A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) (19 page)

Garden Street
. Knowing she would be glad to have an excuse to stop in and see John, I handed her the
manilla
folder containing today’s hate mail to deliver to him. Jenny busied herself at the copier assembling more information packets on Vista View, since we were running low. I retreated to the Mack office to man the phones.

Shortly after one o’clock, my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since dinner last night, and I volunteered to get a pizza from the diner at the corner of

Church Street
for Jenny and me. I welcomed the opportunity to stretch my legs on such a beautiful afternoon and strolled happily down
Old Main Street
. Abby Dalton, the owner of the diner, was a good friend, and it would be good to say hello and catch up.

Old Wethersfield was busy as local workers flocked to the diner and the boutique eateries that lined the street. Whether your tastes ran to homemade soup, fresh croissants, pizza or old standards like burgers and fries, you were sure to find it here.

In the two years since Mack Realty had taken up residence in the Law Barn, we had become acquainted with most of the business owners, and I was greeted with many waves and smiles as they bustled back to their shops and offices after squeezing quick lunches into their busy days.

Now that I was watchful for vans, it seemed to me that every other vehicle parked along

Old Main Street
was a beat-up work van. Lots of them even had broken headlights or taillights. Presumably, their owners didn’t bother to repair them because they were driven primarily during the day. A blue one parked in front of Wethersfield Travel caught my eye. Festooned with ladders, pails and ropes, with magnetic signs proclaiming that it was the property of Best Painters affixed to both sides, it was typical of the battered vehicles favored by local service people, except that this one was in pretty good shape. A fresh coat of paint covered most of the dings and dents in the old workhorse.

I mused that they must have become their own customers.
 
A shiny black one a few spaces further down gave me pause until I saw the logo of a Hartford office supplies store that routinely made deliveries in this area. The young driver lounged in the front seat, one foot propped on the dashboard, cell phone to one ear. Were young people never at a loss for conversation? Perhaps because I spent so much of my work day on the phone, I kept my cell phone for emergency use only and usually had it switched off. Because of recent events, I had taken to keeping it with me and switched on. Occasionally, I even remembered to recharge the battery. I patted it in my pocket now and went inside the diner to say hello to Abby and collect my pizza.

Late in the afternoon, long after Jenny and I had polished off a large part of the sausage-and-mushroom special, I was surprised to get a call from
Lavinia
Henstock
. “I’m so sorry to trouble you, Kate, but I wonder if I could possibly impose on you to drop by the house again this evening.”

That was the longest sentence
Lavinia
had ever uttered to me directly, and I was immediately concerned. “Is everything okay,
Lavinia
? Did you hear something from the police department?”

“Fine, fine,” she replied absently. “In fact, Sister and I have been told that we can go ahead and have the plumbing repairs completed in the basement. We’ve had a locksmith in to change the locks on all of the exterior doors, of course. Just a precaution, you know.” She cleared her throat. “
Ada
mentioned your idea of turning this house into a bed and breakfast as an alternative to selling it.”

“How do you feel about that?” I prompted.

“Oh, fine, fine,” she repeated vaguely. Clearly, that wasn’t the topic uppermost on her mind, but she couldn’t seem to get to whatever did hold the top spot. I waited as patiently as I could, picturing the old dear standing in her kitchen, perhaps fidgeting with the telephone cord or the strings on her ever-present apron. “
Ada
will be out for the evening. It’s her monthly bingo night at the church.”
Another pause.

A thought occurred to me. “Are you uneasy about being in the house alone,
Lavinia
?” How terrible it must be to be afraid of being alone in the house she had grown up in, but under the present circumstances, I could understand it. The saddest part was that I was the only one the poor darling could think to call to keep her company. It underlined how much the old ladies had come to depend on each other. But
Lavinia
surprised me.

“Goodness, no,” she protested with vigor. “Nothing
like
that, nothing at all.” After a final hesitation, she plunged into the real reason for having reached out to me. “Our recent, uh, unpleasantness has jogged my memory, you see. I’ve remembered something. At least, I believe I’ve remembered something. At my age, it’s sometimes difficult to tell if one is actually remembering a real incident or if one’s mind has created a fiction, rather like a dream, based on a snippet of long-ago conversation. In any event, I believe
Ada
might find this upsetting. I’m quite old enough to know that very often, it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, so before I contact that nice Lieutenant
Harkness
…” I could almost see
Lavinia
patting her hair into place. “… or risk unnerving
Ada
, I wonder if you would be willing to hear me out and give me your considered opinion.”

Quickly, I reviewed my evening agenda: Close up the office, feed the cats, and reheat the pizza left over from lunch for my solitary dinner, since Armando had a business thing to endure at
TelCom
. “Would seven o’clock suit you?” I offered and was gratified by the relief in
Lavinia’s
voice.

“Admirably, thank you. Perhaps you would enjoy a glass of sherry. It’s one of dear Papa’s after-dinner customs that Sister and I have continued.”

I assured
Lavinia
that a glass of sherry would be most welcome and ended the call, my curiosity thoroughly aroused. After clearing up a few odds and ends and shutting down my computer, I made short work of closing up the office and headed for The Birches. I strolled out to collect my junk mail and bills from the mailbox at the end of my driveway and met my neighbor Mary Feeney, who had come out to do the same. “I only collect this stuff once a week. There’s never anything interesting any more. Any repercussions after the attempted break-in?” she asked idly, sorting through the appalling stack of wasted paper in her gnarled hands.

For the sake of keeping a lid on neighborhood gossip, I minimized my misgivings. “I wouldn’t even go so far as characterizing it as an attempted break-in,” I laughed it off. “Probably just someone lost who saw my light on and rattled the doorknob when I didn’t answer the bell.”

“Uh huh.
And then he went around and rattled the back doorknob for good measure.” Mary glanced at me shrewdly through her Coke-bottle lenses. “I always do that when I’m lost in a strange neighborhood. Calling the police gives the locals something to do on a Saturday night.”

“Okay, okay, it was an attempted break-in. I think. Oh, I don’t know, but whatever it was, it’s over. And now that Armando has moved in, you don’t need to worry about me any longer.”

“How’s that going?” she asked, cooperating in my effort to change the subject, and we spent another couple of minutes laughing about my adjustment pains before returning to our respective units.

After I fed Jasmine and Simon, and shared one bite of sausage each with them from my reheated pizza, I left a brief note for Armando on the counter next to the stove. He always switched the heat on under the kettle first thing when he entered the house so he could make himself a cup of tea. “Keeping
Lavinia
Henstock
company
for a little while,” I wrote.
“Home by 9:00.
XO” As I anchored the note under one of the floral mugs from the cupboard, I chafed a bit at having to report my whereabouts. At the same time, I enjoyed knowing someone might actually give a rap about where I was. The conflicting emotions annoyed me, as always, and I shrugged them off. What was my problem? It wasn’t as if Armando would restrict me any more than it would occur to me to restrict him. I felt certain I could leave him a note saying, “Having dinner with George Clooney. Back when I’m back,” and upon my return, he would merely grin and ask if I’d had fun. Checking in with the person who shared your home was just common courtesy. Would marriage change that?

The evening was still warm, so I tossed a light jacket over my arm as insurance against the chill that would come later and picked up my purse. Instead of debating the merits of marriage, I’d do better to focus on
Lavinia
and whatever she was about to confide to me.

 
 
 
 
 

Ten

 

Shortly after seven o’clock, I was ensconced in the
Henstocks
’ front parlor with a glass of excellent sherry in one hand. A gentle breeze wafted in from an open window overlooking the porch. “The kitchen is cozy for tea or coffee,”
Lavinia
opined, “but Papa always thought that sherry should be served in the parlor. She patted a fat, terrier-sized dog of mixed heritage that was squeezed in next to her in her wingchair. Henry by name, he was a recent addition to the
Henstock
household and had set up quite a ruckus when I appeared at the kitchen entrance. “
Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf
!” he yapped shrilly now, jangling my nerves for the second time since my arrival.

“Henry, do be quiet,”
Lavinia
admonished ineffectually. The smith who had changed the locks had apparently persuaded the ladies that a watchdog would be the most effective deterrent to unwanted visitors. To their credit, they had adopted Henry from a local rescue group, but I was somewhat mystified by their selection. My idea of a watchdog would be a shepherd or a
doberman
; but what Henry lacked in size, he made up for in volume.

I attempted to find a more comfortable position on the tufted settee. Henry and I regarded each other warily. No doubt he gave the sisters some much-needed companionship, and if his raucous greeting upon my arrival was any indication, I doubted that future
visitors,
invited or not, would go unannounced. “I’m sure the Judge was right. This sherry is absolutely delicious, by the way.” I took another fortifying sip, moving slowly and unthreateningly under Henry’s beady gaze.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to see me, my dear. And how is Mrs. Putnam?”
Lavinia
was having trouble getting around to the reason she had asked me to visit.

I smiled at her formal reference to
Strutter
. “She’s very well, as a matter of fact. She and her husband learned recently that they are expecting a child in December. It might even be a Christmas baby.”

If I had worried about offending
Lavinia’s
delicate sensibilities with this news, I needn’t have. “I just knew it!” She beamed with delight. “There was something about her the last time she was here …
a radiance
, you might say.”

“I’ll be sure to give her your regards. Now
Lavinia
, I confess that I’m very curious to know what you’ve remembered, or think you’ve remembered, that might shed some light on the, um, remains found in your basement.” I sat back carefully, mindful of Henry.

“Yes, of course. I’ll get right to it, but first, let me refill your glass.” I was astonished to discover that my stemmed crystal glass was already empty. As I said, it was exceptionally good sherry.

Lavinia
refilled my glass and topped off her own, then squeezed back into the wing chair, where Henry had appropriated more than his fair share of space. “There’s a good doggie,” she praised him, presumably for allowing her to share her own chair, which she did by easing him over to one side. “Now, let’s see. You may recall that when you and Lieutenant
Harkness
were having tea in our kitchen the other day, I mentioned that some years after our mother passed on, the Judge sometimes … entertained a lady friend in his office during the evening.”

I nodded encouragingly. “Yes. I remember
Ada
seemed very surprised to hear that. As I remember it,
Ada
was a bit more social than you were as a young woman, and she was often out with her friends while you stayed here in the house. Naturally, you would have a better idea about the Judge’s habits.”

Lavinia
smiled and patted Henry’s head while I sipped more sherry. To my eye, the dog looked quite smug. “Delicately put, my dear. But do you recall that I mentioned one evening in particular? It was around nine o’clock, I think.
Ada
was out, and I went downstairs to make some tea for myself before retiring with a new novel. I could hear voices coming from Papa’s study, one of them a woman’s. On impulse, and partly out of curiosity, I confess, I tapped on his door to ask if he and his visitor would like some tea. I was surprised when he didn’t answer, and when I tried to turn the knob to poke my head in, I was even more surprised to find the door locked from the inside. I went straight to bed, and neither Papa nor I ever spoke of the incident again.”