“Oh, shut up, Jason!” said Jan.
“You’re being very quiet,” Godwin said to Betsy, taking a plastic-wrapped bundle from her, then reaching back to help her climb into the boat.
“Yes, I suppose I am.” She found a place on the bench seat along one side and sat down, frowning lightly.
“We’re all aboard now,” Jan said to her brother. “You can start for The Docks.” The engine started to roar, and further conversation was impossible until they reached Excelsior.
Then Betsy asked, “Jan, are you planning on telling your mother about this?”
“Well, of course!”
“May I ask a big favor?”
“All right.”
“Let me go with you when you do.”
“What? Why? And anyway I was going to tell her on the phone.”
“No, don’t do that. Tell her in person.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think we did find the treasure. I think your mother buried that doll. I want to be with you when she tells you why.”
A few minutes later, as Godwin was walking Betsy home, he asked, “Do you really think Jan’s mom buried that doll?”
“Well, I have a theory now, and I’m sure that whoever stitched that map knew what was in the box.”
Godwin sighed dramatically at the mention of the box.
Betsy smiled at him. “Poor fellow, such a disappointment! No gold coins, no ruby rings.”
“And I was so looking forward to trying on the crown.”
“Crown?”
“Didn’t you ever read comic books? There’s always a royal crown in treasure chests.”
They were nearly at Betsy’s apartment building when Godwin said, “Look, isn’t that Phil Galvin?”
The old man was standing tall, looking around. When he saw Betsy and Godwin, he waved at them, urging them to hurry.
So they did. Coming toward them, he demanded in his too-loud voice, “Have you heard the news, about Lucille Jones?”
“What about her?” asked Betsy.
“She’s in the hospital, hurt bad!”
“No!” said Godwin. “How, what happened?”
“Someone attacked her in her cabin. Maybe shot her. Her husband came home and found her.”
“Where is she?” asked Betsy.
“HCMC, downtown,” he said, referring to Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis.
“Have the police arrested anyone?”
“Not that I know of. I only know what I heard over the police band.”
“So this isn’t on the regular news yet?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t turn on the TV or radio before I came over. I was in a hurry, y’see. I was thinking it might be a part of this business with old Miss Hanraty, and I know you’re looking into that.” He seemed anxious that she do something, right now.
The door to the upper apartments opened, and Doris came out. “What’s going on? Who rang my doorbell?”
Phil, startled, turned around. “I did. I was trying to get hold of Betsy, and when she didn’t answer, I rang your bell.”
“Oh.” She started to go back inside, but Betsy said, “Doris, perhaps you could invite Phil up. He’s just brought me some important news, and now he’s upset and needs to sit down before he goes home.”
Doris looked as if she was about to refuse, then relented. Smiling, she said, “Of course. Come in, Phil.”
Betsy said, “I have some things to do. Come on, Goddy.”
Up in her apartment, while Godwin unloaded the leftover drinks into her refrigerator, Betsy dialed Jill’s phone number. “Jill,” she said, “can you find out about a patient at HCMC? It’s Lucille Jones. Something bad happened to her, perhaps someone shot her, in her cabin.”
“Oh, no, when did this happen?”
“Very recently. Phil Galvin heard about it on his police radio and was waiting for me when we got back from a trip out to the Big Island. It was Lucille’s husband who called it in, I think. I’m going to call Jan, but I’ve got my cell phone, so call me back on that.”
“Will do.”
Betsy hung up and dialed Jan. “Jan, have you heard about Lucille?” she asked. “She’s at HCMC with an unknown injury. I’m not sure of any details yet, but I wanted to give you a heads-up on this.”
“Ohhhhhh,” groaned Jan. “This is awful! What was it, a car accident?”
“I’m afraid not.”
There was a little pause. Jan said, “You mean, someone tried to kill her?”
“I don’t have any confirmation of details yet, only that her husband came to the cabin and found her, and she’s at HCMC.”
“What should I do? Should I go over there?”
“No, they won’t tell you anything or let you see her, because you’re not family. I mean—”
“Yes, I know what you mean. Oh, gosh, this is so awful!”
“Hold on, my cell phone’s ringing.” Betsy put down the receiver and pulled her cell phone from her purse. “Hello?”
“It’s Jill. Yes, she’s at HCMC, in surgery. Bullet wounds to the head and chest. I’m afraid she’s listed as critical.”
“Have they arrested anyone?”
“No. Looking at the husband, of course, but he’s behaving appropriately, crying and angry. Sergeant Rice is there, but he’s got Mike assisting—uh-oh, doorbell. Hold on.”
“No, that’s all I wanted. Thanks, Jill.” Betsy disconnected and went back to Jan. “Jill says she’s in surgery, that she was shot in the head and chest.”
“Oh, my God! Who could have done this?”
“Well, not you or Jason.”
“What? You couldn’t think—oh, you’re thinking like the police! We have alibis!”
“Yes. Jan, I want to talk to Susan right away, before that investigator, Rice, gets to her. I’ll come and pick you up in a couple of minutes—I still need to change clothes.”
“Y-yes, all right.”
Godwin came out of the kitchen, eyes round, and said, “Shall I wait here and answer the phone?”
“Would you, Goddy? Thanks.”
“Don’t forget this,” he said, handing her the plastic-wrapped bundle.
Ten minutes later, Jan climbed into Betsy’s Buick. “What if Sergeant Rice is already there, at my mother’s?” she asked, fastening her seat belt.
“He won’t be. He’s at the hospital, talking to Bobby Lee and waiting to see if he can talk to Lucille. But Mike Malloy’s on the case, too. I don’t know if the two of them have discussed Sergeant Rice’s investigation into Edyth Hanraty’s murder.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because you’re involved, and so are the Joneses—and you’re all living in Excelsior. Mike is going to be ringing your doorbell very soon.” Betsy made the turn off Water Street onto Nineteenth.
“Will he be mad if I’m not there?”
“He’ll be annoyed, but your husband can explain that you were out on the Big Island with me, your brother and several other people.”
“And then he’ll come to talk to Mother.”
Betsy pressed down on the accelerator. “Yes, you’re right.”
They stayed on Nineteenth, winding among the bays of Lake Minnetonka through Shorewood, Tonka Bay, and Navarre to Fifteen, which went past Minnetonka Beach and Crystal Bay, in the greater township (well, city, in the lexicon of the lake) of Orono.
“Turn here,” said Jan, pointing to Orchard Road, then immediately, “turn left,” gesturing toward Fox Street.
Soon they were wandering in a development of town-homes. “Next left is Mother’s,” said Jan.
Betsy pulled into the driveway of a one-and-a-half level townhome that shared a wall with its mirror image. They were on a street of white twin homes distinguishable only by the annuals planted in their front yards.
“No strange car in the driveway, that’s good,” noted Jan, who climbed out and hurried up to the front door beside the garage. She pressed the doorbell several times, then ope
ned the door.
Betsy, going into the back for the bundle, heard her call, “Are you decent, Mother?” She followed her to the door, but paused before going in.
Suddenly Jan was there, smiling apologetically. “Forgot my manners, come in, come in.”
Susan McConnell was sitting in her living room, using the strong sunlight coming through the big front window as an aid to her stitching. But she had taken off the hanging magnifying glass and was putting her needle into the edge of her framed counted cross-stitch piece.
Though she had seen her dozens of times, Betsy was struck now by how much Susan was unlike her daughter. Susan was short, dark and slender, while Jan was tall, blond and sturdy—and so was her brother, Jason. Must take after their father, thought Betsy—and then thought of Lucille, who looked so much like Jan.
“Mother, we want to talk to you about something important. I’m going to let Betsy ask you some questions, all right?” Jan sat on the pretty couch and gestured at Betsy to sit beside her.
“All right,” said Susan, looking swiftly between the two of them, trying to read the questions in advance. Her eyes stopped short at the bundle on Betsy’s lap, which was just a big, black garbage bag wrapped around something and held in place with strips of duct tape.
Betsy said, “Mrs. McConnell, we went out to the Big Island this morning.”
Susan nodded. “I thought that’s where you’d go,” she said to her daughter.
“Jan isn’t sure, but I think we managed to find the treasure stitched on that map she showed you.”
All the color drained from Susan’s face, and she stared at the black bundle as if afraid it might grow teeth and bite her. But she managed a normal voice as she asked, “And what was the treasure?”
“This,” said Betsy, beginning to pull at the tape.
“A doll, it’s just a doll!” said Jan hurriedly, watching her mother’s face. “A really old one, with a wax head, wrapped in a flannel blanket. Isn’t that crazy?”
Susan looked at her daughter, astonished, and fainted, sliding out of the cream chair onto the pastel green carpet.
Jan was immediately by her side. “Here, now, what’s wrong?” she said, pulling at her mother’s legs to get her flat on the floor. Betsy handed her a crewel pillow from the couch, and Jan put it under her mother’s feet. She took her mother’s pulse, then chafed her hand gently. “Come on, darling, come on,” she crooned. “Wake up. You’re all right. Everything’s all right.”
“Does she need a blanket or something?” asked Betsy.
“No, look, she’s opening her eyes now.”
Susan’s eyelids fluttered, and she made a soft exclamation. “What—what happened? Why am I on the floor?” The second question was asked more forcefully, and Jan smiled.
“You fainted, that’s all. You’re all right. You’re going to be fine.”
“Why on earth—? Oh.” Memory returned, and color flushed into Susan’s face. She looked around, saw Betsy, then looked at her daughter again. “Is what you told me true?”
“Yes, we found a wooden box nailed shut, and when we opened it, there was a doll inside, wrapped in a flannel blanket. It was under the muck and water of a marsh, so everything was wet and discolored. The blanket might once have been blue, but it was hard to tell.”
“Where did you go looking for it?” asked Susan, now more in command of her senses. She rose to a sitting position, bending her knees, leaning her back against the chair.
“Right where it said to on the map,” said Susan. “The marsh had expanded, and it took over most of the road.”
Betsy, who had put the bundle aside, lifted it back onto her lap and began again to pull at the strips of tape. She said, “We found a rock first, shaped like a heart—” She paused when Susan gave a little exclamation, but Susan waved at her to continue. “It was under water. We found it by stepping on it. Jason pried it out of the side of the bank, and a couple of feet down under it we found the box.”
Susan fell silent for a little while, her face gone sad. Then, “Help me up,” she ordered her daughter, and they had an awkward little struggle until she was on her feet. Jan sat her on the easy chair.
“May I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“Yes, please. I think there’s a bottle of sherry in the cabinet over there. Just a drop or two.”
Jan hurried over to the low cabinet, and soon the clink of bottle on glass was heard.
Susan looked at Betsy and said, “You said you have the doll with you?”
“Yes, would you like to see it?”
Susan stared at the bundle which now, with strips of duct tape pulled off, was beginning to unwrap itself. “All right. Wait, let me have my drink first. A wax head, you said?”
“Yes, a wax head and a kid leather body.”
Susan said, “I’ve seen wax-headed dolls in antique stores. They look like miniature adults in those fancy old dresses.”
Susan came to hand her mother a tiny cut-glass goblet half full of a red brown liquid. “I’ve seen them on Antiques Roadshow. It was the French who made the beautiful adult dolls. But I’ve also seen ones made in Germany. They’re called ‘character dolls’ and were made in the early 1900s. Some were children, some even were babies.”
Susan immediately swallowed half the liquid, then waved her hand in front of her face, mouth open. “I guess I needed that, but it’s almost as bad as medicine,” she said. She drank the rest, then handed the glass back to her daughter. “Thank you, dear,” she said.
“More?” asked Jan.
“No, that’s enough. Now I think I’m ready to see this doll you found.” She sounded much more like herself, though the sherry had raised two bright spots of pink on her cheeks, and the rest of her complexion was still very pale.
Betsy pulled the last strip of tape off and unwound the bag. She let the bag drape over her lap, as the blanket enclosing the doll was still wet, if no longer dripping. The blanket was a dirty gray color.
Susan leaned forward as Betsy gently pulled it down to expose the gray-brown head.
Time had also done its work on the face. Probably once sweet-looking, now it was slightly distorted, the closed mouth pulled a little to one side, and one eye squinched almost closed. Susan put her hands over her mouth and made a tiny moan. Jan sat on the arm of the chair and put an arm around her mother. “Awful, isn’t it?” she said, trying for a light tone. “We thought it was a real baby when we saw it. We even called the police. Jason said he was never so embarrassed in his life when we saw it was just a doll. The policeman had to try really hard not to laugh—though when he first saw it, he thought it was real, too, I noticed. I think he was laughing at himself, not us.”
Susan slipped off the chair and came to kneel beside Betsy. Very, very gingerly she touched the tiny face. “Just a doll. It looked so real.” She pressed her lips shut and sat back on her heels.
Betsy said, “I have some truly bad news.”
“What?” asked Susan blankly.
“Something has happened to Lucille Jones.”
“What?” Susan asked, with no hint she might know what it was.
“Lucille has been shot. She’s in critical condition at the Hennepin County Medical Center.”
“Shot—who on earth would do a thing like that?”
“The police are hoping she’ll be able to wake up and tell them,” said Betsy. Again, there was no sign of worry on Susan’s face that Lucille might accuse Susan of the deed. “She really is your daughter, you know.”
“Who is?”
“Lucille.”
“No, I—” Susan stopped short, her mouth pursed to continue, but without any sound coming forth.
“That’s right. You thought you buried your baby on the Big Island. Susan, please, tell us how that came about.”
Twenty-two
SUSAN sighed and leaned back in her chair. “It’s the old, sad story, of course. I went to a New Year’s Eve party with this upstanding young man. We’d known each
other for nearly a year, since I turned fifteen. He was not quite two years older than I, which means a lot when you’re just fifteen. He was very sweet, and my mother didn’t like him, which helped a lot.”
She smiled, and continued, “The party was at a friend’s house, and he didn’t tell us his parents wouldn’t be home. And somebody brought a keg of beer. I had never had a drink before in my life, other than the one sip of wine at Thanksgiving my father permitted me after I turned thirteen, and I don’t think David had, either, though he pretended he had. We didn’t get falling-down drunk—which might have saved us, now I think about it. We just got drunk enough to lose our inhibitions, and six weeks later, I told my mother what had happened and why I suspected it wasn’t a bad piece of fish the night before that had me throwing up that morning.
“This was 1959. The country was on the verge of social change but hadn’t crossed the threshold, at least not in St. Paul. Mother was furious, at me and at David. Father wanted a shotgun wedding, but Mother’s dislike of David had only deepened over this mess. She won, and Mother told David and his family to stay away. I wasn’t told about this, and I thought he’d abandoned me. I was only sixteen. Mother thought she was doing what was right. She wanted me to be at the very least a nurse, perhaps even a doctor. I wanted it, too—but I was carrying a baby, and that was a potentially ruinous condition, not just for me, but the whole family. An abortion was out of the question. I don’t think it even occurred to any of us. But reputation meant a great deal back then, and a doctor could lose patients if it were known his daughter had a baby out of wedlock. And of course, if I kept the baby, I could not get into medical school.
“So we went to the old solution: As soon as I started to show, I was shipped off to Aunt Edyth—we were living in St. Paul at the time, and while there was some worry that Orono wasn’t far enough away, there was no place else except a home for unwed mothers, and Mother absolutely didn’t want me in one of those places—you know, where the young women were those kind of people. So our friends were told that Aunt Edyth had fallen and injured her back and was having trouble getting around, so I was going to spend the summer with her.
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