Killing Gifts (16 page)

Gennie peered through the window once more. The men had moved apart and appeared to be examining the Meetinghouse floor and walls. They neither spoke nor looked toward each other for several minutes, and Gennie grew bored. And very aware of her cold, wet feet. They weren't numb yet, but maybe it was time to move on. With luck, she could still find Esther and have a quick talk with her before the Fancy Goods Store beckoned again.

She slogged back to the front of the Meetinghouse and out to the path leading east to the unused Ministry Shop. Esther might be there. Gennie's thoughts were occupied with what she'd just heard and seen, and with what she hoped to learn from Esther, so it wasn't until she'd reached the path that she thought to look around her. Just across the main road, on the path next to the Brick Dwelling House, stood Carlotta. She was carrying a large basket, as if she might be transporting items to the Fancy Goods Store. If so, however, she was heading in the wrong direction. It crossed Gennie's mind to wonder if Carlotta had been spying on her from a north window in the dwelling house and had hurried outdoors hoping for gossip fodder.

So much for her chat with Esther. Carlotta would probably follow her and pretty soon all the hired workers, if not the whole village, would know that Esther was sneaking time with her children. Gennie sighed a puff of warm air and crossed the road toward Carlotta.

“Is this how you spend free time?” Carlotta asked, as Gennie came into earshot. “I could think of lots better things to do. Come on, I'm freezing. Let's go to the kitchen and fix some tea. There's nobody there now the washing up is done.” The word “washing” sounded more like “warshing,” and Gennie wondered if her own accent was so obvious that everyone, including Carlotta, already knew she'd come from Kentucky with Rose to work on the murder investigation. She wondered if they were all snickering behind her back about her feeble attempts at subterfuge. Gennie was not in the best of moods.

The basement kitchen seemed damp and cold to Gennie, but she removed her galoshes and soaked shoes, while Carlotta lit a small, and probably forbidden, fire in one of the ovens.

“Pull up a chair,” Carlotta said, “and toast those frozen toes. What was you doin' out tramping around in the snow like that? A soft Southern girl like you, I thought you'd stay bundled up indoors.”

A small kitchen clock told Gennie she had only about ten minutes before she had to return to the store. Ten minutes was about all the time she could stand with the sharp-tongued Carlotta. Best to ignore Carlotta's jabs and change the subject, Gennie thought.

“How do you like it here, Carlotta?”

“Okay, I guess. The work is pretty boring, but at least some exciting things are happening.”

“Julia's murder, you mean?”

“Yeah, and this poisoning. I mean, I'm glad no one got sick, but you gotta admit, it spiced up the day. It's got those high-and-mighty new Shakers and the hired men at each other's throats, which is fun.”

“Who do
you
think killed Julia?”

Carlotta stiffened, like a wild animal ready to flee an attacker. “Why ask me?”

Gennie shrugged. “Just curious. You seem to be really observant, so I wondered if you'd picked up any clues that the police missed.”

Carlotta relaxed but didn't answer.

“I know the police suspect Sewell, but he seems like such a nice man,” Gennie said. “Do you think he could have done such a terrible thing?”

“The police can't see what's in front of them,” Carlotta said, with a toss of her stringy hair.

“Who else should they be suspecting?”

Carlotta poked at the small oven fire, smiling to herself. “Just about anyone
but
Sewell.”

Gennie asked casually, “What about Dulcie? They weren't really close, were they?”

“Dulcie? Not likely. She's too puny, for one thing, and too timid, for another. They wasn't close, though, that's for sure. Julia brought shame to poor Miss Dulcie. Not enough to kill her for, though. That fiancé of hers, though, that's a different matter.”

“Theodore?”

“Yep. Theodore acts all upright and good, but he's a mean one. I saw him slap Dulcie once, over nothing. He expects her to follow orders, and if she doesn't, well . . .”

“But why would he kill Julia? What reason could he possibly have?”

Carlotta looked at Gennie as if she were a pathetically innocent child. “He's a man, ain't he? Julia was beautiful, I'll give her that, and fun, too. I never met the man that didn't want her, since way back when she was a kid. Wouldn't surprise me if Theodore settled for Dulcie because Julia wouldn't have him.”

“You think he carried a torch for Julia all these years?”

“You don't know much about men, do you? They always carry a torch for the ones they can't get.”

Gennie glanced at the clock. Just a few minutes.

“I can call over to the store and tell Abigail I found you soaked and you need to dry out,” Carlotta said. Obviously, she wanted to talk more, and Gennie was loath to stop the flow.

“Thanks.”

Carlotta called from the kitchen telephone, while Gennie stoked the fire and pondered her next questions.

“What about the novitiates?” Gennie asked, when Carlotta returned.

“The novitiates,” Carlotta said, with an unpleasant sneer in her voice. “It's hard to see any of them as Shakers. Except Sewell, maybe.” Her voice softened. “He's sweet. He's real nice to me, but he's never so much as touched me.”

Gennie thought that he might more easily touch one of the other women. Carlotta obviously was sweet on him, but she wasn't especially alluring.

“The police are just stupid. Sewell couldn't hurt anyone. He's as gentle as they come.” Carlotta threw more kindling into the tiny fire. A spot of red brightened each of her cheeks. It could just be an effect of the heat, but Gennie suspected her feelings for Sewell were more than a crush.

“What about Johnny Jenkins? I don't know much about him, but he seems rather arrogant, for a Shaker novitiate.”

“Johnny Jenkins. His family wasn't no better than mine or Julia's and Dulcie's, but that man puts on airs. Always wanted to be important, no matter what it took. He's a good looker, though, no denying that.”

“Shaker novitiates usually learn to be humble,” Gennie said.

“That'll be a long time coming for Johnny Jenkins,” Carlotta said, with a laugh. “He wants to be the richest man in the world, does Johnny Jenkins. I've seen him looking over the furniture like he's pricing it for sale. One night I was going to the washroom, and I saw him heading for the attics—probably to see what treasures he could find up there that'd make him rich. I figure that's why he's here.”

“Here in Hancock, you mean? To get rich? How could he get rich as a Shaker?”

Again, Carlotta turned her pitying gaze on poor, innocent Gennie. “The Shakers
are
rich. Haven't you figured that out yet? Look around you. Everybody else is poor, digging stones out of the ground to grow a potato or two. But the Shakers, they've got crops and businesses, and buildings they don't even use. There's lots of money to be had here. Johnny probably figures he can get at it if he becomes one of them. That's the way Johnny always thought. That's why he married Esther, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I forgot, you're not from here. Esther's from a rich Boston family. Johnny went to Boston when he was eighteen, and, the way I hear it, he wanted to find a wife with money. He thought he'd really made a catch when he latched onto Esther. Her family thought different, though. I heard her father tried to buy him off with a fat chunk of dough, but he figured he could get more if he got her to elope with him and then have a bunch of kids. He figured her parents would soften up and open their pockets when the grandkids arrived.”

“It didn't work?”

Carlotta laughed. “Nope. Esther's folks are hard as nails, just like she is. They cut her off, right out of their will. They're still alive, far as I know, and they haven't changed their minds. She's their only child, too.”

“Doesn't she have children?” Gennie asked.

“Yep. Six of 'em. They're around here somewhere. Johnny doesn't want 'em, that's for sure. If they don't soften up the grandparents, what good are they?”

“What about Esther? Doesn't she want them?”

“Esther's hard to figure. She thinks she's better than the rest of us, but I guess she loves her kids.”

“I don't understand why she's here, then. Why not take her children and go back to Boston? Wouldn't her folks welcome her?”

“Too proud to admit she messed up. That's my guess, anyway. Julia knew her better.” Carlotta grinned. “Probably because Julia knew Johnny so well. He wasn't exactly loyal to Esther, never mind the six kids. He pretends not to notice girls now because it suits his purpose.”

“Did he have a fling with Julia?”

“Didn't everybody?”

“And Esther knew about it?”

Carlotta shrugged. “She'd be stupid if she didn't.”

Both women were silent for several moments as they stared at the fading fire. Gennie knew she'd have to get back to the store soon, but she wanted to cover as many suspects as she could.

“What about Aldon Stearn?” she asked. “Did he have any reason to kill Julia?”

“Aldon,” Carlotta said, poking at the sticks. “He was the preacher in my church, you know. We were all in the same church—Sewell, Julia, Dulcie, Theodore, Johnny and Esther, and me. Honora was there, too, of course—strange, as ever.”

Gennie glanced at the clock. “I'd best get back. Abigail will be wondering.” She reached for her damp shoes. “Aldon seems very strict,” she added. “Do you suppose he has a soft side?”

“Oh, he can be kind enough,” Carlotta said, “when he thinks you're ripe for salvation. But he sure can put the fear of Hell into a person. To this day, I look over my shoulder to see if the devil's watching me.”

SIXTEEN

R
OSE COULDN'T STILL HER FEARS THAT THE ATTEMPTED
poisoning was a prelude to something worse. Since no one was hurt, the police seemed uninterested in identifying the perpetrator. “Probably just a kid's prank,” Chief O'Malley had concluded, when Rose spoke with him on the telephone. To Rose, however, Honora Stearn seemed a possible culprit, after her threats at the worship service. A visit was in order.

Rather than stop for the noon meal, Rose waited until the kitchen workers had finished their breakfast clean-up, then gathered some bread and cheese in a cloth. She took an extra hunk of bread and another of cheese, three eggs, and a bit of butter, all of which she wrapped in cloth and packed in a basket. As an afterthought, she added some candied sweetflag she found in the pantry, probably meant for the Fancy Goods Store. She worked quickly, hoping no one would come in and catch her raiding the food supplies. She had a good reason, but she preferred not to reveal it just yet.

Ricardo didn't need the Cadillac for the afternoon, so she drove off at noon, while everyone else was in the dining room. She waited until she'd reached Pittsfield to eat her lunch, sitting in the car. It gave her time to gather her thoughts—and to utter several prayers for guidance. The novitiates and the hired workers were all linked to one another, it seemed, through their membership in Aldon Stearn's former church. Surely Honora would be able to tell her more about them—their secrets, old hurts they had inflicted upon one another, thwarted loves and violent hates. Honora might just be bitter enough to dredge up such information about those she believed had wronged her, including her own husband. In the process, she might reveal useful information about herself, as well.

Rose followed Fannie's directions and found the Pittsfield First Congregational Church, tucked into a side road still clogged with snow. She parked as close as she could, lifted the basket of food from the passenger seat, and walked the rest of the way, staying near the center of the road, where cars had packed the snow into dirty mush. The church itself was small and stark, built of gray stone that looked as if it had never been cleaned. Nor had the windows, which looked black from the outside.

Fannie had told her that the congregation, out of respect, allowed Honora to live in a room at the back of the church. A new minister had replaced Aldon, and he and his large family had taken over the cottage the church provided for its clergy. Without her little room, Honora would be on the streets. A hard fall for a prideful woman.

Rose entered the church and shivered. It felt even colder than the outdoors, but perhaps it was only the effect of the darkness and the damp air. Rose had not spent much time in the world's churches; they hadn't been welcoming places for her. St. Christopher's Episcopal Church, back in Languor, was beautiful, with stained glass windows and statuary, and she'd heard that the Catholic church was similar. She preferred the simplicity of the Shaker Meetinghouse, but she didn't mind most of the churches she'd seen. This church, though, disturbed her. There was something harsh about it.

She walked quickly through the sanctuary to the other end, where she found a door leading to a hallway and three more doors. From one of the rooms came the sounds of typing, of the hunt-and-peck variety. The door was open, so Rose looked in. An earnest young man hunched over an old Remington typewriter, frowning at what he'd written as if it had come out in some language other than English.

“Excuse me,” Rose said.

The young man jumped. “Heavens, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. This sermon is giving me fits. Our secretary is out for lunch. Can I help you?” He took in her Shaker outfit without comment.

“I'm looking for Honora Stearn. I was told she lives here.”

“Ah. Yes. Honora lives in the room at the end of the hall, but I'm afraid she's not too keen on visitors.”

“I'm not surprised,” Rose said.

“You know her, then,” the young man said, looking relieved that he wouldn't have to handle a scene. “Well, go on ahead and knock on her door. Truth be told, she needs more company. I've urged her to get out, see people, but, well, you know Honora.” He squinted at the paper in his typewriter, and Rose withdrew. An odd group, these Eastern Congregationalists, she thought—though she supposed an outsider meeting Wilhelm for the first time might think the same thing about the Shakers.

Rose knocked on Honora's door and waited. Nothing happened. She knocked again, more loudly. She could hear shuffling inside, but after a couple of minutes it became clear that Honora had no intention of answering her door. Rose took a deep breath, prayed for forgiveness, and turned the knob herself. As she'd suspected, the door was unlocked. She opened the door slowly and peered inside, hoping to find Honora without having to enter where she hadn't yet been invited. She could see no one, though, so she took a tentative step over the threshold.

She found herself in a small room that served as both parlor and bedroom. A rumpled day bed was pushed up against a wall. It was covered with wrinkled clothes, so it must also serve as Honora's closet. The living area held one easy chair, with some of the stuffing showing through a rip in the fabric; one small table; and a crooked lamp. A large black Bible, the kind passed down through generations, lay on the table, along with a pair of reading spectacles. The small window was covered with grime. On the sill, Honora had placed an empty vase made of green glass.

“What are
you
doing here? How dare you invade my privacy?” Honora stood in a small doorway leading to a tiny kitchen.

“I'm sorry,” Rose said. “You must have been cooking, so you didn't hear my knocks. I was concerned you might not be well, so I thought I'd better check.”

Honora crossed her arms and stood her ground, looking like an Old Testament prophet in a patched dress.

“You haven't answered my question,” Honora said. “And I don't care anymore. Just leave.”

“Well, I will in just a moment, but first I've brought you a gift.” She held the basket out in front of her.

“What makes you think I need food?”

“Oh, it's not because I think you
need
it. I just thought you might like to have some treats around for visitors.” Honora made no move toward the basket, so Rose placed it on the easy chair, the only clear surface in the room. Then she moved back toward the door, so Honora would feel safe.

Honora's suspicious eyes darted back and forth between the basket and Rose. The basket won. She picked it up and held it tightly, as if she were afraid Rose would snatch it back.

“May I stay and chat for a minute?”

“Why?”

“Well, as you may know, I'm just a visitor to Hancock Village, and frankly I feel a bit at sea.” She counted on Honora's isolation to have kept her from learning of Rose's real mission in Hancock. “Such terrible goings-on—murder, poisonings, and who knows what else. I wondered if you had some idea why all this is happening?”

“What poisoning? Who was poisoned?” Honora's normally distrustful demeanor made it impossible to tell if she was surprised to hear of the poisonings or hopeful it had killed someone.

“Rat poison—that hired man, Theodore, found it spread all over the animals' food and water buckets. No one was injured, thank goodness, not even an animal.” Rose watched closely, but Honora's face gave nothing away.

Honora turned abruptly and deposited the basket in the kitchen. When she returned, she crossed her arms and said, “It was no man put that poison about.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was God's own instrument. God has sent someone to smite you Shakers. I told you this would come to pass, and now it is beginning.”

“Do you mean that there will be more?” Rose closed the door to the hallway, in case their strange conversation should attract eavesdroppers. “Do you think there is someone who is in particular danger?”

Honora's dark eyes lost their fire, and she leaned against the doorjamb as if weary. “I'm afraid for my husband,” she said, “for Aldon.”

“You fear your husband might be the next victim?”

“If you could get them to send him back to me, I could take care of him, keep him out of danger,” Honora said. Her wild bitterness had disappeared. Suddenly she was a wife, pleading for her husband's life.

“You know that is his choice,” Rose said gently. “But I can promise you, if I learn Aldon wants to come back, I will urge him to do so.”

Honora's face changed expressions several times, as if she were carrying on an inner dialogue.

“Honora? Can you name the danger that threatens Aldon? Is it one of the other novitiates, or one of the hired hands?”

Honora's short laugh sounded more like a yelp. “They are all dangerous, every one of them. He can't protect himself. He seems so strong;
they
all think he is strong, but the devil is stronger.”

Rose wondered if the time had come to give up. Honora drifted in and out of reality. She seemed unable to distinguish individuals, except for Aldon. To her, everyone else was
them
, and they were all evil.

“Perhaps I should go now and let you rest,” Rose said.

Honora looked straight at her. “I'll never rest until Aldon is safe from the evil he has chosen,” she said. She disappeared into the kitchen and left Rose to show herself out.

 

Rose sat at the small desk in her retiring room with all her notes spread out in front of her. It was close to the dinner hour, and she and Gennie had just managed a quick exchange of information. Rose felt overwhelmed with tidbits and impressions, and she needed to update the list of suspects she'd made shortly after arriving in Hancock. She wrapped the thick wool blanket from her bed more tightly around her shoulders. If she weren't wearing her indoor cap, she was quite certain she'd be tearing out her hair. Starting on a fresh sheet, she divided her paper into eight sections. In each section, she wrote the name of a novitiate or a hired worker who had been connected in any way with Julia Masters. They were still little more than strangers to her, yet somehow she must sort through their stories and find a killer. As quickly as possible, she jotted down her observations and questions next to each name, writing very small so that she could fit everything on one page and see it all at once.

She began with Dulcie Masters, Julia's sister. Dulcie was the “good girl,” compared to Julia, yet she was pregnant out of wedlock. Dulcie had been alone with her sister's body and had removed a piece of calico—was this to protect someone else or herself? Dulcie defended her sister, but clearly the two girls hadn't gotten along well. Julia had enjoyed pursuing men who belonged to other women. Might Dulcie have been frightened that her sister would steal her fiancé, leaving her pregnant and alone?

Carlotta DiAngelo had been caught shoplifting, and Julia had escaped punishment. Carlotta was a bitter young woman, but would an old grudge be enough to set her on the path to murder? Carlotta was sweet on Sewell. Did she believe that he would have been hers, if only Julia had not pursued him?

Sewell Yates seemed to like and be liked by everyone, even Aldon, who pronounced him weak, yet with good in him. He'd been observed in animated conversation with Julia shortly before her murder, and there had been rumors of a carnal relationship with her. He seemed incapable of violence, but Rose knew better than to trust appearances. There was something about Sewell—his haunted eyes, his sunken thinness, everything about him hinted at some hidden anguish. Might he have continued his affair with Julia, then killed her in a jealous rage upon discovering her dalliances with other men? It seemed unlikely. The murder seemed carefully—indeed, cold-heartedly—planned. Yet sometimes the gentle ones are slow to burn.

Theodore Geist, Dulcie's fiancé—Rose admitted her dislike of the man. He could be disrespectful, even cruel, to Dulcie, and—again, according to Aldon—he had been unfaithful to her with Julia. His character was harsh, demanding. He had a quick and violent temper. He was the sort of man who believes a woman must be obedient and faithful, while a man may do as he pleases. But he also considered himself to be good and upright. Carlotta had mentioned that he might be relieved not to have Julia as a sister-in-law. Might he have regretted an affair with Julia and killed her to protect his reputation and his job? No one had provided any real evidence of such a relationship.

Aldon Stearn reminded her of Elder Wilhelm. His faith was deep, strong, and tended toward fire and brimstone. Though celibacy was a central tenet of Shakerism, he seemed unduly concerned with it, and with suspicions that everyone else was violating it. He was condescending to women. He cherished and celebrated his own holiness. What secrets might he hold inside? Honora said she was afraid for him and that he could not protect himself. What did she mean by that? Were her words the ravings of a woman driven over the edge? Or did she know something about her husband that no one else suspected?

Then there was Honora herself, a proud woman who had lost her respected place in the community. By all accounts, she had always been odd, but since her husband left, her behavior hinted at insanity. She had lost her husband and her position. She'd been left in poverty, living in one room in a church that used to be her husband's. Several informants had claimed that Aldon had been unfaithful on numerous occasions. Honora had turned the other cheek, but her Christian forbearance had not kept her husband at her side. An insanely jealous wife might have planned such a bizarre murder to avenge her husband's unfaithfulness—if Aldon had indeed dallied with Julia.

It had become clear that Johnny Jenkins was driven by the desire for wealth. He used people, including his wife and children, to achieve his goals. Though he showed no interest in women, there were hints from his past that he was not above illicit carnal liaisons. On the other hand, Rose suspected his obsession with riches superseded all other desires. If Julia had been a threat to him, it was more likely because she had found evidence that he meant to drain the Shakers' resources.