“I’m going to hit the siren,” Mike said. Julie heard it first over the phone, and then the sound was audible from outside.
“You’re close.”
“I’m at the top of Main now. Stay put. I’ll stop in front and leave the lights on, but I’ll have to switch to the handheld radio, so I might lose you. I can see your house now.”
The pulsing blue lights reflected weirdly on the bedroom window. Julie went to it and looked out to see the Ryland cruiser. Mike leapt out and raced toward the front door, just below her, and then around the house. “You still there?” the voice on the phone asked. She confirmed it. “I’m at the back door. It’s unlocked. I’m coming in.” Julie was surprised that the handheld radio was so sensitive that it picked up the snap of Mike’s holster as he opened it to withdraw his gun.
“Julie,” he yelled, and the sound came more from downstairs than the phone. “I’m coming up.”
She heard his footsteps as he took the stairs two at a time. Then he came into the room, and she raced toward him and accepted the one-armed embrace he extended as he held his pistol in his right hand, pointed down. “Let me get this,” he said, and clicked the safety on. Then he added his right arm and held her tightly.
“God, I was so scared!” she sobbed. “Thank you!”
“It’s okay. You’re safe.” He steered her to the bed and got her to sit. “I think it’s clear downstairs, but I want you to just stay here while I go take a better look.”
The cold was returning, and Julie pulled the blanket more tightly around her, but she couldn’t stop shaking. Mike returned after what to Julie seemed hours but was no more than minutes. She heard his steps on the stairs again; this time he was taking them one at a time.
“Whoever it was, he’s gone.”
“You’re sure?”
“I went through the place. He’s gone.”
“But there really was someone, wasn’t there? It wasn’t just my imagination?”
“No. The screen door was closed, but the main door wasn’t locked—wasn’t really pulled shut, in fact. Maybe he heard you up here and ran, leaving the light on and not quite closing the door. Come on down and take a look?”
She nodded, then realized she was wrapped in the blanket and under that was wearing only pajamas. “Let me put something on first.”
Mike withdrew to the hallway while Julie pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. She joined the policeman at the top of the stairs and then followed him to the first floor.
“Be careful,” he told her as he guided her across the room toward the kitchen. “Let’s take a look at the door, but don’t touch anything.”
Mike stopped at the door. The screen door was closed. He examined the area around the lock. “You’re sure you locked this last night?”
“Absolutely. I checked and rechecked everything.”
“I’m sure you did. It’s not easy, but you can jimmy these if you know what you’re doing,” he said as he peered at the lock. “You really should have a dead bolt on this.”
“I was going to, but haven’t had time.”
“Well, right after I get the crime lab folks to check this out, you should make the time. Meanwhile, can you just look around and see if anything’s missing or messed up?” Julie scanned the room. Could she remember where things had been? It seemed so long ago when she had closed up and gone to bed. “Take your time. Look carefully.”
She continued to take in the room, straining to recall what had been where. Then she saw it: the folder with her notes! It was on the counter, next to the sink. She was sure she had left it on the kitchen table. And she was sure, absolutely sure, she had left it closed. But it was open now. She started toward it, but Mike grabbed her. “Don’t touch anything,” he commanded. “Just look. I’ll have to dust it.”
“This folder was closed, and it was on the kitchen table.”
“What is it?”
“My notes on Mary Ellen’s murder. Oh, God, someone went through my notes!”
“Your notes?” Julie couldn’t help but notice his tone was suddenly less patient and understanding than it had just been.
“Just stuff I jotted down—biographical information, details about Birch Brook, motives, that sort of thing. Oh my God, Mike, there was something else. Dan Swanson’s letter. It was right on top!”
He reached for Julie's right arm as she extended it toward the folder. “Hold it, Julie!” the policeman said.
She quickly withdrew the offending arm. “Sorry. It must have been that letter he was after.”
“Think you could make some coffee?” She nodded. “And you’ve got to get Oxford in there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oxford County—in your puzzle.” He pointed to the table where the bottom third of the state of Maine was intact next to pieces in piles.
“Too bad he didn’t put it in for me,” she said.
“Criminals these days—bad manners,” Mike said. “Now tell me about this letter.”
She finished recounting the contents of the letter just as the buzzer sounded to indicate the coffee was ready. She poured them both a cup and sat back down across from Mike.
“So you think this letter explains about the ownership of Birch Brook?” he asked.
“Not exactly explains it. I knew the land had passed back and forth between the two families, and Luke wasn’t happy he and Frank had to buy it from Mary Ellen, since Luke’s father had sold it to Dan Swanson so recently. I mentioned this before.” Mike nodded. “But the letter adds something,” she continued. “It mentions disputes and fights. I wish I had the copy so you could see what I mean!”
“You said copy?”
“Yes, of course. I had a copy, not the original; I’d never take an original out of the archives. It’s still there. Or it should be. Let’s go down to the office and check. That way you can see for yourself.”
“Relax, Julie. We can see about that later. Maybe you’ve forgotten already, but I’m here, drinking coffee with you in your kitchen in the middle of the night because someone broke into your house. Maybe we could concentrate on that for a minute. Assuming the person was looking for the letter—the copy—who would want it?”
“Luke,” Julie responded immediately. “He was there today, I’m pretty sure. I saw a truck pulling away after I closed up. We can check with Tabby Preston. If Luke was in working on the papers, Tabby would have told him about the new batch—the boxes that Steven Swanson brought in.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine Luke breaking into your house, Julie. I’ve known him all my life. He’s not a polished sort of guy, but he’s a straight shooter. If he wanted something from you, he’d ask. Not break in.”
Julie considered Mike’s description of Luke and nodded. “I see your point. But I still think he’s a prime suspect.”
“For both, I think. I mean, he wouldn’t go to the trouble of breaking in to recover the letter if it didn’t point to him as Mary Ellen’s killer? Would he?”
“You’re getting beyond me, Julie.” Mike’s handheld radio crackled: “Chief Barlow?”
“Barlow,” he responded.
“Just checking on that call,” the voice said.
“Sorry. Should have closed with you. The perp’s gone, and I’m with the woman who called. The house is secure, but I’ll need to have a mobile crime lab out to check a few things. Can you put that through?”
“I go off at six, and the crime scene guys don’t get in till eight. I’ll leave a note, but you’d better check in the morning, Chief.”
“Ten-four. Thanks. Sorry about that.” Mike added to Julie. “I should have closed with Dispatch. Good to know they keep track. Anyway, what were you saying?”
“Just that whoever broke in here—Luke or whoever—must have thought the letter was pretty important, and that makes me think it’s connected to Mary Ellen’s murder. Shouldn’t we go check the archives to see if the original is there?”
“Why don’t you explain that one?” Mike said.
“Well, if Luke saw the letter in the archives, and if Tabby told him I'd made a copy, he wouldn’t take such a big risk in coming here to get the copy unless he also took the original.”
“Could he do that? I thought you said stuff never left the archives.”
“I said that I wouldn’t take an original. But Luke could have. When Tabby wasn’t looking, he could have slipped it into his papers and just taken it. Then if he found out from her I had a copy he would want to get that one, too.”
“Why?”
“So no one else would know about the funny circumstances of Dan Swanson buying the land from Paul Dyer.”
“I thought you said Luke was mad about that.”
“Of course he was. If his dad hadn’t sold, he wouldn’t have had to pay so much to Mary Ellen to buy Birch Brook.”
“So Luke would want the letter known, wouldn’t he? Instead of trying to get rid of it, he’d want to make sure it was out in the open, so he could contest the sale or whatever.”
Julie finished her coffee and stared silently, remembering that Dalton had made a similar point yesterday. She got up and brought the pot to the table and refilled both their cups. “Or am I missing something here?” the policeman said to break the silence.
“No, you’re not. Just the opposite. It’s a good point, and I don’t know what to say. Maybe it means someone else had an interest in the letter.”
“Like?”
“Like Steven Swanson. If someone had grounds to contest the ownership of Birch Brook, Steven would stand to lose some money.”
“But you said he brought you all those papers. He could have just taken that letter out before he did.”
“True, but that assumes he read through them, and that he saw that particular letter and understood its significance. What if he didn’t—I mean, before he gave them to me? Then what if he found out later, came to the archives to take that one back, and then found out from Tabby that I had a copy? That would fit, wouldn’t it?”
“Seems like a stretch to me.”
“Okay, but it’s possible. And then of course there’s Frank Nilsson. Let’s say Luke found out about the letter. He tells Frank because he’s happy that maybe the Dyers can get title to the property. That would save them both a lot of money, but then it would put Dyer more in the driver’s seat, or at least give him a bigger piece of the pie. And it would slow everything down while they fought it out with Mary Ellen’s estate over the ownership. Nilsson has a lot riding on this project and doesn’t want any delays. And of course he wants to keep the biggest share for himself. So he realizes he needs to get rid of the letter. And the copy! That would work.”
“A lot of things would work. And so should the chief of the Ryland Police Department. Funny how the citizens expect me to be out driving around at night instead of having coffee with the director of the historical society. I’ll get the state crime lab in here tomorrow. Or later, I should say,” he added after looking at his watch, which said 3:55. “You going to be okay alone here now?”
“I could always go to the office and check the archives, Mike. It should be safe there—especially if you come along.”