Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream (3 page)

“What happened? Nora. Nora Lassiter? Are you all right?”

Biting my bottom lip, I dropped to my knees, reached into the underbrush, retrieved the phone, and tossed it in my bag. I was not going to carry on a conversation with anyone while I negotiated this minefield.

* * *

Back at the house, I picked out a crummy-looking, old-lady sweater I found in Great-grandma Evie’s closet and slipped it on. I was too distressed to care about my appearance, or the fact that I now smelled of moth balls. I was still shaking. I can’t recall this ever happening before–not caring about my appearance, or how I smelled, or shaking like this.

Her hand on her chest, Ida listened to me, nodding the whole time, her face a mask of distress. Tears in her eyes, she said, “I hate to be one of those people who says ‘I told you so,’ but Nora, I did tell them. I warned them. Tried to tell that Renzo kid. He’s a nitwit.”

“The Renzo kid? Who’s he?”

“Sheriff Nick Renzo.”

“The sheriff’s a kid?” He hadn’t sounded like a kid. “And a nitwit?”

“Anyone under fifty is a kid.” She sniffed into her lace-tatted handkerchief. “The worst was the family. That hurt. Only Hannah and Agnes believed me. At least I think they did.”

“Your pals.”

She nodded.

I hugged her.

“And now someone’s dead because they wouldn’t listen to you, wouldn’t investigate what you overheard in the library.”

“Just because I didn’t hear anyone say outright that they were going to kill someone they figured I was reading into it.” Ida sniffled again. “Phsew. Reading into it, my foot. They could all stand to do a bit of that. Too bad you don’t know who it was, but we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Actually, I know who it is. I saw him when I went to see Uncle JT. His last name was Collins.”

What I didn’t say was that I’d seen him yelling at JT and I knew JT was afraid of him or maybe afraid of his partner. I wasn’t sure.

“Oh, my. Collins works with Percy Kendall at the Auto Mall. I think he owns half of it. Bought into it years back when there were some financial troubles.”

A short time later the sheriff drove up in an SUV, hopped out and raced onto the porch. I opened the screen door and stepped out to meet him. My heart gave a little jolt, just a small tremor, but completely out of character for me and my heart. This man was
not
a kid, and intuition signaled he was probably not a nitwit either.

“By the boulder next to the stream, just before you come to the bridge,” I told him before he had a chance to ask. “Right along the path to JT’s house. You can’t miss him.”

“Who is—”

“It’s the guy who works at the Auto Mart. Al Collins, I think his name is.”

“You all right?”

“Fine,” I replied, still shaking like I was standing naked in a high wind at the North Pole.

He reached out his hand and I took it. “I’m Nick Renzo, sheriff of Silver Stream,” he said.

The strangest thing happened. The shaking stopped. Suddenly. It’s not that I was attracted to him, or anything crazy like that. I am a sensible woman, after all. He was a good looking man, no question about it. Not movie-star handsome, but there was a certain quality I couldn’t put a name to. Well, maybe I could. I think the word was masculine with a capital M.

I didn’t say anything as he held my hand. Couldn’t think of a thing, not even my name, which would have been appropriate. It must have been the shock of seeing a murder victim that made my vocabulary dry up.

“You must be Nora Lassiter, the detective your aunt Ida told me about. The one who came up from New York to look into the murder she predicted?”

He let go of my hand. With the connection broken, I finally thought of something to say. “Yes, I’m Nora.”

I didn’t add the rest, the lie about being a detective. In fact, I should have taken this opportunity to straighten that out. My conscience danced around a bit. I thought of Mary Fran and the money she was paying me to get the skinny on her husband. If she knew the truth, I’d lose her business, and I needed the money.

I was a dishonest person.

“I need to talk to you. Get a statement. From Ida, too. Can you both meet me at the station house in a couple of hours? I’ll let you know when. Or would you prefer I come here?”

“Here,” I said. “My aunt wouldn’t want to go to the sheriff’s office.”

“Nonsense,” Ida said as she came up in back of me. “I want to do my duty and go. The sheriff has to debrief us.”

Debrief?

Nick nodded to me. “I’ll call you. I have your cell phone number.”

He took off. Minutes later Ida was on the phone to Great-aunt Hannah with the news of Collins’ murder. I wasn’t ready to call anyone, not even my brother Howie who’s an officer on the Miami-Dade Police Department.

Shortly after noon, Sheriff Nick called from the murder site and said he’d be wrapping up soon. The forensics team was almost finished. He’d meet us at the station house.

THREE

There were so many vehicles parked in front of the sheriff’s office that I had to park across the street by the Country Store. A big-breasted woman in a lime-colored sweater stood on the steps puffing a cigarette. I guessed she was in her mid-thirties. As I helped Aunt Ida out of the car, the woman said, “You hear what happened? The Collins’ murder?”

“Yes. I’m the one who found him in the woods up by JT Lassiter’s place. Shot to death.”

“I heard.” She took another puff of her cigarette and came down the steps. “I’m Amy. I waitress at the counter here. News travels fast in this town. How awful for you.”

“Yes. Big shock.”

“Certainly was,” Ida put in as she smoothed the fresh orange flowered polyester blouse she’d changed into for this occasion.

“Maybe he committed suicide. No one gets murdered in Silver Stream. This here’s always been a safe place to live,” Amy said.

I knew that wasn’t exactly true. Mary Fran’s father-in-law had been murdered, but Amy obviously didn’t remember that.

“Didn’t someone get murdered around here about twenty years ago?”

Ida seemed to freeze. It was obvious that she remembered and was upset by it.

Amy wrinkled her brow. “Oh, yeah. Where’s my head. I was in high school at the time. Had other things on my mind, I guess.” She shrugged. “Someone out at the Auto Mart, I think it was.”

“Did you know him?”

“Everybody around here knew Al.”

I meant old Percy, but I let it go.

“Did people like Al?”

“The guy wouldn’t have won no popularity contest, but he wasn’t a bad sort. If he was murdered, maybe it had something to do with a car he sold that turned out to be a lemon.” She dropped her cigarette and ground it out with the toe of her navy Nike sneaker. “What’s the sheriff saying? He got any clues?”

“I don’t know.”

“Got to get back to work.” Amy nodded and went back inside. I took a few steps after her, wanting to ask more questions. Such an odd thing for her to say, that someone would murder a man because he sold him a lemon. I hesitated. She must have been joking. I guess I didn’t get Maine humor. When the screen door clapped shut, Ida and I headed to the sheriff’s office.

“Did you know that old guy who got murdered about twenty years ago?”

Ida shook her head. “Not really. I guess I met him once or twice, this being a small town and all. Don’t remember much about what happened though.”

“And you a crime show enthusiast? Must have been a big thing in this town. A murder. I’m surprised you didn’t go out and investigate yourself,” I joked.

Aunt Ida didn’t smile.

“Ay-uh, a big thing. The town was buzzing for weeks.”

“They find out who killed him?”

Ida opened her purse, fiddled around, and closed it again before replying. “Not that I ever heard.”

“You looking for something?”

“Just checking to see if I brought my glasses. I did. I’ll need them in case I have to read something. I’ll probably have to sign something, don’t you think? And I have my camera, of course.”

“I didn’t bring mine,” I said. “What was I thinking?”

Nick Renzo wasn’t back from the murder site when we arrived at the station. The officer on duty behind the big desk was a skinny, nervous-looking guy with a pointy nose and small eyes.

“Howdy, Mrs. Lassiter.” He nodded at Aunt Ida, then turned to me. “You must be Nora Lassiter. Sheriff said you’d be coming in. I’m Deputy Jay Trimble. You can both sit over there.” He indicated the bench on the opposite wall.

The station house was a surprise. It was not the backwoods headquarters I’d expected. Someone had gone all out to make it imposing. The main desk looked like real mahogany. It was mammoth, twelve, maybe fifteen feet long, set on a foot-high platform that ran the length of the back wall. I pictured the sheriff sitting up there, looking authoritative, gazing down at some pathetic lawbreaker.

“This is my first time in this building,” Ida said, her voice filled with the awe and reverence you might expect in an exquisite cathedral. “Imagine all these years and I’ve never been inside.”

“I can imagine.”

It took about four minutes for the awe to wear off. Suddenly, without so much as a word to me, and with more gusto than an average woman in her eighties should possess, Ida stood, marched to the desk and rapped with her purse. “Young man. What are you doing up there? Are you really busy?”

Startled, Officer Trimble blinked a few times. “Not too busy. Is there something I can do for you, Ma’am?”

In seconds I was at her side. “Aunt Ida, is there a problem?”

The
Toreador March
sounded and I foraged for the cell phone in the tote bag, swearing under my breath, shoving mace and mints and makeup out of the way. “Let me answer this first,” I said, seeing the identity of the caller. I walked back to the bench.

“Howie. I was going to call you today. Did the list come out yet? Can I tell the world my brother is going to make sergeant on the Miami-Dade PD?”

“I’d like a tour of the station house,” I heard Ida announce behind me.

A tour? I spun around.

“Not yet,” Howie said. “I called to find out how your visit’s going and tell you that–”

“Visits going fine, Howie,” I spoke rapidly, my concentration on Aunt Ida. “Driving up here was the worst part.”

“I wanted to give you a heads-up. There’s been a murder in Silver Stream. It just came up on the computer in the station house. Hard to believe. Murder in Silver Stream.”

“I already know about the murder. Hold on a sec.”

I went over to Ida and touched her arm. “Aunt Ida, we don’t really need a tour, do we?” I refrained from mentioning the obvious, that this was not a social occasion.

Officer Trimble stepped down from his perch, glanced at Ida, then back to me. “No problem, Ma’am, I’d be glad to show you both around. Follow me.”

“Howie? I gotta go. I’ll—”

“What do you mean you know about the murder? How could you know?” Howie cut in. “According to what I’m reading here, the coroner just picked up the body. Was it someone we knew? A relative?”

“Howie, I’m at the sheriff’s office,” I explained in a harsh whisper as I followed Ida down the hall. “I’ll call you back.”

“God almighty, Nora. What have you done now?”

“Nothing.”

“What the hell’re you doing there? Have you been arrested or something? You crash that rental car? I knew you shouldn’t have driven up on your own. You’re not a good driver. You know that.”

My first impulse was to reassure him. But he was my brother, after all, the guy who had lied to me about moose when I was a kid, so I went with my second impulse. “Howie, I’ll call you back.” I paused dramatically. Sometimes I can’t help myself. Howie is such a worrywart. “They’re waiting for me,” I said, an ominous tone in my voice. Smiling, I clicked off, and stood watching Ida check out the cells.

“Oh, my. Empty. No prisoners today. Soon though. When they catch the killer. Just look at these cells,” Ida said as she touched the bars.

There was that reverence and awe again.

“Nora, we should take a picture. I have my digital that the nephews and nieces gave me for Christmas last year.” She dug in her purse. “I haven’t even filled the disk yet, but I’ve studied how it works.”

No. “I don’t think–”

“Oh, this nice Officer Trimble wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s right, Ma’am. Snap away. I’ll even open the door so you can go inside the cell. If you want to. Get some wicked good pictures.”

Ida handed me the camera. “Here, I’ll go in and you take my picture.”

“Hello? Yoo-hoo. Anyone here?”

“Hannah. Agnes. We’re back here,” Ida called. “Come see this place and meet our Nora.”

I rolled my eyes. My first meeting with the aunts I hadn’t seen since I was a child was going to be by a jail cell. Wonderful.

The
Toreador March
sounded again. My friend Lori calling from New York.