THE DAY AFTER THE fireworks debacle, as the Des Moines Register had called it, I still had a lot of questions. I also had to spend time with Mister Tibbs, who had been frantic when I had gotten home. Too much noise, and I was absent from the apartment too long.
Mister Tibbs wandered into the kitchen, as I finished my second cup of coffee. She had been walking from room to room all morning, sitting or lying briefly and then resuming her patrol. At least that's how I thought of it.
"Come here, girl. You want to sit on my lap?"
Because I'd never said those words to her, she simply sat by the refrigerator and cocked her head at me. Perhaps she hoped for some of the leftover burger I occasionally brought home from the diner.
I stood from the table, walked to the living room, and sat in my recliner. I leaned back and patted my lap. Her ears perked up. She knew how to jump onto the recliner's foot rest. She made it in one quick leap.
"Come on, you can sit on me." I patted my lap again.
Walking slowly, as if she expected to be swatted to the floor, she reached my lap and sat.
"Ouch. Your nails are sharp. Lie down." I pressed on her middle gently, and she finally understood. In less than two seconds, her head was on my left shoulder and her belly faced me.
"There you go. See, you're safe."
I rubbed her head and then her belly. "Chill out, girl."
She relaxed into me and was sleeping in less than a minute. While she had become dead weight, her nap also gave me time to think.
The biggest disadvantage to being a gardener instead of a reporter was that I was out of the loop unless I inserted myself into a story or an investigation. I wanted to know so much.
Because, or as I'd heard before I left the sheriff last night, Brad Thomas admitted to something, there would be no immediate hearing as there had been for Ambrose. Plus, given the potential jeopardy David and Brad had put River's Edge residents in, it would be hard to argue Brad was not a danger to himself or others and should be out on bail.
I didn't know how Brad and David had gotten Ambrose's and my cell phone numbers to call us the day Frost died. They weren't our friends.
I supposed Frost had a phone with our numbers stored in it. He had called Ambrose and me a couple of times right after he filed suit. Then Ken Brownberg had told him to leave us alone and funnel all calls through Ken.
Unless it came out later, I didn't know whether Frost had been paid off to ignore our barn when fireworks were carted in or out. Surely someone would be looking into those cash deposits.
At Ambrose's hearing, we'd learned that Frost's call to Granger implied Frost was hurt or in trouble. What had he actually said?
Though Sheriff Gallagher would eventually be able to answer these and other questions if he wanted, a lot of what he learned would come from Aaron Granger. Would Granger talk to me?
I didn't want to call him at the law enforcement building, and I certainly didn't have his cell phone number. Stooper said Granger had been in Stooper's high school class, but given what Stooper had said about him, the two men weren't on good terms.
When in doubt about talking to anyone in River's Edge, the person to call was Shirley. She also collected phone numbers with the tidbits she treasured, so she might have Granger's. I shifted Mister Tibbs' weight and called her.
She didn't have his number. "But listen, Shug, he comes in for coffee if he works second shift. And it's Saturday. I think he's on that shift today."
Leave it to Shirley. I gave her my temporary cell phone number and hung up. Shirley would want to hear all about what Granger and I talked about, but she wouldn't blab about my request. She'd hold off for the bigger news later.
I tapped Mister Tibbs on the head. She opened her eyes, but quickly closed them. "Come on, girl, let's see if Stooper is at Dr. Carver's."
I'd said the magic word. She sprang off the recliner and walked to the door.
Like most vehicles that had been in the parking lot by the river last night, I had two broken windows. Luckily, the back of my truck had been pointed toward the direction of the explosion, so my front windshield hadn't blown out.
The back window had a huge crack, and the back seat windows were gone. I figured I'd drive to a dealer in Fairfield in a day or so. South County Glass probably had two-hundred work orders.
Rather than cover it with cardboard, I let Mister Tibbs ride with her head out the back seat window. I was spoiling her today, but I'd deal with the consequences later.
No Stooper at Dr. Carver's. Mister Tibbs and I got out anyway, and I called his cell.
"I'm working on a memorial stone for Peter Frost. Can't do garden stuff today."
"I didn't know you had that job."
"Granger called early today. I knew it was a cremated remains burial, didn't figure he'd want a big stone. And since you and me are buddies, I didn't think I'd get the work."
"Interesting." I thought for a moment. "Maybe it means he thinks it's all finally over."
"Could be. Gotta go."
I wondered if giving the work to Stooper was a deliberate sign of apology to me. Then I decided I was full of myself. Stooper probably charged less than any other mason, since he did the work at his home."
Mister Tibbs had spotted a squirrel she wanted to meet, but I ignored her squirming and pointed to my truck. "Come on, let's find Syl."
After the short drive from Dr. Carver's to Syl's place, I was disappointed that his truck wasn't in the driveway. What a letdown. I wasn't sure exactly why, other than I wanted someone to talk to and didn't feel like having it be anyone who wrote for the paper.
"Come on, Mister Tibbs. I'll water his plants some, and you can catch squirrels over here. Or run after them, anyway."
I had finished with the few vegetable plants behind the house and begun on the flower bed along the front when I noted an envelope taped to his front door. Even from twenty feet away, I could see MEL in large block letters.
I twisted the hose nozzle to off and retrieved the envelope. Syl's note said only, "You really stepped in it this time. Coffee tomorrow?"
I smiled. A good idea. I trudged to my truck for a pen and wrote, "Name the time." Then I stuck the note through his mail slot in his door. He didn't get his mail through the slot, but he'd see the note when he got inside.
While I watered the plants, I thought about Syl. He was in his early forties, which seemed too old for someone I'd date. But I definitely thought of him differently than Stooper or Ryan. At least the way I thought about Ryan before he betrayed me with the biased story.
My cell phone vibrated, so I again turned the nozzle and placed the hose on the ground.
"Melanie here." Silence. "Hello?"
"It's Aaron Granger."
Shirley must have found him before his shift started. "I wasn't sure you'd call. Listen, can I buy you lunch at the diner?"
"That's probably more than I can handle, but I'll meet you for coffee. I don't start work until three."
I agreed to meet him at two and thought about his choice of words. I'd never thought of myself as hard to handle, though Sheriff Gallagher would. I figured Granger meant he couldn't talk about his uncle's death very easily.
I ARRIVED AT THE DINER at two, having had plenty of time to clean up and put on a pair of tan slacks and a yellow cotton shirt. I probably looked like a lemon, but I wasn't up for staid. I felt happy.
Granger was prompt. He nodded when he spotted me and walked toward the back booth that was always my preference.
Shirley got to the booth with two mugs of coffee before he had taken off his deputy's hat. "Decaf for you, Melanie, since it's afternoon. High test for you, Mister Sheriff's Deputy."
"Thanks," we both said.
I added cream, and he put in two packs of sugar but kept his black.
After fifteen seconds of silence, Granger asked, "What do you need, Melanie?"
"I wouldn't necessarily call it closure. I just can't figure out why Brad or David would hurt your uncle and then leave him in our barn. And then why call Ambrose and me?"
He took a deep breath. "First, they aren't too bright."
"They seem to have planned to incriminate us."
He shrugged. "Maybe, or maybe they simply wanted him found. I doubt they thought he would live long after they stabbed him."
I nodded. "I'm sorry it happened. Dr. MacGregor explained how someone stabbed where he was, um, could take a while to die."
"That will always be the hardest part for me."
When he said nothing more, I asked, "When did he call you?"
"About ten-thirty. My guess is that he was either unconscious for a time, or he waited until Bates and Thomas were out of the barn for good."
"And you told the judge you couldn't take the call?"
He nodded. "I was on the other side of the county. Burglary just past Fairhaven."
At the name of the place where Hal had stored his boat, our eyes met, and he looked away. "Anyway, you know how spotty service is. The call didn't ring, and it didn't show up in voice mail for, oh, maybe forty-five minutes."
"And he said he'd been hurt?" I asked.
"I wish he had. I would have sent an ambulance. His words were garbled. He said, 'I'm in Perkins' barn. I really pissed 'em off this time.' And then the call ended."
I took a sip of coffee. "That makes sense. You thought the 'them' meant Ambrose and me."
"I did."
We said nothing for another fifteen seconds or so. I would probably never fully know what Frost's call to his nephew meant, but I thought it meant he had been demanding money from Brad and David and had either gone too far or angered them badly in some other way.
I doubted whichever one stabbed him planned it. I could live with thinking it happened that way.
Finally, I said, "I wasn't fond of him, but I'm truly sorry you lost your uncle."
"Thanks. You probably want to know if I'm going to keep trying to get your farm."
I must have registered something like surprise, because he said, "No?"
"I suppose I figured you'd have no interest, but I didn't plan to ask you that."
"Well, I don't think… He'd been very poor, him and my mom, as kids. Then he bought the farm next to your parents, and the value went down. A lot."
I smiled. "Kind of hard to make that 'buy low, sell high' bit work all the time."
He grunted. "My guess is that he asked your dad about selling, and he said no. Uncle Peter maybe thought he would recoup his loss if he got your parents' place low. And he did have that yellow paper with the sketch. Then when your parents died…" He spread his hands in front of him as if to say he had finished speculating.
I had no comforting words. Peter Frost had put Ambrose and me through hell. I asked, "How's Bear?"
He sat up very straight and pointed at me. "I knew it. You were up there!"
I thought fast. He'd asked me if I'd seen a cat. He never said its name to me.
No lie would be plausible, so I said, "I was up there that night. I heard the meow. I wondered why no cat came up to me."
He frowned at me.
Thank God he didn't ask if I'd been in the house. "You have the cat?"
His expression cleared somewhat. "Yeah, I'll keep her." He took a big swig of his coffee.
I thought I'd try to catch him in a lie of omission. "What did you think of Hal's book?"
His expression could only be described as stony. "It's a bunch of crap. Uncle Peter would never…" He saw my smile and stopped. "Okay, I read it."
"Hal was a gas bag. If you don't think so, you're the only one in town."
"And he never liked Uncle Peter. He wouldn't subscribe to the paper when he moved to town."
"Hal's one-track mind," I murmured.
I had one more question and tried to sound casual. "Did you hear someone broke a window in my pickup one night, while it was parked outside Mrs. Keyser's?"
Granger raised his eyebrows. "No. Did you report it?"
I shook my head. "Ryan helped me tape it. Whoever it was scattered Hal's story all over the seat."
At first Granger's expression seemed puzzled, then he frowned. "Are you trying to say that I did…?"
I sat up straighter. "I just thought it was…odd. Why mess with Hal's story?"
He shrugged. "Probably didn't know it was a piece of crap."
I decided I believed him. Granger had already read the story when it was held in evidence. He could have made a copy. It made no sense for him to break into my truck. It must have been someone looking for easy cash.
Granger pushed his mug aside. "I'm all talked out Melanie. I am sorry you got dragged into this. You and Ambrose."
I smiled slightly. "I can see how it happened."
He began to reach into a pocket of his uniform, but I said, "My treat, remember?"
"I'm not sure I'll ever reciprocate."
I laughed. "I'm fine with that. Have fun with Bear."
His smile was the first genuine one I'd seen from Aaron Granger.
THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE not easy, but at least people said they were glad about Ambrose or congratulated me for saving Rachel.
Scott Holmes had made that a big part of the July Fourth story. I took it as something of an apology, though I hadn't talked to him.
Syl and I shared an awkward cup of coffee. I really wished Stooper hadn't mentioned Andy's idea that Syl and I were having a fling. Unless we had something specific to talk about, I felt almost tongue-tied around Syl.
Mister Tibbs and I were getting into bed a couple of days later, when I opened the drawer to my bedside table and saw the manila folder with Hal's so-called mystery. I smiled ruefully, wondering how I could ever have taken it seriously.
As I shut the drawer, my eyes fell on the green scribble of my name, obviously in Hal's handwriting.
If the story wasn't about my parents, why was my name written across the top of the first page?
* * *
Annie Acorn Publishing, LLC, was also pleased to present the first book of the River’s Edge Series, From Newsprint to Footprints. Find out how Melanie left her job as a reporter and ended up as a gardener – and what kind of surprise awaited her on her first day of work.
If you enjoyed Demise of a Devious Neighbor, you may like more of Elaine L. Orr’s fiction. You can explore it at www.elaineorr.com/fiction.html.
Elaine L. Orr is the Amazon bestselling author of the nine-book Jolie Gentil cozy mystery series, set at the Jersey shore. Behind the Walls was a finalist for the 2014 Chanticleer Mystery and Mayhem Awards. The first book in Elaine's River's Edge cozy mystery series, From Newsprint to Footprints, debuted in late fall 2015, with Demise of a Devious Neighbor following. Elaine also writes plays and novellas, including the one-act, Common Ground, published in 2015. Her novella, Biding Time, was one of five finalists in the National Press Club's first fiction contest, in 1993. Elaine conducts presentations on electronic publishing and other writing-related topics. Nonfiction includes Words to Write By: Getting Your Thoughts on Paper and Writing in Retirement: Putting New Year’s Resolutions to Work. She also conducts online courses on writing and publishing for Teachable. A member of Sisters in Crime, Elaine grew up in Maryland and moved to the Midwest in 1994.