‘Ellen, I can’t thank you enough for doing this. I simply couldn’t face it last night. I know it’s early, but Dan’s arranged for Ricker to bring his truck by at two, and I would never have finished by myself.’
Mary turned from the pile of clothes she had spread over the bed, sorting them into two piles. She and her niece had easily chosen the clothes Cliff would be buried in. There was only one dress shirt that had all of its buttons and one pair of pants that didn’t have stains of some sort. It seemed a shame to bury the only halfway nice things Cliff had left, but then he deserved to be dressed this one last time in something decent. Mary packed them carefully in an old suitcase she’d found and started sorting the remaining clothes into a pile to throw away and another that could potentially go to St Mark’s next rummage sale. The throw away pile was growing faster than the one for St Mark’s.
‘I know this isn’t much fun, going through a murdered man’s clothes and things, but there doesn’t seem to be much choice. After Naomi found that picture, she announced she was going home and couldn’t come back this morning. Dan sent Agnes over to help but …’
Her niece interrupted. ‘Will you look at this?’
‘What?’ Mary dropped the shirt she’d folded into the carton box packed with the clothes going to St Mark’s. She ran her hands down the sides of her pant legs and walked over to see what her niece had found.
‘It’s a diary.’ Ellen thumbed through the well-worn brown leather-bound book. ‘It dates back’ – she flipped back to the front page – ‘about five years ago.’ She handed it to Mary. ‘Go to the end.’
Mary took the book but made no move to open it. She didn’t want to know Cliff’s thoughts, what made him happy or, more likely, what saddened him. She felt she had intruded enough cleaning out his closet and packing up his meager kitchen supplies. Something as private as a diary … ‘Can’t we give this to Dan?’
Ellen picked up a pile of sheets, towels and pillowcases off the end of the bed and put them into a carton box. ‘Just a sec.’ She wrote what she had packed on the inventory sheet they would attach to the box when it was full. ‘Yes, but you need to read the last few pages.’ She left her box, walked over and gave Mary a squeeze. ‘I know. It feels creepy. Like we’re spying on him, or something. But I think you need to read some of that. I want to know what you think.’
Mary looked at Ellen, who nodded, then down at the book. Its soft cover appeared like it had been held, opened and read a lot. She sighed. There was a purple ribbon attached to mark the owner’s place. She let the book fall open to where the ribbon separated the pages. The date was 27 November this year, the weekend after Thanksgiving. The day Cliff’s landlady had handed him his eviction notice? Mary counted quickly. Yes, the number of days allowed on the notice had passed. Cliff had to be out. Mary’s hand shook as she read the entry.
‘Just got an early Christmas present. Only, if I don’t come up with some money, I won’t be here for Christmas. Where I’ll go, I have no idea. Don’t know how I’m going to get money, either. Or, do I? I’ve been wondering about this for some time. If I’m right … I know I’m right. Now, if I can prove it, Christmas might turn out merry after all.’
Mary almost dropped the book. She looked at Ellen then flipped the page and read the next entry. And the next. ‘What’s he talking about?’
‘I have no idea. That’s why I wanted you to read it.’ Ellen held out her hand.
Mary put the book in it.
‘He didn’t post every day and most of them are just short sentences. They don’t make much sense. Look. “Father D’Angelo’s got a new cat.” Why should Cliff care? And here. “Alma’s bitch had a litter. Does she know?” Who’s Alma, and if it’s her dog, how could she not know?’
‘I think I can answer that one. Alma Maxwell. She bred cocker spaniels for years, probably before Bonnie Blankenship started, but Cliff …’
‘Oh, no. She isn’t the one who had the dog Cliff spayed, is she?’
Mary nodded. ‘She held on for a long time but told me yesterday she sold all the dogs she had left, except for that one, and is moving to Atlanta to live with her sister. She might not know one had puppies, but Cliff makes it sound like it’s a big deal. I’m not sure why it should be.’
Ellen frowned. ‘I know about her move. I’m going over this afternoon to talk about listing it. I didn’t know about the dogs, though.’ She looked at the book and flipped to another page. ‘Listen to this. “Should I do something about Luke?” What does that mean? Then he has one about Evan. He owns Furry Friends, doesn’t he? He wonders if Evan knows. Knows what? They’re all like that. There’s even one about those people who own the winery. Bliss – Bill and Naomi, right? He’s got this one liner about them. “Don’t think Naomi is in this, but Bill? I don’t know.” In what?’
‘The Blisses are the ones who lost the little poodle. He was a champion and, I guess, very valuable. Naomi was devastated.’ Mary thought of Naomi holding the picture of the little dog to her breast, her eyes filled with tears.
‘I heard’ – Ellen held up her hand to stop Mary’s protest – ‘I know, no gossip, but this might be important.’ Ellen looked from Mary to the book and then waited.
After a second, Mary nodded.
‘I heard Bill Bliss wasn’t nearly as devastated as Naomi and the dog was insured to the hilt. I don’t know what “this” is or what Cliff’s talking about, but he seems to think Bill could be implicated.’
Mary felt a little lightheaded and the notion to sit down was suddenly strong. The edge of Cliff’s bed was all that was available and she took it. ‘Implicated in whatever it was that got Cliff killed. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
Ellen nodded. ‘Cliff’s got a lot of comments in here that could mean nothing, just him rambling, or that he found out something. Something someone didn’t want known. He mentioned money.’ Ellen paused and took a deep breath. The look on her face plainly told Mary she didn’t like what she was about to say. ‘Do you suppose Cliff tried to blackmail one of these people and it backfired?’
‘What?’ Mary thought of all the people mentioned in Cliff’s diary. She knew them all, had known them for years. ‘What could any of those people possibly have done that would result in blackmail?’ She paused and shook her head empathically. ‘Or murder?’
‘I have no idea. Cliff must have been pretty desperate to have tried blackmail.’
‘Who’s blackmailing who?’ A large carton box appeared in the bedroom door. It almost totally obscured the person who carried it. ‘I’ve got everything packed, sealed and inventoried in the living room and had a box left over.’ The box fell to the floor, revealing a short, rather round gray-haired woman tightly encased in dark blue police pants, a wide black belt and a light blue long-sleeved shirt tightly buttoned around a dark blue tie. ‘Now, what’s all this about blackmail?’
‘We found Cliff’s diary. It sounds – odd.’
‘Like he was blackmailing someone?’ Agnes stopped in the middle of the room, spread her feet apart slightly, hooked her thumbs in her belt and stared at Mary.
Mary inwardly sighed. Agnes had recently been hired by the police department to do office work. She answered the phones, had learned how to contact the few squad cars Santa Louisa owned, took messages, handed out forms and did everything that wasn’t an emergency or had to do with actual crime. Today she was here helping Mary and Ellen at Dan’s request, but she’d somehow turned it into official police business. She checked everything Mary and Ellen packed as if she thought they might run off with something, a thought that made Mary shiver. She’d insisted they put the contents of each box down on an inventory list and sign each one before it was pasted on top. The inventory would come in handy when they needed to make a final disposal of Cliff’s things, but Agnes’ attitude was beginning to wear thin. She was not now, and never would be, law enforcement, a fact that seemed lost on her. More and more, Agnes reminded Mary of Barney Fife from The Andy Griffith Show.
‘Who was he blackmailing?’
‘We don’t know that’s what he did.’ Mary looked at the book Ellen still held and shuddered. ‘How much more did you read?’
‘Not much. I didn’t want to go any farther.’ Ellen put the book down on Cliff’s dresser and stepped back from it.
Agnes walked over and picked it up. ‘Where does it say he was blackmailing someone?’
Mary’s fists clenched. ‘It doesn’t. He says, toward the end, that he needs money and maybe knows how to get some.’
Agnes blinked. She stared at Mary, then down at the book. ‘How?’
Ellen snorted with what Mary thought was an interrupted laugh. ‘How was he going to get money? He doesn’t say. Agnes, it’s all innuendos. We don’t have any idea what Cliff meant. Except, he seems to be sorry for all the things he did while he was drinking. Talks about how he wants to make up for what he did.’
It was Agnes’ turn to snort. ‘That’s hard to believe. I’ve known Cliff Mathews ever since he set foot in this town, and I’m here to tell you, he was a much nicer man drunk than he ever was sober, and that’s a fact.’
Mary glanced over at Ellen, who reached out and took the book back. She looked confused, exactly how Mary felt.
‘Agnes, what are you talking about? Everything we read in that book says Cliff regretted all those things he did when he was drinking. Why, he even talks about Luke and how he should do something. He got Father D’Angelo a new cat. I don’t know what he did to the old one, but he seemed to feel responsible.’
Agnes laughed. A loud and not very mirth-filled laugh. ‘He got him a cat all right. The meanest, most cantankerous cat I’ve ever seen. I think Cliff did it on purpose. Blasted thing attacks Father every time he comes in the room. The cat’s taken over Father’s favorite reading chair, and the good man lets him. He – the cat – rules the house.’ She paused for breath.
Mary and Ellen stared at her then at each other.
‘Why does Father let him?’ Ellen asked.
Agnes shrugged.
Mary’s question was more direct. ‘Did Cliff know what the cat was like?’
‘He must have.’
This was not the Cliff Bonnie talked about. But Cliff had taken Naomi’s picture of her poodle. Why? He’d brought Karl a DNA sample of that same dog to identify. What was that all about? Had he hidden the dog? No. He couldn’t. Only … ‘You make him sound mean.’
Agnes reached out and touched the diary, then withdrew her hand and let it drop to her side. ‘Cliff was a nice man when he came here. He was nice when he started drinking. Even when all those things happened, all those “mistakes,” he seemed sorry. He seemed kind. Then his wife died, his daughter left, he lost his practice and he got sober. I don’t think he liked being sober. He got morose. He blamed everyone but himself for all the bad things that happened, and every year he got angrier. What’re you going to do with that book? It should go in with the other books.’ She reached out her hand.
Mary withdrew hers. ‘No. I don’t think so.’ She looked over at Ellen, who nodded.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘There’s only one thing to do.’
As one, Mary and Ellen said, ‘Give it to Dan.’