Chapter Twenty-Three

It was Judy and Everett who waited for me when I got off the plane in Indianapolis on Tuesday evening. They had left Joel with his maternal grandmother, which was a relief. I was too exhausted to be much good to him. When Ev put his arms around me I burst into tears, which could have frightened my grandson, who thought Grandma Sally was able to cope with any situation.

“Been through it have you, Mom?” he said gently. “Come on.”

After hugging Judy in turn, I gratefully let them take me in tow. There had been no opportunity on the trip home to rest, or for that matter, even to think. My seat had been right behind a young mother traveling with two toddlers. It was a nightmare for her, the children, and everyone sitting within three rows front and back. After two hours of sobs, tears, threats, and chaos, I made the decision to intervene. All there was to lose was a little dignity if she snubbed me. Unbuckling my seatbelt I stepped into the aisle and introduced myself.

After giving all of my credentials as a woman, grandmother, and nurse, the woman accepted my offer to assist with the children. I picked up the three-year-old boy and to his astonishment, sat in his seat and plopped him on my lap. I told him stories, sang to him, and gently tickled him. It worked. He responded positively to the direct attention and an hour later took a long nap. With her older brother settled, the fourteen-month-old sister soon did the same. I could not rest with the child’s weight on my lap, so spent the next three hours sporadically attempting conversation with their mother, with moderate success. She was an American. I judged her to be in her early thirties, tall and thin. Except for stringy brown hair and a permanent frown on her face, she was attractive. She seemed to be trying to figure out whether or not to be grateful or resentful, and never did. We talked superficially about children, husbands, and traveling. She never explained how she ended up on an international flight alone with her pre-school children, but did say they would be met in New York by the paternal grandparents.

From New York to Indianapolis I was too numb and tired to sleep, read, or do anything, which meant there had been no good slumber for me since I met Sydney Treadwell, and not so much the night before that. Sunday night, my last full night in Coventry, I kept having nightmares. Roger, Sydney and myself were together at the Silver Fox. We were drinking whiskey sodas and getting drunk, when Amelia would arrive and start hitting Sydney on the head with an umbrella. After waking up and going back to sleep there would be variations of that theme. Sometimes Claire Marsh or Anne Carey would show up, but you get the idea.

After Roger escorted me to the door I made just one telephone call, leaving a message on George’s answering machine and asking him to get in touch with everyone else who was waiting to hear from me. I told him I would explain everything when I arrived home. Choosing George was intentional. I knew he was going to visit his son Robin that day, so he wouldn’t be home to answer the phone.

Seeing my meltdown, Everett said we would go directly back to Hanley and get me home. But once the luggage was collected and I was sitting in the back of the extended cab of their pickup truck, I found some reserve energy from somewhere, and realized how hungry I was. When I insisted we stop for something to eat they didn’t object too strenuously. Both of them were also hungry, and anticipating some conversation over the food to satisfy their curiosity about the results of my travels.

“A juicy hamburger!” I drooled. “Pick somewhere that has good hamburgers.”

Ev grinned and Judy laughed.

“But also,” I further instructed, “please somewhere we get waited on, but that’s still pretty casual. I’m a mess.”

We put Amelia Marsh to rest at last on December 28th, George, Anne, and I. In the weeks after I got home the three of us tied up some loose ends. After sleeping through Thanksgiving I also went back to work.

I waited for the local police to call me. The federal authorities were contacted by British law enforcement. Roger went to see them just as he said he would. They in turn called the Hanley department. David White was suitably impressed.

Sydney was interviewed twice before he slipped into a coma, and died two weeks later. Most of the mysteries were explained. The murder weapon was never found. Sydney only remembered tossing his cane out of the window of his rented car somewhere in the drive back to Indianapolis. Because he had the presence of mind to have the vehicle thoroughly cleaned and almost three months had passed before same car was located and examined, there was nothing there to convict him. But a deathbed confession still holds firm, and all of the details Amelia’s son gave of his trip held up under investigation.

I begged the police to find a way to inform the public the crime had been solved without dragging the tragedy of matricide through the press. They asked me to figure something out and if they approved, would release my statement to the newspaper. In early December, on page three, a two-column story stated the murderer of Amelia Marsh had been found. Tragically the killer was a relative who had come for an unexpected visit, but was suffering from metastatic carcinoma. The violent attack was a result of the man’s confusion and illness, being so far away from his home and from treatment. There were quotations from the British police, who had been called to the deathbed of a Mr. Sydney Treadwell in Staffordshire, England.

“Mr. Treadwell, just days before his death, but seeming coherent, named the date of Mrs. Marsh’s death as the date of his visit,” and “the elderly gentleman related details of the attack in such a manner that gave little doubt as to his part in it,” were two of the quotes. The article also stated Mr. Treadwell had in his possession Mrs. Marsh’s favorite Bible and her daily planner.

The article did not mention how the visitor was related to Amelia, and everyone assumed it was a more distant relative, perhaps a cousin. Anne said there was quite a reaction among Amelia’s old friends and the parishioners of the church. She said everyone was shocked but also relieved. It was the same in our neighborhood. Barry, who was giving up his job in the office as of the first of February, called me hours after the story came out.

“This is great,” he said sincerely, his voice as loud as ever. “Now we won’t have this thing hanging over our head. Maybe that unit will sell now.”

I congratulated him on his upcoming marriage and the new job waiting in California. Could his replacement possibly be as amenable as Barry? He would be missed.

Anne and I sent copies of the newspaper article, along with a personal note, to both the Barclays in Texas and to Claire Marsh. We would receive a prompt reply from Ross and Elaine, but there would be no response from Richmond, Virginia, which did not surprise me. I also wrote a short letter to Ed and Ellen Thayer, inclusive of Dolly, of course.

My co-workers warmly welcomed me back. It was touching, even if I knew they wanted me to help cover staffing over Christmas weekend, which I did. Three of them, including Emma, spoke to me about the article in the paper. We were all in agreement; it was a huge relief to know the county did not have a killer on the loose. Almost everyone wanted to know where I had been and if it was an enjoyable vacation.

“Out east,” I said vaguely, “tracking my old neighbor’s past history. It was very interesting.”

That seemed to satisfy them, although Emma gave me a long, speculative stare. I looked back at her innocently and she said nothing.

So by Christmas the whole affair was settled. It was Anne who suggested a supper with the three of us, George, herself, and yours truly. She also named the place, the historic hotel across from Barbara’s gift shop, and made a reservation.

“It shouldn’t be that busy just days after Christmas,” she pointed out, “and they have beautiful seasonal decorations. They’ll still be up.”

It was busy, and posh with holiday elegance. George and I had never been there. The dining room was all atmosphere, with walnut paneling, white linen table cloths, high ceilings, and a gorgeous chandelier, set off with the generous red and gold of poinsettias, brocade ribbons, holiday twinkle lights, and decorated candles. A woman with perfectly dressed silver hair and wearing a black velvet gown sat at the piano in the lobby playing Christmas carols. Anne gave me a little grin that said, aren’t you glad we dressed up tonight? I understood and nodded with a happy little smirk of my own.

George, looking distinguished in a dark sports jacket, offered each of us an arm as we followed the maitre’d to our table. Anne was wearing a brown and orange plaid wool dress, with simple lines that flattered her very lean figure, and brown low heel pumps to match. She had even donned a bit of coral lipstick.

George’s approving look when he came to my door to fetch me said I didn’t look too shabby, either. I wore a long black skirt, black hose, and black pumps, set off by a sapphire blue silk blouse. There was just enough plunge to the neckline for style without worrying about bending over, and the tight sleeves ended at the elbows. I wore a matching set of pearl earrings, necklace, and a bracelet. They were a gift from Michael on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

By unspoken but mutual consent, conversation over dinner was about each other and the holidays. My Christmas celebration, delayed because of my work schedule, was going to take place over New Years. My companions were interested to hear both of my children would arrive on Saturday, and Janelle was bringing Robert.

“Do you have room for all of them?” Anne wanted to know.

“My son and his family will stay in the guest room, Janelle has the pullout couch in the living room, and Robert is being put up in a room right here,” I informed her.

She chuckled, delighted. “An old fashioned girl,” she said. “Good for you!”

The house will still be bursting at the seams on Saturday night,” I went on. “I invited my brothers and their wives to join us for a buffet, and the group grew to include two nieces and their families. It will be a circus, but I’m looking forward to it.”

I was especially looking forward to seeing Joel. There were phone conversations since my return from England, but I hadn’t seen him since October. His gifts were waiting under my tree. To watch a three-and-a-half-year-old open Christmas presents was something to really anticipate.

“Life goes on,” George said quietly, looking directly at me.

“Yes, it does.” After meeting his gaze I reached into my handbag and pulled out a letter. “This came the day before Christmas. I saved it to show you both tonight.”

I handed it to Anne first. She waited to open it while our waiter took our plates and offered dessert. The dinner fare had been generous so even George declined, but in the spirit of the occasion and the season we all took an after dinner drink.

Anne read it through, handed it to George, and while he read it in turn asked me, “Sally, I think you suspected it was someone from England right along. Why?”

“Didn’t you?”

She shook her head. “I really did not know what to think. It was all so confusing.”

The waiter returned with two glasses of white wine and a whiskey and soda. George looked up to hear my reply.

“Everything pointed to Mrs. Marsh knowing the person who hit her over the head,” I began, after taking a sip. “She opened the door to him. The assailant took only personal things. But no situation or individual in her current life provided any sort of explanation. The more we delved into her past, the more likely it seemed to me our answer was there. Her husband’s history and occupation certainly brought up the possibility of someone who hated her because of something he had done, but I always wondered why she was so secretive about her past. So I kept looking further and further back.”

George bent his head to finish the letter. Anne wiped her mouth daintily with her napkin and sighed. She had wept incredulously on the day I shared everything about my overseas visit, beginning in London and ending with the nursing home in Castleton. Now she was composed and serene.

“Do you remember what the pastor said at Amelia’s funeral?” She asked me. “Remember he said Amelia had come to him at one time and said there was something in her past she was deeply sorry for. Do you think she was sorry for deserting her child?”

“I think so,” was my opinion. “We can’t be completely sure, but that’s my guess. She may have regretted the rebellious behavior after her mother’s death that caused all the trouble in the first place. I will never have a definite answer to why she wanted to see me the day she died. My guess is she wanted an impartial third party for what was bound to be a very awkward reunion.”

George handed me the letter back. “Very nice,” was his comment, and as I folded it and returned it to my purse he added drolly, “‘dear Sally.’”

“He’s very nice,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound defensive. “It was thoughtful of him to add a paragraph to his mother’s letter. It was very thoughtful of both of them to write and tell us about what happened from their end after I left.”

Roger accompanied a police sergeant to the nursing home to interview Sydney the first time. He made another trip with his parents shortly after that, and Sandra went back alone the day before Sydney slipped into his coma. Their presence and comfort was accepted.

“They sound like wonderful people,” this from Anne, in her soothing schoolmarm manner.

“They all are.” I sighed deeply. “You know, it would be a great trip to go back there someday. You should both come with me. We are invited.” But not too soon, I thought.

George gave me another quizzical look. “Not too many people know this whole thing would not have been resolved if it wasn’t for you.”

“Everyone who matters, they know. But let’s keep the record straight. I didn’t do this on my own. The truth wouldn’t have come out if it hadn’t been for all three of us.”

I raised my wine glass. “Here’s to all of the people who played a major part in the life and times of Amelia Marsh. To Leonard, Sydney, and Mary Whitaker, to the Fisks, the Rosses, Claire Marsh, and all the others.”

Anne raised her glass and said, “Hear, hear!”

George agreeably joined the toast. Anne set her glass down and reached into her own handbag, but not before I saw a conspiratorial look pass between the two of them.

“What’s this?” I asked severely.

“Just a little Christmas present from the two of us.” Anne handed me a small square box wrapped in gold foil, dressed with a wide bright green ribbon.

“No one said anything about presents,” I objected ungratefully.

“No,” George admitted, “but those blueberry scones you brought me were good, especially dipped in coffee. I took the strawberry ones out of the freezer this morning.”

“And I love the little tea caddy you brought me,” Anne supported his reasoning. “Besides, this is not exactly a Christmas present. Open it and you’ll see.”

Obeying, I slowly untied the pretty ribbon, broke the scotch tape, and took off the lid. Reaching into the white tissue, I pulled out an old fashioned Victorian Christmas decoration, drawing in my breath in pleasure as I did so. About four inches high, it was a transparent bulb with two tiny children inside, holding hands and dancing. They were two little girls in white dresses with colored sashes. They had flushed faces and bright cheeks, laughing in pleasure. One had dark hair, the other was blonde, and every detail was there, from their hairstyles to their tiny shoes.

“But where did you find this?” I gasped.

Anne smiled smugly. “It came from the auction.”

“You went after all?”

“No, but Gerry did. You might remember her if you saw her again, she was at Amelia’s funeral and said a few words there. She’s president of the Soroptomist club. I asked her to see if she could bid on the boot hooks you admired so much, but the price went way up on those. The Christmas decorations were there for bid in silent auction, and she put a price on this, thinking it would be a good memento.”

“She has wonderful taste,” I said, holding up the ball and twirling it around. “But you should keep it for yourself!”

“Not to worry,” Anne was looking very pleased with herself, and George looked benevolently at both of us, tolerant of the female species. “With the money I gave her she was able to buy an ornament for me, too. It’s on my tree. I’ll show it to you before I take it down.”

“It will always remind me of Amelia and Mary. I accept your gift in the spirit in which it was given. Thank you both.” I laid it gently back in the box, tears welling unasked for in my eyes.

This time George offered the toast. “To Amelia Marsh,” he said. Anne and I raised our glasses again. “I never knew her, but may she rest in peace at last.”

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If you enjoyed this book, don’t miss the rest of the Sally Nimitz Mystery Series

The Disappearance of Douglas White

A Sally Nimitz Mystery

(Book 2)

Detective David White needs Sally's help to find his missing brother. Has David White disappeared deliberately? Or is skullduggery afoot? Her friends—and fellow amateur sleuths—George Thomas and Anne Carey, are only too happy to join in the investigation, and soon they find themselves far from home in a very precarious situation.