Sins and Needles (28 page)

“Now, let's go back to my place,” said Randy. “I've got a chisel and hammer.”

Back in the side yard, Godwin washed it off, then Jan took the hose and washed herself, groaning at the gray overlay on her formerly crisp yellow outfit. Randy shut the water off, then went for his tools. “All right, everyone ready?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, get on with it!” said Jan, her hands clasped at her chest.

So Randy knelt and began prying the top off. The wood was old and soft. It didn't take long. The lid lifted at the front, then along one side, and at the back. He grasped the long edge and pulled upward.

There was a filthy wad of cloth filling the box. Jason turned the faucet until only a gentle stream came out of the hose and handed it to Randy, who played it over the cloth, washing away some of the filth. Then he reached in with one hand and began lifting the cloth away at one end. They all bent in to see as he played the stream over the pale gray-brown face of a tiny dead infant.

J
AN
screamed and fell backwards, landing hard on her bottom. Betsy immediately knelt beside her, pulling her into an awkward sideways embrace. The others backed away from the box, their faces pictures of dismay and distress.

“Is that a real baby?” asked Godwin fearfully.

“Sure looks like it,” replied Randy, leaning forward briefly for a better look. He still had the dribbling hose in one unconscious hand.

“It's so
little
,” said Jason.

“A newborn, probably,” said Godwin. “Maybe even a preemie?”

Betsy said, “Randy, was that place ever a cemetery?”

“No, there was never a white man's cemetery on the Big Island, and the Indians didn't coffin their dead. Besides, there was always a swamp over there, just smaller than it is today.”

“Maybe—maybe it's a pioneer burial,” said Jason. “You know, some poor mother lost her baby, and they buried it over there, back when it was solid land.”

“No,” said Randy. “It would be a skeleton if it was buried a real long time ago.”

“What should we do?” asked Jason. “It's a dead baby, we can't just put it back.”

“No, of course not,” said Betsy. “We have to call the police.”

“No!” said Jan sharply.

“What do you mean, no?” asked Betsy, so surprised she released her. “We have to report this.”

“No, no, there must be something else we can do!” insisted Jan. “Don't you see? My mother buried that baby!”

 

“N
INE-ONE-ONE
, what is your emergency?”

“I just came home and found my wife! She's bleeding from her chest, I think, and her head! There's blood all over!”

“Is she conscious?”

“No. She's making funny noises when she breathes. Please send an ambulance right away!”

“Where are you?”

“In one of the Dove Cabins near the lake.”

“What street? What city?”

“It's a town named Excelsior. The cabins are on Cedar Lane off of Third. Oh, God, please hurry!”

 

“W
ELL
, that was embarrassing,” said Jason, as he helped Jan put the basket back in the boat.

“Does that mean we haven't found the real treasure?” asked Godwin, waiting his turn to climb aboard.

“Beats me,” sighed Jan.

“A
doll
!” muttered Jason, climbing up into the cockpit and flinging himself into the captain's chair. “We called the police over a stupid, crummy old doll!” He shot Betsy a venomous look, because she had insisted they not disturb the find any further and summon the police.

“Well, I'm glad it was just a doll!” said Jan. “I'm ashamed of the things I was thinking about Mother! Honestly, how I could jump to such a terrible conclusion!”

Jason thumped his fist on the dash. “When that cop pulled the blanket all the way back, and I could see it was just a dumb old doll, I wanted to go out and live on my boat—never go ashore again! Did you see his face? He just about gave himself a hernia trying not to laugh! I bet he's laughing now. I bet he'll laugh for a week! He'll tell all his friends, and pretty soon a TV camera crew will show up at my door! The final straw will be when we find ourselves in ‘News of the Weird'!”

“Oh, shut up, Jason!” said Jan.

“You're being very quiet,” Godwin said to Betsy, taking a plastic-wrapped bundle from her, then reaching back to help her climb into the boat.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” She found a place on the bench seat along one side and sat down, frowning lightly.

“We're all aboard now,” Jan said to her brother. “You can start for The Docks.” The engine started to roar, and further conversation was impossible until they reached Excelsior.

Then Betsy asked, “Jan, are you planning on telling your mother about this?”

“Well, of course!”

“May I ask a big favor?”

“All right.”

“Let me go with you when you do.”

“What? Why? And anyway I was going to tell her on the phone.”

“No, don't do that. Tell her in person.”

“I don't understand.”

“I think we did find the treasure. I think your mother buried that doll. I want to be with you when she tells you why.”

A few minutes later, as Godwin was walking Betsy home, he asked, “Do you really think Jan's mom buried that doll?”

“Well, I have a theory now, and I'm sure that whoever stitched that map knew what was in the box.”

Godwin sighed dramatically at the mention of the box.

Betsy smiled at him. “Poor fellow, such a disappointment! No gold coins, no ruby rings.”

“And I was
so
looking forward to trying on the crown.”

“Crown?”

“Didn't you ever read comic books? There's always a royal crown in treasure chests.”

They were nearly at Betsy's apartment building when Godwin said, “Look, isn't that Phil Galvin?”

The old man was standing tall, looking around. When he saw Betsy and Godwin, he waved at them, urging them to hurry.

So they did. Coming toward them, he demanded in his too-loud voice, “Have you heard the news, about Lucille Jones?”

“What about her?” asked Betsy.

“She's in the hospital, hurt bad!”

“No!” said Godwin. “How, what happened?”

“Someone attacked her in her cabin. Maybe shot her. Her husband came home and found her.”

“Where is she?” asked Betsy.

“HCMC, downtown,” he said, referring to Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis.

“Have the police arrested anyone?”

“Not that I know of. I only know what I heard over the police band.”

“So this isn't on the regular news yet?”

“I don't know. I didn't turn on the TV or radio before I came over. I was in a hurry, y'see. I was thinking it might be a part of this business with old Miss Hanraty, and I know you're looking into that.” He seemed anxious that she do something, right now.

The door to the upper apartments opened, and Doris came out. “What's going on? Who rang my doorbell?”

Phil, startled, turned around. “I did. I was trying to get hold of Betsy, and when she didn't answer, I rang your bell.”

“Oh.” She started to go back inside, but Betsy said, “Doris, perhaps you could invite Phil up. He's just brought me some important news, and now he's upset and needs to sit down before he goes home.”

Doris looked as if she was about to refuse, then relented. Smiling, she said, “Of course. Come in, Phil.”

Betsy said, “I have some things to do. Come on, Goddy.”

Up in her apartment, while Godwin unloaded the leftover drinks into her refrigerator, Betsy dialed Jill's phone number. “Jill,” she said, “can you find out about a patient at HCMC? It's Lucille Jones. Something bad happened to her, perhaps someone shot her, in her cabin.”

“Oh, no, when did this happen?”

“Very recently. Phil Galvin heard about it on his police radio and was waiting for me when we got back from a trip out to the Big Island. It was Lucille's husband who called it in, I think. I'm going to call Jan, but I've got my cell phone, so call me back on that.”

“Will do.”

Betsy hung up and dialed Jan. “Jan, have you heard about Lucille?” she asked. “She's at HCMC with an unknown injury. I'm not sure of any details yet, but I wanted to give you a heads-up on this.”

“Ohhhhhh,” groaned Jan. “This is awful! What was it, a car accident?”

“I'm afraid not.”

There was a little pause. Jan said, “You mean, someone tried to
kill
her?”

“I don't have any confirmation of details yet, only that her husband came to the cabin and found her, and she's at HCMC.”

“What should I do? Should I go over there?”

“No, they won't tell you anything or let you see her, because you're not family. I mean—”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Oh, gosh, this is so awful!”

“Hold on, my cell phone's ringing.” Betsy put down the receiver and pulled her cell phone from her purse. “Hello?”

“It's Jill. Yes, she's at HCMC, in surgery. Bullet wounds to the head and chest. I'm afraid she's listed as critical.”

“Have they arrested anyone?”

“No. Looking at the husband, of course, but he's behaving appropriately, crying and angry. Sergeant Rice is there, but he's got Mike assisting—uh-oh, doorbell. Hold on.”

“No, that's all I wanted. Thanks, Jill.” Betsy disconnected and went back to Jan. “Jill says she's in surgery, that she was shot in the head and chest.”

“Oh, my God! Who could have done this?”

“Well, not you or Jason.”

“What? You couldn't think—oh, you're thinking like the police! We have
alibis
!”

“Yes. Jan, I want to talk to Susan right away, before that investigator, Rice, gets to her. I'll come and pick you up in a couple of minutes—I still need to change clothes.”

“Y-yes, all right.”

Godwin came out of the kitchen, eyes round, and said, “Shall I wait here and answer the phone?”

“Would you, Goddy? Thanks.”

“Don't forget this,” he said, handing her the plastic-wrapped bundle.

Ten minutes later, Jan climbed into Betsy's Buick. “What if Sergeant Rice is already there, at my mother's?” she asked, fastening her seat belt.

“He won't be. He's at the hospital, talking to Bobby Lee and waiting to see if he can talk to Lucille. But Mike Malloy's on the case, too. I don't know if the two of them have discussed Sergeant Rice's investigation into Edyth Hanraty's murder.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because you're involved, and so are the Joneses—and you're all living in Excelsior. Mike is going to be ringing your doorbell very soon.” Betsy made the turn off Water Street onto Nineteenth.

“Will he be mad if I'm not there?”

“He'll be annoyed, but your husband can explain that you were out on the Big Island with me, your brother and several other people.”

“And then he'll come to talk to Mother.”

Betsy pressed down on the accelerator. “Yes, you're right.”

They stayed on Nineteenth, winding among the bays of Lake Minnetonka through Shorewood, Tonka Bay, and Navarre to Fifteen, which went past Minnetonka Beach and Crystal Bay, in the greater township (well, city, in the lexicon of the lake) of Orono.

“Turn here,” said Jan, pointing to Orchard Road, then immediately, “turn left,” gesturing toward Fox Street.

Soon they were wandering in a development of town-homes. “Next left is Mother's,” said Jan.

Betsy pulled into the driveway of a one-and-a-half level townhome that shared a wall with its mirror image. They were on a street of white twin homes distinguishable only by the annuals planted in their front yards.

“No strange car in the driveway, that's good,” noted Jan, who climbed out and hurried up to the front door beside the garage. She pressed the doorbell several times, then opened the door.

Betsy, going into the back for the bundle, heard her call, “Are you decent, Mother?” She followed her to the door, but paused before going in.

Suddenly Jan was there, smiling apologetically. “Forgot my manners, come in, come in.”

Susan McConnell was sitting in her living room, using the strong sunlight coming through the big front window as an aid to her stitching. But she had taken off the hanging magnifying glass and was putting her needle into the edge of her framed counted cross-stitch piece.

Though she had seen her dozens of times, Betsy was struck now by how much Susan was unlike her daughter. Susan was short, dark and slender, while Jan was tall, blond and sturdy—and so was her brother, Jason. Must take after their father, thought Betsy—and then thought of Lucille, who looked so much like Jan.

“Mother, we want to talk to you about something important. I'm going to let Betsy ask you some questions, all right?” Jan sat on the pretty couch and gestured at Betsy to sit beside her.

“All right,” said Susan, looking swiftly between the two of them, trying to read the questions in advance. Her eyes stopped short at the bundle on Betsy's lap, which was just a big, black garbage bag wrapped around something and held in place with strips of duct tape.