He opened the card and lifted it to arm’s length. “I see you’ve already spoken with the idiot.”
“Are you referring to Scott?”
“Yes, the illustrious Mr. Richards.”
“Ralph, you need to let things go.”
“Baloney.”
Bad blood ran between the two men. It began with some nonsense about property lines, but escalated after Ralph’s untrimmed, fifty-year-old maple tree continued to drop seeds and leaves into Scott’s gutter; a situation which Scott settled with a ladder and chainsaw while Ralph was out.
Ralph turned the card over as if looking for something more. “Clearly, a man of few words and fewer brains, I see.”
“We all have our own way of expressing grief.”
He glanced at Hattie and gave a “Humph.”
“The pen’s in front of you. I’ll get your tea.”
Walking from the room, Hattie concluded general bitterness was at the center of Ralph’s core. He had been married once long before she had known him, then widowed early by a drunk driver. Unfortunately, there weren’t any children. Perhaps, living alone with only his reflection as company made a man singularly self-absorbed.
Of all her neighbors, Ralph was the most frequent visitor. The small repairs of an older home were never ending. Leaky faucets, stopped up drains, burned-out light bulbs, and the litany of outdoor chores kept him busy and in change for his breakfasts at the diner.
Minutes passed as she assembled the tea. She stopped and listened. Was a chair being skidded across the floor? She poked her head out the kitchen and peeked down the hallway. A corner of Ralph’s empty chair was in clear view. What could he be up to? She collected the tray and went into the dining room.
Oddly, he was standing at one of the windows. Curtains draped around the back of him as if he were taking a photograph with an old-fashioned camera.
“Ralph?”
His body jolted. He spun around. “Checking the sash cords. They rot after time, you know.”
Hattie placed down the tray. “Are they alright?”
“Are what alright?” he said, yanking the drapes closed.
“The cords.”
“Oh yeah, look fine to me. Nice and tight.”
“That’s a relief. One less thing to worry about.”
He walked back to the table. “Hattie as long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry about anything.”
“That’s nice of you Ralph,” she said sincerely. After all, even though he could be blustery, he was helpful.
Settling back in his seat, he took a sip of tea. “I talked with your neighbors yesterday.”
“The Spencers?”
“Yeah. Told them I could take care of their leaves. But he blew me off. What a phony big shot. Thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
“Ralph, why would you say that?”
“You tell me. What kind of man has his wife mow the lawn and paint while he stands around drinking coffee? Heck, she’s the one always working. He’s no real man. Cripes, if he doesn’t want to do it, he should hire someone.”
Hattie sat down and smiled, “Someone like you maybe?”
“No, it’s not that. He’s taking advantage. I can see it, smell it. That poor girl.”
‘Poor girl’ was such an odd expression coming from Ralph. After all Julia was a grown woman with a good job and a handsome, successful husband.
Ralph turned his eyes away and muttered, “She deserves better.” He then attended to the condolence card, picked up the pen, and began writing.
Hattie watched him. Was he jealous of the young lovers, resentful of their sweet time together? Perhaps it was difficult to accept another man’s good fortune when he was denied it. Well, as Orin had said, “In life, no one gets to shuffle their own deck or pick what’s wild.”
Ralph stared off then resumed writing.
As he wrote, Hattie considered how to bring up his nosiness. Yes, an approach that questioned his ethics may be best.
Hattie spoke up. “Ralph, we have to come to some kind of understanding.”
“About what?”
There was no need to be coy. “You must stop spying on me and running off to Howie with every little detail.”
“I don’t do that!”
“Ralph, was it really necessary to tell him about last night?”
“I thought—”
“No, Ralph, you didn’t think. Everything was under control.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
Hattie felt flushed. How was she going to conduct a proper investigation if he was shadowing her every move?
“Ralph, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be totally honest.”
He looked at her intently. “Yes, what is it?”
“Do you think I’m . . . gonzo?”
He reared back. “You? No way.”
“Then why don’t you trust my judgment.”
“It’s not that at all.”
“Does it have to do with money?”
“Money?”
“Is Howie paying you to spy on me?”
“Hell, no. I would never take—”
“Then why do you do it?”
“We’re just looking out for you.”
“Ralph, have kids ever made fun of you when you’re in public?”
A perplexed look came over his face.
“It happens to me. Oh, they’re children and I pay no mind, but when someone is an adult and treats me as some dithering old fool, I do take offense.”
He shifted in his seat.
“I’m not sure how much you know, but Howie wants me in a Home. Would you like to live in a Home?”
“I—”
“Bells and whistles, Ralph. Twenty-four hours of them. Telling you when to get up, eat, go to bed. Bed pans and nurses in squeaky shoes and neighbors who are whisked away in the middle of the night, never seen nor heard from again. I’m talking about my freedom here, Ralph, my one and only inalienable right granted to me by the Constitution of the United States of America.”
Ralph’s eyes flickered. “Good point.”
“Another good point is that a man is innocent until proven guilty, and it’s wrong of you to assume that I’m behaving oddly when you don’t know the whole story.”
A glimmer of understanding crossed his face.
It was time for the big finale. “You see, Ralph, the Constitution made plenty of good points and we mustn’t forget them.”
He nodded heartily.
“All I’m asking is that you afford me the courtesy of speaking with me first before going off to Howie. Is that an unreasonable request?”
“No, not at all.”
“Good, then we understand each other.”
“You’re a sharp cookie.”
“Thank you, Ralph. That’s nice to hear.”
He slapped his hands on the table. “Got to fix that fence.”
“Yes. The fence.” Hattie echoed. “By the way, did Howie say why he wanted it fixed?”
“It was my idea. Should have been done a long time ago. You don’t need people trespassing through your yard.”
“People? Who are you referring to?”
Ralph stalled for a moment. “No one specific. It’s a shortcut. Bound to be used.”
Hattie stared off. Hardly a thoroughfare, her property was in the middle of the block, tucked between houses on either side. As for the hole in the fence, it was hidden behind dense foliage and couldn’t be seen from her house. So, who exactly were those people? Yes, of course... neighbors. After all, why would a stranger know about or need to use the shortcut?
“Hattie, you okay?
Hattie regrouped. “Could you also rake up the backyard leaves?”
“Sure.”
“And if you find Jason’s baseball cap, let me know. He didn’t have it on when I found him. I think the family would appreciate having it. Jason loved it so.”
“I’ll keep my eye out.”
“Thanks, Ral
ph. Did you sign the card?”
He slid it toward her. “Here you go.”
“Ralph, what do you suppose happened to Jason?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Did he strike you as the kind of boy who used drugs?”
“Don’t know. People aren’t always what they seem.”
“Yes, you certainly are right about that.”
As he lifted his heavy frame from the chair, Hattie opened the card. His writing was smooth and even. My thoughts and prayers are with you during this difficult time. While words of consolation may seem trite from a stranger, I am truly sorry for Jason’s unfortunate and untimely passing. Please know that the spirit lives on and never dies. R. Troutman.
“Ralph, this is quite beautiful.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said timidly.
“I’m sure the Meekses will appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
He patted his chest pockets, then dug into his pants. Taking out his wallet, he pulled out two five-dollar bills.
“Thanks, Ralph.”
He cleared his throat. “Got to fix that fence.” As he went toward the front door, she heard a sniffling noise.
“Ralph, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just gettin’ a damn cold.”
“Of course. This time of year is the worst. Such dampness.”
Bending down to put on his boots, he wiped his face. Once upright, he avoided Hattie’s gaze and left without saying good-bye.
Hattie closed the door. Ralph was a bundle of contradictions––openly suspicious, guardedly caring, and just when he seemed predictable, he’d surprise her. She looked at Orin’s picture. “Scaly as a yellow pike and soft as a bunny rabbit. Who would have expected?” Orin’s sweet brown eyes seemed to agree. “Well, time to get back to the task at hand.”
Returning to the kitchen and the shortbread cookies, the phone rang.
“It’s me,” Muriel said. “I just saw Ralph leave. Did he mention me?”
Hattie smiled. “As a matter of—”
“No don’t tell me. I want to hear every detail. When are you coming over?”
“Soon. First, I want to pay a visit to Wolfgang.”
“Wolf? That snake? He scared the bejesus out of us. Are you going to tell him off? I’ll join you. I can be at your place in five minutes.”
Hattie froze. Dealing with Wolfgang wasn’t going to be easy, less so with Muriel’s temper. Her words rushed out. “No. Stay home. Relax. I’m getting together a condolence card from the neighbors. I’ll bring it along.”
“Oh. Alright. Have you had lunch?”
“No. It’s been very busy around here.”
“Great. I’ll put a pie in the oven. I have ice cream and coffee or tea to go with.”
“Muriel, how about some tuna? Got plenty to make sandwiches. It would be healthier.”
“Don’t make me barf. Later.”
“But—”
A click resounded in Hattie’s ear.
Chapter Nine
Mouse-like and hidden in the shadows, Hattie crouched in a corner of her unlit kitchen and peered through the edge of the window into the Spencers’ breakfast nook. Her boots were on, her coat buttoned. A hat covered most of her head, but from the edge of her eye, she could see a few errant strands of white hair. She brushed them aside and continued her vigil.
The day’s weather had taken a turn. Sparse snow now blew every which way. A large snowflake interrupted her gaze. She followed its winsome path until it disappeared. The moment held meaning. She mustn’t give up, she told herself––no matter what. Her gaze returned to her neighbor’s window.
The plan was simple, once the light flipped on she was going to pay a little visit and have a talk with Wolfgang. After some thought, she had decided that speaking with him alone would be more productive than with Julia present, especially since his activity the previous evening was most curious. Did he often sneak through her yard? Would he be aware of anyone else who did?
A tin of shortbread cookies had been wrapped and placed on the table ready to go. She glanced at the clock. It was close to noon. While waiting, she ran a few ideas past her husband.
“Orin, perhaps Jason never entered the yard from this side at all, but came from the other side of the fence. Wolfgang made that clear last night.” But how did Jason get to that spot? Had he been carried? Dragged?
From what Hattie knew, the back stretch of blacktop behind the small plaza was used for deliveries. The driveway into the area was just around the corner. She’d have to take a walk and pick up where the police never started.
Hattie sighed. The Spencers’ kitchen remained dark. Feeling stifled, she unfastened the top button of her coat and readjusted herself in the chair.
In the distance she could hear Ralph’s reverberating hammering. That fence should have been fixed years ago. A weak smile crossed her lips. “Yes, Orin, I can imagine that you’d be complaining about that along with the damn leaves and how the gutters have to be cleaned for the second time this month.” A tear gathered in the corner of her eye. How they argued that first year after he retired. Suddenly without a plan or purpose, he was like a boat in dry dock. Luckily, things worked out as he undertook with a zealot’s fervor the never-ending chores and repairs that cropped up with each season. Why the Christmas lights alone would take him weeks. Hattie wiped her cheek. “Oh, Orin.”
A soft yellow glow brightened the inside of her neighbor’s kitchen. Hattie leaned forward. Seconds later, Wolfgang’s head appeared above the café curtains. Hattie grabbed the tin and headed out the door.
The Spencers’ home had undergone a subtle but distinct transformation after the couple moved in. While the red brick remained the same, the addition of black shutters and bronze sconces installed on either side of the door, gave the place a rich modern look.
Hattie pressed the small, lit doorbell pad and heard a pleasant chime. She stepped back and squared her shoulders.
Suddenly, the front door flew open. Wolfgang, dressed impeccably in black trousers and an oxford blue shirt, was on the phone. Brusquely, he told whoever it was to hold and placed the phone to his chest. “What can I do for you?”
Hattie understood the look. She had seen it over the years, a look that said, I’m in a hurry, you’re taking too much of my time. But she had developed a solution. It was simple––defer and deflect; be polite and make the conversation about the other person.
Hattie smiled pleasantly. “Wolfgang, how are you this morning?”
His gaze peered beyond her, seemingly to assess the weather conditions. “Um, okay. I’m on the phone.”
“Yes, of course you are, dear.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ve baked some cookies and thought–”
He cracked open the storm door. “I can’t hear you.”
Hattie grabbed the handle and opened the door wider. “Would you mind if I come in for a moment? Gas bills are outrageous and I wouldn’t want you to lose heat on my account.”
Nodding vaguely, he stepped aside. Hattie strode into a cloud of aftershave. His slightly damp, black hair was parted sharply giving him the innocence of a choir boy.
“Listen, can I call you back? Yes, I have your number.” With no good-bye, he pressed a button. “So what’s up?”
She held out the tin. “This summer I gave Julia some cookies. She said you loved them, so this morning I decided to double the recipe.”
“Oh.” He reached clumsily for the container. “Julia’s at work. I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
Suddenly, the phone purred.
“I’m in the middle of a big deal and—”
Hattie spoke before he could finish. “Yes, I see you’re very busy. But there’s one small thing I need to speak with you about. Please take your call. I’m in no hurry.”
A fleeting exasperated look crossed his face. He swept his arm toward an archway. “Have a seat in the living room. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done.”
“Thank you. Take your
time.”
Abruptly, he stepped aside and answered the phone. “Spencer.”
Hattie entered the room. The indoor shutters had been folded open and what little light there was reflected off the pale yellow walls. An Oriental rug lay on the highly polished floor. Huddled in the center, was a leather sofa and two matching chairs. A curious assortment of clocks, whose pendulums hung dormant, hung on every wall.
Striding across the carpet, Hattie settled into one of the chairs.
Wolfgang’s voice was low and rumbling in another part of the house.
Hattie reassessed the room. It was quite beautiful, but hardly lived in. There were no left-behind cups or newspapers. Perhaps it was all those stopped clocks that made the room uncomfortably eerie, or maybe it was her imagination. Hattie shrugged. People didn’t use living rooms like they used to. They had family rooms to spend time in.
Hattie unbuttoned her coat and thought about how to broach the subject of his previous night’s activity. She would clearly have to resort to some topic that would settle him down and lead naturally to the event in question. “Yes, that might do,” she said quietly as the most ironic thought came to her. She smiled and readied herself as Wolfgang’s steps approached.
He reeled through the doorway, with phone in hand, and sank into the couch. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Where shall I start? Of course, you’ve heard about Jason Meeks, our paperboy.”
He crossed his legs and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Such a tragedy. Did you know him?”
“Not really.”
“Of course not, you just moved in. Well, he was a fine boy, very polite, helpful.”
“I’m sure.”
“By any chance, did you see him yesterday?”
He looked confused.
“In the morning, when he delivered the paper.”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I’m having trouble understanding what happened. If someone had seen or talked to him maybe I’d be able to—”
“Can’t help you Mrs. Moon. Sorry.”
Hattie picked up her purse. “I brought over a condolence card.” She reached inside. “I’m gathering signatures and a donation if you’re interested.”
Murder in the Pachysandra Page 6
