Page 45 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
“Wow,” Harper mumbled.
“Right?” Betty gave an exaggerated wince. “She was not a kind-looking lady. In fact, around Shepherd, after her husband died, Mabel ... well, all the Oppermans, didn’t have the best of reputations. Thankfully, my grandpa and daddy changed that in the years that followed.” Betty handed Sebastian a fewmore photographs of her grandfather and of the farm in the 1940s.
“Mabel Opperman wasn’t cooperative in the investigation of Isabelle Addington’s death?” Harper asked.
Norah was happy to let the Blaines interrogate their hosts. She took a tenuous bite of her cookie and listened.
Ron took over this part of the conversation. “From what we’ve been told, there was quite a kerfuffle about the entire situation. Mabel wanted nothing to do with it. Probably wise too.”
“Why’s that?” Sebastian raised a dark brow.
Ron leaned back in his chair and exchanged looks with Betty. “Because apparently the night in question—the night Isabelle Addington was murdered—two young women were witnesses to the murder.”
“At least a portion of it,” Betty corrected.
“Right. Betty’s father told me the story was passed down that one of the women connected with a recent newcomer to town who claimed that Isabelle Addington was his wife. As the story goes, he and this young lady might’ve had something between them too.”
“Not exactly the grieving widower,” Betty concluded.
“Do you know the names?” Sebastian pulled out his phone to take notes.
Betty nodded. “The women who witnessed the murder were the daughters of the Jameses, the ones who owned the bank and who eventually came to own 322 Predicament Avenue. I believe Daddy said the one girl who caused the most scandal was named ... um, Evie—”
“Effie,” Ron corrected. “Her given name was Euphemia James.” He pointed at Sebastian’s phone. “You’ll want to refer to her as that if you’re searching the records.”
“Yes, that’s it.” Betty drummed her fingers on the table as she recalled the details. “The stranger in town was an Englishman like you, Mr. Blaine. Not much was known about him, and I’mnot sure what happened to him. Daddy didn’t seem to know either.”
“And they never found out who murdered Isabelle?” Harper dared a sip of her iced tea. Her eyebrows rose and she took another sip.
“No.” Ron shook his head. “Leastways not that we know of.”
“They never even found herbody!” Betty clarified.
Norah thought of the grave marker in her backyard with Isabelle Addington’s initials etched in the stone.
“How have you come by that information?” Sebastian must have been thinking the same thing.
Betty sighed. “I know there’s a grave, but my daddy always said they just put that there ’cause Isabelle needed a gravesite to be remembered by. The only things linked to Isabelle’s death were the bloodstains and a butcher knife. Of course, without DNA and all that science stuff, the knife was just a knife. There wasn’t any way of telling for sure who killed the woman.”
“What was the name of the Englishman who got together with the James woman?” Sebastian asked, typing something into his phone.
“Went by the name of Anderson. Not sure what his first name was.”
“Anderson?” Norah stiffened. Her little outburst caused four sets of eyes to swing in her direction.
“It’s a common name, Norah,” Sebastian stated, “but do you recognize somethin’?”
“Maybe. I mean...” Norah tried to control the roll in her stomach. “One of the people questioned after Naomi’s death was a LeRoy Anderson.”
“That’s right.” Betty’s fingers pressed against her lips.
“I’m sure there’s no connection.” Ron quickly tried to downplay it. “Probably coincidental is all.”
“Yeah, Anderson is a very typical surname.” Harper reached across the table as if to grasp Norah’s hands.
Norah knew they were right. That nothing about Isabelle Addington’s case had anything to do with Naomi’s own murder decades later. But the similarities, the location, and now the name ... it was bringing it all back.
She could no longer reason away the library card left on her dresser, nor the woman who had floated through the doorway.
