Appliqued to Death

by Kathleen Suzette

  “Do you think it’s true he was doing dope?” she whispered.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Where do you get dope?” I turned and looked at her. “Do you even know what dope is?”

  She looked at me, considering this. “Not exactly. I’ve seen news programs that talk about it. I heard beatniks do dope. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know why anyone would want to have anything to do with it.”

  We may have been naive when it came to drugs, but I preferred it that way. Big cities could have all the drug problems they wanted. I would take my small town where the worst thing we had was drunken fools that occasionally wandered the streets. Or at least I think that’s all we had.

  “You know what I think?” I asked without looking at her.

  “What?”

  “Whoever tore up this yard was angry. Really angry. Look at how deep the tire tracks are. I know the ground being wet and muddy probably made it worse, but it looks like whoever did it really burned out their tires on it.”

  She nodded. “I think you’re right.”

  “You hoo!”

  We turned to look in the direction the voice was coming from. Opal Adams was standing on her doorstep, her housedress waving in the breeze.

  I smiled.

  “Hello, Opal,” I said. I suddenly felt guilty for being here. We shouldn’t have been gawking at the place a man had lost his life.

  “How are you two ladies doing?” she called. She stepped out onto her front step, leaning on her cane.

  I glanced at the house across the street and hoped she wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention. Robert wouldn’t be happy if he found out we had been here snooping.

  “We’re fine,” I said, and we walked toward her. “How are you, Opal?”

  She grinned and nodded. Her long gray hair was done up in a bun on the top of her head. “I’m doing fine. Sure is a pretty day, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I didn’t think spring would ever get here, but I’m sure glad it did.”

  “Me too. What are you doing over there at Darren’s house?”

  I was hoping she wouldn’t ask. “Oh, nothing really. We heard he had an accident. We just felt bad about it,” I said, glancing at Peggy.

  Opal waved away my statement. “Wasn’t any accident. Someone mowed that young man down. He was a funny fella. Nice, but funny,” she said. “I’ve put a pot of tea on, would you like to come in?”

  “Yes, we’d love some tea,” Peggy said before I could answer. She grinned at me and we crossed through Opal’s yard, making sure we stayed on the brick steppingstones.

  “Come on in the kitchen,” she said, and we followed her into the house and into her pink kitchen.

  “My, you have a lovely kitchen,” I said. Opal’s kitchen countertop was pink Formica and she had painted the cupboard doors pink to match.

  “I was born loving the color pink. Mother always dressed me in pink dresses, and I guess I never stopped liking the color,” she said and set a teapot on the table next to the sugar bowl. “Have a seat.”

  “Would you like some help?” I offered.

  “No, no, I’ve got it.” She took down three cups from a cupboard and opened the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of milk. She set everything on the table and motioned for us to help ourselves.

  “I love tea,” Peggy said, picking up one of the cups.

  “Opal, you mentioned that Darren was a funny fella. Funny how?” I asked, sitting in the chair next to Peggy.

  “He dressed funny. All those black outfits. I suppose it kept him from wearing colors that didn’t match.”

  “He did dress funny,” Peggy agreed as she poured herself some tea. “He wasn’t from around here. Maybe that was why he dressed that way.”

  “That was probably it,” she said. “Strangers are just plain strange.” She chuckled at herself.

  “Was there anything else funny about him?” I asked.

  “He said the government had to change. Said America was going down the wrong road. I asked him if he was a communist. He just grinned at me. Makes me think that someone that won’t answer that sort of question might have something to hide,” she said as she poured herself some tea. “Still, he was a nice fella.”

  When Peggy set the teapot down on the table, I picked it and poured some for Opal and myself. “Communists might get themselves into trouble around here,” I said. Folks in Salyers liked things a certain way and change wasn’t something they liked.

  “Sure might. He had meetings of some sort at his house, you know,” she said and stirred sugar into her tea.

  “What kind of meetings?” Peggy asked.

  “I don’t know, but I can sure tell you they weren’t church meetings.” She chuckled. “Seems like that fella had something to do with odd folk. Sometimes they came by on the weekends and they were dressed all in black like him. They stayed until late in the night. I don’t know what time, of course, since I go to bed around 8:30.”

  “Did you ever ask him about the meetings?” I asked. Knowing Opal, I couldn’t imagine her not asking about it.

  She took a sip of her tea, then put the cup down. “I did. He said they were art aff—aff, oh I don’t know what he said.”

  “Aficionados?” I supplied.

  She nodded. “Yes. What you said. He said they liked to look at art. I suppose that was possible. But he liked odd artwork, too.” She shrugged. “Me, I just like to look at pictures of farms and cows.”

  “Did he ever have a girlfriend over?” Peggy asked.

  “Now that was what I didn’t understand. He was a nice-looking fella and sometimes there was a woman or two that showed up, but he didn’t seem to have any interest in anyone in particular. I would have thought someone like him would be married by now. He said he was thirty-eight. Should have had kids by now, too, but he said he didn’t have any.”

  “Didn’t you hear anything that night?” I asked her.

  “No. Not a thing. I do go to bed early on Sunday evenings. Earlier than other evenings. About 8:00. I don’t know what for, I don’t work anymore. Back when I did work, it was as an operator at the telephone company. I had to be at work at six in the morning, so I had to go to bed early on Sunday nights so I would be fresh Monday morning. I guess it’s just habit now.”

  I glanced at Peggy. “So, Opal, was Darren a good neighbor?”

  “Sure, he was a good neighbor. He brought me peaches from the tree in his backyard last summer. But sometimes there was just a lot of commotion going on over there. People laughing and talking, and they played that infernal music. About twice a month I had to tell him to keep the music down. But it sure was strange that there wasn’t any sound from his place the night he died.” She looked at me and then took another sip of her tea.

  “That is odd,” I said thoughtfully. I wondered if one of those friends dressed in black had gotten angry at him for something and killed him.

  “Maybe you fell asleep before it happened?” Peggy asked.

  She nodded. “I bet that was it,” she said and then she chuckled. “I take my hearing aids out at night when I go to sleep.”

  Peggy and I looked at each other. “That was probably it,” Peggy said.

  Opal waved a hand. “I forget sometimes. But still. He woke me up with those parties even when I didn’t have my hearing aids in.”

  That explained a lot. It was no surprise she hadn’t heard anything. She was probably sound asleep when it had happened. Even if he sometimes played music loud enough to wake her up when she wasn’t wearing her hearing aids, whatever had happened may have happened so quickly, she just never woke up.

  “Still. Seems a shame someone would kill that fella. He was an okay neighbor. I could complain, but no one would listen,” she said and chuckled again.

  We stayed a while longer, finishing our tea, and then we excused ourselves. It really was a shame that someone had killed Darren Peabody. It was a bigger shame that no one had heard or saw what happened.

  Chapter Nine
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  Peggy drove me back to the school to pick up my car and then I headed home. My mother had left a note for me in my mailbox sometime during the day and said she was making dinner and to come on over if we wanted. I wanted. After working all day, it was nice to have someone else make dinner. It was doubly nice when that someone was my mother. She was still the best cook around.

  Daniel met me at home, and he drove us across town to my parents’ house. “Anything exciting happen today?” I asked him.

  He smiled. “Not unless you call geometry exciting.”

  “I do not call geometry exciting. Any new rumors about the murder?”

  “No. Although someone did come up with the idea that it might have been a mafia hit. We aren’t that far from Chicago after all.”

  I chuckled. “Let’s hope the mafia isn’t infiltrating Salyers. I’d worry about all of our safety.”

  “I’m going with either a drunk hit him or an ex-lover,” he said as he turned the car onto Parry Drive.

  I turned to him. “Really? Those two scenarios are worlds apart. Pick one.”

  “Ex-lover.”

  “Then I’m going with a drunk hit him. I’d rather it be an accident than a murder.” I sighed. “I hate to think of anyone doing something worthy of murder.”

  “Me too,” he said. “But maybe it was just a crazed lunatic on the loose. Your dad and Robert will figure it out.”

  “I don’t want to think about crazed lunatics being on the loose,” I groaned. “That’s the last thing we need.”

  “You never know.”

  When we got to my parents’ house, Mother was making chicken and dumplings.

  “That smells so good,” I said, looking into the bubbling pot. “You’re making enough to feed an army.”

  “Robert and Beryl are coming. I asked Sharon and Bradley to come, but the baby is sick, and they didn’t want to bring her and get any of us sick.”

  “Poor thing,” I said, stepping back from the heat of the pot. “How come you asked everyone? Is something up?” I was suddenly suspicious. It wasn’t a holiday, and we weren’t celebrating anything. I went to the cupboard to get some glasses out.

  She chuckled. “Chicken thighs were on sale for twenty-three cents a pound. I thought I’d make chicken and dumplings. It’s your father’s favorite.”

  “Did I hear my name?” Dad asked, entering the kitchen from the living room.

  “Hi Dad,” I said and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “Hi honey. Hello, Daniel. I smell chicken and dumplings,” he said, inhaling deeply. “I’m starving.”

  “Good, we’ll eat soon,” Mother said. “How was your day, Mary?”

  “It was fine. We cut out garments, we sewed, we ripped out some crooked seams. You know how it is,” I said and went to the sink to get a glass of water.

  “You don’t sound enthusiastic,” Dad said, going to the cupboard to get another glass down.

  “I am. I do love what I do. Most days.”

  “Dealing with Principal Jefferson isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Daniel said, taking a seat at the table.

  I poured glasses of water for Daniel, my father, and for myself. Mother already had one by the side of the sink. “I’d rather have my teeth pulled some days.”

  “He’s always been a pickle to deal with, hasn’t he?” Dad asked.

  “Always,” I said. “Mother, is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, you sit. You’ve worked all day long. I’ll have the chicken and dumplings done in a jiffy.”

  I sat down. You didn’t have to tell me twice. There was a quick knock on the door and then we heard Robert call, “Anyone home?”

  “We’re in the kitchen,” Mother called to him.

  “Grandma!” Marcus said, running into the kitchen. Marcus was Robert’s youngest at six years old.

  “How are you, Marcus?” Mother asked wrapping her free arm around him and giving him a quick squeeze. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Good,” he said and hugged her back.

  “Don’t I get any attention?” Dad asked.

  Marcus smiled and ran over to him, wrapping his arms around dad’s waist and squealing.

  “Wow, what are you making?” Robert asked from the kitchen doorway.

  “Chicken and dumplings,” Mother said.

  Robert’s wife, Beryl walked into the kitchen. “That’s one of my favorites.”

  “Hello,” Carolyn said from behind her mother. Carolyn was fifteen and in my sixth period sewing class.

  “Hi Carolyn,” I said to her. “How are you doing?”

  She smiled shyly. The rumor was that she and Brent Brown had become an item, but she hadn’t come out and told me as much yet, so I didn’t want to bring it up.

  She shrugged. “I’m doing fine.”

  If she was going to play it cool, I wasn’t going to mess things up for her. “I bet you’ll be done with that dress before the end of next week.”

  She nodded. “I hope so. I feel like I’ve been working on it forever.”

  Robert’s middle child, Bobby, came over and gave me a hug. He was going to be tall like his father.

  “Hi Bobby,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. Dad’s going to get me a BB gun for my birthday.”

  “We haven’t decided on that,” Beryl said and came and sat next to me at the table. “We’re still discussing it.”

  “Dad,” Bobby said, looking at Robert.

  He shrugged. “You know how your mom is. We’re still discussing it.”

  “Why don’t you children go into the living room and find something to do?” Beryl suggested.

  The kids filed into the living room and she looked at me. “Robert told me what happened to Darren Peabody. How awful.”

  I nodded and turned to Robert. “Anything new?”

  He shrugged and took a seat at the table. “Not yet. It’s pretty early in the investigation and it’s going to take a while to come up with anything concrete.”

  “I saw the lawn in front of Darren’s house. It was torn up pretty bad,” I said. “I can’t imagine someone running a person down like that.”

  “What were you doing over there?” he asked, looking at me with interest.

  I shrugged. “I guess I was curious. Was there any evidence left at the crime scene?” I liked to watch Dragnet, and I had been thinking up scenarios for what might have happened.

  “Don’t be so nosy,” he said with a chuckle. “This is police business.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s the worst thing that’s happened in this town in ages.”

  He laughed again. “I bet it was the most exciting thing that ever happened in Darren’s life.”

  “Robert,” Mother said, looking up from her cooking. “That isn’t nice.”

  “Sorry.” But he wasn’t. He chuckled again.

  “You can tell us,” I said eyeing Dad. “Was there any evidence left behind?”

  “I don’t know that you could call it evidence,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair. “But there were some muffins left behind.”

  “What do you mean there were muffins left behind?” I asked him. “Somebody decided to bake muffins before killing Darren?”

  “They were in a cute little basket,” Robert said. “But this is between us. We don’t want this getting out to anyone.”

  “You’re really serious about the muffins?” I asked. It was hard for me to understand what muffins had to do with the murder.

  “We’re really serious about muffins,” he said. “But look, there could be a plausible explanation for them being there. Maybe he had just picked them up from someone, and as he was going into his house, someone plowed into him with their car. It doesn’t mean they were left behind by the killer, and we really can’t talk about this to anyone outside this family,” he repeated and looked around at each of us.

  I nodded. “So someone has a penchant for baking muffins and killing oddly dressed men.”

  B
eryl chuckled. “Some people have strange hobbies indeed.”

  “Or somebody just really enjoys baking and maybe they got angry, lost their temper, and killed someone.” Robert looked at me.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what it means. It’s too early to know what anything means at this point, and that was my point about not talking about these things in front of others.” Then he stopped and thought it over a moment. “I heard Peggy dated Darren.”

  I looked at him pointedly. “I wouldn’t call going to dinner once ‘dating’, as if it were a thing. You’re not looking at her as a possible suspect, are you?” I suddenly realized he might be bringing this up because he was serious about it.

  He shrugged. “I’m looking at everyone that had anything to do with him recently. And she went out with him recently.”

  “That Peggy has a temper,” Dad teased.

  “Dad, that isn’t funny,” I said. “I don’t like Peggy’s name being tossed around like this. She wouldn’t kill anyone. You’ve both known her since she was a kid.”

  “How come she didn’t go out with him again?” Robert asked me.

  “I suppose you should talk to her about that. But from what she told me, he was just a little odd. She only went out with him because they both stayed late at school one evening and they were both hungry, so they went to the Corner Café together. She said she didn’t really have a genuine interest in him.” I wanted Robert to understand that there was nothing going on between Peggy and Darren. In this town, suspicion was enough for a lot of folks and tongues would wag if it got out that she was being questioned about the murder. I had known Peggy almost all my life, and I knew there was no way she could have harmed anyone.

  “You know how divorcées are,” Dad said. “They have a reputation for being a little loose. I’m not saying Peggy is like that, you understand, but there’s that thought.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk about my best friend.”

  He shrugged. “I’m just telling you what people think. I don’t think Peggy could kill anyone.”

  “What kind of muffins were they?” Mother asked as she chopped lettuce for the salad.