Facepainter Murders: A Dangerous Journeys Mystery

by Virginia Winters

Anne McPhail is back in Culver’s Mills, Vermont for a quiet holiday. But Culver’s Mills is an unlucky spot for her vacation. She finds the dead body of a naked man, and is soon helping her friend Adam Davidson to investigate the murder. Who is the dead man and what was his involvement with the theft of a painting and a sampler from the art gallery? Who owns the art, James Trevelyan, an elderly man whose genealogy may hold the key, or the owners of Evan’s, the restaurant where they were found? More bodies turn up as the murderer kills the others in his criminal gang. Then he turns his attention to Anne.

ISBN 978-1-59431-799-6 Also available in HTML and RTF formats

Mystery/crime/suspense

Chapter 1

Maggie danced around the body that lay facedown in the muddy water remaining in the ditch after the afternoon rain. Anne grabbed the dog's collar and dragged her away from her find. She must have smelled it all the way from the house, she thought. That's why she was so frantic to get out here.

She squatted by the head. A precise hole, just visible in the tangled mass of blood and hair, marked an entry point just above the right ear. No point in touching him, she thought. No point but someone would ask if she had made sure he was dead. Her fingers felt through the water to where his carotid pulse should have been. Nothing. Nothing except that smell. Fighting the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her, she wiped her fingers on the grassy bank and stood up.

"That's enough," she said to the protesting dog as she hauled her through the gate onto the path. Maggie tugged frantically the length of the garden and up to the kitchen door.

Catherine turned around from the stove, startled when the screen door slammed behind Anne.

"There's a body in the ditch," Anne gasped, as she collapsed into a kitchen chair, out of breath from her tug-of-war with the dog.

"Who?"

"I don't know. How could I know? I just got here; remember? Eighteen months since I was here last, and in all that time, did I find a body at home? No. Cross the border and here's another one, waiting for me in your back garden."

The ghost of a smile at the lame joke crossed Catherine's pale face as she said, "I'll call 911. Just police? No ambulance?"

"Yes, he's gone. So are all his clothes. Whoever left him there took all his clothes away."

"Naked?"

"Absolutely. I should go back. You're supposed to stay with a body."

Anne slumped against a pillar, watching the orange and black of an oriole as it darted at the feeder. The garden was a mass of scarlet and ochre with brilliant strokes of indigo from the Butterfly Bushes. Far better, she thought, to just stay here. The dog whined softly from the other side of the screen door. Behind her she could hear Catherine speaking quickly to the 911 operator.

"No, Maggie," she said as she hung up the phone.

Anne forced herself off the porch and through the garden as far as the gate. She didn't go through, but stood looking at the fields while she waited for the patrol car and the questions. There would be many questions, that she knew. When she had found the murdered librarian on her last visit here, they had been endless. And then she had become involved with the investigation, and then she had almost died. Almost been killed. When she had finally gone home it had taken many months for the nightmares to stop.

She watched the body. The wind had picked up, rippling the water and giving an illusion of movement as it disturbed a few strands of the dark hair. She shivered in the sudden chill as the sun fell below the trees. The wail of a siren, rising and falling in the distance, came closer then stopped as a patrol car turned into the lane. The murky water, reddened by the flashing lights, lapped the body as though it steeped in its own blood. She shivered again as she turned to the voices of the policemen who walked towards her.

"Hi, Dr. McPhail," called the taller of the two men. She recognized them as brothers Pete and Dave Graham. The one who spoke was Dave, the quieter younger brother.

"Damn shame you have to find a body every time you come down to see us," called the other, more light-hearted Pete.

"Was he dead when you got here?" asked Dave.

"Yes, he was. I could smell him," she answered, "and so could the dog. That's why I came back here. The dog. She wanted to see what it was."

"Do you recognize him?"

"No."

"How long have you been in the country, Doctor?" Dave continued.

"Just since this morning."

"We'll want to see your passport." Anne could see Pete standing back as Dave asked the questions. Maybe he thought he knew her too well. She hadn't had much to do with Dave on her last visit. Everyone's a suspect until they're not, she remembered Adam saying to her.

"Okay, you go back to the house now. Adam will be along to speak to you," Dave said to her as Pete muttered into his shoulder radio.

"All right."

Anne walked back through the garden, not noticing the few flowers picked out by the last rays of the sun. Catherine was pouring tea into gaily-painted ceramic mugs as Anne opened the screen door.

"Do you want to have something to eat while we wait for Adam?" Catherine asked.

"I don't think I can. How do you know I'm waiting for Adam?"

Catherine laughed. "It's a small town," she said, "and we only have one detective who investigates homicides. Besides, when the patrolman reported who found the body, Adam would come anyway. After all the help you were to him the last time you were here, I'm sure he wants to see you again."

"Dave Graham didn't seem as friendly as last time. He seemed quite suspicious."

"Don't worry. Adam knows you."

"Yes, but two bodies in as many years?"

Catherine didn't answer, but turned to fill her teapot.

"What is it?" Anne asked, as she watched Catherine's fingers turn white where they encircled her cup.

"Not the best advertisement for a bed and breakfast," she answered, her eyes filling with sudden tears. "You know it's all I have and the twins are going away to school next year."

"I know." Anne remembered that Catherine's husband had died in the second year of their marriage, leaving her with the twins, the big old house and just enough insurance money to bury him and get the business started.

"Should I go and look at him? What if he's someone I know? What if he's been a guest here?"

Now the cup was shaking. Anne reached over and held Catherine's hands. Cold, she thought. She needs that tea.

"Wait until they come and get us. Please drink your tea. You're very cold, Catherine."

An hour later, Anne was sitting in Catherine's little library, still waiting for Adam. She had left her little grey brick house in Bridgenorth, a small town in Ontario, the day before, leaving behind her Siamese cat, Albert. She had considered bringing him this year but wasn't sure how Maggie would feel about a cat invading her domain. Maggie sat on her footstool as usual, surveying her from behind grey bushy eyebrows. Half sheep dog, she seemed to need to keep all her humans in sight. When Adam came in she welcomed him with a few thumps of her slightly too short tail.

"Hey, Maggie," he said, rubbing her ears. "Hello, Anne." His dark eyes and thin face looked more relaxed than last year, she thought, not as edgy. Maybe he was happier. Catherine had said that he was still seeing Erin, a local antique dealer.

"Adam, I didn't hear the door!"

"I came through the kitchen. How are you?"

"Not too bad, considering."

"What did you see?"

Anne told him about finding the body. "..and Maggie pushed ahead of me, so there will be dog prints. I hauled her out of there as soon as I was sure he was dead."

"Did you see or hear anything else?"

"No." She went on, "We heard a car in the lane, just before Maggie started barking, but I didn't see anyone when I went out."

Adam settled back in his chair and looked at her: small, early forties, very fair hair, green eyes set in a round face which bore an unexpected tan. She was a little thinner than last year, more grey in the fair hair, and a little tired-looking. Finding bodies could do that to you. He hoped neither she nor Catherine had any connection to the dead man. Anne was talking.

"It's good to see you again. I've been so looking forward to this trip. I hope that you'll have time to have dinner with me."

"I hope so too." He held out a small plastic bag with a torn scrap of paper in it. "Do you recognize this?"

"Is it part of a ticket? I've not seen one like that, but then I just got here today."

"We found it in the guy's hand."

"What a strange thing to hold on to."

Adam stood up. "Yes, it was. Catherine had to go look at the body. I hear them in the kitchen. Maybe she needs you," he said.

Catherine did indeed need her. Her thin body trembled and her large dark eyes held a film of tears. Anne sat with her arm around Catherine until she had stopped shaking.

"Catherine, did you know him?" Adam asked.

"No, I've never seen him before. So inhuman, somehow, to abandon him in a ditch." She looked across the table at Adam. "I don't think he's local."

"Neither do I. Thanks ladies, and thank you, Maggie," he said as he rubbed the ears of the worried-looking dog, sitting with her head on Catherine's knee. He walked out into the night and across the garden to where the crew was working.

Adam watched the forensics crew searching the lane and the roadside, moving like shadows in and out of the lights that had been set up around the scene. The body was dumped, he thought. Why would he have a ticket in his hand, especially if he saw the attack coming? What was the ticket for? After a few words with Pete, he drove back through town to the police station.

The station was part of the courthouse complex on one side of the town square. Culver's Mills, population seventeen thousand, was a post-card-typical Vermont small town. The courthouse, clock tower and police station formed one side of the square. Opposite stood the white clapboard Methodist church. A short row of shops, including an antique store owned by Erin Maxwell - his own special lady - and professional offices filled in one side; a restaurant, homes and the bank, the other. Brick pathways crisscrossed a small green space, centered on a heroic statue of the town's founder. Quelling the impulse to stop and see Erin, he parked in front of the courthouse and took the ten steps to the door two at a time.

The police station occupied one wing of the courthouse building. The court's side was all polished marble floors and dark oak paneling, but once through the station doors only the bright screensavers on the desk computers enlivened the institutional-green walls, grey vinyl floors and steel filing cabinets. Four desks were jammed in the middle of the room. Cables, secured to the floor with duct tape, snaked around and between them.

"Brad," Adam called to his youngest officer, a computer expert.

"Yeah, boss." Brad was tall and loosely put together, his friendly nature showing all over his face.

"We have a problem. Our stiff out there has no clothes, no id. We'll need the fingerprints, dental impressions, maybe an artist. I don't think he'll photograph too well."

"I'll borrow from Burlington if we need one. Was there anything else at the scene?"

"Just this." Adam showed him the torn ticket. He noticed now that the two letters remaining were Cu suggesting it was for something in town.

"Not like any ticket I've seen lately. I'll get a list of recent events from the paper and the rec centre. Bars too. Sometimes they use tickets for special bands." Brad picked up his phone to start his round of calls.

"Circulate the motels and B and B's for missing guests and get the boys to check any vehicles that seem to be abandoned. I'm going over to talk to Peg."

"Will do." Brad grinned. Peg was the owner of the local diner, Lil's, and it was dinner time.

The diner was diagonally across the square from the courthouse in an old stone building that had previous lives as a lumberman's office and a grocery store. It had been Lil's for fifty years now.

Adam walked past the statue in the middle of the park, automatically touching the toe for luck as he passed, and up the stairs to Lil's door. Lil herself was long gone, but the décor remained the same. Red vinyl seats in comfortable booths filled the space in front of the windows on three sides. A white enamel counter, worn through to black in a few places, ran the length of the room. An old-fashioned, polished chrome milk shake maker stood at one end of the counter. Adam took one of the red and chrome stools and said hello to Peg.

"Hi, Adam - usual?" Peg herself was thoroughly modern: close-cropped sandy hair, a pair of rimless glasses and a white shirt tied short over faded jeans.

"Sure." Peg made the best chicken salad sandwiches, from her own home-reared and home-cooked chickens that he'd had anywhere, and he had tried them everywhere. He looked around the room, recognizing everyone except a family with two kids who were enjoying themselves, spinning around on the stools. No singles.

"So do you know who he is yet?" asked Peg quietly when she brought him the food.

"Don't tell me it's around already."

"Fraid so."

"No identification yet. Have there been many strangers through this week?" Adam asked between bites.

"A few. It's an in-between time. Most people were families or couples. Early in the week a guy was in here asking about art galleries and antique stores. I sent him across to Erin."

"What did he look like?" Adam asked as he reached for the catsup for his fries.

"About six feet, brown hair and eyes, small tight ears, straight nose, good teeth. Spoke well but he was pushy."

"Could be our guy. You don't remember a name or a vehicle?"

"Didn't hear a name and I didn't see him get in a car. He walked over to Erin's after his lunch."

"Thanks. How's your sister?" Adam knew that Peg's sister May suffered badly from rheumatoid arthritis.

"Much better. Since we got the money from the trust, you know, we moved to the farm, all one floor and we got her some first-class care." Last year, as fallout from a murder case, Adam had identified May and Peg as beneficiaries of a local family trust.

"Has the family been decent?"

"Couldn't have been nicer or more welcoming. We keep a distance but they've been good to us."

"So why are you still here?" Adam asked, suspecting the answer he got.

"I enjoy it, especially the gossip," Peg said. Adam laughed, paid, and left to visit Erin.

The lights were on upstairs in Erin's building though the shop was dark. Adam went round the side and rang the bell. The intercom that he had insisted she install crackled a moment before he heard her voice asking who was there.

"It's me," he said with that softness that crept into his voice when he spoke to her. The lock snapped open as she told him to come up. He took the stairs two at a time to reach where she stood, silhouetted against the light from her apartment.

Erin was tall enough that her dark hair just brushed his chin. Dark brown eyes accentuated the pale complexion of her oval face. Adam kissed her softly, and then they walked together into her apartment. Erin called it her loft although her bed was in a screened alcove and not visible from the living area. The large room took up most of the second floor of the house. One wall held a brick and tile fireplace surrounded by old pine bookshelves. Erin changed the furniture often, swapping pieces with her shop. Today she had a green corduroy overstuffed sofa and chair - his favorites.

"What's the matter?" she asked as she recognized his worried tension.

"You know Anne's here to visit?" As she nodded, he continued. "She's found another body."

"Oh, no! Who is it?"

"We don't know. He was naked and nothing was around him to identify him except this." He showed her the ticket fragment, but she shook her head slowly no.

"Peg said she sent a stranger who was interested in art galleries and antiques over to see you. Tall, she said, brown hair and eyes, pushy?"

"Oh, yes. He was in on Tuesday. I remember him because he demanded to see any paintings that I had stored away. I told him that what I had was in the shop and he was welcome to look. What I really wanted to do was throw him out."

Adam grinned at the thought of fierce little Erin throwing the guy out. Aloud he said, "Did you get a name?"

"John."

"Just John?"

"Just John. He didn't buy anything so I don't have a check or a credit slip or anything."

"Will you look at a picture when I get one? It won't be too nice."

"Sure." Erin's face had grown paler. Adam put his arm around her and started talking about their upcoming vacation. In a few months Erin and he planned a trip to Bermuda -- sun and relaxation and each other.

Their conversation was interrupted by a call telling Adam that the body was being moved from the crime scene to the morgue.

"Back to work," he said, as he got up from the sofa and stretched. A quick kiss and he was gone.