A Midwinter's Tail

10

On Sunday, I caught up on all the chores I’d let go during the week and talked to my parents in Boston. I told them what had happened with the fundraiser and they were sympathetic, which made me feel better.

“I’ll look back through my files and see what we’ve done for fundraisers over the years at the school,” my mother promised. “If I come across any ideas that might work for you, I’ll let you know.”

She went on to tell me that her laptop was being repaired—something wrong with the space bar—again—probably having to do with tea or cheesecake was my guess. So I didn’t tell her it looked as though Dayna Chapman’s death hadn’t been an accident. Mom normally read the Chronicle online, but without her computer she wouldn’t be doing that, which bought me a few days before I had to tell her I was connected with a murder.

Again.

After lunch I made stinky crackers for Owen and Hercules, and a pan of date squares for Rebecca and me to have with our tea.

When Rebecca arrived, she spent several minutes talking to the boys, who loved to see her even when she wasn’t bringing them treats. Rebecca actually had conversations with the cats and didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about it.

Even though there was no paper on Sunday, the news about Dayna Chapman’s death was already circulating. Rebecca confirmed what little I’d learned from Burtis.

Dana had originally come to Mayville Heights on vacation with her parents. The only thing she’d seemed to like was Burtis. Her parents hadn’t shared that enthusiasm. Dana had run away, coming back to Mayville Heights as soon as she was back home, and she and Burtis were quickly married.

No one was surprised that the marriage didn’t last, but it seemed that many people were surprised it lasted as long as it did.

“And she never came back to visit?” I asked Rebecca.

“No,” she said, adding a little sugar to her tea. “The boys didn’t really spend a lot of time with her.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Some people don’t have what it takes to be a parent.”

That was the closest to criticism I knew I’d hear from Rebecca. I sent her home with two date squares and a reminder about our Friday trip to Red Wing.

* * *

Ruby was waiting for me Monday morning as I pulled into the parking lot behind River Arts. I backed into Maggie’s parking spot behind the former school, the way I usually did if I was there for some reason and she wasn’t.

Ruby’s collection of Christmas ornaments was packed in two wooden boxes sitting at one end of the big worktable in the middle of her top-floor art studio.

“Ruby, I can’t take all of them,” I said.

“Sure you can,” she said with a smile. “I told you we’re not using them at the store this year, and I have a collection that belonged to my grandmother that I use on my tree at home.” She laid a hand on top of the closest crate. “There’s a list inside both boxes so you’ll have an idea of what there is. I’m warning you. There are a lot of different Santas.”

“That’s okay with me,” I said. “I like Santa. I promise I’ll take good care of them.”

I noticed that the newspaper was spread over the other end of the long worktable. Ruby noticed me noticing.

“Dayna Chapman’s death wasn’t an accident,” she said.

I shook my head. “It doesn’t look like it.”

She sighed softly, looked away out through the tall windows and then back at me again. “You didn’t know my grandfather, Kathleen,” she said, “and I don’t exactly know how to describe him to you, except to say he had a flint-hard streak of ruthlessness in him.”

I nodded, not exactly sure where the conversation was going.

“You know that Burtis worked for him.”

“I do,” I said.

She fiddled with the stack of bracelets on her left arm. “And you’ve probably heard the stories that Burtis took over part of my grandfather’s business.”

I nodded again.

Ruby stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans and scraped one sneakered foot on the floor. “A lot of people would tell you that Idris Blackthorne was a criminal, and I guess if you go by a strict definition of right and wrong, black and white, he was.”

“In my experience the world isn’t always black and white,” I said.

That got me a smile and a slight nod. “As long as you played it straight and fair with my grandfather, you wouldn’t have any problems. But if you lied to him or tried to cheat him, you had an enemy for the rest of your life.”

It occurred to me that minus the illegal businesses, Idris Blackthorne sounded a lot like my mother.

“Burtis was friends with my grandfather until the day he died. In some ways he’s like family.”

“I don’t think Burtis had anything to do with Dayna’s death, either,” I said.

Ruby’s shoulders seemed to relax just a little. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said. “You know everyone isn’t going to feel that way.”

“I know,” I said. “I also know that no matter what Burtis does for a living, fundamentally he has a lot of integrity.”

She exhaled slowly. “You know how I told you I’d seen Brady having some kind of heated conversation with Dayna at the fundraiser?”

I nodded.

She crossed her arms over her chest, almost as though she was hugging herself. “I was worried about the backdrop. Afraid it wouldn’t look good or hang right, so I kept checking on it in the beginning.” She gave me a sheepish look. “I also saw—and heard—Burtis and Dayna. And they were fighting.”

I studied her face. “You didn’t say anything before.” This just confirmed what Roma had told me.

She shook her head. “I didn’t. Dayna is—was—Burtis’s ex-wife. They fight and the next thing you know, she’s dead. You know what people would think.” She gave a slight shrug. “I know what it’s like to be suspected of something you didn’t do.”

“I don’t think it means anything,” I said, jiggling my keys in my jacket pocket. “Burtis and Dana used to be married and she hadn’t been back here in a long, long time. They probably had more than one thing to argue about.”

Ruby shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I didn’t hear much of what they were saying to each other, but I did hear Burtis say, ‘It would be better if you were just dead.’”

I swallowed, hoping my face wasn’t giving away the little pulse of anxiety I suddenly felt. “That doesn’t mean he killed her, Ruby,” I said. “When I was in sixth grade, Kevin Monaghan snuck into the girls’ locker room, swiped my bra from my locker and draped it over the trophy case just outside the gym doors. I chased him down the hall, across the teachers’ parking lot and onto the track.”

I could still remember the mix of embarrassment and fury that had propelled my legs. “I was yelling that when I caught him I was going to drag him into the girls’ washroom, stick his head in a toilet and flush until he drowned.”

Ruby laughed. “Would you believe I said the same thing to Larry Taylor? I think we were in seventh grade, though. And substitute underwear for bra and flagpole for trophy case.”

I shook my head. “Boys going through puberty really are an alien species,” I said. “My long-winded point is you said it but you didn’t actually do it.”

She gave an offhand shrug. “Only because Agatha stopped me after the second flush.”

I exhaled loudly. “Okay, bad example to make my point. But it’s still valid—more or less. Most of us say things like I’m going to flush your head until you drown, or I wish you were dead, but we don’t really mean it and we don’t follow through.”

Ruby nodded. “I get it, Kathleen. I really do. But what do I do if Marcus or Hope Lind asks me what I saw and heard the night of the fundraiser?”

“You tell them the truth,” I said. “I know you and Marcus have had your issues, but he isn’t going to jump to conclusions and neither is Detective Lind.”

“Okay,” she said. She smiled. “Thanks.”

“I’d better get to the library,” I said. I reached for one of the boxes and Ruby grabbed the other.

I noticed then that Ruby had one of the little chocolate boxes from the fundraiser sitting on her worktable. She followed my gaze. “There aren’t any chocolates in it. It’s one of Nic’s prototypes. He asked for my opinion when he was working on the design.”

It occurred to me that I knew nothing about Nicolas Sutton. I remembered that I’d seen him tweaking the way the little boxes had been arranged on one of the serving trays. Could he have tampered with the chocolates? Why would he?

“I didn’t know the two of you were friends,” I said as we started down the hall to the stairs.

“We’re not, really,” she said. “I just like his work. And we’re both a little eclectic in our art. Nic’s a found metal artist. He plays with paper a little—well, you know about that—and does some stuff with photography.”

“How did he end up in Mayville Heights?”

Ruby stopped at the head of the stairs. “Why are you asking?”

“Curiosity,” I said with a shrug. At least that was true. “Those boxes he made. I’ve never seen such detailed work with paper before.”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” Ruby said as we started down the steps. “Maggie wants him to do some workshops when we get the space set up at the store.” She shifted the box in her arms, balancing it on her hip. “I know he was living in Minneapolis. I don’t know if that’s home or not. He said he had some personal stuff and he wanted a new start.”

“Mayville Heights is a good place for that,” I said with a smile.

“So, things are good with you and Marcus?” she asked.

I nodded and I couldn’t help smiling.

She smiled back at me. “Well, I think you’re good for him. You know, my grandmother used to say, ‘There’s a cover for every pot.’ Of course, then she’d say, ‘But if you don’t have a cover, you can use a big plate.’” Ruby laughed, her pigtails bobbing. “I have no idea what that means.”

I grinned back at her. “Me either.”

We put the boxes on the front seat of the truck and I thanked her again.

“I’ll see you at class tomorrow night,” she said.

At least we could start decorating the building for the holidays, I thought as I drove over to the library. I hadn’t really found out anything about Nic Sutton and I realized how far-fetched it would be that he knew Dayna, had ended up in Mayville Heights and then had killed her.

I was grasping at straws because I really didn’t know what else to do.