The Death of Perry Many Paws (41 page)

“It was a couple nights later that Maxine and I heard all the commotion downstairs. We could hear Ernie’s voice and someone else coming in the back door making all kinds of banging noises. We were pretty sure Ernie was drunk and was bringing a girl home. Maxine’s mother never allowed him to do that because of Maxine and me. She told him it would be a bad influence. We heard Maxine’s mother go downstairs and then lots of yelling. We kept watching out our bedroom door because we wanted to see what the girl looked like, but only Maxine’s mother came back upstairs. The next morning she looked awful. Her eyes were all red and puffy and she barely talked at all. She gave us a few slices of toast and sent us to school an hour early. We decided that she had seen some kind of man-woman thing going on between Ernie and the girl and it had made her sick. But it was that night that was the very worst.”

“What happened?”

“Ernie wasn’t there for dinner and we didn’t see him all evening. Then, late at night, we heard him come slamming in the back door and cursing something wicked. Maxine’s mother went down to talk to him and he yelled and banged the walls and ran around like some kind
of tornado. Maxine and I were so scared we crawled under the bed to hide. But we could still hear everything.”

“What was he saying?”

“Mostly a bunch of curses. But there were two things he said over and over again—‘where did the fucking money go’ and ‘your brother doesn’t care if you die’. Maxine and I loved saying, ‘where did the fucking money go?’ over and over. Even as adults we used to say it whenever we misplaced our purses. Where did the fucking money go? Funny how those phrases stick with you all those years …” Her voice trailed off and she stared at the ceiling.

“Muriel…” I prompted.

“What? Oh, yes. Ernie and Maxine’s mom and the yelling. Well, they always fought about money so that didn’t seem strange. Maxine’s mother must have lost some money or something. But we couldn’t understand why he kept telling her that her brother didn’t care if she died.
He
was her brother. We were afraid it meant he was planning to kill her. We knew we should do something to protect her but we didn’t know what to do. We were just little girls. We fell asleep under the bed and when we woke up early in the morning things were calmer. At first we were afraid to go downstairs in case Ernie had killed Maxine’s mother, but then we heard her voice and we jumped up and down and hugged each other. Things were still weird, though. We heard a dog in the kitchen and we didn’t have a dog. We raced down to see if maybe they had gotten a dog for us but everyone was still angry. Ernie said he was taking care of the dog for a friend. Maxine’s mother just sat at the kitchen table and cried. That was the morning Ernie found the dead body in the woods.”

“April 1?”

“Right. When he told us we thought it was an April Fool’s joke, but then his name was in the paper and everything. We thought he would be excited about that. Regular people like us never got their
names in the paper. But he just sat in his room all the time and then, a couple weeks later, he left.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. Maxine’s mother said he was too upset by all the problems in the world and he had to leave because he couldn’t be happy in Birdsey Falls anymore. I never saw him again.”

“Did Maxine’s mother talk about him?”

“No. She wouldn’t answer our questions when we asked about him so we eventually stopped. End of story.” Muriel leaned back and closed her eyes. I reached out and touched her hand.

“Thank you for telling me the whole story. It was a long time ago but you really should tell the police. I can give you the name of someone …”

“Why?”

“Muriel, it wasn’t a girl Ernie was trying to hide in the basement. And he wasn’t mad about Maxine’s mother losing money. He wasn’t the brother who didn’t care if his sibling lived or died. I think your Uncle Ernie was involved in the kidnapping of Raymond Ketchum,” I explained.

“It was so long ago. Everyone is dead.”

“The case has been reopened. They know Ernie was in the woods for longer than it took him to discover the body. Your story will help tie up some loose ends.”

“But why would they reopen the case after seventy years?”

“Because the ransom money was found in my attic.”

“So
that’s
where the fucking money went.”

It didn’t take much to convince Muriel to tell her story to the police—I just promised her that they would not interrupt her and she would
not have to compete with the Albany quilt show. By ten o’clock the next morning Diane let me know that her parents had called her to tell her the police were at Bugg Hill, talking to Muriel. I explained that Muriel’s uncle was Ernest Whitcomb and Muriel had hearsay evidence that he had kidnapped and killed Raymond Ketchum. It was Cam who pointed out that, when the story broke, the part about the ransom money being found in the cottage and in our attic would also be out. Claudia would have a fit if her family was implicated in any way, even peripherally, in a kidnapping/murder. But facts were facts and there wasn’t much we could do to cover it up. We would have to live with the consequences.

We still had no idea how Franklin factored into the crime. We were all tired of hearing ourselves say, ‘He was
only
fifteen’. We accepted that Ernie Whitcomb had made Franklin’s acquaintance while doing yard work at the house that spring. What their relationship had been after that no one could guess. Still, who, after seventy years, would kill Franklin? There was no one left.

It was the day before Halloween and I knew Grace would be busy preparing for her big party and announcing the winners of the “Guess the Mannequins’ Costumes” contest. We had too much to say to each other to try to cram it into a hurried phone call. What a blessing friendship was. Muriel and Maxine had made it through a rough childhood together. They had shared their family secrets and yet not been damaged by what they knew. They had been able to share the burden. Franklin, on the other hand, had taken the burden of guilt on himself. It had festered inside him and poisoned his life. Ernie had gone on to live his life, dishonest as it was. Franklin had locked himself up, both emotionally and physically, and withered away. He had paid a far higher price than Ernie for the debacle in Camden Woods.

I fished around on my desk and found the Edgar Allan Poe quote from the attic. Now I understood why it had appealed to Franklin and why he had written it down.

There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told … mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man takes up a burden so heavy in horror that it can be thrown down only into the grave
.

Franklin had taken up a burden so heavy in horror that only his death would release him from its hold. I could understand why Franklin might kill himself. I couldn’t understand why someone would kill him.

While I was looking for the quote I also ran across the notes I had made on a napkin last Saturday at the diner. Most of the loose ends I had listed were now tied up, but we still didn’t know who broke into our house and left the “SB” monogrammed handkerchief. The police suspected Ryan of the first break-in based on the fact he had admitted to the second break-in. Both times a key had been used. Both times nothing had been taken. Ryan insisted he had only broken in that one time, to scare me. The police were convinced he was lying. He was currently under house arrest and then would probably need to perform some community service. Cam and I were satisfied with that. The community service would help him to be a little less self-absorbed and more aware of other people and their problems. He was so full of self-pity right now that he couldn’t see outside himself.

The appearance and disappearance of the handkerchief was eating away at me. It seemed insignificant in the scheme of all that had happened but it was unexplained and things like that drive me nuts. And then there were pages
1
-
22
of what Franklin had been writing in his cottage. Page
23
appeared to be part of an autobiography and
started with the death of his brother Alden at Pearl Harbor. But what we really needed to know was what had happened prior to 1941 and that was the part that had disappeared. I was convinced it was important and that the murderer had taken it, maybe even killed Franklin for it. But what could he have said that we hadn’t already pieced together and who would kill him to keep it a secret? The people with the most to lose were Ernie Whitcomb’s family members and they were all dead. Muriel certainly was willing to tell the story. Who would be trying to protect Ernie now?

Arresting Ryan and knowing who killed Raymond Ketchum answered none of these questions. I was willing to keep blundering around and doing the police’s job for them but I had no idea where to blunder off to now. It was like staring at a blank computer screen with no idea what to write. I’d run out of ideas.

Luckily I was overflowing with thoughts about my new book, so I attacked my blank computer screen and worked steadily for several hours. I still hadn’t thought of an appropriate name for my heroine but I had decided that she would operate on the fringes of society, not being afraid to take a little pleasure while trying to get information from her high society suspects. Her motto would be:
There’s more than one way to question a handsome, charming gentleman
. But it was not going to be a bodice ripper. She would be the aggressor, and no one would take advantage of her. She was the one in control. New Orleans post Civil War society would find her terribly offensive; twenty-first-century women would find her incredibly inspiring.

t was our first Halloween in eighteen years without a child at home. Granted, the first couple of years Abbey had no idea what was going on but we dressed her up and took her out just to show her off. She stopped trick or treating when she was thirteen but she would still dress up and answer the door, handing out candy. Then, once the evening had quieted down, we would all head to Trenary Booksellers for the Halloween party. The store was closed for business, but Grace took advantage of the space and all the wonderful spooky decorations to host a party for her friends. You can imagine what a great setting a dimly lit bookstore with ghosts and witches hanging out among the books can be.

Hugh had urged Grace to go ahead and have the traditional Halloween party. Apparently they were almost euphoric that they were raising a juvenile delinquent rather than a murderer. This year, in the aftermath of the break-ins, we weren’t sure we wanted to leave the house. Officer Donny came to our rescue by offering to have a patrol car parked in our driveway, by the front door, to scare off anyone who might be tempted to pay us another visit.

Cam loves Halloween and putting together a costume. He starts planning in August and spends a lot of time thinking of a theme for us and making arrangements for wigs and clothes and other
accessories that we will need, like rubber weapons or fake blood. As long as I am covered from head to toe and there is no suggestive skin showing, I’m happy go to along. This year I was going as Guinevere. I did have to insert a lacy camisole under the dress as apparently some costume designer was under the impression that ladies in the middle ages showed an extreme amount of cleavage. But the dress was beautiful, midnight blue, and not too heavy to walk around in, and I loved the little headpiece with the lace that flowed down my back. I didn’t have to worry about my hair; just hastily put it up in a sloppy bun and put the headpiece and train on. I looked very elegant and maybe even just the slightest bit thinner.