Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Anna Drake

  Rose cleared her throat. “I don’t care when the killer arrived. I just wish we could have been here to chase the person off.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. But my attention wandered. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened in the past to trigger the death of this poor woman? Or who the person was who had so brazenly entered Carrie’s home in broad daylight to kill her?

  ***

  Whatever peace I’d hoped to gain on returning home that night evaporated the moment I stepped through the front door. My ghost was still there, floating a few feet ahead of me in the hall. How I wished he’d just sit down. That is assuming that he could, of course.

  I unwrapped my scarf from about my neck. “I see you’re still here.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  Blackie padded in from the dining room to join us, his face upturned, his green eyes focused tightly on me.

  “And you,” I said, returning his stare. “You were supposed to chase this thing away.”

  “There’s no need to be rude,” Andrew protested. “I’m a guest in your home. You’re supposed to make me feel welcome.” He folded his arms over his chest.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just not comfortable sharing my house with a ghost.” I shoved my gloves into my coat pocket, wrapped my scarf about the hanger, and placed the garments in the closet.

  Blackie glanced at Andrew and hissed. Then he circled between my ankles, purring.

  I smiled down at him. “Are you hungry?”

  Andrew shook his head. “You spoil that cat.”

  “Don’t be silly. Blackie’s my friend.”

  “It was too bad about that woman,” Andrew said.

  My head jerked up. “What woman?”

  “The one who was murdered.”

  My knees weakened. “What do you know about her?”

  “I know more about you and where you go than you can imagine.”

  I swallowed uneasily. “Are you saying you were with me? There, in Carrie’s house?”

  He shrugged. “I’m always with you.”

  A light dawned. If Andrew lived in my imagination, he’d know everything I’d seen, done, or said. That had to mean this ghost wasn’t real. A sense of relief rushed through me. If he wasn’t real, I needn’t worry about him or what he said — or did. Then, I glanced back down at Blackie. “Treat?”

  That being Blackie’s favorite word, he instantly mewed and set off for the kitchen with me trailing close behind him. But when we arrived, I discovered Andrew had beaten us. He hovered in the far corner of the room near the stove.

  Doing my best to ignore him, I opened the cupboard door and removed a packet of kitty treats. Blackie sat at my feet watching my movements. I slipped three small pieces from the package and placed them on the floor. He tore into them, making them vanish in short order.

  Then, I reached back into the cupboard and pulled out a bag of peanut butter cookies. If I remembered correctly, there were at least a dozen left, and I intended to eat every one of them. Nothing soothes my soul the way cookies do.

  THREE

  After a restless night, haunted by thoughts of ghosts and dead bodies, the last place I had expected to find myself the next day was headed back to Rose’s house. But she had called earlier and begged me to come. So, after gulping down cereal, feeding Blackie, and ignoring the ghost, I donned my winter gear and fled the house.

  Outside, I paused and took a quick, deep breath. The air was cold and crisp. Below me bits of ice floated on the river. But at least the sun shone. As I walked, I pulled my coat collar up and studied the town below me.

  Most of Hendricksville’s houses lay beyond the river. Only a few blocks of homes had been built on top of the bluff with mine. And although my daughter had protested my choice in homes, I adored my little one-story house. It had windows that extended all the way to the floor, a roof capped with a darling cupola, and a porch, which the original owners had probably called a veranda, that swept around three sides of the dwelling.

  My home put me in mind of a different era when time didn’t count for as much, and days were allowed to drift past, unhurried. I could hardly wait for summer to arrive, so I could spend long afternoons sitting in a rocking chair with a tall glass of lemonade at my side.

  But that was then and this was now, and winter was still here. Swallowing a sigh, I picked up my pace and hastened to Rose’s house.

  She looked tidy and rested when she pulled her front door open, which considering what we’d been through yesterday, I thought was a miracle. Anyway, she looked way better than I felt.

  “Thank you so much for coming over,” she said. “Jennifer is due any minute. I simply can’t face her on my own.”

  I smiled and reminded myself that in a few days life would return to normal. Carrie’s relatives would bury their aunt. Rose and I could once again chat about mystery books rather than dealing with the aftershocks of a real murder. And my ghost would return to wherever it was that he belonged — even if that was back inside my restless mind.

  I slipped my coat off. “Jennifer certainly lost no time in contacting you.”

  “Worse yet, she called me from her car about an hour ago to say she was almost here. Police apparently contacted her with the news of her aunt’s death sometime after they’d left here last night. She didn’t sound like she’d gotten much sleep. I think she set off on her journey long before the sun rose.”

  “Well, we’ll just give her coffee and comfort her as best we can.”

  She took my coat and sighed.

  At that moment, footsteps sounded on the front porch. She glanced at me and nodded. “That must be her.”

  Jennifer Taylor was tall with red hair and dark eyes. “It’s so kind of you to see me.” She stretched forth her hand.

  “Don’t be silly, there’s no kindness involved. You’re Carrie’s niece. Of course, I’m going to give you whatever help I can.” Rose introduced me. Then she asked Jennifer about the drive down.

  “It was fine. No problems, which this time of year is always a relief.”

  “I hope it wasn’t too long a trip,” I said.

  “Not bad. I live in Elmwood near Chicago. It’s about a four hour drive from here.”

  “I know Elmwood well. I lived on the north side of Chicago before moving here.”

  Jennifer smiled and nodded. “You’re in for an adjustment, then.”

  “Yes, but Hendricksville has a lot to offer. It’s just of a different sort, that’s all.”

  Finished with squaring away our gear, she turned back to us. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen. I’ve made fresh coffee, and there’s a nice cheese danish.”

  Once there, she scurried about, collecting cups and saucers and instructing Jennifer and me to make ourselves at home.

  We crossed to the kitchen table and sat.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “I can’t believe Aunt Carrie was murdered. It’s like some kind of nightmare.”

  “I’m sure it must be.”

  Rose arrived with the tray and settled coffee cups on the table along with a sugar and creamer. Jennifer glanced up at her. “Have you heard anything more from the detective?”

  “No, and I really don’t expect to. I’m sure he’ll be more open with you than he was with us.”

  “I hope so. I’m meeting him after I leave here. I just thought with you being there last night, you might have picked up more information on how and why this happened.”

  She shook her head. “The man was more interested in dragging answers out of us than in sharing his thoughts with us.”

  I scooped a spoonful of sugar into my coffee. “He might not be free with his information, but I suspect he’s good at his job.”

  “I agree,” she said. “It was such a shock though… finding your aunt like that.”

  Jennifer’s face grew pale.

  Rose looked alarmed. “Oh dear, I am sorry.” She patted Jennifer’s arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

/>   “No, no. I’m fine,” Jennifer answered. But I could see the tension in the way she held her head and in the tightness of her smile. “I just hope he catches whoever did this.”

  She finished slicing the Danish and passed the plates around without saying anything more.

  I picked up my fork. “Do you have any thoughts on who might have wanted your aunt dead?”

  Jennifer smiled weakly. “I was wondering the same thing all the way here. Unfortunately, I can’t imagine anyone who’d want to murder her. She got along with everyone. The only thing I could come up with is that it had to have been someone who broke into her home.”

  I leaned forward. “I doubt it. There weren’t any signs of a burglary. The windows weren’t broken out. The doors were secure.”

  Jennifer frowned.

  I rushed on, attempting to explain myself. “Please keep in mind I’m just an old woman who reads mysteries. What do I know? But, if asked, I’d say the killer was someone your mother knew and trusted.”

  Rose patted her hand. “Don’t give up hope, dear. We all want this killer caught.”

  Jennifer sighed and nodded. “In the meantime, I need to get things underway. I thought I’d stop by the mortuary today. Set up whatever plans I can. Then, I have to hurry home. I’m in the midst of a big project at work. Plus, the children are young. And my husband’s a busy man. I can’t afford the time to stay here just now.”

  I folded my napkin. “There’s never a good time for something like this, is there?”

  Jennifer nodded. “So…. I know this may sound rude, but I was wondering, Rose, if you’d go through Carrie’s house for me? Sort through her things?”

  “Oh, my.” Her hand flew to her chest. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. Plus, surely you want to take a look for yourself? Then, what about your brothers? They may want mementos or something.”

  “They couldn’t be bothered with Aunt Carrie while she lived. They’ll just have to put up with what I decide. Carrie made it very clear before she died. I’m the administrator of the estate. What I say goes.”

  I stirred my coffee. “Maybe, you could give Rose some guidance. Tell her exactly what you want her to toss out?”

  Nodding, Jennifer turned back to Rose. “You could start with the clothes. They can all go. Then all the old papers and junk. My aunt was sweet, but she kept everything. There are years of garbage inside those walls.”

  “If it’s just the trash you want tossed, I guess I could do that,” she said. “But you’re going to have to make the decisions on anything that’s important.”

  “Fine. I think I can handle that. Set the things you’re unsure about aside, and I’ll go through them when I get back down. I’ll call and let you know when the detective says we can get into the house.”

  I turned to Rose. “I’ve got time on my hands. “There’s no need for you to take on all that work alone. I’d be glad to help.”

  “That is so kind of you,” she said.

  Kind or not, my fingers were positively itching to search through Carrie’s house. If there was so much junk there, maybe some of it might point us toward the killer.

  FOUR

  It was about a week before police granted us access to Carrie’s house. I picked Rose up little before ten that morning. She was waiting for me by the curb. Carrying a small plastic bag filled with cleaning gear, she wore a worried frown on her narrow face. I suspected we’d both feel better when this job was behind us.

  After I’d pulled to the curb, she swung open the door and climbed aboard. “You look tired,” she said by way of greeting.

  I eased down on the gas pedal, and we slowly moved into the light, morning traffic. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” I admitted, but I didn’t explain why. An elderly woman who confesses that she has ghosts living with her doesn’t sound exactly stable. Besides, I was certain I’d invented him. I figured my mind would soon grow bored with playing such childish tricks on me and send Andrew back to where he belonged.

  In the meantime, I was doing my best to ignore the situation. If I could only convince Andrew and Blackie to do likewise with each other, I’d be living in a calmer house. But so far, I’d had little luck advancing that agenda.

  Rose patted the small brown bag on her lap. “I brought a pound cake for dessert.”

  “Ooo, I love your pound cake. And I have the sandwiches and a thermos of tea.” Yesterday, we’d decided to work straight through the lunch hour, hoping to finish the task in a day or two. The less time spent in that house, the better we’d feel.

  Rose turned her head my way. “I suppose you’ve heard that the funeral is set for Wednesday.”

  “Yes, I read the obit in the newspaper. I’m glad things are moving along. It will help Jennifer and her brothers put the murder behind them.”

  We approached Oak Street. I gently lifted my foot from the gas pedal. We’d had a heavy snowfall overnight. Even with streets salted and plowed, there were little patches of ice hanging around, just waiting to cause trouble. It was not the kind of day to risk changing speeds quickly.

  “Are the nephews coming for the funeral?” I asked.

  “Yes, they’re flying into Peoria early tomorrow morning. They said they were going to rent cars and drive themselves here.”

  Hendricksville was only an hour away from the Peoria airport. Flights from there connected up with the big carriers in large cities. Moving to a small town had not been an easy decision for me. Having the airport so close had been one of the pluses that had helped me decide to do so.

  Now, I came to another intersection and cautiously moved through the turn. Carrie’s house came into view. Unshoveled snow laid on its sidewalks. Yellow police tape stretched across its front door. The sight set the home apart from its neighbors — but not in a good way.

  Rather than risk getting stuck in the unshoveled driveway, I parked on the street. “Was Carrie a happy person?” I asked, as we slogged through a deep snowdrift.

  She sighed, her breath hanging before her in the chill air. “I don’t think so. Her husband wasn’t what I’d call a friendly man. I suspect he was awful hard on her.”

  “Was he abusive?”

  “I don’t like to tell tales, but I think you could say that.”

  I shook my head. “How sad.”

  We reached the house. Rose inserted a key in the lock and pushed the door inward. After stomping snow off our boots, we stepped inside.

  “Did Carrie work?”

  Rose nodded. “Yes, she kept house for Lillian Whitcomb, poor woman.”

  “How so?”

  “Because Mrs. Whitcomb committed suicide. I couldn’t believe it. A wealthy woman. Everything to live for.” she shrugged. “Then, one day, she killed herself.”

  The house we had stepped into was quiet and had already taken on a slightly stale scent. We set our cleaning gear on the floor and shrugged our way out of our coats.

  I couldn’t imagine what relation Mrs. Whitcomb’s death could have had to Carrie’s, but I filed the information away. It seemed strange to me that the women had known each other so well and had both died before their time. Probably the two deaths were nothing more than a coincidence, but few of the mysteries I read cared much for coincidences.

  We carried our boots to the kitchen and set them atop newspapers to catch the melting snow.

  ”Well,” she said, smoothing her hair. “Let’s hop to it. I’d like to get out of here as soon as we can.”

  I nodded. “How about we start upstairs? Jennifer said the clothes should all be tossed. It shouldn’t take us long to empty the drawers and closets. And I think the bathroom will be easy enough to sort out, too.”

  “Right.”

  Rose headed for the staircase. I fell in step beside her, and together we set off for the second floor, carrying a box of large garbage bags and a few cleaning rags with us.

  We came to Carrie’s bedroom at the top of the stairs. Pausing outside the doorway for a moment, we exchanged a brief wordless gl
ance. Then, we stepped into the room.

  The walls here were painted a pale pink. The dresser was old. But everything inside the room was tidy enough. The bed was made. Nothing littered the dresser or nightstand. It was hard to believe a brutal murder could have taken place downstairs.

  She nodded grimly. “How about you take the closet while I tackle the drawers?”

  “Fair enough.” I crossed to the closet and tossed what few dresses were hanging there into a large garbage bag. There was a small, cheap cardboard chest of drawers along the rear wall. It was the kind of unsubstantial thing that discount stores used to sell decades ago. I pulled its drawers open, one after another, and found it crammed full of junk. Old tubes of lipstick. Some hair curlers. A mascara wand. I pulled out the drawers and added the mixed contents to the trash bag.

  Then, after carrying the small chest out of the closet and setting it beside the bed, I returned to the closet to check the upper shelves and the floor. “What’s this?” I muttered when I saw a slight protrusion on the back wall. I hadn’t noticed it earlier because it had been hidden by the chest.

  Leaning forward, I reached down. There was a little flap sticking out from the wall in one corner. I gave it a tug, and a good sized portion of the wall came away in my hands. The release was so sudden that I lost my balance, stumbled backwards, and fell onto my rump. “What the…?” I stared wide-eyed at the hole I’d apparently ripped in the wall.

  “What’s happened?” she asked, rushing to my aid. “Are you okay?”

  “I doubt anything’s injured beyond my pride, but that wall is a disaster.”

  Rose glanced over at the gaping hole, and her jaw dropped. “What in the world did you do?”

  “Nothing. Or at least, not much. There was this little thing sticking out from the wall. I pulled on it a little bit and… well, you can see the results. How am I going to fix it?”