“Cute little place,” she said to her mother. “It’s obviously been here awhile. If you’ll scoot down in the seat, I’ll park next to that privet.” Jesse pointed to the shrub growing tall and wild next to the driveway. “It will block your side of the car from the house. Give me a few minutes to get him away from the windows. Then you can come on up and see what you can hear from the outside. I’ll try to give you some signal as to what room we’re in.”
“That all sounds very awkward,” Sophia remarked.
“Sneaking is not easy,” Jesse agreed. “But it’s what we do.”
“What’s my excuse if he catches me?”
“Let’s see. How about, you were napping, woke up and I was gone, and you wanted to be sure I was inside before you knocked. Still awkward, but believable.”
“Well, as your mother, I would like to say I find that alarming. Have you always been this good at making up stories on the spur of the moment, or is it a recent thing?”
“Recent,” Jesse assured her.
“Humphf,” was all Sophia said as she scooted down in the seat while Jesse turned into the drive and parked beside the overgrown privet, its evergreen leaves unfazed by the recent winter.
Jesse took a deep breath and pushed it back out with a sigh.
“It will be okay, sweetheart,” Sophia said as she readjusted herself in the seat. “You’re just here to talk to a man about his brother. I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice man. You might take the bag of clothes with you to the door. That way you’ll have an excuse besides nosiness for being here.”
“Oh, good thinking. I’ll get the alarm clock out and leave it in my seat so you can bring it with you. I don’t think I’ll leave the rest of it here. The sheriff might want to look through it first.”
With that, Jesse got out and retrieved the articles from the trunk, closing the car door firmly after she left the clock on her seat. Then, carrying the laundry bag of clothes, she crossed the front yard, climbed the half-dozen steps to the porch, and rang the ancient doorbell beside the ornate, wooden screened door—probably eighty years old if it was a day. The home itself was charming, a fact that did nothing to calm the hard pounding of Jesse’s heart.
From the back of the house, footsteps began their way toward her, growing heavier as they neared. She drew in deep breaths, letting them out slowly, afraid her voice would be as tight as her nerves by the time the door opened. He’s just a man, she told herself. Why are you so nervous?
Without warning, the door swung open and a man stood silhouetted against the gloom of the interior. Looking like a shrunken version of Roy Lee Rogers after he’d been shot, sucked up into a tornado, twirled around and tossed back out, the man who could only be Hansen Rogers, pushed open the screen door and squinted like a possum in sunlight.
“Can I help you?”
Almost giddy with relief, Jesse smiled. “I’m so sorry to bother you. My name is Jesse Camden. I own the Gilded Lily Tea Room over in Myrtle Grove.”
“Never heard of it,” the little man snapped.
Jesse’s smile tried to run and hide, but she wouldn’t let it. “I’ve known Winnie since the first grade.” She forced her lips apart and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace. “She’s practically family. There’s a lot that needs to be taken care of, and she’s not up to much right now, so…”
“Where’s her dad? Why ain’t he here?” Hansen interrupted.
“Well, she couldn’t stay at her house, so she’s with us for a few days, and…”
“Where’s her damned dad? That bastard was always buttin’ in while she and Roy Lee were married, why ain’t he here buttin’ in now?” Even reared back and puffed up, the man still didn’t seem very imposing.
“I haven’t spoken with her father yet,” Jesse said, remaining calm. It did seem rather funny that Winnie’s father hadn’t been around yet, but yesterday was a busy day and today didn’t seem much better. “She was with me most of yesterday, and the sheriff wanted her close at hand in case he needed to talk to her.”
“Sumbitch always wanted Roy Lee dead. Well, he’s got what he wanted. Why ain’t he here gloating?”
“Honestly, Mr. Rogers, I haven’t spent much time around Winnie’s dad since high school, and I don’t think I spent much time around him then. I don’t know where he is. That’s not why I’m here. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would like to speak with you for a few minutes. And I have some clothes here that LaDonna asked me to bring to you.”
Jesse held up the bag hopefully and continued with all the sincerity she could muster. “I’m terribly sorry for your grief, and I don’t mean to intrude, but there are some things we need to talk about.”
He stepped back, retreating into the dark, cool interior, wordlessly inviting her to follow him, and Jesse’s creepy feeling returned with a vengeance.
Chapter Thirty
He didn’t say to shut the door behind her, so Jesse didn’t. The screened door wasn’t nearly as squeaky as she would have expected, so maybe Sophia could sneak in that way if she needed to.
“I was putting on a fresh pot of coffee when you got here. Should be done by now if you want some. I drink too much, myself, but I got nobody to answer to anymore, so I’ll do what I damned well please.”
His words drifted back to her down a narrow hallway that ran straight from the front door to what looked like the back door. A single bare bulb lit the ceiling of the long hallway, made darker by closed doors hinting of hidden rooms all the way down.
The exceptions were a set of French doors to the right and left of the front entry. These doors stood open, their glass panes given an illusion of privacy by sheer, lace curtains inside of what looked like an unused formal living room and a dining room with an oversized tiger oak dining table, surrounded by eight matching chairs. A sideboard faced the doorway on the opposite wall, and a china cabinet took up the end of the room opposite the heavily draped front window.
As someone who dealt in antiques, Jesse gave each room a quick check as she passed by, noting the turn-of-the century pieces that filled both rooms, 1890’s possibly, and in good shape. Most furniture of that period had been imported later, since Oklahoma Territory wasn’t opened to white settlers until the land runs in the 1880’s, and most homes were built after statehood in 1907.
By any standards, Oklahoma was a young state, given life by oil and cattle, and the pioneer spirit still ran strong in the people who lived there. Jesse had a feeling Hansen Rogers was a prime example.
She entered the kitchen on his heels and wasn’t surprised to see laminate countertops with metal banding, linoleum floors, and checkered curtains at the window over the chipped porcelain sink. A short, rounded refrigerator made quiet, knocking sounds with an occasional gurgle, and the gas stove was missing two of its four burner knobs.
“Ain’t gonna ask you again,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. A row of mugs sat on a dish towel on the counter, and while the aroma was tempting, Jesse decided she would allow herself to be a coward.
“I just had some a little while ago,” she said, “but thank you. It smells wonderful.”
“I grind the beans myself.” He sniffed at his steaming cup before taking a deep drink that ended with a robust smacking of his lips. “Damn, that’s good. I add just a pinch of salt to the grounds before I brew it. Don’t know why, but it seems to make a difference.”
“It’s probably like adding a little coffee to chocolate,” Jesse said. “For some reason, it enhances the flavor of the chocolate, but you can’t taste the coffee.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard that one. Have a seat.” He pointed his coffee mug toward the small Formica table in the corner by the doorway. “We might as well talk here. Them are Roy Lee’s clothes?”
“Yes.” Jesse put the bag on the chair seat at the end of the table and scooted into the chair that backed up to the counter, which had her facing the doorway. Logically, Hansen should take the seat facing her, with his back to the door, just in cas
e Sophia needed to sneak up on him, which didn’t seem like a big possibility at the moment.
“So, what you here about?” Hansen asked as he lowered himself into the proper chair without any further maneuvering by Jesse. “Besides the clothes.”
“Well, I guess the most important thing is—do you know if your brother had a will? And do you know if he had made any arrangements or requests for his funeral? Winnie didn’t know if she should check into it, or if that was something you were planning to do?”
“Roy Lee never planned ahead for a damned thing in his life. And I don’t know what arrangements she’s thinking about. Winnie Rogers ain’t got a pot to piss in, and neither did Roy Lee, and neither do I. Only one who’s got any money is her dad, and he said long ago that he’d spent the last dollar he was ever going to spend on Roy Lee’s sorry butt, so I’m guessing it’s a pine box for Roy Lee and a few simple words at the grave side.”
“Do you have a preacher in mind?”
He shook his head slowly. “I’ll leave that up to Winnie. We never did much church going.”
“What about your mother? I understand she has always been involved in the church. Maybe she would like to have her minister say a few words over Roy Lee.”
Hansen Rogers had slowly turned to stone as she spoke. His eyes were dark, slate slabs, and the left corner of his hard mouth twitched ever-so-slightly upward in a slow, irregular tic.
“What?” he asked through jaws that remained clenched. “Why are you asking about my mother? She’s sick. She’s in a home. She don’t need no part of this.”
“Well, okay,” Jesse conceded. “Winnie just didn’t want to do anything that your mother might not want, or that might upset her, and nobody’s talked to her in a while, and…”
Jesse’s voice died when Hansen’s fist came down on the table hard enough to jostle the coffee in the mug next to the impact point. “You just leave her be!”
The volume and depth of his voice was startling, especially coming from such a scrawny person. Jesse was torn between unease and laughter, but the coldness in his eyes swung the balance to unease.
“You have wonderful furniture in your front rooms,” she said, going with the first, unformed, rambling thoughts that popped into her head. “Did it belong to your mother?”
“What?” he snapped. “Why would you say a thing like that?”
“Because a friend and I buy furniture like yours and resell in our antique shop. Most of it comes out of farmhouses that are being sold off after the owners have to move into a smaller place or into a nursing home.” As she talked, Jesse could see him relaxing again. Whatever his trigger was, she seemed to be releasing the pressure. “Your furniture looks like something you might have gotten when your mother went into assisted care.”
“You think it might be worth something?” he asked with interest.
“It appears to be in good shape, so, yes. If you ever wanted to sell it, I’m sure we could buy it from you or take it on consignment and sell it for you.” She pulled another card out of her pocket and put it on the table. “We’re the Gilded Lily Antiques and Collectibles Shop. The downstairs of my house is divided into the Tea Room on one side the Antiques Shop on the other.”
The card had the phone numbers of both businesses on it, plus her cell phone number, and she frequently had to explain the difference to people who weren’t regular customers. She was happy to note that his tension seemed to have seeped away while she prattled on about furniture.
And what she said was true. The parlor set was a good one and would be at home in the Gilded Lily, a stately Victorian built after its period by Myrtle Grove’s first banker for his transplanted wife who had longed for a sense of elegance on the prairie.
“You really make a living selling old junk like that?” He lifted the card and turned it over in his hand before returning it to the table. “I could probably find you some more old stuff if you’d be interested.”
“We might be. You’d be amazed what can be salvaged and turned into something attractive and useful again.”
He shook his head. “Sucker born every minute, I guess.”
Jesse wasn’t sure whether the sucker was her or the people she resold the repurposed pieces to, and she didn’t have time to ponder it. Just as the frown began to form on her face, her phone rang, or played the first few bars to Clair de Lune, to be more accurate. If it were anyone but Vivian, she would have ignored it.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Jesse said, retrieving her phone from her purse. “I won’t be but a minute.” She rose, turned away and walked across the kitchen. The scent of coffee wafted around her, drawing her nearer. “Vivian? I’m in the middle of something,” Jesse said just above a whisper. “Is this…”
“Be quiet and listen,” Vivian hissed back at her, obviously in a hurry. “I just overheard Joe Tyler on the phone. They got the first results back on that DNA. Very preliminary, but enough. Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “Go ahead.”
“The bone is a close familial match to Roy Lee.”
“How close?”
“Close.”
“Like what?” Jesse dropped her voice lower. “A mother? Brother? Child?”
“Mother or child.”
“Wow,” Jesse whispered. “I’m guessing not a child.”
“I heard something about signs of osteoporosis. So, not a child.”
“What’s the sheriff doing?”
“Heading out to Hansen Rogers’ place pretty soon. Where are you?”
“The end of the rainbow,” Jesse said, hoping to send a signal. She didn’t dare turn around. If she was lucky, Hansen was busy doing something else to keep himself occupied.
“I have no idea what that means,” Vivian answered with what might have been whispered disgust. It was a little hard to tell.
“You might call Mom and tell her,” Jesse suggested, hoping her mother would have the foresight to put her phone on vibrate before sneaking into the house.
“Does she know where the rainbow ends?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not talking to Hansen Rogers right now, are you?” Vivian’s whisper sounded especially forced and sibilant as she applied the worst-possible-outcome principle.
“Could be.”
“Get out of there!” All whispering forgotten, Vivian shouted into the phone. “Now!”
“Yes, ma’am. I will. Thank you,” Jesse answered, forcing herself to remain calm. Just because the thigh bone from Winnie’s backyard belonged to Roy Lee’s mother, did not mean that Hansen had anything to do with it.
“Oh, good heavens, he’s right there, isn’t he?”
“Could be.”
Vivian sucked in a gasp. “That means Sophia’s there with you! Is she in the house?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay, I will call your mother, and then I will send the sheriff. In the meantime, get out of there if you can. Get him to confess, if you can’t.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse responded, “I am all over that.”
“No need for sarcasm. Just remember, you are an attractive, charming woman, and as long as a man has a pulse, if you’ll just apply yourself, you can handle him.”
Jesse laughed. She couldn’t help it. It just popped out. Leave it to Vivian to lift her spirits with such a ridiculous suggestion in a dire moment.
“I was serious.”
“I know, Viv, and that was awfully sweet of you. But I’m about done here, anyway. I just had a few questions, and I think we’ve covered those. So, I’ll swing by and get Mom, and then we’ll meet you.”
“Breathe deeply and stay calm. The cavalry’s on the way.”
“Love you, too. See you in a bit.”
Jesse turned around laughing, prepared to play it out as best she could. “That Vivian, she’s a …” Her words stopped there, cut off by a choke hold of fear.
Hansen Rogers’s eyes were once again flat slabs of slate gray, cold and without emotion. The han
dgun he held in his unwavering grip was big. The hole in the barrel that was pointed straight at her torso seemed enormous. Wherever a bullet from that thing hit her, she was going to feel it.
“Why don’t you come on around here and sit back down?” he invited politely.
“I don’t know what the gun’s for…” Jesse began.
“Yeah, you do.” He wiggled the long barrel toward the table, apparently not wanting to hear what she had to say. “Sit.”
“No, really, I don’t. And I prefer to stand while I have a gun pointed at me. Whatever happened, Hansen, I’m sure you didn’t mean to kill your mother.”
“What do you mean, kill my mother?” he shouted. “I didn’t kill my mother. I love my mother.”
She’d have almost felt better if he had waved the gun wildly while yelling his innocence. But he didn’t. The gun stayed rock steady, pointed right at her. She hoped his control extended to not squeezing off a round accidentally, because she had more she intended to say. If he wasn’t going to let her go, she might as well get something accomplished while she was here.
“Accidents happen, Hansen. Things happen that you don’t mean, and then you’re forced to hide the evidence.”
“Shut up!” he screamed. His eyes squeezed shut for an instant, but his body never twitched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know your mother’s not in a nursing home. I know people don’t generally bury other people in someone’s backyard if they died of natural causes.”
“Are you suggesting that I killed my mother and buried her myself to cover it up?” His whole face cringed. He seemed genuinely appalled. “She’s my mother, for chrissake. I loved her!”
“Okay, fine. You said that before, and you seem to really mean it, but then I don’t understand why you’re holding a gun on me. Your mother’s dead, and her body is missing. Your brother Roy Lee is dead. I have no idea where your brother Averell is, and you’re standing there with a gun pointed at me. That’s not the act of an innocent man, Hansen, so I’m confused.”
Murder Most Thorny (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 2) Page 21