Melanie Travis 06 - Hush Puppy (15 page)

I wondered if she knew about the terms of Krebbs’s will. Or the size of his estate. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that money, especially that kind of money, can act as a great motivator.

“Has the lawyer gotten in touch with the woman yet?” I asked.

“I have no idea. I’m afraid I have enough problems of my own right at the moment without worrying about something like that.”

Faith circled back and I opened the door to the Volvo. Without breaking stride, she leapt onto the backseat and sat down. Her long pink tongue lolled out of her mouth as she panted happily and waited for me to join her.

“It’s nice having a dog around the place again,” Russell said absently. “It will be nicer still when things finally start getting back to normal.” With a nod in my direction, he turned and headed back into the school.

As I drove home, I thought about our conversation. I’d heard it said that the first rule of a murder investigation was to follow the money. In this case, I wasn’t sure where that path led.

The murder victim had left each of two beneficiaries a sizable bequest; and in each case, the money seemed likely to cause more problems than it solved. Kind of like the job Krebbs had done as caretaker.

But luckily, I decided, none of that was my problem. All I had to do was stand by and watch Detective Shertz do his job.

It was a nice thought while it lasted.

That night, after Davey went to bed, I pulled out Ruth’s diary. Outside, rain was pouring down in sheets; but inside, my house felt warm and cozy. It was the perfect night to heat some hot chocolate and settle in with a good book. I curled up on the couch with Faith draped across the cushion beside me, her head resting on my lap, and began to read.

When I’d first found the leather-bound book, I’d had high hopes that it might provide insights around which we could construct a plot for the spring pageant. But now, as I delved further into the diary’s pages, it became clear that I was going to have to lower my expectations. Entertaining as Ruth’s writing was, the entries were obviously the musings of a sheltered, sixteen-year-old girl.

For every glimpse she provided of her family’s life, or the happenings in Depression-era Greenwich, there were pages of fanciful, romantic daydreams, most of them centering around a darkly handsome, eighteen-year-old boy from Byram. His name was Jay Silverman; and he’d appeared at her house one summer afternoon as part of a masonry crew hired to replace a crumbling length of stone wall.

For the first two days, Ruth had merely watched him from her bedroom window. By the third, she’d grown bold enough to mix a pitcher of lemonade and take it outside to the sweaty workers.
He hardly even noticed me,
she wrote in a tone of semidespair.
But he did seem to enjoy the lemonade. He drank the whole glass (which I have brought back to my room, unwashed!) Oooh but he has the sweetest smile . . .

Oooh to be sixteen and that innocent, I thought, smiling myself. I pictured Ruth pining from her second-story window while Jay toiled, oblivious, below. Maybe we could work the pageant into a variation of “Rapunzel.” Or perhaps
Romeo and Juliet.
I wondered if this romance had a happier ending.

Skimming quickly ahead, I found that things seemed to be heading in that direction. Before the wall was completed, Ruth had succeeded in catching Jay’s eye. After his crew moved on to other jobs in the neighborhood, they continued to see each other. Certain of their disapproval, Ruth hid their meetings from her father and aunt. Rather than detracting from the relationship, however, the subterfuge only seemed to add to her enjoyment.

Ruth was in the midst of describing their date at a boisterous holiday parade; she and Jay holding hands to race the block between Mason Street and Greenwich Avenue so they could view the marchers twice, when the phone rang. Reluctantly, I pushed Faith aside and went to answer it.

“It’s high time you did something,” said Aunt Peg.

Wrenching my thoughts back to the present was hard enough. Figuring out what she was referring to, was impossible. “About what?”

“Sheila Vaughn, that’s what. Or more correctly, who.”

I sighed. “What’s the matter now?”

“The same thing that was the matter the last time we spoke,” Peg said crisply. “Honestly, Melanie, I can’t believe you’re not taking this more seriously. That woman is after your fiancé. She as much as told me so, straight out.”

“What would you like me to do?” I asked. “Stop by Sheila’s house and threaten to run her out of town?”

“It would be better than doing nothing, which seems to be the alternative you’ve chosen.”

Aunt Peg likes grand gestures and big drama. Since she’d ferreted out Sheila’s motives earlier in the week, she’d probably been waiting to hear explosions coming from the direction of North Salem. Clearly she’d been disappointed.

“Sam and I talked that all out,” I said. “Sheila may be interested in rekindling old flames, but he isn’t. End of story.”

“Fine time you picked to turn into an optimist. Sheila struck me as a rather determined woman. I hope you’re not underestimating her.”

So did I, but I kept the thought to myself. Trust me, it just made life easier.

“You worry too much,” I said instead.

“And you don’t worry enough.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I guess that murder at your school must be keeping you pretty busy.”

“Not at all.” I carried the phone over to a kitchen chair and sat down. It was beginning to look as though I might be there a while. “It has nothing to do with me.”

“Don’t be silly. It happened practically right in front of you. And now you have a ringside seat. Go ahead and tell me everything.”

Aunt Peg could argue the spots off a Dalmatian. When she makes a request, it’s usually easier just to acquiesce. I spent the next ten minutes telling her all about Jane and her protector, Brad; Krebbs and his alleged involvement with drugs; and Sally, the long-lost relative who might or might not claim her inheritance.

“So who did it?” she asked at the end.

“I have no idea.”

“What kind of answer is that?” Peg sniffed. “I’m surprised Detective Shertz hasn’t been coming to you for insights. After all, you’ve done a fair amount of detecting yourself.”

“Why should he? He seems to be handling things just fine. I’m sure he’ll have Krebbs’s killer locked up in no time.” I didn’t actually believe that, but it seemed like a wise idea to project all the confidence I could muster before Peg got the notion to call the police station and volunteer my services. “Right now the only problem I have to worry about is the spring pageant—”

“Oh please. If you want me to hang up, Melanie, kindly just say so. Don’t try to bore me to death.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, I know dear. Listen, there’s something else I need you to do. It’s the reason I called, actually.”

Uh-oh. Usually Aunt Peg blurts out her requests up front. The fact that she’d hesitated before presenting this one couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

“I’ve invited Sheila over for lunch on Saturday at one o’clock. You’ll come, too, won’t you?”

“Aunt Peg, what are you up to?”

“Me? Nothing. I’m just trying to be neighborly. Besides, it seems only prudent that you should meet the woman who’s trying to make off with your fiancé.”

I told her I’d be there. Put like that, how could I refuse?

 

The conversation I’d had with Aunt Peg left me so distracted that I never did go back to Ruth’s diary. Instead, I spent the rest of the night worrying about my impending meeting with Sam’s ex-wife. Sam’s and Aunt Peg’s reactions to Sheila Vaughn’s appearance on the East Coast lay at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. Trying my best to view the situation impartially, I suspected the truth lay somewhere in the middle.

Sam was a great catch. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to discover that Sheila regretted letting him go. Perhaps she had come to New York to find out if he’d be interested in renewing their relationship. That still didn’t mean I was ready to label the woman a predator.

Presumably, Sam had told Sheila he wasn’t interested. Presumably she’d taken him at his word. But none of that explained how the woman had suddenly become such a pervasive presence in our lives. Every time I turned around, her name came up again.

Aunt Peg was probably right, I decided. It was time to face the problem head on.

With thoughts like that turning cartwheels in my brain it was no wonder I left Ruth’s diary sitting in the living room when Faith and I went dashing off to school the next morning. Though we’d been up and ready to go in plenty of time, Davey’s school bus was late, leaving the three of us waiting at the curb for ten toe-tapping minutes. Sometimes it’s the little things that make you want to tear your hair out.

For the first several hours, it looked as though Faith’s second day at Howard Academy was going to mirror her first. Everyone who hadn’t already stopped by managed to fit a visit into his or her schedule. The fact that all the interruptions played havoc with
my
schedule didn’t seem to occur to any of them.

When third period ended at ten-forty-five, I sent Wendy on her way and whistled Faith to her feet. My next student wasn’t due until eleven-thirty, and both Faith and I could use a break. The rain had ended overnight, and the weather outside was crisp. I grabbed my coat, and we headed outside.

Early spring in Connecticut is nothing to cheer about. It’s a season that offers unpredictable temperatures and a preponderance of mud. On the plus side, however, winter’s almost over. For a nonskier like me, that’s cause enough for celebration.

Faith and I cut across the parking lot and headed down the hill toward the playing fields. As it happened, our route took us past the caretaker’s cottage. All right, so we made a small detour. Under the circumstances, it was hard not to be curious.

As Faith ran on ahead, I paused beside the tumbledown shed. A stream of yellow crime-scene tape had been strung across the doorway and a sturdy padlock held the door shut.

Though Russell had made it clear at morning assemblies that any sight-seeing was to be discouraged, I nevertheless found myself sidling over to one of the grimy windows to take a peek inside. Unfortunately, though I shaded my eyes and pressed my nose against the glass, it was too dark to make out anything more than an assorted jumble of shapes.

“See anything interesting?”

I let out a small shriek, jumped straight up in the air, and bumped my head on the window’s upper ledge. Ed Weinstein seemed to enjoy the show because he was grinning when I whirled around to face him.

“Was that really necessary?” I demanded, rubbing my forehead.

“What? All I did was ask a question.”

“And sneak up on me.”

Ed held up a sneaker-clad foot. “It’s not my fault that cross-trainers are quiet. So what’s the school’s most famous snoop up to? Sniffing out a killer?”

Subtle, Ed wasn’t. He made an exaggerated sniffing sound to bludgeon home his point. Without thinking, I took a sniff, too. A sweetish, faintly familiar, smell hung in the air. Pipe tobacco?

“I brought Faith outside for a walk,” I said, stepping away from the shed. “It’s easier for her if I break the day up a bit. What about you? What are you doing out here?”

“What else? I came out for a smoke.”

Ed didn’t smoke a pipe. And according to Sally, he was just as likely to sneak his cigarettes in the boys’ bathroom. If Russell and I hadn’t just been discussing the subject, I probably wouldn’t even have noticed. As it was, it still took a moment before memory clicked in.

When it did, I could scarcely believe it. Marijuana, that’s what I smelled. Ed had ducked outside to smoke a joint.

“Rolling your own these days?” I asked.

“Hardly.” His voice was firm, but his Adam’s apple bobbed in his neck. Ed pulled a pack of Camels from his pocket and showed them to me. “I stick with store-bought, just like everyone else.”

“It’s a nasty habit.”

“So the whole world tells me.”

“Why don’t you stop?”

Ed stared at me, clearly annoyed. “Did you ever smoke?”

“No.”

“Then there’s no way you can understand. I started when I was twelve. By the time I was old enough to know better, I was hooked.”

“Lots of people have gotten unhooked.”

“I will, too, eventually. In the meantime, you and everyone else can just butt out.”

Ed seemed pleased with the cleverness of his pun. I left him to his self-satisfaction, called Faith to me, and headed inside.

Interesting, I thought, that I’d run into Ed by the cottage. Had he been snooping around, too? I wondered if he knew about the stash of marijuana that had been found there. More to the point, had he known it was there before Krebbs was murdered? Maybe he was a customer. Maybe he had an idea about who Krebbs might have angered enough to want to kill him . . .

“Excuse me!”

I heard the shout, but I was so deep in thought that the warning didn’t penetrate quickly enough. By the time I looked up, it was too late. I’d already gone barreling straight into what looked like a moving mountain of velvet curtains.

“Oomph.” The curtains cushioned the impact, then slowly slid to the floor. Behind them stood Michael, now empty-handed.

“Sorry,” I said weakly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No harm done.” He stooped down and began to gather the bundle which had separated and slithered in several directions. “They were on their way to the cleaner anyway.”

When I’d stopped, Faith sat. Because animation is highly prized in the conformation ring, she hasn’t been taught to heel. Even so, when we’re walking together, she understands the idea of keeping her handler within easy reach at all times. One of the curtains had rolled into a puddle at her feet. She sniffed the musty material curiously, then quickly withdrew, wrinkling her nose.

“That must be Faith,” Michael said admiringly. “She’s a beauty, much nicer looking than Poupee.”

“Thank you.” Faith and I preened together. “And thank you for suggesting that she take part in the pageant. I love being able to bring her to school with me. It’s working out really well.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Michael’s brown eyes found mine and held them. The intensity he projected was more than a little unnerving.

I shifted my gaze away. Sometimes I babble when I’m uncomfortable. Now, next thing I knew, I was chattering like a demented parrot. “I’m still sorting through the archives. As a matter of fact, I’m on my way down there now. I’ve found something really interesting, actually. Do you know who Ruth Howard was, Joshua’s youngest daughter?”

Michael nodded encouragingly.

“She kept a diary for about a year and a half starting when she was sixteen. I found it in one of the boxes, day before yesterday. It’s fascinating reading. I’m hoping it will contain something we can use.”

“Terrific.” Michael’s enthusiasm sounded a little forced. Now he was staring at my legs. As he reached out to pull a piece of heavy curtain toward him, the tips of his fingers grazed my calf. “I’d love to have a look at that myself.”

A tiny shiver shot up my leg, surprising me, tantalizing me, filling me with chagrin. The only touch I was supposed to be tingling to was Sam’s.