The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress

Chapter Seventeen





BELGRADE LAKES, MAINE, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1930



THE second time Detective Simon came to the cabin, he wore a look of exhaustion along with his three-piece suit. He took off his fedora as he stepped through Stella’s front door. “Good morning, Mrs. Crater.”

She looked over his wrinkled suit and puffy eyes. “Up late?”

“I took the night train.” He held a large envelope in one hand, and with the other he motioned toward the kitchen table. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

“Can I bother you for a glass of water? The walk is rather long from the station.”

“If I’d known you were coming, I would have sent Fred to pick you up.” It would have given Fred something to do. Stella didn’t go out much these days, and he spent most of his time in the garage repeatedly washing the car.

Jude looked behind her, as though searching for something. “Short notice.”

Stella led him to the table, where Emma worked a crossword puzzle. She gave her mother a look that clearly indicated her presence was not necessary. Emma collected her pen and newspaper and retreated to the gazebo so she could keep an eye on them through the kitchen window.

Stella went to the sink and turned on the tap. She let it run for several seconds before lifting a glass from the cupboard.

For most of the year, Belgrade Lakes maintained a crisp temperature, dipping into the single digits in winter. But during the summer, the earth softened, warming the waters. In late August and early September, the lake began to turn as the upper layer of water competed for dominance with the cool underbelly. This turning created a unique taste to the water. A bit muddy. The locals had long since learned that a few cubes of ice and a slice of lemon could disguise the flavor. Stella dropped both into the glass and set it on the table. She took a seat across from him.


Jude drained half the glass in one gulp and then slid the envelope across the table. “A special delivery.”

She didn’t open it.

“It seems you’ve been difficult to contact, Mrs. Crater.”

She set her hands in her lap but did not respond.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a questionnaire.”

“I’ll be sure to fill it out and send it back to”—she peered at the envelope and read the name—“District Attorney Thomas Crain when I have a few moments.”

Jude scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. My instructions were to supervise your answers.”

“I am forty-three years old. I don’t need supervision.”

“That is a legal document. And it needs a legal witness. Seeing as how I’m an officer of the law, that means me.”

After several uneasy moments, Stella picked up the envelope. There was no postmark. No stamp. She scratched the upper right-hand corner with a thumbnail. Inside were three sheets of Crain’s letterhead. A total of twenty-nine neatly typed questions. She skimmed them quickly. The first few were questions she’d been asked already:

When was the last time you saw your husband?

Did your husband come in contact with anyone suspicious in the days leading up to his disappearance?

Did your husband indicate that he was in any sort of trouble?

But halfway down the first page, they became more salacious, and she clenched her jaw.

Did your husband have a history of infidelity?

Was your husband involved in any illicit business affairs?

Were there any large cash withdrawals from your bank account in the weeks leading up to your husband’s disappearance?

Did your husband frequent any establishments of ill repute?

Stella threw the questionnaire on the table. “What is this?”

“I didn’t write them. I’m only the messenger.”

“They’re insulting.”

Jude looked at her, his pupils large in the dim light, and steepled his fingers. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss them, Mrs. Crater. It may well be that you don’t know your husband the way you imagine.”

The tremor began in her shoulder and ran all the way to the tip of her index finger. She pointed it squarely in Jude’s face. “How dare you.”

He lifted a sheet from the pile and tapped one of the questions. “Take this, for example: ‘Who would your husband be most likely to communicate with—aside from yourself, of course—if he were in distress or in trouble?’ ”

They stared unblinking at one another.

She was stingy with her admission, offering only a halfhearted shrug.

“I have to wonder, Mrs. Crater, how well you actually know your husband if such a basic question leaves you without an answer.”

Stella’s eyes itched with tears, but she resisted the urge to rub them. When her response came, it sounded hollow and dishonest. “Joe is a good man.”

“Are you sure?” Jude slid his pen across the table.

It took some time before she had the courage to pick it up.

“I would remind you, Mrs. Crater,” he prodded gently, “that the grand jury will regard any omissions or false information as cause for legal action.”

“You threaten me in my own home?”

“Not at all. I simply mean to reinforce the seriousness of this matter.” He took another long sip of water.

Stella plucked the cap off the pen and stared at its sharp point. “I haven’t seen my husband in almost two months. Do you think that I have forgotten for one moment how serious this is?”

Jude’s expression—the flinty blue eyes and hard set of his mouth—made her realize that he was far shrewder than he let on. “I doubt very much that you have forgotten anything.”

Stella read the remaining questions, and her fury grew with each line:

Before this instance has your husband ever absented himself without letting you know his whereabouts?

Did you notice anything strange about your husband’s behavior leading up to his disappearance?

Has your husband recently suffered from memory loss?

Have you received any monies from anyone since August 5th, 1930, which may have come from Judge Crater indirectly or which were advanced to you on his account?

Who was the first person you communicated with when you suspected he had disappeared?

Will you please list the names of your husband’s most intimate social friends, along with their addresses?

On and on they went, questions about Joe’s business dealings and how he spent his spare time. Several others sought information on their bank accounts and safe-deposit box. The district attorney wanted to know who Joe’s investment banker was and about any money that may have gone unreported. It seemed no area of their lives was off-limits from intrusion.

“None of this has to do with Joe’s disappearance.” She shook the papers in Jude’s face. “It’s a waste of time.”

“Please answer them to the best of your ability,” he said.

That was the last Stella argued with him. She turned her full attention to the questionnaire. Of the twenty-nine questions, thirteen were answered with a single word. To four she responded with I don’t know. Two she replied to with flat-out lies. And one she left blank altogether. The rest she attacked with an acerbic wrath, pen imprinting the paper so deeply that it almost cut through. No sooner had she signed her name than she shoved the questionnaire across the table. “There.”

Jude collected the three sheets of paper, tapped them on the table until the corners lined up crisply, and slid them back in the envelope. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Crater.”

“I’ll thank you not to waste it again.”