“Easy enough for any reasonably agile person to hop over the fence,” Stanley remarked as we gazed at the wire.
“Yes,” Dr. Ffollett said. “That’s just what she thinks happened. He hopped over the fence, ran through the field, and then hopped over his own fence to get back into his yard. You didn’t really think she meant the iron fence, did you?”
“What’s the field used for?” I asked.
“Nothing, at the moment,” Dr. Ffollett said. “Used to be the Lee family’s pasture back when you needed horses for transportation and a cow or two for fresh milk. Cordelia had gotten fired up about the idea of keeping some sheep, and she had the fence fixed up last fall. She was going to start her flock this spring. Guess that won’t be happening now.”
“What’s beyond the field?” I asked.
“Woods,” Dr. Ffollett said. “And mountains, eventually, unless you’re heading toward town. Pretty isolated out here.”
“I know the ladies didn’t get along with Mr. Weaver next door,” Stanley said. “How about the neighbors across the street?”
“They get along with them fine when they’re here,” Dr. Ffollett said. “But they’re not home now, and wouldn’t have been the night of the explosion. The house on the left belongs to a colonel from the army. Plans to retire here, but right now he’s only here when he’s home on leave. Other house belongs to a retired couple who only spend spring and fall here. Winters they have a condo in Florida, and summers they’re up in Maine. No, Theo Weaver’s the only real neighbor the ladies have, and they wish they could be rid of him. Cordelia always says—said—that having Theo Weaver around was worse than being all alone.”
“Very isolated,” Stanley said. “Must have been hard on the ladies.”
“Wasn’t hard on Cordelia, because she was always gadding about,” Dr. Ffollett said. “And Annabel preferred the peace and quiet.”
“Preferred?” I said. “She doesn’t now?”
Dr. Ffollett looked startled for a few moments. Then his face fell.
“I can’t exactly speak for her,” he said. “But I think she’s lonely.”
Lonely? Maybe. But if Annabel was right about Theo Weaver, now she was practically alone in the woods with her cousin’s killer. Maybe lonely wasn’t the problem. Maybe she was scared.
I finally put my finger on what had been bothering me.
“Were there tracks in the snow that night?” I asked. “Showing where someone had gone over the fence?”
“No way of telling, after all the firemen had finished trampling around,” Dr. Ffollett said.
Stanley reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pair of gloves and a folded brown paper bag. He put the gloves on, reached into the charred debris, and pulled out something. A bit of metal, blackened and twisted, but still recognizable.
“The kerosene lantern?” I asked.
“A kerosene lantern,” Stanley said. “No way of telling if it’s the one Chief Heedles thinks set off the explosion. But even if she’s sure this was a tragic accident, it does seem a little careless, leaving this lying around.”
We studied the charred lantern for a few moments. Then he tucked it into the brown paper bag, reached into his pocket, and sealed the bag with a large sticker.
“Just in case there are any questions about this thing,” he said. He fished a pen out of his pocket and scrawled his signature, half on the bag and half on the sticker. “Meg, if you don’t mind?”
I followed suit, and Dr. Ffollett, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped forward and did the same.
“I think we’ve done as much as we can reasonably do before talking to Dr. Blake,” Stanley said. “Dr. Ffollett, thank you for your help. Tell Miss Annabel we’ll be in touch.”
Dr. Ffollett nodded. He escorted us to the gate and stood watching as we drove off. I couldn’t tell if Annabel was watching, too, but I could swear I felt her eyes on us.
Chapter 6
“Well, overall I think that went well,” Stanley said. “We got a lot farther than I expected.”
“So you think there’s something worth investigating?” I certainly did, but I knew I could be biased. “About Cordelia’s death, I mean. You think it’s murder?”
“I didn’t at first,” he said. “But if Chief Heedles really went in with her mind made up that this was a tragic accident…”
“And if she really thinks my grandmother was such a doddering old fool that she’d traipse around with a kerosene lantern when she had a perfectly good LED headlight at her bedside.” I realized I sounded cross. “Sorry,” I added. “Not mad at you—just venting.”