Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Anna Drake

  “It’s always been my favorite room. So tell me, are you nervous at the thought of the family about to descend?”

  “Some. I haven’t seen the boys since they were little. Jennifer used to come down once in a while, but not the boys.”

  I laughed inwardly at her use of the word boys to describe Carrie’s nephews. They had to be full-grown men by now. My thoughts next turned to Carrie’s husband. I wondered if he’d been the reason that box had been concealed behind the wall? He very well might have been a jealous man. The kind of man who would not take kindly to the idea of his wife stashing away memories of a youthful love.

  I could only hope Carrie’d enjoyed a better relationship with her employer. “So what would it have been like, cleaning for Mrs. Whitcomb?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “It couldn’t have been easy. That woman was a tiger.”

  “Mrs. Whitcomb was difficult, too?”

  Poor Carrie.

  “Yes, she was as bold as Carrie was meek. I doubt my friend got away with much.”

  I sat at the table. Rose proceeded on to the sink, where she grabbed a clean mug from the dish drainer.

  “When is Jennifer coming?”

  “She’s not due in until just before the visitation.”

  “I’d think she’d want to hang out with her brothers for a while before the service.”

  “I don’t think anyone in that family was all that close. Not Carrie or her sister or the kids.”

  “Huh. I hope the nephews don’t mind our having sorted through the house.”

  “That’s not down to us,” she said, delivering steaming coffee mugs to the table. “Jennifer was the one that wanted the work done. I suspect we’re safe. I doubt they wanted to be bothered with the work.”

  “That’s not so unusual. Carrie wasn’t their mother, after all.”

  Rose snorted. “Or ours, either.”

  ***

  A strong headwind that day blew the two nephews into Rose’s house later than we’d been expecting. But now they stood, tall and windblown in the hall, while I collected their coats. Their names, I learned, were Hank and Chester.

  The latter looked to be the older brother and was perhaps somewhere near fifty. Hank appeared to be about ten years younger. But they both looked so little like each other that, if we’d not been introduced, I’d never have dreamed they were related.

  Chester, with his gray hair and round glasses, appeared to be bookish. Hank was still dark haired with a square cut chin. He looked rugged. I suspected a book was the last thing he’d ever want to lay hands on.

  Introductions completed, Rose directed us to the dining room where she had a coffee cake and a large pot of coffee waiting.

  Chester sat across from me and smiled graciously at our hostess. “Thank you, Mrs. Stark. This is very kind. My flight left early this morning so breakfast was rushed. Airlines today don’t hand out much in the way of food any more. And they certainly don’t serve anything as good as what you’ve got here.”

  Hank mumbled his thanks as well. But he didn’t appear to be nearly as sociable a man as Chester. Even their personalities differed wildly.

  Rose placed generous servings of coffee cake on the dainty plates by her elbow. She then passed them round to us.

  At my first bite, I closed my eyes in pleasure. “Delicious.” Not being a good baker, I always appreciated a tasty offering from the oven.

  Rose thanked me, then updated the men on our work in their aunt’s home.

  At the end of her tale, Chester expressed his gratitude for our efforts. “It was very kind of you to undertake such a thankless task. Still, I doubt there’s much I’ll want to keep. We weren’t all that close to Aunt Carrie.”

  Upon questioning by me, Chester told us he lived in just outside Boston, where he taught high school history. “I enjoy the work very much,” he said, “The students make a wonderful challenge.”

  I noted the wedding ring. “Your wife couldn’t come?”

  “No, Sarah also a teacher. And she’s right in the middle of introducing long division to her poor little victims… ah… students, that is. She felt leaving that job in the hands of a substitute teacher just now was not a good idea.”

  “Do you have any children of your own?”

  “Yes. A boy and girl... both teenagers.” He paused for a sip of coffee.

  “That’s such an interesting age.”

  He swallowed and returned his cup to the saucer. “They’re good kids, thank heavens. But they still manage to keep us on our toes.”

  I turned to Hank. “And what do you do?”

  He shot me a quick glance. “I work for an electrical company.”

  “My brother’s a supervisor for them. He travels all over the state. He’s also, by the way, an excellent skier.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You live in Wyoming, don’t you? The scenery must be beautiful.”

  “It is.”

  His brother shook his head. “Go on, fess up. You only live there because of the skiing. If Hank had learned to ski when he was younger, he could have made the Olympics. He’s that good.”

  “And are you married?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am. I’m pleased to say no one’s tying me down.”

  “Really, Hank,” Chester said, “there’s no need to be flippant. Hank’s been married, but now he’s not.”

  Hank nodded and shovelled in the last bite of coffee cake and followed it up with a big gulp of coffee. I suspected mountain peaks and wide open skies would seem pretty attractive to him right now.

  “Well,” Chester said, shoving his plate aside, “should we go face the ordeal?”

  From here, Rose was taking the men to Carrie’s house. I’d begged off going with them. There was nothing I could do now that we’d packed up most of the stray bits and pieces. The rest of it was their business as far as I was concerned. But I was glad to have had a chance to meet them.

  ***

  I arrived home that day to find the phone ringing. I dashed through to the kitchen and snatched up the receiver.

  “Mom,” Megan said, “where have you been?”

  “I told you I was going to Rose’s place this morning to meet Carrie’s nephews.”

  “That’s right. You did. Sorry, I guess I forgot.”

  “Is there something you need?”

  “No, I just wanted to check on you.”

  I closed my eyes. My daughter’s desire to keep tabs on me was the reason I’d moved to Hendricksville. And it was nice to know I lived in the same town as Megan. But sometimes I found her tendency to worry a bit overwhelming.

  “Is Jeremy sleeping any better?” I asked. My youngest grandson would turn six months in a few days and had been keeping the entire household up at night with his teething.

  “The tooth’s through. He’s doing much better now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Listen, are you sure you’re okay.”

  “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Finding a dead body can’t be easy. Plus, the killer hasn’t been caught yet. Maybe you should bunk up with us for a while.”

  “No, thanks dear. It’s kind of you to offer. But I’m fine here. Blackie would claw the eyes out of anyone who tried to harm me.” I glanced down at my little boy who had just strolled up beside my ankles.

  “I think you give that cat of yours far too much credit,” Megan replied.

  I smiled. “That’s impossible.”

  Megan wasn’t happy with my decision, she’s have preferred I’d moved to her place. But after another few minutes of debate, she gave up. I replaced the receiver in the cradle.

  Me scared to be alone in my own home? Never.

  I leaned down and scooped Blackie into my arms. “You’d protect me, wouldn’t you?”

  “You’re still spoiling that dumb animal, I see,” Andrew said.

  I gasped. I hadn’t seen him materialize, but there he was, hovering near the stove. Meanwhile Blackie laid hi
s ears back and hissed.

  “Would you both cut that out!”

  “Cut what out?” Andrew asked.

  “Sniping at each other.”

  “Don’t look at me.”

  I sighed. “And would you also stop popping up like that. It startles the heck out of me.”

  He shrugged. “What should I do? You can’t put a bell on me like a cow to tell you when I’m around.. I don’t have a bone in my body to hang in on.”

  “Ugh. I’m sorry, but that’s just too much information for me.”

  He chortled. “You’ll just have to get used to having me round.... whenever and wherever.”

  I’d been so hopeful that my subconscious had decided to quit throwing him up at me. But obviously that hadn’t been the case. Maybe, I should have taken my daughter up on her offer of a temporary home.

  But Blackie didn’t really enjoy spending time around children. The boys were too loud and too active for him.

  Now, all I had to do was get used to living with these two.

  ***

  The day of Carrie Flynt’s funeral dawned bright and cold and brittle. I sat at the table munching a bowl of cornflakes and reading the newspaper. Blackie was happily lapping up a saucer of milk.

  “What’s happening in this old burg,” Andrew asked.

  I twisted my neck and gazed up at him. He was hovering over my shoulder.

  “Really, can’t you wait until I’m finished with the paper to read it?”

  He shrugged. “I would if I could, but I can’t turn the pages… no bones in the old fingers, you know..”

  I sighed.

  “Are you going?” he asked.

  “Going where?”

  “To the funeral.”

  “Yes, I was planning on it, why?”

  “Be careful.”

  I looked back up at him. “Whatever for?”

  “Because the murderer usually shows up at the funeral.”

  I scoffed. “Where did you come up with that nonsense?”

  “I’ve watched every one of those mystery shows on TV right along with you. I know about these things.”

  “Congratulations,” I said dryly.

  “Anyway, detectives always seem to expect the killer to turn up at the funeral.”

  I smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out. Not that I’d know the killer even if he or she was there. So far, I haven’t come up with anything interesting.”

  “You found the box hidden behind the closet wall. Didn’t you ever think that might be what got Carrie killed?”

  “I would have if it had contained anything the least bit interesting.”

  “You might have looked right at something important and not known it,”

  “Anything is possible, I suppose. Besides it’s in the hands of the police now. Whatever leads might be there are most probably being followed up by them.”

  “That’s an interesting thought. Anyway, I’m going to the funeral with you.”

  I gasped. “You can’t. What if someone sees you? How would I explain that?”

  “Relax. As I’ve told you, you’re the only person I let see me.”

  I rubbed my forehead. Probably because he wasn’t real.

  Unexpectedly, I felt a bitter pang of disappointment. It nearly floored me. Was I beginning to grow comfortable with this ghost’s presence in my life?

  SEVEN

  The funeral was scheduled for the First Presbyterian Church in Weaverton. Hendricksville apparently wasn’t large enough to have one of its own. So people of that faith had to drive to Weaverton to worship.

  Built of red brick, the church I faced that day was an imposing structure. A tall spire anchored one end. Beautiful stained glass windows decorated both the east and west sides. Ancient evergreens reached skyward to the south.

  It was said to be the largest church in Weaverton, and on this day its interior held what I considered was a decent turnout for an elderly woman without a family of her own.

  Rose sat up front beside Jennifer and the nephews. They huddled to themselves, looking suitably somber. Then my thoughts turned to killers, and I scanned the chapel, looking for likely suspects.

  Oberton was on hand. He sat two rows ahead of me, his back straight, his head unbowed. And he, like me, was scanning the room.

  Leaning back in my seat, I wondered what else he’d learned about Carrie and her death. Did he really expect the killer to show up here?

  For one mad moment, I thought I saw Andrew floating down the center aisle, but it turned out to be a young man rushing in late who looked very much like my ghost. I plastered my hand to my chest to still my thundering heart. The last thing I wanted was for Andrew to show himself outside my house.

  Soon, the minister arrived. The service began. It was tasteful and sad, as such proceedings usually are. It wasn’t until we were about to leave for the cemetery that Rose approached me.

  “Jennifer has scheduled a light lunch in the church basement after the service,” she said. “She and the boys would like you to come.”

  “But I didn’t know Carrie,” I protested.

  “You were with me the night we found her. Plus, you helped me clean out the house. The family wants you to know how much they appreciate your work.”

  “I didn’t really do that much.”

  “Please?”

  Reluctantly, I agreed to join them.

  Then, I left the church, sat in my car, and watched the funeral procession form. But I decided not to join them on their trek to the cemetery. Instead, I drove to a nearby restaurant and picked up a coffee to go. After which, I cruised around town, killing time.

  I passed the bank at which Mrs. Whitcomb had been an officer. I wondered who’d taken over the position at her death? I tried to think of anything in the box I’d found in the closet that might provide a clue to the murder. But despite Andrew’s suggestion that I’d missed a connection, I still felt, other than the childhood friends, if a clue had been there, I would have seen it.

  Then, as I neared the outer limits of town, my thoughts turned to Andrew. Was he real or had I made him up? All my life, I’d been a determined realist. I was convinced life made sense. It added up. It could be scientifically examined, catalogued, and filed away.

  Andrew didn’t comfortably fit into that view of life.

  I turned the car around and headed back to town.

  It was possible that I was losing touch with reality. Yet I doubted that assessment. I still balanced my checkbook, I always knew the day and date, and I paid my bills on time. So what should I make of Andrew?

  For the moment — and until I knew differently — I’d accept him for what he said he was or at least try to. Better that than to think myself insane.

  ***

  In short order I found myself back at the church. There were a few remaining cars in the parking lot. I added mine to the mix. Sighing, I settled back to wait for the funeral party’s return.

  It didn’t take long. Rose soon pulled her car out of the string of traffic and brought it to a stop near mine. After giving a generous wave, I exited my car, and we strode into the church together. She escorted me to a set of stairs, where we descended to the basement.

  It was a vast room with linoleum floors and light gray walls. Four long tables draped with white cloths stood in a line. Folding chairs were tucked along the edges of the tables. A long wall on one side of the room, held a pass-through window with a counter running below it. There, several women were busy setting out platters of food. It all looked tasty and smelled even better. I caught the scent of chicken and broccoli and ham.

  Rose and I sat at the first table we came to.

  “How was the service at the cemetery?” I asked.

  “Difficult. That seems to be where I always lose it.”

  I patted her forearm. “You’d known Carrie a very long time.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “It was an amazing turn out.”

  “Carrie was a long and loyal church membe
r. They came out strong for her today. And years ago, she’d belonged to a couple of community groups.”

  “Like what?”

  “I believe I saw several members from both the Grandmother’s Club and the local knitting group. They make afghans for the nursing homes and baby blankets for the hospital.”

  “Really? Who’s in charge of that?”

  “I believe this year, it’s Anne Blake.”

  I filed the information away for later use. I was anxious to get to know my new neighbor’s, and joining a group or two might just advance that effort.

  From there our conversation drifted to our favorite mystery books while we watched the tables fill around us. An elderly couple joined us on my right. They turned out to be named Harold and Dotty Stark. They seemed nice enough and had many kind words to say for Carrie. A pair of young people sat down opposite us. Their names were Kelly Barker and Brett Cavanaugh. I asked them how they’d come to know Carrie.

  “She was our neighbor,” Kelly said. “Nice lady, too.” She glanced over at Brett. “She brought us that corned beef casserole when we moved in. Remember?”

  The young man nodded, apparently well pleased at the recollection. “I sure do.”

  Rose interrupted. “People are beginning to fill their plates. I suggest we join them.”

  She got no arguments from the rest of us, and soon we began moving past the serving counter. I helped myself to a generous spoonful of scalloped potatoes. It was a particular favorite of mine, but because of its high calorie count, it was a dish I rarely ate. Next, I scooped up a dollop of apple salad. It had large chunks of apples along with pecans and marshmallows. I suspected the dressing was whipped cream, but I tried to ignore that thought. And I finished it all off with a generous helping of blueberry pie.

  Studying my tray, it looked as though Blackie would be the only one eating supper in my house that night. Fortunately, I had some leftover chicken in the refrigerator that I could set out for him.

  We settled ourselves back at the table. Conversation was put on hold as we tucked into our food. A woman came by to collect trays and pour coffee.