by Donna McLean
A Distant Murder
a sparrow falls mystery
book one
Donna McLean
Copyright © 2011 Donna McLean
All rights reserved.
This novel is a product of the author’s imagination.
Resemblance to actual events, places or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 1467986283
ISBN-13: 978-1467986281
One
“Mercy me, you look just like that poor dead girl!”
The trio of gossipy women gathered around Addie McRae, effectively cutting off any hope of escape. She had just entered the small town’s one and only bookstore, Nicely Novel, and asked a few questions of the wiry gentleman behind the counter when those three meddling little old ladies pounced upon her like cats on a grasshopper.
Frank Dowd leaned over the counter and scowled. “You ladies leave her be! Go on, now!” He shooed them away and then inquired politely, “Now how can I help you, Miss?”
Addie hesitated for a split second and the trio saw their chance. They surrounded the young woman and began talking at top speed, all three voices chattering simultaneously like a flock of squawking magpies arguing over a worm.
The wiry gentleman waved both hands in disgust, ran bony fingers through a messy shock of white hair, and went back to unpacking books from a box on the counter. Addie McRae took a step backward and crossed her arms in an unconscious attempt to shield herself from curious eyes as the ladies continued to prattle, almost in unison, and all the while drawing closer with menacing steps as though well practiced in cornering their prey.
The short, messily attired woman spouted in excitement. “I declare, she certainly does look like exactly her. The same emerald green eyes, the same strawberry blond hair with just a hint of natural curl. That is natural, isn’t it? It’s much too pretty to be a perm.”
The tall and spindly one nodded emphatically. “I remember she had the prettiest curls I’d ever laid eyes on. Swore it was all natural, although I always wondered about the accuracy of that claim. Of course we were all young things back then, just married or courting, and then Dr. McRae showed up out of nowhere with that pretty slip of a girl, a brand new bride! Yes, you do look exactly like her.”
The birdlike woman in large outdated eyeglasses with thick lenses piped up in a squeaky voice. “And I’ll bet you’re her granddaughter, come back after all these years! Isn’t that something! I never thought I’d see head nor tail of any of the McRaes again, after the unpleasant incident. Such a shame. Such a long time ago, too. My goodness, we were all so young then. Why, I remember right where I was standing when I heard about it—”
The tallest one interrupted in a loud, braying voice, something that Addie had a feeling she often did, and with such forcefulness that everyone else stepped backward straight into the science fiction section. Three Headed Toads from Mars screamed across the cover of a book directly in front of Addie’s eyes. She tore her gaze from it and stared at the tall woman, who nearly shouted with melodramatic glee, “My goodness, this little town has never seen the like of it before or since!”
She continued to babble and the others chimed in, all of them backing Addie between two rows of shelves and effectively trapping her from any attempt to escape their nosy curiosity.
Just as her back touched the wall she felt the partition give way and a tug at her elbow and heard a gentle voice saying softly, “Honey, come this way.” A sigh of relief fled her lips when she turned and saw a kind, elderly face peeping out from behind a door marked Employees Only. Addie gratefully plunged into the room and her rescuer closed the door right in the faces of the clamoring women, pushing the lock button to keep them out.
Miss Frances Dowd, proprietor of the quaint bookshop Nicely Novel, was no bigger than a minute. Petite and dainty even at eighty years of age, always conducting herself with quiet modesty befitting a well bred southern lady, she often surprised people by popping up unexpectedly when folks believed that she was nowhere about. The paleness of her fair complexion and the smallness of her frame gave one the impression that she was as delicate as a china teacup and could be as easily broken. Her looks could politely be described as plain or unkindly described as homely. Town gossips often remarked that no man had ever looked twice at Miss Dowd, for there was hardly a reason to look once. She had never married.
The elderly lady cast a kind smile upon Addie, the soft folds of her delicate skin crinkling pleasantly around the bright blue eyes that gazed out from behind tiny wireframe glasses. “Oh, dear. Those three women are just too nosy for their own good. I hope they didn’t scare you away from visiting our little town. We seldom have strangers here. Ever since the highway came through people just don’t get off the main roads anymore and so no one ever comes to Sparrow Falls.”
The lady’s sweet pink face and soft blue eyes matched her soothing voice. She reminded Addie of a fragile antique porcelain doll. “Now my name is Miss Dowd, and I want you to tell me how I can help you. Are you looking for any book in particular or just browsing? We have some very nice, old, out of print books that are really good quality for the price.”
She opened the door a crack and peeped out, then motioned Addie to follow her into the store. The young woman was thankful to see that the gaggle of gossips had disappeared. The wiry gentleman had gone back to unpacking books with a smile of contentment on his weathered face. He grinned when he caught sight of Addie and said, “Don’t you worry, ma’am, they won’t come back for a while. I shoved ’em out and locked the door behind ’em! Been wanting to do that for years!” He threw back his head and sent forth a childlike laugh that filled the little shop with merriment.
Miss Dowd scolded lightly. “Frankie, dear, we cannot afford to offend any customers!” But Addie noticed a smile on the lady’s gentle face as she continued with affection, “Frankie is my little brother and he has always been a pistol.”
Frank cackled merrily again while rolling up the sleeves of his tan and brown plaid shirt. “That’s right, Frannie, and don’t you forget it!”
Frances Dowd picked up a tiny book of verse and opened it fondly. “This is one of my favorite books of poetry and it is not for sale. I leave it on the counter where anyone may look at it, and I read it quite often myself. We have lots of good books here,” she added modestly, almost shyly. “Please feel free to look around. Take as much time as you like.”
Addie’s eyes roved eagerly over the shop while Miss Dowd recited names of authors and titles in her pleasing southern cadence, lovingly picking up this book or that and sharing it with the young woman as she talked. It was obvious that the store was Miss Dowd’s pride and joy. Every book was displayed neatly on prim and proper shelves carefully arranged to catch a shopper’s eye. New books in bright jackets with bold lettering were intermixed with tried and true classics or used books still in good shape.
All the shelves were arranged to form a sort of cocoon at the front of the shop. Within this cocoon stood a couple of comfy looking chintz covered chairs and a white wicker settee with bright floral cushions. Odd end tables and a low, glass topped coffee table were covered with books, and a tray with a teapot decorated in hand painted roses sat in the middle of it all. To one side a white tea cart with oversized wire wheels stood, offering various flavors of old fashioned teabags to customers. A neatly printed sign placed upon the tea cart stated rather pretentiously, “Special teas are our specialty! Please inquire at counter.” Behind this pretty scenario the shop window was framed by floor length white lace curtains, ruffled and flounced, with pale green satin ribbons for tiebacks. The name Nicely Novel scrolled across the window in curving violet letters, and underneath were listed the shop’s hours an
d the quaint but charming phrase, “Frank and Frances Dowd, Proprietors”.
“I could spend hours in here looking through all these books! I love to read,” Addie said with enthusiasm. She quickly scanned the back cover of an interesting new release and then placed it back on the shelf with a regretful sigh. “But right now I’m trying to find someone named Tilda MacArdan. I hope she can tell me something about my late grandfather, Dr. James McRae.” She took a small white envelope from her purse. “The address I have is 324 Hollyhock Lane, Sparrow Falls, North Carolina. I don’t know if she still lives there. My information is about thirty years old. If she lives elsewhere, I’d like to know where I can find her.”
The white haired gentleman at the counter stopped stacking books and looked sharply at Addie. He was frowning. “Dr. McRae?” he echoed, his voice sounding uncertain, as though he were trying to remember someone from long ago but couldn’t recall the face.
Miss Dowd turned slowly and looked Addie over in a pointed, searching gaze, all the while with the same sweet smile upon her lips. “Yes, I remember Dr. McRae. My dear, may I ask your name?” she inquired politely.
Addie grinned. “I’m sorry. I’m a freelance writer, so I’m used to being direct and to the point when requesting information. Of course, you don’t want to give personal information to just anyone, especially someone you don’t know. That’s perfectly understandable.” She removed her driver’s license from the purse and handed it to the bookseller as she continued, “I’m tracing my family history and it has brought me to Sparrow Falls. Actually, I’m at a dead end, unless I can find Ms. MacArdan. I thought a local coffee shop or bookstore would be a good place to begin searching. Generally the center of a small town’s social life, everyone knowing everyone else, and all that. Can you tell me where to find her, please?”
Miss Dowd held the driver’s license closely, tilted it to catch the light and peered at it for a long moment. Then she peered just as closely at the young woman standing before her. A pretty girl with a sweet, slightly crooked smile, reddish blond hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders, emerald green eyes, slender, about thirty years old. Miss Dowd was satisfied that the license matched the person, and that the person was an honest one. She handed it back to Addie.
“Yes, dear, I’ll tell you where to find Tilda. She lives in the exact same spot. Her Granddaddy MacArdan built that very house a long time ago.” The bookseller held open the front door and pointed. “Three blocks down Main Street, left on Honeysuckle, right on Hollyhock. You’ll find the house easily enough. A small white Victorian cottage with a wraparound porch.”
Miss Dowd peered up at the bright blue sky and squinted in the sunshine. “She’ll probably be outside today, working in her flowerbeds. She does love those flowers. Now you come back and see me again, you hear? And tell me all about your search. I want to know if you find your family’s roots in a little town like Sparrow Falls!”
Addie nodded with a friendly wave of the hand as she started on her journey. “Thanks so much, Miss Dowd. I’ll certainly be back and spend hours and hours looking at all your books!” She slid behind the wheel of the little blue convertible and drove off, waving again when she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that the nice old lady was still standing in the same place and watching her drive away, while the elderly little brother grinned over her shoulder.
Addie smiled. “Such sweet old people. I hope everyone in Sparrow Falls is just like them!”
two
Addie McRae swung the car into the winding lane that was Honeysuckle and then slowed the blue convertible a bit in order to enjoy the view. The long, flat landscape seemed to sprawl endlessly, the horizon line broken in places by spires of tall and pungently scented longleaf pine trees made more fragrant by the building heat that was just this side of uncomfortable. She was delighted to see a storybook vision unfolding before her complete with tiny gingerbread trimmed cottages and regal Queen Anne mansions standing three stories tall on both sides of the single lane road. Graciously wide lawns divided the houses from each other by closely clipped and low hedges or old fashioned curling wrought iron fences, sparse grass struggling to grow up through the blanket of brown pine needles that seemed to be everywhere. Sidewalks shaded by ancient and elegant trees paralleled the street, and every little house, the simple and the exuberant, had been lovingly kept up by the denizens of the tiny town called Sparrow Falls.
Far down the road Addie could see a distant white spire gleaming in the sunlight, the apex of an old country church. As she slowed again to turn onto Hollyhock Lane a plump young woman fanning herself with a floppy hat gave the stranger in town a friendly wave. The woman’s husband nodded politely as Addie drove past them. Addie smiled and waved back.
Hollyhock Lane branched off the road on the right; just narrow enough for one vehicle to traverse, if that vehicle wasn’t terribly large. It was easy for the young writer’s imagination to picture this road as it had been during the days of horses and carriages when southern belles in long dresses, attended by gallant beaus, strolled along the wide sidewalks at a leisurely pace. The sense that she was travelling through time had been lazily engulfing Addie from her first moment in town. She thought that if ever visiting a place could take someone to a different century, Sparrow Falls would be that place.
“Such a lovely little town to call home!” she murmured rather wistfully as she remembered the hectic pace, crowds and noise of growing up in a large city. “How could Granddad leave such a wonderful place behind, and never even mention it to me in all those years?” She shook her head, wondering.
The blue car slowed and pulled into the gravel driveway of a two story white Victorian with a wraparound porch, jerking to a sudden stop as a tiny brown and white terrier flew around the corner of the house, barking ferociously. He was followed by an equally vigorous lady wearing gardening gloves who waved a trowel in one hand and carried a small basket in the other. Her graying light brown hair stuck out in all directions from beneath a flouncy sunhat, and there was a big smile upon her face.
She reached the door of the car before Addie had a chance to open it.
“Bless your heart! Are you Addie McRae? Miss Dowd called me not five minutes ago to say that you were on your way.” She gave the little dog, who was still yapping, a gentle prod with one foot as she tried to open the car door. “Puddin’, get down. Now you stop carrying on like that! Hush!”
The young woman clutched her purse and stepped out quickly, keeping one eye on the dog. “It’s all right, I like animals,” she tried to say above the din as the lady continued to chatter and the dog continued to bark.
“I’m Tilda MacArdan, good gracious, will you get down, Puddin’!” She pulled off the gardening gloves, threw them into the basket on her arm, and clapped both hands loudly. “Stop barking, for goodness sakes, it is Addie McRae!” she yelled as she pointed at their visitor.
The young woman thought, with a grin, that the dog didn’t know Addie McRae from the man in the moon, but was surprised to see that the little dog instantly sat down and stopped barking when Tilda clapped her hands.
That lady sighed in relief and took the hat from her head, fanning herself slowly. The light brown wisps of hair floated gently in the slight breeze. “Now that he’s settled down we can have a nice little visit. I want to hear all about you, Addie McRae. Miss Dowd tells me you’re a writer from Florida and you’re unmarried and you are researching your family’s roots, is that right?” Tilda started off toward the front porch of the pretty cottage, continuing to prattle without giving the young woman a chance to answer.
“It’s hot inside and out already, but there’s a nice breeze on the porch and I believe we’ll be right comfy here. Now you sit down and I’ll go get a little something for us to drink. Do you prefer iced tea or soda pop? Or perhaps ice water? And maybe a few cookies or a piece of pound cake.” The little lady waved a hand and laughed in a self deprecating manner. “I’ll just bring a tray and you can have whatever
you want!” She paused long enough to motion her guest to have a seat on the wide front porch. Addie leaned back in a white wooden rocking chair with wide armrests and a slatted seat and back. Tilda MacArdan disappeared inside the house with the dog trotting faithfully beside her.
“It’s so peaceful here,” the young writer murmured, and rocked the chair back and forth in a slow motion that suited her surroundings. The occasional swoosh of traffic on a distant road, a bumblebee whirring around the pink azaleas close to the porch, a redbird chirping atop a tree, were the only sounds to be heard on that soft summer’s day. A drowsy feeling of complete relaxation began to envelope her toes and work itself up to her sleepy eyes until Tilda’s soft southern lilt interrupted the cat nap.
“Yoo hoo! Could you get the door, please?” She was standing behind a screen door holding a large painted metal tray laden with a pitcher of tea, two canned soft drinks, and two tall glasses filled with ice cubes. A plate containing various cookies and two slices of golden yellow pound cake, a heap of white napkins and dainty silverware completed the tray.
Addie held the door open as Ms. MacArdan swept past followed by the obedient and now quiet little dog. The lady set the tray down on a low wooden table and pulled a chair closer for herself, Puddin’ settling comfortably at her feet. “That’s a good boy,” she murmured as the little terrier wagged his tag with pure happiness. Tilda smiled at Addie and said, “He’s really a sweet doggie once he knows you. In fact, his whole name is Banana Pudding. Puddin’ because he is just as sweet as pudding and Banana because sometimes he just drives me bananas!”
The two women laughed. Tilda poured tea over the ice cubes and offered the refreshing beverage to Addie. “I hope you like sweet tea. I do put a bit of sugar in, but it tastes so much better that way, don’t you think so? Go on and take whatever you want to eat and there is plenty more in the kitchen. Now tell me. What brings you to Sparrow Falls?” She leaned forward in her chair and watched the young woman expectantly, her head slightly tilted, her hazel green eyes steady and curious, like those of the well behaved little dog sitting at her feet patiently awaiting a cookie.