%163 “Vermont-you’re a long way from home.” “Yes, ma’am.” “What questions could you possibly have that I might answer?” “I’d like to know about the Wingates, what they were like as eighbors; things like that. Did you know them?” “Oh, yes. I’ve been living here for quite a while.” She eyed me arefully for a couple of more seconds, and then opened the door wide.
Would you like to come in? I was just fixing myself some tea.” I thought of the gallons of coffee I’d been swilling half the night nd suppressed any thought of caffeine poisoning. “Sounds wonderful.
hanks.” I followed her through to the back of the house, a combination of ark wood, flowered upholstery, and ancient, sturdy carpeting. The air melled of warm wool and medicine. I could hear a parakeet upstairs.
The kitchen was catching the first sun of the day, giving the room bright, embracing warmth. The woman, who confirmed she was Mrs.
rissom, gestured me to an alcove with a permanently mounted breakast table lined on either side with a wall bench. It made me think of iding in a train.
“So, you’re interested in the Wingates,” she stated. She was movng about between the stove and the sink, accumulating the paraphernaia necessary for her tea tray.
“Yes.” “Why?” It wasn’t said with any hostility; it was merely direct, which seemed to be Mrs. Grissom’s general approach to everything.
“We’re investigating a crime, and the Wingates might have some nvolvement with it. I just need some background, something to help e understand what makes them tick.” She was pouring hot water into the teapot with her back to me.
‘It must be a pretty serious matter for you to come all this way just or that.” “It is.” She finished pouring and brought the tray over to the table. “You ook tired.” I smiled at that. “A little. I’ve been up all night.” “Would you like a doughnut? I make them myself.” “Thank you. That sounds great.” She crossed over to a cabinet and brought back a Tupperware ontainer filled with dark brown doughnuts. I bit into one and immeditely eyed the rest; best doughnut I’d ever tasted, even without a reamy middle.
“Eat all you want.” She sat opposite me and began to fill our cups.
%164 “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or is this to be a one-way conversation?” I recognized I was not dealing with some prehistoric busybody, as her neighbor had implied. Whatever Mrs.
Grissom had done in her heyday, she hadn’t kowtowed to other people.
“Bruce Wingate’s been murdered.” She didn’t pause in her activities, but she stayed silent for a moment.
She pushed my cup over to me and looked me in the eye, her face serious.
“I’m sorry to hear that. How’s Ellie?” “Hard to tell. She’s bottled it up. She also has a guy running interference for her, so it’s hard to get close.” “What guy?” The way she pronounced the second word, I could tell she wasn’t fond of casual English. “He’s some kind of anti-cult counselor-organizes peer support groups for parents of children who have joined cults. He probably has other irons in the fire, but that’s the gist of it.” She nodded. “I’m not surprised. So Julie is mixed in with this?” “They drove up to Vermont to find her.” “I thought that’s what it was. They gave me their keys so I could water the plants and feed the cat.” I was a little disappointed by that. The implication was that Mrs.
Grissom and the Wingates were old friends, which made her an unlikely source for objective information.
“Silly mess. All three of them should have run away to separate parts of the country.” I raised my eyebrows questioningly in midsip of tea.
“Theirs was the most minatural-feeling family group I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?” “I never heard any music from over there, or any laughter, not even any shouting. They never held a party, never had friends over, little Julie never played in the yard with a playmate. Any time I saw them together, they were mostly silent. Who killed Bruce?” “We don’t know. Were you good friends with them?” “No,” she answered immediately.
“Nor do I think they had any. I think that was Bruce’s doing more than Ellie’s. My impression was that he dominated the family.” “How?” “Oh, you know, seeing them coming and going, it was always, ‘Don’t get Daddy mad,’ ‘Daddy wants this done,’ ‘I’ve got to get Daddy’s dinner ready.”
Daddy obviously pulled all the strings. It was more than that, though.”
%165 “Oh?” My mouth was half full of doughnut. Mrs. Grissom looked out the window. “Well, what I’ve described ‘t much different from many homes-my own father was a bit of a ciplinarian. I don’t know how to put it, really, except to say that uce controlled them. He was with that child all the time, especially en she was a youngster. The only times I saw her in the yard was his company.” “You mean playing?” She tilted her head from side to side in a vague gesture. “PlaySome would call it that. I would stand at that window years 0,” she indicated the window over the sink, “and watch them tother, throwing a ball back and forth or shooting marbles in the iveway. He would constantly instruct her, his face serious, as if what ey were doing had long-range, almost grim consequences. Neither e of them laughed or smiled. They would just go through the moveents-throwing a ball back and forth, back and forth-without any ling whatsoever. It was almost as if Bruce had read somewhere that was supposed to do these things with his daughter and, being a man sound character, he would therefore do them. There was an utter k of spontaneity.” “Did you ever suspect there was anything unnatural going on?” Her eyes opened wide. “You mean child abuse?” “It happens.” “Yes.” She paused a moment, reflecting. “I would have no reason say that. I certainly sensed that Bruce was the unchallenged authorof that family, which I think is abusive, but in the sense you mean I’d have to say I don’t know I wouldn’t rule it out.” I figured I’d better stop with the doughnuts and leaned back ainst the wall, cradling my teacup.
I was suddenly struck by a notion. 0 you have anything with Julie’s handwriting on it?” Her brow furrowed in concentration. “No, I don’t think so.
e looked up abruptly, her eyes bright. “Wait a minute; yes, I do.” She rose and crossed to a bulletin board littered with calendars, tes, photographs, and postcards. “They went on a trip to the Berkires several years ago and she sent me this.” She unpinned one of the stcards and brought it back to me.
On the back was scrawled a brief note describing the weather and e fact she was writing this in a hurry. It was signed, “Julie.” “May I keep this? I can get it back to you later.” “It doesn’t matter. I have no sentimental attachment to it.” I slipped it into my pocket, wondering if its author had also dressed the envelope that Bruce Wingate had received the night of %166 his death. “You seem to be talking about long ago all the time, when Julie was a little girl. What about recently?” “I can’t say. Once Julie began going to high school, Ellie got ajob.
Every morning, I’d see them head off in the car-Bruce driving, of course-and that would be that. I assumed he dropped the two women off on his way to work, and picked them up later.” “But school got out before five. What did Julie do in the meantime?” “I don’t know. They always came back together.” “And on the weekends?” “I never saw much of them. Julie never seemed to have any friends over, or go out on dates, though, if that’s what you mean.” “You said you ‘thought that was it’
when I mentioned they’d gone up to Vermont. Did you know Julie had run away?” “Yes-Ellie had told me-oh, more than a year ago. She seemed almost embarrassed by the fact, as if Julie’s action had brought shame to them all.” Mrs. Grissom leaned back and gave me a long look. “You know, I can’t say I was surprised when you told me Bruce was dead. It may sound cruel to say, but I always thought it would take his death to allow the other two any kind of freedom, especially Julie. Knowing that family was like seeing a life raft foundering because it carried one person too many.” Growing up in Thetford, there had been two centers to my life.