Lethal Lineage (17 page)
I checked development permits the next day. There was no point in going over all the deeds again. I had pored over abstract histories and ownership claims for those forty acres when we began sorting out land issues for St. Helena. I wanted to know if anyone had ever applied for drilling permits for oil wells.
They hadn’t. Nor had there ever been nearby archeological discoveries.
While driving home, I swung by St. Helena again, hoping to find Talesbury there alone. I had a faint hope that if I approached him in a nonthreatening way, treated him as I would a person reluctant to give an oral history, he might talk to me.
His car wasn’t there. But the KBI was now in charge of the investigation and Talesbury was already undoubtedly a “person of interest.” During that trip to Topeka no doubt he had gone through an extensive interrogation.
I had my own set of questions, but after Deal had finished denigrating my abilities, I doubted the agency would be eager to share any of Talesbury’s answers with me, despite Dimon’s apology to Sam. Nor, apparently, were they interested in contacting me to see if I had discovered new information.
***
We ate in silence, missing Josie, missing Tosca. Keith rose and carried his dishes to the sink.
He stood braced against the counter, his brow wrinkled, whistling a tune I didn’t recognize. “I have an idea, Lottie. While it’s still daylight, let’s grab that old metal detector I have in the barn and do some snooping.”
“Good idea.” I sprang to my feet. “Terrific in fact. I understand why Talesbury wants the land, but not why Deal would go to so much trouble to back him.” However, I wasn’t so naïve as to assume one could just walk up to some old farmer and try to buy a little piece of land. I’d thought that when I first came out here, but land is treated like family jewels.
Irwin Deal wasn’t rich and neither was Talesbury, but they seemed to be ready to pay whatever lawyers’ bills came their way to lay claim to a worthless piece of dirt.
Keith’s metal detector had excellent depth sensitivity. But it was hand-held and heavy and I wasn’t able to manage it well for long periods of time. What’s more, I had no interest in treasure hunting. Normally, Keith didn’t either, but some of his buddies had managed to lure him into an occasional outing.
Although I’d ignored most of his explanations about his detector I knew it could be set to reject iron objects such as nails and other loose trash, and that his model actually could burrow into the ground.
At the church yard we worked for four hours. He moved the instrument and I dug when the frequency indicated some sort of a find. After the sun set all we had to show for time spent was a handful of very ordinary American coins, a couple of spoons, and sore backs.
“There’s better equipment than mine,” Keith said on the way home. “Riding ones. Really good. Do you want me to check it out?”
“No. I’ll tell the KBI we went over the property in case they’re interested, but realistically, Talesbury’s claim on the glebe doesn’t have that much to do with a murder investigation.”
“We’ve covered all the bases,” Keith said firmly. “Just like we should. If I get any more ideas, I’ll follow up on them too.”
I smiled and looked out the window at the full moon. Keith really was the best deputy we could have hoped for. I was thinking about giving him a raise.
***
Sam Abbott came to the historical society the next day. I glanced at the clock when he stepped through the door. “Am I supposed to be there? Instead of here?”
He laughed. “Nope. Just wanted to tell you that Agent Dimon called again. Betty’s dispatching and all ears, as usual. I was about to leave for lunch so I thought I would just come over and tell you in person.”
“Well, what?”
“You already know there wasn’t a trace of any poison on any of the ceremonial trappings.”
“I knew that. But did they look at the items in the plastic sack that Reverend Mary planned to deliver after the service?”
“They did, but there was nothing there either.”
“I didn’t think there was. I made a list and replaced all of the things and called every family. All of them were expecting Reverend Mary to bring supplies later that afternoon. I couldn’t deliver the items then, but I took care of it the next day.”
“Dimon says he can’t see how anyone could have done this. He’ll be out in person to interview Edna Mavery.”
“She’s not up to it.”
“Has to be, Lottie.” He dug the toe of his boot on the floor and seriously studied the stitching. “This is a murder investigation. She has to pull herself together. They’ll use a hypnotist if they have to.”
***
He left. I had one more idea. I called the KBI and asked for Agent Dimon.
He seemed pleasant enough, so maybe Deal hadn’t done me as much harm as I’d thought.
“Were there injection marks on Mary Farnsworth’s body?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “There weren’t.”
“Did you check her fingers?”
“I’m sure we did. Why? What are you thinking?”
“There was a diabetic kit in that plastic sack. It was labeled ‘Bertha Summers.’ She is a new diabetic and Mary was bringing her a monitor, but I’m wondering if there was something on the retractable pen that pricks for blood samples.”
He laughed. “We’re way ahead of you, Miss Albright. That was one of the first things we looked at. We also tested her lipstick formula, the antibiotic salve, and even the baby aspirin. Everything. I mean everything.”
***
I called Margaret and asked if she would be free to come in a couple of hours. She said she didn’t see why not since she practically lived there anyway and people just naturally expected her to be at their beck and call.
It took several minutes to soothe her, praise her, and pamper her enough to coax her to come in. We don’t run the historical society like it’s a hobby. It’s open during the posted hours. But I needed to call on Edna. Perhaps there was some way to prepare that poor woman for a visit from the KBI. I had to try.
***
Inez Wilson, our county health nurse met me at the door. “Well look who the cat’s drug in. Come in, Lottie.” Inez twisted her thin angular body to yell across the room. “Edna, you have a visitor.”
Edna sat in her overstuffed chair, with a pile of magazines, a jar of Vicks, and her reading glasses on a TV tray beside her. Her feet rested on a footstool in front of her. Inez frowned. She bent over and grabbed a little fold of Edna’s cheek and gave it a little shake.
“And I think I know someone who needs cheering up. Someone who needs a little bit of sunshine. Yes we do!”
I took a deep breath.
“Someone is being a little bit stubborn about rehabilitation. Yes we are.” Inez folded her arms across her chest and looked resentfully down at her charge. “Someone doesn’t appreciate the lovely thoughtful ladies who come over with food every day. No, we don’t.”
“Inez. I’ll be here for several hours. I know you have other people to see. Why don’t you go on?” I’m used to being pleasant to people. Used to resisting the impulse to pound the hell out of them.
She brightened. “If you’re sure.”
“I am. I don’t mind.”
She walked over to the table and grabbed her purse. “I have two ladies lined up to stay here.” She raised her voice, making sure Edna heard. “Perhaps you can convince someone to make caretakers’ jobs a little easier by smiling a little. Being mindful of blessings.”
She left. Tears stung my eyes. I could see the red light glowing on a percolator in the kitchen. I walked over and poured a cup of coffee and sat at Edna’s dining room table opposite her chair for a couple of minutes before I approached her. She sat staring straight ahead.
“Would you like tea? Can I get you anything?
She slowly moved her head to look at me. Tears streamed down her withered cheeks.
I went to her and knelt beside her. I didn’t speak, but simply held her hand. Then I reached for tissues and dabbed at her eyes.
“He was here,” she said finally. Her voice was weak, but clear. “He was here.”
“Who, Edna? Who?” My throat tightened. The man? The mysterious man?
“My son. Stuart. He was here.”
Relieved that a stranger hadn’t come into her house, I was nevertheless puzzled by her distress. “Yes, he stayed here overnight when you were in the hospital.”
She continued to weep.
I stood and walked back over to the table. There was a sheet of dismissal instructions. I picked them up and waved them at her. “Would you mind if I read these?”
She stared straight ahead and didn’t answer.
I skimmed the information. “You need to walk a little. Would you like me to help you over to the table? Can you use your walker as well as you did before?”
She did not reply. I studied her tear-lined face, then pulled a straight backed chair over to her and sat down.
“What’s wrong, Edna? Why are you upset that Stuart was here.” I knew her son and daughter-in-law visited several times a year and her grandchildren showed up once in a while. Just five years ago, she’d had Christmas at her house.
“He went through my things,” she said. “My papers.”
“I’m sure he felt he had to, Edna. He wants to give you the very best of care and it’s important that he have an accurate picture of your finances.”
It wasn’t my place and it might not have been the right time to discuss moving on to a different life, but I refused to treat this woman like an child incapable of making intelligent decisions. Her body might have deteriorated, but not her mind. So I slogged on.
“Have you given any thought to where you might like to go if you can’t stay here?”
“He went through my papers. He found everything. Everything.”
I knew at once she was referring to papers relating to the mental institution.
“He thinks I was crazy now. Crazy.”
“He doesn’t, Edna.” Deciding immediately—now that secrets had been broached—I told her how I knew of Stuart’s discovery.
“When your son told me about it, we both scoffed at any such diagnosis. Not that it’s a disgrace, but in our present society, you would have been given an antidepressant or some other medication if that was the problem.”
“There wasn’t a problem,” she said fiercely. “There never was. Henry did it to me. He just decided. He got meaner and meaner. It didn’t happen all at once.”
Shocked. I sat there with my hands pressed between my knees.
“It was my fault to begin with. We didn’t have kids and didn’t have kids and it like to drove Henry crazy. I didn’t bring up adopting. Didn’t have to ask how he felt about it. I knew. He put great stock in breeding. Pure lines. He wouldn’t have married me if he didn’t think I’d make a good breeder.”
I quivered in the presence of her torn soul, sensing she had never told all this to another person.
“It was terrible. Terrible times. He kept track. Mounted me like…” She shuddered. “We never had no babies, but I had my little chicks. My flowers. Not saying that was enough. Just saying I had them, that’s all.”
“Could you have gone back to your folks, Edna?” She managed a weak smile and shook her head.
“Why? What would I say? That Henry was disappointed that I couldn’t have kids? That he was mean to me? Lots of men was mean to their wives. He wasn’t a drunk. He didn’t hit me.”
“But,” I protested.
“No but. There was no good reason to leave that man.”
“Then one day it happened. I was able to tell Henry I was expecting. Things changed. I was an older mother. I was in my late thirties by then. We was both worried that something would be wrong with the baby. When little Oliver was born, a dandy little boy. Well, I can tell you, things changed.”
She smiled a little half-smile with the memory, no longer as agitated as she was when she began.
It would be good for her to cling to pleasant memories for a little while. I rose. “Be back in second. I’m going to warm up my coffee.”
I sat across from her again, hoping she wouldn’t stop before she explained being in an institution.
“When my little Mary Claire came along I had everything and Henry didn’t seem so bad. A lot of women had it worse. Much, much worse. Now I had babies and little chicks and flowers, and it was plenty. Plenty good enough. He was a good provider. We was never hungry.”
Plenty good enough
. A phrase I heard all the time from older persons. Perhaps it was. But women didn’t have to settle for “plenty good enough” any more. Our standards had changed.
“Oh we was a caution me and the kids.” Her eyes misted. Her mouth quivered. “We had fun. I taught them how to fish, and we hunted for mushrooms, and we chased butterflies and fireflies. There were Monarchs then and…”
Alarmed by the sudden cascade of tears, I rose and went to her and pressed her head against my chest. “Let’s quit for today, Edna. I’ll be back.”
Sobs shook her frail body.
“I noticed on your sheet that Mrs. Hargraves will be here in twenty minutes. Do you know her?”
She nodded. “She lives over in the next block.”
“Do you like her?”
She nodded again.
“Fine. She’ll be here overnight. And she’ll be fixing your supper.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Not now, perhaps, but try to eat something later. Let me tidy up a bit and I’m going to get a damp washcloth for your face.” Appearances mattered to the frail little woman. She had spent most of her marriage keeping up a front. “Then we’ll comb your hair. You’ll look just fine by the time she gets here.”
***
I went straight home and called Agent Dimon and didn’t mince words.
“I understand it’s essential to interview Edna Mavery. But as undersheriff of this county, I insist on being present. So will her son and an attorney.”
“We are not your adversary, Miss Albright. After talking with you yesterday, we’d already planned to send a woman trained in elder interrogation techniques.”
***
After we hung up, I called Stuart and explained the situation. “Something goes wrong when I ask about that man. She’s frightened. I’m sure I caused her TIA by pressing her too hard.”
“Nonsense, you didn’t cause anything. But I sure don’t want to take any chances, especially after learning she’s had mental health issues in the past.”
Miserable with the weight of the day, I didn’t know how I should respond. I yearned to simply get everything out in the open.
“I need to be there,” he said. “I’ll leave Wichita early tomorrow morning. And I agree about her needing an attorney. Who do you recommend?”
“Curtis Matthews hasn’t been in town long, so he’s just now building a practice. I’ve heard good things about him. Try him first. I’ll bet he’s looking for business.”
***
When we all gathered at Edna’s the next day, Mrs. Hargraves had her charge looking her best. Her hair was freshly shampooed and coaxed into sweet sausage curls. Her soft pink, bias trimmed, starched housedress was spotless. Her walker and the table beside her chair were the most visible signs of her declining health.
Stuart stood in back of his mother’s chair with one hand on her shoulder. Edna reached for it, tilted her head and kissed his palm. Then she released it, squared her little shoulders and tried to rearrange herself in the chair. We all instinctively sprang forward to help, laughed, then stepped back to let Stuart hoist his mother into a more comfortable position.
I winced. A mere two weeks ago this woman had managed to walk down an aisle, kneel—although with excruciating difficulty—then attend a picnic.
The KBI agent, Nancy Brooks, looked at me, attorney Curtis Matthews, Stuart, Mrs. Hargraves, hesitated, then took a deep breath. She was a small blond-headed woman with neat short hair. She wore a navy blue pantsuit and carried a brown leather shoulder bag. Dressed normal. That would set well with Edna.
Brooks located a wall socket and plugged in a cassette recorder. She noticed my surprised look.
“Backup, Miss Albright. We don’t take chances.” She pulled a tiny digital recorder out of her briefcase and smiled as she waved it at me. “In fact, we’re just a couple of months away from adding video capability for situations just like this.”
She recorded her own preliminary remarks and identification, then asked Edna her name and address.
Edna spoke clearly, but with hesitation. As though recalling even these details made her uncomfortable.
“Were you present on Sunday, March 14, 2010, at the new church known as St. Helena?”
“Yes,” Edna said. “And I kneeled too. I managed to kneel. Like I should. Just want everyone to know I was in better shape back then. A lot better shape.”
Agent Brooks smiled. I liked this lady a lot. As Agent Dimon had said, we were all on the same side. I was starting to relax. We all were. Then Brooks asked Edna to describe the man kneeling next to her.
“I can’t remember,” she said. “I just can’t. He was normal. Just normal. Average.”
Brooks pressed. “What do you mean by normal, Mrs. Mavery? Explain average? Do you mean he knew what to do during the service.”
“I can’t remember. He just wasn’t special. I didn’t pay any attention. If he wasn’t normal, I’d of remembered that. But I don’t. All I cared about was that we was having communion with a real priest in a real church and I wanted to get down that aisle without falling over. And I wanted to kneel like a proper Episcopalian.”
Alarmed by Edna’s flushed face, Brooks reached to stop the tape.
“No, leave it on,” Curtis Matthews said sharply. Brooks drew back her hand. “Finish this up right now,” Matthews continued, “ask those questions you feel you must ask, then please leave Mrs. Mavery alone.”
“All right,” she said. “Do you think you would recognize this man if you saw him again?”
“No.”
“For the record Mrs. Mavery, you’ve told the Carlton County authorities that the man said something to Reverend Mary Farnsworth. Do you recall those words?”
“Yes,” Edna whispered. “Oh yes. They caused a heart attack.”
Brooks looked at me. I gave my head a miniscule shake, indicating we had simply decided not to tell Edna Reverend Mary had been murdered.
Brooks drew a pen from her pocket and made a quick note on a legal pad and passed it to me. However, she did not turn off the tape.
“It might not matter,” she’d written. I looked up at her and nodded, hoping my eyes reflected my appreciation. Brooks was here to gather Edna’s testimony. That was all. What Edna Mavery saw and heard that day would not change one whit by knowing it was murder, not a heart attack. In fact, her knowing that might complicate matters.
“Mrs. Mavery, would you please repeat those words?”
Edna trembled and closed her eyes. Then she opened them and pressed her handkerchief over her mouth. Then she put it on the tray and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “They was ‘I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done.’”
She began sobbing.
“That is all, Mrs. Mavery. Thank you very much. This concludes the interview,” Brooks said hastily before she turned off both recorders. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead.
Silently she gathered up the equipment and stuffed it into her briefcase. We went into the kitchen.
“Thank you. You did a good job.”
“Some days I hate my work,” she said. “I didn’t sign up to give little old ladies a hard time.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s a long drive back. May I beg a cup of coffee before I go?”
“Of course. And really, it went better than I thought it would. Are you making any progress finding this man?”
“No. This is the most screwed up investigation I’ve ever been involved with.” Professional, crisp, she was clearly troubled, the kind who wouldn’t tolerate incompetence. “Too many bumbles.”
She raised the palm of her hand to cut me off when I started to defend our procedures. “Please,” she said, “don’t take this personally. We’re not saying there’s something your people should have done differently. We’re just saying everything has been screwed up from the start.”
“I know that.”
“The team has pored over all the details. If any one of us had been in your shoes, we’d have assumed this was a natural death from the beginning too.”
“And the coroner had no basis for thinking otherwise,” I added. “Or he would have had a KBI agent there to observe.”
“We understand that. We do. Lottie? It’s Lottie, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And you are Nancy?” She’d given me her card when she walked in the door.
“Yes.” She inclined her head toward the living room. “I need to get back in there and say my goodbyes before I head toward Topeka.”
“It’s that locked anteroom that threw us.”
“It’s the stranger that’s throwing me. I can’t believe someone didn’t bring a guest book that day.”
She smiled. “If someone had murder on his mind, I can’t imagine that he would have stopped to sign a guest book.”