An Alpaca Witness

by B L Crumley

  I threw back my head and laughed. “Even worse. Cole was there.”

  Fern’s mouth formed a sly smile. “Was he now?”

  “Yep, just Cole and my parents.” I punched the bread again.

  “Well, what happened?” she prodded impatiently.

  “When I got there, Cole came outside to help me carry the salad,” I began. Fern’s smile inched a little wider. “And he was nice. We actually had a friendly conversation. But then my mom had to bring up me finding a dead body, and your arrest, which led to the still, and yeah, it pretty much went downhill from there.”

  Fern groaned. “I’m sorry, Charlee.”

  “It’s fine.” I left it at that. I didn’t want to mention anything else about Cole because Fern would make more of it than it was, and I doubted he would be flirting with me again. I was only here temporarily anyway. “I was planning to take some bread to Patty Henderson today. Do you know if she has company? I don’t want to barge in.”

  “I think her daughter might be in town. But the bread is a nice gesture. I do feel really bad for Patty, even if she did kill her husband.” Fern took her tea over to the table and sat down.

  “I thought you said you didn’t think Patty did it.”

  “I don’t think it’s likely, but is it possible? Sure,” Fern sipped her tea. “If anything, maybe she can shed some light on who may have killed Earl.”

  I hoped so. Because at this point, all evidence pointed to Fern.

  Later, when the bread was done, I placed it in a basket with one of Fern’s pretty cloth napkins. It smelled delicious. I made the short trek next door, walked up the porch steps, and rang the doorbell.

  My stomach felt like I’d eaten the bread dough— unsettled and sour. I took a calming breath as I mentally rehearsed what I’d planned to say. I’d never done something like this before, and with her being a grieving widow, I needed to tread lightly.

  The door opened, revealing a woman of average height in her mid-sixties with short dyed auburn hair. She wore jeans, a blouse, and a frown.

  “Hi, Mrs. Henderson, my name is Charlee King. I’m Fern’s niece.”

  Her frown turned to a scowl. “You’re the one who found Earl.”

  “Uh, yes. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I held out the basket. “I made you some bread.”

  She leaned forward slightly, eyeing the basket like a snake might be hiding under the napkin. Then she stepped to the side. “Would you like to come in?”

  I smiled. “Thank you.” I wasn’t expecting that after her initial greeting, but the bread did smell amazing, so perhaps that was enough to soften her up. I followed her past the living room, down a short hall into the kitchen. The Hendersons’ house was probably built in the sixties. It looked like the kitchen had been updated about twenty years ago, so it was still outdated.

  “Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked politely.

  “Sure, coffee would be nice,” I replied.

  She poured two cups and motioned for me to sit at a table overlooking the backyard. That part of her house was similar to Fern’s, except for the Hendersons’ backyard was beautifully landscaped. Even though it was well into fall, the flower beds and shrubs were immaculate.

  “You have a beautiful yard,” I said, taking a sip of coffee.

  She sighed. “Thank you. I enjoy gardening and flowers. After Earl retired, he helped more, and we put in the arbor with the wisteria. But now…” She blinked several times; either she was a great actress or she loved her husband. She turned to me. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him.”

  “Oh.” I hesitated, unable to think of a better response.

  “I still don’t know what he was doing over at Fern’s. Well, other than chasing the alpacas.” Her cool tone highlighted her frustration. “I don’t mind animals, but I don’t understand why your aunt couldn’t just get a dog.

  “First it was those nasty goats, and then the alpacas. Earl was convinced there must be some restriction on farm animals in the neighborhood, but when he went down to the county planning department, they just laughed. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m moving to Arizona.” She took a sip of her coffee. “My daughter’s here and meeting with an estate dealer. I’m ready to downsize and be done with this place. She lives in Scottsdale.”

  “That sounds nice,” I replied, trying to think of how to ask the questions I needed the answers to.

  “Yes, Earl and I had planned on moving there sometime in the next few years, but now I decided to move that timeline up a bit.”

  “Mrs. Henderson,” I began.

  “You can call me Patty.” She offered a sad smile.

  I swallowed, hoping I wouldn’t tick her off with what I was going to say. “Patty, you mentioned that you didn’t know why Earl would have been over at Fern’s. Do you know if he had an argument with anyone recently?”

  Her scowl returned. “Other than Fern, you mean.”

  “Oh, yes, well, I know my aunt—”

  “I know Fern didn’t kill Earl. They may have butted heads over her ridiculous pets, but I know she didn’t kill him.” Patty leaned back in her chair and picked up her coffee again.

  Whew. “Did you happen to hear anything that night?”

  “No, I was asleep. Earl often stayed up late to watch TV, and he slept in the guest room down the hall. He snores,” she added. Her alibi was impossible to prove, but I believed her. “Like I told the police, I don’t know anything. And I know the spouse is often suspected, but what would be my motive to kill him?”

  “Insurance policy?” I braved the risky question. Her coffee cup clanked on the worn oak table.

  “Is that what you think?” she glared at me.

  “I know it’s what other people might think,” I said innocently. “Earl was in the insurance business.”

  “Yes, he was,” she agreed. “But there isn’t a policy. When Earl sold the business to his partner, Russell, that was our retirement. I didn’t need an insurance policy.”

  That was interesting. According to Walter’s scuttlebutt, Earl wasn’t pleased about his arrangement with his former partner. I needed to look into that further. Patty and I chatted a little longer, and then I left when her daughter returned.

  Now I was around ninety-five percent certain that Patty didn’t kill her husband, and Russell had jumped to the top of my suspect list. I made a mental note to call the insurance company and make an appointment for the next day, as my afternoon was already booked. I’d promised Fern I’d help her organize her craft closet, and who knew how long that was going to take.

  A bag of raffia tumbled from the closet shelf, nearly whacking me in the head before falling to the floor. “Fern, you are officially a hoarder.” I hoisted a box of Christmas candles from the shelf and placed it on the carpeted floor in the hallway.

  “I prefer to think of myself as a collector.” She grinned down at me from her perch on a stepladder. “Here, I’ve got another bag of raffia.”

  At least this one was handed to me and I didn’t have to dodge it like falling debris. “What is all the raffia for? No one needs this much.”

  “Do you remember when I tried making soap several years ago?” she asked, cringing.

  “Ew, yes I do. You mailed me some and it stunk up my apartment so bad I had to throw it out.”

  “You thought your place smelled bad; you should have been here! Moose wouldn’t let me pet him for a month. The stench had permanently embedded itself in my skin,” she sighed. “Oh well, I learned my lesson. Anyway, I had planned to sell it at the Fall Harvest Craft Fair, and I was going to wrap the soap with raffia and attach these cute little tags. Only I didn’t get that far.”

  “So, can we dump the raffia?” I asked, placing the bag off to the side with the candles.

  “Oh
no, I might need it for something else. Just set it with the pile of stuff to go to the barn.” She motioned to the growing heap at the end of the hall by the stairway.

  Fern had enough raffia to run the entire length of Rockfish Bay and back, so I couldn’t imagine what she was going to need it for, but I wasn’t going to argue. At least she was getting this junk out of the house and finally using the linen closet for its actual purpose.

  “I think I’ll take a load out to the barn to make room for more.” I bent down to pick up several items.

  “Good idea.” Fern turned back to the closet, to rummage through another box.

  With Moose following close behind, I made my way down the stairs and out the back door to the barn. I hadn’t been in there since Sunday morning, when I’d found Earl’s body. The crime scene techs had finished their work a few days ago, and the yellow police tape had been removed. Even so, a chill ran up my spine as I opened the door to the tack room where Fern’s neighbor had met his untimely demise.

  Moose darted around me as I set the boxes on the floor and considered where to put them. This room needed to be cleaned out too. I started to move things around to make more room for the rest of Fern’s junk. Several empty flowerpots had been haphazardly shoved in a corner beside the shelves with canned food. I decided to move them out to the stall with the rest of Fern’s gardening supplies. No sense wasting a perfectly good corner where I could stack at least four boxes.

  As I picked up the pots, I noticed something odd in the old, weathered floorboards. There was a gap where the rest of the boards appeared to be pretty tight. Curious, I kneeled to take a closer look, and ran my hand along the crevice, gently lifting at the edge. It moved. Applying more pressure, I removed a rectangular chunk of the floor, approximately two feet in length. Shoving it off to the side, I leaned over the hole and gasped.

  On the ground was something wrapped in a black garbage bag. I hesitated a moment, unsure if I should open it. From here, I couldn’t tell what it was. I highly doubted it belonged to Fern, and with the events of late, it seemed highly suspicious.

  If it had something to do with Earl, I should call the police. But considering how things had gone with local law enforcement, Cole in particular, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and reached for the bag. Besides, it’s possible it had nothing to do with Earl.

  It only took about three seconds for me to discover that it did. Because through the black plastic bag, I could tell it was a briefcase of some kind. And on every TV show I’d seen, a briefcase always contained cash or drugs.

  When I pulled it from the bag, I discovered it was actually was a small hard-shell suitcase, definitely vintage. I placed it on the floor and tugged on each of the latches. It opened easily, and I held my breath, slowly lifting the lid.

  Just as I suspected, it was filled with cash. Lots of it, organized in stacks held together with rubber bands. There had to be thousands in here. And this was definitely not Fern’s. Which meant it could have been Earl’s? Or did Earl come here looking for it? Is that why he was killed?

  I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that I needed to call the police before I contaminated the evidence any further. I closed the suitcase and left it on the floor, then dusted off my yoga pants and raced back to the house.

  “Fern!” I yelled from downstairs. “You’re not going to believe what I found.”

  A crash sounded from above. I headed toward the stairs. “Are you okay?” I shouted.

  “Yep, just fine.” Fern appeared at the top of the stairs looking a bit disheveled with several ribbons hanging from her hair. “What did you find? If it’s the moonshine on the top shelf, I know we need to hide that. It’s tucked behind the peaches, and I’m surprised Cole didn’t see it before, so maybe we should—”

  “No, it’s not that, but yes, I agree we should move it.” I paused to take a breath. “I found a suitcase full of cash underneath the floor!”

  Fern shrieked, dislodging a ribbon. She yanked on it, and let it fall to the floor. “Do you think it’s Earl’s?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and grinned. “I’m not sure, but it’s definitely something.”

  “Oh, goody!” Fern rubbed her hands together in excitement, then reached for the railing to descend the stairs. “Show me.”

  “I will, but I think we need to call the police.”

  “You haven’t done that yet?” She looked worried.

  “No, I just found it.”

  She brushed by me and went into the kitchen. “We don’t want the sheriff thinking we’re withholding evidence.” Fern picked up her phone off the counter.

  “Are you calling dispatch?”

  “No, I’m calling Cole.” She held the phone up to her ear.

  “What, is he on speed dial?” I wasn’t sure why she would have his number so readily handy.

  “No,” she said, “I haven’t figured out how to use that, but… oh! Sheriff Walker, yes. Hi, this is Fern Bailey.” She paused. “Charlee found something we think you’d like to see… what is it? Well, just get your butt over here and you can see for yourself… yes, okay, bye.” She set down the phone, a triumphant look on her face. “He’s on his way.”

  “I can’t believe you said that to him,” I muttered.

  “What? It’s important.” She patted her head and removed another dangling ribbon, before studying me. “Um, you might want to change your sweatshirt.”

  I glanced down at my old gray sweatshirt with the Rockfish Bay High School Pirates logo on it. When I’d donned it after returning from Patty’s to help Fern with her closet decluttering project, I’d noticed a small stain (probably coffee). Now it was covered in dust and some raffia particles.

  Fern giggled. “I wouldn’t want Cole to think you’ve been rolling around in the hay.”

  “Ha ha,” I deadpanned. “Fine, I’ll change.” I traipsed up the stairs and found a black, mostly clean, lightweight pullover. At least if there was a coffee stain, I couldn’t see it. I also traded my yoga pants for some jeans, which also needed a wash.

  My weekend trip was turning into a week, and I hadn’t brought very many clothes. I needed to do laundry. There was a drawer full of clothes I left at Fern’s, but they were from way back when and I wasn’t sure how many of them actually still fit. After a quick look in the mirror, I redid my hair in a messy bun. Raffia had found its way there as well.

  On my way down the stairs, the front doorbell rang, and Fern rushed to answer it.

  “Sheriff, please come in. Charlee!” she shouted.

  “I’m here.” I rounded the corner to the entry.

  Cole’s eyes found mine. Gone was the teasing glint from last night. “So, I hear you found something,” he drawled, like he suspected maybe we were just wasting his time.

  “Yes.” I tipped my chin up a notch. “It’s in the barn.”

  As the three of us trekked through the house to the backyard, I explained to Cole how Fern and I were clearing out the closet and I was moving boxes to the barn. We arrived at the tack room just as I got to the part about removing the floorboards

  Cole stopped when he saw the suitcase and looked back at me. “You removed it?” he asked, mildly disgusted.

  “Yes, because—”

  He held up his hand to silence me. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his jacket pocket and put them on before kneeling to open the suitcase. “I take it your prints are on this.” He didn’t bother looking up at me.

  “Yes,” I said again, forgoing an excuse this time.

  “In the future, if you see — or even think you see — anything suspicious, just call me,” he grumbled, clearly irritated.

  “We did—”

  “Before you touch anything,” he clarified.

  I knew what he meant. I had known exactly what I was doing before I touched it, and fr
ankly with his attitude, I didn’t feel bad about it either. “Yes, sir.”

  He shook his head, dismayed.

  “Oh, come on, Cole,” I took a step closer. “This is good, and you know it.”

  He met my gaze, and something flickered in his eyes. Annoyance yes, but maybe amusement, or possibly interest. Last night, he’d told me to use his first name, and maybe that gave me a little leverage into cracking his tough exterior.

  “Any guesses on how much is in there?” I gestured to the cash, giving him a wide grin.

  I could tell he was fighting a smile, but eventually it came through. “Aren’t you going to tell me? I assumed you’d already counted it,” he smirked.

  I shook my head. “No, but I was tempted.”

  He chuckled briefly, then pulled out a flashlight and shined it down the hole where I’d pulled the suitcase from. “Not a bad hiding spot.” Finished with his perusal, he turned off the light and stood. “Fern, were you aware of the cutout in the floor?”

  “No, and honestly, I usually don’t spend a lot of time out here. Mostly this room is used for storage,” she replied. Obviously, as it was filled with a hodgepodge of stuff, most of which Fern never used. “And as you know, I don’t lock it, so it was easily accessible if someone wanted in here,” she added.

  “And you two think this has to do with Earl?” he asked.

  Was the sheriff dense? Of course it did. I saved my snarky reply and simply said, “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He nodded once and kneeled to close the suitcase.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Cole thought for a second. “I think it’s possible it has something to do with Earl’s death. But I don’t want to speculate until I can get it analyzed.”

  That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, but I wasn’t surprised by his vague response either. I knew Cole suspected something. He just wasn’t going to share it with us.

  Cole placed the suitcase back in the garbage sack. “I’ll get someone to come back and check out the floor over here, and then you can put it back.”

  Outside in the yard, Cole stopped and turned to me. “Charlee, do you know if your prints are in the system?”