucket Historical Association full-time. If so, he might have snapped.
Whereas Bellow feared he was losing power through Solder’s work, Fontbutter might have feared Solder would compromise his opportunity for fame. Fontbutter had the best story of his life, but we’d all heard Solder vow to intercept him at every step. We’d also heard him state his ambition to make Fontbutter pay for access to the their work since Nancy’s remains would be his property, not Old Holly’s. Could that be motive enough for a man like Fontbutter?
Old Holly, the source of Fontbutter’s opportunity, might have also come to the same conclusion. After years of being land rich but cash poor, he might have feared his financial opportunity would diminish were Solder to be in charge. Again, motive enough for murder.
I hated to keep Agnes on the list, but experience had taught me that I needed to see every angle through to the end before crossing someone off. I couldn’t imagine what her motive might be, but I knew that she was very emotional about the story of Nancy and Patience. I thought for a moment about her observation that a ghost was lurking. Perhaps she had been frightened. If she were the killer, the crime might have been a reaction to her fears, not an act of cruelty.
The most important question to answer first, I decided, was whether the murder was premeditated or spontaneous. Remembering the path that had led me away from the well when I’d searched for Leigh, I decided I needed to make sure there were no other potential suspects who had had access to the well from that direction. The thought made me a bit nervous. If the murderer and I had used the same path, I might have been close to him all along.
When I stepped into the clearing around the well, I saw the medical examiner, his assistant, Andy, and the chief. The group stopped speaking when they saw me. The chief’s lips were a straight, grim line. Andy raised a hand to stop the lecture that might be forthcoming and walked over to me.
“I thought you’d like to know,” I said, “that I remembered something about the area. When I was searching through the brush to make my way to Leigh, I lost my way. Before I knew it, I was in a more open space that felt like a path but wasn’t. With all of the excitement, I didn’t think of it until now . . . but if there was a path, why didn’t Old Holly tell us? He’d said the area was overgrown and forgotten. Obviously, it was not.”
Andy looked over my shoulder to the area where I had been searching. His eyes seemed to see through the trees.
“And your path was on the side of the well where the tree fell,” he said. “Interesting.”
I could see he was trying to make sense of this new detail, but I still wasn’t entirely sure about the police team’s interest in the tree.
“Stay here,” he said.
Andy walked back to the chief. The two men spoke quietly for a moment or two. The chief looked my way once, but no more than that. I knew they were trying to decide if they needed me or not.
Finally, Andy walked over to one of the firemen and said something. In return, the man took off his hat and handed it to Andy.
“It’s a little big,” Andy said when he returned. “But I know you and your hair.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the bright yellow hat from his hands and buckling it onto my head. “For the hat, and for trusting me. Shall we?”
“Lead the way,” he said.
If anyone had told me when I’d stepped out of the brush earlier that I’d voluntarily return, I’d have questioned their sanity. Here I was, however, angling one foot in front of the other, maneuvering over twigs and vines and brush that made my ankles itch. The first few steps were easy to trace. I’d flattened some of the bushes on one side, so I knew I was heading in the right direction. After a minute or so, however, I stopped and looked around me.
“Does anything look familiar?” said Andy. He was holding back the branches of two trees that were growing so close together he could barely fit through.
As Fontbutter had said, the sun was shifting, so not everything looked the same. I closed my eyes and tried to find the hint of the sea that had made me stop. I inhaled deeply, seeking the scent of salt and fish and shells over the autumn leaves around me.
“This way,” I said, opening my eyes.
“That’s my girl,” he said with a chuckle.
Andy always got a laugh out of my keen sense of smell. It was exasperating. Like him, I was holding a branch that reached across my path. As I took a step forward, I let it go, and allowed the branch snap up. I heard Andy utter an oomph behind me as I continued. I knew I should’ve kept my cool, but it was satisfying.
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