by Marja McGraw
Pete, who was standing on the first step on the wall side, looked down at me.
“Oh. You’ve already thought of that.”
We climbed up slowly and carefully. Although the steps held our weight, they creaked loudly. Pete opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped into the Melton home. Unlike most of the other places, it appeared that they’d taken most of their belongings with them. I wondered why they’d take their personal belongings and leave the things in the general store. Maybe they’d been in a hurry. There were two wooden boxes sitting in the middle of the room. Either they were trash or they’d missed those two.
Pete headed for their bedroom while I walked toward the boxes, wondering what I’d find. There were lids on them, but they hadn’t been nailed down. I opened the first one and found an empty box. With high hopes, I opened the second box. It was half full, but as I emptied it all I found were sewing notions. I wondered if these were Judith Melton’s or if they’d come from the store. Disappointment reached the very depths of my heart. I’d hoped to find something relating to Joseph and Annie Croft.
“Pay dirt!” Pete yelled from the bedroom.
“What?” I called, running toward the room.
“They must have missed this box,” he said, carrying it out to the open space of the living room. He smiled broadly. “And look what’s inside.” He set the box at my feet, appearing very proud of himself.
Bending over, I peeked inside, and my heart skipped a beat. I could see picture frames.
“Pete! I can’t believe these are here. They must have missed this box.”
“Ya think?” He was still grinning.
I started to sit down next to the box and he stopped me. “It’s getting dark now. Let’s take the box back to the sheriff’s house.”
A quick glance out the window, or where there used to be a window, told me he was right.
We climbed down the stairs and headed home.
“How could these have survived the years with the windows broken out in the apartment?”
“The bedroom door was closed and there weren’t any windows in that room.”
Such a simple answer to make my hope of possibly seeing Annie and Joseph Croft come to fruition. Well, at least if there was a picture of them in the box. I knew I’d recognize Annie the moment I saw her, if there was a photo of her.
Back at the house, the first thing I did was check on Bubba. He was still slobbering, but he didn’t seem any worse. Pete gave him a pat on the back after setting the box on the kitchen table.
Without any conversation, he set the battery operated lamp down and we sat at the table. I began pulling picture frames out of the box.
I handed the first one to Pete. It was an empty frame. However, beneath that one, there was a picture of an older couple in vintage clothing. The woman sat on a formal chair, and the man stood behind her looking uncomfortable. Even though there was no color, I could see the woman had light blue eyes. It had to be Annie’s mother, or at least I thought it had to be. She appeared short, although she wasn’t small. The woman had a few extra pounds on her, but she was still rather pretty. She wore her hair up and had on an old-fashioned hat. The man looked tall and thin, and he wore a mustache. The impression I got was that he wanted to reach up and loosen his tie. While the man seemed slightly bent over, the woman sat up straight. Neither one of them smiled, but from other photos I’d seen, it didn’t seem like most people smiled in old photos. I wondered if it had been taken before they came to Wolf Creek or if they’d gone down the mountain to have it taken.
I handed it to Pete. Surprisingly, he studied the photo instead of glancing at it and setting it aside.
I pulled out another frame. I recognized the same man and woman, but they were much younger and the woman held a small child in her lap. It appeared the child had turned her head just as they photo was taken, and all I could see was her profile. It didn’t tell me much.
After handing it to Pete, I pulled another frame out of the box. The people in the photo didn’t look like the first two and I’d never be able to figure out who they were. There were three frames left, and I lifted them all out of the box.
I sighed. The first one was what I’d been looking for. The older Meltons stood with a younger couple. The man appeared to be in his twenties, and the woman looked almost like a teenager. She was petite, had very dark hair, and her blue eyes stood out even without color, and she wore a simple wedding dress, one without too many frills. It was a formal photo of the young couple with the bride’s parents standing behind them.
Annie was beautiful. Her hair was pulled up, and she had curls framing her face. A wispy veil was attached at the top of her head and fell behind her. She smiled timidly which made small dimples appear beside her lips. Her skin looked flawless, and it appeared that she had color in her face. She had an adorable figure with a waist so small it made me feel like a giant.
Interestingly, the man standing next to her looked almost frightened. Instead of looking at the camera, he was watching his bride. So this was Sheriff Joseph Croft. Obviously, I couldn’t judge his height, but he was taller than everyone else in the photo, and he stood ramrod straight. He had the build of a young man who knew what hard work was. It looked like he could be muscular. He suit was just a tad too small, and he didn’t look comfortable. His hair seemed to be thick and dark blond, and it was combed to the side with a part on the left. His eyes looked dark, maybe brown. He wore a bushy mustache. He was a handsome man, and he lived up to my expectations. Although I knew he was a barber, he could have been a rough rider or a cowboy.
I handed the picture to Pete without saying anything.
“Do you think this might be the Crofts?” he asked.
“I’m sure of it. The young woman fits the description the sheriff described in his records. And if that’s Annie, it stands to reason the man is Joseph. Besides, we found the pictures in the Melton’s home. Who else would it be?”
“Yeah.” He studied the picture. He had a sorrowful expression on his face, and I couldn’t figure that out. Maybe spending so much time in this old town with all of its secrets was making him melancholy. I know it was beginning to have that effect on me.
Remembering Bubba, I turned to take a look at him. He was sleeping, with his head lying in a puddle of drool. I found a towel and gently lifted his head and slid the towel under him.
“Sandi,” Pete began, “this town had lots of secrets. But everything that happened here occurred over a hundred years ago.”
“And?” I could feel him leading up to something.
He looked deeply into my eyes. “Nothing. Never mind. My mind was heading in directions I’d rather not go right now.”
I tried to get him to share his thoughts with me, but he wouldn’t. In fact, he decided he wanted to take a walk, and he suggested I work on the sheriff’s records while he was gone. He said he was hoping we could leave town the next day.
Something was bothering him, and that worried me. Was he concerned about our meeting with the cowboy? He’d seemed okay earlier in the day, but of course since then we’d had a visit from Cowboy Bob. Maybe he was… I wasn’t sure what was going on in his mind.
I picked up the records and began to read again.
It is mornin now. I had a visit from Daniel Mack late last night. Molly Stewart was with him. She was cryin and terrible upset. Daniel kept pattin her back and tellin her everthing would be fine now that they was talkin to me.
It seems Molly went down to the crick last evenin. She says she jist felt like stretchin her legs. Jack went on down the mountain an had not come home yet. He was goin to stay the night with his parents whilst there. Her son, Joshua, was sleepin as he had been feelin poorly. The crick is a bit of a walk from her house, but she said it was so peaceful there.
She tole us that someone attacked her by the water. She fought off the pole cat that tried to get her and run away. She run into Daniel and aksed him for his help.
I have got to st
op this evil person, an I’m beginnin to suspicion some one more than others.
Okay, now I knew I had to read on. Who did the sheriff suspect? And why? I’d never read a mystery that held my attention like this true life story did.
Chapter Twenty-eight
After making myself a cup of hot tea, I sat back at the table with the sheriff’s records. I had a feeling this murder mystery was about to be solved. After seeing a photo of the man, I almost felt like I could hear him speaking while I read his notes. However, instead of wearing the suit he got married in, I pictured him wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, and cowboy boots. Did they wear flannel shirts in those days? I guess that was my idea of a small town sheriff who worked as a barber. His appearance made me believe he probably had a deep voice, maybe because he looked like such a big man next to his wife and in-laws. Pete has a deep voice. Maybe I was transferring some of him onto Joseph.
Daniel Mack was so bothered by what happened to Mrs. Stewart that he set right down an wrote me a note swearin he aint the killer. I tole him I was not suspishionin him and to take his note home with him. Molly said she saw Daniel comin from the other direction so’s she knew it was not him that tried to git her.
I aksed her if she could make out who was after her, but she said it was too dark an she was too scared to make out his face, an she shoved him hard an ran away. She said she knew she scratched his arm real good.
I aksed Daniel to walk Molly home, and then to come back. I wanted him to stay with my Annie whilst I went to the crick to look around. He did.
I took my lantern an made the walk to the crick. I belive that Molly is one very blessed Christian woman. I found a knife layin right in plane site by the water. That dirty killer must have dropped it and he did not know it. It was not no simple kitchen knife. It was a fancy one that somebody probly payed good money for.
I immediately thought about the missing knife from the Mueller’s kitchen. Wondering if the sheriff was considering Mueller as a suspect, I set the record book down and leaned back contemplating what I’d learned so far. The problem, as I saw it, was that we found the Muellers’ knife in the schoolteacher’s house. Of course, maybe there were two of the Mueller knives missing. We wouldn’t have any way of knowing how many there had been.
The schoolteacher was the only woman who’d been murdered in her home. The others had been outdoors and walking. I agreed with the sheriff that Molly Stewart had been fortunate, but believed she’d been pretty stupid to go out after dark by herself considering what had happened in Wolf Creek. I couldn’t think of a connection between the women. They were different ages, from teen to mid-twenties. They were single, married with children, and the teacher was possibly widowed.
I wondered who the sheriff was suspicious of, and thought back over all the names he’d written about in his records.
Apparently Daniel Mack was off the suspect list. He’d been out of town during one murder, and coming from the other direction when Molly Stewart was attacked. Was Ambrose still on the suspect list? I couldn’t remember, but it seemed he might have had an alibi. I’d have to check my notes. Mueller could be a suspect. The doctor had commented that he felt whoever was doing the killing was angry, and from all accounts, that could sum up the blacksmith. Of course, his wife sounded like an angry person, too. It appeared the sheriff hadn’t asked Molly if her attacker was a man or a woman. Why would he? They seemed to automatically assume it was a man.
Someone – the doctor? – had suggested it could have been the cowboy who’d passed through town, but he’d died. Had his death really been an accident? The doctor seemed to feel he’d fallen and hit his head on a rock. Since I hadn’t been there to see the scene, I’d have to take the his word for it. That made me think about the doctor. He certainly ought to be on the list of suspects. However, I didn’t give that too much credence. The sheriff would have been including him in his investigation and he hadn’t commented on the doctor.
Of course, there was nothing to say that Molly’s attacker was the same person who’d murdered the other women. I had to think it was though, because of the fact that the sheriff found a knife near the spot where Molly was accosted.
Ambrose kept coming to mind. After all, he’d been writing a murder mystery, and his characters seemed too close to the ones in Wolf Creek. In the story, his killer had apparently been an angry man killing off the prostitutes in town in his story. They were all killed with a knife. I also found it interesting that Ambrose made the inspector in the story, Kroft, sound like he was clueless. I’d be willing to bet this is what Ambrose thought of Sheriff Croft. Too much coincidence?
I heard Pete coming back and shook my head to clear out all the thoughts. There was no guarantee I’d ever find out who the killer was, and I needed to concentrate on Bubba and his slobbering, and all of us getting out of this place.
Pete walked in and sat down at the table. “Do you realize how long we’ve been in this town?
“No. I guess I’ve kind of lost track of time. I know it’s been several days.”
“Six days. That’s a long time, considering where we are and what we’re doing.”
“Six days? I may have to take a pencil and start marking days on the wall. Between the sheriff’s books and the cowboy, I’ve been totally entertained this week.”
A flash of anger crossed his face. “Don’t consider the cowboy entertainment. He’s the only reason we’re still here, and I’ve had enough of that jackass.”
“I know. It’s just that there have been distractions for me with the records and Ambrose’s story, not to mention searching all the houses. I realize all you’ve had is fishing and following me around. I’m sorry our vacation took such a turn.”
His face softened when he looked into my eyes. “It’s okay. At least we’ve had this time together. If we’d been driving from place to place to see the sights, we’d probably both be tired and getting on each other’s nerves by now.”
“No. Us?” I laughed. “Pete, there’s more to us than being engaged. You’ve become my best friend. I’d follow you just about anywhere.” I smiled at him, nodding my head and knowing what I’d just said was true.
“Yeah, sure you would.”
I could see I was making him uncomfortable with my sweet talk, but sometimes I needed to let him know just how I felt. I never really took him for granted, although I was willing to bet he thought I did. And, in all honesty, I knew that uncomfortable or not, he liked being sweet-talked.
“Do we have anything left to snack on?” he asked.
“There might be a few potato chips left in the bag. It’s sitting on the cabinet.”
He stood and walked to where the remains of our food sat and found the chip bag. Before returning to the table he checked on Bubba, whose head was still lying in a pool of drool. I sure hoped Pete was right about the bite being the cause, and I hoped it wasn’t a poisonous bite. It probably wasn’t, since Bubba didn’t seem any worse. Of course, his size could be on his side, too.
After eating a few chips, Pete turned to me. “You know, we’d better get some sleep if we’re going to wake up early again.” He looked tired, and I thought about how much stress he’d been under the past few days, never knowing when the cowboy would show up, knowing we couldn’t leave and probably worrying about keeping me safe. Knowing him as well as anyone, I was surprised he hadn’t started an all-out battle with the cowboy to get back the car part. He was usually a man of more action than I’d seen so far.
“I don’t know how you can wake up so early without an alarm clock.” I didn’t want him to know what I was thinking; it might make him feel inadequate, and I knew he had to have his reasons.
“Me, either. I guess I have an internal clock going all the time.”
“Go ahead and go to bed, or maybe I should say go to sleeping bag, huh?”
He didn’t seem to think that was funny, but he didn’t say anything. I know I can be corny sometimes.
Glancing at my watch, I saw that it wa
s only seven o’clock. “Anyway, I’m going to read a little more and then I’ll be done here.”
Pete nodded and left the table while I picked up Ambrose’s story. As poorly written as it was, it still fascinated me. Maybe in 1880 it would have been considered pretty good writing, but I doubted it.
Ambrose had changed his setting and now wrote about the couple the killer was stalking as they walked home. The husband seemed to be on the alert and took hold of his wife’s arm, apparently trying to protect her. They made it home without incident, but the killer kept walking, looking for new prey.
That was all there was. I wasn’t sure if Ambrose had left the story unfinished, or if more pages were hidden somewhere. Maybe he took the rest of the story with him when he left, thinking he had all of it. I’d never know.
I still didn’t feel like I could sleep, so I picked up the sheriff’s records again.
I been takin that knife around town, aksin if anybody knows where it come from. The Muellers have layed claim to it. Marie Mueller made an odd noise when I showed it to her, an she said it was hers. She wanted it back. She said she had loss it afore the winter. I tole her no, that this knife was evidence. She wanted to argue with me, but I was not havin it. I tole her where and how I found it, an she made another sound, almost like she was chokin. I would have slapped her on her back, but I think she might have slapped me back. Then I went to the smithy shoppe to see Stephen. He tole me he did not know anythin about the knife, ceptin his wife tole him she lost one from a set. I have to say that I belive the Muellers. There answers was jist too convincin.
I am narrowin my idears down to a cupple of suspects. Both of them are fellers I would not like to suspishon, but a killer is a killer, no matter what.
I flipped to the next page, but I was tired and the sheriff’s writing had become difficult to read. I saw the word picnic and decided I’d pick this up again when my eyes weren’t so blurry.