Terry, who had been looking as disgusted as possible, seemed to grow more interested in spite of himself. “The missing manikin was at the dining room table?”
Max nodded. “And the one that had been at the table was in the tool shed. The keys looked like they were all for the house, except for one that Chief Mansell and I thought looked like a safe deposit box key.”
“The bank can check that and at least see if it’s from our bank.” Terry seemed to have forgotten that he was mad at Max.
Max finished her glass of wine and rinsed the glass out at the sink. “I know it’s not terribly late, but I believe I’m done.”
“I should think,” Melody said. “And the kids took Rosie out in the yard for a while after the chief brought her home.”
Max looked at the dog lying across the doorway, snoring peacefully. She went over and nudged the dog gently with her toe. “C’mon, girl. It’s time we both turned in.”
Max barely remembered her head hitting the pillow, and was deep in slumber when her phone rang a couple of hours later.
She tried to figure out where she was and when. “Hello?”.
“Max! It’s Lil!”
Max sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. But I think I know who that voice was—you know—the guy who attacked us.”
It took a moment, but then clicked. “Who?”
“The guy from the Inn—that creepy Wendell.”
Max yawned and considered. “I dunno. He’s a creep, but he seemed kind of passive. I can’t imagine him swinging that axe. And what would be his motive?”
Lil sighed. “No idea.”
“How are you doing?”
“Okay. I slept for a while, but now I’ve been laying here awake and got to thinking about that voice. Guess I’ll turn the TV on for a while.”
“Your son is really mad at me,” Max said.
“That’s silly. I should have just stayed in the car. As you suggested.”
“Then he just would have attacked you there. No, I never should have turned down that road. So stupid. The Chief will probably be in to see you in the morning. If not, we’ll contact him with your idea.”
“I think Terry’s going to pick me up early.”
“Good. I’ll see you then. Sleep well.”
Chapter Thirteen
Max
Wednesday morning dawned overcast, but warm. Max dragged herself out of bed, sore in every muscle and extremity. Rosie cocked her head and watched her mistress struggle with her robe and slippers.
“It’ll be a few minutes, girl,” Max told her. “In dog years, I’m over five hundred years old and I feel every bit of it.”
She shuffled to the bathroom and when she came out, searched her suitcase for her most comfortable clothes. The navy blue sweats that she pulled out weren’t glamorous, but then neither was she. Rosie followed her every move, eternally hopeful that the next one would lead outside.
Finally Max got the leash and took the dog out the back door. They walked around the side of the house and took the sidewalk to the little bridge. By the time they returned, the smell of coffee called her to the kitchen.
Terry sat at the table reading the paper. He looked up and nodded. His face looked a little less angry than it had the night before.
“Mom just called and the doctor won’t be releasing her until about 10:00. I’m going to go into work, but I will stop and get a wheelchair from the American Legion before I pick her up. They have them to borrow.”
Melody set a mug of coffee in front of Max. “The tire shop called a little bit ago and they already have the tire replaced. You can pick the car up when it’s convenient.” She stopped and grinned. “I think he wants to keep it a little longer.”
Terry said, “I can drop you off there on my way to work if you want.”
Max sat down. “I would appreciate that. I really would. Listen, Terry, I’m so sorry—”
He waved her off. “I was upset last night. I know no one can keep you two in line.” He grinned at her. “I try to remember that it’s better than having Mom vegetating in a home somewhere.”
Max smiled back. “Maybe. I hope so. Do you think she’ll need to be in a wheel chair for long?”
Terry scoffed. “Hopefully at least until I get her in the car. Then probably crutches or a walker for a while.”
“I’ll go put on something a little more presentable and then I’ll be ready to go.”
As she was getting dressed, her cell phone rang.
“Max? I’m so glad I caught you. This is Mary Carmody. I think I left my purse in your car—on the floor in the back. Did you find it?”
“Uh, no. But I got a flat tire and had to have it towed to the shop in town.” She didn’t think it was the time to go into the whole sordid story. “I’m going to pick it up in just a bit. I’m sure the purse is probably still there, but I’ll call you as soon as I get to the tire place. When does your bus leave?”
“About noon. Oh, I hope it’s there—my cards, ID, everything is in it! It’s red leather.”
“I understand. I’ll call you in the next hour and bring your purse out after I get the car, okay?”
“Thank you! I will really owe you now! I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached.”
The tire shop was a typical small town business, with a couple of older guys drinking coffee in the waiting room. They bantered with the owner and laughed at their private jokes. They appeared to be just passing the time rather than paying customers.
When Max walked up to the counter, the owner looked her over and said “The Studebaker?”
“Yes. Terry said you have it done already?”
“I do. Here’s the good news.” He laid the bill in front of her.
“Do you know if there was a purse left in the back?”
The owner shrugged. “I was only in the front. If it was there, it should still be there.”
One of the two guys behind her said, “Sweet car!”
She turned. “Thank you. I like it.” She paid the bill, and while she waited for the owner to bring it around to the front, the men questioned her about where she got it and the restoration process.
The owner pulled the car up in front. He came in, and handed her the keys and a red leather purse. “Is this it?”
“Yes. Thank you. A friend left it there last night. I need to drop it off at the Hilltop Inn. Can you tell me how to get there from here?”
“Sure. Go right when you leave here and turn left on Barr Street—about two blocks down. That will take you back to the highway. Go right and follow it out of town. The Inn will be on your left.”
One of the old guys spoke up. “Don’t let old Wendell get you!” They both laughed.
Max said, “He doesn’t seem like much of a threat.”
“Don’t let his looks fool you. He works out regularly. Thinks he’s a real Cassanova. Or Mr. World.” They were still laughing as she walked out the door.
As she drove toward the Inn, Max mulled over their information. If Wendell Welter was stronger than he looked, he could have easily been their attacker. The big question was still motive, but combined with Lil’s identification of his voice, it sounded like he had the means.
As she passed a sign for the downtown business district, she looked at her watch. She had time. She made a snap decision and turned. Terry might not know much about Welter, but Camille should.
Max pulled into the bank parking lot and hurried inside. Terry was busy, so she just waved and asked Camille’s secretary if she was available. In a few minutes, the secretary returned and ushered her into Camille’s office.
Camille turned and stood from her computer and indicated one of the customer chairs.
“Max! Terry was just telling me this morning about your experience last night. How scary! And your sister has a broken leg? Do you know yet who did it?” She set a mug of coffee in front of Max.
Max shook her head. “We don’t know for sure who it was, but we have some ideas.
I was just headed out to the Inn, but first I have some questions.” She paused and took a breath. “How well do you know Wendell Welter?”
Camille sat down at her desk. “Wendell? What on earth—?”
“Bear with me a moment. Has he always lived here?”
“As far as I know. He worked for a cleaning service for years—as a matter of fact, the one that cleaned the bank. Then about four or five years ago, he got a small inheritance. The Inn was for sale at the time, and he used the money to make the down payment.”
“How successful is the Inn?”
Camille tapped a pencil on her desk. “Oh…I think he’s doing okay. It hasn’t made him wealthy, but summer and fall seem to be the busy times. And I think he likes what he does. But tell me why you think he is connected to all of this?”
Max sat back in her chair. “Lil thinks she recognized his voice last night. And a couple of the guys at the tire shop this morning said he works out a lot—like he might be pretty strong.”
Camille looked skeptical. “But why would he do that? Any of it?”
“You just gave me an idea. You said he bought the Inn four or five years ago when he came into some money?”
“Yes.”
“And the bank robbery was about five years ago?”
“Yesss, it was.” Camille cocked her head to one side and studied Max.
“There were two robbers. The chief said yesterday that one died in prison for a different crime—they found fingerprints on a cross with that nun’s habit, but—”
“But the other robber was never caught.” Camille finished the thought.
“The only reason we’ve been able to come up with for the murderer displaying Barbara Gunter’s body that way is to frighten people away from the house. I think there must be something hidden at that house connected with the robbery.”
Camille nodded. “What about Art? You seemed certain he had something to do with all of this.” She began tapping the pencil more forcefully.
“I’m sorry, Camille, but I think he is connected, although not intentionally. Wendell said the other day that he overheard a woman on the phone arranging to meet someone at the Kell house the day of murder. Barbara was the only tour member there at the time.”
“But Art—”
“One of the women on the tour recognized Art from a photo Barbara had shown her of ‘Al Carson.’ I think she was going to meet Art at the house, but Wendell caught up with her first. Or later, I don’t know.”
Camille took a deep breath and picked up her desk phone. “I need to get this straightened out once and for all. If Art is a sleaze, like you say, I want to know, so I can be done with him. If he’s not, I want to quit looking at him for signs of guilt all the time.”
“Who are you calling?”
“Chief Mansell. You should not go anywhere near Wendell Welter until we know what’s going on.”
The Chief arrived in less than ten minutes. When he saw Max sitting in Camille’s office, he frowned and shook his head. “I thought I made it clear that you needed to stay out of this.”
“You told me to stay away from the Kell house. I have.”
He shook his head again and sat in the other customer chair. Camille and Max filled him in on their guesses as to the robbery and the murder.
“I think you may have something there,” he said grudgingly. “It makes as much sense as anything else we’ve come up with.” He held up the plastic bag with the ring of keys. “Camille, can you tell me if the brass key in here came from your bank?”
She reached across the deck and picked it up. “It certainly looks like one of ours.” She turned to her computer and typed in some numbers and letters, looking closely at the key as she did so.
“I’ll tell you now that the only fingerprints on it belong to one of the robbers—Bernie Godwink, the one who died in prison,” Mansell said.
“So, we’ll assume the lessor of the box is deceased. According to our records, that person is Rudolf Stutman. Hmmm. He died in 1975.”
Chief Mansell squinted at Camille. “Sooo…”
“So this Bernie must have used a stolen ID and Social Security number to get the lockbox.”
Mansell picked up the bag of keys. “The mud is clearing a little. We’ll talk more later.” He left, nearly running over Terry who was standing right outside the door.
He walked into the office. “What’s that about?”
Max filled him in as quickly as she could. “I need to go out to the Hilltop to drop off Mary’s purse. Their tour group is leaving by noon. Could you go with me?”
Terry looked at Camille. “Is that okay, boss?”
Camille grabbed a sweater off the back of her chair. “Only if you take me, too. Besides,” she said to Max, “you promised me a ride in that car.”
Terry wanted Camille to ride in the front seat, but she pointed out that his knees would be at his ears if he rode in back.
Once in the car, Terry took out his phone. “I’d better call Mother and tell her I’m going to be a little late picking her up.”
Chapter Fourteen
Max
The circular drive in front of the Hilltop Inn was filled with three police cruisers, light bars flashing. Max parked the Studebaker in a side parking lot, and they cautiously trooped to the front door. It stood open so they entered. One patrolman stood in the entry. He recognized Terry and Camille.
“Can I help you, Ms. Bamford?”
“My friend has a purse that belongs to someone in the tour group that’s staying here.”
“They are all in the living room to the left there.” He nodded toward the door. “The Chief is carrying out an interrogation in the kitchen and the bus isn’t allowed to leave until he’s done.”
“Thank you.” Camille opened the big double doors.
Mary Carmody sat on the bench by the baby grand piano. She jumped up when she spotted them. “You found it!”
Max handed her the purse. Cathy joined them.
“Thank you so much,” Mary said. “We don’t know what’s going on, but the police are here. Did they find out who murdered Barbara?”
“They might be about to make an arrest. Mary, Cathy, this is Lil’s son, Terry, and his boss, Camille Bamford.”
Cathy looked around. “Where’s Lil?”
Terry spotted a game table in the corner of the room surrounded by chairs. A chess set sat at the ready in the center of the table, but no one was using it. “Let’s go sit over there. This may take a while.”
Mary and Cathy followed them to the corner, puzzled looks on their faces. Once they were seated, Max gave a condensed version of the events after she dropped Cathy and Mary off the night before.
Both women sat with their mouths open.
“Lil has a broken leg?” Mary asked.
“Somebody chased you with an axe?” Cathy squeaked, garnering numerous looks from around the room.
Max waved her hands, trying to calm them. She noticed several in the large room who had stopped talking and edged closer to their group.
Mary and Cathy got the message, and Cathy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “So, was it the murderer, do you know?”
“Probably, but that’s all we can say. So, your tour—you’re headed to Lancaster next?”
“Yeah, we have quite a few tours scheduled there,” Mary said.
Cathy added, “One day we’re going to the Renaissance Fair nearby.”
“I’ve been there,” Camille said. “It’s excellent. You’ll enjoy it.”
Mary was about to reply when the hallway doors opened and Chief Mansell entered. Behind him, Max could see Wendell Welter, struggling, complaining loudly, and in handcuffs, being ushered through the entry hall.
“Mr. Welter?” Cathy whispered. “He’s the murderer?”
Max nodded. “We think so.”
Welter shouted something about ‘old biddies.’
“I’m sure he is,” Max added.
Chapter Fifteen
Max
The next day, Max made a grocery run. Melody wasn’t a complainer but the effect of the stressful week was evident in her stamina and posture. Lil was confined to the chaise lounge unless she used the walker. So armed with a list and reusable shopping bags, Max headed for the nearest supermarket.
She planned to cook a beef stew and corn bread for their supper. She selected onions, carrots and mushrooms in the produce department and then headed to the meat counter. While she waited for her order, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Well, if isn’t the new town busybody.”
She turned to see Art Carnel standing too close behind her. He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t be overheard. She turned back to the counter, determined to ignore him.
But he wasn’t giving up. “Unfortunately, Camille chose to believe your gossip. But it was over with Barbara before she ever came here.”
Max took the package of stew meat from the butcher and turned back to Art.
“And what about the redhead at the apple fair?” She left him standing there.
Three nights later, Max held the door for Lil as she shuffled through with her walker. They followed Terry and Melody through the main dining room of the Brat House to a small private room.
Rival and Ren led the procession, announcing, “We’re here,” to the room’s occupants.
Camille Bamford was there and Josh Mansell, with his family. Josh introduced them to his wife, Alicia Mansell, and daughters, Rose and Delilah. They were the girls who originally found the nun’s habit in the old house.
Mansell and Camille had invited them to a celebration dinner. Wendell Welter had confessed to the murder of Barbara Gunter and participating in the bank robbery five years previous.
Once everyone had a beverage, Mansell raised his glass of pinot noir, and said “While I don’t condone your interference with the case,” and he paused to look pointedly at Max and Lil, “I do admit that your insights and prodding helped to solve the case. Thank you.” He tipped his head at them.
The Mystery Sisters series Box Set Page 21