The Death of Perry Many Paws (6 page)

“It’s good that something from here can be taken out and used,” Diane said. “Otherwise it seems like a pretty sad way to have lived, surrounded by stuff that other people feel is garbage once you’re gone.”

“Did you find anything interesting, Grace?” Syra asked.

Grace nodded her head. “Very. Worth saving? Probably not. He had years and years of
National Geographic
magazines.”

“Claudia gave him a subscription every Christmas,” I confirmed.

“And piles of paperbacks in very poor shape. We should toss them.”

“What about the newspapers? Were there more than just that one pile in the corner?”

“That’s all I could find. Now here’s something odd: at first they looked like a bunch of random newspapers going back seventy some years. But when I began to sort through them, I realized there was only one newspaper for each year and that it was the newspaper from the same day each year, April 1.”

Syra laughed. “He saved the newspaper from April Fool’s Day each year? What was the point?”

“I’ve no idea. But they were in order all the way back to 1938. Over seventy years of newspapers from April Fool’s Day.” Grace got up from the table. “Do I dare use the bathroom? I’ve had four bottles of water.”

“Sure, I already used it and it’s clean. I even unwrapped a new roll of toilet paper. There’s no soap or towels though because I threw the towels away. You definitely wouldn’t have wanted to use them. I’m sorry I even had to touch them,” Syra said.

Diane tidied up the dregs of our unhealthy feast. “How are we going to get all this trash out of here?”

“I think that’s a job for Cam, a truck and a machete. We’ll just leave all the trash in the house for now. Cam will help get all the books up to the house, too. I don’t think we want to do it one trip at a time walking through the woods.”

Grace returned from the bathroom, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I think we should keep the newspapers.”

“Why?” Diane asked. “I thought the point was to get rid of anything that wasn’t usable. Old newspapers definitely fall into that category.”

“It’s just such a strange thing,” Grace said. “Over seventy newspapers from April 1? It can’t hurt to hold on to them for a while. I’d like to see if there are any articles about my bookstore in them.”

“Fine with me,” I agreed, “as long as you store them at your house, not mine.”

I had set the old photo on the table when I sat down to eat. I suddenly remembered it and picked it up to study more closely. Five children—two boys and three girls—posed casually on a large lawn near a grouping of trees. They wore light jackets and the trees were starting to bud, so it must have been in the spring. It must have been a dry day because one of the boys and the older girl sat cross-legged on the ground, which was awkward for the girl as she wore a skirt. The other boy stood in the middle with two younger girls on either side. The two boys and the seated girl looked to be around the same age, older than the other two girls. I wiped it off with my paper towel and passed it around the table.

There was much oohing and aahing over how cute the little girls looked in their old-fashioned ruffled dresses. Both the boys were declared very handsome, especially the one standing with an impish grin on his face. We agreed that the girl sitting on the ground, dressed in a plainer dress than the little girls and wearing what looked like sturdy boots, must have been a bit of a handful, while the two little girls, her sisters maybe, looked like perfect little ladies, five going on forty. They must have been important to Franklin because it was the only photo we had found in his house.

hat evening Cam spent most of his time on the phone with Abbey trying to fix her computer in the most inefficient way possible—miles apart. But he had a good time. It felt like when she lived at home and the two of them puzzled over the vagaries of technology together. I told him about the trip to the cottage and what we found there, but he wasn’t that interested. Once you’ve found a dead body, there isn’t really much you can report that doesn’t seem dull by comparison. I thought more about the newspapers and the photo and by morning had come to the conclusion that I would need to drive out to Chez Claudia to discuss our findings with her. I needed to report on the books and see what she wanted to do with them. Maybe she would have some insight into the odd newspaper collection and who the children in the picture were.

Claudia now lives in a gracious senior living complex. When she first moved out of the Behrends castle after Cam and I were married, she and Sybil had traveled and cruised around the world for several years, stopping by briefly between trips. She had been happy traveling until Abbey was born and then she wanted to be close by, and permanently returned to Birdsey Falls. I had been petrified that she would want to move back into the house with us and “help” with the baby—a fear that made Cam laugh out loud. He was right, of course.
She returned to town and moved into a cottage affiliated with the senior living complex. It was a spacious two-bedroom bungalow with a large yard and she was able to hire someone to maintain a garden so she could enjoy the flowers she loved.

Once she turned seventy, she had moved out of the cottage and into the independent apartment complex. Here she enjoyed restaurant-style meals, massages, swimming, lectures, fitness sessions, crafting and group excursions. She had a spacious apartment with a large bedroom, a den and a living room large enough to accommodate her grand piano. The kitchen was small but she rarely used it for anything other than coffee making or an occasional meal when she didn’t feel up to going to either the large formal dining room or the coffee shop. Over the years she had built up a large network of friends and was always busy. I called after breakfast to make sure she would be there and not in the midst of some activity when I arrived.

Walking into the Ashland Belle Senior Living Complex always makes me feel like Scarlett O’Hara. I want to swish my long skirts as I cross the meticulously maintained lawn and walk across the columned front porch. I feel like I should curtsey to the white-haired colonels and their ladies rocking on the porch, sipping their mint juleps and discussing the frivolous social gossip of the day. I can see why after decades of living in the ugly Behrends castle, Claudia had chosen the perfectly proportioned beauty of Ashland Belle. There were winding walkways lined with delicate tables and chairs for outside tea time. The plush lawn gently sloped down to a man-made pond where you could sit in a gazebo and gaze at the surrounding gardens, water fountains and statuary. If you felt restless, you could walk along the path around the pond and feed the ducks. It was a spiritually replenishing place. It was no wonder that every year dozens of people were married on these grounds, much to the delight of the senior citizens. It was the kind of place you felt you had to dress up to come visit, so instead of
jeans I had on my gray wool slacks and a blazer. I knew Claudia and her friends would be sporting their family pearls, diamonds and whatnot and dressed in their Sunday best no matter what day of the week it was.

Claudia had assured me she would be in, so I headed right up to her apartment on the second floor. I took the winding staircase rather than the elevator to retain my Scarlett O’Hara persona as long as possible. The hall carpet always looked new and the halls wound gently so you didn’t have the feeling you were in a long institutional corridor. The handrail was discreetly built into the wall so it looked like wainscoting. Oil paintings and water colors, many done by the residents, hung on the walls, and antique tables with fresh flowers and comfortable chairs were placed at each alcove where the hallway curved. Each person’s apartment had a brass doorknocker and a gold name plate. Very classy. I probably should have worn a dress.

Claudia had on a long mauve plaid wool skirt, mauve cashmere sweater, pearls and bare feet. She graciously ushered me in and went to get me coffee, which she knows I don’t drink. I only drink water and diet soda, but she refuses to believe it, so always gives me coffee, which I thank her for and never drink.

“Here’s your coffee, dear. I hope this is the way you like it,” she said as she handed me the Royal Winton chintz cup and saucer. “Do you find it more difficult to find bras now that your figure is becoming more matronly?”

I instinctively glanced down at my chest. “No, not really,” I replied as if this was a perfectly normal question. “Thank you for the coffee, Claudia.” I set the coffee down on the end table where it would remain until I left. I heard a noise coming from the kitchen. “Is someone here?” I asked.

My mind began to race with visions of Claudia entertaining a paramour when I had called and the two of them not being able to break the bonds of passion in time for him to disappear before my arrival
twenty minutes later. Although always a beautiful woman, Claudia had not, to the best of my knowledge, been romantically involved with anyone since Cam’s father died. Maybe she had had a long-time lover Cam and I had never known about, or even a series of them flitting in and out of her life, being tossed away after they became boring. Perhaps this was why she had been so happy to give Cam and me the house when we had gotten married. She needed privacy to indulge all her romantic escapes and still retain her dignified Matron of Birdsey Falls persona. I began to get that same feeling of dread I had experienced walking around the gardener’s cottage the day I discovered Uncle Franklin.

Sybil Bright entered the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. I breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, it would be Sybil. Sybil was a childhood friend of Claudia’s and they had made a pact that when they were old ladies they would live together. Sybil lived across the hall and she and Claudia were inseparable. Sybil had had many careers besides having been married at least four times. She’d lived in New York City when she was in her twenties and once had a bit part in a Broadway play. Sybil didn’t just dress, she wore costumes. Today she wore a jade and teal sari, which looked good with her flaming red hair. She had her full theater makeup on, the pancake foundation competing with the wrinkles in an effort to emerge. I had to control myself not to stare. I was so distracted by Sybil that I actually took a sip of my coffee. Claudia gave me a triumphant look as if that proved I really did like coffee and had previously perversely refused to drink hers.

I gave Claudia a list of the books that I had found at the cottage that I thought we should keep. The first-edition Jack Londons had been her father’s and I thought she might want them. She didn’t and agreed that they should all go into the library at The Castle. She also agreed with letting Diane’s sons have the kitchen items she had selected. She didn’t seem to want anything from her brother’s cottage.
Other than the books, there really wasn’t much in the cottage worth keeping, but I thought she might want something as a memento. I was wrong. As I handed her the old framed photograph from Franklin’s desk, she did perk up.

“Oh, Sybil, look at this!” She and Sybil were seated next to each other on the couch so all she had to do was lean over and show it to her. “I can’t believe Franklin still had this photo. It was such a long time ago.”

I moved over to the couch and perched on the arm. “Who are these children? Neither Cam or I could identify anyone.”

Claudia rubbed her hand back and forth over the image as if conjuring up the memory of that long ago day when the five children had stopped their play long enough to reluctantly pose for some camera enthusiast.

“The tall boy standing in the middle is Franklin …” Claudia’s voice broke. I stared at the handsome boy with the big smile. It was impossible to see the man Franklin had become in this vigorous laughing teenager. Claudia caressingly pointed to each person in the photo.

“Standing to his right is Sybil and I’m on his left. The girl sitting on the ground is Hetty Foster and the boy next to her is Edmund Close. Hetty, Edmund and Franklin were quite the adventurous trio. Remember how they used to try to drag us into their games, Sybil?”

“Of course. Hetty was a real tomboy, which Claudia and I were not, so nothing they did appealed to us. There were a lot of games where they dressed up as pirates and hid things in the woods for each other to find with a treasure map,” Sybil said.