Bring Home the Murder (6 page)

 

Chapter 10

A
few days later, Meggie hummed to herself at the kitchen table. She stuffed a letter into an envelope, addressed it and placed a stamp in the corner, then leaned it against the sugar bowl. Eve Moore Davenport, the only child of Walter and Meggie, would throw up her hands and shake her head when she picked up the letter.

A Seattle attorney, Eve's mission for the past few years had been to bring Meggie into the world of technology by harping on the same old, same old. “Mother, you really must learn to Skype. Open a Facebook account. Buy a Smart phone.”

Just a month ago Meggie sent Eve a letter. Her daughter responded by phone. “But Mother, who writes letters anymore?” To which Meggie replied, “I do and I will continue to write letters for as long as I please. Society does not dictate to Meggie Moore.”

She whistled on her way into the mini-pantry next to the kitchen and came out with a bottle of rum. She set a tall glass on the counter, added ice and measured one shot of alcohol into the glass. After adding more than enough tonic water and a squeeze of lime she stirred it, picked up the mosquito repellant and flipped off the kitchen light.

In the fading light Meggie followed the path to the gazebo, determined to enjoy the balmy evening. She sat down in the wicker chair and set her rum and tonic on the small table next to her. A warm breeze blew through the open structure. The moving air might be a mosquito deterrent. But to be on the safe side she applied repellant cream liberally.

Twilight came and turned the sky a pinkish hue. Tall jack pines near the front fence line grew dark against the evening sky. The moon rose and spilled its light over the backyard. Meggie leaned back to gaze at the multitude of stars dotting the heavens. An earthy smell and the sweet scent of petunias wafted through the air.

She closed her eyes, slave to a warm summer evening. Close by frogs croaked and crickets chirped. Soothed by the magical ambience, Meggie nodded off and fell into a deep sleep. She woke much later to a world swathed in darkness and the recognizable smell of cigar smoke. Her posture stiffened. She looked around to see if someone lurked nearby, but a black curtain had descended around her.

Her heartbeat raced. Alone and vulnerable, she no longer felt at ease. Her hands searched the darkness to find her way out of the gazebo. At the entrance she stepped out and placed one foot in front of the other. She struggled to maintain her balance.

When Meggie neared the house an odd feeling came over her and she raised her eyes. Low light shone down from the attic window. A black shape twisted, lengthened then vanished.

For a moment she couldn't move, unable to believe what she had witnessed. Then reality hit her. She spun around, retraced her steps to the gazebo and stumbled inside. Her eyes shot back towards the lighted window, but the house now stood shrouded in black. Hairs on her arm lifted.

Someone lurked in the attic. She needed to call for help but she had left her phone on the kitchen table. No way would she go into the house to get it. The closest neighbor lived across the road. If she tried to run over there, the intruder might see her.

The farm down the road. She could make a run for it through the horse pasture. She probably wouldn't be seen from the house, but how would she find her way in the dark? A voice inside her head cautioned her to do something, anything. She rose from her crouch. A door slammed on the other side of the house. She flinched, hunkered back down. Footfalls thumped. Seconds later an engine whined then roared to life.

By the time she pulled herself together, a banana shaped moon had appeared. It shed a faint glow around her. She stooped low, moved alongside the house and peeked around the corner. Two red taillights bounced up and down the driveway, then disappeared out of sight.

She scrambled onto the porch and ran to the front door. Inside the house she turned the lock and flipped the light switch. Her hands trembled as she punched 911.

Sometime later a sheriff's car pulled into the yard, lights flashing. The driver's door swung open and a tall well-built deputy climbed out of the car. A second deputy exited the passenger side of the vehicle.

The driver led the way to the front door where Meggie waited. “Meggie Moore? I'm Deputy Timothy Jarvis.” He turned toward the second officer. “This is Deputy Ryan Flynn.” Following introductions Deputy Flynn turned on a flashlight and jumped off the porch. He headed around the side of the house.

Deputy Jarvis followed Meggie into the kitchen where she explained to him exactly what had taken place earlier in the evening. She related how she made herself a drink, carried it to the gazebo and sat there until after dark. Tired from a long day, she dozed off and ­didn't wake until much later.

Because she had forgotten to take her flashlight with her and didn't think to turn the yard light on, it was dark when she started for the house. Before she reached the back door she noticed a light and shaded movement in the attic.

Deputy Jarvis jotted down notes for several minutes, then lifted his head. His eyes swept over the room past the kitchen window, the back door and finally over the half-empty bottle of rum on the kitchen counter. He rubbed his nose with his index finger and jotted down additional notes.

When the officer finished recording the evening's events, he tilted his hat back on his head and focused his eyes on Meggie. “Which way to the attic?”

She motioned the officer to follow her upstairs, led him through the first bedroom and into the second bedroom. She switched the overhead light on and pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling.

“It's an old trapdoor, not attached to anything. I'm not sure why they call it a trapdoor. It's more like a hole in the attic floor covered with a piece of wood.”

Deputy Jarvis raised his head upward, his attention fixated on the trapdoor located directly above him. He locked his eyes on the rectangular indentation for several seconds and scratched his cheek. He looked at Meggie. “Is there another way into the attic?”

Meggie shrugged. “I don't know of any. Like I mentioned before, I'm just the housesitter. The owner mentioned this trapdoor in passing the day she walked me through the farmhouse.”

Heavy footsteps pounded the stairs. Deputy Flynn appeared in the bedroom. “No one outside and I didn't find anything unusual.”

Deputy Jarvis nodded and jotted down a couple notes. He looked at Meggie. “We'll need to clear the attic, make sure no one is still up there.” He thumbed his ear. “Any idea where we could find a ladder?”

Later that night after the house and property had been thoroughly searched and no intruder found on the premises, the deputies left.

Walter arrived soon after even though Meggie maintained she didn't need anyone to spend the night with her. He insisted on it and that was that. When he encouraged her to give up the housesitting job and ask Molly to come home, she insisted on seeing the job through and that was that.

 

 

Bright and early the next morning Meggie introduced Walter to the farm animals. She gave him a play by play account of her duties and expressed her disappointment when he announced he wouldn't be able to help with chores.

“I already made plans with Bill to go fishing on the river. I don't want to back out of them. But I could drive out afterward and spend the night with you.”

“That won't be necessary.” Meggie looked at her wrist watch. “You better hurry if you don't want to miss the catch of the day.”

On their way out to the truck he turned to her with a pained expression on his face. “Under different circumstances, I'd like to stay and help with the chores.”

Different circumstances? Meggie didn't buy it. She knew her husband well enough to know there'd never be different circumstances. He couldn't wait to get home, hook the boat trailer up to his truck and head for the river. Farm animal chores were not on his bucket list.

Meggie thanked him for driving out to the farm and kissed him goodbye. “I know you're disappointed you can't stay longer. The next time I'll give you a heads up so you don't make any commitments. How does that sound?” Her eyes danced.

“Uh, that might work. I guess I better get a move on.” Walter fidgeted with his car keys. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

Meggie nodded and agreed to meet him at the boat landing as planned. She waited until his truck was out of sight then headed to the backyard to finish her chores. On the way she noticed the grass needed to be mowed. And the queen would have to mow it.

By the time Meggie finished cutting the grass she was tired, hot and thirsty. She parked the mower in the garage and pushed the button on the automatic garage door. Looking forward to a quiet afternoon of relaxation, she crossed the front yard. On her way she noticed the flower bed around the birdbath had overgrown with weeds. The unwanted plants had taken over the little garden space.

Ugh, not today. A gentle breeze blew the pretty pansy blooms. They nodded their heads as if to say, “Rescue us.” She bent over and snipped off several flowers and promised herself to clean out the bed later that day.

In the bathroom she gazed at her sun-kissed reflection, ran cold water over a washcloth and held it to her face. The cool moisture soothed her burning skin. After rubbing aloe vera gel on her face and arms, she went into the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers.

A tiny glass vase hid in the corner of the cupboard. She filled it with water. As she dropped the pansies into the water a loud knock sounded on the front door. She set the vase down, walked through the living room and peeked out the window. Her brows furrowed. No vehicle sat in the yard. The rapping grew louder. She tucked her hair behind her ears and opened the door.

Donna Jones stood on the porch, nose pressed to the screen. The older woman's eyes lit up and her mouth spread into a smile when she spotted Meggie. “Hello there, neighbor,” she said in a sing-song voice.

She held up a plate of red, white and blue cookies. “Since you couldn't join us for our Fourth of July celebration, I told myself I must save you some of my delicious sugar cookies all dressed up in patriotic colors.”

The cookies weren't the only ones dressed up in patriotic colors. Donna's ruffled apron looked like a flag.

“Thanks. How thoughtful of you.” Meggie invited her in and carried the cookies into the kitchen.

“I said to myself on the way over here, ‘Self, I bet she'll make a pot of coffee to go with these cookies'.” She giggled a bit and sat down. Her eyes roamed around the room. “There's nothing like a nice cup of coffee to go with a special cookie even on a hot day. Don't you agree?”

Meggie didn't agree but she smiled and filled the coffee maker with water.

Donna scooted her chair closer to the kitchen window and stretched her neck over the pile of mail that lay nearby. She inched her hand toward the stack of envelopes and used the tip of her index finger to slide the top piece of mail gently off the pile.

Meggie kept an eye on her nosey neighbor while she changed the filter on the coffee machine and added fresh coffee grounds. By the time she pushed the start button, Donna had worked her way down to the third envelope.

“The coffee'll be ready in a jiffy. Do you take cream or sugar?”

Startled, Donna pulled her finger away from the pile of mail and left the envelopes kittywampus. She brushed the gray hair away from her face and blinked rapidly. After composing herself she said, “A little of both please.”

“Would you like some vanilla ice cream with your cookies?” Meggie set the vase of pansies in the center of the table. Laughter bubbled up inside her. She wanted to reach in front of Donna and straighten the mail but remembered her manners and behaved herself.

“I love ice cream.” Donna paused and seemed to gather her words before speaking. “Did you have problems over here last night? I could have sworn a car with flashing lights drove up your driveway.”

Molly had been right again. Donna was a nosy neighbor and right to the point. Meggie now understood the cookies had been a ruse to pump her for information about the previous night's activities. But she wouldn't fall prey to Donna Jones and divulged little.

As it turned out, her nosy neighbor was also a walking history book and the best search engine around. She seemed to know all about the neighbors, their children and how long they resided in her neck of the woods. Anything Meggie asked her she had an answer for.

Since Donna seemed more than willing to talk, Meggie thought it the perfect opportunity to ask a few questions. But her guest's facade changed when she broached the subject of Fred Jackson and Amelia Schmidt. She squirmed in her chair and seemed reluctant to answer any questions about them.

Meggie tried a different approach. “How well did you know Fred?” She waited on pins and needles to see if the woman would be forthcoming.

“Of course we knew Fred as a neighbor. We lived right across the road from him, you know.” She scraped a dried crumb off the table with her thumb. “We worried about him. The way he hired men off the street to help him on the farm. Kind of risky, if you ask me.”

“I suppose you knew Herman Schmidt, too?”

Donna closed up at that point and gave little information. But during the conversation she did mention her grandson and Herman's grandson had been friends at one time.

“Of course, my grandson didn't have much to do with Darrell for quite some time before the bank robbery.” Donna sucked her cheeks in and crossed her legs.

“Bank robbery? You mean the one in Foxville?” Meggie prodded.

“Why, yes, the bank robbery in Foxville. You do know Darrell Schmidt went to prison for his part in the robbery, don't you? He was the getaway driver.” She ran her finger on the side of her lip. “I do believe he received a shorter sentence due to his turning state's evidence. They may already have released him.”