Miss Pettybone's First Case

by Melissa Rees

  She could feel sweat congregate above her eyes, before dropping off the end of her nose, onto her lip. Swiping it with the back of her hand, she tried to make up her mind what to do.

  She walked back to the kitchen door and gripped the knob. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she pushed the door open, leaning in as far in as she dared. She held onto the doorknob for balance and craned her neck to see behind the door and around the sparsely furnished kitchen. Just using the power of deductive reasoning, she knew for a fact that he had not cooked for at least a week, as there were silver threads of spider webs running from the ceiling fixture, to the stove-top and back up again.

  A small wood table sat in the middle of the room; not four feet from the back door. It had a small empty bowl, sunglasses and a cereal box resting on it. A sticky spoon, lying next to the bowl, had attracted flies and ants. A beat-up lime green vinyl chair had been pushed away from the table.

  Determination battled with exasperation in Miss Pettybone's chest. She could almost lean in far enough to lay the notice on the table. But should she? Of course, the man could be ill. Shouldn't she, a government employee, check to see if all was well? He might be collapsed on the floor, waiting for assistance this very minute. He could also be in the shower, she thought. In which case, they both would be embarrassed.

  She frowned at her predicament and stood thinking about it for a couple of minutes. It was her duty to check and make sure he was okay, she reasoned. After all, she felt she was the eyes and ears of the local police force. And she kind of hoped it had been more than rudeness that prevented him from opening the door all week. Pursing her lips, she briefly wondered what Agatha Christie's, Miss Marple would do? Miss Marple would definitely go in, she decided.

  Miss Pettybone stepped inside the small kitchen. Glancing around, she placed the notice on the table, and then turned to go. Pausing, she gazed around the dirty kitchen. A dejected atmosphere surrounded the interior of the house. She listened a few minutes and thought about how completely still the house felt, then turned curiously towards what she assumed was the living area. It couldn't hurt to check and make sure the place was as empty as it felt. Of course, curiosity killed the cat, she thought. But then cats were small. If the man was resting, she would just apologize and leave. But at least she would know that he was all right.

  She walked into the living room and looked around, then shook her head. A beaten-up light brown fabric sofa occupied the middle of the room, its cushioned seats stained and unappealing. A rickety three legged wood table sat next to it with a garish lime green table lamp resting on top. Newspapers lay scattered across the sofa and onto the floor. A package of cigarettes and a yellow lighter lay within arms reach and a half bottle of whiskey sat next to the cigarettes. Not exactly a Martha Stewart moment, she reflected as she looked around.

  She spotted a hallway that led to the back of the house and walked cautiously over and looked down the passage. Three doors led off the hallway. Two were probably bedrooms and a one bathroom, she deduced, as she stood trying to make up her mind what to do. If the man came in and caught her, she would scream and run, she decided. Maybe he would think the heat had taken her over.

  Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. Besides, if she was caught she would just explain why she was worried. What could he do, shoot her, have her arrested? She decided not to dwell on those kinds of concerns and started down the hallway.

  The corridor was dark and dingy with age. She opened the first door on the right and peered into a rather sparse and dirty bathroom. The sink, toilet and bathtub were filthy, with dirty soap and a greasy layer of grime covering the surfaces.

  The dark green tiles over the tub were cracked and a few were missing. The displaced tiles were stacked precariously on the back of the toilet; some were broken, while the others leaned drunkenly against the wall. A lone toothbrush lay on the sink, with a contorted container of toothpaste nearby. She wiped the sweat away with her arm and sighed. So far the whole place was pretty darn depressing.

  Miss Pettybone pulled the bathroom door closed, then walked to the end of the hall and opened the door on the left. On the far side of the bedroom, sunshine filtered in through dirty white blinds. A few slats hung lopsided, dust and spider webs clinging to the blinds and windows. Warren Jones lay on the floor beside the bed. His still form was curled into a fetal position, blood congregated in a puddle beneath his head. His hands were tied together behind his back. She gasped at the sight and threw her hands over her mouth, then stepped back. Yanking the door closed, she took deep breaths.

  Miss Pettybone leaned against the wall and willed her breathing back to normal. She was sure the man was dead. He certainly looked dead, all the blood and everything. She should use her cell phone to call the police immediately. She took a deep breath and forced her mind to think about Warren Jones. Pushing herself up, she straightened her back. Miss Marple would investigate, and so would Miss Pettybone. She would not be scared at the sight of a dead body. No, she would not act like that. This was her chance to investigate a murder and she wasn't going to throw it away. She ran her hands down the side of her shorts, and then pushed the bedroom door open and stepped inside. With her shirt pulled high over her nose, just in case she could smell him, she walked over to the body.

  The man lay on the floor on his side, his legs curled into his stomach. His hands were tied behind his back; his feet were bare but tied together with clothesline. Hundreds of hungry black flies swarmed the top portion of his head and onto the carpet. She briefly wondered why all the murdered people she read about ended up in a fetal position. She stuck her hands in her pockets to protect the crime scene and walked cautiously around the body, careful not to disturb any evidence that may have been left behind.

  She noted that blood and parts of his brain had been ejected and thrown in clumps against the floor and wall. He couldn't have been dead very long, she reasoned. The blood looked dark but not black like the books suggested. She bent down and carefully studied the dead man. The side of his face that she could see looked fine except for the flies and a few ants crawling over it. Miss Pettybone used the tip of her shoe and lifted his head. When she saw the other side of his face, she jerked her foot away. The left side of his face had been completely blown away. Swallowing back vomit, she stood up.

  She figured she would have about twenty minutes to investigate once she called the police. Telling herself that she was shocked and revolted and certainly not excited about a horrible murder, she carefully backed out of the room, then turned and headed for her cell phone.

  Chapter 5

  She would need to have her house pressure-washed before fall, Mary Alice McKidding decided, standing in back of the building staring at the dingy white aluminum siding. She was standing quietly, waiting patiently for Pudden to do his business, when she heard her neighbor yelling for her from the far side of her house. She trotted around the back of the house and spotted Yaya Sibenski in her driveway, leaning on her walker. Yolanda Sibenski, otherwise known as Yaya, was a slightly built, gray haired black woman with faded brown eyes and an infectious smile. She had been Mary Alice's neighbor for thirty years.

  "I thought I saw you come outside." The old woman said, pleased to catch Mary Alice before she left for the day.

  "I was just letting Pudden have some privacy before we took off." Mary Alice explained, giving Yaya a small smile.

  "You heading out again?"

  Mary Alice sighed and walked up to the woman. Leaning on her wagon, she prepared to be yammered at. "Me and Pudden are headed over to Nora Crabtree's house."

  "Nora Crabtree? Oh, poor Nora. I heard her husband is stepping out on her with a younger woman."

  "Yea, he is. Me and Miss Pettybone dragged his sorry ass out of the street this morning. Let me tell you, he was drunk as a skunk. Scared to go home is what I think."

  Yaya shook her head and sighed. "Nora is such a sweet woman. Why would he do that to her?"

  "Cau
se he's a man, that's why. You know very well all men keep their brains in their pants."

  "Mary Alice!" Yaya exclaimed.

  "Don't be so prissy, Yaya. You're 84 years old. You know most men think with their baby-maker."

  Speechless for a few minutes, Yaya starred at her neighbor. “Still, there's just no need to use that kind of language."

  Mary Alice, knowing that the old woman was genuinely upset, relented. “I'm sorry Yaya. I keep forgetting you were raised in a different era than me. But you know what I said is true."

  "Well, maybe some men think that way. But most are hardworking, good heart-ed men. Your own man never strayed, did he?"

  "No he did not." Mary Alice snapped. "He knew very well what I would do if he went around sticking his baby maker into somebody else."

  "Mary Alice!" Yaya said, appalled.

  "Yaya, your twenty years older than me. Looks like you wouldn't be surprised at how anybody talked."

  "I am not surprised and yes I've heard that kind of talk. I just happen to think its bad manners to discuss such things." Yaya said, weakly. She always had a hard time standing up to Mary Alice.

  "Well, I bet Nora thinks it downright disgusting that her husband is sleeping with a girl young enough to be his daughter." Mary Alice pointed out.

  Yaya sucked in a tiny bit of breath and stared at her neighbor, then repeated. "Young enough to be his daughter?"

  Mary Alice nodded, enjoying herself. "I think she is younger than his son."

  "How horrible for Nora."

  "Yep, it's a tough thing to live with, I suspect. That's why me and Pudden are headed over there. She needs someone who cares how she feels."

  "You tell her I said to keep her chin up." Yaya instructed.

  "Hey, why don't you come with me and Pudden?"

  "Well." Yaya hesitated.

  "Come on." Mary Alice urged. "We can stop at the cafe first and have a bite of breakfast."

  Ears perking up at the mention of going out to breakfast, Yaya nodded. "Okay, let me get my purse." She paused and looked down at the black and white bulldog. "What about Pudden?"

  "Oh, Jewel lets me bring him inside. He sleeps under the table and nobody even knows he's there."

  Yaya smiled happily at the chance to eat out, then turned and headed for her house.

  ****

  "Just knock harder on the door." Yaya encouraged, watching as Mary Alice and Pudden tried peeking into the stained glass window of the front door.

  "She has to be here." Mary Alice said, glancing back at the new black Chrysler 300 that sat in the concrete driveway in front of the two story brick house.

  "Maybe she's in disposed." Yaya offered.

  "What does that mean?" Mary Alice snapped, annoyed that Nora Crabtree had yet to answer the door.

  "Maybe she's in the little girl's room." Yaya whispered.

  "You mean the bathroom?" Mary Alice demanded.

  "Yes, and you needn't speak so loud. She has neighbors." Yaya reminded Mary Alice, leaning on her walker.

  Mary Alice took her fist and hammered on the front door.

  After a few minutes, the door opened slowly and Nora Crabtree frowned out at the two women standing on her front stoop. "Mary Alice, Mrs. Sibenski, I wasn't expecting any company. How nice of you to stop in for a few minutes."

  "We thought we would surprise you." Mary Alice said, turning to wink at her friend.

  Unhappily, Nora swung the door open wide and gestured for them to come in. "This is a surprise, all right."

  "I hope you don't mind." Yaya said, in the sweetest voice she could muster, trailing behind Mary Alice and Pudden.

  "Of course I don't mind. It's just that the house might be a little messy. And I have to run and get some groceries this morning."

  “I'm sure your house is fine and you can run later." Mary Alice pronounced, stepping into the foyer, looking around. Taking a finger, she ran it along the top of an old oak table that sat along the wall. "See, hardly any dust."

  Nora raised her eyebrows at the gesture, then ushered them into a beautifully appointed living room. "Please have seat. I'll make us a glass of tea."

  "No need for that. We just came from breakfast." Mary Alice announced, sitting squarely on an overstuffed flora wing-back chair. Bending down, she patted the space beside the chair for Pudden.

  "Oh, okay. What can I do for you ladies today?" Nora asked, helping Yaya to the sofa. Turning, she sat down opposite Mary Alice on a matching wing-back chair.

  "It's not what you can do for us. It's what we can do for you." Mary Alice said firmly.

  "What you can do for me?" Nora repeated, puzzled.

  "We came to talk to you about your rotten good-for-nothing husband." Mary Alice announced.

  Nora cleared her throat nervously and glanced over at Yaya, who only nodded. "I don't understand."

  "Everybody in town knows he's screwing Susie Wilson." Mary Alice informed the woman, reaching a hand down to pet Pudden.

  "Mary Alice, I hardly see how this is any of your business." Nora answered, her left eye beginning to twitch.

  "It's all of our business." Mary Alice declared, glancing at Yaya. "We have come to support you and give you some advice."

  "Mary Alice, really, there's no need to worry yourself on my account. And as far as advice, well, I appreciate the thought but I'm fine."

  "You don't mind him screwing Susie Wilson?" Mary Alice demanded.

  Nora gave the women a shaky smile, and then cleared her throat. "I didn't say that. But my aunt said that he's just having a little mid-life crisis."

  Mary Alice jumped up and hurried over to Nora, then jerked her out of her seat. Marching her to a mirror, she thrust her in front of it. "Look at yourself. You're skin and bones. You have dark circles under your eyes. You probably haven't slept in weeks."

  Nora stared at herself in the mirror and felt tears whelm up and flow freely down her cheeks. "I know I look awful."

  "You look like someone whose been made a fool of and doesn't want to admit it." Mary Alice scolded.

  "Mary Alice, what can I do? He doesn't listen to me." Nora begins sobbing in earnest.

  "You can get some backbone and pride in yourself."

  Nora wiped tears off her cheek, and then turned to Mary Alice. "What are you talking about?"

  “I'm talking about filing for divorce. I'm talking about giving him some of his own medicine."

  Walking like an old woman, Nora retreated to her chair. "But Mary Alice, I don't want a divorce."

  "You don't have to go through with it. But Lenny needs the holy crap scared out of him." Mary Alice pointed out.

  "Mary Alice." Yaya reproved. "You don't need to use that kind of language."

  “I'm sorry, Yaya. But Nora needs to take command of the situation and not let the situation take command of her." Mary Alice advised.

  Nora sniffled and looked at Yaya. "You agree with Mary Alice?"

  “I'm sorry, dear, but I do believe you're letting him get away with murder." Yaya answered in her kindest voice.

  Nora grabbed a tissue out of a box and patted her eyes. "What would you do?" She hiccupped, looking at Mary Alice.

  "I would shoot the bastard in the ass with my shotgun, and then blow his penis right off." Mary Alice said, looking fierce.

  "Mary Alice!" Yaya scolded. "You would do no such thing."

  "I hate to disappoint you Yaya, but that's exactly what I would do. But Nora is way too nice to do that. I think she should start dating, running the streets. She's a good-looking woman who has a lot to offer."

  "I don't feel like I have much to offer." Nora whispered.

  "That's cause he's beat you down, Nora. Don't let him get away with that." Mary Alice advised. "That girl don't care no more for him then she does her dirty tennis shoes."

  "But he cares about her." Nora said, unhappily.

  "He cares about her vagina." Mary Alice snapped. "That's all he cares about."

  Yaya gave up on Mary Alice's language. She l
ooked at Nora. "Mary Alice is right. You need to teach him a lesson."

  "What kind of lesson?" Nora asked, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

  "You know him better than anyone." Mary Alice pointed out. "Think about what would hurt him the most, and then do it."

  Nora smiled weakly at the two women. "You’re both right. I know that. It's just hard when the whole town knows what's going on."

  "If you really want that scoundrel back then you have to scare some sense into him." Mary Alice informed Nora. "But maybe you should take a few days and figure out why you want him back."

  "Mary Alice." Yaya commanded. "You must stop putting ideas like that in Nora's head. Of course, she wants her husband back."

  "I don't know why. He's not really that attractive." Mary Alice pointed out. "And he's a drinker."

  "She wants him back because she swore in front of God and her family to marry him for better or worst." Yaya replied, looking at Nora. "Don't listen to her, sweetie. Of course, you want him home."

  Disgusted, Mary Alice stood and reached down to pick up Pudden. "Well, you think about what we said." Glancing at Yaya, she added. "All of it."

  Nora tried to smile at the two women, as she led them to the door. "I’ll give what you said a lot of thought." She promised, as she watched them walk down the stairs, headed for Mary Alice's wagon.

  Mary Alice turned to look back at her and yelled. "If you need us, just pick up the phone."

  She nodded and watched as Mary Alice squealed down the driveway and out into the street. Thoughtfully, she walked back into her house and shut the door.

  Chapter 6

  Keel and Wagner sat silently and avoided looking at each other. Neither one of them had ever killed a human being before. Choking back any emotion that he felt, Wagner started the truck and pulled out of the rest stop and back onto the highway.

  After sending a quick glance Otis Keels way, Aaron Wagner pushed the cruise control on. "It had to be done."