by Leslie Meier
“I’m not saying anything of the kind,” Hayley said calmly and deliberately, which made Beatrice even more flustered than she already was.
“I swear to you, I have never fired a gun in my life and I am not about to start now! I despise guns! Rifles, pistols, all kinds! When Nate was alive, he loved to shoot cans in the backyard! It used to drive me crazy! All those loud shots ringing in my ears! Just a few weeks ago, I had to adjust my hearing aids so I wouldn’t have to listen to all the loud banging!”
Hayley raised an eyebrow. “You heard shots recently?”
Beatrice’s face froze momentarily as she realized she had probably just said too much. “Yes, but it wasn’t out in the woods!”
Hayley stepped forward. “Where was it, Beatrice?”
Beatrice rang her hands together and hemmed and hawed before finally admitting, “Up in Ellsworth. There is a private firing range just outside of town on Route 3 and I accompanied a friend who just happens to be a proud card-carrying member of the NRA and wanted to do a little target practice.”
“May I ask who this friend of yours is?”
“No, you may not, Hayley! That’s none of your business frankly! People are entitled to a little privacy, and so it’s not up to me to tell you anything about her hobbies!”
“Her?”
Beatrice was about to have a full-on meltdown at this point, but instead of dissolving completely in front of Hayley, she simply stepped back inside her house and slammed the door shut. Hayley then jumped in her car and drove straight to Ellsworth. She knew where the shooting range was located, and when she arrived, she found a lanky, sleepy-eyed young kid, around fifteen, sitting behind the counter next to a computer.
“You have to be a member to be admitted,” the kid said, scratching the heavy acne on his face.
“I’m from the Maine Department of Fishing and Wildlife, which includes jurisdiction over hunting and firearms, so I know you have to be over eighteen to be working at a business with firearms,” Hayley said sternly, folding her arms, glaring at the kid, who suddenly looked scared.
“I’m just watching the counter until my dad gets back,” the kid tried to explain, forgetting to ask Hayley for any proper identification.
“Where is he?”
The kid appeared to be on the verge of tears. “He just went to pick up sandwiches at Subway. He’s been gone like ten minutes!”
“I came here to check your membership to make sure everyone is legally licensed. If you can help me with that, maybe I will forget reporting your father,” Hayley said.
The kid whipped the desktop computer around so Hayley could see the list of members who had been using the shooting range in the last month. As she scrolled down, she came across a familiar name.
Dottie Willis.
She looked up at the kid whose eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, he was so nervous about getting arrested. She had him right where she wanted.
“Do you know this woman?” Hayley asked.
“Dottie? Sure do. She’s in here all the time. But she has a permit to carry. I made a copy of it myself to put in her membership file.”
“When was she last here?”
“A few weeks ago. She came by with the Granny Gang,” the kid said, shaking his head and grinning. “Sometimes she brings along some of her old lady friends. They have lunch up here in Ellsworth, do some shopping at Marsden’s, and then swing by here to watch Dottie shoot. There’s Betty, Evie and . . . Mary, I think.”
Beatrice, Ethel and Mildred.
But close enough. And it was all Hayley needed to start putting the pieces together that formed a clear picture of what really happened to Wendi Jo Willis.
Chapter Nineteen
Hayley rang the bell next to the front door of Dottie Willis’s house, but knew she was not at home. She turned around and zeroed in on a flowerpot on the porch floor. She remembered Dottie mentioning that she kept a key underneath it just in case Wendi Jo stopped by when she was not at home. She crossed over to it, bent down, and lifted the pot. Sure enough, there was a rusted metal key. She set the flowerpot down a few inches to the right, scooped up the key, and let herself inside the house. She knew she was breaking the law, but she also knew Sergio was working on a warrant, and that would take time, and if the owner of the shooting range, or his son, somehow tipped off Dottie, then she might have time to get rid of the murder weapon before the police got their hands on it.
The house was eerily quiet, and Hayley had not informed Sergio when she called him with the information she had discovered that she planned on breaking into it. But she prayed that she would have enough time to do a quick search and maybe find the gun in question before Dottie arrived home. After looking around downstairs, Hayley hustled up the creaky stairs to the bedrooms, opening drawers and dropping to her hands and knees to check under the bed. Finally, she focused on the closet in Dottie’s room, and suspecting the gun might be in a shoebox, opened a few that were stacked on the top shelf. Unfortunately, all the boxes were filled with shoes, as advertised.
She crossed to the nightstand next to the bed. She opened it to find a couple of novels and a notepad and pen for writing. She circled around the bed and opened the nightstand drawer on the other side. It was empty. That’s when she noticed that the bottom was raised higher than the drawer in the matching nightstand on the other side of the bed. She knocked on it and it sounded hollow. It was a fake bottom. She pressed down on one end and, it popped up, and she was able to remove the fake bottom to reveal a pistol underneath. Bingo!
She grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and came back and lifted the gun out of the drawer with it in order to preserve any fingerprints. She rushed out of the bedroom and down the stairs, freezing on the bottom step as the front door swung open, and Dottie entered the house, her “Granny Gang” behind her, Beatrice, Ethel, and Mildred.
“What are you doing in my house?” Dottie yelled.
She realized that it was the second time someone had asked her that question in the span of two days.
Hayley held up the gun covered with the white washcloth. “I came for this. It’s over, Dottie. I know it was you who shot Wendi Jo.”
“Pray tell, why? Why on earth do you think I would kill my own daughter?” Dottie scoffed, turning to her pals for support. They all shook their heads, acting disgusted by Hayley’s preposterous ideas.
“Because Wendi Jo wanted to sell this house and put you in an assisted-living facility,” Hayley said. “She would get a big fat commission on the sale and she wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of you anymore. When you refused to go along with the plan, she began pushing the issue. . . .”
“I told you she was onto you!” Beatrice cried.
“Shut up, Bea!” Dottie hissed.
“Anyone who knew Wendi Jo knew she was stubborn and aggressive. Once she got something into her head, she just couldn’t let it go. And she was determined to get you out of this house and out of her hair. But the thing is, Wendi Jo didn’t get her ornery and headstrong personality from her father. No, she got it from you! You’re just as tough and tenacious as she is, even more so, and there was no way you were going to allow her to take away your freedom. It must have all come to a head that night when she was last here, and in a fit of rage, fearing she was going to convince people you were too frail to look after yourself, you shot her! Twice!”
Dottie glared at Hayley, then clapped her hands, applauding her. “What a lovely performance, Hayley! So believable and impressive. But there is one big flaw in your fascinating tale. My mind may still be sharp, but look at me. Do you honestly think I have the physical stamina to move my daughter’s body from here? Of course not! I have arthritis in my hands and a bad back! I couldn’t lift a Maine coon cat let alone my overweight daughter!”
“You’re right,” Hayley said, nodding. “You could not have moved Wendi Jo’s body to the woods . . . alone.”
This caught the attention of Beatrice, Mildred, and Ethel, who sudd
enly shrank back from Dottie, who stood firm, relishing the confrontation, unintimidated by Hayley’s musings.
“You had help from the Granny Gang, as the boy from the shooting range in Ellsworth referred to you all,” Hayley said.
The mention of the shooting range caused Mildred to gasp.
Dottie shot her an admonishing look to keep quiet.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You were all best friends, willing to do anything in order to protect each other. None of you could stand the fact that Wendi Jo was going to ruin her mother’s life, your dinners out, your weekly card games, by putting her in a home.”
“I could never kill anyone!” Ethel gasped.
“I believe you, Ethel. But Dottie could. And once it became clear that she had shot Wendi Jo, you did find the strength to help her cover up the crime. You all worked as a team to move the body to the woods and bury it, hoping it would never be found. It was there that Beatrice dropped her locket, probably when she was helping dig the hole in the ground.”
“Dottie, what are we going to do?” Mildred cried. “She’s going to go to the police!”
“Relax, Mildred! No one knows she’s here. She’s not going anywhere,” Dottie said, speaking in a very calm and measured tone.
“What? No, we can’t! Not again—” Beatrice wailed.
“What do you mean again? You barely got your hands dirty! But as for me, I have no problem making sure all of this stays a secret, no matter what has to be done.”
Hayley unwrapped the washcloth and held the gun out.
Beatrice, Ethel, and Mildred all raised their hands in the air.
“It’s empty,” Dottie said, cackling. “There are no bullets. I got rid of them all after I shot Wendi Jo.”
Hayley lowered the gun. “You were right about me not going anywhere, Dottie. But you were wrong about no one knowing I’m here.”
“What are you talking about?” Dottie spit out. Hayley pointed toward the front door, which was still ajar from when the Granny Gang first arrived. The flashing blue lights of a squad car parked out front caught their attention and all four women deflated at the sight of Police Chief Sergio Alvares marching up the footpath toward the house.
Chapter Twenty
When Hayley arrived home after witnessing the arrests of Dottie and the Granny Gang by Sergio and a few of his officers, there was a large moving truck pulling away from the Salinger house. Damien, Rosemary, and their two kids, Casper and Carrie, watched the truck disappear around the corner before they began loading their station wagon with a few remaining boxes and suitcases.
Hayley pulled into her driveway, got out of her car, and gingerly walked across the lawn toward the Salingers. When Damien noticed her approaching, he frowned and then turned to his wife and children, growling, “Get in the car.”
“You’re moving?” Hayley asked.
Damien nodded. “We rented a place up in Waterville. Rosemary has family there. Hopefully the neighbors won’t bother us so much.”
“Again, I can’t tell you how sorry I am . . .”
“Just don’t be so quick to judge the next family that moves in next door to you . . .” Damien said, shaking his head.
“I wish you were going to be around long enough to let me make it up to you. We normally don’t act like this, but sometimes my husband gets these wild ideas in his head . . .” Hayley tried to explain before noticing that Damien appeared unsympathetic to her cause and didn’t care to hear anymore. “But there is no excuse.”
“They’re not so wild . . .” Damien murmured.
“I beg your pardon?” Hayley asked.
“Don’t get me wrong. You, your husband. and your kids are a big reason we’re moving, but I’d be lying if I said there weren’t . . . other reasons.”
“Like what?”
“The kids were always hearing strange noises, like moaning, or people whispering when they were trying to go to sleep at night, and Rosemary swore she saw a woman in the attic when she was moving some boxes up there . . . and well . . . I’m sure it was nothing . . . Anyway, good-bye, Hayley. I wish I could say I was going to miss you.”
Hayley took the dig in stride because she knew she deserved it. She leaned down and waved at Rosemary, who sat upright in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. “Good-bye, Rosemary.”
Rosemary didn’t answer and refused to make eye contact.
Hayley tried with the kids sitting in the back seat. “Be sure to let us know how you’re doing!”
Casper was busy reading a comic book while Carrie stared at her with those cold dead eyes that always sent a shiver up Hayley’s spine.
Damien turned his back on her, slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and then backed the station wagon out of the driveway and roared off down the street, happy to be leaving Bar Harbor behind for good.
Hayley couldn’t help but feel a twinge of relief that the Salingers were moving out of town. Granted, she and her own family had practically driven them out, but the fact remained they were an odd brood, more than a bit unsettling, and perhaps now a friendlier family might move in, and pretty soon they could be having festive Sunday block parties and barbecues. That is, if anyone would be willing to ignore the house’s checkered past and the spooky stories swirling around it.
As Hayley returned to her house to start dinner for her own odd brood, she turned around to take another look at the house next door, abruptly deserted once again. Something caught her eye up in a second-floor window belonging to one of the three bedrooms. A woman in what looked like a long flowing gown from another period, her long hair blowing as if she was standing near a fan, stood there with a haunted look on her face as she raised a hand toward Hayley.
Hayley gasped, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.
The woman was gone.
No.
She was not going to buy into this nonsense anymore.
The house next door was definitely not haunted.
And that’s what she would keep telling herself.
Whether she actually believed it or not.
Bar Harbor Cooking
by
Hattie Jenkins
Sorry my column is so short today, but I have to drive up to Ellsworth to shop for some Thanksgiving decorations at Walmart. I also have to make a stop at the Hancock County Jail to visit some dear friends of mine.
As I’m sure most of you have heard by now, the terrible murder of our most successful local real estate agent Wendi Jo Willis has finally been solved. Wait, let me amend that statement and say one of our most successful local real estate agents. I don’t need that loud-mouthed Liddy Crawford calling me at the office to complain.
Well, needless to say, I was shocked to find out the perpetrator was none other than her own mother, Dottie Willis. And if that wasn’t awful enough, that malevolent old bat even roped her best friends into helping her! I knew Dottie had a temper. In fact, I witnessed firsthand one of her legendary tantrums that time her ball went in the gutter on our bowling league night. But Lordy, I never thought she was that bad! Thank God she never played bingo with us at the Ladies Auxiliary.
You all know I am never one to gossip, but I heard through a very reliable source that when Dottie and her accomplices were being carted to the courthouse for their arraignment, Dottie had a sudden “heart episode” and she is now resting comfortably at the hospital in Ellsworth with a handsome guard posted outside her private room while her best friends are rotting in a jail cell awaiting trial. I’m not saying Dottie faked her ailment in order to improve upon her living conditions, but you have to admit, it is highly suspicious. And we all know she was the mastermind of the whole insidious plot, so it just doesn’t seem fair to Beatrice, Ethel, and Mildred.
That’s why after I’m done shopping I’m going to go play cards with the girls at the county jail. They sent word that they needed a fourth since they’re no longer on speaking terms with Dottie. I also thought I would surprise them with a pan of my delicious homemade
Fall Apple Cobbler. The girls have been starved for something sweet. The most they can expect at the end of a meal in jail is a jiggling blob of bland green Jell-O. So I got permission from the county sheriff to bring my cobbler for them to enjoy. And don’t worry, I didn’t bake my cobbler with a hidden hacksaw for those Golden Girls to use to break out. Sorry, just a little jail humor. I couldn’t resist.
Hattie’s Fall Apple Cobbler
Ingredients:
8 tablespoons butter (1 stick), melted
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup self-rising flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
1 can apple pie filling
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
Pour your melted butter into a 2-quart baking dish.
In a large mixing bowl add your sugar, flour, cinnamon, and salt. Mix to combine.
Stir the milk into the flour mixture and stir to combine.
Pour the mixture onto the melted butter. Do not stir.
Spoon apple pie mixture evenly over the top. Do not stir.
Bake in the preheated oven 40 to 45 minutes or until crust rises and top is golden brown.
HALLOWED OUT
Barbara Ross
Chapter One
“Over my dead body!” My mother, my sweet, petite, unfailingly polite mother, raised her voice and crossed her arms over her chest.
“No, madam,” Harley Prendergast replied. “Over hers.” He pointed dramatically to a spot on the floor in my mother’s front hall near the archway that led to the living room. As far as I could tell from my vantage point on the porch watching the interaction through the open front door, there was nothing on the old oak floorboards except a few late-morning sunbeams.
