A Dickens of a Crime

by Phyllis H Moore

  A Dickens of a Crime by Phyllis H. Moore

  © 2018 by Phyllis H. Moore, All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  Http://www.phyllishmoore.com

  Cover Design, Phyllis H. Moore & Sarah Moore Click

  Interior Design, Phyllis H. Moore

  http://www.phyllishmoore.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  ISBN: 9781729344750

  Publisher: Del Corazon Interests at Amazon

  l. Women’s Fiction

  2. Cozy Mystery

  3. Suspense/Thriller

  First Edition

  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  ONE

  She sat in the main parlor of Darrow House waiting for a detective to interview her. The call she’d made thirty minutes earlier began a series of events Meg couldn’t predict. If she had to do it over again, she wasn’t sure she’d make a different choice or that she’d had a choice at all. The only thing she knew for sure was there was a dead body upstairs. She’d assumed she was alone in the house, but her mind was racing. Now, it occurred to her that made her a likely suspect.

  Meg twirled the cords on her drawstring bag, jumping when the Christmas tree lights clicked on. She was caught by surprise at the slightest sound, aware there could be a murderer still inside. Had that occurred to the EMTs and officers she had let in just minutes earlier?

  Her heart still pounded at the memory of seeing the woman’s body. Maybe there was no murderer. Maybe the woman was ill and died there, falling to the floor and unable to get up. Maybe there was an explanation.

  It wasn’t likely that a shapely woman with long blonde hair would remove her clothing and fall next to the bed in a museum of a house on the day of a historic homes tour. No, Meg had to admit that didn’t seem likely. The woman was nude, slightly gray in color and there was nothing else in the room belonging to her. Clothing was gone, shoes, everything.

  Meg hadn’t been able to bring herself to lift the hair from the woman’s face to determine who she was. She hadn’t seen Lena Hillard with her hair down like that, but it could have been her.

  The sun was setting, people were beginning to walk the boulevard to tour the houses, enjoy mulled wine, and view the carefully selected seasonal decorations. It was Meg’s favorite fundraiser for the historical foundation, an opportunity to wear Victorian costumes, and pretend to live in another time. She smoothed the velvet of her own skirt against the nap, slowly changing the color of the fabric. The scarlet nail polish she’d selected at her last manicure was meant to be the perfect match. She longed to run her finger around the face of her watch and observe her painted nail move the hands back in time.

  Glancing out the window past the glowing Christmas tree, Meg saw an officer stringing bright yellow crime scene tape on the iron gate. It was strange to see the festive greenery and red ribbons along with the stark, vivid attention-seeking plastic banner. It made Meg’s heart sick to see the homes tour marred by the sight.

  There was a commotion on the staircase, someone coming down. A woman appeared there in the wide opening to the foyer and approached Meg. She was flanked by two officers. Meg stood, anxious for some information about the woman on the floor upstairs.

  “Hello, I’m Detective Penny Crawford,” the woman dressed in black slacks and blazer said. “I understand you made the call to report the deceased.”

  “Yes. I did.” Meg’s voice was raspy. The sound of it surprised her. She coughed. “I’m sorry my mouth has gone dry,” she forced the words past her hoarse throat.

  Detective Crawford turned to Officer Hansen and asked him to bring Meg a bottle of water. He disappeared from the parlor. She turned back toward Meg. “I have some questions for you. Can we sit here and talk?”

  Meg nodded and returned to the sofa. Crawford followed to a nearby chair. She held her hand out to Meg and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.”

  Meg could feel the heat in her face as it reddened when she apologized. “I’m so sorry. I’m not thinking straight. Margaret Miller. You can call me Meg. This has been so upsetting. I don’t know how you deal with seeing a murder every day.” Meg thought Crawford was an attractive woman. She had short-cropped hair, longer on the crown of her head, a fashionable cut. If Meg hadn’t been so upset, she might have asked the detective where she got her hair styled and made an appointment for herself. The younger woman wore minimal make-up with appealing lip gloss. Her simple gold jewelry was understated. There was a wedding band on her left hand.

  The officer returned with the water and handed it to Meg. She unscrewed the lid and took a sip, wiping the corners of her mouth with her fingers.

  “Mrs. Miller, I don’t see murders every day. It is upsetting to see death. Do you think this might be a murder? Do you know the woman upstairs?”

  “I’ve just been thinking about it. Where are her clothes? If it was natural causes, why would she be in a semi-public place and nude? I have those questions. I didn’t pull her hair back to look at her face, so I’m not certain of who it might be, but my hunch told me it was Lena Hillard.”

  “Are you a friend of hers? Crawford took a pad from her bag and started writing.

  “No, an acquaintance. We’ve done some volunteer work together. Meg fidgeted with the crocheted purse on her lap.

  “Okay. Can we start with you telling me about your entry into the house and how you made the discovery? Please tell me why you were here.”

  Meg straightened, pushing her back against the sofa pillows. “I wasn’t supposed to be the chairman for the homes tour this year. Lena, Mrs. Hillard was taking over. Her husband called me several weeks ago to tell me she was ill, and she asked if I could step in. I hesitated. The main reason was I’d given my hooped petticoat away, thinking I’d never need it again.” That sounded like a silly excuse for resigning from the chairmanship. When Meg said it aloud she was embarrassed.

  “I see.” Crawford hadn’t written any of that down. Meg supposed it wasn’t interesting.

  That wouldn’t be interesting to me either any more.

  “Well, that’s the reason I came here before the tour started.” Meg lifted her skirt to show Crawford the petticoat. Lena’s husband told me this petticoat would be in the upstairs dressing room closet, and I could borrow it for my costume. There are several costume pieces up there that can be shared.”

  “I understand,” Crawford said. “So you came in this afternoon to put on the petticoat? Do you have a key to this house?”

  “Yes, I have a key to all the homes on the tour. This particular house is owned by the foundation. There are no permanent residents here, it’s for functions and tours and people rent it for parties and such. I came for the petticoat and to make sure the flor
al arrangements had been delivered. I’m responsible for the details of the tour this evening. I guess I won’t be able to follow up with that?” Meg shook her head.

  “No, I’m sorry we need to complete this questioning. It’s important since you’re the only witness.”

  “I didn’t witness anything,” Meg said. “That body was there. I didn’t even see it until I came out of the closet after putting on the petticoat.” Meg was becoming irritated that her plans for the evening would be changed. She hoped someone else had realized she wasn’t going to be able to complete her duties.

  “I really need to let someone know that I’m unable to be at the other houses,” Meg said. “They’ll be expecting me and start to worry.” Meg wanted to focus on the things she could control.

  “We’ve been in touch with Tom Richards,” Crawford said. “I understand he’s the executive director. We told him this house will have to be taken off the tour and he knows you’re here with us.”

  Meg nodded. “Tom will handle it. He’s diligent and trustworthy. That makes me feel better. Oh, I can’t imagine what he’s going through.”

  “Yes, it does complicate things. Hopefully the tour attendants will be able to enjoy the other houses with no problem.” Crawford did seem to understand the disruption to the tours.

  “I hope so,” Meg squirmed on the sofa. She wasn’t a witness and had no idea what happened. Crawford needed to understand.

  “Can you walk me through your entry into the house and anything you might have noticed about it that in hindsight might have been different in some way?”

  “Yes, well there were several things. First of all the weather has been strange, as you know. The surprise snow fall was worrisome, but turned out to be a nice addition to the Dickens/Victorian feel of the festival. I parked down in front of Spence House, about a block over.” Meg pointed in the direction of Spence. “I walked down the street and admired the snowdrifts. The iron fences are draped with greenery and the snow looks so beautiful. I watched just now as the officer put up the yellow tape. It distracts from the greenery and the gas lights on the street in front.” Meg gave a disappointed sigh.

  “The weather has been unusual,” Crawford said. “I agree, it’s turned out to be nice except for a few crazy drivers. What do you recall coming inside?”

  Meg prepared herself to recall all the details of being in the house before she discovered the body.

  “Well, first the front gate wasn’t locked. It usually is. I didn’t mind because fishing a key out of this bag is no easy chore.” Meg held the drawstring purse up for Crawford to see. “But I still had to get the house key out by the time I was on the porch. The front door was locked. From the minute I stepped inside, I was aware the heater had not been turned on. The foyer was icy cold. I walked toward the back hall. That’s where the thermostat’s located. When I got back there, I realized the heater was on, but the back door was standing open.”

  “So the back door wasn’t locked or securely closed? The front gate is usually locked and it wasn’t?”

  “No. They weren’t. Those were things that should have alerted me, but I was focused on getting the petticoat. Silly.

  “I stepped out onto the back porch to see if there was a car, maybe someone was unloading something. There was no one else here. I noticed the flower arrangements on the breakfront in the foyer. The florist always parks in front, so I couldn’t figure out why the back door would be standing open.”

  “So what did you do?” Crawford asked looking up from her notepad. She’d written something.

  “I closed the back door and locked it. Then I saw something on the floor near the baseboard, a locket I’d lost.” Meg took the locket from her purse, after taking her gloves from the bag and putting them on her lap. She passed the brooch to Crawford, holding it open. “That’s my father’s picture.”

  “He’s handsome,” Crawford said. “This is a beautiful locket. I’ve never seen one like this with stones. Are these garnets?”

  “Yes, my birthstone, and also my mother’s.”

  “Did you think that was odd that your locket would be in the hall?”

  “Absolutely. I moved in August to a smaller house. That’s when I noticed it was missing. I thought I might have worn it for the spring tours, but I couldn’t remember.”

  The detective focused on her notes then looked up at Meg. “Does the florist have a key to this house?”

  “Yes. Naomi Winslade owns Boughs to You. She’s on the heritage committee and has been for years. Naomi always makes the delivery with her staff.”

  Meg became distracted when an officer walked over to the front door and opened it. Tom Richards walked into the foyer, dressed in his Victorian costume. He looked toward Meg and shrugged his shoulders. She shook her head and turned her attention back toward Crawford.

  “Mr. Richards will have to unlock some of the rooms we can’t access,” Crawford explained. “They need to search every space.”

  “Oh, okay, I was wondering about that.”

  “What were you wondering?”

  “Well, there was a fragrance in the house when I came in, a masculine cologne, something spicy. It was stronger upstairs. So I figured whoever killed Lena was a man.”

  “You think the victim is Lena Hillard and she was murdered by a male?” Crawford looked at Meg with wide eyes.

  “Yes, that’s what I think. You don’t think I did it. Do you?”

  TWO

  Crawford didn’t blink at Meg’s question about being a suspect. “Mrs. Miller if it is indeed a murder, everyone is a suspect. Tell me about this fragrance you noticed.”

  “I want to go on record to say I’m not a murderer,” Meg insisted. “My husband was the county attorney. I’ve always been a law abiding citizen and I’m happy to answer these questions to help you figure this out.” Meg pursed her lips, finding a new energy to answer Crawford’s inquiries, indignant that she could be a suspect. “I know the fragrance, but I can’t recall the name of it. It’s a musky, masculine scent.”

  “Okay, let me know if you think of it. I’m going to give you one of my cards. My cell number is on there. You can call me any time. Go ahead and tell me about what you did after you picked up the locket. Oh, wait were you wearing those gloves by any chance?” Crawford pointed to the gloves on Meg’s lap.

  “Yes, I was. I took them off when I felt for the pulse. The dispatcher asked me to do that while I was on the phone with her. There was no pulse.”

  “Okay, we’ll have to take those for testing. Hansen, will you bag those gloves, please?”

  The officer held a plastic bag out and Meg dropped her gloves into it. “Those are leather, brand new,” Meg said.

  “You’ll probably get them back. Please continue.”

  “After I turned the heat up a notch, by the way I think it’s too high now. I’m having a hot flash.” Meg fanned her face with her hand.

  “I stopped at the bottom of the staircase. I always do that. It’s a habit. The banister is so beautiful and the steps are curved and graceful. I like to take a minute to admire it before I go up the stairs. It was there I noticed the fragrance again. When I got to the top of the stairs, the floral arrangement on the round table in the center of foyer caught my eye. Naomi does such a good job. I could smell the greenery and cinnamon sticks. That wasn’t the fragrance I’d noticed before.

  “I headed toward the tall doors that open onto the upstairs porch in the back. I entered the master suite. Oh, there was something. I noticed the bed coverlet was rumpled. I told myself I’d smooth it before I left the room, but then there was the distraction and I never did that. I went straight to the dressing room doors, never turning toward the bed. I went inside, slipped the petticoat on, came out and stood in front of the big mirror that stands in the corner. I was making sure my skirt wasn’t hiked up. When I stepped back from the mirror. I noticed the body on the floor behind me. I saw the reflection first, then I turned.” Meg’s hand went to her mouth at the memory.<
br />
  “You’re doing just fine, Mrs. Miller. I know it’s not a good memory, but you’re being helpful and I appreciate it.”

  “I asked you to call me Meg,” she said, surprised at the bossy sound of her tone.

  “Yes, of course, Meg. Please continue.

  “I’m sorry. This is harder than I thought it was going to be.” Meg took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

  “It’s perfectly okay. I understand. Take your time.”

  “Needless to say I had a jumble of thoughts and feelings when I saw the body. I couldn’t tell you which came first. There was ringing in my ears, but I think that happened after I wondered where the woman’s clothes were. I wanted to cover her. I couldn’t bring myself to move her hair to look at her face. I finally managed to pull my phone from this bag. I stared out the window while I talked to the dispatcher. She’s very nice, by the way. I dialed those three numbers several times before I got it right.” Meg shook her head as she remembered fumbling with the phone.

  “It was dispatch that suggested you feel for a pulse?”

  “Yes, she did. I knew the woman was dead by the color of her skin. I spoke aloud to her, but there was no response. I was so relieved when I finally heard the EMTs at the front door, banging to get in.”

  “I can understand,” Crawford said. “So you’re hunch is the deceased might be someone named Lena Hillard? And, you spoke with her husband about locating the petticoat. What’s his name?”

  “Brian Hillard. I spoke with him several times about taking over the chairmanship. Lena never called me. It was always him.”

  “Why was that, do you suppose?”

  “I don’t know. I assumed she was too ill to speak on the phone, like cancer treatment or something. I didn’t know, I just decided that’s why she couldn’t talk to me. He didn’t offer to tell me specifics and I didn’t ask.”

  “Other than the volunteer work, do you socialize or see the couple in other settings?”

  “No, I don’t run in their circle of friends. They’re out of my league,” Meg said.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Oh that’s silly really. They belong to the country club and that mega-church, HAH, the one just at the city limits. I went to school with Brian and the preacher of that church, Wayne, but other than that I don’t know anything about the Hillards. I don’t know why this is important if that’s not Lena?”