5 Death, Bones, and Stately Homes

by Valerie S. Malmont

  Bruce didn't like the plan. In fact, he hadn't thought about Rodney Mellot or Emily Rakestraw in a good many years. Now a chill seized his heart as he remembered what they'd done. It had been J.B.'s idea, true, but he hadn't had to go along with it. But they'd been so young. They should have told someone. Now it was too late. Now he had so much to lose. His lodge, his hunting preserve, the respect he'd earned in the community-he didn't want to lose all the things that mattered to him. He told himself it would be like hunting an animal, something he was used to. It was a choice of sacrificing her or himself and six others. The choice was not hard to make.

  But by the time the first shot was fired by his employee at the girl, he'd already begun to like her. That was bad news. Sort of like making a pet out of a farm animal, then having to kill it for supper. He couldn't let it happen.

  J.B. spat fury into the telephone when Bruce called to report the failure of the mission. He'd have to think of something else. He called Aaron Gelsinger's office.

  Over the dentist's sputtered protests, he said, "I don't care how you do it. Get her in any way you can. What she's doing could put us all in jail."

  Aaron Gelsinger told his receptionist he had a cancellation that needed to be filled and suggested she call Tori Miracle. "Her time's flexible," he reminded her, when she argued that others had waited longer.

  Everything Aaron did that afternoon went against his professionalism, but he had no choice. J.B. had the financial clout to destroy him. He knew his wife only stayed with him because he was a well-to-do dentist. Lose the money and he'd lose her. He placed a call to Wilbur Eshelman at the drugstore and told him what J.B. wanted them to do. He'd pretend to call in a prescription for an antibiotic; it would be up to Wilbur to substitute a fast-acting, hard-to-identify poison.

  Wilbur didn't like it. Didn't like it at all. But he did like Tori Miracle. He wished he hadn't mentioned to J.B. that he'd seen her at the high school looking at an old picture of the group in a yearbook. It was time to put an end to the hiding, the secrecy, the shame. He called the bank and told J.B. he would not cooperate with him. "And if anything happens to that girl, I'll go straight to the police. Straight to them." He hung up, pleased he'd finally had the gumption to confront the man who, as a teenager, had persuaded him to be part of the group that killed Rodney Mellott. No matter what horrors that man had committed, he hadn't deserved to die that way. Not that way.

  "I'm going home for dinner," he called out to Mildred, before stepping out into the alley. He nodded to Big Bad Bob sitting in the window well as he passed by him on his way to the parking lot.

  J.B. unlocked his desk drawer and took out his gun. He checked it carefully to make sure it was fully loaded. He'd never liked Wilbur Eshelman. Now he despised him. What made that man think he was better than everybody else? He had no right to put them all in harm's way. J.B. left through the back door of the bank, hid behind a clump of bushes, and waited for Wilbur, who, every evening at the same time, made a night deposit at the drive-up window on his way home for dinner.

  In the alley, Big Bad Bob saw J.B. come out of the bank alone, look around stealthily, then dart behind the bushes near the creek. A few minutes later, Bob saluted Wilbur as he walked by, lifting his wine bottle. He thought aloud, "What a nice man he is."

  Bob watched from the window well as Wilbur walked to his car. He heard the shot that killed him, then saw J.B. step out from behind the bushes, drag Wilbur to the edge of the embankment, and shove him over. Big Bad Bob drew himself low into the well. "Don't let him see me," he whimpered. "Please, God, don't let him see me. If you do that for me I'll quit drinking, I promise. This time I mean it." That night, surprised still to be alive, he got a ride to the cemetery by the water tower where he could hide out.

  Marvin Bumbaugh didn't like Tori Miracle. Not at all. She'd meddled in borough council matters too often, and it was because of her that the historical society and the courthouse had been burned down. He readily agreed to do what had to be done. "Don't worry" he told J.B. "I can make it look like an accident. I'll take her up to that rattlesnake pit in the mountains the Tunnels and Trails people want to buy and leave her there. She'll never get out of there alive."

  Maribell Morgan tossed in her bed most of the day. She refused the sedative the nurse brought in, because she didn't want her mind any foggier than it already was. That nice man who said he was her nephew asked her if she'd burned all the scrapbooks. She clearly remembered burning the one that Bruce had given her, but her mind must be playing tricks on her again because she could not recall burning any others. If there were more, she had to find them and destroy them. Otherwise they'd come and take Jim Bob and his little friends away.

  Maribell Morgan got out of her bed, walked down the hall to the nurses' locker room, and helped herself to the night nurse's car keys. For the first time in fifteen years, Maribell Morgan was behind the wheel of a car. It was like riding a bicycle, she thought. Once you knew how, you didn't forget.

  The attic. When Rodney first moved in with her, she'd given him an antique wardrobe in the attic to store his things in. That's where the scrapbooks would be.

  It felt good to be back in her old home again. Maybe she'd stay here from now on. She turned on the lights and slowly climbed the stairs. Her breathing was labored as she finally reached the attic. She staggered, caught herself, tottered forward, and then felt something give way in her hip.

  She wasn't in her own bed, after all, she realized, when she woke up. She was back in the ugly room in the ugly building, and that nice man was there. "Sign this, Aunt Maribell," he said, putting a pen in her hand and guiding it across the bottom of a piece of paper. "Go away," she muttered, deciding he wasn't very nice after all. "I'm tired."

  When Bruce Laughenslagger heard about Maribell's accident, he immediately knew what she'd been looking for in the attic. He found the scrapbooks in the wardrobe, exactly where Rodney had left them many years ago. There were diaries there, also. Despicable details of every perversion. Bruce stashed them in the back of his SUV.

  Driving away, he thought about Tori Miracle. She was young and honest and forthright. So much like his wife had been. If she had known what he'd done she would have encouraged him to confess. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't have given up the music he'd once loved so much. Tori made him realize that his self-respect was worth more than anything else.

  He didn't want anything to happen to Tori. They'd already made three attempts at taking her life. Who knew what J.B. would dream up next? For her own safety, he was going to persuade Tori Miracle to go away with him. Once she was safe somewhere, maybe in Mexico, he'd come back and turn everything over to the police. The nightmare had gone on too long. It was time to end it.

  Twenty-Seven

  I told the story as I had figured it out, depending mostly on the facts I had learned from Maribell and Big Bad Bob. Luscious supplied the missing details that he'd learned from Bruce's confession.

  The people at the table were stunned. Finally Alice-Ann asked, "What made you go to Maribell?"

  "Because everything that had happened pointed to her nephew J.B. Her confession was way too conveniently timed. Because I was sure she was somehow, maybe even unknowingly, covering up for him, and it made me furious. I still believed he was the killer, and I kept thinking, what kind of creep would let his own aunt take the rap for a murder he committed? I admit I was surprised to learn about the others taking part in the killing."

  Greta said, "I figured out some of the names from your story. J.B. Morgan, or Jim Bob as he used to be known, was the instigator. Bruce Laughenslagger tried to have you killed, then came around and turned them in at the end. The others who tried to murder you were Aaron Gelsinger, my dentist, and Marvin Bumbaugh, our own borough council president. Wilbur Eshelman was one of them, but threatened to confess so he was murdered byJ.B. But you said there were seven boys. Who were the other two?"

  "Benjamin Koon and Judge Edward Fetterhoff," Luscious said.

  "It's
almost impossible to believe," Greta said. "What made you suspect Emily was involved?"

  "The tape Maggie and I listened to. There was a giggle at the end. A female giggle. I figured it had to be Emily taking pictures. She even had her own darkroom where it would have been safe to develop them."

  Maggie said, "I can't understand how Emily, a nice girl from a good family, could have gotten involved with a rotten pervert like Rodney."

  Ethelind sat up straight in her chair. "I went to high school with her, and I happen to know she was not as nice as the legend makes her out to be. In fact, I'd call her pretty wild. She was popular, but that's because she slept with any boy in pants."

  Again I wondered from the vehemence in her voice if one of those "boys in pants" had been her boyfriend.

  "She went off to Bryn Mawr," Ethelind continued, "and failed at what she thought was the real reason for going to college: getting engaged. It was the fifties, remember? She came back to Lickin Creek because she had no other options. Only trouble was, all the boys she slept around with in high school had gone and married their high school sweethearts. At the ripe old age of twenty-two, Emily Rakestraw was an old maid. I imagine she saw Rodney as her only hope. And the perversions he practiced probably appealed to the wild side of her."

  "None of what you told me would stand up in court, you know," Luscious said to me. "It's all hearsay."

  My heart sank. After all I'd been through and the arrests he'd made at the fire hall, I couldn't imagine the case not going to court. "Maribell can verify it all."

  "She died a few hours ago."

  There were whispers of shock and sympathy around the table.

  "Then why did you arrest everybody?"

  "Because I have hard evidence that backs up everything you done told me. Thanks to Bruce Laughenslagger coming clean and confessing and bringing in proof."

  "So that's what was in the box he was bringing into the police station," I said. "The rest of the scrapbooks. That's not surprising, since Rodney seemed to have kept scrapbooks since he was a kid."

  "Diaries, too," Luscious said. "Lickin Creek wasn't the only place he'd done these things. I've left messages at several other police departments."

  "What's going to happen to the murderers?" Maggie asked.

  "They'll be charged in criminal court for the murder of Rodney Mellott. Additionally, four of them have been accused of attempting to murder you, Tori. And J.B. has also been charged with murder, in the death of Wilbur Eshelman. The other two, Ben Koon and the judge, are probably out on bail by now."

  Everyone in the kitchen looked at the back door, as if half expecting the killers to appear there.

  Alice-Ann smiled ruefully and said, "Now in addition to all the other things the town blames on you, I suppose you'll also be known as the girl who put an end to the Old Boys' Club."

  "Not to mention the Downtown Businessmen's Association Band," Greta said.

  More questions flew around the table, but I was through giving answers. Tyfani's arrival with Billy in her arms was a welcome relief. She looked only mildly surprised at finding such a large mob in the kitchen. After living in an embassy where there was no privacy at all, she probably didn't see anything odd about it.

  "I just need to get some milk for Billy," she apologized. "I won't be a minute."

  "Please stay and meet everybody." I proudly introduced my stepmother and baby brother to my friends.

  Everyone offered congratulations on their daring escape, and Tyfani immediately credited her servants for saving her life. "I'll be eternally grateful to them," she said.

  Ethelind announced, "They'll be staying with me. For as long as Tyfani wants."

  I was still angry at the woman for what she'd tried to do to Garnet and me, but her generosity was never at fault.

  "You, and she, and the baby could all move in with me," Garnet suggested.

  "She's not alone. There are four more people with her. Your house is large, but not that large." Besides, I needed to work out my feelings for him after all this time apart, and I didn't think I could do it if I were living with him. "I think we'll all stay here for the time being."

  Garnet's arm withdrew from my shoulder. I couldn't worry about that now

  "Do you hear music?" Alice-Ann asked. "I'll swear I hear 'Amazing Grace' being played on an organ."

  "Haley!" I leaped to my feet. How dared he come here? I ran to the front door, followed by everyone from the kitchen, who gathered behind me as I flung open the front door.

  Blocking the driveway was Haley Haley's church-to-go, lit up like a Christmas tree, with music blaring from its little white steeple.

  "Good God," Garnet grumbled. "What's going to happen next?"

  Haley stepped down from the cab, started up the driveway, then stopped when he saw us watching him.

  He grinned and waved. "I did what you asked," he announced.

  "Me? What are you talking about?"

  "I've got Vonzell Varner in there, all trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey."

  I was absolutely at a loss for words and could only stare like an idiot at him with my mouth hanging open.

  "Yup, you were right. He was with me all the time. I thought I could save him. Be my brother's keeper. But then I learned from you what he'd done to his wife.... And, well, `the scales fell from my eyes.' Spouse abuse just don't set too well with me. And then when I heard he was following you, I decided that was it. It's back to Graterford for him. I wash my hands of him."

  Garnet had stepped forward to stand next to me while Haley was talking. Haley grinned at me, looking more like Gary Cooper than ever. "Guess you and that police chief dude have patched things up, right?"

  "Sort of," Garnet said, looking at me with an odd glint in his eye.

  "Sort oR That's a strange thing to say," I said, glaring back at him.

  "Uh-oh," Greta said under her breath.

  "Come on, Luscious," Haley said. "Let's get that turkey out of my church. I gotta be in West Virginia for a revival first thing in the ayem."

  Red Beet Eggs

  Combine beets, liquid from the cans, vinegar, and sugar. Heat in a saucepan just enough to dissolve the sugar. Add the eggs to the liquid marinade. Refrigerate for at least 6 hours. Eggs become redder if left to marinate longer.

  Red beet eggs are usually served without the beets, as a snack with drinks. Sliced on a salad, they are tasty and colorful. They also make a good substitute for deviled eggs.

  Slippery Pot Pie

  Dough:

  Sift flour and salt together into a bowl. Add egg and mix into the flour with your fingers. Add milk. Knead with fingers until it turns into a soft ball of dough. Roll dough out on a floured board to about '/8-inch thickness. Cut into two-inch squares. Makes about 22 to 24 squares.

  Bring broth to a boil in a 5-quart pot. Drop dough squares into broth, one piece at a time. Stir gently to keep squares from sticking together. Add sliced potatoes. Return to boil, reduce heat, and simmer for about 45 minutes, or until potatoes are thoroughly cooked. Makes about 4 servings.

  This hearty Pennsylvania Dutch dish is not really a pie but a main dish. Serve in soup bowls. Peas and carrots may be added for color.

  Sugar Cakes

  Cream shortening, sugar, and eggs until light and fluffy. Add flour, soda, salt, and sour cream to creamed mixture. Stir in vanilla. Drop from teaspoon onto cookie sheet. Sprinkle additional sugar on top of cookies. Bake at 400 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes, until golden. Makes about 72 sugar cakes.

  Although called cakes, these are actually cookies.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Valerie S. Malmont grew up in Okinawa, Japan, reading Golden Age mystery writers. After becoming a librarian and raising children, she began to write her own versions of the traditional English village mystery, set in rural Pennsylvania. The previous book in the Tori Miracle series, Death, Snow, and Mistletoe, was a Romantic Times Top Pick.

  Malmont lives with her husband in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, a town not un
like Lickin Creek. She may be emailed at Valmalmont@aol.com and visited at valeriemalmont.com

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