Don't Cry Over Killed Milk (6 page)

“Thank you,” Dottie said. “Where was I? Second grade. It started when one of the other boys tied Jeremiah’s shoelaces together. The class was watching a film strip in the dark, and Jeremiah didn’t see the boy crawl under his desk. When the film ended and the class raced outside for recess, Jeremiah tumbled to the floor. Every child in the room laughed at him.” Dottie knitted her brow. “Dominic Freeze. A malicious little kid—he was the ringleader. After that day, Dominic and his group of little cronies made it their mission to torture my sweet baby. It wasn’t just the pranks that got to Jeremiah. It was the name calling. They made up the most awful names, which I refuse to repeat to this day.”

“That’s terrible,” Damon said.

Dottie went on, sniffling. “He came home in tears almost every day. Even the kids in class who didn’t tease Jeremiah wouldn’t befriend him—they were probably afraid they’d get ridiculed for consorting with him.”

“How long did it last?”

“For three years. I implored Jeremiah to take up sports. He could play soccer well, and I thought that proving his athletic prowess would shut up those boys.” Dottie Milk took another puff from the inhaler. “But that didn’t fit Jeremiah’s personality. He went in the exact opposite direction, Mr. Lassard—he holed up and became a hermit. Jeremiah didn’t speak a word to anyone. He just stopped reacting to the teasing and became nonexistent. By the end of fourth grade, I think the novelty of making fun of him finally wore off.”

“I suppose that affected his personality as he grew up,” Damon said.

“It did, Mr. Lassard. He was emotionally scarred. I imagine he had suicidal thoughts as a teenager, though I never saw evidence of it. Jeremiah didn’t have a single friend until he got a summer job outside of town when he turned sixteen. I suspect he never kissed a girl before he met his wife.”

“I heard he had a new girlfriend at Tripping Falls.”

“He mentioned that on the telephone a few weeks ago. Good for him. It takes a special woman to look past a physical imperfection and into the heart of a man.”

After several more minutes of discussion, Dottie relayed that she didn’t know of any friends her son had as an adult. “He had his fellow rangers at the park, but I believe they were colleagues rather than friends,” Dottie said. She asked if Damon had met Jeremiah’s girlfriend.

“I was at the park recently,” he said, “but I didn’t meet her.”

“Even so, Mr. Lassard, would you do me a favor? Would you ask her to come and see me before the funeral? I’d like to meet this woman who was so good to my son.”

Damon didn’t hesitate. “I certainly will.”

As he rose to take his leave, Damon asked, “Mrs. Milk, do you know anything about a large sum of money Jeremiah came into about two-and-a-half years ago?”

Dottie Milk looked straight into Damon’s eyes and replied, “No. The police asked me the same thing. But I don’t know anything about it.”

Chapter 6

Damon stopped by The Cookery for a midday treat. He knew Rebecca’s schedule well, and she would be cleaning up between classes.

He poked his head through the door and saw Rebecca bent in half. Her head was inserted fully into an industrial-sized oven.

Damon crept up beside her. “How’s the weather in there?” he shouted.

Rebecca jumped and smacked her head on the oven’s roof.

“You scared the daylights out of me,” she said, pulling her torso laterally from the depths of the oven. She delicately touched the crown of her head.

“Sorry about that,” Damon said.

“As if I wasn’t scared enough sticking my head in there.”

“I suppose as far as phobias go, that one’s pretty reasonable.”

Rebecca grinned. “I was going to buy a book on phobias.” She waited a beat. “But I was afraid it wouldn’t help me.”

Damon laughed and gave her a friendly hug.

Rebecca pulled away after a moment and said, “When I saw you yesterday, I was so engrossed with Jeremiah Milk’s death that I completely forgot to ask you about your date with Bethany.”

Damon knew the subject was a sore one for Rebecca. “I’m going to be honest, it’s a little weird to talk about it with you.”

“No problem.” She immersed her forearms into a suds-filled sink. “So did you take that casserole over to Dottie Milk?”

“I just came from there. Thanks again for the food.”

“Did she look guilty?” Rebecca asked.

“Of being a serial murderer who picked off her family members one by one?” Damon set a towel next to the sink for Rebecca to use. “No, I changed my mind. I think she’s just had a really tough life.”

“Is anything else happening in Gerry’s investigation?”

Damon held back the information Gerry and the bank manager had provided about Jeremiah’s windfall. Despite raising it with Dottie, he suspected the information wasn’t meant for a wider audience. Rather, he said, “Dottie asked me to speak with the teaching specialist at the park. She and Jeremiah had been dating, so I’m going over there now.”

* * *

As Damon sped toward Tripping Falls State Park, he plugged in a hands-free device and dialed Bethany’s number. He hadn’t spoken with her since their date two days earlier.

Bethany greeted him pleasantly.

“Thanks again for going to the game with me the other day,” Damon said.

“I had fun,” Bethany said. “You have an ear to the ground in Hollydale, and it makes for a change of pace for me. I spend a lot of time talking about news and weather at the station.”

“It turns out your instincts are pretty sharp,” Damon said in an attempt at flattery. “Before daylight this morning, Cynthia Trumbell saw someone dressed in black messing around in her neighbor’s crepe myrtles.”

“No way! That’s scary. Did she recognize him?”

“No, she didn’t get a look at his face. But there’s definitely something sinister happening. I’m planning to call Gerry Sloman with the county police and let him know. Maybe they can set a trap.”

“How exciting,” Bethany said with liveliness. “I wish I didn’t have to leave town.”

Damon’s heart crashed. He slammed on the Saab’s breaks, narrowly avoiding a minivan that had turned onto the road just in front of him.

“You’re leaving?” he spluttered.

Bethany didn’t pick up on his anguish over the phone. “Tomorrow morning. The station is sending me to Nebraska to do live coverage on the aftermath of yesterday’s tornado. It’s my first long distance assignment.”

Damon breathed a sigh of relief then chastised himself for feeling respite when hundreds in the Great Plains had been devastated by a brutal twister. He wished her good luck, then said with apprehension, “Maybe we could go to dinner when you get back.”

Bethany was silent. After a moment, she said, “Give me a call in a few days. I should be back in town by then.”

It wasn’t a resounding yes, but it wasn’t a rejection either.

* * *

Tripping Falls had reopened to the public, although a handwritten note on the trail map marked Cherubim’s Run as “closed until further notice.” Damon stepped inside the visitor center. It was empty but for an older couple perusing the exhibit hall and the ranger named Milt. The thin and muscular ranger looked to be in his late-forties. He greeted Damon.

Damon introduced himself as Jeremiah Milk’s neighbor.

“Just awful, that was,” Milt said.

“Did you know him well?”

“He was here just about as long as I’ve been—ten years,” Milt said. “I suppose I knew him well enough. He came to work almost every day, except for a little while after his wife and son died.”

“That must have been terrible for him,” Damon said.

“I suppose, but he never talked about it with me. I know it was hard on Veronica. She’s the teaching specialist here. Veronica and Jeremiah’s late wife were close.”

The statement startled Damon. Jeremiah Milk’s wife had been friends with his current girlfriend.

Milt Verblanc registered Damon’s surprise. “Kathryn was the head educator here before Veronica,” he explained. “Years ago, when we had better funding than we do now, Veronica was Kathyrn’s assistant. Then, after Kathryn had the boy, she stopped working and Veronica took over the primary teaching role.”

Damon filed the information in his memory bank. He needed to think through the implications, if there were any.

“I heard Jeremiah and Veronica recently started dating,” Damon said.

Milt shrugged. “Alex and Aylin say the same thing, but I never noticed.”

Damon told Milt that Jeremiah’s mother had asked him to speak with Veronica. Milt authorized him to proceed and pointed to the set of doors leading to the management wing.

The door to Veronica Maldive’s office was closed, but across the short hall, Damon noticed Alex Rancor in her office. She was busily pecking away at a keyboard. Sensing his presence in the hall, Alex looked up sharply. A determined face instantly transformed to a manufactured smile.

“You’re Jeremiah’s friend, right?” she asked.

“Yes, his neighbor,” Damon replied and took a step into the frame of the open door.

Alex had abandoned the tight ponytail from earlier in the week in favor of neatly groomed hair tucked beneath a turquoise headband. The style took five years off of her already youthful face.

A framed photograph of Alex in blue dress uniform was mounted on the wall behind her desk. She stood beside an aircraft wing.

Alex caught his line of sight. “I was in the Air Force,” she explained. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m looking for Veronica Maldive. Jeremiah’s mother asked me to speak with her.”

“She should be in her office.” Alex pointed to the door across the hall. “Just knock. She keeps the door closed when she’s preparing lesson plans.” Alex paused. “I saw you speaking with Detective Sloman yesterday,” she said cautiously.

Damon stepped inside Alex’s office. “We’re friends, and I was hiking on Cherubim’s Run the morning before Jeremiah was killed. He wanted to pick my brain.”

“I remember you had worked up quite a sweat. Do you know whether the police are close to finding the murderer?”

Damon raised his eyebrows.

“I have some personal interest here,” Alex offered and held up her hands in an innocent gesture. “The Park Police don’t like me for some reason. Since I took the management position here three years ago, they’ve been looking for ways to make me look bad in front of the Board of Overseers—that’s the group of heavy hitters that makes the major decisions for the park. If the murderer turns out to be one of the staffers here, the Park Police will try to shift the blame onto me. As if it could have been my fault. Other than Aylin, who I hired six months ago, every one of them was already here when I started.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Damon said. “Why don’t they like you?”

“I have no idea,” Alex said and looked away. “I think they’re just surly.”

Damon left Alex to her deskwork, crossed the short hall, and tapped lightly on Veronica’s door.

“Come in,” called a throaty voice.

Damon opened the heavy wooden door. Veronica Maldive was on her knees in front of a large whiteboard laid flat on the carpet. Papers covered the rest of the floor. From his standing position, Damon could see down her blouse. After a moment, he pulled his eyes away.

Veronica stood and adjusted a knee-length navy blue skirt. She was heavy but had curves in the right places.

Damon introduced himself as Jeremiah’s neighbor. “I just came from speaking with his mother,” he said.

“She must be devastated,” Veronica replied. She invited Damon to sit while she wedged in behind her desk.

“Sorry for the mess,” she continued. “I’m behind on prepping, and September’s one of my busiest months.” She explained her role as a jack-of-all-trades instructor for school and other groups that came to the park on field trips. “The rangers take the kids into the park and provide some special lessons. Especially Lawrence—he’s our naturalist. Most of the instruction I provide is on the park’s history and ecology.”

“I have a favor to ask,” Damon said, looking into Veronica’s heavily-mascaraed eyes. “Jeremiah’s mother, Dottie, would like you to visit her before the funeral. She’s staying at Jeremiah’s house.”

“Of course, I will. Jeremiah must have told her that we had been dating.”

“I believe he did.” Damon decided against asking Veronica about her relationship with Jeremiah’s late wife, Kathryn.

“Do you know when the funeral will be?” Veronica asked.

“I’m not sure,” Damon said. “I don’t know how long it’ll be until the police release Jeremiah’s body.”

Veronica’s expression saddened. “It was hard talking to the police. I didn’t even know Jeremiah died until I arrived at work yesterday. The police were already swarming the visitor center.”

“You hadn’t gone out with Jeremiah the previous night?” Damon asked.

She gave him a questioning look. “No. Jeremiah had late duty on Saturday night, and I had that day off.”

“I heard the police were questioning all of the park staff,” Damon said. “Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt Jeremiah?”

Veronica took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Jeremiah was very reserved. I don’t know of any friends he had, let alone anyone who would want to harm him. Once you penetrated his shell, it was clear he was a wonderful man. Last winter, we had a holiday party. Jeremiah dressed up as a snowman. All night, he kept saying, ‘Is it just me, or does it smell like carrots in here?’” She laughed.

“It was very endearing,” Veronica continued. “I had never considered dating him until that night, then a few months later I asked him out.” Her eyes took on a distant look.

Damon waited for more. After an awkward silence, he gathered himself to stand up.

“Hold on a minute, Mr. Lassard,” Veronica blurted out. She took a moment to compose her thoughts. “There’s an outsider that I thought of this morning. I called and told Detective Sloman about him.” Veronica opened her top desk drawer, removed a business card, and slid it across the desktop to Damon.

Damon examined the card. It was plain white with a phone number below four words: Marcus Pontfried, Private Investigator.

Veronica flattened her palms on the desk. “He came by the visitor center about nine months ago. It was during a morning that Jeremiah had off. Alex and the rest of the park staff were in the field, so I was filling in behind the rangers’ desk in the lobby.”

“Had you seen him before?”

“No. He looked like he had a pinch of Native American blood. But I might have just thought that because he had long dark hair. Who knows with a name like Pontfried.”

“Did he want to see Jeremiah?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “That’s what made me suspicious. I’ll tell you what I told Detective Sloman. Mr. Pontfried handed me his card, but instead of asking for Jeremiah, he started asking me questions about him. He wanted to know if Jeremiah was the same Jeremiah Milk who grew up in the Hollydale neighborhood of Arlington. I got a little scared.”