Outline for Murder Page 23
***
He enjoyed the kind of Thanksgiving celebration that he had not experienced since Grace had passed away. The warmth and hospitality of the Harris family made him feel completely comfortable in their home. The dinner was truly a feast. The twenty-pound gobbler was cooked to perfection. Brian did the carving. June and Steph brought in bowls of gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, peas, and fresh cranberry sauce. There was also an enormous garden salad, and a basket filled with slices of French bread. Ron opened one of the bottles of wine that Bishop had brought and filled a glass for everyone. Since the dinner table looked like one straight out of a magazine, Steph took a picture of it. She also asked everyone to huddle together so that she could take a selfie of the group. The five of them ate and drank, talked and laughed, for a couple of hours. After dinner, Steph’s parents insisted that they could handle the dishes. Steph and Ron decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood. They asked Bishop if he wanted to join them, but he declined. He thought that they should have some time alone. Dessert would be served on their return. He offered to help out in the kitchen, but June wouldn’t hear of it. She urged him to make himself comfortable in the living room, and said that she and her husband would join him in a few minutes.
***
With a few moments to himself, Bishop glanced at the titles of some of the library books on the coffee table. One was on quilting. That was likely June’s. There were several mysteries including one by Donna Leon, a mystery writer with whom he was familiar. Those could be either June’s or Brian’s. His thoughts drifted to Leon’s books. Would Detective Guido Brunetti have figured out who had murdered Zappala? What detail had he missed that Brunetti would have noticed? He walked over to the mantle to get a closer look at one of the framed photos. He recognized the background as the famed Motif Number One in Rockport, Massachusetts. Brian was wearing a golf shirt, shorts, boat shoes, and a Red Sox baseball cap. June’s outfit consisted of a blouse, shorts, sandals, and a wide-brimmed hat. Between them stood Stephanie, a good six inches shorter than either of her parents, wearing a tank top, short shorts, and sandals with her sunglasses pushed up over her thick, dark brown hair. Whoever had taken the photo had captured the happiness of all three. It was a wonderful photo, but there was something about it that bothered him although he couldn’t say what it was.
Brian joined him in the living room. “I think I ate too much,” he said as he patted his stomach, sat down, picked up the remote, and turned on the television.
“Me too,” Bishop admitted.
“June is whipping up some cream for the pumpkin pie. By the time Steph and Ron get back, we should have some room for at least one piece.” He then turned his attention to the football game that was tied early in the last quarter. The game was stopped as the officials were reviewing the tapes to determine if a receiver had managed to get both feet in bounds as he made a leaping catch in the end zone.
“He was in,” Brian said before the replay was shown. “That was an incredible catch.” The replay proved him right. They watched the next few plays with little comment. When the commercial break came, Brian turned to Bishop and said, “That was awful what happened to your football coach. Steph was quite shaken by the experience. She had only been at Trinity less than a month. Even though she hadn’t said more that ‘hello’ to the man, it was quite unsettling. I’m sure it’s been much more difficult for you.”
“Yes, it’s been tough. Unfortunately, I was the one that found him.”
“So I hear. That must have been quite a shock. Do the authorities have any suspects?”
Bishop wasn’t about to admit that Lieutenant Hodge and his men seemed to have hit a brick wall in their investigation. “I’m sure that they’re still working on it. Apparently, several people had motive and opportunity, but there’s not enough hard evidence to arrest anyone.” He wanted to add “yet” but kept that to himself. Most likely, Steph had not told her father about her meeting with Zappala at the Blue Moon. She wouldn’t have told Michael either if Sarah Humphries’ comments had not prompted him to question her about it. Bishop made a few general remarks about the tragic event and was rescued when the seemingly endless string of commercials concluded and the game resumed.
Perhaps sensing the need to change the topic, Brian remarked that Ron seemed like a great guy. Bishop wholeheartedly agreed and added that he was highly regarded by students as well as the staff.
“Steph is happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. She loves her new job and her new apartment. And although she hasn’t known him for very long, she seems to really like Ron, and you, of course,” he added with a smile. “About the only one I hear her complain about is that other administrator … what’s her name … Sister Pat.”
Not wanting to speak ill of a colleague, Bishop simply said, “Well, she’s not alone in that regard.”
The front door opened and Ron and Stephanie came in. Steph said, “You should have come with us, Mike. That fresh air was so invigorating. I’m ready for dessert!” With that, she headed into the kitchen to help her mother, and Ron sat down to pick up on the game.
Soon, Steph and her mother emerged from the kitchen with desserts that would have been sufficient as meals in themselves. There was pumpkin pie, apple pie, ice cream, whipped cream, and the Italian pastries that Bishop had brought along. They chatted happily about everything and nothing over a second cup of coffee, or in Bishop’s case, tea. When the dessert dishes were cleared, June went into another room to call her sister in Denver. The others sat at the dining room table and played a game of Scrabble. That seemed a safe bet for a guest who was an English teacher. As he played, he was reminded of another board game that he had enjoyed as a child in which a murder had been committed and the players had to figure out who did it. Was it the bald-headed man who used a rope? Was it the old woman who used a knife? Was it Chris Delaney? His father? Rocco Santorini? Doug Sanders? Russ Chandler? Sister Ann? Sister Pat? Was it someone else? At least in the game he remembered, there always was an answer.
The game ended as the duo of Bishop and Brian edged out Ron and Stephanie. She excused herself to make a few calls to some of her college friends, Ron headed for the sofa where he promptly dozed off, and Bishop and Brian decided to walk around the yard. The lawn and gardens had been expertly prepped for the coming winter. Bishop wondered whether the Harrises did their own yard work or hired professionals, but didn’t ask. Brian pointed to a tree that was about as tall as his two-story home. The base had to be a foot in diameter, and its bare branches were perfectly shaped. “I planted that maple shortly after Steph arrived. I used to take a picture of her standing next to it every year.”
Bishop said, “You and your wife must be very proud of your daughter.”
“She’s a wonderful young woman as I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself. June and I were never able to have children of our own, but we were certainly blessed when Steph came into our lives. I can still remember the sense of absolute joy we felt as we drove up to Middleton to bring her home.”
Bishop felt a sense of déjà vu, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what had triggered it. The two men continued to make their way around the yard, and then went back into the house. Ron, refreshed from his short nap, was entertaining Steph and her mother with one of his favorite stories. Bishop had heard the story many times of how Ron’s picture ended up on the front page of the Groveland Gazette. It was the first day of fishing season and a school day. A reporter, doing a story from one of the hotspots along Cattleman’s Creek, approached a teenaged angler. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school, young man?” The lad looked at his watch and admitted that he should have been in Calculus class at Holy Trinity at that very moment. The reporter then asked, “How do you think school officials would react if they knew that you were out here fishing?”
Without any hesitation, the young man replied, “Well, I’m not sure, but the assistant principal is right over there,” pointing to a man standing in the c
reek about ten yards away. “Why don’t you just ask him?” Everyone had a good laugh including Ron himself.
Bishop looked at his watch and regretfully announced that it was time for him to get going. He had had a wonderful day and thanked the Harrises for their hospitality and Steph and Ron for inviting to share in their celebration. June wanted him to take some leftovers, and it took several refusals for her to give up on the idea. He had made a reservation at a motel in Brentwood for the night so that he could spend some time with his Aunt Katherine on Friday before heading back to Groveland.
It took more than thirty minutes for him to actually leave as he said his goodbyes. This process moved from the house to the driveway. Finally, he started the engine, backed out of the driveway, tooted his horn and waved as all four of them watched. Bishop soon passed a sign that read “Leaving Fairmont.” He was, however, not on the road to Brentwood. This road would take him to Middleton.
Chapter 28
When he was about ten miles north of Fairmont, he pulled into a rest stop. Once he had started driving, he realized what had been bothering him about the Harris family photo on the mantle. His theory was terribly disturbing to ponder, but he had to put it to the test. He had printed out a copy of his reservation for his stay in Brentwood. Since it was before 6:00 p.m., he was able to cancel his reservation without penalty. The second call was a bit more difficult.
“Hello, Michael. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until tomorrow,” said Aunt Katherine. She was ninety-three years old, but her mind was still sharp. He hoped that he shared that gene with her.
“Well, that’s why I’m calling.”
“Is there anything wrong? You’re not sick, are you?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Something came up that I need to take care of, so I won’t be able to visit you tomorrow.”
He could hear the disappointment in her voice. “That’s all right, Michael. I understand.”
“I’ll definitely come up during the Christmas break.”
They chatted for a few more minutes as she recounted for him the Thanksgiving Day dinner that she had shared with the other residents of the facility. She had transitioned from her own apartment to the nursing home rather easily. Although the home was pleasant and well run, it brought with it its own set of limitations. Bishop was determined to live in his own home as long as possible.
It was late when he pulled into the crowded parking lot of a Hampton Inn in Middleton. A young man at the desk greeted him. He was probably a college student working the night shift. At first, Bishop thought that he had a speech impediment, but he quickly realized that Jeff, which was the name on the tag that hung from his neck, had a post in his tongue. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do that to themselves, but to each his own.
He grabbed a cup of hot tea at the hospitality table set up for guests. He was pleasantly surprised that they had a variety of teas from which to choose including his favorite, Earl Grey. He carried his small overnight bag and the cup of tea up to his room.
He didn’t expect to get much sleep, but he did need a place to shower and shave and to think. Stephanie had been adopted. That was what struck him about the family photo. Steph looked nothing like either one of her parents. Brian said that she had been born in Middleton. He didn’t remember her ever telling him that. Middleton. There was something familiar about that as well, but he had drawn a blank as to what that something was. Then, as he settled in for his drive to Brentwood, he had remembered. When Maria Santorini had told him about the trouble her brother had gotten into in his first year of teaching, he had done a quick online search for schools with the name of Immaculate Heart in Connecticut. There were two, and one of them was located in Middleton. With that recognition, Bishop had pulled into the rest stop. The words of Othello came to mind: “To be once in doubt/ Is once to be resolved.” Could he be on the verge of finding the missing piece of information that so far had eluded him? Was this another dead end? He needed to know the truth, however painful that might be.
***
He expected that the school would be closed on the day after Thanksgiving. The name of the current principal was on a piece of paper in his study at home. Although he was certain that he could have easily obtained that information on the Internet, he was unsure that it would be of any benefit. Whoever was the principal now was unlikely to have been the principal then. So what if he located the school where Zappala first taught? What would that prove? How would that knowledge bring him any closer to the identity of the killer? It was similar to his experience in Madison when he had found the house in which Zappala had lived. It was his conversation with Honesty Jones that had made the difference. Somehow he had to find someone who knew Zappala more than twenty years earlier. Perhaps he had overreacted when Stephanie’s father had mentioned Middleton. What difference did it make if she had been born in the same town where Zappala had once worked? It was a small world as he was frequently reminded when he bumped into former students in airports or restaurants hundreds of miles from home.
Bishop decided that he would pass by the school building out of curiosity if nothing else. As he did, he noticed one car in the parking lot closest to the front entrance. Perhaps someone had had car trouble and was forced to leave the car there. Perhaps it belonged to a maintenance worker. He parked next to the car, a tan Nissan Altima, and tried the front door of the building. It was locked. He banged on the door a few times, not really expecting that his action would yield any result. As he made his way back to his car, the door opened and an older woman called out, “May I help you?”
“I hope so.” Bishop introduced himself. When he told her that he was an English teacher at a Catholic school, she smiled. “So am I.” He went on to explain that he was looking for information on a former faculty member at Immaculate Heart. “His name was Albert Zappala. He was a colleague of mine at Holy Trinity.”
“I assume you are using the past tense for a reason?”
“You are quite right, Mrs.?”
“Bagley. Miss Edith Bagley. Why don’t you come in, Mr. Bishop? It’s a bit nippy out here.”
Miss Bagley was wearing a deep blue dress accented with a string of pearls and what Bishop thought of as old-lady shoes, whose plain black leather and low heels were comfortable, if not very fashionable. Not a hair on her head was out of place. She seemed dressed for a day of teaching rather than an off day. Bishop was very much dressed down with his fleece sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. He hoped that Shakespeare’s Polonius was wrong when he advised Laertes that “the apparel oft proclaims the man.” Miss Bagley had stopped by the school to run off some papers that she needed first thing on Monday morning so they talked in the copy room. Bishop explained that Mr. Zappala had died a few months earlier, and that he had been appointed executor of the estate. He intentionally left out many details, but provided enough of a context to justify his visit.
“Zappala, you say? When was he here?”
“About twenty-five years ago.”
“I started at the Heart in ’78. Been here thirty-seven years,” she announced with obvious pride. She was an English teacher also, which worked to Bishop’s advantage. “Zappala. Zappala. The name sounded vaguely familiar when you first mentioned it, but there have been so many teachers who have come and gone over the years, it is hard to keep them all straight sometimes.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” he said sympathetically. “Sometimes I find myself looking at an old yearbook to jog my memory.”
“A yearbook! That’s the ticket! If I see a picture, I know I’ll remember him.” She was now on a mission herself. She left her copying work unfinished and invited Bishop to follow as she headed off to the library. On the way through the darkened halls, they talked about books and teaching. She mentioned that one of her classes was reading Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Bishop tried to dismiss the thought that he, like Marlow, was headed into the darkness to confront evil.
“Here we are,” Miss Bagley
announced as she gestured toward a long row of similarly shaped books on the shelf. “We have every copy of The Emblem from 1959 on. What year did you say it was?”
“Try 1985.”
She pulled that volume from the shelf and began flipping through the pages. She found the faculty section. Her photo was on the first page of that section since the listings had been arranged alphabetically. “Would you look at that photo of me? My word. Where have the years gone?”
She passed the book to him, and he looked at the picture of an attractive young woman with a bright smile, and then he looked at Miss Bagley. “You haven’t changed much at all, my dear!” She laughed as she accepted his compliment. Then he flipped to the last page of the faculty section and there he found Albert C. Zappala. His hair was black and rather long. He was much thinner than Bishop ever would have imagined. He looked perfectly normal except for the fact that he was not smiling. From what Maria Santorini had told him, Bishop felt that he knew why. He asked Miss Bagley if she remembered Zappala.
She took the book in both hands in order to examine it more closely. “I do remember him, now. Says here he taught Physical Education. Our paths probably didn’t cross too often. I seem to recall that he got into some difficulty. Only stayed that one year. That’s usually a sign of something serious. Normally, they give a new teacher a couple of years to grow into the job.”
“Difficulty? What type of difficulty?”
“I really couldn’t say. It would only be rumors, and I don’t want to spread rumors about a man, even a man who’s dead.”
“Of course not. I understand.” In fact, he felt that he probably already knew more about the difficulty than she did. He was ready to thank her for her time. He had gotten about as far with this as he was likely going to get.