by Donna McLean
The old farmers shook their gray heads.
He sat down in his favorite rocker, and rocked in shocked silence.
As the morning wore on and no one came to unlock the front door and bring the porch sitters club their complimentary cups of black coffee, a small crowd began to gather. First customers, disappointed or angry or surprised that they were unable to make their purchases, huddled around the door and made small talk. Then curious onlookers, strolling up and down Main Street, walked over to see what was going on at the hardware store.
Someone finally got the idea to fetch a policeman. Officer Campbell strode up the street purposefully and made his way through the crowd. He rattled the door handle, exactly as everyone had already done before him, and declared that the door was locked. Then he peered in through the glass window, exactly as the others had done, and stated that there were no lights on and no one appeared to be inside. He finally turned to the crowd, watching him in expectation, and said, “Folks, it seems to me somebody overslept this morning. I’ll give Whit a call and see what’s going on. Y’all just go on about your business and come back later. No use standing around all day.”
The crowd trickled away. An old farmer turned to Officer Campbell and said, “Whit don’t never work on Thursdays. Edison is supposed to open the store on Thursdays.”
“Always has,” another old farmer agreed.
“Yep. Edison should have been here a couple hours ago,” someone else commented.
They all looked at Officer Campbell with speculative faces.
“Wonder where Edison is this morning?”
By noontime word had got around town that Whit was, indeed, off work that Thursday, just like always, but that Edison had never arrived to open the store. Whit told Officer Campbell that he had closed the store in the usual manner the night before the disappearance, and that Edison had seemed okay when he left, considering what had happened earlier with the hardware display. “But he weren’t in no hurry to leave or nothing like that,” Whit had told the policeman. “I had to make him go on and leave.”
Officer Campbell said, “Heard there was a minor altercation earlier in the day.”
“Yes sir, betwixt him and that Butler fellow.”
* * * * *
By one o’clock the whole town knew that Edison had never arrived home after leaving work around four-thirty. The landlady of the boarding house where he had lived for fifteen years stated emphatically, to the nice policeman and to that polite reporter from The Harbinger, that Mr. Edison had not slept in his bed and had not left any dirty dishes in the sink and had most definitely not placed or received any phone calls from the main telephone in the foyer that was placed there strictly for the convenience of her paying boarders, and that was a solid fact! She would swear to it in a court of law! Mr. Edison, she firmly believed, had never gotten home that night!
The landlady confirmed to the reporter that Edison’s clothes and belongings were still in his apartment and that nothing had been taken, she knew that from carefully observing the policemen who had searched the man’s apartment under her watchful eye. She didn’t like seeing her favorite tenant’s meager possessions being rifled through by strangers, she surely did not like that one bit! But she understood that it had to be done, if they were ever to find the man.
“Mr. Edison always paid his rent on time and he’s been a good tenant all these years. More like a son to me than a tenant, he was! I am certain that he did not skip town. He would never do such a thing!”
By the time the next edition of the Harbinger hit the streets the police had confirmed that it did not appear that the person in question willingly left town. His belongings were still in the apartment and he did not own a vehicle. Taxis, buses and trains had no information on the departure of anyone meeting the description of a tall, slender man with dark hair, forty one years old, neatly dressed. Officer Campbell was quoted as saying, “Edison Farlow had a sterling reputation and was well known and respected, not the sort who would disappear without letting someone know. At this time we do not believe the missing man was a victim of foul play.”
The officer confirmed the reporter’s information that, pending further investigation, the last person to see Edison Farlow was Butler Jenks.
The article closed with the usual statements asking that anyone with information contact the police department. Perhaps the newspaper should have clearly stressed that only accurate information was requested, as the little town quickly became overrun with gossip, rumor and innuendo.
FOURTEEN
“Yoo hoo! Anybody home?” Tilda MacArdan’s cheerful voice floated through the open window of the little carriage house where Addie was rolling pale yellow paint up and down the living room wall.
“Come in!” the young woman replied. “But watch your step! Paint pan is over there.” She pointed it out just in time.
“Mercy me! I near about stepped right into that!” Tilda sidestepped the paint and then looked around the little room, beaming. “That’s a lovely color. Really brightens up the place.”
Addie grinned. “Thank you, Tilda. Glad you like it. I’m going to paint the trim work bright white, and use blue accents on the drapes and furniture. It’s going to be really pretty, I think.”
“I think so too, I think so too,” Tilda agreed. “Can I help you do anything today, dear?”
The redhead shook her curls. “No, ma’am, got it under control.”
“Well, then, I’m fixing to go to Jasper’s to get some fresh tomatoes and maybe some yellow crookneck squash, and a few blueberries if he has any. Do you want anything? I’ll be going right near the Coffee Click too. I can bring you something.”
“No, I’m good. Thanks for asking.” Addie dipped the roller into the pan and carefully rolled off the excess paint. “Tilda,” she began, and hesitated.
The spry senior’s ears perked up. She had a feeling something interesting was about to be divulged. “Yes, Addie?” she inquired, her hazel green eyes widened to their most innocent expression.
Addie looked at Tilda for a long moment while she tried to make up her mind. “Well, I don’t like to gossip. On the other hand, if someone is in trouble or something is bothering a person—”
Tilda interrupted. “Oh, dear. It isn’t about Pearce Allen, is it? The two of you are just made for each other, you really are!”
“No, no, it’s not about that!” Addie said in a rush of words. “It’s someone else. Well, it’s Maybellanne Motley. I saw her at the café the other day and something was really troubling her. She seemed to be crying, for one thing. And then she acted really weird about a picture she was looking at, like she didn’t want me to see it.”
Addie went on to describe the meeting with the mayor’s wife, the concealment of the photo, and the sudden departure. Tilda listened with interest.
“Well, it was sweet of you to offer to help. That’s very kind of you.” Tilda’s face grew contemplative. “You know, something odd is going on between those two. I mean the mayor and his wife. They’ve been acting kind of cold toward each other ever since that day at the mansion. Betty told me they had been arguing something awful a few days later when she got there to clean their house, you know they have a maid, and as soon as she walked in they got quiet all of a sudden and Maybellanne ran out of the room in tears!”
“Sounds like they are having problems. That’s sad, isn’t it? Wish we could help.” Addie started another layer of yellow.
“Seems like lately they haven’t been seen together much around town, and it used to be that they were always together, unless he was at his office, of course. And even then Maybellanne dropped in and out all the time. She is a real gem as a mayor’s wife, I mean she really makes him a better mayor than he would be otherwise, if you know what I mean.”
Addie nodded. “I get the feeling Mayor Motley would be pretty helpless without her,” she said with a wry smile. “Look what happened at the mansion when he got out of her sight for a few minutes!”
> The women laughed, remembering the mayor’s entrapment in the mysterious room with the sliding panel.
Tilda said, “That is true, I think. He’s a good mayor. He’s good with business type things. But in other ways, well, he’s like a little boy. That’s his mama’s fault, she spoilt him rotten, rest her soul. Her only child and then his papa passed when he was still a young ’un so you can’t really blame her for doting on him. His mama had a pure fit, let me tell you, when he up and married Edith Pidgeon!”
“Edith Pidgeon! Who is that, his first wife?” Addie asked in surprise.
“No, ma’am, Edith Pidgeon was Maybellanne’s name before she changed it! She was from the wrong side of the tracks. But that’s a story for another day. I really have to get along to Jasper’s or the best squash will be all picked over.” Tilda paused at the door before exiting and said thoughtfully, “And I just may have to run another errand.”
* * * * *
Mayor Motley, distinguished and duly elected official of the good people of Sparrow Falls, rubbed his watery eyes with two plump, balled up fists. He placed his hands on the desk before him, palms down and fingers spread, as though trying to right himself after suddenly being knocked for a loop. The mayor blinked his eyes twice and fastened a bewildered gaze upon the little lady sitting before him.
Tilda MacArdan’s kind heart went out to the poor man. She reached across the desk and patted a hand while cooing, “There, there, mayor. I’m sure there is a simple explanation for what you’ve told me. Why, Maybellanne would never do anything to hurt you! She loves you very, very much, and that’s a fact!”
The man nodded glumly and blew his red nose into an old fashioned white handkerchief. He sighed deeply. “And you really think going to the police is the right thing to do? That no harm will come to my—to my—” The mayor hesitated, tears welling up again, and finally blurted out, “—to my wife?”
“No, no, I’m sure that Officer Douglas Winton Campbell will be very discreet. Now, he will get to the bottom of things, he certainly will do that! But Maybellanne couldn’t have done anything wrong and so her name will be cleared, and you will be able to rest easy, and everything will go back to normal between the two of you. That’s what you really want to happen, isn’t it?” She gave him an encouraging smile and was pleased to receive a half-hearted one in return.
“Yes, yes, that is what I want to happen. I want things to be the way they used to be, before that man showed up, meeting her outside our house when they think I’m not looking! I can’t think what she could be doing, I really cannot think, right outside our house!”
Tilda said hurriedly, “But you see, mayor, that’s why she can’t be doing anything wrong. She wouldn’t meet someone right outside the door, knowing you’re home, if she were up to something terrible, now would she?”
Mayor Motley shook his head and then blew his nose again. He gulped back the tears and looked hopefully at Tilda.
“And so that’s why you must tell Douglas Campbell about the man. And let Douglas look into it and find out what is really going on. I’m sure that it won’t implicate Maybellanne in any way, but the man may be doing something illegal or unethical, and that’s what Douglas will look into. You will be helping Maybellanne, not hurting her! And I believe that she needs your help, Mayor Motley.”
The mayor leaned back in his large leather armchair. There was an expression of pain mingled with concern on his face. “My dear sweet wife may need my help. I hadn’t thought of it that way, Ms. Tilda. Yes, she may need my protection against this dastardly villain, whoever he may be!” He leaped from the chair with sudden determination. “Yes, I will go talk to Officer Campbell right this minute and tell him everything! Everything!” Then his mettle seemed to waver. He said faintly, “Ms. Tilda, will you—” and hesitated.
“Yes, sir, I will go with you!” She picked up her purse, slipped the handle over the crook of one arm, and rose from the chair. “Now I want you to know that you can always confide in Officer Douglas Winton Campbell. His mama is one of my dearest friends. And I’ve known him since he was a little bitty baby in his mother’s arms! Why, he had the purtiest blond curls that you ever did see. Did you know that, Mayor Motley?” She soothed and comforted the anxious mayor all the way to the police station.
FIFTEEN
Officer Douglas Winton Campbell drummed the eraser end of a pencil on the top of his big oak desk and studied the faces of the two people sitting before him. Mayor Motley’s countenance was crossed with a frown that mingled with concern and a touch of bewilderment. It reminded Campbell of a puppy whose owner had accidently stepped on a tiny paw.
Tilda MacArdan, on the other hand, met the officer’s gaze with confident compassion, even trust, he thought with a pang. He mused silently that she was a nosy old bird, but she had a heart of gold, and her instincts about people were better than that of any detective he’d ever met.
Campbell glanced over the quick notes he’d taken and cleared his throat. “Okay, to review. Maybellanne Motley has been seen meeting a person unknown outside her residence beginning approximately three weeks ago, and possibly at other places around town. Person is described by Mayor Motley, a witness, as a tall, slender man with short dark hair, approximately thirty to forty years old, although the mayor has never gotten a good look at the man’s face. May be able to identify this man if seen again, or may not. Object of the meetings has not been determined by the witness but appears to be suspicious.”
There was an awkward pause while the mayor shed a tear and blew his nose. The reading of the notes resumed when Mayor Motley regained his composure.
“It is the belief of the mayor that his wife may be having an illicit affair with the unknown man and perhaps plans to run away with him. It is also Motley’s belief that the unknown man is Edison Farlow, the object of the missing persons case currently under investigation by this department. Motley states that Farlow and his wife were very close as teenagers and that Farlow has always been sweet on her. The mayor requests that the police look into this possibility, and open an investigation regarding his wife if necessary.”
The mayor muffled a sob and Tilda quickly reached out to give his hand a comforting pat. She met Campbell’s eye and asked, “You will get right on it, won’t you, Douglas Winton? I know you will.”
Officer Campbell nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry, Mayor Motley, I will take care of this one myself. No need to involve any other officers at this time.” He looked at the sobbing man with pity but tried to hold on to his professional demeanor as he led his visitors to the door and opened it for them. “Thank you for telling me this, sir,” he said with surprising gentleness.
Mayor Motley nodded without saying a word and left hurriedly, his bald head bent and his eyes fastened on the floor. But Tilda paused for a moment and whispered, “Thank you, Douglas Winton. And you just might want to speak with Addie McRae before you have that little talk with Maybellanne. Ask her about the incident at the Coffee Click the other day.” She gave him a bright, encouraging smile and sped out the door.
SIXTEEN
Betty answered the door of the Motley home and stood there blinking in surprise in the bright summer sunshine. A policeman stood on the front porch, his finger on the doorbell and his foot tapping impatiently. She had a feeling it was a bad sign to have a policeman standing on a person’s front porch, ringing a doorbell, when nobody had called a policeman. She looked at him in fear, her round cheeks turning pink beneath the pasty complexion, and asked anxiously, “Yes, sir?”
“I’d like to speak with Mrs. Motley, please. Tell her Officer Campbell is here.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell her, sir. You wait here. Or should you come inside? Oh, mercy me!” The maid left the door standing open and fled upstairs to get the mayor’s wife.
Campbell stepped inside the foyer and closed the door behind him. He gazed at the interior of the lovely old home with appreciation. Maybellanne certainly had good taste, he thought, considering that s
he had grown up on the rough side of town. You’d never know it to look at the elegant wallpaper, plush drapes and gracious artwork adorning the living room to his right.
A footfall on the winding staircase caught his attentive ears. Maybellanne approached him with grace, one hand resting on the banister as she walked down the staircase. She was perfectly dressed in a soft pink jacket and skirt, a white silk blouse and white slingback heels. Her blond hair and makeup were skillfully done. It was quite a contrast to the skittish, frumpy woman who tiptoed behind her and nervously peered over Maybellanne’s shoulder at the policeman waiting below. Although the lady’s demeanor was charming and her expression emotionless, Campbell sensed hidden resentment beneath the surface.
“Afternoon, Maybellanne. Mind if I speak with you a minute?” He looked pointedly at Betty, who trembled in her flat shoes.
Maybellanne turned to the maid. Her tone was kind, her smile gracious, the perfect southern lady. She said, “You may go now, Betty. In fact, why not take the afternoon off? I don’t need anything else today.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Betty gulped and left the room in a hurry.
The mayor’s wife motioned Campbell toward the living room. “Care to sit down, Douglas? Can I get you something? Coffee, tea?” She waited until the policeman shook his head and then sat down on a white damask chair by the unlit fireplace. Her soft brown eyes met his gaze and he again felt that covert resentment seething under the polished facade.
The officer decided to remain standing. It would seem more intimidating to a hostile witness. “As you know, I’m investigating the disappearance of Edison Farlow.” He paused.
Maybellanne’s pink lips parted in surprise. “Edison? I haven’t seen Edison in ages. Is that why you’re here?”
“In a way, yes. It has come to my attention that you’ve recently been meeting someone—a man—in some out of the way places. I wondered if the man could be Edison. If so, maybe you know where he is, right now?”