Lucille Pfiffer Mystery Series Box Set

by Tanya R. Taylor

  I heard the laughter and could see Theodore scooping her up into his big, strong arms.

  “Theodore’s here!” Merlene announced, as if I didn’t know.

  “What are you two up to today?” He joined us on the porch.

  “Nothing,” we replied, simultaneously.

  Those sea green eyes of his were studying us. I swear if I was younger that stud of a man would’ve been all mine, but Theodore was a boy to me—like a son. He and Anthony were the best tenants a hypothetically poor old, widow could ever have. I never told them, but I hoped they never moved out.

  “I smell a rat,” he said.

  “And I smell fish. Is that what you’ve got in the bag?” I asked.

  “Yep. I stopped at the market and thought I’d pick up a few for dinner tonight.”

  “You’re cooking?” Merlene asked.

  “Surely am,” he proudly responded.

  “Theodore’s a great cook,” I told her.

  “I’m not as good as Anthony when it comes to whipping up a meal, but I can manage.”

  It was like the fiftieth time I noticed that sly dimple on his right cheek emerge, that only showed up when it darn well felt like.

  “David’s pretty good at it,” Merlene said. “I think he might even be better than me.”

  “Might?” I scoffed. “The man can put you to shame!”

  “Must you always be so caustic?”

  “There you go with that word again,” I barked.

  Theodore laughed.

  Suddenly, there was loud banging on the front door.

  “Who the hell is that?” I asked, alarmed.

  Theodore went to check. “Whoever’s out there is obviously trying to break the door down!”

  When the door swung open, Sheriff Cooke was standing on the other side. He looked quite annoyed. Well, maybe that was an understatement.

  “Where’s Lucille?” he demanded, walking into my house.

  “Wait! What do you want her for?” Theodore went behind him.

  “Lucille! Lucille!” Cooke called. “Get her down here, Theodore.”

  “You don’t give me orders, Sheriff, and this isn’t your house to think you can just barge in here like this!”

  I met Cooke in the living room. “What the hell do you want, Sheriff?” I asked as nicely as possible. He wasn’t the only one annoyed. He just invited himself into my home and I don’t tolerate such discourteous behavior that well.

  He rushed up to me. “What the hell did you go to Judge Simon’s chamber running off your mouth for? Didn’t I specifically tell you to leave this investigation to the police?” He was fuming.

  “Hey! Hey! Who do you think you’re talking to like that?” Theodore said.

  “Yeah! Who do you think you are?” Merlene added.

  I raised both hands slightly. “Don’t worry good people. I got this.” I composed myself. “Sheriff, if you don’t get your large, overgrown hind out of my damn house, I’ll get that shotgun I just got a license for and plant some ammunition in you for trespassing.” I believe I said that nicely.

  “Tell him, Lucille!” Merlene cheered.

  The Sheriff seemed to have suddenly caught himself. I might have been blind, but he knew for sure my head wasn’t screwed on right and I would’ve used that imaginary gun, unbeknownst to him, just like I said. He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Lucille, for barging in here like this. May I please have a word with you privately?” he asked.

  It took a little while before I responded. “Well, that’s more like it. Let’s go out to the porch; shall we? We can sit down and have a little chat like cultured people.”

  He glanced back at Theodore and Merlene who were both standing there giving him the evil eye, then followed me to the porch.

  He seemed barely able to sit still in the chair and turned towards me after I sat down.

  “Isn’t it a lovely afternoon, Sheriff,” I said with a smile. “I don’t need eyes to be able to tell. Did you ever hear that when your eyes don’t work, your other senses heighten?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I think so. Lucille... how could you go and literally accuse the judge of having something to do with Sir Clement Tucker’s death?”

  “I didn’t outright call the man a murderer, so if he told you that, he lied,” I replied. “What? Did he think you’d come here and arrest me? We call him judge, but is he even a judge anymore? Seems to be in full-time private practice to me.”

  “He still holds the title, but never mind that,” Cooke said. “You cannot and I stress cannot go about making serious accusations against people like that, especially a judge—for crying out loud!”

  “I don’t care how he felt about it,” I bluntly said. “Sir Clement lost his life and not a damn soul seems to care in that legal system, including your lousy police department. If you came here to threaten me to keep my mouth shut, you’re wasting your time. Until Sir Clement’s case gets out of your cold files box and heats right up, I guarantee I’ll be getting on a lot of people’s nerves who want to keep this case in the freezer. And you, good Sheriff, will look like a fool to the public when they catch wind that a little, old, blind lady is out there doing the cops’ job because they’re too spineless to do it themselves!”

  He shook his head slowly. “You don’t understand the complexity of Sir Clement’s case. I was there when it happened—was only on the force for a few years then. Brimley was Sheriff back then and he and a couple of detectives who are no longer on the force were responsible for conducting the investigation. I was privy to their findings, at least for the most part, as some things were confidential, which means they couldn’t risk them being leaked out. A killer was on the loose and certain information had to be kept private so that whenever—if ever he was caught, facts in the case would not appear compromised. Everyone involved in solving the case at that time did everything they could, leaving no stone unturned.”

  “You sound really confident about that.”

  “I am,” he asserted.

  “So, was Judge Simon ever questioned concerning a possible connection to the case?” I asked. “After all, everything I brought to your office that day was public knowledge. It must’ve seemed suspicious to everyone looking at this case at the time that it was odd for one judge to be involved to the extent that he was in an official capacity, relating to Sir Clement’s property.”

  Cooke suddenly was quiet.

  “Cat’s got your tongue, Sheriff? I asked you a question.”

  “There’s no record of the judge ever being questioned,” he finally admitted.

  “I’m not surprised.” I sucked my teeth. “And what about Harry James’ death?”

  “What about it?”

  “Was it ever properly investigated? The man only had access to his brother’s property for several months before he ‘kicked the bucket’.”

  “Harry died of a heart attack,” he replied. “It’s in the coroner’s report.”

  “It was no heart attack,” I returned. “I can bet my bottom dollar. Someone killed him, just like they did his brother. Could’ve been the same person that offed Sir Clement.”

  “Lucille, you’re going further off into the deep end here. You’ve got to stop.”

  He must have read my mind.

  “I’m asking you to stop. Please,” he said. “You’re only opening up a can of worms.”

  “The answer is no, Sheriff.”

  “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

  “Do your job,” I replied. “Look into this case yourself and do so thoroughly.”

  He nodded. “Okay. You have my word. I will look over the evidence in Sir Clement’s case.”

  “And Harry’s...”

  “Yes. Okay.” He looked flustered. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but you seem dead set on turning this town upside down and I can’t let that happen. Even if you were to do something to give me the right to put you behind bars, you’ll probably find a way to torture me from jail.”

&
nbsp; I smiled, then patted his knee. Guess he wondered how I found it. “You’re a wise man, Sheriff. Very wise man. I’ll be checking in with you from time to time to see how you’re progressing.”

  “Just not too much, Lucille.” He stood up. “In other words, don’t overdo it. I gave you my word already.”

  “And that’s never enough. Have a fine evening, Sheriff, and give Detective Matthews my regards.”

  There he went with that nod again.

  As he walked across the living room, heading for the door, he said a brief farewell to Merlene and Theodore who were sitting there. Theodore got up and shut the door behind him.

  “What was that about?” He pointed backwards toward the door. “Merlene here seems to be clueless about it.”

  I sat on the sofa next to Merlene. “Just encouraging the Sheriff there to be the best Chadsworth has ever seen. That pretty much rounds it up.”

  “What was he all bent out of shape about?”

  “Oh, nothing! He just didn’t like a tiny remark I made to a judge. That’s all.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I can see I’m not getting anywhere with you two, but if I know you guys—you’ve gotten yourselves involved in something you probably have no business fooling with. I don’t know why it has to be such a secret, but if you need me, I’m here and I’m all ears when you’re ready to talk.”

  “Thanks, Theodore, dear.” I smiled.

  “I’m going upstairs before it’s time to get dinner started,” he said. “Catch you guys later. Nilla, you coming?’

  He didn’t have to wait for a response. Nilla was at his heel in a split second, then running up the stairs ahead of him.

  Moments later, I heard Theodore shriek.

  “Nilla’s attacking those toes of his again,” I told Merlene.

  “Figures.”

  I informed her of the agreement Cooke and I had and also my suspicion about Harry James Tucker’s death. Something about his passing bothered me.

  “I sort of wondered about that too. Was gonna mention it to you,” she said.

  “They say great minds think alike.”

  “Can you imagine if it turns out that both brothers had been murdered?”

  “That would mean this case would be much bigger than we thought,” I replied.

  13

  _________________

  A few days had passed since I’d spoken with Sheriff Cooke. Merlene and I had used the time to do a lot of brainstorming concerning Sir Clement’s case and we really hoped we could eventually give Sir Clement what he’d been craving. We even discussed big bad Tony Brawn—the supposedly larger than life realtor who always seemed to be in competition with Sir Clement when he was alive—being the one that ended up with Sir Clement’s property and how we’d find out what part he might have played in the mystery—if any. Everything was still fuzzy, but we were mostly confident that somehow it would all pan out, leading to the identity of the killer. Merlene had her doubts, of course, because she wasn’t much of an optimist—that’s why I said we were mostly confident. I wouldn’t call myself an all-around optimist either, but I liked to think that once determined, my efforts would never be in vain.

  After Theodore left for work, I brought all of the files Merlene and I had retrieved from Luke’s house downstairs and sprawled them across the dining room table. I then sat down, deciding to peruse them one more time. I recalled Sir Clement’s only utterance to me: “What you need will be at your fingertips.” If that was true, why was I still looking for that crucial piece of evidence that Cooke could use to break the case wide open? Either Sir Clement was mistaken or he wasn’t. Simple. I had a feeling the dead guy knew what he was talking about and would stand behind his claim. I hadn’t seen him anymore since that night when I’d observed him in his most gruesome form and I’d never managed to get the dreadful image out of my mind. I’m sure he’d scarred me, which meant I had a serious bone to pick with him whenever I saw him again.

  The sitting still and concentrating thing had worked when I was in Luke’s house and I thought maybe I’d put it into action again. I wasn’t sure if concentrating had as much to do with it as just clearing my mind and allowing the images to flow into it as if they’d be following a welcome sign or something. One thing I knew for sure was I was no psychic and Merlene couldn’t tell me any different.

  I was just seconds into my concentration when the front door creaked open. Speak of the devil.

  “What are you doing? Practicing yoga?” Merlene rested her purse on the sofa before coming over to the table.

  I ignored her. I needed the images, one by one, to enter my mind.

  She sat at the table and started rummaging through the stuff. “What’s this?” she asked, moments later. “I don’t remember seeing this before.”

  She’d picked up an old, tattered piece of lined paper that had obviously been a part of a regular eight by ten sheet. It had a long, triangular shape—the largest side being about eight inches in length and the shortest approximately four and a half inches. There was writing on it from a blue ink pen.

  She’d broken my so-called concentration with her find.

  “Oh, my!” she quietly exclaimed. “You won’t believe this, Lucille, but we may have found a piece of the puzzle.”

  I saw the words in my mind’s eye as she read them aloud:

  “I can never forgive myself for the part I played in my younger brother’s death. I should have never given into temptation. May God have mercy on...”

  That is where the letter got cut off, but it certainly was not how it started or ended.

  Merlene looked at me. “Could this have been one of Sir Clement’s brothers who wrote this note?”

  I nodded.

  “But which one?” She wondered, her eyes filled with shock.

  “It had to have been Harry James,” I said. “He was the eldest son.”

  Merlene couldn’t speak for a while and neither could I as the realization of what was upon us was sinking in. Then I saw Sir Clement standing a few feet away from us. He was looking like his old self again, but the weight of the world had not gone away from his face and this time, I saw a single tear drop in the corner of his eye, which slowly flowed down his left cheek. I couldn’t help but tear up as well. It must’ve been heartbreaking for him to know that his own brother had at least partly been responsible for his untimely death.

  I took the paper out of Merlene’s hand, got up and walked over to him. Merlene’s eyes were following me.

  Standing in front of him, I showed him the torn letter. “Is this true?” I asked. “Did your brother Harry have anything to do with it?”

  More tears began to flow. I felt his pain unlike ever before and wished I could’ve held him and at least comforted him somehow. No wonder the man could not rest in peace. He needed the truth to come out and it was a truth he could not utter.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I can’t imagine how one sibling can do such a horrible thing to another, and to think after the deed was done, he inherited your land.” Standing there in front of Sir Clement, I got the strong sensation that there was much more to the story than what met the eye. “You don’t have to worry.” I dried my tears with the back of my hand. “I won’t stop here; I know it’s not the end.”

  He nodded appreciatively.

  I then joined Merlene at the table again. “There’s more to this, so we must continue,” I told her.

  “I’m all in,” she replied. “To think his own brother was behind his murder is unbelievable.”

  “I don’t understand how we missed this piece of information before.”

  “I know why. It’s because this time, you emptied everything out of the file folders they were in. Before, we were just looking through.”

  “Maybe, but I’d think we would’ve come across it.”

  “It’s such a small piece, Lucille. It could’ve been stuck to the back of one of the other documents and eventually got loose.”

  That sounded like a logica
l explanation. I was sure it didn’t just magically appear there among the other documents.

  “Do you actually think Harry killed Sir Clement purely for his land?” she asked.

  “Don’t know. When jealousy and greed is involved, anything is possible.” Then something dawned on me. “Hey! Based on this writing, it means Luke had to have eventually found out that it was his grand-uncle—actually his grandfather if we exclude the adoption—who killed Sir Clement, but where would he have gotten this note from?”

  “Well, he made a lot of trips to England over the years, didn’t he? And didn’t you say Harry James lived in England?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “He must’ve retrieved it from Harry’s house. Harry didn’t have any sort of office outside of the home, as far as I’d heard.”

  “I wouldn’t think he did.”

  “We have to find the next part of the letter,” I said.

  “And how do you propose we do that? Fly to England and break into his house if it’s still standing?” she asked.

  “Will have to think about that.”

  She sighed.

  “Lucille, even if we were to find the next part of the letter, how would we ever prove that Harry wrote it?”

  “Handwriting analysis,” I said. “But first things first. Tony Brawn ended up with the land, remember?”

  “Yeah, eventually.”

  “We have to find him. Thank God, he’s still alive.”

  “I don’t think finding him will help our case,” Merlene claimed.

  “Why not?”

  “Haven’t you heard? Brawn’s been in a nursing home for a couple of years. Has all the illnesses on the planet, it seems, and one they say went to his head. His family couldn’t take his ramblings and violent outbursts anymore and sent him away. All his money couldn’t prevent him from ending up like that.”

  I hadn’t heard. No matter where the hell he was though, I was going to see him. “Do you think old, sick, sort of deranged folk like dogs?”

  She gave me that reprimanding look. “You can’t possibly be thinking of taking Nilla into that place!”