by Marja McGraw
Watson cocked her head, knowing I was telling her something but having no clue what it was about. Sherlock nudged my hand, looking for attention.
“Good babies,” I said.
They understood that one and wagged their tails.
“Ball?” I said.
Both dogs perked up and their tails wagged faster. Chris said that if he could read their minds, they’d probably be saying, “Ball, ball, ball, ball.” I thought he might be right. They lived for chasing the ball and anything else that required physical activity.
We went back outside and I played with them for about half an hour, and then it was time to pick Mikey up at school.
“Want to go for a ride?” I asked, looking from dog to dog.
Watson sat at attention, showing me what a good and quiet dog she could be. Sherlock, on the other hand, began bouncing from foot to foot.
“Okay, let’s go.” I picked up my purse and let the dogs out the front door. They ran straight to the car and sat down, waiting for me. I opened the rear car door and they both climbed in, taking their places in the back seat and watching to see what I’d do next. I started the engine, of course.
I’d gotten into the habit of talking to the dogs when there was no one else to talk to, and now it was just them and me. Time for a heart-to-heart.
“Okay, kids, there was this murder. And it happened a long time ago. There shouldn’t be any danger involved. I mean, Chris and I could try to solve it and we wouldn’t have to worry about our safety, right? Or Mikey’s,” I said thoughtfully. I hadn’t thought about my son and the murder until that moment. Of course, we wouldn’t let Mikey anywhere near the investigation. “Investigation?” I said. “Are we really going to investigate this?”
I glanced in the rearview mirror at the dogs. They were totally ignoring me, watching the scenery out of the window. They were used to me talking to them and never reacted unless I used key words like ball or dinner or walk. Actually, they had a pretty large vocabulary for dogs. I’d read that Labs do react to a lot words, and in my experience, that was true.
“Ball,” I said loudly, and then laughed when they both came to attention. “I was just messin’ with ya,” I said.
When they realized there was no ball, they turned back to the scenery.
Pulling up to the school, I saw Mikey waiting for me on the sidewalk. He ran over to the car and jumped in, making me wish I had even half of his energy.
He briefly hung over the seat to give the dogs a hug before putting on his seatbelt. And then he began a long story about his day. I listened intently and nodded or asked questions at all the right places.
“By the way,” I said, “we have company coming for a barbeque tomorrow night.”
“Who?”
“A detective named Janet Riley.”
“A real copper?” Mikey sounded excited.
“Yup. A real live copper.”
“Cool,” he said. “Wait ‘til I tell Danny about this. He didn’t believe me about the dead body in the cellar, you know. Some of the other kids did though. Is this copper the one who went to the new house to look at the body?”
I gulped. He’d been spreading the cellar story? I didn’t think he’d believed Constance when she’d told him.
It didn’t take long to find out just how much he believed her.
Chapter Eight
Mikey and I had been home for about an hour when the telephone rang. I couldn’t explain why, but I had a feeling of trepidation as I picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” I said.
“Mrs. Cross?” a woman’s voice asked me. “This is Mrs. Stanhope, Michael’s teacher. Do you have a moment to talk?”
I had no doubt what this was about. I knew it instinctively, but I prayed I was wrong. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stanhope. What can I do for you?”
“Well, let me come right to the point. Michael has been telling his classmates that you found a deceased person in your basement, and he was rather descriptive. I’m sure there’s no truth to the story, so I thought I should let you know what’s been going on. Most of the students were fascinated with the story – you know how children are – but a couple of them were upset.”
“Uh, well…,” I stammered. “I mean, Mikey wouldn’t, uh… ”
“Yes? It was just a story, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Stanhope didn’t quite sound so sure of herself now. I knew it was because I’d hedged and stammered. I’d had a feeling that this was coming, but I hadn’t expected a call quite this soon.
“Well, it’s like this. My husband and I had a restaurant, and it burned down. It was devastating, to say the least.”
“I know. Michael told us about that, too, not too long ago. I knew that was true because it was in the newspaper. And, generally, Michael is a well-behaved boy who isn’t prone to telling outlandish stories.”
“He still isn’t – prone to telling outlandish stories, I mean. We bought an old house to remodel into a new restaurant. In the course of looking everything over, we discovered bones in the cellar of the house. Mikey happened to show up with his babysitter while the coppers, uh, police were there. We tried to keep the matter of the dead body from him, but…” I let my words trail off.
“You actually found human remains?” Mrs. Stanhope sounded incredulous. This was certainly something outside of her normal realm of experiences.
“I’m afraid we did. And it appears he was probably murdered.”
I was greeted with dead silence, to go with the revelation of a dead body.
“Mrs. Stanhope?”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to take this in. It’s truly shocking.”
I tried to backpedal as best I could. “Well, it would be an old crime. We found bones, not a whole body.”
“Not a whole body,” she echoed. “An old body. Oh, my goodness. Let me think about this for a moment.” The phone went quiet.
I sat patiently, trying to give Mikey’s teacher some time to think. Having met her, I could picture this formidable, older woman tapping her finger against her graying head and looking shocked.
“Okay,” she said. “I understand. Well, not really, but I… hmm… Could you just ask Michael to keep this information to himself? Some of these children are quite impressionable, I repeat, a couple of them were upset. I don’t want to start receiving calls from parents telling me that their children are having nightmares about bodies being buried in basements. Maybe he could tell them he made it up?”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t ask my son to lie, although I’d be willing to bet he embellished his story a little. He never actually saw the body. I will, however, ask him not to mention it again. Will that work?”
“I suppose it will have to. So you think it was a murder?”
“We believe so. At the moment it looks like something happened back in the nineteen forties, so it’s not like we found a fresh body.” I had a feeling I was making things worse. Actually, I knew I was.
“I see.” She didn’t, and I knew it. It was in her voice. “Well, if he could keep this to himself? Please?”
“I’ll talk to him and we’ll see if this situation can just die a natural death. Sorry, that was a poor choice of words. If he doesn’t talk about it anymore, that should be the end of it, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” Mrs. Stanhope said. She didn’t sound convinced. “At the moment the children are quite interested in his story.” She abruptly changed the subject. “So you’re going to be opening a new restaurant?”
“We are, as soon as the house can be remodeled. Won’t you come visit us one night as our guest?” No harm in trying to soften her up.
“I’m sure that would be delightful. I did visit your other restaurant one evening, but you and your husband weren’t there. I gathered it was your night off and you’d left someone else in charge. It was quite entertaining. My husband and I even cut a rug, so to speak, while your band played.” I could hear the sound of joy in her voice. Maybe I was winning her over.
“Oh, ye
s, that band is wonderful. They were quite good with the forties music. It sounds like you enjoyed yourself, and I’m glad to hear that. So it’s settled. You and your husband will be our guests one evening after we reopen.”
“I’ll certainly look forward to that evening, Mrs. Cross. And thank you for being so understanding about our situation here. Your son is a wonderful child. I simply thought he’d decided to tell a good story.”
“He did that,” I said, laughing, “but I’ll make sure he doesn’t say anything else.” I was having a vision of my little angel talking about murder and dead bodies. I cringed as Mrs. Stanhope wished me well and hung up.
I sat quietly, thinking. I hadn’t really considered how our investigation might affect Mikey. Before my thoughts could go too far, he ran through the house with the dogs chasing him.
“No running in the house,” I yelled to his back as he passed me. “Take it outside.”
And they did, right after Sherlock slid into the wall again.
Chris arrived home about five minutes later and we sat down at the kitchen table. I told him about my conversation with Mrs. Stanhope.
“It was smart of you to butter her up and invite her to our gyp joint after it opens,” Chris said.
“It won’t be a gyp joint.” I was irritable and I knew it. “Our restaurant will be classy, not a cheap diner.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t think of another phrase to use. We’ll talk to Mikey about the bones and keep it toned down. When we investigate, we’ll keep him out of it. He’ll never even know we’re up to something.”
“In your dreams. Mikey is pretty savvy about a lot of things. But seriously, I’ve thought about that, Chris. I don’t want to put Mikey in any danger. Maybe we shouldn’t look into this, after all.”
“This is a crime that probably took place over sixty years ago, Pamela. The killer is most likely deader than a doornail by now.”
“Au Contraire, there’s every possibility that the killer is still alive. I repeat, I don’t want to put Mikey in danger.”
“Okay, if it even looks like we’re getting in too deep, we’ll cool our heels and back off. Deal?”
I had some serious reservations about the investigation, but Chris did make sense – in a way. We certainly wouldn’t bring the investigation home with us, other than discussions. I nodded, reluctantly.
“So what did Big D have to say?” I asked.
“He had a great time with Sharon last night. But somehow I have a gut feeling that isn’t information you want to hear. You’re not too fond of Sharon, are you?”
“It’s not that I don’t like her, but that I’ve heard stories about her involving herself in situations she shouldn’t be connected to. Actually, I wanted to know what he said about completing the construction and getting the restaurant up and running.”
“Oh, that. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of months, tops. We’ll have that place open before you know it. We need to think of a name for it though. I asked Big D to take care of your office as early as possible so you can get in there are start putting things together. We’re going to need new menus, an advertising plan, and… I still think if we can solve this murder it will actually help the business.”
I was more than skeptical. “We’ll see. You sound like we’re going to run right out and solve it. We don’t even have any details yet. Not a one, other than there is a dead body that was buried in our cellar.”
“Janet will fill us in,” Chris said, sounding confident.
“I hope she has something to fill us in about. I doubt if she knows too much yet. I got the feeling that there wasn’t really anything there in the way of clues.”
“Maybe they’ve identified him by now. What was the name in his wallet? Charles something – oh yeah, Charles Blakely. That would be a beginning. And you know that once they have a name they can start searching for family. I wonder if they have missing persons records going back that far.”
“I think so, but what do I know?”
“I guess we’ll find out, Sugar.”
Mikey opened the back door and walked in, followed by two panting dogs. He must have given them quite a workout.
“Ace, have a seat here at the table,” Chris said, pulling out a chair for him.
Mikey look puzzled. “Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble?”
“Now why would you think that? Have you done something lately that we don’t know about?”
“No, sir. My life is an open book.”
I started to laugh. I couldn’t help myself. “You’re so funny sometimes, Mikey. How do you come up with these things?”
He looked very pleased with himself. “I don’t know. I just do.”
Chris cleared his throat. “No, you’re not in trouble. But you could be if – ”
“What did I do?” Mikey held his hands out, palms up.
“Here’s the thing,” Chris said. “You’ve been telling the kids at school about a dead body in our cellar.”
“But there was one, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, there was,” I said, “the key word being was. The police are taking care of things now. That was your teacher on the phone earlier and she said a couple of the kids were upset by your story. So I really, really need you to stop talking about this at school. Can you do that? The body is gone and that should be the end of it.”
My son looked disappointed. “It was kinda fun. Nobody else ever had a story about a dead guy before. Danny didn’t really believe me anyway. He’s my best friend, so he’s supposed to believe me, isn’t he?”
“He’s learning to use his judgment,” I said. “He listened to your story and decided that something didn’t ring true in his mind. You’re not going to try to convince him, are you? I honestly don’t want you to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay, Mom, I’ll keep my trap shut. I’ll use my own judgment, but I won’t like it.”
I sighed. “You sound more like me and Chris every day. You’re going to ‘keep your trap shut’. I should watch what I say around you.”
“No, please don’t, Mom. I like the way you guys talk. It’s fun. The guys at school like it when I use your way of talking, too. Sometimes they talk like that just for the fun of it.”
“Yeah, baby cakes,” said Chris. “We like talking this way.” He grinned at me and scooted his chair closer to Mikey’s.
“Well, I guess it doesn’t hurt anything. There are worse things you could be saying.” I was so glad he wasn’t using cuss words. I must have done something right in raising him.
“Cool,” Chris said.
“Yeah, cool,” Mikey mimicked.
“Sometimes I feel like I have two sons,” I mumbled to myself.
“What?” Chris asked.
“Nothing. Mikey, why don’t you take Sherlock and Watson outside and feed them while I start getting our dinner ready.”
I think he was glad to be out of the hot seat. He jumped up and called to the dogs, hurrying out the door and away from us.
“Okay,” Chris said. “I think we handled that well. No more Stiff Stories at school. One problem down and who knows how many to go?”
“Well, here’s one. I didn’t defrost anything for dinner. What would you like to do?”
“After Mikey’s done feeding the dogs, let’s go out. Let someone take care of us for a change. Soon enough we’ll be taking care of everyone else again. And no fast food. Let’s go to a nice sit-down restaurant for a good meal. You deserve a break from cooking anyway.”
“Bless you,” I said, gratefully.
The phone rang and Chris left me at the table while he answered it. He walked into the other room and I could hear his voice, but not what he was saying. His tone sounded upset, but not angry. I busied myself by putting a few clean dishes away that had been sitting in the dish drainer. Chris returned to the kitchen after only a few minutes.
“Well, that was Brian, from the band. They’ve taken another job. I can’t blame them, but it sure leaves us in a bind. I
wonder how long it’ll take before we lose our waitresses and chef. I’d hoped they could quality for and survive on unemployment checks.” He sat down on the chair and put his head in his hands.
“Now, Honey,” I said, “we can work this out. There are plenty of other bands and restaurant staff out there looking for a good job. We’ll be fine. You just wait and see. If we have to, we’ll cook and serve the customers ourselves, but it won’t come to that.”
Chris looked up and smiled. “You’re right. We’ll be fine.”
“And just think of all the fun we’re going to have solving our murder.”
“Our murder?”
“Uh, the murder. Not ours. We’re not dying. You know what I meant.”
Chapter Nine
Wednesday rolled around and the first thing I did was send Watson outside to get the newspaper. Of course, Sherlock accompanied her, not wanting to be left out. My two Labs were awesome. Training them had been fairly easy because it seemed like all they wanted to do was to please us. I gave them each a treat when they returned with the paper and they settled in to watch what I was doing.
I started preparing breakfast and called upstairs to Mikey to get up. After a few minutes, when I didn’t hear him moving around, I sent Sherlock to get him. This was part of our normal routine.
“Go get Mikey,” I said. The dog glanced at me and turned to the doorway, then took off to find my son. The house was very quiet and I could hear him tromp up the stairs and push the bedroom door open. Sherlock barked once, and then again. Finally, I heard some movement upstairs, and moments later I heard Chris come down the stairs, mumbling, “Nag, nag nag. Why’d you send the dog up to wake me?”
I laughed. “I didn’t. I sent him up to get Mikey.”
There was a noise on the stairs before I heard Mikey mumbling, “Bark, bark, bark. What’s up with Sherlock this morning?”
Needless to say, Chris and Mikey are not morning people. Neither am I, actually, but then I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I was the one who had to get everyone moving.