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

by Diane Noble

  It struck me that something wasn’t right. I didn’t hear any birds, for one thing, and I wondered about the silence. I told myself it was my imagination, but the nagging thought kept nipping at the back of my brain.

  I checked my watch as I paced: 7:17 a.m. Katie had to be at her preschool job at eight o’clock, so that didn’t give us much time.

  Still antsy, I went over to see how my vegetables had made it through the rainy night. I was glad to see they were thriving. So were the weeds. I knelt and pulled a few, then spotted more, and went to work on them. I didn’t realize how furiously I was pulling on them, until I stood and looked down at the piles of oxalis and dandelions.

  Katie finally arrived at seven twenty-five. She spotted me in back, opened the side gate, and let herself in. She looked dazzling in the early morning light. There was color in her cheeks, and she wore makeup for the first time in a long while. Not a good sign. I was beginning to say that to myself a lot.

  I gave her a hug and then pulled back to search her face. Her luminous eyes were questioning, but the hint of sorrow from Sandy’s betrayal remained. With a deep breath, I reminded myself that, after all, she was an adult, and no matter what I thought about Sandy, I loved her and wanted to support her.

  I went into the potting shed and poured coffee into both mugs, then handed one to Katie.

  “Let’s walk,” I said. “For some reason, I just can’t sit still this morning.”

  “You’ve got a lot on your mind,” she said. “Trying to find Aunt Cinth and hitting dead ends. The bad publicity about The Butler. And now this situation with Sandy.”

  “I’m trying not to think about the publicity,” I said. We walked toward the small peach orchard at the back of my property. “That’s the least of my worries.” I took a sip of coffee.

  Katie didn’t need to tell me that the news was already all over town. What wasn’t known before was certainly known now, thanks to the Chronicle’s special edition. I was certain it was the hottest topic to hit Eden’s Bridge in decades.

  We reached the orchard, and Katie turned to me. “Sandy wants to set a date.”

  I spun, my coffee sloshing, and walked away, my emotions hitting my stomach with a nausea-inducing thud. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the cold coals of the pit barbecue in the opposite corner of the yard. I remained there for a few minutes, thinking of at least a dozen warnings I’d already given her.

  “There’s something else.” She paused, watching me. “He’s leaving the medical field.” The set of her jaw said she would stand by her man. I knew better than to point out how long it had taken him to get through medical school. While she worked to pay their bills.

  I tilted my head. “So he’s decided medicine isn’t for him after all? He didn’t say anything about that the other night.”

  “It’s complicated and he didn’t want to get into it. He never married the other woman. The new federal regulations are getting to him, and he just wants a clean break from the practice.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  “Medical research. He’s accepted a position with one of the biggest research companies in the world.” She looked proud. “This career move will make all the difference. He’ll be able to pay off his student loans within the next couple of years.”

  I poured out the rest of my coffee, having lost my taste for it.

  Seeing her tense expression, I circled my arm around her waist. “You know how much I love you,” I said as we walked back to the house.

  “When you say that, it’s always followed by a ‘but,’” she said.

  I was sure the smile I attempted was pathetic. “His track record isn’t great. It feels to me like he’s pushing you into a decision.”

  “I know what I’m doing, Mom.”

  A few minutes later, Katie kissed me good-bye. “If you need to, just drop C.G. by the school. Otherwise, I’ll pick her up after work.”

  I walked her to the door, and watched as she drove away. Again, I noticed the absence of birdsong, and wondered why.

  I dropped a slice of bread in the toaster, and while I waited for it to pop up, I called Enrique. He picked up on the first ring, sounding tired.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a third job,” I said.

  “No, but I did cover my brother’s late shift at Little Italy.” He yawned.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Oh no, I needed to get an early start today. I am going to the campus bookstore to buy books for my summer-school classes. I hope I can find used ones. They go the fastest. I will also keep a lookout at the café for skinny girls who might be using that drug ipecac.” He chuckled. “Though if I did have time for girls, I want them to have meat on their bones.”

  I laughed with him. “You can just buy books today.” The café was a hangout for students, a good place to watch for exchanges of nefarious kinds. “I’m going to do some investigating today and may go there myself.”

  “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Littlefield. You cannot pass for a student.”

  “Well, for one thing students nowadays can be any age. Not long ago, a woman got her doctorate at age ninety. Besides, who’s to say I’m not an instructor?”

  “What you say is true. But you yourself said these guys might be dangerous. They provided the poison that made people sick and killed the president of the school. You said they are ready to strike like cornered rattlers.” He took an audible breath. “Take extra care, Mrs. Littlefield.”

  “I usually say that to your brother and you.”

  I spread peanut butter on my toast, added a drizzle of honey, and poured myself a small glass of apple juice. I congratulated myself for passing up the frozen cookie. Though just thinking about it made me grab one out of the freezer and put it by my coffee mug for later. I also knew it wouldn’t last till later.

  I reviewed my list again. While Chloe Grace slept upstairs, I would spend my time in diet forums to find out where I could buy ipecac. I would set a time and place to make the buy, find the source and, through him or her, a client list. Pretty straightforward, if I could pull it off. And if I had the time.

  After Chloe Grace was awake, I would turn my energies to finding Hyacinth. I needed a large recent photo, maybe several copies, to show around. She was recently featured in the Who’s Who Around Town section of the Chronicle. The photograph that accompanied the article was spectacular. A former client on the PI side of things worked at the paper and we’d become good friends. I picked up my phone to give her a call.

  She picked up after the first ring.

  “Suzanne, it’s El.”

  A half heartbeat of heavy silence followed. “El,” she said. “How are you?”

  “After last Friday night, I’ll never be the same.”

  “It was terrible, wasn’t it? I feel so sorry for those who became ill.”

  “Yes, it was, and so do I.” I frowned. She sounded distant. Distracted. Certainly not friendly. I plunged ahead anyway. “You’re probably aware that Hyacinth Gilvertin disappeared Friday night as well.”

  “Yes, I believe the whole town is aware of that.” Now she sounded impatient, like she wanted me to get off the phone.

  “Your photographer took a great photo of her when you featured her in the who’s who piece. I wonder if you could get a copy for me. I’ll stop by and pick it up. I want to show it around in the area where she was last seen.”

  “That’s not such a good idea, Elaine.”

  Elaine? She’d never called me that before. “Why not?”

  “It would be better for you not to stop by, or even come near downtown.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “People are pretty steamed. They’re blaming you and your company for James Delancy’s death and the other illnesses. I’m writing our feature article for Wed
nesday’s edition right now. I shouldn’t even be talking with you.”

  I sat back, too stunned to respond for several seconds. “Shouldn’t you interview me for this article? Get my thoughts, my point of view?”

  “I’ve talked to the sheriff’s office. I’m writing it from their unbiased perspective, as well as doing some digging of my own.”

  “So you’re not interested in my guilt or innocence?” My world was slipping out from beneath my feet with dizzying speed. I didn’t think I could breathe, and I closed my eyes to try to shut out all that was happening to me and to the world I knew and loved. I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, girl. You can do it.

  Finally I said, “I feel terrible about President Delancy’s death. But I can assure you, I had nothing at all to do with it.” I let more silence fall between us and then said, “I thought we were friends.” The sting of tears hit me again at the top of my throat. I ignored them, or tried to.

  “I did too, El. Until this happened. Now along with others, I wonder if any of us really know you at all. We find that to be true with so many transplants, especially from places like California. Here in the South, you’re really only one of us if your great-grandpa knew my great-grandpa.”

  “I see.” I thought of several comebacks, some of them clever, but decided the better part of wisdom said to keep them to myself.

  “Heed my warning and stay away from town, Elaine.”

  I was too upset to answer. Bubba’s and Junior’s hateful accusations swept over me again. I felt as if I were standing helpless before a riptide, with nothing to hold on to. Nothing solid to cling to. I breathed that one little word again: Help!

  I stared out the window, noting again the quiet of the morning. No lawnmowers or leaf blowers, no joggers. A strange silence.

  I shivered as I picked up the phone and called Max, hoping he’d gotten over whatever was troubling him yesterday.

  “How about joining me for a road trip to Possum Grove?”

  “Your voice tells me you found something.” His tone was warm, which made me smile.

  I filled him in on what I’d discovered. “We know Hyacinth was there just twenty-four hours ago. She was free as a bird, but chose to go after the thieves on her own. I met a pastor’s wife who gave Hyacinth food and water and a bicycle. She was last seen cycling to Possum Grove to look for the rental truck she knew the thieves were driving. The rental company’s name is Coast to Coast Rentals.”

  “They’re trying to get rid of her, and she won’t be gotten rid of.” He chuckled. “I know it’s not a laughing matter, but—”

  “—the O. Henry story comes to mind?” I laughed with him.

  “Exactly. Do you think that’s what she’s doing?”

  “If anyone could pull it off, it would be Hyacinth.” I pictured such a thing and wanted to laugh, but the worry in my heart overruled.

  “Do the authorities know the latest?”

  “I filled them in yesterday, but haven’t yet today. The sheriff sent a couple of deputies up to Possum Grove. I didn’t see them, but I called the department after I heard about the rental. They’ve put out an APB, but they can’t trace it without the license plate number. I haven’t heard a peep from the sheriff this morning.”

  “How about if we take the Defender?” Max said. “Or do you prefer to drive?”

  “I love my Ghia, of course, for sentimental reasons, and someday I’ll share my stories. But if I could have my number-one choice in cars, it would be an old Defender. The kind the Brits once took on safari.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” His voice seemed to catch. “An old Defender. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “What time?”

  “Give me a couple of hours. My granddaughter is still asleep. I need to fix her breakfast and then drop her by her mom’s workplace.”

  “Great,” he said, with such enthusiasm that my cheeks warmed and my heart did that little dance again. The coolness I’d sensed the day before was gone. I breathed easier.

  We said our good-byes, and I went upstairs to wake Chloe Grace. But when I stepped to the doorway, she was sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake her. Plus, it would give me time to do some research on my laptop in the potting shed office.

  I checked the front door to make sure it was locked and then headed through the kitchen to the back door.

  I sat at my desk, turned on the laptop, and opened a search engine and typed in “anorexia.” Pinterest had more boards and pins on dieting and fitness than I could have imagined. The theme? Thin was in. What I read sickened me. Most pins I scanned seemed to be written with the express intent of making women believe that you can’t be too rich or too thin. They included helpful hints to stay thin. Many suggested menu plans featuring lettuce and rice cakes. I suspected that many of the models were airbrushed, making them appear thinner than they were in real life.

  One forum I found in my search caught my attention. I double clicked, only to find that it was a locked site. I would have to ask to join. A photo was required, which stumped me. I would have to lie about my age and use someone else’s picture. I chose Katie, and copied a shot of her the night of her senior prom.

  It irked me no end to be deceptive. But if my actions saved lives, I would do it. I uploaded Katie’s picture, named my fictional self Amanda MacLean, and asked to join.

  The moderator must have been sitting at his or her computer, because I received an immediate reply. I was in.

  I typed a forum entry, asking—innocently, I hoped—if anyone had tried syrup of ipecac as an appetite suppressant. Just as I hit Enter, a racket rose from the street in front of my house. Brakes squealed, followed by a loud crash, the sound of breaking glass, and then more squealing brakes and the fast rev of an engine.

  I ran out the side gate and down the driveway to the street. Broken glass was scattered on the pavement. My across-the-street neighbor, Cecilia Ann Potts, ran out of her house at the same time. Her husband, Harold, came down the driveway, shaking his head.

  “Kids,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Probably from the university. Little hellions.” His mouth always seemed permanently turned downward at the corners anyway, and now he looked even more disgusted. “But I got a partial plate.”

  “Did you see what happened?” I asked.

  “Hit-and-run,” he said. “Probably didn’t have insurance.”

  Cecilia Ann frowned. “I swear one of the cars has been up and down the street before. More than once, and slowing right about here where the accident happened. Right in front of my house.”

  Or mine.

  Just then a strange whistling sound came out of my mailbox, a beautiful miniature Victorian house on a pole at the end of my driveway.

  “Take cover!” Harold grabbed his wife and dived to the ground.

  A bright flash of light shot up from somewhere near my house, followed by a loud boom and orange billowing smoke. Heart pounding, I threw myself to the ground as a ball of orange-black smoke rose into the morning sky.

  Another loud boom shook the ground a nanosecond later. Followed by more smoke. I shaded my eyes and looked up in time to see a sky full of splinters and chunks and flames that seemed to float for a moment before raining down again.

  A wall of flames stood between the street and my house.

  Chloe Grace!

  I felt dizzy from the blast, my limbs too weak to be of any use. But I had to get to my granddaughter.

  I half limped, half crawled to my driveway, unable to see through the heavy smoke and the orange glow beyond it. I couldn’t see through the flames—or what was in flames. My house?

  The fear that sliced through my heart was as searing as the flames. I doubled over, unable to go on.

  Then I remembered. Again. A child, a little girl inside a house, screaming, flames licking higher and higher. I w
as the little girl. No. Not me. Chloe Grace. Inside. Sleeping.

  My knees were ready to give out, but I kept moving forward. Someone grabbed me from behind. Harold? Another neighbor? Trapped me in steel-banded arms. Wouldn’t let me go where I needed to go.

  I thought I heard crying. “Chloe Grace!”

  At once, my arms turned into windmills. My tennies grabbed hold of the pavement. I kicked and fought. Broke loose and ran with strength I didn’t know I had. Straight into the heavy smoke.

  I kept running. Coughing. Eyes stinging. Tears streaming. Couldn’t catch a breath.

  Then, through the smoke my front door became visible. I ran for it. Locked.

  Shrieks from somewhere above me. “Gramsy! Gramsy!”

  I flew to the kitchen door, and threw it open. Smoke filled the rooms downstairs, but no flames. I flew up the stairs, and into the guest room.

  Chloe Grace sat on the edge of her bed, holding the ballerina sock monkey. She smiled up at me, her cheeks still wet with tears. “I knew you’d come get me. I told Pumpkin you’d be here soon.”

  I hugged her tight and gathered her into my arms. She was still light enough to carry, thank heavens. I made my way downstairs with Chloe Grace and the ballerina monkey in my arms.

  The smoke began to clear, and I could see the damage had been contained to the front of the property. My mailbox had been blown to smithereens, a nearby rose arbor destroyed, and a favorite ancient dogwood partially burnt.

  The main house hadn’t been touched.

  I stood by the gate, waiting for my knees to stop shaking, and assessed the damage. That was a close call. Chloe Grace slipped out of my arms and stood beside me, holding my hand. With wide eyes, she said, “What happened to the mailbox?”

  “It caught fire,” I said shakily.

  Fire trucks had arrived while I was in the house, and now the firemen were all over my property, searching for anything suspicious. A sheriff’s deputy questioned Harold and Cecilia Ann from across the street. Judging from their animated gestures and what I knew of Cecilia Ann’s propensity for making a good story better, there was no telling what version authorities would end up with.