It's Marple, Dear

by L Mad Hildebrandt

  “Here,” she handed me back my phone. “I called Earl. He’ll take care of everything.”

  “Great.” I sighed. Ended career, mom-nanny, stinky bedroom, cat who hated me, a dead woman, and now a broken-down car. How much worse could it get?

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  Lonnie drove across the bridge and turned up a trail that ran north along the river. His truck bounced and jumped as he maneuvered the rugged terrain. Quickly, I snapped my seatbelt on.

  “Hey,” he called over his shoulder. “If a cop saw that, you could get a ticket.”

  “Good thing there isn’t one around, then,” I said, as the truck jolted roughly, and I grabbed the seat back in front of me.

  He laughed.

  “Where are we going?” I hadn’t been up this road before.

  “Do you want to see where we found the Wilsons’ car?”

  “Um. Sure. But, I thought you didn’t want…” I looked at the back of Mother’s head. “…us involved.”

  He gripped the wheel tightly, and spun it to the left as we entered a deep furrow, and out the other side. “I got something, I’m giving a little something back.”

  “Uh.” I had no idea what he meant by that.

  “For goodness sake, Raymond!” Mother turned partially toward me. Yep. Marple was definitely present in those watered-blue eyes, and that serious, yet seemingly benign visage. “The bracelet!”

  “Oh.” I needed to read some Agatha Christie to catch up with her. Or, at least, to understand her new persona, ‘cause I still didn’t get it.

  Lonnie pulled the truck off the path, down what didn’t look like a trail, but obviously was. He stopped in a wide open space overlooking the Rio.

  “This is where it was?”

  “Yep,” He got out, and went around to help mother out. I hopped down on my own.

  Mother gazed around with a knowing look on her face. She followed car tracks, and stopped where they stopped. Then, she followed another set.

  “There’s a lot of space here. How come I never knew about it? It looks like a great place to see the river.” I gazed out at the flowing water as it slipped by.

  “Because you weren’t a teenager here, Raymond.” Lonnie jutted his chin toward the river. “Ask Earl. I bet he spent plenty of time here.

  Maddeningly, my face burned red again. “You mean this is…”

  “Yep. Lovers’ Lane.”

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  We gave up after about an hour. Searching around clumps of prickly pear cactus, creosote bushes, and rocks… lots of rocks… for a bracelet… in rattlesnake, tarantula, and scorpion land. Sure doesn’t make for the greatest date. I didn’t know what would draw a middle-aged woman to this remote, teenage, location. Unless she was meeting someone. A man, perhaps? Had her date gone tragically wrong? Or, had her husband—Dr. Wilson—followed her, and, in a fit of jealous rage, killed her? I didn’t know enough about the people involved to begin to guess.

  “Um, Lonnie,” I said from the back seat of his truck as we bounced back along the trail.

  “Yep?”

  “Is anyone else missing? A man, maybe?”

  As we turned onto the paved road, he took the steering wheel in one hand and glanced back at me. “You’re thinking she met a man over there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought of that, too. But nope, no one’s gone missing. So, if her husband did it, he didn’t kill her boyfriend too. If that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I guess so.” Well. That blew that theory. And, if her boyfriend killed her? Assuming she’d had a boyfriend.

  Lonnie raised his wrist and checked the time on his watch. He compared it to the dash clock partially hidden behind police equipment. “It’s about lunch time,” he said. “You two care to get a bite?”

  My heart leaped in that frog way. “Sure,” I said. Had my voice actually trembled? Idiot.

  But Mother spoke simultaneously—hopefully covering my quavering tones. “It’s been a long morning. I would like to go home, now.”

  Lonnie looked at me through the rearview mirror. I shrugged. Shook my head no. “Sorry,” I mouthed. He slid his sunglasses on his nose, hiding his eyes, and his expression.

  “Sure, Ma’am,” he said, and patted Mother’s hand.

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  Mother rested in her green chair. Her mouth dropped open, and her head tilted down toward her chest. Even breathing told me she was asleep. I sat at the game table and looked out the front window onto the street. Thinking about the dead woman, I tried to piece together what I knew.

  Mrs. Wilson had been found in the river by my mother—and she certainly hadn’t killed the woman. Mother had seen Jennifer, the girl next door, leave the picnic grounds down by the bridge just before she found the body. But the girl didn’t act guilty in any way, so it was unlikely she’d seen the body in the water. Mrs. Wilson’s abandoned car was found at the local Lovers’ Lane. That left two real possibilities in my mind. Either, her husband killed her out of jealousy, or an unknown lover killed her. I agreed with Mother. If Lonnie suspected Jennifer Garfield, then we needed to prove her innocence. And the best way to do that would be to prove someone else was guilty.

  Chapter Seven

  Gravel crunched. A car pulled into the driveway and drove between our house and the Garfield’s. It disappeared in their backyard, but not before I caught a glimpse of the driver. A teenage girl with light brown hair.

  Mother snored lightly, so I left her in her chair and slipped out the door. If I was going to prove Jennifer innocent, I needed to talk to her, see how I felt about her story. According to Dee Garfield, Lonnie thought the girl was guilty. My mother disagreed. I needed to form my own opinion.

  Dee had said the portable dishwasher blocked the back door, so I sat on our stoop and waited for Jennifer to come around to the front. She did, a few minutes later, her hands filled with plastic grocery bags.

  “Hey,” she yelped as a couple of bags slipped from her fingers. Their contents splattered across the yard. Papers, books, and junk. I leaped up from my seat on the small porch, and started grabbing papers before the breeze could blow them away. If the desert wind kicked up, which it could at any second, the pages would be miles away before they stopped again.

  “Hi Jennifer,” I said with a smile. “Mrs. Murphy’s my mother. I’m…”

  “Oh,” she interrupted, her voice flat. “You’re Raymond.” She visibly relaxed, even while I tensed. Had the old lady told everyone that?

  “I thought you might be the police, or more journalists. Or something,” she said.

  “Have they been bothering you?” I hadn’t noticed any unusual cars, or folks, hanging around. Ours was a busy street for Angel’s Rest, but that meant four cars in a given hour, usually all at once. And, periodically, a person would walk by laden with grocery sacks, or a book bag strapped to their back. The rest of the time the block was deserted.

  “Some lady at the paper. Miss Ruiz, I think she said. And there’s a couple guys from Albuquerque. Someone from T or C.” That would be Truth or Consequences, a dusty town a ways down the highway.

  “Oh,” I said, interrupting the recitation of her list. “Why would they do that?” I figured they’d heard about the murder, and connected her to it, the same way Lonnie had. But what was that way? I hoped she could shed light on it, without my seeming like yet another interrogator.

  “They think I killed Mrs. Wilson.” Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. “But I didn’t!”

  “Why would they think that? I mean, surely they can’t suspect a kid?” I took a good look at her. The girl was lovely. Her pale brown hair flowed from an offset part in light waves. And her features were very fine and even. “You’re sixteen?” I guessed. She had been driving a car.

  “Just turned.” But she didn’t offer an explanation about why the reporters—and Lonnie—were after her.

  I glanced at the stuff in my hand. School work, it looked like. The same overflowed the tops of the bags she stil
l carried. “Last day of school?” I picked up a few more sheets that threatened to blow away.

  “Mm-hmm.” She turned to unlock the front door. Shoving it open, she leaned in and dropped the bags on the floor. She didn’t invite me in. I handed her the stuff I’d picked up, and she plopped them on top of the haphazard pile.

  “But, why would anybody think you killed Mrs. Wilson?” I just blurted it out. “Did you even know her?”

  Jennifer looked nervous, shuffled her feet, and looked away. “Yeah, I knew her. Everyone does. She is… was… the nurse at the high school.”

  Ah! But that still didn’t give her a motive. And, beyond that, the girl wasn’t forthcoming.

  “Look,” she said. “I gotta go in. Dad will be calling me soon. He calls whenever Grandma’s out and I’m on my own.”

  “Sure.” I headed for my own door, but turned just before reaching the step. So, Mac was over protective, huh? Jennifer still stood in her doorway.

  “Hey,” she called across the short distance. “I was in that night. All night. That’s what you want to know, right?”

  “It’s okay, Jennifer,” I said. “I’m on your side.” But, I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  Mother wasn’t asleep when I came in. She leaned forward in her chair, hands gripping the arms. “What did you learn?” She peered at me sharply.

  “Huh?” I asked in my usual, highly guttural way.

  “Well? What did Jennifer tell you?”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t realized Mother had seen our encounter. She must have peeked through the curtains. “Nothing. Nothing new, at least. She said she knew Mrs. Wilson, and that everyone did.”

  “Of course. She was the school nurse.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  She raised her eyebrows, her thoughts obvious where my ignorance was concerned. But, I’d only just arrived, so how could I possibly know? Despite what she thought, I didn’t fit into her ‘everybody’ category.

  “She also said she was in all night,” I said. “But, I’m not sure I believe her. She acted kinda fishy.”

  “I think that Maria can shed a little light on that.”

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  Mother stretched out her feet and toes. “Can you get my shoes, Raymond, dear?”

  “Mary Sue,” I tried, halfheartedly. She didn’t even respond this time, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Sure.” I sighed. I was getting sucked into her delusions, and fast.

  I got her loafers from where she’d left them by the door. In the desert, we don’t wear our shoes all over the house. Maybe we wear slippers, or socks, or just go barefoot inside. It’s not like in Japan, though. Guests don’t have to take off their shoes outside the front door. If someone comes over to visit, we grab a broom after they leave. And, then we sweep diligently. Goatheads are the bane of the Chihuahuan Desert dweller. The tiny, multi-pointed stickers impale unwary feet. And nobody, but nobody, goes barefoot outdoors.

  I plucked a few stickers from the bottom of her shoes, dropped them in the wastebasket, and carried the loafers to her. She wriggled her toes and looked up at me expectantly. I sighed louder, dropped to my knees, and slipped them onto her feet. She leaned heavily on me as I helped her up. Suddenly alarmed, I looked closer at her pale face. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little tired.” But, she’d just had a nap. I felt guilty for the snarky thoughts I kept having.

  She shuffled to the door and took her bonnet from the kitchen chair I’d left there. Then, she picked up the most hideous, giant black purse I’d ever seen.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “In the guest room.”

  Of course. I returned to sighing and snarky thoughts. It was clear ‘my’ room was not ‘mine.’

  “Come along,” she said, and led me out the door. I followed as she marched across the street.

  We climbed the few steps, walked up the short walk, and stopped at the door of a squat adobe not much bigger than ours. Mother paused, hand raised to knock. She peered at me. “You didn’t believe her?”

  “I think she’s hiding something.”

  “Hmm. Much as I thought.”

  The door popped open before Mother’s fist touched the door. I jumped with a start. Mother took it in stride.

  “Hola!” Maria Montoya greeted Mother with a welcoming smile. She wore a black tank top over jeans, and a fabulous green necklace, shaped wire formed into three giant roses. “I saw you come across the street.”

  “Spectacular,” I said, and she touched the necklace murmuring thanks.

  “My daughter gave it to me.” She propped the door open for us, and stood aside.

  “Hello… Raymond.” A disembodied voice floated from the recesses of the room. I couldn’t keep the irritation off my face. Mother’s crazy name for me had definitely made the rounds. A tinkle of laughter came from a shadow sitting in a large chair across the living room. My eyes took a second to adjust to the dim interior after our brief foray in the sun, and the woman slowly emerged from the darkness until I could recognize her.

  “Hi Mrs. Zon… er…” My voice trailed away. What should I call her? I remembered Lonnie said his parents had divorced. My heart lurched, and my face burned as I glanced quickly around the room for her son. But, I knew it was unlikely he was there. Holy crap, just the thought of Lonnie made me nervous? I squelched my feelings with what I hoped was steely determination and turned back towards his mother.

  “Diana,” she said, with a toothy, not-quite-genuine smile, inviting me to use her given name. She was one of those overly-pretty women who’d created a persona in front of the mirror during their teens. She looked a lot like her mother, but a younger version. Diana Montoya wore barely longer than shoulder-length hair with curled bangs. I glanced back at Maria, noting the extraordinary resemblance. Except Maria had short hair, cut in one of those longer pixies with the pointy sideburns and the long, sideswept bangs, Both women had a touch of red washed into their perfectly dyed brown.

  They’d also both gotten pregnant in their teens, and been married young. So, Diana was only fifteen years older than me, and Maria fifteen older than that.

  Maria ushered us into the room, and offered a lemonade. Two half-filled glasses sat on the end table between chairs. A pitcher and two clean glasses already rested on a tray on the coffee table. I tried to control the surprise I knew splashed across my face. Had they expected us? I glanced toward the window. The curtains were open, giving them a clear view of the front of our house. Obviously, they’d seen us coming.

  Mother accepted the lemonade, so I did, too. I sat next to her on what I knew they called el diván. The delicate piece of furniture, the fancy couch, anchored the room. But, they only used it for company. Consequently, they apparently had no idea how rock-hard uncomfortable the el diván was… and had been for nigh onto forty years.

  We listened to their chit-chat for a few minutes, then mother turned the conversation. “You have a perfect view.”

  Diana laughed. “Of your house!”

  “I was thinking about my neighbor, actually.” Mother directed her gaze out the window.

  “The Garfield’s? There’s a better view from my bedroom,” Maria said.

  “Is there?” Mother stood, holding the ugly purse before her like a shield.

  Maria and Diana looked from one to the other quizzically, then, simultaneously, we rose to our feet. We fell in behind Maria as she led us down the hall. Her room was as immaculate as the rest of the house, but I didn’t have time for more than a cursory perusal. What we were interested in was the window.

  “Indeed.” A tiny smile touched my mother’s lips. The window perfectly framed the Garfield house.

  Only sheers covered Maria Montoya’s north facing window. “This time of year, I keep the window open at night. To catch the breeze,” she said.

  “And last week? Mother glanced at Maria. “Did you have a perfect view the night Mrs. Wilson died?”

  “As a matte
r of fact…” Maria leaned close, and dropped her voice conspiratorially.

  We all mirrored her. A hush dropped over us like we were about to hear the secret of the century.

  “I saw her,” she said.

  “Who?” I blurted.

  “Hush, Raymond,” Mother said.

  Maria’s gaze flicked across our faces, then stopped at Mother. “Please, go on,” Mother said when Maria’s ‘pregnant pause’ went on a bit too long.

  “Jennifer Garfield.” We leaned closer still. “Her papá is a bit too controlling. Her grandmother, too. She has the habit, you see, of climbing out the window.”

  We sucked in our collective breath. Diana broke into rapid Spanish to her mom. Mother interrupted. “Did you tell this to the Sheriff?”

  “Of course. But he asked me to tell no one.”

  Apparently “no one” didn’t apply to us. I wondered who else she had told. Is gossip the reason the press was after Jennifer for an interview? Why Lonnie suspected she’d killed Mrs. Wilson? No, I reasoned. Lonnie would have needed more than that.

  “Have you seen anyone else hanging around on the block?” I broke from the group and looked out the window. Left, right… wait. There was a car way to the right that I hadn’t noticed before. It was parked in front of a tightly compacted row of uninhabited adobes.

  Diana came up behind me and, following my gaze, pulled the sheers wide. “Oh, that would be Adela. From the paper.”

  So, Jennifer climbed out the window with regularity. I wondered where she went, and if it still continued. Maria had seen her climb out a week ago. What about the reporter? What did she know? I would probably need to talk to her if I was going to help Jennifer. But then again… maybe Jennifer had killed the nurse.

  Chapter Eight

  Mother convinced me to take some time for myself in the evening. So, after dinner, I helped her settle in her room for the night. Then, I walked the block and a half to the plaza. It’s a long rectangle of green grass and trees with a pavilion near one end. And sprinklers. I caught that dreaded shhhh as the sprinkler heads popped out of the ground and began to spray. I sprinted the last half of the park, but not before I got a full splash in the face. And the front of my white t-shirt.