Wynn in the Willows (20 page)

“Interesting. I'd like to speak with Marilyn next time she comes to visit,” Wynn said.

“What about?” Jackie pressed.

“Well…I'll tell you about it another time. Not important, I assure you.” Wynn promised.

“I want to apologize to everyone for my behavior last night,” Jackie said.

“Jackie, there's no need. We understand.” Faith patted her hand. “Don't we, ladies?”

“Anything interesting happen after I left?” Jackie dropped the napkin onto her lap.

All the women fell silent.

“What? Something did happen, tell me.” Jackie looked from face to face, stopping at Wynn.

“We've formed a task force.” Wynn confessed.

“A task force?”

“Yes,” Roxie plunged right in. “Each lady is taking an interesting aspect of Boone's case to acquire additional facts and information.”

“Except for me,” Sheri butted in. “I'm gathering island gossip and unsubstantiated rumors.”

“We'll meet in a few days at Roxie's and discuss our findings,” Faith said.

“May I be part of this little group of yours?” Jackie asked.

Roxie immediately nodded her head. “Please don't feel hurt we didn't initially include you. We all know you've been busy mourning Boone.”

“I want to be a part of this group.” Jackie looked around at all of them.

“Of course you are. The most important part, in fact, but I don't think you should be gathering information. You can help us fit it together.”

“You are considering other leads than just Doug?”

“I think it'd be wise to do so. You never want to narrow research.” Wynn was troubled. “Thank goodness Boone wasn't cremated. Blood work may give us some answers.”

“If you want that, you will have to rely on me to procure since I'm the closest relative,” Jackie said. “I can get a copy of the coroner's report, too.”

“I never thought of that,” Faith said.

“Me, either.” Wynn confessed.

“See? You do need my help with this little investigation of yours.”

“Will this bother you, Jackie?” Roxie asked.

“This will help me. I need to help.”

“Jackie, I want you to know, that if Doug did murder Boone, I want him to be held accountable for it,” Wynn stated. “One of the questions I have yet to answer is, was Boone a preselected victim, or was it some sort of an accident, and then covered up?”

“I think we need to get all the facts in order to determine that.”

Since she had arrived to the funeral earlier in the day with Doug, Roxie gave Wynn a ride home.

“I'm going to change my clothes and feed my yard birds. Want to come in for a bit? I have some nice snacks in my fridge if you are still hungry.”

“No, but thank you for the offer.” Wynn decided to take a drive and clear her thoughts.

With Roxie's cottage in the car's rearview mirror, she had an unexpected memory. Her parents left her with Aunt Roxie for a few days. Wynn couldn't remember what the occasion was for her parents to be gone, but she didn't feel saddened by their departure. She knew it was temporary and her aunt would take wonderful care of her.

Roxie lived far enough from town that there were no children around to play with.

“Play with Jesus. Talk to Jesus,” Roxie told her after they baked cookies together. “He's always around and would love to hear from you.”

At Christmas, they left cookies with milk out for Santa, but this was the only time she saw Roxie doing it for Jesus, making two places at the porch table. It occurred to Wynn that it was a wonderful way to show a child He was reachable, to speak in terms of her understanding at that time in her life. Jesus would listen to what she had to say at anytime, at any place. That day it was cookies. Tomorrow it would be scraped knees. Later on, it might be a scraped heart.

How odd she recalled things just like that, when for so long she could hardly remember living on the island. These memories were like a gift. If it hadn't been for Roxie's generosity, she wouldn't even be here right now. She had to make everything right. She headed back to the Tree House.

Wynn walked straight down to her aunt's cottage. The back door was already open. Quietly she padded through the cottage.

Roxie was on her knees in front of the couch her hands folded together. “Oh God, can't you make this all go away?” Roxie wept.

Wynn had always thought of this woman as strong, not in need of anything. “Aunt Roxie?” Wynn touched her shoulder.

Roxie's hair was in disarray, her face covered in sorrow. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes bruised from crying.

“I know, I should have knocked, or called. I am sorry I disturbed you.” Wynn felt something catch in her throat. “Are you OK?”

“Yes, yes, yes. I'm really fine.” Roxie gripped Wynn's hand as she pulled up.

“Did you say something about a snack a little while ago?”

“I surely did!” Roxie's countenance changed as she bustled about. She cut brownies and poured milk, placing the snack in front of Wynn on a linen napkin. “I was thinking; why don't we go into Egg Harbor tomorrow and do our part of the investigation together?”

“Sounds good. I'll drive.”

“OK. Pick me up by seven so we can make the eight a.m. ferry.”

Wynn took a bite of brownie, filling her mouth with the chocolaty, creamy delight. “Oh, these are worth every pound I will gain.”

“These are even better than Chef Frank's, if you can believe it.”

“I most certainly believe it. Nothing is better than these.” Wynn took another square. “Are you really selling a piece of your property to him to build a house?”

“I'm considering it. My closest neighbors are still quite far from me and it'd be nice to have someone near, since you aren't sticking around much longer.”

Wynn felt shamed and began to shred the second brownie. “I'm sorry things didn't turn out the way you hoped.”

“No one is sorrier than I. But I understand that you must live your own life. “

“Some good things have happened by coming here.”

“I'd like to hear them, because right now I feel I have failed you in many ways.”

“You have never failed me. Not ever. Except…”

“By not telling you about your dad's death?”

“Right. I consider it the most important part.”

“You may not believe this, but I try very hard not meddle, although I like to warn you when I see impending disaster. I thought if I allowed you to rediscover things on your own that the memories would come faster and be honest ones, without me planting anything in your brain. If you had just enough information, it would keep you here. I was wrong. I know now you have to watch out for yourself. Decide what is best for you.”

“Like I always have done.”

“Yes, like you always have done. But I have loved you all these years.” Roxie's voice broke.

“I know that, now.” Wynn swallowed hard. “At first, I didn't understand. But I've since realized that love comes in many forms and can make a person do crazy things. Aunt Roxie? I want you to know that I love you, too.”

Roxie reached across the table and took her niece's hands. “I'm here whenever you need me.”

“You've always been there for me. My uncles couldn't have afforded my college, but you paid in full each year. I always counted on that—on you. I missed home and you so much even though I had only lived here for six years. Much of it I cannot remember. It's been covered over with time, like when leaves cover the ground—the earth is right there under my feet, but I just can't see it.”

“Wynn, the answers you seek are right under your nose waiting to be discovered.”

Wynn's Tree House was dark when she got home. She hadn't turned on outside lights before she left, and now her tiny place was hard to see nestled in the woods. She fumbled with her keys.

She stood still in the closed doorway as Sailor greeted her with rubs around her ankles. This was his first initiated contract with her, and it was best to not push things by picking him up.

She opened all the windows allowing the cool night breeze to sweep in. The words of faith the Bible women spoke to her about spiritual awakening, with Roxie's parting words, enveloped her.

Deep in contemplation, she walked into the kitchen area and opened the fridge. Raking through the items, she noted she was the proud owner of a quart of green tea, vegetables, and two pounds of Tillamook cheese.

Sailor swirled around her feet like smoke. She took down a can of cat food and emptied it into a dish for the kitten.

Wynn went out on her deck, careful to close the door, not wanting the kitten to escape. The moon was in its waning phase, and it was hard to see the tops of the oaks and pines against the dark night. The chilly air covered her arms and legs with goose bumps and she hugged her middle as she looked towards the sea.

In circles she walked, asking God to reveal Himself to her in some stunning manner so she would be certain it was He and not some silly fluke, nor a misplaced emotion.

Drawn here by memories of her dad's death, what kept her here was something different; Boone's death.

“A preselected victim. A death of unknown origin. An unidentified man who was cremated. A missing heirloom ring. This might turn out to be the biggest island mystery ever.” Wynn suddenly felt very determined to solve the puzzles.

 

 

 

 

25

 

Suzi wore a pink rose bud stuck into her waitress nametag, and when Roxie asked her about the day she witnessed the man plowed by a truck, her eyes got big. “Oh, my, how horrible it was! I still see it happening even in my dreams—which are actually very bad nightmares. There are dark circles under my eyes, see? Can't sleep.”

“Do you need to sit?” Roxie slid down the booth.

“Thanks, but I'll be fine.” Suzi focused on her job. “Can't sit with customers. Not allowed. We have delicious honey ginger tea today, if you'd care for some. It's new.”

“Certainly, we'll each have a cup.”Wynn said, after Roxie nodded.

Suzi returned with two steaming white mugs and set them down.

“In the police report, you are listed as a witness.”

“You must be from the insurance company.” She stuck a pencil behind her left ear. “How can I help?”

“Tell us what you remember, dear.” Roxie smiled in a motherly fashion. “It's very important.”

“I was on my way to work that afternoon and was about to cross the street just outside the coffee shop here, when I saw someone stagger—most likely drunk—out into the street. Poor Mr. Ottoman tried to brake, but it was no use. It was a horrid sight. But Mr. Ottoman was not at fault. The guy stepped right out in front of him.”

“Mr. Ottoman—he was the driver of the truck?” Wynn asked as Suzi refilled Roxie's cup.

“Yes. I know him. He's a trucker from Egg Harbor. On the road most of the time.”

Wynn quickly scanned the police report wondering why the truck driver's name was left out. She reached into her purse and withdrew a pen to scribble the name in the margin. “Do you know Mr. Ottoman's address?”

“Let me write it down for you.” Suzi wrote it on a lunch ticket, tore it off the pad and handed it to Wynn.

“Wow, you have it memorized. You don't happen to know everyone's address in town, do you?” Wynn laughed.

“No, of course not. In high school, I dated Mr. Ottoman's son. That's how I remembered it.”

“Makes sense. So, he was going the speed limit?”

“Yes, he was, but a man with too much booze in his gut is no match for a two ton truck, even if its load is empty. By the way, he's on a month truck run so he's not home.”

“Oh, OK.” Wynn was disappointed they'd not be able to speak with the driver today.

“Do you suppose the man could have been pushed into traffic?” Roxie sipped her cup.

“If so, I didn't see it. I only noticed him when he stepped off the curb and out into traffic. Several cars swerved.”

“Why did you say the man was drunk?” Roxie asked.

“He had to be drinking, because when he got hit the bottle in the bag he was carrying broke all over the street.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Whisky, I think.”

“Do you happen to know the name of the man who was killed?” Wynn asked.

“Doesn't it say in the police report?”

“Says ‘unknown'.”

“Well, I know about everyone in town. Lived here all my life. I didn't know the man. He was dirty and his clothes raggedy. From time to time, we get hitch hikers and train riders. In other words, the homeless, in town.” She looked over her shoulder, back at the kitchen. She clucked her tongue. “Listen, I better take your order before my boss gets after me. What would you two like to eat?”

The women ordered salads.

Not wanting to be overheard, Wynn leaned across the table towards Roxie. “I don't understand why the truckers name wasn't in the report when almost a half dozen witnesses are named, with their addresses.”

“Was that body ever identified?”

“No, because someone showed up, mistakenly identified it as Boone, and said to cremate.”

“Maybe it wasn't done so mistakenly.” Roxie's voice gained an edge.

“What do you mean?”

“What happens when someone pushes you from behind?”

“Huh?”

“Stand up.”

“What?” Wynn was confused.

“Come on. Stand.” Roxie got to her feet.

Roxie took her by the shoulders and spun her around. Then she pushed her. Wynn fell forward a few yards.

“Point made. You stagger when pushed.” Wynn sat back down.

“So the supposed ‘drunken' man may not have been drunk after all. Just taking an opened bottle of whisky home to drink?”

“Correct,” Roxie said. “Mark that down on your paper there. We have to go through all our suppositions when we get with the ladies.”