Authors: Suzanne Jenkins
“My wife just died, Boyd. It’s too early to think about seein’ anyone else.”
“That was thoughtless of me, Frank. My apologies,” Boyd said, embarrassed.
“No apologies necessary. It’s an idea, but just not right now.”
Boyd nodded his head and left the garage before he said anything else, happy for Ellen, Frank and Margo, and sad for himself.
As Frank dialed Margo’s office, Ellen sat and watched smiling. “Margo, it’s Frank again,” he said, cheerful. “None of the charges will be filed against me after all.”
“Oh, I’m so thrilled! That’s just wonderful, Frank.”
“Yes, we’re pretty happy here,” he said. “Thank you for agreein’ to help us out. It gave me the first peace I’ve had since this mess started.”
“My pleasure,” she said. They chatted a while longer before hanging up.
“I really like Margo,” Ellen said, thoughtful. “Let’s invite her to Phillip Anderson’s Saturday.” Frank frowned, not sure what she was getting at.
“You want me to ask her for a date? It seems a little early for that.”
“Sort of,” Ellen said. “But we won’t call it a date. Just an evening out with two friends. It seems sort of cruel to ask her to be my guardian in one breath and then ignore her when she’s not needed.” Frank nodded his head.
“I gotcha,” he said. “That’s true. I might ask her if she would consider makin’ that legal in case I die.”
“Please don’t mention that,” Ellen said, shuddering.
“Okay, I’ll call her back while I have the nerve.” He dialed the office number again and she came on the line in a minute.
“It’s me again, Margo. Frank McPherson.”
“I recognize your voice,” she said, smiling at the phone. “Is everything still okay?”
“It’s fine, just fine,” he replied, winking at Ellen. “Me and Ellen here, we wonder if you’d accept our invitation to go dancin’ at Phillip Anderson.” Margo was speechless for a moment. Of course, she’d love to go out with Frank. But his wife was only dead four months and she and Boyd had just broken up. It would be cause for more gossip. Not sure that she cared, she reminded herself it was also the answer to her prayers.
“Wow, what a nice surprise,” she answered, trying to stall while she thought about it.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said softly. “We decided that we were goin’ to ask you to be Ellen’s guardian if anythin’ happens to me. And if we would ask that of you, we should spend time with you.”
“Time ballroom dancing?” she said, smiling. “How can I say no to that offer? I don’t dance very well though.”
“We’ll practice. How about you come out to the cottage tonight and we have a practice session before the actual occasion.” Ellen was giggling.
“Okay, it’s a deal,” Margo said, laughing.
“Come for dinner,” Frank offered, excited. His happiness was palpable.
“Thank you, I will.” They discussed the time before saying goodbye.
“You asked her to dinner,” Ellen said, looking off into space. “What should we have?”
“Your spaghetti and meatballs are the best,” he answered. “What do you think?”
“I hope she likes garlic!” Ellen said laughing. “Dancing with garlic on your breath…not a good idea.”
“Oh, right. See, that’s why I need you around. How about fried chicken?”
“I guess, but it seems like a lot of work,” she said frowning. “I’ve got it. Hamburgers. Everyone loves ‘em and they are easy to fix.”
“Good idea! We better stop by Family-Owned and pick up a few items. I guess I’ll get back to work, sister,” Frank said, standing in the doorway. He wanted to say more to her, but couldn’t find the words. It was a new start for them. She put her book down and looked at him lovingly.
“I don’t feel afraid anymore,” she said. “Now the threat of you being stuck in jail is gone, I feel safe again.”
“I’m sorry about it all,” he replied. “Sorry you were exposed to all that ugliness. All over our dancin’ together.”
“I just thought of somethin’ Frank.”
“What’s that?”
“Mary. She wasn’t at Phillip Anderson’s Saturday night to watch the contest.”
“That was an answer to my prayer,” he replied, shaking his head in disgust as he went back into the garage.
***
Henry pulled the patrol car into Mary Cook’s driveway. It looked unoccupied, with two days worth of newspapers scattered on the porch, her mailbox jammed with ads and coupons. Dave tapped on the door and a dog down the block started barking.
“Big fight over there the other night,” next-door neighbor Peter called over the fence. Dave hopped down off the porch and met him.
“Is that right?” he asked. “What kind of fight?”
“About the usual for Mary. A lot of screaming and yelling and glass breaking. I was getting used to it and then not a peep all day yesterday.”
“Did you call the police?” Henry asked.
“Why in God’s name would I call the police?” Peter asked. “I’d be calling over there every night if that was the case. Take your pick. That house was last night,” he pointed across the street. “Mary here Saturday night and a few days before when that dead guy was here pissin’ her off. We got a regular cast of characters fightin’ in this neighborhood.”
“Stick around, Pete. You can tell us more in a minute,” Henry said.
“I’ll call for back up,” Dave said, reaching into the car and pulling the radio out. While waiting for Boyd to show, they walked the perimeter of the house, but nothing seemed out of place. Dave pulled a bucket over, turning it upside down and stood on it to peek in the windows but the curtains were tightly closed.
“Here he comes,” Henry called when Boyd pulled up.
“What’s going on?” Boyd asked. They told him what Peter had said, and that there was no answer, and she was over an hour late for work now.
Boyd lifted the mat and found her key, conveniently located for thieves, and opened the door. The smell was still faint, but evident. Boyd’s heart sank. They entered in a line with him leading. Frightened, Boyd wanted to be the first to find her.
“Look,” he said, pointing to the floor just beyond the vestibule. “Blood.” Dave returned to the car to call for a forensic team. The trail of blood wound through the hallway into the tiny kitchen. A chair was on its side and the dish strainer on the floor with smashed dishes and glassware confirmed Pete’s comment.
“There she is,” Boyd called. The men were careful not to step in her blood. Laying face down on the kitchen floor was Mary Cook.
Henry bent over her, feeling her neck for a pulse. “She’s dead.”
“Who’d kill Mary?” Boyd said, flabbergasted.
“She’s wearing the same thing she had on Saturday,” Dave said when he returned. “I remember because when Henry hand cuffed her, she fell back on the seat and I had to lift her legs up into the car. I remember those pink pants and those sneakers. I bet if you turn her over, her shirt has Mickey Mouse on it.”
“It does. I mean her shirt had the mouse on it. When she punched me in the gut over at Frank’s I remember thinking why a grown woman would wear a mouse t-shirt.”
“I dropped her off here after questioning her over at the station Saturday. There was a woman just leaving the house. Mary said she was a boarder.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?” Henry asked.
“I’ll have to think about that one,” he said. “I hope I can remember something. I know she had hospital scrubs on. Peter might have seen her.” He left the house, calling neighbor Pete over.
“Bad news,” Dave said. Peter put his hand up to his face, stunned.
“She dead?”
“I’m sorry to say. You want to talk to me about Saturday afternoon? Did you see anyone new around?”
“I was fixin’ my meal and looking out that wind’er,” he pointed to a window overlooking the front of Mary’s house. “I saw a woman walkin’ from town, come up the stairs to the porch, knock and then leave after a bit. Then you or someone in a cop car dropped Mary off and the woman turned back and followed her into the house.”
“Did you recognize the woman?”
“Nope. She was a stranger. No one in Seymour has purple hair. Miss Logan wouldn’t stand fer it.”
“What’d she look like?” Dave asked. Pete looked up at the house, thoughtful.
“Unattractive,” Pete said. “Course I’m lookin’ through a wind’er to see her, but she was tall and big. Mean lookin’ with a rope of purple hair down her back like a horse.”
“Did you see her leave?”
“Nope. I was lookin’ for her, too. After the ruckus and all.”
“When’d the fight start?”
“Bout half hour after she got there. It was a bad one. We’s used to Miss Mary and her fights round here, but this was bad even for her. Is that when she got kilt?”
“Did you hear any names spoken, or anything stand out?” Dave said, ignoring his question.
“Nope, just a bunch of screamin’ and breaking glass. It seemed like it lasted a long time, but thinkin’ it was probably just a minute.” Dave thanked him.
“I‘ll be around later to talk more. You open to that?”
“Yes sir. Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m gonna miss Mary. She made it lively around this place.”
In minutes, sirens blasted as the rest of the crew came to Mary Cook’s house for the last time, a van with Clarke County Morgue stenciled on the side pulling into the driveway.
Chapter 27
News would travel fast through Seymour to Beauregard, thanks to Miss Sally Logan. She was standing in front of her mirrored booth in Miss Logan’s Beauty Salon when the emergency vehicles rushed down First Street.
“What’s that all about?” she hollered.
“Got no idea,” the receptionist said. “You want me to run down and find out?” But Miss Logan was already out the front door, jogging around the corner. She saw the police car in Mary’s driveway and the emergency vehicles and Boyd’s car lined up.
Putting her hand to her mouth, Miss Logan let out a genuine sob. Mary Cook was a pain in the ass, but she was an old friend. Someone she’d watched grow up in Seymour, who she’d try to assist when the girl’s mother was at her worst. Picking up her pace to a sprint, she got to Mary’s just as the forensic team arrived. “Oh no,” she said out loud. “What happened?” Boyd came down the stairs, wiping his hand on a paper towel. He went to Miss Logan, putting his hands on her shoulders. She could feel the damp; he must have just washed them. She knew what he was going to say and burst into tears.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she wailed. “It can’t be happening.”
“I’m so sorry, Sally. Let me take you back to the salon. Or home. I can take you to Towering Pines. There’s nothing to be done here.”
“Can I see her?” she sobbed.
“No, best not. She’s been lying on her face for two days. You’ll see her at the viewing, if there’s one.”
“Oh, there’ll be one,” she replied, sniffing. “I’ll pay for it myself.” Boyd waited while Miss Logan composed herself.
“Do you know who could have hurt Mary?”
“No, not a clue,” she said blowing her nose. “Poor Mary. I still can’t believe it.”
“Dave said someone was staying at the house Saturday night,” Boyd confided, taking a risk. “This is privileged information, Sally.” He hoped she’d blab it all over town. Someone knowing about the boarder might come forward.
“I talked to her when she got home Saturday evening and she said she couldn’t stay on the line; she’d just walked in the door and someone new had arrived, but that’s all she said. A
she
. ‘Let me get my guest settled and I’ll call you back.’ I got busy readying to go out. Frank and Ellen danced at Phillip Anderson Saturday night and I thought for sure Mary would be there unless she didn’t want to leave her tenant. I called her in the morning but there was no answer. I just figured she had a date or was out with whoever it was she had stayin’ here.”
Boyd patted her on the shoulder. “Come on, Sally. Let’s go.” He put his arm around her and they walked to the patrol car together.
“What an awful thing,” Miss Logan said, crying again. “Just awful.”
***
Faye Baker was seething. “Okay, I’ve had about enough of this small town shit. If I wanted murders every night I’d have stayed in Philadelphia.”
“Calm down, Baker,” DA Thomas Walker replied. “Two murders in twenty years. Three if you count McPherson.”
“Oh, she was murdered alright. She had no glucose in her blood and a shit load of insulin. A little tidbit overlooked by our coroner who said she died of natural causes. Ha! Where the hell would she get insulin?”
“So what now?” Walker asked.
“We find out who has diabetes,” Faye said. “It’s as good a place as any to start.”
She looked down at the file again as Henry Cort ran into her office. “Jesus, take it easy,” Thomas Walker said, moving out of the way.
“You aren’t going to believe this,” Henry said. “I can’t believe it.”
“Spit it out, Cort. I got high blood pressure.”
“Fingerprints in Alan Johnson’s room match prints found at the scene at Mary Cook’s.”
***
Boyd Dalton pulled up into the driveway of Towering Pines with Miss Logan in the front seat. It was the first time he’d been in her presence without her talking his ears off. “You want me to go up with you?” he asked gently. “I could use a cup of coffee.”
“What about Carol?” Miss Logan asked shaking her head. “You should probably get over to the hospital and see her.”
“I told her we were together and she said to give you her love.” Miss Logan bowed her head and started to cry again. Guilt from gossiping about Boyd and Margo filled her, regrets for her behavior overwhelming her in the sadness of losing Mary.
“I’ll be okay, Boyd. Give her a kiss for me. I think I want to be alone for little bit.” He nodded his head and got out of the car.
“Let me at least walk you up.” Cate was in the window, wondering what in God’s name the sheriff was bringing Sally Logan home for and met them at the door.
He tipped his hat to Cate. “Miss Ashby. Take care of Miss Logan.” Saying goodbye, he skipped down the steps, giving Sally Logan a wide berth so she could start telling her story. Pulling out of the driveway, he got to thinking about Margo, hoping she was okay as he drove to the hospital to see his wife. The best thing he could do was to leave Margo alone, give her a chance to get back on her feet.