~ Darkness At Foxglove Corners ~

by

Dorothy Bodoin

The Queen Anne Victorian was deserted when I drove by. I half expected to see the voluptuous Mina Hendrickson measuring something or planting shrubs. Camille was outside, sitting on her porch, though. As I pulled up in my own drive, I waved to her. Then I gathered my mail and Halley and walked with her over to the yellow Victorian, stopping first at Camille’s mailbox. The only item inside was a manila envelope with a Maple Falls postmark and ‘Don’t fold--photograph inside’ scribbled beneath the address.

I handed Camille the envelope. “It looks like the Secret Mourner strikes again.”

She stared at it dully. “Let’s go inside where it’s cooler.”

I followed her into the dining room, where she had set one of her gathering baskets on the sideboard. Inside were the recipe, the clipping, and the scarf. We sat down, and I watched her slowly open the envelope and draw out a black and white photograph.

“Oh, dear God. No.”

Her face was pale, and she didn’t move, even when the picture fell out of her hand to the table. I reached over and picked it up.

“Maybe I never killed Richard after all,” she said. “What if he’s still alive?”

I took the picture over to the window, where there was more light. In the uniform of a state trooper, Richard Vesper was indeed an impressive figure. He was leaning on a car from the seventies. By its shape, I’d guess it was a Plymouth Duster. It was parked in front of a motel, and in the background was a sliver of a lake.

As I studied the man’s face for another second, I could see why Camille had been instantly attracted to him. “So this was Richard. My, he was a handsome devil, and I’m sure devil is the right word to use.”

She said, “Look closely, Jennet. Don’t you something wrong?”

I saw then what she meant. I was surprised I’d missed it. Richard’s hair was flecked with gray, and his handsome features were marred or improved, depending on your preference, by the fine wrinkles of age. He looked fifty-nine or sixty, but the car was sleek and new.

Camille said, “I’ve never see this picture before, but that was his Plymouth, I’m pretty sure, and I recognize the motel. I think it was called the Lakeside Motel, something like that. It was near the State Park.”

“So you think Richard is alive and you’ve been in hiding for a murder you never committed? There has to be another explanation. The man grows older, but the car doesn’t? I don’t remember seeing a motel near the Park. This picture was taken thirty years ago. If he were still alive, wouldn’t he have tried to find you?”

“Remember, I thought I saw him once, right after I came home, but you just visited his grave.” She came to an abrupt stop. “Maybe he’s not there anymore.”

“We haven’t suddenly stepped into a Stephen King movie,” I said. “Here’s what I think. The man in the picture is Richard, but he’s still in his coffin. Photographs can be altered in many ways. You can use a computer to age a person’s face. That’s apparently what’s going on here.”

I turned the picture around, and as I did, I saw three words: Poisoner! Liar! Witch! Written in bold black marker on the white background, they seemed to scream out their rage and hatred. It was as if the very letters were fire-hot with venom.

I handed the paper back to Camille and pointed to the words. “This time the message isn’t obscure. You have to show this to Cameron Lodge tomorrow and to the police too.”

“I’m afraid to think what’s coming next.”

“You look really spooked. Why don’t you stay at my house tonight?”

“Thank you for the offer, Jennet, but I won’t let Richard Vesper drive me out into the night again.”

So she didn’t believe in my theory of the altered photograph. She was talking about her husband as if he were still alive and a threat resurrected, even though three decades had passed.

To take her mind off her morbid imaginings, I told her about my encounter with the man in the Slayer shirt, describing him as well as I could.

“Did you ever see a man like that in the lane?” I asked. “For that matter, did anyone come to your house peddling frozen foods for home delivery?”

“Let me think,” she said. “Maybe. I think I may have seen him, but he was just a boy, no threat. He didn’t stop at my house. That home delivery idea is a good one, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so, but I’m sure it wasn’t true.”

“Well, don’t worry about him. I’m sure he’s harmless.”

For all her brave words, Camille’s voice quivered, and there were tears in her eyes. She tossed Richard’s picture into the gathering basket and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Halley, immediately at her side, whined and nudged her knee in a canine attempt at comfort.

As I attached Halley’s leash to her chain, I said, “I’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest and put that picture out of your mind. It’s only paper. As for Richard, he’s still dead. I’m sure of it.”