Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (9 page)

“S
o,” I said to Andrew later that day. “I need a project for a handyman. Make yourself useful and give me some ideas.” We were  in the living room. I was seated in my favorite chair with my knitting  in hand.

“You’re asking my advice? That’s a first.”

“That’s not true.  But I’d like it if you’d just come up with an idea for this problem, please.”

He studied me, a puzzled expression dominating his handsome face. “Well, the kitchen could use some work.”

“Which part… exactly?”

“The screen on the back door needs replacing. But that’s a job better put off until summer.”

“Agreed.” I pulled out additional yarn. I was starting another baby blanket. A pink one this time to balance out the blue one I’d deliver to Laura tomorrow. “Do you have any other ideas?”

His face brightened. “Why don’t you replace the hardware on your cupboard doors? The things you have now are kind of old. I think it might improve the looks of the place. Plus it’s the kind of job anyone could probably do. Do you have a specific handyman in mind?”

“Of course I do. You said Oberton seemed to be interested in George Pratt. So I thought we should have him over and take a look at him.”

“Are you giving up on our other suspects?”

“No, I’m expanding my list, that’s all.”

“And you want me to help.”

“I’m fine with that as long as you don’t scare him to death.”

Andrew smiled. “Are you beginning to trust me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Trust doesn’t figure into this. You’re a figment of my imagination.”

“That’s what you think.”

“That’s what I
know
,” I responded curtly.

Andrew shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

So that’s how George Pratt came to be standing in my living room the next day. I’d never met him face to face when I’d used him to fix Carrie’s closet wall. I’d called him. Hired him over the phone. And Rose had let him in to do the work.

Now, I motioned him to have a seat on my living room sofa. With a grizzled face and snow-white hair, I figured he had to be a little older than I was. He wore a plaid shirt and dungarees and seemed delighted to be here.

He looked like a candidate for the Friendliest Grandfather of the Year, and I wondered what it was about him that had put him on Oberton’s suspect list.

Andrew hovered beside me.  His face was intense as he studied the man. “The dude doesn’t look very deadly,” he whispered.

I ignored Andrew and explained to Pray the work I wanted done.

“It won’t take me long to put new hardware on them cupboard doors. Anything else you want me to tackle… while I’m here?”

“What else can you do?”

Prat beamed at me. “I can handle just about any job you send my way.”

“I have a number of projects for spring and summer. The back door needs a screen replaced, and I’d like some the rooms painted.”

“I’m your man, then. I’m never happier than when I got a paintbrush in my hands. No need to wait though. I can paint now.”

“I’m sorry. It’s me. Paint fumes make me ill. So I need to have the windows open when you’re painting.”

“Oh well, that’s not so bad. This winter weather is bound to give up soon. Anyway, I can do the cupboards tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Sounds perfect. Someone mentioned you did some work for Mrs. Whitcomb?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Boy, that’s been ages ago. But I sure did. Wonderful woman. She took me on full time. How about that?”

“It’s so sad what happened to her.”

“That it is. It made no sense to me. She was a spunky lady. I can’t see what could have dragged her down so low that she killed herself.”

I glanced up at Andrew. He hovered there, his eyebrows raised as he studied the man. I wasn’t sure what I was getting from this session with Prat, but at least Andrew appeared to be feeling useful.

***

“What are you doing?” Andrew asked.

We were in the kitchen, where I’d taken myself after Prat’s departure. I glanced up at Andrew.

“I’m calling Jennifer Tyler.”

“She’s Carrie’s niece, right?”

“That’s correct”

I suppressed a groan. I hated explaining myself to a ghost.

“Hello?”

I pulled my attention back to my phone call. “Jennifer?”

“Yes?”

“How are you. This is Hetty Fox.”

We exchanged a few pleasantries before I got down to the heart of my call. “Jennifer, I’ve called to ask you what you knew about Carrie’s inheritance of Mrs, Whitcomb’s estate?”

“That old crone left my aunt money?”

Well apparently that took care of that question.

“Yes. It was said to be a great deal of money, too.”

“Then where did it go?”

“That’s exactly my question.”

“You thought I knew about this?”

“I had wondered, that’s all.”

Her voice darkened. “You think I made off with it.”

“No. No. No. It’s nothing like that. I was just hoping you could help me make sense of it. I saw Carrie’s house. If she had money, she certainly didn’t show it off.”

“Jennifer scoffed. “Even if she had money, her house would have looked like that. She wasn’t big on spending money. I can’t blame her. Our whole clan was us short of funds most of the time.”

“Why was that?”

“My dad was a drunk. My uncle disliked working. All they ever managed to do was keep us one step ahead of a trip to the poor house.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Thank you. Anyway, I’m sure you’re quite wrong. I’m the administrator of Carrie’s will. If she’d had this wealth you seem to be talking about, I would have found it in a savings account, or checking account. or investments, or something. But nothing like that has turned up. I think what you’ve heard is a lot of hot air.”

“Did you find a bank deposit box?”

“No. The attorney checked with local banks. There wasn’t one. Besides, what makes you think Mrs. Whitcomb’s estate was so large? Maybe she sent everything she had before she died.”

“I’ve thought of that, but there still would have been the profit from the sale of her house, you see.”

“Yeah. It was a pretty splendid place. I suppose it brought a hefty price, too.” She sighed. “It was bad enough Carrie died the way she did. Now, you’re telling me she was also robbed?”

“It looks that way.”

There was a long silence.

“Jennifer?”

“Sorry. I was thinking. It’s bad enough that Aunt Carrie was murdered, but to think she might have been robbed, too. It’s almost too much to take in.”

“I am sorry.”

The line went dead.

***

When my doorbell rang later that day, I discovered Detective Oberton standing on my front porch. “May I come in?” he asked.

Wondering what could go wrong next, I suppressed a sigh. “Certainly,” I said, stepping aside to let him in.

”It’s warming up out there,” he told me as I led him to the living room.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied. He sat on the couch. I opted for the armchair across from him. “But I doubt the advent of spring is what brought you to my door.”

He smiled. “Well no, it’s not. The truth is I got an earful about you from Jennifer Tyler today.”

My jaw dropped. “She called you?”

“She did. She complained that you’re harassing her.”

“All I wanted was to see if she knew about Mrs. Whitcomb’s will.”

“She said you almost accused her of making off with her aunt’s money.”

I squirmed in my seat. “Yes, she did mention that.”

Oberton expelled a lungful of air and leaned closer toward me. “Mrs. Fox, I applaud your desire to help us with our investigation, but it’s really not necessary. We’re perfectly capable of solving crimes on our own. Plus, I could charge you with hindering a police investigation.”

“But… but…”

“Please understand me. I don’t want to do that. But this is not a game. There’s a killer out there. He or she has killed twice. The murderer is unlikely to come after me. But you’re a different story. Have you thought about that?”

I shook my head.

“Mrs. Fox….”

“Hetty,” I said.

He nodded and started over. “Hetty, I don’t want to have to solve your murder.”

I swallowed hard.

Blackie trotted into the room. He hopped onto my lap and turned himself to stare straight at Oberton. I moved his tail aside to look past him. But he didn’t move a muscle. I got the impression Blackie felt he was doing guard duty, and apparently I was the treasure he was prepared to defend.

A fact which I found quite touching.

Oberton glanced at the cat and smiled. “Well, I’ve basically delivered my message. And I guess, looking at your cat that my time is up?”

I managed a small laugh. “Quite possibly. But I do appreciate your stopping by. It was kind of you. I trust I’m not being arrested?”

“No, Jennifer has no desire to press charges. She just wanted to register a private complaint with me, which I’ve now passed along to you.”

I nodded and considered myself lucky.

***

“He’s wrong, you know,” Andrew said when I closed the front door on Oberton’s departing back.

“He’s not wrong. I’m in over my head. Obviously I don’t know what I’m doing. The police are much better equipped to handle murders than I am.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Hetty. Did they find the box behind the closet wall?”

“No, but…”

“Did they know about the inheritance and the missing money?”

“In both cases I ran into gossip that tipped me off.”

“Nonsense. You ran into nothing. You went out there, tracking down leads. And did they give you any credit for your discoveries?”

“Well… not exactly.”

“Precisely. I don’t want you to get yourself into any danger. But you don’t owe the police anything.”

I sank into my chair. “It’s all academic, anyway. I have no idea of where to look next.”

“That’s not true. Prat is coming tomorrow to upgrade the cupboards. In the meantime, I think I’m going to visit his house tonight.”

And with that Andrew vanished. Except for Blackie, I was now alone in my house. “Oh fuss and bother.” I picked up my knitting.

Blackie, wrapped himself around my ankles.

“Treat?” I asked.

He meowed.

“Good. I bought a brand new box of peanut butter cookies the other day.” We set off for the kitchen, where I dragged out two packages of treats. a bag of cat cookies for him, and a bag of peanut butter cookies for me,.

A
ndrew popped back into the living room at about nine that night. The radio was playing soothing music while my knitting needles clacked. On spotting Andrew, I let my knitting sag to my lap. “Feeling better, are we, now that you’ve made your little declaration of independance from me?”

He chuckled. “I’m better informed, at any rate.”

“Where have you been?”

“Visiting our dear friend, Prat.

“Shame on you, bothering that poor old man in the privacy of his home.”

“Pratt wasn’t being private. He was out whooping it up at the bar on Walsh Street.”

“Please, tell me you didn’t go into a bar.”

Andrew’s brows furrowed. “Aren’t you interested in what I learned?”

“I dislike having you wander about town. You know that.”

“And that’s a narrow view of things.”

“I can’t help it.” I was still torn in two at the sight of him.  A part of me believed Andrew wasn’t real. Yet at the same time, I had this insane fear of his being seen by others. He’d once told me I should be glad he’d returned to my life. Well, he was wrong. My life was much simpler when it was just Blackie and me.

Andrew drifted closer. “What would you say if I told you, our humble handyman is a rich dude?”

My head jerked upright. “I find that highly unlikely. I saw him when he was here. A  plaid shirt and faded jeans do not a rich man make.”

“He was buying rounds in the bar almost all night. And when I followed him home, I found he manages to live quite well.”

“Define well.”

“His house looks pretty routine outside, but inside is a much different matter. His appliances are all new, all top-of-the-line. His furniture is of excellent quality, He has one of those huge TVs. Plus, buying rounds for a bar as busy as the one he was in tonight does not come cheap.”

My brows slid together. “How odd. He seemed so eager to get his hands on any  kind of work that I thought he was probably desperate for money.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants you to think.”

“And from what you saw tonight, you don’t think he’s hurting for money?”

“Well, he might not quite qualify for an episode in “The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,” but he’s darn close.”

“How can that be?”

“Maybe he earned every dime of it  through hard work.”

“I don’t know too many old, rich handymen,” I argued. “Maybe he inherited the money from his parents or an aunt or something.”

“Or possibly he latched onto it through the magic of his thieving fingers. You want to learn where all of Mrs. Whitcomb’s money went. And here’s a guy who’s surprisingly rich. Two plus two is supposed to make four, and usually it does,”

I eyed Andrew skeptically. “I never knew you were this suspicious.”

“Me?” He laughed. “Suspicious? That’s a hoot, coming from you.”

I scowled. “Don’t be silly. I’m a very trusting person.”

He chuckled. “Right.”

I sighed. “This arguing won’t get us anywhere. We need to figure out how to check up on this information of yours.”

Blackie hopped up and curled himself into a ball on my lap. Absentmindedly, I stroked his head. “I guess the most logical place to start is with his background.”

“It’s too bad you’re not originally from here, then you’d already know all this stuff.”

I smiled. “He’s due here tomorrow. I hired him to give me a chance to question him. I’ll just have a few more questions to put to him, that’s all.”

“And what makes you think he’ll tell you the truth?”

“I’ll have to check what he tells me with whatever facts I can find.”

And having come across the most promising lead I’d had yet on Carrie’s death, I went to bed that night rather hyped up
— which isn’t exactly the best thing to do. I tossed and turned wondering where my questions might lead, and not even Blackie’s purrs and nuzzles helped me get to sleep.

But my thoughts all returned to one person. Jennifer Tyler. Just because our Prat seemed a good possibility for the killer, I felt it was too early to leave Jennifer out of the mix. But with her living in a Chicago suburb, I couldn’t exactly drive past her house to check her out her lifestyle.

Then my thoughts turned to my old friend, Sandy Beckett. She lived in a suburb very near to the one Jennifer called home. I was almost certain Sandy would eyeball Jennifer’s house for me if asked. I sat straight up in bed and grabbed a piece of paper and pencil from my nightstand. I dashed the idea down to be certain to remember it the next morning.

***

The next day dawned bright with promise. I rushed through my morning routine, wolfed down two slices of toast and took my blood pressure pills before reaching for the telephone. Sandy answered my call on the second ring.

“Hetty, I’m so glad to hear from you. I’ve been wondering how you survived the move?”

“It’s gone well.”

“Do you really think you’ll be happy in such a small town.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable  question. I’d lived in Chicago or its suburbs for all of my life. I’d worried, myself, about how well I’d adapt to living my life within a town about six miles square. Of course there were such things as cars and trains and airplanes for those moments when I wanted to escape. But so far, I’d felt no urge to take flight.

“Actually, I love it here,” I said. “There’s a lot less traffic to fight, which is a blessing, and the people are very friendly. And then there’s the plus of living near Mega and her darling little boys.”

Sandy chuckled. “I can see the attraction. Living near family is nice. But what about the other folks down there.”

“Well, there’s a wee bit of gossip that bounces around, but there’s also a library stuffed full of good mystery books, and I’ve joined a knitting group.”

“Fair enough, then. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

We chatted on for awhile, catching up on the latest news of children and grandchildren and various friends. Finally, I moved on to the purpose behind the call. “Sandy, I was wondering if you’d do me a favor?”

“Of course, What do you need?”

“I hoped you’d drive past a young woman’s house for me. She lives in a suburb very near you. I’d like to know what her lifestyle is like.”

“And how am I to judge that?”

“Just note her house, and cars if any are showing. It’s not scientific. But it might give me information I don’t have yet.”

“Um, is this for real?”

“Unfortunately, yes. A woman and her nephew were murdered recently, and well… I’ve become rather nosey about it, I guess.”

“And my drive by of the house would have something to do with her death?”

“Yes, the person in question is the woman’s niece. Lovely girl, I’m sure. It’s just that there seems to be all this money missing. So I’m trying to see who might have made off with it.”

“And you suspect the niece?”

“Actually, for now, I suspect everyone.”

“How did you become involved in this?”

“Unfortunately, I found the body.”

“Goodness, what a peaceful, small town you live in.”

I laughed. Don’t be silly. Hendricksville is fine. Will you do it for me? Will you give her house a once over?”

“You know I will. I can’t go today, but I can get to it tomorrow. I’ll give you a call after the dirty deed is done.”

***

George Pratt showed up at my house at exactly ten that morning. He stood outside the back door, toolbox in hand and a friendly grin lighting up his broad face. “I’ve come to get that kitchen of yours spruced up,” he said.

“I’m delighted to hear it. Please, come in.” I swung the door wide. Happy employee, pleased employer. What a pair we made.

“I have the hardware here,” I said, leading him to the table. The packages waited his inspection. “Have a seat. I’ll get us some coffee.”

“Aw, that’s nice of you. But I don’t drink that stuff anymore. Just pass me the hardware and I’ll get to it.”

“Ah….” The man was ruining my planned interrogation of him. Over his shoulder, I spotted Andrew, who, with his arms folded across his chest, was enjoying my discomfort. “But I bought coffeecake. Won’t you at least have a piece of that?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m supposed to watch my sugar.”

“Oh.” And with that my whole plan went out the window.

“So are these the goodies?” he asked, picking up one of the hardware packets.

“Yes.”

“Very nice. They should look good on those old cupboards of yours.”

“The cupboards are ancient. That’s part of their charm for me. This spring, I’d like you to paint them.”

“All you have to do is tell  me when, and I’ll be at your door at the time of your choosing.”

I glanced around the kitchen. “All my life I’ve wanted to live in an old house with painted cupboards.”

“Well, we all have our dreams, don’t we? As far as old houses, though, you’ve got yourself a doozie.”

“Do you like it?”

“If you like old houses, yeah, I’d say this is a prime piece of architecture.”

“Do you have any idea how old the place is?”

“Nah, I just fix ‘em. I don’t make a study of ‘em.”

Given his responses,  I began to suspect I wouldn’t have gotten much out of him, even if he had sat down to share coffeecake with me.

So for the rest of the hour, which was all this job of mine  took, I followed him about the kitchen and asked pushy questions.

I think if I’d been in his shoes, I’d have told me to back off. But he didn’t.

“So did you know Carrie Flynt?”

“The woman who died?”

“Yes. She was murdered, you know.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Did you know her?”

“Sure. I know most people around here. At least if they’re near my age, that is. The young folks, not so much.”

He whipped out a screwdriver and proceeded to remove the first handle. “You know I’m going to have take these cupboard doors off, when I paint the cupboards. You could save yourself some money by having it all done in one swoop. You dash down to the store now and come back with the paint, and I’ll have the cupboards done up in no time.”

“I told you, I don’t want the painting done until I can open the windows.”

“Suit yourself, then.”

I took our conversation back to my interest. “You worked for Mrs. Whitcomb?”

“Yup. I told you that the last time we spoke.”

“Would you know if she had much money when she died?”

‘What’s that to you?”

I stood and watched while he installed a new handle. Then he repeated the work with the second one. “

Well?” he asked, when he turned the last screw.

“Ah…ah...,” I stammered. “Some of the women I knit with. You know? They said she was worth at least a million dollars.”

“And I’d say that was her business.”

Oh good grief. This man was useless. “You worked for her. Who’d know better than you?”

“She paid me to work, not to walk around sharing her secrets. Besides, she didn’t tell me her business.  And I didn’t tell her mine.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “You must have heard something.”

“Look lady, I came here to work. I can charge more. Keep hanging around asking questions, and you might find that out.”

“Right.”

Well, there went that plan.