The Devil's Puzzle (12 page)

I didn’t care about any discussion, disagreeable or not. I was desperate to get out of there and head to Jesse. “Glad,” I said, “I’ve been waiting since four o’clock, and now I have somewhere to go . . .”

“Yes, I’m sorry about the mix-up, Nell. I meant to call you at the shop and forgot.” It was an unusual admission of failure and it left me unsure of what to say. “Just give me a few minutes,” she continued. “I have some very important news to tell all of you as soon as the mayor arrives.”

I reached for my phone and texted Jesse. “Skeleton may be Winston Roemer. Glad ID’d.” Then I sent the same text to Carrie and Natalie, with an additional line: “Maggie shook up at mention of his name.”

I could have—and maybe should have—given Jesse that last line of information, but I didn’t want him thinking I considered Maggie a suspect. It was suspicious, though. Why would the mere mention of Grace’s son have gotten such a strange reaction from her? Even now, as we waited for the mayor to arrive, I could see Maggie sitting tense and angry. And why was Glad so shook up? I knew almost nothing about Grace’s children except that they would have been much older than Glad. I shifted in my seat and tried to focus on the meeting, not my growing desire to ask questions of everyone present.

“Sorry. Sorry, everyone,” Larry announced as he walked in the room with doughnuts. He was followed closely by Molly, loaded down with a cardboard tray filled with cups of to-go coffee. “We stopped at Jitters to pick these up and got talking. Everyone wants something from me. They think their public officials should be able to solve any problem.” He laughed and gestured for Molly to sit, while the rest of us went after the coffee and doughnuts.

Except for Glad. She was sizing up Molly, and Molly was doing the same in return. Neither woman seemed very impressed with the other.

“You’ve obviously met Glad,” I said to Molly.

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s chairing this committee to create the anniversary celebration. You’re the intern who is helping with it. Or did I misunderstand the mayor?”

“You didn’t misunderstand, Nell,” the mayor answered for Molly.

“You just jumped the gun. I haven’t had a chance to share our good news about having an intern. It’s going to take a load of work off everyone’s shoulders to have someone full-time to help coordinate our little shindig.”

“Always glad of the help.” Glad glanced toward Molly but didn’t smile. If Molly was insulted or intimidated, though, she didn’t show it. Glad turned to the rest of us. “Now that we’re all here, I suggest we each report on the progress of our events. How about you first, Maggie?”

Maggie cleared her throat. “I’m handling the church bazaar. I’ve decided to focus on selling handmade things, such as knitted scarves, artwork, pottery, and the like. The high school art classes are all working on small pieces that can be sold, and I’m putting in several of my quilts. And of course if anyone has pieces they would like to donate for sale, the money raised will be used to make some muchneeded repairs of the oldest headstones in the cemetery.”

“I’m sure everyone at the shop will want to donate something,” I said to Maggie. “And I have some paintings I’ve done. Nothing amazing, but you’re welcome to them.”

Maggie gave me a tense smile. “That would be wonderful, Nell. Thank you. And the big news is that Oliver White has agreed to donate a small painting of the town square he’s working on. If we sell raffle tickets . . .”

Glad jumped in. “We could make thousands on that alone. That is amazing! We must make sure the New York and Boston media know that Oliver White is a resident of Archers Rest.”

“He isn’t actually a resident,” I told her, leaving out the word “yet.”

“He’s practically one,” Glad said. “He’s here all the time. Some sort of acquaintance of your grandmother, isn’t he?”

“He’s her . . .” I stumbled, hating the endless search for a simple answer when I so desperately wanted to say “fiancé.” “He’s her boyfriend.”

Glad rolled her eyes, then, obviously unwilling to discuss the matter further, turned to Ed. “And Ed, how is the parade coming?”

He nodded slightly. “The school marching band, the cheerleaders, and the fire department are all ready to go. I need to order flags and secure the permits from the police chief, but I’m not expecting a problem.”

“And yet problems occur, don’t they? Are you able to handle the carnival as well?” Glad asked. “I’m so worried that could turn out to be a distraction from the important events that day.”

He turned a little red. “I think it will be fun,” he said. “I’ve booked a very reliable vendor for rides, and several prize booths. I’d love to have a dunking booth with some of our more esteemed citizens as the draw. If anyone would like to be dunked . . .”

“I’m in.” The mayor grabbed his second doughnut and laughed.

Ed turned to me. “Do you think Jesse would do it?”

“I can ask him,” I said. “He might be busy with work.”

“He’ll have sorted out the skeleton thing by then,” Ed said confidently. “He’s a smart guy.”

“Hopefully,” I said. “I know he’s trying, but there have been a few things happening around town that have taken his attention.”

“There are a lot of people with parking tickets who might want to see Jesse get all wet, so he’ll just have to make sure he’s available,” the mayor said. “That’s the sort of thing that shows what a nice town we are. What good people we are. I like it, Ed.”

Glad sighed loudly. “I suppose,” she said. “And Mayor, are you ready with the press releases?”

“Ready to be printed whenever we have all the details worked out. I’ve contacted papers in a fifty-mile radius to let them know about the celebration,” he said. “I’ve also booked the fireworks display for nine p.m. on the Fourth. Right over the Hudson River, same as last year, but bigger. Much bigger.”

“But tasteful,” Glad said. “I hope.”

The mayor gave Glad a small, almost unnoticeable look of disdain, then quickly smiled. “I’ve been taking care of the fireworks for years, Gladys. Nothing to worry about. I’ve also had these made.”

He dropped a half-dozen campaign-style buttons on the table. Each was a photo of the gazebo in the town park and read: ARCHERS REST: 350 YEARS OF AMERICAN LIFE.

“They’re nice,” I said.

“Do we need these?” Ed asked. “It’s another expense. Shouldn’t we have voted on it?”

Larry chuckled. “Honestly, Ed, you can’t nickel-and-dime everything in life. You have to spend money to make money.” I could see Ed grit his teeth. “Besides,” Larry continued, “I only had these few made, at my own personal expense. I’m bringing them here to see if we want to get them made for the celebration. Everyone take one and look at it up close. It’s a really nice little piece. Same guy who does my reelection buttons.”

We each took one and examined it. They were nice. I didn’t know what it cost to make them, nor did I really care. I had a skeleton with a possible ID and I needed to talk to Jesse. As we started to hand them back, Larry put up his hand.

“Keep ’em. If we decide to get these made, we’ll have plenty more.”

“They’re lovely,” Glad said as she pinned one to her blouse. “I vote yes. Let’s move on.” Without waiting for the rest of us to vote, Glad turned to me and said, “Nell and I spoke yesterday. She has assured me the quilt show is coming along quite nicely.”

“Except for a location,” I admitted, as I dropped the button into my purse. “The parade is using the high school to set up and the church is having the bazaar, so I’m going to chat with Dru about using the library . . .”

“That’s fine,” Glad cut me off. “And I have some news.”

She sat back in her chair as we all waited, but Glad just sat there, relishing the anticipation.

“Well, what is it, Glad?” the mayor finally asked.

She smiled. “I’ve convinced my husband that we should donate a statue of John Archer to be placed in the park near the gazebo. It will be unveiled after the parade.”

“Does anyone know what he looked like?” Ed asked.

“He was obviously a strong-looking man.” Glad’s jaw clenched as she spoke. “Tall, a full head of gray hair, strong jaw. Masculine. Dutch extract. I think we can assume these things.”

“Why can we assume that?” I asked.

She looked through me. “Because we know what he did. The sacrifices he made. Only a certain kind of man would do what he did.”

“A man with a full head of gray hair?” I could see it was annoying Glad, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Maybe we could draw a pentagram on the ground around the statue and give him a broom and a big pointy hat,” Larry said. “Salem has made quite the tourist trade out of that kind of thing.”

“He was not a Satan-worshipping witch,” Glad spat out.

“I don’t think witches are Satan worshippers,” Ed said, chuckling. “I think that’s something different altogether, though I can see how people mix them up, since they both wear black a lot and do things in the forest.” He turned to the mayor. “We really need to find out exactly what John Archer was up to so we can be historically accurate. Maybe he left a spell book . . .”

“This is absurd.” Glad’s face was getting redder.

“That’s enough.” Larry glanced at Glad and blushed. “John Archer, whatever his personal views, was the founding father of our town. As mayor, I will not have him mocked.” Given that he had just been doing some of the mocking, his sudden sternness was more comic than serious. At least to everyone but Glad.

“Thank you, Larry.” Glad put her hand over her heart. “It’s so important to preserve the image of this good man.”

“But,” Larry continued, “if you don’t mind my saying so, Glad, the man you’re describing sounds a lot like your late father.”

She snorted. “Well, if none of you think it’s a good idea, far be it from me to overrule the committee. But I do want to point out that I was planning to pay for the statue with my own personal funds and the donations of some leading citizens.” Glad stood up. “But obviously a tasteful statue that honors our founding father doesn’t fit into the mayor’s plan, which is to turn the town into an amusement park.”

At that she grabbed her Louis Vuitton handbag and left the room.

“So what do we do now?” Molly asked the mayor.

Larry frowned. “We keep doing what we’re doing. The thing that’s going to get people up here is the events—the carnival, the parade, the quilt show. People are going to want to shop, eat lunch, and see a nice fireworks display. That’s how we hook ’em. Not a single person will drive three hours from New York to see a statue.”

“Maybe I should talk to her,” I suggested. “I was a little rude with the comment about the hair.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Larry said. “My fault, actually, with the crack about her father. But I swear she was describing him perfectly.”

Maggie smiled. “She really was. I remember him. Bit of a spineless fellow, I thought, despite the strong jaw. Though with Glad, her mother, and her sister always picking at him, it’s a wonder he functioned at all.”

Larry grabbed the last doughnut. “Well, since Glad isn’t here to do it, I officially adjourn this meeting. Great job, everybody.”

We exited the conference room as a group. I wanted to talk to Maggie and Ed, but now was not the time. Instead I went looking for Dru to ask about using the library for the quilt show. But I was too late. Dru was deeply engrossed in a conversation with Molly, and they both were looking in the direction of the broken glass case. Molly handed Dru the anniversary button the mayor had given us and Dru pinned it to her sweater. They looked very chummy. They, like everyone else in the library, were gossiping about the break-in. Even Maggie and Ed were looking over the damage. Only Glad left the building without even glancing at the mess.

CHAPTER 19

“W
ash the lettuce, will you, Nell?” Eleanor directed me around the kitchen as we prepared for Oliver and Jesse to arrive.

“How’s the salmon looking?” I asked.

“Wonderful. And the rice is coming along nicely,” she answered. “When you finish with the salad, check the asparagus.”

“No problem.”

It had been like this all afternoon. We talked constantly but said nothing of substance to each other. I was dying to speak to Jesse about Winston Roemer but had only gotten a short text in reply to mine: “Thanks. Checking into it. Love you.” Carrie had sent her own text: “Natalie and I are on it. Good luck with dinner.” But that was all I’d heard since leaving the library.

The dinner had been planned as a gentle push to get information from Eleanor about the summer of 1975, when the body had likely been placed in the garden. But now that we might be able to put a name to the skeleton, it was all I could do not to mention it while Eleanor and I were alone in the kitchen. The only reason I didn’t was because there was a chance—maybe a good chance—that Glad had been wrong.

Whatever thought I had to bring it up ended when Oliver arrived. He brought a large bouquet of flowers for Eleanor and—smart man that he was—a brand-new bone for Barney. Jesse was only a few minutes behind him, with a bottle of wine and an excited look on his face.

“I was thinking we could take a walk before dinner,” he said.

“No way,” Eleanor called out. “Dinner will be ready in less than ten minutes. Open the wine and put the plates on the dining room table. That will keep you occupied until I’m ready.”

With Oliver and Eleanor wandering in and out of the room, Jesse and I were forced to keep our conversation to non-skeleton-related topics, such as my meeting at the library and Glad’s strange offer to build a statue that would, apparently, be more a tribute to her father than to the town’s founder.

“He was an awfully nice man,” Eleanor said once we’d sat down to eat.

“I thought you said he was a soft touch who spoiled his daughters,” I told her.

“He did. But he was also a nice man,” Eleanor said. “He gave me a loan to open the shop, and I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”