I nodded.
“Maybe it’s time to unload those,” he said. “Mine, anyway. I’ll check with Jamie, but I expect he’ll be fine with it, too.”
“Good idea,” I said. “If you’re both sure, let’s take them down to the women’s shelter. The kids who are staying there can use them, and you can see them occasionally and know they went to a good home.”
“Yeah. That’d work okay.”
With that he disappeared and I heard his quick footsteps going up the stairway.
I made a few entries in my notebook, to remind myself to talk to Jamie about his outgrown bike. To schedule a trip to the women’s shelter. And to do some online reading about hoarding. I didn’t get it. And that bothered me.
And I scribbled another item—to ask Dad about Harvey. He might have some insights that would make this whole thing easier on all of us. He might even know a therapist who could work with Harvey.
But all of that could wait. I needed to be up before seven to make it to Harvey’s by eight. And it was already past midnight.
I shut my notebook and headed upstairs.
Chapter 13
Tuesday, December 22
When my alarm rang I suppressed the impulse to toss it out the window. Harvey’s party had gone on longer than I’d expected, and I’d gone to bed later than was quite consistent with waking up cheerfully a little before dawn. And then I remembered that the day would be a decluttering marathon.
“Rise and—” Michael began, reaching over to wake me.
“Don’t finish that,” I said. “I am rising, but I have no intention of shining before noon. Why did I tell everybody we were starting at eight?”
“Because you checked the weather report and heard that the rain will be moving into the area by noon?” Michael looked up from his phone. “Intermittent thundershowers all afternoon followed by heavy rain tonight.”
“Ick,” I said. “I picked eight because I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Rain won’t help.”
“Should I go fix breakfast?”
“Deacon Washington said he’d have the Not Just Tacos Truck there at dawn,” I said through a yawn. “And Muriel at the diner’s sending fresh bagels.”
“Then I’ll just whip up some smoothies to tide us over.” He leaped out of bed, doing a very convincing impression of a morning person, and dashed downstairs.
When we got to Beau Street, my jaw dropped. Cars and pickups were parked all up and down the street, starting two blocks away from Harvey’s house.
“Whoa,” Josh said. “Half the town must be here.”
“See, Mom?” Jamie said. “We should have no problem finishing it all today, so you can go back to doing more fun things.”
More likely, so I could go back to managing other, less massive Helping Hands projects. But still, my heart lifted at the sight.
Near the end of Harvey’s front walk, a group of about a dozen people were singing “Joy to the World.” Most likely members of the New Life Baptist Choir, to judge from the power and beauty of their voices. And Deacon Washington was there in the Not Just Tacos Truck, dishing out breakfast burritos, breakfast croissants, and, at least in theory, hot oatmeal—although he rarely got many takers for that.
“I’ll drop you off at the door and find a parking space,” Michael said.
The boys immediately hopped into the breakfast line. Dad was there, putting in his order and chatting to Chief Burke, who was already nibbling on his burrito. I saw Cordelia standing on Harvey’s front walk, just in front of the porch talking to—
Yikes! She was talking to Mother. Did she not realize how very hard I had been trying to keep Mother from seeing what Harvey’s house looked like inside? I quickened my step.
“Meg, dear,” Mother said. “I can’t stay long—I just came to pick up the keys to the furniture store.”
“Your mother’s going to supervise arranging things as they arrive at the furniture store,” Cordelia said. “Your dad’s going to take her over now.”
“Well, right after James gets us both a little bite of breakfast,” Mother said. “So kind of Deacon Washington to come out this early.”
I fished out my key ring, handed over the furniture store key, and breathed a sigh of relief as they strolled down the sidewalk and joined the boys in the breakfast line.
Then I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. Well, seven fifty-nine. Close enough. I squared my shoulders and mounted the wooden steps to the porch. Was it just my imagination, or were they more wobbly than before? Had all the foot traffic yesterday done a number on them?
I’d sic a Shiffley on it as soon as I spotted one in the crowd. First things first.
I knocked on Harvey’s door and waited for an answer.
And waited. And waited.
I knocked again.
Still no answer.
“Bother,” I muttered under my breath. Had he gotten cold feet? That would be a pretty pickle, with what looked like half the town here to help him.
And all of them staring at me, even the carolers and the many people munching on their breakfasts.
“Harvey?” I called. “It’s Meg.”
Now people were coming up the walk. Only a few—Cordelia, Rose Noire, and Minerva Burke. But they could be the start of a general migration.
“Something wrong?” Cordelia asked.
“He’s not answering,” I said. “I’m worried that he might have gotten cold feet.”
“Drat the man,” Minerva muttered.
I could see a few more people drifting our way.
“Minerva, can you keep everyone back on the sidewalk until we sort this out?” I asked.
“Can do.” She strode down the walkway and began shooing the venturesome ones back to the sidewalk. I looked at Rose Noire and Cordelia.
“You two spent more time with him than anyone yesterday,” I said. “Can you keep trying to get him to answer—Cordelia, why don’t you try from here, and Rose Noire, you can call to him from the kitchen door, or maybe at the bedroom window.”
Rose Noire nodded and scurried off toward the back of the house.
“What are you going to do?” Cordelia asked.
I took a few steps away from the door—in fact, I went back down to the front walk.
“I’m going to call Randall and see if he can send his cousin the locksmith down here to get us inside.” I kept my voice low, in case Harvey was ignoring us from just inside his front door. “And then—is Chief Burke still here?”
“Chatting with your dad.”
“Great—I’ll ask if he can do an official welfare check, which might keep us from getting sued if Harvey has changed his mind and doesn’t want us helping him.”
“Good plan.” She went back to the front door and knocked.
“Harvey? It’s Cordelia. May I come in?”
I decided to put some distance between me and the house before making my calls. And then—
“Joy to the World!”
I started slightly at how loud the carol was. Had Minerva brought the entire choir? No—apparently she was keeping everyone from coming near Mr. Dunlop’s house by recruiting them into the caroling. Except for a few people still munching their croissants or burritos, everyone who’d come to help was now singing vigorously.
“Well, that should help rouse him,” I said to myself.
But it wasn’t going to help me make phone calls.
I moved a little farther from the house. And for that matter, a little farther from the caroling.
At least with Randall I could text. I opened up my phone and typed.
“Harvey not opening door. Might have cold feet. Send locksmith!”
Only a few seconds later, Randall replied:
“On it!”
But I didn’t think texting would work as well with Chief Burke.
Should I maybe go back to the van? Of course, Michael might have parked it blocks away.
The garage. I’d probably be able to hear if I put it between me
and the singers.
Better yet, I noticed that the side door was open a crack. I could call from inside. Of course, the open garage door could be a problem, if Harvey had noticed it. He’d probably be upset—maybe that was why he wasn’t answering our knocks. Or worse, what if his relatives and neighbors had gotten in again and hauled off more stuff? In which case, he might be sulking inside, lumping the Helping Hands crew in with the predatory Haverhills.
But when I stepped inside, the garage looked just as it had the last time I’d seen it. Only slightly cluttered. And his car was here, so he couldn’t have gone anywhere. And—
What was that on the floor in front of the car? It looked like a hand.
I took a few steps forward.
Yes, it was a hand. Attached to a body. Harvey’s body. There was a pool of blood around his head. A really big pool.
But it wasn’t spreading
I was pretty sure that meant he was dead.
Chapter 14
I pulled out my phone and called 911. Debbie Ann, the dispatcher, picked up on the first ring.
“Meg, what’s wrong? Neighbors causing trouble again at Mr. Dunlop’s?”
“It’s Harvey,” I said. “He’s hurt—maybe dead. In the garage.”
“Oh, my.”
I heard the quick rattle of a keyboard. Without hanging up, I sent a quick text to Dad: “Need you in the garage now. Bring your medical bag.”
“Chief’s already here somewhere,” I said into the phone. “If you could tell him—”
“He’s on his way over,” Debbie Ann said. “What happened to Mr. Dunlop—do you know? Are you sure he’s dead?”
I sidled forward again until I could get a better look at him.
“I haven’t checked his pulse,” I said. “But there’s a really big pool of blood around his head. Maybe he tripped and hit his head on the concrete floor. Or maybe—” I was inching a little closer and spotted something. “Oh, my. It looks as if he was hit on the head with a brass spittoon.”
“Lord have mercy,” Debbie Ann said. “I hope they can keep that part out of the obituary. I’ll let you tell the chief. I can try to get hold of your dad.”
“He’s already here.” I could see Dad trotting toward me. I suspected Harvey was beyond help, even from Dad’s medical skills. But since Dad was also the local medical examiner, they’d probably need him to make the death official. And the chief was walking behind him, and a little more slowly, since he was talking on his phone. “I’ll get back to making sure no one barges in.”
“He’s in there?” Dad asked when he reached me.
I nodded, and stood aside so he could run in. Then I closed the door behind him and looked around. Cordelia was still knocking on Harvey’s door, and from this angle I could see Rose Noire, standing on her tiptoes beneath the middle of the three windows in the side of the house, shouting for Harvey. I should call them off.
The chief strode up, and I stood aside so he could follow Dad.
Should I go over and notify Cordelia and Rose Noire?
Just then Rose Noire glanced over at me. I beckoned for her to come near.
“I think the window might be unlocked,” she said as she drew near. “If we had a ladder, we could try to get in through there.”
“No need,” I said.
“But what if something has happened to him?” she asked.
“Something has,” I said. “He’s out here in the garage. And I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Dad and Chief Burke are in there checking.”
“Oh, my.” Her hands flew to her mouth, she closed her eyes, and her face took on an expression of pain. “That must be what the magpies were trying to tell me this morning.”
“They talk?” I asked. “Or were you talking to them in … magpie-ese, or whatever you call it.”
“They don’t actually talk,” she said. “At least not yet. Though I’ve heard of talking magpies, and I was thinking of trying to teach them. But they bring me things. Little gifts to thank me for feeding them.”
“Yes, so Caroline was telling me.” I wondered if the magpies ever did this to their keepers at the zoo. I suspected they hadn’t. Maybe what they were thanking her for was not so much for feeding them as for letting them fly away freely afterward. Still, what did it have to do with Harvey?
“But I should have known this was a bad omen.”
“So what was this ominous gift?”
“A black butterfly wing.” She shuddered slightly. “I should have known.”
“Okay, that does sound a little creepy,” I said. “But how could you have known it was foretelling death for Harvey? The universe’s department in charge of omens needs to up its game a bit. Look, can you watch the door here for a minute—I want to break the news to Cordelia so she can stop knocking and calling.”
“And the rest of the crowd?”
“We’ll let Chief Burke decide,” I said. “Who else to tell, and how, and when.”
“The chief.” Her face grew solemn. “You think someone killed Harvey?”
“Let’s hope not,” I said. “Maybe Dad can save him. And it could be just a horrible accident. Sheer luck that it didn’t happen years ago, and the only weird and ironic thing is that it happened just when we were about to clear all the dangerous clutter out of his house. But even if it was an accident, if he dies it will still be an unattended death, so we still need the police. Anyway—stay here.”
I walked back to the front porch. Cordelia turned away from the door and came down to meet me.
“What if something’s happened to him?” she asked. “Should we break the door down?”
“He’s in the garage,” I said.
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said. Then she must have picked up on my expression. “Or is it?”
I explained what I’d found. It didn’t take more than a few sentences, but before I was finished, a police cruiser with the lights flashing had pulled into Harvey’s driveway. Aida Butler hopped out.
The ad hoc choir’s rendition of “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” started sounding a little ragged, as most of the singers craned their necks to see what was happening. But Minerva Burke managed to keep them singing away—and more important, out from underfoot.
The chief met Aida at the door, and the two of them were talking to Rose Noire.
“I should go,” I said.
As I approached the garage, I heard Rose Noire explaining.
“I don’t know—Meg is the one who found him.”
The chief nodded, and stepped back inside.
“Oh, dear,” Rose Noire muttered. “What a terrible thing to happen—and just when the Helping Hands program was creating so much good energy in the town.”
I was about to protest that what had happened to Harvey probably had nothing to do with the program. But what if it did? What if the reason he’d been out in his garage had something to do with our being here?
The chief came out again.
“Send someone to the street to steer the ambulance in when it gets here,” he said.
“I’ll go,” Rose Noire said.
“Harvey’s not dead?” My face probably wore the same sudden, hopeful look I’d seen on Rose Noire’s.
“Your dad’s a stubborn man.” The chief’s bleak expression snuffed out my momentary surge of hope. “Horace should be here soon to work the scene.”
I was momentarily surprised—working the scene already? It probably meant that the chief didn’t have much hope. And as I’d already reminded Rose Noire, an accidental death was still an unattended death. Or was Dad being his usual suspicious self? His addiction to reading mystery books probably made him—well, not exactly more eager than the average medical examiner to come across a murder, but certainly slower to give up on the possibility. And while the chief didn’t share Dad’s enthusiasm over homicides—he’d seen plenty during his years as a Baltimore homicide detective—he appreciated Dad’s thoroughness. If nothing else, it could help fend off problems with the Haverhills.
In fact, that was probably the reason for the ambulance that was already pulling into the driveway. The Haverhills would know we’d done everything we could.
“What should we do about them?” I nodded toward where the assembled volunteers were still singing away. A good thing Minerva was choosing old standard carols whose words everybody already knew, because hardly a single person was actually looking down at the carol books she’d passed out. “I’m assuming you don’t want us moving ahead with the decluttering.”
“Not today,” he said. “I might need to talk to some of your volunteers, but not right now. Can you send them all home?”
“Or off to other projects,” I said. “Can do.”
Just then I stood aside to let the EMTs run past. The chief followed them in. I headed over to address the carolers.
Minerva saw me approaching, so she cut off “The Twelve Days of Christmas” at the end of the seven swans a-swimming.
“Thank you all for coming out so early,” I said to the crowd. “I’m afraid Mr. Dunlop has had an unfortunate accident.”
My expression probably signaled how bad it was. Murmurs ran through the crowd, and various people crossed themselves, took off their hats, or shook their heads sadly.
“We can’t really go forward with the decluttering without him,” I went on. “So we’re postponing that. But if you’d like to help out with another project, stand by while I pull together a list of what else is going on today.”
I took a few steps away, pulled out my notebook, and began scanning all the projects I’d planned for us to start tomorrow. A few people headed for their cars, but most were waiting patiently. Randall Shiffley had appeared and Cordelia seemed to be briefing him.
Minerva came over to join me.
“I bet Henry was hinting that he’d be happier if there were fewer people hanging around lollygagging here,” Minerva said.
“Hinting?” I chuckled. “I’m not sure he knows the meaning of the word.”
“True enough. So I’m going to take my choir members over to the hospital to do some caroling. Unless you need us for any other Helping Hands projects.”
The Gift of the Magpie Page 11