Map Skills Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  The Who's There Historical Society was just a few blocks down the street, in a little log cabin they claimed was the first building Theobald Peters had built when he'd founded the town. It was a possibility that this was true, but most people thought he'd lived in the lumber mill, because that was the first thing he'd built.

  I opened the rough-hewn door and went inside. The cabin had only one room, but every single surface was covered with books, papers, and old photos. Filing cabinets stood against a wall and in the center of the room, and an elderly lady in a flower print blouse and cardigan was sitting at a table, studying a piece of paper. She didn't seem to notice me.

  "Hello," I said quietly.

  The woman jumped, her hand fluttering to her heart. "Oh! You startled me!"

  She took a few deep breaths, regained her composure, and smiled. "I'm Edna Lou Murphy. I'm the president of the Who's There Historical Society. Are you in the wrong place?"

  I was about to say it would be unlikely for anyone to walk into a log cabin with a huge sign that said Historical Society, if I'd been looking for something else. But she seemed nice, so I didn't.

  Edna Lou stood about five foot five and was thin. White hair was piled in a bun on top of her head, and she wore a skirt with nylons and sensible shoes. Her shoulders were a little stooped, but her smile was warm and welcoming. I liked her immediately.

  "Merry Wrath," I said. "I grew up here."

  Uh-oh. I shouldn't have said that. I was still a little incognito, although the word was probably getting around about who I really was. After two years of living here, the police and my Girl Scouts were figuring it out. I probably should've retired somewhere else, like What Cheer, Iowa.

  Edna squinted at me. "Are you related to Adelaide Wrath?"

  I nodded. "She was my grandmother."

  Wrath was my mother's maiden name. Her mother, Adelaide, had had a farm outside of town. She'd been an amazing woman who wasn't afraid of anything and had kept a loaded shotgun behind the kitchen door "just in case." I'd once asked her what she meant by that, but she didn't answer. She never drank or swore and made the best apple pie this side of the Mississippi.

  As fierce as she was, it was no surprise when she died in her late nineties while chopping down a tree. Apparently, the kitten had gotten stuck up in the branches, and she couldn't be bothered to get the ladder. Her dying words to my mother when asked why she didn't use a ladder were, "Are you crazy? Those things are dangerous!"

  "You must be Judith's daughter?" Edna frowned.

  She was right. My mother was an only child. So was I. And I hated it.

  "You're Finn Czrygy! The spy!" She clapped her hands together with glee.

  I guess I should've known I wouldn't be able to put one over on a historical researcher.

  I winced. "That's right. But most people here think I'm Merry Wrath, and I'd kind of like to keep it that way."

  "Of course. I won't tell a soul." She gave me a jolly wink.

  Edna pushed a plate of cookies toward me, and I took one, because duh! Cookies!

  "Why are you here, Merry?"

  "My Girl Scout Troop is working on a project where they need to know the town's history," I lied.

  "That's wonderful!" Edna squeaked. "So few young people are interested in local history anymore."

  I nodded. "I've always found the town lore fascinating. Are all the Peters gone now?"

  Edna shook her head. "All gone. Poor souls. Each one died young." She looked at a photo on the wall of a glowering man with enormous bushy eyebrows who seemed to stare directly at me. "Peter Peters died in the '60s."

  "What happened to him?" I was trying not to make eye contact with the photo or ask why he had such a repetitive name.

  "He drowned while swimming in Lake Okoboji."

  "That's too bad…"

  She shook her head. "He didn't know how to swim. Stubborn man. Refused help even after he went under. Twice."

  "Really?" I hadn't heard about that.

  "Oh, yes, dear. I was there. Saw the whole thing. You couldn't tell a Peters what to do."

  For just a moment I thought about pressing her for the whole story, but decided I really didn't want to hear it.

  "Who's There has such an interesting story, with pioneers, a mysterious murder, and a hidden treasure." I tried to sound nonchalant. "The girls have been eating it up. I just wish I knew more to tell them."

  Edna Lou pulled out a chair for me. As I sat, she pulled a file from one of the cabinets and sat across from me.

  "Mehitable Peters." She handed me a photo, and it took all my self-control not to jump.

  The woman in the photo looked a lot like me—if I were crazy with long, wild hair and no eyelids. She must have been in her thirties, dressed in a clown costume, and barefoot. And the picture looked like it had been taken in a studio, due to the painted background. Mehitable's eyes were wide as she stared at the camera. Her mouth was in a tight line. Long, dark hair looked like it hadn't been combed in a month. It was thick and stuck out from her head as if she'd just been electrocuted.

  If Edna noticed a similarity, she didn't say it. "She was twenty-eight when this was taken. It was her llama's birthday, so she decided to commemorate the moment with a photograph. This is one of only a few pictures we have of her."

  "It was her llama's birthday, and she had her picture taken?" How did she know the birth date of her llama?

  The woman nodded and pulled out another photo. "This is her brother, Eustace, around the same time."

  This picture looked normal. A handsome man in his thirties, with his wife and children. They were dressed to the nines in the same studio with the same backdrop. He didn't look anything like his sister, but maybe that was because he was cleaned up and she was, well…not. Eustace looked relaxed in his suit and wore a glorious mustache.

  "What can you tell me about Mehitable?"

  Edna looked thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to access something in a filing cabinet in her brain.

  "Mehitable's family called her Mimi. We have her diary. She was a normal little girl who wrote a lot about her life. It wasn't until she turned twenty-six that she lost her senses."

  "Have you read her diary?"

  Edna walked back to the cabinet and returned with an old, leather-bound book. I flipped loosely through it. From this brief browsing, it seemed that the first couple of hundred pages featured her life from age seven to twenty-six. There were mentions of dolls, her father at the family lumber mill or tavern, her mother's lard sandwiches…normal stuff for that era, I guessed.

  I flipped to the last page with writing. It was on her twenty-sixth birthday. Only one word was on the page.

  Wubble.

  "You should publish this." I handed it back.

  Edna nodded. "I'd love to. Maybe someday."

  I was pretty sure she shouldn't wait. Edna Lou Murphy didn't look like she had a lot of somedays left.

  "It looks like she snapped on her birthday," I said. "The page before talks about making butter."

  "Yes. That's what all of us think too."

  I looked around the room, wondering if at any second I was going to have old people jumping out at me. "All of you?"

  "The historical society. Well, me and my cousin Ike. The others have died off over the years. I'm the only one keeping it going. I keep saying 'all of us' out of habit."

  I made a mental note to give a large donation to the society. "You said her grandparents—what about her parents?"

  Edna looked to her right, and then to her left, before leaning in. "It was just her mother. No one ever knew who the father was." She looked over her glasses at me. "Winifred died when Mimi was only two." She leaned closer and whispered, "Consumption."

  I nodded as if I knew what the hell that meant. "So, Mimi and Eustace's grandparents raised them?"

  "Oh yes. And when they died, they left everything to Mimi."

  I had to ask, "How did Theobald and Euphemia Peters die?"

  "It was an a
ccident. They were driving in their carriage, and something spooked the horse. He reared up, and Euphemia was thrown. Her neck was broken. As Theobald struggled to control the horse, he fell out of the carriage. He died two days later."

  The questions kept bubbling up on my lips, and I realized I really was fascinated. "Why did they give all of their money to Mimi?"

  Edna searched through the file and brought out a piece of paper in a plastic sleeve. It was the last will and testament of Theobald and Euphemia Peters and looked as though it would disintegrate if anyone so much as looked at it. There were only a few sentences, including one that left everything to their granddaughter. Their grandson wasn't even mentioned.

  "Something must've happened," I mumbled.

  "Oh yes," Edna agreed. "There have been many theories over the years. The town was pretty divided over it. Half of the town believed it was a forgery, while the other half figured that because Eustace was doing well and Mimi was getting a little soft in the head, they left the money for her care."

  "How did Eustace feel about that?"

  She shrugged. "Everything I've seen on the subject implies that he took it well. People were impressed with how he handled it."

  And now, literally, the million-dollar question, "How did Mimi spend her inheritance?"

  Edna thought for a moment. "I've found old receipts that indicate she had standing orders for groceries and other sundries. They were delivered to her until she died. Besides the llama, every other expenditure seemed okay."

  The girls would never forgive me if I didn't ask about the llama. "Where did she get the llama?"

  "Her grandparents visited Peru. No one really knows why. But they brought her a llama. His name was Tinkles."

  "And the fabled treasure?" I ventured.

  Edna laughed. "That has been a legend since the day Mimi died. She didn't leave a will. Oh, there were rumors that she left it all to Tinkles, but I haven't seen any proof of that. What was left in her accounts took care of her bills around town with the grocer, at the feed store, and the like. Eustace bought the house at auction and spent years looking through it. He never found the money."

  How could she have hidden it? And where? "It was a considerable fortune, like a million dollars, right?"

  "Yes. She had it all in gold bullion. Not an easy thing to hide. But no one ever found it. As disturbed as she was, it's possible she gave it away or lost it."

  I thought about this. Edna tidied up the files but left the diary and two photos behind.

  "Could I make copies of the pictures?" I asked.

  The woman took them over to a printer and returned with two copies. That was nice of her.

  "How does the Historical Society support its studies?"

  "We have a very small grant from the city. Mayor Scott has been generous enough to keep it going," Edna said. "I'm a volunteer and the only staff. Money is running a little short. I'm thinking of writing a few proposals to foundations in the area."

  The expression on her face told me she didn't have a lot of confidence in that idea.

  I pulled out my checkbook and wrote a check for one thousand dollars and handed it to her. Rex would probably frown on this. I was a bit of an impulse spender. But I'd gotten a huge settlement from the CIA when they kicked me out for the outing that wasn't my fault. Besides, Edna Lou needed it more than I did. And it made me feel good to help out.

  "A small donation," I said. "I might have a connection or two for state funding." I was thinking of my father, Senator Michael Czrygy. While he was in the US Senate now, he still had a lot of influence in the state house.

  Edna's jaw dropped. "Not only are you the only person who's visited this place in years, you're the only donor!"

  "That's going to change. I'm going to mobilize my Girl Scout troop to help out. You come up with a list of things you need, and we will make it happen."

  Where did this charitable Merry Wrath come from? I liked her!

  Tears formed in Edna's eyes, and she threw her frail arms around my midsection. She was so frail it felt like a light breeze. I gave her my phone number and insisted she call me.

  "Someday…" She wiped her tears on a tissue she'd pulled from her sleeve. "I'm going to get the Peters House and turn it into a museum!"

  "What?" I asked. The house Randi and Ronni lived and worked in?

  Edna nodded. "Oh yes! It's always been my dream to do that. We can't let Villisca get all the glory!"

  All the glory? Villisca was a small town about an hour and a half away. In 1912 an entire family and two guests were murdered in their sleep. No one was ever apprehended, and it remained a mystery to the present day. The house is now a museum. And apparently, Edna thought they unfairly reaped some benefit from what had happened there. I wondered if Edna was related to Betty?

  "Our axe murder is just as important as theirs! Sure, it was only one person, but that's just as sad! They turned the Lizzie Borden house into a bed-and-breakfast, you know. A bed-and-breakfast! The Peters Home would be perfect for that!"

  "Um"—my tongue twisted as I tried to find the words—"isn't there a business there now?"

  But Edna Lou wasn't listening. "We even have the axe that killed her! Can't you imagine it over the mantel in the parlor?" Her eyes brimmed with joy.

  "Yeah, well…"

  "And those outsiders swooped in and took the house before I could come up with the down payment." She dabbed her eyes again. "But this"—she waved my check at me—"this will help because I've got a lawyer working on it."

  Time to go… "Well, thank you. I'll get the girls to come with me next time."

  As I walked out the door, Edna shouted, "Wait!"

  She handed me Mehitable's diary. "Just be very careful with it," Edna said. "I think you'll find it interesting."

  Tucking the journal into my purse, I thanked her and left the little cabin.

  On the way to my car, I wondered, did I just finance a plan to evict my future sisters-in-law? Maybe I'd keep that to myself…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "What are you reading?" Rex joined me in the backyard and pulled up a lawn chair.

  "The diary of a madwoman," I mumbled.

  Rex handed me a glass of wine and set the bottle down on a little table between us. He was truly the perfect man—always anticipating my needs before I knew what I needed. And right now, I needed a glass of wine.

  "I think I've heard of that," Rex said after a hello kiss that made my knees go all rubbery. My fiancé was a terrific kisser. His lips spoke volumes, and had I not been currently enthralled with a crazy woman, I might have dragged him inside for a little make-out session.

  I shook my head. "That's not the title. It's actually Mehitable Peters' diary."

  Rex was a transplant to Who's There, so he was not a Whorish. You read that right. Natives call themselves Whorish—pronounced hooreesh—an unfortunate mixing of Who's and Irish (for the majority of settlers who moved here mid-eighteenth century). Whoever came up with that didn't really think it through, and we always regret it at the infamous high school football game against our rivals from Bladdersly (their only opportunity to make fun of someone else's name because they are the Raging Bladders).

  So I filled him in on this little bit of our history. My fiancé let me tell the whole thing and didn't even interrupt. Not even once. He even refilled my glass—which was a bonus for me.

  "Wubble?" he asked when I was done.

  "Yup. I think she was murdered. Edna Lou Murphy at the Historical Society said it was classified as an accident, but I've role-played it a little, and it just doesn't seem to work." I nodded behind me.

  Over in the corner of the patio, Philby lay on her side, a fake axe-through-the-head headband on. She'd refused to let me take it off. She lay there like a proper victim. Good kitty.

  The corners of Rex's lips twitched. "So, Philby was Mimi?"

  "She played her role very well." At the sound of my voice, Martini trotted out from behind a planter, dressed as a llama.
>
  "I just don't see," I continued, "how it's possible to fall on an axe with your head."

  "But you don't know that's what really happened." Rex scooped up the kitten and removed the llama suit. Martini passed out in the middle of the process, so he held her on his lap.

  I shrugged. "All the historical society has is her diary, the will, and these photos." I handed him the pictures that Edna Lou had copied for me.

  Rex's eyes grew wide when he saw Mehitable. He looked from me to her and back to me.

  "She looks like you. If you were insane, that is."

  "I think so too. Are you into that? Because I have a clown suit somewhere…"

  Rex laughed. "Not really. And the costume is a definite turnoff."

  Well, now I knew what I wasn't going as for Halloween.

  He flipped through the diary and read a passage here and there as he skimmed. "She died in the old Peters House? Where my sisters now live?"

  I decided not to tell him of Edna's plan to turn the taxidermy shop into an axe murder B&B. "That's right."

  We sat for a few moments, him thinking, me drinking. Martini woke up and spotted a butterfly. She raced around the yard, chasing it, fell asleep in mid-jump, and dropped to the grass like a sack of cat litter.

  "Do you think I should take her to the vet?" I asked Rex.

  He looked at the kitten, whose legs were twitching.

  "Maybe you should call Dr. Alvarez. But later. I have an idea."

  I liked his ideas. They usually started with pizza and ended with a make-out session.

  "The Who's There Police Department has only been in existence since the 1920s. But the county sheriff's department has been around much longer. I could see if they have the files on her death, or murder. I'm sure they wouldn't mind us looking at them."

  I sat straight up. "Us? You mean you and me?"

  Rex nodded. "For once, I'll work on this with you. It might be fun to try to solve a cold case."

  I jumped from my chair and climbed into his lap, kissing him furiously.

  He pulled back for a breath of air. "So it's a yes?"

  I nodded. "When can we go see the sheriff?"

  * * *