What people are saying about
Luisa Buehler
The Station Master: A Scheduled Death
"Cutting-edge cozy. The Station Master is
filled with long-buried secrets, elaborate twists,
and nail-biting suspense. Buehler and Marsden just keep getting better
and better."
J.A. Konrath, author of Bloody Mary: A Lt. Jack
Daniels Thriller
The Lion Tamer: A Caged Death
"…a curious heroine, a handsome husband, a
dashing ex-lover and a skeleton or two…engaging…
romance and mayhem vie for her attention–much to a
reader's satisfaction and delight!"
–Sharon Fiffer, author of The Jane Wheel Mysteries
The Rosary Bride: A Cloistered Death
"…a stylishly written novel evocative of Barbara
Michaels and Teri Holbrook. Luisa Buehler presents a fascinating
cast of characters,
an engrossing tale of old wrongs, long-kept secrets, and murder."
–Denise Swanson, author of the bestselling Scumble
River Mysteries
Other Books by
Luisa Buehler
The Grace Marsden Mystery series
The Station Master: A Scheduled Death (Book Three)
The Lion Tamer:
A Caged Death (Book Two)
The Rosary Bride: A Cloistered Death (Book One)
Luisa
Buehler
THE SCOUT MASTER: A PREPARED DEATH
A
Grace Marsden Mystery
Book
Four
An
Echelon Press Book
First
Echelon Press paperback printing / October 2006
All
rights Reserved.
Copyright
© 2006 by Luisa Buehler
Cover
illustration © Nathalie Moore
2004
Ariana "Best in Category" Award winner
Echelon
Press
9735
Country
www.echelonpress.com
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Echelon
Press.
ISBN
1-59080-475-9
Library
of Congress Control Number: 2006928243
Printed in the
10 9 8
7 6 5 4 3
2 1
As
always, a loving thank you to my guys.
e f
I
am grateful to the host of people who gave generously of their time and talent when
I needed clarification and information. Scraps of notes and bits of
conversation with many people grew this book until my editor demanded a paring
of the prose. Special thanks to Alex Matthews, author of the Cassidy McCabe
series, for allowing Cassidy to treat Grace. Sarah Stone, who guided me to
sources and information on Wicca. Debby Preiser, Oak Park Library, who tracked
down an elusive copy of Animal Inn by
Virginia Moe. To Gloria Onischuk, proprietress extraordinaire of Under the
Ginkgo Tree Bed and Breakfast for allowing Grace's family to party at her home.
To Christine Cederborg of Elmhurst Kiwanis Club for accompanying me into
Robinson Woods in a foolhardy but necessary research trip. Dick Tresselt, Scoutmaster
Troop 16, Oak Park, whose innocent comment three years earlier gave me the idea
for this book. The boys, especially Kit, Frank, Mike and Adam, of Troop 562,
Woodridge, IL, and Paul Riggs, former Scoutmaster who ran a troop that was the
total antithesis of the one depicted in this book. He taught me my knots while
I volunteered in the troop for only 'one hour a week.'
e f
A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful,
friendly, courteous, kind, obedient,
cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and
reverent…except when he's a killer!
e 1 f
The shock-still silence grabbed
my attention as no shout could have. Moments before, Robinson Woods had
reverberated with the incessant noise only pre-pubescent boys made. I'd been a
step-mom for only one month, but I'd grown up with four brothers. Throat gripping
silence was never golden, rather a violent shade of purple, or a bright slash
of crimson, but never golden.
Harry and I had arrived at
Robinson Woods two hours ahead of the designated pick up time for scouts participating
in Troop 265's community service project to clean up the woods. Since meeting
Will for the first time last month, Harry had immediately taken to his newly
discovered parenthood, unwilling to give up any time he could spend with his
son. Our early arrival today marked another 'method to his madness,' as Harry
thought he might be able to lend a hand since he'd been a Scout in the
We'd left the car near the
troop trailer and walked into the woods. A few minutes later, deeper into the
woods we heard the cheery shouts and yells of the boys happily scouring the
ground for trash and treasure. Then silence.
"Put it down and move
away," Edward Bantonini, the scout leader commanded. The two boys
carefully lowered the hinged box they struggled to carry. The thick undercover
of leaves accepted the box greedily as its shape settled into their mass. The
arrival of the scouts, carrying the box between them, pallbearer style, had
caused the abrupt silence.
The youngsters backed away
toward the rest of the scouts who'd formed a semi-circle around their leader
and the wooden crate.
"It's heavy, something's
in there," one of the boys reported. His buddy nodded.
The box looked about four feet
in length and eighteen inches in width. The leader motioned the group around to
the other side. The whispers began, questioning the boys. "Where'd you
find it? Did you look inside?" They grew silent as their leader knelt
before the box.
I'd already thought of it in
terms of a 'casket' and now my heart thumped against my ribs in anticipation.
Most of me wanted him to call the Forest Preserve Police and turn it over to
them, but that tiny part which usually lead me astray, wanted him to open the
box now. Harry moved. I reached for his hand but he kept moving.
The scout leader stood when he
saw Harry. His dark eyes registered recognition and he extended his gloved
hand. "Mr. Marsden, right?"
"Yes, Harry Marsden."
They shook hands. "My wife, Grace." I smiled at him and his open
stare caught me off guard. Sometimes when people noticed my lavender colored
eyes they stared a little, but his look stayed riveted to my face. I shifted to
stand behind Harry who stepped forward. "Looks like an interesting
item." Harry motioned. "Were you thinking of opening it now?"
The boys crept forward, anxious
for the answer.
Edward Bantonini's face
flushed. "I'd hate to call in the squirrel police to open a box of rocks.
On the other hand, I'd hate to open something that could be dangerous or that
would give these guys nightmares."
He showed a mix of mostly good
sense with a modicum of hastiness. Of course, with Harry on the scene a second
man could tip that scale.
It did.
"If your concern is
something biological, the box isn't sealed and it's wood. If anything had been
in there it would have leaked out by now." Harry brushed the debris from
the top and used his handkerchief to clean off the written area. "The
sides of the box look rotted enough to have been out here for ten years, but
the markings on the top are even older."
Edward read aloud,
"Property of the United States Army."
Comments of 'whoa', 'cool', and
'awesome' escaped from the scouts' mouths.
"This is a munitions crate
from World War II. I don't believe there's any unexploded ordinance inside;
possibly a few weapons and ammunition, which would be dangerous enough."
The boys stood slack-jaw,
staring at Harry. I sensed a bit of showboating for the scout whose
cornflower-blue-eyed stare never wavered from his father. One of the older
boys, a Life Scout according to his insignia, stepped forward from the crowd.
"Should I take the troop back to the trailer?"
The boys immediately shouted in
protest, many faces turned to Harry as their leader in this adventure.
"That won't be necessary,
thank you, Brad. I think Mr. Marsden and I can take a look and determine our
course of action."
I pulled a length of yarn from
my jacket pocket and braided three inches before identifying the dread pulling
at my heart. I didn't want them to open it here, didn't want to run that risk.
My thoughts had rejected munitions and headed directly to dead body. Since last
year, my life gravitated to dead bones with a story to tell. I didn't have a
good feeling about this crate. I prayed for guns.
"Those are the conditions.
Anyone not clear on that?"
Edward Bantonini took the
silence as a 'yes'. I'd missed the conditions, but the boys stepped back and
tightened the group.
Harry and Edward stood on the
far side, their backs to the boys. They pried the lid up at each end, preparing
to lift it toward them, and carefully staying to the side. I walked toward the
front of the crate. Harry motioned me behind him.
The lid lifted easily and both
men held it at a forty-five degree angle to block the boy's view. I held my
breath and leaned around Harry to look inside. It wasn't munitions.
e 2 f
Small bones lay cradled on a
blue velvet pillow. Two cloth toys nestled around the skeleton. A rhinestone
collar, caught by the light, twinkled between the third and fourth vertebrae.
My startled gasp tempted the
boys forward, but Brad held them in check. I reached for Harry's hand. "A
cat. Someone's buried their pet." I heard the relief in my voice and
looked at Edward Bantonini. Sweat beaded across his upper lip; he swiped his
mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.
"Looks that way. Thank God."
He turned to the boys in his charge. "Okay, fellas, no guns just
somebody's cat that got a fancy burial." He smiled at the boys. "I
think we've had enough excitement for one outing." The boys gathered
around the makeshift coffin and peeked in. Their expressions ranged from
indifference to sadness, but not one looked fearful.
"Are you going to bury
it?"
The simple question received a
number of answers.
"Yeah, we could give it a
proper burial."
"Yeah and George could
play taps."
"If George could play taps."
Further comments dissolved into
laughter. Crisis over, mystery solved, time to move on to other adventures. The
boys turned to Brad. A lanky youngster with carrot colored hair spoke for the
group. "You promised to show us the rock with the face. Can we go
now?" The boys voiced their approval. Brad looked to Edward Bantonini for
permission.
"Go ahead, Brad. Have the
boys drop their trash bags at the trailer and we'll meet back there in
forty-five minutes. That should give you time to find the face." Edward
looked at the boys. "May the face be with you," he intoned seriously.
A few boys giggled; several
looked confused. Will looked at his dad as if to say, 'what now?'
Brad answered in the same tone.
"Thank you, sir." He faced the boys. "Patrol leaders, prepare to
leave. Two boys stepped forward.
"Turtle Patrol,
ready."
"Roadrunner Patrol,
ready."
Brad picked up his plastic
sack. "Anybody not ready?" He waited and nodded. "Let's go.
Single file until we reach the fire lane."
We watched the boys walk away
through the woods, their voices carrying back to us over the crisp air. I'd
never been in the woods this late in the year. Normally, the dense foliage
would have swallowed up and muffled the noisy boys.
"I hope forty-five minutes
gives me enough time to figure out what to do with this." Edward pointed
at the crate. "I don't know who would handle this. I can't leave it out
here for someone else to stumble on."
"Why don't we bury the cat
and take the crate out to the parking lot? We could help you carry it," I
offered.
"Before we move anything
let me snap a few photos." Harry pulled a camera from the inside pocket of
his jacket. I knew he'd wanted pictures of Will on his first scout outing.
"You want to take pictures
of a dead cat?" Edward Bantonini sounded two-parts incredulous and
one-part mortified. He stared at Harry and swiped at his upper lip covered with
renewed perspiration.
Only a few people knew that
Harry's career before we were married had been in His Majesty's Service. Scout
leader Bantonini would have no way of knowing that Harry's mind worked from the
premise of foul play and guilty until proven harmless and innocent.
I think Harry sensed that his
son's future with this troop might hang in the balance. He cleared his throat
and used his 'man to man' voice. "The cat is incidental. It's the crate
that may be of interest to the authorities. This is a munitions crate. They're
supposed to be numbered and accounted for at the base. Could be vital to a cold
case theft the Army might have on its books."
Bantonini looked ready to
believe. Harry's next comment pulled him over completely. "Would be nice
for the Boy Scouts to give the U.S. Army an assist." He smiled that inner
circle-guy secret kind of grin and Bantonini grinned back.
Harry photographed the sides
and top of the crate, zooming in on the stenciled words. At his signal, Edward
and I lifted the lid and Harry snapped photos of the interior. I noticed
something silver and shiny caught between the lip of the wood and the inside of
the hinge. I pulled at it gently; it came away in my hand. Three links of some
sort of bracelet. I slipped the metal into my pocket.
"I have a shovel in the
troop trailer. I'll get it."
"Good. Do you have a towel
or something to lift the skeleton out?"
"How about latex gloves
from the first aid kit?"
"Excellent. I am dealing
with the 'be prepared' people."
Bantonini looked pleased by
Harry's praise and hurried off. I looped my arm through Harry's. "How do
you do that?"
"Do what, darling?"
His blue eyes widened in mock surprise.
"Turn him from thinking
you're a nutcase to some kind of secret agent…" My voice slowed as I
realized why he'd think that. We both burst into laughter.
"Well if the shoe
fits," Harry said between fits of laughter.
"You don't wear those
shoes anymore, remember? Right?" My laughter slowed when he didn't answer.
My deep-seeded fear that you never really 'retire' from that life moved closer
to the surface. "Right?" I repeated with a tinge of panic.
Harry heard the tone and
understood. He pulled his arm out from mine and slipped it around my shoulders.
"I am one hundred percent retired. My most clandestine op is sneaking
cannoli out of your dad's kitchen."
I leaned into him and turned my
face up. "Oh, wait till I tell."
"I'll share," he
offered, then brought his lips down over mine. A sweet minute later, Harry
lifted his face and smiled. "Mmm.
Lovely." We hadn't heard Bantonini return. It's not like we jumped apart
when we realized he was there, but I felt Harry's shoulders stiffen and I
flushed. Bantonini looked flushed, not from embarrassment, maybe exertion from
the walk.
"Here." He handed
Harry a pair of gloves and a towel. "I'll dig the hole." He walked a
few feet away and started the small excavation. He glanced at us, an odd look
on his face.
Harry pulled on the gloves and
spread the towel on the ground in front of the crate, carefully lifting the
pillow cushioning the skull with one hand. He managed to remove the skeleton
atop the pillow intact. I looked down at the bones, which looked even smaller
set against the backdrop of the large green towel. I wondered at the ages of
the children who buried their beloved pet in such a manner; it would have taken
at least two to carry the box.
"Hullo, what's this?"
I looked at the bottom of the
box where Harry pointed. A flat octagon-shaped piece of metal glinted dull
blue. Harry pinched it up between his fingers. "Some sort of license
tag." He rubbed his thumb over the quarter-size bit of metal to remove the
dirty film. "
I took it from his hand and
performed the cleansing trick I'd learned from my four brothers. A little
spittle on the object, swirled around with your finger, then rubbed hard with
the end of the towel. The I.D. number appeared miraculously. I handed it back
to Harry.
"Will's going to find his
step-mum fascinating." Harry grinned. I shrugged "Same 'be prepared'
crowd.
Harry added the toys to the
blanket and then photographed the empty interior. "That should do
it." We lowered the lid. He gently folded the towel around the skeleton
and carried it to what I hoped would be its final resting place.
Bantonini had dug a more than
adequate hole for the remains that Harry placed in the dirt. "Sorry about
the towel." Harry brushed his hands together to shake off the dirt.
"No problem. It's from my
bathroom; I never liked it." He finished tamping the ground. "Perfect
timing. We should be meeting the boys at the trailer. Parents will be arriving
soon. I want to thank you for your help, with the crate and everything."
"Not at all. I'm sure you
had it under control." He smiled at the leader and motioned for him to
lead. Three more cars sat in the lot. Two of the parents lounged against a car
chatting, apparently accustomed to waiting for their sons. The third parent
remained in the car listening to music, her head bobbing.
We reached the trailer in a
dead heat with the boys. They came from the east side of the lot. Several boys
rushed toward us, indifferent to their waiting parents, calling out in excited
voices. "Mr. Bantonini, we saw it, we saw it."
Harry and I exchanged glances. Saw what? Not another pet burial. The
boys didn't look frightened, but their shouts were upsetting the adults. Brad
brought up the rear with Will limping next to him.
Harry shot across the parking
lot like he'd been launched from a cannon. Much to his credit, he didn't scoop
him up in his arms, although I'm certain he had to fight the urge. Instead, he
walked next to him, slowing his pace to match Will's. Brad moved away and joined
the other boys. I couldn't hear their conversation from this distance, but
Harry calmed down.
The boys gathered around Brad
and their voices rose again. "Tell him, Brad. You saw it too." The
carrot top boy, whom I heard called Tim, demanded.
Edward Bantonini stepped
forward and raised his hand high above his head, his thumb holding down his
pinkie leaving three fingers extended; the universal Boy Scout signal for quiet
and attention. The boys squelched their comments, some in mid sentence.
"We've had an exciting day, an unusual day. Let's do troop business first
and then we can move on. I need all the trash you collected sealed in the bags
and marked with your patrol name. The trash will be weighed and sorted. I'll
know by next meeting which patrol picked up the most trash and if anything was
worth salvage."
More parents had arrived and
most now stood at the back of the circle of boys. A few of the dads who'd been
early leaned toward newcomers, probably filling them in.
"I have a feeling I know
the answer to this, but each patrol needs to vote for the most unusual thing
they found and report it to the troop meeting this week."
The boys started talking at
once. Edward held up his hand and the group fell silent. He continued as though
no one had spoken. "The entire troop will vote for their favorite and the
winning patrol's name will go on the Community Service plaque in our display
case at St. Edgar. Everyone's picture will be in the Pioneer Press. Okay, line
up here in front of the trailer with your bags so I can take the picture."
Brad herded the boys toward the
trailer and arranged the photo, handing one boy a shovel and placing his own
Aussie type hat on another's head. He stepped back to view his work and must
have noticed Will limping into position. Brad disappeared into the trailer and
returned with a walking stick, which he offered to Will. The six-foot hardwood
stick towered over his head, but Will accepted it eagerly.
Harry stood next to me. I
leaned toward him. "How's Will? Is he okay?"
"He says so, but I'm not
sure. Doesn't want to make a fuss. Doesn't want to leave."
I remembered all the scrapes
and bruises, and sprains my brothers had survived on their trail to Eagle.
After the third Morelli joined
"We're ready, Mr.
Bantonini."
The scout leader produced a
camera from inside the Explorer. Harry stepped forward and offered to take the
photo so he could be included. Edward and Brad stood like bookends on either
side of the boys. The shot needed to be redone when Tim flipped bunny ears
behind his buddy's head. The second looked fine, but Harry went for a third,
this time asking the boys to say, 'treasure'. The joy and excitement of being a
new scout popped out on each young face and Harry captured it. Several parents
immediately asked for copies.
"Okay, everything in the
trailer, guys." Brad sheep-dogged his flock. "Will, you can take that
home. Bring it back Thursday night."
Edward Bantonini raised his
magic hand and within seconds had the stage. Even we parents shushed when the
sign went up.
"Scouts, this is your
first community service work. You will receive credit for four hours, which
will help toward your rank advancement. More importantly, you have completed a
service for your community. Countless people will benefit and enjoy the
preserve's natural beauty without tripping over pop bottles."
The red head added, not quite
under his breath, "Yeah, they probably left it this year." Snickers
and giggles followed his comment.
"That's right, Tim. Some
people don't get common courtesy." Bantonini's agreeable comment caught
Tim off guard. "Great job, scouts. You're walking the trail to Eagle. Walk
tall, walk straight, walk true. See you Thursday."
The boys scattered to find
parents. We found ourselves walking alone watching Will make faster progress
using the walking stick. He hobbled ahead with Tim, their faces animated and
their arms gesturing, no doubt recapping the morning's adventure.
A short woman with a familiar
shade of red hair approached us. "Hi. You must be the Marsdens. Tim has
told us about the new scout in the troop. I'm Mary Quigley." She inclined
her head toward the boys ahead of us. "That one is mine."
I smiled and looked at her
hair. "That would have been my guess."
She laughed a genuine sound
with a deep timber for such a small person. "Guess I have to claim him. I
have four boys; two resemble me and two take after their dad." I shook her
hand. "I'm Grace and this is my husband, Harry."
Harry shook hands with her.
"Will has mentioned Tim to us as well. Seems they've become mates."
As soon as my husband spoke,
the dreamy film slipped across her eyes. A totally predictable response to my
six-foot tall, blond haired, blue-eyed husband's fabulous English accent. I
know; I fell hard the first time I met him over ten years ago. I turned away to
hide the smile that had spread unbidden across my face. Tally one more for the
Brits.
Mary Quigley blinked quickly
and returned to the here and now. I'm never sure where women go in their minds
when they first talk to Harry. I remember my particular flight of fancy. Lucky
me, I got to live it.
"Oh, ah, yes. Tim talks
about Will all the time. Too bad he didn't bridge with the boys in April, he
could have gone to summer camp. This troop doesn't camp as much as it used to
when my brother and husband were in it in fact hardly at all. Tim loved camp.
Of course, he's known about
"Will never bridged from
any pack. His mum's job kept him moving around a bit until this year. He's
thrilled to be a scout."
I saw the confusion on Mary's
face. "I'm the step-mom," I said.
She recovered in a split
second. "Good for you; enjoy the ice cream and the grins then send him
packing."
I burst into laughter, never
having viewed my role in that manner. I felt our connection grow.
She had parked two spaces from
Harry's Jag. Tim and Will leaned against the gleaming black machine. "Mom,
cool car, huh?"
Mrs. Quigley laughed.
"Very cool. Now get your grimy, gritty self off that beautiful
finish." Her son grinned and pushed away from the car. "Tim, this is
Mr. and Mrs. Marsden, Wills parents." Tim nodded hello to me and shook
hands with Harry.
"Hi, nice to meet you.
Roadrunner Patrol is going to win the vote because of Will's picture."
I'd forgotten about the
competition. I wondered if Will had taken a picture of the box before it had
been opened. He had his mother's genes when it came to photography. Several
photos earned ribbons in school contests. Will didn't look pleased with Tim's announcement.
"Tell me about it in the
car, Tim. We're picking up
Harry unlocked his car and
directed his son to the back seat. "All right now. You didn't want me to
make a fuss, but everyone has left and I need to see your ankle and foot."
Will sat sideways on the seat
with his legs sticking out. He lifted his injured foot and Harry took hold of
it. He ran his fingers around the ankle. I watched Will's eyes for an expression
of pain, but saw nothing that indicated he was hurting. "Let's remove your
trainer and have a look." Harry unlaced Wills shoe and pulled the tongue
of the sneaker toward him to ease it off.
Wills knee-jerk reaction caught
Harry squarely under his chin and bounced him onto his behind.
Harry rubbed his jaw and
grinned at the small boy. "I guess I found the spot that hurts."
Will looked relieved that Harry
wasn't mad. "Sorry, dad."
"I'll let you remove your trainer. Wiggle it off
the heel and gently..." Harry stopped talking when he looked down at the
foot. Releasing the laces had allowed the foot to swell. Will followed his
dad's eyes and stared at his foot.
"Dad?" The panic in
his voice matched the look in his eyes as he searched his fathers face for an
answer. "It really hurts now." His voice caught and he clamped his
lips together. Tears filled his eyes and slipped down his cheeks. He snuffed up
a couple of breaths to keep from bawling.
"Grace, you drive. Take us
to the nearest hospital. I think it may be broken." He squatted next to
Will. "Hold on there, chap. Slide your legs in proper. That's it. Okay,
buckle in." Harry sprinted around the car and slid in next to Will.
I looked in the rearview mirror
to check their status. I caught Will's eye. Through the pain and the panic I
saw another emotion, one he reserved for me.