The wealthy neighborhood where the Palmer house stood was much more beautiful in daylight, especially minus the red blinking lights and the police activity. The only sign that something horrible had happened in the tree-lined neighborhood of stately homes and lush green lawns was the yellow caution tape still draped across the front door of the crime scene. As it was, the neighbors were probably tired of the vacant house, with its weed riddled, mostly dead landscape and deteriorating facade. Now, the house had brought something sinister to their upper crust, seemingly peaceful neighborhood.
A trio of people stood under a sprawling elm two doors down from the Palmer house. They had that drawn, worried look that one could expect from people whose night had been interrupted by a gunshot and murder. They stared at us as we drove past and pulled up to the Palmer house.
"Something tells me if any of the Palmer family ever shows up here at the house, they are going to have rotten eggs and tomatoes thrown at them. This house sure stands out, and not in a good way," I added, unnecessarily.
"I know there have been several heated city council meetings about it, but there's not much anyone can do and the feuding family members live in different states. When they get word that a stranger was living in the house and later wound up dead on their family room floor, they might find a way to settle their differences and finally unload the property. Of course, I'm not so sure people will be clamoring to buy it."
We climbed out of the car. The weather was somewhat dreary, gray and cloudy, not bright and crisp like the past two days. It was appropriate weather for a murder investigation, and the right amount of gloom to match the mood of the neighborhood.
"Guess we could start with the three people standing under the elm. See what they heard and saw that might have been unusual on their street," Briggs said.
I stretched my legs to take longer steps to keep up with his official detective's stride. Two women and a man, who all looked to be in their sixties or early seventies, stood beneath the halfway naked branches of the tree.
They eyed us with a touch of suspicion as we headed toward them. "Afternoon." Briggs immediately flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Briggs," he said.
One woman pulled the collar of her coat closed and smiled. "Of course, it's you, little Jimmy Briggs. My husband, Dr. Freemont, was your pediatrician when you were a little boy. I knew you were a detective now, but this neighborhood hasn't ever had anything terrible like this happen so I guess we've never seen you around these parts."
Briggs flicked his gaze my direction, no doubt to see my reaction to him being called little Jimmy Briggs. I was, of course, enjoying watching him squirm.
"How are you, Mrs. Freemont. How is Dr. Freemont?"
Her face softened. "I'm afraid he passed away five years ago. Sometimes doctors are too caught up taking care of patients, and they forget to take care of themselves. But thank you for asking anyhow, Jimmy. I mean, Detective Briggs."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Freemont," he said.
"Guess you're here to investigate the murder," the man said. He was wearing a black wool hat, and a big red scarf was draped around his neck. His thick chin rested on the red wool as he peered out from under the brim of the hat. Something about his whole look reminded me of Frosty the Snowman. "Have they found the killer yet? None of us can rest easy until the person is behind bars."
"We're working on it, Mr.—" Briggs paused to let him fill in the blank.
"Hart, Bradley Hart."
Briggs pulled out his notebook. "If you don't mind me asking a few questions, I'm trying to find out if anyone noticed anything different on the street yesterday. Particularly around the Palmer house. Any cars that aren't usually around? Any people that seemed out of place?"
The second woman seemed to have a better grip on the cold weather than her two bundled friends. She was wearing just a thin blouse and a pair of black pants. "We sure did. All three of us noticed a small red car parked in the driveway yesterday evening. Must have been around six because that is when I cook dinner. I can see the driveway from my kitchen window."
"And your name?" Briggs asked.
"Sandra Tuttle. Uh, this won't go in the paper or on some list, will it? We're already concerned enough about a killer running loose. We certainly don't want any trouble." She looked rightfully scared.
"No, Mrs. Tuttle. This is my personal notebook. It helps me if I need to come back and ask you more questions and if we need potential witnesses."
I knew the last part would shock her, and the flicker of fear in her eyes confirmed my prediction. Briggs reacted quickly to assuage her concern.
"This is still all preliminary, so there's no need to worry. However, anything you can tell me will help us catch the killer quickly." He turned back to Mr. Hart. "Anything you can remember about the car?"
"I didn't think enough about it to give the car a good look," said Mr. Hart, "but if my memory serves me right—" he chuckled, "which it doesn't always, believe me. But I think it was a red Honda."
"Kate's car," I blurted without thinking.
Everyone looked at me.
"This is my assistant, Miss Pinkerton," Briggs said.
"Do you know who was driving the red car?" Mr. Hart asked.
"Oh, not necessarily." I quickly backtracked. The last thing I wanted to do was toss Kate out there as a suspect. It was rather unthinkable, but there I was thinking about it. "I just happen to know someone who drives a red Honda."
Briggs snuck a sideways glance at me before writing the information down in his notebook.
"Aren't you that nice, young woman who runs the flower shop in Port Danby?" Mrs. Freemont asked.
I smiled brightly. "Yes, that's me."
She turned to her friend. "I bought the loveliest bouquet of pink carnations from her when Minnie was in the hospital for her gall bladder attack."
Briggs cleared his throat to get them to focus on the case.
"Norris lives right next to the Palmer house, on the other side," Mr. Hart piped up. "He said he saw Margaret Sherwood wandering around the front yard, trying to get a look in the windows." He pointed to the neighboring house on our side. It was a large Tudor style home with thick swaths of ivy growing along its facade. "Margaret lives right there. Haven't seen her yet this morning. She usually has lunch with her sister in Mayfield on Wednesdays."
"You mentioned Norris?" Briggs asked as he wrote down the name.
"Yes, Jack Norris, but he left early this morning," said Mr. Hart. "He's helping his son restore an old house near the coast. He'll be back later. But he said it was very strange. He couldn't understand why Margaret would be snooping on the new neighbor. He pulled on his coat to go outside and make sure she was all right." He glanced at his two friends. They all cast a knowing look around their circle. "We always worry about Margaret. She's never quite been the same since Charles died."
Mrs. Freemont confirmed with a grim nod. "It's true. She nearly lost her entire fortune to an investment scandal. Fortunately, Mr. Escobar, who lives just down at the corner, got wind of what she was doing and stopped her before she gave everything away to some crooks."
"Did Mr. Norris ever find out why she was wandering around the Palmer house?"
Mr. Hart shook his head. "He said she saw him coming across the yard and hurried back to her own house and shut the door." Again, all three cast a concerned glance around their half circle.
"Did all of you hear the gunshot?" Briggs asked next. The question caused them all to blanch a bit. It must have been very alarming.
"It certainly woke me," Sandra said. "Sent my cat right off the bed. He hid under it for a good hour afterward. Now, mind you, I was deep asleep, so I wasn't totally sure about what I'd heard. But then I noticed Jane's light was on." She motioned toward Mrs. Freemont.
"That's right. We called each other to confirm what we both heard. We live right across the street from the Palmer house." Mrs. Freemont pointed to two stately homes that sat side by side. They looked as if the same architect had designed and built them at the same time. She shook her head. "That house has been a blight on this neighborhood since Thomas Palmer died."
"It's those darn children," Mr. Hart piped up. "Dennis and his sister, Mindy, never got along, and I'm afraid Thomas died suddenly and didn't have his affairs in order. The whole estate was in a mess. We were all pleased to discover that they had finally come to an agreement and sold the place. We were looking forward to seeing the house being restored."
"It's certainly been like an ever present, unsightly weed in this neighborhood," Mrs. Tuttle said. "Now it seems we are back to square one."
Mrs. Freemont's face snapped her direction. "Sandra, we are way behind square one. Now we have this scandalous event taking place. We're a neighborhood plagued with murder. Our home values just dropped significantly."
"Now, I don't know about that," Mr. Hart jumped in.
Briggs cleared his throat politely to remind them he was conducting an investigation. "There were multiple calls just after midnight to the police station to report the gunshot. Did any of you make a call?"
Slowly, they all nodded. "I suppose we should have coordinated it so only one of us made the call," Mr. Hart said. "But we're just not used to hearing gunshots in this neighborhood."
"Most neighborhoods aren't used to it," Briggs reminded him. "Thankfully," he added.
He flipped closed his notebook. "You have all been very helpful. Thank you for that and we'll keep you posted."
"Hope you find them soon," Mrs. Freemont called as we walked away.
"Just how long had Kate been dating this man?" he asked as we headed back to the car.
"I'm not sure. She came into the shop Monday morning to tell me about him, and the way she was talking, it was already serious. However that doesn't mean much because she's gotten engaged to men she's only known a month." We stopped and I looked at him before climbing into the car. "You can't possibly think Kate is a suspect."
He shrugged. "Haven't ruled anyone out at this point. But I'm definitely going to have a chat with her."