by Judith Mehl
Kat glanced over at Maddy, her blue eyes deepening with concern. “Are you all right? Nothing disastrous since we talked yesterday?”
Maddy patted the handwriting notes. “Just teasing you about your intensity here. What do you have?”
Kat pulled the writing samples closer. “So let’s do what we do best together. Find some suspects.”
Most of them were written right on the ‘Thinking of You’ card for Agatha and she wanted to send it over to her soon. Nick served as a great courier when Kat couldn’t sneak in to see Agatha on her own. First, they’d analyze what they could. Maddy grabbed Kat’s notebook and jotted points as Kat reviewed.
“Having met all the people who worked closely with Margaret, I cannot imagine, no matter what the writing tells, that any of them would hurt a cockroach, and certainly not a friend.”
She saw Maddy delicately fork a small bite of cake, then drop the fork on the plate.
“Let me write that down in my diary: Kat says, ‘No matter what the writing tells, she won’t believe it.’ Should I put this up on your handwriting analysis website?”
Kat pointed her fork at Maddy, “I get your point, yet they were all so nice, and very wholesome. I didn’t dare confess that I ate a piece of white bread last week.”
Kat examined the comments again, studied and frowned. Ate cake, and frowned. Scribbled some notes and stared at Maddy in dismay. “There’s not a hostile letter in the group!”
“Okay, let’s eliminate some.”
Kat agreed. “Charlie the farm hand—he’s taciturn and easy going, loyal to the core. That’s what he appears to be and his handwriting confirms it.”
Maddy made a swift note and sipped her tea.
“One down.”
“You might as well check off his son, too. He’s got a small letter ‘b’ that’s naively hanging open. There’s nothing sinister about naïveté.”
Kat crossed her legs, lightly bouncing her pump as it dangled from her toe. “You can check off Brad, too. And he was my most hopeful possibility. He acted suspicious while I was at the farm.”
“So what eliminates him?”
“His thin capital letters show that he’s just shy.”
Kat studied some more while Maddy looked around and waved at a few friends in the corner. Most knew not to disturb them when Kat wielded her analysis pen. Kat swiveled the card over to Maddy. “Look at the ambition on this girl.”
Maddy, who knew some analysis, could see what Kat meant. “Wow, those high-crossed ‘t’s definitely show Carmelita’s quest for opportunity. She sure knows what she wants.”
Kat remembered her meeting with the woman and how mature she seemed while exuding vitality. In trying to convince Maddy, she finally struck the most important point that her closest friend would understand. She told of the almost lustful interest Carmelita showed in her shoes.
Discovering that people she liked had no tendencies towards violence conflicted with her need to find someone who hated Margaret enough to kill her. When her cell phone rang she dropped her pen and flicked it on instantly—something she rarely did in a restaurant. “Yes, Nick. What’s up?”
Kat listened, then responded with a laugh and agreement. “I’ll have the quilting stuff ready for delivery tonight.”
Maddy looked puzzled when Kat put the phone down.
“It involves a case. Hush, hush.” Even for Maddy, her best friend, she wouldn’t reveal Agatha’s location. Her friend sure pushed though. She couldn’t imagine what could induce Nick to need quilting supplies.
Kat saw that Dave appeared intuitive and in control—a totally wholesome individual, if somewhat overly protective. Caring about people can lead to obsessiveness. She didn’t see it in his writing.
Discouraged, Kat set the last few samples aside. They were from the young teens and probably held nothing resembling a murder clue. She withdrew the copies of notes that came with the bouquets.
“When Agatha’s note, and the note from Margaret’s house, both showed warnings with the bouquets, the police decided to go back to Rosalin’s and hunt for a note. They already had a photo of the flowers as part of the coroner’s data collection. They found a note in the bedroom trash, an obvious supplement to a bouquet,” she explained to her friend.
Kat now held copies of all three notes. She had Rosalin’s with her and wanted to share with Maddy. Though the police respected her enough to listen when she drew conclusions, they didn’t want the handwriting details, just the characteristics of the profile they formed. She’d given them the basics, that they all were from the same person, someone slightly deranged with violent possibilities but nothing that shouted serial killer. Maddy would at least listen to the reason for Kat’s thoughts, and help her delve deeper.
“There are a few too many shapes in this one and that put up warnings in itself. The lack of consistency shows signs of a potential for dangerous antisocial behavior.” She whipped out the magnifying glass from her bottomless bag. With it she could see the intricate network of strokes and at the innumerable variations in some of the simple details. Especially notable is the extreme inconsistency in the angle of the writing, from controlled to pronounced.
She twirled it around to show Maddy.
“I don’t have specifics etched in my brain like you do, but, Kat, we are definitely looking at a disturbed person. Right?”
Kat stretched back and finished her drink. She told Maddy, “Just as things get complicated, I like to remember my favorite handwriting author, Klara Roman. She said in her Handwriting: A Key to Personality book, ‘Just as we untwist a knot in order to see how it was made, we follow the path of the pen to ascertain precisely how the pattern came into being.’”
Kat frowned and pointed to the note. “This person makes me uncomfortable. It sure worries me we can’t find more information—either written or otherwise. He could be someone who wormed his way into her life and no one else knew about it.”
“That’s what I meant, Kat. That’s one squiggly pen. So let’s follow the tracks.” Maddy pushed her empty plate aside and added, “Can you tell it’s a ‘he’?”
“Not really. Let’s use ‘he’ since it’s easier. I know women kill, and the method, yet to be determined, could be poison. That’s often a woman thing rather than a man. You know as well as I do that personalities blur. The note hints at someone sly.”
“Well, we both know men can be sly, too. Looks like we have to stay open-minded,” Maddy sighed.
Kat smiled. Maybe they better get back to the easy handwriting samples before tackling that course. She set the note aside to compare with the others for Margaret and Agatha. She turned to the last two notes on the card samples.
“Caleb and Kurt: these clean cut twins aren’t likely killers.”
As Maddy updated her notes and prepared to cross out the teens, Kat sucked in a deep breath. “Kurt’s got a secret. Look at the loops on the right side of his lower case “o”s. He’s also got a healthy rightward slant, impulsively so.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Kat. You just described every teenage guy.”
“Good point. We need to head out to the farm and find out what Kurt’s up to. What are you doing tonight?”
“I guess soaking in a hot tub of bubbles is not the right answer?”
Chapter 16
Light to moderate pressure, moderately simplified shapes, and fluid forms are just some of the elements of a good relationship, exhibiting strong belief systems, integrity, and a loving nature. Seldom do they meld with a criminal mind.
Moonlight reflected the early field of white valerian as Nick and Kat drove near the old farmhouse. Clusters of three-foot tall red-tinged flowers shifted in the breeze. The calming respite served as a brief interlude.
Nick had insisted on accompanying her instead of Maddy. As they turned the bend, a light shown in what should have been an unoccupied house. All the workers lived elsewhere. The light in the murdered woman’s living room revealed only the shadowy substance of f
urniture behind ethereal curtains. Originally, Kat planned the stop at the farmhouse to find Kurt’s address which she guessed was on the list of employees inside. Most of the workers lived nearby, and certainly the teens, who couldn’t drive, were within biking distance. No one should have access to the house. Margaret had left the door unlocked in the daytime while working. Not now, and not this late. Carmelita appeared responsible in her new chores, like locking up the house. The light tonight prompted Kat to find another game plan.
Nick cut the sedan’s lights as soon as they saw the beacon in the window, and inched the car forward. They walked the rest of the way, stepping around the side of the house in an attempt to peer through the windows before committing to a course of action.
“Sheesh, Nick! You almost trampled that bed of tulips. They will be gorgeous in a few days.”
“Sorry, Kat,” he said facetiously, “There could be a killer in there. I don’t know why I didn’t think of the tulips first.”
Kat almost tripped over the rock border, grabbing his arm to save herself at the last minute. She should have been more worried about her Via Spiga open-toed sandals than the flowers. She pointed to the back sidewalk. “Looks like our killer rides a bike. Let’s take our chances?”
They debated the method of approach in whispers. Surprise? Or a polite knock on the door? Nick reminded her that whoever it was, they weren’t exactly there with a permission slip. Kat nodded agreement and slipped up to the back door, eased it open, and tiptoed inside. Nick followed and moved her aside before she could object. They both stopped. Voices in quiet conversation came from the living room. A female voice rose in a giggle before becoming muffled.
Nick surged into the living room and flicked on the overhead light. Kat knew it was one thing to stumble across someone up to no good. Nick could handle that best. Interrupting a lover’s tryst took more panache. She saw Nick’s startled expression when he saw Kurt and a young girl together on the sofa. Kat moved forward in case he hadn’t switched to a less aggressive mode.
Kurt leaped up, simultaneously flinging the light throw over the blonde beauty on the sofa, and crouching in a defensive stance. As the gangly twin saw Kat move in front of Nick embarrassment colored his face.
Kat said, “Kurt?” I think we need to talk.” She’d only guessed he wasn’t the more shy twin, Caleb, and apparently was right.
The blonde’s blue eyes peeked above the comforter, a little puzzled. She became more assertive by the second. Eventually, she sat up and agreed. “Yeah, Kurt. We need to talk. I thought you said it was okay to use this place.”
“Well, it kind of was,” he said as he helped her up. “Sissy, this is Ms. Everitt. She’s helping us out with the farm and the threat to Mrs. Hartman—you know, Mrs. Kinney’s friend?”
Kat nodded toward the confused girl. “Could you wait in the kitchen while we talk with Kurt? Won’t be but a minute.”
Kat sat on the edge of the chair and motioned Kurt to sit on the sofa. Nick stood behind his wife’s chair, letting her handle the interrogation. Kurt’s spiked hair stood in crooked disarray and his acne purpled with the reddening of his entire face. She sensed the boy lacked the killer instinct, trembling more from lack of ease than fear of being caught. She treated him accordingly, with openness and a frank description of why she’d come looking for him.
“Kurt, you may not be aware of it, but I have a serious interest in the art of handwriting analysis.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the study of what handwriting reveals of a person’s personality, their deepest feelings and tendencies.”
The young teen looked baffled but Kat plunged on. “I looked at the handwriting in each of the messages to Agatha on her card, hoping to clear any doubt that her friends here could want to harm her. Your handwriting revealed you held some secrets. You weren’t being completely open when you wrote your note to her.”
Kurt jumped up and raised his fists. “I would never hurt Ms. Hartman. I felt kinda bad I was using this house. I guess it’s hers now, anyway, since Mrs. Kinney died. But I wouldn’t threaten her!”
Nick reached forward and urged him back onto the sofa again. “Okay, Kurt, settle down. We weren’t accusing you. Just trying to check everything out.”
Kat nodded and moved the conversation forward. “Your handwriting probably just reflected that you were secretly using the house.”
The boy frowned, unsure how his scribbles could say any such thing. He seemed to calm at the friendly expression, and eased back.
“How did you come to have a key to the house?” Kat asked.
“Well, ma’am, it was Mrs. Kinney. She gave it to me. A few days before she died, it was. I was supposed to pick up the new sprinklers that were delivered here by mistake. I carried them to the growing sheds for her.” He wrung his hands. “I forgot to give it back. Honest. Just forgot.”
“Did you meet Sissy recently?”
“Nah, she’s Charlie’s daughter. She just noticed me. I wanted to find a spot where we could be alone. Then I remembered the key. I figured no one was using the house.”
Sissy called from the kitchen. “Kurt, you coming? I should get home.”
Kat nodded to let Kurt know he could leave. She stuck out her hand and raised her eyebrows. Kurt handed her the key.
He left to walk his bike next to Sissy as he escorted her home.
Nick sat and watched Kat as she looked around.
“Margaret made such a comfy home of this place. I wonder if it’s Agatha’s now and what she is going to do with a farm house? It looks like someone’s been cleaning it. It’s already losing the life Margaret gave it.”
He rose to comfort her and chose a diversion. He said, “The house is probably tied into the herb farm. With Agatha living in town, it will complicate matters.”
Kat wondered how much more complicated things could get.
Nick reviewed the situation. “Agatha barely absorbed Margaret’s death when Rosalin was struck down. Then she freaked, rightly so, when she feared her turn was next. If we have to, we’ll find someone to keep watch here as well as Agatha’s place.”
As he approached her, she stared into his sky blue eyes, flecked with gold, and saw the endearing love that supported her in everything. “Thanks, Nick. I love you. You’re always behind me when I need you the most.” Shaking out of her mood, she said, “Let’s look around some more while we’re here. I didn’t have much chance this afternoon.”
She rose and spun around, trying to decide where to begin. The colonial furniture was simple and clean, no piles of important papers or clues lying about. The golden hue of the draperies mellowed in the lamplight, providing a warmth that followed through with antique baskets, and knitting projects that would remain ever unfinished. The partial blanket awakened more tears and sorrow than Kat revealed so far. She held them back again and started a systematic search of the room.
“I feel like we’re missing clues, even though we don’t know if the killer was ever here.”
Nick headed for a room off to the side that looked like a study. “If we can’t find the killer here we can always find more about Margaret. Something brought that poor woman under attack.”
The police and Agatha had cleaned out anything of obvious importance. Nick and Kat looked for something else, that on the surface was not related to Margaret’s death. She entered the bedroom first, feeling like an uninvited intruder. She needed to find a sense of Margaret here. But no luck. She joined her husband in the study. He’d completed his search except for some folders he’d removed to review later.
“Did Margaret have an accountant?”
“That could be a problem. If Rosalin was the only one working with the finances Agatha may never be able to tie up the loose ends. Hopefully, they at least had an outside firm doing the taxes and that can be found easily enough.”
Nick continued hunting until there was no where else to search. They left without any further clues.
They circled
around the back to lock that door after checking that everything else was buttoned up tight. Kat hadn’t realized how much they’d depended before on the lights filtering through the windows to reveal the ground around the house. Kat walked first and Nick attempted to shine the flashlight ahead of her so she could see the ground and keep her footing. He swerved around a plant and the light veered off the path. That one second was all it took. Kat tripped over the ragged rock wall surrounding the flower bed. Her shoe strap had snagged on the edge of the rough edges and she went down, twisting to break her fall. Before Nick could grab her she was stretched out, groaning.
She stifled another groan, knowing Nick felt helpless enough as he sat her upright and straightened her leg. He looked down the drive where Kurt had disappeared earlier. The bike would have come in handy right now. Nick finally drove the car into the grass and lifted her in to the back seat so she could prop up her leg.
“It’s not broken, Nick. Let’s just go to that urgent care place near home. They do X-rays and everything now.”
“Yes, Nurse Katharine. Will they have a gurney?”
“Funny. Drop me off and I’ll hop.”
The nurse looked out the window and pursed her lips. Kat wondered what she was thinking. Nick had dropped her off and propped her up against a light post before parking the car and helping her inside.
Oh well, one more thing added to her reputation probably wouldn’t make any difference.
Chapter 17
Writing that displays liberal spacing throughout suggests a self-assured, outgoing personality.
Fulton knocked on Fanny’s front door and stepped back, rhythmically shifting from the left to right foot and back again, releasing energy he couldn’t expend on beating the truth out of his suspect. What a laugh. He was more inclined to caress her. No way. He was a professional and this was part of his job. He pounded harder, knowing she was inside. He eyed the windows hoping to catch her spying on him, as if that would prove her sinister intent. He needed to know one way or the other, soon.