The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  Chapter 52

  (Team Work)

  Monte stood behind detectives Parker and Smalls on the front porch of the home where Allan believed Birdie Login lived. Ms. Login was a retired typist who worked for Allan a number of years before a heart attack forced her to retire. Allan spoke fondly of the woman and was positive she would be able to tell them exactly who he was. The detectives were skeptical and Monte was not expecting a miracle. From Allan’s description, the woman was older when she worked for him. Add a bad heart and ten years and chances were the woman passed away long ago. If not there was also the chance she would be feeble-minded and no help to Allan.

  Dave knocked on the door and stood center to the frame so anyone looking through the small peephole would be able to get a good look at him. To Monte, this was a bad idea as he believed an old woman looking out and seeing a man of Dave’s size would never answer the door. After a few minutes Dave knocked again, glancing at Philip who immediately started a perimeter check. Monte, bored, stepped up to the window next to the door and tried to look inside.

  “You’re just here to observe,” Dave reminded him for what Monte believed to be the one-hundredth time.

  Ben Hunter had asked to have Monte accompany the detectives during their interview. They reluctantly agreed, as long as Monte obeyed the many restrictions they insisted he follow.

  “So, I’m observing,” Monte said with a shrug. “Nothing to see here anyway.”

  A few minutes later Dave was pushing the doorbell repeatedly. Philip stepped around the corner of the house from the opposite side he started his search. Dave rested his hand and looked over at his partner who was shaking his head.

  “Don’t see anything,” Philip said. “No old woman. No sign of trouble. Nothing.”

  “You think she just can’t hear us?” Dave posed the question to no one in particular. "Could be sitting in there watching the morning soaps oblivious to the bell.”

  “I didn’t see anyone,” Philip repeated. “No TVs were on that I noticed. Of course, not every room was perfectly visible.”

  “You want,” Monte stepped forward. “I could go on in, have a look around.”

  “Can’t let you do that and you know it,” Dave said. “Just stay put.”

  “She could be out of town visiting family,” Philip offered.

  “At her age, she could be lying on the floor in there,” Monte said. “You know, the heart could have given out.”

  “Keep quiet,” Dave said, although the same thought had already crept into the back of his mind. “Do we know if she has family?”

  “Bolder didn’t know,” Philip said. “We didn’t check.”

  “Let’s call it in,” Dave said. “If we can find family, we can verify if she’s out of town. If not, we may have to enter the house to check on her.”

  “Flimsy,” Philip said.

  “We’re not searching for evidence, Philip,” Dave said. “We’re checking the wellbeing of an elderly woman. It’s a good thing.”

  “I can have you in there in thirty seconds,” Monte offered. “Save a lot of trouble. Once the door is open you guys can say it was open and went in to investigate.”

  “You observe,” Dave snapped. He took his phone and dialed. Monte started walking around. Dave’s eyes met Philip’s. “Keep an eye on him.”

  “Will do,” Philip said.

  “Oh, come on,” Monte protested. “Let me do what I’m good at.”

  “We are officers of the law,” Dave said. “We don’t ask people to break and enter. We arrest people who break and enter. Now put it out of your mind and wait.”

  Detective Parker spoke into the phone in a hushed voice. He asked a series of questions and waited for the answers. As he spoke he walked away from the house leaving the other two men alone. All of his questions answered, he put the phone away and returned to the front porch.

  “No family,” Dave said. “At least none we can find in a short time.”

  “So what now?” Philip asked.

  Monte grinned. Dave looked at him and rolled his eyes. He looked at Philip and shook his head. Philip gave Monte a side-glance and looked back at Dave. Monte shifted his eyes from one to the other and back again.

  “For goodness sake,” Dave threw up his arms. “If you so much as scratch the lock I’ll take your head off.”

  “No problem,” Monte said. “Give me a minute.”

  “We’ll be right here,” Philip said putting a hand on the investigator’s shoulder.

  “I work better if no one’s watching,” Monte said.

  “We’re watching,” Dave said.

  “Okay, okay.”

  The three of them moved to the door and Monte dropped to his knees and looked into the lock. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small felt bag, shaking out a collection of lock picking tools. Monte chose two of the tools and set the rest on the ground next to him. He licked his lips and blew into the lock. Inserting the tools into the narrow opening, he started working them against the tumblers inside.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Philip said to Dave.

  “She might need our help,” Dave rationalized.

  “She might be in Florida,” Philip countered.

  “Will you two please be quiet,” Monte said. “I’m trying to work here.”

  Monte wiped his brow and went back to work on the lock. The detectives exchanged glances and Dave shrugged. They watched in silence while Monte tried to unlock the door. The investigator grew more and more agitated and sweat stung his eyes.

  “I thought you said you were good at this?” Dave said.

  “I also said I worked better with no one looking over my shoulder,” Monte snapped.

  Dave gave a chuckle. The two detectives turned their backs to the man and faced the street. An elderly couple walked by staring at the three men on the small porch. The detectives smiled and waved at them. They waved back. They did not smile.

  “What do you think?” Dave asked.

  “Fifty-fifty,” Philip said.

  “I was thinking more like sixty-forty,” Dave said.

  “What are you two talking about now?” Monte asked.

  “The odds that someone is going to call the police and report us,” Dave said.

  “Well, I’ve got it,” Monte said. He slipped his tools back into their bag and tucked the bag into his pocket. Rising to his feet, he pushed the door open. “Look officers, the door’s open.”

  “We go first,” Dave said, stepping past the investigator.

  The three of them searched the house one room at a time regrouping in the living room. There was no sign of the woman who was supposed to be living there. Dave scanned the framed photos resting on the mantel. They were mostly old pictures of a couple. There was one more recent of the woman, much older, with a younger woman. There were no recent pictures of the man. Dave assumed he must have passed away some time ago.

  “This is her home,” Dave said. “But something is definitely wrong.”

  “How do you figure?” Monte asked.

  “Did you see her bed?” Dave said. “It hasn’t been made.”

  “Maybe she’s messy,” Monte said, though they all knew from looking at the rest of the house that wasn’t the case. The home was immaculate. Nothing was out of place. Nothing except the bedspread.

  “So what happened to her?” Philip asked.

  “Well, let’s think about that,” Dave said. “The woman was in bed. It was getting late or possibly early.”

  “And something woke her up,” Philip said

  “The phone,” Monte said. “Or the doorbell. Either would have made her get up.”

  “The doorbell,” Dave suggested. “If she would have answered the door that would have brought another person into the picture.”

  “So, you’re thinking foul play?” Philip asked.

  “I think so,” Dave said, his head down.

  “Why would you think that?” Monte said.

  Dave pointed at a
cast-iron frog positioned next to the wall. “Check out the eyes on that frog. Looks like blood. And gray hair.”

  Chapter 53

  (Sold)

  Sarah sat in her favorite chair reading one of the manuscripts she found hidden away in the garage. She held a pen in one hand and made short notations from time to time the way she always did when reviewing Allan’s work for him. Deep into the story she raised her head to make a comment to the empty chair to her right. She was almost surprised not to see Allan sitting there. Shaken, she put the manuscript away.

  She busied herself with house work for nearly an hour before collapsing into her chair. She could not bring herself to pick up the manuscript again. She picked up the remote control instead and started flipping through the channels for something to watch. As she watched the images pass by a picture caught her attention. She had to backtrack a couple channels until she found what she was looking for. There was a story on the news about her husband’s murder. And in the corner of the screen was a picture of Allan. Unfortunately, just as she found the station again, the story ended and the newscaster moved on to the next. She quickly scanned the channels for another news program, unable to find anything more.

  Something had happened with Allan and her curiosity was driving her mad. There would be another run of the news in a couple hours and she would watch hoping they ran the story again. What she was going to do until that time she couldn’t say. She knew she would be too restless to wait and too worried to go out of the house. She thought about calling Detective Parker, deciding against it. If the news was bad she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  She wondered if the truth had been uncovered. She could imagine the police in route to her house. She changed the channel to a national news station, watching without seeing the images on the screen. She finally turned off the set and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. She picked up the manuscript and set it back down immediately. If things were going bad, there would be no need to continue with the work. Rising to her feet, she considered getting the bag she packed, throwing it in the trunk of the car and simply driving away.

  The ringing phone shattered the silence. She looked at the phone like an alien presence in her home. On the fourth ring, she answered, just before the answering machine

  would pick it up. For a moment she said nothing, simply listened to the sounds her caller made.

  “Hello?” she said hesitantly.

  “Hello?” a strong male voice echoed.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  “Sarah Tuttle?” the man said. “Is that you?”

  “Who is this?” she asked again.

  “Sarah,” the man said. “This is Gary Rivers.”

  “Gary . . .” she let the name trail off. There was something familiar about it. Something in the back of her mind told her she should know Gary Rivers. For the life of her she could not match the name to a face. “I’m sorry? Do I know you?”

  “Gary Rivers,” he said slowly. “I’m representing your interests in your novel.”

  “Oh, Mr. Rivers,” she said with anticipation. “I am so sorry. I didn’t recognize your name again. It’s been a long day.”

  “Call me Gary, please,” he said. “And don’t worry about it. I forget names all the time. Now, the reason I called is to update you on our progress.”

  “You’ve made progress?” Suddenly everything else was forgotten.

  “I believe I have a contract both sides will agree on,” Gary said. “I need you to read it and if you agree with the details, sign it and get it back to me.”

  “Okay,” Sarah said. “When should I expect it?”

  “Do you have an email address?”

  “No.” Sarah cursed Allan for never getting a computer.

  “How about a fax?”

  “No,” Sarah said again.

  “Oh,” there was a long pause. “I guess I’ll overnight it to you. Will you be home tomorrow to receive it?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, hoping she was telling the truth. “I’ll look for it.”

  “All right,” Gary said. “Review it and, if you agree with the terms, sign it. Then get it back to me as soon as possible.”

  “I will,” Sarah assured him.

  She held the phone to her ear listening to the hypnotic tone long after Gary hung up. She was so close to having what she wanted. Her adrenaline rose with her excitement. Being in a position to do whatever she wanted, go wherever she’d like, was a rush. She wanted to share her joy. She needed Mike, Jimmy or Ray; all gone. She thought about going out to a bar and picking up some hapless young man and showing him the time of his life. Being watched and followed, picking up a man and having sex would not project the mourning widow image she was trying to maintain.

  There was Dave. The detective was the kind of man she could see herself with. He was strong. He didn’t look like a movie star but handsome enough. His voice was the type that should be on radio and she enjoyed listening to him tell stories of his life. She wondered if he liked the things she liked, or if she could teach him to like them. She trained Jimmy. She was sure she could convince Dave her way was best.

  For now she was alone except for the man in the car across the street. The second car had vanished the day before and she had not seen it since. She knew the man had to be an undercover cop. She didn’t understand why they would still be watching her now that Allan had been arrested. She considered for a while going out to talk to the man, inviting him in. She was sure she could get him into bed in a matter of minutes. He had been out there for days.

  She returned to her chair and sat back. She picked up the manuscript and started reading. Almost immediately her mind drifted and she set the papers down. She wanted to know what Allan was telling the police. She knew if he could convince them who he really was they would be knocking on her door soon after.

  If he had not been able to convince them up to now, surely there was nothing else he could do. She knew Mrs. Login would not be helping him. She couldn’t think of anyone else he knew well enough to give a credible identification. So for now, she felt safe. It was only a matter of determining how long she could remain that way.

  The key to survival was not staying too long. She had to stay long enough to collect on the sale of the novel, not a minute more. With money in hand she could move and pursue further publishing with the manuscripts in the garage. Although it was only a short time she needed, each day she stayed brought her closer to the possibility of being discovered.

  Chapter 54

  (The General Store)

  Mrs. Cutter pushed a small shopping cart down the aisles filling it with supplies they needed at the ranch. She was only halfway through the store and the cart was nearly full. Grocery shopping was one thing she truly did not enjoy. For that reason, she only went once a month. She insisted Henry accompany her on the monthly task. True to his character, he agreed to accompany her only to vanish, a short time after arriving, into the rows of food and tackle. It was a ritual with them. He hated shopping more than she did. Usually she would find him studying a new shipment of tools or reading a magazine in the back corner of the store.

  Today, as she pushed the first cart to the front of the store, she found Henry standing opposite Larry Jasper deep in conversation. They did not see her approaching or did not care, because they did not acknowledge her when she bumped the counter with the over laden cart. She quickly selected another, tested the wheels and returned to her shopping.

  “You don’t say,” Larry shook his head. “Took him to jail did they?”

  “I feel bad for the poor boy,” Henry said. “I mean he has no one and has lost everything of value. It’s a hard way to live. Now, they put him in jail. I wish I could help him.”

  “How do you know you wouldn’t be helpin’ a murderer?” Larry asked.

  “No,” Henry said. “I know him pretty well. There’s no way he’s a killer. I don’t think he could hurt anyone.”

  “Well, I heard he killed some guy at
the cabin,” Larry said. “You’re just lucky he hasn’t killed you and the misses.”

  “Hogwash,” Henry said. “I’m telling you he didn’t kill anyone, isn’t capable of killing anyone and would never hurt me or Mrs. Cutter.”

  “Hey,” Larry said. “I’m just saying what I know. It’s your funeral.”

  “You’ve known him a long time haven’t you?” Henry asked.

  “Just since I sold him the cabin,” Larry said. “Seven, maybe eight years.”

  “Ever see his wife?”

  “Wouldn’t say I’ve seen her,” Larry said. “Saw her sitting in the car once. It was when he came to look at the place. Never saw her again. He always took a taxi after that.”

  “Would you know her if you saw her again?”

  “Nope,” Larry answered. “Just saw her the one time from the back. No way I’d recognize her. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, he claims his name isn’t Jack Bolder,” Henry said.

  “Of course it is,” Larry said. “I’ve got one of his books on the shelf there. Has his picture on it.”

  “I know,” Henry nodded. “I’ve seen them. He says Bolder is his pen name. Says his name is Allan Tuttle. Remember him using that name before?”

  “No,” Larry said. “When he was looking at the cabin I asked him what he did for a living. He said he wrote books. I asked what kind of books. He went out to the car and brought me a copy of one of his books. The name on the cover was Jack Bolder. I’ve always called him Jack.”

  “What about when he buys things from you?” Henry asked. “He ever write a check or use a credit card? Anything with either name on it?”

  “Come to think of it,” Larry said, “he always paid cash. Why do you care? Why does it matter what he calls himself? If he killed some poor slob, he killed him. Doesn’t matter if he calls himself Prince Charming. Dead is dead. Guilty is guilty.”