Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

by Denise Swanson

  A line formed between Wally’s brows. “This is the way I think it went down. The murderer brought over the poisoned brownies. Gave them to your grandma to eat, waited, and when she got sick, cleaned her up. This person changed her into her nightgown and put her to bed.”

  “Where was Mrs. J while this was going on?” Skye shredded a napkin.

  The chief twiddled the straw in his drink. “The murderer must have told her to relax, they would take care of your grandmother. And while she waited, Mrs. J ate a brownie.”

  “Did the killer clean her up too?”

  The chief shook his head. “Nope, just stuffed her down the well, along with her belongings, and the remaining brownies.”

  “So, the murderer went back inside, straightened up, and then disposed of the rest of the evidence.”

  Wally shrugged. “That’s how it looks.”

  “Any suspects besides my family?”

  “No, it’s pretty unlikely that it was an outsider.” He took a swallow of his Coke. “It’s also damn hard to find the killer when it’s a family member. Everyone sticks together, and no one will say anything about the other.”

  “Whoever did it had to be strong enough to get that well cover on and off. That eliminates the women.” Skye ate a spoonful of her melting ice cream.

  “Maybe not. We found signs that a chain and a car were used to move the well cover.”

  “And you said a wagon was used to move Mrs. J’s body so I guess that means anyone could have managed it physically.”

  They were silent as Skye ate her sundae and the chief finished his drink.

  Skye scraped the last drizzle of chocolate from the container and wiped her lips with her napkin. “Thanks for telling me all this.”

  Wally pushed the debris to one side of the table. “You know I trust you.”

  She felt her face get hot and half rose from the booth. “Well, I’d better get going.”

  “Could you stay a little while longer?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you hear the dedication on CCQ?”

  Skye nodded. “The song about having a bad day?”

  “Yes.” Wally looked down at his clenched hands. “I thought I saw you drive by and hoped you had your radio tuned to WCCQ. I really wanted to talk to you.”

  Skye sat back down. “Okay.”

  “Darleen’s left me.”

  “Oh.” Skye couldn’t think of anything to say. The pain in his eyes made her want to reach out and comfort him, but deep down she knew that wasn’t a good idea so she settled for saying, “I’m so sorry.”

  He buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t see it coming, but now that I look back I wonder how dumb I could be. She’s never been a happy person.”

  “No, from the little I know her, I’d say she has a lot of characteristics of someone who is chronically depressed.” Skye frowned. She probably should have tried harder to connect with Darleen and gotten her some help.

  As if reading her mind, Wally said, “I made her see a therapist and counselors, but she never cooperated with them.”

  “You really can’t help someone who isn’t ready.” Skye felt as if she were trying to walk on bubble wrap without popping any of the air pockets. “What happened that made her leave?”

  “Well, you know that she’s always wanted to have kids and we’ve never been able to?”

  Skye nodded, remembering Darleen’s desperation to have a baby. It had almost been Darleen’s downfall last autumn during a murder investigation.

  “She met a guy in her Bible study group whose wife died in childbirth. He already had two small children and now a newborn . . .”

  “So she’s in love?” Skye sighed. “The maternal instinct is a tough one to overcome.”

  “Yes.” Wally reached across the table and took Skye’s hands. “I feel so helpless.”

  Looking down at their intertwined hands, Skye searched for the right words. “I don’t know what to say. Did you just find out?”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Everything was gone when I got home from work today.”

  “How devastating.” Skye felt a weight on her chest as she gazed into his pain-filled eyes.

  “She took everything but my clothes—all the furniture, appliances, kitchen stuff, even the shower curtain. I’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight. Why would she be so vicious?” he asked.

  “People do strange things in the heat of the moment. Could be she just wanted you to know she was serious about this. Maybe, after things cool down a little, you two can talk and work something out.”

  They were silent again. Skye hesitated. She never talked about her broken engagement, but she finally said, “I know how much it hurts. The day I got the notice that I had been fired, I got home and found my fiancé had moved out.”

  “The bastard.”

  Skye got up. “You do get over it, although there is always a small pain. A reminder.”

  He followed her. “It’d be a hard thing to forget.”

  They deposited their trash in the bin and walked outside. Skye unlocked her car door and slid inside.

  Wally stood at the window. “Are you sure it gets better?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m trusting you on this.” He stared into her eyes.

  Skye caught her breath and struggled to keep her voice even. “I’ve been there. Call me if you need to talk.”

  “I might take you up on that.” Wally leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers.

  Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away.

  Skye raised fingers to her tingling lips. She felt confused. Wally was all wrong for her. He’d never leave Scumble River. If she were with him, she’d be stuck here forever. Simon was closer to her own age, single, well-off, and more urbane. Everything a woman could ask for. Then why did her heart flutter whenever Wally was around?

  Sunday afternoon, one of Skye’s favorite times of the week. All the obligations taken care of and still not near Monday morning. She smiled and stretched, snuggling into her chaise lounge, and enjoying the sensation of being back in her own cottage. Everything was perfect. Simon was sitting in the matching chair and the weather was exactly right for being out on the deck. Brunch had been great. He always found the best new restaurants to try. They had gone for a drive through Kankakee State Park, and when they got back they’d found that her windows had all been repaired.

  The late afternoon sun had lulled them both into a dreamlike state. Skye gazed at the lush green trees almost obscuring her vision of the river. She spotted a squirrel dragging an ear of corn that was almost twice its size.

  “Shall I put some music on?” Simon asked.

  “Something mellow. Do you want a drink?” Skye extracted herself from the deep cushions.

  “Sure. A soda sounds good.” Simon followed her through the sliding glass doors into the living room.

  This was one of the things she liked about Simon. He wasn’t much of a drinker. Except for the occasional glass of wine at a fine restaurant, he seemed to prefer soft drinks. Skye poured a can of Diet Coke into two glasses filled with ice. She picked them up and went back outside. Simon was already there, listening to the CD he had selected.

  She handed him his drink and said, “Have you identified the poison that killed Grandma and Mrs. Jankowski?”

  He put his glass down on the little round table that separated their chairs. “Yes, but I can’t tell you what it was.”

  “I see. You don’t trust me.” Skye sat on the foot of the lounger rather than stretching out. The police chief has more faith in me than my own boyfriend. Something to think about.

  “It’s not that. I just don’t want you to get any more involved in this whole mess than you have to. Finding out who killed her will not bring your grandmother back.”

  Skye felt a brief flare of anger. “Maybe. Can you at least tell me when you’re going to release Mrs. J’s body?”

  “I called the agency she worked for and asked them to make
the arrangements. Didn’t they call your family?” Simon looked tired of this subject.

  “No, why would they?”

  “The woman in charge seemed to feel it was your family’s responsibility to bury Mrs. Jankowski. She didn’t have any relatives here and no one in Poland has the money for a funeral.”

  “Uh-oh. I’d better call Mom.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” Simon leaned back in his chaise.

  By the time Skye returned to the deck he was asleep.

  CHAPTER 12

  Rain, Rain Go Away

  Skye watched as the first drop of rain hit Simon squarely in the face. He bolted upright, but quickly regained his composure. She had been reading a new mystery with Bingo stretched down the length of her thigh.

  The music had stopped an hour ago, but Skye had been too engrossed in the adventures of the amateur sleuth to put on another CD. Bingo was purring in his sleep, his sides vibrating in time to a rhythm that only he could hear.

  Simon wiped the moisture off his face with his handkerchief and looked at his watch. “How long have I been asleep?”

  Skye closed the book after marking her place. “A little over an hour.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” He stretched and straightened his clothing.

  “We didn’t have any plans, and I figured you must be tired.” Skye swept up the sleeping cat, and put him inside the cottage before he could protest.

  Moving to her side, Simon put his arms around her. “You’re very understanding. I got called out late last night to pick up a body. I didn’t get to bed until after three then; I had to be at church at nine.”

  “You couldn’t have skipped services this one time?” Skye asked.

  “No, I was playing the organ for the choir.” Simon tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

  “I forgot you sometimes play for them.” Skye linked her hands behind his neck and leaned back slightly. “Why did you have to go out so late?”

  “One of those guys in the survivalist group was cleaning his gun, and it went off.” A shadow passed over Simon’s features. “He was only twenty-two.”

  “Oh, how awful.” Skye gave Simon a hug. “No question it was an accident?”

  “We don’t know yet. Witnesses say so.” Simon peeked at his watch.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

  Shrugging apologetically, Simon said, “Well, I did agree to talk to that boy’s parents this evening.” Before she could respond, he added, “I have a meeting with your family tomorrow to go over your grandmother’s arrangements, and I didn’t want them to feel rushed.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you.” Skye pecked him on the cheek and slipped out of his arms. “We were rather surprised that Grandma had made all those prearrange ments without our knowledge.”

  “More and more people are doing that. I feel it’s a good idea. One less thing for the family to worry about.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s a matter of confidentiality.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “Your grandmother asked that I not mention it to anybody.”

  “Surely she didn’t mean me.” Skye turned and walked into the house.

  “She didn’t make any exceptions.”

  “This whole thing has been quite an eye-opener. I never realized how many secrets Grandma kept from us. And I’m learning a lot about my family.” Skye paused. “Maybe, in some cases, more than I wanted to know.”

  They walked toward the front door.

  Simon put his hand on her cheek. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  “I really miss Grandma. And I knew a lot of my relatives didn’t exactly see eye to eye with me, but I think now some of them really hate me.”

  “You have had a rough time lately. I’m sure all the vandalism hasn’t helped either. I was surprised to see the windows fixed so soon.”

  “Me too. I had called around and all the companies told me two weeks. Then Dad took over, without telling me of course, and voilà, they’re all fixed in a few days.”

  “He fixed your tires too. Jed seems to be a handy man to have around.”

  “Too handy. At this rate I’ll never learn to take care of myself.”

  Simon leaned down and kissed her. “They’re just trying to convince you how nice it is to live close to home, so you won’t move halfway across the country again.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  After Simon’s departure, the intensity of the rain increased. Skye curled up on the couch and listened to it hit the sliding glass doors. It sounded almost like a spray of bullets. Bingo wedged himself into the bottom shelf of the bookcase, between books by Grant and Isenberg, and yowled forlornly.

  Unable to get back into her mystery, Skye turned her thoughts to her grandmother’s murder.

  Maybe Wally was right. Maybe the murderer was someone in the family. She closed her eyes and shivered. As her grandmother used to say, that would be a bitter pill to swallow. Skye would much prefer it be those survivalists. They certainly had proximity. But would they try to pass off a murder as death by natural causes? Grandma wasn’t assaulted, nothing was stolen, and everything was put back to look normal. If a member of that group was the killer, what was the motive?

  Grandma’s “magic” table caught her eye. She ran her fingertip lightly over the polished wooden surface, straightened the lace runner so that it lay exactly down the center, and adjusted the silver-framed picture of Antonia.

  Next, Skye wandered into the kitchen and peered distractedly into the fridge, still puzzling about her grandmother’s death.

  Why would anyone want to kill Grandma? Maybe Uncle Dante because he really wanted the land. But since it was in trust and he was the trustee, he had control anyway. She needed to look into the details regarding that arrangement as soon as possible.

  Minnie was the only other one she could think of who had even a slight reason to want Grandma dead. Even though they had a housekeeper, Aunt Minnie had insisted on cooking every meal for Grandma, which meant running over to the farm three times a day. Maybe she was tired of taking care of her, especially if her own mental health was deteriorating. Her spells had been getting closer together and of longer duration since she started going through menopause. Now instead of one every few months, Minnie was likely to have one every three or four weeks.

  Skye closed the refrigerator door without taking anything from its shelves. She opened a cupboard and stared inside. She knew neither her parents nor Vince could have done it. That left Aunt Mona and her cousins. She needed to find out more about them.

  Tomorrow she’d go over to Grandma’s and take another look around. Maybe she would recognize things that the police had missed. She especially wanted a chance to check out the garage. She was sure someone had been in there Monday, when she found her grandmother’s body.

  Skye slammed the cupboard door, still empty-handed. What had she been thinking of? She couldn’t go during the day unless she wanted everyone and his brother to know what she was doing.

  Too many of her relatives lived along that road and routinely passed by the farm several times a day. The house was plainly visible as they drove by. There was nowhere to hide the car. Even if she pulled it into the garage she risked being caught in the act. Skye realized she had to go while it was dark. Tonight would be the perfect time. Fewer people would be out because of the storm.

  She changed into black jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and stuffed her hair underneath a dark baseball cap. The only flashlight she could find was in the glove compartment of the car. She hoped the batteries would hold out.

  During the drive to her grandmother’s, she tried not to think of what she was about to do. Skye knew it was dangerous, but she had weighed the odds and decided to take the risk. She had briefly considered calling someone to go with her, but her parents’ latest assaults on her independence left her reluctant to ask for help from anyone.

  It was nearly
ten o’clock when she parked the Buick at the farm. Storm clouds covered the moon, blotting out the little natural light available. Skye got out of the car and hurried through the rain toward the garage’s side entrance. She clutched the flashlight tighter and forced herself to step inside.

  She swept the flashlight’s beam around the unfinished walls. Hanging from nails were rusted shovels, broken rakes, and other discarded yard tools that no one had touched since Grandpa had died. Jed took care of the lawn using his own equipment.

  Skye felt disappointed and shook her head at her own foolishness. What had she expected to find in a garage?

  A car-sized space was empty, but the remaining floor held three boxes, a discarded kitchen table, and a broken rocker. Skye squatted next to the first carton and eased open its flaps. It was filled with old magazines. Reader’s Digest, TV Guide, and Better Homes and Gardens shared space with Country Living.

  Skye pulled up the rocker and positioned the flashlight’s beam to fall on the contents of the box. She began going through the periodicals, checking each title and shaking them to make sure nothing was hidden inside.

  The second crate held more of the same—Family Circle, Redbook, and Outdoor Life. Skye resumed her inspection.

  After an hour all she had to show for her trouble was a mountain of subscription cards, a sore derriere from the cracked seat of the chair, and dirty hands.

  Sighing, she pulled over the third container. This one was secured with packing tape and after breaking two nails she decided the only way to open it was with a knife. Not seeing any suitable implement in the garage, she tried picking the carton up.

  The medium-sized box was deceptively heavy. She struggled to get it into her arms and walk with it to the car. It was a relief to dump it into the backseat. Thinking of Simon’s admonishment the night her tires were slashed, she locked the car doors.

  Skye was completely wet by the time she returned to the garage, and could feel her damp hair curling tightly as she put everything back the way she had found it. She was walking out when she heard a fluttering sound overhead. Frightened, she swung the light upward. A bird was perched on a board that ran the length of the building.