Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 03 - Haunted

by Jeanne Glidewell

  “Stone! Lexie!” We heard a deep voice holler across the parking lot. “Wait up!”

  It was Wyatt, and we waited for him to catch up with us. When he got closer to us, he asked. “It was a nice service, wasn’t it? Father Erickson gave a great sermon.”

  We both agreed. We spoke briefly about the eulogies and sermon, and then Wyatt told us he wanted to speak to us about Sheldon Wright. “One of the detectives from the St. Joseph Homicide Division spoke with Mr. Wright last night on the phone. Wright told the detective that he did indeed own a navy blue SUV, but so did millions of other people. He’s right that just about every other car on the road these days is an SUV, so owning a dark SUV means literally nothing. He promised to bring it in to the police this Saturday if we wanted to look at it, and of course we do.”

  “But won’t that give him several days to get the headlight fixed?” I asked. “And there is still a law of averages factor to take into consideration. What are the chances of Mr. Wright, and my assailant, both owning dark SUVs?”

  “Pretty good, actually,” Wyatt said. “But you are right about giving the suspect too much time to fix the busted light. It doesn’t take a nuclear scientist to replace a headlamp. I think they should have gone to his house and checked out the SUV last night or, at the very least, this morning. I would do it myself but the detectives from St. Joseph would not take lightly to my interference.”

  “Did Mr. Wright have an alibi?” Stone asked Wyatt.

  “Apparently he was home alone the day of Walter’s murder, and he claims he was in Melba’s hospital room for several hours after Lexie left yesterday. He claimed to know nothing about the accident in the parking lot, and said it was all cleared up by the time he exited the building,” Wyatt said.

  “Why did he spend several hours with Melba?” I asked.

  “He said they were working on updating her vital documents. There were a number of changes that needed to be discussed and made in her will and power-of-attorney. Melba was only coherent part of the time, so the process took longer than expected, Wright said.”

  “I would love to see the changes he made in those documents. Can’t those documents be checked and scrutinized by the police department?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t really know. It would probably take a warrant,” Wyatt said. “And there’s always attorney/client confidentiality laws.”

  “How can it be legal for an attorney to make important changes like this while his client is only partially coherent?” I asked. “Isn’t the client supposed to be of sound mind and body when such documents are altered and signed? That’s a law too, isn’t it?”

  “I should think so,” Wyatt said. “I don’t trust this attorney at all, and like you, I have reason to believe he is the one responsible for running into you with his vehicle yesterday.”

  After a few more remarks about the funeral, we said our goodbyes and headed toward our separate vehicles. Wyatt had to report back to work at the police station.

  We’d arrived early enough to get a good parking spot, which was nice, because I was still experiencing quite a bit of discomfort in my leg. Stone helped me into the car and said, “We need to get you home and have you put your leg up for a few hours, before Wendy arrives with Andy this afternoon. You’ve had a long week.”

  “Wendy told me spaghetti and meatballs is Andy’s favorite meal, so I thought we’d have that, along with a salad and garlic toast for supper,” I said. “That will be an easy meal to fix, and I can make an extra little pan of sauce without meat for Eleanor.”

  Stone rolled his eyes, and said, “Pain in the ass.”

  * * *

  “We’re here!” Wendy called from the front door. Stone and I put down our coffee cups and hurried to the foyer. Hugs were exchanged all around as Stone asked Andy how his flight was.

  “Fine, even though I could have made a lot smoother landing than the pilot did,” Andy said. “It felt like we touched down without the landing gear engaged.”

  “Has any commercial airline pilot ever passed muster with you?” Stone asked, joking with his nephew. He had flown with Andy numerous times and knew he was an exceptional pilot. I had even flown with him and felt very safe in his capable hands.

  “Rarely has a commercial pilot passed muster with me,” Andy replied good-naturedly. “And this one really could have used some remedial training. But then I would need some training myself to feel comfortable behind the controls of a Boeing Seven Thirty-Seven. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “I’ll say! What time is your appointment with the realtor tomorrow morning?” Stone asked.

  “We’re supposed to meet the agent at her office at ten o’clock and then follow her to the property. Are you going to be able to go with me, Uncle Stone?”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Andy looked at me, and said, “I’d like you to come too, if you’re available. Wendy is going with us, as well. I’d like as many opinions as I can get before I make a major decision like becoming a cattle baron.”

  I laughed, along with everyone else, and agreed to go. I’d been anxiously hoping he’d extend an invitation to me. I was aching to see the property so I could gauge both Stone’s and Andy’s reactions to it. There was nothing I’d like more than to have Andy living nearby. Still, if I thought buying the farm property was a bad move on his part, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him so. As Stone had said, Andy’s success and happiness were the most important things to take into consideration.

  After a few more minutes of pleasantries, Wendy went upstairs with Andy to help him get ensconced in one of the second floor suites. I was certain Wendy would be staying in one of the inn’s suites also, for at least as long as Andy was in town. She wouldn’t be content in her lonely apartment while Andy was staying at the inn.

  Stone and I went back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee and discussed how good Andy looked and how happy he seemed to be. He’d recently taken a trip to the Bahamas with some friends and was sporting a nice tan. And, as always, he looked lean and fit. Like his Uncle Stone, Andy had pretty blue eyes and long eyelashes. His light brown hair had natural blond highlights in it. He would one day look distinguished, with silver hair like his uncle’s.

  I knew Wendy and Andy would be back down momentarily, so I put a fresh pot of coffee on to brew. The spaghetti sauce was already simmering on the stove. Thanksgiving was just a few weeks away, so I thought a pumpkin pie was a good idea for dessert, and I had one baking in the oven.

  “Man, it’s almost torture sitting in this kitchen tonight,” Stone said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The wonderful aromas are making my mouth water and my stomach growl,” he said. “How long until dinner?”

  “The Dudleys will be down for supper in about thirty minutes. The salad is ready and in the fridge, but I need to get some water boiling for the spaghetti,” I told him. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and set the dining room table for six?”

  “Glad to be of service,” he said with a salute. “I’m nothing if not useful, except maybe extremely hungry.”

  * * *

  Thursday morning dawned sunny and mild. It was a beautiful day, perfect for looking at farm property. Some of the soreness had left both my legs and hip, and my ribs. Even my wrist moved more easily, and with less pain. I had patches of deep purple bruising in several places on my body and was praying I’d made my last emergency room visit in a long time. Fifty is too old to be getting tackled by college football players and run down by large vehicles. It’s a wonder I didn’t break my left hip. When one turns half-a-century old, she should be living a more cautious, docile lifestyle, and sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, knitting and sipping a lot of coffee. I had the coffee part down pat, but the knitting part didn’t mesh well with my personality. That’s why God created Walmart.

  The cautious, docile lifestyle just wasn’t me, but a cup of coffee always sounded good. No one else was awake yet, and th
e house sounded eerily quiet. I could hear the clock ticking on the fireplace mantel in the living room and it was grating on my nerves. So I poured myself a cup of java and went out on the porch to drink it while I read through the morning paper. An article on the front page caught my eye.

  “Slain College Student Put to Rest,” was the headline. A large picture beside the article showed a crowd of mourners gathered around the gravesite in the cemetery. I could see Wyatt, Stone, and me, standing together in the center of the photo. Stone had his left arm draped across my shoulders.

  Everybody’s head was bowed in prayer in the photo, except for one young man who was looking straight ahead, staring right at me. Why? I wondered. Who was that young man? I didn’t recall seeing him at the funeral, but he obviously had been there. Maybe Stone would remember him. Did he just happen to look up and glance my way the second the photographer snapped the photo, or was he studying me for some reason? He wore an intent expression and a stiff posture.

  The article rehashed the details of Walter’s death, stating no one was being detained at this time on suspicion of murder, but that the investigation was ongoing. It went on to say a hair had been found on the shirt of the victim, which was nearly black, not red like Walter’s. DNA tests indicated the hair didn’t belong to Walter or anyone related to him. They couldn’t be sure the hair wasn’t deposited on Walter before he even arrived for work at the Alexandria Inn, but it was the only piece of potential evidence found at the scene that could be DNA-tested. It didn’t match any records on any criminal databases either. No one had been actually ruled out, but the hair did swing the pendulum somewhat toward an unrelated perpetrator, the article said.

  I found this new discovery interesting. I wondered why Wyatt hadn’t told me about it. I also wondered if they shouldn’t do DNA testing on Wendy and me. We’d helped Walter into his costume before he climbed into the coffin. We could have dropped a hair on him as easily as anyone. I would mention it to Detective Johnston the next time I saw him. Roxie Kane could have left the hair also. She admitted to being in the parlor with him just a short time after he’d been chloroformed and injected with the insulin. Like Paula Browne, her hair was much darker than the rest of the cheerleaders’.

  Before long, Stone joined me out on the porch with his own cup of coffee. I left him with the article to read while I went inside for a refill. He agreed the hair could very likely be from Wendy’s head, Roxie’s, or even mine. Wendy’s hair was fairly dark naturally. Mine had been about every color the beauty salon offered from being dyed and highlighted every three months. I could no longer even recall what my natural color was, because it had been so long since I’d seen it.

  Stone didn’t recognize the young man in the photo who was peering at me while the rest of us had our heads bowed. If he remembered to do so, he’d ask Wyatt if he recognized him. I thought I could ask Joey if I got an opportunity to speak with him. Joey would be in the same age bracket as the guy in the photo.

  By eight o’clock, everyone was down in the kitchen eating breakfast. I served corned beef hash, eggs scrambled with onions, green peppers, and jalapenos, fried potatoes, and sourdough toast. Wendy, who’s thin as a rail anyway, ate practically nothing. I think she was too nervous to eat. Andy, on the other hand, ate like it was the last meal before his execution.

  I gave Steve and Eleanor Dudley a key to the front door so they could come and go as they pleased while the four of us were gone. At a quarter to ten, we piled into Wendy’s car and headed to the realtor’s office.

  * * *

  A short time later we followed the realtor through the front gates of the property. Over the entrance hung a wooden sign with “T-n-T Ranch” burnt into it. We drove down the long driveway and parked behind a shiny John Deere tractor next to a pole barn. The realtor introduced us to the Olsens, Tom and Tessa. They were a friendly couple, probably in their early eighties.

  It was clear the elderly couple desperately needed to sell this place and get settled into an assisted-living facility as soon as possible. They were willing to let the place go for well under its appraised value to make it happen while they were still healthy enough to make the move. As it was, they were both terribly frail. I don’t know how the two of them kept up with all the responsibilities of taking care of the livestock and the property. Perhaps they had sons who assisted them, or even hired hands. I didn’t want to ask and infer they were too old to handle the chores that maintaining the ranch entailed.

  After a few minutes of visiting, the realtor took us on a tour of the place. The house was in better shape than any of us had anticipated. We followed her from room to room.

  “This old house wouldn’t take all that much to remodel and bring up to snuff,” Stone whispered. “I would love to help you, Andy, if you decide to purchase it.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Stone,” Andy whispered back. “It’s not nearly as run-down as I expected either. It’s cosmetic work it needs, more than structural. New appliances, new flooring, a good paint job, and some furniture and light fixtures that weren’t purchased at Sears in the 1940s, and this place would shine like a new penny.”

  “I think it’s very homey and comfortable,” Wendy said. “I love the rock fireplace in the family room and the walk-in pantry off the kitchen. How many bedrooms does it have again?”

  “Four,” the realtor said. “It also has the sewing room that could be turned into a nice office or another bedroom, if a fifth one is needed.”

  “It only has the one bathroom though, doesn’t it?” Andy asked. The realtor reluctantly nodded, and Andy continued. “The bathroom only has the old antique, claw-footed tub. I’d like to keep it for nostalgic reasons, but adding another, more modern, bathroom off the master bedroom with a large tiled shower would be my first priority.”

  I knew Wendy was wondering if the house had enough bedrooms to accommodate a family. She wanted two or three children, at the very least. I didn’t know how Andy felt about having children, or even getting married. He was thirty-three years old and hadn’t had a serious relationship with a woman yet, according to Stone. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to be burdened with a wife and children. Settling down with a family might be his last concern. I was certain he’d want to get the ranch going strong before making another life-altering change in his lifestyle.

  Stone nodded at Andy’s remark about adding a bathroom. “That wouldn’t be hard to do. I think the house is definitely acceptable. Let’s go have a look at the outbuildings, the livestock, and the land.”

  Andy agreed, and the four of us followed the agent and the sellers outside. After a brief inspection of the exterior of the house, the roof, and foundation, all of which appeared to be in reasonable condition, we continued on.

  Some of the outbuildings were in need of immediate repair. The roof on the chicken coop was about to fall in on the chickens. The toolshed needed to be burnt down and rebuilt. Fortunately, the barn was in pretty good shape. It looked like it had been an addition in recent years.

  The Black Angus cattle we saw looked healthy and robust, as did the poultry and the swine. There was a new litter of piglets we all thought were adorable. Even the golden retriever, Sallie, had a shiny coat and a friendly demeanor. She bonded with Andy almost instantly, as if she knew it was in her best interest to befriend him. Sallie walked around with us as we toured the property. The realtor told us Sallie was three years old, and had been spayed. She was certainly friendly and would make a great guard dog and companion for Andy.

  The 640 acres were divided and fenced off into four separate areas, so the herd could be moved from section to section. The pasture the cattle were currently in was pretty barren. These cattle needed to be moved to one of the other sections, all of which had more vegetation to graze on.

  There was a good-sized pond, or farm tank, in each pasture for watering the cattle. A larger pond, which was located directly behind the house, was stocked with crappie, bass, and catfish, and was fed by a natural spring, Tessa, the ranc
her’s wife, told us.

  “What do you think, Stone?” Andy asked.

  “I don’t see any drawbacks at all, to tell you the truth,” Stone said. “The land and livestock have been well taken care of, as has the old farmhouse. But this would be a far different kind of life than the one you lead back east. Are you sure it’s what you want to do?”

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, Uncle Stone,” Andy said. “I know it will be a big change for me, but I also know it will be a welcome one. I’m not content with the lifestyle I currently have. I’m bored and restless and anxious to make a drastic change at this stage of my life. What do you think of this place, Lexie?”

  “I think it’s wonderful, Andy,” I said sincerely. “The property is beautiful.”

  “How about you, Wendy? What do you think of the ranch?”

  “I think it’s only lacking two things, Andy,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Andy asked, with a puzzled expression.

  “You and a couple of horses.”

  Andy laughed. “Yes, I’d most definitely need a couple of horses. I’m surprised there aren’t any here already. I’ve only ridden a horse three or four times in my life, but I’m sure I could learn to ride sufficiently.”

  Back at the house, we found out there had previously been four horses on the property, but they’d been sold when the old couple got too old to ride and take care of them properly. Horses tended to need a lot more attention than cattle.

  Knowing he had a lot to learn about ranching, Andy agreed to come out to the farm the following day and help move the cattle to another pasture. He’d do all the work as the old rancher instructed him. He also had a lot of questions to ask Tom Olsen about raising hogs, cattle, goats, and chickens. He’d never even driven a tractor, he admitted. The John Deere looked brand new, and the two goats on the back porch looked feisty and ornery. We steered clear of them as we headed back toward the car in the driveway.