Husbands And Lap Dogs Breathe Their Last (17 page)

“Someone who knows someone in the Sagadahoc County Sheriff’s office. I did not understand the scientific details, but I do think I understand the thrust of the thing.”

“And what is that?”

“It’s complicated, you understand. The body was there for months. They don’t think it froze until some days after it was put in the boat, so Chess decayed quite a bit at the beginning. The placement of the boat on my land seems to have resulted in much heat from the sun on the front cabin. Although Chess did freeze sooner or later, he also partially thawed a few times. Then there were the animals gnawing at him. So all and all, it seems there wasn’t a whole lot of Chess in the state when he was found that it was in when he was lost. They found some of this chemical, and they found some of that chemical, but not enough to be absolutely sure about anything. But there was a fracture on the back of his skull, so he must have been hit wicked good.”

“Is that what killed him?”

“I don’t think that’s clear. Incidentally, I saw Elektra at the store. She asked me to ask you, when will you be visiting Maine again? It seems Deuty is wicked eager to see you.”

“Thanks, Ernestine.”

The following morning Cummings returned to Rutley Paik’s modest bungalow but did not find him home. He left a note, asking him to call Cummings. Cummings was sure he would. Those who are hiding something, as Rutley surely was, are always eager to demonstrate they aren’t.

The call came within three hours.

“You left a note at my house?” Rutley asked.

“Indeed I did,” Cummings replied. “Thanks for getting in touch. I have just a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” Rutley said.

“I’m confused about the Craddock Brooch. You said Therese bought it at an auction.”

“Actually, it was a gift from me. She bought it, but I paid for it.”

“You bought it? Why did you lie about that?”

“I didn’t. I answered the question you asked.”

“Why were you at the Clarkson’s auction?”

“I told you. I was curious.”

“I think you were there because you’ve been keeping an eye on Tom Daniels.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because my colleague saw you parked in front of his house.”

“I was meeting someone. It was a convenient location.”

“Neither you nor Mary lives or works in Tom’s neighborhood.”

“You know about Mary?”

“Yes. Now would you tell me why you’ve been investigating Tom?”

“Why have you been following me?”

“Why have you been following Tom?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“No, you don’t. However, you do understand that I’m trying to find out what happened to Therese?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why.”

“I conduct investigations for the joy of it. I like to figure things out. What about you?”

“I’m a fireman,” he said, softening. “That means, among other things, that I know what can happen in an official investigation in this city. I don’t trust the experts not to screw things up.”

“So your interest is making sure that Therese’s murder is solved, just the same as mine.”

“I guess so.”

“Then let’s share information. Honestly, Rutley, my investigation isn’t going as easily as I’d hoped,” Cummings said.

“I’d say you’re doing all right. You figured out about me and Mary,” Rutley said with a hint of respect.

“That’s true, but that’s hardly substantial progress. In truth, I’m working on two murders right now, Therese’s and another in Maine.”

“Therese was from Maine.”

“Indeed she was, and this other murder occurred one village over from hers.”

“Where? Do you mean in Horeb?”

“Exactly. So you’ve been there?”

“Yes. With Therese.”

“I don’t suppose you recall meeting a man named Chess Biederman?”

“Damn, you don’t miss a thing, do you? Therese used to see him once in a while when we were in Maine. I never went along. Like I said, I’m not the jealous type, and I thought it would be a little weird to accompany your wife to visit her ex-husband.”

“Therese and Chess were married?”

“I thought you’d sleuthed that out.”

“No. I scanned public records, but it didn’t turn up.”

“That’s just the kind of thing that happens in official investigations. Errors occur. Things get overlooked. You see why I’m trying to figure this out myself? Chess and Therese were married only a few months. They were high school sweethearts, and Therese got pregnant. They got married, and then she had a miscarriage. They didn’t really want to be married so young, so they got it annulled. They stayed friends. Not close friends, but friends. Therese might hear from him once or twice a year. If we were in Maine, she might meet him for coffee.”

“Chess is the other murder victim.”

“You’re kidding! How can that be? Therese was killed by someone in the Mathers Society.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s the only reasonable explanation, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Cummings replied. “Coincidences occur, even improbable ones. Now tell me why you suspect Tom Daniels of murdering Therese.”

“The truth? He creeps me out.”

“So you’ve been following him on a hunch?”

“Let’s say I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

“What about the other Mathers members?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on them, too, but none of them creeps me out the way Tom does.”

“What about Mary?”

“What do you mean? She didn’t kill Therese.”

“Is she helping you investigate the others?”

“No. She doesn’t know what I’m doing.”

“But you’re having an affair?”

“We’re trying to keep it quiet. It’s just sex. She keeps saying she’s going to tell Glen about it. They have an arrangement.”

“But she hasn’t told him?”

“Not as far as I know. Believe me, I didn’t expect us to get together. Mary had the hots for me and asked me to coffee. I only went to find out what she knew. She didn’t know anything, but one thing led to another.”

“What about Crandall and Winky and the others?”

“I haven’t slept with them.”

“I wasn’t asking that. What I meant was, do you suspect them?”

“Not so far, but it’s not because I’ve ruled them out, it’s because I haven’t had much of a chance to watch them. All I’m fairly certain of is that Mary and Glen had nothing to do with Therese’s death.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve spent a lot of time with Mary and Glen, and they’ve never said or done anything that raised my suspicions.”

“You’ve spent time with Glen?”

“They like threesomes.”

“But you say he doesn’t know about you and Mary?”

“He doesn’t know about Mary and me as a twosome. It’s murky.”

“Apparently.”

After considering this new information for a time, Cummings decided that as it was a nice day, he might move his cogitation to a nearby park. It was there, while staring absently at bees working a flower bed, that something occurred to him. He pulled out his cell phone.

“Crandall, it’s Cummings Wanamaker.”

“Indeed. Enjoying your honey?”

“I’d like to talk to you in more detail about your argument with Therese. You said Therese’s firm had arranged to sell your honey through one of her clients — a hotel chain, I believe — but she decided abruptly not to proceed.”

“That is correct.”

“When she did find out what your organization did?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t talk much about my professional life at Mathers. I told her I ran an eco-friendly social entrepreneurial nonprofit, something like that, and suggested we discuss the possibility of a marketing arrangement with some of her clients. At that point she told me to talk to her assistant. She may not have known the details until things had progressed. Why do you ask?”

“A hunch. Thank you.”

Next Cummings phoned Rockland.

“We were correct. Rutley Paik has been trailing Tom Daniels.”

“What about the girl?”

“An affair, nothing more. Did I tell you about the murder in Maine?”

“What murder in Maine?”

“I’ve also been working on a case there. It appears that Therese was married to the victim. I just learned this from Rutley.”

“Did you indeed?”

“That being so, I think it’s time for a visit. I seem to be at an impasse in Chicago anyway.”

“Can you afford it?”

“Not really, but I’ll make it cheap. I’ll drive. I have people I can stay with. I don’t think Rutley has anything to do with the crime. I think it’s time to change our focus. Could you keep an eye on Tom Daniels?”

“Why?”

“There’s something odd going on there, something that seems to involve that book I borrowed,
Love’s Tender Chainmail
.” Cummings explained about the hollowed out book.

“It would be my pleasure.”

When Cummings told Odin he was going to Maine, he stressed that it would be a quick and inexpensive trip and that he would stay with Ernestine. Odin wasn’t as resistant as Cummings had feared.

“I have a job interview on Monday,” Odin announced. “I don’t know too much about the job, but maybe I’ll get it, and it will pay enough that we can stop worrying about money.”

“That would be terrific,” Cummings agreed. “What company is the interview with?”

Odin suddenly seemed reticent. “I’d rather not say,” he replied. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

Cummings rose very early, loaded up his car and pulled out of his driveway shortly after 6:00 a.m.

In transit Cummings made a few phone calls. One was to Ernestine to tell her he would be arriving that night. He apologized for the late notice, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Another call was to his father.

“Dad? It’s Cummings.”

“Hello, son. I am seeking a ten-letter word that begins with
c
and ends with
y
. The clue is ‘not the pen ultimate.’“

“Cacography,” Cummings said after thinking for a minute. “It means bad handwriting or spelling.”

“You’re the best, son,” George said. “Here’s another puzzle. It’s called chilly phrases. The first clue is ‘rarely fought.’“

“Cold war,” Cummings responded.

“Out damned spot.”

“Cold cream.”

“Yet still fraught.”

“Cold comfort.”

“Only plot.”

“Cold feet.”

“No forethought.”

“Cold turkey. Dad, I have to go. I’m on my way to Maine now. I’ll call you in the next day or two.”

At around 11:00 p.m. Cummings arrived at Ernestine’s. He brought in his luggage, flopped exhausted onto the top of a bed in one of the guest rooms and slept until 8:00 a.m.

He took a shower and then placed a call to Deuteronomy. His call was answered by what sounded like an old-fashioned machine with a taped message. The voice was Elektra’s, probably reading from a script, as it was the only time Cummings had heard her use English in its unmangled form. He left a message after the beep.

“Hello. This is Cummings Flynn Wanamaker. I’m in Maine for the next few days. I’m staying with Ernestine. I hope to visit you when it’s convenient.” He left his cell phone number.

Cummings went downstairs and found Ernestine in the kitchen with her housekeeper, Rebecca. He also found a pot of tea and a basket of fresh muffins.

“Elektra phoned last night to ask for your phone number,” Ernestine told him. “I told her to tell Deuty you were here. I hope that’s all right.”

“I just phoned him,” Cummings said.

“You know, they dropped the charges against him,” Ernestine said.

“He mentioned something about a run-in with the law, but he said it wasn’t serious. It didn’t seem appropriate to pry.”

“He got caught poking around a building in Zion he shouldn’t have been poking around, and he was arrested for trespassing. Well, the district attorney is dropping the charges. So that’s that.”

“I’m sure Deuteronomy is relieved,” Cummings said, sitting down and reaching for a muffin.

“I imagine so, but if you ask me, the incident was nothing marrying nothing. An old man out in the evening, more or less minding his own business, shouldn’t find himself under arrest.”

Cummings found Samson Hickok’s address online and got into his car. Samaria, the next village north on Route 240, had a history similar to Horeb’s, though Samaria had always been larger and more prosperous. Samaria was founded in the eighteenth century, achieved its economic peak in the nineteenth and declined in the twentieth until, like Horeb, it resurged as a bedroom community.

Two fires around the turn of the twentieth century had destroyed Horeb’s waterfront on the Carlisle River. Samaria’s downtown remained intact, as did its Greek Revival houses, a legacy of its affluence in the period before the Civil War. Samaria had shops, restaurants and galleries, albeit not very many, and none particularly distinguished.

Cummings located Samson’s house and parked on a side street. Their last encounter had not gone well; Cummings knew he’d have to do better this time.

Cummings set the timer on his watch, opened his glove compartment and took out a small pad and pen. He attempted to write down useful, trust-inducing phrases he might casually toss to Samson or whatever member of his family answered the door when Cummings knocked. When the buzzer sounded, he had a half-dozen comments that seemed potentially effective.

He walked toward the house, a late Victorian in need of exterior paint. As in Illinois, Cummings found Samson in the garden. This garden, enclosed by a whitewashed picket fence, was large and regimented—the perennials here, the vegetables there, the herbs at the near end, the fruit trees at the far end—with each section separated neatly by a strip of well-trimmed sod.

Cummings leaned over the fence. “What a lovely day!” he said with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

Samson, who was weeding a vegetable bed, looked up. He studied Cummings for a few moments and then realized who he was.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Samson replied tonelessly.