Live Free or Die

by Jessie Crockett

  “Ray was talking about it down to Dinah’s.” Clive tore his eyes from Walter reeling a thrashing fish up out of a lake and picked up a packet of Juicy Fruit gum from the side table. He deliberately pulled out a stick and carefully unwrapped it. “Why are you asking me about it?” He stuffed the gum into his mouth and began folding the wrapper into smaller and smaller squares.

  “I understand that you got along with Ethel better than most of her neighbors,” Hugh said. “We wanted to get a complete picture of her, and so far opinion seems to be going only one way.” Clive reached for another stick of gum and added it to the first.

  “She had a talent for irritating folks,” Clive said, “but she got things done. No one seemed to appreciate all the hard work she put in around the village. Committees and such.”

  “Did she ever say that anyone in particular didn’t appreciate her?” Hugh asked. “Did she ever mention feeling threatened?”

  “Ethel wouldn’t have felt threatened by a charging bull if she was standing three feet in front of him wearing a red bathrobe,” Clive said. “That woman was fearless.”

  “Maybe her fearlessness got her killed,” I said. “At one time or another she managed to tick off just about everyone in town.”

  “Including you,” Clive said. “If she was murdered, I don’t know that it’s such a hot idea having you on the case.” Brandy lifted her head off Hugh’s lap and remembered how to growl.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Hugh will make sure that everything is on the up and up.” I gauged the distance to the door in case Brandy decided to attack.

  “What was the nature of your relationship with Ethel?” Hugh asked.” Were you just friends?”

  “We were keeping company,” Clive picked up the gum packet again. “We had an understanding.”

  “So,” Hugh said, “you were a couple, then?”

  “I guess that’s a way of putting it.” Clive dropped the gum back on the table, pulled out a dingy handkerchief and daintily honked his nose.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss, sir.” Brandy twisted her head to check on Clive, and Hugh stroked her back into submission. “How long had you known her?”

  “She moved to Winslow Falls about eight years ago, but it wasn’t until about two months ago at a ham and bean supper at the Grange that we seemed to hit it off. She brought a lemon meringue pie that tasted just like the ones my mother made. When I complimented her on it, she invited me to supper a few days later. That was that. One dinner at Ethel’s, and I was hooked.” Clive dabbed at his nose with the handkerchief again.

  “You both were awfully quiet about the whole thing,” I said. “I’m surprised I hadn’t heard about the two of you before.”

  “Ethel wanted to keep it under her hat,” Clive said. “She said the secrecy spiced things up.” It was official. Ethel’s love life was more interesting than mine, and she was dead. Maybe Augusta was right. Maybe I did need to get back in the dating game.

  “You didn’t mind,” I said, “not letting everyone in on your secret?” Brandy growled at me again.

  “’Tweren’t nobody’s business but ours,” Clive said. “We’d no one to answer to. I don’t see you giving out the details of your love life.” Hugh stopped scribbling in his notebook and peered at me beneath arched eyebrows.

  “If there was anything to report, Clive,” I said, “I’m sure you would have heard it at Dinah’s, just like all the other news. Speaking of which, did Ethel tell you why she was fighting with Bill Lambert the day she died?”

  “She mentioned a tussle with Bill,” Clive said, “but she didn’t tell me about it. If I had to guess, it would be about the plowing.”

  “You remember Bill,” I said to Hugh.

  “Plow driver?” Hugh asked. “Married to the chain smoker?” Clive strained his wrinkled ears through conversation for bits of gossip the way mothers use a colander to get bugs out of a kiddy pool. He wasn’t going to get any dead insects from me. I gave Hugh my best post mistress glare.

  “Did Ethel say something about plowing, or were you assuming?” I asked.

  “She said she was going to stop him from using the town plow for personal use,” Clive said. “When she got all het up the best thing to do was to let her sputter.”

  “Anything else she had been sputtering about lately?” Hugh asked.

  “She was royally ticked off by that foreign family,” Clive said. “She said the mother did a terrible job cleaning the Museum, and those boys pestered her cat and broke her window.”

  “Did you have problems with them? See them hanging around fire scenes?” I asked.

  “Nope, I didn’t.” Clive snuck a peek at the television. “I just know she said they were responsible for the fires every chance she got.”

  “Did you think about marrying her?” I asked.

  “A man needs his freedom,” Clive said. “Besides, she kept dropping hints that maybe she would be getting back together with another fella.”

  “She had another guy?” I asked. “Who?”

  “She never said, but she was really disappointed that it didn’t work out.”

  “She never even gave a hint?” I asked.

  “I got the impression that he was pretty well off,” Clive said, “like she had been planning on a six-star Caribbean cruise, and then it was back to clipping coupons for early bird specials at Bonanza.” Brandy must have grown tired of Hugh paying more attention to his notebook than to her. She jumped off the sofa and parked herself in front of me, growling and raising her hackles.

  “That’s it for now, sir,” Hugh said. “If you think of anything else, you can reach me at the number on my card.” I tried to stand, but Brandy leaned closer and growled more throatily.

  “Cut it out, Dog,” Clive said. “Let her go, and I’ll fix you a can of beans.” The dog hurtled toward the kitchen, and Hugh and I made a dash for the exit. It would explain a lot about Brandy’s disposition if her digestive tract was frequently subjected to baked beans.

  “Are you going to be difficult or gracious?” Hugh asked, pointing up the snow-covered hill toward his truck.

  “Why is it gracious,” I asked, “to get someone I hardly know to carry my bulk up a steep hill through a snow drift?”

  “If we get to know each other better,” Hugh said, “will you be more cooperative?” He scooped me up with an unflattering grunt and slung me onto his shoulder.

  “I doubt it.” The going wasn’t easy on the way back up the hill. By the time he set me down next to the truck, he was panting like an overweight German shepherd.

  Neither of us spoke most of the way back into town, I on account of humiliation, Hugh because he was trying to catch his breath. In the short time we’d spent at Clive’s, the storm had worsened. The roads were slick with sleet, and visibility was reduced to almost nothing.

  “Sounds like there were hidden depths to the victim,” Hugh said once he regained his breath. “Clive made her seem like a hot ticket.”

  “You have no idea,” I said thinking of the acrobatics involved in a tryst in Dinah’s bathroom. “You should try to get home before the storm gets worse.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “I don’t want you getting stuck again.”

  “Don’t worry about me. When I was a Boy Scout my troop camped in the woods every winter. I got a merit badge in snow shelter building.”

  “Are you an Eagle Scout?”

  “Yes, I am. Anything else you’d like to know about me?” Hugh slid to a stop in my driveway.

  “That about does it,” I lied.

  Twenty-One

  Beulah’s house was cold when I stopped in after work Tuesday evening for more cat food for Pinkerton, cold enough to make me worry about bursting pipes. I checked the bathroom and under the kitchen sink and decided to inspect the basement just to be sure.

  I pulled the string for the twenty-five watt bulb at the top of the cellar way and eased down the wooden steps on my crutches. Even in the driest p
art of the winter the basement air felt clammy.

  Overhead, copper pipes crisscrossed the ceiling. I picked my way across the cement floor, focusing my eyes upward to check for leaks. Beulah had gone to the trouble of having a separate laundry room carved out of a back corner of the cellar. I headed for it and pushed open the door.

  Carefully draping a wooden drying rack with Beulah’s panties and support stockings was a skinny little man. Instinctively, I raised a crutch and whacked him with it. The rack collapsed under the weight of him as he fell. He started to move, and I raised my crutch to whack him again.

  “Please, no hitting.” I pinned him down with one crutch, leaning on him with all my weight. With the other crutch I gave him a good poke. He turned his face toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” It was the mystery man.

  “I hurt no one.” He stared up at me with enormous brown eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed wildly in his throat.

  “What are you doing here pawing through Beulah’s underthings? She’d die of shame if she wasn’t dead already. Are you a serial killer taking a trophy?” I was starting to get scared. He didn’t look like much, and I outweighed him, but you hear about the supernatural strength of the criminally insane. And I did have a bum leg.

  “I hurt no one. Luisa say me to stay here.”

  “Luisa told you to hide here?” His Adam’s apple bobbed again as he nodded. “How do you know Luisa?” I poked him again.

  “She my sister. She say me to stay here when I break car.”

  “Why would you stay here?”

  “I say to Luisa I break car, and she say police will look for me at her house. She say I go here for hide.”

  “Someone killed another woman after you ran off, and a lot of people blame you.”

  “I hurt no one. I am hiding all times, even when someone comes in the house I am hiding.”

  “Someone was here? Someone besides me?” He nodded. No one besides Augusta and I ought to be in Beulah’s house.

  “Yes, today. In morning. Is walking over my head.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No. I hide here. There is loud walking, then I hear door, and then is no walking.” I studied him carefully, considering what he had said. He didn’t look like a killer, not that I was sure that should look like.

  “What were you doing with those clothes?”

  “I want make my pants dry. I am cold. I see these clothes wet, and I fix. ” He gazed at me with his sunken brown eyes, and I felt more sorry for him than frightened.

  “I’m going to let you up. I want to look around and figure out who might have been here. You won’t give me any problems, will you?”

  “I no am problem.” I eased my weight off the crutch and let him up.

  “Oh, you’re a problem all right. I’m just betting you’re not a killer. You go up first.” I gestured toward the stairs with my crutch. Just like that, he bolted up the stairs and was gone. I heard the storm door bang shut behind him. There was no way I could have stopped him. Honestly, I wouldn’t have tried. I felt more comfortable with him gone.

  I hobbled around the first floor of the little cape for a second time, looking for signs of disturbance. Standing in Beulah’s living room, I couldn’t see anything missing, just signs of dirt tracked around the room. There was dried mud on the floor in front of the desk. I peeked inside. The cubbyholes were stuffed with papers, rubber bands, a roll of stamps. Nothing looked organized, but it didn’t look rifled either.

  I checked the rest of the room, but everything seemed accounted for, even some small silver items and Beulah’s collection of souvenir spoons. Maybe the intruder was looking for modern electronics and didn’t realize the value of Beulah’s collections.

  Upstairs, I poked my head into Beulah’s room and the spare room she used for sewing. The tracks were fainter than the ones on the first floor, and they stopped in front of furniture with any storage space.

  I limped to the attic door and popped it open. Reaching the top of the stairs, I scanned for any changes. It wasn’t a mess, exactly, but it wasn’t how we left it either.

  Boxes were shifted out of place. The dressmaker’s dummy was moved, and the vest was missing. I lifted the flaps on a few boxes, trying to remember what had been there. The grubby dishcloth was still there along with the dried flowers, but the scrapbook was nowhere to be seen. The box with the books about Maria Monk and the paper cutouts was missing, too.

  My ankle throbbed, my fingers were numb, and I worried the DaSilvas looked even guiltier than ever. What I wanted was a hot bath and a glass of wine. Unfortunately, what I had to do was stop in at the police station and report the robbery at Beulah’s. I hobbled back down the stairs and into the cold.

  Ray was up to his ears in gift wrap when I arrived at the police station. Every Christmas the police department does a toy drive to benefit local kids who don’t have much. I may not like Ray, but I have to give him credit. He organizes the whole thing from advertising to wrapping and even delivery. As I walked in he was trying to pull a thick index finger from the knot in a tied ribbon.

  “Give me a hand, would you?” he said. “My fingers are just too clumsy for this, but I think it looks only half done without a bow.” I loosened his finger and tied a quick knot, then curled the ends with the edge of a pair of scissors.

  “You’re actually useful,” Ray said.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m here to talk to you about Beulah’s house. Some things are missing.”

  “Like what?”

  “A scrapbook and some pamphlets and a gaudy old beaded vest. I can’t think what anyone would want with it.”

  “Are you sure all that stuff’s gone? It’s hard to see with a hat pulled down over your eyes.”

  “I can see fine. The vest was on a dressmaking dummy when Augusta and I were there a few days ago. Now it isn’t.”

  “Maybe Augusta threw the junk out. She was saying at Dinah’s that going through everything was no picnic.”

  “She wouldn’t have done that. She’s taken the executrix job very seriously.”

  “All I’m saying is that it would take a pretty strange duck to break into a house to steal a scrapbook and some old clothing.” Ray yanked the backing off a green bow and jabbed it onto the top of another package.

  “I agree it seems nuts.”

  “Of course, you never know with foreigners,” Ray said. “If you’re not smart enough to speak English, you’re probably too stupid to know what’s worth stealing.” Ray ran his finger around the inside of his ear and then inspected under his nail for waxy build-up.

  “Ray, you disgust me,” I said, “and not just because of your hygiene.” I slammed the door to the police station behind me and decided to give the same information to Hugh. He might believe Luisa’s brother was involved in the thefts, but I doubted it was because he hated immigrants.

  It’s not easy to work up a good stomp using crutches, but I was doing my best when a car slowed down beside me.

  “You look like you could use a lift,” Hugh said. “Hop in.”

  “Where’d you get the car?” I asked, staring at a classic Chevy.

  “It’s my personal vehicle,” Hugh said. “I felt like taking it out for a spin. Hop in.” I yanked the back door open and tossed my crutches in, then joined Hugh in front.

  “You look worn out,” Hugh said. “Where’re you headed?”

  “I wish I knew,” I said, sinking down and closing my eyes. “In the last few days everything has gone completely haywire.” I tried to hold it in but a fat tear slid down my cheek and landed on the pale yellow leather seat.

  “I know what you need,” Hugh said. He pulled back onto the road and turned up the radio. An oldies station played “Lollipop” as we headed out of town. The sound of slushy pavement mixed with the music as I slouched back and let the tears stream down my face.

  By the time we stopped, I’d blown my nose on every mangled tissue I’d found in my coat pockets. I still didn’t
feel better. I scowled out the window at a rundown shopping plaza. Bob’s Dry Cleaning, Center Langley House of Pizza and Rhinestone’s Bowling Palace all clustered together in a depressed huddle. Hugh came around to my side of the car and held open the door.

  “Whenever I feel things aren’t making much sense, I come here and toss around a few balls,” Hugh said. From the way the beefy shoe rental woman greeted Hugh I guessed things didn’t make sense on a regular basis. She arched her eyebrows at Hugh and asked my size. Hugh led me to the farthest lane and untied his shoes. His toes poked out of his socks. Padding in stocking feet to the ball return, he scrutinized the choices.

  “I’m warning you,” he hoisted a ball, “pink’s my lucky color.” With a dramatic heave, he launched it toward the pins. Two pins teetered, then toppled. Hugh spun back around with a giant grin on his face. “What did I tell you? Lucky ball.”

  “Looks like you’re ready for the pro leagues,” I said. “Is it also lucky not to wear shoes?”

  “They don’t have my size for rent,” Hugh waggled a naked toe at me, “and I can’t justify buying a pair, considering how badly I play.”

  “I don’t think it matters how well you bowl.” I watched him toss a black ball straight into the gutter. “It only matters how much you enjoy it.”

  “I’ll think on that advice.” Hugh knocked down another pin. “You’re up.” I lurched toward the balls on my crutches and steadied myself on one leg before aiming down the lane. Imitating Hugh, I lobbed the ball with all my strength. Four pins fell with a clatter.

  “You’re a natural, even with a bad ankle,” Hugh wrote out my score. “I knew this would be good for you.” I glanced around. The place looked like a set from “Happy Days” with the jukebox in the corner and the abundance of chrome. Even the staff had frilled aprons and beehives. Oldies poured from loudspeakers above our heads.

  “I was thinking about calling you when I got home,” I said, feeling the joy of heaving another ball with abandon. “I found the guy that ran us off the road camped out at Beulah’s. He said he heard someone in the house. When I checked the attic some things were missing.”