Death by Hitchcock (11 page)

“As a matter of fact,” Edwina replied, “I was awfully curious, because I’d never seen Milo sitting with anyone at the library before––he always comes in alone––so I did––uh––position myself in a way that I might be able to pick up a few tidbits here and there.”

“Without them seeing you,” Will chided.

“Right,” Edwina said.

Edwina remembered how Will had cautioned her during the Sidebottom investigation about eavesdropping, and about generally sticking her nose into other peoples’ business more than she should. Fortified by wine, she regarded him with a righteous expression of blamelessness.      

“I’m listening,” Will said.

“Interesting thing number one,” Edwina said, “was that the two of them seemed very uncomfortable together at first. Their body language was awkward, and the conversation was slow to get going. But by the end of teatime, they were super-friendly. That tells me it was probably their first time together. Milo’s not exactly a lady’s man, you know. I doubt he dates much.” 

“And?” Will said.

“And before Mary Buttery arrived, Milo was acting really weird, even for him. He changed seats about five times,” Edwina said. 

“And then later on, he said something strange. He and Mary were talking about there being a murderer loose on campus, and Milo told Mary she didn’t have anything to worry about. Kind of like, assuring her that nothing bad would happen to
her
.”

Will sat quietly for a few moments.

“Like some kind of oblique admission of guilt?” he said. 

“Or maybe a boast?” he continued, “Maybe Milo was trying to take credit for the crime in order to impress Mary. Milo would know that Mary hated Bunny
––most of the Film Department probably knew it. Maybe he wanted Mary to see him as her white knight, the vanquisher of Bunny, so he hinted about being her murderer.”

“Or maybe he really did kill Bunny,” Edwina said.
“No shortage of motives or suspects, all of a sudden!” she added. 

“The day you saw Honeysuckle and Mary together at the tea place
––did you hear any of their conversation?” Will asked.

“No, sorry. I was in and out of there pretty fast.”

“I think I’ll stop by there tomorrow, and see if Mary and Honeysuckle are regular customers. Maybe other patrons overheard some of their conversation at some point. What’s the name of the place?”

“Olivia’s Tea Room. It’s where the chocolate shop used to be, at the bottom of Main Street.”

Edwina poured more tea, and they continued watching the documentary. After the picnic sequence at Lattimer’s Pond, Edwina asked Will to rerun it.

“How come?” Will said.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “That’s why I want to see it again. Something doesn’t sit right with me about this part. I have no idea what.”

The picnic scenes were elegantly composed in shifting tones of light and shadow. Opening on a long shot, Louis and Hannah Edwards approach Lattimer’s Pond along a path overhung with trees. They stop in a clearing under a weeping willow tree next to the water. Hannah is carrying baby Elsie in a side sling made of a bright, printed fabric. Louis has a large wicker hamper
in one hand and a plastic cooler in the other. Louis sets them down, and spreads a blanket on the ground. Hannah lays the baby on her back while she and Louis set out the picnic things. In the background we see Milo appear through the woods. The cooing baby, rustling leaves on the trees, and lush, green background create a peaceful, rustic tableau full of dappled sunlight.

The entire sequence lasted sixteen minutes, ending with the newer footage of Milo, shot from one side of the pond across to the other, as he walks away through the woods in dusky shadow.

“Beats me,” Edwina said. “Something in here is bothering me, but I can’t figure out what it is. Maybe something will come to me later.  Let’s keep watching.”

Chapter 29

As in other such towns founded around the time of the Revolutionary War, New Guilford encompassed a mix of old and new. Amidst the quaint Main Street shops and cobblestone alleyways, trendy clothing boutiques and yoga studios were popping up next to places that had been there for generations, like Shattuck’s Hardware. A vegan restaurant was about to open up where Hattie’s Country Market had been for fifty years. Across the street from Hattie’s was Uncle Shelby’s Bookshop, owned by octogenarian poet, Shelburne Adams, who still offered free coffee and donuts on weekends. The Earl of Sandwich Café (known popularly as Earl’s) was still thriving after twenty-five years. Earl Dufresne offered excellent homemade fare like potpies and stews. Many of Earl’s regulars were old-timers. For them the café was like a second home, a place to go when they got up in the morning, a social club for a band of lively retirees. It was somewhere to belong when nobody needed you elsewhere.

Edwina and Will arrived at the same time, and took their table in the back. After breakfast (blueberry pancakes for Edwina; scrambled eggs with chili and tamales for Will), Will suggested a walk into town.

“Hold up for a second,” he said on the sidewalk. “You’ve got some syrup in your hair.” 

Will licked the tips of his thumb and forefinger, and gently rubbed the sticky stuff from a lock of her hair. He lingered for a moment, considering the faint freckles on her nose and cheeks. 

“Shall we check out the Farmer’s Market?” she said, smiling up at him.  Her breath smelled sweetly of maple syrup.

The open-air Farmer’s Market, set up every other weekend in the parking lot of the public library, was considerably shrunken during the winter months compared with the crowd that descended over the planting and harvest months. Enthusiasm among local artisans, farmers and craftspeople was keen enough to keep the market going year round. Edwina and Will wandered through the homemade jams and pickled peppers, locally made breads and free-range eggs.

Edwina stopped in front of a log cabin style birdhouse while Will was examining a tray of fishing lures. The birdhouse had little red shutters on the tiny windows, and a chimney made of river stones.

“That would be nice in the apple tree outside my kitchen,” she said to no one in particular.

“You like that one, do you?” a raspy voice boomed, startling Edwina.

An old man with a roadmap etched on his weathered face belonged to the voice. He wore layers of flannel and wool clothing that smelled faintly of urine.

“It’s a beauty, all right,” the old man grinned, revealing a serious deficit of teeth.

“How are you, Ned?” Will said, materializing at Edwina’s side.

“This is Edwina, Ned. She teaches up at the college.”

“You don’t say?” the old man said. “What kind of birds?”

“Hm?” Edwina said, distracted by Ned’s hulking size and acrid body odor.

“I think I’ve seen a few downy woodpeckers at your place, isn’t that right Edwina?” Will answered.

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Edwina said. “That’s right.  I’ve got chickadees and downy woodpeckers and titmice––”

“You don’t want no more than an inch and a quarter opening, then,” the old man said helpfully. “This’ll do you perfect. Two inches tops, if you want finches to nest in there, but no more’n that.”

“It’s a beautiful birdhouse,” Edwina said. “How much is it?”

“Well,” the old man said, winking,
“since you’re a friend of William here, how about fifteen dollars?”

Will carried the birdhouse as they roamed through the rest of the market. Edwina zipped her fleece up to her chin, and tugged her beret over her ears against the chilly air.

“Such interesting friends,” she said.

“Ned’s a good egg,” Will said. “He lives alone, outside of town in a geodesic dome he and his wife built in the seventies. He’s been more or less off the grid ever since. I go out there once in a while to help him with repairs.”

“Will, look,” Edwina said, pointing. “There’s Honeysuckle.”

“Let’s pay her a visit,” Will said. 

Honeysuckle sat at a table, knitting, behind jars of homemade honey, herbal teas, homeopathic remedies, and hand-knitted scarves and hats. The bags of tea looked just like the one Will had seen in Mary Buttery’s apartment. Honeysuckle was dressed in a tweed skirt, wool tights, Wellington boots, and a brightly colored cape she had undoubtedly knitted herself. The woolly outfit padded her plump figure and made her look nearly round.

“Hello, Honeysuckle,” Edwina said.

Honeysuckle looked up from her knitting.

“Edwina! How lovely to see you!” she said, shifting her glance quickly to Will.

“This is Will Tenney,” Edwina said. “Honeysuckle Blessington, Nedda Cake’s niece.”

“You’re the young man I saw with Edwina the night of the film festival when that poor girl was found, aren’t you?” Honeysuckle said, fixing Will with a surprisingly flirtatious look.

“That’s right,” Will replied. “As a matter of fact, I’m investigating the case. Detective Tenney,” he said, proffering a hand. “Did you happen to know the girl who got killed?”

“Heavens, no,” Honeysuckle replied. “Of course, I suppose she could have been one of my customers here at the market, but I can’t possibly remember everyone who buys a jar of honey, you know! I get an awful lot of customers.”

“That’s odd,” Will replied, “because I understand you are a regular at the Film Society. And that you made a habit of sitting behind Professor Winner and the deceased girl.”

Honeysuckle stared mutely at Will with a frozen smile, while Edwina pretended to become interested in the pottery at the next table.

“Now, that is an astonishing coincidence,” Honeysuckle said, standing slowly and putting her hands on her ample hips, as if trying to frighten off a wild animal by displaying her considerable size.

“I would love to talk more about it,” she continued, “only I have customers to attend to.  Please excuse me.”

Will walked away, and Edwina drifted back to Honeysuckle’s stall. She tried to placate Honeysuckle by engaging her in pleasantries
––admiring her knitted articles of clothing, and asking about Nedda. Will sent Edwina a text telling her to purchase a bag of Honeysuckle’s herbal tea mixture.

“I’d love to try a jar of your honey,” Edwina said. “It looks delicious. And I’ll have a bag of tea, too, please.”

Honeysuckle wrapped the honey in a brown paper bag, and placed it in another brown paper bag, along with the tea. Her enthusiasm toward Edwina had cooled noticeably.

“There you are, dear. Enjoy,” she said curtly.

“Thanks, Honeysuckle. It was nice to see you,” Edwina said.

Edwina and Will left the market and headed back across town toward Earl’s.

“Did you notice how her hands were trembling?” Edwina said as they strolled along a quiet residential street.

“Probably nervous talking to the police,” Will said.

The winter sunlight warmed their backs as they walked in companionable silence. A dozy, weekend atmosphere hung over the sleepy street, punctured occasionally by a barking dog or the sounds of children playing in somebody’s yard.

“Or,” Edwina said, “what if it’s something neurological? Let’s say, just theoretically, that she has a serious illness. Such things have been known to affect peoples’ minds and allow them to do things they normally wouldn’t do.”

“Like murder?” Will replied.

“Just a thought,” she said.

“If that were true, that Honeysuckle has a serious illness, wouldn’t her Aunt Nedda know about it?” Will said.

“Not necessarily,” replied Edwina. 

“Honeysuckle might want to keep something like that to herself. Maybe we’ve got a ‘bucket list’ situation. Maybe Honeysuckle, knowing she has a terminal illness, decided to shoot for the moon
––get Bunny Baldwin out of the way and have a fling with Chaz Winner.”

“Let’s say Honeysuckle does have a grave illness,” Will replied, “and that she killed Bunny so she could have a shot at Chaz Winner. Nedda would have noticed Honeysuckle’s tremor just the way you did, and would have inquired about it.”

“Honeysuckle could have passed it off as something non-serious, though,” Edwina replied. “She could have lied to Nedda about it.”

“Maybe,” Will said. 

“Just testing out theories,” Edwina replied. 

“I don’t know if Honeysuckle had anything to do with the murder, but I do think she knows more than she is saying,” he said.

“You think so?”

“Did you see the aggressive move she made to end the conversation with me? People only do that when they’re trying to hide something. Of course, it could be she’s concealing information about Bunny’s murder to protect someone else.” 

Will stopped short.

“I just realized something,” he said.

Edwina turned to face him. 

“The night of the murder,” he said, “my officers took down everyone’s name who was in the auditorium.  Names and contact information. We’ve been going over and over the list. I’ve just realized that Honeysuckle’s name is nowhere on that list! I’m just about positive I would have remembered
––it’s such an unusual name. I’ve got to get to the office and find out.”

As soon as they arrived back at Earl’s, Will jumped in his truck.

“See you later,” he called out to Edwina, shoving the truck into gear and pulling away.

She stood in the middle of the parking lot, staring after him, thinking about what he had just said. More names for the list on her blackboard. More to think
about. A few minutes later she unlocked her bike and pedaled away