Authors: Melissa Glazer
“I could get used to it myself,” I said with a grin. The bite of my earlier conversation with Sheriff Hodges was gone, probably because I’d been doing what I loved for most of the afternoon. “Do you have big plans this evening?”
“I’ve got a class tonight on Renaissance art. It’s all I can do to stay awake in it.”
“I’d love to hear that lecture. You’re so lucky.”
“Want to trade evenings? I’m sure whatever you’re doing will be more exciting than my plans.”
I patted his shoulder. “I’m not sure Bill would enjoy your cooking.”
“Hey, I’m a good cook. I make a mean waffle. Ask Mom.”
“Between the two of you, you’ve got breakfast just about covered then.”
“So what else is on tap for your evening?” he asked.
“I don’t know. After that, we might play some Scrabble, or maybe watch an old movie. There’s a Don Knotts retrospective on tonight, and I’m dying to see
The Ghost and Mister Chicken
again.”
“Art class it is, then.” He shrugged, then added, “See you later, Carolyn.”
“Bye, David.”
Despite the impression I’d just given my assistant, I didn’t have to get home right away. Bill had warned me earlier in the day that he was going to be working late for the next few days finishing up a pair of Shaker dressers a customer had ordered. Since I wasn’t cooking dinner, there was no real need to go straight home. Despite the sheriff’s desire that I butt out of the murder investigation, I was going to push forward and shake a few more trees to see what might fall out.
“Carolyn, over here.”
Kendra Williams called out to me as I walked by her place. Had she been lying in wait for me to pass by? A part of me regretted that she wasn’t terrified of me anymore. At least then I might have gotten some peace and quiet. But then again, maybe she had more on Betty Wickline’s love life, and I needed all the help I could get tracking down her latest paramour.
I paused for a second, then turned toward her. “Were you calling me?” I asked. “I was deep in thought.”
As I approached her, she asked, “Were you thinking about the murder?”
“Among other things,” I said. “Do you have anything new for me?”
“About Betty’s latest love? No, nothing yet. I was just wondering if you’ve managed to uncover any more clues.” The woman was positively salivating at the prospect of hearing more dirt on the murder victim. No matter how I’d felt about Betty—and let’s face it, the whole world knew my feelings—I wasn’t about to drag her name through the dirt any more than I had to.
“I’m still working on it,” I said.
I was trying to find a delicate way to disengage from her when Kendra said, “You should talk to Annie Gregg.”
“I don’t believe I know her,” I said.
“She’s Don Gregg’s daughter.”
“Still no bells,” I said.
“From Harvest Glenn,” she continued.
“Okay, I know where the town is, but I still don’t know the Greggs. What do they have to do with Betty?”
Kendra looked disgusted. “Not Don, he’s an engineer for the county, and as far as I know, he never even met Betty Wickline.”
“So why should I speak with his daughter?”
“You really don’t have a clue, do you? Annie cleans houses all around the county. She’s saving up to go to school, since Don’s paying alimony from his first marriage and doesn’t have a dime to spare.”
This woman was driving me crazy. In fact, if Kendra’s body was ever found in her shop, I wouldn’t have any problem being named a suspect in that particular crime.
“And that matters how?” I asked.
“She cleaned Betty Wickline’s house.” Kendra lowered her voice as she added, “Not only does she have the dirt on Betty, and I mean that literally, but she’s also got something much more important. She has a key to Betty’s house.”
That certainly got my attention. “How do I get in touch with her?”
Kendra handed me a slip of paper. “That’s her cell-phone number. Give her a call, Carolyn.”
“I will. And Kendra?”
“What?”
“Thanks.”
She looked startled by my appreciation, and if I didn’t know any better, I could swear she blushed slightly for just a second. “You’re welcome.” She looked down the walk, then asked eagerly, “Any chance I could go with you when you search the house? I might be able to find something you would miss. I’ve got a keen eye for detail, you know.”
And just when I was starting to feel all warm and fuzzy toward her. “No, thanks, I can handle it.”
“You
will
tell me what you find though, won’t you?”
It was probably the least I could do, given that she’d handed me this lead herself. “Fine. I’ll let you know.”
I was tempted to call Annie on the spot, but I needed some privacy for the conversation, and some kind of plan to get her to open up to me without alerting her to my true intentions. Blast it all, I suddenly realized that I was walking toward the upper parking lot when I’d parked my car in the opposite direction. I had to walk past Kendra’s shop again to get to where I’d left the Intrigue early that morning, but Kendra was busy haggling with a customer, so I made it past her the second time unscathed.
Back at my home, I raced around the house tidying up before Annie Gregg showed up for our appointment. She’d readily agreed to come for an interview. I didn’t need someone to clean up after my husband and me, but it was the only way I could think of to get some time with the girl. My, how had the place gotten so dusty? I ran a rag over the high spots, stopping long enough to put away a few errant things like last week’s laundry and some magazines from the Carter administration. I just about had the place in good order when the doorbell rang.
I opened the door to find a trim, young brunette with big brown eyes waiting for me. She reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on who.
“You must be Annie,” I said as I offered her my hand.
“And you’re Mrs. Emerson.”
“It’s Carolyn, please,” I said. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thanks.”
As I took her coat, I could see Annie studying the place. I glanced around, unsure of what she was seeing. After all, I’d cleaned up, hadn’t I? I had to admit, there were some spots my dust rag had missed, and the magazines I’d so carefully stacked by the sofa in the living room had fallen over like a house of cards.
“Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee, or perhaps a cup of tea?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love some tea.”
“Then why don’t you come back into the kitchen and we can chat there?”
I saw a few things I’d missed in there as well. Maybe after my investigation was over, I’d consider hiring Annie after all. It might be nice to have an extra hand sometimes, since Bill wasn’t about to pitch in. That wasn’t entirely fair; he’d help out whenever I asked, but it would be lovely not having to ask.
As Annie settled onto a bar stool, she said, “I have Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons free, but I’m afraid I’m booked solid the rest of the week.”
“My, you’re an ambitious young lady, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “I want to go to Stanford, and at the rate I’m working and saving, I’ll be able to register next year.”
“That’s a difficult school to get into, isn’t it?” As soon as the words left my mouth I realized I sounded a bit snobbish. “It doesn’t mean I don’t think you aren’t qualified. Oh dear, I’ve really stepped in it, haven’t I?”
Instead of being angry, Annie just laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s pretty hard to offend me. I got in on my own, and I’m planning to use student loans if I have to, but I’m hoping to get a partial scholarship to supplement the earnings I’ve made cleaning.”
“Then I probably can’t afford you,” I said as the kettle started to whistle.
“Don’t be so sure. It’s not as bad as you might think.”
She quoted me a price that would take my entire “fun fund” from Bill’s chair earnings as well as a nice chunk out of my weekly house budget. It appeared that I was going to have to make do on my own, at least until I had a chain of Fire at Will shops instead of my lone store.
As we sipped our tea, I said, “I understand you worked for Betty Wickline.”
Her mug paused midway between the counter and her lips. “That was a terrible thing, wasn’t it? That’s why I have Thursday afternoons free.” She hesitated a second, then asked, “They found her in your shop, didn’t they?”
“I didn’t kill her,” I said bluntly, wondering how many times I’d have to make that particular declaration.
“Why, I never thought you did,” she said. “If we’re being honest, maybe it did cross my mind a few times. It looks bad for you, doesn’t it, Carolyn?”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “There are enough folks who could cripple my business with a boycott if I don’t figure out what really happened to Betty. Is there anything you might have seen or heard that might help me?”
She frowned. “What about the sheriff? Surely he’s investigating the crime.”
I shook my head. “I’ve got reason to believe he might be involved in it himself.”
Annie took a sip of tea, then said, “That’s a pretty bold accusation.”
“I’ve got my reasons, but I’d rather not tell you what they are. Annie, I’m in trouble. Will you help me?”
She looked startled by the request, then said, “I wish I could, but I’m not sure what I can do. I just clean; I don’t snoop when I’m doing it.”
“I never meant to imply that you did,” I said. There was something about this girl I liked. She was forthright and open with her emotions, and as far as I could tell, guileless. “I’m just wondering if you might have seen or heard anything that made you suspicious.”
After pondering my question for a minute, she replied, “No, sorry, there’s nothing I can think of.”
“Do you still have a key to her place?” I’d debated asking her, but really, what choice did I have?
“Yes,” she said softly. “Why do you ask?”
“Maybe if we could go over there together, I could look around some. I don’t want to disturb her things, but there might be something there that might tell me who killed her.”
I doubted she could have looked more uncomfortable. “I don’t know about this, Carolyn. It seems kind of sneaky.”
“That’s because it is,” I agreed. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position. How’s your tea?”
“It’s fine,” she said. After a full minute of silence, Annie said, “I do have some of my things over there I need to get. Some cleaning supplies and things like that. I suppose you could go with me.”
“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” I said, trying to hide my elation.
“No, it’s okay. I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to be suspected of murder and not be able to do anything about it.”
“You’re a real sweetheart,” I said as I patted her hand.
“When would you like to go?”
“How about right now? Let me grab my car keys and I’ll follow you there.”
“Okay, I guess that would be all right.”
The poor girl barely knew what hit her. I was afraid if I gave her any time at all to think about what she was doing, she’d back out, no matter how sympathetic she was to my cause. And I couldn’t afford that. I had to ratchet up my efforts if I was going to find Betty Wickline’s killer, and if that meant crossing a line with the sheriff, then I was going to walk boldly across it. As I followed her through town to-ward Betty’s place, I kept hoping that Annie wouldn’t get cold feet and bar my access after all.
To my relief, she led me around the drive to the back of the house, and after we both parked, she got out and said, “I always had to park back here. It’s the only lock my key fits.”
It was a rather modest home, not quite what I’d been expecting. A thought suddenly occurred to me. How had Betty afforded Annie’s services? Where was her money coming from? As we approached the door, I wondered what we were going to find inside.
“Oh, my lands, what happened here?”
I followed Annie inside and looked around the kitchen. We’d turned on one of the lights, and I hoped no one saw us snooping.
The kitchen was a wreck. The contents of cereal boxes, flour bins, coffee tins, and other containers had been strewn out across the counters. Not a drawer or door was left unopened, and the remnants of Betty Wickline’s pantry looked like a hurricane had hit it.
“I’m guessing it wasn’t like this the last time you saw it,” I said.
“Of course not.”
Annie started cleaning up when I put a hand on her arm. “You probably shouldn’t do that. The police are going to want to see this before we touch anything.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. My first reaction to a mess is to clean it up, do you know what I mean?”
“For now, you’d better resist the urge,” I said.
Annie reached for Betty’s phone when I stopped her. “We shouldn’t touch anything, remember?”
“I keep forgetting. Let me get my cell phone.”
As she dug into her purse, I asked, “What for?”
She looked at me, the confusion clear in her eyes. “We’re going to call the police and report this, remember?”
“Not just yet,” I said. “Why don’t we look around a little first?” There was no way Hodges was going to let me search the place after he was on the scene, and really, what did it matter if I called him right now, or in half an hour?
“I don’t know about this, Carolyn,” Annie said. “This is a little more than I bargained for.”
“You can leave if you want to. I’ll say the back door was open, and I saw a light on or something like that. I won’t even tell the police you were with me.”
Annie shook her head, looked around a second, then said, “No, I’m fine. I’ll stay here with you.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I’m not going to leave you with another mess on your hands,” she said. Then she looked around again. “I didn’t mean this.”
“I knew what you meant, and I appreciate it. Try not to step in the spilled flour. We don’t want to leave any footprints.”
I know Annie was right. We should have called Hodges right away—and I was going to call him eventually, honestly I was—but I needed to have a look around first.
“You go ahead,” Annie said. “I’m going to sit right here.” Her look was full of pleading as she added, “Don’t be long, Carolyn, okay?”
“I promise I’ll make it quick.”
I carefully skirted the spilled flour and made my way deeper into the house. Whoever had trashed the place hadn’t stopped at the kitchen. Sofa cushions had been slashed open in the living room, and the master suite was even worse. The mattress and box spring were on the floor, with cuts across the fabric. Entire drawers were pulled out of the dressers and their contents added to the pile. What had the mysterious visitor been looking for? Betty must have been keeping some kind of secret, but what could it have been? I walked into the closet and felt more than a tick of envy as I surveyed an unbelievably large space. That’s when I realized she had converted one of the bedrooms into a closet. This woman must have had a budget for shoes that was more than my mortgage payment. It was just one more indication that Betty Wickline had a source of income that nobody else knew about.
“Carolyn, are you finished? I’m getting nervous.”
“I won’t be much longer,” I called out. I was about to give up on the closet when I noticed something poking out from the toe of one of the shoes. It was a key, like the kind for lockers at the Y or at a bus terminal. But what could it mean? I tucked it into my purse and started rooting around the other shoes when I heard a voice behind me.
“Stand up slowly, and don’t make a move.”
“How can I stand if I can’t move?” I asked.
There was no mistaking the voice. It was our town sheriff, and from the sound of it, he was ready to shoot me first and ask questions later.
When I turned around, he had his gun out of his holster, but at least it was by his side instead of pointing at me. I said, “You can put that away. I’m not dangerous, you know.”
“I’m not so sure. What do you think you’re doing here?”
It was time to dance. “I came by with Annie to get her cleaning supplies, and while she was in the kitchen, I thought I heard a kitten mewing back here. What did you want me to do, leave the poor thing here to die?”
He looked around the closet. “I don’t see any cats.”
I did my best to look perplexed. “Funny, I don’t either, now that you mention it. It must have been the wind.”
“It’s dead calm outside.”
Okay, he wasn’t buying it, but I didn’t exactly have a fallback position. “Sure it is right now, but what about five minutes ago? Or have you been out there waiting for me to make a break for it?”
“I just got here,” he admitted.
“Well, there you go.” At least he couldn’t dispute my claim of a gust of wind sounding like a kitten, no matter how much he wanted to. “What brings you here?”
“A neighbor saw a light on and called us. Tell me you didn’t trash this place, Carolyn.”
The mere thought of creating such mess and mayhem shook me. “Now why on earth would I do that?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“We found it like this. Every bit of it,” I said, my righteous indignation valid for once. “Ask Annie.”
“I did,” he agreed reluctantly. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t come back after you’d already wrecked the place once.”
“If I had a key, why would I have needed Annie?” I wasn’t sure if I had just made an admission in there someplace, but I didn’t want the sheriff to have time to think about it. “This proves that someone else murdered Betty. Don’t you see that?”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, I didn’t do it. Why would I come back here if I’d done this? Whoever did it was looking for something, and from the state of things, I’m guessing he didn’t find it.”
Hodges nodded. “So that’s why you came back. You brought Annie this time as a cover in case I showed up, which was actually pretty clever of you, because here I am.”
“I didn’t do this,” I said, nearly in tears despite my resolve to keep my head. Why wouldn’t the man believe me?
“I’m not willing to say what I think yet one way or the other,” he said, but at least he put his gun back in its holster. “There’s another theory you haven’t brought up yet, one that might be closer to the truth.”
“What’s that? If you’ve got an explanation, I’m ready to hear it.”
He gestured around the bedroom. “This might not be related to Betty Wickline’s murder at all, at least not in the way you think it is.”
“Now who’s stretching for something?” I asked.
“There have been a string of burglaries in Hartford that this MO matches. The crooks read the obituaries, then scout the houses of the deceased. This fits that pattern.”
I pointed to the mattress, which I could see a corner of from my vantage point in the closet. “So why rip up the box frame?”
“How should I know? Would you like me to go back to my original theory that you were here snooping around for something Betty Wickline had on you?”
“No, I can see how the burglary theory is possible,” I said, backpedaling as fast as I could.
“I thought you might. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Aren’t you at least going to dust the place for fingerprints?” I asked.
“I’ve got a feeling all we’ll find are yours and Betty Wickline’s,” he said. “Even if you’re telling the truth, which I’m not about to admit, you should have called me before you started exploring on your own. Annie had the right idea. She was sitting on a bar stool by the door when I walked in. She nearly fainted when she saw my drawn gun.”
“Okay, maybe I should have called you, but would you have believed my story any more if I’d reported this before I had a look around myself?”
“What happened to the cat?”
For a split second, I almost said, “What cat?” but providence stopped me. “That’s what I just said. I was looking for the cat.”
“Sure you were,” he said as he started toward the front door of the house.
“We came in the back way,” I said.
“And you’re leaving through here.” He unlocked the door and opened it. “Stay away from this place, Carolyn. I’ll lock you up if I have to.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” I said.
Annie was gone when I got outside, and I honestly couldn’t blame her. Even if I could afford her cleaning tab, I doubted she’d be willing to work for me anymore. As I walked around the outside of the house back to the Intrigue, I realized that something was stuck to the bottom of one of my shoes. It was the torn third of a piece of paper, and when I turned it over, I saw the letters “is,” and just below it “ight.” Underneath that was “one”. What on earth could that mean? I thought about sharing my discovery with the sheriff, but after our conversation, I wasn’t in any mood to go back for more lecturing. I tucked the paper into my purse along with the key and wondered what they meant.
I was tired, and my confrontation with the sheriff had taken more out of me than I’d realized. Though I probably should have done some more investigating, all I wanted was a quiet bite and a long bath. It was probably just as well that Bill was working on those dressers. I wasn’t in the mood for company, not even his.
That’s why it surprised me so much when I saw the lights on in our house when I drove up.
My dear husband was sitting on the sofa, and from the look on his face, he’d had a day nearly as bad as mine.
“I thought you were working late,” I said. I put my jacket on the armchair. “I’d be glad to whip something up for you to eat, if you’d like.”
“I already ate,” he said. “Carolyn, this has gotten out of hand.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The sheriff called me a few minutes ago and told me what happened. What were you thinking, walking around Betty Wickline’s place like you held the deed? Are you trying to get arrested?”
“I’ve had enough lectures for today, thank you very much.” The nerve of the man! He was actually scolding me.
“That’s too bad, because you’re listening to one more. Stay out of this, Carolyn.”
“What makes you think you have any right to tell me what to do? Has that ever worked for you in the past?”
I was expecting another lashing, but instead, his scowl broke into a grin. “Now that you mention it, not that I can recall.”
“So what makes you think it will work now?” I wasn’t ready to forgive him, no matter how adorable he looked at the moment.
“I don’t guess I do,” he said as he rubbed a hand through his hair. I knew from years of marriage that that sign meant he was perplexed about the situation, and that he was giving up. That was one of the nicest things about being married to the same person for so long: after enough practice, you could read your spouse’s body language almost better than the newspaper.
“Just be careful,” he said softly.
“I will, but I can’t give up now.” I thought about sharing my finds with him, but I knew I shouldn’t push it. “Now that you’ve scolded me, you can go back to work.”
“To tell you the truth, I’d rather hang around here with you, if that’s okay.”
“No more lectures?” I asked, raising one eyebrow as I stared at him.
“I can’t promise that,” he said slightly.
“I know.” I hugged my husband a little harder and longer than usual, drawing strength from him. I always felt safest in his arms, and I needed that more than anything at the moment.
“Hey, are you all right?” he whispered softly into my ear.
I pulled away. “I am now. I’m going to make myself an omelet. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some?”
“I could probably eat a bite, just to keep you company.”
The old bear ended up eating more than I did, but I didn’t mind. I’d had a feeling he would, so I had adjusted the portions accordingly.
After we’d eaten, he said, “Tell you what, why don’t you go grab that bath, and I’ll do the dishes.” He rarely made such an offer, so I knew Bill was really worried about me.
“I think I’ll take you up on that,” I said, and went straight to the bathroom before he had a chance to change his mind. By the time I got out of the tub, he was on the couch, a book propped up on his belly, though his eyes were closed and he was softly snoring.
“Come on, you old bear. It’s time for bed.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” he protested drowsily.
“Sure you weren’t. I’m going to bed. Coming?”
He rubbed his eyes. “I’m right behind you.”
The next morning, the telephone at Fire at Will was ringing as I walked in the door. “Carolyn, I’m glad I caught you. I just found out something you should know about Betty Wickline.”
“Good morning to you, too, Martha.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. We’re going to my mother-in-law’s for a week, and I wanted to catch you before we left home.”
“You poor dear. I’m so sorry.” Bill’s mother had been the queen of passive-aggressive behavior, and it had taken me the first ten years of our marriage to undue the damage that the woman had inflicted on my husband. She’d been a nightmare all the way around. The best thing that had ever happened to our marriage was when Gert had moved to Canada. Everyone else was flocking to Florida as they hit their retirement years, but not Bill’s mother. It figured she would go against the norm.
“Are you kidding? Stella’s wonderful. She takes the kids for a few hours a day and plans a special treat for me on our visits. Last year she got me an hour with a masseuse, and this year she’s promised a full spa treatment. To be honest with you, I won the lottery when I married Charlie.”
“Then strike what I said before. I’m happy for you. So, tell me this news.”
She lowered her voice and said, “A friend of mine named Myrna Stout saw Betty the night she was murdered. She was having an argument on the street near your shop.”
I knew Myrna. She had run Crazy Quilts until her degenerating eyesight had forced her to sell the business. I wasn’t sure what kind of eyewitness Myrna would make if she was ever called to testify. “Why are you whispering?”
“Charlie’s in the next room packing, and I don’t want him to hear me. He’s not that thrilled with my snooping.”