Wynn in the Willows (21 page)

“He might have been pushed. Someone thought he was Boone. Someone knew who the homeless man was and wanted him hurt so he was pushed. How did Boone's wallet get into his pocket? Why did they want him dead? Murder or accident? I think we are building a mystery around this nameless, homeless man.”

“Whether someone wanted him or Boone dead, that's how he ended up. Anyone who knows Boone would know it wasn't him. Boone doesn't touch alcohol and he is always clean and impeccably dressed,” Roxie said. “What do you think the motive is for killing Boone?”

“I can't say for sure, but I feel the ruby ring is a strong contender.”

“The ruby ring? Jackie and Boone's ruby ring?” Then our list of names grows longer. Doug, Marilyn, Agatha, Frank, perhaps even Jackie. Even though it pains me to say that.”

“The first I heard of it was at the first funeral.”

“Me, as well.”

“It seems as though word is spreading.” Wynn took a sip of tea. If Boone's body hadn't shown up, I'd say he was still alive some place.”

“I keep thinking about the man who was killed and his family. I find it rather sad that they will most likely never know their loved one is gone. Or be able to bury him.” Roxie leaned on her arm. “I wonder where his ashes are now.”

“Maybe we can make that the next priority of the Bible ladies; find out who this man was. Locate his family and his ashes.”

“Oh Wynn! Does that mean you're planning to stay on the island? You're taking the Biology job at the high school, after all, aren't you?” Roxie was elated.

“I haven't applied,” she replied, but inwardly thrilled that Roxie still wanted her to be here.

Witness number one, two, three, and four on the list didn't have any additional information. “I thought eye witnesses were called that because they actually saw something,” groused Wynn, feeling frustrated as they pulled up to witness number five's place, which was more of a waterside shack.

“Well, perhaps this Conrad Bellaire will be of more help.”

The women introduced themselves to the weathered fisherman. They sat on his deck overlooking the water.

“I remember a very beautiful sight there on the street that day.”

“A beautiful sight?” Wynn asked. “I don't understand. A man was killed. Surely it was an alarming sight; a horrifying sight; anything but a beautiful sight.”

“Calm down, Missy. Let me explain.” Conrad had a curious look on his face, as if many things had become magically clear since that day. “Yes, it was an alarming sight, but then compassion entered the scene when a woman ran out of the crowd and knelt beside him right on the street. She knelt and prayed right beside him. Right out in the open. Touched me deeply the caring she displayed.”

“Did this woman know him?” Roxie asked.

“Perhaps so, ma'am. Maybe they both were Catholics and knew one another from church. Maybe not, what do I know?”

“Why do you think they were Catholic and not some other denomination?”

“I don't know. Not for sure. But the Catholic Church has an Empty Bowl Program where they feed the indigent. I got the impression that he just might be homeless from his disheveled appearance. But her appearance was something to behold.” He gave a cat whistle.

“What did this woman look like?”

“Beautiful, like an angel of mercy.” He nodded wistfully, staring down the rocky shore. “I thought perhaps she was a nurse tending to his injuries.”

“Would you describe her for us?” Wynn posed her pen to take notes.

“Let me see.” Now he looked up at the clouds. “As I recall it, she had on a summery dress without a blouse on underneath. You know the kind where the arms are bare and shoulders show. The straps held up the whole dress—I think you ladies refer to it as a sundress. It was green as I recall. She was skinny. And her shoes came off when she ran towards him.”

Wynn paged through the police report hoping a pair of woman's shoes would turn up. She nearly shouted for joy when she saw it on the list of objects found at the scene. Size 8 ½ green, slip-on shoes with a daisy accent made by Curio's of Davenport. She circled it and showed Roxie.

“What color hair did she have?”

“Dark, maybe black, done up real nice and neat at the top of her head.”

“If you saw a picture of her would you be able to recognize her again?” Wynn asked.

“I wish. I didn't see her face.”

“How old would you say she was?” Wynn pressed.

“Can't say. Couldn't have been a teenager, though, because they are wearing it messy these days. Seems to be a style with them.”

They thanked him and returned to Wynn's car. “Do any of our female witnesses fit this description?”

“I don't think so. Only one of the women had dark hair and she wasn't skinny. There's just one more left on the list to speak with, right?”

“Yes, just one. An Alice Godfrey. “

Alice was a petite, stooped woman with gray hair and fine lines around her eyes and lips. “I had just come from helping out at church when I saw the accident.”

“It wouldn't have been the Catholic Church, would it?”

“Why yes, indeed it was.”

“Did you ever see him before, on the street or at church?”

“Never.” She looked from Roxie to Wynn.

“How close were you to the scene?”

“Practically front row. Right next to him. That scene has shaken me to my soul. Turns out I needed some psychological counseling to clear my head of the jitters that have been with me since that day.”

“How are you doing?” Roxie leaned over and squeezed her hand.

“Recovering. Who was the man who was killed?” Alice asked. “I want to light candles for him. God surely knows his name, but I would feel better saying a Rosary for him if I had a name to go with my prayers.”

“We don't know.”

“Surely the police know.” Alice insisted.

“No, they don't,” Wynn answered.

“That's because his identification was stolen.” Alice was adamant.

“Stolen? What do you mean?”

“Seconds after the man was hit, a woman in the crowd ran up and knelt beside him.”

“Oh, you are talking about the woman who prayed for him. Perhaps you know who she was?”

“No, I don't. But she didn't just pray for him. She stole his wallet! That's what she did. Pray for him, my foot. That's what she pretended to be doing.”

“What?” Wynn and Roxie said it at the same time.

“She tried making a show of praying for him. I watched her closely. First, she reached into her purse and then into his pocket and back into her purse. I saw her put something in it.”

“Could she have been a nurse?” Wynn asked.

“Nurse, my foot. It would be the first time I ever saw a nurse pickpocket someone.”

“Do you know this woman?”

“I've never seen her.”

“Could you identify her if you saw her again?”

“I'm not really sure. It all happened so quickly. I am so sorry.” Alice rose from her chair.

“May we pray with you before we leave?” Wynn asked, trying not to react to the surprised look on her aunt's face.

“Yes, let's.” Alice took their hands.

It was getting towards sunset by the time they stepped back outside. A jasmine vine grew on the porch railing and a dead tree stood in the front yard. Shadows of bare branches curled like empty hands across the yard and fence.

“Next we go to Marilyn's.” Roxie was decisive.

“Are you kidding? Marilyn's? But why? I know she's on our list of suspects, but she isn't about to give up any kind of information. And it's getting late.” Wynn looked at the screen of her cell phone. She wanted to talk to Doug about today.

“Remember, the Bible study women are doing a covert operation, which means no one outside the group can even be aware of this. And we are only disclosing the facts with our suspicions at the next meeting of the Bridge Over Troubled Waters Bible Study. No sense in getting the police upset with us, or anyone's hopes up. It's just between us women, OK?”

“Of course. It's our little secret for now.”

“And don't worry. We can stay overnight in Egg Harbor if we miss the last ferry. After trips, Boone always saw his mother before he took the ferry home. Only this time Marilyn insists she didn't see Boone, which seems out of character.”

“Might be true. He may have been killed before he saw her. That certainly would have interfered with a visit. I'm sure the time of death is in the coroner's report.”

“The report only Jackie can get her hands on. Let's not count on Marilyn's truthfulness. Come on. We won't stay long. I can only take her in small doses, but I am working on tolerance and patience so this will be good practice for me. Still, if Boone didn't see Marilyn, I wonder where his luggage is. Maybe he was killed for something he brought back from Nepal.”

“Write that one down.”

By now, Wynn's thoughts were raw. She felt both weary and wired. Knowing they were about to visit Marilyn made her even more unsettled.

The neighborhood was a residential mix of houses, townhomes, and condos.

Wynn parked on the street and they set out on foot. But, first, they ducked into an ice cream shop and ordered chocolate sundaes, gathering their sugar nerve to see Marilyn. Finally, they were at the large oak paneled door of the two story house.

Roxie put on her game face.

Wynn did, too.

But what greeted them was not expected. A rattled looking Marilyn, with mussed hair and no makeup, opened the door. Her khakis and pink colored blouse maintained a certain rumpled air that spoke of sleepless nights, and perhaps, a secret that was tearing at her. She blinked in surprise. “I didn't expect to see you two here. Ah, please come in. Let's, ah, sit in the living room?”

They followed her into the other room where two white chenille couches flanked a stone fireplace. Above it was an oil painting of Marilyn, Boone, and Agatha in a gilded frame.

“You'll have to excuse my appearance. I'm on anxiety medication.” Marilyn sat beside Wynn, making Wynn's heart bump so hard she wondered if she was about to have a heart attack.

Wynn couldn't forget the cruelty Marilyn displayed towards Jackie on the day of Boone's first funeral.

“May I offer you both something to eat? I was just cutting Wisconsin cheese to have with grapes for my evening snack.”

“No, thank you. Not hungry.”

“Me, either.” Roxie's lips barely moved.

“OK, ladies, since you have never visited my home before, I suspect this is not a social call. Is this to do about Agatha? Is she OK? Did something happen to Jackie?”

“No, they are fine. This has to do with Boone.”

“Boone?” Her eyes immediately flooded with tears.

“Did you see him the day he arrived from Nepal?'

“Absolutely not! I already told the police that, many times. He always comes here first before returning to Willow Island. I was expecting him, as always. When he didn't show up, I thought perhaps he missed his plane, or Jackie insisted that he come right home. It was early the following day when Jackie called with the terrible news.” Marilyn sobbed.

Wynn almost fell for the information until she happened to glance at the entry door that had a dry cleaners bag caught in it. “Marilyn, I am feeling hungry. Grapes and cheese sound so good to me, after all.”

Marilyn stopped sobbing and her innate hostess duty kicked in. Being needed seemed to bring the tears to an end. Within seconds, she could be heard in the kitchen taking down plates and setting them on the counter.

Wynn jumped to her feet and opened the closet door. A receipt was still stapled to the top. “Roxie look,” Wynn whispered, reading the receipt. “This silk suit was dry cleaned the same day Boone came back from overseas.”

“Silk? I told you he always dressed impeccably.”

“This receipt proves Boone was really here that day. What reason would Marilyn have for lying?”

“I don't know. Let's ask her.”

Roxie sat with the receipt in her hand.

Marilyn returned and set the silver tray on the table. “Care for cocktails?”

“No, thanks.” Roxie held up the ticket. “What's this?”

Marilyn blanched. Her hands began to shake while her neck turned red.

Wynn knew then she hadn't been truthful. “You did see Boone.”

“I have a feeling you know a lot more about that day than you are saying.” Roxie stood her ground.

Marilyn sat still, her lips pressed together.

“The day Boone arrived back to Egg Harbor, a man was hit by a truck, and mistakenly identified as Boone.”

“Old news. We all know that.”

“A number of witnesses described a well put together woman knelt at the man's side. One claimed she stole his wallet.”

“I would not steal from someone who was kicked down in his life.” Marilyn looked away, and then up at the ceiling. “If you must know, Boone dropped off this suit with me on the day he left, not the day he arrived. I had forgotten all about taking it to the cleaners until the day he was due home.”

“You know a lot more about that day than you are saying,” Roxie said again.

“I don't need accusations from two busybodies. This isn't work for amateurs. My Boone is dead and you're asking about some receipt. I think it's time for you ladies to leave.” Marilyn grabbed the receipt from them, walked to the front door and held it open.

“I guess we should be leaving now. What do you think, Roxie?”

 

 

 

 

26

 

The persistent sense of impending doom drew Wynn to press Doug to view Anna Reed's paintings in the Greenbay museum. After perusing the paintings online, Doug agreed that detail can be lost on a computer-generated picture.

They decided to re-familiarize themselves with Anna Reed's paintings displayed in the main lobby of the Willow Inn. The first time she saw them was for pure entertainment with Chef Frank, this time it was a purposeful study.