The members of the board of trustees of the Ryland Historical Society were assembled. Julie was relieved to see them—or most of them. There was Dalton, of course, and Loretta Cummings, also a favorite of hers. Julie couldn’t fathom Loretta’s perennial cheerfulness, but it was a canny, practical cheerfulness that Julie attributed to Loretta’s role as principal of the local high school, popular with parents, teachers, and even students. Henry LaBelle, an attorney, was equally canny and practical, but in a more sardonic, world-weary way. Then there was Clif Holdsworth, nearly as old as Howard and as well established in the community. Clif was normally polite with Julie, if slightly condescending. She knew he’d never fully accept her since, unlike him, she wasn’t a fourth-generation Rylander.
“This is a tragic day,” Howard said to the small group after they had settled into their seats. “We’ve lost a very valuable trustee and friend,” the chair continued. “I can’t tell you much, but this is what I know at this point in time.” After Howard briefly described what he knew, he paused to ask if there were questions.
“We’re sure Mary Ellen was killed?” Dalton began. “No chance of a natural death?”
“So it seemed to me, Dalton,” Townsend answered, “and my sense is that Chief Barlow considers it murder. Do you agree, Julie?” She did. “And perhaps you’d like to add to my report,” he continued.
Julie said she couldn’t improve on the chair’s report except to add that the chief had asked her not to discuss with anyone else what she had seen.
“That’s quite correct,” Howard said, “and I was told the same. I trust I haven’t said anything I shouldn’t have, but I believe the trustees are entitled to some explanation. Are there any other questions?”
“Is there anything we can do as trustees to help you, Julie?” Henry asked.
“I can’t think of anything now, Henry. We just have to wait till we hear from Mike Barlow, I guess.”
“I know this sounds harsh, but it needs to be asked for practical reasons: What about the construction?” Dalton asked. “Luke Dyer was all set to start the excavation today as soon as the ceremony ended.”
“I’m sure Barlow will keep the site protected for a bit,” Henry said.
“He called for the Maine State Police and the Sheriff’s Office to do that,” Julie said. “So I think we’ll have to wait.”
“I understand,” Dalton said, “and, again, I know this sounds awful, but I hate to lose good weather. We really need to get the site work done so we can get a shell up before winter.”
“I’m sure Mary Ellen would agree with you about proceeding, Dalton,” Howard said, “but we’ll just have to see what the police tell us. Perhaps you could be in charge of that, Julie—checking with Barlow, and then letting Luke Dyer know?”
“Of course,” Julie said.
“There won’t be any other problems about the project, will there?” Clif asked. Julie and Howard exchanged glances, neither sure how to respond. “About the money,” Clif said. “I am the treasurer, after all, so I suppose I’m the one who has to ask. Do we still get Mary Ellen’s money for the building?”
“I wouldn’t see why not,” the chairman answered. “Julie?”
“I agree. Mary Ellen pledged $1 million, as you know, and then she added that $100,000 challenge last year so we could finish the fund-raising, and at least half of that is in, isn’t it, Clif?”
Julie knew very well that $600,000 of the pledge was already in the society’s construction fund. She also knew that Mary Ellen had told her she wanted to complete the pledge with a $500,000 gift over the summer. But Julie had learned to defer to Clif on financial matters. Doing that was easy, but what wasn’t easy for Julie was participating in this conversation about the project and its funding so soon after Mary Ellen’s death. She couldn’t quite believe her ears.
“I believe we have at least half, yes,” Clif replied. “But I’m thinking about the rest of it—is that pledge binding on the estate, Henry?”
Henry paused before answering. “Let me make my situation clear,” he began. “I can speak as our solicitor, but most of you know that I’m also Mary Ellen’s attorney. So I have a conflict of interest here. As your solicitor, I can advise you that Mary Ellen’s written pledge clearly protects the society by indicating that in the event of her death, her estate will honor it. It’s quite specific, and frankly, I made sure of that, to protect the society, but I also made it clear to Mary Ellen that she had every right to have another attorney draw it up for her or to ask me to withdraw as the society’s solicitor in that instance. But she was content, and I feel confident of my ethical conduct.”
“Of course, of course,” Howard said. “No one here doubts your ethics, Henry.”
“Thanks, but I just want to be sure everyone here understands how the pledge was written—and that the society will get the rest of the gift. I’m sure of that.”
“Enough money in the estate to cover that?” Clif asked suspiciously.
“That’s not for me to say under the circumstances,” Henry answered, “but if I were the treasurer I would sleep soundly.”
“I assumed Steven Swanson would get it all,” Clif continued, undeterred by Henry’s tact. “I’d say he needs it, to keep that wife of his. Not that Mary Ellen would be happy about that. But I suppose Steven can’t stop the rest of it, can he?”
“No, but I wouldn’t think that would be an issue.”
“So there’s a lot of money, enough for us and Steven, too?”
“Clif, you know I can’t really say any more about that.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Any other questions?” Howard asked, clearly eager to put an end to the exchange between Henry and Clif, questions of money and estates not being matters the chair considered fit for public airing.
Loretta said, “I’m wondering about tomorrow’s concert. It’s such an important community function, I hope we can go ahead with it.”
Julie hadn’t thought that far ahead—tomorrow, the Fourth of July, seemed years away. When she admitted that, Loretta was quick to support her. “Oh, of course you haven’t; I don’t know how you keep on top of everything so well. I just thought while we’re together we should discuss it and make sure the board is in agreement. For my part, I’ll repeat that I hope we have it.”
“What would it cost if we canceled?” Clif asked.
“Cost?” Julie said.
“Isn’t there a cancellation fee or something for the band?”
“Yes, I think there is, but I’m honestly not sure. I could go check the contract.”
“I don’t see any need to do that,” Howard said. “I agree with Loretta—the concert’s an important event for us, good community relations. I certainly think Mary Ellen would agree.”
It amused Julie to hear Howard for the second time invoking Mary Ellen’s postmortem support, but she was glad he did, and the other trustees seemed equally happy for the chair’s decisiveness and greeted it with vigorous head nodding.
“So if there’s no objection,” Howard continued, “we’ll proceed with the concert.”
“How about if we dedicated the concert to Mary Ellen,” Loretta asked. “Maybe Julie could announce that at the beginning? I think it would be well received.”
“An excellent point,” Howard said. “If there’s no objection …”
“This isn’t a formal meeting, Howard,” Clif pointed out. “Unless our solicitor says we should go into formal session here.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Clif,” Henry said. “I’d be hard-pressed to imagine why we need a formal meeting and resolution to accomplish a simple act of humaneness like dedicating tomorrow’s concert to Mary Ellen. It doesn’t carry any legal obligations, for goodness' sake.”
“Maybe Steven thinks it would,” Clif said. “Maybe he’d hold us to naming the concert for her in the future. Perhaps we should ask him.”
Clif’s suggestion, though in keeping with his usual behavior at trustee meetings, seemed so bizarre to the others that for a few moments no one spoke. Julie finally did.
“Maybe I’ll just tell Steven Swanson what we’re going to do, so he’ll be aware. It would be a courtesy to let him know, and maybe a nice idea at a difficult time.”
“Excellent,” Howard pronounced. “Tell him how much we valued his mother, want to honor her, know she would agree, et cetera. Very nice. Anything else?”
Clif moved forward in his chair, a sign to Howard that he had something further to ask—or say. But then he shifted back. “Clif?” Howard asked. “You look like there’s something else on your mind.”
“Nothing the board needs to be concerned with.”
“Fine, then. Now there is a matter we need to consider, but this isn’t the right time to discuss it in detail. Let me just mention it briefly so you can all think about it, and then we can talk about it at a formal meeting later. Mary Ellen’s death leaves us diminished in many ways. When we lost Worth Harding and Martha Preston as trustees, we agreed to spend some time seeking new members. I just want to remind you that we now have three vacancies on the board of trustees. Thank you all for assembling so quickly for this little session. I look forward to seeing you at the concert tomorrow.”
As the rest of the trustees filed out, Dalton offered to help Julie return the chairs, but before she could decline she noticed Clif standing awkwardly by the door. She was sure she knew what he wanted. So she accepted Dalton’s offer to handle the chairs and walked over to the treasurer. She debated making it easier for him by bringing up the topic herself but, impishly, decided to make him do it.
“The shovels,” Clif said as soon as he and Julie were alone in her office. “Since we’re not having the groundbreaking, I thought I’d collect the shovels and take them back to the store.”
“You’d have to check with the police chief about that,” she said. “I think he plans to keep the whole site taped off.”
“Oh. Well, maybe you could get them tomorrow or whenever he says it’s okay.”
“I’ll do that,” Julie said.
When Clif left without another word, Julie wondered how he would take the news that only three of the four shovels he had provided were left at the construction site. She couldn’t even contemplate what he would make of the likelihood—a likelihood that grew stronger as Julie thought about it—that the fourth of his shovels had been the murder weapon.
Julie went to her office to phone Steven Swanson at his mother’s house. She dialed the familiar number. Hearing Mary Ellen’s voice on the answering machine brought tears to her. The voice gave the phone number rather than the name and invited the leaving of a message. It was all too weird—hearing Mary Ellen’s voice and then leaving the message for Steven about his mother. His dead mother.
After leaving word about the concert dedication, she recited both her home and office phone numbers and then hung up. She was glad to be able to communicate with Steven Swanson so indirectly. She didn’t feel awkward about the message itself, but if he had answered she might have asked Steven why he had said his mother was meeting her.
Maybe Mary Ellen had gotten it into her head that she had a meeting scheduled with Julie. This was not beyond the realm of the possible—Mary Ellen had scheduled dozens and dozens of meetings with Julie, and many times had changed or canceled the appointments. The other explanation was that Steven had made up the story. Why, though? To cast suspicion on Julie? If so, did that mean he had something to hide? Having seen the bloody body, Julie doubted any child could have done such a thing to a parent. But then she reminded herself she really didn’t know Steven Swanson.