by Anna Drake
Bones and Boxes
by Anna Drake
Copyright 2014 by Anna Drake
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used, fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
One
I’ve always been a logical sort of woman. So when the ghost of a long-dead boyfriend turned up in my living room, it gave me a bit of a turn.
“Come on, admit it,” he said. ”You’re glad I’m back.”
I pulled more yarn free from the skein and kept knitting. Behind me, the grandfather clock struck six. Outside, the wind howled past the corners of the house, while beside me, my tea still steamed.
He lowered his voice. “Hetty, please tell me you still care for me.”
I shook my head and counted my stitches. Ghosts didn’t suddenly appear in living rooms. Obviously, this thing wasn’t real.
Yet there he stood, my first love, Andrew Peters, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and knock-me-dead smile. He looked exactly as he had all those many years ago.
Not that the same could be said for me. I turned sixty-five next month, and I looked every bit of it.
“You’re still beautiful to me,” Andrew said.
I blinked and glanced back up at him. The man had always had a way of almost knowing what I was thinking.
Sighing, I slipped one needle behind the other and kept on knitting. This thing wasn’t real. Worse yet, I’d not only dreamed up a ghost to keep me company, but now I had him flattering me.
Was I really that desperate?
Admittedly, I’d spent too much time locked up in the house. But there had been all the unpacking to do. Plus, my cat had been terribly upset by the move. Blackie had needed a great deal of attention to settle him down.
The ghost drew nearer.
My fingers faltered. My breath caught in my throat. Even though I knew this thing wasn’t real, I didn’t want it this close to me.
“I’m not your imagination,” he said softly. “I am here. I am real.”
I nodded. Right.
But his words forced my gaze back to his. And the sight of him pulled at my heartstrings. I’d loved this man beyond reason. But shortly before college graduation, he’d died in a fiery car crash. And with his death, the course of my whole life had changed.
Oh sure, I’d moved on. I’d had no choice. And in my late-twenties I’d married a wonderful man. We’d raised three lovely children together. But there were moments, late at night, when memories of my dearest Andrew had drifted back to me.
Beside me, my cat, Blackie, sat bolt upright. His face was turned toward Andrew. My breath caught in my throat. Could cats see their owner’s hallucination?
The phone rang. I set my knitting aside and made for the kitchen.
“Hetty?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes Rose, how are you?”
Rose Stark and I had met in the library a few days ago. It was my first visit there. She’d guided me to the mystery section. As we chatted, we learned we lived only a few houses from each other.
“I’m a little stressed out,” she now said.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’d rather not say on the phone. Can you come over? I know this is an imposition, but I haven’t been able to find anyone else home.”
I listened to the wind blow past the edges of my house. It was bitterly cold out there. Then, I glanced back at the ghost. Its feet dangled about a foot above the living room floor. Suddenly an invitation to go out into the cold night had never sounded so good. “I’ll be right there.”
Blackie had followed me to the kitchen. He sat on the floor staring up at me.
I frowned down at him. “Guard the house. And while you’re at it, chase that blasted ghost away.”
Yeah, right.
***
Out on the sidewalk, I gripped my coat collar tightly about my neck. Rose’s house and mine sat at the top of a steep bluff overlooking the Illinois River. Located about halfway down the state, the little town I’d moved to was called Hendricksville. And while the village might not add up to be much, the view from my porch was spectacular. From there, on a clear day, I could see for miles beyond the swiftly flowing river below.
As for the town I walked through, it didn’t have much to offer. With a population of about three thousand souls, a law office and two nursing homes were its main attractions. And it was an old thing. Even its trees were dated. But at least they were tall and graceful and promised to send out dense shade in summer. But for now, at night, when lights from the windows in the houses on the other side of the river twinkled in inky blackness, I adored my new home.
Finally reaching Rose’s house, an imposing two-story, Dutch Colonial affair, I scurried up the front steps. She must have been watching for me because she opened the door before I even knocked. “You are a dear,” she said, ushering me inside. “Thank you so much for coming.”
She was a small, brittle-looking woman with dark hair and eyes. Once a sales clerk in a shopping mall in a town some forty miles away, she was now retired, and a widow, like me.
After I’d removed my wraps, she laid them on a chair next to the door. “It’s not a fit night for man nor beast out there.”
“At least it’s not snowing yet.” I stamped my feet to warm them up.
“I’ve made tea. I thought it would warm you up while I explain my dilemma.”
“Thank you. Tea sounds good.”
She nodded, and we set off for the kitchen.
The room we entered fit in well with the town. Antiques were the norm here, and her house was stuffed full of them. A pine hutch displayed old china. A braided rug lent warmth to the wide-board floor. Her cat, a tabby, was stretched out in front of the heating vent. It lifted its head briefly to view my entry, then returned to its winter’s nap.
I sat at the small, drop-leaf table and watched as she picked up a tray and carried it toward me. The china was obviously old. It had little violets painted on its creamy-white surface. I couldn’t imagine how much such a tea set must have cost. But judging by her house, she obviously didn’t lack for money.
She settled the tray on the table and sat herself opposite me.
“So what has you so concerned?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It’s Carrie Flynt.” She grabbed the pot and poured the dark liquid into one of the delicate cups. “Do you know her?”
“The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
“It probably wouldn’t. You haven’t had time to meet many people here yet. She lives on the other side of the river and is a very old friend of mine.”
“Is something wrong?” I lifted the steaming cup and blew across its surface.
she sighed. “I’ve been checking on her daily for about a month now. Her health hasn’t been all that good. But when I called her tonight, she didn’t answer. And that was with me calling back several times. I know I’m probably over reacting, but it’s been three hours now, and I’m worried.”
“How can I help?”
Her face knotted itself into a frown. “I keep a key here in case of emergencies. I feel I should check on her, but I can’t face doing it on my own.”
I understood her hesitation. A good friend of mine had found a neighbor dead. The discovery haunted her. It still did, some people said.
“Do you want me to go with you? Would that help?”
“You and I have barely met. I hate to impose on you… esp
ecially on a night like this. You see it’s quite possible that Carrie has gone off to visit her niece. It’s happened before.”
By this time I was on my feet. “It’s also possible your friend’s fallen and is lying helpless on the floor.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “You don’t think me overly concerned then?”
“Decidedly not.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
We scurried around for the next couple of minutes, tossing on coats, hats, and scarves.
“We can take my car,” she said once we were all bundled up. “It’s too far to walk… especially on this kind of a night.”
Soon we were wending our way south on Grant Street. At Clay she turned right and proceeded straight for several more blocks. Finally, after crossing the river, she slowed and eased the car to the curb in front of an old, two-story house.
“Is this it?” I asked, eyeing the dwelling. Not a light shone from any of its windows.
“Yes.” She switched off the engine.
We stepped out of the car and took off down the sidewalk, the strong wind hurrying us along. Reaching the front door, Rose fished a key from her coat pocket. I could tell from the deep lines on her face that she was worried. I crossed my fingers behind my back and prayed we wouldn’t find her friend in serious trouble.
Before using the key, she knocked three times, but there was no answer. After glancing my way for a quick second, she inserted the key and unlocked the door. Then, she swung it slowly open.
Backlit by the street light, I saw a long narrow hallway stretch out before us. To its right, a stairway rose to the upper floor.
“Carrie?” she called out.
I felt along the wall for a light switch and flipped it on. After the darkness outside, the overhead light seemed to bathe the hall in a brilliant glare. But everything around us looked normal. Pictures hung on the walls. A small table in the far corner boasted a lamp and a small piece of decorative china. Nothing had been disturbed. Nothing was broken.
“How about you look around down here?” she asked. “I’ll check the second floor.”
“Fine.”
I crossed the hall to a set of French doors and entered the living room. Again I turned on lights. In the distance, I heard the furnace rumble to life and caught the scent of vanilla from a bowl of potpourri on a small table. Slowly, I moved through the room, checking for signs of trouble, but I found none. After I’d satisfied myself with the living room, I moved on to the dining room across the hall.
Again, all things seemed to be in their correct places.
I was just about to step into the kitchen, when something to my left attracted my attention. It was almost hidden by the dining room table, so I bent over in order to get a better look. And on closer inspection, I instantly bounded upright and screamed.
Carrie Flynt was definitely not fine.
TWO
A short time later Rose and I sat in the living room of Carrie’s house. It was a sad kind of place with worn carpeting, faded wallpaper, and a sagging couch on which we sat. We’d been put there to wait for a detective to take our statements. The order had come with a warning to touch nothing.
Now, the young Weaver County Deputy Sheriff handed us each a cup of take-out coffee. “Detective Oberton should be here soon,” she said with a smile as she seated herself across from us.
We nodded our thanks. I turned to face Rose. “I’m sorry about fainting. I didn’t mean to let you down.”
She sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I almost landed on the floor myself. Are you sure you’re all right? I feel guilty for having put you through something like that.”
“I’m glad I came. I wouldn’t want you to have found Carrie like that on your own.”
“It was a shock, I’ll tell you that.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Sort of. When I was a kid, we were neighbors. After growing up, we weren’t close, but we kept in touch. It’s only since she got so frail that I started looking out for her.”
Just as I was about to open my mouth to ask another question, a man strode into the room. He was tall with gray hair, sloped shoulders, and a broad chin. He eyes were dark and intense, and I suspected we faced a very determined man.
He thanked his officer, who nodded and left the room.
“Ladies,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m Detective Daniel Oberton.” He sat in a small chair across from us. “I’m sorry about the death of your friend. You’ve both had a serious shock. It’s very kind of you to wait around like this to help me with the investigation.”
It was more kindness than I’d expected, and I was grateful for it. “I’m sure we’re glad to help in whatever way we can.” I glanced at Rose. She nodded.
Oberton turned his attention back to me. “Anyway, I have just a few quick questions. Then, you’ll be free to go.”
I was glad to hear it. Finding Carrie dead had just about knocked the stuffing out of me. And I had a ghost waiting for me at home.
He started by asking for my full name.
“It’s Henrietta Fox, but everybody calls me Hetty.”
“Occupation?”
“Retired.”
He next collected my address and phone number, and age. Then he turned to weightier matters. “Do you have any idea why someone might have wanted to harm your friend?”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help you. I didn’t know the woman. I only came along as a favor to Rose.”
He switched his focus to my friend and collected her personal information before returning to his greatest concern. “Do you have any thoughts on who might have wanted to hurt your friend?”
Rose shrugged. “Carrie was such a sweet person. I never knew her to cause a moment’s trouble. I can’t believe anybody wanted to harm her.”
“Did she have any children?”
Rose shook her head. “She has a niece and two nephews. They’re her sister’s children. Of course, they’re all adults, now.”
“Were they close to their aunt?”
“Jennifer and Carrie visited each other sometimes. The boys not so much. But they left home when they were young. The oldest one lives in Boston, I think. The younger is out in Wyoming someplace.”
“And the sister, is she still alive?”
“No, Astelle died about five years ago of cancer.”
“Are there any other relatives that you know about?”
“No. None.”
“Do you know how I can contact the niece?”
“I have Jennifer’s number at home. I’ll have to look it up.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d do that, ma’am,” He passed her his card. “My cell phone’s on there. Call as soon as you find the contact information, please?”
Rose chewed her lip and nodded.
“I assume the woman’s husband is dead?”
She glanced back up at him. “Yes, he’s been gone for some time now. Drank himself to death from what I heard.”
Oberton leaned forward in his chair. “And your friend never told you about any problems she might have been having? Never mentioned anyone who was causing her trouble?”
She crossed her legs. “No, I kept an eye on her, but we didn’t exactly discuss personal things. If she was upset with someone, she never mentioned it to me.”
Oberton paused to check his notebook. “You told my officer earlier that you called the victim every night?”
“Yes, as I said, she was frail. I wanted to be sure she was all right.”
“So you were simply being a Good Samaritan?”
She raised her chin. “I like doing what I can for my friends.”
A part of me thought his comment odd. Surely, he didn’t suspect Rose of this dreadful crime? Then I recalled that sometimes the killers returned to discover the body. Or at least I’d seen that scenario played out in various tv shows and books.
“And you,” Oberton said, shifting his dark eyes in my direction.
“You were here because…?”
“Because Rose was reluctant to come alone. She hadn’t been able to raise Carrie on the phone. Who knew what she might find? But I can assure you, we weren’t expecting to stumble onto a murder.”
He consulted his notes, then glanced back up at me. “You’re the one who actually found the body? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Did anything strike you as unusual?”
“Not that I can think of. The home looked normal. Nothing had been disturbed. Then, we called the police straight away. We didn’t touch anything. What you’re seeing in the dining room is exactly what I saw.”
“You came in through the front door, is that right?”
I nodded.
“Was it locked?”
“Yes, Rose used her key to let us in.”
“And nothing had been disturbed in the dining room?”
I blinked. “No. Not that I saw. She was just lying there. Obviously strangled.” I took a quick sip of my coffee.
“Is there anything else either of you would like to tell me?”
“Actually,” I said, “I was wondering about the time of death. I don’t mean to sound ghoulish… but....” I paused to pull in a breath. “I wonder if we found her shortly after she died or had she been lying there for a while?” I knew it was silly of me, but it bothered me to think of that poor woman lying dead in an empty house.
Oberton shifted in his chair. “The coroner hasn’t completed his examination yet. My guess is the killer was probably long gone before you ladies arrived.”
Wise or not, I opened my mouth and said the first thing that popped into my mind. “Isn’t that curious? The murderer came in the daytime? I’d have thought it more clever to wait until after dark.”
“And your point is?”
I felt my face flush. “The timing seems odd to me, that’s all. I think if I planned to kill someone, I wouldn’t show up when a neighbor or even someone casually driving by might see me going into the victim’s house.”
Oberton nodded. “SI can think of several circumstances in which a killer might not worry about whether it was day or night. They might be a common visitor so their presence would raise any alarms. Or they might have posed as a delivery man. There are all sorts of devices.”