The Secluded Village Murders Page 3

  “Why do you suddenly have to leave a day early? And what about Silas and Pru?”

  “What about them? Are they judging the flower show? Do they have a major part to play at the festival? Anyway, I don’t wish to discuss it.”

  “Harriet, make sense. Are you trying to run off and ditch your siblings?”

  “I need time. I need space. I can’t be boxed in like this —under the gun, as it were. I’m sure you can think of something to keep them at arm’s length. Keep everything at arm’s length.”

  Deflecting, Harriet started jabbering about the need to do some extra research about English floral varieties, including Michaelmas daisies, montbretia, and certain amaryllis hybrids. Then, pitching her flinty voice a bit higher, she said, “I have spent the last few hours making these arrangements and have my confirmation numbers right here, if you like.” To drive her point home, Harriet reached into her open straw bag but lost control of the catalogues and whatnot, scattering them all over the plank floor.

  Reluctantly coming to Harriet’s aid, Emily slipped out of the booth and gathered up most of the pile. She placed the envelopes on top while Harriet contended with her bag and crumpled e-mails.

  Snatching the stack out of Emily’s hands, Harriet said, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would deal with Silas and Pru.”

  “Harriet, this is ridiculous. Arrangements have been made. I’ve scheduled everything for all three of you. We have a contract. I am a professional, in case you’ve forgotten. I don’t work this way.”

  “Can’t be helped. Come by at four as planned. We’ll finalize whatever needs be and I’ll be on my way. Right now, I have some banking business to attend to.”

  Before Emily could say another word, Harriet scuttled out the door.

  Emily finished her lunch, left a tip, and asked the waitress if she could use the phone by the kitchen. She reached Will on the third ring and, as a matter of courtesy, asked if she could postpone the tea he’d offered until around five-thirty. He said that would be no problem.

  She made another call to the Sharon hospital. No word about Chris except that he was still in critical condition.

  Emily left the restaurant and stood motionless under the overcast sky. She glanced across the street to the corner of West and North where the bank sat conspicuously across the Green and catty-corner to the congregational church. Presently, she began to sense a hazy thread tying together the events of this morning with Harriet’s unexpected day-early escape route. A thread linked somehow to the long business envelope she’d scooped up in Harriet’s wake, addressed to Harriet Curtis, marked Confidential. The return address was embossed with a gold GDC logo. The envelope might very well contain a check that Harriet assumed was still in her possession.

  Chapter Three

  Emily watched and waited under a spreading elm at the edge of the Green as the late summer sunlight filtered through the cloud cover. All along she’d wondered where the money for this excursion was coming from, especially considering the Curtises’ sparse lifestyle, the shape their home was in, and the fact they didn’t even own a car. From all indications, the answer was still hidden in the envelope tucked in Emily’s jacket.

  Soon enough, Harriet hurried out of the bank, passed through the white colonnades and stopped short. From her vantage point, Emily could see that Harriet continued to struggle with her slip-sliding mail. As she fumbled around, Chuck, the balding security guard, came to the rescue with a clear, plastic shopping bag. No surprise on that score. Predictably, Chuck was eager to please, delighted to have something to do besides open doors. But expectedly, Brian Forbes, second in line at the Planning Commission, head of the Business Association, and bank vice president, quickly exited the bank and shooed Chuck inside.

  Conscious of his image as if always on camera, Brian offered Harriet a chivalrous hand. His outfit consisted of a tailored, light-blue blazer, a matching tie, and crisp, white slacks.

  What Emily had been looking for was some sign of panic on Harriet’s part over her missing check. But Harriet brushed aside Brian’s proffered hand and made her way down the marble steps. Then she spun around and shouted, “You’re the cause, Brian, if you think about it! It started with you, and now look at me!” With those parting words, Harriet scuttled away, leaving Brian standing there looking bewildered.

  Emily crossed the street and caught Brian’s attention as he reached for the burnished doorknob of the bank. “Brian, have you got a second?”

  “I’m in a little bit of a rush,” said Brian, flashing his studied smile. “You know, it’s one of those typical Mondays.”

  Before he could slip back into the foyer, Emily bounded up the steps and said, “It’s about Harriet. Couldn’t help overhearing what she said, and I need you to clear something up.”

  Brian stepped away from the door and moved well out of earshot of bank customers and employees as Emily joined him.

  A glint of sunshine radiated across the colonnades. Emily reached for the envelope.

  “Harriet dropped this in the restaurant after announcing she was taking a last-minute flight to London. Which, as you know, must cost a bundle, not to mention checking into a decent hotel.”

  “So?”

  “So, given Harriet’s circumstances, doesn’t that strike you as odd? Unless there’s a nice fat check in here,” she added, pointing out the GDC logo. Emily knew she was pushing it, responding to Harriet’s outburst about it all being Brian’s fault, but at the moment she was unable to contain herself about this direct link with the GDC.

  “Losing it, depending on this juicy sweetener to see her through, plus whatever set her off just now, including her plans to dump her brother and step-sister, is compromising my tour. Not to mention raising all kinds of questions.”

  Brian gingerly took the envelope out of Emily’s hand. Just as hesitantly, he said, “Thanks, she’ll be greatly relieved. I’ll give her a quick call.”

  “Brian, I think you’re dodging the issue.”

  “Ah, you mean her sudden departure. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.”

  As he attempted to turn away again, Emily said, “But that’s not all. This is not a typical Monday, as you just said. I’m sure you’ve heard about Chris Cooper’s fall during the downpour this morning. And not just an accident. He’s barely hanging on! As if you, of all people, weren’t on top of things that concern you directly.”

  Brian modified his fixed grin before coming out with, “Now, Emily, since when are you interested in politics?”

  “We’re not just talking about politics.”

  Brian adjusted his tie nervously and came up with a lame retort. “Of course. And I understand that you and your mom are worried about the effect of the new GDC project on property values and the B&B. Well, my advice is, best to ask Martha. Not only is she my better half, she, as you well know, is the principal realtor in town.”

  Before Brian could offer any more non sequiturs, an elderly couple approached the marble steps. And before Chuck had a chance to step back out, Brian gave the couple his best Iron Bank welcome, held one of the looming doors open for them, glanced back at Emily, and said, “Too bad you’re off again. Love to have had you at the hearing. You could’ve learned all about the wheels of progress.”

  As the couple entered the bank, Emily pressed harder.

  “Wait a minute. Harriet’s payment from the GDC aside, are you really telling me you know nothing about Chris? Or the fact he was up on Miranda Shaw’s roof when it happened?”

  At the mention of Miranda Shaw’s name, Brian’s fixed smile wavered.

  Again, Emily knew she was pushing it by assuming Brian knew full well about what happened to Chris this morning and was obviously brushing her off.

  “You know, Miranda Shaw’s overpriced, fake English Tudor. The one Martha has failed to unload.”

  There was a long silence as Brian continued to look out at nothing in particular.

  “I don’t get it, Brian. Why can’t we communicate
? You, your wife, Miranda Shaw, and the scene of Chris’s dreadful fall. There is an obvious connection.”

  Just then, Martha Forbes came sauntering into view and abruptly halted. Brian altered his gaze in her direction. They were no more than twenty yards apart but neither of them spoke. For a time, they simply regarded each other. Brian fluttered a few fingers in a tentative wave, planted the smile back on his face, and raised his voice.

  “Well, Emily, you’re in luck. Here’s Martha now. And if I don’t see you beforehand, have a good trip.”

  “Right, Brian. Just keep ignoring me.”

  “Yes, there she is.” Brian’s smile switched off completely as he clutched the envelope. “She’s the realtor, I’m the banker, and we each have our separate roles to play.”

  Emily let it go, doing her best to file all of this in the back of her mind. She ambled down the steps and started back toward the Green and her Camry, realizing she and Martha would cross paths and have to exchange pleasantries. Unless Emily wanted to delve further, which would only overload the circuit even more.

  “Hi, Martha,” Emily said, pausing on the walkway as an act of courtesy.

  “Hello,” said Martha, pausing as well but glancing up at the bank entrance as though making up her mind whether or not to enter. Like her husband, Martha Forbes never failed to make Emily feel like an underling. Sporting a trim, tailored suit with a white, frilly blouse and turquoise silk neckerchief along with her impervious smile, Martha affected a note of concern. “Mind if I ask what caused my husband to look so sheepish?”

  “We were talking about Miranda Shaw’s place, among other things.”

  “Ah.” Switching gears, Martha came out with, “I must say, I often wonder how you do it. Carefree, short hair and khakis. Footloose. What is your secret?”

  Emily wanted to cut through the chitchat, but Martha switched gears again and went into her business mode.

  “At any rate, be sure to inform your mother that I’m positive I can get a decent price for her place if she will listen to reason and act quickly. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, about that handyman of yours. I understand he had a charter boat business in the Keys. How on earth did he wind up renovating houses in the northeast? Is he any good?”

  Martha’s sales pitch only made matters even worse, if that was possible. Emily did her best to let it pass. Needless to say, selling the B&B, the only home she’d ever known, was the last thing she wanted to contemplate.

  As the elderly couple reappeared and made their way down the steps, there was no telling if Martha was actually talking to Emily or stalling while collecting her thoughts vis-à-vis her husband. With a sigh, Martha pivoted smoothly on her low heels. “You’ll be leaving tomorrow and Devon is on your itinerary, I hear.”

  “That was the plan.”

  “Well, have a good trip and don’t forget to contact your mother posthaste.” With that, Martha continued briskly on her way.

  As the pearl-gray hue of the sky held steady, Emily watched Chuck usher Martha into the bank.

  Getting more edgy by the second, Emily sensed that everything in her world was wrong. Chris was in critical condition, Harriet had likely been bribed and was taking off, and Brian and Martha wanted Emily and her mother to sell out and get out of the way as well. Emily thought back to Doc’s mysterious phone call in the downpour this morning, that, in effect, had possibly erased Chris Cooper from the scene.

  She walked briskly past the glistening elms that dotted the Green, opened the trunk of her Camry, exchanged her walking shoes for her old cross trainers, and slipped on her running jacket.

  Jogging past the post office and library on South Street, Emily noticed a crew tackling a huge copper beech on the other side of the street. High above, one of the men in the crane bucket worked away with his chainsaw, ripping into the uppermost reaches of the stately tree. At the same time, four men and a woman below egged them on.

  As Emily cut to her right down Gallows Lane, there was a hush, a resounding thud and a hearty cheer echoing behind her. She picked up her pace. Unbidden, something Chris Cooper had once said to her crossed her mind. Something from Thoreau about mourning what had needlessly been cut down.

  Passing by the water lilies alongside Longmeadow pond, she knew there was no way she could run past her deepest worry and do a through-me as Chris would usually advise.

  The tinge of guilt over not intervening in time shook her once again.

  Chapter Four

  Almost finished with her run, Emily had no sooner passed the Central School when a sharp whistle caught her attention. Then a shout.

  “Hey, Ryder, what’s the story?”

  Then Emily remembered. In a way it was a coincidence. In another way it was a solution to a double bind. She couldn’t be in two places at once—here with her growing suspicions and anxiety over Chris; about to go abroad with its own dicey implications starting with Harriet. She doubled back to the verge of the school’s front lawn. Bent over with her hands on her knees, catching her breath, she paid no mind to the Nikon camera clicking away.

  “Hey, what can I say?” said Babs Maroon, employing her usual mocking tone. “You’re over the hill, pal. Over the hill.”

  The mop of tousled red hair that framed the pinched face of Emily’s old school chum glinted under the fickle cloud cover. As usual, Babs sported a loose-fitting, periwinkle cotton top tucked inside a pair of bib overalls. Babs had recently become a features reporter for the County Times, which could very well prove useful.

  Straightening up and stretching, Emily said, “Babs, glad I ran into you. I could use a little information.”

  “Righty-o,” Babs countered as though they were still grade school cheerleaders. “For your information, you happen to be late.”

  “Oh?”

  “Hey, don’t give me that look. I allotted myself thirty minutes here, tops, in our beloved backwater. Then it’s on to Falls Village, Cornwall Bridge, and a few other Sleepy Hollows that time forgot.”

  “Sorry?” Then Emily remembered. “Oh right. So much has happened since this morning. We had an appointment, a photo shoot and all.”

  “Gotcha. As payment for wasting my time, I’ve narrowed it down to three finalists for the funny name contest for the paper. Pick one and spare my fevered brain. ‘Rhoda Horsey,’ ‘Ella Funt,’ or ‘Dudley Bumpus.’ And the winner is . . .”

  “Look, Babs, this is the last thing I need right now.”

  “I happen to be serious. Trying to keep afloat even if the price is these mindlessness stories to humor the editor and keep up circulation. Oh, never mind, I’ll just give it to Ms. Rhoda. She’s actually got her fingers crossed, hoping to win the stupid thing to get back at folks for teasing her all these years.”

  Amazed with what Babs had to put up with to keep gainfully employed, Emily said, “Okay then. My turn.”

  “Not so fast, not so fast,” said Babs, shuffling backward and snapping shots of Emily in motion.

  “Babs, hold still, will you? I need to ask you something.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  Keeping up with Babs until they were at the school crossing, Emily stopped short. “Harriet Curtis.”

  “At last count, you’ve given me nothing I can use here,” said Babs. “And what about Harriet Curtis?”

  “Why would she scream at Brian Forbes outside the bank? Accuse him of being the cause of something, that ‘it’ all started with him? She said she was under the gun. What pressure is she under? And why would she skip town a day before our scheduled departure?”

  “Whoa, what is it with you? Haven’t you heard what’s up with the Curtis house? Go check the updated list.”

  “What list?”

  “Ryder, don’t you ever read the paper? The tax collector’s list. They’re threatening to foreclose.”

  Resuming taking shots of the bus stop and the old brick school, Babs went on. “As it happens, not only is good ol’ Harriet in arrears due to uncollected back
taxes, but as the principal heir to the estate, she’s responsible for a second mortgage her late father took out ten years ago. In short, my sweet, the wolves are at the door.”

  “Okay then, how does Brian Forbes figure in? Why would Harriet accuse him of causing everything and how is that linked to the GDC proposal?”

  “Can you back off a little?”

  “Just answer me, okay?”

  While eyeing the camera’s display window and erasing some of the shots, Babs made some offhand remarks about Brian that were strictly personal and of no help. Then she came out with some reference to GDC tactics.

  “Got to hand it to him, that Martin Gordon. Crafty guy. Always brags he never once foisted himself on a community.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You see,” said Babs, “even if the whole town rose up against him, his trick was to hire a team of lawyers who threatened to sue for obstruction. Commission members became so anxious over legal fees at the expense of the taxpayers, they caved in.”

  Emily held stock still, beginning to see how shady this whole enterprise was, and getting some inkling as to what she was up against.

  Rounding off her spiel, Babs said, “Then clever Gordon would hand it over to Hacket, his silent partner, who would raise the price of the condos exponentially. Hence, the GDC could continue to claim they never went where they weren’t wanted.”

  Babs absentmindedly checked the display window on her camera again. “But let’s get down to more pressing matters. How’s your sex life? Dave Roberts still trying to jump on your bones? Or are you opting for Will Farrow, the drifter caretaker, and a trial run at older men?”

  Emily ignored her. Despite sensing that all the twisted threads were getting beyond her, she couldn’t let this one go. Couldn’t erase the recurring image of Chris’s violent spasms and dreadful fall.