“Whatever,” Martha said with a careful pat of her teased-out blond hair. Today she wore a blue and black cat suit, her preferred mode of dress. Martha makes jewelry that she sells online, and the entire town had helped out at one time or another. She recently procured a distributor, but still makes one-of-a-kind jewelry.
I took Martha’s keys and she jumped into my Mustang and tore off down the driveway before Eleanor and I even had time to get into the station wagon. I had a bad feeling about Martha using my car, but the wagon was much roomier.
Eleanor ejected an eight-track tape and popped in another one. It was a slow mode country tape that I had to remove before it got on my last nerve.
I headed back to town. “What do you think about Wilber’s disappearance, Eleanor?”
“Strange. I’m so disappointed for Bernice. I know Bernice still loves her ex-husband, even if he left her for another woman years ago.”
“And don’t forget he managed to get custody of the kids.”
“Perhaps it’s not strange at all. I’ve always wondered if Bernice would allow Wilber back into her life after so many years.”
I pulled around and headed in the opposite direction. “I’m bothered by Wilber’s sudden disappearance. Let’s go to Wilber’s place and find out what gives.”
“And I’ll give him a piece of my mind,” Eleanor said with a curt nod.
“Providing that he’s okay,” I added quickly.
“Do you think something untoward happened to him?”
“It’s possible.”
“We’d better hurry then.”
I pulled into Wilber’s driveway. Farmers live in the area and passing an occasional tractor was a common occurrence.
Wilber’s blue truck was parked in the driveway. The curtains were drawn as I knocked on the door, casting Eleanor a nervous glance. Eleanor tried to peer though the small space where the curtains hadn’t met. “I can’t see anything,” she complained.
“Let’s see if there’s another window where we can see inside.”
Eleanor and I walked around the house, but none of the windows were low enough to see into. We climbed the deck out back. The blinds had been pulled aside and we could see into the dining room. Dirty dishes sat on the table and the only light on was the fluorescent one over the kitchen sink. I always kept mine on too and recognized the familiar glow.
Eleanor tried the patio door and it easily slid open. “Should we go inside?”
“I don’t know. Wilber might not be happy if we surprise him in the bedroom.”
“Who said anything about the bedroom?” Eleanor said with a shake of her head.
I opened the door the remainder of the way because Eleanor already had her paws on the handle. “Wilber!” I called out, listening for a response.
Eleanor frowned. “He might be injured.”
“Let’s hope so … . I mean, I hope that’s all it is.”
I attempted to shoulder Eleanor ahead of me through the door. She grabbed my shirt and yanked me inside.
We pinched our noses at the foul odor. “It smells horrible in here,” Eleanor said as we walked into the living room. There was a large brown stain in the middle of the yellow carpet.
I walked up the hallway and the smell got worse. I could even smell it with my nose pinched. It was hard to hold my breath. I used my shirt to open the only closed door at the end of the hall. Wilber’s corpse lay on the bed! I swatted the flies away as I hurried outside and stumbled until I was far enough away from the house to breathe.
“That was horrible,” I cried.
“We shouldn’t have come here,” Eleanor added, tears in her eyes. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”
“I imagine two weeks. Bernice mentioned that was the last time she saw him.”
Eleanor nodded as she called 911. We waited in the front yard for the cops to arrive.
Sirens screamed up the road and four cars piled into the driveway. I sighed when Sheriff Peterson and Trooper Bill Sales, who is married to my granddaughter Sophia, approached.
“What do we have here, ladies?” Peterson asked.
“Wilber is dead.”
“You forgot to tell him that he’s been dead for a few weeks,” Eleanor said.
“Or that’s what we think,” I added. “Based on the foul smell.”
“It’s so horrible that it made my eyes water.”
Peterson motioned his deputies toward the front door with guns drawn.
“I hardly think there’s a need for firepower,” I said. “The patio door is open.”
“It was unlocked,” Eleanor added. “I accidentally opened it.”
“We came in because we thought he couldn’t hear us knocking on the door.”
“Do you usually do that when you come to someone’s house?” Bill asked.
“I do when I come to do a wellness check.”
“I don’t know why you’d do a wellness check and not have the police do one,” Peterson said. “You wouldn’t like it if people thought you were breaking in.”
“Who asked you to come here?” Bill asked as four officers walked out back.
I bit my lip. I didn’t want to tell them who gave us an idea that Wilber might be in trouble, but I couldn’t withhold information like that. “Bernice mentioned she hadn’t seen Wilber for few weeks. She figured he didn’t want to come over anymore.”
“And we had to come over to check on him,” Eleanor added. She shuddered. “I’m sorry I went inside. It was horrible.”
“I think he’s been dead for at least a few weeks.”
“Oh, and are you a coroner?” Peterson asked, raising his bushy brows.
“No, but I’ve never seen a body in that condition.”
“There’s a large brown spot on the living room carpet,” Eleanor added.
“But we found the body in the bedroom. I can’t imagine why the culprit would move the body.”
“Wait by my car,” Peterson ordered.
Under ordinary circumstances I’d argue with him about us being kept away from the scene, but this time I’d much rather be upwind.
“Now we know why Bernice hasn’t seen Wilber in two weeks,” Eleanor said.
“But we still don’t know who or why someone would kill Wilber.”
“Bernice mentioned he was distracted of late.”
“I wish he’d been more forthcoming with her. At least then we’d have an idea of who might want him dead.”
“This is so awful,” Eleanor said. “Bernice will be crushed.”
“And his kids will be too. She mentioned they live in Troy.”
“Do you think they might be responsible for their father’s death?”
“We’ll have to speak to them, but I can’t imagine they’d want their own father dead.”
“They’re suspects at this point until they can be cleared,” Eleanor said.
“I know, but I hate the thought of children murdering their own father.”
“It happens all the time. Don’t you watch the ID channel?”
“You know I do. Bernice is considered a suspect too at this point.”
Eleanor’s hands slipped to her hips. “You know Bernice didn’t do this. She told us she hasn’t seen him—.”
“I know what she said, but we need to ask her a few questions. She might remember something important when she finds out Wilber was murdered.”
“She’ll be too shocked to question. And I hate to think one of our friends is a murder suspect.”
“The cops always look at a spouse or ex when someone is murdered,” I reminded Eleanor. “Standard procedure.”
“We should tell the sheriff we’re leaving, and then we can sneak over to Bernice’s house.”
“I’m with you on that.”
Sheriff Peterson met us at his car with a handkerchief pressed against his nose. “You’re right, I think Wilber has been there at least a few weeks. So, Bernice mentioned Wilber hadn’t been by lately?”
“Yes. And we’d
really like to give her the news. It might come easier from us.”
“I can’t allow you to do that. She’s a potential suspect.”
“We could go together,” I suggested.
“Agnes is right. She’ll need a friend. It will be a horrible shock to her,” Eleanor said.
“Fine we’ll leave in a few minutes. Sales can handle the scene until forensics arrives.”
I drove back to Bernice’s. This will break what’s left of Bernice’s fragile heart.
Eleanor knocked on Bernice’s door and she opened the door, an orange cat in her arms. “I didn’t expect you back,” Bernice said. Her eyes then widened. “What is Sheriff Peterson doing here?”
“That’s what we’d like to talk to you about,” I said.
Bernice led the way inside and shooed the cats out the patio door. She returned to the living room, where Peterson somberly said, “Have a seat, Bernice.”
“I’d rather stand,” Bernice fired back.
“Please, Bernice, have a seat,” I pleaded with her.
She threw up her arms as she sat down. “Happy now?”
“When was the last time you saw your ex-husband?” Peterson asked.
“Like I told Agnes and Eleanor, he hasn’t come around for two weeks. Why?”
“Did you go to his house recently?”
“Nope. I figured Wilber found another woman to spend his time with. He’s like that.”
“Bernice,” I began. “Eleanor and I found Wilber’s body at his house.”
Her eyes widened and the color left her tanned face. “Why would you go over there?”
“To check on him,” I said. “I thought there might be a reason why you hadn’t seen Wilber for a while.” I stared at the floor. “I wish I hadn’t found him like that, but we believe he’s been dead for a few weeks.”
Peterson said, “Bernice, I believe Wilber was murdered.”
Bernice clambered to her feet. “That isn’t possible! Nobody would want to hurt Wilber!”
I wanted to kick the sheriff when he asked, “Not even you?”
“I recently reconnected with Wilber. Why would I want him dead?”
“How angry were you when Wilber quit coming around?”
Eleanor put a finger in the air. “But sheriff, if he’s been dead for a few weeks Bernice didn’t have time to be angry with him.”
“Bernice was hurt, not angry, when she spoke to us this morning about Wilber’s absence.”
“In my experience, I’d expect even an ex-wife to shed some tears when she finds out her ex has been murdered.”
Bernice walked over to the sheriff. “If you looked around my place you’ll see I’ve had a hard life. It’s desensitized me, my doctor claims. I don’t even cry at funerals.” She wiped a hand across her face. “I feel really bad about Wilber. I can’t imagine someone killing him. He’s even-tempered and doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”
“Then why did you get divorced?” Peterson asked.
“Sheriff!” I gasped.
“It’s fine, Agnes. Wilber had an affair and left me for another woman. Satisfied?” She walked over and tipped a jug with a skull and crossbones on it and wiped her mouth. “I didn’t kill him even when he got custody of my children, so I don’t expect I’d kill him now. We’re friends.”
“Any romantic involvement?”
“I’ve had my thoughts, but no we’ve never gotten to that. Wilber’s mind was elsewhere of late, but he didn’t tell me why … and I’m not the sort to question him. I figured if he wanted me to know he’d tell me.”
“Would you mind if I had a look around your house?” Peterson asked.
“I hope you don’t have a cat allergy. They have the run of the place.”
Eleanor and I stayed in the living room with Bernice while the sheriff opened the door to two deputies who assisted him with looking around the place.
“I’m so sorry, Bernice,” Eleanor said. “I can’t believe the sheriff would accuse you of being involved in Wilber’s murder.”
“Are you sure you don’t know of anyone who might want to hurt Wilber?” I asked.
“Nope. Already told the sheriff that.”
“How did he get along with your children?” Eleanor asked.
“Why you bringing them up?”
“It’s likely that Peterson will be questioning them too.”
Bernice gasped. “You can’t let him do that. They would never harm Wilber!”
“We could touch base with them first if you’d like,” I said. “No telling if the cops will give them the news tonight, but I’d imagine they might.”
Bernice grabbed my shirt. “You can’t let them do that. I should be the one to tell them.”
“You shouldn’t do that, Bernice. The sheriff already considers you a suspect. He’ll want to question them.”
“Unless we get their first,” Eleanor said. “Agnes and I could leave right now if you give us their addresses.”
Bernice rattled off the addresses and phone numbers. She squeezed my hands. “Please tell them gently, and please don’t question them too hard. I know they’d never harm their father. They’ll be devastated when they hear he’s dead. Do you have to tell them he was murdered?”
“I’ll have to. The cops will tell them.”
“You should leave before the sheriff notices you’re gone.”
“He won’t like this,” Eleanor said as she tugged me out the door.
We piled into the station wagon and I turned around and left despite Peterson staring at us.
“Peterson will be gunning for us after this,” I said.
“He’ll have to find us first. I hope you plan on stopping at a drive-through before we leave. Troy is quite a ways from here.”
Chapter 3
The traffic in Troy was horrible, and I clung to the steering wheel with a death grip. Forget about turning at the light, I had to use turnarounds that had their own traffic signals. I was so confused, and having so many fast-food restaurants and businesses blanketing the landscape didn’t help.
“Are we lost?” Eleanor inquired.
“What do you think?”
Eleanor gripped her purse. “It was just a question. Maybe we should stop and ask for directions.”
“I’m afraid I’ll never get back into traffic if I do that. We should call Callie and Angelo before we drop by their houses.”
“I can’t imagine they’ll be home. I bet they’re still at work.”
“I don’t even know what they do for a living,” I admitted.
“We should have asked Bernice.”
“I have a feeling she wouldn’t know.”
“I think you’re right. Bernice mentioned reconnecting with her children hadn’t gone well.”
“It will be interesting to hear what Bernice’s children have to say,” I said.
Eleanor and I nervously sat on the couch in Angelo’s house. Bernice’s daughter, Callie, helped her brother in the kitchen.
“What do you think they’re doing?” I asked.
“Plotting our demise?” Eleanor shrugged.
Angelo and Callie walked into the room carrying four glasses of lemonade. They set them down on the table, and Eleanor and I each scooped one up and took a sip.
Callie’s slight frame was spilled into a white business suit. She had blond hair, whereas Angelo had dark hair. The last time he was in Tawas he had a shaved head, but now he had a full head of hair. His shirt was unbuttoned nearly to his waist and I couldn’t help but stare at the swatch of dark hair on his chest. It was rather distracting.
Callie cleared her throat. “You mentioned on the phone you needed to speak to us about our father?”
“Yes, that’s right. When was the last time you spoke to him?” I asked.
“A few weeks ago when we were in Tawas,” Angelo said, “Why?”
“Two weeks ago,” Eleanor gasped.
I shot Eleanor a look and tried to smooth things over by saying, “Did you see your mother whi
le you were in town?”
Angelo cleared his throat. “We haven’t spoken to her in months,” he admitted.
“No?” Eleanor asked. “I thought you had all reconnected.”
“I’d rather not discuss this. It’s a private family affair.”
Callie plucked invisible lint from her skirt.
“You certainly seemed happy to see her again not long ago,” I said.
“Even your father spent some time with her,” Eleanor said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Callie said. “Dad told us there was no reason to keep in contact with her.”
“Why would he say that?” I asked.
“There was a reason she didn’t have custody of us when we were children.”
“She spent time in a mental ward,” Angelo hissed.
“Most mothers would go off the deep end if they lost custody of their children,” I said, “especially if her ex moved in the other woman so quickly.”
“You both should be ashamed of yourselves judging your mother like this,” Eleanor scolded. “Even if she was the worst mother in the world that doesn’t mean she might not have changed.”
“This is none of your business,” Angelo exclaimed.
“So you paid your father a visit two weeks ago?” Eleanor asked. “Both of you?”
“Why does it matter?” Callie asked.
“Because we found your father’s body earlier today,” I said to their shocked faces.
“He’s been dead for about two weeks,” Eleanor added.
Tears rolled down Callie’s cheeks. “He was fine when we were there.”
“It’s okay, Callie,” Angelo said as he patted his sister’s hand.
Eleanor glared at Bernice’s children. “You must have at least observed something out of the ordinary when you visited him. How was his health?”
“He was fine,” Callie cried.
“Your mother said he’d been distracted lately,” I said.
“Probably because of her efforts to reconcile with him,” Angelo said.
“Your father went to see your mother of his own accord. I don’t understand your harsh opinion of your mother.”
“You should probably come to Tawas,” Eleanor said. “Sheriff Peterson will want to speak to you. And you’ll have arrangements to make for your father.”
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