“What mood are you looking for?” I asked.
“Let’s ask around. Just poll the people you talk to and see what kind of reactions we get. I think bluegrass would appeal to most people.”
I’d asked Chad. He’d responded with a snort, “Those are my choices? How about none of the above?”
Cora had immediately said, “Light classical.” My own opinion ran to jazz to keep the party up-tempo. As much as I liked classical, I didn’t want the guests going to sleep.
At least getting the food organized was straightforward. Adele was right that Jerry would rely on her. He’d simply said, “Call Adele. She’ll handle it, and it will be perfect. Let’s start the Ball at seven in the evening, and just offer small desserts and free drinks like coffee and cider, but with a cash bar.”
I decided to talk to Adele after church on Sunday, and maybe spend some time with her if she was free. In preparation for this plan, I gathered some pears from a tree at the edge of the woods and made loaves of fruit bread. Then I put together a tossed salad.
My idea worked out perfectly. The Sunday service had been upbeat, and the drafty church building was pleasantly cooler now that we’d reached September. I approached Adele as she was walking through the foyer toward the exit door, and asked if she had plans for the afternoon.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“I have some almond-pear bread I just made. I thought it might be nice for you to have something that probably didn’t come from your own store. And I’ve got salad. Maybe we could pool our resources?”
She laughed. “I suspect you have something in mind besides food, but you know I can’t resist news, so come on over. I put a roast in the crock pot this morning. I think we’ve got ourselves a lunch.”
Adele lives on the northeast side of town, on Birch Street, north of the river and northeast of the old school. Her home is a squarish two-story, with an enclosed front porch. It’s newer than Jerry’s Victorian mansion, probably built during the second spurt of town growth, when farmers and entrepreneurs moved into the area after the timber was cut. Her grandfather-in-law had founded the grocery store that bears the family name.
She let us in through the side door, and we stepped up to her cheerful kitchen which had deep, solid cupboards, painted white. The trim was a soft green. I noticed there were new drawings from the grandchildren magnet-pasted to the refrigerator. All the appliances and decorations were slightly out of date, but neat.
She opened a tall closet door, extracted a bibbed apron and covered her dress. “I’ll put on some water for tea right away. You can set the table.”
An hour later we were full, the dishes were done, and we had placed fresh cups of tea on the low table in front of us as we settled into the plush cushions of her old-fashioned living room couch.
“I’ve been very patient,” Adele began, as she spooned some sugar into her tea, “but now you have to tell me what you and Jerry are up to.”
“Up to?”
“Yes, as in what’s going on behind this idea for the Harvest Ball.”
I could feel my palms begin to sweat and my neck redden. What had I been thinking to come to Adele’s house today? Jerry and I had never decided what to tell her, and the truth certainly wasn’t going to do.
“Jerry wants to create a community center where events can be held, closer than the consolidated school building. He thinks this Ball will be a great kick-off for the project. You know, revive the basketball courts for kids, rent the auditorium and kitchen for dinners, maybe even conferences. Fix up some of the classrooms as suites for business conventions.” I paused for air. “There’s a lot of potential for that sort of thing, don’t you think?”
Adele squinted at me and pursed her lips. “I certainly do not. And neither do you.”
I stared back at her with as open an expression as I could muster.
She continued, “Ana, you’ve come to be one of my best friends since you moved here. Your contributions to the Family Friends Committee have been fresh and welcome, and you are financially generous. You usually have positive things to say about people. You are willing to sit and drink tea with an old busybody like me and laugh at our small town ways without making me feel like an idiot for liking it here. But you’re a terrible liar.”
“But it’s true,” I protested. “Jerry bought the building for a community purpose. I don’t understand his reasoning either. But he’s determined to fix it up. Some parts have to be done in a hurry so we can stage the Harvest Ball.” At least this was all true.
“You’re still fibbing, but I don’t understand why. I’ll figure it out before long.”
“He thinks you’ll be the best organizer for the food table.”
“Didn’t I tell you that?” Adele said, leaning forward and lifting her teacup to her mouth. She took a long sip, and licked sugar from her lips.
I took advantage of the pause to drink some tea, too. My mouth was dry. “Little finger desserts that people can sample will be perfect.”
She glanced sideways at me, and set the cup down on the table. Her blunt, work-worn fingers tapped impatiently on the edge of the saucer. “I know that Jerry was not the only potential buyer for the old school. This sudden interest in that dump, and then learning it was the location of the Jared Canfield murder is quite peculiar, don’t you think?”
I jumped on the opportunity to change the subject. “Do you know who else wanted to buy it? I do think that’s strange.”
“Oh, that part’s easy. Mavis Fanning. It’s why that has me stumped.”
I shook my head, agreeing to our mutual confusion. We ignored Mavis’ motives and stuck to discussing food for the Ball the rest of the afternoon. Adele called Janice Preston, and even suggested we recruit young Jimmy Mosher, since he was still talking enthusiastically about a career in the restaurant business. She said we’d have to think about who could run the cash bar. I recalled my experiences in the Dead Dog bar and fervently hoped that wasn’t the best of the choices, but I planned to leave those arrangements to Jerry, anyway.
As I left, I mentioned the possible music styles to Adele and asked her opinion.
“Swing, of course. It will make people want to get out on the floor and dance.”
Chapter 20
Monday morning, first thing, I drove in to Cherry Hill. I wanted to talk with Tracy. If Harold Fanning’s wife was interested in the school building, maybe she was the one who was trying to threaten me away from it. I wasn’t sure what she thought she could accomplish, since Jerry officially owned the building now, and I couldn’t imagine him being swayed by anonymous notes.
After I told Tracy that Adele claimed Mavis Fanning was the other person who had been trying to buy the old school building, she promised she’d get someone right on it. She also had some news of her own to share.
“Ana, I haven’t been told to keep this information to myself, so I think you should know something.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble with your colleagues,” I countered.
“There’s a lot of confusion surrounding that old school building. Too many people are interested in it.”
“I agree with you on that.”
“You’ve got every right to be there, now that Jerry owns it, and you’re working with him, but please be extra careful.” I could see the concern in Tracy’s eyes.
“Why? Is there something more? Of course there is, you just said you had news for me.”
“We don’t know for sure why Jared Canfield was in the school, but we think he wanted to buy it too.”
“Whatever for?”
Tracy shuffled her feet and glanced over at Bob, who was studiously looking at papers on his desk. “We have no idea, but he had something in his wallet. The crime lab managed to salvage quite a bit—even the paper things.”
“Had he made an offer? Did he have a receipt for a down payment or something?” Tracy looked even more nervous. It was very uncharacteristic. “Look, don’t tell me anything y
ou aren’t comfortable with,” I said.
She tossed her head and the single braid that trailed down her back landed askew on her shoulder. “It’s not that. I don’t want to cast suspicion on someone we know nothing about.”
“Canfield? What does the community care about a stranger from the city? Well, that sounds callous, but, really, he’s dead, you know.”
“Not him.” She sighed. “I’m making it worse by not telling you. There were business cards in his wallet. All of them from Royal Oak, except one. That one was from the new real estate agent here, Virginia Holiday.”
“That string bean? She’s new in town, and so everyone is being wary, like they were of me at first, but she’s not much of a mover and shaker. I haven’t even heard of any properties she’s actually sold.”
“Give her a chance. It takes a while to get established and win trust. Anyway, on the back of the card he had written the address of the school building, and the number 1-8-4-5.”
“1845. Is that the year it was built?” I couldn’t see how this meant very much.
“The brick school was built in 1896. We checked,” Tracy said.
Bob’s deeper voice intruded on our conversation. He’d been talking quietly on the telephone, but it had only provided background noise until now. “Chief, I just got word on the sale of that disposable cell phone. We got lucky. It was paid for with a credit card.”
“Whose?” Tracy barked.
“Charged to Mavis Fanning. Two years ago.”
I sucked in my breath. Why on earth would the wife of the city manager be endangering her position in the community by making stupid phone calls from a number that could be traced?
Tracy immediately stepped to her desk, lifted her hat from the neat surface and placed it on her head, tucking the shiny blond braid out of sight. “Let’s go, Ana. I want you with me when we talk to her to get her reaction.” Turning to Bob, she said, “Good work.”
She accepted a printed sheet he handed her and we went outside together. In the parking lot, I assumed I’d follow her and headed for my Jeep, but she pointed at the police cruiser. “It will have more clout if you arrive in an official car,” she said.
I didn’t even know where the Fannings lived, but soon learned that it wasn’t far. Theirs was another large Victorian mansion, not on Cherry, but one block west on Peach. It filled an impressive corner lot at the intersection with Taylor, just two blocks from the much-desired school building. And, I realized, just three or four blocks from Jerry’s. She could have easily driven or walked by and slipped the note into my car without seeming out of place on that street.
We climbed five steps to the large porch that wrapped around the corner of the house. The Fannings’ front door was solid oak with an oval of beveled and frosted glass decorated in geometric etchings. It looked original to the house, but professionally refinished. The varnish wasn’t cracked or dirty. Tracy rang the doorbell. Three times.
After we had waited several minutes, Mavis Fanning herself opened the door. I wondered if she always did so, or if there was a servant somewhere who was supposed to attend to such trivial matters. A small dog was yapping from a far room. Mavis didn’t look happy. I wasn’t sure if it was because she had to answer the bell herself, or if we personally were the cause of her obvious displeasure.
“Miss Jarvi. Ms. Raven. How can I help you?” From her tone we could tell she wasn’t going to offer us tea and cookies.
Tracy cleared her throat. “That’s Chief Jarvi, ma’am. May we come in?”
“Certainly.” But she still didn’t sound pleased. Mavis was dressed as if she were planning to go out. She wore a knit suit in a deep blue-green. The slim skirt hugged her boyish hips suggestively. A long silk scarf with a multi-color abstract design was wrapped elegantly around her neck and one end was pinned to her right shoulder with a large gold broach. The rich colors enhanced her dark auburn hair and flashing green eyes. I detected a subtle scent of White Diamonds perfume. In heels, Mavis Fanning was nearly six feet tall. And in one word, she was stunning.
She led us to the formal sitting room, and motioned for us to sit down. The antique furniture was beautiful, but it was obvious this was the room where she entertained unwelcome guests. The horsehair upholstery was prickly and uninviting. Mavis glowed in the dark setting like a jewel. Tracy’s navy uniform and my blue jeans and sweatshirt seemed to make us disappear like specks of dust in a velvet jewelry box.
Tracy, however, was up to the challenge. She declined the offer to sit, although I perched on the edge of a delicate-looking carved chair.
“Well, Chief,” Mavis began, emphasizing the word “chief” with a slight grimace, apparently not wanting Tracy to have the verbal advantage, “what have I done to prompt what appears to be an official visit? And why is Ms. Raven here?”
Tracy didn’t blink or hesitate a moment. “Ms. Raven has received a threatening phone call from your phone, Mrs. Fanning.”
Mavis came right back at her. “What? Impossible. I’ll show you.” She reached around the corner to a table in the entry hall and grabbed her purse. She pulled out an expensive smart phone, pushed some buttons and thrust it at Tracy. “Here are all my recent calls. Check them yourself.”
Tracy took the phone and swiped at the screen for a few seconds. “Thank you,” she said. “The call wasn’t made from this phone. Is this the only one you own?”
“Yes it is. Harold and I exclusively use smart phones now. Land lines are so limiting. We even bought a cell for the cook to place orders with.”
“Is that a disposable phone by any chance?” Tracy asked.
“No, of course not. It’s just like this one. It was a package deal, under one bill.” Mavis’ lip was practically curling now.
Tracy continued, unruffled. “Have you ever purchased a disposable phone?”
“Ever? Probably. What difference does it make?”
“Ana received a threatening phone call from a woman on Friday. It came from a disposable cell phone that was charged two years ago to your personal credit card.”
Mavis looked as if she was thinking hard. Was she honestly trying to remember, or was she busy thinking up a good lie?
Tracy kept looking directly at Mavis. “I have a copy of the receipt right here, if it would help to refresh your memory.”
Mavis blinked slowly. “Yes, it might. Two years is an eternity ago.” She took the paper from Tracy and appeared to study it carefully. Maybe she was just using the time to polish a plausible story.
Mavis looked up. She smiled at me. It was a cold smile, as if I were some sort of small unpleasant reptile she was about to crush. “I do remember this phone. It was one of those random purchases one makes in a hurry. Our younger daughter, Claire, was just starting college. She had lost her cell, and we bought this in Madison—University of Wisconsin, you know—as you can clearly see, so she’d have something to use until we could find her regular phone.”
“Where is this phone now?” Tracy asked.
“I have no idea. She probably lost that one too. I can’t tell you how many phones that girl has lost. Ask her.”
Tracy continued to look at Mavis, but her next question was directed at me, “Ana, you’ve been listening to Mrs. Fanning for quite a few minutes now. Is this the woman who called you?”
The voice on the phone had been harsh. The tones I was listening to this morning were tense but melodious, cultured. I had seen Mavis Fanning around town a few times, but had never been face to face with her. Despite her height, and ostentatious manner, I wasn’t about to be intimidated. I stood up and raised my eyes to hers.
Chapter 21
“Where did you grow up, Mrs. Fanning?” I asked. From the corner of my eye I could see Tracy blink slowly in reaction to the unexpected question.
Mavis shot back, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but if you must know, Indiana. Not my favorite state by any stretch of the imagination, but we can’t help our roots, can we? Is this a get-to-know-you ex
ercise? Where did you grow up?”
“I’m from Chicago, born and bred there. Possibly you can tell by my shifted vowels, a and o in particular. It’s how Cherry Hill folks figured out right away I was from that city.”
“So?” Mavis demanded.
“I used to teach literature. One side aspect of that is studying dialects, how to hear them, how and when to try to write them. The person who spoke to me on the phone was angry. A person’s natural speech patterns usually come out when emotions run high.”
“I can imagine that if someone was threatening you, they might be angry, but is there a point to this fascinating topic?” The dripping sarcasm was gathering into a river of animosity.
“The person who called me definitely had an Appalachian twang and patterns of sentence structure. That would be true of some places in Indiana.”
“I doubt that,” Mavis said.
“Oh, it’s real enough. Well documented in speech studies. The caller’s voice was rough, but that could have been a deliberate attempt to disguise the sound. I can’t say for sure that you were the person who called me, but I’m not going to tell Chief Jarvi it wasn’t you.”
Tracy nodded. “That’s fair enough. I also need to ask you if you were on Cherry Street Friday morning."
"Probably," Mavis shot back. I walk the dog every day. Our route often includes Cherry. So what?"
Tracy sighed, "We do need to track down that phone. Could you call your daughter, Mrs. Fanning?”
“It’s Monday morning. She’s probably in class or asleep. And I have an appointment. Can’t it wait?”
“One call shouldn’t take long,” Tracy continued. “Let’s try to clear this up.”
“Oh, all right,” Mavis said with a slight movement that was almost a petulant flounce.
Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp Page 10