by Anna Drake
After taking a sip of the fresh, hot coffee, I replace my cup and looked over at Kelly. “I don’t suppose you saw anyone suspicious hanging around Carrie’s place before her death?”
She shook her head. “No. I wish I had. I’d love to be the one to put the creep who killed Carrie away.”
Dotty Stark leaned toward me. “When we drove past her house one day, we saw a man in a brown suit and hat standing at her front door. Didn’t we Harold?”
“Yes. I thought it was odd, too,” he said, picking up his napkin.
“How so?”
He wiped his mouth then said, “You don’t see many people these days calling on someone in a suit. Even the minister comes calling in a pair of khakis now.”
“Do you have any idea who he was?”
“Not a bit of it. He had his back to us. We couldn’t see his face.”
“Did you tell the police about him?”
“Nah. They didn’t come by and question us. Why would they? We live blocks away from Carrie’s house. Besides, there’s nothing to say he was the killer.”
His wife spoke up, “We probably wouldn’t have seen a thing if we’d driven by at a different hour or on a different day. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Since we couldn’t identify the guy, we never bothered calling police,” her husband added.
“Could you tell if he was old or young?”
“From his build, I’d say he was mIddle aged,” Dotty said
“Can you remember what day of the week you saw him?”
“It was a Wednesday, I believe,” she said.
“That’s right,” her husband added, nodding. “I was taking you to your doctor’s appointment.”
She smiled. “Yes, I remember.”
If my math was correct, a middle aged man wearing a suit stopped by Carrie’s house the day before she died. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I’d known five minutes ago. “Did any of you know Mrs. Whitcomb?” I asked.
“Not me,” the young girl said.
Her companion shook his head. “Me neither,” he said past a mouthful of food.
“I did,” Dotty offered.
“Did you know her well?”
“Moderately so. We served on a committee together to raise money for the homeless.”
I felt my brows grow together in puzzlement. “You have homeless people here?”
“No, we send the money to a church in Chicago. They put together the relief there.”
“There’s old Barney Pitts,” he husband said. “He’s been known to sleep on a park bench a night or two.”
“Yes, but the sheriff always gives him a cell to sleep in when the weather turns nasty.”
Harold nodded. “One of the benefits of living in a small town, I guess. We take care of our own here.” He dabbed his forehead with his napkin.
“Do you know who took over her position as a bank director after Mrs. Whitcomb died?”
“Not really.”
Getting the feeling that I was making people uncomfortable with all my questions, I spent the next several minutes scanning the room for a man in a brown suit. I came up with three of them.
It wasn’t until after I’d emptied my plate that one of those brown suits walked over to me and shoved forth a hand. He was large with a beefy face and a sweaty palm. “I’m Tom Hubbard,” he announced. “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself. I live very near your daughter. Lovely woman.”
I beamed and thanked the man. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Anyway,” he said, jokingly. “I work at the bank, so if you ever need a loan….”
My heart rate ticked up a beat. “Which one?”
“First Federal.”
How extraordinary. “You must have known Lillian Whitcomb then.” He nodded, and I instantly decided I needed to learn more about this man. And since they were neighbors, my daughter seemed just the person to fill me in.
EIGHT
“Hey Mom, what brings you my way?”
Megan stood in the kitchen with little Jeremy in her arms. My daughter had inherited her father’s height. Combined with her lean frame and dark chestnut hair, it made her an extremely attractive woman. And her eyes, a brilliant blue, were now firmly fastened on mine.
I offered up a broad smile. “I’ve come to pump you for information on a neighbor.”
A puzzled expression crossed my daughter’s face. “Okay. But can I put this little guy down for a nap first?”
“Certainly.” I reached out and rubbed Jeremy’s cheek. He smiled, giving me a glimpse of two sweet dimples and his newly hatched baby tooth.
“There’s fresh coffee,” Megan said on her way out of the room. “Help yourself.”
I removed my coat and draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Then, I fished a mug from the corner cupboard. I didn’t need more coffee, but there’s something comforting about sitting in a kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee to hand. Tea would do just as well. I’m basically happy as long as I have some sort of caffeine nearby.
I glanced around the pleasant room. Sunshine streamed in through three large, south-facing windows. My son-in-law and I might not always agree on life or how to live it, but there was no question about his being a good provider. The home my grandchildren were growing up in was large and comfortable and well maintained. Since it was part of what was one of the fanciest neighborhoods in Hendricksville, I assumed Tom Hubbard lived well too.
I crossed to the table and sat. Of course, given the size of our town, the fancy neighborhood wasn’t very large. It consisted mostly of two blocks of old Victorian houses which had been refurbished, keeping their ancient charms and introducing modern comforts.
I’d only taken a few sips of coffee, before Megan returned to the room. “Yes, he’s down for a while,” she said as she crossed to the coffee maker.
“He’s a good boy.”
“No argument.” She refilled her mug. “It used to take me ages to get Hugh to take naps.”
“He’s a delightful child, too.” He was three years older than his brother. And I had a feeling his ego was still a bit bruised with a sibling now added into his life. “Speaking of Hugh, where is he?”
“Enjoying a play date at his friend Kevin’s house.”
“That’s nice.”
Megan nodded and smiled. “I know.” She joined me at the table. “So how’s Blackie coming along?”
“Much better. He hasn’t coughed up a hairball in a week.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Now, what’s this about wanting information on a neighbor?”
“His name’s Tom Hubbard. Do you know him?”
“Sure. First, he lives right across from us. And second, in a town this small, most of us know each other. Why in the world are you interested in him?”
“It’s a long story and not very exciting.” I saw no benefit in telling Megan that I was out to catch a killer. I was fairly certain she wouldn’t approve.
Megan shrugged. “Okay, for what it’s worth. I know he works at First Federal Bank. His wife’s name is Alice. They have two children. One is at college, the other is a high school junior, I believe. As far as I know he doesn’t beat his dog or throw wild parties. Will that do?”
“Speaking of parties, do the neighbors seem to like him?”
“I haven’t exactly polled them to find out.” Her eyes narrowed. “Mom, what are you up to?”
“Nothing. I met him at Carrie Flynt’s funeral today. He made it a point to come over and introduce himself to me, pointing out that he was a neighbor of yours. I guess I wondered how he even knew about me?” Of course, I hadn’t concerned myself with that question until just now. But it was as good a lie as any.
“That seems a bit suspicious of you,” she answered, raising an eyebrow. “As I said, it’s a small town. It could be so simple as he saw you coming here. I mean, he lives right across the street”
“Maybe,” I said, but I remained unconvinced.
Megan paused with he
r coffee cup halfway to her lips. “It’s the murder, isn’t it? Mom, you’re not doing anything foolish, are you?”
“Oh good grief. I moved halfway across the state for your peace of mind. I feel like a fish out of water knowing so few people here. I thought you might be able to fill me in on the guy. There’s no need to make more out of this than it is.”
Megan sighed. “I know you. Nothing is ever that simple. Besides, you know how I worry about you.”
“I do. But I’m only in my sixties. That’s the new forty today. When I turn ninety... then you can worry about me.”
“Right, and when you turn ninety, you’ll tell me it’s the new fifty. I know how this works.”
***
Even with a ghost hanging out there, I was glad to arrive home that day. I stuffed my coat into the closet and ran a hand through my hair in frustration. Megan had let me down with her limited information on my murder suspect. But there had to be other ways around my problem. I’d sleep on it. Dilemmas often resolved themselves when I slept.
Turning, I found myself face to face with Andrew.
“I like your daughter,” he said.
My jaw dropped. “What do you know about my daughter?”
“Hetty, please forgive me, but I dropped in while you were there. I was curious.”
“But I didn’t see you.”
“That’s because I didn’t want you to.”
“I’m not sure I believe that. But understand this, please. I don’t want you going there again. Neither my daughter nor my grandsons need to know about you. It’s bad enough you haunt me. I don’t want you frightening them.”
“Understood.” He smiled tenderly. “She’s very much like you.”
“Oh, she’s much prettier and smarter than I ever was.”
His smile broadened. “That’s debatable.”
I seated myself in my favorite chair and picked up my knitting.
Blackie strolled into the room and hopped up on my lap. He stood upright, kneading his front paws against my chest and purring.
“Honestly,” Andrew huffed, “you allow that cat too many privileges.”
“Nonsense.” Standing on my lap as he was, Blackie and I were on a nearly nose-to-nose footing. “You’re my very best boy, aren’t you?”
He lowered his head and butted my chin, then settled himself down on my lap. I took up my knitting, pulling some yarn free from the skein.
“What are you making?” Andrew asked.
I held out the piece I was working on so Andrew could see it clearly. “This will become a sweater for my older grandson. He has a birthday in two weeks. I’ve finished the front and back. Now, I’m working on the sleeves. Today, I learned there’s a group that knits baby blankets for a local hospital, so I’ll probably do up one or two of those next.”
“You know, I heard your conversation at the funeral today….”
My head jerked up. “You were at the funeral, too?”
“Of course. You didn’t think I’d miss it, did you?”
I frowned. “I really wish you wouldn’t wander around town. It’s bad enough with you here.”
“You needn’t be rude.”
“Sorry, but it’s the way I feel.”
You think that Hubbard guy is the killer, don’t you?”
“Not really. But since he works at the same bank as Lillian Whitcomb did, I find him interesting, that’s all.”
“Well, if you want to know more about him, I could hang around the guy. Watch him. See what he’s up to.”
“Please don’t. I don’t want the poor man undergoing visits from a ghost.”
“He’ll never know I’m there. You’re the only person I’ve ever let see me.”
Oh, lucky me. “Still, I don’t think it would be right. You’d be invading the man’s privacy uninvited.”
Andrew issued a short, sharp laugh. “From what I’ve seen of the internet and the use of cell phones today, there’s very little privacy left in the world.”
“I suspect a lot of people would agree with you. But still, I believe they should be protected from ghosts.”
“Hetty, I sometimes think… even though I died decades ago… you’re much more old fashioned than I am.”
***
The next morning delivered a healthy dose of reality to my door. Even after calling out for him countless times, Andrew was nowhere to be found. I had a terrifying feeling that my ghost had followed up on his threat and was now following poor Hubbard around.
I must admit it surprised me. I hadn’t known ghosts could go wherever they pleased. That, of course, is if ghosts were even real in the first place.
Still, I shivered. No one deserved to come upon a ghost. Well, maybe a murderer did, but Hubbard hadn’t been proved guilty of anything. Still I couldn’t think of any way to demand that Andrew return home.
Blackie wandered into the kitchen. I opened a can of cat food and set it in his dish. He sniffed at the offering and walked away, his tail and nose pointed skyward. I poured a small saucer of milk, and he returned to polish that off.
Right, like I was so in control of my world.
NINE
It wasn’t until that evening that Andrew turned up. He suddenly materialized in front of me while I was in the kitchen, and he instantly started babbling about his dreadful day spent with Hubbard.
“The guy’s so boring,” he complained. “He ate poached eggs for breakfast, a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. And in between time, he stared at endless columns of figures on a computer.”
I picked up a knife and began chopping a carrot. “He’s an accountant. That’s what he’s supposed to do. Besides, I believe I told you to leave him alone?”
“I’m not like your cat. You can’t lock me inside your house.”
Blackie, who had been lying on top of the refrigerator and staring down on us both, suddenly sat up and hissed.
Andrew glared at him for a moment, then turned back to me and said, “At least Hubbard has a pretty wife. There’s also a teenage son. I liked the son better than the father.”
“You would.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you and the son are nearly the same age.”
He scowled. “I may look young, but I’ve walked this Earth just as long as you have.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I am not too young for you.”
I shook my head. “Andrew, at best, you’re a ghost. There is no us for you to worry about.”
“Perhaps, but I’m in your life now, and I’m not planning to leave you again.”
I set my knife down and walked to the cupboard where I pulled out a nearly full packet of cookies and ate every one of them. Quick as you please.
***
The next morning, Andrew was gone again. I grabbed a can of corned beef hash from the cupboard and fought the desire to hurl it across the room. How dare he ignore my request to stay away from Hubbard? Having a ghost in my life was bad enough, but that I’d released the creature on the wider world was awful.
Blackie rubbed against my ankles, pulling me back to the here and now. We went through our usual morning ritual. A can of cat food offered and rejected. A saucer of milk accepted.
I opened the can of hash, sliced off a piece and plopped it into my beloved cast-iron skillet. A breakfast of this size was always a sign I was displeased with something. But considering I’d eaten nothing but cookies last night, I was in the mood for a large breakfast, displeased or not.
While I found the thought of Andrew moving freely about town unnerving, I couldn’t help wishing he could travel back through time. That way he could be there in the dining room when Carrie was murdered. He’d see the killer. He’d wrap this whole case up for us by providing us with the name.
I smiled to myself. I knew I was engaged in wishful thinking. But then until Andrew had popped into my life, I’d doubted ghosts were real. Why couldn’t time travel be just as possible?
I flippe
d the slices of corned beef over, tossed two eggs into the pan, and fed a slice of bread into the toaster. I’d have to make do with a salad for lunch and supper to overcome a breakfast this size.
I sighed. How I wished our brilliant scientists would come up with tasty, calorie-free, food.
But breakfast served its purpose. It comforted me. And as I ate, my mind revisited Carrie’s funeral. Who else was there? Who else might have been the killer?
I pictured Oberton and tried to remember who, if anyone, he’d kept an eye on. He seemed to have spent an excess amount of time studying a man seated immediately behind the family. I tried to recall the man’s feature’s, but they were fuzzy. Apparently I hadn’t found him as interesting as the detective had.
I would mention him to Rose. She’d probably be able to come up with a name.
Breakfast finished, I cleared the dishes and wiped the counters. Then I gave Rose a call.
We exchanged pleasantries before turning to business. “Sure,” she said, “I know who you mean, That’s Doc Barstow. He’s Mrs. Whitcomb’s sister’s son.”
“A nephew? Of Mrs. Whitcomb? Is his mother still alive?”
“No, she died several years ago.”
“Does Doctor Barstow live around here, then?”
“Sure. He keeps an office in Weaverton and works out of the hospital there. But he lives just outside of town here. That’s a real benefit, because he’ll see Hendricksville patients at home during off hours in a pinch.
The good doctor sounded more like a good doer than a killer, but I was rather short of suspects.
After signing off with Rose, I picked up the phone and called the Sheriff’s Department. I wanted a little chat with our good detective.
TEN
The Weaver County Sheriff’s Department occupies a yellow-brick building in Weaverton, the county seat. The city has a population of some twenty thousand and is the area’s largest town. As such, it offers residents access to several grocery stores, a small, multi-screen theater, a hospital, the courthouse, and two big-box stores.
