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The gals (and their guys) finally succeeded in shooing Martha from the shop with a promise from her that she’d get some rest. She went back to the cottage, changed clothes, and took an excited Penny out for a short walk along the river. At the end of their walk, although the thought of covering herself up with blankets and reading her mystery was appealing, Martha still felt too much adrenalin from the day’s events to go to bed just yet. Instead, she decided to sit out on the front porch swing for a bit.
She took a Pendleton blanket from the back of one of Aunt Lorna’s leather club chairs and sat, swinging as Penny pressed up next to her. It was what Aunt Lorna had always called the “middle time,” just as the sun was going down, but before the moon came up. The birds were nestled in their nighttime places, their daily cacophony giving way to the sound of the wind in the tall trees.
As Martha swung, she sifted through the many things that had been said about her aunt that day and considered possible suspects in Sentrich’s murder. Mr. Jeremiah? Maybe he’d thought Lorna was having an affair with Sentrich and killed him in a crime of passion?
Sure, as long as Sentrich had helped Mr. Jeremiah lift the scope first, and then bent down low enough so that Mr. Jeremiah could bash him on the head with it.
An oddly familiar male voice calling out from the near-darkness broke into her thoughts. “Martha? Martha Sloane?”
“Hello?” she replied, Penny’s head jerking up and a low growl bubbling deep in her belly.
From the road, a tall figure moved closer. “Hey there. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” As the man moved up the walk, Martha watched his John Wayne-like amble as if he had all the time in the world, so different in every way from the hurry-scurry she had come to know in Boston. He stopped with one hiking-boot-clad foot resting on the bottom step of the porch, an arm extended lazily on top of the handrail.
“Jason?” she said in a combination of question and exclamation. “What are you doing here?” Jason Turngate was a man she hadn’t seen since they were both about seventeen years old. Her reaction to seeing him now was... complicated. On one hand, she couldn’t deny how attractive he’d turned out to be: tall, lanky, a ginger beard trimmed perfectly. He was dressed in canvas pants, a crisp flannel shirt and a corduroy baseball cap. A hint of clean, spicy aftershave floated over to her across the porch. On the other hand, seeing him brought to the surface irrational feelings of irritation. She suddenly felt disarmed, unprepared, and at a disadvantage.
“And hello to you too. It’s been a while. I actually came back to the R-C last year. Guess your aunt never told you...” It could have been a trick of the shadows, but he appeared to flush just a bit.
“Not a word,” she said, shocked that Aunt Lorna wouldn’t have passed along this tidbit of information, even though Jason was a chapter of Martha’s life that had ended long ago. “What brought you back? Last I heard you’d headed out West for money and adventure.”
“Well, I left this one-horse town ready to find fame and fortune, and spent a good long time out there. Sure had some adventures, but money, not so much. Once I did manage to scrape some together, I guess it was time to come home. How about you?”
“I’ve been living in Boston since college. I stayed for grad school, joined the rat race and never left.” She heard herself gloss over this recitation of the last twenty-plus years, failing to acknowledge that parts of it had nearly broken her. She also heard how pathetic and dull her life sounded.
“Your aunt told me some of that, mainly that you were doing really well in your job and that she didn’t see you as much as she wished. But she was proud as heck of you.” He paused a moment, a smile forming on his face. “You always did fancy yourself a big city gal.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Martha snapped back, hearing herself for the second time that day sound like a person she barely knew and didn’t much like.
“What do you mean, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’” Jason replied, not in the apologetic tone Martha had hoped for. “Riley Creek was always too small for you. Even when you came here to spend the summers with your Aunt Lorna, you were always dreaming of going away, being something more, doing something more. Well, sounds like you managed to do just that.” In his even tone and rich, deep voice, Martha recognized the old confidence that she remembered so well.
“You say that like it’s a crime. And besides, I wasn’t the only one that wanted to get away to somewhere else.” She hated the childish tone in her own voice, but was unable to hold it back.
“True enough. There was plenty to get away from here.” He looked off into the night, and Martha suddenly wished she could take her words back. Jason’s reasons for wanting to leave were far more painful than her teenage wish to become a famous writer, to break away from her boring old life in Ohio and go off on grand new adventures. What had driven Jason to leave Riley Creek was a verbally abusive alcoholic father who owned the only car dealership for miles around. Once the town mayor, he was perpetually disappointed in his son.
“Is your dad still in town?” Martha asked.
“Oh, he’s around,” replied Jason, clearly not interested in expounding on the subject. “Anyway, enough of that. Listen, I wanted to stop by today to pay my respects, but I had to watch the shop so I couldn’t make it. I’m really sorry about your aunt. She was an amazing woman and one of the nicest people this town ever produced.”
Martha felt like an utter heel. “Thanks, Jason,” she said. “But what shop? Or did you go into business with your dad? How is he?”
Jason’s eyes looked interminably sad. “No, no. Dad gave up the car business years ago, after my mom died. I bought a small shop on the square and turned it into an outdoors store. Fins to Fur. That’s me.”
“I’d heard about your mom from Aunt Lorna. I’m sorry I didn’t send a card or anything. Your mom was so kind to me when I lived here for a while after losing my folks.” Martha reflected on why she hadn’t followed through on this most basic of kindnesses. Had she really been too busy at work to send a card offering condolences?
“It’s OK. What were we, seventeen or something last time we saw each other? And besides, it’s not like you’d have known where to find me. And Dad? Well, he probably never noticed who sent cards and who didn’t. When Mom passed, he went even more downhill, if that was possible. Couldn’t even hold it together through the drinking anymore. He’s in a nursing facility over in Park Ridge now.”
“Jason, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” To herself, Martha wondered why Aunt Lorna hadn’t told her any of this. Jason had been both her best friend during those childhood summers she’d spent in Riley Creek and, somehow, her nemesis. He’d always known how to get under her skin. But, still, they’d been important to each other all those years ago.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Jason speaking. “We sell outdoor gear and do some guiding in hunting season. Deer, turkey, lots of fishing trips—you know.” At this, he peered up at her inquiringly. “That’s maybe the one topic your aunt and I didn’t see eye to eye on. She could never quite settle her mind on the idea that I helped people shoot the beautiful turkeys that roam these mountains. But we agreed to disagree and always stayed friendly.”
Martha could easily imagine her aunt, who loved every feathered thing in the mountains, having a hard time condoning someone killing a wild turkey. After all, as her aunt always reminded her, the turkey came this close to being named the national bird, only losing to the bald eagle by one vote. Martha recalled her first time seeing one during a wildflower walk one spring. She had stopped to tie her bootlace and stood up to see an elegant, gigantic turkey slowly moving through the woods just feet from her. She still remembered the flashing greens, blues, and silvers of its feathers as it stood on a downed tree before jumping off and disappearing into the forest.
“So, will you be staying in town long?” Jason asked, squinting at her through the now dark night.
“To be honest, my plan was to come in for the funeral, sort out Aunt Lorna’s affairs, and get back to Boston,” she said. “But since I found Curtis Sentrich dead in the backyard and there’s some suspicion that my aunt had something to do with it, things aren’t quite so clear cut.”
“Sentrich? Yeah, I heard about that in town today. I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead and all, but...”
“I hear he was sort of a bad boy around town, but I really don’t know much else about him,” said Martha. “How in the world did he get connected to my aunt?”
“I don’t know too much about him either,” said Jason. “Hadn’t spoken to him since returning so I don’t know why your aunt would have had anything to do with him. Let’s say he and I had our differences and I don’t exactly think back on him with fond memories. But I’m sorry you had to find him like that. I’m sure the police’ll sort that out soon enough and find that your aunt had nothing to do with it whatsoever.” He paused, and then said, “Well, Martha, if you end up in town for a bit, maybe we could have dinner together sometime. Talk about old times.”
She stood with Penny in her arms and yawned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about old times, since old times included her parents and Aunt Lorna.
“That might be nice, Jason, if I’m here that long. But thanks for stopping by. It really was nice of you.”
Jason tipped his ball cap at her, told her goodbye, and ambled down the road and into the night.
This day just gets weirder by the hour, she thought, heading for the screen door. Think I’ll call it a night before one more strange thing can happen.
The next morning, after walking Penny and having some breakfast, Martha decided to pay a visit to Mr. Jeremiah. While she was in no mood to discuss her aunt’s will or business affairs, she knew she only had so much time left in Riley Creek. The College President had been understanding of her need to be away for her aunt’s funeral, but that understanding was dependent on an unspoken agreement that she would hightail it right back to Boston as soon as she could.
Martha drove the few miles to Mr. Jeremiah’s “office,” which was a fancy term for a large room off the back of his modest cabin set in the woods off the old State Route 2. The long room featured all the necessities at one end: a large desk heaped with files, papers, and a high-end laptop computer. At the other end, far from looking like a typical legal office, it had a comfortable arrangement of chairs and sofas grouped next to a picture window that let out onto a stone patio ringed with large, tasteful pots of trailing herbs. Beyond that lay the forest. It was a breathtaking setting.
After settling in one of the couches with a cup of the fresh coffee he’d had ready—she’d caught a glimpse of a brown coffee bag with the Birds ‘n’ Beans logo on it on the kitchen counter, but wasn’t sure what kind it was—Martha watched Mr. Jeremiah bend into one of the overstuffed chairs and fold his hands together. She breathed in the aroma of the steaming mug, in part to brace herself for this conversation.
“Viennese Melody,” said Mr. Jeremiah. What is it with people around here announcing the flavor of coffee they serve? “Your aunt advised me to always serve Viennese Melody to my clients, swearing that it was just the right flavor for intimate conversation.”
He shook his head, smiling at the memory. Then he was down to business, the keen legal mind inside the small body on full display.
“Martha,” he began, “I’m sure you know that your Aunt Lorna was a savvy businesswoman. She started Birds ‘n’ Beans ten years ago before coffee shops were popular and when birding was a hobby for the few. I told her at the time that I didn’t think it was a smart investment, but she had other ideas. She had money saved up in her retirement account from her time working as a science teacher for Riley Creek Schools and wanted to set out on something new. I helped her secure a small business loan, buy the property, find a coffee distributor, and get things started. The rest is history.
“For ten years, she surpassed even her own expectations for success. Once the coffee shop craze took off, she did exceedingly well. The birding tourists that came through were icing on an already-thriving cake. Over time, she built up her profits, paying off a great deal of what she owed on the property and making payroll to boot.”
He paused, took a sip of his own coffee, and sat back, his hands wrapped loosely around the mug.
“But that’s great, right? There must be someone who wants to buy a business that’s doing so well? To take it over and keep it going?” Martha felt a sense of relief washing over her for the first time since her arrival. “I can make the sale contingent on Helen and PJ continuing to work there.”
“Well, not exactly. You see, over the last year, your aunt had been to see me numerous times. She wanted my help taking money out of both her house and the business.” Mr. Jeremiah frowned into his cup. “She had nearly paid off her cottage after years of careful money management, and was well on her way to paying off the shop, too. But she began borrowing deeply against the equity she had built up in both properties.”
Martha looked at him, confused. “I don’t understand, Mr. Jeremiah. Why would she do that? What was going on that she needed money so badly? Was the business suffering?”
“My dear, if only I knew,” he replied. “I have asked myself that very same question more times than I care to count. And by the way, I insist that you call me Albert. I tried talking to Lorna on multiple occasions, asking her to reconsider what she was doing and the impact on her financial situation long term if she didn’t reverse course. But she was quite determined, and you know how she could be when she had built up a full head of steam.”
You can say that again, thought Martha. “So where does this leave the business? And her cottage?” she asked.
“It leaves it all to you,” Albert replied, gazing at her.
“To me?” said Martha, mouth agape.
“Indeed. As you know, you are Lorna’s sole living relative, and she had always intended you to be her beneficiary. I’m only sorry that I can’t tell you exactly what you’ve inherited. I’m not certain where her heavy borrowing left her at the time of her...” Albert’s eyes became misty and he coughed and looked away, regaining his composure before turning back to her and taking a sip of coffee.
“But what do I do now?” asked Martha, still stunned from this new information. “I’m supposed to be back in Boston in just a couple of days, but the police are investigating Sentrich’s body being found in Aunt Lorna’s yard, and now this. I don’t even know where to begin.” Martha had always assumed that Lorna would leave everything to... well, she had never really stopped to think about it. Aunt Lorna was such a constant presence in Martha’s life that she’d never thought of her not being there, and had certainly not contemplated the future of her worldly goods.
“You and I both know your aunt would never even have hurt a fly, so the police are most certainly barking up the wrong tree if they think she had any connection with his death. As far as I know, Mr. Sentrich did odd jobs around the cottage for your aunt; she hoped that she could help him gain his equilibrium in life by providing him with meaningful work to complete. I’m not certain anyone could really help someone with his history, but your aunt could only ever see the best in everyone.”
Again, he gazed down, as if lost in a memory. Then he looked up.
“But on the topic of the cottage and business, let me say this; I always told your aunt that the best place to start is to do your homework. And now I suggest the same to you. The last time she visited me, your aunt had copies of all of the loan documents, as well as the bank statements and business accounts, in an old leather briefcase. Perhaps work forward from there. I am at your service, of course. Your aunt was a dear friend of mine for many a year, and if I can help you in any way, I hope you will avail yourself of my assistance.”
Albert dipped his head in the old-fashioned bow he had given her yesterday after the funeral. They chatted for a few more minutes, but Martha was too rattled by all she’d heard to be much of a conversationalist. Albert saw her to the door, where she turned to him and shook his hand.
“Thank you, Albert. And thank you for being such a good friend to my aunt all these years. I need to get my head wrapped around all of this and figure out what she was up to. A dead body in the backyard? And Aunt Lorna mysteriously taking money out of her accounts? Something definitely does not add up here. And I’m going to find out what.”
“My dear, I recognize that fire in your eye and have no doubt you will do just that.”