“Let’s have some lunch,” Andrea said when we reached her house. “Then I’m going down to City Hall. You can come with me if you want.”
“It’ll be locked up. Ruby said she and Art have the rest of the day off.”
“I have a key.”
I shook my head in amazement. As usual, Andrea had stunned me with a few simple words. “How in the world did you get a key?”
“I talked Ruby out of it.”
“Why do you want to go to City Hall . . . and wouldn’t that be illegal, going in there when it’s closed?”
Andrea was heaping tuna salad on a slice of sixteen-grain bread. “I’m a taxpayer, and you’re a taxpayer. Who has a better right to go to City Hall at any time?”
Andrea has the most logical mind in the world, but there are times when her logic is a little skewed. Or maybe she’s just kidding. I never can be sure. “You didn’t say why you want to go there.”
“I want to check Art Tennant’s computer.”
“If you’re thinking he murdered the mayor, you’re way off base. What motive could he have?’
“That’s what I want to find out.” And that’s all she’d say about the matter.
#
Police headquarters is right beside City Hall, and I was relieved to see that it was deserted. I don’t know what Andrea would have done if the chief and his officer had been there, watching us unlock City Hall, but I’m sure she would have thought of something. Furthermore, there was no one on the street at all. I suppose everyone was home relaxing and having lunch after the funeral. Jackie had gone with Jason and other close relatives and friends to Nell Flanagan’s Restaurant for lunch in the meeting room. I could imagine her seeing this as a celebration of getting away with murder, while Andrea chased a wild goose in Art’s computer.
“I’m thinking Jackie knew about the affair, and that she was the one who told the police about it, hoping to cast suspicion on Susie,” I said as Andrea turned the key in the lock.
“That’s a possibility.” She closed the door behind us.
We went straight through Ruby’s reception area and into Art’s office, a small space that had once been a storage room. Further back, the door to the mayor’s office stood open, and the room looked lonely and deserted. “Kind of sad, isn’t it?” I said.
By this time Andrea was sitting at Art’s desk, clicking away on the computer. “It is sad. Henry was a likeable person, in spite of his indiscretions.”
The mayor had often joked about his lack of computer expertise, and Ruby said she just typed letters with a limited knowledge of Microsoft Word. Neither, I suppose, would have been able to check up on Art’s computer entries. I was leaning over Andrea’s shoulder. “What are you finding?”
She reached into her purse and got the photocopy of the scraps of paper she found in the park. “The city received a grant of $36,480 last week. Yet Ruby told me they haven’t had any grants this year. The numbers on the scraps match some of the numbers in the grant, and my guess is that the second row of figures would have been half the amount of the grant, had it been complete.”
Her explanation confused me, a result not that unusual. “What does it all mean?”
Someone stepped into the doorway behind us, and the blood drained right out of my head, leaving me feeling dizzy. I would have sat down, but Andrea was in the only chair.
“It means you ladies have gotten far too nosy.” It was Art Tennant.
Andrea and I both looked at him. He stood there with both hands in the pockets of his jacket; then he slowly drew a handgun from the right pocket. “We’re going for a ride in your car.”
Andrea sat there looking at him for a moment and then turned to his computer. “I’m sitting here at your desk, Art, and I see that the city received a grant last week. How did the mayor find out about your manipulation of grant money into your personal account? He had so little knowledge of computers.”
“Someone from the federal government called him to clarify some information, and he figured it out.”
Before he could say more, she said, “And he wanted half, is that it? He confronted you in the park with a slip of paper that showed the latest grant divided by two, and you tore it into little pieces and threw it to the ground. Then one morning he confronted you again here at City Hall, and you shot him. You took him to the park and shot him again, through the head, to make sure he was dead. And you wanted the police to think the park was the scene of the crime. They’d be less likely to suspect you.”
We were about to be taken out to some remote location and murdered, and Andrea was intent on satisfying her curiosity. And tonight would be the dark of the moon, too, a time of danger and serious trouble. I must say, though, that I couldn’t think of anything more constructive to do. Maybe if we kept him talking, Andrea would think of something. My voice was shaky, but I managed to speak. “I suppose you knew about the affair the mayor was having, and you were hoping the police would blame either Susie Adams or Jackie.”
“You ladies are too smart for your own good. Let’s go to the car.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, I would have been flattered to be lumped together with Andrea in the smart category. Then I heard someone open the front door and come through the reception area. Within seconds the police chief was standing in the doorway with his cell phone in one hand and a handgun in the other. Officer Charlie McGraw stood behind him.
“Put the gun on the floor and put your hands behind you,” Walter said.
Art hesitated for only a few seconds, then slowly stooped down and laid the gun on the floor. Charlie rushed forward and handcuffed him.
“Good thinking, Andrea, to dial me on the cell phone and let me hear the conversation.” My mouth fell open as I realized Andrea, always prepared, had the chief’s cell number in her phone book and had called it as soon as she heard Art behind us. The phone still lay on the computer desk, and Andrea switched it off. “I had difficulty hearing Art, but I think I heard enough,” Walter said.
I was feeling such a rush of relief that we weren’t going to be killed that my knees were weak. I went into the reception area and sat down at Ruby’s desk while they led Art off to jail. They were so preoccupied with arresting a murderer they didn’t seem to notice that we were trespassing in City Hall.
#
Susie joined us on Andrea’s deck as soon as we walked out with our coffee cups, and I rushed back into the kitchen to get a cup for her before any interesting conversation could begin.
She was speaking to Andrea when I got back. “I saw Ruby at the Post Office, and she told me you’re the one responsible for figuring out that Art killed the mayor.”
Andrea shrugged. “It was obvious from the beginning.”
I shook my head in wonder. “It wasn’t obvious to me. Why were you so certain?”
“The book, to start with. There’s a scene in The Confessor in which the killer puts a gun to the side of a victim’s head and fires one last shot, obviously to make sure he’s dead. Art said he was returning the book to the library, so I assumed he had finished reading it. It influenced his actions when he brought the mayor, dead or possibly still alive, to the park. Then there were those scraps of paper.”
“Why would you think those had anything to do with Art?” I asked.
“The scraps had numbers on them. Art worked with numbers.”
The mayor could have had numbers stamped on his forehead, and I wouldn’t have caught on. Fortunately, Andrea did.
“How many grants do you suppose Art managed to get away with before this happened?” I asked.
Susie finished her coffee and put the cup on the table. “I heard the police are looking into that.”
Andrea smiled. “They’ll probably have some help from the federal government.” And she looked relieved that it wouldn’t be just the local police trying to figure it out.
I stood up. “Does anyone want more coffee?”
“Let’s take a walk to the park,” Andrea said
. “The weather’s so wonderful, and we could use the exercise. We’ll have a second cup of coffee when we get back.”
The idea of a walk appealed to me for a change. No murder, no clues, no suspects, just a walk up the hill to enjoy one of the last days of a spectacular Indian summer.
HALF-MOON
By
Helen Haught Fanick
My sister Andrea and I didn’t want to go to Aunt Libby’s that evening, since she lived thirty miles out in the country, and the weatherman predicted thunderstorms. We went anyway. We couldn’t figure out any other way to learn what Aunt Libby wanted to talk to us about. It had to be important, since her long-lost stepson and his wife were in town.
The half-moon hung low in the sky as we left Pine Summit. I reminded Andrea of what our grandmother used to say, that the time of the half-moon is a time of strife and turmoil. Andrea smiled. She never put much stock in signs and superstitions, since she’s well educated and a retired math teacher.
Right away, the storm blew up out of nowhere and hid the moon. We drove through the downpour for about ten minutes, and then the wind and lightning subsided, leaving a soft rain falling.
“Do you suppose Ezra Staggers will be at Aunt Libby’s tonight?” I asked. Ezra was Aunt Libby’s hired man. He always gave me the willies, the way he crept around, not wanting to look me in the eye, like he was guilty of something. He was the only one who could stand being around Aunt Libby since she got so cranky in her old age, though, and he lived in a room in the barn where he could be on hand to look after her.
“Ezra probably will stay in his room tonight,” Andrea said. “It sounded as if this is a family matter.”
The rain stopped by the time we drove up the lane to Aunt Libby’s two-story farmhouse. We were early—Andrea always insists on getting everywhere early—and we let ourselves in. Aunt Libby was so frail, we didn’t want her to have to get up and answer the door.
I went into the living room to look for her, and Andrea checked the kitchen. “She’s in here,” I called. “She’s gone to sleep watching TV.”
Andrea joined me, and we stood looking down at Aunt Libby for a moment. Andrea touched her hand, and then checked her pulse. “She’s gone,” she whispered. She turned off the television.
The body was cold. “She must have passed away watching Ellen.”
We shed a few quiet tears, and then I called Alice Marie, Aunt Libby’s daughter, who was just ready to come over anyway.
“What’s that smell?” I asked when I joined Andrea in the kitchen. “Is it lemon?”
“It’s lime. Someone’s been squeezing lime juice. The scent’s stronger in the sink. They must have put the rind down the disposal.” Andrea filled the percolator and plugged it in.
“Aunt Libby hasn’t cooked in years. Could she have been making a dessert for this evening?” I opened the refrigerator. “There’s nothing in here.”
I looked at the clock. “Aunt Libby never set her clock forward for Daylight Saving Time. It’s an hour slow.”
Andrea glanced at her watch, then back at the clock. She didn’t say anything, but I could see she was giving the matter some thought. Then, before I could find out what she was thinking, we heard a knock at the door.
Aunt Libby’s stepson, Jack Quinn, and his wife Eunice introduced themselves. Aunt Libby had married Jack’s father, Andrew Quinn, after Jack moved to Texas. There had been no contact for many years, and as I told Andrea earlier, it’s mighty strange these folks showing up now, with Andrew gone, to see Aunt Libby.
When Andrew Quinn died, no will was found, even though we heard rumors there was one. Aunt Libby had continued living on Andrew’s farm. The house was too remote to be desirable, with everyone moving to town these days, but with timber prices what they are now, the land was worth a small fortune.
Jack Quinn was an ordinary-looking man with glasses and thinning hair. He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a corduroy sports jacket. It was Eunice who really raised my eyebrows. She was a tall woman with bleached hair and enough gold jewelry to take her to the bottom if she ever fell into the lake. She had it all, from her big hoop earrings to her wristwatch to the bracelet sparkling on her left ankle.
Alice Marie showed up right away and set in to sobbing over the loss of her mother. Jack patted her shoulder and said a few words of comfort. Ezra Staggers sidled in and hovered at the edge of our group, looking uncomfortable and offering coffee.
The sky had cleared and the half-moon had disappeared behind the hills by the time the mortician took Aunt Libby’s body and we started home. I reminded Andrea of the strife and turmoil the half-moon brings, but she only nodded and seemed to be lost in thought. I really can understand at times why Andrea is a spinster.
Even more turmoil began two days later, on the morning of the funeral. Alice Marie called to let us know the sheriff’s office phoned, and the autopsy showed Aunt Libby had been suffocated.
“Ezra couldn’t stand her complaining any longer,” I told Andrea as we drove to the church.
Andrea laughed. “That’s a possibility, I suppose.” And then she did something really strange—she pulled in at the liquor store and dashed inside.
“What in the world are you doing?” I asked, when she came back empty-handed.
“Just checking on something. Things are beginning to add up.”
“”I know. Ezra bought three bottles of cheap wine, and when he’s tried, he’ll plead insanity.”
She smiled and kept on driving. And I noticed the same smile on Andrea’s face when we gathered at Aunt Libby’s house after the funeral. She stood by the ancient upright piano, which no one had played in years, and leafed through Aunt Libby’s old hymnal.
Friends and neighbors had loaded the kitchen table with food. We all dug in heartily as we exchanged stories of pleasant early times with Aunt Libby. It was only when we cleared up the kitchen that I noticed Andrea was nowhere in sight.
Finally, all the friends and neighbors left. Only the family and Ezra remained when the study door opened and Andrea came out, the hymnal in her hand. “Please, everyone, have a seat in the living room.” Years of teaching math gave Andrea an air of authority, and we followed her to the front of the house.
She stood in front of us. “We all know by now that Aunt Libby was murdered.” She looked at each of us, and I felt a chill run up my backbone. Andrea had it figured out already. I was sure of it.
“When we arrived the other day and found Aunt Libby on the couch, we noticed the scent of lime in the kitchen. Aunt Libby hadn’t cooked in years, and Ezra certainly isn’t into using limes.” She looked at him, and he shook his head and shrank back against his chair.
“That lime was used to make a margarita.” Andrea said the word carefully, giving it a bit of a Spanish inflection. “I checked at the liquor store in Pine Summit and found they had sold a bottle of tequila on the day Aunt Libby died—the first anyone could remember selling in ages. Of course, tequila is one of the ingredients in a margarita.”
I couldn’t resist a glance at the Texans. They sat on the couch and looked relaxed.
Andrea continued, “The manager said he sold that bottle to a tall, blonde woman who wore a lot of gold jewelry.”
Eunice jerked upright. “I bought that bottle for Jack!”
He turned to stare at her. “What bottle?” He looked at Andrea. “I was asleep at the motel all afternoon. It’s a long drive from Texas.”
“I know you’re innocent, Jack,” Alice Marie spoke up. She turned to stare at Eunice. We all turned to stare at Eunice. I was wondering at the same time why Alice Marie seemed to know Jack so well and why she was so sure he was innocent.
“I checked with the power company while I was in the study,” Andrea said. “There was a power outage in this area the afternoon of the murder, during the thunderstorm. When we noticed Aunt Libby’s electric clock was an hour slow, I thought at first she had failed to change it when the time changed. Then I realized Eunice must have set it in order t
o stop the maddening blinking those clocks do when power has been interrupted. Eunice’s watch was still on Texas time, an hour earlier than ours.” Andrea lifted Eunice’s arm. “You’re still slow—by one hour.”
Eunice yanked her arm away. “Jack’s on Texas time, too.” Her voice had a real chill in it now, and another shiver ran up my back.
“Jack isn’t wearing a watch,” Andrea said. “He wasn’t wearing one that day, either. You came here and fixed yourself a margarita and chatted with Aunt Libby. Maybe you gave her one, too, to get information from her about this property.
“When she told you she found the will, and that Andrew left the farm to her, you decided to smother her and let intestacy take its course. That would have meant Jack got the property when her legal right to live here expired along with her. The only thing you couldn’t get her to tell you was the location of the will.” Andrea pulled a yellowed paper from the hymnal and opened it.
“Aunt Libby put the will in her hymnal for safekeeping until she could talk to us.” Andrea spread another legal-size paper before her. “Aunt Libby’s will was in the hymnal, too. It leaves the property to Alice Marie.”
Eunice jumped to her feet. “You aren’t going to pin this on me. I’m going back to Texas.” She headed for the door.
“I made another call while I was in the study.” Andrea nodded toward the window.
We all turned to see the sheriff’s car sitting outside. Eunice opened the door. Her gold seemed a bit tarnished as they led her away.
#
To my way of thinking, things turned out pretty well after that. Eunice confessed to being an accomplice in the killing and blamed the actual deed on Jack, hoping for a plea bargain.
It turned out that Jack had an excellent alibi, one that shocked Andrea and me, I admit. Alice Marie had been emailing and talking on the phone with Jack for months, trying to arrive at a fair arrangement for selling the timber. It was just one of those things. He wasn’t thrilled to death being married to Eunice, and he and Alice Marie hit it off right away, even on the phone. He hadn’t spent the afternoon sleeping at the motel after all. He was with Alice Marie, “going over papers,” they said.
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