Clause & Effect Read online

“Mikki, I’m not sure—”

  “Don’t you want Grace Yarrow’s killer to be caught and punished?”

  “Of course I do, but I just don’t see how—”

  “I’m not going to do anything outrageous, but I thought I’d compile a list of everyone who was active in the historical society twenty-five years ago. I already have the darkest suspicions about Gilbert Baxter, but I’m certain there are other possibilities.”

  “Why Baxter? No. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She looked away, then back. “Okay. Yes, I do.”

  I reminded her of the apple seed story. “What if Grace chose the name Baxter for a reason? Either Gilbert Baxter pressured her into showcasing his ancestor, or she was trying to win points with him by inventing a phony history for his family.”

  “That would hardly give him a motive to kill her.”

  “People kill for all kinds of stupid reasons.”

  “Sure. In fiction.” Darlene gestured toward her discarded paperback.

  I couldn’t make out the title or author from where I sat, but I knew her preference was for cozy mysteries where humor and the character arc of the amateur detective were often more important than giving the villain a sensible motive.

  “Real life can be just as random as the plot of one of your novels,” I insisted. “Besides, what harm can it do to consider the possibilities?”

  She reached out with one hand to ruffle the fur on Simon’s head. As if the contact comforted her, she left it there. “Fine. I wasn’t active in the historical society back then, but I think I remember who was on the board at the time of the pageant. You should get Shirley to look it up for you, in case I miss someone.”

  “Great. So—Baxter?”

  “He wasn’t on the board, but he was a member, and he was in the pageant. Didn’t you notice his name in the program? He played his own ancestor.”

  “Either I didn’t notice or I’d forgotten.” At the time, I hadn’t been suspicious of him. I hoped I didn’t wind up having to have to track down all the actors, but for now I’d concentrate on the folks who’d worked most closely with Grace. “Who was on the board of directors?”

  Darlene shifted uncomfortably in her chair and used her free hand to rub her ankle, one of the many joints afflicted with arthritis. “Ronnie.”

  “No surprise there.”

  “Bud Graham. I think he lives in Florida now.”

  “That name doesn’t ring a bell. Can you think of any personal connection he might have had with Grace Yarrow?”

  “I don’t remember anything, but it was a quarter of a century ago. I doubt I’d be able to recall any names at all if we hadn’t just been working on the new pageant.”

  I fished a pen and a small notebook out of my bag and wrote down the two names. “Who else? Was Sunny on the board back then?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.” She grinned. “Stacy certainly wasn’t. Or Diego. They’d still have been in school.”

  “The mayor?”

  She frowned, trying to remember. “Tony Welby wasn’t on the board but he could have been a member of the historical society. He used to be a teacher before he went into politics, and I’m pretty sure he’s always had an interest in the past.”

  “Who else?” Her grimace gave me a clue. “Your sister?”

  Darlene nodded. She and Judy might be on the outs, but she didn’t like having to include her only sibling on my list of suspects.

  “Don’t you think the police have already questioned everyone who was around back then? That would have been a logical step when they were still trying to figure out who the victim was.”

  “Probably,” I agreed, “and they’ll definitely have to question them again, now that they know it was Grace who was killed.”

  “So you’ll just be duplicating their efforts if you contact these folks.”

  “Maybe, but I still think I might notice something the detectives don’t. Besides, no one questioned you, did they?”

  She had to cede my point, but that concession just put more worry lines in her brow. “You could get yourself in trouble.”

  “With the police?”

  “With the killer. If you start snooping around, you’re going to tick people off, and if one of them is guilty, making him or her nervous about how much you know isn’t exactly a smart move.”

  “I’ve thought about that, but the risk is minimal. No one’s going to take me all that seriously. They’ll chalk up my nosy questions to curiosity and write me off as a harmless old lady.”

  “Hah!”

  “Think of it this way. If I learn everything I can about the situation back then, I should be able to rule out a lot of people as suspects, starting with your sister.”

  “Or not.”

  “You don’t seriously think—?”

  “What I think is that you should leave this whole thing alone.” Under her floppy sunhat, Darlene’s face was grim. Her hand clenched in Simon’s fur, making the puppy yelp in protest.

  In for a penny, I thought, and went for the pound.

  “I might drive over to Monticello to pay Judy a visit. Since she was on the board back then, she must have memories of the bicentennial. If I tell her we’re still working on the new script, I can ask her if she has suggestions for making it better and lead into my other questions that way.”

  “You don’t need to go pestering Judy. I can tell you what you need to know to exonerate her.”

  Pen poised, I waited.

  Darlene sighed. “Twenty-five years ago, when she was on the board of directors, she was married to her first husband. Max Kenner was a first-class louse if there ever was one. It was a rough time for her. She was too busy trying to straighten out her personal life to have much to do with the bicentennial.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. So, were you and she close back then?”

  Darlene avoided meeting my eyes. “Not especially, but I knew what was going on.”

  I reached out and placed one hand on her forearm. “What aren’t you telling me? What happened between you two?”

  She gave a short, humorless laugh. “A lot of things, none of which are relevant to what you’re looking into. Judy and Max divorced a couple of years later.”

  “And?”

  “Fine! There is more. About twelve years ago, she met a married guy named Brohaugh. It took him another two years to split with his wife and marry her, after which they moved to Monticello. The first Mrs. Brohaugh was a friend of mine. She was devastated by the divorce. She’s practically a hermit these days, and since she blames me for introducing Judy to her husband, I am not one of the few people she still talks to.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “That must have been awful for everyone, but what happened after the bicentennial doesn’t guarantee there was no conflict between your sister and Grace Yarrow before it took place.”

  “I’d have heard about it if there was,” Darlene insisted, “and until you mentioned her at the meeting at Ronnie’s house, I didn’t even remember Grace’s name. I suppose I must have heard who was writing the script at the time, but the pageant wasn’t really on my radar. Running the public library took all my energy. When Frank and I had free time, we took a lot of trips. Even that long ago, it was clear that there would come a day when I wouldn’t be mobile enough to enjoy traveling on trains, planes, or busses. We were determined to make the most of every moment.”

  “Did you attend the pageant?” I knew Frank had, since he was the one who’d remembered it and suggested a revival.

  She shook her head. “After all this time, I don’t remember why I didn’t go. Maybe I was sick, or had to work.” Her mouth curved into a crooked smile. “Or maybe I’ve been lying all along and actually knew Grace Yarrow well enough to hate her guts.”

  The maniacal laugh that accompanied this “confession” would have done Snidely Whiplash proud. Simon whined and backed away from her. Twirling the ends of an imaginary moustache, Darlene
smiled with her eyes, but her tone of voice was deadly serious.

  “If you think Judy might be guilty, then you’d better add me to your list of suspects, as well. I’m just as likely.”

  Sending her a withering look, I put away my notebook. Clearly, she’d said all she intended to about the bicentennial and about her sister.

  Chapter 18

  That afternoon, I drove to historical society headquarters to return the pageant manuscript and the Gazetteer and Business Directory of Sullivan County. Darlene had been right. Shirley easily accessed a list of the board members from twenty-five years ago. She didn’t ask why I was interested. Along with the rest of the inhabitants of Lenape Hollow, she now knew the identity of the remains.

  As Darlene had already told me, Ronnie’s name was on the list. So was Sunny Feldman’s. A quarter of a century ago, Ronnie had been Veronica Henniker, still married to, or maybe the widow of, her second husband. Sunny was listed as Roberta Feldman and Darlene’s sister as Judith Kenner. Bud (actually Lester) Graham turned out to have been the director back then. The other board members were Elise Sanders, Melvin Osterhout, and Fred Gorton.

  “Do you know anything about these people?” I indicated the last three names.

  We were in Shirley’s office, surrounded by her well-organized clutter. An open window let in the stench of hot tarmac. The day had turned into a real scorcher. The hum of a passing vehicle was the only sound that reached us. Inside the building was equally quiet. I was the only visitor.

  “I know they’re all dead,” Shirley said.

  “From natural causes, I hope.”

  Shirley gave a snort of laughter. “So far as I know.”

  “But you were acquainted with them?”

  “Oh, yes. They were still here when I took this job, although Mr. Gorton was already in his nineties by then.”

  “And this Lester Graham? He was in charge?”

  “He had the title. He was the one who hired me. But director wasn’t a paid position until quite a few years later. Bud Graham was a go-getter. He was in public relations at the phone company and he knew how to write grants. He did some fancy fund-raising before he retired and moved to Florida. Gilbert Baxter isn’t making enough to live the high life, but these days the director gets a salary. As for me, when I started I was paid minimum wage for twenty hours a week. Thanks to Bud, the board upped my pay and increased my hours.”

  “Are you a full-time employee now?”

  She nodded. “With benefits. Even though the building is only open thirty hours a week, I put in forty. Sometimes more. I’m librarian, secretary, and docent.”

  I was impressed. Many, maybe even most, small historical and genealogical societies are wholly staffed by volunteers. Having a professional on the premises meant visitors could actually find the records they were looking for.

  “How long has Baxter been director?” Since Shirley and I stood side by side behind her desk, with the list on the flat surface in front of us, I turned my head slightly to catch her expression when she answered.

  “Ever since Bud retired—thirteen years now. Before that Baxter sold real estate full-time. He still keeps his hand in. That’s why he takes off so often instead of sticking around to play Mr. Big Shot.”

  Nothing showed on her face, but I heard the disapproval in her voice. I wondered if it was merited. I tend to sympathize with those who need to work more than one job to make ends meet. My kindly feelings toward Gilbert Baxter, however, remained tempered with suspicion.

  “I gather that he was a member of the historical society long before he became director.”

  “That’s right, and he was on the board for several years while Bud was still here. He was elected in . . . let me think. It must have been when Mr. Osterhout died. That’s a good fifteen years ago.”

  “Baxter knew Grace Yarrow. I wonder how well.”

  “I wasn’t here then, so I can’t say for certain, but it seems to me that everyone involved with the bicentennial pageant must have worked closely with her. The first time I came across her name was when I went looking for a copy of this.” Shirley tapped her knuckles on the manuscript I’d returned to her.

  “Don’t you think that’s odd? That no one mentioned her to you, I mean.”

  Shirley shrugged. “A few years had passed by the time I got here. Since she doesn’t seem to have been particularly well liked, maybe everyone preferred to forget all about her. As I understand it, they thought she jumped ship just before the big day, leaving it to others to pick up the slack. That’s no way to make yourself popular.”

  “Only she didn’t leave. She was murdered. And one of the people who knew her back then must have killed her. Tell me more about Gilbert Baxter.”

  “Now, look, Mikki, you know I’m not crazy about my boss, but if he stuffed Grace Yarrow’s body up the chimney, why on earth would he authorize someone to do repair work on that wall?”

  “I don’t imagine he expected it to collapse.”

  “He couldn’t be certain it wouldn’t. Besides, since Charlie was looking for the source of a leak, Baxter had to realize that might involve taking down part of the wall and replacing it. To someone who knew what has hidden there, the potential for discovery must have been obvious. Baxter may be many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. If he was afraid the body would be found, he’d have thought of a way to stop the renovations.”

  “The board as a whole voted to make those repairs, right? Maybe Baxter didn’t have any choice in the matter. He had to cross his fingers and hope for the best.”

  “Still—”

  Shirley broke off at a faint sound from the doorway. My heart sank to my toes when I looked up and saw Gilbert Baxter standing in the vestibule just outside the office. I couldn’t tell how much of our conversation he’d overheard, but it had obviously been enough to turn his face livid with rage.

  “In my office,” he said through gritted teeth. “Both of you. Now.”

  Chapter 19

  Flashback!

  I was sent to the principal’s office only once when I was a student at Lenape Hollow High School. It was for the relatively minor infraction of talking during a fire drill, but I still remember the awful feeling of doom that hung over me as I walked through that door. I felt something akin to that same sensation as I crossed the vestibule between Shirley’s office and Gilbert Baxter’s. When beads of perspiration popped out on my forehead, I’d have liked to blame the building’s lack of air conditioning, but the truth was much simpler. I was scared.

  Get a grip, I told myself. Gilbert Baxter is no Principal Wannamaker.

  Come to think of it, Principal Wannamaker wasn’t all that scary, either.

  Of course, I’d never suspected Oscar Wannamaker of being a cold-blooded killer.

  My capricious mind promptly produced another memory from my teen years, the lyrics of a little ditty we used to sing to the tune of the Notre Dame fight song: “Cheers, Cheers, for Lenape High. You bring the whiskey. I’ll bring the rye. Send old Wannamaker out for gin, and don’t let a sober sophomore in.”

  Oh, yes—politically incorrect both then and now. Don’t I know it! In the present circumstances, recalling them was also completely inappropriate, but the memory made me smile and at the same time banished the worst of my fear.

  “Do you think this is funny?” Baxter demanded.

  Since that’s exactly what Principal Wannamaker had wanted to know, I came very close to laughing out loud. Instead, I shrugged and settled into one of the two chairs facing Baxter’s enormous antique desk.

  Shirley slid into the other. “You’re taking this much too seriously, Gilbert,” she chided him. “We were merely speculating. Considering possibilities. After all, someone murdered that poor woman.”

  He deflated like a popped balloon. The fury drained from his face, leaving behind only a grim scowl and a glower. “It wasn’t me.”

  Gray eyes moved from Shirley to me and back again. He tugged at the end of his little goate
e, as if that would help him decide how to deal with our suspicions. I studied him in return, wondering what I’d been so worried about. Even if he had killed Grace Yarrow twenty-five years ago, he did not pose an immediate threat. He lacked the physical strength to overcome the two of us. I doubted he’d be stupid enough to try. Unless he had a gun hidden in his desk drawer, the worst he was likely to do was fire Shirley and order both of us out of the building.

  I leaned toward him, pasting an encouraging look on my face—the one I once used on students needing to be coaxed into revealing the real reason they didn’t turn in their homework.

  “Why don’t you tell us about Grace?” I suggested. “Help us understand what she was like and why someone hated her enough to kill her.”

  “I’ve already answered questions for the police. Surely this is a matter best left to them.” His words were clipped, his voice cold, and I couldn’t help but notice that the lisp I’d heard the first time we met was considerably less pronounced.

  “Do you really want them to keep poking into everyone’s past? The cops always uncover other secrets, you know. Things that have no connection at all to the case pop up in the course of an investigation, things people innocent of the crime in question would just as soon not have exposed to the light of day.”

  Baxter gave a low moan and buried his head in his hands. Long, elegant fingers that had recently been treated to a good manicure burrowed into his salt-and-pepper hair. Shirley and I glanced at each other with what I’m sure were identical expressions of confusion.

  “Gilbert,” she said in a bracing voice, “unless you did kill her, there’s no sense in making a mountain out of a molehill. What do you know about her?”

  “She was . . . difficult,” he said in a muffled voice.

  “Yes,” she said with a trace of impatience, “that much is obvious.”

  “I didn’t know her very well,” he insisted. “I wasn’t on the board back then.”

  “We know that, too, but you were involved in the pageant,” I said. “You took on the role of one of your ancestors, a role Grace augmented by appropriating a story from the history of Fallsburgh. Why did she attach your family’s name to it? Did she owe you a favor?”