Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set

by Jeanne Glidewell

  * * *

  With breakfast over, and dishes "pre-washed" and in the dishwasher, it was time to relax over a cup of coffee. As I was pouring myself a cup, there was a sharp rap at the back door off the kitchen. I could see Wyatt through the glass and waved him in.

  "Good morning, Lexie. What smells so good?"

  "Good morning. I fixed some biscuits and gravy for breakfast. If you'd gotten here a little earlier I could have made a plate for you too. But there's a plate here with some extra sausage patties you're welcome to. I really don't have room in the refrigerator for leftovers. You'd do me a favor if you could eat them."

  "Anything for you, Miss Lexie," Wyatt said. "You don't have to ask me twice when it comes to eating. Where's Stone this morning? Did he tell you about that sixteen-inch crappie he caught? Man, it was a slabber!"

  "No. Actually I forgot to ask him about your fishing trip yesterday. I was too busy—"

  "She just doesn't care about me anymore, Wyatt," Stone said, as he entered the kitchen. "It's all me, me, me with her these days."

  "Oh, you poor son of a bitch. Pardon my French, Lexie," Wyatt said with a wink.

  "I know. It's an awful state of affairs. So, how are you this morning, Wyatt?" Stone asked with laughter in his voice. I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

  "Fine. Just taking care of these leftover sausage patties for Lexie. I felt it was my duty as an officer and a gentleman."

  "I'm sure you did," Stone said.

  "So, how many did you two catch yesterday?" I asked. "I'm sorry I didn't think to ask you last night about your day out fishing, Stone. I got home late, and by then I was hungry, tired, and wanting to go soak in the tub."

  "Oh, that's okay, honey. Wyatt caught about eight or so. I only caught three, so he felt sorry for me and gave me his so we'd have enough to fix for the Dudleys tomorrow night. Remember, Lexie, I'm grilling steaks tonight. We'll have plenty of fish tomorrow, knowing Eleanor won't eat fish if she's a true vegetarian. Several of the crappie we caught were real slabbers."

  I didn't know what a slabber was, but Wyatt had used the same term, and it sounded big. I'd have to make some kind of casserole without meat to serve with the slabbers. An eggplant casserole sounded good to me.

  "It was generous of you to give Stone all your fish, Wyatt," I said.

  Wyatt snorted, and said, "Not really. I had a date with Veronica last night, and I didn't have time to clean them. But there's always more where those came from. There are several area lakes Stone and I need to try out. But as much as I like Stone, frankly, I just didn't want to be late for my date with Veronica."

  "I thought it was too good to be true," Stone said, laughing as Wyatt shoved the final sausage patty into his mouth. "So, what brings you around this morning, Wyatt, or was it just for the sausage?"

  "I just wanted to tell you what we know so far concerning the murder, although I have to admit it ain't much."

  "Go ahead," Stone said.

  "Well, do you remember it rained early in the morning before Walter was killed?" Wyatt asked.

  "Yes," Stone and I answered in unison.

  "Well, we found a couple of muddy footprints on the sidewalk, made by someone who appeared to come out of the door by the parlor. I wanted to ask you if either of you or Wendy might have made them. It looked like a pair of military-type boots had left the prints. They were about a size nine or so. The footprints didn't match any of the detectives' shoes."

  "I'm sure it wasn't me," Stone said. "I wear a size eleven, don't own any boots, and came in and out the back door all day. But isn't that about the size you wear, Lexie?"

  "No, it wasn't me either," I answered, rather insulted. "I wear a six and a half, and Wendy was barefoot all day. She wears a size seven. However, I do have an idea of who might have made those prints."

  "Who?" Both men wanted to know.

  "Has anyone spoken with a gal named Roxie Kane?"

  "Who's that?" Wyatt and Stone asked simultaneously.

  "She's a girl Walter went out with. It was just one date, but it's still possible she was somehow involved. She might have felt used or taken advantage of by Walter. And I do know she owns military boots, because she's in the army reserves, and this was her one weekend this month to serve."

  "Ah, we may be on to something," Wyatt said. "I'll see if someone can't look in to Roxie Kane. What else do you know about her, Lexie?"

  I went on to tell Wyatt everything I could remember her aunt telling me. Stone came up with a valid point that hadn't occurred to me yet.

  "If she happens to work as an EMT, she might have been one of the responders to our nine-one-one call. If I remember right, there were a couple of young women on the scene, a brunette and a blonde," Stone said. "That would explain how she could have made a footprint on the sidewalk. What color is Roxie's hair?"

  "I don't know. I haven't actually met her. But you are right. How many female EMTs could Rockdale have? But Roxie lives in Weston, so she's probably on the EMT team there."

  "True," Wyatt said. "The blonde is a gal named Bobbie. I didn't recognize the brunette. Either woman, or even a man with fairly small feet, could have left the footprints. Still, I'll see what more I can find out about this Roxie Kane. Thanks for the tip, Lexie."

  "You know I'm always ready, able, and willing to help. How about if I go and talk to her and relate back whatever I can find out about Roxie to you? It would free you up to pursue other angles."

  "Well, I guess that would be okay, if you're sure you want to do it. I'd keep it between you and me, though. The department might not be too thrilled to have civilians out interrogating suspects," Wyatt said. "And I know how determined you can be."

  "Oh, I promise not to say anything to anybody but you about what I learn from 'interrogating' her. And seriously, Wyatt, I only engage suspects in friendly conversation, to see if I might glean some useful information."

  "Of course you do," Wyatt said. "Well, engage Roxie in a 'friendly conversation,' and see if you can 'glean' anything from it. Just don't tell anyone I approved this idea. Okay?"

  "Do you have to encourage her, Wyatt? Do you remember what happened the last time someone died in the inn?" Stone asked. "Do you recall her nearly being killed twice, and possibly even three times?"

  "Yes, I do, and you are probably right that she shouldn't—"

  "I promise to be careful and do nothing but speak with her," I said. And before either man could reply, I asked, "Have you learned anything else, Wyatt?"

  "Just that Melba Sneed had very recently changed her will, making Walter the sole inheritor. According to both Sheila and Chuck, they knew nothing about it. Neither one of them was too happy about the change. All three were in the original will. Even though Chuck is only Melba's stepson, she had raised him since he was very young. Seems like quite a coincidence, and certainly moves those two higher up on the suspect list," he said. "Some lawyer out of St. Joseph arranged for the new will to be executed."

  "Yes, I would think losing an inheritance would move them up on the suspect list," I agreed. It moved Walter's two siblings up a notch or two on my list also. "I know Sheila didn't indicate to me she knew about her mother changing the will, but then, I don't imagine she would have admitted it to me if she did know. She was aware that Walter was the executor of the will though."

  Stone glanced at me sharply. I hadn't mentioned speaking to Sheila until that moment. I guess I never was exceptionally good at subterfuge. I often spoke before I thought.

  "When did you speak to Sheila?" Stone asked, as I was sure he would.

  "Yesterday, while you two were at Smithville Lake, catching slabbers. I guess I just forgot to tell you about it."

  "Yes, I'm sure you just 'forgot' to tell me about it," Stone said, with a wink at Detective Johnston. "Forgetting to tell me things is becoming a habit with you."

  "Would anyone like a refill on their coffee?" I asked. I wanted to steer the topic of conversation away from my forgetfulness.

 
Chapter 11

  Before Wyatt or Stone could attempt to talk me out of it, I wanted to go speak with Roxie, if I could be lucky enough to find her. It was Monday morning, and I had nothing else to do until it was time to serve afternoon tea to the Dudleys. I quickly fixed a cheesecake to serve with tea later on. I made it right out of a box because I didn't have time to make one from scratch. I had more important matters to attend to.

  Once the cheesecake was chilling in the refrigerator, I called the Kane home again, hoping Roxie would pick up this time. Unfortunately, I found myself speaking to her mother again. Her mother didn't seem overanxious to talk with me. Her responses were short and snappy. She must have recognized my voice.

  "Is Roxie home this morning?" I asked.

  "No."

  "Will she be home soon?" I asked Mrs. Kane.

  "No."

  "Do you know where she is?"

  "She's got classes today," she replied.

  "Oh, yeah, that's right. It is Monday, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, she's in physiology right now, and then she goes to her anatomy class." At least she supplied me with a little more information than I was beginning to think I could dredge out of her. I thanked her and wished her a nice day before hanging up. I wanted to be pleasant to her in case I had to speak with her again in an attempt to track down Roxie. Not that I'm not usually pleasant to people, but I did make a special effort this time.

  If I hurried right over to the college I might be able to speak to her between classes. I could ask around, try to locate the anatomy classroom, and catch her before she went in to class. Stone was still chatting with Wyatt in the kitchen, so I blew through the room with a quick, "See you later. I'm going out for a bit this morning."

  * * *

  I got to the college a little later than planned, and I had to ask a half dozen or more people before I found the anatomy classroom. It wasn't anywhere near the lab as I'd expected. By the time I arrived at the room, class was already in session. Looking in the window, I saw the teacher down below, standing at a podium. The seating was stair-stepped up from the podium, in an auditorium-styled setting. It was fairly dark at the top of the auditorium where the door was located, so I stepped in quietly and sat down in the closest seat. Looking around, I was happy to see several older students in the crowd. None were as old as I am, I'm sure. I was closer to retirement age than college age.

  I asked the young man next to me if he knew where Roxie Kane was sitting. He didn't know who she was but, after speaking to several people down the aisle, he was able to point her out to me. She was located about halfway down toward the stage. I thanked him and slowly crept down to where Roxie sat. I bypassed a number of vacant seats. She looked up at me as I plopped down in the empty seat next to her.

  She was a brunette like Paula Browne. She had her long hair tied back in a ponytail this morning. She was a good-sized girl, not fat by any means; she just had a large bone structure and broad shoulders. She looked every bit the part of a National Guard recruit.

  "Good morning," I whispered. "Are you Roxie Kane?"

  "Yes, I am. Who are you?"

  "My name is Lexie Starr," I said. I had thought about trying to pass myself off as a student who had come back to school later in life to try to further my education. Then I decided it would serve no purpose to lie to her about who I was. She was apt to find out the truth eventually.

  "Do I know you?"

  "No, but I think you know the young man who died at my boyfriend's bed and breakfast a few days ago. My partner's B and B, that is." Boyfriend sounded so adolescent, but partner could be construed as about any kind of relationship.

  "Walter? Walter Sneed?" She asked, incredulously. I could tell she was flabbergasted that I could know who she was, and also know she'd gone out with the man who had died in the inn.

  "Yes, Walter. There was a muddy set of footprints outside the door the detectives think were left by you," I told her. Of course I was stretching the truth a little, as you know I'm prone to do in circumstances such as this one. "Apparently, you were the last to see him alive, which indicates you could have something to do with his death, or at least know something about what happened to the young man. I thought I'd approach you before the authorities did, just to kind of give you the heads-up."

  "Ladies. You over there," I heard spoken over the microphone. I looked up to see the professor pointing straight at Roxie and me with a laser pointer she'd been using to highlight various bones on a hanging skeleton. The skeleton looked realistic, as if it were actually made of bone and marrow. It would have been a nice addition to the haunted house. I thought it was so much better than the skeleton we'd been able to find at the department store.

  "Yes?" I answered meekly. My response was barely audible in the massive auditorium.

  "Could you hold it down a little? This is a classroom, and the other students in the class are here to learn, not to listen to you two visiting," the professor said. "You on the right. Would you like to tell the class where the patella bone is located?"

  I looked at Roxie. She pointed at me. Damn it! I was on the right. But thank goodness for childhood sports, making knee surgery necessary a few years ago. I actually knew the answer to her question.

  "It's the kneecap, ma'am."

  "That's correct. I'm surprised you heard me point it out with all the visiting you're doing. Now quiet down and pay attention, or leave the auditorium."

  Several minutes went by until I had enough courage to speak to Roxie again. I couldn't waste this opportunity learning about carpal and tarsal bones.

  "What do you know about Walter's murder?" I whispered. "What were you doing at the inn that morning?"

  "Shush!" She whispered back. "I'm trying to listen to the instructor."

  Roxie and I both looked up to see the professor glaring at us. She shook her index finger at us and continued her lecture. Roxie began to scribble furiously on a sheet of paper she'd been taking notes on. She wrote for what seemed like a very long time. When she finally finished, she handed the note to me. According to the note, she knew absolutely nothing about his death. "Yes, I was there for a few minutes," she had written. "But only to let him know how disgusted I was with him. He used me, and he hurt and humiliated me, so I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. And I did. Then I went back out the front door, and down the sidewalk, the way I'd entered. There was a sign on the door that said 'Welcome. Come on in,' so I did. I didn't see anyone else but Walter in the house, but then, I had walked straight into the room where he was lying in a fake coffin. Coffin or not, he was very much alive when I left."

  This sounded reasonable to me, but it could also be a convenient story she'd made up. I wrote back, "Can anyone confirm your story? What size shoe do you wear?"

  Her next message stated no one else knew she'd gone to Alexandria Inn to confront Walter. She was too embarrassed by the whole thing to tell anyone. But she swore she had nothing to do with Walter's death, and didn't know anything about it either. And it was none of my business what size shoe she wore. If the detectives wanted to know, she'd tell them, she said, but she was under no obligation to tell me.

  "Did you see or hear anything while you were there?" I wrote.

  "No," she answered. "But I noticed Walter was sweating, shaking, and seemed extremely confused at the time. I wasn't sure he even realized I was there or what I was saying to him. I felt like I was wasting my time trying to tell him off. But I have no idea what was wrong with him, and I swear I had nothing to do with his death."

  "What?" I said out loud, after reading her response. "But that means—"

  That was the first time I'd ever been kicked out of a class. The professor had stopped her lecture, pointed her laser light at me, and motioned for me to exit the auditorium. As I stood up to leave, all eyes were on me. It was a long walk of shame up the stairs to the door. I heard the teacher say, "You too, miss," as I climbed the steps. Darn it, I hadn't meant to get Roxie kicked out of her anatomy class. I'm sure she needed
those credits to get her degree.

  "Thanks a lot!" She said to me outside the classroom door. "Now I'll have to talk with Mrs. Herron to see if I can get back into the class. And tomorrow there's a major test I need to do well on to pass the course."

  I apologized. I was sincerely sorry. I really was. I had certainly not planned to get her in trouble. But she didn't accept my apology very well, stomping her foot and turning to leave. I looked at her feet as she stomped. Yes, I'd estimate them to be somewhere between size eight and nine. I'd say the footprints were definitely hers, even though she was wearing tennis shoes today, not boots.

  "Good luck with your test," I said inanely as she walked away. She said nothing in response. With her back still to me, she lifted her left hand in a one-fingered salute. Wow! Kids these days were sure a lot ruder than they were in my day.

  At least I'd found out it was Roxie who'd most likely left the footprints and why she claimed to have been at the inn in the first place. If Walter was in the shape he was in at the time Roxie arrived at the inn, he must have begun to come out from under the effect of the chloroform, and had already been injected with the insulin, which was taking effect. I'd have to ask Wendy if sweating, shaking, and confusion were symptoms of low blood sugar. Once his blood sugar dropped to a certain level, he would have collapsed into a coma and eventually died, which is exactly what had occurred. He might have been too confused and out of it to call out for help, not cognizant of what was happening to him.

  Could this be a ploy on Roxie's part? I suddenly wondered. If she were a diabetic herself, she would know the symptoms of low blood sugar and might be using this story to steer suspicion away from herself. If the authorities already knew it was she who'd left the footprints, as I had indicated to her, then she'd want to concoct a story to make them suspect the killer had already come and gone by the time she arrived at the scene. It was definitely something to think about. Being a diabetic, as more and more Americans were each year, would give her access to the insulin too.