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Chapter 40

Pendergast parked the truck in the alley next to a long, narrow two-story house. He climbed out and headed towards the front gate of the property, and as Tigg followed she gazed at the house with a twinge of sadness. It reminded her somewhat of a place where she had passed many afternoons as a young girl. The slate blue siding, white trim, and maroon shutters all appeared to have been newly painted. The wooden fence surrounding the small lot enclosed extensive and well tended flower beds, bursting with early spring color from the groups of tulips and daffodils, a large glass gazing ball and pedestal centered in the bed nearest to the house. The walkway up to the front porch was lined with boxwoods, and lilac bushes flanked the porch steps. The porch itself was hung with a myriad of wind chimes, glass and wrought iron creations. Sitting majestically by the front door was a life-sized goose, apparently made of cement, which had been carefully attired in a calico dress and matching bonnet. Tigg saw Pendergast pause to gaze at the figure with an expression of puzzled interest before stepping forward and raising the handle of an elaborate brass knocker. He let it fall with a loud retort. Tigg heard a loud, brash voice from within call out.

“Come on in, it’s open!”

Pendergast opened the door and took one step into the house. Tigg heard a startled “oh” from within the house and Pendergast responded.

“I’m sorry to startle you, ma’am, but I was hoping we could speak with you. I’m—”

“Oh, you must be that fella everyone was talking about, the one doing research. Come in, come in. Is that younger fella with you, too?” Pendergast stepped further into the house and Tigg entered the doorway.

“Ah, there he is. Come in, young man. We’ll all sit and chew the fat awhile.”

Tigg stared at the occupant of the house with mild surprise. The woman seated in a recliner opposite the door was dressed in blue jeans and an embroidered sweatshirt with a lace collar. Her silver hair appeared freshly styled, and she was peering at Tigg over the tops of her half-moon glasses with clear hazel eyes that belied her age.

“Sit, both of you. I’ll fetch us something from the kitchen.” She rose from her chair and shuffled past Pendergast and Tigg as they sat on the doily-adorned sofa.

Tigg watched Mrs. Willamette disappear down the narrow hallway and then returned her gaze to the small living room. The walls were covered with framed portraits, decorative knick knacks, small paintings, and ceramic plates mounted on wire frames. Cozy, albeit a bit claustrophobic. She rose to examine some of the portraits but saw nothing familiar. Was it possible that they might learn something here, of all places, or was this just a waste of time? Pendergast seemed to thing they were making progress. She was still pondering this when Mrs. Willamette returned, carrying a tray. Tigg offered to take it but was rebuffed.

“I’m fine, young man. I may be old, but I’m not helpless.” She placed the tray on the coffee table and returned to her chair, settling in with a sigh as she raised the foot rest.

“Bad knees, you know. A family curse. Now, mister, what do you need to know?”

Pendergast flipped open his notebook and turned his attention to her.

“Ah, yes. I’m Dr. Prescott, and this is Mr. Crow. We’re doing research on—.”

“Yes, I know. You want to know how people feel about havin’ a bunch of murders in our town. Thelma has been tellin’ everyone.”

“Thelma?”

“Artie Spiker’s wife. Runs the hair salon down on Water Street, two doors down from the Sheriff’s Office. Artie told her about meetin’ you two and why you’re here. Give it another day and everyone in town will know. Gossip central, that place.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling with deviousness. “If you really want to know the dirt in this town, you go to the salon. You two could benefit from a visit, I think, in more ways than one,” she said, staring pointedly at Tigg.

Tigg stifled a giggle. This woman reminded her strongly of her paternal grandmother. She liked her instantly.

“You got a cold, Sonny?” Tigg shook her head. “Ah, well, you must think I’m funny. Glad somebody does.”

“Ah, Mrs. Willamette,” interrupted Pendergast, “we understand that you—.”

“Knew the family? That I did. Good people. Emmy and Maggie were really nice to me, so helpful. Liz, their mother, was such a sweet woman. It’s a damn shame what happened,” she said, and looked away, lapsing into silence.

“I’m sorry to bring up such a painful subject. I understand if it saddens you—.”

“Sad? I’m not sad, I’m mad as Hell!” She thumped her fist on the arm of the chair. Pendergast’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He gave Tigg a quick glance before returning his attention to the old woman.

“This was such a nice town, safe, peaceful. Now some...bastard has ruined it! And what he did to those people? Nailed them to the damn trees, I heard. Nobody deserves that!” Her face was flushed, eyes bright with anger. “They were a good family, even if they did have their problems.”

“Ah, problems?”

She looked at Pendergast, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I’m sure everyone in town has told you they were the perfect family. No one likes to speak ill of the dead, not even to the Sheriff.” She snorted derisively. “Some just like to hear themselves talk and the people here can be blind to anything outside their own little worlds. Besides, it wasn’t anythin’ that would catch the attention of someone who didn’t really know them.”

“And you did?”

“About as well as anyone could. They weren’t real social, you understand. Didn’t participate in the local grapevine, and didn’t do anythin’ to stir it up. Kept to themselves, mostly. The kids participated in some community things, but they weren’t really into it as much as everyone thought they should have been. In a town like this, it’s a status symbol, being involved. Now, don’t get me wrong, they didn’t have any enemies, but they didn’t really have any friends, either. People will tell you they were ‘close-knit’. Around here that’s a polite way of saying they was hermit-like.”

“But you knew them better than most people?”

“I’d say I spent a bit more time with them. You see, I was part of the welcoming committee for our church when then moved here, oh, ten or twelve years ago I guess. Bought that old farm out by the state forest. No one else wanted it, really. Too far away from town I guess. Anyway, I made the first visit to their house. They didn’t seem all that happy to see someone. Max said they ‘valued their privacy’.”

“What was your impression of the family dynamic?”

“Dynamic? You mean, did they get along?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, they seemed to well enough. I kinda thought Max and Liz were a little over protective, to be perfectly honest with you. Wouldn’t let the kids stray too far from the house, drove the oldest ones to and from school. I thought maybe they had moved here from the big city or somethin’, you know, high crime rate, but they said they had lived on a farm before.”

“What made you think that there were problems in the family?”

“I got an impression, that’s all. In my experience, if someone don’t talk about their family, there are problems. The girls didn’t talk about home at all when they first started helping me out, but I could tell at times when something was botherin’ them. When I would go visit, everyone was just as polite as could be, but it seemed...forced. There was tension. And their mother, well, she seemed scared of her own shadow. Real jumpy.”

“Did you ever find out why she seemed so fearful?”

“Not really. At first I thought, you know, same old story, someone beat on her. Of course I thought it was her husband, but then I saw how much Max cared for her and I knew it couldn’t have been him.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. A couple of months after they moved here she was in a car accident. Nothin’ major, but she did have to go to the hospital to get stitches. Bleedin’ like a stuck pig, she was. I was there visitin’ a friend, and saw when she came in. After they fixed her up I offered to sit with her until someone came to pick her up, ‘cause she was still pretty upset. I was there when he arrived. The poor man was practically in tears until he saw she was OK. She was really glad to see him, too, poor thing. I couldn’t picture him hurtin’ her after that.”

“I see. What about the rest of the family? Did they have any problems with each other or anyone else in the community?”

“Well, the two older boys seemed to stay out of trouble, and I never saw any arguments between them and their dad, even though he was mighty strict with ‘em.. The girls weren’t real thrilled that he didn’t want them to go away to college, but other than that they seemed to be happy. The youngest boy, Mark, was a bit spoiled by the rest of the family. They all doted on him.” Her face clouded. “I can’t imagine what it musta been like for him, findin’ them the way he did. No wonder he’s such a mess now. I mean, really, think about it. Losin’ your family, all you’ve ever known, in such a horrible way, and bein’ left with nothin’. Almost worse than dyin’ along with them.”

A fate worse than death...

The thought had risen, unbidden, in Tigg’s mind, and she shook her head to clear it. She shivered involuntarily.

“You OK, Sonny?” asked Mrs. Willamette, looking at Tigg with concern. She nodded, still trying to forget the sudden chill she had felt.

What is your idea of a fate worse than death, Eleanor...?

With a shudder she brought her attention back to the conversation at hand. Pendergast was staring at her thoughtfully,while Mrs. Willamette, apparently oblivious to Tigg’s inattention, was searching for something in the basket next to her chair.

“Now, Mrs. Willamette,” said Pendergast, turning back to the old woman, “just a few more questions. In events such as these, many of the citizens have concerns about safety—.”

“You’re worried ‘cause I left my door unlocked, ain’t you?” she asked. Pendergast nodded.

“I was expecting someone, but don’t you worry about me, Sonny, I can take care of myself. Me and misters Smith and Wesson.” She reached down into her chair and brought up a large revolver. “Let that guy come mess with me. Hell’s a fire! I’d welcome a chance to fill his ass with lead!” Pendergast responded slowly, his eyes on the revolver.

“Ah, yes, I see. A...common reaction. Anger and a desire for retribution.”

“Damn straight.” Mrs. Willamette smiled and put the gun back in its hiding place.

“Anythin’ else you needed to know?”

“I don’t believe so...”

“Good, then it’s time for me to ask somethin’ of you.” She reached down into her basket and withdrew a photo album which she handed to Pendergast For the first time, her expression was serious.

“I know you here to find out the ‘effects of the crime’, but there’s somethin’ you need to remember. They was real people, not just victims, not just something to study. They was a family, a good family. I don’t want you to forget that, an’ I don’t want anyone else to forget it. Put that in your ‘research’, so everyone else can see. That...” She pointed at the album, her hand shaking slightly. “...is how they should be remembered. Can you do that?”

“Yes ma’am. I...we will do our best.” He started to open the album, but she held up her hand.

“You can take it with you for now. You look trustworthy enough. Just get it back to me whenever. ” Much of her bluster had faded, and she looked her true age. “Now if you don’t mind, I think I’ve had enough interviewin’ for one day.”

Pendergast reached over and placed his hand lightly on hers.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome...and good luck.”



“I liked her,” muttered Tigg, breaking the silence. They were 5 miles outside of town, on their way back to the cabin.

“I suspect the two of you have much in common,” said Pendergast dryly.

She ignored him. “Well, did you find what you were looking for?”

He reached into his coat and brought out the album which he handed to Tigg.

“Now how did you know she would give that to you?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, right. You and Eli have a lot in common, too. What now?”

“We’re going to make a stop at the office. The documentation I’ve been expecting is there.”

“Isn’t that a little risky?” Pendergast said nothing. Tigg sighed in frustration, reached over and turned on the radio. Not her favorite type of music, but better than the silence. She opened the album to the first page. It was a family picture, but more like a Victorian portrait than a casual photo, based on the expressions of the subjects. Even the children looked rather serious for their obviously young ages.

Nothing like my family.

She flipped through the pages, noticing that the expressions grew less serious as the children in them grew up. Past the halfway point she noticed that they actually looked happy again, but there was something else. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Think, Tigg, think.

She flipped to the last photo. Another family portrait, but now everyone was smiling. As she looked at the picture, a strange feeling of déjà vu came over her.

There’s something...familiar.

The music on the radio stopped and the announcer started reading a news bulletin.

“From an earlier broadcast: the state police have reported the disappearance and possible abduction of Bonnie Lynn Mathies, daughter of local Sheriff Rick Mathies...”

Tigg looked up from the book with a gasp and stared at the radio.

“Ms. Mathies was last seen Sunday morning outside the Winstead Methodist Church. Anyone with any information in this case is asked to call the state police hotline. In other news...”

She reached over and turned off the radio with a snap.

“Bonnie Mathies. Sheriff Mathies’ daughter.” She smacked her forehead hard enough to cause Pendergast pull of the road and stare at her with concern.

“Oh, God, I’m such an idiot! Why I didn’t make the connection before?” She turned to Pendergast. “I knew her before. We were in college together. Like Becca. But she wasn’t on that list...Damn it!”

“We’ve been entertaining the belief that her abduction and the Jenkins’ murders were part of a distraction. Perhaps—.”

“They were the true targets? The Zoller family was the distraction?”

Pendergast considered this. “Something is still not right.”

“But what—?”

He guided the truck back onto the road and hit the accelerator. Tigg gripped the door handle and leaned back against the seat, her mind racing. The photo album slipped off her lap and onto the floor, forgotten.

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