A Draw of Death (Helen Binney Mysteries Book 3) (11 page)

It took a while, but eventually Helen was able to convince Terri that it would be better to get another speaker as soon as possible, rather than waiting until everyone had forgotten the Rezendes event. Now, all Helen had to do was find someone who'd be willing to speak on fairly short notice. Tate was still her favorite candidate, but she needed to consider some alternatives in case she couldn't bring him around to her point of view.

Marianne was gone when Helen left the library annex. There were some small scraps of paper and trash along the fence, but it appeared that the two less belligerent teens had rescued all of the flyers that had blown over there.

That reminded Helen she hadn't read the one that Marianne had given her. It was probably all gibberish anyway, but it wouldn't hurt to look at it on the way home.

Her car was waiting at the top of the path, with only Zee behind the wheel. "Marty called and said he needed us to help him find the source of the glitch in the security system at the gate. It's driving Art crazy, having people out there without any way to keep an eye on them, so he wants it fixed yesterday. Jay hitched a ride out there, and I'll go join him when you're done for the day."

"I'm done." Helen had more work to do, but it could be done from home.

Zee headed for the cottage in the woods, and Helen dug into her yarn bag to find the flyer Marianne had given her. Finally, stuck in a bottom corner—past a half-made chemo cap, a can of tuna, and the book she'd meant to return to the library today—she found the flyer. A single, bold headline read, "The Catastrophic Lennia Agenda," and underneath it were a dozen short paragraphs, each one focused on a different danger and ending with an Internet link for more information. At least on the surface, the whole thing looked as solid as an abstract for a scientific research paper complete with citations and footnotes. The text itself read only slightly less formally and considerably more like a legitimate online resource than what Helen had expected: either a string of gibberish or else something comparable to the meaningless hyperbole of online ads promising to reveal one weird trick to weight loss, sexual stamina, or immense riches.

If she disregarded the source of the flyer—a homeless woman who was obviously suffering from some sort of mental illness—Helen might have been persuaded that something worrisome was occurring right under everyone's noses. The only thing that didn't make any sense whatsoever was the explanation of what a Lennia was. That paragraph was filled with lots of vaguely ominous phrases without anything concrete. The gist of it was that Lennias were lazy and irresponsible and somehow causing the end of the world. Which seemed self-contradictory, since it undoubtedly took a lot of work to destroy an entire planet. How would the lazy, irresponsible Lennias do that? Especially if, say, the apocalypse was scheduled for 6 a.m. and they'd been out partying irresponsibly the night before? When the time came to end the world, wouldn't they just roll over and go back to sleep instead of racing out to do their evil deeds?

Despite the surprisingly coherent presentation, the Lennia conspiracy had to be a delusion. The Internet links probably led to some deep, dark corner of the Internet filled with less than reliable sources. From what Helen had seen of alleged political conspiracies, it took a great deal of precision work to pull one off, even when it was a lot smaller than the apocalypse. There was almost always a weak link that caused the plan either to fail before the final action could be taken or to be exposed afterwards. She supposed it would be too late to expose the Lennias after the world ended, but if the members were all, as Marianne reported, lazy and irresponsible, then just about everyone in the group was a weak link. Surely someone other than Marianne would have noticed what they were doing and would make sure the plot failed.

Helen glanced out the window to see that they were approaching the cottage's driveway. Her trees were bare, but there were enough of them in a wide swath across the front of her property to offer complete privacy for her cottage.

She didn't have time to check the Internet links for Marianne's so-called evidence of the Lennia conspiracy right now. Maybe she'd take a look later, after she'd found a new speaker for the library.

Zee parked in the usual spot and waited unobtrusively for Helen to go inside the cottage. There was no point in telling her to go, that Helen was perfectly safe in her own yard. She'd heard Jack give his niece and nephew a stern lecture about always waiting to make sure Helen was inside before they left.

It had taken some work, but Helen had eventually convinced them they could also leave once she was inside the garage if she was visiting Tate. His car wasn't here today, even though it was earlier than he usually left for the day. He didn't have to punch a time clock, of course. His woodworking was primarily a hobby, not a job that required consistent hours. She could wait until tomorrow to pester him again about speaking at the library. For now, while he was worried about Stevie being suspected of murder, he deserved a bit of a break.

As Helen approached the front porch, she saw a box waiting for her. The logo for Cottage Fibers was clearly visible on the side. It had to be the additional yarns she'd special-ordered to donate to Chemo Caps Day. She thought she'd asked the local yarn store to deliver it to the nursing home instead of here, but these days, she couldn't be sure of anything. It wouldn't be particularly heavy, but it was an awkward size for her to carry while burdened with her cane.

For once, she could actually use the help that was waiting over near her car. Helen turned to ask Zee to load the box into the back of the car. She also arranged for a ride to the nursing home to deliver the yarn tomorrow so Betty and Josie would have time to sort through it before the next Charity Caps Day.

Once inside the cottage, she heard Zee take off down the gravel driveway toward the street. Helen hung her cane in its usual spot on the front doorknob and dropped her yarn bag just inside the door. She detoured over to the kitchen area to dump a can of soup into a bowl and heat it in the microwave before settling at her desk.

Helen had finally unpacked her once-mighty Rolodex system a few weeks ago, intending to sort through the cards in anticipation of transferring the information into a digital database. She'd only reviewed and saved a few of the cards into her computer before giving up in frustration. The fog had made it too hard to concentrate, and she couldn't make up her mind which contacts were worth keeping.

There had to be a potential speaker in the Rolodex who'd be of interest to the local residents. She flipped through the cards, remembering some of the people fondly and some of them less so.

Helen disengaged a few of the cards, the ones she thought had some potential as guest speakers. A photojournalist who had always sent her prints of published pictures of her or her ex-husband, a museum curator who was putting together a collection of memorabilia relating to her ex-husband's governorship, and a Harvard professor who had written a mystery series set on Beacon Hill with an amateur sleuth who was the chief of staff for a fictional governor loosely based on her ex-husband. They weren't celebrities, not even comparable to Vic's B-list status, but they were all capable of drawing a reasonable crowd and giving an entertaining speech.

Unfortunately, she doubted any of them would accept an invitation to Wharton. They all had intensely busy schedules, lived at least a two-hour drive away, and generally believed that Massachusetts ended with Route 495, the interstate highway that encompassed the greater Boston area, and that everything beyond, at least until the Pacific Ocean was within sight, was one huge, undifferentiated wilderness filled with countless dangers.

Helen was afraid the information in her database was as much a relic of the past as its paper format. Just a year away from the inner circles of state politics and she might as well never have been in them at all. These days, her nieces—even the stay-at-home, nesting Laura—were far better connected than she was. In fact, they might be able to suggest someone to speak at the library. Lily knew all sorts of people in the business world, both locally and globally, and Laura seemed to know just about everyone involved with the subjects of maternity and caring for an infant. With a little luck, the girls would appreciate the fact that, for once, Helen was asking them for help instead of pushing them away.

And yet, fifteen minutes later, she had to acknowledge that their online conference call wasn't going as well as she'd hoped.

"Let me see if I've got this right," Lily said. "The last speaker you invited to Wharton got killed, and you want us to suggest a replacement?"

"His death had nothing to do with the speaking engagement." At least, Helen didn't think it did.

"So they've got the killer in custody?" Lily asked.

"Not exactly," Helen said.

"Oh, Aunt Helen." Laura sighed. "You're meddling in police business again, aren't you? You've got to be careful."

"I don't meddle," Helen said. "I investigate. And only when the police refuse to see the obvious. They think Tate's niece might be responsible for the murder. You can't expect me to sit back and let her get charged with something she didn't do."

"Adam's sister?" Now Lily was paying attention. "She would never hurt a fly. Literally. Adam told me she was working on an old house once, and it was just crawling with spiders. The easiest thing to do would have been to call in an exterminator, but no, she had to relocate all the spiders they could find because they're beneficial insects."

"From what I've heard, she does have a temper, and she thought Vic was lower than an insect and not at all beneficial."

"Wouldn't matter," Lily said. "Personally, Stevie
hates
spiders. But she still wouldn't kill them."

"You don't really have to convince me," Helen said. "I'm sure Stevie's innocent, but if someone can't divert Detective Peterson's one-track mind, you're going to be a character witness, telling the spider story in court while Stevie's on trial for murder."

After a lengthy silence, Lily said, "Okay, what we can we do to help?"

"Find a speaker who's interesting but not controversial, and who's willing to come out to Wharton."

"Not with that," Lily said. "With the murder investigation."

"Lily!" Laura said. "You're not supposed to encourage her."

"You know she's just going to keep meddling, no matter what we say. If we're helping, at least we can keep an eye on her." In the video image on the monitor, Lily was clearly addressing her sister. "And we can set a condition on our assistance. We'll help, but Aunt Helen has to tell us exactly where she's going to be 24/7 until the killer is caught. No more striking out on her own with no backup to confront the killer."

"Oh. Good idea." Laura reached for something outside the camera's range and came back with her smartphone. "I mean, sure, I'll help too then. As long as I don't have to skip my prenatal classes."

Helen knew she was missing something in their exchange, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was. Apparently the girls' sibling telepathy worked even over a video camera. She didn't have time to figure out what they were up to. For now, she just needed to keep the girls busy and out of her hair while she helped Tate clear Stevie's name. If she could bribe them with information about her schedule, it was a small price to pay. The bigger problem was that looking for another library speaker wouldn't take them long. What else could they help with?

If Stevie was charged with murder, her attorney would need another suspect in order to establish reasonable doubt. There were all the other crew members who might have had a key to the gates, but Stevie wouldn't want suspicion cast on them unless it was absolutely necessary. That didn't leave many good options. Freddie, of course, but Lily and Laura wouldn't have any more information on her than Helen did. Beyond that, the only person with obvious access to the scene of the crime whom Helen wouldn't mind seeing in jail was Nora Manning. But that was just wishful thinking. She couldn't let herself be as narrow-minded in suspecting Nora as Hank Peterson was in suspecting Stevie. Not without some objective evidence that gave her a solid reason to view Nora as a suspect.

"I could really use some background information on a public relations person by the name of Nora Manning. Last I knew, she worked for the gaming industry. Other than that, finding me a replacement speaker is the best thing you can do to help with the investigation. If I don't have to spend time on that, I'll be free to concentrate on steering Detective Peterson in the right direction or at least away from the wrong direction."

"I'll talk to the people on the mommy circuit," Laura said. "Some of them do excellent workshops, both online and in person."

"And I'll look into this Nora Manning, in addition to coming up with some potential speakers," Lily said. "Are you sure there's nothing else we can do to help Stevie?"

"I'm sure." There was a limit to how much help Helen could ask for. If she gave them more tasks, they'd know something was wrong with her. "So, what have you two been doing lately?

Both girls' eyes flickered down, unable to meet the digital camera's gaze, and then they started to talk over each other. Laura babbled about her prenatal classes, and Lily complained about how infrequently she got to see Adam.

They were definitely keeping some sort of secret. Helen recognized the signs from her own experience hiding things from them. Like the fact of her lupus fog. Maybe that was the secret: they knew about it and were trying to hide the fact that they knew about it while also trying to help Helen cope with it. That would also explain their insistence on knowing where Helen was 24/7. Or perhaps she was just imagining the odd behavior of her nieces. She didn't think so, but that was the thing about a cognitive problem: she couldn't trust her own thoughts.