Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

by Denise Swanson

  Doc Zello’s voice bellowed in answer. “I’m not here unless this is an emergency.”

  She pushed her way in and found him at his desk. “It’s an emergency. I’m starving and I’m taking you to lunch.”

  He looked at her over his glasses. “Looks like you could stand to skip a few lunches.”

  “Looks as if you could stand to see a barber.”

  His wild white hair stood on end. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through it, making it worse. “Okay, so why do you want to take me to lunch?”

  “I want to pick your brain.”

  “You know I can’t tell you anything confidential.”

  “I’ll work around it.” She took him by the arm and they walked to her car.

  After they had driven to the Feedbag, been seated, and had given their order, Skye started her questions. “You’ve practiced medicine in Scumble River for how long?”

  “Over fifty years. I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “Do you remember a nurse by the name of Esther Prynn? She was around here in the mid-sixties.”

  He stroked his beard. “Can’t say as I do, right offhand. Why do you ask?”

  Skye didn’t want to explain, so she ignored the question. “She might have done private duty nursing. Maybe for people who had what they used to call nervous breakdowns.”

  “That was a long time ago. Are you trying to find her?”

  “I don’t want to say too much until I’m more sure of my facts, but I think there might be some link between this woman and my grandmother’s murder.” Unless, of course, Uncle Dante or Hugo did it for the land. Or the twins for the jewelry. Or one of her other relatives for reasons she had yet to discover.

  “Your best bet is to check with the nurses’ licensing board. They might have an address for her.” He held up a hand mottled with age spots. “But if she doesn’t practice anymore, then she probably didn’t renew her certificate.”

  “Could you check for me?” Skye turned her head to one side and looked at him through her lashes. “You know, a well-known doctor such as yourself would get a lot better results than a nobody like me.”

  “Okay.” Doc Zello slapped her lightly on the cheek. “But don’t think you’re fooling me for one minute. I just want whoever killed Antonia to be brought to justice.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  They sat quietly while the waitress delivered their order and refilled their iced teas.

  The meal was almost over when Doc Zello spoke again. “You know, I might have been your grandfather.”

  “What?”

  “I dated your grandmother before she married Angelo. I always regretted not asking her to marry me. She was an amazing woman. You remind me a lot of her. Once she got an idea into her head, she’d never let go until she was satisfied. And she always wanted things to be fair.”

  “Mom said the same thing right after Grandma died, but I never noticed a similarity between us.”

  “Antonia saw it. That’s why she was telling you the family history.” He pushed his plate away.

  “It did seem important to her that some kind of permanent record be made.” Skye used her napkin and put it aside. “Too bad it’ll never be finished now.”

  “History is never finished.”

  Trixie was full of conversation and high spirits, halting her chatter only long enough for Skye to show the man at the Scumble River Recreational Club her identification card.

  They drove down a narrow gravel road toward the beach. The lane was bordered by grassy areas dotted with trees and picnic tables. Most of them were occupied by young women and small children.

  Locker rooms bracketed a crude pavilion that contained a soda machine and a pay telephone. They changed quickly into their swimsuits; neither wanted to linger in the slimy, mold-filled building.

  The beach wasn’t crowded. Skye had noted early on that most families seemed to swim in the morning. She and Trixie climbed down the concrete steps and walked along the shore until they found a relatively isolated spot.

  After helping Skye to smooth out an old bedspread on the sand, Trixie peeled off the oversized T-shirt she was wearing. Underneath, a cherry-red bikini glowed against her tan skin.

  Skye glanced down at her pale limbs. “Trixie, how’d you get tanned already?”

  “Tanning booth at your brother’s salon. How come you don’t use it?”

  “No time, I guess.”

  “Want to take a dip?” Trixie was rocking from foot to foot on the hot sand.

  “Sure. Race you to the raft.” Skye tossed her cover-up on the blanket, revealing a dark purple one-piece maillot.

  Trixie made it to the float a millisecond before Skye and they both flung themselves, panting, on the bleached wood.

  “When did you get to be such a fast swimmer?” Trixie asked. “I was on my college swim team, and you nearly beat me just now.”

  “I swim a lot. Here when the weather is nice and at the high school when it gets cold.”

  “Oh. Cool. Now that I’ll be on staff we can swim together.” Trixie rolled to her side and rested her head on her hand. “So, have you found out anything else about your grandmother’s murder?”

  “Some.” Skye was uncomfortable sharing information. She was out of the habit of exchanging casual gossip because most of what she heard at work was confidential.

  “Do you suspect Hugo and Victoria?”

  “Well, Grandma’s farm would be worth a lot of money if it could be subdivided into a housing development. And while Hugo wouldn’t get the money directly, I’m sure Uncle Dante would be very generous to his only child.”

  Trixie shook her head and water flew from her gamin-like haircut. “Yeah, but didn’t you say Dante wants to continue to farm?”

  “True, but he is sixty already. Maybe Hugo felt he could talk his dad into his way of thinking.”

  “So, is Dante in the clear?”

  Skye squeezed the moisture from her chestnut curls. “No, I knew Grandma’s care was costing a bundle. I mean, do the math. Mrs. J was there twenty-four hours, six days a week. They were only paying her five dollars an hour, but that’s still over seven hundred a week. Plus a couple hundred for the woman who stayed on Sundays. So that’s over four thousand a month, or nearly fifty thousand a year. Because of that, it turns out they might have had to start selling off pieces of the farm to support her. The lawyer said it would have all depended on how the crops were this year.”

  “Wow, it’s a good thing my mother-in-law didn’t need to have someone take care of her for too long.” Trixie grimaced. “Oh, that reminds me, how’s your Aunt Minnie? Do you think she attempted suicide because she felt guilty about killing your grandmother?”

  Skye scooted to the edge of the raft and dangled her feet in the water. “She’s still in the hospital. And actually I’m wondering if her so-called suicide attempt wasn’t really a murder attempt.” Skye told her about Minnie’s aversion to pills.

  “Why would anyone want to kill her?”

  “Maybe she knows something. I’ve been doing a little asking around and there’s a lot more to her past than I ever knew.”

  Trixie shaded her eyes. “I thought your grandmother was telling you the family history.”

  “She was, but we didn’t get to my aunts’ and uncles’ generation.”

  “How about Minnie’s daughters?” Trixie eased back into the water.

  “They certainly thought there were more jewelry and valuables than there turned out to be.” Skye followed Trixie into the water and they headed slowly back to shore. “Their husbands spilled the beans about their misconception at Grandma’s funeral lunch.”

  “Of course you don’t suspect your own mother or brother.”

  “No, thank goodness they have alibis. And I really haven’t found a motive for Aunt Mona, besides the fact that she’s a mean-spirited, sanctimonious bitch.” Skye filled in Trixie about the essay contest at school as they emerged from the water and crossed the hot sand.


  “What a horrible thing to do to a child. And to have to sacrifice all your hard work with him. How awful for you too.”

  Skye settled on the spread and began to apply sunscreen. Trixie joined her and oiled her own limbs.

  Skye lay down in the bright sun and was almost asleep when Trixie’s voice woke her. “I know how to check to see who filled Minnie’s prescription.”

  “How?”

  “My cousin works at the pharmacy in town. She can check the records for us.”

  “But isn’t that illegal?” Skye asked.

  “Only if we get caught.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Five, Six, More Nasty Tricks

  Before Skye dropped her off, Trixie agreed to call her cousin that evening. They parted with promises to stay in close touch.

  As Skye went past her parents’ place she noticed her dad out in the yard, and on an impulse she pulled the Buick into the gravel drive. She had always found it difficult to talk to her father. His clipped way of speaking, and lack of interest in anything not farm related, made it hard to have a conversation with him.

  Won’t Dad be surprised? I actually want to talk about agriculture. She grinned as she turned off the motor.

  “Mom home?” Skye asked, approaching her father.

  “Nope, she’s working afternoons. Just left.” Jed sat on his haunches looking at a snowblower that he’d turned upside down.

  “Is she still mad at me?” Skye warily circled the pile of greasy parts.

  He shrugged.

  It was the kind of response she had been getting from him all her life. His refusal to communicate at a personal level drove her to say things for their shock value alone.

  “Do you think someone in the family killed Grandma?” Skye said abruptly.

  He shrugged again. It took a lot more than words to make Jed react.

  “Almost every one of them has a motive.” Skye stepped back as Jed’s tool slipped and oil sprayed outward.

  “Any proof?” Jed tightened a bolt and wiped it with a dirty cloth.

  “Not really.” Skye steered the subject away from her lack of evidence and continued in the same vein. “I was wondering about Uncle Dante. Is he a good farmer?”

  Jed was silent, finally wiping his hands on the rag and sticking them in his overall pockets. “Can’t really say. Has different ideas than me or Emmett.”

  “Oh?”

  “Emmett and me, we pretty much agree on most things. You know, do ’em the way it worked before.” Jed looked at Skye. “Dante likes to try new stuff.”

  “Is that bad?” Skye’s knowledge of farming was surprisingly limited for having grown up in the country.

  “Sometimes. Depends if they work or not.” Jed flipped over the snowblower.

  “And were his new methods successful?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice.”

  “Has he bought a lot of new machinery lately?” Skye knew that a simple tractor could cost more than fifty-five thousand dollars.

  “Yeah, he likes new equipment. Likes things to be shiny and bright.”

  Skye pictured her father’s machinery. Most of it was decades old, and one would be hard-pressed to tell what color it had started out, but it all ran as if brand-new, thanks to Jed’s talent as a mechanic. She knew her father kept Emmett’s equipment running too, but she couldn’t recall Dante ever asking for help.

  “Do you think maybe Uncle Dante was skimming a little off the top of the Leofanti trust?”

  Jed took out his pocketknife and started to clean his nails. “You best leave that idea alone.”

  “Why?” Her tone sharpened.

  “ ’Cause none of his sisters wants to go down that road.”

  “Oh, so they know.”

  “Nah, but they don’t want to know either.” Jed finished with his fingernails and replaced the knife in his pocket.

  Skye was stumped as to where to go from that point. To buy some time to think she asked a question she had always been curious about. “Why do you farm, Dad?”

  At first she didn’t think he was going to answer. “ ’Cause I like bein’ my own boss and doin’ what I want when I want.” Jed pulled the bill of his International Harvester gimme cap down over his eyes.

  She nodded thoughtfully. It was a feeling she could relate to. Jed was gathering his tools and wiping them down. Silences never seemed to bother him. She admired that trait even though she found it difficult to deal with at times.

  “Does Uncle Dante make a good living from his land?” Maybe her mother and aunts didn’t want to know what Dante was up to, but she still did.

  Jed lifted his cap and scratched his head. “Well, now, the last couple of years have been tough for us all. Not enough rain for growing and too much for harvesting.”

  “Has he had to sell anything off?”

  “That would never happen. Selling land is against his religion.”

  “I’ll bet he was upset then when it looked like some of Grandma’s land would have to be sold to take care of her.” Skye watched as her father coaxed life out of the decrepit snowblower’s engine.

  “Yeah, he was fit to be tied. Said no way were they selling his heritage.”

  It was nearly five when Skye parked the Buick in her driveway. She grabbed her tote bag from the backseat and started up the sidewalk toward her cottage.

  Blood. There was blood everywhere. Skye had never seen so much blood.

  Skye stood transfixed on the sidewalk. Splashes of crimson decorated her door. BITCH was written in four-foot letters across the white siding.

  Her eyes frantically searched the surrounding area. I have got to get a cell phone.

  She backed slowly to the car, and after gaining the safety of the front seat, locked all the doors. Her heart was beating twice its usual pace and sweat poured down her face and puddled under her arms.

  Inconsequential thoughts kept crowding into her mind, while the movie projector in her brain insisted on replaying the scene over and over, at different speeds, as she put the Buick in gear and tore out of the driveway.

  At the police station her mother took one look at Skye and ran around the counter. She gathered Skye into her arms. “What happened? You’re as pale as milk.”

  Skye took a deep breath and realized she was going to vomit. Pushing her mother away, she raced for the bathroom. She could hear May and Wally talking outside the door as she washed her face, rinsed out her mouth, and scrubbed at the front of her blouse.

  “I’m okay,” she reassured them as she made her way out of the ladies’ room.

  May popped the top on a can of ginger ale before handing it to Skye. “Now, tell us what happened to you.”

  Wally held a chair and guided Skye into it. “Yes, what in the hell is going on?”

  It took her several tries before she was finally able to explain.

  The chief’s face turned magenta and the pencil he was holding snapped. “This is going to stop right now. I will not have you harassed like this.”

  May held one of Skye’s hands, patting it. “Wally will take care of it. Don’t you worry.”

  Skye smiled weakly. “Thanks, guys.” Turning her eyes on the chief, she said, “It has to be either Hap Doozier or Leroy Yoder. The Underwood guy who’s with the survivalist group camping behind Grandma Leofanti’s land went back to Michigan.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Shit, I promised Wally not to investigate by myself. He’s been so cooperative too. Hope he understands my reasoning. She looked into his angry face and said, “Well, you told me you had talked to that group and didn’t think they were involved, but I needed to check them out myself. After all, they’re right there, cheek by jowl with my grandmother’s property.”

  “So you went out there on your own?” A vein popped out on Wally’s forehead.

  “I had to go alone. I went as the Scumble River Elementary School psychologist checking on Perry Underwood. They’d know that wasn’t true if I had the chief of police with me.”


  “And did you find out anything I hadn’t?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

  “No, but Sarge did say he’d ask around for me.” Skye smiled. “He was very nice. I wasn’t in any danger.”

  “Sarge, as you call him, has a record a mile long. Much of it for assaults against women and minorities.”

  “Oh.” Skye looked down at her clasped hands. “I guess I made a mistake.”

  “I’m very disappointed in you. I thought we had mutual trust and respect. But I see you’ve been using me.”

  “No—”

  “There’s nothing more to say. I told you that betrayal was the one thing I couldn’t forgive. First Darleen and now you.” He slammed his notepad shut and stood up. “Wait here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To do my job.”

  While she waited, Skye kept an ear cocked for the chief’s infrequent radio reports, and started drawing up a chronological list of events. Anything to take her mind off Wally’s words. She felt numb now, and knew that later the hurt would be unbearable.

  The first time his voice interrupted her thoughts, he related that there was no sign of a break-in at her cottage or any clues to the perpetrator’s identity.

  Meanwhile, Skye had composed two columns. One for murder-related activities and one for pranks. The slashed tires and broken windows were definitely annoyances. The other events were lined up neatly on the other side. This latest incident had a question mark.

  As she wrote, Skye remembered something she wanted to ask May. She poked her head into the dispatch area. May was flipping through a Family Circle, obviously still upset.

  Skye walked farther into the room and stopped in front of her mother’s chair. “I forgot, I have a question for you.”

  May closed the magazine. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, do you remember Minnie dropping out of school her senior year?” Skye hooked a chair with her foot and brought it toward her.

  “Yes, it was before you were born and Vince was right around a year old.” May looked puzzled.