Freezer Burn: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  “Don’t let Ed hear you say things like that.”

  “Hey, I can look.”

  I smiled. “That was a pretty good description, Dandy. You wouldn’t make such a bad P.I., either. Thanks.”

  You know the old adage about hindsight? Yeah, I was kicking myself—mentally—for not paying enough attention to the man’s facial features at the post office this morning. I’d recognize him if I saw him again, but couldn’t recall what he looked like, only what he’d been wearing.

  “You’re welcome, my friend. Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now.”

  She picked up her water glass and looked at me over the rim. “So.” She sipped. “Have you and that handsome lawman set a date yet?”

  (Sigh.) “Et tu, Brute?”

  She laughed prettily. “I can’t believe you’re surprised at the question.”

  My eyes rolled. “I’m not surprised, no. Just getting tired of hearing it … from just about everyone who gets within 20-feet.”

  The diners at the other end of the room heard her this time.

  CHAPTER 12

  MULLING

  BACK AT THE OFFICE, my brain was about full to bursting with connect-the-dots, crosses and downs.

  The man at the post office—Note to self: Call Gladiola and ask for more details (if she knows any) about that man, Abel Blackwell—was almost certainly the same one Sybil Tolliver was last seen with, and the one caught trying to get into her room.

  Ergo: He had her, or knew where she was.

  Possibly.

  I sat back, arms folded.

  Was it really a kidnapping? If so, the identity of the culprit was a slam dunk—pretty darned idiotic of him. But there hadn’t been a ransom demand, not that I’d heard about. Besides, who would he call? No one here knows this Sybil, except maybe Bruce, and that was a one-time meeting.

  Honestly, I don’t know everyone in town, although I do know quite a chunk of the population. Miss Sybil and Mr. Blackwell were not among then known.

  Maybe the disappearance was a distraction to hide something even more menacing? Maybe they were in cahoots? But why? What would they not want us to find out?

  There were too many things going on, and the aggravation of being overwhelmed was circling.

  Maggie Lou, just make a list of what you know. Speculate later. Write it down before you forget. Your brain cells aren’t as good at recall as they used to be.

  I can hear you sniggering, and you’d best quit that nonsense. There’s no need to make fun of my slow slide into senility.

  Digging out my steno and pen, I found a clean sheet and leaned in to write:

  First thing this morning, Bruce Prescott was waiting in front of the station when I got here to tell me Sybil Tolliver was missing.

  Sybil Tolliver, a visiting—alleged—journalist, was supposed to meet him at Annetta’s last night to discuss a story she was working on. She never showed, and according to Bruce, who heard it from my good friend Dandelion Jones, she was last seen leaving The Inn at the End, in the company of a gentleman caller.

  Good grief, Dandy, we’re not that far south.

  Then Councilman Jonas Talbot dropped in with a message for Wyatt. The council wants to hire four or five new officers.

  YIKES!

  Third, Vera-Mae Wellington stopped in right after: The council appointed her to fill the Head Librarian position.

  YAY, Miss Vera-Mae!

  Helen will be so relieved.

  I stopped in at the post office and spoke with Gladiola McIntyre. She was stuck at the counter, and gave me our mail. But when I got there, she was in a discussion with a stranger named Abel Blackwell about a package he needed to sign for. Nothing unusual about that, except I’d never seen the man before.

  I went to talk to Dandy, and almost got knocked over the railing of her porch by someone who looked—from the back—a lot like the guy from the post office.

  My ribs hadn’t stopped reminding me about that, either.

  She says she caught the pushy perp trying to break into Sybil’s room, and confirmed Bruce’s account of Sybil’s last sighting.

  I reread my list.

  Could all that be related?

  Was Sybil the real focus, or conveniently in the way? Perhaps. Or maybe not. She might be the mastermind. But why? And who was the ultimate target? There must be something in her room that—

  Hang on.

  I grabbed the phone and dialed.

  Gotta do it while the thought’s hot, otherwise it’ll get lost in the nether-land of my brain.

  And you, keep your comments to yourself.

  “Mossy Creek Post Office. This here’s Cletus Konderchek. How may we help you today?”

  Sounded like he was reading it off a card.

  Knowing him, he might well’ve been.

  Cletus liked to give the impression he hadn’t been in the pencil sharpener long enough. Gladiola wasn’t the only one aware that the dumb lazy act was just that, an act. The man had graduated Cum Laude from Brown University round about 1965 with some kind of engineering degree. Made a lot of money, and came back here to retire.

  Cletus doesn’t like to expend energy—mental or physical—unless it’s absolutely necessary. Though if something calls for it, he’s your man. He may have a lot of brain-smarts, but his common sense, at times, is severely lacking. Remember that old movie, Real Genius? Cletus reminds me of the character Lazlo Hollyfeld, who literally lived in a dorm room closet.

  Brilliant, but clueless.

  These days, our resident brainiac is self-employed part time, by choice, as janitor and general maintenance at several of the local businesses. He doesn’t charge much because he doesn’t really need the money. And he can usually fix whatever breaks. They hire him because he’s trustworthy and, albeit slow, a hard worker who takes pride in his tasks.

  “Hey, Cletus. This is Maggie Mercer. How’s it going?”

  “Why, hello, Miss Maggie. Been some time since I saw you. How the hell are ya?”

  Smiling, and using my most exaggerated southern drawl, I said, “As fine as powdered sugar through a sieve, and twice as sweet.”

  “Lord have mercy. My friend, the chief, must think so, too.”

  “As he should. How’s Redbone?”

  “Oh, lazy ’nuff.”

  Cletus’s bloodhound used to be the best rabbit-rouster in the county. Now, the dog was more content to sleep the day away on Cletus’s front porch, mostly right beside the rocking chair holding his napping owner. Redbone does, upon rare occasions, go after a cat, or other critter that happens through his territory, he’s just not that into it nowadays and usually gives up the chase after about 20-yards.

  “Well, I would be, too, if I was 90-something.”

  “Aw, shoot, ma’am, he’s only 16. Still a yung’un.”

  Ma’am? Huh. “If you say so. Listen. Is Miz McIntyre around?”

  “Uh, yup. Just walked in. Would you like to speak with her?”

  “Yes, thanks. Enjoyed shootin’ the breeze with you, Cletus.”

  “Same here. Have to have a get t’gether soon.”

  “We do, absolutely. I’ll speak to Wyatt about it, and let you know.”

  “Sounds good. Here’s the Post Mistress herself.”

  “Give that here. McIntyre, what can I do for you?”

  “Gladiola. It’s Maggie.”

  “Hey, are you investigating on your own? That was fast work. What did you find out?”

  Oh, whoops.

  I’d forgotten all about her and Forsythia’s visit. Making a notation to update my list, I answered, “No, sorry. That’s not why I’m calling. The man that was there this morning when I came over, you said he was from Ohio?”

  “Yup. Cleveland, actually.”

  “Uh huh. Did he happen to mention why he was in town?”

  “No. Just that he would be staying at Dillard’s a coupla weeks.”

  “Do you know if he’s here with someone else, or alone?”


  “Change of address only had his name on it. I assume that means he’s by himself.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Heard about the to-do over at Dandy’s. You two okay?”

  Why am I surprised? Small town. News travels at light speed. “We’re fine, Gladiola. Thanks for asking.”

  “Need anything else?”

  “Um.” I hadn’t written down what all I wanted to ask, and now couldn’t remember. The notion that I’d passed right over her and her sister’s visit—didn’t I ask you to stop that rudeness about my short memory?—when I was listing the events that had transpired thus far, had bounced every thought from my head. “Um. Not at the moment. If I think of something, I’ll call back. Thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be here ’til 4:30, and you have my home number. Call if you need to.”

  “I will. Thanks, again.”

  I hung up and studied my list, this time jotting in all the details from their visit. Could this Abel Blackwell be the same man in all these incidents so far?

  At the moment, he was the most probable candidate, but that didn’t mean he was guilty of anything. Except maybe the attempted break in.

  And now there was another Flowers sister to talk to. What would Magnolia Pennington be able to tell me? That Abel Blackwell was renting Dillard Watts’s house? I already knew that. Her confirmation would mean he was there, and for a specific amount of time. Miz Pennington might, possibly, have a different perspective, or even a few details I didn’t know about, but there couldn’t be much, if any.

  Couldn’t hurt to ask, though. Right?

  In the midst of my musing, the front door slammed open ushering in a blast of cold air, and a blonde woman who nearly fell from the force of the wind.

  CHAPTER 13

  A BREATH OF FRESH AIR

  “WOO!” Lancy Farnsworth let go of the handle, then quickly fought the door shut before facing me. Blue eyes sparkling, nose and cheeks a weather-chapped red, she came over to the desk and plopped onto the nearest chair. “Whew! If I’d known how much trouble it would be to get to town today, I’d’ve stayed home.”

  Removing her thick homemade mittens, and loosening the matching bright orange crocheted scarf, she continued, “You don’t have to tell me Rick’s not in. But since I had some last minute errands to run, and hadn’t seen you for a while, I thought I’d drop by.”

  “Glad you did. How’ve you been?”

  Lancy’s the Mossy Creek High School cheerleading coach. She and Ricky reconnected during the investigation into the death of Miranda Richards six months ago, and have been dating ever since.

  They were in the same high school graduating class with my oldest. Ricky was on the football team while Lancy was a cheerleader. Though they hadn’t dated then, they’d been aware of each other.

  “Been pretty good, actually. The squad of Cougarettes this year is doing well. So well, in fact, that I might just mention to Principal Taylor about having them perform for the school, at a special rally in the spring.”

  “How … intriguing. Are the seniors keeping the others motivated?”

  “No seniors this year. The majority of the team are sophomores, and they already know the routines from being on the JV team last year. This is the best bunch I’ve coached since I was hired four years ago.”

  “So there are junior varsity cheerleaders, too? That’s great. They must really like you.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She shrugged. “I see a marked difference in their attitudes, over the past few squads I’ve coached. These girls seem much more committed, more serious. They view cheerleading as more than just social status.”

  “Isn’t it? I would imagine the combination of that, and liking their coach, must have a positive effect.”

  “Yeah. Guess so.”

  She didn’t get it, and I was surprised she didn’t roll her shoulders again.

  “Okay, Lancy.” I leaned back. “You know I enjoy your company, but you didn’t just come here to chit-chat. What’s up?”

  “I did come by to see you, but you’re right, it wasn’t the ultimate reason. Um. I’ve tried to call Rick a few times today, but it goes right to voicemail. Does he ever call in?”

  “If there’s an emergency, he would. Service out at the lake is pretty spotty.”

  “I should’ve thought of that. Shoot. You think he’ll stop in here before he goes home?”

  “He might. He’s carpooling with Wyatt, or vice versa. The Cherokee is gone, but I didn’t see Rick’s truck in the parking lot, either.”

  “I’ll leave a message with you, in case he does?”

  “Why don’t you just leave a voicemail?”

  “I’ve left three. That’s another reason I came by, to make sure nothing had happened. He rarely ignores a call, mine or anyone’s. But if there’s no service out there, I guess I shouldn’t be so worried.”

  “How about taping a note on his door?”

  “I don’t think they make tape strong enough to withstand the force of the wind today.”

  “Ah. Too true. First good gust’d snatch it right off.” I picked up my pen. “Okay, what’s the message?”

  “This is just in case, cuz even though he doesn’t always listen to his messages, he does usually return my calls. And I’m sure he’ll call me as soon as he can when he sees all the ones he missed, but….” She pretended to shoot herself in the head. “I’m such a ditz sometimes. If you could, please tell him that supper with my parents is postponed, and I’ll explain why when I see him on Friday.”

  There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but this was personal. If I was supposed to know, they’d tell me. Doesn’t mean my curiosity was squashed, but I had it under control. Mostly. “You’re not going to see him until Friday?”

  “No. I have to go to Daytona for a conference. Wasn’t supposed to be until the end of the month, but got rescheduled, and Mrs. Lockwood was supposed to go, but she got sick. So it’s me. Flight leaves from Pittsburgh in a couple of hours, and Rick’s supposed to pick me back up on Friday.”

  “You’ll be talking to him before Friday, though, right?”

  “Oh, sure, but…,” she shrugged and gave a sigh. “I guess I really just wanted to hear his voice before I left. We’ve never been apart this long since we started dating seriously. I miss him already, and I haven’t even left yet.”

  Aha. “He’ll probably call as soon as he can, and if you’re in the air, you’ll be able to listen to his voice as soon as you land.”

  She smiled, dreamy. “Yeah, you’re right. That’d be fab. Then I can call him right back, and then again when I get to my room at the hotel.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I hope your conference goes well.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  So, she wasn’t going to tell me what kind of conference it was. Didn’t matter. Wasn’t my business. “Is this all you want on the note?”

  She lowered her eyes, face all rosy. “I’d put hugs-and-kisses in, or even kiss the signature block, if I were leaving an actual note. Um. So, no. Nothing else.”

  “Aw.” My voice breathily exaggerated. “Young love.”

  Her giggle was muffled.

  “I could kiss him for you.”

  This time she laughed out loud. “That’s okay. I’ll take care of that when I see him.”

  I clicked my pen. “You do understand I can’t guarantee he’ll come into the office when they’re done, right? But, if he does, I’ll be sure to pass along your message.”

  There was no doubt in my mind that Rick would be touching base with her as soon as he got a signal on his phone, but it seemed like she needed some reassurance. Couldn’t hurt.

  “I understand, yes. Just as I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he gets back to civilization and has service bars again. Thanks, Maggie.”

  “Any time.”

  Lancy stood and adjusted her scarf. “Off I go to bravely face the frigid wind once more, and hope to goodness I do
n’t get blown into the next county.”

  “It does seem to be getting … gustier.”

  She nodded. “More so now than earlier. Better not delay my flight.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I glanced out at the dimming light and the advancing wall of darker clouds. “I hope the men are doing okay out there in the cold.”

  “They’re men, doing manly things. I doubt they even realize how cold it is.”

  “You could be right. But once they stop moving around it’ll hit ’em, and then we’ll have to listen to ’em bellyache.”

  “Well, I won’t, but yeah.” She wrinkled her nose and smiled. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? They can be such babies about the least little thing.”

  We shared a knowing nod.

  “But we love ’em anyway.”

  She grinned. “Yeah we do.”

  I stood and stretched as she crossed the room. “Be careful out there.” I followed. “Have fun.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be careful. I’m only half a block down. By the way, in case you haven’t heard, the weatherman’s calling for snow again tonight. Like, a foot or more.”

  “Oh, crud, I hope he’s wrong this time. We don’t know what to do with what’s already here.”

  “I know, right?” Though she braced for impact before turning the knob, the wind threw the door against her so hard she stumbled back. “Ow. Ow. Ow. I’ll see ya later, Maggie.”

  “Safe trip.” I hurried to help push it shut. “Bye, now.”

  Shivering from the residual draft, I looked at the clock. “Only an hour and a half to go.” The afternoon was flying. Thank goodness.

  Not 20-minutes later, the door banged open, again.

  “Oops.”

  “Close it. Hurry up.”

  “I am, dork. Shut up.”

  CHAPTER 14

  TRIPLE THREAT

  I SMILED, recognizing the trio of 10-year-olds.