Summer Shadows (19 page)

Startled, she stared at him.

He hurried on. “I know we don’t really know each other well yet, but Amelia’s really taken with your kids. I haven’t seen her have this much fun or look this happy with anyone since we’ve moved here. And I’m a fair hand around the place. I renovated our house before we moved into it. Between the two of us, we could manage to get everything done in a matter of days, I think.”

“There’s so much work to do, though. And it’s your week off…”

He chuckled. “I sit in a car all day long, on my backside, waiting for something to happen. When I’m not doing that, I’m filing reports. I’m dying for a chance to work on something real. Redoing your house, working with tools and paint, would be a great way to spend my vacation, trust me.”

“What about Amelia? She’s been talking all this week about spending your vacation time with you, and I don’t want to take you away from her.”

“Actually, it was her idea. I figure that I’ll take one or two days just for her and me and we’ll have the evenings together. Anyway, she’ll be hanging around here with us, too, which would be better for her. You see, Amelia is…” Wilde carefully phrased his thought. “She’s, how do I put it? She requires a lot of attention and a lot of stimulation.” He smiled broadly. “I’m afraid that if she’s with me for nine days straight without a break, she’ll get tired, throw me out, and find a new dad.”

Julia found herself laughing. “Okay,” she said. “I could see that.”

His smile deepened and he extended his hand. “Is it a deal, then?”

She looked at his hand and hesitated. She’d be a fool to turn away an honest expression of aid. It wasn’t charity, like Miriam’s check. This would be a fair exchange and both would benefit. And hanging out with Amelia was good for Dana: seeing Amelia as a friend in need was helping Dana to see beyond herself. Julia wanted to encourage that.

And it would be nice for Julia to get to know Amelia’s dad.

She felt her face turning red, and covered by extending her hand. “A deal, partner.”

Wilde grinned and took her hand in a firm grip.

“Okay, partner,” was all he said.

23

T
he last person Julia expected to see at the Franklin City Fourth of July celebration wound up in line just ahead of the kids and her.

A. Glen Bernard, dressed in an appalling outfit of red shorts, blue shirt, and white socks, happily piled onions and pickles onto his hamburger, while chatting with an older couple who seemed very much enamored with the idea of talking to a semi-famous published author.

It was nearly seven o’clock and the mosquitoes were starting to show up. So far, the party had gone on very nicely. The children played on the beach with Amelia, Derval, and several other neighborhood kids. They’d worn themselves out with shouting and giggling and swimming. Julia, after taking a short dip, spent her time relaxing in the sun, swatting at insects, reading a page or two of her novel, and chatting with the few people she knew.

It seemed that the whole town was there and the line for food was long and slow. Julia’s stomach was growling, and poor Jack looked white and pinched with hunger. As soon as she had a plate for him, she sent him with Ron to their picnic spot with the promise that she, Dana, and Amelia would bring the chips and sodas as soon as they could.

Caroline Ojacor was just behind Julia, dressed in a flower print dress and looking as if she’d just stepped out of a photo shoot. She leaned over and whispered, “That is the writer, is it not?”

“Yes,” Julia said, keeping her voice very low. “Mr. Bernard.”

“I thought so. He has been around a lot lately, asking questions and making a nuisance of himself. They say he is writing another book, but they don’t know what it’s about. The city council is worried about it – they think it might bring negative publicity for the town.”

“Why? Are there any more unsolved murders lying around?”

“Joseph, my husband, said that there are some quite embarrassing stories about the town’s people. He even mentioned the trouble that Irwin boy got into.”

“John?”

“No, Michael. When he was young, he was sent to prison for a few years – drugs or some other such thing. But when he came out, he straightened up and got a good job in Canada. Of course, that doesn’t make such a good story, does it?”

Bernard finished with the onions and moved on toward the plates of salad. He stood there for a few minutes, still chatting with the elderly couple.

Julia handed Caroline a ketchup bottle, saying, “Sometimes, even negative publicity can work in the town’s favor.”

Caroline shook her head and grinned. “It is all nothing. People will write what they want and other people will get upset, but it will pass. We needn’t think anything of it at all. Are you using the mustard?”

Julia handed it to her. “I agree. It looks as though Mr. Bernard is getting along famously with that lady and her husband.”

Caroline didn’t look up. “They are the Mones. They like Bernard because he used a lot of their testimony in his book. They think they are celebrities now.”

Julia studied the pair. The woman was of medium height, with dark tinted hair and a tidy outfit. She did most of the talking and often touched Bernard’s arm when she was making a particular point. Her husband seemed to let his wife carry the conversation, agreeing with every point that was made. None of the three noticed that they were holding up the line.

Caroline spoke again. “Bernard is a persistent man. He pestered Helen Jurta for months about the first book. He went through all the court records and looked up each witness and talked with all of them. He even went to the city council and met with them about going into the house, but they wouldn’t let him. He had to make do with the blueprints.”

“Have you met him?”

“Not I. Joseph and I, we did not come here until five years ago. We knew nothing about the murders, except what we have read in the book. Have you read it?”

“No, not yet.”

“It is very good,” she said. Her ‘d’s, Julia noticed, were pronounced quickly, so that they sounded almost like a ‘t’. “A very good mystery. I will loan you mine, if you’d like.”

“Actually, I already have a copy. I ran into Mr. Bernard at the bookstore a few days ago and he signed a copy for me.”

“Ah, you are a fan?”

“Not hardly. I’d never heard of him before.”

The lady serving the salad made an impatient gesture, and finally, Mr. Bernard understood and moved his little party down to the next station. Julia and Caroline filled up their plates, then went to find the others.

All around, people were talking, laughing, and eating. The brass band was taking a break and sat at a table near the pavilion, swigging bottles of water and downing hamburgers. The pavilion, in their absence, was being re-fitted for the annual play that the grade-schoolers were about to put on.

Ron and Jack were sitting with Caroline’s husband, Joseph, who was talking with John Irwin Jr. Julia settled the kids down and then began to eat while the conversation swirled around her.

“How is your house coming along?” Caroline asked Julia. “I understand from Helen that you are completely making it over.”

Julia nodded. “Oh, it’s coming along. We’ve finished the kids’ rooms, now we’re working on the ground floor.”

“Which house is this, now?” Joseph asked.

“It’s on Whipple Lane.”

“The old Purcell place,” John Irwin said. “It’s in good shape. I wouldn’t think that there’s too much to do.”

Julia shook her head. “I didn’t think so either, until I started working on it. Every time you pull down a cabinet or strip a piece of wallpaper, you find two more projects that need to be done. I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other, John.”

He laughed and said, “Good heavens, what are you doing, busting down walls?”

“Just repairing some damaged ones. The living room is in rough shape.”

“Whipple Lane,” Joseph said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the same street that the murder house is on? The one in the book?”

“It’s at the end of the street,” Julia said quietly.

“It’s an eyesore,” Caroline exclaimed.

“The Lang house has been empty long a long time. I wonder why they haven’t sold it?” Julia said.

“The family’s holding on to it.” Joseph was carefully tucking chips into the remaining half of his hamburger. “Brad’s family is still trying to clear him. At least, that’s what Mr. Bernard says. He probably knows more about the case than anyone else in town.”

“Has anyone here read the book?” Julia asked.

John Irwin said, “I did. It was all right. He got Denis Gagnon to a ‘t’, though.”

“Which character was he in the book?” Caroline asked, brushing an ant off of her leg. “I don’t remember a Denis.”

“The Chief of Police,” John replied. “He’s a good guy, but he wasn’t really up to the challenge of a controversial murder investigation. I was just a kid at the time, but I remember that the papers accused him of botching things up. I thought it was very unfair. He wasn’t as big a fool as they said.”

“What happened to him?” Julia asked, reaching over to wipe Jack’s ketchup-covered mouth.

“Oh, he retired and moved to Florida. Still comes back to town every once in a while to visit.”

Just then, some of the other men who were setting up a baseball game called for Joseph to come join them. It didn’t take much persuading to get him to abandon his plate and go. Ron and Jack, eager to watch, followed right after.

They invited John Irwin, too, but he put them off until Joseph was out of earshot. Then he turned to Caroline and asked, “Have you invited the Lamontaignes to Joseph’s birthday bash yet?”

“Why, no, I haven’t!” Caroline seemed shocked by her oversight. “Would you please come? It is next Sunday at my house and it’s a surprise for him. He is forty this year.”

“We’re trying to really pack the place,” John explained. “What time did you say to arrive, Caroline? Six o’clock?”

“Yes. Rich is taking Joseph golfing and they should be home at 6:30. I want everyone to be hiding when he gets there.”

“That sounds fun,” Julia said, without committing.

“We still have to figure out what to do with the cars,” John said. He slapped at a mosquito on his bare shoulder and Julia winced. His skin was so pink, it looked sun-burnt. “It would be pretty funny if we had everyone hiding in the house and he’s walking past every car in town just to get to the front door.”

“That would give the game away,” Julia laughed.

“I know. Anyway, you should come. There’ll be tons of food, and kids for your little ones to play with. They have a fire pit in the back yard and my wife is bringing S’mores and hot dogs to roast.”

“What should I bring?”

Caroline smiled. “It’s potluck, so whatever you want.”

John said, “It’ll be a blast. You really should come. We could use a pretty face at the party.”

“I beg your pardon?” Caroline feigned offense.

“I meant to say,
another
pretty face at the party.”

“I thought so,” Caroline said. “Please say you will come, Julia.”

“Oh, well…” Julia hesistated. She hardly knew the Ojacors and felt awkward having John Irwin ask for their invitation. But it did sound like fun. “I think we can make it… I’ll have to check our schedule and it’s at home. Do you mind if I give you a call later this week to RSVP?”

“Not at all. I’ll give you my number.”

“Terrific,” John said with satisfaction. He went to join the baseball game and left the two women to finish their dinner.

24

J
ulia cleared up the picnic things by herself. It was growing dark, so she brought their belongings to the car to prevent their being lost. While there, she slipped into a pair of sneakers and grabbed her sweater. It was surprisingly cool for a summer night.

On her way back, she was so busy checking her phone that she didn’t notice the approach of A. Glen Bernard and his two fans until it was too late. She nearly ran into Mrs. Mone.

“Watch it!” Mrs. Mone snapped.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Julia said, sidestepping her gingerly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I guess not,” Mrs. Mone said, eying the phone with suspicion. “I know they have laws against texting and driving, but I really think they ought to extend that to texting and walking. It’s usually a problem with the youth, though.”

Julia’s cheeks flushed.

Bernard snapped his fingers. “You’re the young lady in the bookstore!” he trumpeted. “I thought I knew you! I’m sure you remember me.”

“I do, Mr. Bernard.”

“Please, please, call me Glen. And your name is…”

“Julia,” she said, resigned. “Julia Lamontaigne.”

“Of course! This is a small world. Who’d have thought we’d run into each other so soon. Are you enjoying the book? What part are you at?”

“Wait a minute,” Mrs. Mone said, snapping her brittle-looking fingers, too. “I’ve heard that name before, too. You’re the young woman who bought that rat trap on Whipple Lane, right? Just two houses down from our place. I’m Doris Mone and this is my husband, George. I’ve seen you out jogging in the morning. Your children ride their bikes on my walk and I’m always afraid they’re going to tear up our grass.”

“I’m sure that they won’t,” Julia said. “They’ve been warned against going off the pavement.”

“You live on Whipple Street?” Bernard asked.

“Lane,” George offered.

“Another coincidence,” Bernard said, delighted. “You’re living up the street from the Lang house right as you’re reading about the murder. Are you enjoying my book, by the way?”

Before Julia could respond, Mrs. Mone said, “George and I actually knew the Langs, you know. We had our portraits done by Stephanie herself.”

“They’re hanging in the living room,” George volunteered.

“Lovely bit of work, that,” Bernard said. “So lifelike, and such a good use of tonal colors. Really, she would have been right up there with Rosa Bonheur, if she had only lived long enough. To be cut down in the prime of life like that was, truly, a tragic loss for the art world.”

“The Boston Museum actually contacted us about the portraits,” Mrs. Mone continued archly. “They wanted to build up their collection, to bring Stephanie’s genius to the masses. Naturally, one wishes to do what one can for the masses, but they’re too precious to part with.”

“They wanted to borrow the portraits for a traveling expedition,” George said. “I was hoping that they’d offer to buy them outright.”

“Not that we would have accepted,” his wife interjected quickly. “You can’t place a price on beauty.”

George looked very much as though he thought they could.

Julia decided that since they were so willing to talk, she should oblige. “You know,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about this murder, but some of the details contradict each other. For instance, I’ve heard that the Chief of Police was both an idiot and fully competent.”

“He was a nice enough fellow,” George mused.

“Way out of his depth,” Bernard said. “Did the best he could do under the circumstances, but I think he only really lost it when the thing turned into a media circus.”

Mrs. Mone said, “Chief Gagnon was an ape, a great big lug of a man without a brain in his head. He should have been fired years before this ever occurred. I still don’t know why we didn’t run him out on a rail when we had the chance.”

“Now, Dorry,” George said affectionately.

“Stephanie Milano Lang was an artist, Ms… ” She didn’t let the fact that she had forgotten Julia’s last name throw her off track. “Some people, some plebeians, didn’t understand and didn’t appreciate her unique genius.”

Julia frowned. “You think she was misunderstood?”

“Not just her work,” Mrs. Mone sniffed. “She had needs. I’m sure I don’t need to explain more than that.”

“She… had a bit of a reputation,” Bernard said delicately.

George Mone was grinning. His wife either didn’t notice, or was the most secure married woman that Julia knew. Perhaps, she simply didn’t care. Some people would willingly sacrifice their all at the altar of the arts.

Mrs. Mone continued. “She was a woman,” she insisted. “She had an artist’s needs, a woman’s needs, needs which her husband was too often away on business to fulfill.”

“I was given to understand that she was the soul of decorum,” Julia said. “No one mentioned anything about her running around on her husband.”

“It was suppressed out of respect for her family,” Bernard explained. “Her father was a well-respected politician and her mother was a diplomat. She was very well off, you understand, and quite the wild child at college, although she was careful to cover her tracks before the press got hold of them. Frankly, all her friends were surprised when she married – they never thought that she would settle down.”

“She wasn’t happy in the marriage,” Mrs. Mone said. “She told me that commitment stifles creativity.” She sniffed. “I thought Brad was a brute.”

Julia was beginning to think that that everyone in Franklin was an eccentric. She understood that the publication of the book would stir up old memories, and she knew that small, dying cities were notorious for their civic spirit; but even so, this kind of passion seemed a little much.

Bernard slapped at a mosquito and asked, “So, are you enjoying the book?”

Julia hadn’t started the book and apologized for it, making the excuse that she was too busy renovating the house. Mr. Bernard didn’t seem to mind. It gave him a chance to use his speech about how good a book it really was.

“I’m sure it is,” Julia said. “You’ve kept the memory of Stephanie fresh in everyone’s mind.”

He beamed. “That I owe to Mrs. Mone, my chief source.”

Mrs. Mone smiled demurely. “I knew her well. There was a meeting of minds there. I have none of her talent or genius, but we understood one another. We would talk for hours, Stephanie and I. I consider it my duty to keep her memory alive and to vindicate her in death.”

“That’s right,” Bernard said. “Mrs. Mone has been trying to buy the mansion and make it into a museum in Stephanie’s name. A really great idea, if you ask me.”

Julia agreed and then they parted company, leaving Julia wondering how a twenty-year-old murder could still stir up such deep feeling.

Despite herself, she was becoming curious. What really did happen? Why did Brad kill his wife? Why, if the true murderer was caught and punished, did everyone treat the case as though it were still unresolved?

There were no answers, and the question bothered her the rest of the night.