Maple Mayhem (A Sugar Grove Mystery) (20 page)

“Frank wasn’t exactly a patient man.”

“No. And telling him to be one always made things worse.”

“This situation would make more sense if your father had killed Byron in a fit of rage,” I said but Phoebe shook her head.

“Dad’s bark was far worse than his bite. He never would have killed anyone. And besides, if he had killed Byron, how would he have ever gotten his money out of him?”

“But since there was nothing on paper, if Byron killed Frank, then it would be like the loan had never even happened. Did Byron know you knew about the loan?”

“I have no idea. I wasn’t there to see the transaction take place if that’s what you are asking. Dad told me about it later.”

“Did they ever speak about it in front of you? I mean that Byron would have known about?”

“I don’t think so but I can’t be sure. It had been a while.” So if Byron needed to cancel out his loan he might think canceling out Frank would be the best way to do it. Especially if he thought no one knew about it but himself and a dead guy.

The phone in the hall rang just as I shucked my boots into a tray to dry. My mother’s voice came over the crackly line.

“Dani dear, just the one I wanted to speak with.” My stomach sank. Her last call had been accurate enough to worry me about another. I told myself maybe she just wanted to get in touch. Maybe she missed us. Over the years I had noticed she was easily distracted. Maybe it would work now. Although I realized a lack of knowledge about the future didn’t mean it wasn’t going to occur anyway.

“How was the belly-dancing lesson?”

“It works wonders on the sacral chakra. When we get home I’ll be sure to show you and Graham some moves. Excellent for opening you to your sexuality.” My mother had never been one to feel intimidated by the birds or the bees.

As a matter of fact, every time Grampa carved a roast chicken in front of her or someone slathered honey on a biscuit in her presence I held my breath waiting for her to be reminded of just such things. Her ability to judge other people’s comfort with the topic was negligible. Or maybe, she thought she was doing them a favor by running roughshod over their sensibilities. I think there’s every possibility Celadon’s first marriage ended because our mother embarrassed it to death.

“I’m not sure Graham would be into that sort of thing.”

“Don’t be silly. All men love belly dancing. It’s primal. But that’s not why I called.” Suddenly the sound of her voice was more muffled and I heard her giggling. I didn’t really want to think about what she and Lowell had been up to with their chakra tune-ups. I was tempted to hang up on her before she decided to share her itinerary. “I’ve had another vision.”

“Two in less than a week. Wow.”

“It’s the sea air. All the negative ions, I think. I do have a lot more visions than I share with the rest of you. I know they upset you so I keep them to myself.”

“I appreciate that, Mom.” And I was surprised. I hadn’t realized my mother came out of her spiritual bubble long enough to notice how her proclamations affected the rest of us. Maybe I was the one who wasn’t doing the noticing.

“You’ve always been an appreciative girl, Dani. Your father was saying so just last night.” My mother thinks my father drops by to chat with her from the great beyond, apparently on a regular basis. I had no idea until a few months ago when he sent a message for me that turned out to be important. Still, it wasn’t always easy to credit. And if I was being entirely honest, I was disappointed that he had never gotten in touch directly with me.

“Dad dropped by for a visit while you were on vacation with another man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? Your father always loved to travel.” As strange as the idea was, I felt a bit better about what she and Lowell were up to if my father was happy to stop by for a visit.

“Speaking of travel, don’t you need to get back to some shipboard activities?”

“Not until I tell you why I called. That was the real reason for your father’s visit. He wanted me to tell you something.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if he tried getting ahold of me directly?”

“What makes you think he hasn’t?” Her sigh came through the phone so clearly I wondered for a second if Celadon had picked up the extension and was adding her own two cents. “You aren’t always the most open to unexplainable experiences.”

“You’re right. Tell him if he visits again that I’ll try harder to hear him. What was it he wanted me to know?”

“He says to eat more cake, especially at night. And he says not to be scared of the dark.”

“I eat cake as a midnight snack all the time. And I haven’t been scared of the dark since I was eight. What did he actually show you?” My mother receives her communications as images. Her interpretations are where things seem to break down.

“He was holding out the pieces of that night-light you had when you were six.”

“The one shaped like a unicorn with the horn that lit up?”

“Exactly. Remember how upset you were when Loden backed into it and snapped off the horn. You told him you didn’t love him anymore.” I’m not sure when I started having night terrors so intense I thought I’d die of fright but they all went away when Grampa brought home that night-light one afternoon, plugged it in, and showed me how to turn it on. Loden had been so distraught at breaking it he snuck into my room after bedtime with a flashlight he had found in the junk drawer. He spent the whole night leaned up against the wall in my bedroom with it switched on.

“How could I forget?” I looked down at the jagged scar on my finger. I had picked up the broken unicorn horn and had cut myself badly enough to need stitches. “That’s it? Dad showed you the broken night-light?”

“There’s more. Then I saw a little candle, like a birthday candle flickering in the dark. The light from it was very weak but it bobbed slowly through the air toward a giant heart-shaped card.”

“A broken bit of childhood, a candle, and a card?” I paused to think of what it could all mean but didn’t have a clue. I hated to ask but I heard myself doing it anyway. “What do you really think it means?”

“Maybe to never give up on love because it cuts like a knife through the vast darkness of life.”

“Even from beyond the grave you think Dad is giving advice on my love life? If he keeps showing up on the cruise with you and Lowell, I’d think he’d be more interested in giving you advice.”

“Who says he doesn’t?” That was unsettling. I had never appreciated until that moment how complicated things could get if you really could have dead loved ones dropping in unannounced. Maybe I didn’t want to hear from my father directly after all.

“Things have been pretty busy here lately. Do you think it could mean anything else?”

“Maybe he wants you to buy your brother a lamp for his birthday.”

*   *   *

Feeling unsettled after disconnecting with Mom, I decided to shove Dad’s message to the back of my mind and to focus once more on what brought me home in the first place, information about Frank’s financials. I found Grandma in the laundry room sorting whites into the washer. Laundry isn’t anyone’s favorite task but our laundry room is one of the demonstrations of Grampa’s love for Grandma.

Before they were married he offered to hire help for all the housework, including the laundry. Grandma refused, saying as soon as they were married she expected to be the only woman to ever get her hands on his underthings. So, he got the ahead-of-his-time notion to move the washer and dryer to the second floor to be closer to all the clothing and thus most of the laundry. He and his own father converted a bedroom into a laundry room extraordinaire.

He added oversized windows for light, custom cabinetry to hold the soap and other supplies, and pull-out wooden drying racks for those days when you want to air-dry but it is raining. There’s a pair of rockers and a braided rug and a counter for folding. The ironing board pulls out of a cabinet in the wall and an upright steamer sits in a closet in the corner. Everything is neat, tidy, and well thought out. Grandma always says that so goes the laundry room so goes the rest of the house. Hers is always shipshape.

“Do you know anything about Frank’s wife’s life insurance policy?” I asked as I picked through a basket of clean laundry to help match the socks.

“There wasn’t one.”

“Are you sure? Phoebe seems to think there was.”

“No. Frank was in rough shape when Iris died. He had a devil of a time keeping Phoebe and himself fed. His name appeared on the annual report for people whose property taxes were in arrears for three years in a row. I thought they were going to lose the place for sure.” Grandma measured soap into the washer, the emerald in her engagement ring sending sparkles of light bouncing around the room. Grandma’s nails were beautifully manicured and even though she was only doing the laundry she wore lipstick and a dress most people would think was too formal for church these days.

“That’s terrible.”

“It was. And the whole thing was made worse by his total refusal to accept any form of help. He qualified for assistance for heating oil and even for the local food pantry but he wouldn’t hear of it. I don’t know how he managed to make it.”

“How did he turn things around?”

“I guess the biggest difference was that Phoebe got old enough to stay on her own after school. Frank had only worked at jobs that provided mother’s hours so Phoebe wouldn’t be a latchkey kid when she was very young. You can imagine how that cut down on his ability to produce enough income. Once he started working full-time they got back on their feet just fine. It never seemed like they had a lot of extra, but they had enough.”

“From what I’m hearing from Phoebe, his financial situation had changed drastically. She says he lent one hundred thousand dollars to Byron for his vintage-auto restoration business.” Grandma dropped one of Grampa’s holey undershirts into the washer and gave me her complete attention.

“That’s a great deal of money. Are you sure?”

“I just heard it from Phoebe. She says Byron and Frank had a verbal agreement about the loan.”

“I’m sure I never heard about it if they did.”

“Phoebe says she thinks no one else knew. You know how private Frank was about his life. He wouldn’t have been inclined to tell anyone about a thing like that.”

“I suppose you’re right. But I can’t imagine where he could have gotten the money in order to lend it.”

“Phoebe said the syrup business was doing well and also that they had money from her mother’s life insurance.”

“Unless Frank’s trees are producing a lot more sap than is normal, I’d be very surprised if he could make that kind of money from his operation.”

“That was my thought, too. And if there wasn’t any life insurance, how can it be explained?” I asked.

“I don’t know. You said the agreement with Byron was verbal. If he doesn’t repay the loan now that Frank’s dead, Phoebe may be right back where she and Frank were when her mother died.”

“That makes it sound like Phoebe has less of a motive to murder Frank.”

Grandma paused thoughtfully before saying, “But it puts Byron right near the top of people who might have had a very good reason, now doesn’t it?”

*   *   *

I hated to ask Byron anything that might get his back up before he finished rehabbing the Midget but the paint job on my car seemed like it ought to take a backseat to murder. I managed to track him down at Stems and Hems, the local florist and combination bridal-tailoring shop. Not that it’s much of a trick to find him. Every Tuesday Byron heads into the shop to pick up a bouquet for his live-in girlfriend, Luanne.

At first it seemed like the shop was empty. With my lack of height I couldn’t see past urns full of flowers and mannequins modeling the latest in wedding dresses. I paused for a moment in front of a dress draped with enough lace to make a mosquito net for a king-sized bed. Even if I ever found myself in the position of shopping for a wedding dress, I couldn’t imagine I would choose one that looked at all like that. Besides, my mother would be crushed if I didn’t allow her the pleasure of creating one for me herself. Mom always made all our special-occasion clothes.

When Celadon and I were small she made us matching dresses for all the major holidays each year. At Easter she even made bonnets, too. I never liked getting dressed up but I had liked matching my big sister, especially since I knew it drove her crazy. I squeezed between two more voluptuously frothy gowns and ran right into Priscilla Martin, the shop owner.

“Should I assume from your presence here that you’ve decided to follow the game warden home for sausage every night?” Priscilla loomed down at me and winked in a way that made me wonder if she had taken lessons on lewdness from Mindy.

“No. I’m just here looking for Byron.” I did my best to keep a smile plastered on my face. Priscilla had been trying to get me to put a deposit on a wedding dress ever since Celadon had, of course, asked Mom to make hers. The whole family had tried to make up for the slight by purchasing flowers year-round, even when our gardens were bursting with blooms, but Priscilla was never truly appeased.

“I should have known. Well, once you finally need a dress come back in and see me. Not only do we have the most beautiful dresses you’ll find anywhere, we have undergarments to fix anything. Say, for instance, your topographical map looks like Kansas. Our patented line of bustiers will resculpt your meager assets into the Rocky Mountains.” Priscilla stared at my nonexistent bustline and gestured disturbingly with her hands.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I hurried deeper into the store, hoping to locate Byron. Even asking him about his loan from Frank seemed like more fun than talking fashion with Priscilla. I caught up with him at the glass cooler case reaching in for a mixed bunch of calla lilies. He was humming to himself and I hated to throw a damper on his good mood.

“Has Luanne said yes yet?” I asked, chickening out and delaying just a bit longer.

“Not yet, but I haven’t given up. One of these days I’m going to wear her down.” Byron had been asking Luanne to marry him once a week for the past four years. He thought the flowers would help but I wondered if maybe Luanne worried he was a spendthrift. Perhaps that was the way to introduce my questions about the loan.