In a Midnight Wood

by Ellen Hart

  “Emma told me.”

  “I assumed as much. I was given some information about a spot in a clearing back there”—she motioned toward the woods—“where a bloodhound alerted. Sam’s mom thought it might be where he died.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She turned to look at him. “Since I had the approximate location, I wanted to see the area for myself.”

  “Where did you hear that? About the clearing?”

  “It was in a police report.”

  He changed his mind. He wanted her to stay and talk. “Are you making progress with your research?”

  “Yeah, I’ve learned a few things.” She eased down on the ground next to him. “Since you’re interested, there are a couple things I’d like to get your opinion on.”

  “Me?”

  “Just curious what your thoughts are on Monty Mickler?”

  “In high school or now?”

  “Has your opinion changed?”

  “No, not really. I’ve never liked him. He’s a real wheeler-dealer. Some people find him charming, I guess, but I could never understand that.”

  “I was told there was a rumor going around your senior year that Monty and Dave Tamborsky were a gay couple.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing.

  “Yeah,” said Jane. “Other people have had the same reaction.”

  “If you only knew how ridiculous that is.” He tossed another stone into the water. “Do you think Mickler had something to do with Sam’s murder?”

  “I’m still working on that. But I will say, it seems like Tamborsky’s and Mickler’s names have both come up an awful lot as I’ve dug deeper into the case.”

  He was glad for the breeze because he was starting to sweat. “Really? For instance?”

  “There was this keg party at the Lang farm right before your senior year began. Were you there?”

  He had no idea what she knew, so as much as he could, he needed to tell the truth. “Yeah, I was there. Who’ve you talked to about it?”

  “Darius Pollard.”

  “So you know what happened.”

  “A young woman was raped.”

  He nodded. “It was awful.”

  “You were there?”

  “Sam and I heard this cry. I thought it was an animal, but he wasn’t so sure. He ran to her first, and then I followed.”

  “Who did it?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Darius had no idea.”

  Kurt was caught. Talking to her had been a mistake, but there was nothing he could do about it now. “It was Dave Tamborsky.”

  Her eyes widened. “And nobody ever found out?”

  “Sam and I both talked to Becca—she’s the one who was attacked. We tried to get her to go to the police and tell them what had happened, but she refused. She said it was her decision to make.”

  “Where was Mickler that night?”

  Kurt closed his eyes, seeing the evening replay in his mind. “He was there. I think Becca kind of liked him. I was dating a woman back then, my future wife, Vicki. I spent the early part of the evening with her. That was before the party spilled outside into the yard. It was a real madhouse.

  “Initially, people were gathered around the keg in the kitchen. Some guys had brought bottles of harder stuff. Mickler spent his time in the dining room slowly getting Becca drunk, adding vodka to her Coke when she wasn’t looking. I figured he was hoping for a score later that night. I should have said something. If I had, none of this would have ever happened.”

  “I’m not sure you can blame yourself.”

  “Of course I can, and I do. But, turns out, Monty was preparing her for his buddy, Dave. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it wasn’t hard to put together after the fact. Maybe they’d done it before, sort of a tag-team, or maybe this was the only time. Monty fancied himself a player when it came to women, and actually, a lot of girls did want to date him. Dave, not so much. I never understood why that was, because he was a jock, and girls usually went for jocks. Maybe he had bad breath or didn’t shower.”

  “I’ll make sure I put that in my report.”

  Kurt glanced over at her. “You do that.”

  “So Mickler handed her off to Dave.”

  “I didn’t see it go down, but I figure Dave must have convinced her to leave the party with him. There was a section of trees a ways from the house, so I imagine he thought that, with the distance and the noise from the music, nobody would be likely to hear her if she cried out. That’s where Sam found them. I stayed back while Sam went to see what was up. When he didn’t come back, I went to see what was going on. By then, he’d pulled Dave off her. The two of them were fighting, so I broke it up.” He looked over at Jane. “You may not understand this, but I wish I’d never done that.”

  “I hear you,” she said softly.

  “Dave took off. Sam walked Becca back to Darius’s car and Darius drove her home. I just kind of stood there, I guess, frozen in place. That’s when I realized I wasn’t alone. Maybe it was a smell or the sound of rustling leaves, but whatever it was, when I turned, I saw that Monty was hiding behind a tree. He took off running, just like Dave, and I let him go. But later, I got to thinking. What the hell was he doing there? I mean, think about it. He’d prepped Becca to be raped and then he’d hidden himself to watch the show. The guy is freakin’ sick.”

  Jane sat quietly, taking it all in. “And nobody ever found out.”

  “No,” said Kurt. “Not a soul.”

  “And Becca? I understand she left after graduation. Nobody knows where she went.”

  He sank his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No, not true. I got to know her pretty well that year, what with what happened to her, and then Sam. After she left town, we stayed in touch. Mostly, at least at first, I just wanted to know she was okay. We’d email each other every few weeks. She went to live with her aunt and uncle in New Jersey. Eventually, we stopped writing as much, but I always heard from her at Christmas. I know she went to college, graduated, got married, and lives somewhere out east with her husband and her daughter. She’s always been very circumspect about the details of her life. I’ve never pressed her for more.”

  “I’d like to talk to her,” said Jane.

  “I’m not sure she’d want that.”

  “Could you ask? We could Skype, if she’d be willing.”

  He didn’t see any reason not to ask. He figured there was no way Jane could tie it to Sam’s murder. “I suppose I could email her.”

  “Thank you. Can I ask you about one other person?”

  “Who?”

  “Scott Romilly?”

  He shook his head. “He was never a friend, although I knew him a little because of Sam. He works for a bank in town.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  “He was an entitled little shit. If Sam was the black sheep in the family, and he definitely was, Scott was the golden boy. His father spoiled him rotten.”

  “Were you surprised that Emma was dating him?”

  His eyes opened wide. “Are you kidding me? He’s the guy? I knew there was someone, but she was always so tight-lipped about it.”

  “He’s turned into a stalker. Doesn’t want her to leave Castle Lake. Secretly follows her around. He assumed their relationship was serious, that she’d stay and, after getting a divorce, marry him.”

  “She has a fifteen-year-old daughter in California.”

  “He doesn’t seem to think it’s a problem.”

  “He wants what he wants, just like he always does. But … this stalking. Does Emma think he’s dangerous?”

  “She thinks he’s creepy. I’m the one who thinks he’s dangerous.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” said Kurt, irritated that she’d never mentioned any of it to him.

  “Are you and Emma close?”

  “We weren’t in high school, but after spending time with her this summer, we’ve become friends. I think the world of her.”


  “One last question and then I’ll leave you alone. Does the word ‘duel’ mean anything to you?”

  His stomach tightened. “Duel?”

  “The kind you do with swords or guns.”

  “No. Should it?”

  “Were you in a history class with Sam your junior year?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, just wanted to ask.”

  “Do you have a theory about what happened to him?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas. Nothing I can back up yet.” Brushing off her pants, she stood and looked toward the woods. “I’m kind of turned around. How do I get back to the cemetery?”

  “Where are you parked?”

  “In the lot behind Holy Trinity.”

  “Why don’t I walk you there?”

  “No, it’s fine. If you’ll just point me in the right direction—”

  “I have to get back to the market anyway. We might as well walk together.” Once again, he was torn. After talking to her for just a few minutes, he could tell she wanted justice for Sam, and also, that she was tenacious. In his current circumstance, those qualities were both good and bad. Even so, he felt the least he could do was make sure she got back to her car safely.

  30

  “I thought you were planning to spend some time with Leslie before you came home,” said Cordelia as she rooted through the take-out sacks Jane had brought back to the lake house.

  “What are you wearing?” asked Jane.

  “Oh these?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Chest-high duck waders. Bought them at the local Ben Franklin. They’re made of mesh and nylon and are supposed to trick water fowl into thinking they aren’t being covertly observed.”

  “Water fowl. Are you planning to go duck hunting?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  Her hair was stuffed up under a blaze-orange boonie hat. “The hat kind of ruins the intent of the pants, unless water fowl can’t tell one color from another.”

  “Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative. Oscar Wilde. Back to Leslie?”

  “We both thought we’d have some time this afternoon,” said Jane, getting down two plates from the cupboard. “Her meeting ran late. And tonight’s that planning-commission thing, which will probably go long.”

  “A busy woman,”

  “And then some,” said Jane. “But I did talk to her. We’re getting together for dinner tomorrow night. There’s a new Moroccan restaurant in town she thinks is fabulous. The Red Fez.”

  “You’d think the only ethnic food you’d find in this berg would be Swedish meatballs.”

  Jane had given Kurt a ride back to the meat market after their conversation by the river. Since she had a little extra time, she decided to go in and look around. Seeing the rotisserie chickens, the potato salad, coleslaw, beans, and cornbread muffins, she knew she had dinner nailed.

  “Hey, this all looks delicious,” said Cordelia, taking a taste of the baked beans.

  “How was your afternoon at the junior high school?” asked Jane, carrying everything over to the kitchen table.

  Cordelia removed a couple of beers from the refrigerator.

  “Oh, you know,” she said. “One tries ones best to be engaging, even when the kids are squirming with boredom because they’re being deprived of social media for a few hours. They’re not my best audience.”

  “I’m sure you left a lasting impression. Years from now, they’ll all be saying, ‘Oh my gosh, that woman who just won the Pulitzer and the Indy 500 spoke at my school once.”

  Cordelia sighed. “If it gets posted on Snapchat. Otherwise, forget it.”

  As they ate, Jane filled Cordelia in on the information she’d gleaned in the Romilly case, with the identity of Becca Hill’s rapist being the most stunning revelation.

  “That man really is slime.”

  “So it would appear.”

  Spreading honey butter on her cornbread, Cordelia continued, “So, I have to ask. After everything you’ve learned, what do you think happened to Sam?”

  “I may be wrong, but at the moment I believe the catalyst was the rape. I know Becca must have had her reasons for not going to the police, and none of this is her fault, but I think that’s where it all began. The first night we were here, Emma told me that Sam believed in revenge. He called it justice, though Emma saw it as something darker. In the light of Becca’s decision not to report her rape to the police, I think Sam may have decided to extract payback himself.”

  “How?”

  “That’s just it. I was confused about the two handguns found in Sam’s grave. Two matching revolvers with two cartridges each still in the cylinders, one spent, the other unspent.”

  “And?”

  “Remember, Sam had written that paper on dueling for his junior-year history class. If you take a duel as the focus of his revenge, it might account for the two handguns and the two cartridges. I spent some time this afternoon reading up on duels. They were fought to retain honor—not necessarily to kill. Each man walked an agreed-upon number of paces away. The distance meant they were less likely to do serious damage. Of course, lots of men died.”

  “Like Alexander Hamilton.”

  “Exactly. Each man had a friend with him called ‘a second.’ The second was there to ensure the duel was honest and aboveboard and that the weapons were equally deadly. The seconds were chosen by each man. In Tamborsky’s case, I would assume he picked his best friend, Monty Mickler.”

  “And what about Sam?”

  “Emma told me she was Sam’s best friend, though her participation seems unlikely.”

  “Because she was female? Come on, Jane. That’s not a real reason.”

  “Okay, maybe she was there. But if she was, she sure is a good actor because I’ve never once sensed that she knew anything about what happened to him. We know Sam had a lot of friends. Maybe he chose Darius. Or Kurt. Or Jim Hughes. Or it could be somebody we haven’t met yet. But I’d bet money that at least four people were there that morning.”

  “Following your reasoning,” said Cordelia, “that means Dave Tamborsky and Monty Mickler probably aren’t happy you’re in town digging into it.” She repositioned her boonie hat. “Tell me more about duels.”

  “Some men used swords, others pistols. The location for the duel varied. Some were let loose in a park or wooded area, where there were plenty of places to hide. Some were the standard kind of duels we’re more familiar with.”

  “But what would Sam get out of it?”

  “I’m not sure, but both Sam and Dave must have agreed on terms—what would happen depending on who won.”

  Cordelia snorted. “What would winning look like? Not dying?”

  “Possibly. Or maybe it depended on who was hit.”

  “What if neither was hit?”

  “Honestly, Cordelia, I have no idea. But there must have been something in it for both of them, otherwise they wouldn’t have agreed.”

  “If they did agree.”

  “I realize it’s just a theory, but for the moment, it explains more about what I’ve learned than anything else. Then again, all of it is rendered moot because the cartridges in those revolvers were all blank. Makes no sense.”

  “Sam was shot in the head. That’s how he died. How do you kill a man with blanks?”

  “I’m obviously missing something.”

  Cordelia lifted the beer to her lips, but instead of taking a sip, she asked, “What about Carli Gilbert? Do you still think her death is connected to the discovery of Sam’s remains?”

  “I haven’t followed up on any of that. I was thinking we should drive by what’s left of the house tonight. Maybe talk to a few more of her neighbors. Oh, and there’s a place I want to see—an antique/junk/second-hand shop out past Castle Lake.”

  Cordelia’s ears pricked up. “Do they have costume jewelry?”

  “Very likely.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  “For you to change clothes.”

 
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  Another question Jane couldn’t possibly answer.

  “So many people dress in hunting clothes up here. Maybe I want to fit in.”

  “You never want to fit in. Your whole métier is to stand out.”

  “Okay, okay. How about this? Since we’re going hunting tonight, I might as well dress for it.” She grinned and socked Jane’s arm. “Let’s go bag ourselves a couple of mock ducks. They must have a few of those around these parts.”

  * * *

  The light was fading by the time they made it to Lowry Antiques & Treasures, a one-story white clapboard building that sat about thirty feet back from the county highway. Even in the growing darkness, Jane could see that the roof sagged and the siding needed a good paint job. A brightly lit sign hung above the door, intended, no doubt, to catch the eye of potential customers as they sped past. There were also several long tables loaded down with housewares—plates, crockery, serving dishes, cups, and glassware.

  What the parking area lacked in grass, it made up for in potholes. Cordelia rubbed her hands together eagerly as she exited the truck. Jane joined her as they made their way inside. The interior of the building was even more disheveled than the outside. It was also crammed to the rafters. It wasn’t Jane’s cup of tea, but Cordelia was in her element. Like a heat-seeking missile, she found a display case filled with gaudy costume jewelry and called a woman over to help.

  After a few minutes of uninspired wandering, Jane’s nose began to itch. There was no use in trying to hurry Cordelia, so she went back outside to get some fresh air. Floodlights mounted on the building lit up the exterior tables, so she began, once again with little enthusiasm, to look through the offerings. That’s when her cell phone buzzed.

  Taking it out of her back pocket, she saw that it was a text from Kurt.

  Becca will talk to you. She has time tomorrow morning at 10 am. Will that work? If so, send me your Skype address. Hers is below. Hope you find what you want.

  BHL.99w02

  Jane couldn’t believe Becca had responded so quickly. She was lucky that her meeting with Wendell Romilly was scheduled for nine. She doubted it would last very long.