Well-Offed In Vermont Part 16

"And hid it under the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Sorry, just wanted to make sure I heard you correctly. It's not every day that someone finds treasure."

" 'Course not. That's what makes it valuable."

"Well, that and denomination. How much money did Mack find, and where did he find it?"

"Money! Who said anything 'bout money? This was a genuine antique. Worth fortunes, too."

"What was it?"

"A painting. A painting of Saint John the Baptist."

"Who was the painting by?"

"Don't remember. Just know that Mack said it was worth a lot of money."

"I used to work at a museum," Stella spoke up. "If you describe the painting to me, I might be able to figure out who the artist was."

"Looked like John the Baptist."

"Aside from that ... what was John wearing? Was there anyone else with him? Was it daytime? Nighttime?"

"Can't rightly tell you."

"You don't remember what it looks like?"

"Never saw it." Something crashed to the floor as Maggie continued rearranging myriad objects.

Stella turned to her husband, her mouth the shape of a tiny O.

"Toot toot," Nick mimicked a train whistle. "All aboard."

"Um, I thought you said it was stored beneath the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs."

"It was. Mack put it under the bottom step and then walled the whole thing up. Been using it as a closet for years."

"I know this might sound silly, Maggie," Nick asked carefully, "but if you never saw the painting, how do you know it's missing?"

Maggie came to the doorway and stared at Nick as if he were completely daft. "I crawled to the back of that closet, that's how. Shone a flashlight under the bottom steps, but there weren't nothing there."

"Maybe it got moved and was elsewhere in the closet?"

"Nope."

"Did you look?"

"Yep. Didn't see it."

"How can you be sure you didn't see it if you don't know what the painting looks like?"

"Know it's of John the Baptist. What else do I need to know?"

"I think I'm losing it," Nick said, scratching his head. "That actually made sense."

"I think what Nick was trying to say is if you've never seen the painting and you never saw Mack hide it, how can you be certain it was even under the steps in the first place? Or that it even existed?"

"Mack wouldn't have made up such a story. He spent his whole life picking through trash, and he finally got treasure. Remember it like it was yesterday. He came home grinning like a fox with his pick of the hen house. Said he'd found a treasure would take care of me long after he was gone. Told me he'd put it under the steps for safekeeping and that if he were to pa.s.s on before I did, I was to go down there and get it. When Mack died, I did exactly like he told me to, but it weren't there. If you don't believe me, go have a look for yourself."

Given the state of the front parlor, Stella was fearful of what they might find in the bas.e.m.e.nt. "That's okay, we believe you. We don't need to go rummaging through your bas.e.m.e.nt."

"No, we do not," Nick agreed. "However, now that you mentioned searching the bas.e.m.e.nt, I can't help but wonder if maybe-just maybe-it isn't possible that Mack moved the painting and forgot to tell you?"

Maggie pursed her lips together and shook her head back and forth. "Mack wouldn't have forgotten to tell me something like that. Not something that important."

"I'm not saying he would, but-"

"No buts about it. That painting was here in this house 'til Allen Weston took it."

"You mentioned Weston earlier, but I still don't understand what you mean. If the painting was here, in this house, how did he get ahold of it?"

"When Mack died, he left this place a mess. Filled from floor to rafters with junk. Weston offered to help cart some of the stuff away for free."

"You mean this-what we're seeing right now-is clean? Wow."

Maggie merely glared at him.

"That was nice of Allen Weston to help you clean up this place," Stella remarked in an attempt to avert Maggie's ire. It didn't work.

"Nice? Least he could do for stealing my husband's business and putting him in an early grave!"

"What do you mean, stole the business? I thought Weston bought it. Legally."

"Oh, he bought it, all right. He bought it for not much more than a tired old dime. Mack was sick over it. He pa.s.sed away four months later."

"I'm sorry, Maggie. I can't imagine what you've gone through, but I don't see where Weston is to blame. If anything, most people would consider Weston's purchase a smart business move."

"I don't. Weston was a cheat and a liar. He robbed me of my husband, and he robbed me of my treasure."

"You say Weston stole the painting when he carted away your"-Nick gestured to the piles of objects surrounding them-"stuff. How would he have known where the painting was or that it even existed?"

"Mack probably told him. He was a good man, my Mackie, but he never could keep his mouth shut. Especially if he was down at the grill with his hunting buddies."

"So you think Weston knew about the painting and offered his carting services as an excuse to get into your home and steal it?"

"Yep." Maggie folded her arms across her chest.

"Did you tell the police about your theory?"

"Sure did. Mills took the call, but he didn't do nothing. Didn't come out here to look around. Didn't talk to Weston. Nothing."

"In Mills's defense, it's tough to investigate the theft of something that no one has seen. I don't mean to be rude, but you reporting your painting as stolen is like telling the police that someone kidnapped Bigfoot. Even if they believed it existed, they still have no idea what it looks like."

"I may be a fool, but I'm not a d.a.m.ned fool. They knew what it looked like because I told them. I said it's John the Baptist time and time again. All they had to do was go to Weston's house or office or car and look for it. But did they? No."

"Have you tried talking to Mills about it personally? Outside of the sheriff's office?"

"No need. The Lord helps those who help themselves."

"So you've been looking for it on your own?"

"You betcha. Weston knew I was looking for it, too. Caught me a few times searching."

"On his property?"

"Yup, spotted me twice at the well shop and the junkyard, and then once at the septic service office."

"And he never called the cops?"

"Nope. Thought he would once or twice, but he didn't. Then I figured out why: because it ain't at any of those places."

"That's quite a stretch, don't you think?"

"Nope. Galls me that I had to run into him all those times, but seeing him made it all clear. Weston had the painting at his house."

"Why do you think that?"

"Makes sense, doesn't it? He wouldn't keep a thing like that where everyone and his brother could find it. Might get stolen again, right?"

"a.s.suming someone knew what it was worth."

"Oh, they'd know it was valuable the minute they saw it."

"But you never saw it. How would you ... ?" Nick scratched his head.

"If my Mack figured out it was worth something, it wouldn't take much for someone else to notice it too. Mack was a good man, but he weren't a genius. That's why I said it'd be an easy case for the police. All they'd have to do is get a warrant, get into Weston's house, and take the painting back."

"Did you tell the police your suspicions?"

"h.e.l.l, no. Unless I had a Polaroid picture of the thing, they weren't gonna do nothing. And you know why? I'll tell you why. Cause they didn't want to upset Mr. Weston and all his money. Money. Hmph! But now that Mr. Weston's gone, I can search all I like and he can't stop me."

"Yeah, I'm not sure if I'd go running over to his-"

Maggie seized a hunting rifle from the corner of the room and stroked it menacingly. "You trying to stop me from finding my treasure?"

"No! No, of course not," Nick said quickly. "Not if you feel that strongly about it."

"I think Nick was just saying that the police-"

"The police," Maggie sneered. "Are they on your side too? You paying them off to protect you the same way Weston did?"

"No," Stella said softly. "No, we're not. We're on your side."

"Yeah, so could you put down the gun, please?"

Maggie, however, was on a tear. "With all his money, you'd think he'd let an old woman have her treasure. But who got the last laugh? Where'd that money get him, huh? The bottom of your well, that's where."

As Stella and Nick snuck out the door of the Lawson house, they overheard Maggie's disturbing laugh. "How you like that painting now, Mr. Weston? How you like it now?"

CHAPTER.

12.

NICK BACKED OUT of Maggie Lawson's overgrown gravel driveway and drove, h.e.l.l bent for leather, back into town.

"Still wondering why she's called Crazy Maggie?" Stella asked as she struggled to fasten her seat belt.

"No, I think I'm good."

"I'm glad, because we nearly got ourselves killed."

"I know. What's with this place, anyway? When I hear someone call an old widow crazy, I a.s.sume she's shuffling her feet, collecting cats, and talking to herself. Someone might have warned us that she's the NRA poster girl."

"I think Mills did warn us, didn't he? When he said not to get her riled up?"

"Yeah, but I thought he was exaggerating, didn't you? She brought us cupcakes, for chrissakes! And what does riled up mean, anyway?"

"We just saw what it meant."

"That wasn't riled up, that was trigger-happy."

"Well, apart from learning that Mills has a tendency to understate things, if anything came from that encounter, it's the realization that Maggie is a very viable suspect."

"That and we never want to go over there to borrow a cup of sugar."

"You can't borrow sugar from someone in jail. Think about it, Nick. Maggie fits the killer profile perfectly. She owns a hunting rifle, harbored a grudge against Weston, and only had to look out her window to see him pull into our driveway."

"It's only a half-mile walk from her house, too."