The Cemetery Club (Darcy & Flora Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Blanche Day Manos

  “My Jasper.” Pat shook her head. “After his dad left us, it was just Jasper and me against the world, seemed like. He was never good in his books; he’d rather be out in the woods. I swear he could talk to the animals. He found a baby owl once that had been injured and he took care of that bird until it was grown. It’s funny—he’s really good with electronics. If anything goes wrong with the television, he’s as handy as the pockets on a shirt. Now, how can he know so much about that and not care about reading or writing?”

  “The Lord gives everybody a gift,” Mom said. “Sometimes it makes up for something else. We are all lacking in some things and good in others. Computers, for instance. If something goes wrong with Darcy’s computer, she usually knows how to fix it, but I don’t know how and don’t care to learn. That’s just people for you.”

  “But you’re a good cook,” Pat said, “and you’ve got to admit, Flora Tucker, that you have a green thumb.”

  This conversation was veering off our purpose. “Does Jasper ever come home?” I asked. “Surely he comes for food?”

  “Yes, he comes and goes. He wouldn’t leave me unprotected. He feels like his job is taking care of me, so even when I don’t know where he is exactly, I figure he’s around somewhere close.”

  What a strange young man. And busy! He was the self-appointed protector for us as well as Pat, but she seemed to accept the fact that her son was different. Did she also accept the fact that he might have killed Ben?

  In spite of the tea, I felt overcome with weariness. Pat, struggling to raise her child alone, Jasper, being ridiculed by his peers; Ben, Skye, Jason Allred, all dead. And why? What made people blind to what was really important in the world? Why couldn’t we all just accept each other and get along? That was the eternal question: why?

  Setting my glass on the tray, I stood up. “Pat, when you see Jasper again, will you at least try to get him to talk to Grant?”

  Pat arose too. “I’ll try, Darcy, but I know he won’t do it. You see, since he’s the only one who knows where Ben’s body is, he’s afraid Grant will think he’s the killer. He has a mortal fear of being locked up. I just don’t think he would live if he couldn’t get out in the woods.”

  Mom handed Pat her empty glass. “Thank you for the tea, Pat. Come see us soon. We don’t get to visit often enough.”

  Walking to the door with us, Pat said, “I’ll do that. You all come back too, and Darcy, I’ll talk to Jasper, but I’m not promising anything.”

  Murphy rose from his rug and ambled to my car with us. I wondered if Pat would talk to Jasper about Ben’s hiding place or if she would broach the subject of murder. As I climbed into my Passport, I had the feeling that all Pat’s talk wouldn’t do any good. Jasper wasn’t about to let go of his secrets, any of them.

  Driving back down the bumpy driveway much more slowly than I had driven in, frustration brought tears to my eyes. Our mission had failed. We hadn’t accomplished anything.

  “Pat’s house is clean and cheery,” I said. “Those roses are beautiful, so why do I have the feeling that it’s a gloomy place? There seems to be a spirit of sadness hovering over it.”

  Mom gazed out at the trees, dappled by the sun. Another of those lovely blue-green birds streaked across in front of us. “I think it’s Pat’s fearfulness,” she said. “Jasper is all she has and she is worried sick about him. If that boy were taken away from her and put in jail, she’d suffer as much as he would.”

  Maneuvering around a pothole, I said, “I just don’t know what to do next, Mom.”

  “Wait and see what happens, I guess. Practice patience and be watchful and, most of all, pray a lot. Trust the Lord, Darcy. He will see us through.”

  I sincerely hoped Mom was right, but waiting was not easy. My inclination was to charge full speed ahead and get things done. Only thing was, now I didn’t know in what direction to charge. Patience was a virtue I did not possess. I had a mental image of being in a room with a door locked from the outside. I couldn’t get out and I didn’t know what threat was going to come through that door next.

  Chapter 20

  Levi’s weekly newspaper was delivered to my mother’s front yard every Thursday by 7 a.m. If Jackson Conner was right, the danger we were in would be doubled when her notice of probate was filed.

  Stepping onto the front porch with my cup of coffee, I breathed deeply of the peony and rose-scented morning. No paper yet lay in the yard, but then it was only 6:55. As I turned to go back into the house, I noticed a pickup truck parked on the road beside our driveway.

  A cold twinge of unease caused me to pause. Who was that? Could Ray Drake have changed vehicles and still be stalking us?

  As I stood on the porch, the door of the truck opened and a gray-haired man stepped out. “Good morning, Darcy!” he called. “Is everything all right with you this morning?”

  Although I had not seen Chuck Sullivan for several years, I recognized him immediately. A few years ago, he retired from the Oklahoma City police force after being shot in the leg. I remembered hearing that he returned to Levi and moved into his parents’ old home place outside of town.

  Pushing open the front gate, Chuck limped toward me. He stuck out his hand. I liked his warm, firm grip.

  “Good morning to you too, Chuck. What are you doing out our way so bright and early?”

  “Grant is worried about you and your mom. He asked for volunteers to keep an eye on you two. There are three of us who take eight-hour shifts, just to make sure nobody is hanging around who shouldn’t be.”

  So this was how Grant solved his deputy shortage problem. The rush of gratitude I felt toward Grant and these unselfish men warmed me.

  “Thanks more than I can say, Chuck. You must have been out here all night. Come on in for a cup of Mom’s coffee.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Miss Flora makes the best coffee in the whole state.”

  “I believe she has some fresh cinnamon rolls too,” I told him. “You’re welcome to both.”

  A familiar yellow Volkswagen Beetle slowed down as it reached the gate and Levi’s morning paper sailed into the yard.

  Trotting down the steps, I called, “I’ll just pick up the paper, Chuck, and be right in.”

  Compared to big city papers, this hometown paper was thin. I flipped it open as I walked back toward the house, skimming through to the back page. There, in bold black print was the notice I had been expecting:

  In the Probate Court of Ventris County, Oklahoma, in the Matter of the Estate of Benjamin W. Ventris, notice is hereby given that a petition to admit to probate a handwritten instrument to be the Last Will and Testament of Benjamin W. Ventris was filed in this court . . . .

  Reading further, the clerk’s signature was followed with Jackson Conner’s name, address, and phone number. Mom’s lawyer had worded the notice so that my mother was not mentioned but I knew that people would start guessing and the murderer would know for sure he wasn’t the petitioner. He almost surely would have a pretty good idea of who it was that beat him to the punch.

  Chuck Sullivan had been reading over my shoulder. Now, he followed me up the porch steps.

  “You know, Darcy,” Chuck said, “most folks around here believed old Ben was dirt-poor, but I always suspected otherwise. I investigated a case in Oklahoma City involving a murdered rancher. The dead man’s land bordered some oil land that belonged to Ben and Skye. Since this showed up in my investigation, I knew that Ben had to have a pretty good wad of money to buy that chunk of real estate.”

  Both Chuck and I saw the package at the same time—a canister-shaped box wrapped in paper decorated with pink roses with a big bow on top. It was in the lee of the porch just behind a pot of Mom’s red geraniums.

  Before either of us could speak, Mom opened the front door. “Good morning, Chuck,” she said, smiling. Stepping out of the house, she looked down and spied the package.

  “Why, look at that!” she said. “Where did that come from? Did you bring it, Chuck?”
>
  Chuck Sullivan shook his head. “Afraid not, Miss Flora. Wait a minute. Don’t pick it up just yet. Let me take a look at it. I’ve been parked in front of your house all night and the only person I’ve seen anywhere close has been that newspaper boy a few minutes ago. Whoever put that package there must have come by foot. If it wasn’t there yesterday, somebody was on the porch last night.”

  Bending closer to squint at the attached tag, Mom said, “It’s got my name on it.”

  Chuck motioned us back. “Move away from it, Miss Flora. You too, Darcy. I want to check this out.”

  Chuck carefully picked up the package and turned it around, frowning as he did so. “It’s not very heavy. Can’t weigh more than three or four pounds. Were you expecting something, Miss Flora?”

  My mother shook her head. “No. The only thing I can think of is a couple of weeks ago, I worked two days at the church rummage sale for Emily when she got sick. She said she was going to send me some flowers or candy. I’ll bet that’s what it is.”

  Chuck lifted the canister above his head to examine its underside. That’s when I saw a tiny spot on the bottom that the wrapping paper had not completely covered. An inch of fine copper wire protruded. Realization hit me like a freight train as I remembered a case I had covered for my newspaper a few years ago. If this thing had a timer that had been activated by the movement of picking it up, we all might have only a few seconds to live.

  Grabbing the package from Chuck’s hands, I ran down the steps and flung it toward our neighbor’s pasture. It tumbled end over end and lodged against the trunk of an elm.

  “What . . .” began Sullivan.

  All three of us heard it—a small pop like the breaking of a balloon. Mesmerized, we stared at a cloud of yellow dust pouring out of the box top. The dust cloud lasted for thirty seconds, then disappeared.

  My heart hammered against my ribs and I turned toward my mother. She stood like a marble statue, staring at the pasture.

  Chuck started down the steps.

  “No! Wait, Chuck!” I yelled. “Don’t go near that thing!”

  He kept walking. “I’m not going anywhere close, Darcy. I’m going to my truck for my cell phone. Grant has got to get out here. If it’s what I think it is, we’d all be dead right about now if you hadn’t thrown that thing when you did.”

  Mom’s eyes were big and scared. She tugged at my sleeve. “What under the sun are you two talking about? What was in that package?”

  Putting my arm around her shoulders, I said, “I’m afraid it’s poison dust, Mom. I wouldn’t have guessed, but my newspaper covered a case like this a few years ago when a similar package was sent to the mailbox of a state senator. According to what we found out then, that yellow dust was made from a deadly plant that grows only some place in Africa.”

  Chuck climbed back up the porch steps, his cell phone in his hand and joined the conversation. “I remember that too, Darcy. The Dallas cops determined the device was gang-related. Nobody found the bad guys, but the police report said that not many people knew about that particular poison. That timing mechanism was a devilish trick.”

  Mom was shivering as if she were in a blizzard. “How about the senator? Did he die?”

  Chuck nodded. “Afraid so, Miss Flora. He was dead when his wife found him but by that time, the poison had mostly dissipated. Enough was left, though, for the crime lab to analyze it.”

  Leaning against the porch railing, I whispered, “It sounds as if we are dealing with a big-time criminal, a professional crook.”

  Mom wobbled to the porch swing and sank down into it.

  My head was swimming. As if from a great distance, I heard Chuck talking to Grant. “We’ve got some pretty heavy stuff out here at Flora Tucker’s place,” he said. “Somebody left them a surprise package that nearly killed all of us. Yes, certainly, they are both all right.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Right. Will do.”

  Within ten minutes, the sheriff’s white truck roared down the road and skidded to a stop beside Chuck’s vehicle.

  Grant sprinted up the porch steps and grabbed my arms, his face pale.

  “Thank God you’re safe, Darcy,” he said hoarsely. “You too, Miss Flora.”

  Turning to Chuck, he said, “The crime lab boys will be here in a few minutes. Let’s take a look around.”

  I noticed that deputy Jim Clendon did not make an appearance.

  Mom and I went back into the house. I felt as weak and shaky as she looked. Grant and Chuck were professionals. They could do their job with no assistance from us; besides, I felt the need for a cup of coffee.

  My mother and I were sitting at the kitchen table, warming our cold hands around our coffee cups when Grant came into the kitchen, thirty minutes later.

  Pulling out a chair, he sat down facing us. “Miss Flora,” he said, “you’ve got to promise me something.”

  Puzzled, Mom gazed at him. “What is it, Grant?”

  “You both need to get out of town for a while. I don’t know why you haven’t left before now.” His voice and face looked grim. “Darcy may not have enough sense to realize the danger, but you do! The men I had patrolling your house didn’t catch this guy who left the booby trap, whoever he is. He seems to always be one step ahead of us, and I don’t know what he’s going to come up with next. So I’m ordering you to leave. Go to Florida or somewhere else far away. Take Darcy with you. And leave immediately before your enemy knows what you are up to.”

  My face felt hot. I could think of no retort. This blunt man certainly wasn’t the boy I had a crush on so many years ago.

  Mom answered for us. “Thank you, Grant, for your concern and patience. You’re right. The good Lord expects us to use the common sense he gave us. We have been a worry to you and those kind men who have been keeping watch over us. Darcy and I will leave for a vacation somewhere. The fault is mine, though, not Darcy’s. She wanted to leave some time ago but I’ve been the willful one. Just trying to prove a point, I guess.”

  Chapter 21

  After Grant and his men left, Mom and I continued to sit at the kitchen table, talking about what had happened and wondering where we should go. Knowing that someone hated us enough to kill us felt like a cold knot in my stomach. I had never come up against that kind of deadly thinking.

  We knew of no way to combat an unknown enemy who struck, then disappeared. The next attempt against our lives might be successful.

  “There’s a killer roaming these hills who is quite inventive about thinking of ways to commit murder,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to visit Georgia since finding out about Dahlonega and the gold. I’m sure Georgia is beautiful this time of year. I vote for going there as soon as we can.”

  My mother nodded. “I’ve wanted to go for a long time too. We could drive to Bet’s in Fayetteville tomorrow, stay overnight, then drive on from there.”

  “Still not wanting to fly, Mom?” I teased, knowing what her answer would be.

  “Not unless absolutely necessary,” she answered.

  I should have confessed to Grant everything we knew about Ben and his will and Jasper. If he jailed us for obstruction, that might not be the worst thing in the world. At least, maybe we would be safe in jail. I also should tell him about our plans to leave and our destination, but my wounded pride was still smarting. After being the recipient of his sharp tongue, I had no desire to talk to him again, although common sense told me this would be the smart thing to do.

  Gritting my teeth, I dialed the sheriff’s office. He was not in, his receptionist Doris Elroy said. I dialed his home. He was not there either. Feeling vindicated, I decided that I’d try again tomorrow.

  Thunder rumbled in some dark clouds approaching from the west. Mom’s toe and those clouds probably meant we were in for a rain. Ordinarily, I welcomed a good spring storm, but not this time. Thunder was noisy and might mask the sounds of an intruder trying to get into the house. On the other hand, what normal person would purposely be out in an Oklahoma thund
erstorm? The answer to that came on the heels of the question: we weren’t dealing with a normal person. Murder was not an action that a sane person would take. This thought did nothing to reassure me.

  The rain began an hour later. It continued throughout that long day, while we ate supper and packed, and it accompanied my mother and me up the stairs to our bedrooms. Usually, rain on the roof was like a lullaby, but that didn’t hold true tonight. I strained my ears listening for a noise not related to the storm, and heard my mother tossing in her bed across the hall.

  “Mom!” I called, “Do you want one of those sleeping pills from Dr. McCauley?”

  “No, I don’t,” she answered. “If someone is going to murder me in my sleep, I want to know about it.”

  The logic in that statement escaped me.

  With rain pounding over my head, wind rattling loose windows, and old boards creaking and popping to accommodate pressure changes, I got very little sleep but, somehow, Mom and I survived the night with no visitor.

  At six the next morning, rain still sluiced from the sky. I hoped that Jasper was safe and dry at his mother’s house.

  The aroma of frying bacon wafted up the stairway as I pulled on my old blue housecoat. For a second, I didn’t recognize the disheveled woman with flyaway hair and bloodshot eyes that stared back at me from the mirror. If she were to see me now, the New York receptionist would certainly think I needed her beautician.

  “It’d be nice if the rain let up at least for our drive to Fayetteville,” I grumbled as I stumbled into the kitchen.

  To my surprise, my mother was as bright as a sunbeam. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, smiling. “I like a good rain and I’m looking forward to going to Georgia. Our ancestors came from northern Georgia, Darcy. Have I told you that?”

  “Seems I’ve heard you mention it,” I mumbled around a mouth full of toast.