The Curious Case of the Missing Figurehead: A Novel (A Professor and Mrs. Littlefield Mystery)

by Diane Noble

  Their expressions told me they were holding back.

  “I sent deputies to the scene immediately,” the sheriff continued. “I heard from them a short while ago. The fires are out, but it’s still too hot for anyone to go in to gather evidence.” He glanced at Max before going on. “Also, they said there appeared to be a woman’s body in the back of the vehicle.”

  I caught my hand to my mouth. “Oh no.” I put my head down for a moment, trying to get my bearings, and then added, “But we don’t know it’s the right ambulance … or that the woman is Hyacinth … It can’t be. I’m sure of it. Really, it’s not her.” Denial wasn’t working. I felt the sting of approaching tears behind my eyes. When I cry, it’s not a pretty sight. My nose runs, my eyes puff up, and I shake all over. I avoid that kind of behavior in public at all costs. I stood abruptly, grabbed my handbag, and headed for the door.

  I trotted through the rabbit warren of little cubicles and, once I was outside, breathed in huge, shuddering gulps of air. I heard the door open and close behind me, and then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Easy now,” Max said, his voice low. “Just as you said, we don’t know for sure that it’s Hyacinth.”

  I rummaged around in my purse for tissues, grabbed a handful, and dabbed at my eyes. Then I nodded. “It can’t be.”

  He let his gaze drift from mine to where I’d parked the Ghia. “Would you like for me to drive you home?”

  “I’m not going home.” I lifted my chin a notch and gave my eyes another swipe, glad I had avoided the runny-nose-and-trembling stage. “I’m going to the crime scene.”

  “You mean the scene of the fire?”

  I nodded. “If there’s a body in that ambulance, it’s a crime scene.”

  “Do you mind if I come along?”

  “Not at all, but one of us needs to get a map and directions.”

  He headed back toward Sheriff Doyle’s office.

  I shuddered, thinking about Hyacinth, thinking about my recurring nightmares. This was no time to dwell on it, so I stuffed it deep inside, in that place where I usually kept such things locked tight. I hoped this one would stay there.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once we reached the interstate, the drive from Eden’s Bridge went by in a blur. I drove slower than usual because my eyes kept filling with tears. Max didn’t say so, but he seemed more comfortable at this speed. At least, his knuckles weren’t as white as they’d been during previous rides. Or maybe it was because he was too busy handing me tissues.

  About a half hour from town, I turned left off the interstate onto a gravel road and then in a half mile or so, turned left onto a single-track dirt road that led into a dense forest.

  I tried to keep my heart filled with hope that the call to the sheriff had been in error. My brain didn’t cooperate with my heart. It kept trying to calculate the improbability that another female had hooked up with the thugs who stole the figurehead.

  Max pulled out his cell. “I’ll see if the sheriff’s heard anything new.”

  My words came out in a whisper. “Good idea.” I was having a difficult time keeping my grief below the surface.

  He handed me another tissue, balanced the phone on his knee, and tapped the number. “No signal,” he said after a few seconds. “It says it’s searching.”

  “The sheriff did say last night that someone tried to call 9-1-1, but they couldn’t trace it because of the dead spots in these mountains.” Dead spots. I started to tear up again. Max handed me another tissue. I blew my nose and then said, “Maybe it was Hyacinth.”

  He didn’t bow his head or close his eyes, but I got the sense he was praying. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I remained silent.

  Our gazes met a few moments later. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, which made that place at the top of my throat sting all over again. I swallowed hard to keep the tears under control. It didn’t work. Max handed me another tissue and took one for himself.

  “I’ve always counted Hyacinth a friend,” he said. “We haven’t spent a lot of time together—only at faculty functions. But she’s a character you never forget. One of a kind.”

  I smiled. “And then some.” I looked across at him. “Thanks for not using past tense.”

  He gave me a crooked smile. “I can’t imagine our world without Hyacinth.”

  I reached for his hand. “Thank you for saying that.” He grasped mine and squeezed it, causing me to nearly run off the rutted road, even in my grieving state. Reluctantly, as I headed toward a skinny pine, I decided it was the better part of wisdom to keep both hands on the steering wheel. We missed the pine by inches.

  I aimed the Ghia back to the center of the road, and we bumped along for several more minutes. The scent of loamy damp soil, mixed with pine and a host of other growing things, filled the air.

  The forest grew thicker and darker, the soil now damp enough to leave clearly marked tire prints and footprints. I squinted into a shady area ahead, where it appeared a fairly large vehicle—the ambulance, perhaps?—had turned off. As we approached, I slowed the Ghia, came to a halt, and turned off the engine.

  Max jumped out of the car before I did. I didn’t want to admit he might have spotted the tire tracks first; after all, I was the PI.

  He bent over the tread marks left by a single vehicle. I came up beside him and squatted, rocking back on my heels for balance.

  “Deep, meaning a heavy vehicle. Good evidence that it might have been the ambulance,” he said.

  Not to be outdone, I said, “Also a wider wheelbase than most cars.”

  I glanced around at the thick brush and a crescent-shaped turnout that appeared to lead back to the main two-track road. I walked farther and found more tire marks and footprints. “It looks like they stopped here,” I called to Max.

  My breath caught in my throat. “Smaller footprints. Tennies. Female. They could be Hyacinth’s. She had them on yesterday.” With her skinny jeans and bright top, I remembered, tamping down a fresh sting of tears.

  Even if they were hers, it didn’t prove she was alive.

  “I see one set of larger prints,” Max said, stooping again for a closer look.

  I tried to imagine what had happened there, but shook my head. It could have been anything. Maybe she tried to escape, but was chased. My friend was resourceful, and I hoped she’d pulled out all the stops, no matter what had taken place.

  I walked a few feet up the road, scanning the brush. I spotted a single set of small prints leading out of the clearing, and my heart lifted. She’d gotten this far by herself. I scanned the foliage again, the soil beneath the trees, and then began looking higher. I narrowed my eyes as something sparkled at eye level in the distance.

  “Oh my,” I enthused, scarcely able to imagine my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. “Oh, my goodness gracious.” My heart felt light enough to make my feet go into a cowboy cha-cha.

  Max grinned and came over. “What’d you find?”

  I pointed to a small pine near the edge of the turnout, then walked over and plucked a golden bangle bracelet from an upper branch. It sparkled in the dappled sunlight of the forest.

  “Hyacinth was here.” I held the bracelet up to inspect it in the light. There was nothing unusual about it. The shape hadn’t altered, and there were no signs of blood, thank heavens. “Katie and Chloe Grace give her one every Christmas. She has quite a collection.”

  “She knew you’d be coming after her.”

  His expression was kind as I looked up at him and nodded. “She would count on that. She is counting on it,” he amended. “And the footsteps lead on, alone, it appears.”

  She’d been alive before reaching the cabin and the ambulance. She had tracked the thieves. I concentrated on that image rather than the scene we were heading for. “It’s just like her to do that.”

  “Do what?” Max turne
d and gave me a quizzical look.

  I’d almost forgotten that he couldn’t read my mind. I managed a watery smile. “Track the thieves. It’s just like her to do that.”

  I looked back at the car, then turned to follow the track up the hill. The footprints eventually disappeared as the soil became dryer. Within a few minutes, we saw the burned-out cabin with a vehicle in front of it.

  As we drew closer to the clearing at the front of the smoldering cabin, or what was left of it, two large fire engines came into view, along with a smaller double-cab truck and two SUVs, one marked with the county coroner’s seal and the other with that of the sheriff’s office.

  I slowed the Ghia and tried to draw in a deep breath, but my chest was too tight for oxygen to enter. I hunched over and dropped my head into my hands. “This is too hard,” I whispered. “I can’t do this. I just can’t.”

  Max scooted over as close as he could get, considering we were both in bucket seats with a console between us. But, bless his sweet heart, he tried. He patted my right shoulder, the only one he could reach, which did bring me some comfort.

  “Why don’t I take it from here? I’ll ask some questions and get all the information I can, including the body ID.”

  I nodded gratefully and tried not to think about Hyacinth being in the burnt shell of a vehicle.

  The passenger-side door opened and closed, and then all was quiet. The acrid odor of wet ashes and charred wood mixed with mud and decaying leaves turned my stomach. I looked up to see Max striding toward a group of firefighters and a couple of deputies.

  I moved my focus to the burned-out vehicle and felt my throat tighten. I couldn’t draw in a breath. I thought of Hyacinth. What would she do if our roles were reversed? She would march right up to that clearing and demand to know what had been found out about the body.

  I took a breath—this time it went deeper than my throat—girded my loins, so to speak, and got out of the car at last, the strap of my handbag that contained my forensic kit slung over my shoulder as I marched toward the clearing. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, I chanted silently. The smell of damp, burnt wood was overwhelming, and more than once, I came close to turning back.

  Images came to me from so long ago that they seemed like shadows. Or faded black-and-white photographs from my childhood. I remember neighbors standing over me, and behind them, flames shooting out of a dark, charred building that once was my home. The horrible aching in my heart as I watched my mother and father being wheeled to ambulances. I’d tried to go with them. No one would listen or let me go. And my mother wouldn’t wake up and hold her arms out for me. Neither would Daddy. I shuddered as I returned to the present. I’d been four when it happened and I’d been terrified of fire since. Not many people knew of my fear; I’m not one to put such things on display.

  I had almost reached the ambulance when my knees turned wobbly, and I worried they might give out any minute. The men were still talking about the case. I couldn’t hear everything, but a few words drifted toward me: “APB.” “Could’ve used a rental truck.” “Size of the tires tells us it’s a …”

  I sidled over to the ambulance, not necessarily to be secretive, but to save myself the embarrassment should I fall apart when I saw Hyacinth’s body. The shell of the burned-out ambulance seemed to be untouched. I frowned. By now, surely the coroner had retrieved the body. Why weren’t they gathering forensic evidence?

  I stepped closer and, holding my breath, peered inside. The body, at least what was left of its charred remains, lay facedown. I turned away, feeling the urge to either upchuck or run. What if this was Hyacinth? I closed my eyes to shut out the image. It didn’t work. I told myself that if the tables were turned, Hyacinth would be strong and tough on my behalf. I needed to have the same courage to take another look.

  On closer inspection, something about the body didn’t seem right.

  The charred head seemed misshapen, but then, I’d never seen a charred body before. I touched the metal of the ambulance, and found it warm but not unbearably hot. Then I moved around the rear of the shell and climbed inside. I held my breath and moved slowly toward the body.

  I reached out to touch it but jerked my hand back when I heard a voice behind me say, “Are you okay?”

  I turned to see Max standing behind the ambulance. “I just had to see for myself.”

  He started to say something, but I waved him away. I wanted to concentrate so I could get a better look. “What on God’s green earth is this?” I gasped. “These are the remains of the body they called in?”

  I turned to Max. It took only seconds for my huge, soul-buoying relief to flare to anger. “How could they make such a mistake? They couldn’t tell the difference between a mannequin and a real person? Couldn’t they have waited until they knew for certain?”

  “Apparently Resusci Anne had them fooled. She’d been sprayed with some sort of a fire retardant so she was visible through the flames—for a while, at least. It wasn’t until they put out the fire that they found poor nearly melted Annie.” He chuckled, and the sound calmed me somewhat.

  “I don’t think it’s funny.” I clambered out of the smoldering shell and brushed myself off. “I grieved all the way over here,” I said with a sniff, though if it hadn’t been for the audience, I would have done a watermelon crawl, complete with the bootie shake.

  “They did call the sheriff’s office to clear up their mistake, and he’s been trying to reach us.”

  “But how did they get a sig—?” It came to me before I got the question out. “Satellite phone. Of course. They can get a signal anywhere.” I made a mental to get one, then remembered I might be going into bankruptcy if I didn’t turn these accusations around pronto.

  By now, the two deputies and the firefighters were getting ready to leave. The coroner was just pulling out onto the road, the fire truck behind him.

  Max and I walked over to the deputies. “Did you find any evidence that will help locate these guys?” I asked.

  The tall, lean dark-haired deputy spoke first. “We put out another APB about their last known location. We believe they met up with someone here who probably was waiting with another vehicle. Judging from the distance between the front and back tires, it appears to be a seventeen-foot truck, a common size for a rental.” He adjusted his stance somewhat. “Of course, that doesn’t mean it is a rental.”

  “A pretty good move on their part,” I said. “A great way to blend in. Those are popular rentals.”

  “We’re checking to see if nearby agencies have reported anything stolen.” The shorter deputy adjusted his belt buckle. “If so, that will be our first break.”

  “Sorry about the false alarm,” the first deputy said. “My bad.”

  My bad? I wanted to throttle him. My bad? His bad had caused me unspeakable heartache.

  “Well, we’re all done here,” the shorter deputy said and hitched up his belt buckle. “We’ll let you know if we get any hits on the rental truck.”

  “Is it okay if we nose around?” I planned to anyway, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

  “Go ahead,” Belt Buckle said. “We’re done.”

  They waved at us, then went around to their vehicle and got in, soon disappearing down the two-lane road.

  “You look as pale as death,” Max said, his concern showing in his eyes.

  I glanced at the burned-out cabin and the shell of a vehicle, knowing I had forensic work of my own to complete. My nostrils filled with the stench of smoldering charred wood and plastic and who knew what else. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  My nightmare again threatened to surface and carry me back to that other time and place when the smell of wet, smoldering embers filled my tiny nostrils, coughing sobs filled my throat, and I thought I was going to die. But again, I tamped it down deep, and determined it would stay there.

  Chapter Seventeen />
  The Professor

  Max had been cast under a spell. No doubt about it. An alien had taken over his heart and mind. He’d been a confirmed bachelor for more decades than he cared to admit. He had come close to marrying once when he was a graduate student, but the girl returned his engagement ring when she found someone with better prospects for future income. Too bad that someone was Max’s best friend. He’d dated some fine women through the years, a few even seriously. But he’d never before met anyone like El Littlefield.

  He thought of El bustling around the Encore the night before, dressed in black and white, her pixie hairdo perfectly framing her face. Remembering her hand signals even made him smile. And the way she’d surreptitiously woven her way through groups of the guests, her face blandly innocent, but catching his eye from time to time, lifting her eyebrows to signal one thing or another. All of it made him want to chuckle, despite the way the evening turned out.

  When she’d wept earlier, he had wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms. The vision of holding her caused his heart to pick up speed. He almost shook his head in disbelief. What was going on? A place in his heart, long unoccupied, seemed to be filling with something good. Something beautiful. He let out a deep sigh. He’d be listening to country-and-western songs before long. He needed to get over this … this schoolboy crush. It was not in his life plan. Besides, who was he kidding? Falling in love at age sixty? He was quite comfortable with the way he’d organized his life, thank you very much. His home, modest as it was, had no mortgage. His future travel would be taken care of by those who were already hiring him to lecture throughout the country and overseas.

  Yes. His life was arranged quite nicely. Research. Lecturing. Searching for historical artifacts. Writing. And working in his garden.