“Yeah.”
“Well—it’s like that. The only difference is I have my imagination filled with images and colors and light, so I’m not overcome by the physical darkness. I see beyond that. Understand?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Have we got anything yet?” I knew it was time to change the subject.
“Not yet. I’m just clicking on this other one. I didn’t know we had this many Raymond Allisters in Chadsworth,” she said.
“I guess people were running out of names for their boys,” I replied.
She chuckled.
Then a few seconds later, her eyes lit up. “Ooh! I think I’ve got something.”
“What is it?”
The face of the guy who Merlene had beaten down popped up on the screen. Bingo! I inwardly cheered.
“He’s five feet ten, Caucasian; no criminal record; son of Garth and Nelda Allister, nee Simon. Has one brother, Bruce. Married with two sons, Jason and Ryan Allister. Wife’s name is Cleo Allister, nee Wittingham.”
“Did you say, nee Simon?” I asked. It was at that point where I’d stopped hearing her.
“Uh…yes! His mother was Nelda Allister, nee Simon. That means it’s her maiden name, right?”
“Right.” I nodded. “Can we backtrack a bit and find out more about the Simons?”
“You want more like a family tree?”
“Precisely.”
She started typing away. “I’ll have to insert ‘Nelda Simon’ in the search bar then, since that was her maiden name, and see what we come up with.”
I waited sort of impatiently as the computer generated the list of Nelda Simons. Luckily, there weren’t that many in Chadsworth, according to the data that popped up.
“We’ve got a hit!” Brittany announced, moments later. Peering at the screen, she started calling off some names listed on an actual family tree diagram.
“This is so cool!” she said. “When mom told me she wanted to do our family tree, she thought she’d have to talk to some of our older relatives in order to find out about our ancestors. When I showed her this site, she was amazed. Everything was right here at her fingertips. In no time, we had a chart for everyone to see. Miss Lucille, some sites, including this one, charge a pretty penny to produce this information, but my pal Stanley and I found a way to get into quite a number of databases hassle-free.”
“So, this one’s hacked, huh?” I asked.
“Kinda.” She looked at me. “Are you gonna squeal?”
“Do I look like a rat?”
She shook her head and smiled.
“Let’s focus on the names on that tree, shall we?” I started browsing through the names myself...until I got to Tobias Simon. Could that be Judge Tobias Simon? Of course! Just as I suspected when I found out Raymond’s mother’s maiden name was Simon. On one of the branches below Tobias’ name was Nelda Simon—his daughter and on the next level of branches down the tree was Raymond Allister—son of Nelda, which makes him grandson of Tobias. Raymond Allister, murderer of Sir Clement’s grand-nephew Luke was grandson of the judge who presided over every transference of title concerning Sir Clement’s property.
“This is deeper than I thought,” I muttered.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Brittany said.
I happened to interrupt her as she was calling off the names listed. She had no idea that I’d already seen what I needed to.
“Brittany, can you print a copy of this for me?” I asked.
“Sure thing.”
She printed off a couple of copies and placed them on the desk.
“I’ve got everything I need now,” I told her. “You’ve been a great help, Brittany. I appreciate it very much.”
“No problem at all, Miss Lucille. Anytime.”
“Well, you’d better hurry back home before dark catches you.”
Of course, she didn’t listen to me and instead, went to find Nilla who’d fallen asleep by the sliding door. Nilla had first caught a snooze in Anthony’s room where we were, but after a while went off to a spot where she’d have some peace and quiet. I knew her all so well.
After Brittany left, I went and sat in the living room to allow what I’d just learned to sink in. I couldn’t call Merlene just yet. I needed that private time first. What started to weigh on me heavily was the possibility that maybe I’d only barely scratched the surface.
I picked up the phone and pressed the speed dial. My Donnie had set it up years before he died and before I’d lost my eyesight. He was always prepared in case of an unexpected emergency.
Sheriff Cooke answered in a raspy voice. “What can I do for you this evening, Lucille?”
He obviously saw the caller ID.
“What do you know about Raymond Allister?” I asked, bluntly.
There went that heavy sigh.
“Not again. Not tonight,” he replied.
“I asked you a question, Sheriff.”
“Lucille, you know darn well I can’t disclose any information pertaining to Allister or his case.”
“Did you know that he’s related to Judge Tobias Simon?”
“So what if he is? What’s that got to do with anything?”
He sounded annoyed, but I couldn’t care less.
“Allister referenced that Luke was threatening his family in some manner and from what I could tell, it’s the reason he killed him, whether intentional or not,” I said.
“It doesn’t have to mean that he was referring to his mother’s side of the family,” Cooke started. “He could’ve been referring to his own. He has a wife and children.”
“So, you knew he was related to the judge, didn’t you?”
“’Course, I did. We always do our background checks, even though I didn’t have to search up that li’l detail. I knew it already.”
Cooke never failed to amaze me.
“So, you don’t find it odd that Judge Simon’s grandson murdered Sir Clement’s grand-nephew?” I posed.
“No. Why should that be significant to me?” he asked.
This time, I was the one releasing the heavy, exasperated sigh. “Never mind. Is Raymond talking?”
“What are you—an investigator at this office now?”
“Just please answer me, Sheriff and I’ll leave you alone.”
“Not yet. Not a word from his lips. He seems determined to keep his mouth shut. Now, if that’s all, I’ve got work to do, okay, Lucille?”
“Good night, Sheriff.” I hung up the phone.
10
_________________
“I can’t believe this!” Merlene said as we sat outside on the deck of our favorite frozen yogurt shop the following day. She had a cappuccino-flavored yogurt topped with chopped almonds and I had a short cake batter and coconut mix—my absolute favorite.
“I can’t believe it either,” I replied.
“Do you think Luke had something on the judge and Raymond wanted to keep it quiet?”
“Maybe so. But what? There’s got to be more than just the family tree and the deeds we found at Luke’s house. And we certainly can’t rely on the police to get to the bottom of anything. That’s clearly obvious to me.”
“It was obvious before we ever went to see that knuckle-head Cooke.” She licked some of her yogurt off the spoon. “Just how they didn’t properly investigate David’s ex-girlfriend’s death and had David behind bars like a criminal, they’re not gonna do anything to get to the bottom of why Raymond killed Luke. They couldn’t care one iota if Raymond’s actions were linked in any way to Sir Clement’s demise or to what ended up happening with his property. Sheriff Cooke needs to be fired, as well as that Detective Matthews and the other nincompoop. All they’re doing is sitting around collecting an easy salary in a town that hardly has any crime to talk about.”
“I agree for the most part,” I said.
“What do you mean for the most part?” She scowled.
“Crime in Chadsworth has obviously picked up over the past year
or two.”
She gazed straight ahead. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Anyway, we have to find a way to either get Raymond Allister to talk or...”
“Or what?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I have a strong feeling we’d be wasting our time with Allister. If there’s something he tried hard enough to hide that he even killed a man, there’s no way we’ll get him to talk.”
“I guess you’re right and I’m sure he hates us anyway.”
I chuckled. I could still see Merlene there overpowering and hog-tying the man.
“How’s my favorite lady doing?” Someone touched me on the shoulder from behind.
“Lucille, it’s me, Jeff Graham—your neighbor.”
“Oh, Jeff, hi! How are Betty and the pooches?”
“They’re all doing fine, thanks.”
He had no idea I knew that curvy brunette on his arm was not Betty. Better put—I’m sure he didn’t know I knew she was there. The nerve of some men! They think because you’re blind, they can run circles around you. He’s lucky I didn’t go back to Betty with a nice description of her husband’s brunch date. But only because I love to see a happy home—even if one of the residents is living in a bubble and Betty surely was. All that mattered to the middle-aged woman who thought she was Cinderella were her heavily-powdered face, big hair, fake eye lashes, fake boobs and those two gorgeous pooches she paraded around with every chance she got. Nilla didn’t like her dogs for some reason, and often picked fights with them whenever they happened to enter her “space”, particularly during our morning walks when Betty also walked her dogs.
“Who’s this lovely lady on your arm?” Merlene asked, facetiously. I knew she was looking for drama; just couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“Oh, pardon my manners! I’m Merlene, Lucille’s very best friend in the world.”
The woman smiled.
“This is my assistant, Camille.”
“Assistant, huh?” Merlene replied, looking the clearly uncomfortable woman up and down. The two had even released each other’s arms.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Merlene. And nice seeing you again, Lucille.” He patted my shoulder.
“Remember to give Betty my love!” I said.
“I surely will.”
I could tell Jeff couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. They apparently left without getting their yogurts.
“Why’d you have to go and do that?” I asked Merlene, digging up another spoonful of my delightful yogurt.
“He’s nothing but scum!” She replied. “Reminds me of someone.”
“I know who. That’s another one you need to forgive, Merlene. Forgive and forget about the whole crappy deal. You can’t go around insulting and jacking up men who haven’t done anything at all to you, except remind you of your lousy ex-husband.” I figured she needed yet another lecture. Merlene surely kept me busy with her endless issues.
“Why can’t they keep their eyes off of everybody else and be loyal to the one they’re with?” she remarked.
“Maybe my Donnie had the answer,” I said. “But he’s dead. I knew for sure he only had eyes for me.”
“Donnie was great, but do you really think so, Lucille? You think he never admired other women during the course of your marriage?”
“I’m sure he did!” I replied, much to her surprise. “But I stated he only had eyes for me and, for me, that means that his heart never went in the direction of his gaze. His heart belonged only to me; that’s why we had such a beautiful relationship. I couldn’t control his stares, if there were any, and I suppose there might’ve been, but I had the most important thing.”
She nodded. “I know what you mean. Donnie was one of a kind—a great example for most men out there. I must admit, sometimes I was a bit jealous of the way he treated you.”
“You were?” I was stunned by her revelation.
“I surely was, but not in a malicious way towards you. It was like... his interactions with you made me so aware of what I’d been lacking throughout my own marriage—honor, love, respect—those basic things everyone needs in a relationship. You were lucky, Lucille. You’d better believe that.”
I knew I was. She was right about Donnie. He treated me like a lady every day that I had spent with him. I never doubted his love for me and never took advantage of it.
I reached over the round glass table and patted her hand. I knew she was reminiscing on her unpleasant past. “Maybe one day you’ll meet someone just like Donnie,” I said.
I’m surprised that look she suddenly gave me didn’t erase me on the spot. “I swear... if you bring this dating thing up one more time...”
“Who said anything about dating?” I rebutted. “I was thinking more of an arranged marriage.”
She stared at me for a few moments, before we had a nice giggle.
* * * *
That night after dinner as I headed upstairs behind Theodore, I thought I saw Sir Clement turn the bend toward the balcony. I’d only caught a glimpse of what I believed was his shadow—if one can call it that.
As I continued toward my room to get ready for bed, I wondered if he was pleased with my progress thus far or completely annoyed. All I’d managed to do at this point was to get some documents that were, for the most part, public knowledge—at least when it came to the way Sir Clement’s land was passed down.
Nilla climbed up on the bed with me after I’d changed into my pajamas. I wrapped my arm around her and we drifted off to sleep. I don’t know how much time had passed before I suddenly woke up to Nilla barking. She was no longer next to me, but on the mat beside the bed.
“What’s the matter?” I reached down and touched her, but she kept barking and growling. The room was pitch black and as I searched my mind’s eye for whatever it was that had clearly rattled her, I realized I was in complete darkness and it had nothing to do with nightfall.
This was nothing new to me, but I panicked, nonetheless. The reason had everything to do with the thought that somehow I was failing at what I’d set out to do as it related to Sir Clement’s murder.
“I’m trying!” I whispered loudly, knowing he’d heard me. “If you’d help me out with something concrete that I can take to Cooke, that would be much appreciated.” I was occasionally adamant that even in times of trepidation, one can be polite. I really wanted to wring Sir Clement’s ghastly neck for putting me through all this crap. What did I look like to him— Sherlockah Holmes for matters of the dead? He couldn’t be serious—juggling my sight in front of me again.
Nilla had stopped barking and scooted out of the room. I’d heard the pitter patter of her paws dashing down the stairs. She couldn’t have been afraid of the dark. She could pretty much see in the dark. That was it! She saw him. I was sure of it and that’s what caused all the raucous.
It couldn’t have been the first time she’d seen him, so I couldn’t understand her reaction that night. Then, in a flash, I instantly understood the reason for Nilla’s behavior. For the first time, Sir Clement didn’t look like himself. He was suddenly standing there in front of me with a supposedly white, blood-soaked, short-sleeved shirt and his gray dress pants were crinkled and dirty. His otherwise slicked back hair was tousled and he looked disheveled. His eyes held their usual blank gaze and his face appeared to have been the unwilling recipient of several blows. It was the hole in the center of his forehead that was most troubling, and without a doubt I realized he had gone through the trouble of showing me what he looked like on the day of his death. Guess he figured the Sheriff wouldn’t have allowed me to see those crime scene photos. I sat up in bed, nearly traumatized by the dreadful sight before me.
“What are you doing to my dog?” I asked him, disturbed by his appearance, on one hand, and even more so by the fact that he’d scared Nilla. “You have no right to do that! I get it, okay? And I’m sure you can see that I’m working hard to solve your case.”
He only stared.
“Did
you think this scare tactic was going to make me work any harder than I am already? Not counting the fact that I couldn’t see a damn thing moments ago!” I found myself really riled up by the nerve of this guy!
I tried to compose myself. “Look, if you’ve got anything else to help me along, feel free to let me know, okay? I’m just one blind lady trying to get this ghost out of my house.”
I probably shouldn’t have said the last part. In truth, I was kind of getting used to having the guy hanging around. He brought a sort of uniqueness to the house.
To my surprise, the others soon filled the room, this time wearing identical black robes.
I panicked.
“What’s going on? Why are you all here?” I demanded, looking at their sunken, gloomy faces. It bothered me when they showed up because they often seemed to hang out with Sir Clement whenever something bad was about to happen. Then again, considering my age, my memory could’ve failed me in that regard.
No one uttered a word. They all were just looking at me and I was really starting to feel like the kid who got into trouble in school and everyone was expecting my inevitable punishment.
“Sir Clem...”—I guess we were kind of buddies now—“...you spoke with me the other day, remember? Let’s keep the communication going, shall we? Effective communication is key to fostering any meaningful relationship. Weren’t you ever taught that?”
There was nothing worse than being ignored by a ghost. Truly—if you couldn’t get a ghost who actually invaded your space to communicate with you, it’s really a slap in the face. The least they could do is be courteous since it is your space they’re intruding upon. But I guess Sir Clement figured since he was the owner of the entire subdivision at some point back in the day, he had every right to stand on any property in Harriet’s Cove. I tend to agree with his presumed sentiments too because I’d feel pretty much the same way if it was me. The only thing is, I had no idea why the other people—spirits—ghosts were there. Then a lightbulb went off in my head. Maybe they had something to do with the same land in a different way than Sir Clement did. They did all look kind of Indianish. I wondered if they’d all been killed too. If that was the case, Sir Clement couldn’t possibly be thinking of laying the mystery behind their deaths in front of me as well. If he ever came to me with that, I’d have to protest.
Lucille Pfiffer Mystery Series Box Set Page 25
