Wynn in the Willows Page 16

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

  “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 ta
lk 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.