by Marja McGraw
I gave him the basics about a few cases, leaving out all the gory details. He could use his imagination if he wanted to beef up his mysteries.
“Do you feel you’re involved in a mystery here at the llama ranch?”
I thought for a moment. “In a way, yes. Let me ask you a question. Has there ever been anyone around here who had long, blonde hair? Your wife mentioned that the women don’t try to keep their hair blonde because the sun just bleaches it out here in the desert.”
He tipped his head, looking at me with curiosity. “Why do you ask?”
“To be honest, because I keep seeing a woman with long, blonde hair in the oddest places. I never have the opportunity to see her face though. And no one else has seen her.”
“I only remember one blonde who lived out here. I mean, really, there aren’t that many homes this far out of town. I remember all the neighbors. Some not so well, but I remember them all to one degree or another.” He sat quietly for a moment, looking introspective.
“Tyler? Who was it?” I asked. “Who do you remember?”
“Francine.”
“Francine? A neighbor?”
“No. Francine Stockholm. She was Harry’s wife and she died when I was quite young. Or maybe I hadn’t even been born yet. I don’t really remember her except for the hair color. My parents have pictures of her in a photo album. Maybe that’s where I remember her from, because I can’t recall actually seeing her.”
“Do you know anything about her that might have some bearing on seeing a blonde? Well, never mind. That’s silly. She’s been dead for many years.”
He grinned. “You realize that most people out here believe this house is haunted, don’t you?”
Mentally, I squirmed. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Ah.”
“Why would she be showing herself to me and no one else? Answer that.”
“Where have you seen her?”
I thought for a moment. “When we first pulled up to the house I thought I saw someone watching us out of one of the bedroom windows. When I was cleaning I saw a blonde watching me through the window. She was outside the house during yesterday’s storm.” I sighed. “And, lastly, I saw her standing by the pool today.”
“But you don’t believe in ghosts.” It wasn’t a question. He was mimicking what I’d said.
“No.” At least, I don’t think I do, I thought to myself.
His grin grew larger and he chuckled. “I don’t either, but you never know about these things. Now let me ask you a few more questions about your job.” He tactfully changed the subject, which I whole-heartedly appreciated.
Tyler asked questions and I told him about some of the more complicated things I do, like searching for people and questioning them in depth, and he took notes on a pad of paper he’d brought with him.
“This is great, Sandi. I’ll be able to create more realistic situations and characters in future books. Would you mind if I call you with questions from time to time?”
“Of course not.” I gave him my phone number.
I walked him to the front door and he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “You said you’ve never seen the woman’s face?”
“That’s right.”
“But you saw her general build.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to drive in to my parents’ place and I’ll borrow their photo albums.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He left and I headed for the stairs leading down to the apartment, but my mother and friend were already climbing up to meet me.
It was time to meet the Ellisons and ask some questions. I hoped they had some answers.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Once outside, we saw the sun was still shining brightly and things were beginning to dry out. Unfortunately, not enough. Two steps out onto the dirt road and our shoes were wet and muddy.
“Oh, well,” my mother said, lifting her foot and surveying her shoe. “We can wash these off and change into something else when we get home. I think we’d better take our shoes off and leave them on the porch before we enter the Ellison’s house.”
Felicity nodded and I kept walking. We’d been so busy painting that we’d almost forgotten about our challenge to find out more about what happened in the llama ranch house. I wouldn’t turn my nose up at a short break, either.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Pete step out of the workshop and watch us. He was probably wondering what we were up to.
I turned back to discover a pothole in the road, but I was too late to step around it. My mother reached for my hand, but she missed. My shoes filled with rainwater and mud.
Felicity snickered. “That could only happen to you.”
That’s when she found her own pothole. She tripped and fell in, only to stand up and discover she had mud covering her jeans and shirt.
“That’s my Felicity,” I said, laughing.
She laughed with me. “It’s a good thing I’m used to these little accidents.”
Felicity and Stanley were the two most accident-prone people I knew. They were perfect for each other because they just laughed it off or ignored what they’d done, except for offering apologies.
My mother, walking in front of us, delicately stepped around a mud puddle and tsked at us. “You girls should be more careful.”
I glanced up and noticed an elderly man standing on a porch in front of the green mobile home. He was grinning and shaking his head. I had to assume he’d seen our antics, and he waved us over.
“Come in, come in,” he said.
Mother smiled at him. “Just let us take off our shoes first.”
“My wife will appreciate that.”
“Your wife is Zetta?” Mother asked, balancing on one foot and taking off her left shoe.
I reached over and steadied her before following suit and taking off my own shoes.
“Yes, I’m Bill. We heard you had questions about the old llama ranch and what happened there.”
“We do, but just say something if we’re intruding,” I said.
He shook his head, indicating we were welcome and not intruding.
After we’d taken care of the shoe situation, we followed Bill inside. Zetta was waiting for us with tea and cookies. A younger woman sat next to her.
Felicity and I stood by the door on a small area rug, trying not to drip mud on the floor.
“Ladies, come on in.” Zetta waved her hand at us.
“Thank you, but we’ll stay over here. We don’t want to bring our muddy clothes into your house.” Felicity swept her hand in front of herself, calling attention to our state of muddy dress.
“Nonsense. Believe me, this house has seen its share of mud.”
I briefly studied the group. Zetta and Bill were both thin and somewhat haggard looking. Zetta had her hair pulled up in an old-fashioned bun, and Bill’s hair was nothing more than a few wisps. Both seniors were of average height, and apparently Arizona’s normally arid weather was the reason for their overly wrinkled faces.
The woman sitting on the couch had a passing resemblance to Zetta, although she wasn’t thin, and I had a feeling she was related to the Ellisons.
Zetta stood and held out her hand. She was taller than I’d realized. “We just love having company,” she said, taking my mother’s hand. I noticed she didn’t shake it, but simply held on to it for a moment.
“I’m delighted to start meeting some of my neighbors,” my mother said, pulling her hand back. She glanced around. “Love your home. You’ve got some wonderful antiques here.”
Zetta frowned. “We used to have more wood furniture, but the heat and dry air ruined it.” Her smile returned. “Oh, well, what were we to do?”
She pointed to the woman on the couch. “This is my granddaughter, Marion. She was here when the tragedy took place across the street.” Zetta frowned again and shook her head. “Heartbreaking, just heartbreaking.” She sat down next to her granddaughter.
Mario
n appeared to be around forty-five or fifty. She was relatively average looking, although she had strikingly beautiful and intense green eyes shadowed by long, lush lashes.
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” my mother said, seating herself on a chair. “Do you live with your grandparents, Marion?”
She spoke and I was surprised at how deep her voice was. A smoker maybe? “Only temporarily. I was laid off from my job so I’m going to help Gram and Gramps out for a while.”
“You’re a good granddaughter.” My mother pointed in my direction. “I’m Livvie, and this is my daughter, Sandi. Little Bit over there is Felicity.” She nodded towards Fel. “I’ll be totally honest with you. My daughter is a private investigator, and so is her husband. We’ve heard the story about what happened at the llama ranch, but not the whole story. So the men in our lives challenged us to find out what really happened. That’s why we’re asking questions. I realize it sounds like we’re on a lark, but we’re not. We all have investigative experience.”
A lark? Was Mother trying to put it in terms they’d understand? That wasn’t a word I’d ever heard her use before. And we all had investigative experience? I stifled a laugh.
“I understand,” Bill said. “The murders took place a long time ago. Time passes, but curiosity doesn’t. And, after all, you’re moving into what some people think is a haunted house. I’d want to know the details, if I were you. We know a lot. We were the Stockholms’ best friends and the police were kind enough to keep us informed when they investigated.”
“Thank you for understanding.” My mother crossed her legs and swung her foot – slightly. I recognized that she might be feeling a little uncomfortable. Bill had revealed more about the relationship between the two families.
“So what do you want to question us about?” Zetta asked. “Would everyone like some tea and cookies?”
We said we would, and while she poured the tea, her granddaughter watched me intently.
Glancing first down, and then at Felicity, I noticed the mud had already dried on our clothing.
I sat forward, on the edge of my chair and spoke to Marion. “Your grandfather said the police filled you in while they investigated. Was there anything about the situation that you felt they should have investigated further?”
Marion looked from Zetta to Bill and back at me. “Yes. They seemed to think it was cut and dried, but we always felt there was more to it.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Zetta patted her granddaughter’s knee, looking thoughtful. “I can’t explain it, other than to say it was just a feeling, but Harry became really cranky after his wife’s death. I think he took it out on his daughter, to some extent, and I believe that’s why she didn’t come home for so long. My woman’s intuition told me, at the time, that he had something to do with those two men arguing all the time. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” I said. “You were here and you saw and heard what was going on. I’m sure you know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, Gram, Harry was always cranky. You and Gramps kept making excuses for him. He was a mean son-of-a-gun before Francine died. He was never nice to me. I can’t believe you considered him your best friend.”
Marion looked down at her lap, then back up at me through her eye lashes.
“Gram won’t tell you this, but there were times I saw bruises on Francine’s arms, like Harry had squeezed them. She had a black eye once, too, but she said she’d fallen down the stairs. Likely story. I don’t know why my grandparents made excuses for that old buzzard.”
“Marion! You stop that kind of talk right now.” Zetta looked distressed.
Bill shook his head. “Harry was my friend, but not my closest friend. He had too many bad habits. We’re a good family, with morals, and Harry didn’t have much respect for anyone he knew. He cussed like a sailor and spoke down to everyone. He thought he was better than the rest of us.”
So Bill was changing his story about being close friends with Harry.
Zetta looked surprised. “Bill? I never knew you felt that way.”
“Francine was your best friend and I figgered it was best to keep my lips zipped. There weren’t that many of us out here and you needed a good friend.” He sat down and, clamping his lips together, he was quiet. He looked like there was a lot more he wanted to say, but he kept it to himself.
Zetta’s eyes teared up and she glanced from Marion to Bill. “Oh, my. I shouldn’t have forced Harry’s friendship on my family. I had no idea he was such a bugger.”
“There’s more,” Marion said.
An uh oh feeling swept over me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Zetta’s eyes widened and she clutched a napkin tightly in her hand. “More? Oh, dear. Maybe we shouldn’t have said we’d answer questions.”
“It needs to come out, Gram. Trust me.” Marion looked deeply into her grandmother’s eyes.
My mother leaned forward, studying Zetta’s face. “Maybe we should leave. I think we’re upsetting your grandmother.”
The old woman looked from my mother’s face to her granddaughter’s and shook her head. “No. You stay. If Marion says there’s more, then there’s more. I just don’t know how things like bruises could have gotten past me.”
Marion began her story. “My father was in the army. He was stationed overseas and my mother went with him, while I stayed here with Gram and Gramps. I missed them so much, and the people around here took me under their wings – except Harry. He made me feel like a dirty little leech.”
Zetta sucked in her breath and coughed.
“By the way, I wasn’t a kid. I was in my twenties and fresh out of college. Gram had a bout with pneumonia and I came along to help out. I hadn’t found a job yet.
“Harry treated me like something you’d hide in the back of your closet. I hated him, and the only reason I didn’t say something was because of Francine. I’ll never understand why she didn’t divorce that horrible man.” Her facial muscles tightened while she talked. “He was just a nasty old... When Barbara came home to take care of the ranch, I think she might have threatened him with a nursing home. He’d never treated her well either, but I never saw bruises on her. She said something one time when I came to visit that made me think the nursing home was her plan.”
“What does this have to do with the murders?” I asked.
“I believe that to get even with her, Harry started dropping little hints to Clyde about Barbara having an affair with the neighbor. What was his name?”
“Mike Hamilton,” Bill said.
“Yeah, Mike. He was quite a hunk. Too bad he didn’t notice me.” She sounded bitter. “He might still be alive. They all might still be alive. Anyways, I overheard things from time to time. Hey! I’m a Plain Jane and people don’t always notice I’m within hearing distance.” She’d anticipated our thoughts, or at least what she assumed we were thinking.
“You’re no Plain Jane,” Zetta said.
We all shook our heads. She had a low opinion of herself. She wasn’t a beauty queen, but she wasn’t bad looking. Maybe her attitude was her downfall.
She ignored us. “I used to go for walks in the evening, when it was cooler. I’d hear things, and sometimes I’d see things. I heard Clyde the Killer and Mike arguing about Barbara more than once.”
Clyde the Killer? She given him a title. Somehow I had a vision of Marion hunkered down by a window, eavesdropping on her neighbors.
She gave me a quick glance and I could have sworn she’d read my mind.
“Maybe I’m making something out of nothing, but I don’t believe what happened was based solely on jealousy. I think there was more to it, but I don’t know for sure what it could be.” Her expression was one of frustration, and yet there was something else.
I had a feeling she knew more than she was telling, but I didn’t think she was going to elaborate. I got the impression she thought she’d said too much already, and yet she hadn’t really said anything pertinent.
Harry was mean and could have been abusive, but that was just a guess. Barbara may have hated her father, or at least that’s what I was taking away from Marion’s comments. The issue between Mike and Clyde may not have been jealousy. The information Marion gave us was too iffy.
I noticed that Zetta’s hands had begun to shake.
“I think we’d better get back to work,” I said.
“Hmm. I think so, too.” Felicity stood and smiled at Zetta.
“Thank you so much for tea and cookies,” my mother said. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer. Since we’re going to be neighbors, next time I come over we won’t even talk about the Stockholms. We’ll talk about something more pleasant.”
“Good idea,” Bill said, standing and approaching us.
When we turned to leave, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Marion hug her grandmother. It appeared she realized how much she’d upset the old woman.
Bill saw us to the door. “We’re glad you came for a visit. I hope you come again. Zetta enjoys company.” I had a feeling he was simply being polite. His wife was upset.
I picked up my shoes and headed for the road. “I’m not putting these soggy things back on my feet.”
“Me, either,” Fel said, picking up her own shoes.
“Wait for me.” Mother stopped us while she tried to put on her shoes, giving up because they were such a mess.
We crossed the road without more mud incidents.
“Ouch!” Felicity started hopping around on one foot.
Mother studied the ground. “Tarantula?”
Fel flinched. “No! I stepped on a sticker.” She pulled it out of her foot. “Oh. It’s a bull head sticker.”
“A what?” I asked.
“A sticker that looks like a bull’s head. At least, that’s what I’ve always called them.”
We studied the ground and walked carefully on our way back to the house, making sure we didn’t step on anything else.
“What did you think of Marion’s story?” my mother asked.
“I got the feeling she knows more than she’s telling,” I replied. “I’m not sure she was completely honest with us.”