by Lea Wait
“You were anxious to get your share of the needlepoint money,” I said. “I brought it.”
“Good.” Lauren held out her hand.
“Why don’t we come inside? Talk a little.” I held the envelope out, but I didn’t hand it to her.
“We don’t need to talk. Give me my money.”
“Lauren, it’s all right. You can trust us.” Dave’s voice was calm and reassuring, like he might have been talking her down off a bridge. I was glad he was with me.
“So, what are you doing with her?” she asked him.
“Visiting you. That’s all. We’ve been looking for you. We even drove all the way up to your camp, thinking you were there.”
Lauren grew pale. “You went to Fisher Lake?”
“We just got back,” I said. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with sharing that information with Lauren, but Dave knew her better than I did. I trusted him to say the right thing.
“Did you go inside the camp?”
“We did,” said Dave.
“Shoot,” she said. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”
“We were worried about you,” Dave continued, his voice steady. “Lauren, I know you. What was in that camp had nothing to do with you. It was Caleb’s doing, am I right?”
She nodded slowly. “He said it was a way we could make some money. No one would ever know.” She turned to me. “When a man wants to do something, you can’t just say ‘no’ and have him stop. He wouldn’t listen to me. I told him it was against the law, and it was dangerous. I didn’t want him blowing up my family’s camp.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” I said. “No one would want that. Or want to be married to someone who would.”
“Exactly,” Lauren said. “You do understand.” She smiled, seeming to relax a little. But she didn’t move.
“Where’s Caleb now?” I asked. “In the house?”
She nodded.
“Can we see him?”
“This isn’t a good time,” she said, glancing behind her at the closed door. “Caleb’s resting.” She looked from Dave to me and then back again. “He gets awful angry if someone wakes him when he’s taking a nap.”
Dave and I exchanged glances. We had to get inside.
I took a risk. “Did he have a drink before he fell asleep, Lauren? We stopped for directions up in Fisher Lake, and a woman at the store there said you’d been by to get beer.”
“She had no right to tell you that,” said Lauren. “That was private business. I’m over twenty-one. I’m allowed to buy beer.”
“You are,” said Dave. “But, Lauren, you don’t drink beer. You always told me beer was too bitter for you. You drink wine, instead.”
“Maybe I’ve changed,” she said defiantly. “Or maybe the beer wasn’t for me. You don’t know as much as you think you do, Dave Percy, even if you do have those college degrees.”
“So you gave Caleb the beer,” I said.
She nodded. “He’s sleeping now. He always gets sleepy after he drinks beer.”
“Lauren, remember when we talked about water hemlock? The pretty weed that grows in swampy water?” Dave asked quietly.
Her eyes opened wide and she stared past us. “Did you put any of the hemlock sap in Caleb’s beer?” Dave was insistent. “Tell me.”
“Why would you even ask such a thing?” she demanded.
“Because Caleb was messing up your life. You and I’ve talked about that lots of times.”
“That doesn’t mean I’d poison him.”
Then Dave gambled. “But you poisoned Jacques Lattimore.”
Lauren didn’t blink. “I didn’t know if that hemlock you told me about would work. I put a little in that man’s tea. Just to see what would happen.” She turned to me. “It was so easy. I was experimenting. I didn’t know he’d die.”
Dave took a deep breath. “Lauren, unless you show us Caleb’s alive and well, I’m going to call an ambulance. I think he’s inside, and that you put some of that hemlock in his beer. If I’m right, Caleb needs to go to the hospital right now. Maybe they can still help him.”
Lauren’s arms went limp. “Go ahead and call. Someone would have, anyway. But I don’t think they can help him. I gave him a lot more than I gave that Lattimore.”
Dave stayed out on the porch and called while I followed Lauren inside. Caleb was on the floor of the living room, as though he’d fallen off the old blue flowered couch I remembered from my Brownie days. A can of beer lay on the table next to him.
Lauren was right. No one could help him. Caleb was dead.
I didn’t say anything. I looked from Lauren to Caleb and back again.
“You don’t understand. He’s been rotten to me. You don’t know what that’s like.”
“I do, actually,” I told her.
“And I’m in trouble, anyway, so you might as well know about your mother.”
Lauren sat down on a love seat only a few feet from Caleb’s body.
I sat next to her. “What about my mother?” I reached up and touched my angel. The police and ambulance would arrive any minute. Whatever Lauren had to say, I wanted her to say it now.
And she did.
Chapter Forty
Behold our days how fast they spend
How vain they are how soon they end.
—Words on a sampler, “wrought by Rebekah Peabody,” age twelve, Bridgton, Maine, 1810
Lauren told me a story.
“That Sunday afternoon I was ten years old and bored. The minister’s sermon had been long, dinner had been ham when I’d wanted chicken, and I was tired of playing with my dolls. Mom was having trouble with the pattern of the sweater she was knitting. ‘Go and play. Find something to do,’ she’d said. ‘Go bother your father.’
“So I went looking for him.
“I didn’t see Dad most days. He left our home early every morning, before Mom or I were awake, and went to the bakery to cook the bread and cookies and pies and cakes he sold during the day. While I was in school, Mom would join him behind the counter. After school she’d meet me at home. By the time Dad got home, he was tired and grumpy. Mom would say, ‘Don’t bother your father. He’s had a hard day.’
“But sometimes, very early in the morning, before he went into the bakery, he’d come into my bedroom. Sometimes he just looked at me. But sometimes he pulled down the covers and touched me. Touched my chest. And other places. It was scary, but exciting, too. I always pretended to be asleep, and Dad never said a word. When I was sure it wasn’t a dream, I thought of it as our secret. I never told anyone.
“That Sunday I looked for him, and I decided he’d gone to the bakery. Often on Sunday afternoons he worked on bills and accounts in his office there.
“So I went to find him. I knew Mom wouldn’t have let me go if I’d asked, so I didn’t tell her. I just left.
“I felt very brave, crossing streets by myself, and saying hello to grown-ups I knew who were out walking. I was a little scared Dad would be angry I’d come all the way alone, but then I remembered his early-morning visits to my bedroom and somehow knew he wouldn’t tell on me.
“The front door of the bakery was closed and locked. No lights were on inside. That didn’t surprise me. I knew the bakery was closed on Sunday. I went through the narrow alley, where Dad always parked his white van—the one with the words ‘Greene’s Bakery’ and a picture of a big loaf of bread. He kept that van sparkling. The back door to the bakery led to the kitchen, and to Dad’s office, where I figured he was working.
“The heavy metal security door was unlocked. I decided to surprise him, so I opened it slowly and slipped inside. The ceiling lights were on, and it smelled the way it always did—of yeast and vanilla and baking bread.
“I tiptoed to the door leading to Dad’s office. I tried to keep my shoes from making any noise on the hard linoleum floor. I planned to jump out and yell, ‘Surprise!’
“But when I got near the door, I heard voices.
“I peeked aro
und the door frame. Your mom was there. She was talking. Talking real fast. She sounded mad. I didn’t understand all the words, because she was too far away. But I heard her tell my dad to stay away from you and your friends. She said he was sick, and she’d tell the police if he didn’t stop. Then Dad moved closer to her, and she pushed him away, hard. He pushed her back, against the wall.
“I got scared. I didn’t want her to call the police about my dad. So I ran into the store and got the gun Dad kept there. It was always in the same place, in the second drawer in back of the counter. I wasn’t allowed to touch it, but Dad always said it was there in case of an emergency, and this was an emergency.
“By the time I got back to the office door, your mom was away from the wall. She was backing toward the door. Toward me. My dad was following her, shouting bad names and saying she wasn’t fit to be a mother. If she went to the police, he was going to tell them so. Then they’d take you away and give you to a decent family.
“I wanted to help. I wanted them to stop. I held the gun out and I fired.” Lauren looked down. “Your mom fell toward my dad. There was blood all over him and her, and even on the ceiling.”
“What happened then?” I asked. I heard sirens outside. Lauren didn’t seem to notice them.
“It all happened so fast. I don’t remember it all. I started crying, and Dad put your mom down on the floor. He took the gun away from me. He kept saying, ‘This didn’t happen. It didn’t happen.’
“He made me promise not to tell anyone. Not even Mom. Not you. He stood there, with your mother’s blood dripping down his face, telling me I should go home. ‘And don’t tell your mother you were here. I’ll take care of it. Just promise never to tell anyone.’
“And I didn’t, until now. I was too scared. When I got home, Mom was still knitting. She told me to go read a book or color, and she’d heat up some soup in a while. And I went and read Little Women and tried to forget what had happened.
“Dad never mentioned it again. Neither did I. After a while I wondered whether it had actually happened, although I knew your mom had disappeared. People said nasty things about her then, and I thought maybe it was all right, what I’d done. I’d hurt a bad person. But most of the time I didn’t think about it. I wanted my memories of that afternoon to go away.
“But they didn’t. And Dad didn’t come into my room again, ever. So I knew then I’d done something really bad. Because I knew he didn’t love me anymore.”
As though on key Pete Lambert and the local ambulance squad burst in.
I pointed to Caleb’s body.
And Lauren started crying. “Caleb was a bad person. He was.”
Chapter Forty-one
The time draws near that I must go.
And bid adieu to things below.
And if these lines you chance to see
When I am dead remember me.
—Words on a sampler “wrought by Mary Bradbury,” age thirteen, Biddeford, Maine, 1806
By midmorning all the needlepointers had gathered. Except Lauren, of course. Even Dave Percy had taken the day off. It was the first time I’d convened the group, and I was a little nervous, but Gram wasn’t letting me off the hook.
“Our new director has something to tell us,” she said, turning the meeting over to me. She sat down and Juno jumped into her lap and started purring.
“I’m sure you’ve all noticed Lauren Decker isn’t with us this morning,” I said. Several people nodded. “I wanted you to hear the news from me before you heard it on the street, or even on the TV. Lauren’s been arrested.”
Ruth Hopkins gasped.
“For what?” Sarah asked.
“For murdering her husband, Caleb. And poisoning Jacques Lattimore and,” I answered, pausing as Dave Percy sat a little farther back in his chair, “for killing my mother.”
The room was silent.
“But why?” asked Sarah.
“And how?” added Ob. “I don’t know about Caleb or about your mother. But we were all right here that afternoon with Jacques. We were together. How could we not know?”
I swallowed. “Joe Greene wasn’t the friendly baker and neighbor most people here thought. He was a sexual predator. He particularly liked young girls. Really young girls. Ones who hadn’t reached puberty yet.”
Ruth put her hand over her mouth for a moment and then said, “And no one knew?”
I shook my head. This wasn’t easy. “I don’t know how many victims he had. But I was one. Lauren was one, too.”
“Her own father?” asked Sarah, almost whispering. “And she didn’t tell anyone?”
“No, but I did. I told my mother.” I paused. “Mama confronted Joe Greene in his office at the bakery. She threatened to tell the police. They argued. Lauren was ten, then, and she overheard them. She heard her father being threatened. She was scared, and she panicked. So she got the gun she knew he kept behind the counter in the bakery, and she pulled the trigger.” I paused. “I don’t know exactly what happened then. But my mother was dead. Joe told Lauren to go home. To forget what had happened. To never tell anyone what she’d seen.”
“So to hide what she’d done, Joe must have taken your mother’s body and hidden it in that freezer,” Ob said slowly. “It’s ironic that Lauren was the one who found it there.”
I nodded. “And Lauren says he never molested her again. He never touched me, either, although I avoided the bakery as much as I could for the rest of the time I lived in Haven Harbor.”
“So your mother—your daughter, Charlotte—was brave enough to confront him,” said Katie.
Gram shook her head. “Brave enough. Or stupid enough. Maybe if she’d gone directly to the police, she’d still be alive.”
“But would the police have listened to one child’s story?” I said. “Mama wasn’t known to have the highest moral standards in town. She might have thought no one would believe her, that she could solve the problem herself.” I glanced up at the picture of Mama and me on the mantel. “She did what she thought was right. How could she have guessed it would turn out the way it did?”
“What about Lattimore? I know we were all furious with him for gambling away money that should have come to us. But what made Lauren go further?” asked Katie Titicomb. “We’ve all been angry with people in our lives at times, but we didn’t kill them.”
“I’ve thought a lot about that,” I said. “Anger’s the other side of depression. Lauren had lost her mother. Her daughter had died. She and Caleb were struggling financially, and Caleb’s way of dealing with that was to drink, use drugs, and be abusive. He even ran a meth lab out of what had been Lauren’s family’s camp. Since Lauren was close at hand, she got the brunt of his anger and frustration. And then last winter, because of Lattimore, they lost more of their income. That hit hard. And while they were still dealing with that, Lauren’s father died.”
I had a rapt audience. Dave nodded at me, confirming.
“At first the death of her father offered Lauren and Caleb some relief. They were able to sell their trailer and move into the house where Lauren had grown up. They had a little money. But for Lauren, moving into her childhood home brought back memories of what had happened to her as a child. She didn’t tell anyone, but in her mind she relived the abuse she’d suffered. The great secret she’d kept. And you all know Caleb. The way he treated her convinced Lauren she was always fated to be a victim. She needed to feel in control of her life. And then she met a man who seemed to value her as a person, as a woman. She was relieved and excited. But, of course, that was one more part of her life she had to hide.”
Sarah shook her head. “Seems to me having an affair would only complicate her life.”
“It did. And she didn’t go as far as having an affair, although I suspect she thought about it. But the relationship added excitement to the life she felt was hopelessly dreary and fated to remain so. And then she opened that freezer. She hadn’t known my mother was in it. She’d almost, but not quite, forgotten that
Sunday in May, nineteen years ago. She called the police, never thinking they’d be able to connect her to the killing. The body was in her father’s freezer. People would assume he’d put it there.” I paused. “Which, of course, he did. And, in a way, it made her a heroine. She was interviewed on television and radio and by the press, as well as by the police.”
“That’s true,” said Ruth. “The media coverage was sympathetic to her. The innocent daughter who didn’t know what her father had done, and yet he’d left it to her to clean up his mess.”
I nodded. “All that attention focused on Lauren made Caleb even angrier. And Lauren, perhaps for the first time in years, felt empowered. Although it was serendipitous, nineteen years before she’d solved one problem—her father’s abuse—by killing someone. I think she decided to do it again.”
“She decided to kill Lattimore?” said Ob, who’d been quiet up until then. “Killing him wouldn’t get her money back.”
“No,” I agreed. “But she didn’t plan to kill Lattimore. She planned to kill Caleb. With him gone, she’d be free to start again. She’d own a house and a camp. She’d have a little money. Best of all, she wouldn’t be Caleb’s victim any longer. And she’d still have that relationship she had hopes for. And then her friend, without knowing it, provided her with the means to get rid of her husband.”
“I didn’t give her poison—or anything else that would help her kill Caleb!” Dave looked beseechingly around the room. “Yes, I’m the one Lauren was spending time with. I didn’t think it was serious. I felt sorry for her.” He turned to me. “I had no idea she was planning to kill Caleb. Or anyone else! I would never have helped her do that!”
“I’m sure you never thought she’d try to kill anyone. But you told her about poisons. You showed her your garden. She was interested, so you told her what you told your students. One of the plants you told her about was water hemlock.”