After he agreed, I told him about the vegetables I'd found in the chest freezer and the slight discrepancy in Mabel's prescribed medications. "Do you think there's a chance Sydney could've had a hand in her aunt's death?"
"I can't honestly say," he replied. "I didn't really know her that well. She didn't impress me as having an evil side, however. What's your gut feeling?"
"That she'd never hurt another living soul," I said honestly. "But with all of the signs pointing toward her, I don't think the possibility can be overlooked. I have just one more thing I'm curious about. Did Mabel really pay you twenty-three dollars?"
The priest laughed. "No. I'm sorry. I really hated to lie to you, but felt I had no choice. I thought by making my made-up story more elaborate, it'd be more believable. As if it would absolve me, I guess, I picked twenty-three because it's my favorite psalm. You know the one? The–"
"Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want..." Rip and I joined in and all three of us recited the entire psalm together.
"Amen!" Rip said when we finished. Then, in an obvious attempt to veer the subject away from Mabel Trumbo's death, he asked, "So, how about those Mariners, Father?"
Rip and Chase both took a seat in the drawing room. While the two men debated the chances of the Seattle baseball team going the distance that season, I returned to the kitchen and began to clean up the dishes. Goofus, who'd been silent all through supper, squawked at me. "Scwam Sam. You're a bad boy. Can't eat that, Skid."
I froze at the bird's last words. I observed how the bird could instantly pick up on a phrase and repeat it, even though he tended to speak with a speech impediment. Syd could be a nickname in the Combs' family, just as Addie and Taz had proven to be. I couldn't help but wonder if Goofus had heard Mabel say, "Can't eat that, Syd?" With the way the bird pronounced certain words, Skid could very well stand for Syd.
After our dinner guest had departed, I talked it over with Rip. Like me, he didn't want to believe Sydney would have done anything to harm her aunt. Not for fame or fortune or even life itself. But we couldn't deny the fact the evidence was piling up against the seemingly angelic nurse.
The evening had answered a lot of questions, but it'd also brought up a few new ones. For starters, was Ridley Wickets still residing in the Heart Shack? The following morning, I planned to visit the little room in the attic and see if I could locate an out-of-sight sprite.
Chapter 27
As it turned out, I didn't have to crawl up into the attic the next morning on a hunt for Ridley Wickets. I happened upon him after I awoke with an upset tummy. I went downstairs at the crack of dawn to get a couple of saltines to settle my stomach.
Wearing the same plaid shirt I'd seen him in before, a sound-asleep Ridley sat cross-legged on the floor with Gallant's big head lying in his lap. They both were startled awake when I stepped into the room and switched on the light.
Alarmed, Ridley jumped to his feet, causing Gallant's chin to fall to the ceramic floor. After collecting himself, he said, "Good morning, me lady. What brings ya down so early?"
"What brings you down at all? Have you been living in this house since my husband and I moved in?"
He had the grace to look down. "Yes, me lady. Much apologies to ya. I have no place else but to go."
"Why didn't you just tell us you were staying here? We wouldn't have booted you out. It's clear Mabel was content to let you stay here as long as you wanted to, and who are we to upset the apple cart? Are you camped out in the attic?"
"Yes, me lady."
"Not any more. You have no business going up and down that ladder in the maintenance room. As long as the cardiac center doesn't force you out, you are more than welcome to utilize one of the guest rooms. It was you behind all of the odd noises, the howling sounds in the attic, the flickering lights, the phone calls, and the other strange happenings. Wasn't it?"
Ridley nodded without making eye contact.
"You're our mysterious nighttime pianist too."
"Yes, me lady. Much apologies. I was afeared you'd find me."
"Why were you afraid? Rip and I aren't terrible people, Ridley. Like you, we're getting a little long in the teeth. In fact, in my case, I don't even have any real ones left. And the other one of us has a sticky ticker, at least until he's completely recovered. It's just not safe to frighten people our age."
"Much apologies," the Irish man repeated.
Even though Chase had told us why the old caretaker was afraid of being discovered, I was still rather pissed about Ridley's trickery. But I could understand why Mabel wanted him to have access to the Steinway piano. Not that wanting the talented musician to have a quality instrument to practice his skills on excused the way she went about acquiring the piano.
"You're a very gifted pianist, by the way. But you nearly scared the bejesus out of me numerous times, and had me thinking I needed to see a shrink. Why not just inform us that Mabel had granted you free occupancy, at least until the cardiac center took over ownership of the place?"
"Was afeared you'd kick me to the curb if you's be to know I was about, now that it's the hearty home, and all." I found Ridley's use of "afeared" in lieu of "afraid" endearing, but I was still a bit irritated with him. Ridley stared at the red socks on his feet. They did nothing to make him look less elf-like.
"I would've never done that, Mr. Wickets. So there was no call to give me the fright of my life by putting the threatening message and my gold ring in the music box."
"Whatcha be talking about?" Ridley asked, staring straight into my eyes for the first time. He appeared genuinely befuddled.
"I'm talking about the note you put in the music box that said I didn't belong here. Were you trying to scare me away?"
"I be hoping the noisies and flicking lights would make you goes away so I wouldn't not have to go, but I know not about a note or box." Ridley's poor grammar and double negatives were at times hard to follow, and his voice was soft and barely audible. Despite all that, I recognized sincerity when I heard it, and I believed him.
"If you didn't do it, who did?" I asked.
Ridley shrugged. "The boy be me guess. He be in my stuff one day."
"Ah, I see." And I did. Rip had said he'd heard Tasman's phone playing rap music in the attic when he was up there sorting through things. He'd been going through Ridley's private property, but may not have realized who it belonged to.
"Does Tasman know about you? Or the twins?" I asked.
"Me no think so, except maybe the nurse girl. I see them but they not never meet me. Can't trust them kind."
I couldn't disagree with that. I didn't trust them either. I told Ridley he was free to move into one of the available bedrooms right away, and I'd assist him if needed. I also let him know he could play the piano any time he had a hankering to. "I believe music breathes life into a home. Even though I don't condone her actions, I can see why Mabel wanted you to have the church's magnificent piano."
"Yes, me lady. She do that for me. I do things for her too. Even after I old." Ridley Wickets and Mabel Trumbo must have been close, I realized. It seemed as if the arrangement had been a beneficial one for both of them. It kept both of them from living alone, and gave them someone else in the house to interact with. At his current age, he probably didn't have the funds or the wherewithal to relocate. He was obviously not receiving a Social Security check on the same day every month, like most folks his age, having expatriated from his native country nine years earlier.
I invited Ridley to join me for a cup of coffee. I then called the phone number Father Cumberland had given me and asked him if he'd mind helping move Ridley's stuff down from the attic. Chase was delighted to hear I'd offered the elderly caretaker a bedroom on the second floor and said he'd be happy to assist.
After he'd drained his cup of coffee, I invited Ridley to join us for supper. I doubted he'd had a warm meal in ages, but didn't want to embarrass him by asking. I had to assume the reclusive gentleman was behind the disappearance of random f
ood items, including the bag of Oreos I'd accused Rip of eating while I was downtown with Itsy. Ridley accepted my dinner invitation and excused himself in his usual delightful manner. "I be gone."
Another piece of the Heart Shack puzzle had fallen into place. Now I wouldn't need to conceal the game camera in the drawing room. I'd set it on the kitchen counter the night before with plans of relocating it in hopes of catching the piano-playing intruder. After our discussion with the priest, I'd forgotten to remove the camera from the kitchen. I realized now that there was no intruder whose image I needed to capture. The Heart Shack was really more Ridley's home than it was ours.
I could understand Ridley's concerns and wasn't sure I wouldn't have done the same thing. I'd see what I could do to make sure the elderly pianist was welcome to stay in the house as long as the place was inhabitable.
* * *
The following morning, after I fed the two pets and took Gallant out for a short walk, I took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. Ridley would be joining us for breakfast, so Rip was getting a respite from oatmeal and whole wheat toast.
Before starting breakfast, I decided to take the game camera back to the trailer. As I walked into the Chartreuse Caboose, I noticed on the camera's display there'd been four images captured. The camera was aimed at the door leading to the back yard overnight, and its motion-sensing element had somehow been accidentally activated. I hadn't walked over to that corner of the room, so I assumed the photos must've been of Gallant as he'd meandered about the kitchen at some point during the night.
I took the memory card out of the slot and stuffed it into my front pocket, hoping to download the images to my iPad while Rip was at his rehab appointment. If I was lucky, I might have captured a cute photo of the St. Bernard who'd wormed his way into my heart.
I'd captured something in the images, all right, but it wasn't Gallant who'd been meandering through the kitchen in the middle of the night.
* * *
I was rendered speechless that afternoon when I looked at the images on the memory card. Clear as a bell was the image of our next-door neighbor, Itsy Warman, letting herself into the house through the back door. The time-stamped image was taken at 02:16 a.m. earlier that morning. The second image was of her standing in front of the junk drawer, which was directly below the one that held the silverware. The drawer contained miscellaneous items such as a roll of scotch tape, rubber bands, a dog-eared recipe book, and some loose change. And, like any junk drawer worth its salt, there were off-the-wall items in it, too, like a Butterfinger bar that was so old it had literally turned to dust, a golf ball signed by Arnold Palmer, a button that said 'I Like Ike' on it, and a dried up tube of depilatory cream.
In the third photo, Itsy stood with her back to the camera. The final shot, taken at 02:31 a.m., was of her opening the back door to depart. The images stymied me. What in the world was she doing sneaking into Mabel's house in the wee hours of the morning? It appeared she'd spent a total of about fifteen minutes in the house.
As you can imagine, I was anxious to find out what Itsy had been up to. I marched directly to her house and rang the doorbell.
"Good morning, neighbor," she greeted me cheerfully.
Without returning the greeting, I held my iPad up to her face so she could see the incriminating image on the screen. She visibly blanched as she recognized herself in the photo.
"Oh, yeah," she said. "I was going to walk over and tell you about that today. You see, I'd been thinking about baking a cake for you and Rip to thank you for going downtown with me. But a couple of weeks before Mabel passed, she'd borrowed my Bundt pan. I couldn't sleep last night and was sitting out on my front porch when I remembered I'd never gotten it back. Well, you'd mentioned on the bus ride home from the Book-E store that the cardiac center would be taking possession of the house soon. So, using a key to the back door that Mabel gave me years ago, I let myself in to retrieve the pan. I couldn't find it, though."
She finished explaining with an expression on her face that I deciphered as, "I wonder if she bought that load of bull crap?"
"And you thought Mabel had stashed your Bundt pan in a drawer that wasn't more than four inches in height?" I asked, as I scrolled to the next image in my photo file.
"Well, no, of course not." Itsy stopped talking for several long moments, as if trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for her actions. Finally, without addressing the question about why she was looking in the junk drawer, she continued. "I realized the pan was probably in the pantry and I didn't want to startle the dog by making too much noise. I knew if Gallant began to bark and raise a fuss, you'd hear it upstairs and be frightened."
"No more than I was when I heard Ridley Wickets, whom I didn't even know was in the house, playing the piano in the middle of the night. Why didn't you tell me you knew it was him playing it, and that he was the man I asked you about that reminded me of an elf?"
"Mabel made me promise I'd never tell anyone about Ridley. And since you're as 'anyone' as the next guy, I aimed to stay true to my word. But I knew you were frightened by Ridley's nighttime piano-playing, so I hoped you'd find out about him on your own rather than me ratting him out. That's why I suggested you conduct a stakeout in the parlor."
"Okay. I get it," I said. " I appreciate your concern for me. And keeping your word was an honorable thing to do, but I also noticed you helped yourself to the change in the drawer. Itsy, if you're in a financial bind, you could've just asked me and I would have loaned you some money. You didn't have to steal Mabel's coins, for goodness sakes!"
Itsy had initially appeared humiliated by my remarks, but after a few moments of silence, she reacted defensively. "Well, it ain't like Mabel's gonna need those few coins to purchase a soda pop or a postage stamp. They don't have vending machines in heaven, you know."
Not knowing how to respond to a remark like that, I just stared at Itsy. The silence must have made her uncomfortable because she tried to clarify her comment, by adding, "I'm sure God hands stuff like that out for free up there, kind of like we do candy bars on Halloween down here."
Her justification for stealing the change made me laugh. I would add that I was laughing with her, not at her, if not for the fact she wasn't laughing at all. I realized then that her amusing response had been intended to cover up her shame and embarrassment. I felt bad for humiliating her. I should have thought before speaking. There was no reason to bring up the fact she might be short on cash. Stealing a couple dollars' worth of small change wasn't that big of deal. It was no wonder she wanted to retrieve her cake pan while she still could. She probably didn't have the money to replace it.
"I guess you're right, Itsy. I was just curious why you came into the house last night. I'll see if I can find your Bundt pan in the pantry. If I do, I'll bring it by later on."
"Thanks, I'd really appreciate it. I got my car back and will pick up a cake mix when I go to the Safeway over on East Pine later today. I'll bring the cake over this evening. I guarantee you my cake will be a lot moister than any cake Mabel ever baked. She could make a mayonnaise cake turn out drier than a popcorn fart. So, do you prefer white or chocolate?"
"I appreciate the offer, but it's not necessary. I'm trying to avoid having anything with too much fat, sugar or salt in the house. Rip's having enough trouble getting acclimated to healthier eating habits without having his will power tested by having a cake within arm's reach." I smiled to show I truly did appreciate the kind thought.
"Well, all right. If you're sure."
"I am. But thank you anyway, Itsy. I'll see you later. Okay?" I wasn't sure why I was even surprised that Itsy would let herself into the house to retrieve her cake pan in the early morning hours. There was an obvious connection between the two ladies, even if they'd had a habit of bickering over everything from who had the prettier lawn to who made the moistest cake.
Chapter 28
I called Sydney later that afternoon and asked her if she could swing by the house the next
time she had the chance. I wanted to see what could be done about assuring Ridley Wickets would not be put out on the curb like yesterday's trash once the cardiac center took legal possession of the Heart Shack. I'd be careful not to reveal too much information about the caretaker, so as not to cause him any problems with immigration officials.
I also was going to feel her out about the frozen vegetables in the chest freezer. I knew instinctively someone had intentionally fed Mabel the vegetables high in Vitamin K. Were they hoping she'd form a clot that would break loose and travel to her lung–exactly as it did–or had it been an accidental oversight?
I pulled open the same junk drawer Itsy had stolen the coins from and checked to make sure the receipt for the vegetables was still in the drawer. Knowing Itsy had issues with Mabel, the thought had crossed my mind that she might've had a motive to eliminate Mabel that I wasn't aware of. However, seeing the receipt was still in the drawer convinced me Itsy was innocent of any foul play. She wouldn't have left such compelling evidence in plain sight had she been guilty of utilizing Brussels sprouts as a murder weapon to kill her neighbor.
The idea made me stop and consider how many zillions of ways there are to commit a homicide. I doubt anyone has ever thrown a bag of frozen veggies into their grocery cart and thought, "I sure hope someone doesn't break into my house and murder me with my own spinach."
The idea of shopping for a murder weapon in the frozen foods aisle reminded me of something Itsy had mentioned earlier. She'd said she was planning to make a trip to the Safeway on East Pine Street. The few times I'd made a grocery run, I'd gone to the Safeway on Fourth Street. It seemed Itsy preferred the Pine Street location, even though it was a longer commute. My guess is the Safeway on Pine Street offered a double-coupon day, to which I could relate. I'd been known to drive to a different town, fifteen miles away, to take advantage of double-coupon opportunities.
I looked at the receipt I now held in my hand and saw printed on the top of the receipt: Safeway #1958. My iPad was lying on the kitchen table so I Googled the store number. I was surprised to discover Safeway store #1958 was located in Tokeland, Washington—the home town of none other than Tasman Combs! I remembered the town's name vividly, because the first time I'd heard it, I'd thought it was ironic for Mabel's pot-smoking great-nephew to live in a town with such an appropriate name.
Rip Your Heart Out Page 23
