“Well, I could always hope they weren’t,” Penelope murmured.
Bradley returned to the hole. “Nothing else here as far as I can tell except a piece of cloth that looks like it might’ve been a shirt. Yep, here are the buttons. Might help identify our victim.”
Penelope, sitting in shocked silence half-way up the wooden stairs, swallowed and licked her dry lips. “How long has he been there?”
“A while,” Parnell said.
“How long is that?”
Parnell wiped his hands on his pants. “Hard to tell, but he didn’t fall in yesterday.”
Penelope retched.
“Put your head down, Mrs. Pembroke,” the officer said. “On second thought, maybe you better go upstairs.”
“No, I’m all right.”
Bradley stood and wiped his hands on a handkerchief from his back pocket. “I’ll send all this over to the crime lab in Little Rock. They’ll be able to give us some information.” He squatted down again beside the bones. “Look at how the skull is shattered in the back.”
Parnell looked closer. “I see it. Like something flat hit him—or her, as the case may be.”
“Like what?” Penelope asked.
“Like maybe a shovel. One of those big wide things used to scoop coal, which probably ran this thing at one time.” Bradley bent over the hole again. “Hold the flashlight, will you, Parnell?” He scraped away more dirt. “Bingo.” He held up a coal scoop. “Guess this got tossed in first after it was put to good use. Or bad use.”
Penelope turned her face away.
“Help me get everything in the bag, Parnell, and we’ll take it up. Where’s the little girl?”
“Out back, but she wouldn’t know what’s in there,” Penelope said.
“Okay.”
When Bradley and Parnell had gone with their grisly package, Mary Lynn, Penelope, Peter, and Shana, with Tabby attached to her legs, stood in the middle of the entry and looked at each other. “Daddy said old Jeremiah was down there,” Penelope murmured.
“But he wasn’t,” Mary Lynn said. “He’s across the road in the cemetery.”
“Like my mommy,” Tabby piped up. “She’s in a cemetery. Daddy and I go visit her.”
Shana patted her. “I’ll bet she likes that, Tabby.”
“It’s sort of a Sunday thing,” Peter said, not looking at any of them.
“I’m hungry, Daddy. Can we go to McDonald’s? Will you come with us, Miss Shana?”
“There’s no McDonald’s in Amaryllis, Tabby,” Shana said.
The child’s bottom lip quivered. “But I’m hungry.”
Shana hesitated. “I could fix an early supper,” she said.
Penelope steeled herself for Peter’s negative reply.
“That would be nice,” he said. “Would you like for Miss Shana to fix us some supper, Tabby?”
Penelope thought Shana’s shoulders lifted noticeably. “I put some chicken out to thaw before I went in to work this morning. It won’t take long to fry it up.”
“Little bitty nuggets,” Tabby said, licking her lips.
“Well, not exactly, sweetheart.” Peter picked up his daughter. “But it’ll be good, I bet.”
“So now what?” Penelope asked when the three younger people had gone.
“Bradley said I could tell Harry about this, but I don’t know how he’s going to keep it out of the paper.”
“It’s Thursday. The Bugle doesn’t come out again until next Wednesday. By then, the police will know something.”
“Who do you think it is, Pen?”
“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s the mysterious Mr. Vincent Ives, the husband who wasn’t there. Jessie Ruth’s unknown father.”
“I don’t even want to think that. That means someone murdered him and buried his body down there years before the boiler went in.”
“Right.”
“Oh, Pen, this is awful.”
Penelope snorted. “All I can think of is that song that goes ‘the head bone’s connected to the neck bone, the neck bone’s…”
“Hush up, Pen. Let’s go.”
“Did you turn off the light in the basement?”
“You were the last one up.”
“I’ll go check.”
Penelope found the switch on but the light off, and as she closed the key-hole, she was positive she heard someone laughing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Sorry I forgot to come by and help look for the door to the basement,” Jake said as he came through the kitchen door.
Penelope looked up from the canned soda she was nursing. “It was just as well. We found out who was causing the trouble with the boiler.”
“Come again?”
“Well, not who exactly.” She told him what happened.
“That beats all. Who do you think it is?”
“My vote is for Mr. Vincent Ives.”
“What does Bradley think?”
“He and Parnell took the bones over to the crime lab in Little Rock. I’ll call him tonight when they get back and tell him about Vincent Ives.”
“Hal Greene down at the Bugle will have a field day with this.”
“Well, he’s due a story. He was really good to keep the other stuff about Travis and all out of the paper, and it’s been quiet around here ever since.”
“Say, Nellie, why do you think Sam keeps turning up? Besides to see you.”
“I’m not the blessed draw. Not all of it anyway.”
“Think it has anything to do with those bones?”
“No. I think it has something to do with Marlo Howard and maybe Chuck Runyon.”
“No joke?”
“If you tell anybody I said that, I’ll cut your tongue out.”
“Nellie, Nellie, didn’t I teach you that violence never solved anything?” He patted her hand. “You know what’s between us stays there.”
“I know, Daddy. On a brighter note, Peter brought Tabby with him, and they went home with Shana who is, as we speak, frying chicken for their supper.”
“What about our supper?”
“I’ll have to see what I can come up with.”
“How about ribs?”
Penelope choked. “Daddy!”
He shook with laughter. “How about I go pick up a pizza?”
****
Penelope and Mary Lynn spent Friday cataloguing pictures from Jessie Ruth’s box. Bradley showed up at noon for a sandwich and a look at the picture of Vincent Ives.
“On the off chance that you’re right, I need to take this with me and get a copy,” he said. “Although it’s sepia and pretty dim.”
“I’ll bet I’m right. He disappeared all of a sudden, and he’s sure not out in the City Cemetery.”
“How do you know he disappeared? The fact he wasn’t mentioned in Daisy Bowden’s obituary could just mean they were separated or divorced.”
“No divorce papers in the courthouse.”
“Oh. Well, look, since you’re such a sleuth, why don’t you call up the state archives and see if there are any old school records. Students. Teachers. Especially teachers.”
“I wonder if that’s what’s in those other boxes,” Mary Lynn said.
Bradley nodded. “Could be. Try those first.”
“You’re letting me be part of the investigation?” Penelope asked.
He shook his head. “Mother, there’s no real investigation. The crime lab said those bones were close to a hundred years old. I’ve already been through the old police files here, and nobody turned up missing in that time. I’m checking some other places around here, but I doubt anything will come of it.”
“But it was a murder.”
“A homicide, right, but a very, very old one. We’re probably not going to ever know the who or when or why of it.”
“You’re the detective.”
“Look, if there’s any chance those bones could once have walked around in the skin of Mr. Vincent Ives, I’ll keep digging.”
&
nbsp; “Not in the basement, I hope,” Mary Lynn said.
“I meant that figuratively, Aunt Mary.”
“Is it still a crime scene?” she asked. “Could I see if I can find someone to do everything Peter said had to be done?”
“Give it a while.”
“Oh, well, I probably can’t wheedle any more money out of the Town Council anyway.”
“Thanks for the sandwich, Mother. I’ll take good care of the picture and get it back to you.”
“Why are you taking it if you don’t really believe that was Vincent Ives you dug up yesterday?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe it. Right now, your hunch is all I’ve got to go on.”
“You were blessed dishonest then.”
“Just see what’s in those other boxes, and if there’s anything I need to know, give me a call.” He kissed her cheek and left through the swinging door to the kitchen.
****
“What are we going to do with all these boxes now that we can’t take them to the school?” Mary Lynn asked as she sat on the floor of the library storeroom with Penelope.
“Bring them to the B&B, I guess, but I can’t use the dining room with the Cupid Convention coming up. We could work in the basement, but it’s not real convenient lugging those boxes down and back up later.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
Shana, overhearing the conversation as she came in from the front, said, “Look, the boxes have been here for years. A few more weeks or months won’t hurt anything.”
“You’re looking a lot more chipper today, by the way,” Penelope said.
Shana grimaced. “Nothing’s settled.”
“But you had a nice supper with Peter and Tabby. She’s a doll, by the way.”
“She fell asleep on the sofa right after we ate. Peter stayed until almost nine.”
“But nothing’s settled.”
“Not really. But we’re meeting at the River Market on Saturday.”
“Is he bringing Tabby?”
“Yes, but that’s all right. It’s more comfortable with her around. Besides, she doesn’t need to be shuffled off while he gads around.”
“Spoken like a true mother,” Mary Lynn said.
“I’m not her mother. Peter talked a lot about his wife last night. And his in-laws. They tried to take Tabby after her mother died. Peter told them in no uncertain terms if they tried anything, like in court, he’d make sure they never saw her again. They backed off, but it’s sort of an uneasy truce. They visit occasionally, and he keeps up appearances for Tabby’s sake.”
“They live out of town, don’t they?”
“In Ft. Smith most of the year, but they have a condo near Hot Springs and a place on the west coast.”
“At least they’re not on his doorstep.”
“He has a wonderful live-in housekeeper, Mrs. Rodriquez, and Tabby goes to pre-school every morning.”
“Sounds like a good arrangement.”
“It’s worked for four, almost five years.” Shana surveyed the open boxes with papers spilling out. “Finding anything?”
“Old school records, that’s all,” Penelope said, “We’ll clean up before we leave.”
“Don’t worry about it. I never come back here anyway.”
****
Penelope spotted Marlo Howard in the produce section of the Garden Market when she stopped to pick up milk and bread. “Are you getting settled all right?”
Marlo turned slowly, her icy gray-green eyes reflecting no recognition.
“Penelope Pembroke. We met at the Sit-n-Swill on New Year’s Eve.”
“Oh, right, of course. Sorry. I’m just so fragmented right now.”
“That’s understandable. I saw in the paper you’re opening on Saturday.”
“Yes, I am. I hope you’ll come by.”
“I will. I’m not in the market for any antiques or art, but I’d love to see what you’ve got. I used to go to parties in that house when I was in high school.”
“Really.” Something like interest flickered in Marlo’s eyes but died quickly.
“Yes. Well, I won’t keep you, but I’ll definitely see you on Saturday.”
The mask, which had never dropped completely from Marlo’s face, settled back into place. “I’ll look forward to it.”
****
“What’s new, pussycat?” Sam stepped out of the shadows at the top of the stairs when Penelope went up to bed.
“What are you doing here, and how did you get in?”
“I have a key, remember?”
“A stolen key. That doesn’t explain how you got in and upstairs without me seeing you.”
He nuzzled her hair. “The key fits the front door, too, so I just walked in and grabbed a shower while you and Jake were having supper. Speaking of supper, I’m starving.”
“What do you want?”
“What are you offering?” His hand drifted down her arm.
“Not that. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
Jake had his head in the refrigerator when Sam and Penelope came into the kitchen. “I see nothing, hear nothing, know nothing,” he said, backing out with a bunch of grapes in his hand.
“Hey there, Jake.” Sam stuck out his hand.
“Hey there, Sam or whoever you are.”
Both men laughed.
“I’m going to watch tv,” Jake said, grabbing a couple of paper napkins as he passed the table on his way to the door of his apartment.
“Don’t let me run you off,” Sam said.
“Nah, I got a date with Lana Turner. Some old war movie with Clark Gable. I’ll catch up with you at breakfast if you’re still around.”
“I like your father,” Sam said when Jake and his late snack had gone. “I like it that the two of you get along so well. Good friends as much as father and daughter. What was your mother like?”
“A lot like Daddy, I guess. I always thought they were peas in a pod. Liked the same things, always doing things together.”
“And you were the apple of their eye.”
“They were married ten years before I came along.”
“Oh?”
“Mum had several miscarriages early on. They didn’t think they’d ever have children.”
“Isn’t that a British term—Mum?”
“She was British.”
“A war bride. I remember now.”
“I’d moved home before she died, so I could do the nursing, but Daddy was with her every minute he wasn’t working.”
“He still misses her.”
“Did he tell you that?”
Sam shook his head. “I can tell.”
“You know things.”
He didn’t laugh. “I know about that. So tell me what’s new.”
She told him about the bones buried under the boiler. “And Marlo Howard is having her grand opening tomorrow. I ran into her at the Garden Market this afternoon and told her I’d be there.”
“Good. How observant are you?”
“Am I supposed to be looking for anything in particular?”
“Just remember what you see. And who.”
“And report to you.”
“Right.”
“What is it? Is she an art thief? A smuggler?”
“Just keep your eyes open. Anything else under that boiler besides bones?”
“Only the apparent murder weapon—a coal scoop.”
His eyes widened. “Very good!”
His approval warmed her. “I’m betting it’s the schoolteacher’s husband who disappeared.”
“You may be right. Your son sent everything to the crime lab in Little Rock, I guess.”
“That’s what he said he was going to do.”
“They’ll come up with something.”
He ate two sandwiches and a piece of devils food cake. “I’m ready to turn in.”
“Me, too.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “How about a nice hot shower first?”
She felt
her face flame. “You said you already took a shower, and that suggestion is…you’re totally inappropriate. You’re a…a cad.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“My mother used to say that behaving inappropriately when you knew better was a worse sin than behaving badly in ignorance. And you said you were Catholic, and lapsed or not, you know about mortal sin.”
“I’d agree with your mother, and I know about mortal sin.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“I like to see you react.”
“That’s mean.”
He got up and came around the table and lifted her out of her chair. “I can be nice, too. Half-way up the stairs, Sam sat down and pulled her into his arms. “Time for some serious necking,” he said.
“Necking, as in above the neck. Move your hands.”
He did but in the wrong direction. “Come on, Nell, you know you enjoy this.”
She pushed him away. “All right, Sam, I’ll be brutally honest with you. Yes, I enjoy it. I wouldn’t mind if it went farther. I wouldn’t mind if it went way past too far. I’m not an icicle, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been in bed with a man. But I’m not a one-night stand or even a two-night stand.”
“I never said you were.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying when you try to get inside my clothes.”
His hands fell away. “That’s really how you feel?”
“It’s how I feel.”
“I thought maybe you liked me better.”
“I care about you, Sam. I care about you a lot. It’s just that I care about myself more.”
“Nell, I never meant to make you feel cheap.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“You’re important to me.”
“But there are other things in your life more important.”
“Right now, yes.”
“I understand. I’m not closing the door. But I’m not going to deliberately do something I know is wrong either.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“It’s late,” she said, getting to her feet. “Will you be at breakfast?”
“No, but I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open at Marlo’s place.”
“Thanks.”
She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, Sam.”
“They’ll be of you, Nell.”
She had to fight back tears as she ran the rest of the way up the stairs.
The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) Page 11