Bring Home the Murder

by Jarvela, Theresa M. ;

  Meggie stood up and looked down at Shirley. “We could take a picture of his ghost.” Shirley opened her mouth to say something but Meggie held up her hand, instructed her to wait on the patio and rushed into the house. She returned with her digital camera.

  Shirley shook her head. “Take a picture of Fred’s ghost? You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Meggie sat down on the edge of the patio chair and adjusted her camera. “Remember when we spoke to that tour guide in Key West and he described orbs?”

  Shirley smirked and nodded. “I remember. He said ghosts have been known to appear on photos as small white globules or orbs. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were very skeptical and spent most of the night trying to explain away the phenomenon.”

  “You’re right, but I’ve been doing some research on ghosts. Did you know they say you can actually talk to ghosts and ask them to show up in photos? Some orbs even have faces on them.”

  Shirley leaned forward. Her eyes squinted. “You mean to tell me you actually believe that?”

  Meggie shrugged. “I’m not sure what I believe anymore. But what have we got to lose? We can take some pictures, see what happens and maybe convince Bulldog we know what we’re talking about.”

  “I’ve accused you of having a screw loose before, but now I think it’s fallen out and rolled away.” Shirley shook her head. “But I suppose we have nothing to lose. What do we have to do?”

  Meggie stood up and encouraged Shirley to follow her. She led the way toward the old well, stopped within several yards of it and put her finger to her lip.

  “What’s the matter?” Shirley spoke in a low voice and stood behind Meggie. “Are you going to talk to Fred’s ghost?”

  Meggie nodded and with a shaky voice addressed the ghost of Fred Jackson. “Hello, Fred. My name is Meggie Moore and this is Shirley Wright. We believe you’re the one buried in the old well, but we need to prove this to the authorities.” Meggie paused.

  “This is giving me the willies.” Shirley took a step backward and poked her friend. “Tell him to say cheese, snap the picture and let’s get back to the house.”

  “Please pose for this picture.” Meggie held up the camera and snapped the picture. She took several more then turned around and hurried back to the patio where Shirley waited for her.

  Meggie’s hands shook and her eyes grew wide as she examined each photograph. She looked at Shirley, handed her the camera and waited for her friend’s reaction.

  “Let me get this straight.” Detective Bulldog leaned forward in his chair at the Law Enforcement Center and zeroed in on Meggie. “You believe someone murdered Fred Jackson and threw him down the old well out at Riley’s hobby farm. And you believe this because you felt his spirit ascend out of the well when you uncovered it the day after the storm. How am I doing so far?”

  Meggie clenched her jaw and nodded, “That’s right.”

  Bulldog pointed at Shirley. “So you tied a rope to the underside of Meggie’s Volkswagen Bug and lowered your friend into the well so she could search for Fred’s remains?”

  Shirley slumped in her chair and stole a peek at Meggie then looked back at Bulldog. “Not exactly. Meggie tied the rope to the Bug.”

  Bulldog blew air through his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. After several seconds he stood up and walked to the front of the desk. He shoved aside a pile of papers, sat down on the corner and dangled his leg.

  Meggie folded her arms and watched the detective’s leg swing back and forth. She gave him a glassy stare. “I suppose you don’t believe any of this?”

  Bulldog took a deep breath. “I believe you’re convinced someone murdered Fred. I believe you’re convinced his spirit attached itself to you so you would search for his killer.” He glanced at Shirley and then back at Meggie. “I believe you had your friend lower you into the well at the end of a rope.”

  He rubbed his right index finger against the back of his left hand and regarded Meggie. “I believe you found an old boot and some bones. Whether or not those bones belong to Fred is another story.”

  Meggie opened her mouth to speak, but Bulldog held up his hand. “I’m not saying they aren’t Fred’s bones. I’m just saying they might not be. Did it occur to you that some animal might have fallen down the well at some time?”

  “There’s one more thing.” Meggie opened her purse and brought out the camera. “We have a picture of Fred’s ghost.”

  Bulldog’s mouth slackened. He gaped at Meggie. “Excuse me? You have a photograph of Fred’s ghost?”

  Meggie stood up and handed him the digital camera.

  Bulldog slid off the desk and looked down at the picture. After several seconds he scratched his jaw and his eyes locked on Meggie. “Is this some kind of joke? I don’t see a ghost or anything that might resemble one. All I see is a pigpen and a big old barn.”

  Meggie inched closer to Bulldog, leaned over the camera and tapped her finger against the tiny screen. Right there. It’s called an orb.”

  “It doesn’t have a face though,” Shirley chimed in.

  “Face?” Bulldog puffed out his cheeks and shook his head in disbelief. He handed the camera back to Meggie and rubbed his brow. “Tell you what. I’ll see what I can do, but if we decide to check it out, we’ll need to get in touch with the property owners.”

  Bulldog wrote down the information he needed and tossed the pencil on the desk. He opened the office door. “Ladies, we’ll keep in touch.” After he shook Shirley’s hand he turned to Meggie, clasped her hand and held it for several seconds. “You’re sure you don’t have an overactive imagination?”

  Meggie shook her head, peeked at Shirley from the corner of her eye and quirked an eyebrow.

  Bulldog continued. “As one friend to another, I think you ought to retire from housesitting, Meggie. Stay home and take care of Walter. It’s safer, and it’ll keep you out of trouble.”

  The women left Bulldog’s office and made their way down the aisle between several cubicles. In one cubicle a uniformed deputy sat at his desk, looked up as they passed by, then quickly looked away. A second deputy clicked on his keyboard and darted glances at them. Near the lobby door three deputies were deep in conversation, but fell silent when they saw Meggie and Shirley approach.

  The women crossed the lobby. Meggie pushed against the glass door that led outside and held it open for Shirley. When they were several feet away from the building, Shirley glanced over her shoulder. “That went over like a lead balloon.”

  “At least he might have it checked out,” Meggie shuddered. “Now I know what it feels like to walk the gauntlet. Did you notice how quiet it became when we walked by everyone?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they think you’re loony.” Shirley caught herself and quickly added, “I mean they think we’re loony.”

  “Who cares what they think?” Meggie turned to Shirley. “I do have one question.”

  Shirley rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

  Meggie unlocked the driver’s door and looked over the Bug’s roof at Shirley. “If Fred rests at the bottom of the well, where is Amelia?”

  Chapter 17

  The murmur of conversation, loud laughter and clink of glasses slit the air inside the Legion Club. Walter held a tall glass under a beer tap and filled it to the top. He set it on the bar in front of a male patron.

  Meggie looked away. She stirred her rum tonic and let her mind wander to the hobby farm. So much had happened since the day she drove out to Rileys’ to housesit. She found it difficult to comprehend it all.

  After Bulldog broke the news to Molly and Michael about possible human remains in the old well behind their house, Molly wanted to cut her vacation short and return home. But Meggie encouraged her to stay in North Dakota and enjoy the rest of her time with Michael. She promised Molly
she would keep in touch if there were any new developments.

  Walter leaned over and laid his hand on the bar in front of Meggie. “You’re deep in thought. Something troubling you?”

  Meggie started at his words. She swished her drink and contemplated a response. “Questions persist in my mind about the whole Fred and Amelia thing. I feel I should be doing something to find some answers. Now that the remains from the well have been positively identified as Fred’s, I want to know what happened to Amelia.”

  “The authorities will investigate and find out who murdered Fred.” Walter drew his hand off the bar and straightened up. “Whatever happened to Amelia doesn’t concern you. Let it go and back off. Be grateful they’ve identified Fred’s remains.” Walter glanced at his watch. “Where are Bill and Shirley? They better get here if they don’t want to miss the meat raffle.”

  A few minutes later, Shirley burst through the door and pressed her palm to her heart. “Thank heavens we’re on time. I didn’t think we’d make it.” She gave Bill a curt nod.

  “Don’t blame me.” Slighter and not much taller than Shirley, Bill defended himself. “You’re the one who had to change clothes a hundred times.”

  Meggie grinned and slid off the bar stool. She led the way into the well-lit section of the Legion Club. Most of the tables were occupied with patrons hoping to win free steak or fish packages. She found an empty table near the pull-tab booth.

  “Walter loves being in charge of the meat raffles. He thinks tonight will be very profitable for the Legion Club. Butcher’s Meat Market donated the best-looking steaks.” Meggie saw her husband approaching the table with a roll of raffle tickets. She dug in her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Here’s hoping I win.”

  Later that evening, Walter handed out the last package of steaks to the winning patron, picked up his drink and ambled over to Meggie’s table. He sat down and asked her if she needed another drink, but she shook her head.

  After congratulating Shirley on winning three steak packages, he turned to Bill and soon the men were deep in conversation. When Walter divulged that walleyes were biting on Rabbit Lake, plans were made for a fishing trip.

  It grew quiet at the table, both couples lost in thought. Then Walter spoke up, “I talked with the commander of the Legion Club in Bluff. Fred was a member so they plan to hold a burial service for him.”

  Bill shook his head and piped in, “The authorities sure are keeping everything hush-hush. There’s no doubt in my mind someone killed him. They suspect foul play, but so far no suspects have been identified.”

  “Sooner or later they’ll catch the guilty party. Either that or it becomes a cold case, which would be a darn shame,” Walter added.

  The evening grew late. Only a few people remained in the club. Two couples occupied a table on the far side of the room. An elderly man nursed his beer at the table next to them. He seemed in no hurry to leave. Even the bar area boasted few hangers-on.

  “Whoever killed Fred must be shaking in his boots.” Shirley crossed her legs and swung her leg up and down.” If it hadn’t been for Sherlock and Watson, that poor man would still be lying at the bottom of an old well. I’d love to see the faces of all those gossipmongers who were so sure Fred and Amelia ran off together.”

  Meggie noticed the man sitting at the table next to them leaned in their direction. He must have been served one beer too many.

  “As for the whereabouts of Amelia,” Walter began, “I’ve already told Meggie to let go and back off.” He glanced at his wife. “For once, I think she’s going to take my advice.”

  As soon as Walter and Bill left the table to buy pull-tabs, Meggie set her drink down and turned to Shirley. “Here’s what we’re going to do . . .”

  The Volkswagen Bug clattered across High Bridge from Duluth, Minnesota, to Superior, Wisconsin, under a gray sky. The St. Louis River churned beneath the bridge.

  “Are you sure Amelia’s sister lives in Superior?” Shirley glanced at the speedometer, then into the river. “You better slow down or we’ll end up swimming with the fish.”

  Meggie kept her eyes on the road. “I’ve got the driving under control and no, I’m not sure Amelia’s sister lives in Superior, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

  “I hope you’re right and this doesn’t turn out to be another one of your featherbrained escapades. We both know it wouldn’t be the first time.” Shirley shook her head and let out a long breath. “By the way, who’s Edith Knutson and how does she know Amelia’s sister?”

  “Edith and I met at Vera’s shop. I worked with her at St. James church bazaar in Bluff.” Meggie stopped at a red light. “Edith grew up with Amelia in a small town in northern Minnesota. When they were young, they both relocated to the Bluff area. Evidently, they were fast friends until Amelia married her husband. After that, Edith rarely heard from her.”

  “I wonder what happened to their friendship? Do you think Amelia’s husband put the kibosh on it?”

  Meggie shrugged and drove on. “Edith suspected Herman didn’t want his wife to have any friends, but Amelia never told her as much.” Meggie flashed a quick look at Shirley. “I quizzed Edith about Amelia’s disappearance to see if she knew anything. She told me rumors swirled around Bluff for years. Gossips said Amelia and Fred Jackson had a thing for each other.”

  Shirley’s chin jutted. “So when they both went missing everyone assumed they ran off together. But now we know for sure Fred didn’t run off with anyone. I wonder if Amelia is dead, too.”

  “I heard through the grapevine that some people think Amelia had something to do with Fred’s death. But I don’t believe it for a moment. You know how it goes. One rumor squelched and another one pops its ugly head up.” Meggie glanced out the driver’s window then back on the road. “I think it’s only right, and Molly agrees with me, that we return Amelia’s letters to her if she’s alive.”

  “A shot in the dark,” Shirley mumbled.

  “According to Edith, Amelia’s older sister married and moved to Superior. Edith didn’t have an address for her, but she remembered Ruth lived near a park by Lake Superior. I did a Google search on all the parks near the lake.”

  “Just so we’re on the same page. You think Amelia’s sister lives in Superior but you don’t know for sure. You think she lives near a park by a lake, but you can’t be certain of that either.” Shirley shook her head. “Like I said. A shot in the dark.”

  Meggie pulled off to the side of the street. “There’s a park over there,” she pointed to her left, “and that house right there is the only two-story home on the block.” She looked at Shirley. “Are you coming with me or do you want to wait in the car?”

  Shirley decided to wait in the car so Meggie made her way to the house alone. She pushed the doorbell and waited. Several seconds went by. When no one answered the door, she pushed the button a second time. After another short wait she turned toward the Bug and shrugged.

  Behind her the door opened. A young woman with a child in her arms peeked out. When asked if Ruth Burnson lived at the address the woman shook her head. “If you give me a minute, I’ll find her forwarding address.” Minutes later she returned and handed Meggie directions to an assisted-living home.

  Meggie slid into the front seat and buckled her seat belt. “She doesn’t live here anymore, but the young woman believes she stills resides at Holy Angels, an assisted-living facility.” Meggie pulled away from the curb and made a U-turn. She repeated the directions to Shirley, asked her to keep her eyes open for the street and turned left at the corner.

  Minutes later she pulled up in front of Holy Angels. “Well, here goes. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that Ruth still lives here and she can give us information about Amelia.”

  The two women crawled out of the Bug and walked up to the front door of the building. The glass door opened, and they stepped i
nside the small entryway. A directory on the wall to the right displayed initials, room numbers, and buzzers.

  Meggie stepped closer and scanned the initials. At the very bottom of the list she spotted R.B. “I think we’re in luck. Let’s hope she’s home.” Meggie pushed the buzzer, heard a click and pulled on the lobby door.

  Soft music played in the background. A number of armchairs were arranged around an oblong coffee table. Two loveseats sat opposite each other in front of a gas fireplace. A white-haired lady sat knitting at the end of one loveseat. She glanced toward the door and smiled at the two women.

  Several small tables were positioned nearby. A food cart with carafes, mugs, and a covered food tray had been parked next to the tables. Two elderly men sat at the table closest to the cart and focused on a game of checkers.

  Meggie looked around the area. “I don’t see an information desk. Let’s find room 119.”

  Shirley fell into step with Meggie and together they walked down the carpeted hallway. They passed several apartment doors decorated with wooden greeting plaques and other craft items of welcome.

  “Here it is.” Meggie stopped in front of room 119 and knocked on the door. She waited several seconds then put her ear to the door. Footsteps approached and the door knob turned.

  A thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair adjusted her glasses and glanced up at Meggie. “May I help you?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “My name is Meggie Moore, and this is my friend, Shirley Wright.” She paused. “We’re looking for Ruth Burnson.”

  “I’m sorry but she’s out at the moment. I’m her sister. Maybe I can help you or let her know you stopped by.”

  “Amelia Schmidt?”

  The woman nodded.

  Meggie looked dazed. “We didn’t expect to find you here. We thought you might be . . . I mean, we didn’t know . . .”

  Sometime later Amelia sat on a cream-colored sofa near a window in the sitting room, the package of letters beside her. She had expressed her sorrow about Fred’s death and composed herself. “Thank you for telling me what happened to my Fred. I have always wondered.” She took a deep breath and began to tell her story.