Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 4

I sat at my kitchen table, holding the mug of tea in my hands, looking out at the feeder in the side yard. A blue jay hung on the side of the sunflower seed feeder, hogging the seeds, swallowing them whole. A brave chickadee swooped to the opposite side, grabbed a hold of a single seed, then flitted away.

A movement caught my eye, and I smiled as a small flock of juncos descended on the cracked corn I had scattered on the larger rock at the edge of the property line. Winter was coming. The foraging of the small half-grey, half-white birds was one of the clearest indications we had that snow was just around the corner. Luckily I had already put away all the lawn items last week before Sandy descended on the region, so I was ready for the snow. Last year we had the infamous Halloween nor'easter which blanketed us with nearly a foot. Perhaps we were lucky that it was November fourth and we were still snow-free.

I sighed and sipped my tea, rolling my head along my shoulders. I hadn't slept well last night, and once again my yoga routine in the morning had failed to bring me peace. My hands still smelt of rosemary from where I had run them through my container plant before beginning yoga practice. I breathed in the pungent smell.

At last I grabbed one of my hemp bags and began filling it with the leftover cookie packs from Halloween. I had only had nineteen kids this year, in three large groups. This left me with quite a few goodie bags which needed to go to the food pantry before they ended up in my stomach. I knew that part of the lure was that the food pantry was located in the Sutton Senior Center, and I was curious to see what the talk was there about John's death.

* * *

The Sutton Senior Center is located on Hough Road. To its left was a playground, complete with softball field and slide. To its right lay a large cemetery. I often wondered how the seniors felt about that, sandwiched between the joyful activity of youth and a final resting place.

The building was low, long, and fairly pleasant. An administrative counter lay to the left as I came in, and I knew Matthew's computer lab and training area was through a door to the right. I moved to the counter, hefting my bag of goodies onto the wood.

I called out through the open doorway to the woman sitting in the office beyond. "A few things for the pantry," I let her know with a smile.

"Certainly," she responded brightly, coming over to meet me. "I am sure these will be appreciated as we head into the holiday season. Just leave them in that box there." She motioned to a cardboard box to the left of the counter.

I nodded, depositing the items where she asked, then moved down the hall to the main room. A scattering of round tables and wooden chairs were arranged on a blue-and-white diamond-tiled floor. There were perhaps fifteen people sitting and talking quietly. Most of the seniors were female, but there were a few men peppering the room. For today, at least, the predominant color of clothing was somber black.

One of the men looked up as I entered, and he stood to come greet me. He had dark hair with just a single streak of grey along his left temple. He was slender, but far from gaunt, and his dark eyes held a thriving strength to them.

"You'll be Morgan," he welcomed me with a gentle Texan drawl. "Matthew said you might be by. I'm Adam; John was a dear friend of mine."

"I am sorry for your loss," I offered, taking his hands in mine. They were thin, but far from feeble. "Matthew said that you and John spent a lot of time together."

He nodded in agreement. "Yes, we did. When I moved up from Texas, some fifteen years ago, John was the one who welcomed me and made me feel at home. He and I shared a love of fishin'."