by Donna McLean
He chewed a few more bites and then said, “That’s just as well. Kind of need to talk to you alone before word gets around, Ms. Tilda.”
She tried to wait patiently while he sipped some coffee, but her hazel green eyes were shining. “Something’s happened at last? Oh dear, it isn’t Mr. McGrady, is it?”
“No, ma’am, the old man is doing okay. Still at the hospital, only because we want to make sure he’s safe and sound. Best way to protect him until we get to the bottom of whatever is going on around here.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Tilda MacArdan fell silent again, wondering what the turn of events could be. She could not have predicted what the officer said next, not in a million years!
Campbell finished the pancakes, swallowed the last bit of coffee, and placed the cup on the table. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, crumpled it and tossed it onto the empty plate. He looked Ms. Tilda straight in the eye and said:
“We finally got some solid background information on the man who died. And there is no next of kin. None.” The officer paused and watched the spry lady’s face intently.
Tilda blinked. Then she blinked again. “None?” she repeated, incredulous. “How can that be? What about his twin?”
Officer Campbell shook his head very slowly. “No twin. Never was a twin. No siblings at all, in fact; no family that we can find. Basil Falters is not his real name. The dead man is a con artist from who knows where, originally, but in recent years he has been working scams up and down the east coast. Elderly people, mostly. Scamming them out of their life savings, stealing a small inheritance here and there, passing himself off as an antiques dealer and stealing their silver, things of that sort. Usually worked alone, though.”
Tilda put a hand to her cheek. She put the other hand on her hip. Her eyes were wide; her lips parted in surprise, as though she wanted to say something but could not find the right words. She frowned, turning things over in her mind.
The officer sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ms. Tilda, can you tell me again what you saw the night of the murder? I must have missed something. Or maybe you didn’t really see what you thought you saw.”
“Did not see what I thought I saw . . . Douglas Winton Campbell, y’all must be mistaken. You have got to be mistaken! I saw the twins. Lots of people around town have seen them at one time or another! Why, even Magda and Hazel and I saw the twins at the same exact time, one day when I was at the beauty parlor. All three of us saw those twins standing right next to Falters’ fancy automobile! And then they got in it and drove off together!”
“Yes, ma’am, he certainly did get into a car with someone and drive off together. Near as we can figure, those two, whoever they are, staged quite a few little incidents like that one, apparently to give everyone the impression that they were the McGrady twins—”
Tilda gasped. “Twins who would claim the McGrady money! They were both con artists! A pair of con artists!”
The officer leaned back in the chair. “That’s the way I figure it,” he said, “at least for now. And the other con artist is most likely the killer, for some reason that we won’t know until we find him. A falling out over the money, maybe.”
Tilda said thoughtfully, “You know, there must have been another stranger in town around the same time as that Basil Falters, or whatever his name really was.”
Campbell nodded. “Yes, ma’am, but so far we haven’t uncovered any leads in that area, either. The only stranger recently arrived in town is that Dane Donovan, and we haven’t been able to find any link between the two men. Add to that the fact that Donovan is at least a foot taller than the murdered man.”
“So it couldn’t have been him,” Tilda mused aloud. Her hazel eyes were bright for a brief moment, until she realized that Douglas Winton was staring at her curiously. She made an abrupt return to the subject. “And now you want me to go over all that mess again, from the other night at the restaurant. Honestly, Douglas, I cannot think of a thing I missed. Not one thing!” The look on her face was almost as dejected as the one on the policeman’s face.
He spoke patiently but Tilda noticed the discouragement creeping into his voice. “Yes, ma’am, I know. It’s all I’ve got to go on right now. Please tell me one more time, and I’ll check my notes while you talk. Just freestyle, Ms. Tilda; say anything that comes into your mind. That sometimes helps a witness realize something he or she hadn’t noticed the first time around.”
Tilda bit her lip. She stood up, grabbed the coffeepot off the counter and brought it to the table. She poured Campbell a fresh cup and another for herself. The policeman remained quiet, watching her, knowing that she was searching within her own mind for any little detail, any telling fact, previously missed, that could help him now; and so he waited.
“We were in the garden, and Addie and that Dane Donovan were walking around the archways together and talking and holding hands and all that. So I strolled off by myself, you know, I didn’t want to follow a courtin’ couple around! That would be bad manners. So I just moseyed around the garden spot, looking at those big antique-looking flowerpots, and the broken stone walls that are supposed to look really old but they aren’t old at all. All that is just for purty. I saw a vine that looked kind of like a purple clematis vine, although it wasn’t blooming yet, so it was kind of hard to tell what type of a vine it was! Clematis usually blooms this time of year and all the way through the summer and sometimes clear into the fall, so I don’t believe it was a clematis vine. Maybe it is just a plain old vine and it never blooms at all. I walked over that way to take a good look at it but I never did figure out what it was.”
She pulled out the chair and sat down. Tilda linked her fingers around the coffee cup and stared off into space.
“I thought I spied that Basil Falters. He looked to be walking out of the restaurant and toward the parking lot. Then he stopped walking and appeared to be waving at somebody who was coming from the direction of the parking lot. I’m sure I saw that much clearly!”
“What was he wearing, Ms. Tilda?”
“Why, he was wearing a green polo shirt and a baseball cap and blue jeans.” She paused, thinking, and then resumed the story. “The twins, well, we know now that they were never twins, but that’s the way I’m going to talk about them so we can keep this straight.” She looked at Campbell, who nodded. “Okay. The twins started walking together toward the restaurant. Basil Falters had on a green shirt, and the other twin had on a gray blazer and a tam cap.” Tilda tilted her head to one side and repeated the words thoughtfully. “A gray blazer and a tam cap. . . and Basil Falters was wearing a baseball cap. . . .” Her voice trailed off. Her hazel eyes brightened.
“Yes, Ms. Tilda, go on. One had a tam, the other a baseball cap,” Officer Campbell urged.
“What was that you said a few minutes ago, Douglas? That I did not see what I thought I saw.” Both hands flew to her lips. “I’ll be dogged, Douglas Winton! I did not see what I thought I saw!” She looked at him in shocked amazement. “Not one of us ever saw what we thought we saw!”
“What’s that, Ms. Tilda?” he asked, perplexed.
Tilda MacArdan stood up, excited. “I’ll bet you money that every time somebody saw the twins together, one twin’s back was turned! That’s the way it was when I saw the twins. That day at Hazel’s beauty parlor. And at the restaurant!” The spry lady picked up the officer’s cap and put it on her head. Wisps of pale brown hair floated out from under it. She stared at him and waited for him to say something.
He didn’t say a thing. He stared at her with shocked concern, and wondered if Tilda MacArdan had finally flipped her lid.
“And that night at the restaurant when I thought I talked to Basil’s twin, I really only spoke with Basil! Don’t you see? The twins walked behind a wall. One of those freestanding Italian-looking walls! And they switched, real quick like, and the one wearing the blazer and the tam took them off and gave them to the other man. I’ll bet the one who was shot was wearing a green
polo shirt beneath that blazer, wasn’t he?”
Officer Campbell leaped to his feet. “Ms. Tilda! He was wearing a green polo shirt! How did you know that?”
“Because it all makes sense! They were both wearing green polo shirts and blue jeans. Had to be, so that when they disappeared behind that wall they could switch clothes. And then that man, that Basil Falters, wearing the blazer and the tam, stepped right out in front of me. He near about knocked me over!”
Campbell grimaced. He scratched his curly blond locks. He thought it over. Then he said, “I think you’ve got something there, Ms. Tilda. But why would they do it? Why go to all that trouble? They must have been a couple of guys who bore a striking resemblance to each other. Both had beards, same height and hair color, stuff like that. Why go to the trouble to meet folks face to face?”
“Because they had to convince everyone that they were twins, identical twins, not just people who looked a lot alike! Don’t you understand, Douglas?” The spry little lady nearly hopped up and down with excitement, still wearing the policeman’s cap. “The killer could be practically anybody. Because we are now looking for a killer whose face no one has seen!”
TWELVE
Lach McGrady crinkled his nose, slapped a bony knee and laughed. “I knew there was something wrong with those two. Always finding an excuse as to why the two of ’em couldn’t meet me at the exact same time!” He leaned forward in the big leather chair and winked. “Can’t put one over on a McGrady, no sirree! Refill that for me, will you, Ms. Tilda? Sure do appreciate it.” He pointed to a coffee cup on the side table of his sitting room.
Tilda smiled fondly at the cantankerous old man who had been recently released from the hospital, although an undercover policeman was stationed continuously outside his bedroom. She was happy to see her old friend back in his own home where he belonged, and she told him so.
The elderly gent cackled with delight. “You bet I’m back and I ain’t going nowhere anytime soon!”
“How did they ever expect anyone to fall for their scam when they couldn’t be seen side by side?” Addie wondered aloud.
Officer Campbell said, “Con artists are pretty slick characters. They’ve had plenty of time and experience to come up with all sorts of deceitful tricks, and they always do their research ahead of time to gain every advantage over their marks.”
“They probably knew you couldn’t see too good, Lach, and they thought they could fool you!” Tilda commented.
“Oh, they tried to fool me, they sure did! One sitting in here talking to me, the other one acting like he was about to walk into the room and suddenly getting a phone call right before he got to the door.”
“What happened then?” Tilda handed McGrady a cup of steaming coffee.
“The one out in the hall mumbled something; never did hear his voice too good, either. And then the other one stepped out into the hall with him and they acted like they were having a mighty important conversation, and one of them just had got to go somewhere in a big hurry. I got the feeling that they just switched places and the first one came right back into the room acting like he was the other one! So I knew they were trying to pull the wool over my eyes!”
“What did you do?” Addie asked.
“I played right along with ’em, that’s what I did.” The old man cackled again. “Guess y’all could say I conned a con!”
Tilda’s tone was innocent and innocuous. “And Hannah and Mr. Frederick never suspected a thing?”
“Those two! They would believe the moon is made of green cheese!” McGrady replied in disgust.
“Were they both here on the day of the twin’s visit?” The spry little lady continued to pry in what she hoped seemed a harmless fashion.
McGrady rubbed his grizzled chin with a gnarled hand. “Come to think of it, Ms. Tilda, I don’t believe they were here. Neither one of ’em! Seems to me that was Hannah’s market day, so she wouldn’t have been around.”
“And Mr. Frederick?” Addie inquired.
The elderly gent bent his head and snickered behind the coffee cup. He cut his eyes around to peep at the visitors, and those eyes gleamed with mischief. “Well, I might as well confess to my very good friends. Sent him on a wild goose chase, I sure did! Told him I just had to have a book by a fellow by the name of Jack Napes.”
“Jack Napes? Sounds familiar, but I’m not sure where I’ve heard the name. What does he write?” Addie asked, puzzled.
Officer Campbell muffled a laugh.
Tilda put her hands on her hips. “Lach McGrady! You did no such thing!”
The little man cackled with mirth. “Yes, ma’am, I did! Told him I had to have that book right away! He took off for the library and he was gone near on three hours! Said he went to the library and to the book store and even to The Pine Knot antique store thinking they might have an old out-of-print book by Jack Napes!”
Tilda suddenly burst into laughter. “Well, now, that is right funny.” She sat down and the little lady and the cantankerous man continued to laugh. After a few minutes Tilda frowned and wiggled a finger under the old man’s nose. “But not very nice!”
“You know I just got to yank that man’s chain every once in a while. He is one stuffed shirt, he sure is, and always has been!”
“It’s a wonder he didn’t walk out on you years ago, Lach McGrady! You and your pranks!”
Addie looked from Tilda MacArdan to Douglas Campbell to Lach McGrady, and back again. “Who is Jack Napes?” she demanded.
McGrady stared at her with wide, innocent eyes and a deadpan expression. “You might have heard of his full name. Jack. A. Napes.”
Addie groaned. “Jackanapes! An old southern expression meaning an impish scoundrel, I suppose? Rather like someone in this very room!” She grinned at the old man, who cackled uproariously.
“You got that right!” McGrady crowed.
Tilda picked up the empty coffee pot and frowned at the crumb filled platter that once held Hannah’s delicious homemade oatmeal apple cookies. “Let me take this downstairs and refill it. Or do you want a nice meal? It’s about suppertime for you, isn’t it?”
Mr. McGrady waved a careless hand. “Don’t bother yourself, Ms. Tilda. Hannah will be along any minute now to feed me, right on time. She’s good that way.”
“She sure is good to you! A real treasure, that one is,” Tilda replied.
“Yes, that she is,” McGrady agreed, and for once his tone was very serious. The old man fell silent as though pondering faded memories.
“Where is Hannah today, anyway?” Tilda asked.
“Ran out to pick up my medicine. Should be back shortly. Have to take it at six o’clock sharp; Dr. Jones insists on that.”
But Lach McGrady did not take the medicine at six o’clock sharp, for there was no medicine to take. Hannah Smith never returned to the McGrady mansion.
THIRTEEN
Eight days passed without a single word from the missing housekeeper. At first people were frantic; as the days wore on without sight or sound of Hannah Smith, the townsfolk settled into a daily routine of gossip, supposition, hope and dread. Rumors ran rampant: she had stayed out all night with an illicit lover! She had been seen at the bus stop with a tattered suitcase! She had been abducted by aliens! She had gone back to the McGrady house and been locked in her room for defying old Lach McGrady in some unknown manner! She had been bumped off by the killer of the con man!
Officer Campbell and his team had questioned practically everyone in Sparrow Falls, and had nary a clue to the woman’s disappearance.
And the ladies of Sparrow Falls, always concerned about the welfare of others, met together the day after the mysterious vanishing and arranged for the care and feeding of Mr. Lachlan McGrady. Seven women agreed to spend one day a week at the old man’s house; attending to housework, preparing meals, answering phones and running errands. Not so much for the cantankerous old gent’s sake. They secretly discussed, and agreed, that it was for the sake of their dear fr
iend, Hannah Smith, “wherever she may be, bless her heart”, and only until her eagerly hoped-for and earnestly prayed-for return.
Magda told the Ladies Garden Club about her day at the mansion. “Mr. McGrady hardly said a word to me the whole time I was there.”
Peggy said the same.
Delcie Needles stated her opinion. “I do believe that Hannah finally had enough of that cranky old man! He has run her ragged for years. She probably packed her bags and left. And I don’t blame her one bit!”
Tilda commented with a heavy heart. “Hannah would have let somebody know where she was by now, Delcie. It’s not like her to run off without a word.”
The faces of the gathered ladies showed fear, sadness, discouragement. They knew that Tilda’s words were true, and no one wanted to think about what that might mean for their absent friend.
“How was Mr. McGrady doing when you left him yesterday?” Tilda asked Peggy.
She sighed. “Poor old fellow. I felt right sorry for him, I really did! Wouldn’t talk at all. Hardly answered any of my questions. Didn’t even want any peach cobbler!”
The ladies gasped in unison.
“That is not good,” Magda said, her face grave.
“My peach cobbler is very good!” Peggy retorted, indignant.
Magda pushed her palms against her fat cheeks and giggled. “Silly goose, I meant it isn’t good that Mr. McGrady doesn’t want any peach cobbler!”
Peggy’s eyes crinkled in a forgiving smile. “Oh, that’s true! He always wants peach cobbler!”
“Did you put some vanilla ice cream on it?” Tilda asked, concerned.
The frowsy woman nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I did. He still wouldn’t eat it, though.”
Delcie pursed her lips and nodded like a wise old sage. “Depressed over the disappearance and perhaps guilty over driving Hannah away by his tomfoolery! And he should be depressed about that! Who’s going over there today?”
“That would be me,” Tilda replied. “Morwenna stayed with him this morning so I could help with the flower bed, but I’d best be getting along now. There isn’t much left to do here, anyway.” She looked at the happy sight of the pink and yellow tulips basking in the sunshine, and beamed. “The flowers are looking purty good now!”