A Most Curious Murder (25 page)

Alfred spit out, “You’re pathetic. Ruined your own life. Now you’ve destroyed mine.”

“I didn’t mean . . .”

Jenny took Abigail’s arm to help her back to her chair. Zoe took her other arm.

“Carmen?” Abigail looked at the woman who’d been her only friend. “Who are you?”

When Ed and the others were gone, Abigail sat in the chair by the fireplace, where Tony built a small fire to warm the room.

Jenny set the wooden box in her lap.

Abigail’s hands hovered above it as if she didn’t dare touch the thing.

“I feel like Pandora. Should I open this box of evil?” She looked around, trying to smile but failing.

Jenny, worry crossing her face, leaned close to Tony. “Maybe it’s too soon,” she whispered.

“She won’t be free until she knows,” he whispered back.

“This is what it’s come to.” Abigail resolutely set both hands on the wooden lid. “Where did you find it?” she asked Jenny.

“Hidden in Aaron’s house,” Jenny said.

Abigail smiled. “Dear Aaron. He would have wanted to protect me. They opened it when he died, as Father knew they would, but refused me access, saying only that the man wasn’t who we thought he was, meaning, I suppose, he was exactly who we thought he was. Adam wouldn’t touch his money after that. Aaron wouldn’t either. Didn’t want anything to do with him.
Adam was going to change his last name—but for my sake, he didn’t. People would be curious.”

“When you open it, you’re going to find things you might not want to know,” Jenny warned.

“What could be worse than what he did to my mother? She was never mentally ill. She didn’t have to die in a mental institution. She was depressed, for good reason.” Abigail sat up straighter, some of the old Abigail coming back. “Alfred stole from us and murdered my brothers. He tried to kill me outside your house—I remembered seeing him. But more than that, he wanted this . . . thing. I have to finally know what’s in here.”

Jenny backed off.

“Do we also have the key?” She looked from face to face, a lot of the dowager running up her straight spine.

Zoe pulled the key from her pocket and set it into her hand.

“And which of my brothers had this?” She held the key up.

“Aaron,” Jenny said.

“Of course. Adam couldn’t be trusted not to blow up and give everything away. Poor Adam. How he hated Father. What a sweet brother Aaron was. He buried that hatchet in Adam’s yard, you know, in the spirit you would imagine he’d bury a hatchet. To make peace with his brother.”

She lowered her head and closed her eyes for a minute before turning the key and opening the box.

She reached inside and brought out four sheets of paper lying atop what looked to Jenny, standing behind her, like deeds and other documents—bits of a gold seal showing on one.

Abigail frowned at the folded papers in her hand.

“This is it?” she asked. “This is what Father hated me for? Why Alfred and Carmen killed my brothers?”

She unfolded the papers and slowly began to read. First the top sheet, which, from where Jenny stood, looked like a legal paper—signatures at the bottom, dated below that.

Abigail read slowly, set that one aside, and read the next.

And then the next.

And the last.

She put the papers in her lap. “My father was a monster.” She could hardly speak.

No one else said a word.

Abigail took a deep breath.

“Alfred
is
my father’s son. There are three others—a girl and two boys. My father gave their mothers money and made them sign these documents guaranteeing they would never contact him again and never ask for more money. Not for themselves or for their children.” She took a deep breath. “These women must have been his mistresses, the women I only surmised he kept in Traverse City. My mother knew. She had to.”

She handed the four contracts to Jenny, who shared them with the others.

Zoe read and looked up, asking, “Is this woman, this Carmen Fritchey, who signed the agreement in 1978, is this your secretary?”

She shrugged. “I’m assuming. Do you see the child’s name?”

Tony looked over Zoe’s shoulder, searching the paper. “Alfred,” he said almost sadly.

Abigail nodded. “Poor Carmen. I suppose she married at one time and the boy took that man’s name rather than her maiden name.”

Abigail hunched her shoulders. “I wonder where my father’s other victims are.”

Penelope read another one of the contracts. “These things stink,” she said, “Wish I’d represented one of these kids.”

“He didn’t take responsibility for anything.” Tony shook his head and set the paper he’d been reading back into the box.

“He gave them each . . . what is it?” Abigail took the paper back. “A hundred thousand dollars to never ask for more, to never claim paternity, and to keep his name a secret from the children.” Abigail sat quietly for a minute. “I was the one who told Carmen about the box. I trusted her.” Abigail’s voice caught in her throat. “I had no other friends.

“That must be when she contacted Alfred,” she went on. “She knew the agreement had to be in that box. I remember her face when I told her how much he enjoyed reading those plain papers. He took pleasure in knowing he’d beaten the women. I thought her shock was at what he did to me. It wasn’t.”

“Alfred needed to find the box,” Penelope said. “If he could destroy the agreement, he could claim an equal share of the money. DNA would prove his lineage. Carmen would testify for him. Maybe she even had letters from Joshua. If everybody else was dead, he’d get it all.”

“Poor Carmen.” Abigail’s face was pained. “All she found was that her son was just like his father. She’d started a maelstrom she couldn’t control.”

There was silence until Zoe said, “Why’d Alfred blame me? I didn’t even know him.” She searched the faces around her.

“Because you were there,” Jenny shrugged. “Maybe putting blame on you was Carmen’s idea. She heard about you. An outsider.”

“Or maybe just because you’re odd, dear.” Abigail patted Zoe on top of her head.

They remained still as Abigail fed the papers to the fire. No one spoke. It was too much to take in: the injustice, the cruelty—all beginning in this mausoleum.

In this house of ice.

June was hot and muggy the day of the grand opening. Eighty-five degrees in the morning. Threatening rain by party time. Dora worried that the paper tablecloths on the folding tables set up around the lawn would wilt in the dampness. Then she worried that the roses she’d picked and put into glass vases were spreading ants.

“They’re beautiful.” Jenny came up from behind her mother to hug her. “Everything okay?” Jenny asked, leaning around to check her mother’s face. “I mean, are you all right?”

Dora nodded, though her eyes were still sad. “I’m doing what Jim would have wanted, don’t you think? No retribution. No terrible secrets.” Dora looked down into the roses. “Too many people are hurt, Jenny. Gerry’s at a rehab place. That was all I asked for. He was drunk the night he hit Jim’s car.”

“What about Johnny?” Jenny asked.

Dora shrugged. “Community service will be enough. I hope Angel helps him after that. Alcohol seems to be the Arlens’ sad drug of choice. He’ll need her, and she loves him.”

Jenny nodded.

“And if you think about it, Johnny was hurt the most of anyone. Except maybe you.”

“And you.”

Jenny didn’t want to think about who got hurt the most. It seemed so long ago. Maybe only Fate, after all. Johnny didn’t turn out to be who he was meant to be. But neither did she.

“What’s going to happen to Minnie’s daughter?” she asked.

“Deanna?” Dora rolled her eyes and hooted. “Minnie’s taking care of that. Deanna’s helping Minnie in the kitchen here today, whether she likes it or not. That’s just the beginning. I have a feeling Deanna’s going to get used to a lot of things foreign to her—like work.”

Since Dora was doing fine, Jenny looked around the lawn to see where she was needed. She waved to Lisa, visiting to celebrate with her family.

Dora called after her. “Angel and her girls are coming. She wants to volunteer with the library, wants her girls to get to know books better than she ever did. I said that would be fine. You don’t mind, do you?”

How could she? Jenny shook her head. She didn’t mind anything right then.

Lisa wandered over to direct Dora out to the crates of books in front, the stacks growing as people dropped off more boxes for the new libraries.

“Why don’t you go restore order out there?” Lisa hugged their mother. “That pile is going to fall and kill somebody.”

“You’re right. I should. I’ll get one of the deputies to help.”

“And don’t accept any more copies of
Alice in Wonderland
if you can help it. It’s Zoe and that mouth of hers. We’re swamped with fairy tales,” Lisa called after her.

Jenny followed Lisa to the cake table where Lisa set out the bookmarks she’d brought with her from Montana. She
fanned the bookmarks, emblazoned with the name of her documentary, next to a memory book where people could sign their names and leave comments for Dora to look back on in later years.

Zoe laid out plastic silverware, paper coffee cups, and plain white paper plates for the celebratory cake and coffee. The paper plates and cups were Jenny’s choice—always practical. The multicolor cake with fireworks shooting out at the corners was Zoe’s contribution. It was a cake Jenny had taken exception to—preferring a simple cake, in good taste—which had started a contretemps until Dora judiciously decided that Zoe’s cake on Jenny’s plain paper plates was the perfect pairing.

Through all this, Fida hid under the table, paws over her head.

Zoe, on her stool and bored with guarding her cake, sang out to Jenny when she next came around, “The trap is sprung. / The killers hung. / There’s nothing more to say on that particular subject.”

“What subject?”

“The subject of Carmen Volker and her son.”

“They’re not hung.”

“No, but they are hoist on their own gun.”

“Meaning?”

“Ed Warner, who, by the way, is my new best friend, stopped by to tell me the gun Tony took from Alfred is the gun that killed Aaron Cane.”

Zoe beamed with her news.

“So what’s this big secret I’ve heard hinted at?” Zoe went on, narrowing her eyes. “Everybody’s buzzing about it but me. I’m a bee without a buzzer. Will it make someone happy or disturbed, do you think? And more important than anything else I can think to ask, is the secret something wonderful for me?”

“What’s your nose tell you?”

Zoe frowned hard. “That you’re a terrible person.”

“Who told you about the secret?”

Zoe made a face. “If you tell me, I’ll tell you.”

Jenny stuck her tongue out. Zoe rolled her eyes in return.

“I’ll leave you to guard your cake.” Jenny moved away to find Ed, who, along with Johnny Arlen—starting his community service—unloaded brown folding chairs borrowed from Tannin’s Funeral Home.

Johnny nodded when he noticed her. She nodded back but turned away. Too early yet to greet Johnny as anything but an unhappy memory.

She showed the chief where to set the chairs, rearranging some into circles for convivial groups, where book talk could replace gossip about murder and old tragedies.

She looked around for Tony. The last week had been so hectic, she’d hardly seen him. There was the party to get ready for. Then Lisa flew in and they had their beach days. Tony was swamped with carpentry jobs. Dora needed her—long nights rocking on the porch and talking about Jim Weston.

Jenny found Tony touching up the paint on the children’s house and then signing his name with a flourish on the back. He pulled down the cloth to cover it.

“Whew! Bit of an ego,” she teased, looking directly into his eyes.

Tony grinned. “I’ve earned it. You Westons sure caused me enough trouble.”

They stood close, Tony cleaning his paintbrush and Jenny looking up and down Elderberry Street where Saturday mowing was in full swing.

“I missed you,” he said so low she almost didn’t hear it.

“Me too,” she said back.

Tony checked his watch. “I better get moving if I’m going to get to the airport on time.”

He climbed into his truck and was gone without another word.

While Jenny waved after Tony, Minnie Moon and Deanna, in a magenta stretch top and short shorts, strolled up the walk. They were there to take over whatever had to be done in the kitchen, though from the look on Deanna’s face, this wasn’t a party she looked forward to.

***

Penelope’s Porsche pulled in soon afterward, followed by a bakery truck. There were loud words between the baker—supervising the delivery of his special Stack of Jam Tarts cake—and Penelope, who, it turned out, was donating the cake out of the kindness of her heart, though she’d already bruised the poor baker’s ego.

The two continued to argue as four helpers rushed to get the cake from the truck and carry it to the waiting table. Penelope warned the baker that the cake better not tip and ruin the party, and the baker warned back, “Madam, you know nothing about baking.”

Penelope, never to be outdone, looked down her nose, gave a queenly sniff, and declaimed, “And you, dear sir, know nothing of jurisprudence.”

Then there was trouble at the cake table with Zoe up in arms over Penelope’s intrusive, though kindly meant, cake. A war over cake space ensued.

***

Dora’s friends drove in with boxes of plain, ceramic coffee cups, clucking and dismissing the thought of Jenny’s paper cups.

Jenny let it all go. Nothing would spoil this perfect day. Penny and Zoe would work out their dispute, the coffee would
soon be flowing, and the women would stay to clean up afterward, doing much to erase the perpetual scowl on Deanna Moon’s face.

They would wash and repack their cups. People did that in Northern Michigan. They called it “looking out for each other.”

Later, at the ceremony, there would be a short speech from Dora, thanking everyone for their donations and all their good wishes. Then would come a
very
short speech from Tony, who’d fought saying anything at all until Abigail, in charge of the programming, hinted that if their plan to spread Little Libraries across all of Michigan came about, as they hoped, he would be very busy making houses of all sorts. Little ones, but houses nonetheless. New business was, after all, new business.

Tony had written his speech about the design and the execution of miniaturization and made Jenny listen to it over and over until she balked and refused to listen one more time.

After the speeches would come the grand unveiling, then bookmarks, a mass checking-out of books, and finally the casseroles everyone had dropped off, followed by the cakes and coffee and plenty of genteel discussion of the higher (and lower) forms of literature.

Jenny greeted the people who gathered early. She checked her watch. Four thirty.

Tony was due back any minute. She was nervous. Maybe she’d had no right to invite their guest. Maybe she was wrong about Christopher Morley’s feelings toward Zoe. All her life, she’d avoided interfering, until these last weeks, when she’d interfered in every life around her.

The clouds rolled off to the east precisely at five o’clock, when the party officially began. The sun came out. The humidity fell. The day turned late-June-in-Michigan perfect.

Neighbors greeted each other, twittered over the new libraries, and looked over the books, laughing as they made their choices and argued the merits of an Elizabeth George over a Louise Penny.

Jenny stayed away from the cake table, watched over fiercely by both Penelope and Zoe, with Fida barking at Penelope from time to time.

Abigail arrived and explained the sign-out sheets to Vera Owen.

A strange woman in a green hat with a feather on it clutched a stack of books to her chest.

Priscilla Manus waved her history of Bear Falls in Cassandra Hatch’s face.

Angel sat in the shade of a pine tree with her new baby. Her married daughter, Margo, breastfed her own baby while sitting on the ground, skirt up, top down, bare legs crossed in front of her on the grass.

Tony was back at five minutes after five. He pulled to the curb, turned off the motor, and hopped out. From the passenger’s side, the stately gentleman pushed his door open, unfolded himself from the front seat, and slid to the pavement.

“Is that Christopher?” Zoe’s voice went into her highest register as she ran up beside Jenny. “You invited Christopher? How did you ever know?”

“Know what? I thought it would be nice to have him back when you weren’t in jail.”

“And he’s cancelled all his other plans and asked to be my escort to the award ceremony in New York. I truly think the man is smitten.” Zoe’s eyes were huge. “You’ve made magic, Jenny. Truly magic. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Lisa was back, fuming behind them. “Minnie Moon’s driving me crazy in the kitchen. Mom’s sitting by the curb, reading
a book she can’t put down. How do you people ever get a party together?”

“‘Patience, young grasshopper.’” Jenny said.

“Show off,” Zoe huffed as the tall, thin man coming toward her stopped to squint down at his watch, shake it, then put his wrist to his ear.

“If you know so much about Alice,” Zoe muttered toward Jenny while keeping her eyes on Christopher, “then tell me, ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’”

“‘I haven’t the slightest idea, said the Hatter,’” Jenny shot back, smiling at her new best friend. She and Lisa leaned against each other, laughing at Zoe’s outraged face.

“No! No! No! The answer is ‘Because neither of them is
me
.’” Zoe smirked at the women, satisfied with herself.

“That’s not fair.” Jenny put fists at her waist. “You made that up. That was an unanswerable riddle.”

“Says you, Jenny Weston. Says you.”

In front of them, the two men put out their arms. Christopher, bent in half, got a hug from Zoe and a nip at his ankle from Fida. Jenny was soundly kissed by Tony.

Behind them, Minnie cried out, “Food’s on!”

Dora instructed people to stand in a straight line to get their books.

Their neighbor, Warren Schuler, dressed in a clean, red-heart T-shirt, slugged down the beer he’d brought with him.

Penelope and Zoe pushed plates of their cake at people until Abigail cried out imperially that there would be no more food until after the speeches.

The new Little Library was open for business.