Shadows on a Maine Christmas (Antique Print Mystery Series Book 7) (15 page)

1988 s
igned calligraphic lithograph of lines from Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “A Dream Within a Dream” (“All That We See or Seem Is But a Dream Within a Dream.”)
by calligrapher Robert Slimbach. Slimbach, who is also a type designer for Adobe Systems, has won international awards in typography. The roman script calligraphy demonstrated in this poster (white letters on a black background) formed the basis for his typeface Brioso. 10 x 20 inches. Price: $75.

They had an
early dinner, as they’d promised Aunt Nettie, and were checking the weather on WGME, her favorite Portland channel for news, when Will’s cell phone rang.

“Darn. I hoped it’d be Jo, about my offer. It’s Nick,” he shared, before walking into the kitchen to take the call.

“I’d think Nicky’d be busy solving our crime,” said Aunt Nettie. “It’s been three days now. TV detectives would have had everything wrapped up by now.”

“We haven’t given him a lot of help,” Maggie pointed out.

“He asked who else Carrie’d tried to blackmail. We told him Ruth had gotten one of those darn letters. That’s all he asked us to do. And then you talked to Miranda. The way I see it, that was sort of a bonus for him.”

“And now he’s added Brian, and maybe Miranda, to his list of suspects.” Should she tell Aunt Nettie about Doreen’s missing letter? Doreen hadn’t sworn her to secrecy. But the missing letter might put Zelda, and maybe even her friend Jon, on the suspect list. And receiving the letter in itself would add Doreen, which would take Nick off the investigation. It complicated everything. It wasn’t her place to tell Nick he should add his mother and daughter to the suspect list. Although maybe someone should.

Will came back in, putting on his coat as he walked. “I’m not sure what the problem is. Maybe’s Nick’s already had a drink or two. He’s mad as hell at me about something, and says we have to talk.”

“That doesn’t sound like Nicky,” said Aunt Nettie.

“Well, it’s him tonight,” said Will. “I told him I’d meet him down at The Great Blue. I’m sorry, Maggie, but I think I should go. I’ve never heard Nick sound this way.”

“Shall I come with you?” she asked, starting to get up.

“No, no. You stay here. Whatever it is, I have a feeling your being there would just complicate things. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Promise.” The door slammed on his way out.

“That was a surprise,” said Maggie.

“I wonder what Nicky’s got in his head,” said Aunt Nettie. “Whatever it is, Will should be able to get him calmed down. Will’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

Maggie smiled. “He does.”

“You need to make sure he points it in the right direction,” she advised. “Sometime he gets distracted. Most men do.”

“Aunt Nettie, earlier this afternoon I was looking at your book of photographs. The one you showed me last summer?”

“Whole history of the family’s between those red leather covers.”

“I saw a picture of you and Ruth, maybe in the 1940s. Will said it was taken in one of the Swan Boats, in the Boston Public Garden.”

Aunt Nettie hesitated. “I’d forgotten that was in there. Yes, that was during the war. Boston was just far enough away so once in a while we girls would save our gas rationing stamps and our days off and take a little vacation. Ruth and Betty had a second or third cousin who lived in Arlington who let us stay with her.”

“Was she the one who helped you when you were pregnant?”

“Yes. She was very understanding.”

“And she helped Betty, too.”

“I never said anything about Betty.”

“No. But Miranda said she was born in Boston.”

“I didn’t realize she’d ever been concerned about her father,” said Aunt Nettie. “Parents often keep secrets to protect their children.” She paused. “And, perhaps, themselves.”

Maggie plunged on. “At first, when I saw the picture of you and Ruth in Boston, and I thought of what you’d told Will and me, and what Miranda said, and I thought…I thought maybe…maybe you hadn’t had an abortion. I thought maybe Miranda was your daughter.”

Aunt Nettie looked at her, and then started laughing. And then the laughter turned to tears.

“Oh, no, Maggie. No. Nicky was right. You
are
a good detective. You put all the clues you heard together well. But you missed a few important things. Like dates.” Aunt Nettie shook her head sadly. “Miranda’s not my daughter. She’s Betty’s daughter. But you’re right about one thing. I didn’t have an abortion. Ruth went with me to Boston. I intended to have one, but the place we’d heard about was foul and loathsome, and the man who met me there was clearly in it only for the money. He didn’t care who I was or where I came from, or even how far along I was. We were horrified at how the poor scared women waiting to see him were being treated. I couldn’t go through with it. Instead, with help from Ruth and her cousin, I stayed in Boston and carried my baby to term. I was going to give him or her up for adoption. But my daughter, my little Julie, was stillborn. She died twelve years before Miranda was born.”

“But why? Why did you tell Will and Nick and me you’d had an abortion?”

“Because that’s what Carrie Folk wrote in that horrible letter. And it was true that I’d been pregnant, and I’d had a difficult pregnancy. My doctor said I couldn’t have any more children. And my fiancé was fighting in Europe the whole time,” said Aunt Nettie. “So many years later, it feels almost as though I’d gone through with the abortion. In my mind, my Julie disappeared. Exactly what happened to her doesn’t seem important anymore. What was important Christmas morning, and what’s still important, is finding the person who killed Carrie Folk.”

“No wonder you gave me those wonderful books for Christmas.”

“I know it’s selfish, but I’m hoping you do adopt a little girl, Maggie, and that I live long enough to meet her.”

“I hope so, too.”

The two women smiled at each other.

“I think you should tell Nick that what was in that letter from Carrie wasn’t the truth,” said Maggie. “Because what might have been in the letters to other people might not have been true, either.”

“We only know of one other letter, though,” said Aunt Nettie. “The letter Carrie sent to Ruth.”

Maggie hesitated. “There was at least one more. Today when Will and I were out having lunch we ran into Doreen and Zelda. Doreen told me that she’d gotten one, too.”

“Oh, no.” Aunt Nettie sat up straighter. “Did she tell Nick?”

“No. She hid the letter, and it’s disappeared. She’s afraid Zelda might have found it.”

“She’s at Ruth’s house tonight, taking care of Betty,” Aunt Nettie said, almost to herself.

“And Nick’s with Will, and he wouldn’t have left Zelda alone, so she’s either with friends or with Doreen,” said Maggie.

“Did you tell Doreen that Ruth received a letter?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe she’ll talk with Ruth. They should connect,” Aunt Nettie said. “Maggie, that’s very important.”

“They probably will,” said Maggie. “But I don’t think their talking will make a difference. Nick and Owen are looking at Brian as a potential suspect. He left the Westons’ house at least once that night, and he’s been having financial problems his mother may not know about. The police didn’t find any money in the Folks’ home.” She hesitated a moment. “And, remember? Nick said Billy’d heard his mother talking to Santa Claus Christmas night. That was probably the killer. So the killer was a man.”

“They might be jumping to conclusions. The killer might have been someone else. Or two people, and Billy heard one voice. Or thought he did.”

“True.” Maggie couldn’t sit down any longer. There were too many possibilities. “I wonder what Nick wanted to talk to Will about tonight?”

“Maybe he wants advice about a lady friend. Or just wanted to get out of his house. I wouldn’t worry about it, Maggie.”

“His mother said he didn’t have a girlfriend. But I’m restless. It’s still early. Would you mind if I went for a walk, Aunt Nettie? Only for half an hour or so.”

“You go ahead. I’ll sit and watch
Jeopardy!
Maybe Will will even get back before you do,” said Aunt Nettie. “Fresh air may clear your mind. We both have a lot to think about.”

“Thank you. Don’t worry. In this cold, I won’t stay out long.”

As Maggie pulled on her boots, wound her muffler around her neck, and put on her jacket and gloves and hat she felt a little crazy. Going for a walk when the temperature was probably close to zero? She refused to check the thermometer in the kitchen window.

But once outside, she was glad to be there. True, her nose felt frosty. She pulled the muffler up to cover the bottom of her face and walked down the silent snow-covered street toward the center of town. Snow crunched beneath her boots.

The sky was clear and bright. At her home in Somerset County, New Jersey she could sometimes see the North Star on clear nights, but light from other houses and a sky blocked by tree branches made star-gazing close to impossible. Here the open cloudless sky over the river was full of hundreds of lights; thousands, if you could count all those in the Milky Way. All were clearly visible and formed close to the same patterns they had for hundreds of years.

Each season’s pattern was distinct. But tonight’s sky looked like the ones pictured in Richard Proctor’s 1887
Half Hours with the Stars,
white-on-blue engravings, astronomical prints showing the night sky in various months throughout the year. Billions of people, all over the world, for generations and generations, had seen those same stars, she thought. And each of them thought their own lives, and their own problems, were significant.

And, who knew? Perhaps they were. It all depended on your perspective. Tonight, looking up at that sky, problems in Waymouth felt very small.

She turned from the river and walked up Main Street, past store windows, some closed for the night, some for the winter. In the distance a train’s whistle echoed across the river. Somewhere a dog barked. A few minutes later church bells chimed eight o’clock.

On the next corner Maggie hesitated. Only half a block away was the Sunken Garden, where she’d sat on a granite bench one summer day and found quiet and peace. Now she knew it was also the place where Nick was haunted by the death of a young girl.

A girl about the same age his own daughter was now. The death of one, sadly unknown, girl, had changed the life of a young man, and resulted in his choosing a life pursuing the killers of others.

She started down that street, but turned back. This was not the time to visit the Garden. Its uneven stairs would be covered by feet of drifted snow; its paths and benches ghostly by-ways and hills hidden below the busy streets above. Spring and summer, and perhaps fall, were the Garden’s seasons. Winter was its time to hold its past secure, and await its next renewal.

She walked another block on Main Street, enjoying her solitude, and the quiet and holiday lights.

Then, reluctantly, she turned and headed back after the cold began creeping into her fingers and toes. It was time to sip some cognac to help her warm up, and wait for Will to come home.

“They Quaffed Their Liquor in Profound Silence.”
Illustration by Arthur Rackham for
Rip Van Winkle
by Washington Irving. Six strange, small, bearded men (rumored to be the ghosts of Hendrick Hudson’s crew) drinking deeply in a piece of woodland floating above the clouds. New York: Doubleday, Page & Co., 1910. Tipped-in lithography on green page; lithograph, 5.25 x 6.75 inches. Price: $65.

At 9:00 Maggie
helped Aunt Nettie into her bed for the night.

By 10:00 she’d finished two cognacs, a small plate of Stilton and wheat crackers, and read several more chapters in James Hayman’s latest mystery. She was glad she’d waited until after their trip to Portland to read it. Hayman’s Portland was fascinating, but definitely the darker side of the city.

By 11:00 she was trying to decide whether she should have another cognac, go to bed, or maybe call The Great Blue and ask Will whether he needed a ride home. She quickly decided the last option wasn’t a wise one. But he’d been gone for hours. What if he’d had an accident?

The Great Blue wasn’t far away. She could have walked there when she’d gone out, but she’d thought that would have been interfering. Nick had wanted to talk to Will. She hadn’t been invited.

And Will had said he’d be home soon.

At 11:30 she poured that third cognac.

She started looking out the window, watching for cars. Very few people were out this late. Was The Great Blue even open after 11:00? Not many small-town Maine taverns were. Although maybe Christmas week they’d make exceptions. Not knowing didn’t make the waiting easier. Twice she picked up her phone to call and find out, and then put it down. No. She didn’t want him to think she was checking up on him.

But, yes. By now she was convinced something was wrong. Should she call the state police?

Except—he was
with
the state police.

At 11:50 Aunt Nettie’s sedan finally pulled into the driveway. She watched it from the window and quickly went into the living room and picked up her book. She wasn’t going to admit she’d been worried. He was a grown man. She didn’t have any official claim on him.

She should have gone to bed. Shown him she didn’t care how late he stayed out.

She didn’t move from the couch as she heard Will hanging up his jacket and turning off the light in the kitchen. He stumbled a bit as he walked into the living room.

“Maggie! Why’re you still up?”

All her resolve not to question him fell away. “Where’ve you been? I thought you said you were going to be home soon. I’ve been worried. ”

“I’ve been with Nick, like I said I’d be. It just didn’t work out that I’d be home early.” Will came over, hitting the side table along the way, and slumped down next to her on the couch, putting his arm around her and knocking her book to the floor. “Nick and I were talking.”

Maggie moved over. “I can smell how much you had to talk about.”

“Maybe I had a little too much to drink. Just a little,” Will admitted. “But not as much as Nick did!”

“That makes me feel a lot better. He must be in great shape,” said Maggie. “I’ve never seen you like this. Why didn’t you come home earlier?”

“My friend Nick needed me,” said Will. “We men have to stick together.”

“I see. So you men were out getting sloshed.” She suddenly thought of the distance Nick had to drive to get to his home out in the country. “Was Nick driving home tonight?”

“Nope. State troopers aren’t supposed to drive when they’ve been drinking.”

“Good rule. Probably not only for state troopers,” she added drily.

“The bartender was going to drive him home. We all left at the same time.”

“So you closed the bar. Why doesn’t that surprise me.”

“It’s a very friendly place, Maggie.”

“So what was so important for you and Nick to talk about?”

“He’s really pissed about you, actually,” said Will. “That’s why I had to stay. To defend your honor, as it were.”

“Me? What do I have to do with your getting drunk?”

“You’ve been asking too many questions.”

“What? Well, I think I have a right. You come home, lit up like a Christmas tree. I’ve been waiting here, worried, and you excuse your condition by saying you’re defending my honor? Of course I can ask what you were talking about!”

“No, no, no, Maggie. Not questions now. Nick is mad because you’re asking too many questions in town. About other people. He says it’s none of your business. You’re not a police investigator.”

“That’s ridiculous. Nick was the one who asked Aunt Nettie and me to ask questions. You know that. You were here when he did that, Christmas morning.”

“He wanted Aunt Nettie to ask Ruth about that blackmailing. Maggie, between you and me, I’m pretty sure he thinks he has a case against her son Brian. But—shh!—it’s a secret. He’s putting it all together. But I think Brian is in big trouble. Very big.”

Will tried to reach over and kiss Maggie. She pushed him away. “Hold on. I knew he was interested in Brian, but I didn’t think he was that sure.”

“He is. Believe me, Maggie. He says Brian was a pain in high school, and he’s still a pain now.”

“Being a pain doesn’t make him a murderer. Let’s go back a little. Just why is he upset about me talking to people? He’s known I was helping Aunt Nettie from the beginning.”

“He didn’t know you’d be talking to his mother and Zelda.” Will nodded. “Jo agreed. She thought maybe you’d gone a little too far.”

“Jo? Jo Heartwood? She was there tonight, too?”

“She happened to stop in.”

“I see. She happened to stop in and joined you two on your boys’ night out?”

“Sort of like that. No big deal.”

“No big deal? No big deal!”

“Nah. Her mom was visiting and said she’d baby-sit so Jo could go out for a while. So she was there. And we were all talking.”

“And drinking.”

“And we had a few drinks.”

“And you talked about how your friend Maggie was messing up. How she was interfering with Nick’s family.”

“I didn’t exactly say that.”

“I assume I did these horrible things when we had lunch today. Because that’s the only time I’ve ever met Zelda. And by the way, I wasn’t alone at lunch. You were there, too. And how did Nick even know, since he wasn’t there?”

“I don’t know how Nick knew. But everybody does. And I told Nick and Jo you weren’t asking questions at lunch about the murder. You were talking to Zelda about college and things like that.”

“I see. You told Nick and Jo that.”

“Of course I did! But that didn’t make Nick feel better. In fact, he didn’t like that at all. That was when he said he wanted you to stop talking to everybody in Waymouth.” Will put his arm around Maggie again. She pulled further away. “Except me. You can talk to me anytime, Maggie.”

“What did you say then?”

“I told him you were going home soon, so he wouldn’t have to worry about you for much longer. That you didn’t mean any harm. You teach at a college, so you talk about colleges. You didn’t mean to interfere.”

“You excused what I said? I was trying to help Zelda! Nick is browbeating her, and trying to keep her from finding out what the world is all about. He’d like to keep her at home in Maine for the rest of her life. That‘s not protecting her. That’s keeping her from living her life! That’s…child abuse!”

“Nick doesn’t see it that way, Maggie. And she is his daughter. He wants you to stay away from his family. And he wants you to stop asking questions about Carrie Folk’s murder.” Will raised his hands. “That’s it. That’s what he wants. And he’s the state trooper. He’s the boss.”

“He’s not my boss. I’m not going to do it.”

“We only have a few more days together before you have to go home. Nick’s my friend. Why not make it easier for me? Why not do as he says?” Will asked. “Aunt Nettie won’t mind if you stop questioning people. You and I can do other things. Fun things.”

“Like your leaving here one of the few nights I’m in Maine to go drinking with Nick and Jo Heartwood? That kind of fun?” Maggie stood up. “The first thing you need to do is get a good night’s sleep and sober up.”

“Ah, Maggie, Maggie. I love you, Maggie. I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re not that sober, for sure.” She reached out a hand. “I’ve never seen you like this before. And it’s not pretty. Here. Let me help you up.” She pulled him up to an unsteady stand. “Can you make it up the stairs by yourself?”

“Of course I can. I’m fine. I don’t need any help,” he said, lurching toward the staircase.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water and aspirin. I’ll bring them upstairs. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight,” she added, as he headed upstairs. “And I don’t care what Nick says. Or you say. I’m not going to stop asking questions.”