Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 01 - Down Home Murder

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  No one spoke as we came into the waiting-room, and I saw my own misery mirrored on the faces of my family. Silently we exchanged hugs, and left, leaving Aunt Nora and Aunt Daphine to stand watch. I had nothing left to say as Richard and I returned to the house and went to bed.

  I jerked bolt upright when the phone rang. According to the alarm clock on the nightstand, it was only four o’clock. Leaving Richard to snore, I found my robe and went downstairs. There was no light on in the hall or in the stairwell, so I felt my way toward the kitchen, where I could hear Aunt Maggie speaking quietly on the phone. She hung up as I stepped onto the chilly linoleum, and turned to see me.

  “He’s gone,” she said. “Nora says he never woke up after we saw him, just slipped away in his sleep.” She hugged me clumsily, then reached for the phone again. “I have to call Edna.”

  I didn’t remember going back up to the bedroom, or waking up Richard. All I remembered was laying in my husband’s arms while sobs ripped through me.

  Chapter 16

  I didn’t realize I had gone to sleep until I woke the next morning, my eyes and face swollen from crying. I could think of no reason I should move from the bed, despite noises from downstairs that told me that Aunt Maggie was stirring. Instead, I lay next to the still sleeping Richard until there was a light tap on the bedroom door.

  “Laurie Anne? Richard?” Aunt Maggie said. “Are y’all awake? Do you want something to eat?”

  I nudged Richard awake. “Are you hungry?”

  He rolled over and blinked his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He grabbed the alarm clock. “After ten. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes, Aunt Maggie.”

  “All right.” Her footsteps moved down toward the kitchen.

  “Hi,” Richard said to me, looking at me intently. When I didn’t answer, he reached over, pulled my hand to his lips, and lightly kissed it.

  “Do you want to shower before breakfast?” he asked.

  “I don’t care.” I didn’t seem to care about anything. It was as though both my brain and heart were wrapped in lambswool.

  Richard slid out of the bed, pulled on his robe, and held mine out to me. “Come on. Let’s get breakfast.”

  He escorted me to the kitchen. Aunt Maggie had a bag full of sausage and country ham biscuits.

  “What kind do you two want?” she said.

  “Sausage,” Richard answered for us both.

  Aunt Maggie looked at me, then turned away. I knew I should say something, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, I reached for the newspaper on the counter and stared at it. I ate what Richard put in front of me, but I could not have honestly said whether I liked it or not.

  Once she was sure that Richard and I had enough to eat, Aunt Maggie made herself a cup of instant coffee and sat down with a sigh.

  “You haven’t been awake since Aunt Nora called, have you?” Richard asked.

  She shrugged. “I laid down for a spell, but couldn’t seem to fall asleep.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s just as well. If I stop now, I’ll be out for the duration, and your aunts are coming over in a little while to plan the funeral.”

  “Is there anything you need us to do?” he said.

  “Not a thing.”

  “Then we’ll go take our showers.”

  Content to let Richard make the decisions, I followed him back to our room, then went into the bathroom. I obediently showered and dressed, then waited while he did the same.

  The doorbell rang as we came back downstairs. Aunt Maggie answered it, spoke to a woman I recognized as one of Paw’s neighbors, and came back inside with a dish covered in foil.

  “Mrs. Lockard from across the street brought over some macaroni and cheese,” she explained. “I guess the news about Ellis is already getting around.” She was right. In the next hour, friends and neighbors dropped off ham, fried chicken, potato salad, and a couple of generic casseroles. As I tried to fit it all into the refrigerator, I couldn’t help but think of Mrs. Wilson sitting alone in her house waiting for visitors that never came.

  When the doorbell rang again, it was a red-eyed Aunt Edna. She was shortly followed by the rest of my aunts, and I let myself be swept away into the living-room with them while Richard called our respective offices to tell them that we would be staying in town for Paw’s funeral.

  As soon as we were all gathered, Aunt Maggie said, “Before you get started, I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to be reading Ellis’s will tomorrow night, so everybody try to get here by six-thirty.” Then she started to leave the room.

  “Aunt Maggie,” Aunt Nora said, “don’t you want to help decide about the funeral?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve had to put together too many funerals already. You girls can handle this one.” She went upstairs.

  Aunt Daphine, ever practical, pulled out a pad and pen and put them on the coffee-table. “This isn’t going to be easy for any of us,” she announced briskly, “but it has to be done. First we need to decide when we’re going to have the funeral. I called Mrs. Funderburk up at the church office, and she said that the church is free all day tomorrow, but there’s going to be a wedding the next day. I went ahead and told her we’d have it tomorrow. Is that all right with everybody?”

  “What about Melanie Wilson’s funeral?” Aunt Nora asked.

  “Mrs. Funderburk said they haven’t scheduled it yet. I guess the police aren’t done with her yet, poor thing.”

  Everyone nodded. At least we didn’t have that to deal with, I thought. Or should there have been an autopsy? What would my aunts say if I suggested it? I let the notion pass.

  “Did you check to see if Reverend Glass is free?” Aunt Edna said.

  “Edna, that man is not going to officiate at Paw’s funeral,” Aunt Nellie said firmly.

  “He most certainly is,” Aunt Edna said, just as firmly.

  “Edna,” Aunt Ruby Lee said in her most soothing voice, “you know Paw and Reverend Glass didn’t get along. Don’t you think it would be a little funny for him to speak at the funeral?”

  “No, I don’t. Reverend Glass would be the last man on earth to hold a grudge.”

  “Well, I hold a grudge,” Aunt Nellie muttered.

  Aunt Edna and Aunt Nellie glared at each other, but Aunt Nora said, “I spoke to Paw about this once. It was right after Mrs. Dean’s funeral. Do you remember how fancy it was? I was saying that I don’t want so much fuss when I go, that it was just a waste of money. Paw said he thought that funerals were for the living more than for the dead anyway, so that if it made Mr. Dean feel better to spend the money, it was the right thing to do. Then he said that we should do whatever made us feel best when we buried him.”

  “See!” Aunt Edna said triumphantly.

  “Having to listen to Reverend Glass is not going to make me feel better,” Aunt Nellie said.

  “I’m not finished yet,” Aunt Nora said patiently. “Then he said that he thought that he would rest better if whoever it was that spoke at his funeral was someone who knew him and cared about him. Then it wouldn’t matter what was said, because it would be meant.”

  “You mean one of us should give the service?” Aunt Ruby Lee said. “I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to say a word.”

  Aunt Daphine said, “What about Paw’s cousin Yancy? He’s a preacher in Granite Falls, and he and Paw used to be close. I bet he’d come.”

  The sisters nodded their agreement, even Aunt Edna. Aunt Daphine said, “Nora, have you got his phone number?”

  We waited while Aunt Daphine called Yancy. She spoke a few minutes, and then reported while holding her hand over the speaker. “He says he’d be proud to do the service, and would ten o’clock be all right?” The time was agreed on, and after hanging up the phone, Aunt Daphine again consulted her list.

  “Now who do we want for the pall bearers?” Aunt Daphine asked.

  I watched while my aunts bickered their way dow
n Aunt Daphine’s list, arguing over pall bearers, whether the casket would be open or closed during the service, what suit he should be wearing, and whether or not he should be buried with his wedding ring. Did it really matter? I didn’t think the funeral was going to make me feel any better no matter how nice it was.

  After all the decisions were made, Aunt Ruby Lee and Aunt Edna went upstairs to get Paw’s dark gray suit and a shirt to take to the funeral home.

  “Laurie Anne,” Aunt Daphine said, “Nellie and I are going to ride over to the cemetery to take care of things over there. Why don’t you come with us?”

  I agreed unenthusiastically. It was only a short drive, and I did not speak as we drove.

  The one thing about which there had been no debate was where Paw was to be buried. Paw had bought a plot at Woodgreen Acres when Maw died. He would be buried alongside his wife.

  Once inside the gates of Woodgreen Acres, we followed the discreet signs to the office, housed in a low building that was buried in one of the rolling hills in order to blend in with the surroundings as much as possible. Mr. Norville, a man one assumed could not smile, greeted us at the door and escorted us to his office. Nearly one whole wall of the room was a picture window with a view of the grounds, lush and verdant despite the weather. I stared outside, letting Mr. Norville’s carefully rehearsed words of sympathy wash over me.

  “I understand the funeral service will be at the church,” he said. “What time will the funeral party be arriving here at Woodgreen?”

  “The service is set for ten,” Aunt Daphine said, “So I imagine it will be about eleven or eleven-thirty when we get here.” Aunt Nellie nodded. How did one estimate these things, I wondered. I had never even considered the length of a funeral.

  “Have you made arrangements with the funeral home for chairs and an awning for the graveside service?”

  Aunt Daphine nodded.

  “Then I’ll make sure that the site is prepared. The only thing we have to take care of is the marker.” He consulted a sheet of paper on his desk. “Mr. Burnette purchased a marker for his wife and himself some time ago, so all we need do is remove the marker and add his name.” He picked up a pencil. “Now what is the full name of the departed?” he asked.

  “Ellis Everett Burnette.” Aunt Daphine spelled it out for him.

  “Date of birth?”

  “September 3, 1918.”

  “Would you like anything else on the plaque? ‘Beloved Father’ perhaps, or ‘Loved by All’?”

  Aunt Daphine looked at Aunt Nellie and shrugged. I spoke for the first time since we had left the house.

  ‘“His cares are now all ended.’“

  “That’s pretty,” Aunt Nellie said.

  “It’s a quote. From Shakespeare. King Henry IV.”

  “We’ll have that then,” Aunt Daphine said. “I think he would like that. Lord knows Paw had his share of cares.”

  Aunt Daphine inspected the paperwork while I continued to stare out the window at the green slopes, dimpled with bronze plaques. It wasn’t true, I thought. His cares weren’t all ended. If someone had killed Paw, I had to find out who.

  Staring at the spot where he would be buried in the morning, I said to myself, “I’ll finish it for you, Paw. Your cares will be all ended. I promise.”

  After we left Woodgreen, Aunt Daphine dropped me off at Paw’s. I found Richard upstairs stretched out on the bed reading.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, reaching for me as I laid down beside him.

  “Not good, but better.”

  “Did you guys get everything taken care of?”

  “I think so. Richard, I’ve been thinking about what Paw said. That what happened to him wasn’t an accident.”

  “What did you decide?”

  “We can’t just let it go. I can’t, anyway. I think we should try to find out what happened. If someone killed Paw, we have to find out who.”

  Richard nodded.

  “Is that all right?” I asked. “Will you help?”

  “Of course I’ll help.” He gathered me in his arms. “This is why we’re married—for better or for worse, remember?”

  “Thank you. I couldn’t face this without you.”

  “Nor should you,” he said.

  I rested my head against his shoulder and let him stroke my hair until Aunt Maggie called us for lunch.

  Chapter 17

  The three of us ate a late lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and then Aunt Maggie disappeared upstairs to take a nap. Richard quickly buried himself in a book, but I couldn’t sit still. Or rather, every time I did, I felt like crying again and I didn’t want that.

  With Paw’s death, the house had turned into someplace foreign. The paperback bodice-ripper romance Aunt Maggie had left on the coffee-table shouldn’t have been there—one of Paw’s Louis L’Amour books should have been in its place. One of my aunts had left Paw’s phone book open on the kitchen table, and Paw never would have done that. Even Richard looked out of place, sipping Coke from a glass instead of from a bottle the way Paw would have.

  I put Aunt Maggie’s book into the bookshelf and slid the phone book back into the kitchen drawer. It didn’t help. It wasn’t Paw’s room anymore.

  “I’m going to the den,” I said. Richard grunted something and I went downstairs. As far as I could tell, Aunt Maggie still hadn’t spent any time down there. The room still looked as if Paw had just left. I felt tears start to form in my eyes, but deliberately blinked them away.

  I sat down in the recliner, leaned it all the way back, and closed my eyes, trying to imagine that I was a teenager again and Paw was still alive. I could almost hear his voice, almost see him sitting on the couch pulling socks, almost…. That’s when I started to cry.

  Richard must have known why I had come downstairs, because he didn’t come looking for me for a while. When I heard him coming down the stairs, I hastily blew my nose.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Sure. I was just going to straighten up a little since everyone’s coming over tomorrow night.” It was a lie and he knew it, but it was a good idea.

  Again noticing that the carton of socks Paw had pulled was sitting out, I said with irritation, “I thought Uncle Conrad was going to take those back to the mill. I’m surprised Burt Walters hasn’t called to fuss about them yet.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t worry about a box of socks under these circumstances.”

  “You don’t know him like I do.”

  “Come to think of it, why didn’t Paw take them with him when he went to the mill?”

  “Walters insists that the socks be counted when they’re checked in, and there wouldn’t have been anyone there to take care of it on Sunday. You’d think that after all this time they’d trust Paw. They were the ones who cheated him, not the other way around.”

  “Oh? I haven’t heard that one.”

  “You know they pay by the sock? Paw caught them under-counting his socks. He was helping Clifford learn to count one day, and they ended up counting a whole carton. Only when he went to check in the socks the next day, they told him there were twenty-six less than he knew there were. Of course he made them count them over, but there’s no telling how much money they had cheated him out of over the years. After that, Paw always kept track of what he pulled himself.”

  I pulled open the drawer in the end table, and produced a blue spiral notebook. “This is his ledger.” I opened it to the last entries. “May 12: Received 1 carton. May 14: Completed carton. 356 socks. That’s funny.”

  “What’s funny?”

  “It usually took Paw four or five days to pull a carton of socks.” I showed Richard previous entries in the ledger to illustrate my point. “It only took him two to pull this batch. I wonder what he was worried about.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “You know how when we’re worried about something, you read Richard III and I look at the atlas? Paw pulled socks. Once it looked like Aunt Nell
ie and Uncle Ruben were going to end up in jail after one of their schemes went bad, and he went through a whole carton of socks in a day. He wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t do anything but pull socks.”

  “Maybe he did this batch in a hurry because he needed the money for something.”

  “First off, Paw was never pinched for money because he was careful. Second, it was only the middle of the month, so he should still have had a good piece of his Social Security check left. No, he was worried about something.” I returned the ledger to the drawer and slid it shut. “I wonder if whatever it was he was worried about had something to do with what happened. With why he was killed.”

  “You think that if we figure out what he was worried about,” Richard said, “we’ll know who killed him?” He looked doubtful.

  “Maybe. Let me think this through. It would have been Sunday afternoon. No, he must have started pulling Sunday morning at the latest to get that many done.”

  “So something happened Sunday morning. What did Paw usually do on Sunday morning?”

  “He didn’t go to church anymore, not since Glass came. What about Glass?”

  “As a suspect?” Richard asked.

  “He had a motive. He thinks Paw left him the house.”

  “But he wouldn’t be getting it personally—the church would own it.”

  “True.” For a minute I considered the idea of some treasure hidden in the house and of Glass killing Paw so he could search for it, but I quickly discarded it. Too many children had explored this house for there to be anything hidden in it, and how would Glass have learned about it if there was?

  “Let’s go back to Sunday morning,” I said. “Paw always got up at around eight, even on Sunday. Then he’d eat breakfast and read the paper.”

  “Then what?”

  “Let’s stick with the newspaper a minute,” I said. “When I came over here on Monday, Aunt Maggie said she hadn’t been downstairs since she got here. Therefore everything should have been the way Paw left it.”