Barbara Levenson - Mary Magruder Katz 03 - Outrageous October (6 page)

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CHAPTER

NINETEEN

It was after three o’clock when we returned to Lucy’s house. I had acquired two mystery novels from the Dartmouth Bookstore where I found more books than I’d ever seen under one roof. I had also purchased an expensive pair of Ugg boots and a warm leather jacket. The credit card slips in the bags made me aware that I had just spent more money on myself than my usual twice a year sale shopping. This is a vacation so a little extravagance won’t kill me, I rationalized.

As Sam and I entered the kitchen, I realized that the dirty dishes in the sink were gone. They had been placed back in the cupboard.

“Maybe Lucy’s caretaker doubles as a maid,” I said to Sam “Lucy never mentioned anything about someone coming in to clean the house. I certainly wasn’t expecting maid service. I guess Lucy remembered about our sloppy habits.” Sam looked disinterested and I realized that I was doing more conversing with my dog lately, sort of like an old maid cat lady.

I went to the hall phone to try to call Lucy, but it still had no dial tone. My cell phone showed no service as well.

Now I can’t communicate with Lucy or anyone else until I go back down to the village tomorrow, I thought. I glanced down on the hall table and saw a stack of mail next to the phone. There were several letters and bills. The top one was addressed to Carolyn Brousseau. The next one was addressed to The Brousseau Family. My heart jumped. Why wasn’t the mail addressed to the Sterns? Wasn’t Brousseau the name of the woman who was murdered? What was mail addressed to a murder victim doing in Lucy Stern’s house? My heart raced into panic mode.

Sam and I heard a loud thump, like a door slamming. Sam’s ears shot up and he bolted up the front stairway, barking loudly. He stopped in front of the locked door, his hair on end. Then he went into full bark and growl attack, pawing at the door. He looked exactly like he does when the Florida Power and Light guy comes to read the meter.

I grabbed Sam’s collar and dragged him away from the door before he left his scratch marks imbedded in the old wood. I tripped as we tussled down the front stairway. Back in the front hall, I remembered the stack of mail and picked it up. There was an electric bill, a statement from a brokerage house, and two ads. I stood there trying to figure out how that mail got into this house. Then I heard footsteps on the back stairs.

I grabbed the stack of mail and grabbed Sam by his collar. Sam pulled me through the front door. The mail, Sam, and I tumbled into the SUV. Lucy had told me that all the village mail was picked up at the post office. There is no delivery on the mountain roads. Margaret, the post office person, needed to explain where this mail came from and I had to escape from the house of strange noises.

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CHAPTER

TWENTY

I left Sam in the car, grabbed the mail and entered the post office. One side contained all the mail boxes for the village. The other side had a high counter and the usual post office signs and stamp pictures.

Margaret was busy dispensing stamps and chit-chat to an older couple. She looked over at me.

“Hi, Mary, is everything okay? You’re as white as a newly fallen snow.”

“I’m not sure. I have a question for you, but I’ll wait ‘til you’re free.”

“No problem the woman said. Go ahead and help her, Margaret.”

“Mary, meet John and Emma Collins. They live up the hill from the Sterns’ house.”

“Oh, you must be the visitor Jack was opening the house for. You’re from Miami where Lucy lives, right?”

I couldn’t get used to everyone knowing who I was and where I was staying,

“I don’t mean to intrude on you but I found this mail in Lucy’s front hall and when I saw the Brousseau name, well, isn’t that the woman who was murdered last year? Why would this be in the Sterns’ house?”

The Collins and Margaret looked at the letters and looked at each other.

“What would the Sterns be doing with the Brousseau mail? “ Margaret looked over her glasses at me as if I were a suspect in a mail theft.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here asking you,” I said.

“Just a minute. Tell me what house you’re staying in,” Emma Collins said.

“Lucy Stern’s house,” I answered.

“No, I mean describe the house. How did you get to it?”

“I went up the River Road. I counted the driveways after I left the village. When I got to the third one I turned right and followed it up the hill ‘til I came to the house. It’s a white farm house with a big porch around three sides, and there’s a red barn on the side.”

Margaret and the Collins looked at each other. John Collins shook his head. Margaret was trying to stifle a laugh.

Emma finally turned to me. “Honey, you’re in the wrong house. You’ve been staying in the old Brousseau place. Lucy’s house is up the next dirt road from where you turned. Lucy’s house is a two story federal style house with an attached garage.”

The two women stared at me. I guessed they thought I was some flakey airhead like they see on TV shows about South Beach.

There was a long silence. Then John Collins spoke up. “Don’t feel bad. It’s easy to miss Sugar Hill. That’s the road to Lucy’s house. Those sharp turns on River Road can throw you. But no harm done. No one stays in Carolyn’s house since the murder.”

“This just isn’t possible. Lucy told me the house would be all ready for me, and when I got there, there was a fire in the fireplace and wine on the table.”

“Well, Tom Brousseau owns that house now. That’s Carolyn’s son, but he left here right after the funeral and no one’s seen him around here since. He’s got some caretaker, but it isn’t one of us. He hired some fancy agency, I hear. Serves him right if his caretaker is using his house,” John said.

“Oh my God, are you telling me I’ve been staying in the house where Carolyn Brousseau was murdered?” I’m not squeamish about the details of a murder. I hear plenty of that, courtesy of my clients. But when it comes to paying overnight visits to murder scenes, my stomach lurches.

“Is there some other family around here that uses the house? I’ve been hearing a lot of strange noises.”

“Nope, no other family exists. Carolyn’s husband died a few years before her. They only had the one son, Thomas. He lives somewhere around Boston, I hear,” John said.

“Well, he was at the funeral,” Margaret interrupted.

“Yeah, well he hasn’t been seen since. Folks say he’s just disappeared. He and Carolyn had a falling out right after he quit Dartmouth. I heard he was going to some art institute down in Boston. He never came up to see his ma before the murder. Of course, some folks think he’s the one that did it.”

“John, you are a terrible gossip. And they talk about women.” Emma scowled at him. “You shouldn’t be spreading rumors to this poor girl. She looks upset enough.”

Emma took John’s arm and started moving him toward the door.

“Maybe the place is haunted. Carolyn’s ghost roaming around her house,” John said, as Emma shoved him through the post office door.

I felt a chill run through my body. Maybe all those house noises hadn’t been mice in the attic.

“Maybe someone rents the house. How would the son take care of everything from down in Boston?” I said trying to use my practical lawyer’s mind.

“If anyone knows about the house it’d be the lawyer who handled Carolyn’s affairs,” Margaret said.

“Who is that?” I asked

“Only two lawyers in the village, Dash Mellman and Leroy Poston. Has to be one or the other. Dash’s office is right down the road in the yellow house with the rocking chairs on the front porch.”

“I’ve got to get my stuff out of that Brousseau house right away, but maybe I can catch the lawyer down the road as long as I’m here.”

“Sure. Maybe he knows what’s going on in the Brousseau house and it’ll set your mind at ease. Let me know what you find out. What about that mail? Shouldn’t you give it to me?”

“I will later, but if this Mellman guy is the lawyer for the Brousseau family, maybe he needs to see it.”

I gathered an impatient Sam out of the car and we walked down the road to the yellow house.

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CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

The sign on the porch of the yellow house said “Daniel ‘Dash’ Mellman, Attorney at Law.”

I opened the front door and stepped into what once must have been the entry hall of a Victorian house. Now it was a reception area. A woman with grey hair done in what used to be called a beehive hairdo was on the phone.

I waited as patiently as I could, tapping my foot and eyeing the woman who had no intention of pausing in her conversation. “I told her no one makes blueberry jam like Edith. She grows those berries on her own property, some special plants she originated and she said—”

Sam decided not to wait for a further introduction. He put his front paws on the phone blabber’s desk. That got her to notice us at once. She stood up. Sam transferred his paws to her shoulders. She wasn’t a very tall woman. She let out a small scream.

“Can I help you? You don’t have an appointment, do you? she asked accusingly trying to regain her composure.

I hauled hard on Sam’s leash and he released the woman.

“I was just hoping to catch Mr. Mellman. I’m an attorney from Miami, Florida, and I’m in need of some information.” I smiled at Mrs. Beehive, hoping to repair Sam’s intrusive introduction.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Welcome to Vermont. I’m Daisy Mellman, Dash’s mother. We’re always happy to help a colleague.” She turned toward a door at the end of the hall and shouted, “Dash, come out here. We’ve got a guest.”

The door opened and a man of about forty strode out. He was dressed in khakis, a golf shirt and some kind of boots. He was tall, muscular, and suntanned; the outdoorsy type, but not bad looking.

He held out a big hand and shook mine. I introduced myself and pulled out a card from my backpack.

“What brings you all the way up here?” he asked.

“It’s a long story, but mainly I’m on vacation. I’m trying to find out about Carolyn Brousseau and her house. Did you handle the estate?”

“The house isn’t for sale, if that’s what you want to know. I did handle the estate.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to buy that house. I have some other questions.”

“Let’s step into my office,” Dash said. He pointed to a door at the end of the hall. I followed him and Daisy followed me, but Dash shut the door firmly.

“My mother is my receptionist, secretary and all around good helper but she has a lot of curiosity. She never has understood attorney-client confidentiality.” Dash pointed to the chair next to his desk and I sat down. Sam settled on the hooked rug that covered part of the pegged wooden floor.

“I understand. I have a mother, too. I’m afraid Sam scared your mother. I apologize for bringing him along, but he gets tired of being left in the car.”

“He’s no problem. Everyone has dogs around here. Now how can I help you? Are you investigating Carolyn’s murder?”

“Oh, no, I’m not a private investigator. I’m a criminal defense attorney.”

“Have you been retained by someone who claims to be an heir to the Brousseau estate? I carefully researched for any missing heirs before I closed the estate.”

“I’m not here in any professional capacity. I really came up here to forget about clients or crimes for a while. I just stumbled into this whole thing. I’m a good friend of Lucy Stern. Her grandmother, Mrs. Morgan, left her the Morgan house and Lucy offered it to me for a place to relax for a while. I guess I jumbled up her directions. Anyway, I’ve been staying in the Brousseau house for the last two days. It was my mistake. I took a wrong turn and ended up at a murder scene. I guess this will seem hilarious someday, but right now I feel like an idiot.”

Dash smiled and then laughed. He had a nice smile; not a heartbreaker smile like Carlos. It showed the crinkles around his eyes and it kind of made you relax. I sat back in my chair and smiled back.

“The way I discovered my huge mistake was when I found this stack of mail in the front hall.” I pulled the mail out of my backpack and handed it across the desk.

Dash looked through the letters and frowned. “This is strange. Some of these letters were sent to a post office box in Rutland. The owner of the house is. Mrs. Brousseau’s son and only heir, Tom Brousseau, but I forward any papers to him at a post office box on Cape Cod, outside of Boston.”

“The house is in excellent condition. I think someone has been living there. Maybe a caretaker is taking advantage of a nice empty house and getting paid at the same time.”

“Maybe in Miami, but not in High Pines.” Dash looked indignant.

“Well, do you know who the caretaker is for the house?”

“Tom told me he hired some real estate agency. He e-mailed me the information in case I needed to contact someone. I’ll have to search my file.”

“I’ve taken up enough of your time. I need to get back to the Brousseau place and get packed up and out of there before I get arrested for trespassing, and I want to find my real vacation house before it gets dark again. If you find out anything about who has been hanging out in that house, give me a call. I’m really curious.”

“Sorry I haven’t been more help. Why don’t I follow you back to the Brousseau place and take a look around. I can help you get your stuff moved over to Lucy’s house and make sure you don’t get lost again.”

“I couldn’t impose on you and drag you out of your office. You probably have more appointments or paper work.”

“Nothing that can’t wait ‘til tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’d like some company while I get packed up. Fred Collins suggested the place may be haunted, not that I believe in ghosts. But there have been a lot of strange noises there.”

“I don’t know. There are a lot of stories about ghosts in these old houses. Where’s your car?” Dash ushered me past Daisy who was immersed in another phone conversation.

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CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Dash followed my SUV in a Subaru sports wagon. We entered the house together with Sam leading the way.

“The night I got here there was a fire in the fireplace and a glass of wine poured and waiting on the kitchen table. I figured that Lucy’s caretaker had gotten everything ready for me. Now that I know I wasn’t expected at this house, I have to believe that someone has been using this house.” I started packing my few groceries in a bag in the kitchen.

“It does seem strange. I’ll check out the rest of the house while you pack up.” Dash went up the back stairs while I hurried into the bedroom and began throwing clothes into my suitcase.

I carried the groceries and Sam’s food bag and dish out to my car. That was when I glanced at Dash’s Subaru. It was black just like the one I found in the barn. I finished loading my car and went back inside. Dash was standing in the living room examining the contents of the bookshelves.

“Dash, I just remembered something else. There’s a car parked in the barn. It’s a black Subaru just like yours. Did Carolyn have a Subaru?”

Dash paused for a minute and looked away. “No, not Carolyn. Lots of us drive them up here. They’re good in the snow with four wheel drive, but Carolyn had a white Lincoln Town Car. It was missing after the murder, but it was found a few weeks later abandoned on a dirt road over in New Hampshire.”

“Want to check out the barn?”

“I guess so. I couldn’t find anything upstairs that looked like signs of a resident. Everything is neat and clean, just like you said.”

We tramped out to the barn and I slid back the big door. In front of us was nothing but empty space undisturbed except for a bird circling in the rafters.

“Where is it?” Dash asked. “Where’s the car?”

“It was here this morning,” I said as I walked the length of the place. “I know I saw it.”

Dash gave me a funny look. Maybe he thought I was some kind of crazy lady who had escaped from a mental institution. “Well there’s no car in here now.”

“I can see that, but I know what I saw.” I marched out of the barn and headed to my SUV. “You don’t have to go with me to Lucy’s. Just point me in the right direction.”

“I’m happy to go over there with you,” Dash said. Her house is just on the other side of these woods, but to drive there you have to go back to River Road, turn right and then turn right again into the next gravel drive. Please just follow me and I’ll help you get your things inside. It’s getting cold and it looks like rain.”

“Thanks. I don’t want to get into the wrong house again.”

Sam jumped in the car as soon as I opened the door. I followed close behind Dash as we rounded a big turn and then turned immediately into the gravel road. It wound up a hill just like the drive into Carolyn’s house. The wooded area was on my right. Then we passed a sprawling meadow and finally pulled up into a circular drive in front of a magnificent two story white house with green shutters. A large flagstone terrace sat in front of the house.

Dash got out and tried the front door which he held open as Sam and I got out of my car. We entered a foyer with a black and white tile floor and a circular stairway. Light streamed in from the stained glass window at the top of the stairs.

“This looks nothing like the Brousseaus’. What a gorgeous house,” I said. I put a firm hand on Sam’s collar before he could go exploring on his own.

“This is one of the nicest houses in High Pines. I remember Lucy coming here in the summer to visit her grandparents. She’s a few years younger than I am but all the high school kids hung out together. She was very pretty.”

“She still is, even after three kids.” I glanced to my right and saw a Great Room with a stone fireplace and a huge flat screen TV.

“Let me help you bring your things in,” Dash said. He went back out to my car without waiting for an answer. In a couple of minutes he was back, carrying the suitcase, grocery bag and Sam’s supplies. He carried all of it as easily as if he was bringing in the morning newspapers.

“I think I’ve got it all,” he said.

“I grabbed the groceries out of his hand and looked for the kitchen.

“It’s down at the end of the hall,” he said. “Wow, Lucy must have had all this remodeled.”

I was looking at granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and walls of oak cabinets. “This is about the size of my whole house in Miami,” I said. I opened the fridge and saw that it was stocked with beer, white wine, and bottles of every sort of condiment. I grabbed two beers and handed one to Dash.

“Here’s your reward for hauling my junk in here.”

Dash popped the top and sat down at the long table in the center of the room.

“So what are you really doing up here?” Dash asked

“I told you, taking a little vacation.”

“A vacation might mean a cruise with a boyfriend or a spa in Mexico with a girlfriend; not a quiet village in a lonely house where you don’t know anyone. I guess you’re running away from someone or something.”

I stared at Dash. Either he was very perceptive, or he had spoken to Lucy. An uncomfortable silence filled the space in the immaculate kitchen.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Dash broke the silence. “After practicing law for a lot of years, I’m a pretty good judge of people.”

“I thought I was too, but even lawyers make judgments that don’t reflect their brains. I came up here to try to erase a bad relationship, so I guess running away is the right label to pin on this trip.”

“I’d be glad to be part of your R. and R. How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow evening? We have some great restaurants in the Upper Valley, and you haven’t had much chance to see the other villages in the area. We can compare notes about law practice in different environments.”

I looked at Dash. He was nice looking and I would enjoy hearing about a country law practice. Well, what the hell, I thought.

“That’s really nice of you, Dash. It sounds like fun. Everyone is so friendly here. I met Riley Simmons at the mini-mart and she offered to take me sightseeing too.”

“You can go with her on Sunday. Tomorrow night is Saturday night. She’s probably busy then anyway. She has a boyfriend.”

“Okay. Shall I meet you somewhere?”

“I’ll pick you up around seven. This is right on the way over to Woodstock. Will Sam be okay by himself? He seems glued to your side.”