Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream (28 page)

“At least step away from the door.”

“I’m taking two steps back.”

I gagged a bit on the smell, even though the top was open. I wasn’t sure which was worse the sweet scented air deodorizer, or the stink it was meant to mask.

I did what I had to do, telling myself I didn’t care whether Nick heard or not, telling myself I didn’t care that I could hardly move in this confined space.

When I finished, I squinted into a small mirror to see my hair. The sun was low in the sky allowing very little light into this small space, but it was enough to see I was a mess. Big hair jutted every which way. My face was worse. Smoke smudge city. My nose, my cheeks, my chin. This is what I got for coming to Maine. This kind of thing never happened in New York. People had seen me looking like this.

All right. No time to bemoan my fate. Serious damage control was called for. I needed a shower. That wasn’t possible. A damp paper towel would have to do. I dabbed at the soot. It smeared. A dozen paper towels later most of my makeup was off, but the soot was gone. Good thing I carried replacement supplies.

“What’s going on in there? Are you okay?”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“I didn’t want you to feel self-conscious. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

Just then I remembered what I had to tell him. “Oh, you’ll never guess what I found out. When I spoke to Mary Fran.”

“Sheriff. Sheriff. There’s a fight behind the quilting booth. Come quick.”

“Have to run,” he told me, hurrying off.

I sighed. My news about the Gray auction would have to wait. He’d be amazed when I told him about the solution to the puzzle. Right now, I figured I could get Mary Fran’s key and check Percy’s computer for the latest email from Marla babe while they were all here.

I found Mary Fran in the church tent talking to Hannah. As soon as she spotted me, she came over. “You want to go to my house, right? While Percy’s here?” She looked me over. “You look awful. What happened?”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Good thing you live so close to here.  Just give me the key and call me on my cell phone if he leaves early.”

“He won’t. He never leaves before the beans are served. He’s a bean man,” she said as she slipped me her key. “This is my extra key. You don’t have to return it right away.”

“This won’t take long. I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”

I saw Hannah watching, wondering what was going on. I nodded to her to confirm her suspicions, and headed to the parking lot.

TWENTY-EIGHT

This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t, I thought, as I sat in front of Percy’s computer. I’d never get the photos now. And if Mary Fran really needed them to get her eighty percent, she was out of luck.

I wanted her to have the money so badly, wanted it as much as I had wanted to throw Whatshisname’s Big Berthas out the window. As much as I’d wanted that part of my fiancé’s bank account that I’d foolishly allowed him to keep in his name because I’d trusted him. His checks were our savings. I’d given that man my heart, my whole self, my money, and he’d cheated on me, in my own apartment, no less. Like Percy had cheated on Mary Fran, in her own bed, no less. Brothers under the skin, both of them. This kind of hurt cut layers deep. It was physical, emotional, financial.

I couldn’t let Percy get away with this. Mary Fran had more of an “investment” in him than I ever had in Whatshisname. Years, more. And there was a child to consider. This had become personal.

If I told Nick about the Gray auction, chances were good that Percy would be arrested before he had a chance to meet up with Marla. He might be persuaded to give her up as an accomplice, but there would never be photos of them that proved they were having an affair.

I reread the last few lines of Marla’s email:

After business, comes pleasure. Since this will be our last time together, we’ll make it special.

The words
last time
seemed to shout from the page. She was ending the affair. If it was their last time, it was my last chance to get photos of them together.

I pulled out my cell phone and hit Mary Fran’s number.

“Is there any chance you can get the eighty percent with just the emails?” I asked without preamble.

“You can’t get the pictures?” she asked, a frantic note in her voice.

“I’m not sure,” I hedged. “Answer my question.”

“Hold on.” She paused, then said, “I had to find a private spot. I’m in the porta-potty now. Stinks in here. Anyway, I have to tell you, I just reread the prenup yesterday and it says I need irrefutable proof, like photos. It mentions photos. I even spoke to my lawyer about this. It seems since the emails between them never mention a time or place, Percy could claim he never got together with her, was never actually unfaithful, except in his fantasy life. Do you believe it?”

That sinking feeling was back again. “All right, Mary Fran. “I’ll get the photos.”

How? I wondered, as I clicked off. How could I do this?

Would it hamper police business in a big way if I withheld? It would. But what if I took photos and video to cover whatever the sheriff might miss? What if I called Nick from Gray?

No, I could not do any of that. I had to tell him tonight.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was back at the bean-hole supper. I hurried to the church tent and joined the aunts. I got Hannah aside, told her what had happened, and told her to tell Ida and Agnes on their way home. No one else.

“You’re going to Gray?” she asked.

I sighed heavily. “I’m not sure. I have to tell Nick about this. Once I do, my involvement might end.”

“It’s a shame. Don’t feel bad, though,” she consoled, patting my hand. “It’s the sensible way of it. If you went down there, it could be dangerous.”

I saw Nick heading toward me. He passed Percy and his daughter. My gaze was drawn to the little girl tugging at her father’s sweater to get his attention. He brushed her hand away and continued talking with some man. No time for his little girl. He was scum.

That sealed it. I had to get him. Had to.

“Hi,” Nick said. “Sorry to go running off before. Not much of a fight. A couple of kids.”

We chatted about the goings on, then he said, “What were you about to tell me when I left? Something about Mary Fran and Percy?”

There might be a way, I thought, steeling myself.

I stared up at Nick, swallowed hard. I liked this man. He was good and honorable. Men like him were a fading breed. For a brief moment, I found it impossible to speak. He cocked his head, a question in his upraised brows.

“Mary Fran is getting antsy,” I finally said, taking a giant step I was ambivalent about, to say the least. “She dumped a bowl of hot chowder on Percy. Last night, I think.”

“Good for her.”

The guilt washed over me. In waves. My stomach churned. My heart hammered.

* * *

On Saturday morning I awoke in the dark. I’d set the alarm for three, an ungodly hour for anyone, especially me. I needed an early start to get down to Gray in plenty of time. Percy had given in to whatever it was Marla wanted him to do. Afterwards, Marla planned to meet him at some place “where we had our first time,” she had written. Since I had no idea what place she referred to, I’d have to follow him there from the auction.

If possible, I’d take photos of things the sheriff would need. If I wasn’t able to do that, they could always go to the auction the following week in Clinton. That would be a repeat performance.

It occurred to me that Percy might recognize my truck, so I had spoken to Hannah. When she realized she couldn’t talk me out of it, she agreed to let me take her other car, a silver Toyota Highlander she seldom used. The agreement was that I tell the aunts everything when I returned, every last detail. I made her promise not to talk to Nick before I called him. Reluctantly, she agreed.

I showered faster than I’d ever showered in my life. A record breaker. The hot water was non-existent today. The damn burner was either off or broken. Equally fast, I dressed in one of my Maine outfits, jeans and a warm navy wool sweater. This way, I’d blend in at the auction. I took one of Ida’s hats that had a brim, in case I had to hide my face. I had no definite plan. I’d play it by ear. How hard could it be to find Percy at the auction and follow him?

Piece of cake.

Before going to bed, I’d loaded the SUV with supplies, essentials first—make-up mirror, make-up, three combs, two brushes, mousse, hairspray, perfume, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, mouthwash and dental mirror. Then I added chocolate chip cookies from Ida’s cookie jar, a few cans of soda, several bottles of water, two bags of chips. I checked to make sure I had the Maine map, mace, binoculars that I found in the closet, my trusty Swiss Army knife, camera, extra batteries, and camcorder.

For nourishment, I made a tuna on seedless rye. I hate the seeds that get stuck in your teeth. I took some Swiss cheese wedges, too. When I arrived in Gray, I’d stop for coffee and donuts as a special treat, something to look forward to. I was a woman prepared for the day. I left a note for Ida telling her I’d call when I arrived. She did not approve of my plans. She had told me she was worried.

I was worried too, but I tried not to focus on the negative.

It was dark when I pulled out of the driveway for the long haul down to Gray. My driving had improved since I’d come up here, and I wasn’t as nervous as I had been. Once on the highways, I intended to push it up to fifty miles per hour. Risky, I know, but I felt I was ready. Since I wasn’t used to this SUV, I’d wait awhile before shifting into daredevil mode. The trip took several hours. I played my new Shania CD, singing along full blast. I’d found a few CDs in the glove compartment,
Oh What A Night
by the Four Seasons and
Duets
by Kenny Rogers. Unfamiliar stuff. I played both. And sang along, making up lyrics as the need arose. No law says you have to sing the exact words.

I finally hit Route 95 and took it to 202. I got it up to fifty-two miles per hour. Once in Gray, I stopped at Dunkin Donuts. The two cops ahead of me on line took forever, loading up with so many donuts I thought there’d be none left for me.

I treated myself to a small coffee and a creme-filled donut, the white creme kind that I love but seldom allow myself. I got directions to the auction from the guy behind the counter and drove the short distance. Nothing much going on that I could see. Too early.

I passed the auction entrance, made a U-turn and headed back. No one around. I had my choice of parking spots along the street. Good. I could just pull alongside the curb. I wasn’t good at parking yet. Parallel parking especially. What a horror. But this was easy.

Instead of parking exactly opposite the entrance, I drove down a ways so I wouldn’t be easily spotted but still had a prime view of the entrance. I am getting the hang of this detective business.

No telling when Percy would arrive. It was after nine when I settled in. Wished I had a good book to read.

Michelle Gray 8011a0920.

If the
a
indicated A.M., then around eleven something should happen. Of course, I expected Percy to arrive earlier than that.

I wondered who Michelle was, or even if there was a Michelle. I was about ninety-nine percent sure the Gray part referred to this Gray, Maine auto auction. If it didn’t, I’d made the long trip for nothing.

It was safe to assume the other name on the list, Phil Clinton, referred to an auction in Clinton, which is why I knew the cops could nab these guys there. It helped with the guilt. I was conflicted about this. I decided to call Nick when I had the photos. He’d call the Gray Police. Maybe they would still be able to make arrests.

* * *

By ten o’clock, no one I recognized had come to the auction. My mind started to wander. Nothing too intellectual. I started thinking about Oreo cookies. Maybe I should have gotten those instead of the donut. Except that I didn’t have any milk. I needed milk with my Oreos. Oreos are for dunking. There’s an art to it. You can’t just dunk. The cookie has to be submerged for exactly the right amount of time. Too long and you get mush, too little and you still have crispy. Re-dunking doesn’t work. You can lose the cookie that way. Then there’s another problem. You must make sure you don’t run out of milk before you’ve finished your cookies. It’s an art.

By ten-thirty, I’d finished the donut and one bag of chips, and was seriously considering the tuna sandwich. I held off.

This was an interesting spot. Lots of action at the auction now. People and cars coming and going. Gray Road was busy. A woman wearing jeans and a dark gray sweatshirt placed orange road cones on one side of the entrance to prevent cars from parking too close. The color reminded me of Nick’s slippers. Because I had little else to do, I wondered why she didn’t cone off the other side. Well, what did I know about coning.

By ten-fifty, I no longer cared about how interesting Gray Road was, or about the cones. I was getting bored, and naturally I had to pee. One of those horrible porta-potties sat across the street nestled among the trees. Since I didn’t want to chance missing Percy, I decided to stay put and suffer. This decision was like a signal for the clock to move more slowly, and my bladder to feel fuller. I was about ready to give up and make a quick dash when an approaching black Ford Expedition slowed at the entrance area, almost coming to a complete stop. The driver was looking for someone. A white van came up behind the Expedition. In response, the Expedition continued on.