by Lyn Key
“Sarah Cardwell earns a spot on our murder suspects list,” Hope said. “Which questions should we first ask about her?”
How far and hard did Sarah fall for Hugo during their Baltimore tryst? Did she feel betrayed and angry about his not calling her as he promised to do? Did she kill him? If she did kill him, how did she get him into the locked bookshop?
“So many questions need answers to them,” Hope said.
Are you going to repeat Sarah’s tale of romance and intrigue with the dead man Hugo to Sergeant Trogg?
“Absolutely not,” Hope replied. “For the first time, we’re not running ten minutes behind his homicide investigation, and I like how it feels.”
Chapter 9
Hope and Stacey lived in a 1990s Colonial home boasting wide-plank pine floors, airy bedrooms, and a natural gas log in the yellow brick fireplace. Hope bought an ornate hearth screen after Nozy Cat insisted on using the decorative fire glass chips for his litter box. She thought the two flowering pink dogwoods added a marvelous touch of color to the front yard for her birthday in April.
The Joneses’ Colonial sat on a cul-de-sac formerly known as Turkey Buzzard Court. Hope didn’t mind residing on a cul-de-sac, but one with such an unattractive bird name was too much. However, Stacey with her quirky sense of humor enjoyed a laugh over it.
Hope successfully petitioned the proper authorities to change the bird name to the more pleasant Bobwhite Court. However, the headstrong Stacey insisted on calling their cul-de-sac Turkey Buzzard Court. Hope said nothing and picked the bigger issues to fight over with Stacey. For instance, the dreaded D-word—dating—loomed ever closer for them to hash out more thoroughly.
“Tomorrow will top out in the low nineties,” Stacey said. They sat in the living room. “I’m going to school barefoot, and I don’t give three toots in a windstorm what old Principal Thighpen says about it.”
“The dress code doesn’t permit the young ladies to sashay around barefoot,” Hope said. “It’s a junior high school campus, not a beach volleyball court.”
Allow me to broker a compromise, if I may.
“What’s your compromise?” Stacey asked.
Just wear your Crocs or open-toed sandals to school tomorrow. Surely, Principal Thighpen won’t object to such acceptable footwear.
“She’ll probably pull me aside and give me a lecture,” Stacey said. “But I love your idea. What do you say, Mom?”
“It’s more civilized than going to class barefoot,” Hope replied. “Thanks for sparing us from having a fight, Nozy Cat.”
“Mom, I’ll go sweep the grass clippings off the front walkway,” Stacey said.
“Thanks,” Hope said.
“Have you seen the broom lately?” Stacey asked.
“Isn’t it in the rack behind the laundry room door?” Hope replied. “That’s where I always put it when I’m finished with using it.”
“I just looked and I didn’t see it there,” Stacey said.
“That’s odd,” Hope said before she caught Nozy Cat’s furtive glance away when she looked at him. “Or maybe it’s not so odd,” she said. “I ran into a similar problem today at the bookshop.”
“Why can’t we keep up with our brooms?” Stacey asked. “What happened to you?”
“Oh, never mind,” Hope said, just remembering their alleged witches’ heritage story. “It’s too silly to bring up.”
“Silly is my middle name,” Stacey said. “Tell me.”
If you don’t let Stace in on the silliness, then you can be certain I will.
“Nozy Cat dropped the bombshell when he claimed Peggy Sue and I are descended from the seventeenth-century witches of Salem Village,” Hope said. “So, he took it upon himself to conceal the brooms from us because there’s going to be a full moon tonight.”
I always have your welfare first in mind.
“Crazy awesome!” Stacey said, giving Nozy Cat a happy pat on the head before she did a fist pump. “I’m a teenage witch like Sabrina. Eat your heart out Amanda Smothers voted the class president and made the cheerleading captain.”
“Before you let it go to your head, we don’t possess any special powers,” Hope said. “I wouldn’t depend on twitching my nose like Samantha did on Bewitched to cast a magical spell.”
I only said you’re related to the witches and not that you’re actual modern witches. I don’t know about that part. I have a hard enough time with trying to keep up with the intricacies of my talking cat role.
“What allows Nozy Cat to talk like he does to us?” Stacey asked. “What do you say about it?”
I don’t know what gives me the power to converse with you. I’ve met no other cat who can do it. At any rate, I’ll return the broom to its original place on the rack behind the laundry room door.
“Just leave the brooms alone from now on,” Hope said. “Nothing will happen tonight or any other night. Stacey doesn’t even have her learner’s permit to drive.”
Stacey giggled. “But don’t think I wouldn’t thrill to take a broom out for a sky cruise under the Big Dipper and moon. Talk about your riding on a high-octane rollercoaster.”
“Don’t you owe your history teacher Mr. Stanhope a research paper?” Hope asked.
“I’m still looking for my paper topic,” Stacey replied. “Hey, I know what. Suppose I write my report on the Salem Village witches. They must have an interesting history.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Hope said. “If I were you, I’d first get Mr. Stanhope’s approval before I did a lot of research. He might turn around and bounce your paper.”
“Great idea,” Stacey said.
“We can agree on something,” Hope said. “Crazy awesome.”
“What’s say we eat out tonight?” Stacey said. “Can we break open the piggy bank and cover it?”
“I’m way too bushed to cook dinner for us,” Hope replied. “What tickles your palate? Chinese? Italian? Lebanese? You can pick the one.”
“Make it Lebanese,” Stacey replied. “I’m in the right mood for eating dinner at Abdullah’s Diner.”
“I’ll call up Peggy Sue and invite her to go along with us,” Hope said. “Travis has to work late tonight.”
***
The only authentic Lebanese restaurant in Sweet Springs was Abdullah’s Diner found between the new women’s shoe store and cosmetics shop on the bypass. Stacey had first heard about its delicious food from her school friends. Hope favored dining at the Yellow Ribbon Café, and she was reluctant to try a new eatery. She only relented after Stacey dared her to give Abdullah’s Diner a fair chance. Their tasty orders using just the right amounts of garlic and olive oil won over Hope, and they became the newest fans of Lebanese cuisine.
Still early for the supper hour, Abdullah’s Diner had no other customers. Hope, Stacey, and Peggy Sue placed their orders: chicken shawarma on pita for Hope while Stacey and Peggy Sue selected the lentil soup with cucumber salad. They all saved room to order the baklava later for dessert.
They cooled their heels waiting at an empty table. Hope felt a pang of guilt over the money she’d spent, but she justified it as a priceless mother-daughter bonding experience. Stacey had taken out her smart phone from her handbag.
“Don’t take a snapshot of your dinner when it arrives and upload it to share with the world,” Hope said. “Everybody already knows how Lebanese dishes look.”
“I’m checking my text messages,” Stacey said. “Why are you scowling, Mom? Didn’t you ever hear scowls give you crow’s feet and age lines?”
“I have the worrisome matter of the dead body I discovered and reported to the police,” Hope replied. “Somebody murdered Hugo Spangler, and it’s worth a scowl.”
“My school friends have asked me about him,” Stacey said.
“We’re becoming local celebrities for the wrong reasons,” Peggy Sue said.
“Don’t give them anymore than what I’ve told you,” Hope said. “I don’t want to help feed the town gossip mill whis
pering ugly things about us.”
“I know how not to blab,” Stacey said. “Meantime, I’ll be a girl private eye while I’m searching high and low for the important clues.”
Hope smiled. “Have I obsessed over the murder that much?”
“Not every minute of the day, but it has distracted you a little,” Stacey replied.
“I wish I had happier news, kiddo,” Hope said. “You’ll have to suck it up because things won’t improve until we can get out from under this dark cloud.”
“It may not seem like it, but I think we’re slowly getting there,” Peggy Sue said.
Stacey made her own scowl as she gazed up to the front counter. “Are we ever going to get served? I only ate my granola bar for lunch, and I’m starving to death.”
Hope followed Stacey’s look. “With my stomach growling, I’ve wondered the same thing.”
“Maybe they forgot about us,” Stacey said.
“I’ll go up to the counter and get a status when Hakim returns,” Peggy Sue said.
A tall, lean man barged through the door and strode into the lobby. Hope recognized him as Dan McCabe. He’d driven off after she and Peggy Sue accosted him on Main Street. He admitted to quarreling with Hugo in the post office but turned hostile and evasive when they zeroed in asking Dan why.
Dressed in khakis and not the bib overalls, Dan gave the unattended counter a disgusted look. Gaping around the dining area, he also spotted no counterman and ignored the three strong-willed women seated there. He removed the Baltimore Orioles baseball cap from his head and scratched his scalp. Still no counterman appeared. He stuffed back on the Orioles baseball cap, leaned over the counter, and craned his neck to gain a better sightline back into the kitchen.
“Hey, Hakim!” Dan shouted. “Are you puttering around back there? Yo, Hakim!”
Hope and Peggy Sue watched him.
“Can I get a little counter service?” He pounded his fist on the countertop.
They exchanged glances.
“Hakim, get up front.” Dan thumped his fist harder. “Now!”
“What’s Dan’s problem this evening?” Hope asked.
“Evidently, his time is more valuable than everybody else’s is,” Peggy Sue replied.
“Hakim, did I spot your PT Cruiser parked at a certain place yesterday afternoon?” Dan asked. “I snapped a picture of the lady who sat by you, and I know who’d go ballistic at seeing it.” Dan laughed.
Hope noticed Stacey swiping through the screens on her smart phone.
“Yo, Hakim, can you hear me?” Dan asked. “Was that somebody else’s silver metallic PT Cruiser I saw?”
The frazzled counterman Hakim waddled out from the kitchen, and the leering Dan gave his order. Hakim nodded as he jotted it down on the pad of paper.
“What’s the charge for the mess?” Dan asked, glowering down at Hakim.
“No charge, Dan,” Hakim replied. “I got you covered.”
“I figured as much, but I wanted to hear you say it,” Dan said.
“But I get something in return,” Hakim said. “Right?”
“My old eyes sometimes play tricks on me,” Dan replied.
“Then you’ll forget about what you saw yesterday afternoon,” Hakim said. “Right?”
“Consider it done, old friend,” Dan replied. “Until tomorrow when I come in, that is.”
Hakim just grunted as he left for the kitchen.
Dan strolled over to an empty table, took a seat, and got absorbed in his smart phone.
Meantime, Hope sized up Dan from the corner of eye with a new awareness about him.
Chapter 10
Jazz had been one of Hope’s guilty pleasures for a long time. However, not just any jazz would do for her listening enjoyment. She liked the jazz recorded during the late 1950s when Miles Davis and John Coltrane had played at their musical peaks, at least to her way of thinking. Although Coltrane had died in 1967 way before she was born, she listened to them blending their prodigious talents on 1959’s mega-selling Kind of Blue.
She thought of J.D. when she listened to it while relaxing on the bed as she did now. He died in a hit-and-run accident early one Saturday morning while he was out jogging on the town streets. The fatal accident had gone unsolved over the four summers, a source of frustration grating on Hope.
No leads, no eyewitnesses, and no suspects had surfaced. Hope strongly suspected alcohol or drugs had played a role in the accident. She never expected to identify the hit-and-run driver. She felt as if a person in Sweet Springs knew something, but they hadn’t come forward. Time hadn’t lessened the confusion and anger she felt over J.D.’s violent death, and, if anything, she’d grown sadder. She’d worn her wedding ring for several years afterward as if in protest of her widowhood. The possibility to remarry had never entered her mind.
“Thanks for your phone call, Mrs. Jones,” Sergeant Trogg would say.
Yeah, I know how much you look forward to getting them on the last work day of each month, Hope thought. “Is there any new development on J.D.’s case?” she asked.
Sergeant Trogg gave his stock response. “Nothing exciting has developed since we last spoke, or I would’ve notified you. But rest assured we continue working hard on his case, and we follow up on every lead we get in.”
“You’ll let me know if anything, no matter how trivial, comes up,” Hope said.
“I know to contact you immediately when that happens,” Sergeant Trogg said. “Try to stay calm and patient, Mrs. Jones, because I haven’t forgotten about you.”
“Just remember I’ll be staying in touch with you,” Hope would say.
Hope now plucked out the ear buds, ranged up from the bed, and crossed the hallway to Stacey’s bedroom. The crack of light shining from the doorsill showed she was still up, perhaps writing her history paper for Mr. Stanhope’s class if Hope dared to think it.
Stacey had to plug away and keep up her grades. Hope kept stressing the importance of maintaining a solid GPA for Stacey to get into a respectable state university like James Madison University or George Mason University. She was a smart kid with a bright future, and Hope vowed to keep Stacey running on the right track. Who knew what the future would yield? Maybe she’d get filthy rich and set up Hope as a lady of leisure. Yeah, right. Even so, it felt good to fantasize.
After tapping a knuckle on the bedroom door, Hope spoke through it. “Stace, are you busy writing your history paper?”
“I even used footnotes with a full bibliography, and I just need to print it out. Have you been staying up to talk to me?”
“I was up anyway unwinding to a little music.”
“Were you grooving again on Miles and Trane?”
Hope laughed. “Hey, I’ve also seen you listening to their music.”
“Just kidding.”
“I know. May I come in?”
“Oh sure, do if you like. You know I keep no secrets.”
“No skeletons hang in your bedroom closet.”
“I don’t even keep Yorick’s skull on my top closet shelf.”
“You’ve been reading the Bard. That’s good stuff.”
Hope at opening the bedroom door saw Stacey sitting at the small wooden desk. She had out her laptop running with a tropical beach screen display. Hope remembered back in the dark ages when she’d used moldy encyclopedias and library reference books for doing her historical research. Today’s high school students also had access to online scholarly journals along with the popular search engines like Bing and Google. Schools frowned on the use of Wikipedia that anybody, including the students, could change if they wished. Hope sat on the end of the bed.
“Is your history paper on the American witches of yore?” Hope asked.
Stacey gave a solemn nod. “I’ve discovered to my dismay they didn’t lead happy lives.”
“They didn’t have things so easy in Salem Village where brute ignorance, superstition, and fear ruled the day.”
“History isn’t always fun, b
ut I’m glad I got the real story.”
Hope nodded. “Have you seen Nozy Cat since we arrived home from Abdullah’s Diner?”
“He lay stretched out asleep on top of the dryer the last time I saw him. Did you look for him there?”
“I just wondered since I haven’t seen him prowling about or heard him talking lately.”
Stacey smiled. “He’s like the third member of our family.”
“That’s true but don’t let him in on it. He’s already smug enough.”
Stacey’s mood turned pensive as her smile faded. “Speaking of family members, tell me something else about Dad.”
Hope smiled. “I like to talk about J.D. Which part interests you?”
“I never heard about the first time he told you he loved you.”
“Ah, you want to know the mushy stuff. I was just thinking of J.D. Perhaps I’m not much of a sentimentalist, but I don’t recall the first time he did.”
“Then which occasion sticks in your memory when he said it?”
Hope smiled again. “One summer night we saw a movie playing at the drive-in cinema in the next county.” Hope cast a glance at Stacey. “Are you familiar with the drive-in cinema?” Hope asked. “No, I guess you wouldn’t be. Sad to say, they’ve almost disappeared from the landscape. It was a large parking lot where we relaxed in our parked vehicles and watched the film the projectionist showed on the giant silver screen. A towheaded kid hustled around the lot offering to clean our windshields for tips.”
“I know what the drive-in cinemas are, Mom. I’ve watched the YouTube videos about them. They sound like a neat place to go and have fun at night.”
Hope acted casual. “So, during the intermission, J.D. looked me straight in the eye, said he loved me, and kissed me.”
Stacey waited during the dramatic pause that lengthened into silence, meaning Hope had finished describing the scene. “That’s it?” Stacey asked.
Hope laughed. “I’m afraid it is, honey. What did you expect to hear?”
“Didn’t your eyes lock as he peered into the windows of your soul? Didn’t your heart leap up into your throat and beat like hummingbird’s wing? Didn’t you tell him the same thing, your voice husky with emotion?”