Chicken Culprit

by Vikki Walton

  “What person?” a chorus of voices echoed. She looked up to see Kandi, Jeff, and a few others had returned and stood in the entry hall off the living room.

  Stewart spoke first. “You saw someone on the property? Who was it?”

  Anne sighed. “I didn’t get a good look.”

  She glanced over to see Jeff’s shoulders relaxing. He bent down and whispered something to Kandi, who nodded. Clearing his throat to get attention, he said, “Sheriff Carson, am I free to go? I’ve got work to do.”

  “Yes. You can go. If I have any questions, I know where to find you.” He turned back to Stewart. “Mr. Rogers, what would you like to do?”

  “I told you. I want you to arrest her!” He pointed at Anne.

  “Arrest me? For what?” She rose out of her chair. “I was only defending myself!”

  Stewart ticked off the words with his fingers. “Trespassing. Assault. Property damage.”

  The chief nodded at his deputy, who pulled his cuffs from his belt, and headed toward Anne. The deputy intoned, “You have the right…”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” She backed toward the wall.

  The deputy continued, “…to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be…”

  “Are you serious? You’re arresting me?” Anne hated hearing the plea in her voice.

  “I didn’t break in. The door was open.”

  “Do you have the right to be in this house?” Carson regarded her with a stare.

  “Well, I…” Anne fought back tears.

  The deputy’s word’s cut through the clutter of the moment “…used against you…” The words faded as she felt her arm being pulled back and the snap of cuffs on her wrists.

  Stunned, Anne faced Stewart, and a burst of anger hit her. “Oh, so this is how it is. I hope you’re happy now. You probably killed your uncle, and now you’re trying to divert suspicion.”

  Stewart jumped to his feet. “Why, you little—” He fell back into the chair, grasping his head with both hands.

  Anne stuck out her tongue at him. It was juvenile, but she felt better. Until she saw the sheriff‘s gaze on her.

  Luckily, she wouldn’t have to bear more of his wrath as medics had arrived and set to work on Stewart’s wound.

  She debated whether she was sorry he was hurt or if she felt he had gotten his just desserts for attacking her.

  With the sheriff holding her upper arm, the two headed toward the front door. She moaned when she spied the media van parked on the street. When the reporter caught sight of Anne, she seized the photojournalist, who started capturing Anne’s shame for the entire world.

  Anne tried to turn away but was restrained by the deputy from behind. She gazed imploringly up at the sheriff.

  Carson took her coat and placed it over her head. “Keep watching my boots,” he murmured.

  She nodded and choked back a sob. Ignoring the barrage of questions, she put one foot in front of the other until they reached the patrol car. At the vehicle door, she felt a pressure on her head as she was lowered into the back seat.

  Tears dripped from her eyes down her cheeks. This was supposed to be a new start. A great place. Instead, I find a dead body, tick off the only real friend I have in this town, and now I’m going to jail for assault.

  As soon as they were away from the cameras and the neighborhood, the car’s tires crunched on gravel as it came to a stop. Her door was opened and the coat was removed. Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, the chief wiped her eyes, and then her nose. He then shut the door and moved back around to the driver’s seat. He got on the radio. “Thelma, is there a white van out front of the station?”

  The woman came back with an affirmative.

  Oh, great. I get to walk the gauntlet twice.

  Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry. We have a back way where we take prisoners into the jail area.”

  She muttered under her breath, “Wonderful.”

  “I could always take you in the front if you prefer.” She noticed the crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

  He must be getting a kick out of this. She wished she could say something, but she knew when she’d been beaten. “No, no. That’s fine. Thank you.”

  When they arrived at the station, he ushered her into a dull room of metal desks and khaki-colored walls. Two cells sat over to the side. She shivered at the sight of them, recalling her visit with Kandi. The cuffs were removed and she rubbed her arms to get the circulation flowing.

  “Take a seat.” He motioned to her while he hung up his hat and coat.

  She slumped into the chair, the hard, cold metal frame chilling her back.

  Carson pulled out a bunch of forms and set them on his desk.

  A woman, around eighty, entered the room. She wore a loud polyester top and slacks with a crease sewn down the front. Her white-gray permed hair formed a halo of tight curls around her face. She wore bright red lipstick that crept past her upper lip and melded into a light mustache.

  Anne instinctively felt this was a woman you didn’t mess with.

  “Carson, I told that woman she had to move the van or be ticketed for loitering. They’re gone.”

  “Thanks, Thelma.” He scooted his chair closer to the desk.

  The woman smiled at him, then turned to Anne. Her face took on a scowl, and she looked down her nose at Anne.

  Anne instinctively tightened her arms.

  Carson glanced up. “You can go now.” She retreated, leaving a floral reminder of White Shoulders perfume.

  He sighed. “I could use something to drink. How ’bout you?” She nodded and rubbed her hands up and down her arms again. He went to a refrigerator in a little kitchen area off the back. “Not much in here. Some juice, a few sodas, water.”

  “Just some water, please.” He grabbed a paper cup and poured some water from a canister he’d pulled from the fridge. He handed the water to her, then popped open a can of grapefruit juice, which he guzzled.

  “Are you going to book me? Am I going to get fingerprinted or …or …”—she gulped—“…searched?”

  “We’re a small operation. I’ve worked this town for more than twenty years. We’ll give it fifteen more minutes.”

  Curious, she said, “Fifteen more minutes?”

  “Yep.”

  Fifteen minutes for what?

  He leaned his chair back until he was balancing on two legs. They sat and stared at one another. Her gaze took in the room. The seconds on the wall clock ticked loudly in the silence.

  “Is it okay if I get up?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, then.” She folded her hands in her lap and started picking at her nails.

  Minutes ticked by. He stared. She fidgeted.

  When the phone rang, it clamored so loudly that it caught Anne by surprise. The sheriff’s chair fell back on all four legs. “Sheriff Carson speaking. …Uh, huh. Yes… Yes…No…

  Certainly…Will do. Thanks for calling.” He set the phone receiver back in the cradle.

  “Okay, you’re free to go.” He motioned. “I …I can go? Just like that?”

  “Yep.” He put the papers back in the drawer.

  “Why?” She jumped up, happy to be free of the cold metal. A burden lifted.

  “Stewart dropped the charges. He realizes now that you weren’t breaking in and were just trying to protect yourself.”

  “I was. I wouldn’t have hit him if I hadn’t thought he was trying to kill me.”

  He retrieved a file and set it on his desk.

  He looked up at her. “Here’s the thing. I don’t like paperwork. You’re making a whole heck of a lot of paperwork for me. Don’t do it again.”

  “I don’t intend to.” Anne waited for the all-clear. “Good.” He stood. “Need me to call someone?”

  Maybe he was okay after all. “No thanks. I think I’ll go check on Hope and Faith while I’m in town.”

  He nodded and sat back down at his desk.

  Just
as she reached the door, he called out, “Hey, Nancy. Stay out of attics.”

  Oh, how she wished she could wipe that smirk off his face. She bit back her reply and made sure she slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Back at home, Anne made a hot cup of tea. It had been a crazy day and she needed to find some calm and some clarity. Taking her tea into the living room, she kindled a fire in the fireplace. Once the room was nice and toasty, Anne pulled up the armchair so she could rest her feet on the hearth. She thought back to Sorcha’s mention of the threads. There were a lot of threads but no discernible pattern, at least that she could see. Now with the fire dying, Anne rose and headed to the dining room where she assembled the items she’d picked up at the local craft store. She got ready to set up her mind map. She attached paper from a drawing pad to the wall with shipping tape. With the wall covered in paper, she grabbed the other items she’d purchased—a set of markers, push pens, some red yarn, and some yellow yarn.

  Okay. Where to begin? The actual murder.

  Anne drew a circle in the middle of the white paper with Ralph’s name in the center. Off to the left, she drew another circle. Inside it, she wrote Kandi. She connected the lines with another marker and wrote on top of the line “Neighbors.” Underneath she wrote the word “Motive” and a question mark. Then she created a list.

  Number one. Threat of chickens being killed.

  Number two. Wanting to expand her property by buying Ralph out.

  Number three.

  Hmmmm. Nothing. Anne drew a series of question marks.

  Mouser appeared in the doorway. She picked up the kitten. “You know what, Mouser? Finding the killer sure seems easier in books or movies.” She stroked the kitten, who responded with a growing purr.

  Anne sighed. No other motive came to mind for Kandi. Okay, dead end. Next. She set the kitten down on the floor. He stretched and then grabbed at an errant strand from a ball of yarn.

  Anne drew smaller circles close to Ralph’s circle. One circle for Stewart with a notation of nephew in parenthesis. Another circle for Faith (lost love). And one for Hope (daughter). She listed the various motives Stewart or Hope had to kill Ralph. Anne stepped back from the wall.

  Wait a minute.

  If Hope was Ralph’s daughter, then she would be his rightful heir, not Stewart. Stewart said he got part of the property, but it was probably a much smaller portion than Hope’s. That would mean that Stewart really had a smaller motive to kill Ralph, whereas it increased Hope’s motive due to Faith’s declining health. Anne went back to the table and opened another packet of Sharpie markers. She pulled the red one out. She wrote an M for motive by each person’s name. So far, Kandi had two, Stewart one and Hope three. She listed Hope’s motives.

  One. Held bitterness of growing up without her father.

  Two. Ralph not helping with her mother.

  Three. Possible inheritance and money.

  But what about proof? Anne picked up a green marker. Unfortunately, the proof or evidence all pointed toward Kandi. She’d argued with Ralph. She had been seen with her hands on the axe, and her fingerprints were the only ones other than Ralph’s.

  But that left Anne with more questions. Why would Kandi move the murder weapon and hide it in her own yard? She could have simply wiped the handle clean, or if premeditated, she would have worn gloves. Plus, even if she had wanted Ralph’s place, there could be no guarantee that she would win the bid for it.

  Dead end.

  How about the others? Anne thought back to the first time the group had met in the kitchen. They all had pretty much the same alibi—none really—sleeping. She stared at the wall. Using the push pins and yarn, she made connection paths. Still, nothing jumped out.

  Okay, next level. She added Eliza to the list. What could possibly be her motive? Anne couldn’t come up with a single thing. Oh, wait. He had hit her car, broken the taillight, and banged up her bumper. She was pretty picky about her things. Opportunity? Yes, just like all the others. But if people killed others because they’d damaged their vehicle, there’d be a whole lot of dead people around.

  Think, Anne.

  She recalled their initial meeting and Eliza saying how Kandi had helped her so much when she first arrived. But just because someone is nice to you doesn’t mean you go kill someone for them. Another dead end.

  Who next? Oh yes, her favorite suspect. Jeff. Anne knew she’d have to be careful not to let her prejudice against Jeff cloud her judgment. She added a circle and attached it to Kandi.

  Motive? He had plenty. If she knew his type—and she did —he wanted to get his hands on Kandi’s money. What better way than to get her out of the picture? So Jeff and Hope seemed to have the motive that often trumped many others—money.

  Anne ran her hands through her hair. She remembered the meeting in Kandi’s kitchen. She grabbed her phone and opened up the camera. The photo was small, but she was still able to read the list of names that the group had added at the prior meeting. She felt she could cross off the first name she spied on their list, but for fun she added her own name to the board. She chuckled as she listed her so-called motives.

  One. Hates men.

  Two. Mad because of her falling into his compost pile .

  Three. Wanted his property because hers is turning into a money pit .

  “What do you say, Mouser? Do you think I did it?” The kitten stopped its play and stared at her. “I know, I know. I had opportunity. Right next door. My alibi of sleeping sucks.”

  Mouser turned and ran through the door.

  Anne shivered. Ugh, Mouser probably heard or saw a mouse. She yelled, “I forgive you, Mouser. I know you don’t think I did it.” Geez. Now she was talking to a cat. She reviewed the other names on the list. Two she didn’t know at all. Even those at the meeting had argued about them being suspects. That stopped her. What about people you’d never think of? Like the postman? Someone coming up from the trail? Or a serial killer drifter? A time traveling telegrapher? Or the person you’d least expect—like Sam.

  Anne drew his name in a circle. What could be Sam’s motive? She couldn’t think of anything. However, he said he often jogged along the path, and she’d seen that he had a balaclava in his pocket. Was there something about Sam she was missing?

  Anne looked back at the wall.

  Could Faith in a lucid moment have killed Ralph? Of everyone listed on the wall, she had been treated the worst by Ralph. He had left her pregnant and alone. She’d raised a daughter by herself. Even though she’d refused his proposal after his wife and son were killed, he hadn’t provided for her or Hope. Though Sorcha said he’d tried and Faith had refused his money. Maybe Faith just told people that. Maybe she’d asked him for money, and he’d refused?

  No. Not after hearing Ralph’s story from Sorcha. More likely, her pride got in the way. Did she even realize how hard it was on Hope to care for her while trying to run a full-time business?

  She added Faith’s name to the wall between Ralph and Hope. Could she have had the strength to kill Ralph?

  Really, when it came down to it, all you needed was momentum and gravity would do the rest.

  Anne sat down at the table and rested her head in her hands.

  A mewing caught her attention. The cat had returned. She picked him up and stroked his fur. “Mouser, I don’t know if I am going to be able to help Kandi. I just don’t see any pattern. All I see are threads.” She sighed.

  “Time for a break.” She carried Mouser into the kitchen where she rewarded him with a saucer of milk. She pulled on boots and grabbed her jacket from the hook. Opening the back door Anne breathed in deeply as the crisp fresh air and scent of the forest refreshed her. Yet apprehension began to take hold as she walked toward Ralph’s. Would Stewart accuse her of trespassing again? Or would Carson still be skulking about? He would most likely be gone now, but nonetheless, she peeked around the lilacs to make sure no one was there before proceeding into the yard.


  Off to her right was the compost area. Further to her left was a pile of wood. Some split, others waiting. She walked toward the area and noticed that it was very close to a bend in the woods. She could make out the marks where Stewart had come up on his skis and tossed them to the side. A short path led into the forest so she followed it. Her feet sunk into the accumulated snow still dense from the shade.

  Anne turned back and was met with a clear view from the main path up to the wood pile. She stopped and took it all in. When the chill began to seep into her extremities, she headed back up the hill. She glanced down at the wood pile. Yes, more wood had definitely been cut since the first time she’d seen Kandi and Ralph. But when had Ralph done the cutting?

  The more she dug, the fewer answers she found, and the more questions emerged. Frustrated at getting nowhere with her snooping, she decided to call it a day on the detective work.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anne answered her phone. It was Eliza calling to see if Anne could drive her home from the hospital.

  Eliza was sitting on the side of her bed when Anne arrived and as usual she was impeccably dressed. No one would know she’d been in an accident except for the bandage adorning the left side of her face. “Thank you for coming.” She spoke as if she were accepting guests at a formal party.

  Anne snatched up Eliza’s Louis Vuitton overnight bag as the nurse helped Eliza into the wheelchair. As they moved toward the door, another nurse headed toward them carrying a banker’s box. “Here. Don’t forget this. It’s yours too.” Eliza held the box on her lap as they proceeded out the door.

  Taking the box from Eliza, Anne stowed it in the back. She climbed into the truck while the nurse helped Eliza. Anne pulled on her seatbelt. “Are they going to be able to repair your car?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I am afraid that I must find another vehicle.” Eliza placed her head against the back window. The strain of the accident was painfully evident on her face.

  “Sure you’re all right?”

  “Thanks for the concern. I’m actually feeling much better. I’d been struggling with sleeping well and hadn’t been able to do my daily runs.”