| |
––––––––
OF COURSE, WORD GOT out that Herman Farnsberry was missing.
But the morning after Miss Ingrid’s arrival, she let Yoda out on the front porch. “I simply cannot abide cats,” she told Mrs. LeGraff. Neighbors spotted him and informed law enforcement that the cat was alive after all. My notoriety as the Elm Street Cat Killer diminished in light of the unbridled truth that Yoda had used one of his nine lives to escape my deadly plot against him.
But what about Farnsberry? Where was he?
Their attention turned to his whereabouts and the part I might have played in his disappearance. Honestly, did these people believe I’d dispose of Herman Farnsberry simply because he’d wrongfully accused me of killing his cat?
“Why, yes, honey,” Madge Simmons advised me three days later at the grocery store just after it opened. I’d hoped to avoid people leading with their noses at this early hour, but there she was, one of the best talebearers in East Texas. “You’re a famous writer. Everybody knows you have such a vivid imagination.”
“And that translates into murder?”
“Well, if anyone could pull it off—” She giggled. “—it would be you.”
I smiled tightly as I shoved past her. Of all the ridiculous things to say. I write about imaginary mysteries. I don’t create real ones! I paid for my groceries and made it home in record time. Just as I finished putting away my groceries, my doorbell rang. Terri and Burke stood at my front door with ‘uh-oh’ expressions on their faces.
“What? What’s happened?”
Terri deferred to Burke, who stepped inside my house and grimly looked around. He finally looked at me. “We found Farnsberry’s car in a ditch twenty-three miles east of Mapleton on Highway 22. Paint was found on the driver’s side. Looks like he was run off the road.”
“Okay.”
“He wasn’t inside.”
“Okay.”
Burke stared into my eyes, cocked a hip, and placed his hand on his gun. “I’d like to look at your car, Soph.”
“Which one?”
“You have two?”
“My Mustang for in town; my full-size SUV for long trips.”
“The one that’s red.”
My mustang.
My jaw slid into a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding drop, and I shook my head. Terri rushed to hug me.
“T-Terrie, I’m really scared now. Someone is out to g-get me.”
Frowning, Burke nodded. “Let’s have a look at your car.”
Terri nudged me forward. “Come on, honey. We’ll do this together.”
“But I haven’t been out on Highway 22 in weeks.”
Burke took my arm. “Then you have nothing to hide.”
Nothing except the grotesque dent gracing the passenger side bumper of my Mustang. A swatch of black paint only added to my guilt. “That dent wasn’t there yesterday. I pulled my car into my garage around two this morning. It was dark and I... I didn’t...”
Notice. Again. And I hadn’t noticed this morning at the grocery store.
Burke squatted beside my car. His fingers caressed the dent, the black paint. He leaned into the wheel covering with his flashlight and when he stood, his expression was dour, his mouth tight. “I’ll have to take your car in, see if the paint matches Farnsberry’s car. You have maybe three weeks before the results come back. It won’t be good news.”
He turned to leave but stopped. “Don’t think about going anywhere, Sophie, or trying to investigate this on your own.”
Terri rubbed my arm. “Go on, Burke. We’ll be here all day.”
He looked at me as if he wanted me to confirm this bit of news, but I didn’t. No way was I going to stay with Terri and mope around the house, waiting on news that yes, my car was the one to force Herman Farnsberry into an early grave and that yes, they had a jail cell at the state prison with my name on it.
Hmmph. The very idea.
♦
“LOOK!” I MOTIONED TERRI over to my front window and peeked out the lace sheers. “Miss Ingrid and Mrs. LeGraff are walking toward Mrs. LeGraff’s house. We can get inside Farnsberry’s house and maybe find out where he’s hiding.”
“Whatever gave you the idea he’s hiding somewhere?”
“If he was injured in that wreck, there would be a body and blood. Burke said there were neither. Farnsberry walked away. He hid his tracks, too. Maybe he has an accomplice helping him.”
Terri’s answer was to roll her eyes at me and say nothing.
“Farnsberry and his partner in crime are probably laughing at their good fortune that no one saw them pull this little stunt.”
When Terri opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, I said, “I don’t know why he’s hiding. I don’t know why he killed his wife or lied about Yoda dying. None of it makes sense. But that’s why we need to get inside his house.” I rubbed my forehead where a headache brewed. “I don’t have much time to figure all this out.”
I glanced outside again just as Mrs. LeGraff’s screen door shut behind the ladies. “Okay. They’re in the house and if I know Mrs. LeGraff, she’ll keep Miss Ingrid over there all afternoon.” I took Terri’s hands in mine. “Please, Terri. Trust me with this. I know I’m right.”
“What if Burke comes by?”
“He won’t. Our county doesn’t have the tools to analyze paint or blood. They’ll send the samples to a bigger lab. He’s done with this for now. Let’s go out back. No one will see us.”
“Oh, all right. I don’t know why you can talk me into things that I know are wrong. That’s a major character flaw in me.”
“This isn’t wrong. You’ll see.” I opened the door and almost jumped out of my skin.
“Howdy, Miss O’Brion. I’m Officer Sheenen. You ladies intent on going somewhere?”
I wanted to wipe the grin off the young policeman’s face, but I smiled instead and racked my brain for a suitable story. I squinted up at the sun. “We thought about, uh, sunbathing, in the buff. Care to join us, Officer?”
The young man turned beet red and caught his tongue in his teeth. “Uh.”
“And you will notice, Officer, that both my gates have locks on them. Officer Maguire has the keys. Unless you’re prepared to join the party, I’d suggest you check in with your boss and see if babysitting two naked women is part of your job description.” I smiled sweetly and tried really hard not to laugh at his discomfort.
“Yes, ma’am. Just a moment, ma’am.”
I twisted my blouse’s top button while Sheenen made the call. He stumbled past us, muttered, “I’ll be out front in my patrol car,” and slammed the front door.
“Good work,” Terri laughed. “How do you plan to get us out of here and across the street in broad daylight?”
I wiggled my brows and grinned. “Follow me to my chest of wonders.”
Thirty minutes later, Terri and I, dressed as two old women sporting wigs, aging make-up, brown dresses and umbrellas against the sunshine, walked out the vine-covered, well-hidden gate at the back of my property. My props from organizing the Forman Falls Community Theater helped disguise us as we shuffled down my alley to the main street walkway. We turned left, walked across Elm Street, and entered the alley behind Farnsberry’s home.
It was simply too easy. We opened the back gate to his property, opened his back door, and opened the door of the room Miss Ingrid was using and waltzed right in.
And, there, on her nightstand, was a cell phone.
I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and picked up the phone. Under ‘Recent Calls’ were the names Madge, HF, Bonnie, Frank, and Edna.
Terri nodded. “Okay. ‘HF’ is her brother, Herman. ‘Bonnie’ is Mrs. LeGraff. ‘Frank’ is probably Edna Conroy’s latest squeeze, Frank Zagorsky.”
“I’d forgotten about Frank Zagorsky. What’s his story?”
Terri moved aside the curtain at the window and peered outside. “Never been married. Lived in Europe. Handsome in a Jack Palance sort of way. Do you remember Jack Palance? Did that one-arm pushup at the Academy Awards years ago? Anyway, Frank Zagorsky’s been seeing Edna Conroy for a few months now. That’s about all I know on him.”
“Could Madge be our Madge Simmons? I mean, how many Madges are there these days? Look, Terri. Farnsberry called Miss Ingrid this morning, and they talked for twenty-seven minutes. We need to show this to Burke.” I wrote down HF’s cell phone number and the others and placed the phone back where I’d found it. I opened a drawer. “Search for anything that tells us something about Ingrid or Herman.”
We moved into the dining room, nosed around the china cabinet, and found nothing.
At first.
“Here,” Terri said and handed me a small daybook. “This looks interesting.”
I quickly opened it. The day after he left for his sister’s house, he’d written: Ingrid here for a few days.
“Interesting that he’d known his sister would be here, worried about him disappearing.” I tapped the daybook on my hand and sucked in a breath when a voice spoke near the front door.
“I’m so sorry your head’s hurting, Ingrid. Here, let me get the door for you. There, now.”
Mrs. LeGraff!
I signaled Terri to head for the kitchen and the back door. We slipped outside and scampered across the backyard. “Don’t look back, Terri. Just run!”
We made it into the alley. The gate latched behind us. I breathed a sigh of relief, bent over, and came up laughing. We’d done it! In and out of Farnsberry’s, and we hadn’t gotten caught!
But Terri wasn’t laughing. She was looking past my shoulder, her gaze moving from me to whatever she’d spotted, with an expression that shouted, “Oh, no!”
My smile wilted. I slowly turned around.
A patrol car was parked not twenty feet from where we stood.
My stomach dropped. How did Burke—?
I popped up my umbrella and put my back to him. “Just walk, Terri. No, don’t look at him. Just walk. We’re old women, remember. Maybe he doesn’t know it’s us.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Slowly, slowly.” Behind us, the sound of an engine turning over made me want to just run, but I made myself breathe deeply and keep walking. The car followed us and stopped when we turned left.
“Okay, let’s cross the street. Stay in character, Tare. Old women don’t do anything quickly.”
The car turned out of the alley and pulled up right behind us as we stepped up to the sidewalk.
“He knows it’s us, Sophie.”
“He’s trying to intimidate us.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’ll get to my house, go inside, and lock the front door.”
“No! He’ll know it’s us then, for sure.”
“I know! But where else are we going to go?”
“Let’s go to the next block. Connie Davis lives there. She’ll let us in.”
His car pulled up right beside us, but neither of us looked over at him as he kept pace with us. I dipped the umbrella lower so he couldn’t see our faces. At one point, he gunned his car, but we didn’t react.
“Intimidation, Soph,” Terri whispered.
“More like incarceration.”
It seemed as if it took forever to reach Connie’s house. I rang the doorbell. Connie answered with, “Yes? May I help you?”
“Connie, it’s me, Sophie O’Brion with Terri Smaller. Can we come in for just a few minutes?”
“Well, of course, you can! Come in, come in!” She opened the screen door. I took one step inside.
“Sophie.”
I froze at the sound of Burke’s voice. My stomach did a topsy-turvy when I turned around to face him.
Should I pretend to be Mrs. Whoozit from Kalamazoo with a British accent? Ah you speaking to me, Officah? One of the last plays I was cast in had the setting in Yorkshire, and my Brit accent turned out to be pretty good.
He was leaning against the passenger door of his car, arms crossed, his cowboy hat shadowing his eyes. But even shaded, I could see he was serious and not in the mood for humor.
I could also see in his eyes that I’d disappointed him. I turned back to Connie and whispered, “We’ll visit another time, Connie. Talk to you soon.” Calmly, I walked to him and said, “Burke. Listen. I’m so sorry. I just had to find out what I could about Farnsberry.”
“Both of you, get in my car.” He didn’t say another word until he drove up my driveway and stopped. “I didn’t witness a crime today, but I can use my imagination for what you two were doing.” To Terri, he said, “You’re free to go home if you’d like. Sophie, I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes to talk to you.”
Terri and I got out, walked inside my home. When I turned around and looked outside, Burke’s car was no longer there.
Terri washed off her make-up, dressed quickly, and touched my arm before opening the front door. “I hope everything is okay.”
I nodded, my mouth tight with worry. “I’ll let you know.” When the door shut, I stood there for a few moments and realized I didn’t want Burke to see me in this hideous old-woman make-up again. I ran upstairs, stripped, and showered off the gray in my hair and the make-up caking my face. I dressed quickly and made it downstairs a few minutes before the doorbell rang.
“Come in.” I stayed by the window as I heard him open the door, step inside, and stand in the foyer.
It seemed like slow motion when I turned from the window, and our gazes connected. In silence, he studied my face and then looked into my eyes. After a few more seconds, he glanced around the room and blew out a breath.
Oh, how I hated those sighs. They brought back memories of my strait-laced mother’s sighs of disapproval. My mother hadn’t deserved a rambunctious child like me who led with her imagination instead of good sense. She’d deserved a little girl who played with dolls, not fought the neighborhood bully; who put on make-up, not turned her hair into spikes and wore a patch over her eye; who loved to play dress-up, not grab clothes that didn’t match so she could hurry outside and climb the nearest tree to scout for pirates. She hadn’t deserved such a child, and she let me know it at every turn.
“Sophie.” Burke’s gaze was fierce. “We need to get something clear right now. I’m law enforcement, and you’re not. I’m the investigator; you’re the writer. I can’t do your job, and I sure don’t want you doing mine.”
“Fair enough.” I nodded for emphasis, tried for a smile but it wobbled and fell flat. In keeping with how I handled most stressful situations, I chose to duck and roll. “How did you figure out we’d gone to Farnsberry’s?”
He stared at me for five heartbeats. “The luggage filled with costumes on your bed.”
“Isn’t that the technical definition of ‘breaking and entering’?”
He grunted. “I didn’t break in. Your front door was open, and my intent was not to steal but to find you.”
“That’s what I did. I’m trying to find Farnsberry. Why is it different when you do it?”
“It’s my job, not yours.”
We looked at each other. When I couldn’t come up with a response, my stomach grumbled right on cue. “I’m starving. Glen’s closes in an hour. How about I call in an order, pick it up, and we’ll eat out on my front porch where you can’t yell at me because my neighbors will be listening?”
I noticed a pattern here: both of us used Glen’s as a deflection from discussing anything personal. We were both members of the chicken family.
The rooster nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll get out of these duds, get my truck, be back in a few.”
On my way out, I stopped in front of him. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“Not tonight. It’s coming, though, when the paint report comes back.”
I grabbed the doorknob. “Then what’s our next step?”
“I keep digging.”
“All right. I’ll go get the food. You’ll get back here first, so make some coffee for us.”
“Coffee sounds good.”
In fifteen minutes, I had returned with our orders. We sat quietly and ate. Burke didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t ask any questions. We looked at each other occasionally as we took our time eating. It was somehow understood that this meal was a reprieve not only from the investigation but from any discussions about personal issues. When we finished eating, we enjoyed a couple of cups of coffee, then both of us gathered up the trash and cleaned off the little wicker table.
“I enjoyed that,” Burke said as he stood and turned toward his truck.
“I did, too.”
“See you soon?”
“Probably.”
He left then and walked slowly to his truck. As I watched him drive away, I realized that those thirty minutes of quiet were the most peaceful I’d had in a long time.
♦
WITH SO MUCH NEWS CIRCLING my camp, I expected to hear from our nosy newspaper editor, Bertie, and she came the next afternoon just as I finished icing my cinnamon rolls.
Unless we’re forced to speak to one another, we don’t. We both entered a prestigious essay contest years ago in college, and I won first place, and she won nothing. My win, and probably my success as a mystery writer, had been a burr in her saddle ever since.
Although she’d never forgiven me for winning, I offered her a cinnamon roll with a smile and a wink. I couldn’t help myself.
She looked at the roll with disdain. “This is official business, O’Brion. Did you have anything to do with Herman Farnsberry’s accident out on Highway 22?”
“You seem to think I did.”
“Your car was involved.”
“That hasn’t been proven.”
“Did your car run him off the road?”
“If it did, then it was without any help from me.” I scooped up a wad of icing and stuck it in my mouth.
My long-time rival pinched her lips tightly as if she’d just taken a bite of raw rhubarb. “As usual, you’re being difficult.”
I lifted my brows. “I honestly don’t know, Bertie.”
“I’ll write the story with or without your help.”
“You always do. Here, now. Let me help you find the front porch.” I opened the screen door, and she huffed her way through it toward the van parked in my driveway. Despite the extra thirty she was carrying on her small frame, she stomped down the stairs with vim and vigor. I did notice, though, that she was breathing heavily when she reached the news van. “I have a membership at the gym in Crockett, Bertie. You’re welcome to—”
The van door slammed on her glare. I waved cheerfully just as the driver took my picture. At least I hadn’t brought the cinnamon roll knife with me. Now, wouldn’t that have made a great picture?
I could hear my cell phone ringing. My screen door slammed behind me as I hurried to the kitchen and answered the call.
It was Burke. “The station received a card today wishing Sharon Farnsberry a happy fifty-seventh birthday, with the initials ‘HF’ on it.”
“That’s it? Just ‘HF’?”
“Apparently, someone has sent a card to the police station every year since her death.”
“Where was it mailed from?”
“Forman Falls.”
“Any of her family live here?”
“Not that I know of.”
Hmmm. “Maybe the sender thinks Herman Farnsberry killed Sharon, and this is his way of reminding law enforcement that Farnsberry was a suspect, and he doesn’t want him to get away.”
“Could be. I have a theory on what happened with your car. It was no hit-and-run accident. It was planned. Farnsberry wanted everyone to think you ran him off the road, so he and his accomplice picked up your car, pushed it down the street, started it, and left. They rammed his parked car and drove back here, quietly pushed your car back to its original position, and hustled to their stashed getaway car.”
“But why?”
“To implicate you.”
“But why?”
“I have no clue. You left your car in your driveway until two this morning?”
“Yes. Maybe a neighbor saw it and can verify it wasn’t dented then.”
“You still could have driven it.”
“Okay. Maybe someone saw the car leave, thinking it was me. That would give us a time frame. What about prints on the wheel, evidence left in my car?”
“We’re checking it out. Maybe Miss Ingrid’s heard from her brother by now.”
“Oh, uh, Burke.” I prepared myself to be yelled at. “When Terri and I were in his house yesterday, we found Miss Ingrid’s cell phone. There was a call from Mr. Farnsberry yesterday morning. He’s alive and well and hasn’t come home since the accident. I think you’re right: Farnsberry is involved in whatever is going on, and his sister, Ingrid, is his accomplice.”
“What’s his cell phone number?”
I gave it to him.
“Also, Terri found a calendar with a notation on it, and I quote: ‘Ingrid here for a few days’. She was to arrive yesterday. Her visit was planned.”
“Then I need to ask Miss Ingrid some questions. Do you want to meet me at Farnsberry’s house?”
Five minutes later, Burke pulled into Farnsberry’s driveway. I walked outside and started across the street to where he stood and met Mrs. LeGraff mid-street.
“A taxi came by and picked her up,” Mrs. LeGraff offered, huffing and puffing after rushing to tell Officer Maguire and me the very latest news. “Not ten minutes ago. She said she was going home, that Herman knew where she lived if he wanted to see her.”
“She just left, with her brother missing? Why would she do that?” I glanced at Burke.
“Seems out of character for the timid woman we met.”
“I don’t know about her character,” Mrs. LeGraff added, “but I have dinner rolls in the oven that need to be taken out. If you have any questions, Officer, just come by my house. I’ll be happy to answer them if I can.”
Burke thanked her and turned toward Farnsberry’s house, studying it as if it could give him some answers. “What happened to make her leave so suddenly?”
“Orders from Herman. They’re meeting somewhere.”
“Her house?”
“Maybe.”
Our next stop was Miss Ingrid’s home in Mapleton.
♦
“HAVEN’T SEEN HER IN, oh, Mama, how long has that woman been gone now?” This, from an old man sitting in a rocking chair on a porch with the best vantage point for viewing Miss Ingrid’s country house. He looked nine months pregnant in a white muscleman T-shirt and plaid shorts over skinny legs, his black socks struggling to reach mid-calf.
His wife—AKA “Mama”—placed a pitcher of lemonade on a well-used wooden table next to her husband’s rocking chair and frowned as if in deep thought. Absently, she wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, now, Mason, didn’t she leave the day you killed that snake in the washroom? What was that, Friday?”
“Yep, that’s when she left. We heard her dog barkin’ and carryin’ on so, I went over there. She’s just a pup, had plenty of food and water out, but she was missing her mama so much that I had to stay over there a good hour or so, tryin’ to calm her down.” The old man shut one eye and looked up at Burke without saying another word.
I lifted my ah-ha brows. “She owns a dog?”
When Burke glanced at me, I knew he remembered the shrinking violet who had clutched her shawl and whimpered at the sound of Samson’s barking.
“Yes, ma’am, she does. Don’t know why she left her Great Dane like that. She could’ve at least told us about leaving so we could check up on her dog.”
Burke held out a business card to the man and asked him if he saw her, would he give him a call?
“If I see who? The dog?” He grinned like a stuffed possum.
His wife slapped his shoulder. “Oh, Mason. Shut. Up. I’ll call you, Officer, if I see Ingrid.”
“’Preciate it, ma’am, sir.” Burke walked down the steps, then stopped and turned back to the woman. “Seen any taxis on this road today, ma’am?”
“Not a one. There’s no taxi service in Mapleton, Officer.”
“Have you seen her brother?”
“Herman?” The woman scrunched up her nose at Burke. “No, we haven’t seen him either. Are they all right?”
“Thank you for your time, ma’am, sir,” Burke said as we left.
I had a sinking feeling that we had now, officially, reached a dead end. “Ingrid doesn’t like dogs, but she owns one? And how did she get to Farnsberry’s house? No taxi service. She didn’t drive herself—there was no car parked at Farnsberry’s. Burke, I think her brother drove her to his house early that morning, so no one would see him. Do you know if she has family around here who might have helped her besides Farnsberry?”
“Their mother died recently in a nursing home in Minnesota. She was ninety-six and had Alzheimer’s. There’s a half brother, but he died several years ago.” He started the car. “Let’s head back and visit with Mrs. LeGraff. Maybe Ingrid got a phone call just before she hailed that cab. If so, I can get into her phone records and find the number.” He started the patrol car.
“It’ll come back a match to my car, Burke.”
“I know. Doesn’t leave us much time.”
We drove back to Forman Falls. Back to my dark house. And back to an envelope pinned to one of my porch posts.
Burke flicked on his police flashlight, shined it on the envelope, around the steps, the porch, the yard. I crept up behind him and looked around his shoulder. It was only an envelope, after all, and not even a bulky one.
He slipped on gloves, lifted the loose flap, and tugged out a faded, black-and-white photograph of a man and a woman smiling at the camera. “Do you know these people?”
I leaned closer. “No.”
He turned the picture over. The words Laura and Clarke were written on back, with no date.
“Laura and Clarke? Who are Laura and Clarke?”
Burke put the picture back inside the envelope. “I’ll take this to the station, check for prints. I’d bet the farm the same person who gave you this picture also sent cards every year on Sharon’s birthday.”
I nodded. “The only person on this planet who cares that she was murdered.”