Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

by Denise Swanson

  “Looks like it’s time for a visit to the Super Value.” Simon gestured to the empty shelves.

  “Yeah, I’ve gotten a little behind with my housekeeping chores.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of salad and a bottle of dressing. “Do you see any soup?”

  Simon showed her two cans. “Tomato or chicken noodle?”

  “You choose. The saucepans are to the left of the stove on the bottom.” Skye grabbed bowls, napkins, and flatware. “I hear the final tox screen came in on Grandma. What was used to poison her?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that. How did you know about it anyway?”

  She mimicked him: “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Look, let’s have a nice lunch without talking about murder.” Simon rummaged among the shelves until he found a tray.

  “Fine.” Skye watched Simon load the tray with their bowls. She added glasses of soda, then led the way to the patio.

  They’d finished eating and were laughing about their latest attempt to teach another couple to play bridge when the doorbell rang.

  “Were you expecting anyone?”

  She shook her head and made her way through the house to the foyer. The chief of police stood in a halo of sunlight on her front steps. The early afternoon sun glinted on his gold badge.

  Skye wondered briefly if he was the angel of death. “Come on in, Wally. Nothing wrong I hope.”

  “No, just thought I’d drop by and talk to you about our conversation this morning. Maybe over lunch, if you haven’t eaten.”

  Before Skye could respond, Simon walked in off the patio.

  “What brings you here, Chief?” He casually draped his arm around Skye’s shoulders.

  “Following up a lead Skye and I came up with this morning.”

  “Oh?” Simon narrowed his eyes.

  “Yep.” Wally smiled slightly.

  Both men turned to Skye, who frantically searched her mind for something to say.

  “Gee, Wally, Simon and I just had lunch, and he has to get going.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, it’s already twelve-thirty and I know you like to be there to let the family in early.”

  Simon glowered as he shrugged into his jacket and straightened his tie. “I’ll call you tonight after the services.” He kissed her cheek and left.

  “He didn’t seem happy to see me here,” Wally said.

  “Probably just in a hurry.” With a sense of déjà vu, Skye led the way into the great room and sat down.

  Wally joined her couch and opened up his notebook. “The hospital has agreed to limit visitors to your aunt.”

  “But no guard, right?” When he nodded she continued, “So anyone could still sneak in and kill her.”

  “It’s the best I can do without some proof.” Wally’s eyes never left Skye’s face. “At least the psych ward is a lot more secure than the others.”

  Skye forced herself not to resort to sarcasm. This wasn’t Wally’s fault. “Did you find out about her stomach contents?”

  “No pill fragments. They were probably crushed into some food or drink.”

  “And that isn’t enough proof for you?” she asked.

  “No. If she was as antimedication as you say, it’s possible that was the only way she could force herself to take them.”

  “Or, more likely, the only way someone could slip them to her.”

  “I did go around and stop the trash from being removed from the church hall. Since you used mostly paper plates and cups, we might still find something. I sent it all to the lab.”

  “If I had to guess, I’d pick the foam cups to test first. Aunt Minnie drinks lots of coffee with milk and sugar. That would be a good place to put the crushed pills.”

  “I’ll let them know that.” He made a note. “Anything else?”

  “Well, since you didn’t find a container, would it prove anything to you to test the inside of Aunt Minnie’s purse for residue?”

  “You mean, would the absence of residue prove she didn’t take the pills?”

  Skye nodded.

  “No, negative evidence isn’t considered compelling.”

  “Oh.” Skye turned and sat on one leg so she could face him. “Thanks for telling me all this.”

  The tips of his ears turned red. “Just because I don’t have enough proof doesn’t mean your thinking wasn’t helpful.”

  “Thanks.” Skye gulped. “What a sweet thing to say. I’m so glad you don’t think I’m interfering.”

  “Not as long as you come to me and don’t try to investigate on your own.” Wally took her hands. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

  A shiver went down the back of her neck at his touch. His fingers were warm and slightly calloused. She tried to draw away but he tightened his grip.

  When she spoke her voice sounded as if she had just finished jogging. “Would it be possible for me to see my grandmother’s reports?”

  He chuckled deep in his chest. “That might be arranged.”

  She tried to find something to say, but her focus shifted to his lips, which were moving toward her. This time when she tried to free her hands he let them go, only to wrap his arms around her a moment later.

  He smelled like cinnamon and the last thing she noticed before he closed the slight distance between them were his eyes. Usually a warm milk chocolate, they had darkened until they were almost black.

  Wally’s mouth settled gently on hers, then increased its pressure. At first she nestled closer, allowing her fingertips to explore his jaw and wander into the thick, blunt texture of his hair.

  But as he began to deepen the kiss, a tiny part of her common sense pushed its way forward. She levered herself from the circle of his arms.

  Skye could barely get enough breath to speak. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “Why?” A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Are you saying you don’t feel anything for me?”

  Skye backed toward the foyer. “No. I mean yes. I mean, I do feel something for you. I always have, but this is way too soon. Darleen could still decide to come back.”

  Wally opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. He looked at her with troubled eyes, picked up his notebook and tucked it into his shirt pocket before walking to the door. “This isn’t the end of it, you know.”

  Skye nodded and whispered to his back as he walked toward his squad car, “I know.”

  She sighed and started in on the remaining chores. She finally understood what the song, “Torn Between Two Lovers” meant. Hustling Simon out so quickly had been a bad idea. But having both men in the same room was far too uncomfortable. She needed to make some decisions pretty darn soon.

  The afternoon stretched ahead of her and the cottage felt empty. Skye finished cleaning about three and, after taking a shower, sat down to read. But for once the printed page couldn’t hold her attention. Something she had seen or heard was teasing the edge of her unconscious. She knew the only way to lure the bit of information to the surface was to totally ignore it and do something else. It was time to visit the survivalists.

  CHAPTER 17

  Sing for Your Supper

  Skye had considered asking Wally to go with her to the survivalist camp, but having the chief of police along did not go with her cover story. She was stopping by to see how Perry Underwood was doing after his problem at school. In fact, if she didn’t go alone, her explanation of why she was there wouldn’t hold up. She had to be there as Ms. Denison, school psychologist. And Ms. Denison would not have an escort.

  If a pickup had not been pulling out as she drove up the road, Skye would have missed the entrance to the camp entirely. A camouflaged gate guarded the entry and there was little evidence on the ground that vehicles regularly went in and out.

  She stopped her car and got out. How did the gate open? She put her fingers through the leaf-covered wire mesh and tugged. It slid smoothly to the right on well-oiled tracks. Thank goodness it wasn’t locked.

 
As Skye guided the Buick down the tightly packed dirt lane, she wondered how the heck she was going to locate the Underwoods. Then she realized she could work the circumstances in her favor. She had an excuse to stop and talk to other people as she tried to find them.

  Trailers and tents of every description were set up along the hills and lakes. All were heavily screened by dense foliage. This area had been one of the many coal mines, and the unique landscaping was the result.

  When the mining companies abandoned Scumble River thirty years ago, the huge holes in the ground and equally large slag heaps next to them were eyesores and dangerous nuisances. After a while, though, some of Scumble River’s citizens figured out how to make the mines into money-earning recreational areas. They hauled sand in to line the shallowest of the coal pits and put fish in the deeper holes. While they were getting the beaches and fishing ponds ready, grass and trees were planted everywhere else. Now, people from the city spent their summer weekends paying dearly to swim in an old coal pit.

  Skye wondered how the survivalists had been able to afford to buy such a huge tract of recreational-quality land. Either they purchased it before prices rose or someone in their group had a lot of money to throw around.

  After what seemed forever, Skye spotted a log cabin to her left. It was bigger and more permanent than any other dwelling she’d seen so far. Perhaps it was the camp’s head-quarters. She parked her car between a pickup and a Suburban with a red cross painted on the side, and walked up to the porch.

  The memory of Simon’s telling her about the shooting out here suddenly popped into her mind. She looked around nervously. Was there a gun pointed at her this very minute? No, she was being silly. He had said it was an accident, hadn’t he?

  She took a deep breath and knocked on the screen door, smoothing her khaki pants and black polo shirt as she waited. This had been another tough wardrobe decision. What does one wear to infiltrate a survivalist camp? Unfortunately, her camouflage suit was at the cleaners.

  Abruptly a huge man filled the doorway and growled, “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “I’m Ms. Denison from Scumble River Elementary School. Could you direct me to the Underwoods?” Skye forced her voice not to quaver.

  “They went back to Michigan.” He turned to go.

  “Wait. Ah, as long as I’m here, could I talk to you for a minute?”

  “About what? I ain’t got no kids.”

  “But you are the leader out here, right?” She took a wild guess.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, it’s obvious that you would be the top guy.” Skye stole a peek at his face and laid the flattery on thicker. “Your bearing, your aura of authority, your size, they all scream commander.”

  “Yeah?” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right. The major don’t live out here and I’m in charge when he’s not in camp.” He stuck out a hand bigger than Skye’s purse. “I’m Sarge.”

  Skye swallowed nervously as she watched her hand disappear in his grip, which was surprisingly gentle. “My name’s Skye.”

  “Aw, that’s a pretty name.” Sarge leaned against the door frame. “So, what you want to know? We ain’t got no secrets. We’re just getting ready for when civilization fails.”

  “Well, preparedness is always a smart thing.” Skye searched her mind for a good question, figuring this was a limited opportunity. “You may have known my grandmother, Antonia Leofanti. She lived on the farm next to this property.”

  “Heard of her. Never met the lady.” Sarge examined his fingernails. “Saw in the paper she was killed. Shame, not being safe in your own home.”

  “Ah, no offense, but I know some of your people occasionally forgot where your camp ended and her farm began and went across the line.” Skye watched him closely for a reaction. “I was wondering if anyone out here had seen anything.”

  “We never took anything.” Sarge crossed his arms and a stubborn look stole over his features. “But your grandma sure went crazy if we were hunting and took a step on her property. That wasn’t too neighborly.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But she was an old woman whose health was already failing. Things bothered her that never used to.”

  He nodded and leaned back. “Sometimes old folks are hard to live with.”

  “So, do you think you could ask around and see if anyone noticed anything the day she died?”

  “Okay, but I’d’ve heard if anyone saw anything.”

  “Let me give you my number, just in case someone remembers something.” She fished in her purse and pulled out a small notebook and pen.

  While she was writing, a skinny teenager ducked under the older man’s arm and ran down the steps. She yelled over his shoulder, “You ain’t stickin’ me with no needle.”

  An attractive middle-aged woman wearing an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform followed the girl. The nurse was holding a syringe; its metal tip glinted in the sunlight. “This is only a tetanus shot. That barbed wire you cut yourself on was rusty. You need this to prevent you from getting sick.”

  Without speaking, Sarge stepped off the porch, grabbed the girl in a bear hug, and presented her to the nurse, who administered the injection. The teenager took off as soon as the man released her and the nurse went back inside the cabin.

  Skye distractedly thanked Sarge and said good-bye. The nurse had triggered something in the back of Skye’s mind. She got into the Buick, waved, and was nearly in Scumble River when it hit her. One of the pictures from her grandmother’s box had a similar scene. It showed Mona and Minnie as teens standing on either side of a nurse in an old-fashioned uniform. The Chicago skyline was the backdrop.

  Skye abruptly swung the wheel of the car and turned toward her brother’s salon. She wanted that picture. Who was the nurse? Why was she with her aunts? And what were they doing in Chicago?

  She was sitting on her couch staring at the photo when her telephone rang. Bingo was ensconced on her lap, and she had several coffee-table books featuring Chicago spread around her. She grabbed the receiver just before her new answering machine intervened.

  Charlie’s rough baritone blared through the handset. “Skye, honey, what you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Why?” Charlie had roped her into many unpleasant activities in the past and she was cautious, even though she knew she would end up doing exactly what he wanted her to do.

  “The Stanley County Farm Bureau is having a pork chop supper and I got stuck buying two tickets.” He did not sound regretful.

  “I thought you had to be a farmer to be involved with that organization.” Skye eased herself into a kitchen chair.

  “Hell, they interpret the rules real loose for this sort of thing. I own a couple of pieces of land that I rent out to farmers, so they bugged me to join. Which means I got to show my face at their goings-on.”

  “You must belong to every organization in Scumble River.”

  “I don’t like to brag, but it seems real important to people that I be involved.”

  “That’s impressive.” She was only half listening as she continued to look at the photo.

  “So, you want to go with me, or do you got a hot date with Simon?”

  “No. Simon and I don’t see each other every night or anything.”

  “Then you want to go to this supper?” Charlie’s voice held a hint of impatience.

  “Sure. What time?” Skye reached for a pencil. “What do I wear?”

  “I’ll pick you up at four. It’s over to the county seat, so it will take us forty-five minutes or so to drive it. Wear what you usually wear; it’s not fancy or nothing.”

  “Listen, Uncle Charlie, before you hang up, I’ve got a picture here that shows Aunt Minnie and Aunt Mona posed with a nurse in Chicago. They look like they’re in their teens.” Skye examined the images closely. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “A nurse, huh? I can’t think of anyone. I’ll take a look at it when I come get
you tomorrow.”

  Charlie arrived the next afternoon driving a big black Cadillac DeVille. Skye ran her hand caressingly down the soft leather seats and breathed in the new-car scent. “Wow, Uncle Charlie, when did you get this?”

  He tipped back his straw fedora. “I haven’t bought it yet. Just trying it out. Do you like it?”

  “What’s not to like?” Skye smiled. “You look perfect in it.” She leaned across the huge expanse of front seat, and kissed him on the cheek. “But what’s wrong with your other Cadillac?”

  “I bought that used, just to tide me over till I could get around to shopping for a new one.”

  Before Charlie could bring up her need for a car, or the fact that he’d be pleased to buy her one with his newly inherited wealth, Skye passed him the photo of her aunts. “Do you know who that woman with them is or where this was taken?”

  “No, can’t say as I recognize her,” Charlie said. “But the two girls are definitely Mona and Minnie.”

  “Darn. That means I’ll have to ask Mona, since Minnie is still in the hospital.” Skye slumped down and crossed her arms.

  “You don’t get along too good with Mona, huh?” Charlie smirked.

  “Aunt Mona’s views and mine don’t always agree.”

  “Of course, not many people’s do. Neal pretty much tells her what to think, and he’s a self-righteous ass.” Charlie paused.

  Skye could tell he was getting ready for one of his zingers.

  “Neal and Mona are two of them there puritans. And you know the definition of puritanism, doncha? It’s the nagging fear that someone, somewhere may be happy.”

  The pork chop supper was being held at the Stanley County fairgrounds in Laurel. There was one entrance from the main road, a rutted, gravel path that made Skye wince as the beautiful DeVille bounced from furrow to furrow. She could hear rocks pinging off the shiny finish.

  Cars were being funneled by men in orange vests to a grassy area beside the tents. Due to the recent rains, there were big patches of mud and bog waiting to trap unsuspecting drivers.