Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding (15 page)

“My Little Daughter Must Go To Bed.”
Victorian lithograph from about 1880. Two little girls in their nightgowns, one sitting in a cane-seated rocker and one standing by a window, both holding their baby dolls also wearing night attire, preparing to put their babies to sleep in a dolls’ wooden cradle. Classic sentimental print of period. No illustrator or publisher identified. 7 x 9 inches. Price: $55.

Will was standing
on the road, waiting for Maggie.

“What’s happening?” he asked, after taking one look at her face. “I saw your friend Diana go off with Jim. I have some catching up to do but I think I’m getting the picture. Diana thought her father was dead, but she found him here in Winslow, alive and using another name.”

Maggie nodded, and got into the passenger side of the car. “And only a few days after she arrived he was killed. She was staying here with her cousin Cordelia while the police looked for her father’s killer. Now someone’s murdered Cordelia.”

“The poor kid,” Will said. “And knowing my Maggie, you’ve been in the middle of it all since you’ve arrived.”

“I was the one who found her father’s body.” Maggie admitted.

“What is it about you?” said Will, reaching out and fondly stroking her hair. “You may not believe this, Maggie, but until I met you I’d never known anyone actually involved with a murder. And then the very evening we met…”

“I know. A friend of ours was killed. Just remember: I didn’t commit the crime. I solved it.”

“My very dear lady. If you’d been the killer, do you think I’d still be hanging around?” Will grinned. “But you do seem to have this…magnetic quality that draws in people in dire circumstances. It’s a bit exhausting for those of us who enjoy your company, you know. Never knowing when you might have to rush off to solve a murder or soothe someone’s brow who’s been accused of a dastardly crime.”

Maggie burst out laughing. “I’m not Nancy Drew, you horrible man! And I seem to remember a number of times we’ve been together that have had absolutely nothing to do with murders or crimes.” She looked at him flirtatiously. “Although there may, indeed, have been a bit of that brow-soothing involved even then, now that I think about it.”

“In any case, I assume Jim has taken over the Diana situation for the moment.”

“For the moment, yes. But she’s in far worse trouble that we thought,” Maggie said. “Not only are her father and cousin dead. Murdered. But it seems she had a gun in her backpack. Now she’s the number-one suspect.”

“She hasn’t been arrested,” Will pointed out, as he headed the car back toward downtown Winslow. “Or she wouldn’t have left with Jim.”

“No, thank goodness. They need to check her gun, and I’m assuming it will come back clean,” Maggie agreed. “I can’t think of a motive she’d have for either killing.”

“We can’t do anything to help her right now,” he pointed out. “But clearly Jim’s going to be involved for at least the morning. ­Diana’s his client?”

Maggie nodded.

“So let’s take over what he was going to do for Gussie and storm-proof her shop and house.”

Will made it all sound so simple and logical. “You’re right. That’s what we should do,” she agreed.

“Give Gussie a call and find out whether Jim had time to pick up the plywood for the windows. If not, we’ll stop and do that on our way,” Will directed.

Maggie smiled. Will knew kitchen and fireplace supplies and tools. He was most comfortable when he was fixing things. And right now she could use someone who could make life work.

She called. Then she turned to Will. “Gussie says Jim ordered the plywood but didn’t have time to pick it up. He went straight to Cordelia’s house. She’d appreciate our getting it.”

“Do you know where?”

“I do. I was at the hardware store the other day, getting some things for the store. Just keep going straight for another mile here,” Maggie directed. And this would give her another opportunity to talk with Bob Silva.

“Good to see you again, Maggie,” said Silva, as she explained their errand. “We put Jim’s plywood aside for him out back.” He handed Will an invoice. “Drive to the back of the parking lot and the guys there will tie the wood on top of your car. I’ll put it on Jim’s bill.”

The table that had been full of flashlights and batteries the other day was now empty, Maggie noted. Only a few candles were left, and some bags of sand.

“Have any bottles of water?” a bearded man yelled in the front door.

“None left!” Silva shouted back. “Try the pharmacy if the grocery’s out.”

“Jim’s sorry he couldn’t come himself,” said Maggie. “But with another murder, and all, it’s a busy time.”

“Another murder?” Bob Silva’s head shot up immediately. Unless he was a really good actor, that was news he hadn’t heard. “In Wins­low? What happened?”

“Cordelia West. Her body was found on the beach near her home this morning,” Maggie said.

Silva looked shocked. “Why would anyone kill her?”

“I heard she didn’t have a lot of friends in town.”

“Maybe not close friends. She wasn’t like those women who spend their lives gossiping in restaurants and trooping over to the shopping malls in Hyannis. She kept to herself, ’cause most folks couldn’t talk to her. And she made those weird dolls of hers. She brought them to the church fair a couple of times. But people liked her all right. She always smiled at folks when she went for walks around town, or on the beach. I never heard a bad thing about her, except folks worried she was alone too much. She used to stand by herself, watching the kids play. When Dan came to live with her, people said maybe she wouldn’t be so lonely anymore. He took her out to places, sometimes.” Silva shook his head. “Sad. Now that’s really sad news. Who would want to kill a nice lady like Cordelia West?”

“I guess that’s what Chief Irons will be trying to figure out,” said Maggie.

“With this storm coming on, everyone’s going a little crazy anyway,” said Silva. “This time of year we’re usually selling candles for jack-o’-lanterns and salt for the first snow storms. This year it’s flashlights and batteries and plywood. And two folks murdered in as many weeks. I ain’t saying anything about Dan Jeffrey. Mebbe he deserved it. There are those who think he did, and mebbe I’m one. But there’s no one who’d think the same of Cordelia West. Bad times for sure.”

“Three’s a charm, Bob, if you count your own boy. Maybe this is the end,” said a man standing patiently at the end of the counter, holding a box of nails in his hand. “Maybe this is the end.”

“It’s the end all right,” said Silva. “I just don’t know what of. And I don’t like it. No, sir. It’s not good, for sure. Folks around Winslow better start locking their doors. If Cordelia West could be murdered, than none of us are safe.”

P Peeped In It.
The sixteenth color engraving from
A Apple Pie
by Kate Greenaway (1846-1901), an alphabet book printed in London by George Routledge and Sons in 1886. All the letters are illustrated by pictures of children and a pie; this “P” is a young lady, formally dressed, “peeping” into a very large pie with one slice removed while three other girls look to see if anyone else is coming. Kate Greenaway, the daughter of a master engraver and a dressmaker of clothes for children, is one of the best-known children’s illustrators of the nineteenth century. She pictured children dressed in Regency clothes (out of style during her lifetime) and although her work was popular, it was not critically acclaimed. It is still being reproduced. In 1955 the Kate Greenaway Medal was established in Great Britain. The equivalent of the Caldecott Medal in the United States, it is awarded to the British artist who has produced the most distinguished children’s book illustrations each year. 8.5 x 10.4 inches. $75.

Working together,
Will and Maggie had no problem covering the windows at Aunt Augusta’s Attic with the plywood. “The shop may look dreary now, but at least it’s safe, no matter how high the winds are,” said Maggie.

“Thank goodness you’re both here to help,” agreed Gussie. “Shuttering the store was certainly not what I had in mind when I asked you to come to the Cape early, Maggie. But the woman who owns the children’s clothing shop next door has someone coming this after­noon to board up her windows, too.”

“The Cape’s going to be on lockdown by tomorrow afternoon,” said Will. “Sounds a bit paranoid if you ask me. Has the governor called out the National Guard yet?”

“Actually, he has,” Gussie said. “Or at least put them on stand-by. He’s not taking this storm lightly.”

“I guess after Katrina no one laughs at hurricanes,” added Maggie.

“But this is the Cape. And it’s almost November!” said Gussie. “Can you guess who’s most upset?”

Maggie didn’t have to think long. “Jim’s mother. Lily had reservations to fly in tonight, didn’t she?”

“She did, but her flight was cancelled. She’s been trying to get an earlier flight, but airports all up and down the coast are a mess. Jim’s been in touch with her, on top of everything else he’s dealing with.”

“If the Cape’s closed off, that means some of the guests who were going to drive or fly in won’t be able to make it,” Maggie said.

Gussie nodded. “While you were outside putting the plywood up I had calls from three people off-Cape in other parts of Massachusetts, and one person in Connecticut. Everyone’s worried. But there’s not much anyone can do right now.”

“The storm’s due Friday night, right?” said Will. “Assuming roads are passable, people driving should be able to get here Saturday afternoon. Flying will be the problem. Airports down south have been closing all week. A lot of flights have been delayed or cancelled, and there won’t be any flights into Boston Friday afternoon or night for sure. Schedules are going to be crazy.”

“If I were planning to fly here from Atlanta on Friday I’d be tempted to cancel now,” said Maggie. “I’ll bet rental cars will all be spoken for, too. Not to speak of hotel rooms.”

“At least anyone who can get to Winslow has rooms booked already,” said Gussie. “We can’t do anything about the storm except prepare for it and ride it out. And be glad it’ll be over by Saturday.” She paused. “I keep thinking of poor Cordelia. And Diana. Compared to murder, a storm and a few people missing a wedding, even if it is my wedding, are minor problems. Although I do hope Jim’s mother gets here. Despite all my complaints about her, she should be here.”

“Gussie, you’re a real trooper. I keep wondering what Jim and ­Diana are talking about, too,” said Maggie. “But right now we should get to your house and cover the windows there.”

The sun was shining and Hurricane Tasha seemed a far distant event as Will and Maggie managed to stabilize the sheets of plywood over the large picture windows. “This is a lot harder than the shop windows,” Maggie said as, her arms aching, she tried to hold the bottom of a board up as Will stood on a ladder and nailed the top of it above the windows.

“Sure is,” he admitted. “Remind me never to admire homes set this close to the ocean.”

“And this is just the Bay,” Maggie added, under her breath. “Think of what’s going on with buildings on the southern side of the Cape.”

“And in places in Maine like Old Orchard Beach, where storm surges usually go ashore,” Will added, hitting another nail forcibly into the plywood. “Let’s hope all this preparation isn’t necessary. I noticed a lot of trees on the way here with branches all too close to electric wires.”

Power outages. Flooding. Maggie suddenly thought of her home in New Jersey.

She lived closer to Pennsylvania than she did to the Atlantic Ocean, but if there were a bad storm, strong winds could take down trees. She hoped none of the tall maples or oaks in her yard would go down on her house. She went through a mental checklist. She hadn’t left anything outside that could be blown around dangerously. Her neighbors Jerome and Ian were looking after her cat, and they had her phone number. They’d call if there were any problems.

Maggie was about ready to call a time-out when Jim appeared around the corner of the house.

“You guys are the best! Time for a break, though. I’ve brought reinforcements.”

“Can’t say I mind that,” Will said, slamming in one more nail, and climbing down the ladder, leaving the piece of plywood they were working on swaying precariously.

Two other men joined Jim. “This is Andy, my legal partner and best man, and his brother, Mel. Meet Will Brewer from Maine, and Maggie Summer, maid of honor. And today, my two other right hands.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Will, shaking hands.

“We did a little boarding up at the office. Then Andy and Mel allowed me to volunteer them to help finish up here.”

“You bribed us,” said Andy. “Don’t forget, Jim. You owe us!”

“I do, indeed. Beer for all, once we’re finished here.”

“Where’s Diana?” Maggie asked. “And have you heard from your mother?”

“Diana’s with Gussie, in the house,” said Jim, “and Mother’s airborne, on her way to Providence. She found a series of connections that will get her in after midnight tonight, and by some miracle, got a hotel room there. Why don’t you and Will go ahead inside? Gussie’ll fill you in on the details. C’mon, guys. These two already have the job half-done. Maybe I only owe you half as much beer. Especially if it takes us twice as long to get the job done.”

Maggie and Will stretched and walked around the house, glad to be excused the rest of the task. The house was built higher than the dunes, and although the windows were on the first floor, covering them was not an easy job.

Gussie was making tea and Diana was pacing, looking out at the men setting the ladders up, when they got inside.

“Tea, Will? Cola?” Gussie asked.

“Do you have any brandy? Hot tea with brandy would go down really well right now,” he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“You’ve got it,” Gussie said, as she moved quickly around her kitchen, clearly proud to be able to find everything exactly where it should be. “In fact, that sounds good to me, too. What about you, Diana? You’re twenty-one.”

“No, thanks. Plain tea for me, please. Jim said I’d better stay absolutely sober and rested in case Chief Irons decides he wants to ask me more questions.” Her eyes were still swollen, and her voice was strained.

“You’ve been to the police station?” Maggie asked, sitting down on a couch from Gussie’s former home that had now found a place near the fireplace.

“Yes. But Jim wouldn’t let me answer any questions. It was frustrating. I don’t have anything to hide! I had to sit there and keep my mouth closed.”

“What did Chief Irons ask you about?”

“Everything. Whether Dad and I had gotten along well, and when I’d found out he was still alive, and about the case my dad was supposed to testify about in Colorado. Why I’d come to Winslow, and how long I’d known Cordelia. Why she’d given me a gun.”

“Did Cordelia have a gun herself?”

Diana nodded. “I saw them in her room. She told me every woman living alone should have a gun.”

Maggie frowned. “Them? How many guns did she have?”

“I didn’t see exactly how many. They were under her bed, where she kept her doll supplies.” Diana looked embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have been in there. I knew she didn’t like her things disturbed. But I was curious. So one day when I knew she was out walking I went in and looked. She caught me. She was really angry.”

“And you asked her about the guns.”

Diana nodded. “I pointed at them and raised my shoulders, the way you do when you’re confused.”

“What did she do?”

“She took me by the arm and dragged me out of there and slammed the door. Then, later, she wrote me a note on her computer. She did that when she wanted to be sure I understood something. She said she had lived alone a long time and sometimes she got scared. She had the guns for protection. I told her I understood. Then a couple of days ago she told me she’d thought about it, and I should have a gun for protection, too. She gave me that little gun and told me to keep it with me, in my bedroom, and in my backpack. She showed me how it worked, and had me fire it a couple of times, out into the ocean when no one was around, so I’d know what it felt like. That’s all.”

Her fingerprints would be on the gun, and it had been fired recently, Maggie thought. But was it the same kind of gun that killed Cordelia?

“Did Cordelia ever say why you should be afraid?”

Diana shook her head. “She said life was unpredictable and unfair, and women had to take care of themselves.”

“Did you tell Jim all that?” said Maggie.

“Most of it,” said Diana. “But he didn’t want me to tell the police. He said we should wait and see what the forensic test results said first.”

“Then that’s what you should do,” said Maggie. “Can you think of anyone who would be angry with Cordelia?”

Diana shook her head. “She didn’t talk with many people. I mean, you know, see many people. She did business on eBay. She was frustrated sometimes that she couldn’t make herself understood.”

“Did she have any special friends in town that you knew of?”

Diana shook her head slowly. “People came after Dad died, like you and Gussie did. They brought food, or flowers. Before that, Chief Irons’s wife came over once. I’d been out on the beach. I came back and found her upstairs in Dad’s room. She said she was looking for Cordelia, and came in because she knew Cordelia couldn’t hear her knocking. I thought that was weird because everyone who visits knows about the light system. Anyway, she left as soon as I got there. She didn’t wait for Cordelia.”

“Did you tell Cordelia she’d been there?”

Diana nodded. “Cordelia was really mad. She said we had to remember to lock the doors when we went out so no animals would get in.” Diana smiled. “I remember because I thought that was funny. And Rocky Costa, the man who works at the Lazy Lobster, he called Cordelia sometimes. She got text messages a couple of times, but she grabbed her phone fast and gave me one of her looks. Like I shouldn’t touch it. But I saw the messages were from him. Once I saw him out on the beach with her. He was signing, like you do. But I don’t remember anyone else. People left food or flowers. They didn’t stay. I think they felt uncomfortable because Cordelia couldn’t hear them.”

“You may be right,” said Maggie. “Do you think Mrs. Irons was looking for something in your dad’s room?”

“There wasn’t anything to find. I looked through everything when he didn’t come home. I kept thinking I’d find a clue to where he’d gone. Or why he’d left. But there were just clothes. It was as though he used his room like a hotel room.” Diana looked up. “I kind of hoped he’d kept a picture of me, or my mother. Something to remember his old life. But there was nothing. So if Mrs. Irons was looking for something, I don’t know what it was.”

Or, thought Maggie, whatever it was had already disappeared.

“Time for those beers you owe us, Jim!” Andy and the others came in, flexing their muscles. “You’re safe from the storm now, Gussie, and this man of yours promised us beer as a reward.”

“It’s in the refrigerator, right over there.” Gussie pointed. “Help yourselves. There are chips on the counter. Sorry we’re not equipped to offer you more sustenance right now. Another week or so and we’ll be totally organized.”

“That’s my optimistic bride,” said Jim, giving her a kiss. “One week until we have all our cartons unpacked, the kitchen cabinets full, and life totally organized? Nice thought, my love. You hang on to that.”

Gussie asked him quietly, “Is Ike going to let Diana go back to her house tonight?”

Jim shook his head. “It’s a crime scene, and going to be that way for a while, I suspect, with storm preparation taking up police resources. I think he was tempted to find some reason to arrest her—at minimum, she didn’t have a license to carry the gun she had—but I convinced him I’d keep an eye on her.”

“Which means?” Gussie arched her eyebrows.

“Is it okay if she stays here tonight? I’d have to stay, too. It wouldn’t look good if only she and I stayed at my house, and I don’t feel comfortable with a murder suspect, even one we believe is innocent, staying here alone with you. Plus, I promised to keep her close.”

Gussie looked at him.

“I know, I know. This isn’t what we planned.”

Gussie nodded. “But she’s alone, and she needs us. Understood. It’s all right. She’s welcome. But there’s nothing set up in the guest bedroom right now. You get the guys to put the bed together. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Jim reached down and squeezed her shoulder. “Love you. Forty-eight hours to go before we prove it to the world.”

“And, Jim. One more thing. I don’t care where she is tonight. But promise me she’s gone before our wedding night,” Gussie said.

“Promise,” said Jim. “Don’t you worry about that!”

“Diana,” said Gussie, calling her over. “Jim says you can’t go back to your house tonight. We’d love to have you stay here with us, in our guest room.”