Of course I’m indulging in stereotypes, Julie admitted to herself when she was back in her office. But stereotypes work for visitors. So why shouldn’t I find Luke Dyer’s visit to the Ryland Historical Society library out of character?
Well, it was easy enough to find out what he had been doing. All Julie had to do was walk up the stairs and talk to Tabitha Preston, the earnest woman who served, for free, as the society’s librarian and archivist. And that’s what she would have done, immediately, had not Mrs. Detweiller come to the door to tell her Steven Swanson was on the phone.
“I know Mom’s attorney talked to you,” Swanson said abruptly after Julie picked up the call. “I told him it was okay to, because I needed to be sure she hadn’t talked to you about giving more money to the historical society in her will. It’s not that I was against that, but it seems to me the money she’s already given for the building in Dad’s name is quite a bit.”
“It’s a wonderful gift! We’re all so grateful to your mother for her generosity, and we certainly weren’t expecting more.”
“I didn’t think so, but it was important for me to know that. I think Mom was just playing one of her games that morning—trying to get Elizabeth riled up as usual. And as usual, it worked. But anyway, the reason I called is to thank you for telling Henry that she hadn’t talked to you about changing her will, and to say that I agree with him about the fact that you folks were expecting the rest of Mom’s gift. I’ll do whatever I can to help out there. It’s only fair, because Mom would have given you the money next week when she sold the land. Henry asked me to sign a statement about that so he can present it to the probate judge and see if the money can be released. Like I say, that’s fair, and I’ll be happy to do it.”
“Thanks so much, Steven. That’s very generous of you, especially now at such a difficult time.”
“That was the other reason I called,” Swanson said. “About Mom’s funeral. Her … her body has been released now, so the funeral can go ahead. Next Monday, at the church. I hope you can come, and tell the others if you will—the trustees, Mom’s friends at the society, whoever. I don’t really know who to invite, but if you’ll just pass the word I’d be grateful.”
“That’s no problem at all, and I’m sure everyone here will want to attend. What time will it be?”
“Eleven. On Monday.”
After the call ended and Julie was sitting at her desk, she smiled at the high-context nature of Steven’s description: “at the church.” Last year, Julie would have asked “What church?” Now she knew better. “The church” meant the United Church of Christ—or as locals referred to it by its old name, the First Congregational—the Gothic white church that stood on Main Street just below the Town Common. Among the trustees, volunteers, and staff of the Ryland Historical Society—indeed, among almost every Ryland resident Julie had met—it was simply called “the church.” The town had five, but the Methodist, Christian Alliance, United Baptist, and Catholic churches were merely places where members went for worship. “The church” was the site for community musical and dance performances, senior citizen discussion groups, Girl and Boy Scout meetings, candidate forums for local elections, and weekly church suppers. It was also the favored site for funerals and memorial services for prominent citizens, whether or not they were communicants. So Julie was hardly surprised that Mary Ellen’s funeral would be held there.
“The trustees know,” Mrs. Detweiller said when Julie asked her about the best way to inform them of the funeral. “I think everyone here does, too,” she added. “Monday at eleven at the church. Should we close the society?”
Instead of responding to her secretary’s question, Julie asked one of her own: “How does everyone know? I just found out from Mary Ellen’s son.”
“Well, I can’t really say, but my cousin told me this morning, and I suppose she heard it from someone at the church. This is a small town, Dr. Williamson.”
“Yes, I think we should close Monday morning, Mrs. Detweiller. I’ll write up a notice we can distribute tomorrow. I’m going up to see Tabby now, before she leaves.”
“Too late,” the secretary said. “She leaves at 4:30, you know.” Julie indeed knew Tabby’s schedule, and knew also that Mrs. Detweiller also left at 4:30 and was obviously signaling that Julie’s impertinent questions about informing the board of the funeral were delaying that ritualistic event, too. “I lost track of the time,” she said. “Sorry to hold you up, Mrs. Detweiller. I’ll work on the notice now and have it ready for you in the morning. Have a nice evening.”
Writing the notice consumed a mere few minutes, and then she was back to the notes she had made during and after the conversation with Henry. She reviewed them, and added to the list under “Find out” the curious fact that Luke Dyer had been looking at materials in the society’s library. Why? she wrote. Had he suddenly become interested in town history? Howard Townsend had said Dyer was part of an old Ryland family. Maybe he was doing some genealogical research. That was the favorite activity of users of the society’s archives, and there was no reason to think Luke would be an exception. In any event, a talk with Tabby would provide the answer, but that was for tomorrow.
Looking at her notes, Julie found herself focusing on Nilsson and the brief conversation she had had with him at the concert. He was eager to have Julie talk to Steven Swanson about Mary Ellen’s plan to contribute the remainder of her gift this summer. Nilsson seemed to be seeking her help to get Swanson to move quickly on the land sale, but Henry had made it clear that he, as executor of the estate, had the authority to complete the deal. Maybe Nilsson was just looking out for the Ryland Historical Society’s interests, which in this matter did overlap with his own. No harm in that, Julie decided.
But Nilsson continued to interest her, and she began to formulate a way to learn more about him. She would phone Nilsson to set up a meeting. Hadn’t Howard encouraged everyone to work on the expansion of the board of trustees? Hadn’t Mary Ellen requested Nilsson’s résumé with exactly that goal in mind? So why shouldn’t Julie now talk to the man to inquire about his possible interest in joining the board? She would be carrying out her job as director, and if she learned anything about Nilsson that cast light on his dealings with Mary Ellen—including, of course, whether he might have murdered her—well, that would be an additional benefit. She located Nilsson’s phone number on his résumé and called him.
“Good to hear from you,” he assured her confidently. “Thanks for talking to Steven Swanson. He’s happy about everything going ahead, and Henry LaBelle is handling the closing on Monday. So everyone wins: Our project goes forward, and, most important, you’ll get the rest of Mary Ellen’s gift right away.”
Julie considered pointing out that not quite everyone won, since the day of the closing of the land sale would also be the day of Mary Ellen’s funeral. Instead, she told him that she hadn’t really encouraged Steven, who seemed quite content for things to proceed.
“Well, it’s settled anyway, and I’m glad the society is going to benefit as Mary Ellen wanted. That new building is going to be quite an addition for you, isn’t it?”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Nilsson—”
“Frank, please,” he interrupted. “And I hope I can call you Julie. Even though we haven’t talked much, I feel very positive about you and what you’re doing over there. Mary Ellen did, too.”
“Well, Frank, thank you for saying that. As a matter of fact, I was wondering if we might get together when it’s convenient for you to talk a little about Ryland Historical Society. Mary Ellen had mentioned to me that she thought you would make an excellent trustee, and we’re always looking for strong new members.”
“Sure, I’m very interested. Mary Ellen did talk to me about this last fall sometime. I think I gave her a résumé.”
“That’s right. I have it right here, and I’d like to talk to you about what we’re doing and whether you’d be able to get involved. Of course it’s up to the board to elect new members, but part of my job is to help gather information for them, so if you’d be interested, I’d enjoy sitting down and talking a bit.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Things are going to get pretty busy with the closing and starting the project, so maybe we could get together before that. How would tomorrow be? Say, breakfast at The Greek?”
“Let me just check.” Julie knew her schedule tomorrow included more tours, but the first wasn’t until ten. Still, she didn’t want to appear too eager. “Yes, that’s fine,” she said, after what she hoped he would interpret as a dutiful review of her schedule for the day. “What time would be good for you?”
“Seven-thirty?”
“Great, I’ll meet you at the diner then. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” he said before ending the call.
What Julie called the diner and what Frank Nilsson called The Greek was the same small restaurant just north of town on the way toward Ryland Skiway. The first time she had had breakfast there—with Mike last year during the investigation of the historical society’s missing artifacts—Julie had learned the evolution of the diner. In Mike’s early days in town it had been run by a Greek family, and the name was still current with old-timers. Julie honestly couldn’t recall its official current name—even though a sign out front said Bert’s Family Restaurant and the coffee was served in mugs that said The Food Place—but if you made a date to meet at The Greek or the diner, the result was the same. She wondered why Nilsson, whose résumé indicated he wasn’t a Ryland native, used the old-timers’ name. Something to ask him, she decided, an icebreaker to open the conversation. After that, she would focus on what really interested her: Did Nilsson play any part in Mary Ellen’s death? Of course I could just cut to the chase and ask him, she said to herself with a laugh as she closed her office, locked the door to Swanson House, and headed home to Rich.