Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery Read online

  * * *

  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’.”

  He brought me over to one of the unoccupied tables, waiting for me to sit before he took his own seat alongside me.

  I found it hard to begin. “What was he like?” I asked at last.

  He smiled, his eyes misting for a moment. “He enjoyed life,” he stated. He glanced around him. “He loved it here. He was the head honcho, and it seemed that everyone who met him adored him.”

  “But not his friends from his youth?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “So Matthew told you about the four hobbits?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, John would laugh about that. I think he felt he had outgrown that group; they had stayed within their little village while he had gone off and seen the world. He thought they could no longer relate to all the things he had done and experienced.”

  “And you?”

  “I was in politics, like John. I grew up in Texas, became an Army Ranger out of high school, and then went here and there for quite a while. When I ended up in Sutton after I retired, John and I became fast friends.” A shadow crossed his eyes. “He was taken far too soon. A horrible, tragic accident.”

  I leant forward. “So you feel it was the hunter?”

  One eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Why, what else could it be?”

  I lowered my voice. “Well, they have not found the bullet yet,” I confided. “And the hunter swears he was not shooting in that direction.”

  His brows creased. “So you think someone did this to him deliberately?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what I think,” I admitted. “It just seems very odd. He should have known better than to be in those woods in the middle of hunting season, dressed in forest green. Where was his car? And he just happens to be shot by the lone hunter who is aiming in the opposite direction?”

  He nodded slowly. “I see your point. What do the police think?”

  “The police are still investigating; perhaps they will come up with something soon. After all, it has only been a few days.”

  His lips pressed together. “From what I read, if a crime is not solved within the first forty-eight hours, the chances of doing so drop. Any traces of evidence are quickly washed away.”

  A woman’s voice called out from the far end of the table. “Scrabble!”

  He looked up. “I am afraid they need me to make a fourth,” he admitted. “But if you are serious –”

  I shook my head, not sure of anything at all. “I am still wound up from what I saw,” I demurred. “I only have vague worries and unsettled feelings.”

  “Still,” he pressed. “If you’re fixin’ to poke into this, I would be interested in hearing any news you come across. John was a good friend of mine. Perhaps this would be worth us looking into further.”

  I nodded my head. “Maybe when the M.E. report is finalized we’ll know more.”

  “That’s a good idea, to wait to see what it says,” he agreed. “Can we touch base then?”

  I nodded, and he took my hand for a moment before turning away.