Free Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream by Bernadine Fagan Page B

surprising that neither of them mentioned this.
    Sexual harassment.
    I wanted to run downstairs and demand Ida tell me everything. I wasn’t sure what stopped me. I told myself it was my concern for her.
    Troubled, I read the letter a third time. I wondered what Mom would say now if I called and asked her outright. Howie would have a better chance of finding out. Mom was more open with him than she was with me.
     
    * * *
    On Tuesday morning I got up early. I had a plan for the day, formulated as I took the fastest shower of my life in water way below lukewarm. Damn water heater. Good for nothing.
    Shivering as I toweled dry, I glanced out the window. Frost. In September? I’d forgotten about Maine mornings in late summer. I opened the window. Frost laced the bushes and lawn, the trees and old flower stalks. Despite the white puffs of steam coming from my mouth, I remained staring. How could I have forgotten how beautiful this place could look?
    The land will draw you and you will grow to love it.
    No. And no.
    I stood back and closed the window on that thought.

I honed my day’s plan.
    I decided to leave the mystery box buried for another day. It wasn’t going anywhere.
    Seeing Ellie was a priority. And not just because I wanted to see my old house, which I still hadn’t managed to see. I’d been too busy visiting relatives, and hiding under beds.
    Ellie had been a friend of my mother’s. She’d tell me what had happened all those years ago, what they all thought Dad might be guilty of, and who was involved in the sexual harassment incident. She’d know more than Aunt Ida, I figured.
    I tried to call Ellie, but kept getting a busy signal. She didn’t have Call Waiting? Well, I’d pack so I was ready to leave tonight or tomorrow. After packing, I’d drive into town to Mary Fran’s and give her the emails. I hadn’t done that yesterday as I’d promised. Emails should be enough. I’d offer to write out what I’d heard and seen. Maybe that would take the place of photos. While I was in town I’d stop and pick up my résumé at the sheriff’s office, go over it carefully and call Lori with any changes I wanted. That way it would be ready tomorrow when I arrived back in New York. Then I’d go see Ellie whether she answered the phone or not.
    Last on the list, I’d gather the old aunts and figure out what to do about the land. Even though part of me wanted to stay, I couldn’t. The Big Apple was home.
    This all sounded good. Positive. I wrote it down. A certain satisfaction comes when you have a plan, especially when you commit it to paper in list form. You can cross things off a list and see that you’ve accomplished something.  Nothing tops a visual.
    Once in a while if I do something that is not on my list, I cheat, and add it, just so I can cross it off. It’s the crossing off that’s satisfying. I didn’t see that happening today, of course, because I’d written down everything. Everything. Today was going to be a perfect day. No bodies, no rain, no snooping in someone’s computer, no hiding under beds. No lawyers.
    With this in mind, I slipped into my black knit vee-neck dress, grabbed my camera and went downstairs. I’d take some scenery shots today, some by the stream.
    Ida was at the stove making pancakes, watching a rerun of Murder, She Wrote when I came down.
    She pressed Pause and said, “Hannah just called. Wants me to move in with her now that it’s official and you own so much land around here. Says I should let you have the house, too. Ever since she became president of the Senior Citizens she thinks she’s Queen of the World and can order everyone about.”
    I wanted to ask about the sexual harassment. Instead, I said, “I don’t want the house, Ida. I’m not sure about the land either. Maybe I’ll just deed it to you.”
    I wanted to tell her about the letter, question her about what had happened back then, but I decided to hold off until I’d spoken to Ellie.
    “I’m not