Murder at Peacock Mansion (Blue Plate Café Mysteries Book 3)

by Judy Alter

  Silence followed. David got up to look outside and even went back into the main dining room. He called back to me that Chester was walking all around the property, using his torch flashlight. The flashlight disappeared to the side of the building and then apparently around the back, only to reappear on the street side of the building. After what seemed an hour but was probably only ten minutes or so, Chester knocked on the front door, his knock a gentle contrast to the demanding boldness of our earlier visitor.

  David let him in.

  “He’s long gone, though maybe hiding in the field back behind. But I didn’t see hide nor hair. Can you describe him?”

  David, releasing tension, laughed, “Neither hide nor hair. No, no really. The light was on so I got some look—he was unshaven and had longish hair, untrimmed. I’d say he tried to look menacing but couldn’t pull it off. One reason I was so ‘brave,’ but don’t tell Kate.”

  I hugged him and went to put on a pot of coffee.

  We talked until nearly midnight. My main question was what that man could have told us about Edith, but I sensed it wasn’t good.

  “We’ll have to see if he comes back in the morning,” David said.

  “I’ll be here first light,” Chester said, “but I’ll come out of uniform and in Carolyn’s car so I don’t scare him off if he does intend to come back for that sticky bun. Uh, Kate, save one for me too, will you?”

  I assured him I would.

  “Okay, you two, you may resent it but you lock this place up and I’m driving you around to the back of your house and going in with you to check it’s okay. Can’t take no chances.”

  My heart lurched. It was really that serious. And then I thought about Huggles. He was outside, and yet I hadn’t heard him bark. Or had I just not listened. What if that man, whoever he was, harmed my dog? I clenched a fist in anger at the thought. “Let’s go. Everything’s locked up. I just have to turn out a couple of lights and lock the back door. That’s the way we were going home.”

  “Turn off the coffeepot, too,” David reminded me.

  I stuck my tongue out at him, because I knew I wouldn’t have remembered that.

  We drove that tiny, short distance in Chester’s car, with the siren going and lights flashing. Good thing I didn’t have neighbors. The minute the car stopped I ran for the gate at the end of the driveway, where Huggles greeted me, unharmed, his whole back end wagging in happiness. I opened the gate and fell to my knees, burying my head in his soft coat as he licked my face. He knows we were in danger tonight. I wasn’t sharing that thought with David or Chester.

  “Come on,” Chester ordered. “I got to check your house, and I can’t leave you outside. Carolyn will be having a wall-eyed fit about why I’m gone so long so late at night.”

  We waited in the kitchen, Huggles with us, while Chester satisfied himself the house was secure. He finally stomped back in from the living room. “All okay. You all lock yourselves in and turn on that security system. I’ll see you in the morning, first thing. And, Kate, don’t you forget that sticky bun.”

  I promised, hugging and thanking him and asking him to tell Carolyn I was sorry for keeping him so long at night.

  “Aw, her bark is worse than her bite. That woman just likes to worry.” And he was gone.

  We settled Huggles and Wynona for the night and gratefully crawled into bed ourselves. If that mysterious stranger came back, it would have taken some mighty barking from Huggles to alarm me. I was safe and happy in David’s warmth.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chester was as good as his word. When I crossed the grassy slope between my house and the café, I saw him and Tom Bryson, my brother-in-law, prowling the field behind the café. Tom, as mayor, had been deputized when Wheeler was briefly without a police chief, and now he occasionally helped Chester when needed. The two worked well together.

  They each took a section and walked it methodically, looking for who knows what. It hadn’t rained lately, so I doubted they’d find footprints. I wasn’t versed enough in law enforcement practices to know what else they could be looking for.

  I let myself into the darkened café, switched on the lights, and began to think about the day. I always enjoyed these few minutes alone in the empty café before everyone else arrived. It was then that the place seemed most to belong to me, and I could carry on conversations with Gram. This morning, though, I waited in vain for words of wisdom from her, except she said, “Don’t let my great-grandchildren come to the café today.” Wow, thanks Gram! That sounds ominous, as though I haven’t had enough scares in the last few days.

  Sticky buns were rising, coffeepot was on, and I was getting out eggs, bacon, sausages, frozen fried potatoes—a convenience I hated but couldn’t bypass—when Tom used his key to let himself and Chester in the front door.

  Tom wasted no words. “We found your visitor from last night. Least we think we did. In the field yonder.”

  “Well, where is he? I have things to ask him, like what he knows about Edith.”

  Chester harrumphed. “Afraid he’s not talkin’, Kate. He’s dead. I called Doc Mason and the county coroner’s crew. Can’t do nothin’ till they examine him. So we came for coffee.”

  “You just left him lying out there in that field, dead?”

  “He ain’t going nowhere.”

  I looked at Tom, but he just shrugged. “Chester’s in charge. We’ll go back out when Doc Mason gets here, but you know he isn’t always in a rush. Meantime, coffee and a sticky bun would be good.”

  I frowned at both of them. “Sticky buns aren’t even in the oven yet, but I’ll get you coffee.” And I did.

  They sipped silently, and I found I didn’t have much to say. I went about opening chores and was relieved when both Marj and Jesse, the daytime cook, arrived.

  Tom sat where he could watch out the window, and finally he said, “Come on, Chester. Doc’s here. We’ll get the buns when we get back.”

  They trooped out, and morbid curiosity led me to the windows on that far side of the restaurant. As I watched, they appeared to be scouring the field again, and this time Chester and Tom were arguing, while Doc Mason stood scratching his head. Finally, all three trooped back to the front of the restaurant, so I went to the front door.

  The ambulance crew, which doubled as a suspicious-death crew, hung around their vehicle, waiting for directions. Doc Mason waved them away with a short explanation, and I watched as they look astonished and then grumbled, unhappy, I suspected, at being called out so early for no cause. A glance at the clock told me it was seven thirty.

  The three men—Doc, Tom, and Chester—came inside. Chester tried hard to put a bright spin on things. “Those buns ready yet, girl?”

  “Yes, but what happened?”

  He looked down at his shoes, while Tom blurted out, “Body’s gone. Disappeared. Kaput.”

  I stared in amazement. “Are you sure he was dead?”

  Chester got a tad indignant, something he almost never did with me. “I know a dead man when I see him. No pulse, not breathing, eyes rolled back. Yeah, I’m sure. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I served them all three coffee and sticky buns and left them at a corner table, where they huddled together, obviously talking about what they didn’t want to talk about. As I walked away, I heard Tom say, “I sat right here watching. No way someone could come by, get that body, and go out again. Didn’t happen.”

  A driver could reach the field behind the café by the dirt road that passed the café parking lot—our building actually sat sideways on the lot, so when we told people it was on the highway that was a bit misleading. It didn’t face the highway. But beyond that field, the dirt road petered out in a tangle of East Texas scrub trees and brush that had never, to my knowledge, been cleared. Someone would have a hard time dragging a body through there, and I doubted even a four-wheel drive vehicle would make it. Gram used to claim there was a pretty if small lake back beyond the tangle where Gypsies used to camp, but I
always figured that was her way to keep us from going exploring. In my childhood, Gypsies were a thing to be feared, for they snatched up young girls.

  None of that train of thought helped with the present dilemma. I refilled coffee cups at that table from time to time, but the men fell silent when I came by. On the other hand, they showed no inclination to leave. It may have been forty-five minutes later when Sheriff Halstead literally stormed into the café, with no thought for other patrons who might have been listening.

  “How in the hell did you three dunderheads lose a body? Were you sitting in here drinking coffee and leaving that body unattended out there in that field?”

  “Only one way in and out, Sheriff, and I was watching the whole time.” Tom was deferential but also a bit defensive.

  “You never leave a body. Ever!” He was shouting.

  “I’m not law enforcement,” Tom reminded him. “Just a volunteer. And Chester reports to the city of Wheeler, not you.”

  “I should have stayed out there,” Chester muttered, not helping his case at all.

  “Damn right, you should have! Okay you knuckleheads, let’s go walk that field. Maybe the body has magically come back.” He slammed through the doors, with the other three following him.

  Apparently, after almost an hour—and the day was getting more hot than just warm—Halstead went back to Canton, Tom went to his hardware store, Chester to his office.

  While they were out there, David came dragging into the café, and I told him the whole story.

  “Got a beer? Just joking, but I need some help understanding. That’s some story. Gives me the creeps. They didn’t find anything at all?”

  “No, from what they told me, not even a depression in the field grass where the body originally was. No signs of a vehicle, no indication that a body was dragged off into the woods. Besides, there’s one house back there. Halstead questioned the lady—sort of a late-age hippie—and she swore she had no idea what he was talking about. Made him so mad he threatened her, but she just slammed the door in his face.”

  “This body wouldn’t be Halstead’s case. It’s Chester’s—in the city limits. No connection to anything else that’s happened. He needs to butt out.”

  I was a bit indignant. “You tell him that. I’m not about to. His argument is that it’s definitely related to the whole business swirling around Edith Aldridge, because I told him, in detail, about the man who tried to get in here last night and the fact that he mentioned Edith. Gave him the best description of that man I could, even volunteered to describe him for a sketch artist.”

  David’s look was grim. “I have a feeling he headed straight to Edith’s mansion, so I think I better follow and calm him down, if that’s possible. See you at supper. Be careful, and if I’m late, I’ll call you. I’ll be at the house by five or so. But bring us supper. I want a nice, relaxing dinner for two.”

  In the afternoon lull, I rushed home and made a pasta sauce of tomatoes and anchovies that I’d been wanting to try—so grateful the Lord blessed me with a man who likes anchovies as much as I do. I set the table for two, put out a candleholder, wine glasses, an unopened bottle of nice red wine, and then went back to the café. I’d leave again about seven, have supper with David, and then head back to close up. A neat tidy plan.

  ****

  At supper, David didn’t have much to report about his visit with Edith. “She’s a cool customer. Said she had no idea who the man was, doubted it had anything to do with her or “the children,” as she persists in calling them. She was indignant at Halstead, who had apparently been the same bull in a china shop he was at the café.

  “Says she told him whoever that man was, he had nothing to do with her. But he told her the man mentioned her. She was upset that you’d done that.” David grew a bit indignant. “I’m her lawyer, but I’m not going to twist the truth for her sake. In fact, that’s against my principles…and job description, I guess. I felt a bit chastised, and it made me angry. I think she knows good and well who the man is…uh, was.”

  We were taking a last sip of wine after our supper—the pasta was delicious and just perfect with the light salad I tossed, and we were relaxed if puzzled about Edith. Suddenly, Huggles erupted in the most frantic barking I’d ever heard from him. We’d left him outside to enjoy the spring evening, since he’d been in the house all day.

  David literally sprang from his chair, knocking over his wine glass, which fortunately had little left in it. He rushed out the door yelling, “Huggles! Come!”

  Huggles ignored him, intent at barking at something at the far corner of the yard, apparently something just beyond his reach on the other side of the fence.

  “Kate! Bring a flashlight!” David stumbled across the yard, and Huggles now ran to greet him, whining and leading him back to whatever.

  I crossed the yard with my high-beam flashlight and handed it to David. Huggles came to stand by me, but his entire body was quivering, and he kept whining, though I reassured him as gently as I could.

  David shone the flashlight and then uttered an oath. “It’s the body! It’s the same man. Quick, go call Chester. Take Huggles with you and keep him inside.”

  Since he still had the flashlight, I stumbled across the yard, grateful that it had no potholes or the like. I had to drag Huggles, who kept pulling and turning around to go back to David. The result was that I walked bent over, dragging the dog by his collar, and my back soon began to scream at me. Once in the kitchen, I hunted for my phone, found it in my apron pocket, now hanging on a cabinet knob, and dialed Chester, who must be worn out with our evening calls. Huggles was now at the door, whining, and Wynona strolled into the kitchen, stretching and glaring indignantly, as if to ask what the fuss was all about.

  I stayed inside, partly because I sensed the men wouldn’t want me around and partly to quiet Huggles, who was uncharacteristically beside himself. He went from me to the door and back again, whining. I was sure he’d wear a groove in the floor. He also pawed at me, and I feared I’d have claw marks. I gave him water, extra treats, but nothing calmed him.

  Chester’s headlights drove in the driveway. He opened the gate—my Huggles barricade—and drove across the backyard. I’d have been indignant, but I knew the medical team would have to drive back there. In the end, they didn’t but approached the site from the pasture. Doc Mason parked in the driveway and used his own big flashlight to cross the yard.

  I sat inside, absently petting Huggles and watching. Soon floodlights lit up the scene, and I could see cameras flashing and figures in ghostly white outfits moving about—the hazmat outfits the coroner’s team usually wore. I poured myself wine, probably a time or two too many, and watched, almost desperate to find out what was going on. Huggles finally succumbed and lay at my feet whenever I sat still. Mostly I paced, and he followed me.

  I did remember to call the café and asked Sallie to close up and put the receipts and cash in the safe.

  “I don’t know the combination.”

  I rattled it off almost automatically, without stopping to think if that was a wise move or not.

  It was nearing eleven when Chester drove back across the yard—I’d worry about the trenches his tires left tomorrow—and the men came trooping in. The ambulance had taken away the remains.

  Doc, with the familiarity that comes from knowing me all his life, sat down at the table and asked, “You got any bourbon?”

  I got up to pour three fingers, neat.

  “Guy’s been dead at least twenty-four hours and all that moving him about didn’t improve the corpse any. It’ll take an autopsy, of course, but I suspect he suffered blunt trauma to the skull. Back of his head is all bashed in. Hard to tell under these circumstances.”

  Chester was clearly dejected. “I let it happen on my watch.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Chester. We all missed whoever moved the body.” David was trying to be reassuring. “Question is, who was it?”

  “And now I’ve got to call Halstea
d and bring him up to date,” Chester continued. “I don’t look forward to that.”

  “Give me his number. I’ll call him,” David volunteered.

  We could only hear David’s side of the conversation, of course, but it didn’t seem cordial. Whatever Halstead was saying, he said it in a loud voice. David never raised his voice, said “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir” but finally, “Of course we don’t have any idea who dumped the body. Come daylight we’ll search the area. And Doc Mason will do an autopsy.” Long pause while Halstead’s voice roared through the phone. “No, sir, I’m not going to ask him to do that tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” Another explosion on the other side of the line, and David said mildly, “No, I’m not a law enforcement officer. Chief Grimes is in charge. You want to talk to him?”

  Apparently, Halstead slammed down the phone with a loud, “No.”

  Chester pulled out an old-fashioned cowboy kerchief and wiped his brow. “Thank goodness. That man bullies me.”

  David fixed him with a stern look. “Only because you let him. Chester, you’re the chief of police, it’s your case. Take charge. You don’t report to him, and he can’t bully you if you don’t let him.”

  Chester sat a little straighter in his chair, and Huggles nestled his face in Chester’s lap. The police chief absently petted the dog, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

  They sat a while longer, David and Chester sipping beers and Doc nursing his bourbon. Their speculation on who the man was amounted to nothing—just speculation. He had no wallet, no ID of any kind, no wedding ring or wristwatch. Seemed that someone had stripped the body, though nobody could tell if it was just after he was killed or just before he was dumped by my fence.

  “Question is,” David said, “why dump him by the café and then up here. Someone wanted us to find him. Maybe specifically wanted Kate to find him.” He turned to me, “Kate, did you go back and close up the café tonight?”