Past Due for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “I’d be delighted,” my aunt said. “Should we just meet you out front, say around three?”

  “That will work.” Kurt’s gaze swept over Aunt Lydia before coming to rest on me. “I hope you didn’t have too painful a time at my dinner party the other night.”

  “Oh no, it was lovely,” I said. “I mean, you’re not to blame if …”

  “Some of my guests behave like boors?” Kurt flashed a grin. “I would be inclined to believe that Richard was adopted if it weren’t for the fact that he bears such a strong resemblance to Paul Dassin.”

  Aunt Lydia sniffed loudly. “That only proves that Fiona is his biological mother. I think I might’ve sought out someone else to father my child if I were her, so who knows?”

  “Aunt Lydia, the things you say sometimes …” I shook my head as Kurt burst out in a loud guffaw.

  The Nightingale, perusing the “New Books” rack, shushed him, but he simply offered her a gallant bow and left the building, still chuckling to himself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When we arrived at Mary Gardener’s house the following afternoon, I was surprised to see a battered pickup truck parked in the driveway.

  “It looks like Mary already has a visitor. I hope we aren’t intruding,” Aunt Lydia said as Kurt opened her car door and offered his assistance to help her climb out of the low-slung front seat.

  “It’s fine; she’s expecting us.” Kurt cast a glance at the truck, which had obviously seen a lot of hard use. It’s bright-red paint had faded into patches of pink, and dents dimpled its chrome bumper. “That’s Delbert Frye’s vehicle. He sometimes stops by to play music for Mary.”

  I jumped out of the back seat while Kurt held the door open. “What? I thought he was a hermit who didn’t mix with other people.” I pressed my lips together before I could say more. The thought of spending time with another murderer … No, possible murderer, I told myself. You have no proof that he killed Mona, and obviously neither do the authorities, since he hasn’t been arrested yet.

  “Really?” Aunt Lydia said as we made our way to the front porch. “I knew he built instruments, but I didn’t know he played.”

  “And sings too. He’s actually quite good,” Kurt said. “And yes, Amy, he doesn’t get out much. But he and Mary have been friends for some time. Really, it’s a shame he’s such a loner. He only shares his talents with a few people, Mary being one.”

  As we entered the house, a rich baritone voice, accompanied by what sounded like the soft strum of a dulcimer, wafted through the air.

  “O mother, mother, make my bed!

  O make it saft and narrow!

  Since my love died for me to-day,

  I’ll die for him to-morrow.”

  “I know that song. ‘Barbara Allen’—an old Scotch-Irish folk tune,” Aunt Lydia said as we crossed the living room. “My great-uncle used to sing it with a piano accompaniment.”

  “Yes, it’s quite a classic, often adapted by Appalachian musicians and others,” I said as I followed Kurt and my aunt into the kitchen.

  Delbert Frye, a short, wiry man who looked to be in his eighties, sat in a wooden ladder-back chair that he’d pulled up beside Mary’s rocker. The cinnamon streaks in his bushy gray beard bore witness to its original color, while only a few sprigs of white hair fringed his bald head. That, and the loose white shirt he wore over a pair of faded jeans, lent him the appearance of a medieval monk. Although, loner that he was, I doubted that Delbert Frye had much use for organized religion.

  He didn’t look like a killer, but then, neither did the other murderers that I’d encountered over the past year. I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. I knew I had to be careful and watch my words. Brad had asked me to keep the information I’d recently uncovered a secret while the sheriff’s office continued to build their case. I couldn’t betray my suspicions, no matter how uneasy I felt.

  As Kurt pulled up chairs for Aunt Lydia and me, Delbert stared at us with a mixture of embarrassment and suspicion. “Didn’t know you were expecting visitors today, Mary,” he said in a voice more gravelly than his singing would’ve led me to expect.

  “Oh laws, I’m sorry, Del.” Mary reached over and patted the arm he’d stretched protectively over the instrument in his lap. “But these aren’t strangers. You’ve met my friend, Karl Klass, and this is a local girl, Lydia Talbot, and her niece. Lydia was a Litton, a granddaughter of the Bakers who lived in that big stone house at the end of Main Street.”

  “I still live there,” Aunt Lydia said, extending her hand first to Delbert and then Mary. “So nice to meet you both.”

  Delbert Frye reluctantly brushed my aunt’s fingertips with his. “Hello,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

  In contrast, Mary gave her hand a firm clasp. “Pleasure. I almost feel I know you, since Karl has mentioned you so often. You were married to his best friend, as I recall.”

  “Yes, Andrew Talbot, but he died many years ago. Now I live in the family home with my niece.” She motioned for me to step forward. “You know Amy, I believe. Her mother is my younger sister, Deborah.”

  “I’m glad for the chance to make your acquaintance, Lydia.” Mary looked us over. “Now I remember—I sometimes saw you and your sister around town when you were small. You were so different—one so blonde and one very dark. Like that old story …” Mary pursed her thin lips. “What was that? Oh yes, Rose White and Rose Red. You two girls always reminded me of that fairy tale.”

  Aunt Lydia blinked rapidly. “Funny, my father used to call us that. Rosie White and Rosie Red,” she said softly, brushing at her eyes with her fingertips.

  Mary tipped her head as she examined my aunt, her eyes bright as a sparrow’s. “Yes, the Littons. I remember them. Your grandmother may have been as ornery as an old biddy hen, but your daddy was a sweet man. He was the only one to ask after my health when those people at the orphanage fell sick. I’d left, along with Karl there, before any of those poor folks died, but Randy Litton still took time to stop by and make sure I was all right.” Mary’s gaze rested on my aunt with compassion. “I was so heartsick when I heard about him and your momma dying in that accident. As I recall, you were still a child at the time.”

  “Fourteen,” my aunt said, slipping a lace handkerchief from her purse and dabbing at her eyes. “And thank you for your kind words, Mary. He was a special man.”

  Seeing her distress, I thought it was time to change the subject. I shifted my focus to the beautiful instrument cradled in Delbert’s arms. Crafted of fine-grained cherry, its buffed surface and sinuous curves called to mind an elegant piece of sculpture. “Is that one of your dulcimers, Mr. Frye? Walt Adams has told me about your musical creations. He’s often said they were as beautiful as works of art. I can see that he wasn’t exaggerating.” I sat back in my chair, pleased that I’d found a way to engage with the man without betraying my suspicions over his possible crime.

  Yes, keep the conversation on music. That’s a safe subject. I examined Delbert, hoping his weathered face would betray something of his true character.

  His hazel eyes, flecked with green, studied me in return. Bright and unblinking, they reminded me of the hidden, sly gaze of a fox. And just as wary.

  “Yes, this is one of mine.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said. “Just like your voice.”

  Delbert’s cheeks turned the color of the russet streaks in his whiskers. “Thank you, but I’m not much for singing in public.”

  “I keep telling Del he should perform for the folks in town during one of those festivals they hold in the fall, but he won’t hear of it.” Mary patted her gray topknot with one knobby-knuckled hand. “Won’t sing for anyone but a doddering old lady like me.”

  “You feel the music,” Delbert said. “Not like them people in town. They’d say it was all too old and strange.” What I suspected was a rare smile flitted over his face. “Like me.”

  “Oh, pshaw, the things you say.” Mary gave Delbert’s arm a sur
prisingly strong slap. “You’re only a few years older than Karl over there, and he acts like time don’t matter. Which it don’t, really.” Mary settled back in her rocker, her bright gaze sweeping over the rest of us. “That’s the thing you young’uns need to learn. Time don’t change who you are, just what you look like. If you don’t pay no mind to that, you don’t need to worry about the rest either.”

  Delbert snorted. “I was already running the farm when that fellow was knee-high to a grasshopper.” He stared at Kurt, his eyes narrowing. “Though you were more like a hornet, from what I’ve heard. Ran some scams and stung a few folks before being thrown out of that orphanage. Lucky that Paul Dassin fellow took you in, or who knows where you would’ve ended up.”

  Kurt leaned back against the kitchen counter and studied Delbert with interest. “Not here, certainly. Now Delbert, I don’t remember you ever mentioning that you knew anything about me. Did we meet when I was young? I’m afraid I don’t recall that.”

  “No, never did, and I didn’t really know you. Just heard stuff. I mean, it’s Taylorsford and, well … word got around.”

  “That hasn’t changed.” Aunt Lydia primly crossed her hands in her lap. “I do want to apologize, Mr. Frye, for so many people leaping to conclusions lately. It seems the location of your property has drawn some unwanted scrutiny, due to the disappearance of that girl and the professor’s death.”

  I squirmed on my chair, but Delbert simply shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to hide. It’s true I own guns, but the sheriff’s office has already checked them over and figured out that none of them was used to shoot that teacher. Of course, I’d already told them that. They could’ve skipped all the bother, but they aren’t much for listening to folks like me.”

  I scooted to the edge of my chair. Here was my opportunity to question him without betraying that I knew anything more than the rest of the people in the room. “You didn’t see or hear anything, Mr. Frye? I mean, about that girl that was lost as well as the professor?”

  “Not a thing, just like I told those deputies. I was farther up the mountain around the time they seem to think that woman was killed.” He shot me a sharp look. “I collect wood for my instruments off state land, close to where they put in those trails. Limbs and branches are naturally gonna break off, so I never saw no harm in it. ’Course I have to cut down trees on my property for larger pieces, but for trim and stuff, well … it’s just litter lying there, and I only grab an armful at a time. No one seems to mind.”

  “I’m sure they don’t,” I said, lifting my hand to stave off more of his outburst. It was a taste of that quick temper Walt had mentioned. Perhaps Delbert’s volatility really could drive him to violence. I tempered my tone before speaking again. “I just thought if you’d noticed anything …”

  “I would’ve told the deputies, like I did after I heard all that thrashing about in the woods last Thursday morning. Couldn’t exactly tell where the noise was coming from, but I thought maybe it was that fellow who moved into the old Patterson place.”

  “Charles Bartos?” Kurt asked, shooting me a raised-eyebrow glance.

  “That’s the one.” Delbert turned to Mary. “Remember, I told you about him and his fancy ways. Toted a camera that looked like it cost more than any sensible person would pay, then stomped through the woods loud enough to scare away every bird or critter for miles.”

  “He wanted to photograph wildlife?” The incredulous note in my voice made everyone’s gaze swivel to me. “Sorry, but I know Charles, and that doesn’t sound like him.”

  Delbert scowled. “That’s what he told me, not that we talked much. I only saw him a couple of times. It’s not like we socialized.”

  I brushed a bit of lint from my chocolate-brown slacks. “Did you ever meet his girlfriend, Marlis Dupre?”

  “Once. I was driving up the old farm road and she was out by the fence, near my shed, yelling her fool head off. I jumped out of my truck and ran over and spied this big blacksnake near her feet. She begged me to kill it, but I refused. Told her it was harmless and would keep the mice and rats off her property. She got real quiet then and stayed still while I shooed the snake off.” Delbert rubbed at his temples, as if this memory pained him. “I mean, I could’ve shot the thing, because I keep a loaded rifle in the shed for protection against rats and copperheads that sometimes crawl in there, but I don’t see no point in killing something that isn’t a danger.” Delbert’s bright eyes clouded over. “The girl was nice about it once she calmed down. Thanked me and even invited me to join them for dinner sometime. Which I never did, and then she was killed.” Delbert frowned. “I can’t say I’m fond of Bartos. Too much of a city slicker for these parts. But I do feel sorry for him, losing his lady like that.”

  I stared at Delbert. His compassion over Marlis’s death added a new brushstroke to my picture of him. Of course, I knew that didn’t eliminate him as a suspect. I had learned the hard way that you couldn’t assume that someone was innocent—or guilty—based on just a few character traits.

  “It is a shame, losing someone like that,” Mary said, gently laying her hand on Delbert’s arm. “I know you sympathize, Del, having suffered through your own troubles. Just like Lydia over there, poor dear.” She tightened the grip of her gnarled fingers on his sinewy arm. “Not only did her parents die when she was young, she also lost her husband in an accident not long after they were married. Just like your wife.”

  Delbert lifted his lowered head and gazed at my aunt. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, it’s true.” Aunt Lydia offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d lost your wife, Mr. Frye.”

  “Wife and child,” he said gruffly.

  Kurt straightened and stepped away from the counter. “My sympathies.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Delbert said. “Wasn’t living here at the time. I’d gone off to the city because I was sick and tired of scraping by on the farm and wanted to make more money. I met Claire there, while I was apprenticed to a furniture maker. It was all good at first—seemed I had a knack for woodworking, and Claire and I got hitched and she was expecting soon after. But then Claire was hit by one of them city buses when she was trying to cross the street. Right before the baby was due, so I lost both of them at once. That was the end of living in the city for me.”

  Mary cleared her throat. “Pretty much the end of living for you.”

  I saw this arrow hit home as Delbert stood and clutched his dulcimer to his chest. “Now look here, Mary Gardener. We’re friends, but that don’t give you the right to say such things to me.”

  “Just speaking truth, as only we old ladies can do,” she replied without batting an eyelash. “I only bring it up, Del, because I know Lydia has lost as much or more, and yet she doesn’t hide herself away, burying her talents in a mountain cabin and chasing everyone off with a gun.”

  I gnawed at the inside of my cheek. Delbert Frye was under suspicion for both Lacey’s disappearance and Mona’s death. On the surface it seemed reasonable, and I had to admit that the information I’d uncovered, along with Mona’s remarks about using an old family scandal to force him to talk to her, lent credence to that theory. But would this man really take a shot at an unarmed woman? My thoughts circled around the question as Delbert, urged by Mary, sat back down and played an instrumental folk tune.

  It could’ve been a hunter, shooting out of season. Someone like Ethan, I thought, recalling our encounter at the vet’s office. Or perhaps even one of the students, like Trish. Despite her small stature, she could obviously wield a rifle. I didn’t know if Chris or Hope could handle guns, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. And there was the matter of the treasure. I was fairly certain that one or even all of the students had seen that letter in the archives. If they’d decided to search for the missing gold coins, no matter how hypothetical the quest, would any of them have gunned down Mona if she stood in their way?

  I studied Delbert Frye as his fingers pluc
ked and strummed the dulcimer. There was the problem—I still couldn’t rule him out. Not only might he have reacted violently to Mona’s threat of blackmail, but there was a strong possibility that he also knew about the gold. It was information he could’ve easily learned from his family. Perhaps Mona had known about the missing coins and threatened to expose that family secret as well. It would have given Delbert another reason to silence her. I knew only too well what the search for treasure could drive even the most unlikely person to do, and Delbert, with his temper, secretive nature, and tendency to use guns as a threat, was a more likely killer than most.

  Although he didn’t want to shoot a creature he felt was harmless, even though he had a gun handy …

  I jumped up so quickly that my chair toppled over behind me.

  Aunt Lydia turned to stare at me.

  Delbert Frye did own another gun—a rifle stored in a shed some distance from his house. He’d mentioned that the authorities had checked all the guns in his cabin, but I wondered if he’d revealed that additional weapon to them. He might easily have omitted that information—whether through an innocent lapse of memory or a more sinister motive.

  “Are you all right, Amy?” Kurt asked, striding to my side and righting the chair.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” I turned to Mary and Delbert. “And forgive me, but I just remembered something I promised to do. There’s a call I have to make. Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course,” Mary said, while Aunt Lydia eyed me with suspicion. “Go on, dear. We’ll have some snacks and tea when you get back. Karl, could you help me up?”

  “You stay seated and just tell me what to do,” Kurt said as my aunt rose to her feet. “Go ahead, Amy. Lydia and I can handle this.”

  “Okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “Back in a minute.”

  I rushed out of the house and onto the front porch. Pulling out my cell phone, I punched in Brad Tucker’s number. I would tell him to bring a few deputies and search the building near Charles’s property line. They had to investigate the shed belonging to the old man still playing the haunting music wafting out from the kitchen.