Scared off, p.9
Scared Off, page 9
“Well, I’ll be.” Howard sat back on the couch, clearly surprised by the news.
“We didn’t live in Medview nine years ago,” Blair explained. “We were still living in Boston then. We moved to Medview for the schools when Talia started kindergarten.”
“You said you had a lot of visitors from Medview over the summer,” I said. “Could any of them have been victims of Mrs. Zelisko—or Chumley, as she was? Were any of your guests small-business owners?”
“I don’t think so.” Blair spoke slowly, thinking. “Our visitors were neighbors, fellow teachers, parents bringing friends of Talia’s.” She stopped. Her eyes opened wide. “Howard, what did Warren and Sue Littlefield do before they retired?”
Howard sat up straighter. “I think they owned an appliance store in town. They don’t talk about it. I gathered it ended badly.”
“When they visited, did the Littlefields see Mrs. Zelisko?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Blair said. “Yes. I remember it now. We were in our car, returning from the botanical garden. Mrs. Zelisko came down the front walk as we pulled into our driveway. I called out to her so I could introduce them, but she didn’t hear me.”
“Did the Littlefields see her?” Binder asked.
“I’m sure they did.” The memory was coming back to her. Blair’s words came out in a rush. “They asked about her. I explained she was our third-floor tenant. The strange thing was, Warren and Sue left soon afterward. I had thought they would stay for dinner. Warren said they didn’t like to drive after dark. It wouldn’t be dark for hours.”
“When was this?” Flynn asked.
“The end of June,” Blair said. “They were our first summer visitors.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but they’re not who you’re looking for.” Howard smiled a little. “They’re in their late seventies.”
The energy drained from the room like water from a bathtub when the plug was pulled. Flynn shut his notebook. “Probably not then.” We sat silently for a moment.
“Wait,” Howard said slowly. “I remember they had hoped their son would run the business after them. When it went belly-up, he went to work selling appliances in a big-box store.”
“How old is the Littlefields’ son?” Binder asked.
Chapter Seventeen
Two days later, I had coffee with Binder and Flynn at Gus’s. The Massachusetts State Police had picked up Peter Littlefield at Maine’s request, and the detectives had traveled the two hours south to interrogate him.
“He confessed instantly,” Flynn said before I sat down.
“He couldn’t wait to get it off his chest. He’d clearly been suffering since the night of the murder. I almost felt sorry for him,” Binder said. “Almost.”
“We interviewed the parents as well,” Flynn said. “Warren and Sue Littlefield recognized Mrs. Zelisko—or Mrs. Chumley, as they knew her—when they visited the Davies. They were stunned speechless, made their excuses, and left.”
Gus came over and took our order. Coffees for Binder and me, tepid water for Flynn. As always, Gus took Flynn’s dietary regime as a personal affront. “Drink something brown and strong, man,” he said. “Put some hair on that puny chest.”
Even while sitting, Flynn managed to puff out his anything-but-puny chest. “Doing fine in that department,” he said.
Binder waited for Gus to leave before he spoke. “On the way home from the Davies’ house, the Littlefields agreed to do nothing. They were sure they’d never see a penny of their money. Losing the business had been a horrible ordeal. They wanted the past to remain in the past.
“But as the weeks went by, Mrs. Littlefield worried Mrs. Zelisko might be at it again. She fretted about all the people who would be hurt. She was desperate to call the authorities. Mr. Littlefield absolutely refused. They reached an impasse. Last week, Mrs. Littlefield decided to confide in their son, Peter, and ask him to help persuade his father.”
“Telling Peter was a mistake.” Flynn picked up the tale. “He went home and stewed. He’d expected to take over his parents’ business. The store had been holding its own. The Littlefields had a reputation as people who really knew their stock, made great recommendations, and provided quality, timely installation and service. Peter saw a future where he’d make a nice living, be his own boss, and be a respected business owner in the community. He thought he was set.”
“Then it all ended,” Binder said. “He went to work in a big-box store selling the same appliances but for twelve dollars an hour.”
“The more he stewed, the angrier he got,” Flynn said. “On Halloween night, he worked himself up into a state where he was determined to confront the woman he believed, not without reason, had caused his unhappiness.”
Gus delivered the coffees, but not the despised glass of tepid water. Flynn would have to wait.
“Peter Littlefield swears he didn’t plan to kill her,” Binder continued when Gus turned and left without a word. “He wanted to talk to her, let her know what she’d done to his life. He thought it might get heated, but that was as far as it would go.”
“Laying the foundation to avoid a first-degree-murder charge.” Flynn was unimpressed by Littlefield’s claim.
“So it was a complete coincidence he showed up on Halloween?” I asked.
“He was shocked when he pulled up to the Davies’ house to discover there was a wild party in progress.” Binder said. “But then he thought it might be a good cover if he was going to be yelling at her. He had some idea he would force her to return the money.
“He slipped into the house, which wasn’t hard, given what was going on, and went up the stairs. Mrs. Zelisko was in her living room in her nightclothes. The television was on full blast. She didn’t hear him come in. She seemed oblivious to the noise coming from downstairs. When he confronted her, she cut him dead, told him he’d never see a penny of the money she’d taken. She didn’t try to deny what she’d done. She was calm, disdainful. He said that’s what set him off. Before he knew it, he had strangled her.”
“That’s when Talia and Page came up the stairs toward the apartment, calling out for Mrs. Zelisko,” Flynn said. “Mrs. Zelisko had turned off the television when she and Littlefield started their conversation. He said he almost had a heart attack when he heard the girls coming. He dragged the body into the bathroom and locked the door. He heard Page try to open it.”
I shuddered, thinking how close my niece and her friend had come to a murderer. What would have happened if they had been able to open the bathroom door?
“The rest happened pretty much as you figured it,” Flynn said. “The girls left, and he was stuck in the bathroom with a body. He did try to Weekend-at-Bernie’s her. He wanted time to get as far away as possible. He tied the bedsheet around her and fireman-carried her out onto the landing. Mrs. Zelisko was tiny, but she was a dead weight. As he turned to close the apartment door behind him, he lost his footing, and she slipped off his shoulder and went over the low railing. He almost did, too. He watched in horror as she fell, got caught in the chandelier, and was swung over onto the staircase. He was sure he was done for.”
“But by the time he got downstairs,” Binder finished the story, “the house was empty. He picked her back up, slung her over his shoulder, and executed his original plan. He went out the back door and stuffed her in the shed. He was off the peninsula before Officer Howland discovered the body.”
“It almost worked.” Flynn shook his head. “He had no record, wasn’t in any system, and had no apparent connection to ‘Mrs. Zelisko.’ ”
“It might have worked if Julia hadn’t found the connection,” Binder said.
“And the photo,” Flynn added.
My coffee was cold. I’d been so engrossed in the story, I’d forgotten to drink it. “Is there any hope my friends will get their money back?” I asked.
“Above our pay grade,” Flynn answered. “Now that we know she was the target of a previous investigation, that part of the case is back at the FBI.”
“The money is probably abroad,” Binder said. “It will take a long time to get it back, if that ever happens. Your friends should get attorneys. The IRS and the state of Maine will negotiate some kind of terms for payment.”
Not encouraging. “But her victims will have to pay.”
“Yes.”
“Where was Mrs. Zelisko in those four and a half years between when she left Medview and when she arrived in Busman’s Harbor?” It was hardly relevant, but I was dying to know.
“The FBI believes she was in Exeter, New Hampshire, running the same old game. They have cases there. They’re connecting the dots,” Flynn answered.
“Who was she, really?” I asked.
Binder shook his head. “That we don’t know yet.”
So there might never be any notification of a next of kin. No one might ever know she had died. The murder was solved, but it didn’t feel great. “So many victims,” I said. “Three towns worth.”
“That we know about,” Flynn reminded me.
“And Warren and Sue Littlefield,” Binder said. “When Sue realized her conversation with her son had started a chain of events that would end up with him in prison . . . You should have seen her reaction. It about broke my heart.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ten days later, Mom gave a dinner party. She invited the Davies and the Snuggs, Emmy Bailey, Vanessa and Luther, Livvie, Sonny, Page and Jack, and me. “A way to fend off the dark,” she said. “A welcome to new neighbors. It can be hard to make friends here.”
Thirty-five years on, Mom was still the outsider, the summer person who lived on a private island who’d married the son of a local lobsterman. Blair’s loneliness had captured her heart.
Sonny went over early to help Mom cook the chicken. Livvie brought a delicious pumpkin soup. I made a fall salad composed with pomegranate seeds and mandarin oranges. Vee turned up with one of her delicious apple pies. The Davies brought the wine.
Page and I set Mom’s long dining room table. “How many?” I wondered aloud.
“Fourteen, plus Jack’s booster seat,” Mom called from the kitchen.
I counted and recounted. “Are you sure?” I shouted back.
“Yes!”
I shrugged and did as she asked.
A few days earlier, Barry Walker had called me. “Julia, can you help me out with the business?”
“Barry, I’m neither a tax attorney nor an accountant. You need an expert.”
“I don’t mean with that part of it,” he said. “I mean with the business itself. You see how things are here. One more season, and I’ll go under even without trying to repay the tax bill. You turned your family’s clambake around. Come help me. I’ll find some way to pay you something.”
“Maybe you’ve found your winter job,” Livvie said when I told her about it.
I laughed. “I don’t think so. I took Barry’s offer to pay as a statement of good intentions, not a promise I can take to the bank.”
“Not just Walker’s,” Livvie said. “There are lots of businesses you could help in town. You went to school for it. You saved the Snowden Family Clambake.”
“With a lot of luck and an investor,” I pointed out.
“An investor was what we needed.” Livvie put her fists on her hips, a sure sign I shouldn’t bother arguing. “Think about it.”
I smiled. She was relentless. “I will.”
The three girls were thrilled to see one another and disappeared into Page’s room. They were still on semi-lockdown. Page had to give her phone to Livvie every day when she got home from swim-team practice and didn’t get it back until the next morning. I had heard the others were on similar restrictions.
When we finally gathered around the table, I had an intense longing for Chris to be beside me. But then I looked at the remarkable women surrounding me. My mom, a widow who’d rebuilt her life after a devastating loss. Fee and Vee, never married, running their own successful business. Emmy, divorced, making it work with two kids. And Blair and Livvie, married, raising children who were entering into their teenage years. Blair had left a job she loved for the sake of her husband’s career. I hoped it would turn out to be worthwhile. I hoped she would find a place in Busman’s Harbor.
There was still an extra place at the table. The back door opened, and Jamie came in, calling out, “Sorry I’m late.” He entered the dining room as he shed his coat. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Mom looked at me. “I hate the idea of him rattling around in that big old house all alone,” she whispered.
It was the dark time between Halloween and Thanksgiving. The sun set at quarter past four in the afternoon. It was like entering a long tunnel.
But the candles burned brightly on the dinner table, and the conversation flowed easily. Mom raised her glass. “To old friends.” She looked at the Snuggs and Jamie, who offered their glasses. “And new.” She clinked with Howard Davies, who sat beside her. “Always remember the Snow-dens are here if you need us.”
“And we for all of you,” Fee Snugg said.
“And we for all of you,” Blair Davies added.
“And me for all of you.” Jamie caught my eye and brought his glass to mine.
“Cheers!” Jack yelled and winged his sippy cup across the table, where it bounced off of Jamie’s head.
“Whoa! That’s not how we do it!” Sonny glowered, and Jack’s face fell. “You’ll get it, buddy,” Sonny said more softly. “You’ll get it soon.”
RECIPES
Vee’s Gluten-free Pumpkin Cookies
In the story, Vee Snugg makes her traditional pumpkin cookies gluten-free in an attempt to entice Sergeant Tom Flynn. In reality, you can make them either way. Vee’s recipe is a twist on one that used to appear on the Libby pumpkin can. Lots of people make versions of these cookies, but I think Vee’s are particularly delicious.
Ingredients
3½ cups Bob’s Red Mill Gluten-Free All-Purpose Baking Flour (or standard all-purpose flour)
2⅓ cup old-fashioned oats
1¾ teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice
1½ teaspoon salt
3½ sticks butter, softened
1¾ cup sugar
1¾ cup packed brown sugar
1 15-ounce can of pure pumpkin
2 large eggs
1¾ teaspoon vanilla abstract
1¾ cup chopped walnuts
1¾ cup chocolate chips
Decorator icing (optional)
Instructions
Mix flour, oats, baking soda, pumpkin pie spice, and salt in a medium bowl. In a large bowl, beat butter, sugar, and brown sugar until fluffy. Add pumpkin, eggs, and extract. Mix well. Gradually add flour mixture. Add nuts and chocolate chips.
Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Drop 1/4 cup dough onto a parchment-covered baking sheet. Spread into a pumpkin shape about 1/4 inch thick. Continue until all dough is used.
Bake for 14–16 minutes, until firm and golden brown. Cool on baking sheets for 2 minutes and then remove to wire racks.
Decorate with icing when cool, if desired. Vee uses orange icing to outline the pumpkin ribs and green icing for the stem and leaves.
Makes 40 cookies.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Julia Snowden’s latest adventure in Busman’s Harbor, Maine, as told in Scared Off. If this story was your first introduction to Julia, her family and friends, there are nine mystery novels, starting with Clammed Up. There are three additional novella collections, which also include stories by Leslie Meier and Lee Hollis, Eggnog Murder, Yule Log Murder, and Haunted House Murder. There are also two books in my Jane Darrowfield mystery series: Jane Darrowfield, Professional Busybody, and Jane Darrowfield and the Madwoman Next Door.
It doesn’t happen often, but I got to write this tale of mayhem and murder in the season in which it is set. The lead-up to Halloween in 2020 was a decidedly scary time as parents debated whether trick-or-treating was safe. If their wild party had broken out this year, Page, Vanessa, and Talia would have been in even bigger trouble.
I hope that, as you read this story in a future I can barely imagine, you are preparing for hordes of children dressed in costumes to come to your door and then donning your own costume to go out to a party. If not, I wish for you a glass of warm cider, a plate of Vee’s delicious pumpkin cookies, and a good book.
Sincerely,
Barbara Ross
Portland, Maine
I’m always happy to hear from readers. You can reach me at barbaraross@maineclambakemysteries.com, or find me via my website at www.barbararossauthor.com, on Twitter@barbross, on Facebook www.facebook.com/barbaraannross, on Pinterest www.pinterest.com/barbaraannrossandonInstagram@maineclambake. You can also follow me on Goodreads at https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6550635.Barbara_Ross and on BookBub at https://www.bookbub.com/authors/barbara-ross.
Barbara Ross, Scared Off
