She and Sonny Elwood would be a pair. But Michael couldn’t worry about that. Not now. “Whoever. If you can’t locate Sonny or Felicia, call Mrs. Gibson. Miss Fonda is her responsibility.”
“I’ll get somebody there pronto,” Betty Jean said. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Guess you’d better call Geraldine’s family.”
“I don’t know of any family except her son.” Betty Jean sounded doubtful. “He moved to Florida years ago.”
“No nieces or nephews?” Didn’t everybody in Hidden Springs have family here?
“None I know about. She moved here from Tennessee years ago after her husband died. Her son was a couple years ahead of me in school. He was cute in a nerdy kind of way.”
“See if you can find his number and I’ll call him later. And get that 911 call so we can listen to it. Maybe we’ll recognize the voice.”
“Sure, but I can’t stay late today. It is Friday, you know, and I’ve got plans.”
“A date?”
“You take care of business there and I’ll take care of my business.”
Betty Jean clicked off the line before Michael could ask if her business had anything to do with antiques. It didn’t matter. He had his hands full without worrying about Vernon Trent and Betty Jean.
Miss Fonda’s eyes flickered open and she smiled. Not her fretful smile, but her comfortable, old-lady smile. She was back in place, at least temporarily. “Michael. What are you doing here?”
Michael pushed an answering smile across his face. “I came with you for a visit to the home place. To make sure everything was okay.”
She looked around. “And is it?”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”
“I guess.” She rubbed her hand over the tabletop. “Except the house feels so empty. Like everybody left and forgot to tell me where they went.” Then she sighed. “And now I just have to wait. But they won’t let me wait here, will they?”
“Mrs. Gibson is expecting you for dinner.” Michael pulled another chair out and sat in front of her.
“Is she?” Miss Fonda sighed again. Then she brightened a bit. “Do you think she’ll have pie?”
“She might. Something sweet anyway.”
“I like sweets. Audrey tells me I’m going to get fat. She eats like a bird. So afraid of losing her figure.” The puzzled look settled on Miss Fonda’s face again. “Where is she? Isn’t she here?”
“Not right now.” Michael kept his smile easy.
“She’s probably off in Eagleton at one of her social events. That girl is always on the go. Guess I’d better be on the go too.” She pushed down on the table to stand up.
Michael didn’t try to stop her. By the time they walked outside, somebody might be there to get her. He took her arm. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you.” She patted his arm. “Such a nice young man.”
The front door opened and Sonny Elwood called, “What’s going on here?”
A tremble went through Miss Fonda. “Oh dear. He sounds angry. He won’t like me being here. He never did.”
4
“It’s okay, Miss Fonda. You know Sonny. He’s your nephew.”
“Not mine.” Miss Fonda’s voice was low, almost fierce. “Gilbert may have to claim him, but I don’t.”
“Who called the sheriff?” Sonny demanded as he came toward the kitchen. His steps were loud on the hardwood floor. “It’s nobody’s business except ours if we want to sell this monstrosity. Fonda will never—”
He stopped in midsentence when he stepped into the kitchen and saw Miss Fonda. “Aunt Fonnie. Did Mrs. Gibson let you get away again?” He raised his voice and gave the old lady a supercilious smile.
“I am not deaf, young man.” Miss Fonda stretched up to her full five foot height and glared at Sonny. “And my name is Fonda. Fonda Joyce Chandler Elwood.”
Sonny’s smile didn’t change. “I know your name. The question is, do you know mine?” He flicked his glance over at Michael as if including him in on a joke.
Michael didn’t smile. “Miss Fonda needs a ride back to Mrs. Gibson’s.”
He’d never liked Sonny much and right now he liked him less by the minute. The man was all surface looks, from his blond hair combed back without a strand out of place to his button-down collars. No substance underneath. The man had to be well into his thirties and still living with his mother.
“Then why don’t you take her?” Sonny’s smile disappeared. “No need bothering me. You’re the public servant.”
“Didn’t Betty Jean call you?”
“Betty Jean? No, but I do have an appointment to meet Geraldine here. She’s doing an appraisal. Not that it’s any of your business.” Sonny looked down the hall toward the front door. “Where is Geraldine anyway?”
“Have we seen Geraldine?” Miss Fonda’s puzzled look was back. “Maybe she went somewhere with Audrey.”
Sonny blew out a disgusted breath and rolled his eyes. “Deliver me from crazy old women.” His muttered words were loud enough for Miss Fonda to hear.
Michael considered forgetting about being that public servant and punching the man in the nose. But he restrained himself. “There have been some complications. After you take Miss Fonda back to Mrs. Gibson’s, I’ll explain it all to you. In detail.” He’d like to tell the man some other things in detail.
Sonny folded his arms across his chest. “You take her. I’ve got an appointment with Geraldine Harper.” He looked like a spoiled five-year-old.
“Geraldine isn’t going to be able to keep that appointment. Not today. Not ever.” Michael didn’t want to talk about the woman being dead in front of Miss Fonda. Not and bring back her keening grief.
Right on cue, a knock sounded on the front door. Justin Thatcher called back through the house. “Michael, are you in here? Where’s the body?”
“Body?” The color drained from Sonny’s face.
“I hope you’ve been paying the insurance premiums.” Michael gave Sonny a hard look as he eased Miss Fonda past him toward the front door. “Come on, Miss Fonda. I’ll walk you to the car.”
“Geraldine?” Sonny said.
“There’s been an accident.” Michael looked over his shoulder at Sonny.
“It wasn’t an accident.” Miss Fonda’s voice quavered. “I know that’s what people said, but I know better.”
“What’s she talking about?” Sonny asked.
“Something that happened some other time, I think,” Michael said.
“Everything’s some other time with her.” Sonny made a face. “But you can’t pay attention to anything she says. She’s always dreaming up things that never happened.”
Miss Fonda’s arm was rigid against Michael. “It did happen.” She turned to point at Sonny. “He killed her.”
Sonny held his hands up in front of him. His face flushed red. “Whoa, Aunt Fonnie. Don’t be telling people I killed somebody. The deputy here might take you serious.”
“Enough.” Michael stared back at Sonny again and put authority in his voice. “Be quiet and do what needs to be done for once in your life.”
“That’s all I am doing. What needs to be done when somebody lives too long.” Sonny stared toward Miss Fonda.
Duct tape. That was what Michael needed. A strip of the stuff over Sonny’s mouth, but unfortunately he didn’t have any. Or any way to make the man quit talking short of shooting him, and that wasn’t exactly in the deputy guide book. Ignoring him was his only choice, especially with Miss Fonda visibly wilting after her burst of anger.
Justin was waiting in the entrance hall. “Betty Jean said it was Geraldine Harper. Can that be right?”
Instead of answering the coroner, Michael gave his head a slight shake. “Miss Fonda’s tired. She’s ready to head back to Mrs. Gibson’s. She doesn’t want to miss dinner.”
Justin’s expression changed at once as he stepped over to take Miss Fonda’s free hand. “How are you doing, Miss Fonda? Well, I hope.”
Some people said Justin only took such interest in the older folks in Hidden Springs because he was the town’s undertaker, but there was nothing fake about Justin. His business might be funerals, but he was never in a hurry to perform that service for anyone. He grieved right along with the families. Justin was also the town’s coroner, a position he’d threatened to quit more than once in the last year. But the little man was civic-minded. Somebody had to do the job. The same as somebody had to enforce the laws in their county. But this was surely nothing more than a tragic accident.
After they exchanged a few words, Michael guided Miss Fonda past Justin out onto the wide veranda porch.
A phone rang in the house behind them. A sound like church bells. Geraldine’s phone. A call she’d never answer.
Miss Fonda stopped at the edge of the porch steps. “My goodness, are we having a party?”
The driveway was full of cars. Geraldine’s. Michael’s cruiser. Sonny’s BMW. It wasn’t new, but even so, how did the man manage that with his spotty work record? Then Justin had eased his hearse around Sonny’s car to get nearer the door. The bushes in front of the porch would take a while to recover. If that wasn’t already enough, Hank Leland’s beat-up old van pulled into the driveway. The newspaper editor had a nose for anything happening in Hidden Springs. And four vehicles in Miss Fonda’s driveway were sure to set off his newshound instincts.
Hank clambered out of the van and jogged up the driveway, his camera bouncing against his chest.
Maybe Michael could get Hank to take Miss Fonda back to the home. That way she wouldn’t be subjected to Sonny. Then again, if Hank heard Miss Fonda talk about a man making somebody fall down a flight of stairs, who knew what story might show up in the Hidden Springs Gazette. Hank liked headlines that grabbed attention on the paper stands.
Michael would just as soon Hank had no news to report other than the latest fender bender or the high school football score. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the headlines in next week’s issue.
“Mike.” Hank’s shirttail was out and he was panting by the time he got to the steps. Those extra slices of pie at the Hidden Springs Grill didn’t help his waistline. He took a breath and smiled at Miss Fonda as Michael guided her down the steps. “Miss Fonda, it’s good to see you. Really good.”
He must have thought Miss Fonda was the reason for Justin’s hearse. Hank raised his eyebrows at Michael. “What’s happening?”
Miss Fonda answered, “It must be a party, but I am entirely too exhausted to dance. Is there somewhere I can sit down, dear boy?” She peered up at Michael.
“Right here in this car.” Michael tried the BMW’s passenger side door. It was locked. He pulled in a slow breath to keep from yelling as he turned back to Sonny. “Miss Fonda is ready to go, Sonny.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.” Sonny stood at the top of the porch steps, his arms crossed over his chest again.
Hank raised his camera and took a picture. Then he pulled his infamous little notebook out of his shirt pocket and licked the end of the stubby pencil stuck inside it. “Nephew refuses to help aged aunt.” Hank muttered loud enough for Sonny to hear.
“All right, already.” Sonny jerked his keys out of his pocket and hit the unlock button. He pointed toward Hank and stomped down the steps. “I better not see that in the paper or you’ll be sorry.”
Hank shrugged. “I just print the news.”
Michael settled Miss Fonda in the front seat as quickly as possible and turned, ready to step between the men if necessary. But Sonny and Hank were both more apt to fight with words than fists.
Felicia Peterson came around the house before either of the men could fire the next salvo. Sonny spotted her first. “Felicia, what are you doing here?”
Felicia blinked and looked around as though for an escape. She was slight in build, the kind of person who stayed on the outer fringes of any group, as though unsure of her welcome. Her straight brown hair was pulled back from her face and her red lipstick stood out extra bright on her pale face.
“I-I,” she stuttered. She slid her gaze past Michael and caught sight of Miss Fonda in the car. “I was looking for Miss Fonda. I went to visit and one of the ladies said she was gone.”
“Where’s your car?” Sonny frowned. “You never walk anywhere.”
“I was worried about your aunt.” Felicia narrowed her eyes on Sonny. “Thought somebody should be. So I walked across the cemetery the way she usually goes.”
If the two of them were keeping company the way Betty Jean claimed, they weren’t showing much affection now. But couples didn’t always “honey” and “dear” each other in public.
“Well, you’re just in time.” Sonny held out his keys. “You can drive her back to the home. And don’t pay attention to anything she tells you. It’s time you figured out you can’t trust anything she says.”
“You want me to take your BMW?” Felicia’s hand trembled as she reached for the keys.
“Try not to drive like an idiot.” Sonny didn’t even pretend to be nice. “I told you I had to meet Geraldine this afternoon, but seems there’s been some kind of accident.”
“An-an accident?” Felicia’s stutter came back. “Wha-what kind of accident?”
“You’ll have to ask Michael that.” Both of them turned toward Michael.
At the word “accident,” Hank looked up from fiddling with his camera, news antennae raised. Justin settled down in a wicker chair on the veranda. He never got in a hurry. As he was wont to say, his clients weren’t going anywhere.
Michael tried to take care of business in a professional manner in Hidden Springs, but somehow everything had a way of getting turned into a circus. Sometimes he thought ringmaster might better describe his job than deputy. But even as a ringmaster, he wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping the show moving.
“Sonny can fill you in later. We don’t want Miss Fonda to miss her dinner.” He gave Miss Fonda one last smile, then shut the door, closing her in the car. He motioned Felicia toward the driver’s side.
“Has something happened?” Her voice quavered as she looked toward Justin on the porch. “Something bad?”
Michael put his hand under her elbow and guided her around the car. He kept his voice low. “Geraldine fell down some stairs.”
“Stairs,” Felicia echoed Michael as she stared toward the house. “Is she, you know, okay?” She whispered the last word.
“I’m afraid not, but I’d rather you didn’t talk about it to Miss Fonda. She was very upset when I got here.” Michael opened the driver’s side door for Felicia. “Something about it all brought up bad memories for her.”
Felicia’s eyes popped open even wider. That didn’t make her prettier. Instead she looked the picture of an orphaned waif. “You mean she saw whatever happened?” Her voice sounded shaky again.
“Hard to know with Miss Fonda,” Michael said.
“Yeah. Poor thing. She can’t remember two minutes ago. She gets everything all mixed up.” Felicia gave Michael a weak smile and slid into the car. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”
She started the car and backed up with a jerk. Michael scrambled out of the way as she swerved off the driveway and around his and Geraldine’s cars. When she scraped the side of the car against a forsythia bush, Sonny shouted.
Felicia gave no sign of hearing him. Instead, she gunned the car back up onto the driveway and out on the street without slowing down. A man in a pickup truck slammed on his brakes and blew his horn. Felicia waved and stepped on the gas. Sonny looked ready to faint.
“Remind me not to ask Felicia for a ride.” Hank moved over next to Michael. “She seemed in an awful hurry to get away from here. You think it was us? Or him?” Hank nodded his head toward Sonny, who ran out on the driveway to watch Felicia’s progress down the street.
“Who knows? At least I did fasten Miss Fonda’s seatbelt.”
“So what’s this about Geraldine Harper?
You say she fell? In there?” Hank pulled out his notebook again and nodded toward the Chandler house.
“She fell. In there.” Michael headed toward the veranda steps.
Hank trailed along with him. “She hurt? Shouldn’t you call an ambulance?”
“No ambulance needed. Justin will have to handle this one.”
Hank stopped scribbling in his notebook. “She’s dead?”
“She’s sold her last house. You’ll have to wait out here.” Michael put his hand up to stop Hank from following him up the steps. He looked over at Sonny muttering under his breath as he headed toward the steps. “You too, Sonny.”
“You can’t keep me out of my own house,” Sonny said.
“Your house?” Michael peered at him.
“Well, it will be when Aunt Fonnie passes.”
“You’ll stay right here until I say you can come in.” Michael took his radio out and punched in the code for backup. Lester would be through at the school by now, and he could guard the door and give Michael the time he needed to check out the house. “Justin, stand here and don’t let anybody in. Lester can take over for you when he gets here.”
“If you say so, Michael.” Justin took up a reluctant post by the door. “But it would be good to get on with it.”
“I need a few minutes to check out the house.”
“You’re acting like this is a crime scene, Michael.” Hank looked up from his notebook. “You suspect foul play?”
“I don’t suspect anything. Just need to make a routine investigation.”
Michael stepped into the house. The flash of emergency lights caught his eye out on the road. Lester took every opportunity to use his lights. At least his siren wasn’t screaming too. Michael shut the door and resisted the urge to turn the lock.
Murder Is No Accident Page 3