by Curry, Edna
“You’re homesick again,” she scolded herself wryly.
The weather was gorgeous considering that it was only the first week of May. Some trees were still bare, and others had fat buds on them. The lawns were beginning to green up. In another week or so the scenery would all change. In fact, it often changed so much from one visit to the country to the next that it seemed to Lacey that some artist had been there to wield his paintbrush across the landscape, painting it green.
The beautiful spring weather brought back so many memories both pleasant and painful. She had first known she was in love with Arthur on a day like this. They had, to be truthful, had many happy times together. They had married right after high-school and taken a small apartment in Minneapolis where they had both gotten jobs.
She realized now that they had both been much too young, too immature. Soon she’d discovered he had another girlfriend, and they’d gone their separate ways. But she’d held out hope for a while, more because she refused to accept failure than because she still loved him. Until he’d demanded a divorce to marry someone else. She remembered too well the pain when he’d told her. Perhaps one’s first love is always special. Henry had been her anchor during that awful time.
By then her father had died, leaving enough insurance money to enable Lacey to go to college. And his pipe-dream, of course, she thought wryly. Grandfather Bill’s land. But that possible inheritance would probably be of no help to either herself or her mother for years, because of Bill’s untimely death. Bill’s estate was still unsettled and a tenant farmer rented the land now. Mr. Hammerton, their family lawyer, held the money in escrow while the slow legal machinery ground on, forever and ever, it seemed. The way it looked now, the verdict would be against them and in favor of Bill’s second wife, with Minnie’s children inheriting it. Or rather, her son Jake, since no one had heard from her daughter, Helen, for years.
Lacey had always been fond of Helen, accepting her as an aunt although she was no blood relation. Lacey remembered the times she’d visited Bill’s farm, and she and Helen, who was a gentle, mature woman when Lacey was an unsure awkward teenager, had shared the porch swing and talked of many things. Jake, on the other hand, Lacey disliked intensely. That all seemed so long ago, almost like another world.
Anyway, Lacey wasn’t counting on any inheritance. She was perfectly capable of earning her own way. In college she’d thrown herself into her studies, finally choosing business as her major. After college she’d landed this job at Armstrong Investigations.
Weekends at home in Landers with her mother had grown painful, too. In fact, Kate adjusted well after Lacey’s father’s death. Soon, too soon, it seemed to Lacey, Kate had married Carl, a man both her parents had known for many years.
When Lacey had protested, Kate had said, “Please don’t object, dear. Carl and I are both alone and we’ve gotten along well for years. Why shouldn’t we spend our later years together? You know your father wouldn’t want me to be lonely and unhappy like I have been for the past year.”
In the end, of course, Lacey had agreed. It was not up to her anyway; it was Kate’s choice, her life.
Kate had moved to Florida, to live permanently in what had formerly been her new husband’s winter residence, and Lacey seldom saw her. They exchanged occasional phone calls and letters, but weren’t close. They never had been.
So Uncle Henry’s cabin had become Lacey’s home away from home. He was a crotchety old man on the surface, but warm as a fur coat inside. They had spent many lovely weekends at his cabin, playing cards in front of the fireplace with a big bowl of popcorn between them.
Her foot grew heavier on the accelerator in anticipation of seeing him again. She turned off the freeway onto the narrow two lane blacktop road to Landers, the small town that had been her home while she was growing up and where Uncle Henry had his shop.
There weren’t too many cars on Main Street, so she had no trouble pulling to the curb almost in front of the old-fashioned brick building.
The door to Henry’s Antiques was locked. How odd that he would be out of reach so many times in just two days. If his shop were closed because he was ill, surely he would have answered the phone at his cabin? His letter had told her to come for the weekend; he wouldn’t have gone out of town.
Since Henry had a cot in the back room and sometimes lay down for a nap there, she knocked, but no one answered.
She walked on down the street to the little grocery store, deciding to try phoning both the shop and the cabin before driving out there. If Henry needed any supplies, she could buy them now rather than coming all the way back into town for them later.
The delicious warm smell of hickory smoke tickled her nostrils as she walked into the store. Mmm. Sam must have the smokehouse running.
“Hi, Sam. It smells yummy in here. What kind is it, today?”
Sam was standing behind the meat counter, turning the handle of his sausage stuffer. He smiled at her, but there was an uneasiness in his welcome, and sympathy in his face.
“Hello, there, Lacey. Smoked chickens you’re smelling, I just took them out of the smokehouse. Still hot, and ready to eat. This is Bratwurst that I’m stuffing now. Figured you’d be out yet today, when you didn’t come last night. An awful thing, that. I was so sorry to hear.”
Thick, sickening fear filled her throat as she stared at him. She was surprised to hear her own voice rasp, “What do you mean? Sorry to hear about what?”
“Why, about someone murdering Henry last night, of course.”
“Murdering Henry?” Her voice came out in a high squeak. It couldn’t be true. Uncle Henry couldn’t be dead.
“You mean you didn’t know? Oh, my God! Hey, easy, Lacey.” For a big man, Sam was surprisingly light on his feet. “Lacey!” His anguished voice preceded his burly body around the meat counter.
She leaned against it, her hands grasping the metal edge not even feeling the cold. Everything seemed to be moving in a circle around her, and she heard a funny buzz in her ears.
“Come sit down.” He led her back to a small secluded coffee-break area away from the rest of the store and lowered her into a chair. “Put your head down between your knees,” he directed brusquely. “I’ll be right back.”
Lacey obeyed his voice, though nothing seemed to make sense. Gradually the room stopped moving. She raised her head as she heard Sam return.
“Here, drink this.” He pressed a cup of coffee into her hand. “Sorry I don’t have anything stronger, but never keep it around down here.”
She sipped the dark, hot liquid gratefully.
“I’m all right now. Tell me what happened to Uncle Henry.”
Sam’s face worked uncontrollably. “I thought they would have called you. I didn’t mean to tell you like that. Wait ’til I get hold of Ben. He’ll hear about doing his job.”
“Never mind that. My phone’s been out. Is he really dead? What happened?”
Sam nodded sadly. “Somebody hit him over the head from behind at his desk in back of the shop last night. Old Buster found him this morning when he didn’t show up for their usual morning coffee get-together at the Flame.”
She shuddered, tears welling, but fought them back. She mustn’t break down now, or Sam would stop talking. Most men hated tears and cleared out as soon as they began to fall. She took another deep breath and asked, “What does Ben think?”
“He’s in the dark as much as the rest of us, I think. He never says much, especially when he’s stumped. But this is one time I don’t envy him that fancy sheriff’s badge. The people in this county are upset. We don’t get much rough stuff around here, you know.” He regarded her thoughtfully.
“Where is the...Uncle Henry now? At Meyers’ Funeral Home?”
“Yes. Ben called him, after he and his deputy and the Medical Examiner took all their pictures, and so on.”
She drained her coffee cup and stood up, putting out her hand in thanks to Sam. “I’ll go over there now, then. Thanks, Sam.”
Sam’s wife, Janet joined them and added her sympathies as they walked Lacey to the door, offering their help if she needed it in any way.
She walked down the street to Meyers’ Funeral Home. Outside the large new building, a hedge of purple lilacs cast out their sweet, cloying scent to meet her. The lawns were greening up in the well-groomed yard. She walked under the brick arch over the driveway, dreading her errand, yet needing to be sure. Not that there could be any doubt. There were probably few people in town who couldn’t have identified Henry Schmidt.
It was Henry all right. Mr. Meyers was apologetic and solicitous. She had never liked the man. He was too neat, overdressed in a suit and tie, and too polite. He led her to the comfortable private lounge he kept for families to meet in, and they sat in the soft chairs. She could hardly wait to finish answering the necessary questions so she could leave.
“I’m behind schedule because of the coroner, you know. Unusual case. Only happened to me once before, and that was years ago, not so many fancy tests and stuff, then, you know. A man could just be buried in peace.”
“Times have changed, I’m sure,” Lacey agreed automatically.
“When we couldn’t get a hold of either you or Kate, I took the liberty of calling Jerry. He got a hold of Kate in Florida. Said she would be up on the next plane. Jerry was going into the airport to pick her up tonight, I think. She’ll stay with them, he said.”
“I suppose.” Jerry was Kate’s new stepson, and there was also a new step-grandson that she adored. Of course Kate would stay with them. She would expect Lacey to be strong and able to care for herself, as usual. Pain stabbed through her at the thought that she was always supposed to cope, however much it hurt, to keep up appearances.
Mr. Meyers was speaking again. Somehow she brought her mind back to the present.
“You’ll be staying at Henry’s cabin?”
“Yes, for now at least.”
“Ben’s here,” he said gently. “He has a few questions.”
Word spreads fast in a small town. Sam probably called Sheriff Ben to give him hell for not reaching me earlier.
Mr. Meyers quietly left and Lacey turned to face the sheriff. Ben was a tall, angular, man, with a thick shock of brown hair, and a large bent nose, which he often rubbed unconsciously as he talked, as though it still ached from being broken years before.
But there was little Ben could tell her. “It probably happened early last night. Between six and seven, the coroner thinks,” he said. “We’ll know more after he gets the test results back.”
“When was he found?” She hated to think of him just lying there alone, perhaps in pain before he died.
Ben seemed to read her thoughts. “Old Buster found him this morning,” he said gently. “Henry didn’t show up for their usual morning coffee, so Buster went to the shop. It was still closed, which was odd, so he knocked, then found the door was unlocked. He walked in and found him there. That sure shook up Buster. I thought he would have a heart attack when he called me on the phone.”
Lacey shuddered at the picture. “They were good buddies, you know.”
“Yes, they were. A dozen of us guys were. Doc says Henry probably died instantly. Most likely, he hardly knew what hit him,” Ben added.
Lacey wasn’t able to tell the sheriff much either.
“I was supposed to come last night. I wish I had. If I had been here, Henry would have been out at the cabin having supper with me instead of working late.”
“Tomorrow we’ll have to go over the shop,” Ben said gently. “Maybe you will be able to notice something missing or unusual.”
“I’ll try,” she agreed doubtfully. “But I haven’t been around the shop that much. And Uncle Henry could have bought or sold lots of things since I was last out here.”
“I know,” Ben said morosely. “That’s the hell of it. Henry ain’t likely to have told anyone if he was onto something big or special. And it had to have been something special for a man to kill for it.”
“But the whole thing’s crazy. Ben, you knew Uncle Henry. He didn’t have the money to deal in anything big. Most of his stuff was more ‘early attic’ than real antique.”
“I know. But he was a smart old bird. And he did know his business. Maybe he found something at a bargain which turned out to be valuable, later. Hell, I don’t know either, Lacey. But who would want to kill Henry for any other reason?”
***
The sun was setting as Lacey walked back down the almost deserted street to her car. It was too late to get supplies, she’d make do with whatever Henry had in the refrigerator and come back into town in the morning.
As she opened her car door, she saw there was a grocery bag on the passenger side of the front seat.
She opened it to find fresh rolls from the bakery, a bottle of white wine, and one of Sam’s cooked smoked chickens, still warm and fragrant from the smokehouse. No need to worry about supper.
Tears of gratitude at Sam and Janet’s thoughtfulness blurred her view of the spectacular sunset as she headed west towards Henry’s lake home. Thick evergreens lined the lake shore. Lacey followed the ill-kept, winding gravel road with care. After the past week’s spring rains, potholes appeared everywhere.
Uncle Henry’s home, which he’d called a ‘cabin,’ stood in a wooded area, ‘with lots of privacy,’ her mother always said.
To Lacey, in the growing darkness, it seemed only secluded and lonely. She shuddered at the idea of sleeping there alone. But where else could she go? The thought of an hour’s drive back to her apartment in Minneapolis in the dark held even less appeal.
She parked on the driveway beside the cabin and picked up her bag, briefcase and purse, leaving the car lights on to see by. Her shoes made a loud noise on the crushed rock as she walked to the door. She put down her bags, found the key, and opened the door.
A dark shadow leapt out at her. She screamed and jumped a foot. Then she heard welcoming barks and a wet nose nudged her bare ankle.
“Scamp!” she scolded, laughing in relief. She squatted down and hugged his rich rust-colored fur. “Why didn’t you bark and let me know you were here? I forgot about you. You scared me out of ten year’s growth.”
No wonder Scamp hadn’t barked, he must have recognized the sound of her car’s motor. Henry had often said he could tell who was driving up their driveway by watching his Golden Labrador. If the visitor was someone Scamp knew, he merely looked alert and wagged his tail. But if it was a stranger, he barked and his fur stood straight up on the back of his muscular neck.
He allowed her to rub his ears for a moment, then he danced about her exuberantly again, then dashed down the path to the lake for a run. She stood watching him as he disappeared in the gathering dusk, thankful that she hadn’t gone back to the city after all. There would have been no one to care for Scamp. Hearing about Henry’s murder had been more of a shock than she realized. She’d completely forgotten about his dog, and it might have been days before anyone else remembered.
She carried her things inside, then turned off the car lights and locked the car. Scamp came dashing back to go inside with her. “I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you, boy?”
Lacey carefully locked the cabin door behind her, thankful for Henry’s deadbolt locks, and went to the kitchen to feed and water Scamp. Then she carried the food to the kitchen to put them away and made herself a cup of tea. Curling up with it in her soft brown easy chair in the living room, she tried to relax.
She tried not to look at Henry’s favorite green-striped easy chair across from hers beside the fireplace. A western novel and his cigarettes and lighter were lying on the little antique carved table beside his chair, as though he had just stepped outdoors to get another log for the fireplace.
Now he would never return. She gave in to her tears. Scamp put his head on her knees and whined questioningly.
“He’s gone, Scamp. Some horrible person hit him over the head and killed him. He’s not coming back.”
She rubbed his head and sighed. “Oh, how can I make you understand? I don’t even understand it.”
Later she began to think more clearly and called her boss, Mrs. Harper, at her home. Better tonight than Sunday morning, she thought. Mrs. Harper willingly granted her leave, so that she could take care of the funeral and other matters here.
Like what to do with Scamp. And the cabin. Who would own it now? Her bedroom here contained all the memories she had in the world except for the few things she’d taken to her apartment.
Would Uncle Henry have made a will? He had never talked about things like that. In fact, he had seemed so young and vital, she’d expected him to live for many more years. At that, she broke into a fresh torrent of tears.
Much later, she ate her gift supper and got ready for bed. Nervously, she decided to call Kate at her stepson’s house to see if they had arrived home from the airport yet. Actually, she just wanted to hear someone’s voice to dispel some of the loneliness.
***
Her mother had indeed arrived. They talked awhile, but there was little consolation in their conversation. Kate told Lacey what little she knew, and Lacey repeated what Ben had said.
“The funeral is set for Monday at two.”
“I left the details of the service and memory pamphlet for you, Mom. I knew you’d like to do those yourself.” And would only do them over your own way, anyway if I had done them.
“Yes, of course. I’ll do them in the morning. I already talked to Pastor Jackson. He’s coming over after worship services tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t like you staying out there alone,” Kate said worriedly. “What if the murderer comes out there? Come in and stay here with us.”
The thought of sleeping under her stepbrother’s roof repelled Lacey. “No, Mom, I’m ready for bed. I have the phone, and Scamp. I’ll be fine here at the cabin.”