Lilliput Bar Mystery

by Curry, Edna

  “You don’t keep in touch with your adopted family?”

  “Nope. I’m sure they were glad I left. We never did get along.”

  “If you were adopted, how did you know Mildred was your birth mother?”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “There are ways, now. Even agencies to help you find your birth parents.”

  Chance frowned at him. “So you found her when?”

  “A couple of years ago. I was still living in Chicago then.”

  “And?”

  “And I wanted to know my real parents. I thought that might make things right in my life. I was wrong. Ma was afraid of small town gossip and didn’t want her husband to know, either. She’d never told him she’d had a kid before she met him.”

  “But you moved here anyway, even if she didn’t want you to?”

  Frank shrugged. “After I married Martha and we had a kid, I moved here to get to know her a little. I thought she might change her mind about not wanting me, you know? Women always want grandkids. I thought out here, I could see her once in a while. She’s all I had for family. But she made me keep it a secret, wouldn’t even tell me who my real father is. Refused to meet my wife and kid.”

  “I see,” Chance said.

  Frank’s face held a bitter scowl and he leaned on his car and stared off across the parking lot. “My own mother was ashamed of me. But she was the one who did something wrong, not me! I couldn’t help who I was born to.”

  “Of course not,” Chance agreed. But you’re carrying a pretty big load of bitterness because of it. Did you kill her? He chewed his lip and thought a moment, then asked, “Where were you the night Mildred was killed, Frank?”

  Frank’s gaze snapped back to Chance. “That was Wednesday night?”

  “Right.” Chance nodded, “Or rather around two, Thursday morning.”

  “Asleep in my bed,” Frank said with a smirk. “And my wife will testify to that.”

  Chance’s mouth twisted. “You mean she will if she knows what’s good for her?”

  Frank came up off the car with clenched fists, but stopped short of raising them.

  “Good choice,” Chance said. “I’d be happy to arrest you for assaulting an officer.”

  He glared at Chance and snarled, “Did Martha make another complaint about me hitting her?”

  “Not that I know of. I just wondered if she’ll tell the truth, or lie for you.”

  “That’s your problem, isn’t it? As long as she testifies, you have to prove it ain’t the truth.”

  “Don’t worry, Frank,” Chance said. “We have our ways of doing that. Did you visit Mildred at the bar?”

  “Only a couple times. She’d pretend she didn’t know me if anyone was around. But when we were alone, she’d act normal again and talk to me.”

  “Did John know about you?”

  “Yeah. John knew after I moved back here. He was there in the bar one day when I came in and he guessed, ’cause he said I look a lot like Bob and Mildred confessed. But he went along with how she wanted to keep it all a secret from the townspeople. Like they’d care.”

  Chance wondered if they would. Maybe years back when she first came to town, but things were different nowadays, weren’t they? Another possibility came to mind. Maybe the other son wasn’t too happy with his mother for keeping that secret. Would he have been angry enough about that to kill her? “Did Bob know about you?”

  “Nope.” Again Frank’s lips twisted in a bitter snarl. “Not ‘til the lawyer told him, I gather. We’re supposed to meet with the lawyer tomorrow. Wonder if Ma added me to her will like she said she would? That would be a hoot. Bob won’t be too pleased if he has to share his inheritance with the black sheep of the family.”

  “Probably not,” Chance agreed.

  “That all the questions?” Frank asked.

  “For now,” Chance said deliberately. “I’ll let you know if I need to know anything else.”

  “Bye.” Frank got in his car and roared out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

  Chance watched him go. He regretted pushing him. With a sigh, he remembered Deputy Roger’s description of Frank’s timid wife. Frank would probably go home and take out his frustration on her. Sometimes his job sucked. He should really talk to Martha, especially after what Cassie had told him. But not while Frank was around.

  He headed back to the office where he found Ben leaning back in his chair with his long legs propped on his messy desk. He was sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

  “What’s up, Chance?” Ben asked, glancing up.

  Chance helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat in the wooden chair opposite the sheriff. He filled him in on the funeral and his talk with Frank. “That guy’s bad news,” he said, helping himself to a glazed donut from the bakery box on the corner of Ben’s desk.

  “I agree, Sheriff Ben said. “But if his wife won’t press charges and gives him an alibi for the time of Mildred’s death, what can we do?”

  “Find more evidence, I guess,” Chance said with a sigh. “So far, we don’t have much.”

  “Oh yeah, and Mildred’s lawyer, Henry Wilkens, called.”

  Chance frowned. “Wilkens? Any relation to Jack’s girlfriend, Jody Wilkens?”

  Ben nodded. “Her dad, I believe. Anyway, he’s meeting with Mildred’s heirs at his office at ten in the morning.”

  “Yeah? So why’d he tell you about it?”

  Ben rubbed the side of his nose. “He’s worried about something in the will, I think. Anyway, he asked for an officer to be present, in case of trouble.”

  “Oh? And you’re telling me because I’m elected?” Chance grabbed a napkin and wiped the glaze off his fingers.

  “You guessed it. I’m thinking it may show you some light on this case.”

  Chance nodded. “Okay, I’ll be there.” If Frank is right, maybe Mildred did leave him or her grandchild something and the lawyer knows Bob won’t be happy about it.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Chance drove across Canton to the lawyer’s office. The small brick building sat between several older homes on the edge of the business district.

  Inside, a young assistant wearing a name tag saying ‘Nan,’ showed him to Henry Wilkens’ office, where Henry sat behind a desk, sipping coffee. Nan offered Chance coffee and disappeared to get it.

  “Thanks for coming,” Henry said, standing to shake hands. Chance saw that Henry resembled his daughter, Jody; they both had blonde hair and blue eyes. But Henry’s hair was streaked with gray, he had a shiny bald spot on top, and his face was lined.

  Chance sat in one of the three chairs facing Henry. Nan returned with coffee and with Bob and Frank as well. She served them all coffee and disappeared.

  Chance eyed the brothers. They certainly resembled each other, considering they were only half-brothers. Both were tall and thin, with dark hair and brown eyes. But Bob wore a sporty pair of black oxford shoes and suit and tie and looked like he’d just stepped out of a Las Vegas gambling room. Frank wore worn jeans and a blue chambray work shirt, and plain boots. Both wore scowls and again today, neither had brought their wife or girlfriend.

  Chance sipped his coffee, noting the position of the end table beside him, in case of trouble and he needed to get rid of the hot brew quickly. Actually, serving hot coffee to these angry young men hadn’t been the smartest thing for the assistant to do. But at least they were drinking it at the moment, rather than throwing it at each other.

  The lawyer cleared his throat, introduced everyone and began reading the will.

  Frank held up a hand and said, “Never mind reading all the legal stuff, just explain what it means in plain English.”

  Bob looked down his nose at Frank. “’Cause you wouldn’t understand it all, anyway, right?”

  Frank glared back at him. “That’s right. I quit school at sixteen and have been supporting myself since. Can you say that? Or has Ma been paying your way all your life? You and your girlfriend are even staying at he
r house right now, aren’t you?”

  Bob colored at Frank’s taunt and half rose from his chair. “Why you worthless…”

  “Cool it, guys,” Chance said. “Today we’re supposed to hear the will, not settle your differences, okay?”

  Bob eyed Chance, and sat, then turned back to the lawyer. “Okay, just explain it, then. We can get a copy to read ourselves later, right?”

  “Of course,” Henry said, looking relieved. “Basically, Mildred divided her CDs and 401K accounts between several charities and long-time employees. She ordered the rest of her property, that means her house, car, and the Lilliput Bar, sold and the proceeds split equally between her two sons, Bob Weeks and Frank Johnson. That’s you two.” He looked up as an angry snarl sounded.

  Bob was once again on his feet. “When did she do that? She always told me she was leaving me the bar some day. That’s why she wanted me to come back here to learn how to run it.”

  Henry’s brow furrowed. “She changed her will a few months after John died,” he said.

  “Sonovabitch,” Bob snarled. “Give me a copy of the will. I’ll get another lawyer to break it.”

  “You’re welcome to try, but I assure you it’s legal,” the lawyer said, buzzing for his assistant. “Nan, Please get the copies of Mildred’s will that we made for her sons and the sheriff’s office,” he said into the intercom.

  He stood to dismiss them. “Call me if you have any other questions,” he said. “Thanks for coming, Detective Martin.”

  “You’re welcome.” Chance followed the half-brothers out.

  He noted that Frank had a satisfied smirk on his face as he thanked the girl and accepted his copy of the will. Bob merely grabbed his copy, sent Frank and Chance a glare and hurried out.

  After he’d watched them both leave separately, Chance went back to his office. He wondered what would have happened today if an officer of the law hadn’t been present in that room with the brothers.

  ***

  I got in my car and headed out to my next job. An elderly man wanted me to make him a new key for a cabinet for the third time in the past couple of months. I was tempted to make an extra one while I was at it and save myself some work.

  The two story frame house sat well back from the road, surrounded by a large grove of spruce trees.

  The spry, white haired man greeted me at the door and led the way back to the dining room to the same leaded glass fronted antique cabinet.

  “Lost your key again?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Getting a bit forgetful, I guess,” he said with a sigh.

  I found a matching key from my collection of antique keys and handed it over.

  He was about to pay me, when the door opened, and a white-haired woman in a neat blue suit stepped in.

  “Oh, shit,” the man said, and dashed down the hall and slammed the door shut.

  I gaped at the woman, who gazed after the man and sighed.

  “I see by the name on your van that you’re a locksmith,” she said, turning to me. “He’s gotten you to make a key for him before, too, hasn’t he?”

  I nodded, wondering what was going on here.

  She sat at the dining room table and opened her purse. “How much does my husband owe you? I’ll pay you for the call this time, but don’t make him any more keys.” She wrote out a check for the amount I stated and handed me the check.

  I took the check and stuffed it into my jeans pocket, but curiosity got the better of me. “May I ask why not?”

  Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I have all the keys to that cabinet. That’s where he keeps his Viagra.”

  “Oops.” Smothering my urge to laugh, I thanked her and left.

  Driving back to Canton, I laughed so hard tears almost blinded me. But I should be thankful that this guy had at least planned to wait for his sweetie to get home.

  I remembered the time a guy had called me to fix an indoor lock. After I’d finished, I turned to find him standing there with his pants down. He’d grinned at me and suggested I take advantage of the big hard-on he showed me as a special bonus for my good work.

  I’d told him to pull up his pants and demanded my money without the bonus.

  He tried to insist until I pulled a pair of pliers out of my back jeans pocket and asked how he’d like his rod squeezed? Then I got out my cell phone and said I was calling the sheriff.

  I giggled more, remembering his reluctant compliance. I’d gotten my money and another address to put on my ‘never go there’ list.

  The things a gal learns on a job like this! And it’s not only females who run into this kind of situation. A male locksmith told me a similar story. A woman called him to change her locks and met him at the door in a see-through nightie, claiming she’d just gotten up at eleven a.m. He said she was thirty years his senior, so he had no problem pretending he didn’t notice or understand her very broad hint for a play date. Oh, well. Back to work.

  My next job was at a business, so there would be lots of people around to keep things on a businesslike basis.

  ***

  Over coffee in Ben’s office, Chance explained what he’d learned at Mildred’s lawyer’s office to Sheriff Ben.

  “So both of the sons inherit the house and bar?”

  “Well, as I understood it, the properties are supposed to be sold and the money split equally.”

  “But Bob was sure he was supposed to get it all?”

  “So he claims. He said Mildred told him that and he evidently didn’t know she changed her will later. So now, he plans to try to break the will.”

  “Huh. As long as she didn’t leave him out, I doubt that he can,” Ben said. “And Frank said Bob and his girlfriend are staying in Mildred’s house now?”

  Chance sipped the hot bitter brew that passed for coffee when the sheriff made it, and nodded. “Yeah. My contact in Las Vegas says Bob is deep in gambling debts there.”

  Ben nodded. “That would explain his staying at his mom’s place. There’s probably enough food there to feed them for a while, too. I heard they’ve been staying close to home.”

  “Well, if he’d been the killer, he’d have the cash taken from the till and her purse, wouldn’t he?” Ben mused. “They could spend cash going out to eat. His bleached blonde girlfriend doesn’t look much like a homebody to me.”

  “True. So being broke is one argument against him being the killer, I guess,” Chance agreed.

  “I suppose he and his girlfriend could be sorting out his mother’s stuff and deciding what to do with it all,” Ben said.

  “I’d think he’d have to wait until the lawyer says he owns it now before doing that.” Chance shifted in his chair. “Be a good idea to keep an eye on both Bob and Frank, though, don’t you think?”

  Ben nodded. “The county board wants results, so they authorized more overtime to give you some help on this. I’ll put a couple of deputies on it.”

  “Good. Did the coroner give you a time of death on Mildred yet?”

  “Yeah. Somewhere around two, give or take a half hour.”

  Chance frowned. “Can’t he be more precise?”

  Ben shook his head. “He says he can’t. But he found some skin under her fingernails. She must have scratched whoever shot her. Might be enough for a DNA match. So we should get as many DNA samples as we can from suspects.”

  “You know it takes weeks to get results from a DNA sample.” Chance ran his long fingers through his hair in frustration. “And most people are going to hate having to give a sample.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” Ben said. “So best you get started on it.”

  ***

  The next morning, I was eating a quick breakfast of raisin toast and coffee when I got a call from a woman with a raspy, shaky voice. She frantically said her medication was locked in a safe she couldn’t get open and she had to have it right away.

  She gave me vague directions to where she lived, saying she couldn’t give me better ones because she didn’t drive and only moved the
re a year ago. But she did know her street address and that she lived in a new development of homes, so I set out. I really needed to buy a GPS monitor if I ever got a bit of extra cash.

  I stopped at my friend’s pizza place. I knew he kept a large, detailed wall map up to date for his delivery boys. Following his directions, I found the right road, though I drove miles out of my way. I recognized the road when I got there.

  When I finally arrived, I discovered she had evidently had a panic attack and had already smashed the dial on the safe. I don’t know why people always think if they wreck the dial they’ll get inside. Not true.

  I usually drill that style of safe open, but she was already frantic and didn’t want to wait while I did that. I knew repairing the damage she’d already done would cost more than a new safe, so there wasn’t anything to save here. I pried it open the fast way with a crowbar.

  She grabbed the pill bottles, about six of them. Quickly, she chose the one she wanted, ran to the kitchen for a glass of water and swallowed them.

  Surprised at her actions, I watched her for a minute, then started filling out a bill for her. She turned back to me and shook her head. “I don’t need that. Just tell me the amount.” She opened a drawer, found her checkbook and started writing out a check.

  Evidently, she was in a hurry to pay me and get me out of her house. I wondered why, but shrugged and named my usual fee. She finished writing and handed it to me. “Don’t worry. It’s on my own account. I’ve got plenty of money.”

  “Thanks.” I tucked the check in my jeans pocket and gathered my tools.

  She moved to the door, waiting for me to leave. I sent her a questioning look as I picked up my stuff.

  She blushed and admitted, “My husband will be home soon. I don’t want him to see you here.”

  “Oh? How will you explain the ruined safe?”

  She shrugged. “He won’t notice. I’ll shove it in the closet. If he does, I’ll tell him I did it.”

  “Whatever,” I said and took my leave, feeling something was definitely screwy there.

  As I drove to my next job, I couldn’t help wondering about it. Was she supposed to have those pills? Who locked them in the safe and why? Had I aided a drug addict in getting her fix?