by Kate Bell
“Well, it seems I have the experience for the job. There is another alternative, of course.”
“Oh? What might that be? A blog?” I asked.
“That’s certainly interesting, but I was thinking more along the line of sleeping in until noon and then spending the afternoon is front of the television, eating peanut butter Cap n’ Crunch.”
“I think that’s going to get in the way of your marathon running career,” I said.
“That’s a possibility,” he said, pulling into the sheriff’s station parking lot.
I had a sudden flashback to my High School years as we walked into the station. My best friend, Cara Snelling, and I had never really been in trouble before, but we were brand new high schoolers and we were feeling our oats. We had skipped school, hiding in an old abandoned house, eating a box of Twinkies we had bought on our way to school that morning. I had also bought a two-liter bottle of Pepsi and in a moment of brash decision, we decided we were cool enough to skip school.
One of the neighbors must have seen us through an open window of the abandoned house and called the sheriff. We were hauled off and threatened with trespassing and truancy. Our tears must have convinced the sheriff not to throw the book at us and our parents were called instead. Trying to explain to my father why I had suddenly decided I was old enough to make decisions regarding my life was impossible, and I was grounded for a month and given hard labor digging a new septic trench in the backyard.
“Hi, John,” I said when he opened the door to his office.
“Good morning, Allie. Alec. Come on in,” John, said with a nod.
John’s office looked a lot like Alec’s back home. A tiny desk that made anyone sitting in chairs on either side of it nearly touch the walls, and an old computer from the early 2000’s.
“Wow, they don’t believe in flat screens, do they?” I asked, looking his monitor over.
John chuckled. “No, not until old Bertha here kicks the bucket,” he said, patting the monitor. “I’m afraid she’s the last of her kind and she’s not going down without a fight.”
“She’s a beaut,” Alec agreed.
“I brought you some gingerbread men,” I said, handing him the box. “Joe Froggers.”
“My wife Cara loves those,” he said. “Thank you.”
“What? Cara Snelling?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. You didn’t know? Cara and I married six months ago. Second marriages for both of us.”
“We lost track of each other after college. The last I heard from her, she had moved to Idaho with that wanna be hippie. He didn’t believe in phones or much of anything modern, and I haven’t heard from her since,” I said in amazement.
He chuckled. “After a fifteen years of using an outhouse and raising kids without plumbing or electricity, she left him. She finally realized that all he really wanted was to avoid having to work a job for the rest of his life. She moved back to town about a year and a half ago.”
“Wow. You tell her I want to see her before I leave,” I said.
“I’ll do that,” he said.
“Have you heard anything new regarding Tom’s murder?” Alec asked.
“Not a lot. Autopsy’s back. We called in a favor and it didn’t take long. He was stabbed in the chest with a sharp object, but not a knife. The blade had a narrow point that widened back at the shaft. Sort of triangular shaped. Nothing back on any fingerprints yet.”
“Any suspects?” Alec asked.
“Not really. We’re talking to the other neighbors, but no one seems to know anything,” he answered.
“Big surprise there,” Alec said.
“I’d appreciate any assistance you can provide, Alec. It’s nothing in a formal capacity, you understand. We’ve had a lot of budget cuts.”
Alec nodded. “I understand and I don’t mind at all.”
“What about his, um, lady friends?” I asked. “Mama and Anne Beale seem to be under the impression that Tom had some. Of course, that may be their imaginations at work.”
Tom didn’t seem the ladies man type. But I could be mistaken.
“We have a list of names given to us by Anne Beale. Women that he was supposedly seeing,” he said. “But, I’ve got to say, I’m not completely sure it means anything.”
“Why?” Alec asked.
“Well, he was seventy-five,” he said slowly. “And there were more than a couple of names on the list.”
“Like how many more than a couple?” I asked.
He smiled a little. “Like almost thirty.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “That I am.”
Alec chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Some people surprise you.”
“Can I see the list?” I asked sweetly. I wasn’t sure he’d do it, but I figured I would know everyone, or nearly everyone on it.
He looked from me to Alec and back to me.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said.
“She’s trustworthy,” Alec said. “And as much as I hate to admit it, she does tend to have good information on people.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
I smiled smugly. “Yes, I do. I’m a people person and I know people. Most of the time.”
“Okay, but you have to keep this confidential, and you have to take into consideration that Anne Beale was shocked and grieving when she made the list. She also made notations next to each name. And grieving people tend to dramatize things. That’s why I’m not sure this is helpful at all.”
I sat up straight. “I understand.”
He opened up the flat drawer on the front of his desk and pulled out a lined sheet of legal paper and laid it on the desk in front of me. The page was covered in small, neat handwriting. I picked the paper up and began reading.
Nellie Jones. Sneaky and likes to drive around neighborhoods at night. Hmm, I didn’t know that about Nellie.
Camilla Patterson. Back stabber.
“Uh, wait. Didn’t Camilla Patterson pass away last August? Seems like my mother called and told me that,” I said. Or was I confusing her with someone else?
John smiled and nodded. “Yes, she did. Apparently Anne Beale might still be holding a grudge over whatever back stabbing Camilla did while still alive.”
“Well, hopefully Tom and Camilla are enjoying their privacy in the afterlife together,” Alec said.
I went through the list, nodding at some that I agreed with the comments on and others I was surprised at. Then I saw it.
Myrna Hamilton. Nosey neighbor and backbiter.
“What? Nosey neighbor? Backbiter? My mother is not nosey or a backbiter! How can she say that?” I said, feeling anger rise up inside of me.
“Now, Allie, she put a dead woman on the list. How accurate do you think her notes are?” John said.
Alec was trying to suppress a smile. “Honey, this woman is clearly nuts. She put every woman she saw as a threat to her on the list and wrote whatever she could think of that made her angry in the past. This is the woman that said she never actually dated Tom. Sounds like she was angry about that.”
I took a deep breath. He was right. They both were. “Well, if Anne ever darken’s my mother’s doorstep again, she better hope I’m not there to deal with her.”
“Don’t threaten someone in the presence of an officer,” Alec chided, and then chuckled.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” I said. I turned to John. “Can we get a copy of this list? I know there probably isn’t anything legitimate here, but you never know.”
“Sure,” he said and took the paper to make a copy.
“You think you’re so funny,” I said.
John was back before he could answer me and handed me a copy. “Remember, this is confidential.”
“Of course, I understand,” I said, folding up the paper.
“We’ll let you get back to work, John,” Alec said. “And like I said before, if you need any help, I’m available.”
“I appreciate
that,” John said. “I may take you up on that offer.”
I read over the list again as we headed for the minivan. One of these little old ladies was a murderer. I was sure of it.
Chapter Eight
I wasn’t happy about Anne Beale saying my Mama was a backbiter. How could she have ever said such a thing? I could remember running into her at the grocery store when I was with Mama and Anne would run up and give her a hug and act like she was Mama’s best friend. Some friend. I didn’t have the heart to tell Mama, and she was better off not knowing.
“So did you find out anything new about Tom’s murder?” Mama asked as soon as we entered the house. She stood, twisting her hands together with worry creasing her brow and it nearly broke my heart.
“Only that he was stabbed,” Alec said. “They’re still waiting for fingerprint results from the broken plate they picked up off his porch.”
“Oh dear,” Mama said. “That means a killer is still at large.”
I smiled at her police speak. “The sheriff’s office is working real hard on it Mama. I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon.”
“I hope so. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing. Can you?” she asked, following me into the kitchen.
“No, I can’t,” I said.
But I have a list of nearly thirty little old ladies that might have.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of sweet tea. It may have been December, but this was still the South and sweet tea was always at hand.
“Well, it doesn’t make any sense to me,” she said, still wringing her hands. “He was such a nice man. He would never hurt a soul. What do you think they’ll do to whoever did do it? Once they find them, I mean?”
“Try them in a court of law,” I said absently, and poured a glass of tea. “Alec, would you like some sweet tea?” I called into the living room.
“No thank you,” he answered. Northerners weren’t much on sweet tea.
“But, what if it’s one of his lady friends?” she asked, whispering the words ‘lady friends’ as if it they were dirty words.
I looked at her. “Do you think it was one of his lady friends?” I whispered the last part like she had.
“I don’t know. I don’t know that he saw many other people in town besides his lady friends,” she said.
“He was quite the Lothario, wasn’t he?” I asked, turning around and leaning against the edge of the table.
Her eyes misted up. “Oh, yes he was,” she said. “He was just very attentive, you know? He always seemed to know the right things to say.”
I nodded. A man that had learned the art of listening could be the sexiest person on the face of the planet, even if he looked like a Poindexter. And Tom Turner was no Poindexter to the older lady set.
“Better than Daddy?” I asked, watching her.
She gave me a small smile. “There has never been anyone better than your father. On any count.”
I smiled. Daddy would always be Mama’s one true love. I picked up my sweet tea and took a sip. “If you were to say who might have done it, besides Ida Crawford. Who would it be?”
“Well, there’s always Alice Woods. She was sitting with him on a regular basis all summer long. Do you remember Alice woods?”
“The lady that use to give me lollipops when we went to the bank?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s her. Well, she has a temper. I heard her shouting at Tom late at night on many occasions,” she said, nodding slowly.
“What was she shouting about?”
She shrugged and looked away. “I try to mind my own business.”
“Mama, if you know something, you need to tell. It might help Alec and John figure out who the killer is,” I said gently.
“Well,” she said turning back toward me. “She wanted him to marry her, and he apparently didn’t want to. She felt like she had been led on. I don’t know how she could think he owed her anything though. She had only been seeing him for two months. A Southern gentleman isn’t going to be attracted to someone so forward.” She said the last part in a confidential tone. Mama would forever be old fashioned.
“Did you hear anything else?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, not really. Oh, I need to get over there and water his Elephant’s Ears. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten it these past few days. He would be so disappointed if he knew.” She looked sorrowful in her misdeed.
“Elephant’s Ears?” I asked.
She nodded. “That plant was special to him. His daughter gave it to him when they were still talking.”
“Is it outside?” I asked. I had seen some plants on his front porch and wondered if one of those was it.
“Oh, no, it’s in his kitchen. He took good care of it and didn’t want to leave it outside where the sun might burn it.”
“Wait. You have a key to Tom’s house?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. I always looked after his house when he went on trips. We were good neighbors to each other.”
“Mama, why don’t you give me that key and I’ll go take care of the Elephant’s Ears?”
She looked at me doubtfully. “It’ll die if it’s over watered.”
“Alec and I will be careful,” I promised.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You want to snoop around, don’t you?”
I gave her my most charming smile. “You know who I take after.”
She went over to a small junk drawer in the cabinet that held the pots and pans and rooted around in it. I went over to stand beside her and watched. She had matchbooks from the seventies and what looked like hundreds of used and unused twist ties in there, as well as two sharpies, freezer tape, batteries, light bulbs, and an assortment of other small items.
Finally she pulled out a worn brass key. “Here it is. Don’t you lose it,” she said, handing it to me, but still holding on to the end of it.
“I promise,” I said and she let go of it.
I trotted into the living room where Alec was sitting with his feet up on the sofa, reading a novel on his Kindle.
“Guess what?” I asked excitedly.
He raised one eyebrow and looked at me.
“I have a key to Tom’s house.”
A smiled spread across his face and he put his Kindle down on the coffee table and jumped up. “What are we waiting for?”
We headed toward the front door, and he stopped suddenly. “Does your mother have surgical gloves? We don’t want to contaminate anything.”
I turned and sprinted back to the kitchen, opened the cupboard under the sink and searched around.
“What are you looking for?” Mama asked, as she peeled potatoes.
I grabbed some gloves, held them up for Mama to see and ran back to Alec. I held them out to him.
“Really?” he asked, looking at my offering of yellow Playtex dishwashing gloves.
“Take it or leave it,” I said.
“Okay,” he said, and we headed next door.
He put the yellow gloves on and I followed suit. His gloves fit snugly against his larger hands.
It was eerie, standing on Tom’s porch as Alec unlocked the door. Inside it was dark and smelled stale, almost as if the house knew its owner was dead and wouldn’t be coming back and it had given up.
Alec flipped the living room light on and everything came into view. It had been years since I had been in Tom’s house and I was surprised that this was no swinging senior bachelor’s pad. Instead, it looked like a little old lady’s house with frilly lampshades and crocheted doilies on the arms of the sofa and wing chairs. The carpet was dark brown and a vacuum cleaner stood by one wall, still plugged into the wall socket. The coffee table was scuffed on the corners. It was a little old lady’s paradise.
The sad little artificial Christmas tree stood on an end table in front of the front window. It’s branches hung down as if it knew Tom wasn’t coming back to turn its lights on. There were two stockings hung over the faux fireplace and I wondered who the second stoc
king was for.
“Where do we look?” I asked.
“Anywhere. Put everything back where you got it. Make it look like we were never here,” he said, heading over to a little table in the hall that held an old black rotary phone. He opened the little drawer on the table and started searching.
I went to the kitchen and saw the plant Mama had been worried about. It was drooping, so I turned the water on at the sink and held it under the stream. The kitchen was neat and clean, with dishes still in the drainer. I tried not to think about the fact that Tom was never coming back here to put the dishes away.
I put the plant back on the plate that caught the draining water and pulled open kitchen drawers. Utensils, knives, and serving spoons were in the first three. The fourth drawer was a junk drawer, very much like Mama’s. I sorted through the various items, hoping to find something interesting. I sighed after I had moved everything aside. A brass key, like the one Mama had removed from her junk drawer was in the back corner. I wondered if it was Mama’s and I slipped it into my pocket to try on her door. I didn’t want anyone else coming over here and looking through things and getting the key to her house.
The rest of the cupboards and drawers yielded nothing out of the ordinary. It looked like Tom could probably cook, but nothing fancy. Things were kept neat and orderly, just as I expected.
I went back into the living room and Alec was thumbing through a notebook. “What’s that?” I whispered. Being in someone’s house uninvited made me want to whisper, even if that someone was dead and wouldn’t protest.
“It looks like Tom really was quite the ladies’ man,” he said without looking up.
“What?” I asked, leaning over his shoulder.
“I found Tom’s little black book,” he said, looking up at me as I came around to look. “And it really is black,” he said, showing me the front of the spiral bound notebook.
“Wow,” I said, trying to get a look at the names.
“Wait a minute. My Mama isn’t in there, is she?” I asked, suddenly freaked out. “Tell me she isn’t.”
“Hold on,” he said and flipped to the letter H. “As a matter of fact, she is.”
“What? Why would she be in there?” I asked.