It's Marple, Dear

by L Mad Hildebrandt

  “What about the doctor,” Mother went on. “Does he spend much time at home? Or is he gone in the evenings?”

  The lady thought about that a moment, even gazing across at the Wilson house. “He used to be home a lot. But lately, less so.”

  I turned back to the woman, my brain ticking. “Since his wife’s death? Or before?”

  “Since she died,” she said, then paused as if thinking. “But, maybe before that, too. A few months, maybe.”

  My mother and I locked eyes. So, things weren’t going as well in the Wilson household as this neighbor thought. And, as we canvassed the neighborhood, the story was much the same from the others.

  Chapter Eleven

  I learned two things over dinner. First, that maybe there was another motive floating around out there for Mrs. Wilson’s murder. Besides her husband’s dalliance with Jennifer Garfield, that is. And the second, was that Lonnie wasn’t married. Not, in that order, but, while the news about Lonnie was definitely received by sympathetic ears, the most important of the two had to be the motive thing. After all, Jennifer’s life was at stake.

  Mother convinced me to stop at Bee’s Burger Barn for a burger. We climbed out of the Jeep and took seats under the pavilion. The place didn’t have an interior, but had several tables under a blue striped awning. It looked something like a metallic circus big top, but without the clowns. When they called my number I went to the window and collected our food. Everything’s served in bags, even if you’re eating there. Mother’s heartburn would suffer for it, I knew, but I couldn’t convince her to leave the chiles off her green chile cheeseburger. That’s how burgers get eaten in New Mexico. The hotter, the better.

  We chewed in companionable silence for a while. I hoped it wouldn’t end, because I knew when she opened her mouth I would either get an “Oh, Raymond,” accompanied by a disappointed look, or one of her Marpleisms, especially the one that began with the maid.

  Four women arrived while we ate… the women I was beginning to think of as Mother’s Solitaire Club. Maria slipped in next to me, Paisley and Donna next to my mom. I looked around for Dee. “She’s not coming,” Maria said, noticing my quest. “If we’re going to help Dee, we need to do it without her. She’s an angry old woman, right now.”

  “You gonna order?” I asked around a mouthful.

  “We already did,” giggled Paisley. “Phoned it in.” I glared at Mother. She’d obviously planned this not-quite-impromptu get together.

  “So, what did you learn?” Donna rested her elbows on the table, oblivious to Mother’s reproachful glance at her offending appendages. But, since she’d probably been an elbow leaner all her life, Mother wasn’t likely to break Donna’s habits.

  Maria hopped up as a number was called. “Wait,” she said, and hurried away. When she got back, she passed out bags, and drinks, and Mother described our visit to the Wilson’s exclusive neighborhood.

  “I can add to that,” Paisley said, and took a sip of cola. All our elbows joined Donna’s on the concrete tabletop as we leaned toward Paisley. “Well, Virginia Hampton lives directly across from the Wilson’s. You didn’t speak to her today, did you?”

  Mother and I both shook our heads, no. “She wasn’t home.”

  “I thought not,” Paisley said, a tiny smile playing across her lips. “We were both at the hairdresser’s today.”

  “And?” Mother bit out the word. The women ignored her. Just another symptom, I wondered? “What did she say?”

  “She said that Dr. Wilson comes home at night at various times, but it’s almost always around sixish. Occasionally as late as eleven, or even midnight. She also said that he used to come home for lunch nearly every day.” She paused, for dramatic effect, I suspected. “He doesn’t do that anymore. Not for several months.”

  “Ah,” we said, nearly simultaneously.

  “What did she say about the night in question?” Mother peered at Paisley in her new, Marple fashion.

  “She said,” we leaned closer, expectantly, “…that he might have been home late.”

  “Ah,” we all said again, but with a very different meaning.

  “That could mean anything,” Donna said after a long pause.

  “Precisely,” Mother said. The expression on her face didn’t echo ours. In fact, she seemed quite satisfied. As if it was the answer she expected.

  “I learned something, too.” We all turned toward Donna, who looked rather smug, herself.

  “Well, out with it,” Maria said, as she reached for a fry, and dipped it in ketchup. “I hope your info is more useful than Paisley’s.”

  “It just might be,” Maria said. “I visited my dentist this morning, and Miss Jones said the most interesting thing while she was cleaning my teeth.” She glanced around at each of us, meeting our eyes.

  “Well?” Mother slammed her paper cup onto the table. One thing was clear, my mother had lost any semblance of patience with her new identity.

  “Miss Jones said that the school is missing some money. She didn’t know how much, but it was rather significant. And that it was from the nurse’s office.”

  Our collective “Ah’s” took on a completely new, and much more gratifying meaning.

  “She heard it from Tammy Lynn Wilson!”

  What? Mrs. Wilson was the source of the rumor? I chewed a mouthful of burger over to my cheek and asked around it, “how many other people know about that?”

  “Nobody,” Donna assured us. She turned to Mother. “When I told her that I’m working with you to help poor little Jennifer, why, she spilled the beans. She said Tammy Lynn had sworn her to secrecy, and that she was going to find out where the money had gone.” Holy cow, that was a motive! Whoever took the money, if it wasn’t simply a clerical error, would surely want to silence her.

  At just that moment, the Sheriff’s truck pulled into the spot next to my Jeep. Lonnie climbed out, and pushed his sunglasses up against his forehead, revealing his eyes. “Hey, Raymond,” he said as he sauntered over.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to ignore the frog that liked to leap around inside me whenever he got near. Unconsciously, my arms had risen to cover my chest. Consciously, I moved them away again. I grabbed my soda and took a long sip. I’d selected a black t-shirt today. This was definitely a ‘no nipple’ day—even if I got soaked.

  “Ladies,” he added.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” and “Hi,” and whatever, emitted from around me, but I couldn’t swear to it. And I couldn’t yet look at him.

  “Looks like you got the old Jeep running.” He walked around her. Mother kicked me under the table, and motioned with her head. So, I got up to look under the hood with him. My hands shook as I unclipped the hood latch. He reached to help me, but I batted his hand away. He laughed softly, and covered my fingers with his. Holy bejeebers, I hadn’t felt this way since my ill fated, short term marriage. Certainly not with my recent ex-beau. Lonnie confused me. I’d played safe with my last relationship. Could it be that I was afraid of commitment? No. I just didn’t want another six week mistake.

  I popped the hood and we both leaned over the dark guts of the machine. My mother had really spent a pretty penny on the thing. It’d been totally restored, inside and out. Lonnie whistled his appreciation, dropped the hood, and leaned back on the fender. He talked Jeep for a little bit, then switched to food, noting that I’d already eaten. “Maybe, in a while, we could get an ice cream, and I could pick your brain,” he said.

  “Er… sure,” I’m so swift. But, my heart beat about a million miles an hour.

  “Alright. I’ll come by your place in about…?”

  “An hour,” crowed Maria. Glancing toward the gang I caught the giant grins that marked their faces. Except Mother’s, of course. She was oblivious to anything but the Marple episode playing out in her brain.

  Lonnie collected a bag and a giant soda cup from the window, and returned to his truck. He waved as he backed out, and I went back to my place at the concrete table.

&nb
sp; “Poor Lonnie,” Maria said. “He’s single again, you know.”

  “And, he’s so handsome, don’t you think, Raymond?” Paisley twittered her tiny laugh.

  “Uh,” I said.

  “Of course he is,” Mother said. “But why should Raymond care?”

  My face burned. Maria, Donna, and Paisley giggled.

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  I felt like a teenager waiting anxiously by the front window. It’s not a date, I had to remind myself. Lonnie just needs to ask me a few questions. What questions, I had no idea. He knew more about the case than I did. And about that other thing… I had an ex-husband and an ex-lover, neither of whom I was anxious to replace. He pulled up to the drive in his now familiar truck, and I ran out to meet him like the fool I am.

  “Raymond,” he said, by way of hello. He didn’t come around and open the door. I reminded myself it wasn’t a date, and, besides, I’d reached the passenger side before he’d had a chance to get out of the truck. I climbed in on my own. Front seat, this time.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” I said.

  Our place is only a couple of blocks off the main drag, and only a few more to Ice Scream. The place is one of those old Drive In’s where you order at a car-side kiosk, and someone comes out on roller skates with your dessert. We pulled in, and I ordered a strawberry sundae. He got a ‘berry frosty swirl.’ We ate in silence for a few moments, savoring our sweets.

  “So tell me about your day,” he finally said. Facing me, he leaned back into the corner where his seat and the door met, and hooked his elbow out the window.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. Sure, I knew exactly what he meant, but it wasn’t my idea to muck around in his business. My heart sank. Nope. Not a date.

  He just looked at me, a skeptical expression on his face.

  “Okay,” I said. “Mother’s got me all mixed up in this. She thinks she can solve Mrs. Wilson’s murder. I’m just going along to keep her out of trouble.”

  “Sure, you are.” He said and grinned that feral grin of his. “And that’s why you’re enjoying yourself.”

  He got me there. I did find it kind of fun. And maybe a little dangerous.

  “Just tell me,” he said.

  “Okay, here’s what I’ve got.” I hitched my knee onto the seat between us so I could face him, and cupped my hands over my leg. “There’s a couple of motives possible, here. Not just the Jennifer one. I don’t think that one can be discounted, yet, since Mac could’ve done it. I don’t think so, but I’m keeping my options open.”

  “And the other one?”

  “Well, apparently, Mrs. Wilson had discovered that some money was missing from the school. I don’t know much about that yet. It could be enough for a motive, though.”

  “Interesting,” he said, and pooched out his bottom lip thoughtfully. “That could lead somewhere. Keep me updated on that one.”

  “Sure.”

  He leaned toward me and my heart jumped. But, he kept going, past me, and took a sheet of paper out of the glove compartment. He handed it to me.

  I glanced at it. “What’s this?”

  “Well, turn it over,” he said and barked a laugh. “It’s a photocopy.”

  Duh, me. I flipped it over and read aloud. “I’m sorry. I can’t live with my guilt anymore.” I flipped it over, and back again. “It’s typewritten.”

  “Uh-huh. And not signed.”

  “And it’s so simple, you thought only a teenager could think it up?”

  He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Well…”

  “Anyone could have written this. Besides, why would Jennifer write it like this? As if Mrs. Wilson ‘can’t live with her guilt?’ What would she be guilty of?”

  “It’s just a generic suicide note, Raymond. It doesn’t have to mean anything. But, a person that’s about to kill themselves must have some sort of reason, even if it doesn’t always make sense to those left behind.”

  “Okay, sure. But it’s typewritten. Why not handwritten?”

  “If it was suicide, she probably planned it in advance. If Jennifer did it, the same goes.”

  “Better yet, if it was our embezzler, then we’ve covered both things. The embezzler plans it in advance, and covers tracks by making it sound like Mrs. Wilson was the embezzler.”

  “What if she was?”

  “Hmmm.” I paused. “Then, she probably committed suicide.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He took the paper from me and stuck it back in his glove compartment. Then, leaned back and took a long sip of his shake. “When was the last time you had one of these, Ray?” He motioned with his cup. “Used to be your favorite.”

  I smiled, and gestured with my tiny paper sundae bowl. “It doesn’t come in mini,” I complained.

  He laughed, and his gaze roved down my body and back up. “What do you need a mini for?”

  I swatted at him half-heartedly. Talk about embarrassing. But, really, I felt pleased.

  “Here,” he said, and leaned toward me again. “Have some.”

  Hesitantly, I reached for the cup. Our hands met, sending a shiver of delight through me. How could a simple touch do that? He didn’t let go, but guided the straw to my lips. Our eyes met as I slipped my lips over the tip and pursed them for the sip. The freezing cold berry flavor met the suddenly hot interior of my mouth with a burst. Sweetness filled me, and I could feel a tremble from his hand where we held the cup. Or was it me?

  We held the gaze as I finished and released the cup back to him. He leaned in toward me, and I thought he might kiss me. But the phone at his belt buzzed. “Work,” he said.

  Chapter Twelve

  I finished unpacking. I’d only been here for three days, but it seemed like an eternity. I’d met my mother’s friends, rekindled my friendship with Lonnie—maybe more?—and gotten involved in a murder mystery. I thought about that. It could be Mac. His daughter had been in a relationship with the doctor. But, he’d have to have mistaken Mrs. Wilson for her husband. That was a big ‘if.’ It could have been the unknown embezzler. Or could have been Jennifer. And what about that old murder? Maybe there wasn’t an embezzler at all. What if Mrs. Wilson paid somebody hush money with the school funds? Who would that be? I guess I needed to take a closer look at that party. Had she been there?

  I cleared off the dresser, grabbing a pile of papers, and bouncing them on the bureau top to straighten them. I took a look at the top sheet. Mother’s papers. I forgot about them. The first one was her release form, signed by Doctor Wilson. Underneath that was a sheet describing her various ailments, followed by a formularies sheet outlining her medicines. Oh yeah. I needed to pick up a few books about elder care, and maybe some devoted to her particular maladies. I wondered if there was one about mini-strokes. We didn’t have a bookstore in town, so that would necessitate a trip north, or south, if there was a store in T or C.

  Gripping the papers in one hand, I opened a drawer to slide them in under my clothes. I didn’t want Mother finding them. In her confused state, who knew what irreparable harm it could cause? As I juggled the pages, a small slip fell out, and drifted to the floor. I shoved the papers into the drawer, and retrieved it.

  It was cardstock. Gray. Torn at one end, with a short receipt stapled to the back. Spa Elegante at Hot Springs, Tor C, I read. No accent mark, really sophisticated—not—but then, I’m not either, so who am I to judge? The gray card was a ticket. The kind people use for an event entry, or for a sweepstakes.

  I carried it out to Mother. Since it was in with her stuff, I figured she’d want it. I didn’t know how she kept her records, but she might need it for taxes, or something.

  “Here, Mother,” I said, and handed it to her. As usual, she sat in her green chair. She had an Agatha Christie on the screen. Reliving her past, I guess.

  “What’s this?” She looked at the small item.

  “I don’t know. It was with your stuff.”

  “Oh!” She dropped her feet off the footstool, and clicked her show
on hold. “I picked this up off the floor of Dr. Wilson’s office.”

  “Huh? Why would you want this?”

  “Because I think he’s having an affair, that’s why.”

  That made sense. He’d been coming home less often. Spent his lunches away from home. Lunches? I suddenly recalled his behavior when I’d surprised him at the coffee shop. Was Jeanine Pryor his lover? That would explain why she’d run to her car so fast, and why he’d escaped me so quickly.

  “I would like to take a trip out to Old Timers’ Town,” Mother said. “I believe I’ve forgotten my purse.”

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  We arrived amid a flurry of excitement. A patient had just been transferred in and angrily demanded his immediate release. “I’ve been kidnapped,” he insisted as they wheeled him in a separate door from the main entrance. Mother tut-tutted, and marched to the front door. We entered. The entering was easy, as I’d found out on my previous trip to Old Timers’ Town.

  “They’re so often like that,” she said. “Poor creatures. They are clearly not themselves.” Just like her. I wondered if she’d been so demanding, and had my answer when she hit the bell several times, calling. “Excuse me, we’d like some help here!”

  A harried looking nurse—not Jeanine Pryor—came to the desk. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re sorry to bother you,” I said over my mother’s head, “but Mother may have left her purse.”

  “Oh? Was she a patient here?”

  “She’s new,” Mother mouthed at me. The nurse clearly saw. I almost laughed.

  “Yes. She was Dr. Wilson’s patient. Mrs. Jane Murphy.”

  “It’s Marple, Dear,” Mother said.

  She looked through the files, and found the record. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But there’s nothing attached here. If we’d found anything, it should be recorded.”