by Vikki Walton
I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m helping that girl.
With that final thought, the door slammed shut behind her.
As soon as she got home, Anne went over to feed the chickens. Rusty, the hen that had caused so much fuss initially, was still nowhere to be seen. Kandi often said how her hens would hang around a large woodpile. She squinted at the woodpile. On the side of one log, some reddish-brown feathers clung to the wood. She strode toward it.
“Can I help you?” A loud voice cut through the air. Startled, Anne stopped. She turned around.
A tall thin man stood a few yards away, eyes hidden under Ray-Bans.
“You must be Jeff. I’m your new neighbor. Anne.” She motioned toward her house. “Kandi asked if I’d stop by and feed the chickens.”
“In the woodpile?” He shoved the sunglasses up on his head.
“One’s missing. Rusty. I thought maybe she’d been roosting there and got trapped.”
“Well, it’s not. I think you better leave. I’ll take care of things now.”
Anne struggled to be polite. “I thought Kandi said you were out of town.”
He pushed the sunglasses up on his head. Narrowed eyes focused on her. “I was. I just arrived.” He pointed toward the door where carry-on luggage stood on the step.
“As much as you travel, you must have great frequent flier miles.” She glanced toward the driveway area. “I don’t see your car.”
“I often leave my car at the airport and catch a shuttle when it’s late. I can sleep in the van.” He hesitated, and then clamped his lips shut. Mr. Frosty had returned.
“Good to know for my next trip.” As she walked back across the street, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that Jeff had followed her around the side of the house. Anne waved, but he didn’t return the gesture. A strong tremor coursed down her spine. She sprinted home.
Safely ensconced in her kitchen, Anne breathed a sigh of relief. He gives me the creeps. I don’t care what most people do here about locking doors. She thrust the deadbolt into place.
After her nerves calmed down, she laughed at her imagination. This was too nice a day to be locked up. Plus, she was determined that a man would never make her feel afraid or inferior ever again. She unlatched the lock.
But Kandi was still locked up. Poor, sweet girl. Thoughts crowded Anne’s mind and all fought for attention. She had no idea where to even begin to help. Maybe she could talk some sense into the girl. Kandi needed real help, not anything Anne could do. But how to convince Kandi?
Anne walked back out to the porch. She wiped the steps off and sat down, replaying the last few weeks in her mind. Other than waving when they saw each other, Anne hadn’t gotten to know Ralph very well, but based on what she did know about him, he didn’t seem like the type to have enemies. And she seriously doubted he would have killed Rusty, especially after providing Anne with some of his tomato crop.
You never know. Everyone has enemies. But did someone hate him enough to kill him?
As Anne’s mind pondered next steps, she turned her attention to a plot of ground off to the side of the porch. It was so close to the house and full of plants that at one time it might have been a kitchen potager, full of vegetables, herbs, and ornamentals.
It might be just the place for a keyhole garden for herbs and flowers. Pulling herself up by the railing, Anne ambled down the steps to the weedy patch. The desire to awaken the sleeping garden couldn’t be stopped. She knelt down and attacked the scrap of ground closest to her.
As the pile of weeds grew, the bare earth became exposed. Anne sunk her hands deeply into the moist damp soil. Pulling free from the soil, she stared at her nails covered in dirt. She raised her hands in the air and shouted aloud, “So there, Duke!”
Laughing at her silly display, she decided to go all out and embrace her connection to the earth. She flipped over and sprawled across the cool grass next to the bed. The sun’s rays embraced her, and she allowed its warmth to envelop her. She had just closed her eyes when a shadow passed over her.
“Um. Hello.” A man’s voice intruded into her solitude. She squinted up into the sun. Stewart, Ralph’s nephew, gazed down at her with a “you’re a nutcase” look on his face.
Anne sat up. “I’m cleaning out this bed to get it ready for planting next year.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.” His tone reiterated the “you’re crazy” impression.
Anne thought about her current position. He must think I’m an idiot or an eccentric. Oh, who cares? Maybe that’s what crones do. She chuckled and struggled to stand. He held out his hand, which she purposefully ignored.
Upright once more, she shielded her eyes from the sun. “So, how may I help you, Stewart?”
“I knocked on the front door but no answer. I told Sam I’d come by and check to see how you were doing since your fall. So I came around here and saw you, um…in the garden.”
“I’m doing just fine.” She unconsciously rubbed her head, too late realizing she’d wiped dirt into her hair. “I’m really sorry about your uncle.”
“Thanks. It was such a shock. He’s always been grumpy, but he wouldn’t have hurt a fly. I don’t know why Kandi killed him.” Stewart frowned and shook his head.
“What makes you think Kandi killed him?” She dusted off her hands.
“It’s pretty simple. They’ve had words over the years. First time, it happened over some property boundary issues. Then she pruned one of his trees without his permission, and of course, the chickens always mangling his garden. If he said anything about it, she acted like she was the victim and made him out to be the perpetrator.” “I just can’t see Kandi doing anything like that. She’s been nothing but kind to me.”
“Well,” he lowered his voice, “she’s got the history.” “What does that mean?”
“You know. Her mama.”
“No. I don’t.” Anne waited for him to expound on his statement.
“Well, she’ll have to tell you about that.” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets.
“On another subject, what will happen to Ralph’s place now?” Anne pointed toward the house.
“I guess we’ll sell it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll sell?” Her brow furrowed.
“Me and Hope. She’s his daughter.”
“Hope is Ralph’s daughter?” That might explain her presence the day of his death.
“Yep. I’m the only other kin. His sister, my mom,
passed away a few years back. His son was killed in the war, and his wife died from cancer.” Stewart kept talking, but more to himself. “Boy, the more you think about it, he had a really tough life, and then—bam!—killed by an axe.”
He abruptly stopped talking and stared down at Anne. “Hey, you didn’t hear or see anything that morning. Did you?”
“No. I didn’t hear anything until Kandi screamed.” An involuntary shiver coursed through her at the memory.
“Oh, okay. Well, if you think of something, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
“Um, sure.” Um, no.
“Well, best get going.” As he reached her driveway, he turned. “If I were you, I’d make sure I locked my doors. You know what they say about the killer coming back to the scene of the crime.” He grinned.
Anne watched Stewart cut across to Ralph’s yard. Even though the sun shone brightly, she shivered for the second time. If Stewart stood to inherit, he definitely had motive. She’d just found her first suspect.
Chapter Five
Anne slept fitfully that night. She kept waking, listening intently at every creak and groan as the old house settled. Her imagination had gone into overdrive and caused crazy musings about Stewart’s words about the killer returning to the scene of the crime.
Wind whipped around the house, rattling the windows and sliding ghostly whispers through unseen cracks in the walls. She shot up in bed when a flash of thunder rocked the house. Another rainstorm on the way. While she was glad for the moisture, th
is would delay her work in the garden.
Sleep would be impossible. She pulled her terrycloth robe from the corner chair and shoved her feet into fuzzy slippers. Yawning, she made her way down the short wide hall that led into the kitchen.
The gibbous moon illuminated the room, so she didn’t bother to flip on the light switch. She turned on the sink tap to fill her glass. Raising it to her lips, Anne caught a flash of light behind the lilacs. She blinked her eyes. Looked once more. Yes, there it was again. Muted, but definitely what looked like a light flickering over by the compost pile.
Could it be that the moon was reflecting off of a piece of metal or something shiny that shone through the trees? Or had the killer really returned to the scene of the crime?
She needed an unobstructed view. If she went out on her porch, she might be able to distinguish what she’d seen. She opened the door, but the wind caught the outer screen, slamming the frame against the wall.
The light flicked off.
Now what? She stood motionless. The last thing she wanted was for someone to see her. She waited for a few minutes that seemed like an eternity and then took a hesitant step forward. She squinted toward Ralph’s yard. No light. Menacing, heavy clouds cast shadows as the wind moved on its path.
She debated with herself about what she’d seen, when curiosity won over. Just in case there was actually someone there, she grabbed a hammer from the toolbox at her feet. Anne quietly advanced toward the bushes. She tried to justify her investigation and assure herself she wasn’t like the dumb female victims she despised in scary movies.
Just to be sure, every so often, she would pause and listen. Was the person she saw doing the same thing? Advancing toward her? Should she just go back inside? Even with her conscience telling her to stop, she kept moving forward.
As she rounded the corner of the lilac stand, she spied a tall figure dressed all in black running across the yard.
“Hey!” Anne yelled, then stopped. Are you nuts? That could be the murderer.
She took a step backward. Her foot found something hard and sharp. A whizzing sound. Before she could react, a knock to the left side of her head sent her sprawling into the compost pile.
Noooo. Not the compost pile again! Don’t think about Ralph. Don’t think about Ralph. Don’t think about, ahhh, the blood. She grimaced as she fought back the desire to wretch. Something had dropped beside her as she’d fallen. Anne tried to calm herself and catch her breath. Her mind raced like a hamster on a wheel. Was the killer still out there?
After what seemed like a horrible eternity, she released the breath she’d been holding. She cautiously scanned the area for any signs of movement. Sensing she was alone, Anne glanced back and forth before finally crawling out of the compost pile. With difficulty, she pulled herself to her feet. She looked down as nausea hit her.
That’s when she saw the rake.
Was that what had been used to hit her? But what was a rake doing by the compost pile? The scene had been cleared of any evidence and that included any tools.
No matter what, she had seen someone. And that someone could be the killer. She needed to get away from here. Anne jogged across her yard and stumbled as she grabbed the porch banister. Her head throbbed.
Remember making fun of people in horror movies?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Inside the house, she locked the screen door and slid the deadbolt shut on the main entrance. She chased the shadows from the room by turning on every light she could find. She’d left the flimsy café curtains open on the back windows. Was the killer watching her even now? Deciding on his attack?
With a burst of adrenaline fueling her, she found her phone and called 9-1-1.
“Hello, Ms. Freemont. State your emergency.” “This is, hey, how did you—?”
“What’s your emergency?”
“Well, it’s not really an emergency.” Silence.
Could she feel disapproval coursing through the phone line?
Anne continued. “It’s just, there was someone in Ralph’s yard, and I got hit on the head, it could have been the rake, but it could have been the real killer, but the guy in black was running across the yard, so how did they—”
“Ms. Freemont. Please remain calm. We’ll have someone over shortly.” Anne hung up just as she heard the woman say, “Please stay—”
Anne pulled a kitchen chair over to the farthest corner away from the windows. Could the killer see inside? She ran over and flicked off the switch. Turning off the light only served to make her feel even more vulnerable. She crouched down in the corner of the room, away from peering eyes.
Her gaze moved back and forth, seeking an unknown danger. Her body tensed, coiled to spring into action. She’d dropped the hammer when she’d fallen into the compost pile. She had no weapon. She crawled over to the drawer and grabbed a knife. Instead of bringing comfort, it only made her more anxious. What if the murderer took it away from her and used it on her? Panic sought to overtake her.
A huge knot had formed on her temple. She tenderly felt the bump as another hit of nausea caused her to steady herself. This was silly sitting on the floor. She rose and moving across to the fridge, pulled frozen peas from the freezer. She held the package to her head. The cold snapped her mind clear.
Did I almost catch the killer? But how did I see them running and then get hit? Does this mean Kandi isn’t the killer? Could Stewart have run across the yard quick enough to cut back and hit me over the head? What had the killer been looking for in Ralph’s yard? He knew the police had already been there. Was there something the police hadn’t seen?
Footsteps approaching the kitchen door brought a squeal to her lips. It was Sam. He’d gotten here fast. Relief flooded her.
She unlocked the door.
“Hi. Just heard on the dispatch that you’d—Whoa, what happened to you?”
Her tension released into a torrent of tears. Sam put his arm around her and gently escorted her to a chair. He noticed the frozen pea ice pack she held.
“How’d you get hurt? I thought you called in about seeing a person in Ralph’s yard.”
He looked at her sternly. “Hey, you didn’t do something stupid like go over there?”
He moved closer toward her. She took in a whiff of that popcorn smell again. Strange that he smelled like that over some manly scent.
“Let me take a look-see at that knot.”
She set down the ice pack and the nausea hit her again.
“Sit down,” he ordered. “How many times have you’ve gotten hit in the head?” He looked at the knot. “Just to make sure all is well…” He pulled a penlight from his pocket. “I’m going to do a series of quick tests.” He shone the light in her eyes. After some questions that seemed to meet with his approval, he sat back in his chair. “I think you’re okay, just going to have a nice bruise with that one. I’m going to prescribe not getting hit in the head again.”
Anne tried to respond sarcastically but it was too much effort. She simply put the ice pack back on the lump. “Would you like something to drink while we wait? I’ve got some coffee, um, some tea—oh wait, no tea, some water.” Hmmm, what would happen if a guy drank an herbal tea to help menopausal symptoms?
“So what actually happened?”
She gave him an edited version of the events.
After a bit of more scolding for her escapade, he smiled. “Our town normally isn’t so thrilling. You may wish for some of this excitement once it goes back to its staid complacency.”
“I’m ready. I thought this place was going to be quiet.
Not!”
A knock at the back door interrupted further conversation.
A deputy from the sheriff’s office stood at the door.
Sam said something to the man, who nodded. He gestured at her to stay put. “I’ll be back in a minute.” The screen door slammed behind Sam as their shapes faded into the night.
Not one to stay put, Anne got up and watched as the two men
walked over to Ralph’s yard.
After a bit of seeing nothing, Anne sat back down. The squeak of the screen door heralded their return.
“We found the rake and the hammer.” The deputy then took her statement as Sam sat listening. As the two men chatted outside, Anne thought about Sam. Over six foot, closer to six two, hair you wanted to run your hands through and deep blue eyes that drew you in. She hadn’t noticed any ring on his finger. Are you nuts? It wasn’t that long ago you were in a horrible relationship. Now you’re wondering if he’s single?
Sam pushed open the screen door with his elbow. In one hand he held a brown bottle. In the other, a paper bag. He opened the bottle and held it up. “Grabbed this from my truck. Kvass. This is some of the last of my summer brew. I can’t wait until next month to start the next batch with apples. Want to try some?”
After she nodded yes, he poured a small amount into a cup and handed it to her. She took a small sip. It was icy cold. “Wow.”
“Good, right? Kvass is a fermented grain drink. When I visited the Ukraine, I fell in love with it. I included some citrus and my own secret ingredient. I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He grinned. Pouring the brew into another cup, he took a hearty swig.
“You didn’t tell Ralph, did you?” Anne regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth.
“You know that’s a weird thing. I mean Ralph wasn’t a favorite of many people, but I can’t see anyone wanting to harm him, much less kill him.”
Anne barely heard his words. She stared at Sam’s clothing. Dark pants. Dark jacket. They could have looked black without any light on them. Come to think of it, Sam had arrived pretty quickly. Her brow furrowed as she contemplated adding another suspect to the list.
“Just to ease your mind, no, he didn’t know my secret ingredient.”
“Well, that’s a relief then.” She smiled at him before taking another swig of the sour-sweet brew.
“Feeling better?”
She nodded in the affirmative. But it wasn’t for the reason he thought. She simply couldn’t picture him killing Ralph, much less anyone. She’d learned to trust her gut and Sam had to be one of the good guys. He was too cute not to be. Of course, that’s what they’d said about Ted Bundy and probably Jack the Ripper. What was it Agatha Christie had said? Something along the lines of “Every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend.”
