Murder Under the Tree (27 page)

You never knew what Elizabeth was going to wear. Today she looked like she stepped from the pages of an Eddie Bauer catalog. She had on a tight pair of khakis, a painted-on white cotton bamboo shirt, and a forest green cardigan sweater draped around her neck. The sweater matched the color of her contacts perfectly. She was all about going green, you know: reusable bags, solar heat, reducing your eco-impact.

“Is that a new outfit, Elizabeth?” I asked as we approached Willow Park.

She tugged at her shirt bottom. “Yes. I bought it on sale yesterday at Goodman's. How's it look?”

“Perfect on you... Two sizes too small, like usual,” Deirdre said, glancing over at me.

Whatever she wore, Elizabeth tended to squeeze her size twelve body into size eight clothes. The quality of her clothes had to be good, though; with all of that stretching, I'd never seen a seam burst. If you were to judge Elizabeth by the clothes she wore, you would never in a million years guess her profession. But in fact, she has her master in library science and has worked at the college library for the past twenty years. Recently, she cut her hours down to just one day a week to enjoy her many other interests, three that I could think of.

Deirdre, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Quieter than Elizabeth, she often seemed to be deep in thought. Deirdre's ash blond, shoulder length hair was streaked with gray. Tall, slender, and ridiculously beautiful, she had a figure I could only dream of having. She was in her mid-fifties, a few years older than me, and tended to hide her body in loose fitted clothing from the seventies: peasant blouses, long skirts, bell-bottoms, paisley prints. You get the picture.

Deirdre and her husband, Mike, both spiritualists and our next-door neighbors, had lived in Sudbury Falls for five years. Mike worked out of the lower level of their home as an acupuncturist and reflexologist. Like Phil, he was also into jazz and was a member of the band. Even though I considered Deirdre my best friend in Sudbury Falls, I avoided talking about spirituality with her whenever possible. The discussions we’ve had in the past were too far-out.

We were all looking forward to the big event this weekend, the Black and Orange Charity Halloween Ball. Today our conversation steered naturally to that.

“The Civic Ballroom's packed with people wearing elaborate costumes,” Deirdre said. “The committee goes all out. Last year there was a haunted forest, complete with a witch's woods and a labyrinthine passageway.”

“Some of the costumes can be pretty outrageous,” Elizabeth said. “Someone came last year as Dr. Frankenfurter from
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
, and four guys were zombies from
The Walking Dead
. Most attendees wear fun costumes, but some are more historic, like Marc Antony or Marie Antoinette.”

“Kay, you'll love it! The bands are excellent,” Deirdre said.

“What are you and Mike going as?” I asked.

“Mike's going as Jack Sparrow. Looks a lot like him with his dreadlocks. I'm going as a green witch. Just finished sewing a flowing, green taffeta dress. I have a wreath of magnolia flowers for my hair.”

“I suppose you made a wand from the yew tree in your front yard that you're always talking about and added lots of glitter and jewels on it,” Elizabeth said.

Deirdre glanced sideways past me at Elizabeth and then back to me. “Kay, the yew tree
does
have mystical powers.”

Deirdre brewed teas from the herbs that she grew, both for recreational and medicinal purposes. An organic gardener having herbal, apothecary, vegetable, and flower gardens in her huge backyard, Deirdre had a remedy handy for anyone with an ailment. She was opening a holistic herbal shop in five months. She thought it would be ethereal for the opening day to be on the spring equinox. I just thought it would be a cool date. The shop couldn't be in a better location, four doors down from Marissa’s Patisserie. Everyone in town went to Marissa’s. I volunteered to help Deirdre in her shop when she first opened.

Deirdre had hopes of adding a small tearoom in the future with perhaps three or four tables, but because of being so close to Marissa’s, she said she would need to think that through more. She could do tea leaf readings to put a different spin on it than Marissa’s and in keeping with her store’s New Age theme. She talked about casting horoscopes and reading tarot cards. I don’t know if this would fly in Sudbury Falls or not. I'm still a bit uncomfortable about all that stuff.

“Elizabeth, I suppose you're going as a sexy Miss Marple,” Deirdre said. Elizabeth was crazy for British murder mysteries and held a monthly mystery book club at her home.

“Hmm...that would be fun. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“What? Really, is there no other woman sleuth with more sex appeal than Miss Marple?” I asked.

“Kay, what about you and Phil?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, what does Phil want to go as?”

“I still don't know. And Phil, he's no help. Between school and the band, he's rarely around, and when he is, he's clueless to anything outside the realm of guitars or music.

“Sounds oblivious,” Elizabeth said.

I laughed. “Oblivious is Phil's middle name. But I think I'll keep him anyway. Whatever we come up with, it's going to be hard to beat Elizabeth's, Miss Marple costume.”

“You'll get some vision,” Deirdre said.

Elizabeth winked at me. “And you better get that vision in a hurry. You only have a few days left.” Elizabeth sprinted ahead. Deirdre and I hurried our steps to catch up with her as we turned onto Main Street, already stirring with early morning shoppers.

Situated two hours east of the Twin Cities, Sudbury Falls had much to offer people who didn't want to let life interfere with their living. No freeways and no skyscrapers. I looked up as we passed the sign over Main Street proclaiming Sudbury Falls to be the “Ginseng Capital of the World.” Ginseng farms blanketed the landscape surrounding Sudbury Falls where ninety-five percent of the ginseng in the United States grew.

A black Labrador mix ran past us down the sidewalk. His owner smiled as he pushed by us and said, “Good Morning,” as he tried to catch up with the mongrel. We passed Sweet Marissa’s Patisserie. Pumpkins and cornstalks adorned the entrance. An unoccupied, wrought-iron patio table and chairs were pushed up against her beautiful window display of luscious pastries and cakes. The door opened, and the essence of freshly baked croissants greeted us.

Sudbury Falls was quite art-oriented for its population of 10,000 plus, owing much to the influence of the college. In the evenings, almost every pub, coffeehouse, and restaurant had some kind of live music. It was home to the Phillips Center for the Arts, which was next to the government building where the Black and Orange Ball would be held.

The town had picture-postcard beauty with the Sudbury River flowing through it. Often times I saw anglers in their hip waders standing in the shallows, flicking their lines in and out of the water with a trance provoking rhythm that would soothe the most restless of minds.

On the north end of town was the college, with its charming old buildings and gorgeous grounds. On the south end was the new library, its architecture reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright designs, with beautiful prairie-style stained glass windows. Mature trees arched over the narrow, winding streets and avenues that branched off of Main Street in both directions.

We turned the corner onto our block and saw a man who often passed our home, walking on the other side of the street.

“Good morning, Sherman,” Elizabeth said.

“Morning, Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth, who is that?” I asked, after we passed by.

“You mean Professor Walters?”

“Is that his name? Phil and I always just call him ‘the professor.’ He and his wife often walk past our home in the evening.” He was usually talking into a tape recorder when I saw him going toward campus in the morning.

“Sherman's been at the college for the past two years and lives a few blocks away. He's an assistant professor in the Agriculture Department. I’ll try to remember to introduce you next time we see him.”

Little did I know at the time, I would never have that opportunity.

* * * *

After I came home, I took a leisurely bath with some chamomile salts from Deirdre. I leaned back and listened to an audio mystery,
The Shadow of the Breeze,
until the water turned too cold and my fingers shriveled up like prunes. I dressed in a soft black turtleneck sweater, a comfortable pair of loden green corduroy pants, and black leather boots.

My stomach rumbling, I wandered into the kitchen and searched the refrigerator to see what I could find to eat. I discovered a couple of pieces of leftover pizza from two nights ago. While reheating them in the oven, I took out a bottle of carbonated water to go with the pizza, since I was watching my weight. The blend of the yeast dough and olive oil mixed with scents of melting cheese, tomato sauce, garlic, and spices filled the kitchen and made my mouth water. I opened the refrigerator, guiltily traded the water for a cherry cola, and closed the door before I changed my mind again.

The phone rang.

“Kay, Margaret here. Are we still on for this afternoon at Marissa's?

“Yes. Is one-thirty still all right? I have a few errands I need to run in town. I'm leaving as soon as I finish eating an early lunch.”

“Sounds fine, my dear. See you there. Ciao.”

* * * *

I loved being able to walk to almost everywhere in town since everything was so close. Each house on our block had been decked out in Halloween decorations featuring spooky Jack-O'-Lanterns on the steps, many freshly carved and still emitting a faint pumpkin aroma. Cotton sheet ghosts hung by threads from the trees in the yards of many of the homes. One yard had Styrofoam gravestones, and most of the houses had orange lights around their doorways and on the bushes. I had heard that Ted Michaels, our neighbor on the opposite side of Deirdre, went overboard every year. Besides the lights and pumpkins, he had a life-sized witch holding onto her broom with gangly fingers, halfway up a tree out in front.

I was standing under his tree staring up at the witch when Ted backed his black Lexus down his driveway, stopping next to me. The witch's hair was gray and stringy. She had a hook nose, greenish skin and her clothing was shredded and torn.

“Hey, Kay, need a ride?”

“No thanks. It's a beautiful day. Love your witch, Ted.”

“Better watch out or she'll cast a spell on you.” He laughed, waved, and took off down the street.

I started walking. Ted was in commercial real estate and owned many of the buildings around town. When Phil and I had been in Sudbury Falls for a couple of weeks, he held a barbecue in our honor so we could meet our new neighbors. It was there that I met Elizabeth and Deirdre. As I walked, I remembered our conversation, the three of us, sitting together in Ted’s backyard. Elizabeth brought up how good-looking our host was with his million-dollar smile and boyish charm. The conversation revealed much about her and Deirdre's characters.

“Ted's in great physical condition, for a fifty-five year old,” Elizabeth said. “And those deep blue eyes, that endless smile, his strong chin, and—”

“Well, if I don't stop her, she'll just go on,” interrupted Deirdre with a smirk. “I don't think Elizabeth's ever seen a man she didn't find attractive.” I later found out that Deirdre spoke from experience. “Kay, Ted also has a great personality and lots of chi. Everyone likes him.”

Elizabeth looked over at me, raised her eyebrows, and winked.

I fanned my face with my hands. “Ted's great looks, his untidy mop of curly hair, and his vital energy force make him the type of person I could get to know quickly and instinctively trust,” I said, continuing with their train of thought. We all laughed.

Elizabeth craned her neck in my direction and said, “Yes, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” just seconds before Ted came over smiling, with Beth, his fiancée by his side, and introduced her to me. I never did find out why Elizabeth said that about Ted.

Turning the corner onto Maple Street, I encountered three boys smashing pumpkins in the street. They took off on their bikes when they saw me coming. Those little ruffians! They could have at least waited until after Halloween.

I crossed over to Locust Avenue to get to the post office, my first stop, to buy stamps and pick up some mail. The post office clock struck twelve-thirty as I entered. Al Stewart waited on me at the front counter. A rather tall, burly man with graying hair, he was always upbeat and fun to talk to. Of the Stewart brothers, I was told he was by far the most personable. I usually came into the post office once a week. After we discovered we were both mystery enthusiasts, we discussed our favorite authors' books when there wasn’t anyone behind me in line, and sometimes even when there was. The other clerks listened and at times added to the conversation. Then the next time I came into the post office, we would begin our conversation where we had left off from the last time, as if it had never ended.

“Hello, Kay. What's going on today?”

“Running a few errands, and then I'm meeting up with Margaret MacAlister at Marissa's. You must know Margaret?”

“Sure. We go way back. I saw you walking by the college. Is that your usual route, through the college grounds?”

“Yes. Up into the open space behind campus. We cross the south fork of the river over the old wooden bridge by the amphitheatre—.”

“Beautiful route to take. I put my kayak in by the old bridge. The college is talking about modernizing the amphitheatre.”

“We call it the 'Druid Theatre.' It's perfect the way it is. Woodsy, all natural, with those large slabs of stone for seats descending down to the stage.”

“Kay, are you going to the Halloween Ball Saturday night?”

“Yes. Still looking for costumes.”

“My wife and I went to Goodwill and figured ours out from the clothes there. By the way, you're going to love it! Save me a dance.”

“Have you read the latest Stephanie Griffin book yet? I have it on reserve at the library.”