Belle Palmer Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Lou Allin
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Music drifted by, very soft and understated, a touch of Pachelbel in the night, or was it Mozart? Belle shuddered, willing herself against all odds to relax. A delicate lily of the valley scent wafted along the corridor mixed with the more cloying perfumes of older matrons. Suddenly, she remembered a story her prim and proper mother had told her. Inching along in a receiving line at her school superintendent’s funeral, she had anxiously searched for appropriately consoling words. When she had reached the widow, Terry Palmer had leaned forward, gently taken the woman’s hand, and murmured, “Thanks for a lovely day.”
Finally, Belle entered a divided room with a sitting area of padded chairs and sofas in Laura Ashley chintz. Homey and reassuring. Turning reluctantly, she saw the casket, taupe with brass fittings, accessorized with palms, candelabra and lavender glads. Several floral arrangements flanked the bier, a white and red rose selection particularly resplendent. What a monumental waste of money when Jim would have preferred the subtle beauty of wildflowers or the spicy resin of pine branches. She walked over to pay her respects, forced her gaze up. And by God, Jim did look good. Healthy, even. And that glowing skin tone. If there were an art to find the mind’s construction in the face, Myron Halverson was a genius. The innocence and goodness that framed Jim’s life could be read here by the blindest sceptic. She knelt on the velvet prie-dieu, murmured a small non-denominational prayer and stood awkwardly, wondering if anyone was noticing the tremor in her hands. Why did funerals make people feel like actors wandering without scripts? What words could form in a moment beyond the limits of speech?
The Burians were seated in the corner, Meg twisting a handkerchief, Ben thin and stiff in his black suit, and Ted leaning next to his mother, blinking away tears and loosening his collar. Belle was surprised to see old Tracker, grieving in the honest, canine way, ears back, head on her paws, her liquid eyes trusting that Jim would return. “Thanks for coming, Belle,” Meg said. “You were such a good friend of Jim’s.” Belle embraced the older woman tenderly, strangely protective about mothers since her own had died.
“He had so many friends,” Belle said, summoning up platitudes and hating herself for the failure of eloquence.
But the Burians were lost in a family tableau missing a central figure. “Yes,” Ben said, his eyes shining. “They’re all here from the university. And Tracker, too, his special pal. Halverson said it would be OK.” There would be no burial, just a crypt until the May thaw, common practice in the North. Graveyards were lonely places from December to April, only the tips of the highest monuments spearing the white desolation.
Belle slipped aside to sign the guestbook as a frail woman with henna hair and a purse affecting her balance tottered with a cane towards the Burians. In one corner, some professorial types, three-piece suits and beards, nodded sombrely. She caught a few words, “foolish . . . never should have” and bit back the temptation to offer her opinion. What did these ivory tower characters know about the bush and its rules? They might as well live in Toronto, driving their Range Rovers to work. Mel sat at the other end of the room, next to a man in what looked like an actual mourning suit, a fashion more read about than seen. Handsome and compelling, perhaps European, he put his arm around the girl briefly. Melanie shook her head as an answer, looked up, and gestured to Belle.
“Belle, you know Franz Schilling?” she asked
He extended his hand and bowed his head in a courtly manner. For a moment Belle thought he was going to kiss hers, as he raised it slightly and seemed to align his heels. “Hello, Belle. Melanie told me what a comfort you have been. It is very tragic to meet under these circumstances.” What else could be said?
They made the usual lump-in-throat exchanges, and then Melanie added, “Franz is in charge of the Stop the Park rally.”
Franz smiled and then spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on Belle. Though his hair was silver-blond and groomed to perfection, his darker eyebrows had a hypnotic effect. “And our efforts should have an effect. If only Jim could be there to march with us. What a tragedy his accident was.”
The women’s eyes met. “Perhaps not, Professor. Some things are not what they seem,” Belle said.
He arched an eyebrow and looked over at the casket. “Melanie has told me her doubts, and yes, I found it hard to believe, knowing how careful Jim was as a researcher. But still, I remember the night. Very bad. If he had wanted so much to get home and missed a turn in the blizzard . . .” His voice trailed to a whisper.
“Yes,” Belle answered. “His parents told me how important the Sunday family supper was for him. He always arrived in time, no matter what he’d been doing.” Memories of those evenings shared with Jim were too much for Melanie, who started to cry softly.
“I’ll bring you some water,” Franz said with a slight bow and left for a moment. The girl turned to Belle, struggling for control.
“Have you found anything yet?”
“We can’t really talk here. And I’m getting claustrophobic. I can hardly breathe.” Belle passed her hand over her clammy brow. “Why don’t we meet at the Konditorei in about an hour.”
After making a unobtrusive exit from Halverson’s, Belle was amazed that she felt like eating as soon as the fresh air hit her. Death could be a great appetite builder, a life-affirming ritual rivalled only by sex, a less convenient option.
An hour later, Melanie eased into the other side of the booth, removing her parka and gloves, her face flushed from the cold. “Were you able to get to the camp yet?”
“Not yet. My machine needs a new plug. Don’t get your hopes up. Ben says there’s nothing much there.”
“But Jim did all his work at the cabin. Said he needed the quiet for concentration and inspiration. Perhaps there’s a map showing clusters of the old pines. Maybe that’s where he met or saw someone. You could look for clues,”
“Clues. Come on, Mel. Don’t be naïve. The only sensible possibility seems to be that he stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have. He suspected drug drops, and you know how he felt about drugs. But to meet someone on the spur of the moment? And how would the killer make it look like an accident? Or get him to that lake? It wasn’t a landing spot like the ones he mentioned.”
“Talk to Franz about the planes. He told me he had seen the same thing, thought he had, anyway.”
“Why? Where does he live?” Belle asked.
“On an island near the marina on Wapiti. You must have passed it. Quite a log cabin complex, from what I’ve heard.”
Belle searched her memory. “There are a number of camps on islands, but I think I know the one you mean.” Then remembering Franz’s courtly solicitude at Halverson’s, she asked, “Are you two good friends?”
“Franz and I met when I took his physical anthropology course first semester. Of course all the girls were in love with him, but he was always correct and professional, and besides, you know how strict universities are with these sexual harassment cases. Anyway, a couple of people saw him out to dinner with one of the art teachers.”
Belle teased the girl. “He’s quite appealing. Reminds me of Christopher Plummer in The Sound of Music.”
Melanie laughed hesitantly, as the shift in topics relaxed her. “Come on, Belle. He’s not that old.” She seemed in the mood to talk, friendly, interested, an ideal nurturer with her pleasant manner and frank eye contact. “Jim mentioned that you were from Toronto, Belle. How did you happen to come north?” she asked.
Sudburians were always flattered that in defiance of the moonscape publicity, anyone would join their community. As their bumper stickers proclaimed, “Proud to be a Northerner,” they welcomed newcomers with a frontier sincerity. “I’ve been here for over twenty years, Melanie. My family lived in Toronto, but I spent every summer with my uncle at his camp on Lake Penage. After majoring in English, I went to Teachers’ College.”
Melanie looked surprised. “English? But you’re not a teacher now. What happened?”
“Ha. I