Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 20

My dad's eyes brightened. "So, what is your heritage?"

Jason rubbed a hand on his chin. "Well, on my mother's side ..."

I sat back to listen. I had helped my father enough with genealogy over the years to know this conversation could go on for hours. Jason's family, like many in these parts, had an intermingling of just about everything. Some English, some German, some Native American, a smidgen of Irish, a dash of French, and of course there were always the mystery lines you could never quite pin down.

It was just after two before our name was finally called and we were ushered into the back card room. I was happy for the quiet. The Publick House was true to its heritage, retaining the plank floors, wood ceilings, and bare walls from its 1771 construction. That meant that the main dining room was often quite loud and hard to hear in. This back room held only four tables and was much quieter than even the reception room. We settled into our chairs. Dad and Jason went merrily back to their genealogy track, with Dad explaining how we connected back to the Oxendine family in North Carolina, part of the Lumbee tribe. On another line we traced to a poet in England.

I glanced around occasionally, but while our waitress came in and out to service the other tables, it took another half hour until we even had our water glasses filled, the apple cider poured, and our order taken. Certainly I understood they were busy, but Thanksgiving here sells out a month in advance. The administration knew exactly how many people were coming and surely they should have been prepared with ample staff and properly spaced out seatings. It seemed that not only had they tried to cram seatings in too close to each other but they hadn't brought in adequate staff to handle the flow.

Our salads came with the traditional maple dressing along with the cloth-covered basket of bread baked in their very own bakery. Finally, something to eat! I declined eating any bread, but the others selected from the cornbread, sticky-buns, and fresh rolls.

The interruption had finally shaken the two men loose from their genealogy conversation, and Zelda took advantage of the break to lean forward. "I want to hear more about this research you've been doing on the man you found in the woods. His name was John?"

I nodded. "We had thought he was accidentally shot by a hunter, but it seems more and more likely it's murder."

Her brows creased. "Are you sure you should be poking around in a murder?"

I nudged Jason with my elbow. "I have Jason by my side," I pointed out. "I doubt someone who could only handle an elderly man by sneaking him into a barely-used corner of the woods would want to take the two of us on in broad daylight. I imagine when we get close that he'll simply run for it and we can turn the whole matter over to the police."

She pursed her lips. "Why not just let the police handle it now?"

I gave a soft shrug. "They are doing all they can, of course," I agreed. "But they still seem to think the death was accidental."

Her eyes sharpened. "And you think it's not?"

"There was this drowning back in 1968, in Lake Singletary," I explained. "I just have this sense it's related to that somehow. I can't explain why. According to Jason's contacts the police don't agree, so I'll do my best on my own."

The waitress came by and replaced our salad plates with our appetizers. My plate sported three pink shrimp with a small pool of cocktail sauce. My father had gotten the same thing. Jason took a spoon and carefully tapped on the crust that had formed on his corn chowder. Zelda took a careful sip of her harvest bisque, then sighed. "Barely lukewarm," she reported.

"Well, at least we're eating now," I pointed out with a chuckle.

She took another sip. "Tell me everything from start to finish. Maybe I can help with a pair of fresh eyes."