“He sold them a car?”
“No. But supposedly he’s a great electrician.” I got up and stared out at the lake. “I’m not sure why I haven’t heard this before, but supposedly Travis helps people in the neighborhood. He’s even worked for Maxine.”
“And he worked at the B and B?”
“He fixed the faulty wiring in their upstairs hallway.”
“And ended up in this woman’s bedroom.”
“Not quite. Supposedly they met in the Honeymoon Cottage, which is on the grounds. But then he dumped her in the spring, and since then, she’s become an insomniac. Pru says it’s good for business.”
“Excuse me.”
“It’s reinvigorated the ghost stories. Guests hear Arlene wandering the hallways and assume she’s a ghost. The guests like ghosts.”
“Perfect,” Bambi said. “So the wandering insomniac wandered over to Mallard Cove and killed this woman?”
“Poisoned her. In a fit of jealousy.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Wacko and Looney Tunes.” But I reminded Bambi this wasn’t my cockamamie theory, but Pru’s.
“How about some facts?” Bambi the scientist asked. “Did Pru actually see her sister wander over to Mallard Cove?”
“No.”
“And was the woman actually poisoned?”
“The cops don’t know yet.”
“And if it was poison,” Bambi kept going. “Where did Arlene get it?”
“I don’t know. But history dictates the Pearson women have a ready stock of the stuff. And supposedly Arlene has some history with poison. According to Pru, she poisoned her ex-husband’s dog a few years back.” I petted Charlie for reassurance and reported that the dog survived. “But the ex-husband put out a restraining order, and that’s the main reason the Pearson sisters left Boston.”
“Remind me why I answered the phone,” Bambi said.
“To help me figure this out. Ask me some more questions.”
She thought a minute and asked about the body disappearing. “Does Arlene keep a bottle of magic disappearing potion next to her jar of poison?”
I had wondered about that, too. “I asked Pru if Arlene somehow dragged the body out of the lake and hid it in the Honeymoon Cottage, until she somehow, without anyone noticing, got the body off the premises and up to Golden Rock. I meant it to be facetious,” I said. “But Pru took me seriously.”
“Unbelievable.”
“It gets worse. Pru admitted she doesn’t know how Arlene got rid of the body. But she wouldn’t have put it in the Honeymoon Cottage because the contractor who’s building the new ski resort down in Thornley is renting it. And—this is a direct quote—‘Mr. Chase would have noticed the dead woman. I’m sure he would have complained.’”
“Pru Pearson sounds even loonier than you.”
“You noticed?”
Bambi asked if Pru had mentioned her cockamamie theory to the cops, and of course the answer to that was no.
“I guess Gabe stopped by the B and B earlier in his desperate search for Travis. But it sounds like the queen of pussy-footing around pussy-footed around.”
Bambi asked if I planned on telling Sterling, but Pru had sworn to me that she’d tell him.
“He’s due at the B and B this evening.” I got up and peeked out the back window. Obviously my father’s car was still gone, but one of our neighbors was back home. “In the meantime I have another errand,” I said and hung up before I lost my nerve.
I rummaged around in the cupboard, grabbed the nicest bottle of red I could find, and headed out.
Chapter 25
“Do you have time for a chat?” I asked when Maxine answered her door.
She glanced at the bottle in my hand. “I think I might even have a corkscrew,” she said. She asked me to do the honors and found two juice glasses in her cupboard, and we took seats on her deck.
I leaned over to tap her glass with mine. “Thank you.”
“What for? I don’t even have proper glasses.”
“Thank you for tracking me down this morning.”
“Silly! We Elizabethans look out for each other.”
I took a deep breath and said it. “And thank you for your article in the Herald.”
She sat up. “It did help, didn’t it? I am so glad! Have they identified her? Have you talked to Sheriff Gabe?”
I said I’d talked to a lot of people, but finding the body hadn’t solved everything. “We still don’t know who she was.”
“Gabe will figure it out.”
“Or the state police. But it’s getting complicated.” I waved to the Gallipeaus as they floated by on their pontoon boat. “The more I learn about Lake Bess, the more I don’t know.”
“What do you want to know?” Maxine asked. She reminded me she’s a lifelong Elizabethan, a librarian, and a journalist. “Chances are I know everything,” she said with a smile.
“This is unofficial, right?” I watched her drink her wine. “Nothing goes into your column?”
“Do you see my i-Tablet?”
I glanced around the deck. No, actually. I took a chance, drank some wine, and told Maxine Tibbitts I was curious about the people in Mallard Cove and Fox Cove.
“Fanny didn’t do it.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said. “But what about Evert Osgood?”
She scowled. “You don’t suspect Evert?”
“No, but I don’t know much about him.”
“Well, I do,” she said. “We went to school together, you know. Kindygarten through twelve. Evert wouldn’t hurt a fly—not unless it was harming Miss Rusty.”
“So that leaves us with the La Barges.” I noticed Maxine’s glass was empty and poured her a refill. “With Travis to be exact.”
“Your suspect.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged all nonchalantly. “I understand he’s an electrician. In fact, I understand he did some work for you?”
Maxine seemed puzzled. “Who told you that?”
“Umm, I think it might have been Pru Pearson. I understand he did some work at the B and B also.”
“And Pru told you Travis worked for me?”
“She said he did some electrical work for my neighbor.”
Maxine sipped her wine. Actually, she was sipping at a pretty fast clip.
“Ohhh!” she cried eventually. “Oh, oh, oh! That wasn’t me, Cassie. That was Joe.” She waved a hand Wylie-ward. “Travis worked with the FN451z. Something to do with electricity.”
***
“What else did you and Pru talk about?” Maxine asked, and I tore my gaze from the Wylie house.
“What do you know about the B and B?”
“Probably more than I want,” she said. “Let’s start with the electricity. Which has been a problem since the bordello days.” Maxine sighed. “Arlene and Pru thought they’d inherited a fine mansion. But when they got here they found a ramshackle place with unsafe wiring.”
“So they hired Travis.”
“No. Travis was no more than ten when those first renovations got started. But the electrical system has continued to be a headache for the Pearson sisters.”
I assessed the half empty wine bottle. “What about the Pearson sisters?” I asked. “Do you know anything about their history? You know, before they moved here?”
She sighed again. “I assume Pru told you about the ex-husband’s dog? You realize it never happened.”
“Say what?”
“I’m saying.” Maxine drank some more. “That Pru Pearson is fishy. You can’t trust everything she says, especially when it comes to her sister.”
“Oh?”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “I’ve had a few chats with Pru, and Arlene always comes out looking bad.”
“That certainly was true this afternoon,” I said.
“I know Arlene isn’t the most charming creature on earth,” Maxine kept going. “But I looked them up.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Well, nooo.
When they moved to town, I did some research.”
I squinted. “What exactly did you learn?”
“Exactly nothing.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t verify anything Pru told me about her sister. No nasty divorces, no restraining orders. I don’t mean to brag, Cassie, but I’m pretty good at research. Oh, let’s face it.” Maxine giggled. “I’m very good at research.”
I watched a loon dive beneath the surface of the water and thought about my own chat with Pru. Was she trying to protect her sister? Or maybe incriminate her sister?
Maxine interrupted my thoughts as the loon re-emerged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Pru accused her sister of murder.” She held out her glass, and I poured. “And unfortunately, people tend to believe Pru because of all the legends.”
“The ghost-guys.” I nodded. “Joe told me.”
“I’m surprised at that.”
I assured her Joe doesn’t believe in ghosts. “But he told me the stories—all those Pearson wives poisoning their Pearson husbands.”
Maxine hiccupped. “Did Joe mention the other ghost?”
“Don’t tell me there’s a girl-ghost?”
“No. But there is a non-Pearson ghost.”
I shook my head and suggested maybe we’d had a little too much wine. But Maxine wasn’t listening. She drank some more and stared off to our left. “He’s away today?” she asked.
“Bobby’s in Albany.”
She turned back to me. “I meant Joe.”
“He’s away also,” I said.
“Well then, I suppose it’s safe to chat about it.” She hiccupped again. “The other ghost at the Fox Cove is Joe’s father.”
I put down my glass and stared at Maxine. “Start. Chatting.”
***
“It happened back in the bordello days, of course,” Maxine said.
“Of course,” I squeaked.
“And of course the ghost might be a fabrication. But Nate Wylie was definitely shot and killed. Evidently, he stepped out on his wife fairly often.” Maxine shrugged. “It caused quite a bit of gossip. I was a teenager at the time, and my parents didn’t want me to hear it.” She shrugged again. “But of course I did.”
“How old was Joe?”
“He was just a little guy. Probably around three.”
I asked for more details, but Maxine claimed there weren’t any. “They never figured out who killed Nate, or over what woman. Sheriff McGuckin looked into it, but the gun was never found.” She frowned. “It’s probably still at the bottom of the lake.”
“A lot of crime goes unsolved around here,” I said.
“Because we’re so small,” Maxine said. “The sheriff never has enough manpower. Have you met Deputy Dent?”
I groaned in answer and stared Wylie-ward.
Chapter 26
“Her name was Nancy Finch.”
I jumped ten feet in the air, but somehow managed to land on the dock, and not in the water. I greeted Captain Sterling.
He smiled and waved to the dozen or so boats hovering close by. “Her name was Nancy Finch,” he hollered, and several people called out that they’d believed me all along.
Meanwhile Charlie swam into shore with his tennis ball. As usual, he rejected my toss in favor of a better arm, but I was kind of interested in what Sterling had to say. I called a halt to the game of fetch, and hustled the dog and the cop inside.
“You have quite a fan club,” Sterling said as I shut the door.
“I swear some of those people have been out there since Tuesday.” I waved him toward the blue rocking chair and offered coffee or tea, but he wouldn’t even accept a glass of water. We sat down, and I watched him study his surroundings.
“I’m painting the exterior gray,” I said.
He looked up. “But this house is so jolly.”
“Nancy Finch,” I reminded him.
“Was identified by her sister this afternoon. She saw the artist’s sketch on TV and drove in from Burlington.”
“Thank you, sister.”
Sterling nodded and told me both Finch sisters lived in Burlington, but they had found Nancy’s car in Montreal. “At a strip joint in the red light district.”
“So much for Mandy’s.”
“Excuse me?”
“Montreal is in Canada,” I said brilliantly.
“Which is why your sheriff never located the car. Why would he check with the Mounties?”
“And why would she end up here?” I asked. Lake Bess is at least an hour’s drive from Burlington. And even farther from Montreal. “And where does Travis La Barge fit in? You’ve talked to him?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! Why not?”
“We still can’t find him,” Sterling said. “I was just at Mallard Cove—he’s not there. And Cleghorn’s been searching all day.”
“Hello-o! He’s at his parents’ house.” I threw my arms up. “I told you that hours ago.”
Sterling frowned, and once I sat back a little, he told me that he had, of course, checked. “Ross is out of town, and Janet La Barge swears she hasn’t seen Travis all day.”
“She’s lying.”
Sterling agreed that maybe she was, but also insisted he had to “justify cause” before he could get more assertive.
“You need to barge in on the La Barges,” I argued.
“No can do.”
“So what can you do?”
“I can tell you the results of the initial autopsy report.”
“What, what, what?”
“It’s inconclusive. So far we have no concrete cause of death.”
I got up to pace. “This is not how it works on TV.”
“No, it isn’t.” Sterling watched me. “And you won’t like this, either, but there’s a chance we may never know how she died.”
Insert colorful words … Here.
***
Sterling waited for me to make another rotation around the living room to inform me the medical examiner had come up with at least one interesting finding. “Nancy Finch had sexual relations right before she died.”
“With Travis!” I pointed to the front door. “Go. Arrest. Him.”
Sterling offered a firm “Negative” to that and waited for me to sit down. Then he explained something about DNA evidence, and how they needed to get Travis’s DNA. But to do that legally, he had to prove Travis met Nancy in Montreal that night. “Then we’ll have just cause to pursue La Barge more aggressively,” he said.
“So go prove he was in Montreal.” I again pointed to the door. “Get out of here!”
I think Sterling laughed. But he did tell me he was headed up there next. “Someone at that nightclub must have seen La Barge with the victim. Border Patrol can also help—they had to stop and show ID.” He caught my eye. “Any other questions?”
Oh, please.
“What about Pru Pearson?” I asked. “Did you talk to her?”
“I talked to both the Pearsons, a few minutes ago.”
“Arlene’s back?”
“Back from where?”
I rolled my eyes and asked Sterling what he had learned at the Fox Cove Inn.
“Nothing,” he said. “Neither Prudence nor Arlene know anything. Just like they told your sheriff the other day.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! Of course they know something! Pru knows all kinds of things!” I frowned at Charlie. “But Maxine says maybe not.”
Sterling stood up. “So maybe Pru knows something. Or maybe Arlene knows something. Or maybe Maxine, whoever she is, knows something.”
“Exactly.” I followed him toward the door. “Maybe someone knows something. Maybe we should get them all in one room together, and let everyone tell you everything they know. Maybe I should be there with you to help.”
Sterling stared.
I sighed. “Maybe you should go to Montreal.”
“Maybe.”
***
I awoke with a start and checked the rocking chair. No Dad.
>
I checked the time. Midnight.
“He’s not home yet,” I told Charlie and closed my eyes again.
But who could sleep with all that growling?
My eyes popped open.
Growling.
Charlie was growling.
I sprang up and switched on my reading light. Charlie stood rigid next to the bed, the fur along his spine bristling at attention.
Holy. Moly.
“Charlie?” I whispered.
At the sound of his name, he shifted ever so slightly. But he never took his eyes from my bedroom door. And he did not stop growling.
About then, I heard it, too.
“It’s only Dad,” I whispered. “He must be home.”
So why was I whispering? And why was Charlie growling?
I bit my lip and listened to the boogey man prowling around below.
God help me—the boogey man was climbing the stairs! Shit!
I scanned the room for something to use as a weapon.
Nothing. Nothing on the floor, nothing thrown over the chair. No scattered shoes, no junk mail, no sledgehammer. Nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing!
And meanwhile, the boogey man had made it to the second floor landing and was heading up.
Well, I wasn’t going to stand there and be slaughtered! I lunged for the phone. The bedroom door opened. And Charlie sprang into action.
I hurled the phone with all my might. Someone screamed, and I took a giant leap toward the doorway.
***
I tripped over Charlie and the prone body of the boogey man, fell down the stairs, and stopped at the second floor landing. Actually, the bottom half of me stopped there. My head and shoulders made it a little farther.
But evidently I was still alive.
I tried breathing. When that worked, I backed up onto the landing, and eventually I stopped shaking enough to notice all the sore spots. Nothing felt broken, but my left shin hurt like hell. I lifted my pajama leg and fought back a wave of nausea. With only the dim light coming from my bedroom, I could still see a welt the size of Charlie’s tennis ball.
About then, I registered the barking and glanced up.
“I thought you were Travis,” I said.
“Son of a bitch,” Janet La Barge replied.
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