by Melissa Rees
Everything looked just the same. Hopefully, she had been right about Dwight. Then she got annoyed with herself for thinking of him as Dwight. He's the sheriff, she reminded herself sternly. She had always stayed as far away from him as she could, which had been easy, up until now.
She didn't know why she couldn't forgive him for dumping her in her senior year of high school but she really couldn't. Dwight dumping her in high school had hurt more than Lester breaking off their engagement when she was nineteen.
Probably because she was so young mentally at that time and unprepared for the pain the breakup caused, she figured. She shook her head to clear her mind and decided she really shouldn't analyze herself right now. She was, after all, in the middle of a murder investigation.
The best thing she could hope for was that the sheriff had not taken time to meticulously search the house for information. She was sure that Warren Jones would have hid his personal information in a place that provided security. Turning the knob to the back door, Miss Pettybone was not surprised to discover it locked. The sheriff would have sealed the house. If nothing else, to protect it from high school kids.
She walked around the outside of the house twice, discovering it was locked tighter than a bank at midnight. She cupped her eyes with her hand and looked into the kitchen window. She had to get in somehow.
Miss Pettybone thought carefully about her options. Unless she could pick the lock, which she didn't think she could, she would have break in. She sighed, then made a decision and walked around to the far side of the house. She didn't think Miss Marple ever broke any windows to investigate but this was real life and real life called for a broken window.
She picked up a small piece of wood and busted the window, wincing at the noise it made. She was glad that the house was stuck in the middle of a cotton field. It sat far enough away to prevent any nosy neighbors from hearing the sound of breaking glass.
She glanced around the yard and spotted an old gasoline can. Dragging it over to stand on, she reached inside to unlock the window. She knocked pieces of glass away from the window sill with a stick, and then crawled through the narrow living room window, pulling the blinds to the floor with a loud crash as she wiggled through. Pushing herself up, she wiped the sweat from her eyes. Disgusted with her clumsiness, she gazed around the inside of the house. It felt eerie. It was so quiet she could hear the house creaking from the heat.
She looked at the dirt on her hands and rubbed her fingers together to get the dust off. When that didn't work, she clapped her hands together. The noise felt almost like an intrusion.
She was being silly. She was positive if she were murdered in a rental house, she would hardily hang around to see if anyone showed up.
She hurried into the kitchen and unlocked the back door, then swung it wide open. Still, she reasoned, it wouldn't hurt to have an escape route ready.
Miss Pettybone began opening kitchen cabinets and poking inside of them. After searching through all of the top and bottom cabinets and finding nothing but mice droppings, Miss Pettybone decided that enough was enough. She should have known a man wouldn't hide anything in the kitchen.
She wiped her face with her arm, then strode over to the sink and turned the faucet on. Nothing. Zeb Murdock must have turned the water off to save electricity. Sighing for his cheap personality, Miss Pettybone walked back into the living room.
She explored the perimeter of the room, and then started her search under the couch cushions and tables. She found very little except cigarette butts and pieces of discarded paper towels.
Tired and dirty, she sat on the arm of the sofa and rested for a few minutes while she tried to think like a man. Where would a man hide personal papers?
Probably some place hard to get to, she mused. Never having lived with a man and unsure how they rationalized things put her at a disadvantage, she decided. Discouraged, she straightened her hand on her back.
After eying the floor a few minutes and failing to see anything that looked out of the ordinary, she sighed. She would just have to search the floor inch by inch.
She got down on her knees and scoured the wood boards to see if they had been lifted recently. She quickly discovered crawling on the wood floor was harder than she counted on. The dirt and bits of litter kept sticking to her bare knees. By the middle of the room, her knees were sore and throbbing and her back was killing her. When she finally reached the end, she could barely make it off the floor.
She hated to acknowledge, even to herself, that she was getting older. She didn’t feel old at all but she sure wasn’t a spring chicken either. Hey, almost forties was the new almost thirties, right?
Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was already well past six o'clock. She would have to come back tomorrow. Lynn and Billie June would be wondering where she was. She propped the blinds back into the slots and looked around. The living room looked no worse than it did when she started her search earlier.
Satisfied, she wiped her hands on her shorts and turned towards the kitchen. Unless someone was really paying attention and walked around the far side of the house, no one would know right away she had been indoors.
She pulled the kitchen door shut, and then turned back to make sure it was locked when she felt the slight breeze behind her. Before she could turn around to investigate, she felt a hand on her shoulder and something exploded in her head. She was vaguely aware of falling.
Chapter 12
Wagner crouched behind an old wood shed and frowned at the mail-truck parked behind the house. Infuriated with himself and Otis for having to turn around and come back, Wagner was in a raging temper. What the hell had they been thinking? Warren Jones could possibly have a letter or something about them hidden somewhere in the house.
He couldn't believe neither he nor Otis had remembered to check the house for incriminating information after he had killed the man. How completely stupid!
Of course, it was really all Otis's fault. If he hadn't gotten so upset when he shot Warren, Wagner would have thought of searching the house himself.
He glanced back at Otis and shook his head. Otis was slumped so far down in the truck seat that Wagner could just barely see the top of his head. Otis was weak, he thought. When the going gets tough, Otis turns and runs every time.
Now he was left to deal with whoever was inside the house. Of course, he had just said he would take care of things from now on, but still, Otis could have at least acted as the look out.
He wondered what a mailman was doing inside the house. Maybe the house belonged to him. God knows it had to be a rental if someone like Warren Jones lived there. He sank to the ground when he saw a tall brown-haired female walk out the back door. A woman! Maybe Warren had something going with her. In that case, she might know something she shouldn't.
He crept closer and waited until she turned back to the door. He ran up behind her and hit her as hard as he could with the butt of his pistol.
Wagner took a step back as she crumpled on the cement floor of the carport. He bent over and looked at her face. Although she was good-looking, she appeared a little old for Warren Jones.
And, let's face it, he thought. Way too classy for him also. Hopping over her, he quickly searched the house. Finding nothing, he walked back to the door and gazed down at the woman lying at his feet.
Maybe she just had to use the bathroom, he thought. God knows how many times a day his own mother used the facilities. He bent down and was relieved to see that she was still breathing.
Straightening, he decided that if Warren had any information concerning him or Otis in the house, the police would have already found it. They would just have to wait and see.
Wagner gave the woman a last look before he turned and ran back to the truck. He jumped in and started the engine. Pressing hard on the gas, the truck roared down the gravel driveway. For just a few seconds, he lost control as it skidded as the tires hit the paved highway, almost hitting an oncoming car.
***
Mildred's eye followed the dark pick-up truck in her rear view mirror as it picked up speed and was soon a distant speck in the road. The damn driver had almost crashed into her coming out of the murdered man's driveway.
She wasn't sure but it looked like the same truck Louise and she had seen the other night in Benton. Maybe they were looking at the property.
That would be pretty sweet if the town got some new men. She and Louise were growing rather tired of farmers. Heaving a pleasant sigh at the thought, she pressed on the gas. She couldn't wait to tell Louise about the truck.
Chapter 13
Drowsy, Miss Pettybone opened her eyes. The first thing she heard was the whispering, a lot of whispering. She turned her head slowly looking for the source.
Miss Pettybone saw Lynn and Billie June standing in the corner of the room talking to the sheriff. She discovered rather unpleasantly that she was in a hospital room. She lay in a bed that was positioned in the middle of the room. An IV was sticking out of her arm with tape securing the needle. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant.
She gingerly felt the back of her head. It hurt like someone had taken a hammer to it. She moved experimentally to find out if anything was broken. Nothing was, thank God. She tried desperately to remember what exactly had happened and how she ended up in the hospital.
She glanced bewildered around the room and wondered what time it was. An unexpected moan slipped out. She closed her eyes, only to force them open when she felt three pair of eyes staring down at her. Lynn, Billie June and Dwight stood over her bed with concerned faces.
"Loraine, for God's sake, are you alright?" Lynn demanded, staring down at her best friend.
Not wanting to move her head, Miss Pettybone raised her eyebrows, frowning from the effort.
"Don't even try to act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know very well what I'm talking about. You were knocked out cold out at the murder house." Lynn snapped.
"Could I have a Diet Pepsi?" Miss Pettybone whispered her throat dry as a bone.
"No, you may not have any soda. The doctor said you could have some small sips of water but that's all." Lynn said, gazing at her friend.
"Okay, may I have some water?"
Moving beside the bed so he could look at her face, Dwight stared into her eyes. "Loraine, how are you feeling?"
She raised furious gray eyes at him and whispered. "Only my friends are allowed to call me Loraine."
I’m sorry." Dwight said an amused glint in his eyes. "Miss Pettybone, how are you feeling?"
"I've been better." She muttered.
"I bet. But at least now I understand why you didn't listen to me." Dwight said.
Miss Pettybone took a small sip of water before glancing up, a question on her pale face.
"The doctor said you have a real hard head, otherwise you would be lying in the city morgue instead of this nice soft bed."
She closed her eyes and decided against talking to Dwight.
Her arms stretched out in front of her, Billie June moved dramatically in front of Loraine and cried out. "Sheriff, must you talk to her this second? Can't you see she’s in severe pain?"
"I just have a few questions, and then she can rest." Dwight said, moving Billie June back gently with his hands.
Miss Pettybone sighed, resigned. Meeting Dwight's eyes, she raised an eyebrow.
"Did you see who attacked you?" He asked softly.
"No. They came up behind me." Her voice was hoarse and unsteady.
“Do you know what time you got to the farmhouse?"
She decided she would have to think that one through because of her search. "No, I don't remember."
"What were you doing out there?"
Miss Pettybone closed her eyes and moaned softly from the violent pounding in her head. "I lost my watch out there the other day."
"Dwight, must you do this now? I mean, she deserves being questioned. Just not right now." Lynn implored.
Dwight sighed and looked down at Miss Pettybone. "You were very lucky, Miss Pettybone. Whoever hit you had already been inside the house looking for something. They broke a window to get in."
She opened her eyes and looked up.
He patted her shoulder gently, thinking she must be terrified. "You don't have anything to worry about now. The doctor said you will have a headache for a couple of days but you will be back to your old feisty self in no time."
More nauseous that she could ever remember being, she closed her eyes.
Dwight gazed down at her and sighed. Why did such a good-looking woman like Miss Pettybone have to be so cranky and hard to get a long with? He had often wondered if Loraine realized how beautiful she was. Tall and elegant, with soft brown hair and a classical face, she always drew eyes her way.
All through high school, most of the guys he knew were intimated by her looks and intelligence. Dwight had always figured her parents had a lot to do with Loraine's complete ignorance concerning her looks. Her parents had been the richest farmers in the county but lived simply and frugally. No frills, very few new clothes for Loraine. Nothing but work and Church, in that order. Their aloofness with all but their best friends and neighbors had sparked a touch of mystery to their daughter.
He could remember when he first met her mother. He had been bowled over by how attractive her mom was. But he had never met anyone, before or since, who had been so proper and strait laced as Mrs. Pettybone. And she had handed down that legacy to her only child.
With her thin oval face and wide gray eyes, Loraine always looked pretty and sweet-tempered. Nevertheless, he had discovered long ago that her personality was anything but sweet.
He went all the way through high school with her and he knew her face hid a crabby, impatient, way to independent- woman and he wondered what he would have to do to keep her safe and away from the murder investigation.
His eyes narrowed in concern as he briefly wondered if she was really going to be all right. He heaved a sigh and decided that the last person she would want talking to her doctor would be him.
He turned to look at the women standing by the bed and asked. "So how long is she going to make me call her Miss Pettybone?"
"You shouldn't have dumped her a week before the Christmas dance." Lynn reminded him.
"That happened in high school." He pointed out.
"What can I say, she has a long memory." Lynn answered tucking the bed sheet around Miss Pettybone’s slim feet. "And she really had a crush on you. Besides her parents always called each other by their last name. Don't ask me why."
"She hasn't been lucky in love, has she?" Billie June murmured, looking up to discover two sets eyes glaring at her. "What? I didn't mean anything. But you have to admit, she is crabby sometimes."
Dwight glanced over at Billie June and frowned, then turned and looked at Lynn. "Call me when she wakes up."
Lynn nodded her head and then sat down in the chair beside the bed, prepared to guard her friend with her life if necessary.
Dwight gave a small salute to the two women, and then ambled out of the room. He strode down the corridor towards the elevator.
She was something, he thought. He rather wished he hadn't called her old, though. He didn't think she looked old at all. Now she was mad at him. And she would probably stay mad at him for a while.
After walking into the elevator, he punched the button and waited while the elevator slid to the ground floor. There was something not right about what had happened to Loraine Pettybone. He didn't believe for a moment that she had lost her watch. She went out there looking for something.
When the elevator door opened, he walked out of the hospital. After giving it a little thought, he decided they had missed something.
Even though they had looked in every obvious place and found nothing, it did not make sense that Warren Jones possessed no driver's license, no social security card
, nothing any normal person would have around him.
In Dwight's experience that meant he was on the run from someone. And unfortunately for Warren Jones, he was found.
He unlocked his squad car and slid in. Flipping the air conditioning on, he swore softly. Damn heat. He wondered how much longer they would have to endure it.
Hungry, he contemplated going home before heading out to the farmhouse and then decided against it. His wife would be there and he wasn't in a hurry to see her. She had said very little to him the last few days.
He turned towards Jewel's Cafe. He would eat there and then run out to the farmhouse.
***
Miss Pettybone felt much better the next time she woke up. Relieved, she glanced around the room and spied Lynn, who was asleep in the chair beside the bed, snoring softly.
She wondered how long she had been in the hospital. Reaching behind her, she felt the enormous bump on top of her head. She really had been lucky, she thought. Not only lucky to be alive but lucky Dwight thought the person who attacked her had broken the window to get inside the house.
She sat up slowly, afraid that the pain would return, and then adjusted the pillow before looking around. Flowers were everywhere. Big and small arrangements were scattered throughout the room.
She ran her tongue over dry lips. God, she was thirsty. She looked around for some water. Spying it on a table against the wall, she decided to get up and pour herself a glass.
Not prepared for the pain this motion created, she moaned and lay back. Maybe she would get something to drink later. She closed her eyes and lay still, waiting for the ache in her head to subside.
Chapter 14
When she woke again, the sun was shinning in through the small hospital window. She put both hands on either side of her body and sat slowly up. So far, so good. She mentally braced herself for pain. When none came, she smiled and glanced around, freezing when her eyes met Dwight's cool gaze.