Mossy Creek: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  “First off: I stopped at Tate’s last night. Mike said he cleaned the ring with a special acid and the etchings got clear enough to read. It’s a high school class ring from 1986. He called the company that manufactured the ring, to see if they still had a record of which school ordered it. Some place up north, New Hampshire, I think he said.”

  That sounded really familiar. “Hang on.” I hurried out to my computer and pulled up Mayor Patterson’s personnel file.

  Yeah, I can do that.

  Aha! Just as I thought. I printed the front page and went back to the table, handing the sheet to Wyatt.

  He glanced at me, then read off the paper. “Ridge Patterson graduated from Manchester Memorial High School in 1986. Well, that solves that mystery. He gave her his class ring, like he was still a student and wanted to go steady?”

  “Well, he couldn’t give her a wedding ring,” I reasoned. “Could be symbolic. As sick as their relationship was, they may have pretended they were, I don’t know, promised to each other?”

  “Yeah, could be. I can’t see her stealing it from him,” Ricky said thoughtfully. “Although, babysitting is pretty solitary with lots of time to browse through the house … or the master bedroom, after the kid’s asleep.”

  “And you would know that, how?”

  He glared, then shrugged. “My sister used to make comments about how boring it was, sometimes.”

  “Ah. That would explain it. There for a minute, thought you might have first-hand knowledge.”

  “Ha ha ha, very funny. You’re such a comedian, Wyatt.”

  “I thought so. Thanks. What about The Corner Grocer’s? Was Al in?”

  “Oh, yeah. He confirmed Dodge’s sighting, all right. Not that we doubted it. Said the mayor came in late morning on Saturday, and picked up a couple six packs of Yuengling Original Black and Tan.”

  “Really? He’s got good taste in brews, anyway. Didn’t know they stocked that over there, though.”

  “They don’t. Al has to special order it, just for the mayor. Only kind he’ll drink.”

  “Sounds like Old Man Hornsby. Old coot wouldn’t drink anything but Genesee Cream Ale. Rotgut, if you ask me, but he liked it. Had to bring it in from New York, because no one around here carried it. Made a trip north every other month or so and stocked up.”

  “I remember that old codger.” Ricky slouched in his chair, grinning. “He used t’ target practice off his front porch. Tore up every ‘No Trespassing’ sign the Prescott’s ever posted, and didn’t even have to leave his yard.”

  “Your uncle used to go out there about once a week, Wyatt, and threaten to confiscate his rabbit gun.” I laughed.

  We sat pleasantly reminiscing for a few minutes before Wyatt brought us brusquely back to the present.

  “Maggie. What else did you learn from that diary?”

  I curled my lip at him, but he just gave me that ‘come on, come on’ motion with his hand. I opened my notebook. “The most interesting was that Miranda thought someone was following her around, getting into her room, and going through her things.”

  Ricky sat up a little straighter. “Did she say who it was?”

  “She didn’t report it?” Wyatt sounded irritated.

  I shook my head. “No and no. She did mention a couple people she thought might have done it. But it definitely was not Ridge Patterson.”

  “Really? Then who?”

  “Someone slim … small. I’d like to run a scenario by y’all, okay?” I glanced at Wyatt and could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

  “Sure. Why not?” He leaned back in his chair.

  Ricky crossed his arms. “I’m all ears.”

  “I’m going to read from three different days. Something about them caught my attention, and they’ll explain Miranda’s need for a decoy. The first one’s from about a month ago. Someone’s been in the house. In my room. It’s not Dad, he’d feel too guilty about invading my privacy. My stuff’s been moved around, not a lot, but I can tell. Somebody was looking for something, probably this book. That means I’ll have to hide this, and make another to use as bait to throw them off. Should’ve done it before now. Might have been Danny, looking for something juicy to write. He got pretty ticked when we stopped having sex.

  “This one’s a week after. I thought I saw someone sneaking out the back just as I got home, all hunched up in a jeans jacket. The decoy was not where I left it. Coulda been a girl, or a guy … a real slim guy. A guy like Danny. I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that. And, I can’t think of anyone else it could be. None of my real friends … I don’t think. It’s a pretty big stretch, but I almost wonder if the snobbish, supposedly prudish Miss Ellie would stoop so low? She’s been acting really strange lately. Not that I blame her. She can’t know … can she? I’ll have to ask Ridge. It would be way out of her comfort zone to do something like that. And I can’t say I even really think it might be her. But….”

  I flipped through a couple pages. “Now, this is from the day before her murder. Ridge called and asked to meet me at our rendezvous spot. Then we took my car to the swimming hole. He said it was getting too dangerous for me to babysit for them. He thought Ellie was getting suspicious. I don’t think she’s starting to wonder, I think she knows. I told Ridge about the baby. He wasn’t very happy about it, got really upset, actually, especially when he asked how it happened, cuz he thought I was on the pill. I told him I couldn’t wait; I wanted his baby growing inside me. He’d wanted to wait a while, so he could get his divorce. I could have told him Ellie won’t give him one, but he wouldn’t have believed me. I told him I thought this would force her to realize how serious he is about me. Ridge doesn’t think so. I’m sure someone followed us out to the swimming hole, too. I told him that, but he didn’t see any other cars, or anyone lurking around. It was really creepy. We left right after I told him, so I think he might have been feeling weird, too. I dropped him off at his car and came home. I wish he wasn’t so mad about the baby.

  I closed the little pink journal and laid it on the table. Wyatt and Ricky watched.

  “Personal opinion only.” I held up my hand. “First, I have a hard time imagining Ellie Patterson slinking around through backyards, on the best of days. But, she would have a viable motive, if she knew about the affair.

  “Second, the fact that Miranda thought they were followed when they were out at the swimming hole, makes me wonder if it wasn’t the Mrs. Mayor.

  “Third, should we really consider Danny as a suspect?”

  “I don’t know. Sounds like a good candidate,” Ricky said, rifling through his notebook. “He didn’t have much of an alibi when I questioned him.”

  “Really? What was it?”

  “Says he was following up on a lead about those mailbox bashings. Went out Foggy Bottom Road and hid in the brush around the Peters’s place. He could see the Blanchard’s mailbox, too. Unfortunately, no one bothered to come by and he fell asleep.”

  “That is pretty lame. Why don’t you go talk to him again; see if he changes anything he told you.”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Well yeah, he’s crude, rude, and in your face, but I can’t see him breaking and entering, no matter what Miranda thought. As far as killing her? I just don’t know. I realize a killer doesn’t have a particular look, or even personality, but, Daniel seems too … doofy.”

  “Doofy?”

  “My own description. Dorky, nerdy almost, calculating, conniving, wheedling, whining, etc. You know?”

  Wyatt laughed. “I get the picture.”

  “He comes across as obnoxious most of the time. I suppose, if I were in his age bracket, he might be cute. But, I can’t be around him long before I want to smack him. So, no, I don’t think he’d have the guts, or the physical fortitude, to hang a girl like Miranda. Although, now that I think about it, that might explain his cold persistence when he saw me at Annetta’s.”

  Wyatt called me back from my musings.
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br />   “Hmm? Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I don’t think Danny makes a good suspect.” I squinted and looked toward the outer office. I could hear the scritch-scratch of the base radio, and excused myself to answer it.

  Shoot.

  I didn’t want to break up the meeting but, as dispatcher, it was my job to man the radio. “Police dispatch, go ahead.” I wondered what kind of emergency was on the other end.

  “Mags? Finally. We need Chief Madison.”

  “Clark?” I shook my head, and tried again. “Danny? Danny Harris? Is that you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did you get a hold of a police radio?”

  “Long story. Right now, emergency. Need the Chief.”

  “Who’s we?” I let go of the mic to yell for Wyatt.

  “Maggie, please.” The kid sounded exasperated and desperate.

  Wyatt and Ricky came on the run and heard the reporter’s next words for themselves.

  “Me and a couple friends are out at the swimming hole. The chief needs to get out here. There’s blood all over the place, and the only body here is the Mayor’s. He’s been beat up … bad.”

  I blinked, then handed off the receiver, and went to phone the rescue squad as my job training overrode the shock.

  I could hear Wyatt talking to Danny. Ricky went to get their gear.

  “He’s alive?”

  “The man’s moaning, but he’s not conscious I don’t think. Doesn’t respond to us calling his name, anyway. Hasn’t since we got here.”

  “All right, sit tight. This does not show up in the paper.”

  “Aw, Geez, Chief. Come on, this is my exclusive.”

  “And I could arrest you for having an unauthorized police radio.”

  We all heard him sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

  “We’re on our way. The ambulance might get there ahead of us, but stay put.”

  “Right.”

  I was so irritated at Daniel, and so shocked by what he and his friends had found, I almost missed the ringing of the landline. Ricky looked back at me as he and Wyatt ran out the door. I waved him out and answered the phone. “Mossy Creek Police Department.”

  I heard a muffled sound, and then, “This … this is Ellie P-Patterson.” Her voice was so broken I could barely understand her.

  “Mrs. Patterson? What’s wrong?”

  “I … I think … I th-think I k-killed … m-my husband.”

  CHAPTER 27

  MY JAW DROPPED and I stared at the receiver in my hand, then hastily put it back up to my ear to hear the rest. “He … he came home right after Chief Madison left, and … and we started arguing about Randy. I begged him to tell me the truth about what happened to her. He kept saying he didn’t do anything. Trying to tell me that she didn’t mean anything, the affair. That he loved me, and Kendall, and nothing could come between us. He just made me so mad … so mad at his lies.”

  She sobbed.

  I took a moment before interrupting her tirade. I used my best, gentlest, most persuasive voice. “Mrs. Patterson, why don’t I call Reverend Blanchard and have him bring you over here? We’ll get someone to watch Kendall for you, then we can talk face to face? Would that be all right?”

  She sniffed and snuffled. “Yes. Yes, that would be all right.”

  “The chief’s out on a call, right now. I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you’re here, and safe.”

  That Peacekeepers’ Badge—that Wyatt decided I should hang on to—was going to come in handy. God Bless his persistence.

  We’d gone around for about a week arguing about whether our ‘relationship’ would be considered fraternization, or not. He said it wasn’t because we were both elected into our positions by the council, and were therefore co-workers, even though he was in charge of the office. I finally gave in.

  About fifteen minutes after her phone call, the Reverend ushered a weepy, red-eyed, puffy-faced Ellie Patterson into the police station. Susie Chapin trailed them carrying Kendall. I gave the girl a puzzled look; she just shrugged. Later, I’d think about why that bothered me. Herding the other two toward Wyatt’s office, I grabbed the tape recorder, and followed the Reverend and Mrs. Patterson in. Good thing I’d already changed the cassette.

  Wyatt’s ruminations were still floating in my brain. Was this woman putting on an act? Good possibility. She looked as distraught as she sounded, but—

  I pushed the record button and proceeded with the heading for an official report. “This statement is being made by Mrs. Eleanor Patterson, on this twenty-first day of June, 2008, in the presence of the Reverend William Blanchard and Mossy Creek Police Dispatcher Magdalena Mercer. Mrs. Patterson, you stated on the phone that you thought you killed your husband. Is that correct?”

  She sniffled into a ragged tissue. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “Did I then suggest you come into the office to make an official statement?”

  “Yes, you did. I agreed that that would be a good idea.”

  “I then suggested that Reverend Blanchard accompany you, and you agreed to that suggestion. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you. His presence is such a blessing to me, right now. I appreciate you thinking of it.”

  “Now, because you confessed that you thought you killed your husband, and even though you’re only here to make a statement, I need to ask if you would like an attorney present at this time?”

  “Oh.” She gulped back a sob and blew her nose. “No. No, I don’t think I need a lawyer to be here. But thank you for asking.”

  I gave the Reverend an asking glance. He shrugged and shook his head.

  Although I now had official authorization, and was familiar with how to run an interview, I wasn’t comfortable in this position. I’d never conducted an interrogation and didn’t want to do anything to mess up the investigation. We’re a small force in a small town, but there are police protocols and chain-of-evidence rules, and all that other legal stuff. I prayed I was doing it right.

  With Wyatt and Ricky both out of the office, there was no other choice. Telling her to come back later wouldn’t work—she might just skip town, if my suspicions were correct. And I couldn’t stick her in our dinky holding cell and wait for the troops? guys? to return, she wasn’t under arrest.

  “You’re welcome, Mrs. Patterson. Would you state for the record, who you are, and who your husband is?”

  “My name is Eleanor Patterson. My husband is Ridge Patterson, Mayor of Mossy Creek.”

  “Thank you. Now then, what happened to make you think killed your husband?”

  Her tears began to flow, again. “Ridge … he said he wanted to show me what happened, so he took me out to the swimming hole.” She waved a limp hand in the general direction. “Out where they found her. He tried to tell me he’d wanted to break it off. Like it was all her fault. I didn’t believe him. And then….” She stopped to let out a scream so shrill I had half a mind to plug my fingers in my ears. “Then he tells me she’s pregnant. Pregnant! A high school girl, a teenager, pregnant with his baby.

  “I couldn’t stand the thought of the two of them together. So disgusting, so degrading. And, she made it sound so lovey-dovey. It’s sick. Did she really think he was going to leave me? For her? He’s so pathetic.” Then her voice went low and vicious. “He’d never leave me, even if she did get pregnant on purpose.”

  Wait. What? Hold on a minute. That sounded— I couldn’t stop to analyze that thought; she wasn’t finished.

  “I screamed at him how much I hated him right then, and he came at me. Started to strangle me. I couldn’t breathe. I managed to kick his legs hard enough that he let go. I was so mad, and so scared that he was going to choke me again; I started to hit him with my fists. That didn’t do any good. He kept trying to grab at me. I got loose and ran back to the car. The trunk was open, and I saw the tire iron. I grabbed it and turned around. He’d followed me. He was almost on top of me, laughing because he didn’t believe I’d really use it. But, I did.

  �
��I hit him with it. Again and again and again.” She pounded the table with each word. “I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop, not even after he fell and wasn’t moving, anymore.”

  She paused.

  The change in her face was like trading masks. Well, maybe it was. Sure seemed calculated to me. Her whole demeanor switched again to drama queen histrionics. The rage was gone, and back was the horrified wife, along with a teeny tiny hint of remorse.

  “He … he wasn’t … moving. That’s, that’s when I, when it dawned on me what I’d done. Then I guess I must have panicked. I threw down the tire iron and jumped in the car. There was blood all over me. His blood was all over me. I drove home as fast as I could.” She stopped to blow her nose. “When I got there, I went upstairs to check on Kendall. He was still sleeping, so I went to my room and took a shower. I felt so dirty—so very dirty—and ugly, for what I’d done. It’s still on me … all that blood; I can’t … it won’t come off. Then I thought, I should call the police … talk to Chief Madison. He’d just been out at the house, asking questions about … about that girl’s death. He’ll know what to do, so I can get clean again. That is what I should have done, isn’t it?” She looked at me, over at Reverend Blanchard, and then put her head down on the table, sighing, “I’m so very tired.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Patterson. That’s what you should have done.” I clicked off the recorder.

  The Reverend gaped, pale-faced, shaking his head.

  * * *

  BY LATE AFTERNOON, we were back in Wyatt’s office. More subdued, more anxious to solve this case.

  Ellie had pleaded self-defense, and Wyatt, though reluctant, released her to her parents. She’d asked me to call them to come get Kendall when she thought Wyatt was going to arrest her. She wept all over the poor man’s uniform, thanking him for being so understanding. Her son slept through the excitement.

  “I’ve been speculating about what happened to Ridge Patterson the night Miranda was killed. Tell me if it sounds plausible, okay?”

  “Sure, boss.” Ricky leaned back and propped his feet on the table.