A Murder in Helvetica Bold

by Jessa Archer

  That seemed a little paranoid. But I wasn’t sure what other reason she might have for spilling her story—and many, many tears—in my office.

  The tidal wave seemed to finally be ebbing. Elaine blew her nose again and looked around the room with dazed eyes, almost as if she didn’t know where she was or how she’d gotten here. And even though I was afraid my next question would trigger another round of waterworks, I had to ask her at some point.

  “How did you get into Edith’s house?”

  She stared at me for a moment, frowning. “Wh-what?”

  I repeated the question.

  Dabbing at her eyes, Elaine said, “I told you already. The door just opened.”

  I leaned back in my chair, wishing I’d thought to flip on my now fully charged phone’s voice recorder while she was in full hysterics and wouldn’t have noticed. My past decade had been spent at the editorial desk, not out interviewing people, and I’d gotten a little soft. Oh well.

  “Do you know Dean Jacobs?” I asked.

  Elaine eyed me suspiciously. “Everybody knows Dean. He’s the mailman. What about him? What’s he got to do with anything?”

  “He was there that morning, too. When Edith didn’t come to the door, Dean grew worried. So he tried the knob. It was locked.”

  I watched her face carefully to see if her expression changed once she realized there was someone to contradict her story. But she didn’t even flinch.

  “He’s wrong,” she said. “It was open.”

  “I don’t think so. He seemed quite certain. Why don’t you just tell me how you got inside?”

  Elaine took a deep breath and stood up, glaring at me through red-rimmed eyes. “I’m leaving. This was a mistake.” She snatched her windbreaker from the floor, slinging drops of water in a wide arc around her. “I should never have come in the first place. Mr. Dealey was wrong about you.”

  Her mention of my old mentor took me by surprise. I wasn’t surprised that she knew him. She had apparently lived in town for several decades, and everyone in town knew Jim Dealey. But why would he have spoken to Elaine about me? While I’d actually been eager to see her leave a minute ago, that made me curious.

  “Sit down, Elaine. You’re upset.”

  She pointed a finger at me as she backed toward the door. “No. I’m leaving. You just accused me.”

  “I didn’t accuse you of anything other than not telling the truth about the door. And you could have a lot of reasons for saying that—”

  “Mr. Dealey said you were a good person,” Elaine said. “A good reporter, too. I had something I wanted to share with you, but…I can see now that he was wrong. You’re not a good person. You’re just looking for a story, and you don’t care who you hurt to get it.”

  She stomped out to the curb and got behind the wheel of a battered gray Kia. As I watched her pull away, I wasn’t sure which was more puzzling—why she’d been talking to Mr. Dealey about me or how she’d managed to drive here in a state of hysterics.

  ✰ Chapter Thirteen ✰

  The rain had slacked off but refused to stop altogether. It dripped intermittently on my walk over to Wren’s house and now continued to drum gently against the windows in her kitchen. I’d been so distracted by Elaine’s dramatic display that I was halfway there before I realized I’d forgotten my umbrella. Luckily the brown hat Wren had given me was in my purse. I pulled it on and discovered that it was quite useful for keeping the rain out of my face. Wren for the win.

  “I knew she was lying about something,” Wren said once I told her about my conversation, if you could even call it that, with Elaine. “Or hiding something, at the very least. But you’ve already told Blevins the door was unlocked…”

  “And he didn’t seem to care. What I haven’t told him about, however, is this.” I took the diary out of my purse and slid it across the table toward her. “Edith Morton’s diary.”

  “Holy moly…where on earth did you get this, Ruth?”

  “Let’s just say that Cassie did a little exploring yesterday at the reception after the funeral. Although she swears she found it on accident.” I filled in the rest of the details, and Wren sat back in her chair, staring at the small book.

  “Do you think Edith was actually being haunted?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Blevins said she called the station multiple times. Always in the dead of night. And it really doesn’t matter whether I believe it or not. The real question is whether Edith believed, and this diary makes it crystal clear that she did.”

  “Well, like I said before, I’m kind of agnostic on the whole ghost thing. Heck, I live in a funeral home, and I’ve never seen one. Never felt the slightest presence. My aunt, on the other hand, swore she saw my grandfather walk into the kitchen almost every morning for the first year or two after he died. He’d go over to the coffeepot and look at it longingly for a few seconds before he faded away.”

  “Oh my,” I said, staring down into my cup. “That’s so sad. Could you imagine smelling the coffee, seeing it, knowing it was right there, and you couldn’t have any?”

  We were both silent for a moment, and then Wren said, “Poor Edith. If she was being tormented by something—or someone, because I’m still not convinced it was really a ghost—maybe she did jump.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But even if you’re eighty-five, there’s no guarantee that throwing yourself down a staircase—especially from the landing—is going to kill you. It seems equally likely that you’d just break a hip or something, and then you’d be haunted and hurting. Edith might not have been easy to get along with, but I haven’t heard a single person suggest that she wasn’t smart. I don’t believe she jumped, and the fact that someone is even suggesting that she did makes me more suspicious that her death wasn’t an accident.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Wren said, looking down at the diary.

  “I don’t have any choice, Wren. I’m not sure how, but I have to put it back. If Blevins saw Cassie coming out of that room, and they don’t find the diary, he could put two and two together.”

  “We could just burn it,” Wren said. “Or drive out and toss it in the river.”

  “I can’t do that. This is sort of like…I don’t know. Her last testament, almost. If someone really was trying to push Edith over the edge—either literally or figuratively—this diary could contain important evidence. I need to take it back.”

  “Oh, Ruth. You can’t be serious.”

  But I was serious. Very much so, and I think Wren could see that.

  “We’re too old to play Nancy Drew,” she said.

  I shrugged. “Angela Lansbury, then. And it’s me, not we.”

  “Oh, you know better than that, Ruth Townsend. If you’re going into that house, I’m going with you. I can’t let you do something like that alone.”

  “No. Absolutely not. You can bail me out if I get caught, but there’s no way I’m dragging you into this.”

  Wren narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t let me go with you, I’ll tell Ed.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me,” she said, flashing me a smug smile.

  I didn’t think she would. In fact, I knew she wouldn’t. However, I also knew there was no talking her out of going with me. If I pushed the issue, she’d simply follow me around until the deed was done.

  “Fine,” I said. “When did you get to be so darn stubborn? We’ll just have to find a time when Clarence isn’t home, I guess.” I glanced out the window toward Edith’s house.

  “That shouldn’t be hard. He hasn’t spent a single night there since his mother died. He’s probably staying at the cabin.”

  “Well, that’s a break. So…we go tonight?”

  “Tonight it is,” Wren said.

  “Great. We’ve made it through more than three decades as friends without sharing a jail cell. First time for everything, right?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re not going to get caught. We’ll wait until midnight.
Go in the back door.” Wren laughed softly to herself as if she couldn’t quite believe we were actually doing this. “No one will ever see us.”

  “Okay,” I said as my stomach did a little flip. “How do we get in? Break a window?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said, walking over to the keyholder next to the closet. I watched as she ran her finger down the line and finally came to rest on one near the middle, with a flower drawn in red sharpie across the face.

  “You have a key?”

  “Of course. We were neighbors. Edith gave it to me years ago, in case there was a problem when she wasn’t home.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief—possibly the first easy breath I’d taken since Cassie showed me the diary. “Wren, you are a lifesaver.”

  “Well, technically, no,” she said. “They always seem to arrive at my door too late for saving. But I am a pretty darn good best friend.” She slapped the key down on the table. “Tonight at midnight. Wear something black.”

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this. It will be like the old days when the two of us used to sneak out.”

  Her smile faded a bit at that, and so did mine. It had been three of us most of the time. Tanya Blackburn was the third musketeer in our little group. But she’d disappeared during our senior year without a word to either of us. Just packed up and left, apparently, although we’d both had a hard time believing that.

  I squeezed Wren’s arm. “Thank you for being my partner in crime.” Then, as I reached for my purse, I remembered the other reason I’d stopped by.

  “Can’t believe I almost forgot,” I said, fishing out my iPhone. “I finally got a picture of our furry friend this morning. Look how much he’s grown!”

  Wren took the phone from me and smiled. “Well, would you look at that? Hard to believe he’s that big when he wasn’t much larger than Cronkite before the winter. He looks happy as a…” Her voice trailed off.

  “What is it? He doesn’t come near the house,” I said in response to her worried look. “I never go down there, either. He’s too big now. It would be much too risky.”

  Wren shook her head. “No. That’s not what I’m looking at.” She tilted the phone so I could see. “Who is that?”

  At first, I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. But when I finally saw it, my blood ran cold. In the background of the photograph, just behind the first row of underbrush, was the dark figure of a man, staring straight at my house.

  ✰ Chapter Fourteen ✰

  I left Wren’s place in a total panic. She offered to drive me, but she’d already mentioned she had a consultation scheduled with the Moore family, who needed to choose a coffin for their terminally ill grandmother. That was hard enough without having someone call to postpone it. My car was just two blocks away, and I ran every step.

  The image on my phone was surreal, far too much like one of those made-for-TV suspense movies. All I could think about on my mad dash back to the house was that I’d left Cassie alone there with a strange man staring at our house from the woods. Had the weather been decent, I’d have thought it might be someone out hiking who had stopped to watch a young bear playing on my lawn, but the rain had been coming down in sheets, and my house was nearly a mile from the edge of town. There were several acres of trees between me and the nearest neighbor on all sides. No way was he just wandering around.

  I punched the button on my phone and voice-dialed Cassie’s number again. Still no answer. Even when she’s sound asleep, the phone usually wakes her. I can’t count the times that I’ve heard her groggy, slightly annoyed voice on the other end when I’ve called and caught her sleeping.

  Ed’s number wasn’t in my voice dial yet, so I had to pull up my recent calls. My fingers were shaking so bad that I nearly called the wrong number on the first try, and I had a close call with running my Jeep off the road. He answered on the fourth ring, just when I was about to give up and throw the phone onto the floorboard.

  “Ed here.”

  “Can you come to my house?” I said without preamble. “Please?”

  I heard him struggle to his feet. “Ruth? What’s wrong? You sound scared.”

  “Yes. I am scared. I’ll explain everything when you get there. I’m on my way home now.”

  The rustle of fabric on the other end told me he was already putting on his jacket. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Please be careful, though. The roads are terrible.”

  And they were. Main Street was a shallow but swiftly moving creek. No one was out and about now. Most of the shops were dark, and I wondered if they were even open.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Ed asked.

  “I’m fine. But Cassie’s at the house, and I think we’ve got a stalker.”

  I hung up and dropped my iPhone into the passenger seat.

  The image had been blurry. It was impossible to tell for certain whether the mysterious figure was a man or woman, but the build suggested male. I was surprised that Remy hadn’t sensed him, but the watcher hadn’t been any closer to the bear than I was. Plus, the rain had been coming straight down, which could have messed with Remy’s sense of smell. The bear cub probably just hadn’t seen him. I certainly hadn’t. Thinking back to that morning, knowing that someone was hiding and watching me as I stood on my deck, I couldn’t help but shiver. I had been vulnerable. Unprotected. Anything could have happened.

  And Cassie had been there all day by herself. I hadn’t heard a single peep from her.

  Ghosts, I thought. Edith’s ghost. The boy with the black hair. I shivered again.

  The trip home seemed to take forever. I scanned the tree line as I turned into the drive. No one there at first glance, but the odds of the man still being in the same spot hours later seemed slim. And if he wasn’t in the woods, that could be even worse. He might be inside.

  I came to a screeching halt next to Cassie’s little white Honda and was out of the Jeep before my legs had time to adjust to the muddy terrain. My feet went out from under me, and I landed on my bottom, the icy water soaking through my jeans. Scrambling up, I hurried onto the porch and unlocked the door, screaming Cassie’s name as I stumbled into the foyer.

  Announcing my presence was probably a bad idea if we had an intruder. I wasn’t armed. There were knives in the kitchen, though, and I headed in that direction.

  “Cassie,” I screamed again. “Where are you?”

  Nothing. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock across the room. Cronkite hadn’t even come to investigate.

  I glanced around the living room, looking for signs of a struggle. Signs of anything, really. The only thing I saw was my reflection in the silent TV, drenched, with clothes stuck to me like a wet glove. And then I noticed the basement door between the living room and the kitchen, standing wide open.

  “Cassie?” I heard a rustle downstairs. “Cassie!”

  “Mom?” Her voice rose up from below like a rush of warm air on my cold skin. I almost cried out in relief. “Down here,” she said.

  I hurried down the steps and found her crouched in front of the hot water heater on a blanket. Her headphones were on, and she was bobbing her head to the beat. I could hear the music from five feet away. A cardboard box was open beside her and a dozen or so photographs were spread out between her pajama-clad legs.

  “I was going through some of Grandma’s old—” She looked up and pulled the headphones off. “What happened? You look like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

  “I fell. In the mud. I’ve been calling. Why didn’t you answer?” I tried to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice, but it was there, loud and clear.

  “My phone is upstairs,” she said, taking few steps toward me. It was almost like she was afraid to get too close. Like she wasn’t entirely certain I was, in fact, her mother and not the Swamp Thing coming in from the cold. “I was tossing laundry into the dryer when I saw the box of photos. Sorry if I worried you. I di
dn’t mean to be down here this long. But you go days sometimes without knowing where I am in Nashville, so…what’s up?”

  “C-come upstairs. I need some tea. I’ll tell you up there.”

  “You get changed,” she said, squeezing my arm. “I’ll make the tea.”

  I agreed, mostly because my teeth were beginning to chatter. As I turned toward the stairs, something brushed against the back of my leg, and I almost screamed. Cronkite. He was wondering what was wrong with me, too.

  The doorbell rang just as I emerged from the basement. Ed was outside and clearly out of breath. I could have hugged him, but in my current state that would have been a very bad idea.

  “Good grief,” he said. “What the heck happened to you?”

  “Cassie’s making tea. Let me get into dry clothes and I’ll join you in the kitchen.”

  I toweled off quickly and pulled on my thickest sweater and dry jeans. By the time I reached the table, Cassie was pouring water into the mugs.

  “I made you Sleepytime tea,” she said. “You don’t look like you need the caffeine right now.”

  “Good call.”

  Sitting there in the safe, brightly lit space with Ed, Cassie, and Cronkite, it felt like maybe I’d overreacted. I couldn’t make myself look at the sliding glass door, though. First chance I got, I was buying some heavy blinds to put across there. A curtain. Something. Cronkite would be furious at me for obstructing his view, but he’d just have to get over it.

  “Okay, Mom. What’s going on?”

  I reached for my phone. When I came up empty-handed, I started to go upstairs and retrieve it from my wet jeans, but then I remembered I’d left it in the car. And it was still pouring, so I opted to tell the story without a visual aid.