The Stone of Sadness (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 3) (4 page)

“Were you friends?”

“Can’t say we were friends, exactly. Friendly. My wife knew her. We’d see them at church. The women taught Sunday School. They’d help out at the church when there was a funeral. Things like that.”

“I read in the old papers that the police thought the killer was a local guy, a young man from town,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, I heard that. Nothing came of it, far as I know.”

“No one was ever arrested,” Olivia said.

“Damn shame. Something like that and no arrest.”

“What was the talk? Did people think it was the local guy?”

“Some did. There was lots of gossip. Some thought one of the priests at St. Catherine’s was involved. Don’t know if there was any truth to any of it.”

“Why would someone suspect the priest?” Olivia asked.

“Never knew the details. Women were attracted to him. Ask me, he probably encouraged the attention. I never liked the guy. He seemed like a ladies’ man.”

“The victims were John’s and my distant cousins,” Olivia said.

“Were they? My, God.”

“I’ve been reading about the murders. I’d like to know why no one was arrested.”

Mr. Andrews read a bit more of the old article. “Look, Olivia, why don’t you give my wife a call. She might remember more than I do about what happened and what people were thinking. Our number is on the invoice for the lawn.” He pointed to the bill he had left on the table.

“I’d hate to bother her. She wouldn’t mind?”

Andrews scoffed. “She never minds talking, that one. She’d be glad to talk to you.” He checked his watch. “I gotta get a move on. Still have a number of lawns to do. Thank you for the cold drink.”

Olivia walked Mr. Andrews to the front door.

When she returned to the kitchen, Olivia glanced at the old newspaper on the table. She played Brad’s words in her head.
It was so long ago. Leave it alone.
Don’t stir anything up. None of us want a summer like last year.
She turned the paper over so that the Monahans’ photos weren’t visible and she headed for the garage to finish preparing the attic junk for the trash company. When Olivia reached the door to the garage, she stopped in front of it. Holding the door knob, she turned her head and looked back at the overturned newspaper. After several seconds of mental debate, Olivia pulled her phone from her shorts pocket, walked back to the table, and leaned over the landscaping invoice to find the number to phone Mr. Andrew’s wife.

Olivia followed the directions that Mrs. Andrews gave her and she turned her Jeep onto Magnolia Hill Drive. She drove along the winding road past woods of pines, maples, and oaks until it widened slightly and opened to several miles of what Olivia could only describe as mansions. The homes lined both sides of the road, each one set back on expansive acreage. Olivia considered her cousin John’s 2800 square foot antique Colonial to be a huge house, but four to six houses the size of John’s would easily fit inside the palaces she passed. The mansions had an air of understated elegance, as if they were owned by a doctor or lawyer or successful businessperson, but some also exuded an opulence associated with a celebrity or professional sports star.

It was just before noon when Olivia spotted the granite mailbox post with number twenty-eight engraved onto it. She turned the Jeep into the long driveway that led to a stately brick mansion. There were shade trees and mature plantings neatly meandering around the ground’s of the home.

Olivia wondered how a lawn business owner could afford such a place and she suspected that she had the wrong address. She glanced at the paper on the console to confirm the address she had written down to be sure this was the house she was looking for. She slowed the Jeep and parked near the three car garage.

A woman came around the side of the house. She was slender and petite, her silver hair cut short and stylishly with wisps framing her face. She was dressed in a short sleeved striped shirt and tan chinos and carried a basket of flowers in one hand and some garden clippers in the other. She seemed energetic and efficient and she greeted Olivia with a bright smile.

“I was in the back yard and heard the car so I came out to see if it was you. Olivia, right?” She extended her hand.

“Yes, hello Mrs. Andrews,” Olivia said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“No need for thanks. I’m happy to speak with you. And please, call me Lydia.”

She led Olivia along the stone path to the back of the house. There was a large glass room off the rear of the home. All of the floor to ceiling windows were open, allowing what little breeze there was to enter the room.

“This is a beautiful home,” Olivia said.

“Thank you, hon. People are sometimes surprised that a lawn service man owns a house like this.” She laughed. “Bob owned a construction business all his life. He did quite well, made good investments, and that’s what paid for this place. He retired a few years back, gave the business to our son. But Bob is a man who must keep busy or he goes crazy which means he then drives me crazy.” She winked. “So he decided to start the lawn business. It works out nicely as we live here in spring, summer, and fall and then head out to Arizona in the winter.”

“Lucky,” Olivia said. “I wouldn’t mind escaping some of the New England winters myself. Your husband seems like a real nice man.”

“Oh, he’s a peach. But don’t tell him I said that,” she smiled. “Come on in, Olivia. I want to get these flowers in water. Then we can have some tea and sit and talk.” They entered an enormous kitchen that had a center island, granite counters, high end appliances, and a gleaming wood floor. Mrs. Andrews removed a cut glass vase from a cabinet, filled it with water, and arranged the flowers. She made tea and she and Olivia took their mugs out to the sunroom.

“Please, sit,” Lydia said. They each took a seat in plush chairs. The room provided a view of green lawn, tall maple trees, and flower beds edging the property line.

“What a peaceful, relaxing spot,” Olivia observed. “Even in the heat of the day this room is so cool.”

“It really is a lovely place to sit and enjoy the yard. Somehow it catches the breeze.” They sipped their tea. “So, Olivia, Bob tells me that you are related to Mary Monahan and her daughter.”

“Yes, distantly, though. I didn’t know about them at all until a few days ago when my cousin John told me what happened. No one had ever talked about them to me. Or, of the murders.”

“Not surprising. It was so long ago,” Lydia said. “Time passes and people move on. Sad things are forgotten.” She sipped her tea with a faraway look on her face. “Not forgotten, just left unspoken.” She gave Olivia a sad smile. “How can I help? What can I tell you?”

“I guess I’m trying to piece things together and understand what happened. Why no one was arrested. Your husband said that you and Mary were acquaintances.”

“I would say more than acquaintances, but not full-fledged friends. We both taught at Sunday School and attended the same town events because of our kids, so I got to know her. She was a nice woman, a good conversationalist, kind, helpful. She doted on those kids.” She shook her head slowly and sighed. “Those murders took a toll on me. It hit close to home. I used to imagine being torn from my family like that. My daughter murdered. My husband and two sons left behind. Lives destroyed. Why? For what? The tenuous nature of life…I thought a good deal about that. I believe it made me more grateful for each day. It’s a cliché, I know, but I do believe that I became more mindful of the things that were most important.” She squeezed her hands together in her lap. “I haven’t thought about the murders for a long time.”

“It must have been a terrible shock to everyone in town.”

“Oh, my, yes. It was unbelievable that something like that could happen here in Howland.”

“What did people think? Did the townspeople talk about suspects?”

“Oh, sure. There was plenty of gossip. There was talk of an escaped prisoner, a young man from town. Rumors were swirling.”

“What did you think? Did you have any feelings one way or the other?” Olivia asked.

“I wasn’t sure what to think. I wanted the police to figure it out and make an arrest. Keep us all safe. But you know that didn’t work out.”

“What’s the story on the young man from Howland? Did you think he was a valid suspect?”

“There was never much in the papers regarding him, but we all knew he was taken in for questioning,” Lydia said. “His name was Kenny Overman. I think he was about nineteen when it happened. Kenny was a high school dropout, had a tough family life. We saw Kenny as a young man ruined by his upbringing. He did odd jobs for a while, landscaping, delivery man, snowplowing. He was a big drinker. Kind of a lost soul. My best friend, Angela… her younger sister, Emily, dated Kenny for some time. They weren’t a match at all, but she was drawn to his bad boy tendencies. Emily was a rebel. Her parents were strict Catholics, very wealthy, old money. They have a huge mansion here in the Magnolia Hill section of Howland. Emily chafed at their control. She knew dating Kenny would make them furious. Emily told Angela that Kenny had quite a temper, but Emily could match him on that one. She was always fighting with her parents.”

“Was Angela on Emily’s side in her arguments with the parents?”

“There were ten years between Angela and Emily. They were never really close. Angela was married already when Emily was in high school. Angela tried to stay neutral in the battles between Emily and the parents. I think Angela felt badly that her parents had so much turmoil going on in their house. After the murders, the parents told Emily that if she didn’t break off with Kenny then they would cut her off financially, so Emily stopped seeing him. They were always on again, off again anyway. My friends and I were on the fence about Kenny and the murders. On one hand, we just couldn’t believe he could commit a crime like that, but on the other hand, what Emily told Angela about his temper and his drinking, well, we wondered if it may have been possible under certain circumstances.”

“What happened to him? Is he still in town?” Olivia asked.

“Oh, no. He’s long gone. Who knows where? Imagine living in a town where everyone thinks you’re a murderer? As soon as he was cleared of suspicion, he took off. I don’t think Emily was sad to see him go. He was too much trouble. She knew it would never work.

“Is Emily living in town now?”

“She lives about twenty minutes from here. She never married. She was engaged for a while to a man she knew since elementary school, but she broke it off. Never had kids. Emily works as an accountant…has her own business now in multiple locations… owns real estate…is very successful. Would you be interested in speaking with her, Olivia?”

“I would. Do you think she’d be willing?” Olivia wondered what the girl who had been dating the suspect would have to say about him.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll make a call to my friend, Angela, and ask her to talk to Emily. I’ll give Angela your cell number and if Emily is amenable, my friend can pass the number to her and ask her to give you a call.

“Yes, please. I’d appreciate it,” Olivia said.

“In fact, if you want another opinion on Kenny, maybe you should also speak to Angela and Emily’s mom, Isabel Bradford. She must be almost ninety now, but she still lives in the family home. Her version of Kenny would certainly be a different viewpoint than Emily’s will be.”

“That would be great if she would talk with me,” Olivia said.

“I’ll bring it up with Angela and see what she thinks.”

“There was a newspaper story a few years back about unsolved cases in Massachusetts,” Olivia said. “They profiled the case on Mary and Kimmy. The article indicated that the police knew who killed them but there wasn’t enough evidence for a conviction.”

“Hmm…not enough evidence or botched evidence?”

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked.

“There was semen at the scene. Mary had skin under her fingernails. She fought back. Her hands and wrists had cuts on them. She must have had blood from the killer on her. With DNA testing now, how can they not figure it out? Especially, if they have a suspect in mind?”

“So you think the evidence was lost or mishandled?”

“It sounds like it to me. But what do I know?” Lydia said. “Things get lost. Evidence gets contaminated.” She paused. “Sometimes, intentionally.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. “Intentionally? Why?”

“Well…there was some talk back then. Some talk about the priest at the church. It was probably idle gossip. That he was interested in Mary. That perhaps he made advances and she rebuffed him.”

“Your husband mentioned the priest. So what? People think he might have killed her?”

“It was scuttlebutt. Father Anthony was a handsome man, young, friendly, energetic. The women in the parish were gaga over him. They loved to talk. There was gossip.”

“You think there was some substance to it?”

“I don’t know.” She put her mug down and sighed. “Maybe.”

“Why?” Olivia asked.

“Mary and I, as I said, we both taught Sunday School. Sometimes I would catch Father Anthony looking at Mary. She would be arranging her materials in the classroom and he would always come by and chat with her. Another time I arrived to the church hall to help set up for a funeral meal. I heard loud noises coming from the kitchen. An argument. Angry voices. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Of course, I didn’t want to go in there with that going on, so I started setting up chairs and tables at the far end of the hall, banging things around…making as much noise as I could so whoever was arguing in the kitchen would know that I was out there. All of a sudden, Father Anthony stormed out of the kitchen and left the building. He didn’t acknowledge me at all. I was thinking whether I should go into the kitchen to see who was still in there but then two other women came into the hall from outside to help out. They went right into the kitchen and started bustling about. I walked in to help get the meal started, and it was Mary who was in there. We made eye contact. She looked flustered, upset. I think she knew that I had heard the argument going on but she said nothing. She turned to the sink and started washing out serving platters. I never mentioned anything to her. We acted like nothing had happened.”