Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 02 - Murder in the Maine Woods (5 page)

SIX

Vivian looked awful. Her hair could not have been flatter if she’d slicked it down with motor oil, her golden sweatshirt was grubby, her makeup splotchy. She looked every one of her fifty-something years, and then some. She began to cry when she saw me. I wanted to be angry at her, but as soon as Nick opened the cell door, I hugged her. I’m such a pushover. I know I have to work on that.

Nick showed us to a small private room in back. No two-way mirror. No cameras. At least I didn’t think so.

Vivian and I sat opposite each other at a small table and Nick left us alone.

“Vivian, what—”

“I’m sorry I told him,” she interrupted. “When I told him you called my name, he was surprised. I didn’t consider that you might not have told him about seeing me the day Buster died. Thank you for not telling. And I’m sorry I didn’t get you some tissues.”

She began to cry again, and I got up and put my arm around her shoulder.

“Vivian, don’t worry about it. Everything’s okay with Nick and me.” I skipped mention of the tissues. I wasn’t ready to put that to bed yet. “What were you doing at Buster’s?”

“I didn’t kill him. I swear I didn’t.” She g
rasped my wrists. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

I pulled back.

“No,” I said, not a hundred percent sure of that. I didn’t know Vivian very well. I knew less about her relationship with Buster. But finding a cup with her fingerprints on it? The more I thought about that, the more preposterous it seemed. Vivian was in the crosshairs, the red dot flickering on her I-Love-My-Poms sweatshirt. If she were framed, and it looked like that to me, someone had gone to a lot of trouble. Amazing planning. Slick. Hard to believe it was even possible to set up such a thing.

“Tell me what happened, every last detail.”

Hands up, palms out, she said, “I found my sweet Nutmeg, poisoned I’m sure, just like Dora. I called Buster immediately and blasted him. That was around five-thirty in the morning. Hours later I got a phone call from him. His voice was strange, kinda fuzzy-sounding. Hoarse. He said he was coming down with laryngitis. He asked me to come over immediately. He wanted to tell me something important about the dogs.”

“So you called him first, and then he called you back. How long between calls?”

“A long time. I went back to bed and didn’t get up until eight. It was hours later when he called back. I remember now. It was just about the time my ten o’clock cable news show began.”

“So, you called him at five-thirty.” I ticked off the time on my fingers and said, “And about four and a half hours later someone with laryngitis called for you to come over.”

“It was Buster. His name came up on my Caller ID.”

“Was there a car or truck in his driveway?”

“No. I checked to see whether the nephews were around. Only Buster’s red truck was in the driveway.”

“You went outside and checked? From the end of
Buster’s driveway?”

“
I went outside, but not to the end.”

“So
there’s a chance you missed seeing a vehicle in the part of the driveway not visible from your house?”

Vivian shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”

“But it’s possible, “ I said.
“Anyway, you couldn’t resist going over there?”

“I guess not.”

“Did you ever have a romantic relationship with Buster?”

The quick shift took her by surprise. Her mouth dropped, and her brow wrinkled.

Seconds later, she fired back. “How could you say such a thing? If someone paid me a million bucks I wouldn’t go near that man.”

As soon as the words were out she saw the inconsistency. Before she could backtrack, I asked, “How long before you got to his house?”

“About five minutes. I put my sneakers on first.” She closed her eyes and began to rock back and forth in her chair.

“He was on the bed. I think
… he was in a coma. He was so pale. There was a glass of water on his nightstand and I tried to give him a drink. He didn’t even twitch. I know CPR and I tried that. Nothing worked. I picked up the phone to call 911 but I didn’t get a dial tone. His phone was dead. Then I heard someone pull up in the driveway.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“I panicked. Who would believe I tried to help Buster Verney? Just about everyone in town knew how I felt about him. They knew I thought he poisoned Dora. They’d think I murdered him. Wouldn’t you run?”

“Probably. Nick mentioned fingerprints. Maybe they found DNA, too. I’ll find out.”

She continued to rock, her chair squeaking on each forward shift. “What does it matter? They know I was there.”

She started to sob again. “Rotten … Buster … Verney. Wasn’t enough he played me for a fool, then poisoned my dogs. Now he’s reaching out from the grave to torment me. He’s got them claiming I poisoned him. Ridiculous.”

Played me for a fool.

“What do you mean he played you for a fool? Did you date Buster?”

She waved her hand in dismissal and rocked faster.

“Vivian, I need to know what you meant. I can’t help you if I don’t know the whole story.”

“Nothing much. It had to do with the dogs. He once told me he liked them. That was a big fat lie. I need a good lawyer,” she said quickly. “I figured your family must know someone. They’ve lived here forever and know everyone.”

I did not believe her. But I realized she wasn’t going to say more at the moment.

“I’ll speak to my aunts today.”

“Nick read me my rights. I didn’t want to speak to him before I told you what happened. I trust you, Nora. I know you’ll find the killer, so I wanted you to know the whole story first.”

“Okay, Vivian.” I stood to leave.

“I’ve watched a few cop shows,” she said, “and I know that sometimes a person thinks they’re saying something completely innocent to the cops, but it gets twisted around to make them look guilty.”

“The aunts will recommend a good lawyer, Vivian. No need to be afraid of incriminating yourself.” I paused. “Then you have to tell me about your relationship with Buster, all of it.”

“I did,” she said, looking so indignant I almost believed her.

Trimble escorted Vivian back to her cell, and I accompanied her. We said our good-byes. As I was walking away, she called me back.

“I have one more favor to ask.”

“Anything. Just name it.”

I w
as way too quick to promise. Way, way, way too quick. I would regret that later.

Both hands gripping the bars, her chubby cheeks pressed into the narrow opening between them, lo
oking beyond pathetic, she said, “Please take care of my babies.”

Babies?

SEVEN

Since venturing into the lions’ den does not require a shower, I skipped that. With trepidation that bordered on panic, with knees actually knocking, I donned my L.L. Bean jeans and a blue T-shirt. Normally, I am not an L.L. Bean kind of woman. I prefer designer labels but you go with what works. The plan was to feed the dogs and clean up their pen, then feed Vivian’s cats and change their litter.

Omigod, what had I gotten myself into agreeing to such insanity? I was not an animal person. Because of my allergies, we never had a pet in our house, not even a little hamster. Oh, how I’d wanted a pet when I was a kid, a cute little kitten to cuddle, a puppy to play with and call my own.

My mother had the final word.

I won’t risk it, Nora. Bad enough I had to lay out money for your braces. I refuse to spend time in a doctor’s office because of your allergies. No pets. End of discussion.

To make myself feel better today, sort of better, I concentrated on what I’d do post-animal duty. I decided to prepare what I’d wear. Clothes always made me feel better, like magic. I unpacked the sealed box of clothes that my friend Lori sent from my apartment. Since I figured I was leaving so soon, I hadn’t bothered to open it.

I made selections, and carefully laid them out on the chintz-covered chair. Sand-colored slim jeans wi
th a slight boot cut, a white T-shirt, a cherry-colored, lined, waist-length jacket that I’d picked up for a song at a special sale, along with a pink belt studded with recessed crystals. Nice. I pictured myself wearing these in a few hours. It helped, but not much.

When I decided I’d delayed as long as I could, I rifled through a bag in the back of the closet looking for a working jacket. October is cool in Maine. I found an ancient olive drab jacket with gold buttons that should have been tossed a century ago. A few moth holes decorated the sleeves and
collar, but it would do. The mothball smell did nothing to deter the creatures.

Downstairs I found an old relative’s clunky boots. Perfect. I was good to go.

When Ida saw me, she clasped her hands to her heart. “That jacket belonged to my cousin Sheila. She wore it as a WAC during WWII.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” I said jokingly.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I can handle this,” I assured her. “I’m not incompetent.”

“Oh, I know. Didn’t mean to offend. It’s just your … allergies.”

Okay. She thought I was incompetent.

“WAC?” I asked.

“Women’s Army Corp
s.”

I vaguely remembered that from history class. “Were you a WAC, too?”

“No. Just Sheila.”

“My allergies. I’ll need more protection. I’ll be right back.”

I ran upstairs. I’d wear a mask is what I’d do.

I pawed through my suitcases for something to cover my nose. Found a scarf. No, I
wouldn’t wear a good silk scarf. What if I dropped it, and the dogs ran off with it? A quick, ugly flash of cat and dog hairs, or worse, tooth holes made me shiver. No, my scarves were out. Inspiration finally struck in the most unlikely spot, the underwear section. I grabbed a red bra, tested it over my nose, and decided the little pocket was perfect, better than any scarf. It was like one of those filter masks people wear in a contagion zone. Who would see? No one, that’s who. I stuffed it in my pocket and headed downstairs.

Vivian lived about a half an hour away. I was beginning to think of distance in terms of time, not city blocks or even miles. Interesting.

Since I’d been to Vivian’s a few times, I didn’t have much trouble finding the place. It took about forty minutes. I’m getting better. Although I did come from the opposite direction this time. How that happened, I’m not sure. Maybe I should have called Mary Fran. I slowed as I passed Verney’s house. The yellow crime scene tape was still in place.

I paused at the foot of his driveway. That’s when it hit me. He probably
owned a computer. Assuming he died of natural causes, it might have been overlooked when the body was picked up. What a bonanza that could be. I’d tend to that when I finished at Vivian’s. This whole case might be wrapped up in a day or so.

I’d feed the dogs first. That way if I found a computer I could check it out without worrying about the dogs howling with
hunger.

The barking started as soon as I drove up. Fortunately they were all in the dog pen, locked up. I counted eight dogs. I gave them water first. How easy was this. Just squirt the hose into the water bowls through the chain link fence. Piece of cake.

Next, I took the key from under the front door mat and went inside to the open pantry off the kitchen. I sneezed twice. That was enough. I was prepared, and I intended to do this right. I took the lacy red bra from my pocket, cupped it over my nose, wound the straps around my head and tied them. I tightened it, and anchored it as securely as a boat docked in a high wind. This sucker was not coming off. It would keep out the cat dander and dog hairs quite nicely. One of my best ideas yet.

Ingenuity. It’s what made this country great.

I scooped a huge portion of dog food into a plastic container and took it outside. This might be a little dicey. I had to open the gate, enter, and divide the food among four bowls lined up on the far side. I recognized the gas-passer lying in a corner, alone, eyeing me suspiciously. I’d give him a wide berth.

“Hello, you guys,” I said in my friendliest voice. “My name is Nora. I’ll be your waitress for this meal. You will have to share a bowl with your neighbor. Two to a bowl. No fighting, but the fastest eaters will get the most.”

I unlocked the gate, and opened it wide enough to slip in sideways, then closed it.

They rushed me. Surrounded me.

Holding the plastic bowl over my head, I inched toward the dishes, zigzagging around little heaps of dog dooty.

After being left alone for hours, they were ecstatic about company, even if it was only me. They jumped at my ankles, bouncing and pawing, woofing and yapping, like they’d been stranded on a desert island and I’d arrived with a yacht and a
T-bone.

Then I bent over to distribute the dry dog food.

That’s when it happened.

One little guy jumped at my back, another started licking my face, and a third one, or was it two, came at the hand that held the food. I teetered, took a few steps to the side, and went down on one knee, landing in you-know-what.

One of them got a little paw, or maybe a long nail, caught in the bra strap at the back of my head.

He panicked.

I panicked.

For the others it was time to rock and roll. Lots of jumping, hopping, yipping.

When I tried to free the dog at my back, he started thrashing around like crazy, twisting and turning, howling like a maniac, like I was killing him or something. Off balance, I wobbled on the one knee and flopped to the ground. It was like a signal.

Yipppie,
she’s down on the ground. She wants to play with us.

Omigod. They crawled all over me, barking, licking, prancing, wagging their curly tails. A few were diverted by the food. The one caught in the bra continued to flail and yip. I was so busy holding him and keeping the others at bay, that I wasn’t able to remove the bra from my head. With all the flailing, the bra cup slipped back and hooked under my nose. I could hardly breathe.

From the corner of my eye, I saw an SUV pull up. Relief mixed with dread.

“Holy shit. What are you doing?” Nick yelled above the fray as he jumped from his vehicle and ran to the fence.

“Sunbathing,” I gasped in a nasally voice. “What does it look like?”

“You have a bra on your head,” he remarked as he moved toward the gate.

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” I wheezed, awkwardly holding the squirming dog behind my head. “Don’t just stand there. Get in here and help.”

The dogs rushed him as he opened the gate. I thought he was moving more slowly than the situation warranted. For a first responder, he was very slow.

Yippee. Someone else has come to play with us.

“Hurry. Get this dog off my head.”

My nose was stretched to the limit. I wondered about the possibility of having a permanent crease in it. I might need nose surgery, rhinoplasty, I think it’s called.

“I have him,” he said, lifting the squirming puppy. “His nails are caught. Let go. Take your bra off.”

He laughed at his own words. Men are so juvenile sometimes.

In seconds I was on my feet, the red lace bra in my hand.

Nick set the dog down and studied me a moment.

“A bra on your head? That’s something I haven’t seen before.”

“I happened to have an extra one just laying around,” I said as I stepped outside the pen and latched the door. “And I thought it would look nice hooked under my nose.”

“Well, it certainly did. Quite the fashion statement. You New York women are definitely avant-garde.”

With all the dignity I could muster, I headed to the house, rubbing my sore nose, wondering about the crease and the possibility that my nose was bigger than the last time I’d looked in a mirror.

What a crappy day. It could not possibly get any worse.

I opened Vivian’s front door.

“Nicky, darling,” a woman trilled from his SUV. “What’s going on?”