O' Artful Death - By Sarah Stewart Taylor Page 0,32
first since they had been target shooting nearby at the time of the murder. But, the reporter noted, a police source said that the boys had been shooting with brand-new .22 caliber hunting rifles, while Ruth Kimball had been killed with a World War II-era service pistol. Police refused to identify the weapon used or to say whether it had been owned by the dead woman, but they had reiterated that the Wentworth twins were not suspects, it was just that the possibility of an accident had to be eliminated. Sweeney thought of Britta Wentworth’s drawn face. No wonder she’d been upset.
A number of community members were quoted as saying that Ruth Kimball had been a model citizen and that she hadn’t seemed at all the type to do something like this. She was survived, Sweeney noticed, by her daughter Sherry and granddaughter Charley, both of Byzantium, and had been predeceased by her husband and son.
It hadn’t helped much, but it had given her an idea.
“DO YOU KEEP old newspapers on hand?” Sweeney asked the librarian. “I was actually interested in really old papers, from the 1890s.”
“We’ve got the Gazette and copies of the Watertown Herald for that period as well,” the woman said. “They’re in bound volumes downstairs. First door on the right. We’re trying to get them all on microfilm, but it’s expensive.”
“Thanks. I hate microfilm anyway.”
The bound volumes of both papers were stored chronologically and it was easy to find the ones marked 1890. Sweeney decided to start with the Gazette. She flipped through June and July and finally came to the August papers, which appeared to come out two or sometimes three times a week. Finally, after her eyes were nearly exhausted by the tiny type, she found the article she was looking for, on an inside page of the August thirty-first edition. “Tragic Drowning Accident” read the headline. But the piece contained exactly the same information as the Xeroxed book excerpts in Mary’s file.
It wasn’t until she hunted down the Herald’s version of the same story that Sweeney hit paydirt. “Miss Denholm’s body was found on the afternoon of the 28th by Mr. Herrick Gilmartin of Byzantium.”
Now that was interesting.
IAN WAS WAITING for her in front of the historical society.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I ended up going across to the library and got wrapped up in my reading.”
“That’s just fine, I had to park down the street a bit,” he said in a friendly voice. He took half of the stack of books the librarian had let her borrow on the Wentworths’ card and tucked them under his arm.
Ian and Sweeney walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke. “How was your afternoon? Did you find anything good?”
“Oh, yes. Everything went smoothly,” he said stiffly, and the finality in his tone of voice stopped her from asking any more questions. When they got to his car, he opened the door for her and she felt a sudden flash of irritation. Chivalry was well and good, but on him, it seemed overly decorous, as though he felt guilty about something and was making up to her. “I’m fine,” she said crossly, when he asked if she wanted to move her seat back.
This time, the silence in the car was awkward. Ian broke it by saying, “ ‘A few weeds and stubble showing last.’ It’s from a Robert Frost poem.” She looked at him in confusion, but then she saw that they were passing a broad expanse of snow-covered field where a few weeds and stalks poked through the white cover.
“I never liked Frost until I came to Vermont. Isn’t that strange?”
“No. It’s the same for me. I’ve always loved the Americans, but not Frost. Always found him too rural, I think. Then I came here and I thought of that poem about the stone walls, the . . .”
“ ‘Mending Wall,’ ” Sweeney said, and recited it. “Toby loves that poem. Loves Frost. Now I feel like I understand him a little better.”
“Goodness. You’ve got it committed to memory.”
“Oh, it’s not as much a feat as it seems. I just have one of those memories. Photographic or whatever. If I’ve seen it on a page I can remember it, the image of it, you know?”
“Have you got plans this afternoon?” he asked as they pulled up in front of the house. “I was thinking about borrowing Patch’s cross country skis and going for a spin. Interested?”