His eyes flashed to hers. “No. Why do you ask?”
She slipped the tie toward his Adam’s apple. “Just curious.”
“Ma, try not to worry about Jason. Everything is being taken care of.” He stood back. “How do I look?”
“Handsome as ever.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Call you around five.”
Hattie escorted him down the hall.
At the side door, he turned. “Oh, I almost forgot. I asked Ralph to fix the hole in the fence.”
Hattie stopped abruptly. Why the sudden interest in the fence? Did Howie suspect something? Probably not. After all, if he thought a murderer was around, he’d surely send her off to the Canasta Condo. Still, it was odd that he wanted a security system installed and the fenced repaired so suddenly.
She smiled brightly. “That’s nice. I’ll keep an eye out for him. Have a great day.”
“Thanks, Ma. I love you.”
She smiled. “I love you too, dear.”
Moments later, the side door shut.
“Orin,” Hattie said aloud, “watch the tin cups. Your son is getting like his mother, sneaky as a sighted blind man.”
Chapter Seven
With a batch of shortbread cookies just out of the oven, Hattie assessed the kitchen.
After she had bathed, dressed and eaten, she decided to resume her old routine of cleaning. The kitchen was tidier now than in months. There was no evidence of crumbs around the toaster or cat hair on the floor. She had put away the flour, butter, sugar, washed out the mixing bowl, and placed fresh napkins in the holder.
Howie had been right. She should renew certain habits like the old days. What harm could come from picking up the house? Not major cleaning with ladders and buckets, but some straightening up wouldn’t hurt.
Sunlight streamed through the lone window where she always sat, and for the first time in years, she realized how the double window next to it was closed up tight with a drawn blind. Ambling around the table and over to Orin’s empty spot, Hattie pulled the string. With each tug, more light flooded in, brightening the sunflower wallpaper and clearing out the dreary semi-darkness she had gotten used to.
She stood back and admired the room. Its familiarity tugged at her heart as she recalled the busy clatter of mornings past, when she had wrapped paper bag lunches in between frying eggs and pouring coffee.
Diamond-like specks swirled weightlessly in the sunlight that fell on the chair where Orin had sat. Could it be angel dust? Hattie reached out and grabbed the air. Twinkling sparks danced wildly. Light was such a mystery. Just like life. Just like death. She left the blind open.
Since it would be a half an hour before the cookies were completely cooled and ready to pack, she headed into the dining room, opened a drawer in the buffet and pulled out a collection of condolence cards. After some consideration, she picked one that read, Our Thoughts Are with You in embossed gold lettering.
At the dining table, with pen in hand, she stared at the blank white space inside the card. Words formed, then crumbled. What could she say to a parent who had lost a child in the time it took to deliver the Sunday morning paper?
A faint knock drew Hattie’s attention from her dilemma. She looked at the front door. Envelopes were crammed into the mail slot. It had to be Scott. “Coming,” Hattie called out.
“Hello, Mrs. M,” her mailman said.
Hattie smiled. “Good morning.”
“I wanted to check and see how you were doing. It’s good to see you’re up and around. Gave us all a scare yesterday.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Scott nodded. “If there’s anything you need, just call.”
“Actually, there is something. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m getting a card together for Jason’s family. Would you like to sign it?”
“Definitely.”
“Wonderful. Come in. It’s on the dining room table.”
Scott stomped into the vestibule, set down the mailbag and filed in. After unbuttoning his coat, he took a seat.
He was a neat young man with clipped brown hair and a razor-sharp part. Wire-rimmed glasses and a clean-shaven face gave him an unassuming look. And while he was not someone who stood out in a crowd, one could easily see that he was better cared for than most men; always well-scrubbed and ready for church even in his crisp postal blues that were ironed, tucked and immaculately clean.
“Would you like some cocoa?” Hattie asked.
“Sure, but only if it isn’t any trouble.”
It was not uncommon for Hattie to offer Scott something to drink in exchange for all the times he had been kind enough to mail her letters and packages, even add the extra postage when necessary.
“No trouble at all. Here’s the card. I shouldn’t be more than a minute.”
Once in the kitchen, Hattie felt the side of the kettle. The water only needed a quick warm-up. She wrestled open a cocoa packet and emptied it into a mug.
Scott yelled out to her. “Yesterday. Some day, huh? Haven’t seen so many police since the St. Patty’s Day parade. And Jason. What a shame.”
“Yes, it was quite a shock,” Hattie said to the air around her.
“What happened? Did the police say?”
Hattie wasn’t sure what to tell him: the police’s open and shut case or her gut feeling. She poked her head out of the kitchen. “Apparently, some tests need to be done.”
“Makes sense,” was his response.
Hattie returned to the cocoa and stirred out the lumps.
Scott liked to be fussed over. Too bad he couldn’t find a wife. While he was certainly a catch with a solid job and industrious nature, his involvement with women seemed more sporadic than long-lasting. Perhaps he was picky, or too settled, or maybe he just wasn’t ready. Of course, there were rumors. Ralph had suggested and Muriel reiterated, that Scott preferred his own. But Hattie figured whatever Scott did behind closed doors should hardly be anyone’s concern. Besides how fair was it that a man of a certain age was not allowed to have a male friend over to his home without wild speculation?
After folding a paper napkin into a neat triangle, Hattie reached for three cookies from the cooling rack and placed them on a plate.
Hattie had her own theory about Scott, and sensed he was a country boy, uprooted from a small lake village south of the city only to be planted in a town where privacy took precedence over open yards and unlocked doors. Yes, at times, he could be intrusively friendly, but both Muriel and Ralph were similarly inclined.
Hattie shook her head. Wasn’t it always the case of the pot calling the kettle. She grabbed the tray and stepped down the hall.
“Wow. Looks good,” Scott said as Hattie slipped the food toward him. He reached for the cup. “I had wanted to stop by yesterday, but this place was like Grand Central Station.”
“Oh my, yes. So much commotion.”
“After the police left, I saw Howie’s car. Then, I noticed Muriel coming up the drive late in the day. How nice she’s out of the hospital.” He took a quick sip. “Anyway, I figured you had plenty of support. Certainly, didn’t need me around. Anyway, I’m happy everything’s calmed down.”
Hattie wanted to say the situation was nowhere close to being calmed down. Instead, she delved into the heart of the matter. “Scott, what did you think of Jason?”
He bit into a cookie. “Jason? In what way?”
“What kind of boy was he? How would you describe him?”
“Seemed like a nice kid. Responsible, punctual, I suppose. Although, I must say, I never had much contact with him. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that some things don’t make sense. I knew him quite well, and—”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“Let’s see now. For instance, he never went in my yard.”
“Really? Didn’t kids hang around back there?”
“Yes. But not Jason. It was mostly Baile
y, Roxanne’s son.”
“But weren’t they friends?”
“At one time. Years ago.”
Scott shrugged. “Mrs. M, kids can fool you.”
Hattie nodded. Out of nowhere, she thought of a funny question Orin had asked. It had seemed silly, but now it made all the sense in the world. “Scott, what would you say is the front side of a blank sheet of paper?”
Scott looked perplexed. “Um. I don’t know.”
“It’s silly, of course. Whatever side you write on becomes the front side.”
Scott’s lips twisted into a grin.
“Yes, Jason was in my yard, at least once. But there are two sides to a piece of paper.”
“I’m afraid you lost me.”
“He could have entered from the back or the front.”
“You mean from your house or from the plaza?”
“Exactly.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But what difference would that make?”
Reluctant to discuss her suspicions, Hattie shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just shows how easily one can think a certain way when there are other possibilities. Did you sign the card?”
“Yep.” He handed it over.
“Thanks. I’m sure the family will appreciate it.”
Hattie opened the card. His words were simple and to the point: Condolences, Scott Richards.
“Would you like to contribute toward the expenses?”
“Expenses?” he asked, not seeming to understand.
“For the funeral parlor.”
“Sure.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded twenty-dollar bill. “Would this be enough?”
“That’s very generous. Thank you.”
Scott handed her the money and spoke in a confidential tone. “I’m not sure if you know, but Jason’s mother has been going through plenty this past year.” He edged forward. “Mr. Meeks ran off with another woman, leaving the family with a lot of bills.”
“How awful,” Hattie said.
“Oh, yeah. Credit card debt, liens on the house, and their car may even get repossessed. You get the picture.”
Hattie got the picture alright, and it made her stomach clench. “That poor woman.”
“And she’s very nice. Keeps a beautiful home.”
Hattie nodded vaguely, as she had another thought. “Scott, did you see Jason yesterday?”
“Jason?”
“When he delivered the papers.”
“No. I was asleep. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering if he was with anyone.”
“While delivering papers?”
“Maybe a friend. Sometimes, he had helpers.”
“Couldn’t say. Sorry.”
“And he wasn’t dressed properly.”
“Dressed? You mean what he wore? Didn’t you see the…you know?”
“The body? Yes. But some things weren’t right.”
“Like what?”
Hattie sighed. “His coat wasn’t buttoned. He wasn’t wearing his hat.”
“It was awfully windy yesterday.”
“And there were other things.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
Hattie rushed in. “What did you hear?”
“The guys in the ambulance. They said it looked like drugs.”
Hattie’s insides caved in. “No. Never. Not Jason. And people shouldn’t be spreading rumors.”
Scott reared back. “I’m sorry Mrs. M. I’m not spreading anything. It’s what I overheard. I don’t believe it either.”
Hattie nodded. “Thank heaven. I’ve been beside myself.”
“Of course, you have. To be honest, I don’t know how you’ve managed. Finding him had to be a shock.”
“It was terrible. Still is. That poor boy.”
Concern registered on Scott’s face.
“And to think…”
“Think what, Mrs. M?”
“Nothing’s being done to find out what really happened.”
“But the police were here. I’m sure it’s being handled.”
“They’re running tests, according to Ted.”
“Ted?”
“Ted Blansky. He’s the detective who came here. He and Howie went to school together.”
“Hmm. Small world.”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. M, try not to worry.”
“I’m not worried, just concerned. Point is there’s a critical difference between what Jason died from and how it happened.”
Scott looked confused. “Makes sense, I guess.” He slapped his hands on the table. “I gotta get going. Please call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you.”
After the door closed, Hattie shook her head. For someone who didn’t know Jason’s family, Scott seemed to know quite a bit about them. Was it gossip he had heard or first-hand knowledge? Either way, Hattie concluded, Scott would never be one to confide in.
Chapter Eight
Twenty minutes after Scott’s departure, there was a signature tap-tap-tap on the front window. Ralph. He never bothered to knock, ring the doorbell, or call on the telephone. His usual approach was rapping on the glass.
She walked to the front window and yanked aside the curtain. Hugging a rolled-up section of chain-link, Ralph peered at her from inches away. “Came to fix your fence.”
Hattie pointed to the front door and raised her voice. “Can I speak with you a moment?”
He nodded and slipped in the direction of the steps.
“What’s up?” he said as Hattie wrestled with the storm door.
“Please come in.”
He leaned the fencing against the railing and entered. “So, how’s Muriel?”
“I called her a few times during the night. She’s feeling much better.”
He grunted.
“Don’t say anything, Ralph. You know Muriel and I are friends. I prefer not to hear it.”
“What’s wrong with that woman?”
Hattie shook her head, ignoring his question. For years poor Muriel was chasing a man who couldn’t tolerate her.
“Ralph, do you know what would make me happy?”
“Is she suicidal?”
“Excuse me?”
“Does she have a death wish?”
Hattie felt heated. “I think it’s hard to commit suicide with another person around, don’t you? I mean except for that Doctor Death, most people seem to prefer doing it alone.”
His lips curled into a smirk. “And what about the other day when she was alone and ended up in the hospital?”
He had a point there. But that was an accident and certainly not planned.
“Ralph, if you were to cross a street and get killed by a car, would it be an accident or a suicide attempt?”
“I suppose it would depend on what I was thinking at the time.”
“Of course,” Hattie said. “Suicide requires intent. Accidents don’t.”
His eyes gleamed. “So, you’re saying Muriel never thinks about what she does. No argument here.”
Hattie sighed heavily. Ralph was so entrapped in his singular world of black and white.
He continued. “She’s like a plug with too many wires.”
Hattie forced a smile. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“All jumbled up and ready to blow. To sum it up, gonzo.”
“Gonzo?”
“Nuts.”
Hattie raised her eyebrows. “How colorful.”
“But what woman has sense? Present company excluded,” he added with a wink.
Hattie shivered. Being in Ralph’s good graces didn’t feel flattering. “How about a nice cup of tea, something to relax you?”
Reaching down, he unsnapped the buckles on his heavy black boots and pulled out his feet. He wore corduroy slippers. “Take the other one for instance.”
“What other one?”
“Roxanne. Did you see her yesterday? When the police were here? She was standing out front.”
“Oh, yes.”
> “She may be rich, but she’s a bimbo. Who else would stand outside in the middle of freezing rain with bare feet?”
“Ralph, that’s ridiculous. I’m sure she wore shoes.”
“Then how did I see her purple toenails?”
“Ralph, the question is why were you looking?”
“Hey, listen, I never look. But when someone waves a red cape at you, what are you supposed to do?”
“Ralph, you’re not a bull. You’re a man.”
“I was speaking…what’s the word? Metaphorically.”
“Of course, you were. Now remind me, how many sugars do you like in your tea?”
“Two. She walks around naked, you know. And don’t say I shouldn’t be looking. I’m not. All I’m doing is sitting in my living room minding my own beeswax, when she struts back and forth to the window, closing it, opening it, unable to decide if she’s too hot or too cold. Damn fool. What she needs to do is get dressed.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?”
“Heck no. And I can prove it.”
Oh Lordy, once Ralph’s lips loosened nothing stopped him. “Ralph, you don’t have to prove anything. It simply isn’t right speaking of other people the way you do.”
“Suffice it to say she’s not a natural blonde.”
Hattie sighed heavily. “Shame on you Ralph. Perhaps you need to close your curtains.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Anyway, no matter what she looks like, she ain’t no lady. Cripes sake, she’s got a teenage boy in that house. I’m telling you, something’s not right with her and it ain’t just a few loose screws. She’s more scattered than confetti in a parade.” He laughed heartily. “Hey, that’s pretty funny.”
Orin had often said Ralph was as scaly as a yellow pike, but Hattie thought his bristly nature hid some troubling undercurrent. She pulled out a dining room chair. “Have a seat.”
He settled his large frame at the table.
Personality aside, Ralph was an attractive man. Robust, Hattie would say. And although his nails were not always clean and his hands were full of callouses, he never went long without a shave or a haircut.
He looked at her eagerly. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
“Ralph, there are a couple of things I’d like to discuss.” She slid the sympathy card toward him. “For starters, I’ve begun a card for Jason’s family. Would you care to write something? I’m also taking up a collection.”
Murder in the Pachysandra Page 5
