Geoffrey was following this exchange closely, and he said, “You’re suggesting someone removed the evidence Dot saw!”
Vera nodded. “That’s my guess. But I don’t know when it got cleaned, other than it must have occurred after Dot’s accusation and before midnight last night. That’s a long period, and Edward might not have been home the whole time. Theoretically, anyone might have snuck inside to clean up the mess. Unless,” she added, looking at Dot, “you cleaned the foyer before you went to care for Mrs. Springfield, and used bleach or—”
“No, I never use that nasty stuff. Lemon oil and baking soda are the strongest things I use. And my poor Edward was so busy with the mine business that he wouldn’t have time for housecleaning. He normally travels up to the mines every week or two, you know.”
“So someone must have done it last night. I want to see that stain—or lack of stain—in full daylight,” Vera mused.
“When did you see it, Miss Vixen?” Geoffrey asked curiously.
She was wary of revealing Lefty’s involvement, so she hedged with, “The conditions were not ideal, and further examination will help me understand exactly what’s going on. I’ll go there and speak to Mr. Springfield myself. And if I happen to flip the corner of the rug up…well…”
Dot’s teacup clattered in its saucer. “You must be careful!” the rat told her. “That creature is dangerous!”
Geoffrey nodded, though his voice was much calmer. “All this talk of blood makes me think that something nefarious is going on. Consider taking someone along with you, Miss Vixen. Perhaps your beau?”
“A police presence might not be the best message,” she said, thinking quickly. “I’d take Lenore, but she’s so busy right now, what with the big event coming up. Does Edward have any particular friends in town who might help convince him to talk to me?”
Dot nodded. “Edward was friendly to everyone, of course, but he spent the most time with Ron Mortimer and that group. They had a weekly game night and switched between poker and backgammon.”
“I’ll look them up,” Vera promised, jotting the names down in her notebook.
“You’ll probably have to wait,” Dot advised. “A lot of Mirror Lake residents are pitching in to help plan the funeral and the wake for Adora. Until that’s over, everyone is likely to be distracted. I’m sure Adora would have been pleased to know that her funeral might beat out the Harvest Festival as the biggest event of the season!” [Chapter]
As she’d promised she’d do, Vera climbed the steps to the Springfield house and stood on the wide porch that fronted the building, decorated with gingerbread trim. Potted ferns hung from the beams and large, comfortable-looking chairs woven from willow were placed so that a creature could sit and look out at Mirror Lake, which was currently a silvery-grey color to match the clouds overhead. She hesitated a moment before knocking, steeling herself for a very frosty interview.
But when the door opened, a smiling Edward stood there. “Miss Vixen,” he said warmly. “I’m so glad you stopped by. I was just thinking about when we crossed paths at Mr. Fallow’s office. I was so preoccupied that I didn’t even say good morning. I have just been so out of sorts that I must seem inexcusably rude. Please forgive me.”
“Well, you’ve had quite a week, Mr. Springfield,” Vera said, with admirable understatement.
“Oh, call me Edward,” he said. “And please come in. What can I help you with?”
“I am writing the article and the obituary for Adora Springfield. Because she was so important to the town, we want to do justice to her life and really get all the details to put in the paper. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask a few questions.”
“Naturally, I’d be delighted. She had a very full life, you know, so there’s plenty to talk about. Here, have a seat.”
Among the tasteful bric-a-brac in the formal sitting room, Vera surveyed Edward in the light of the nearby lamp. Like so many other items in the house, the lamp featured silver in its design. It had a silver base, beautifully molded to look like a bunch of lilies bound with ribbon. But the glass shade it sported didn’t quite fit right. It was oddly small, as if intended for a different lamp altogether.
She asked Edward for some stories about his mother, explaining that the paper allotted practically the whole front page for Adora’s funeral, her obituary, and a story about her life. Such was her importance to the town’s history.
Edward responded enthusiastically, and told several stories that Vera never would have picked up from public sources. He wiped his eyes at one point, undone by a tender moment he related about his mother when he was a child.
“…it wasn’t just the family she was good to,” he added, toward the end. “She looked at the whole neighborhood, the whole town, as her family. If she heard about some folks who were scraping for food, she made sure a fresh supply of nuts and dried fruit and extra flour for baking showed up on their doorstep. Didn’t make a big scene of it, never even put a note with her name on it. She didn’t want glory. But folks knew it was her.”
Vera wrote it all down, feeling the story form in her mind. But all through the interview, the lamp kept catching Vera’s eye. What was wrong with it? Then Vera realized this was the very lamp Lefty had knocked over during his nighttime excursion.
So she said, “By the way, I wanted to ask if you’d heard about any burglaries around here, or even experienced one yourself. This is such a grand house. A thief would be attracted to all the silver you must have in here, what with it being the source of the family’s business.”
Edward
