“Do you think they would have murdered their own sister?” Mrs. Dollner gasped, pulling a knit skull cap down past her eyebrows.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I just know that someone murdered her. Captain Davis was right. She didn’t choke on anything. She was poisoned,” I asserted.
“Did the coffee tell you, dear?” Mrs. Dollner asked gently.
“Yes,” I replied as we boarded my car and veered onto the main road.
Aunt Patricia and Aunt Louise shared an eighteenth century house that looked more like a shack from the way they had neglected it over the decades. Cobwebs were strung across the narrow doorframe of the exterior and dead leaves covered thick patches of overgrown weeds. I knocked on the door, inhaling nervously and then choking on the staleness of the air.
Aunt Louise, clothed in a drab brown housedress, opened the door. “Marisa! What are you doing here?”
I noted that her eyes were dry and clear, indicating that she hadn’t spent much time crying over her dead sister. “I just wanted to visit with you and Aunt Patricia…during this difficult time,” I lied.
“Who’s at the door, Lou?” Aunt Patricia asked, emerging from the hallway.
Incredulously, I stared at her hands that were grasping a closed metal lockbox. Struggling to breathe, I rasped, “What is that? What’s that in your hands?”
Chapter 4
Grimacing, Aunt Patricia peered down at her hands as though they didn’t belong to her. Quizzically, she regarded the lockbox before glancing up at me and puckering her lips against an uncontrollable tremble. “You interrupted our game of Checkers.”
What a wildly inappropriate answer to my question! “Huh?” I muttered. Poor Aunt Patricia. A game of Checkers was probably the highlight of her day. “I asked you what you have in your hands.” Why was she acting so oddly? Granted, both she and Aunt Louise were widely reputed to be loony tunes. But it seemed bizarre…and suspicious…for Aunt Patricia to be evading my question so blatantly. Maybe she was drunk. It wasn’t unheard of for brash Aunt Pat to have downed a bottle of Grey Goose before lunchtime.
“It’s a box, can’t you see girl? You don’t have cataracts yet like I do, right?” Aunt Patricia bit sarcastically.
“Now be nice Pat. She’s our niece and she’s not the only one who’s upset about Connie,” Aunt Louise scolded gently.
“Bah! I don’t want to hear it. Marisa, no one invited you here today and you shouldn’t have come!” Aunt Patricia reprimanded as Mrs. Dollner subtly cleared her throat in the background. “And you brought a guest?! Really, Marisa, didn’t Denidra teach you any manners? Your Gypsy heathen ways don’t fly here in Minnesota.”
I glowered at my curmudgeonly aunt, appalled by how she was referring to my mother. Prettier and sweeter than Louise and Patricia combined, my mother had unwittingly inspired jealousy in the women. With an arched eyebrow, I wondered whether Louise or Patricia had poisoned my mother’s caramel coffee in order to frame her. Their jealousy was a strong motive for shifting the blame onto my innocent mother. But still, I needed to uncover a motive for Aunt Connie’s murder. Fixing my gaze steadily on the lockbox in Aunt Patricia’s weathered, vein-bulging hands, I resisted the urge to break it open and see what was inside.
“Pat! Honestly, you’re just being terrible today!” Aunt Louise exclaimed, shaking her head in disapproval.
“It’s fine,” I clipped. “But what’s so secret about that box? You’re protecting it like it holds the elixir to eternal youth.”
“It holds something even more precious,” Aunt Patricia countered. “Letters from Connie.”
“Did you used to write to each other as girls? I miss the days of letter writing,” Mrs. Dollner mused, sniffling a little.
“Yes, we used to slip funny notes and knock knock jokes underneath each other’s bedroom door when we were children. These letters are like diamonds to me now. Thank goodness I saved them all these years!” Aunt Patricia cut off on a sob as I narrowed my eyes pensively. Her grief seemed genuine, but then again, so had her suspicious behavior just a moment ago.
“I have a box of letters from Connie too,” Aunt Louise sighed. “And postcards from all the vacations she took with Martin,” she added, referring to Aunt Connie’s late husband.
“She did have a good life,” I interjected. “Uncle Martin took her all around the world. They even went to Japan once, didn’t they?”
“Yes, I think I have a postcard from Tokyo somewhere,” Aunt Louise said sadly. “Maybe I can go find it…”
“You three can chit chat all day if you want. Forget Checkers! I’m going to my room!” Aunt Patricia huffed like a frustrated child who couldn’t get her way.
As she stormed down the hall, the lockbox tumbled from her grip and smashed into the floor, eliciting a scream from the indignant crow. “Now look what you’ve done!” She raved to no one in particular.
“Calm down, Pat!” Aunt Louise pleaded, rushing to help clean up the scattered papers.
Peeking inside, I stepped into the hallway, determined to get a glimpse of what was in the lockbox. Tattered old papers were strewn across the hallway along with something Aunt Patricia hadn’t said was in the lockbox: a silver chain necklace with an irregularly shaped pendant.
“What’s that necklace? Did that belong to Aunt Connie?” I asked as Mrs. Dollner peered curiously over my shoulder.
“None of your business!” Aunt Patricia flamed, kneeling on the cracked linoleum floor and hurriedly refilling the lockbox.
“I’ve never seen you act this way, Aunt Patricia,” I said coldly, making no effort to assist in the clean-up.
“Well you’ve never seen me lose a sister either! How would you feel if precious little Penelope died?”
“Don’t even talk like that!” I whipped the words out harshly, disgusted that the bitter pill would even invoke such a horrific idea regarding my 28 year old sister.
“I think you better come back another time,” Aunt Louise advised. “Obviously, this isn’t a good time for Pat.”
“And tell your friend Captain Davis to stay away from me! And those detectives too! I’ve never been so insulted in my life the way they interrogated me yesterday. Like I’m some sort of common criminal!” Aunt Patricia seethed.
“They questioned all of us,” I corrected. “Including myself. It’s nothing personal. Just police business.”
“Yes, I was questioned as well,” Mrs. Dollner added. “They wanted to know exactly what I put in the cider. I told them to stop by my cottage and I’ll give them the recipe.”
I stifled a giggle. “Is that really what you said Mrs. Dollner?”
“Yes, dear. Even though I don’t look a day over 75, my memory isn’t what it used to be!” She winked at me as I smiled, grateful for the lighthearted reprieve.
“Now you’re making a mockery of my sister’s death!” Aunt Patricia accused bitterly. “Get out of here! I won’t have you standing in my house tittering about my sister’s death!”
“We weren’t laughing about her death,” I protested, but I knew my words were useless. “Come on, Mrs. Dollner, let’s go.”
Without muttering another word to my snakeskin-cold aunt, I shuffled out the door with Mrs. Dollner. “Well that didn’t go very well,” I mumbled sarcastically.
“What sad women!” Mrs. Dollner exclaimed. “Those two are young enough to be my daughters, but they act older than me!”
“Their spirits are old. Your spirit is young and vibrant, Mrs. Dollner,” I declared as the peppy lady beamed.
“That’s right, dear. It’s all in the spirit! And my walks in the forest don’t hurt either,” she said proudly. “So dear, what’s next?”
“Uncle Sanford’s house. I need to speak with Uncle Sanford. It can’t possibly go any worse than this did.” I bit my lower lip nervously, hoping I hadn’t spoken too soon.
Chapter 5
Uncle Sanford’s “house” was an assisted living community perched at the bottom of a hill next to a babbling
brook. Canada geese waddled their way along the edge of the brook, squawking to each other and flapping their wings. Watching where I stepped, I walked with Mrs. Dollner from the brook to the front entrance of the community and rang the buzzer.
The door immediately unlocked without anyone inquiring to my identity. Approaching the front desk, I addressed an elderly man who was shoving a handful of honey roasted peanuts into his mouth. “Good morning. We’re here to visit Sanford Locke,” I said crisply.
“Oh, old Sanny, he’ll be glad to get a visit from the ladies!” The old man chuckled with his mouth full of peanuts.
“Should we just go to his room or do you need to call him?” I asked tersely.
“The sight of you might give old Sanny a heart attack, so I better call him!”
“Listen, you sleaze bucket,” Mrs. Dollner said shrilly, “This is Sanford’s niece. Shame on your dirty old mind!”
Sufficiently embarrassed, the clerk bowed his head and waved a hand towards the elevator. “Go ahead. His room is on the third floor. 308.”
Flouncing away from the desk, Mrs. Dollner raced to the elevator. Punching the button, she shot one more reproachful look at the old man before the doors opened and we found refuge inside. “Really! You’re young enough to be his granddaughter!”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Dollner,” I said with a trace of amusement. I was used to getting hit on by customers of all ages at the coffee shop.
Arriving on the third floor, we strolled down the plush carpeted corridor until we reached my uncle’s suite. Knocking briskly, I hoped that he would be even a fraction happier to see me than my aunts had been. In the span of a second, my tawny bearded uncle was standing at the door, offering a lukewarm smile.
“Marisa! And Mrs. Dollner! Is everything okay?” He asked with trepidation.
“I’m not sure how to answer that under the circumstances…” I waffled, thinking how not even 24 hours had passed since Aunt Connie’s death.
“You know what I mean.” He lowered his eyes to the earth then raised them towards the sky. “I just meant is everything okay with you two? Have the police bothered you again?”
“No, that’s not why we’re here. I just thought you might not want to be alone after what happened yesterday,” I told the lie solemnly even though my mind was sprinting ahead to what I might be able to uncover in Uncle Sanford’s apartment.
“Well, come on in. A little company is always nice. Can’t say I have much to offer you to eat, though.” Uncle Sanford opened the door and gestured for us to come in.
“We’re not hungry,” I assured him.
No sooner had we sat down on Uncle Sanford’s reupholstered maroon couch than a loud series of knocks shook the front door. “Now who could that be? Is that Penelope?” He wondered aloud.
“No, she’s at the shop,” I replied with a frown and a perplexed look in Mrs. Dollner’s direction.
“Lou! Pat!” Uncle Sanford exclaimed as I squirmed in my seat.
What were those mean pests doing here? Did they follow us? Angrily, I shot out of my seat and confronted the women at the door. Remarkably, they looked as shocked and dismayed to see me as I was to see them.
“Marisa? How many people are you going to bother in one day?” Aunt Patricia asked venomously.
“What are you doing here?”
“I don’t think it’s any of your business why I came to my brother’s apartment!”
“We’re all family, Aunt Patricia. Your brother is my uncle,” I reminded her as though I were teaching a basic finger painting lesson to a preschooler.
“What’s all this animosity about?” Uncle Sanford asked gruffly.
“Why don’t you just say it, Aunt Patricia?” I goaded her. “You don’t think I’m a real Locke, do you? Because I have Gypsy blood…”
“Oh nonsense! What tall tales you weave! Why don’t you go drown yourself in a cup of espresso beans?” Aunt Patricia spat.
Why don’t you go drown yourself in a glass of vodka? “You know what? I have just as much right to be here as you do. If Uncle Sanford wants me to leave, then he can tell me. Otherwise, I’m staying.” Obstinately, I planted myself on the couch as Mrs. Dollner sat up straight as an arrow, clearly ready to take on the witchy sisters.
“I’m not asking anyone to leave. Why don’t we all sit down and try to be civil? I’ll see if I can find something for us to drink. I think I have some grapefruit juice in the refrigerator.” Uncle Sanford headed towards his galley kitchen.
“Blegh! Don’t you have anything a little more palatable?” Aunt Patricia complained.
“You mean like Scotch on the rocks?” I taunted as she glared at me, her pupils turning black as fresh tar.
“Shut your nasty little mouth!” Aunt Patricia ordered.
Coming to her defense, Aunt Louise warned, “Yes, hitting below the belt has consequences, you know.”
“Really, are you family? Or are you enemies?” Mrs. Dollner demanded.
“A little of both,” I mumbled as Uncle Sanford reappeared with a stack of plastic cups and a bottle of Oceanspray juice.
As he poured our cups full of grapefruit juice, I scanned the room for any possible clues that could incriminate him. I had already identified the lockbox from my vision at Aunt Patricia’s house, and now I didn’t know what I was looking for. Maybe I should have summoned the espresso beans again before jumping into this ill-planned visit. Suddenly, in the corner of the room, I noticed something of interest: a shattered picture frame on the floor.
Discreetly rising from the sofa, I approached the smashed frame and noticed an old photo of Aunt Connie lying face up on the floor. I shuddered as her turquoise eyes glimmered in the midday light, making her appear alive and somehow present in the room. In the picture, she wore a brick red cotton frock with long sleeves and thick black tights. She couldn’t have been any more than 20 years old with her whole life ahead of her. A life that had been cut short by one single sip of malice…
“What happened here?” I asked gravely.
“Where?” Uncle Sanford asked absently.
“Here. Aunt Connie’s picture is on the floor,” I said accusingly, resisting the impulse to demand: did you throw it there?
“Oh yes, I was looking at her picture earlier today. Trying to remember that sweet face. I guess my hands were shaking so badly that the picture slipped. I didn’t have a chance to clean it up yet,” Uncle Sanford answered glumly, looking me squarely in the eyes.
“Which picture?” Aunt Louise asked eagerly. “Let me see it! Pick it up off the floor, Sanny!”
“I’ll get it,” I mumbled, bending down and picking up the photo. “Do you have a dustpan, Uncle Sanford? I’ll sweep up the fragments.”
“No, don’t worry about that, Marisa. Just have a seat,” Uncle Sanford insisted as Aunt Louise snatched the photo out of my hand.
“What a beauty she was!” Aunt Louise mused as I wanted to say, yeah, we know who had the looks in the family. And it ain’t you and Pat!
Uncle Sanford disappeared into the den and returned a minute later with a pile of photo albums. “Let’s take a trip down memory lane,” he suggested with a sigh. “And honor Connie by remembering her life.”
“That’s a beautiful idea, Uncle Sanford,” I said as the witchy sisters nodded vigorously. At least we could agree on something.
Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection) Page 16