Mary Lou and I made plans for my trip to Palo Alto for the Angelican Hills Halloween party, where Maddie would appear as “eye of newt” and so on.
My daughter-in-law offered to cook dinner for all of us.
“That would be wonderful.”
“Henry, too, of course,” she said.
“I’ll see if he’s free that day.”
Mary Lou howled. I couldn’t imagine why.
Was I back in junior year of high school? I had a big problem with what to wear to dinner on Tuesday night. It would be the first time Henry and I would be meeting without an excuse. We’d be getting together not because our granddaughters wanted to play, or because we had a wood-working or miniatures project to complete, or because I needed some brawn to help me in the garage. It would be just us, adults having dinner, “at a restaurant with cloth napkins” was all Henry would say.
I looked through the section of my closet that did not consist of clothing I could wear to do my gardening. There were beige slacks, cream-colored tops, an off-white sweater set, a brown tweed jacket, and more of the same. Was I really this colorless? Apparently I’d been putting all my color energy into dollhouses and room boxes.
I kept clothes I hardly wore at the back of an antique armoire. I opened a side drawer in the giant piece of furniture and found a royal blue silk shell. It was a start.
Henry had seen me in layers of mismatched sweaters and socks; he’d heard me cry and witnessed my worst moods. I didn’t need to worry about what I wore tonight. Henry had invited a colorless grandmother and crafter to dinner.
It still took me a half hour to decide.
Later, in an elegant restaurant in San Francisco’s Embarcadero Center, I sat across from Henry, who was wearing a royal blue silk tie and a brown tweed jacket. We shared “this old thing?” stories and had a good laugh.
We ended the evening with some coffee back at my house.
Things were looking up more than I’d hoped for.
My plan was to take Maddie’s felt witches and glue ghosts, with a note, to the Fergusons on Wednesday afternoon. If no one was home (or if the whole family was already in jail, I mused), I’d leave the package at the door. I wasn’t anxious to see any of the E&E Parts owners, except possibly mild-mannered Sam, too soon.
I rummaged through the Halloween items and supplies on my crafts table to find Maddie’s creations amid the rubble of half-finished items, scraps that hadn’t been swept into the wastebasket yet, and oddments that needed to be sorted and put into the proper bins. The life of a crafter.
Maddie and Taylor had been busier than I thought. Besides the witches and ghosts, they’d finished several miniature masks and a couple of scarecrows.
I picked up one of the scarecrows. About five inches long, with a tiny plaid shirt and a red felt smile, it would be perfect for a miniature fall centerpiece. I rolled the scarecrow between my fingers, checking the glue job Maddie had done. She was getting better at not overgluing, one of the giveaways of an amateur crafter.
Something struck a chord. The figure looked like most traditional scarecrows. Like the one the Fergusons set on their porch every year. Like the one that must have been on the porch before it was replaced by Oliver Halbert’s lifeless body.
Where was that scarecrow now?
Had the killer taken it with him? I pictured him running down the street, a floppy, life-size scarecrow over his shoulder. Not likely. Had he broken in to the Fergusons’ house and dumped it in the hallway? The police had searched the immediate area while I’d been there with Maddie and the teenagers. If they’d found the scarecrow on the grounds, they would have taken it as evidence, I’d think. It might have Oliver’s blood on it. I would have remembered if they’d carried out a scarecrow.
My mind raced with the question and unlikely answers. Another scarecrow came to my mind. The one I’d seen in pieces during my tour of the factory, stuffed behind the mops and brooms and Lillian’s costume. Had that been the original scarecrow? Why would the killer cross town to plant the real scarecrow at E&E Parts?
Unless . . .
I replaced Maddie’s mini scarecrow on the table and went to get my notepad from my bag. I hadn’t taken the time to clean out my tote from the long weekend’s activities. (And last night I’d used my dressy, beaded purse, crafted by Mabel at one of our meetings.)
Pleasant memories of last night would have to wait, however.
My spiral notepad was still open to the pages I’d used at the crime scene on Friday afternoon. I read through the names of the flustered teenagers, and found the one I wanted.
Ashley Gordon, Two-two-one Lee Street.
I held my breath waiting for directory assistance to find her telephone number, then let it out when I was connected to her.
“Hello?” Another sigh of relief at the sound of the young voice.
I explained who I was, regretting having to remind Ashley of the dreadful scene on Sangamon River Road.
“I didn’t see anything else,” she said, before I could ask her my crucial question. I was used to teenagers feeling guilty whether they were or not.
“I just need to clarify something you said already, Ashley. I won’t keep you long. Can you take just one minute? It’s very important.”
“I guess.”
“You told me that you’d been at the Fergusons’ house earlier that day. Is that correct?”
“Yeah, but honest, it was lunchtime. It wasn’t anywhere near the time we saw—”
Did she honestly think she was a suspect? I cherished moments like this when I was teaching—it gave me such power over their young psyches.
“I believe you, Ashley. I just want to know, are you sure you saw the real scarecrow on the porch that same day?”
“Totally. Me and my boyfriend—well, my ex-boyfriend— Noah were there. He’d never seen it jump up and scream, so he was, like, totally freaked.”
“Thanks very much, Ashley. I hope you can go back to what you were doing and have a good evening.”
“Okay, ’bye. Me and my friends are watching Scary Movie 4.”
I should have known.
Where was Skip when I needed him? He wasn’t answering his phone. Could my nephew have taken my advice and decided to take time off for further recuperation? Why did he choose this time to obey me?
I left a message for Skip: “Did you ever find the original scarecrow? What happened to the real Ferguson scarecrow?” Neither of these questions seemed to be the right phrasing. I tried again. “I think the original scarecrow, the one that was on the porch before Oliver’s body appeared, is at the Fergusons’ factory. How could it have gotten off the property unless one of the Fergusons . . . ?” Should I say the word over the phone? I had the silly thought that I’d better leave it at that.
Furthermore, where was Henry when I needed him? I left a message for him, also. “I have to deliver the Halloween decorations to the Fergusons’ factory. If you’re free and want to take a ride, call me.”
Was everyone on a long lunch break?
I knew the wise course would be to wait for one of them to call me back. It probably wasn’t the best idea to go to the factory by myself.
While I was waiting (pacing) I called Susan. No answer there, either. I left a message apologizing for not being available lately and told her to call me whenever she wanted company bearing fresh ginger cookies.
Ten minutes had passed since my call to Skip.
It was broad daylight. It wasn’t as if I planned to challenge the twins or aggravate Lillian or Sam. I just wanted to check out the scarecrow in the corner and delivering the Halloween decorations provided the perfect cover. No one would be the wiser. What if the scarecrow had Oliver’s blood on it and one of the Fergusons was removing the evidence right now? Or was it already gone?
If I were the killer, I thought, I’d display that figure in full view of the partygoers, with all the other decorations. Hide it in plain sight. A popular trick in mystery fiction.
I’d
waited long enough.
I called the factory.
“Good afternoon. E&E Parts.” Lillian’s voice.
“This is Geraldine Porter, Lillian. I wondered if I could stop by with some decorations. My granddaughter made them but she’s not feeling well and she insisted I give them to you in plenty of time for your party.”
“Your lovely little granddaughter. Yes, please do stop by. I’ll be here until six.”
Lillian had a unique way of mismatching her words to her tone, so that when she said “lovely little granddaughter” I wanted to protect Maddie from even a moment in Lillian’s thoughts. I could have asked how her “wonderful grown-up boys,” were, but thought that would be rude. I’d try to find out another way.
Remembering the strong breezes that usually swept over the outskirts of town, I put on a (beige) windbreaker and took one more look at the silent phone.
I gathered the ghosts and the witches and headed for the factory.
Chapter 21
The treeless industrial neighborhood didn’t look much different than it had on Monday morning. I saw very few vehicles and no people at all as I drove through the streets that were named to honor aviation history.
I turned from Neil Armstrong Lane to Hangar Way and stopped about a block from the factory. I took out my cell and tried Skip and Henry again.
No answer.
No problem. I continued on to the entrance of E&E Parts. I wished the neighborhood weren’t so deserted. Hadn’t Lillian mentioned what a good thing it was that they had no residential neighbors, since factory grounds tended to be noisy? Not this one.
I grabbed my tote and the bag with Maddie’s Halloween crafts plus a few of my own and walked up the path, with a neat lawn on either side, to the glass double front doors.
I didn’t see a doorbell or another way to announce my presence and figured most visitors were delivery people who arrived at the dock on the side of the building. I peered through the glass and immediately jumped back.
A witch was walking toward me.
Lillian, in full costume, opened the door.
I’d have been frightened if she hadn’t looked so absurd. Witches should be tall and thin as a broomstick, I mused, not short and chubby like Lillian. Her outfit was voluminous and shapeless, as if she’d cut a hole in a bolt of black polyester and stuck her head into it, letting the fabric fall where it would. The hemline was several inches too long, making Lillian look even stubbier. Her hat was lop-sided; her grin comical.
“I know. It’s pretty funny-looking, isn’t it?” Lillian remarked. “You’re handy with a needle, I’ll bet. Maybe you can help me with this.”
“I’d be happy to try,” I said.
She took the plastic bag of decorations I offered. “More treats,” she said. “You’re too kind.”
Why didn’t I believe she was sincere? In fact, she handled the bag with a slight hesitancy, using only two fingers at one corner to raise it to her eye level and examine the contents. She might have thought I’d handed her a poisonous apple, but that would have been backwards.
Lillian ushered me into one of several offices in an area that was to the front of the workshop. I wished she’d have led me back to where the mops and brooms were, but there was plenty of time for that.
We discussed the best way for me to help her with the costume. I ended up kneeling on the floor next to a desk that held Lillian’s nameplate while she stood on a small step-stool. I longed to open the desk drawers and search through the credenzas along the wall—not to find the scarecrow, but who knew what other clues might be filed away? I wondered if the police had confiscated the files as part of a follow-up on Oliver’s investigation.
For now, I simply used the supplies in my ever-handy sewing kit and pinned up the dress.
“I think this will be better,” I said, standing. I folded some of the fabric around her arms to make sleeves. “I can take this home and sew it up for you on my machine, or I can just baste it in place right now.”
“Just baste it, if you would. I’m never going to wear it again, after all.”
I was glad to hear that.
The twins’ mother didn’t show any signs of the distress I would have felt if my sons had been accused of fraud that led to a man’s death. It seemed like just another normal day at E&E Parts. Except for the witch’s costume.
Lillian asked for privacy to change into her regular clothes. I took advantage of the opportunity by grabbing my tote and the plastic bag of decorations from the desk where Lillian had deposited it and walking toward the work area. I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to throw off the black fabric, so I moved quickly.
I pushed open the swinging doors to the workshop. There were no lights on and I wondered if the production end of the factory was officially closed. I hadn’t thought to ask Skip where exactly all the Fergusons were. Maybe the twins were already in jail and work had stopped. If so, Lillian was certainly putting up a good party front in spite of it.
It had turned overcast outside and the hulking gray machines scattered throughout the concrete floor took on the specter of tombstones. I wondered where Sam was. Or anyone. I was glad swinging doors didn’t have locks.
I passed oversize tools that had plugs thicker than I’d ever seen. The plug for my reading light would have seemed miniature in comparison. Were there more volts in a factory? What were volts anyway? My brain was clearly overloaded.
The brooms and maintenance equipment were on the right wall as I remembered. I headed over, carrying the bag of decorations as my cover. “I was just going to put these with the other decorations,” I planned to say, if caught back here.
I found the gray barrel-shaped container with cleaning supplies. The golf clubs were gone, which might have explained where Sam was.
And the scarecrow was gone, which definitely explained why I felt a sharp poke in my back, from a hard object.
“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Geraldine. Turn around.”
I turned to see Lillian, still in her costume, pointing a gun at me.
She’d set me up, the crafty old witch. She wanted to find out the real reason for my visit, and she did.
“Sam said you might be trouble. He said you noticed the scarecrow when you were here the other day. I destroyed it that night, but I knew the damage was done.”
“I—what do you mean?” Sam had given me too much credit. I’d had no idea what I was looking at the other day.
“What am I going to do with you, Geraldine? I knew you were bad news as soon as I heard you were out there taking notes the day the kids found Oliver’s body. I sent one of the boys to find the notebook but they botched the mission.”
“One of the twins was after my notebook?” I thought about the way my desk drawers had been tampered with.
Lillian didn’t answer. She was now holding the gun with two hands. Was this a good sign or a bad one? Dare I hope that she might drop it?
I moved inch by inch. Inch by Inch, It’s a Cinch, the Pier Thirty-nine souvenir T-shirt read. I wondered if I’d ever see it again. I tried to close in on the brooms and mops sticking out of the barrel, potential weapons, but Lillian moved with me, keeping the gun trained on me and her witch’s body between me and anything I might use to defend myself. Not that a broomstick was any match for a gun.
Lillian in a flowered housedress was scary. Lillian at the head of a conference table at a board meeting was scarier. Lillian in a witch’s outfit, holding a gun, was scariest.
Every nerve in my body was on edge. Lillian must have known she couldn’t get away with killing me, but I didn’t think it mattered to her. She seemed like a woman who had nothing to lose.
This was not the way I’d pictured it playing out. I was younger, taller, and infinitely more fit than Lillian. I’d been worried about running into Sam or one of the boys, who might have been able to best me in a physical conflict. I hadn’t counted on being done in by a squat old lady with a lethal weapon. There was nothing like a loaded gu
n to gain an upper hand, no matter what your age or size.
“I’ve lived in this town a long time, Geraldine. I hear things. I know you were asking questions in the coffee shop and pretty much making a nuisance of yourself around town. I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d figure it all out.”
“Lillian, your sons are going to have to answer for their business practices, no matter what you do to me.”
“You sound like Oliver Halbert. Who was he and who are you to tell me what I can and can not do for my sons?”
“Did Oliver confront you with what he found out about the fire?”
“Oliver came to the house when the boys and Sam were at the factory. I was home alone. I often go home and cook something and take it back for lunch. I take care of my family. He threatened to expose the twins’ little error, leaving them liable for everything—inspection irregularities, the fire, the janitor’s death. Shooting him was self-defense on my part, when you think about it.”
I thought about it and it was not self-defense. Maybe I should make it self-defense in my case by at least trying to attack Lillian. I looked around for something I could use. Any of the machines would have done the job, if I could have lifted them. I saw grinders, blades, heavy blunt objects, and a myriad of things that would do for a stabbing. Nothing within my reach, however.
“This could be over, Lillian, if you just put the gun down.”
Apparently I didn’t have decent words, either, just lame platitudes. I felt a stream of perspiration roll down my back. I knew my hair was as wet as if I’d been out trick-or-treating in the rain.
“It’s already over,” Lillian said. “I shot Oliver.” Lillian’s eyes glazed over. Should I make a move? Before I could decide, her gaze met mine again. “If I could only figure out what to do with you.”
I knew she meant not all of me, but my body.
“I’m sorry we had to give up one of our guns, and now another,” she continued. “We have a number of them that aren’t registered. Do you know why?”
Monster in Miniature Page 24
