“George Beaulac was a real bum,” said Mrs. Lapierre. “Took a lot of drugs.”
“Do you know what happened to him? Did he see Mary or the kids again?”
“Don’t know,” said Claude, “but I’m inclined to doubt it. He was a bum.”
“Well, I need to find him,” I muttered, more to myself than to either of them. “I really need to know where George Beaulac is now.”
“Up to no good for sure,” said Mrs. Lapierre.
Chapter 109
I DIDN’T BOTHER TAKING NOTES after that. Whatever wasn’t already written down, I wouldn’t need. A whirring sound had been coming from the kitchen, and I finally asked Mrs. Lapierre about it. I never would have guessed what the sound was. Turned out she was making venison jerky in a dehydrator.
“Where were Mary’s parents during all of this?” I asked, moving back to more pertinent questions.
Again, Mrs. Lapierre shook her head. She topped off my coffee cup while her husband continued.
“Rita died when Mary was about five, I guess. Ted raised her, pretty much on his own, though he didn’t seem to put a lot of effort into it. Nothing illegal, just real sad. And then he died, too, the year Brendan was born, I think.”
“He smoked like a chimney,” Madeline said. “Lung cancer took him. That poor girl never got a break.”
After George Beaulac left, Mary fell in with another local man, a part-time mechanic by the name of John Constantine.
“He started running around on her almost as soon as she got pregnant,” Madeline said. “It was no great secret. By the time Adam was six months old, John was gone for good, too.”
Claude spoke now. “If I had to guess, I’d say that’s when she really went downhill, but who knows. You don’t see someone for a while, you just assume they’re busy or something. And then one day, boom. That was it. She must have snapped. It fel
t sudden, but it probably wasn’t. I’m sure it was building up over a long period.”
I sipped my coffee and took a polite bite of scone. “I’d like to go back to the day of the murders now. What did Mary have to say when she was caught, Sheriff?”
“This is more piecework than anything, just my memories. We never got a peep out of Mary about the murders after her arrest.”
“Anything you can tell me would be helpful. Try to think, Sheriff.”
Madeline took a deep breath and put a hand flat on top of her husband’s on the couch cushion. They both had the solid quality of old farm stock, not unlike what I’d seen in Mary at times.
“It looks like she took them for a picnic that day. Drove way out in the woods. We found the spot later, just by luck. That’s where she shot them. One, two, three, in the back of the head.
“The ME thinks she laid them down, like maybe for a nap, and I’m guessing she did the older two first, since the baby couldn’t run away.”
I waited patiently for him to go on. I knew that the passage of time didn’t make this kind of thing any easier to remember and talk about.
“She carefully wrapped them each in a blanket. I still remember those old army blankets she used. Terrible. Then it looks like she took them home and did the knife work on Ashley there. All over her face and just on her for some reason. I’ll never forget it. I’d like to, but I can’t.”
“And were you the first one to find them?” I asked.
He nodded. “Mary’s boss called and said he hadn’t seen Mary for days. Mary didn’t have a phone at the time, so I said I’d go over. I thought it was just a courtesy call. Mary came to the door like there was nothing going on, but I could smell it right away. Literally. She’d put them all in a trunk in the basement—in August—and just left them there. I guess she blocked that smell out like everything else. I still can’t explain any of it. Not even now, after all these years.”
“Sometimes there is no explanation,” I said.
“Anyway, she didn’t put up any resistance whatsoever. We took her in quietly.”
“It was a huge story, though,” Madeline said.
“That’s true. Put Derby Line on the map for about a week. Hope it doesn’t happen again now.”
“Did either of you see Mary after she was committed?”