Live Free or Die

by Jessie Crockett

  Clive hung up the phone. “The ambulance is on its way.” He hung back from Ethel’s body instead of flapping over it like he had with Beulah’s. “Do you think she had a heart attack or something and then hit her head when she fell?”

  “It looks like a lot of blood for bumping her head on the floor,” I said, “even if it is ceramic tile.” A blotch of rusty red spread from the crown of her head.

  “Don’t touch anything.” Ray hooked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back on his heels. “You don’t have any official standing here.”

  “You deputized me at the post office the other day.” As much as I disliked Ethel, I didn’t feel right about leaving Ray in charge. After all, he has to read the directions on microwave popcorn every time he makes a bag.

  “Nice try. You turned me down flat. The fire may have been your jurisdiction, but this is mine. You wait in the other room until I can take your statement.” The ambulance came to a stop in front of the house and cut off my opportunity to respond. Lucky Ray. Winston came through the front door. Right behind him was Hugh. He motioned me over, notebook in hand.

  “I was on my way back into town and noticed the ambulance so I decided to follow it in case I could help out.” Hugh was talking to me but he was focusing on the activity surrounding Ethel’s body.

  “I’m glad you stopped. Ray knows even less about what he’s doing than I do.” Hugh caught sight of the overturned heater. “Was that tipped over when you came in?”

  “Yes, it was. I wondered about it, too.” Hugh crossed the room and bent to inspect the heater. He glanced back up at me and shook his head. Ray noticed us and made a beeline for Hugh.

  “There’s no fire this time. I’m the guy in charge here.”

  “I think it may be more complicated than that.” Hugh pointed to the heater, and Ray started chewing his bottom lip.

  “It’s just a heater. What I’ve got here is a dead woman and no fire. That means no cooperating with you.”

  “What we’ve got here is a probable arson attempt and a dead woman. Have you gotten a good look at her body yet? Any superficial indication as to the cause of death?” Hugh stood and loomed over Ray.

  “I hadn’t gotten around to that yet when you burst in.” Ray stuck his hands on his hips like a mother in a fifties sitcom.

  “What you mean to say was that you couldn’t bring yourself to do it,” Winston said. I knew where Ray was coming from. From the brief look I had gotten at Ethel’s head wound, it wasn’t anything to be too eager to see.

  “Allow me.” Winston handed Hugh some latex gloves, and we all watched while Hugh knelt over Ethel’s body. “From the looks of things, I’d say this had nothing to do with a fall. There’s a deep, trough-shaped wound on the back of the head. She was hit with something dense to cause that much damage to her skull.” Clive let out a little squeak. I noticed he looked as green as I felt.

  “Do you think she was struck and then someone tipped the heater over to try and hide the real cause of her death?” I asked.

  “It could be. There doesn’t seem to be a reasonable explanation for why this heater tipped over on a level floor. I’m treating this as part of the museum investigation.”

  “But it’s my case.” Ray’s arms drooped at his sides, his notebook forgotten in his hand.

  “’Fraid not. If that’s a problem, take it up with the Fire Marshal. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.” Even though he’d never admit it, I’d say Ray looked relieved.

  “Gwen, you found the body, right?” Hugh asked. I nodded. “Then let’s get your statement.” He gave some more directions about measurements and photographing the body to Ray and Winston, then met me in the living room.

  “At the museum fire you mentioned the idea of Ethel being the intended victim.” Hugh paged back through his notebook. “It looks like you were onto something I didn’t take seriously.”

  “I doubt it would have made any difference in the end. I told you it wouldn’t surprise me if Ethel had made someone angry enough to try to kill her. I still couldn’t have told you who did it.”

  “The strongest lead we have connecting the two victims at this point is kerosene heaters in both places. Any ideas?” Hugh’s eyes wandered the room as he was talking. I wondered if he was evaluating the decorating or assessing the flammability of all the clutter.

  “We could ask at Dinah’s about kerosene purchases. She sells it at a pump outside the store.”

  “Do you think anyone would be foolish enough to buy it in the same place he was intending to use it?” We both eyed the group in the kitchen. Winston and Clive stood watching as Ray tried to unstick the zipper on a plastic evidence bag.

  “I think it’s possible.”

  “Well, maybe. Anyone have an argument with her recently besides the DaSilvas?” Hugh asked.

  I lowered my voice so the crew couldn’t hear me. “I think we should talk to Pauline Lambert. She applied for the curator job and was bitter about Ethel getting it instead. Ethel rubbed it in her face at the meeting the other evening.”

  “You think it was enough for her to kill Ethel over?” Hugh’s forehead pleated right between his red eyebrows.

  “Pauline hasn’t spoken to her own sister in fifteen years because they both wanted to name their sons after their father. Patty got pregnant with a boy first and used the name.”

  “What was the name?”

  “Horace.”

  "And I thought my ex-wife held a grudge," Hugh said.

  "Most ex-wives are angry,” I said. "It can't be that bad."

  "She tried to burn down our house," Hugh said, “while I was asleep inside it. She said she was sick of me getting called out to fires every time she made a nice dinner."

  “Were you a fire investigator when she married you?"

  "I was investigating a possible arson in her apartment building," said Hugh. "After the divorce I wondered if she had anything to do with that fire, too. She had a lot of complaints about the landlord."

  "It sounds like you’ve had the right kind of experience to handle Pauline," I said.

  "Does that mean you're not coming with me?"

  "Oh, I’m coming," I said. "You want to head over as soon as you’ve wrapped things up here?” Hugh nodded and got back to work. I thought about who could have killed Ethel. Pauline had sounded angry enough to kill her, but there wasn’t any shortage of people who might have liked to do it, including the guys processing the crime scene.

  Sixteen

  Pauline’s Ford Escort sat in the driveway looking as new as it did back in 1987 when Bill picked it up for her at a liquidation sale. Pauline, in ratty sweats and fuzzy slippers, answered the door. Seeing Hugh, she put a hand up to her hair and scowled at me.

  “Is your telephone broken?” she asked. “Most people call before stopping by.” She had a point. Pauline isn’t someone you drop in on. She has some admirable qualities, but spontaneity isn’t one of them.

  “Ma’am,” Hugh said, “this visit’s official.” Pauline sighed and allowed us to squeeze into the tiny hall. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with a scented candle so cloyingly sweet it made my teeth ache. She motioned for us to follow her into the tidy living room.

  The couch and two easy chairs were draped with colorful acrylic afghans. Pauline plunked herself in a chair and tucked her feet under her. Waving us toward the sofa, she thumped a cigarette from a crumpled pack and lit it. She muted the television but didn’t turn it off. Twirling ballroom dancers flitted across the giant screen. “If you wanted to speak with Bill,” she said, “he’s not available. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days on account of all the snow.”

  “Actually,” Hugh said, “I wanted to talk to you. About Ethel Smalley.”

  “Ethel? God almighty! You’re interrupting my evening to ask me about that bitch?” Pauline drew deeply on her cigarette.

  “So the two of you weren’t friends?” Hugh asked.

  “It’s no secret. I expect Gwen filled you in
.” Pauline flicked her hand in my direction, spilling ash down the front of her gray sweatshirt.

  “I prefer to let people speak for themselves,” Hugh said. “Where were you today, starting right after Beulah’s funeral?”

  “What’s this about?” Pauline’s eyes squinted a little.

  “Gwen found Ethel with a nasty dent in her head about an hour ago. We wondered if you know anything about how that could have happened.” Hugh pulled out his notebook and clicked open a pen.

  “Bill!” she called loudly over her shoulder. Bill appeared in the doorway, a paperback in his hand.

  “I didn’t know you had company.” He glanced down at the book.

  “Of course you did.” Pauline stubbed out her cigarette. “You just weren’t feeling sociable. Ethel’s dead.”

  “Dead? A heart attack like Harold?” he asked. I shook my head slowly. “Why are you talking to my wife?”

  “We’re talking to anyone with a reason to want her dead,” Hugh said. “I understand Pauline was disappointed about the curator job.” Pauline shot me a look that made me grateful we weren’t in a dark alley littered with broken bottles.

  “I wasn’t the only one who hated her. The entire Historical Society referred to her as Satan’s Bunion whenever she wasn’t around. Why aren’t you talking to Clara? Or Bernadette?” Pauline picked up another cigarette and rolled it between her fingers.

  “We will, but you were the one displaying hostilities at a meeting this week so we decided to talk to you first. Where were you after Beulah’s funeral?”

  “I was here finishing some Christmas baking,” Pauline said, “and before you ask, no one was with me. Ashley was out babysitting, and Bill was at work.”

  “That’s right. With the forecast predicting more snow I had some equipment to check out at the town barn,” Bill said.

  “That brings me to another concern.” Hugh cleared his throat. “I understand Ethel was making some ugly accusations about marital problems.”

  “I don’t like where this is headed. I want you to leave,” Pauline said.

  “A woman you admit to hating has been killed, and someone tried to light her house on fire to cover up the crime,” Hugh said. “It would be best if you were co-operative.”

  Bill loped over and took up a position behind Pauline’s chair. He dropped a ragged hand on top of her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Pauline and I didn’t give that woman credit for having enough sense to ask her what she thought of the weather.” He gave her another squeeze. “We sure didn’t worry ourselves about her opinions on other matters.”

  “Was that the sort of thing she said about you often?” Hugh made a note.

  “I wasn’t carrying on.” Bill rifled the book pages with his thumb and gazed down on Pauline’s honey colored hair. “I already told you Ethel was just trying to stir things up.”

  “That had better be all it was, or you’ll be in line for a head wound of your own.” Pauline shrugged Bill’s hand off her shoulder and reached for a cigarette lighter.

  “No one else has been saying that sort of thing,” I said, hoping to drop Pauline’s defenses. “People bring more rumors to the post office than mail. Ethel bringing it up at the meeting the other night was the first I’d heard of it.”

  “See, Darlin’.” Bill put his book on the side table next to Pauline’s recliner and draped his arms back over the chair to massage her shoulders. “I told you that old cat was just stomping on ya. If Gwen hasn’t heard about it, it isn’t happening.”

  “But why would Ethel have had it out for you in the first place?” Hugh asked. “Ethel had the job as curator, not Pauline. If there was going to be animosity, it should have been the other way around.” It was a good question. I still hadn’t thought of a way to bring up the bank account I knew Beulah had shared with Bill. I had to wonder if Ethel harping on Bill and Pauline was somehow related and if so, why.

  “If my husband hasn’t been stepping out on me, I have no idea what was the matter with her other than general spitefulness. You know what she was like.” Pauline turned to me for agreement. I nodded.

  “There’s every possibility Ethel was just enjoying seeing them squirm,” I said to Hugh. “She’d do that sort of thing every chance she’d get. She’s done it to me, too.”

  “Having that foreign family murdering people is worth it if they managed to take Ethel down,” Bill said. “Why aren’t you giving them the third degree?”

  “Before we go, there is something I have heard about.” I felt cheap bringing it up, but someone had killed two people. “Some people are saying the two of you had too much control over Beulah’s finances.”

  “What are you saying?” Bill stepped from behind Pauline’s chair. “Are you saying we had something to do with what happened to Beulah?”

  “Did you?” Hugh asked, standing and knocking his head against the ceiling fan.

  “We’re done here. Next time you’re walking down the street in a storm, don’t expect a ride from this plow driver.” Bill jabbed a beefy finger toward the door.

  Seventeen

  “You’ve been holding out on me.” Hugh backed down the long, twisting driveway with ease despite the dark and the trees crowding both sides. I turned over my answer in my mind. On the one hand, as a law-abiding postal employee, it was not my way to discuss anything I saw coming through the mail. On the other hand, the situation in town had escalated with Ethel’s death.

  “I’m not a gossip.” I fiddled with an emerald ring on my right hand. Peter had given it to me when I was pregnant with Owen and my wedding band wouldn’t fit. Even though I’d stopped wearing my wedding band a couple of years ago, I kept wearing the emerald. Green was my favorite color.

  “I never said you were. When it comes to tattling on your neighbors, you have a case of lockjaw. I’d see a doctor about a tetanus booster if I were you.” Hugh took one hand off the wheel and tapped my knee. “I’ve been working this investigation as though we were partners. Have you?”

  “I was being discreet. Look at how much misery Ethel caused flapping her jowls. Besides, I have a conflict of interest.” My knee tingled where Hugh had tapped it. Maybe it was time to stop wearing the emerald.

  “Is it a professional conflict or a personal one?” Hugh asked as he pulled onto the main road.

  “I take my professional life very personally. I’m not sure I can distinguish between the two anymore.”

  “Nothing you tell me will go any further than this vehicle if it doesn’t impact the case. If it does, I’ll be as tactful as possible.”

  “All right. Beulah was getting more and more feeble. After her hip surgery she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Bill had been plowing her out and fixing things up around the house that needed repair for years. Pauline even drove Beulah to the grocer when she did her own shopping every week.”

  “Sounds neighborly.” Hugh stopped at the corner of Main Street and Elm where the village Christmas tree lit up the darkness with its twinkling lights. “What’s the problem?”

  “People started saying Bill and Pauline were just helping Beulah out to get remembered in her will or worse, to get control over her money. She was a wealthy woman.”

  “Anything to substantiate the rumors?”

  “Several months ago I noticed Bill’s name as the second name listed on a bank statement addressed to Beulah. I couldn’t very well ask her about it, but she must have mentioned it to someone, because the rumbling started.”

  “How does it have any bearing on the fires or the deaths?” Hugh pulled to a stop in front of my house. The porch light was off, and the house was dark. For just a second I wished I was Augusta and was the kind of woman who knew how to invite a man in for a nightcap casually. I think of myself as self-sufficient, but after what happened to Ethel, I was spooked. My dark house didn’t look inviting. I imagined myself sneaking from room to room checking behind doors for lurkers and yanking open the shower curtain to make sure no one was there. I hoped Augusta hadn’t
made plans to stay out all night.

  “No one liked Ethel, not even Beulah. In order for Beulah to give the curator job to Ethel instead of Pauline, she had to be pretty unhappy with Pauline and Bill.”

  “Unhappy how?”

  “Beulah was as generous as they come, but she wanted to be asked. She’d give you every pumpkin in her patch if you told her you admired them, but if she caught you taking one without asking, she’d have Ray arrest you and then call everyone she knew to tell them about it.”

  “You think Bill and Pauline were helping themselves to her pumpkins?”

  “It’s just a feeling. I can’t even tell you an instance when they might have done it.”

  “Either of them ever been violent?”

  “Not if you don’t count the scuffles that break out at town meetings.” Winslow Falls views politics as a contact sport. Deep in the bowels of winter there’s no better way to warm up than by attending a budget committee meeting. Bill had gone off in the cruiser a couple of times to cool down. Pauline had managed to avoid arrest but only because Ray liked it when she flirted with him.

  “Sounds like we should keep them in mind. After what happened tonight I don’t like you heading into a dark house alone, especially since I expect everyone knows you don’t lock your doors.” Relief flooded through me as Hugh walked me to the mudroom door and followed as I flipped on lights.

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve come home to a dark empty house.”

  “But I bet it’s the first time you’ve returned home after suggesting someone might be a killer. I’d feel better about leaving you here after I look around.” The fire in the wood stove had gone out, and the room felt cold. Hugh pulled the poker from the stand next to the stove. In no time he had stirred up the coals, gotten the kindling crackling, and perched a fat log on top waiting to blaze up.