Mossy Creek: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  “We also figured, maybe, it would put some points in the plus column … since we took advantage of you—unintentionally, of course—you know, with the donut thing. And that, maybe, you’d forgive us and keep bringing cookies and donuts and whatever, to work in the mornings?” There was hope in Ricky’s voice. “Pretty please?”

  I sighed. Now how could I stay mad? “So, in other words, this is a bribe?”

  They grinned.

  Ricky shoved the bunch of blossoms at me. “Is it working?”

  “Of course. But what am I going to do with these?” I reached for the fragrant spray. “I don’t have anything to put them in.”

  “Not to worry.” Wyatt held out a large cut-glass vase.

  “Oh.” Tears sprung. “You guys. Thank you.”

  They elbowed each other.

  “Told ya.” Ricky’s whisper wasn’t quiet.

  I laid the blooms on the desk and stood to take the vase. “Don’t push your luck.” I used my mom-voice.

  They cleared their throats, and hurried to their separate office areas.

  Secretly more elated than I wanted to show, I went to get water. Guess I was worth it. Take that alter ego.

  * * *

  LATER THAT MORNING, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wyatt come out of his office and make his way towards me. I glanced up and stopped typing. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need a favor.” He sat on the corner of my desk, but there was nothing flirty about his mood.

  “Okay. What?”

  “Actually, it’s for Mac.”

  “Oh?”

  “He asked— He needs….” Wyatt ran a hand through his hair, then crossed his arms and bowed his head.

  I almost laid my hand on his thigh. “What does he need, Wyatt?”

  “He needs someone to help him pick out something for Miranda … to wear.” He shook his head. “He’s not dealing well.”

  Didn’t sound like Wyatt was, either. My heart went out to both. “I understand completely. I had to do that when my Bernie died; it’s harder than you might think. When does he need me?”

  “Apparently, the funeral home’s been calling, and he’s been putting it off. I guess that means, as soon as you can get there.”

  “Okay.” This was serious stuff. I saved the report on the computer and closed the file, then reached under the desk for the tote bag I call my purse.

  “Would you like me to drive you?”

  Was that hope I’d heard?

  I straightened and stood … too fast. My head spun, and I had to lean on the desk to wait ’til the stars disappeared. “That might not be a bad idea. Would you mind?” I wanted to smack myself in the head. Idiot. “Forget it. Don’t answer that. Stupid question. Did you offer because you want to keep me company, or because you want to be there for Mac, in case he needs support? Or both?”

  He blinked, and I cringed at how dumb all that sounded. Then, he smiled and grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I guess he was going to drive me over there without giving me an answer.

  Mac was on the porch when we got there, hands in his pockets, leaning against the railing, looking like he was the one ready to go in the ground. I got out of the car, walked up to the man, and put my arms around him, again. Instantly, he engulfed me in a bear hug. All I could hear was the tearing agony of a father’s grief as he bawled on my shoulder, again.

  “Mac. I’m so, so sorry.” Rubbing his back, I tried to comfort him, but cried along instead. I didn’t realize Wyatt was so close, until I heard him blow his nose.

  Mac must have become aware of how exposed we all were, out on the porch like that, because he took a deep breath before letting go and wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeve.

  “Thanks for coming.” His voice was raw. “Come on in. I still can’t go in her room. If you could just pick out something pretty for her to wear, I’d appreciate it, a lot.” At that, again, the tears started rolling—for both of us.

  Latching onto his arm, I led him towards the front door. “Let’s go. I’ll see what I can find.” I glanced over my shoulder and reached out my other hand. Wyatt grabbed it like a drowning man, and we all went into the house.

  “You know which room is hers.” Mac gestured toward the staircase.

  I had my foot on the first step when my brain flashed a question. “Mac, how did she get to be the babysitter for the Patterson’s?”

  He mopped his eyes and blew his nose. “Not real sure. She told me the school secretary had some kind of list.”

  “Thanks, Mac.” I leaned over and patted an arm. “I’ll have to give her a call. You sure you’re not coming up?”

  He shook his head. “Her favorite outfit was hip-hugger jeans and one of those little stretchy tops that showed off her belly button. But, I’d like something dressy.” He was trying keep control. “I don’t even know if she has anything like that.”

  I rubbed his arm, felt his anguish, but resolved to be strong. “Don’t worry, Mac.” I started up the stairs. “I’ll find something.”

  “Thanks, you guys. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Taking over, Wyatt led him into the living room while I continued to the second floor.

  This would be the perfect opportunity to go through her closet. Now I wouldn’t need to talk to Wyatt about coming back. Just one more box checked off of my To Do list.

  I groaned, disgusted with my own analogy.

  It felt strange—kinda creepy, actually—to be amongst her clothes and shoes, again.

  My first priority was finding an appropriate outfit. Mac wanted pretty. There was an aqua blue dress at the far end of the closet. Didn’t look like she’d ever worn it.

  Do they put underwear on corpses? I couldn’t remember, so I picked through her delicates and placed a bra and panties on the bed, next to the dress.

  Now, for the shoes. She certainly had an extensive selection. On the floor, among those lined up two-by-two, was a full two-row rack, plus stacks of boxes against the wall. I went through each carton, since none of the displayed shoes seemed to be the perfect pair.

  In my search, I discovered they didn’t all contain footwear. My active imagination had been spot-on. Some held secret treasures she’d collected, and in one, near the very bottom of the stack in the corner,

  JACKPOT.

  Another diary.

  Although I’d hoped I was right about the first one being a red herring, I hadn’t been actively searching for a real one, hadn’t gotten that far, yet. Now, here it was, practically dropped in my lap. An exact replica of the first one—pink with a locking clasp. A Little Miss Secret. This one, she hadn’t bothered to lock.

  How weird was that?

  A quick flip-through told me the dates were about the same as the diary we already had. I mentally pumped my fist in the air. I’d been right about the decoy.

  “Did you find everything?”

  CHAPTER 16

  I LET out a shriek at the UNEXPECTED sound of Wyatt’s voice just behind my left shoulder. “Geez, Wyatt. You almost scared the color outta my hair.”

  “Sorry, thought you heard me.”

  I had a hand on my chest, to hold my heart in place. I’m not sure why people try to do that … it’s not like it actually does any good. I waved in the direction of the bed. “Yes. I did find everything, thank you. What do you think of the dress? Is this pretty enough, plain, or too bright?”

  “No. I think it’s perfect. Do you have shoes?”

  “A closetful.” I held up the white sandals that had been in the box with the little book. “These will look nice, I think.”

  “They look new.” He paused. “You do realize it’s going to be a closed casket, don’t you?”

  I gave no answer. There was no need. Instead, I promised: Randy, you’re going to look great, top to bottom.

  “What else did you find?” He lifted his chin towards the shoeboxes.

  I peeked over his shoulder, to make sure Mac wasn’t nearby. “I founnd an
other diary. It has the same dates as the one we already have.”

  His face showed approval. “Excellent detective work, Miss Marple.” He picked up my purse from the floor near the door, where I’d set it upon entering this room of secrets, memories, and grief. “Stick it in here.”

  “Good idea.” I dropped it inside.

  “You ready to go?”

  “Think so.” I laid my hand on his arm. “I should remember this, but I don’t. Do they put underwear on dead bodies?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. I don’t think it matters, does it?”

  “I’ll take it, anyway … just in case.”

  Downstairs, when Mac saw the dress and shoes, he started in again. I felt miserable for making him cry, but of course, it had nothing to do with me. I knew that.

  Holding the outfit close to his chest, he thanked us again, and Wyatt ushered me—quickly—out of the house. If he was feeling like me, he wanted to stay and help, but couldn’t wait to leave. In the car, the macho man remained very quiet.

  I stared out the window. “I’m going to have to make some casseroles to take over.”

  “Casseroles? Why?”

  “So he eats, and because I can’t bring his girl back, and because that’s what we do, and because…. Just because. If he doesn’t have to bother making a meal for himself, just heat up a dish, he’s more likely to actually eat.”

  We were sitting at the longest red light in Mossy Creek proper. “Why don’t you offer to make casseroles for me?”

  Turning, I gave him the look. He couldn’t be that dense. Not about funeral protocol. Could he? “Wyatt—”

  “I’m sure I’d enjoy your cooking, but I don’t want anyone to die in order to get any.”

  I gave him a light shove. “You devoured the chocolate chip cookies I made. Wasn’t that enough? Is this a sideways invitation for me to cook?”

  “Not nearly. Some might call it sideways begging. Is it going to work?”

  I reigned in a laugh. “All you have to do is ask.”

  “Okay.” Wyatt faced forward and starting breathing in and out in long measured strides—What the …—then he said, “Magdalena Elizabeth Susannah Maria-Louise Mercer, would you cook a meal for me? Sometime?”

  My jaw dropped, eyes went wide, and I may have forgotten to breathe.

  Good Lord! He knows my name.

  Did he realize what a big deal that was, that he knew the whole entire thing? That he’d gotten them all in the right order?

  “Maggie? You okay?”

  Am I okay?

  No. Not really. I closed my mouth, and swallowed, hard. Major plus points to him, that’s for sure. Wow! “Maybe. I think. You’re serious.”

  “I’m seriously thinking about what maybe means. Doesn’t have to be a casserole, unless that’s what you want to make.”

  “Uh. Okay. When?”

  The light finally went green, and he gave me a quick glance before proceeding through the intersection. “We should probably wait ’til after the case is done. I’ll let you know.”

  I gave a nod. Probably couldn’t have formed a sentence, anyway. Wyatt was a man of many mysteries, and I was liking every one that unveiled.

  “Excellent. Thank you. I already know how good your cookies are. I can’t wait to taste … your cooking.”

  I heard that slight pause at the end and got a hot flash. Heavens to Betsy, and her three twin sisters. What was I getting myself into? Who cares? Whatever it was, it was fun.

  We pulled into the station parking lot and Wyatt put the SUV in park. Turning off the engine, he sat back and looked over.

  I looked back. Waited. He obviously had something else on his mind. If I waited long enough, he’d eventually decide to talk, maybe.

  “Why’d you ask Mac about the babysitting thing?”

  “Why? I can go along, but I can’t ask questions?” I hoped he wasn’t going to get technical, or tell me I couldn’t because I’m not official law enforcement personnel. I’d been thinking about accepting that honorary peacekeeper badge the council had offered. Another topic for us to discuss, at some point.

  “Yes, I mean no. You asked him if he knew how Miranda found out the Patterson’s needed a babysitter. Did you have a specific reason for asking?”

  I shrugged. “I was curious. Usually if someone needs a babysitter, they call around to their friends, to find out who they’d recommend. In this case, I doubt the mayor had many friends to ask; his wife either, for that matter, since they hadn’t lived here all their lives. Was Miranda a volunteer? Did the Pattersons go through the phone book?

  “And, how long was she their babysitter? Since Kendall was born? Or, more recently? Her diary, the fake one, has hearts around—” I gasped, realizing what I was figuring out as I said it. “Shoot.” I smacked myself in the head. “Her first diary, it’s a calendar! It should tell me when she started working for them. Maybe it will tell me if she knew—or when she suspected—she was pregnant.” I frowned, talking mostly to myself. “It won’t tell me how she got to be their sitter, though.”

  Wyatt was looking confused and I almost laughed. He shook his head and unbuckled his seatbelt.

  I grabbed his arm. “Do you know the high school secretary?”

  He shook his head again, this time in answer to my question, and got out of the vehicle. I wrinkled my nose in annoyance, and fumbled for my seatbelt. Wyatt opened my door as I freed myself. “I don’t know her name.” He stood in front of me. “But Ricky may have already talked to her. If not, she should still be at the school. The staff usually has stuff going on for a week or two after classes let out. You could call her.”

  I turned sideways on the seat—my knees touching his belt—and grinned. “Thank you, Wyatt.”

  He took a deep breath—like he needed air real bad—and stepped back. “You’re welcome.” He waited until I was clear before he shut the door and hit the remote lock. “May I suggest that you secure that second diary in the evidence locker for the time being?”

  “You don’t want me to go through it?”

  “Not right now.”

  “All right.” Confused, I capitulated—he was the police chief, after all—but I didn’t like it.

  I would have thought, with so few leads to go on, he’d want to know anything Miranda had to say. Especially in case she named her killer. But, I should have known he had more to say. I opened my mouth to voice my protest, but he beat me to it.

  “On second thought, right now, we need to have a short meeting with Ricky, and then I want you to go home and lock yourself in with that thing. I want to know everything that’s in it, backwards and forwards. We’re gonna be really busy, especially at the funeral tomorrow. I’d like to tell you to wait ’til next week to go through it, but we don’t have that luxury.” He paused again. I began to wonder if he was trying to use telepathy as a viable means of communication.

  “Now, don’t take this the wrong way. Make sure that piece of evidence isn’t left lying around unprotected, even in a drawer. Something might happen to it.”

  What did he think I was, an idiot? “I get it, Police Chief Madison.” I started past him.

  “I don’t think you do.” He stopped me with a hand on my arm, before I got too far ahead. “Forsythia Morgan has been making daily visits to the office after you leave in the afternoons. I don’t want our best lead to be accidentally misplaced … if you know what I mean.”

  My jaw dropped. Second time in ten minutes. “She’s been coming in after I leave? Whatever for?”

  He shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. Fishing. I don’t even know what she’s talking about half the time. She’s on this bad-mouthing kick. I call it bad-mouthing. Stupid gossip, tattle-tailing, really, about people doing things for which she thinks they need to be brought to justice.”

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake. This all has to do with that Vera-Mae Wellington deal, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded. “I’m thinking.”

  “Sorry, I did take it wrong. I’ll
lock up everything on my desk, especially if she’s going to be lurking around.”

  “Magdalena?”

  I blinked. There he went again with the name-thing. I rubbed at the goose bumps peppering my arms. “Yes, Wyatt?”

  “About that, um, meal?”

  I stared, waiting.

  “I’ve been really hungry for some homemade lasagna. If you’ve a mind to make it, I’d be very appreciative.”

  I smiled, a little wicked. “How appreciative?”

  He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Very.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “That’s no answer.”

  “Let’s just say, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the benefits of my appreciation.”

  “Will I?”

  “Very much.”

  “You are such a tease, Wyatt Madison.”

  He laughed. “Don’t get me started.”

  What a concept.

  Once inside and settled, I snagged Ricky before he left on a call. According to him, the secretary, one Evelyn Forbes, had made sure Miranda’s teachers were available for him, but had been away from her desk the day he went to conduct the interviews. I called the high school and was relieved when the woman answered the phone. The Pattersons had called her for recommendations. The mayor suggested she ask a few of the senior girls if they would be interested. She’d made a list of three or four she thought would do a good job, and called each one into the office. After deliberating over their qualifications, she’d decided on three for a list. One primary and two backups.

  “They were satisfied with your choice?”

  “Very much so. Well, I say that because they only called once for one of the backups, or a different sitter. ”

  “How long ago…? How long have you been providing a senior girl to the Pattersons?”

  “Since little Kendall was six months old. That was,” I heard papers rustling, “2006.”

  “I see. And each new school year, they’ve requested a new sitter?”

  “Well, they didn’t really request one. I assumed, because the sitter from the previous year had graduated, that they would require … well, that they would need another senior.”