Scraps of Paper (10 page)

“He might be gone. He might not. He could be anybody, even a woman. I’ve known women murderers that’d make your eyes change color. They can have motives, too, you know, same as men. Jealousy is a prime one. A lot of women were jealous of Emily. And who ever said murderers were smart, that’s not always the case. They sometimes make mistakes, small ones, and that’s how they’re caught. You better be careful.”

Abigail nodded. “Always.”

The police had never found Joel’s murderer and she wondered if they ever would. Only if he’d made a mistake? That dismayed her.

Stella bustled over and asked her, “What can I get you, sweetie?”

 “Tuna fish sandwich and a chocolate malt, thank you.”

Stella nodded and wrote the order down. “I saw that story in the newspaper. You looked real good in front of your house.” She grinned and plunked down beside her. “I sent some old stuff in on the diner myself.”

“I know, I saw them. Great photos. So it was called the Main Street Diner in those days, huh?”

 
“Yep. My husband, Ernest, owned it then. I was a waitress. He was a great cook and could gab with the best of them, but he was a lousy husband. We were married for twenty-five years before he kicked the bucket. By the way, about Emily Summers? I knew her, she even worked here for a while to make money after her divorce so she could go to art school in the fall.”

“That’s right, someone else mentioned she wanted to go to art school.” Abigail shot a look at Frank as he played with the sugar container.

“Anyway,” Stella continued, “I remember a strange incident which might be of interest but thought I’d give it straight to you instead of the newspaper. It was that awful summer of 1970. It was August. Steamy and humid.

“Her parents had left her the house so she’d come back to town. I was surprised because she was the younger child. Both her parents, Mary and Robert, had died within a few weeks of each other the year before. Edna had been living with her parents for a while before that to take care of them. Ha, it seemed to me to be the other way around. Edna had trouble holding a job, always getting sick. Sick in the head, is what I said. That Edna was a misfit, a parasite, from the word go.

“Well, Emily and her kids had been in town all summer and one day they were in here having ice cream and this man comes busting in. Big burly brut with a foul mouth. He and Emily have this horrendous fight in front of all of us, him screaming and yelling, and he yanks her from her chair as if he’s going to drag her off. The kids are wailing and crying. A couple of the locals, being good guys and eager to get on Emily’s good side, hauled the guy out the door and tossed him in the street. Most excitement we’d had around here all year. Next day Emily tells me he was her ex-husband.”

“Wait a minute,” Frank interrupted. “My friend Sam said that when he talked to Emily’s ex-husband, the guy stated that he hadn’t seen his wife or kids at all that summer. Stella, are you sure it was that particular summer? 1970?”

“Pretty sure. It was a long time ago. But it was one of those things you don’t forget. Sticks in my mind because Emily and her kids vamoosed–or disappeared–two weeks later. I thought it was partly because of what happened that day. Emily was scared of her ex. He’d regularly beaten her up when they’d been married and put her in the hospital a few times with broken bones, she’d confessed to me once. She came home to escape from him.”

“Then her ex-husband, Todd Brown, lied,” Frank said. “Why is the question.”

“Afraid of being a suspect if Emily turned up a victim of a crime.” Abigail gave him the answer.

“Todd, that was his name. I remember now.” Stella got up. “I’ll go put your order in, Abigail.”

Hanging his head mockingly, Frank muttered. “The fun’s only beginning. You’ll have every crackpot and lonely old person banging on your door with an Emily Summers story. Wait and see. You’re going to be a very busy lady. Your anonymity is gone forever.”

An elderly man in a straw hat with hearing aids, hobbled over and gave them another story about the two Summers children. A recollection about how they used to roller skate down the sidewalks of Main Street singing Beatle songs like two wild banshees. Frank grinned widely at her behind the guy’s back the whole time. “You’re a celebrity. Don’t let it go to your head,” he teased her afterwards and she promised it wouldn’t.

Frank followed her to her house to take a look at Evelyn Vogt’s cat picture and go through the newspaper’s letters. Not finding anything he thought was important, he was disappointed, but he liked the drawing she was working on. “Cute cat. Looks real. And those lilacs. Very pretty. The old lady’s going to go daffy over it.

“How about you do a portrait of my dogs on my porch, with the cabin behind them?”

“Sure, as soon as I finish Evelyn’s.”

After Frank drove away, Abigail read through the remainder of the letters and then spent time on Evelyn’s cat picture. In the evening she sat on her porch swing and played with Snowball, reflecting over what she’d read. The letters had made her cry. Those poor kids had had such a measly existence. Earlier she’d had a string of phone calls about the article. Some of the information was helpful, but none of it, like the letters, had been pertinent to solving the riddle of where the three had gone. No one seemed to know that.

The pounding at her door came after two in the morning. She climbed out of bed, slipped on a robe and grabbed the wooden club on the way. Her visitor could be an enemy as well as a friend.

It was Myrtle.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, Myrtle?” She pulled her inside.

The old woman was in a tizzy, her hair going every which way and her face dirt smeared, her clothes disheveled. She was dressed more for winter than summer. She had a raggedy heavy coat on, a black sock cap and mittens. It had to be at least eighty degrees outside. “I remembered something really important about Emily for you. I saw the story in the paper,” she exhaled breathlessly.

“I thought you never went out after dark because of the ghosts?” Abigail reminded her, sleepily.

“Ghosts can’t travel when there’s a full moon. Moonlight scares them. Too bright.”

“And there’s a full moon tonight?”

Myrtle rolled her eyes, moaning. “Behind the clouds, yes. I ran the whole way. I’m pooped.”

“Then come in and sit down. How about taking that coat off? It’s warm inside.” With Abigail’s help Myrtle shed her winter clothes and flopped onto the sofa. Abigail waited for her to talk.

 “I know where that diary of Jenny’s could be hidden. I was checking my financial portfolio on the Internet tonight and–whoa.” She lightly slapped her forehead. “It came to me. And I had to tell you. Show you. When you get my age, dearie, can’t count on tomorrow coming, if you know what I mean.”

“Where’s the diary?”

“The tree house, should have remembered that before. And I think I know where it is.” She stood up. “Give me something to eat then grab a flashlight and I’ll take you there.”

Something to eat? Then, “You’ll take me to the tree house…now? In the middle of the night?”

“Sure. I can’t come back tomorrow. I got a bus trip to the casinos in Las Vegas with my ladies’ group and won’t be back for a week. Two weeks if I’m on a winning streak.” She grinned. Her teeth were as dirty as her face.

The woman’s habits were odd. But if she knew where that tree house was, it was worth the night journey. “What do you want to eat?”

“Cheese sandwich and chocolate milk.”

After the snack they took off into the night woods with two flashlights. Abigail felt as if she were in some weird dream. Was she actually doing this? She was as nuts as Myrtle. Running around with flashlights and chasing ghosts in the dark looking for some lost children’s tree house. They tramped through the trees and brush, Myrtle chattering the entire trip, and Abigail tripping over her feet behind her. Myrtle was a tiny thing with short legs and a short stride or Abigail would never have been able to keep up. The old lady was a rocket with legs.

 “I got this theory, dearie,” Myrtle yapped back at her. “Can’t prove it, but I’d stake my mutual funds on it. Edna murdered her parents.”

Abigail nearly walked into a tree. “She did what?”

 “I was around I should know. She poisoned Mary and Robert like she used to poison my sister’s animals. That’s what happened, I’d bet. She wanted them out of the way, wanted their money, and she wanted the house. Plain and simple. They were sick of her free loading and were ready to kick her butt out. She frightened them. Mary called me one night and asked my advice. She’d been sick all week, throwing up and her husband too. She’d seen Edna putting something in her tea. I told her to call the police, she didn’t. Died two days later. I tried to tell people what was going on, but no one wanted to believe me. That stupid Sheriff Cal again. Mary had been sick a long time with one ailment or another. Her dying didn’t raise eyebrows. No one cares when an old person dies. Robert lived a little longer. Edna was clever not to kill him off too quick after Mary. Edna was a lot of things, but she wasn’t stupid as most people believed.

“Edna thought she was home free. Then the will was read and Emily and her kids came back to claim what was theirs. Mary and Robert left the house and the money to their younger daughter. What a laugh on old Edna. After all she’d done to get her inheritance. Then, to put salt on the wound, Emily decided to sell the house, take the money and start a new life somewhere far away. Edna would have gotten zip. Boy, was she upset.

 “I never pushed it with the police because I had no proof and Sheriff Cal wouldn’t have believed me no way. He was as dumb as a rock. Had about as much insight as a carrot.”

“Did Emily suspect that her sister had poisoned their parents?”

“Don’t know about that. But Emily was wary of her older sister, that’s for sure. One of the reasons she was selling out and moving away. Along with her men problems there were some other bad things going on that summer. Emily had more than enough reasons to skedaddle. Bet the money was the reason Emily’s ex-husband wanted his wife and kids back so bad.”

“He did?”

“Yep, he was sneaking in here all the time trying to get Emily to go back with him.” Myrtle was more talkative than Abigail could stand for that time of night. She attempted to keep track of the direction they were traveling. They’d left the house from the rear door and had gone left. She paused and looked over her shoulder through the trees for the second time. The first time she’d been able to see the lights from her kitchen. This time all was blackness. She was lost.

“How much farther, Myrtle?”

“Almost there. I can navigate these woods in the dark because I’ve walked through them my whole life. Know every inch of them. I sleep out here sometimes.”

“Aren’t you afraid of wild animals?” Was all Abigail could think of to say, and she couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Coyotes mostly, or wild dogs. But a fire keeps them away. And a big stick.” Chuckles. “Here we are.” Myrtle halted and Abigail practically bowled the woman over.

They were under a monstrous tree with a car-sized trunk. The moon had freed itself from the clouds and the woods were bathed in light. Abigail looked up. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s up there all right. Covered in leaves and branches. After thirty years there’s not much left. A platform on the lower branch about seven feet off the ground.” The old woman was huffing and puffing. “I got you here…what you do now is up to you.”

It’d be useless to search before daylight. But she’d never find her way out here again in the morning. She should have left breadcrumbs. “It’s going to be hard to find the diary in the dark, Myrtle, even with a flashlight. Any idea where we should start? Myrtle?” No answer.

Abigail moved her flashlight around and saw only trees. She was alone. Now where had that woman gone to now? Martha was right, she was unreliable. Nuts. Just wait until she saw that old so-and-so again. She sighed. It wasn’t as if Myrtle had left her in a blizzard or anything. She was safe enough. If a wild animal attacked her, well, she had the flashlight. She’d clobber it. And morning would come. Soon. Two or three hours by her guess.