by Anna Drake
“It was from Mrs. Whitcomb.”
His brow furrowed. “Mrs. Whitcomb…? She committed suicide a long time ago, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“So what’s important about her will?”
“Carrie was listed as the only heir. And people around here seem to think the Whitcombs were well off.”
“I see.” He shifted in his seat.
I sighed. “Worse yet, I told Hank that, as Mrs. Whitcomb’s heir, Carrie should have inherited close to a million dollars.”
“And you think that information may have gotten him killed?”
“I’m afraid it might have, yes. He told me Carrie didn’t have any money. So the question we both asked was where had it gone? That question, I believe, is what got him killed.”
“And where did you learn about this inheritance?”
“We got to talking about Mrs. Whitcomb in the knitting group on day.”
“Gossip,” he said with contempt.”
“Don’t be so quick to discount it.”
His gaze swung to the window, and he spent a rather long minute studying the parking lot. Finally he returned his attention to me and stood. “Hetty, I appreciate you sharing your concern with me. I hope in the future, though, you’ll come to me first rather than spreading rumors around town.”
Yeah, right. Try removing gossip from conversations in a town this size.
***
“I like your detective,” Andrew said when I arrived back home.
“He’s not my detective,” I snapped. “Besides, I thought you were going to spend the day with Hubbard.”
“I am. I was just taking a little break before I flit back out into the cold, cruel world. And while I’m holding up my end, what will you be doing?”
“It’s too soon to tell yet. I only know I need another cup of tea.”
“Well, I’d like it very much it you’d put your feet up. You’ve had enough excitement to last for a while. Why don’t you spend the day sitting in the living room knitting?”
“I think I’d enjoy that. Thank you for the suggestion.”
He shot me a quick smile and then vanished.
I shook my head. If it was my imagination dreaming that man up, I was doing a bang up job of it.
I put my coat away and headed to the kitchen. Blackie followed me and kept me company while I scurried about the room. Since I was in no mood to enjoy my tea alone, I picked up the phone to see if I could find a friend. And a short time later, I opened the door to admit Rose. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Thanks for inviting me. I appreciate the break. I’ve been cleaning cupboards, and I’m bored to tears.”
I’d defrosted a lovely carrot cake I’d bought last week at the bakery in Weaverton. I carried it to the kitchen table which I’d already set with cups and saucers and two small plates. I cut the cake. Then, I fetched the tea.
“There’s sugar, creamer, and a couple of sweetener packets on the table. Help yourself.”
“Goodness,” Rose said, “this looks good.”
“Are you spring cleaning,” I asked, as I sat opposite her.
“Yes. I like to do it early.”
“Me too. But that’s one nice thing about moving. I haven’t lived here long enough to bother with spring cleaning this year.”
“Lucky you. What have you been up to, then?”
“Not much. I joined the knitting group.”
“Ah, that should keep you busy.”
“Yes, it’s an interesting collection of women. They know a good bit of local history.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “I can imagine.”
“They said Carrie inherited everything Mrs. Whitcomb had when she died. Every penny.”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“You spent a lot of time with Carrie. Did you see signs of serious wealth?”
“Hetty, I’d never contradict any one of those women, but you should know by now you can’t believe everything you hear.”
“And now Hank has been killed.” I sighed.
Rose set her cup down. “I know. I can’t imagine what he was doing back here.”
“Didn’t he stop by your place?”
Rose’s eyes grew large. “Heavens no. Why would he contact me?”
“It’s just that I came across him while he was busy cleaning out the rest of Carrie’s house. I thought perhaps he’d sought your help?”
“No. I didn’t even know he was in town.”
“He said he’d come to visit a friend who was ill. Do you have any idea who that might be?”
“Goodness, no. As I said, I barely knew any of the children… let alone their friends.” She paused and gazed at me. “Hetty, you need to let this rest.”
“What?”
“Your obsession with these murders.”
“What makes you think I’m poking around in them?”
“The will. The money. Hank’s friend. What are you doing? You’ll make yourself ill if you’re not careful. These are the golden years. Play with your cat. Visit your grandchildren.”
“And leave the murders to the police?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not chasing a killer, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I don’t know. I happened to stumble across the information about Mrs. Whitcomb’s will. It’s not like I went out seeking it.”
Well, that was true if you discounted my trip to the County Clerk’s office to read the will for myself. And the fact that I deliberately introduced Mrs. Whitcomb’s name during the knitting session. But I didn’t mention those parts. Those things were just me being me. And I couldn’t see much hope that I could change. Not at this age.
***
That night, when Andrew popped back home, he made an announcement. “Oberton has a suspect.”
I stopped dead in my tracks on my way to the stove and turned to face him. “Who is it?”
“The man is named George Pratt.”
I frowned. “The handyman?”
Andrew shrugged. “That was the name on our good detective’s sheet.”
I crossed the room and sat down at the table. “How did you learn about this?”
“I dropped by Oberton’s office on my way home from Hubbard’s place.”
My heart thumped inside my chest. “You didn’t.”
Andrew smiled broadly. “I did. But don’t worry. He didn’t suspect a thing.”
Oh, joy. I grabbed a breath and decided not to waste it. Andrew obviously had no intention of listening to me when it came to his trips about town. “I’m pleased he has a suspect, but I can’t think of any reason for Oberton to believe Prat’s the killer. Can you?”
Andrew shrugged. “Maybe Prat had done work for Carrie. Maybe he’d even built that hidy-hole in which she’d stashed her goodies. Maybe he’d gone in and out so often that no one noticed that afternoon when he slipped inside the house one final time. Or… maybe Oberton has it wrong.”
I shook my head. “Carrie hadn’t spent much money on keeping the house up. How could Prat become seen as a routine visitor there? Or maybe he didn’t go to fix the house. Maybe he was Carrie’s sweetheart. Maybe that’s why people didn’t notice him going in and out of Carrie’s house.” But at their ages, I found that an unlikely thought.
“Well, for whatever it’s worth, there’s your scoop. Now, I’m off to watch Hubbard’s son play video games.” And with that, he vanished — again.
***
Rose called the next morning before the coffee had even finished brewing. “Can you come over?”
“Now?”
“No. Later today. I’ve just had a call from Chester.”
“That poor man. He must be reeling after his brother’s death.”
“He’s more mad than shocked. He’s demanding answers. He’s flying in today and wants to meet with the two of us. I told him I’d check with you.”
“I c
an’t see what I can tell him, but I’m free all day. Set whatever time you please. I’ll be there.”
I hung up the phone. I’d have to be careful. I certainly wasn’t about to tell Chester that I might have gotten his brother killed. Oberton could be correct. Hank might have died from some other cause. Innocent until proven guilty was my new mantra now.
“Who was that?” Andrew asked.
“Rose. She says Hank’s brother is flying here today.”
I wondered what Chester thought he’d accomplish? The police wouldn’t work any faster because he showed up. But he might know who his brother had come here to meet.
Could I really get that lucky?
Blackie wandered over to me. We acted out our morning ritual, which, as usual, put Andrew’s nose out of joint.
“Am I officially off Hubbard’s case now that Oberton has a suspect?” he asked.
“Nonsense. I’m not sold on Prat. Why don’t you stick with your man for now?”
“You hate me, don’t you?”
I gave him a warm smile. “Right.”
After he had disappeared, I shook my head. I was behaving more and more as though Andrew was real. I needed to stop that.
***
Chester arrived at Rose’s house a little before one. He was red of face and demanding answers. “What is going on? I was stunned and saddened by Aunt Carrie’s murder. But why in the world did Hank have to die?”
“Let’s go to the dining room,” Rose said. “I have coffee waiting there.”
Chester nodded and kept on talking. “I called the detective. He wouldn’t tell me anything helpful. In fact, he was less than useless.”
I cleared my throat. “He doesn’t have to keep you up to date with everything he’s thinking.”
“Why not? Hank was my brother. How could he think I wouldn’t want to know every detail of his death?”
I smiled to put a kindness to it. “Because you might turn out to be the killer.”
His jaw dropped. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Then try thinking of it this way. It is his job to suspect everyone until he finds a reason to rule them out.”
He blinked. “Even me?”
I nodded. “Even you.”
“But that’s stupid. I loved Hank. I would never have harmed him.”
“Oberton doesn’t know that. And he won’t necessarily believe it even if you tell him. Besides, if you think back to your aunt’s death, I think you’ll find he behaved the same way.”
We entered the dining room. A large spray of fresh flowers sat in the middle of the table which had been draped with a lovely, white cloth. China and silverware gleamed under the muted sunlight spilling through the two large windows. Rose seated herself at the head of the table while Chester and I took our places on either side of her.
She poured coffee. “How was your flight?”
Chester sat and looked sheepish. “I am sorry about my earlier behavior. I was being a bully. And look how you’ve put yourself out for me.” He took a deep, calming breath. “My trip was fine. And I thank you for taking time to set all of this up. You were always kind to Carrie. She was lucky to have a good friend like you.”
“Your aunt was never a burden to me. I was glad to help. How’s your sister?”
“She’s devastated,” he said. “Hank was the baby of the family. He was her favorite brother.”
“The middle child,” I murmured. “It’s always a difficult role.”
Chester shook his head. He looked as though he’d aged ten years since I’d last seen him. He unfolded his napkin. “I can’t believe my brother’s dead.”
I picked up my coffee cup. “He told me he’d come to Hendricksville to visit a friend. Do you know who that was?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I thought perhaps the friend might know how Hank had been spending his time here.”
“I thought he was finishing things up at the house.”
“He was. But perhaps he had something else on his plate. Something he might have told his friend about.”
Chester sighed. “You think he was up to something?”
“I think he was checking on a few things, yes.”
“I wish I knew what they were.”
“Do you know which of his friends still live here?”
“Not a clue. Probably not many.. Most of us have to leave if we want to find a good job. It’s a great place to grow up and to raise kids in, but career opportunities here are slim.”
“Would you call me if you think of the name of the person he might have been seeing?”
“You think what he told this friend might matter?”
“I think if we could could figure out what he was tracking, we’d learn who killed your aunt and brother.”
“Wow.”
“That’s only If there’s not some other reason behind the murder that we know nothing about,” Rose chimed in.
***
“Yippee,” Andrew crowed, as he popped back into the living room.
My knitting needles nearly flew out of my hands. “Would you quit doing that?”
“What?”
“Suddenly turning up like that.”
“Did I startle you?”
“No, my heart’s only beating at twice its normal rate for the fun of it.”
“I am sorry. But I was so excited.”
“You’ve learned something else?”
“Yeah, Hubbard finally let his hair down today.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s scared out of his gourd for his future. He’s terrified he’s going to be replaced by a computer.”
“Ah, there’s a lot of that going round these days.”
“According to Hubbard, computers are a real problem for bank officers like him. Apparently, there isn’t a report he can produce that a computer can’t come up with more quickly and at a much lower cost.”
I set my knitting aside. “I hadn’t considered that. But it makes sense. A lot of jobs are being replaced by machines.”
“He says at his age, he’d never find another position that would pay him what he’s currently earning.”
“So getting his hands on Carrie’s money might have appealed to him.”
“Sounds like it to me.”
“Who did he confess his fears to?”
“His assistant. He took her to lunch. She’d been badgering him, wanting to know what he thought her chances were of advancement. But by the time Hubbard unloaded his fears, she was almost in tears. She’s worried about her future, now.”
“Well done, Andrew.”
He beamed.
“I really did love you, you know.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ve never doubted that.”
I gave him a parting nod. Then I grabbed my checkbook and headed for my car. Hubbard had told me if I ever needed any banking help to come and see him. Today seemed as good a day as any.
The First National Bank of Hendricksville was a red brick affair. It occupied a good chunk of one block on the north side of the downtown square. It’s exterior was imposing, but the interior was more relaxed, and its employees were for the most part very friendly. At least they’d appeared that way to me when I’d set up my checking and savings accounts a few short weeks ago.
Today I walked up to a young woman manning the reception desk. “May I help you?’ she asked.
“I’d like to see Mr. Hubbard, please.”
My wish was her instant mission, and within a few minutes, Tom Hubbard came wandering down a hallway toward me, his beefy hand extended. “I’m so glad you decided to come in.”
Guilt reached out and slapped me on the nose. I didn’t like deceiving people, not even for a good cause. “Since moving, I’ve been putting of some decisions. I thought you might give me some financial advice.”
He nodded gravely. “I’m only too glad to help.” He ushered me down the hall and into a small office. It was done up in muted tones of gray and taupe. A black onyx
pen set decorated his desk, while the lampshade on his brass lamp was the usual banker’s green. The office smelled musty, and I thought of Andrew’s comments about the man spending most of his time pouring through dry financial records.
“I hope you’re finding Hendricksville to you satisfaction,” he said, waving toward a chair in front of his desk.
“Yes. I’m very pleased to be here.”
“Of course it doesn’t hurt that your daughter lives here, too.”
“Exactly.”
“I wish my mother would have been as open minded as you.”
“She wouldn’t move?”
“Not an inch. Anyway, what can I help you with?”
I whipped out my checkbook and led him through some of my financial information. As long as I was here, I didn’t think it would hurt to seek his advice. As we were wrapping up that discussion I slipped Mrs. Whitcomb into the conversation.
“Megan tells me you followed in her footsteps here.”
“Yes, I was named her replacement.” His face flushed slightly. “Her death was such a sad business.”
“I can imagine.”
“She left behind large shoes to fill.”
“So the people in my knitting group mentioned.”
Hubbard smiled. “Mrs. Whitcomb was well liked around town.”
“It’s so sad about her housekeeper.”
Hubbard’s brow wrinkled in confusion.
“Carrie Flynt,” I said. “The woman who was murdered recently?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, as realization dawned. “I didn’t know her personally, but all deaths are sad.”
“And now her nephew. He’s been murdered, too.”
Really, if Hubbard were innocent of the murder, he was going to think I was the most ghoulish person alive. But these questions needed to be asked, his reactions checked.
“Her nephew?” he asked.
“Yes, it made the news yesterday. He came here to clean out her home and was apparently killed for his efforts.”
“Good grief.”
“You didn’t know?”
“I don’t follow the news much. I did hear about his aunt’s death, but I didn’t know about the nephew.”
