Lilac Avenue

by Pamela Grandstaff

  Hannah’s phone played Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.”

  “Hello,” she said as she answered the call. “You have reached Hannah Campbell, Animal Control Professional, at your service. You gotta pup, I’ll be right up; you gotta cat, I’m where it’s at; you gotta raccoon, I’ll be there soon.”

  Claire rolled her eyes at Scott and stroked the kitten, which had rolled up into a ball on her lap.

  After a series of “uh huhs,” Hannah said, “Be right there,” and ended the call.

  “I gotta run,” Hannah said. “There’s a cow loose, apparently, and it’s got traffic stopped just above town.”

  “Do I need to go?” Scott asked.

  “Frank’s the one who called,” Hannah said, referring to one of Scott’s deputies. “He’s already up there.”

  “What about the kitten?” Claire asked.

  “I guess I could put him in one of the holding pens in the back of the truck,” Hannah said. “I don’t have a crate with me.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Claire said. “You’ll scare the poor thing to death. I can keep him here a little while; how long do you think you’ll be?”

  “Thirty minutes, an hour tops,” Hannah said. “It’s Dink Bartlett’s cow, Evangeline. She knows me. There’s a piece of fence down near the creek, and when the water’s low she likes to go on a bit of a walkabout.”

  “Just don’t forget to come back,” Scott said. “We know how you are.”

  “Don’t you get too attached to that cat,” Hannah said to Claire. “He’s a birthday present for a little girl.”

  “Don’t worry,” Claire said. “The last thing I need is a cat.”

  Hannah sailed out, calling, “Toodeloo.”

  “You just got yourself a cat,” Scott said.

  “You heard her,” Claire said. “This cat is a present for a little girl.”

  “When have you ever known Hannah not to have a cat crate?” Scott asked. “She has a truck compartment full of them.”

  Claire started to protest but stopped.

  “I’ve been played, haven’t I?” she said.

  “By the master,” Scott said.

  Hannah, of course, did not come back later, and would not answer Claire’s phone calls. Claire fed the kitten some chicken left over from her lunch, and gave it some water to drink out of a sawed-off paper cup. She went to the supply room to look for something out of which to make a litter box, but when she returned she found the kitten had made use of the sand in her counter-top Zen garden, which had been a welcome home present from Maggie.

  “Nice,” Claire said, as she poured the contents into the trash. “You obviously have no regard for my spiritual development.”

  The kitten stuck its back foot straight up in the air and commenced to wash its bottom.

  “Lovely,” Claire said. “No modesty either. You’ll do well in porn.”

  The kitten squeezed its eyes shut at Claire and then resumed its bath.

  After the kitten was finished bathing, Claire put some clean hair towels down in her voluminous handbag and settled the purring kitten in there, where it curled right back up and went to sleep. Claire performed her end of the day clean-up, and that’s when she noticed the tote bag sitting next to the garbage can by the front door. There was no doubt to whom it belonged, but Mamie didn’t answer Claire’s call and no answering machine picked up; her phone just rang and rang.

  “Crap,” Claire said. “Now I have to go up there.”

  Claire hung her handbag over her shoulder, thereby waking up the kitten, which peeked out to see what was going on.

  “Stay right there, Junior,” Claire said. “We have errands to run.”

  The kitten backed down into the handbag, kneaded the towels for a few seconds, and then curled up again.

  Claire hung Mamie’s tote bag over her other shoulder, turned out the lights, and locked the door behind her as she left. Mamie lived up on Morning Glory Circle, the highest street in Rose Hill. It was only three and a half blocks away, so Claire walked.

  June was the beginning of the very short summer in this mountain town. The temperature hovered in the seventies during the day, and dropped into the fifties at night. The summer so far had been very mild except for the occasional rainstorm. Today it was sunny and clear, and at seven-o’clock it was still bright daylight outside while the air was pleasantly cool. After hiking three blocks uphill, Claire was a bit winded but not breathless. Even better, her stomach had settled down.

  As she turned right down Morning Glory Circle toward Mamie’s house, which was a dark, Gothic monstrosity dominating the east side of the street, she saw two people standing on Mamie’s porch, having what looked like a heated discussion. As she neared the house, she could see it was waitress Phyllis Davis, her parents’ partying next door neighbor, and Trick Rodefeffer, the Realtor brother of Knox, the former bank president. It looked as if Trick was trying to calm Phyllis down.

  When they saw Claire approach, they both flinched as if startled, and she heard Phyllis say, “Great, just what we need.”

  Phyllis dressed much like Claire’s mother-in-law Frieda, with very tight jeans and a low cut, revealing top, but Phyllis was thirty years younger than Frieda, and had blue-black hair, teased up very big. Instead of the high heels you would expect, Phyllis wore thick-soled white tennis shoes for her work as a waitress at the Mountain Laurel Depot.

  Trick Rodefeffer had thinning blond hair and an orange tanning bed tan. He wore a pink polo shirt with the collar popped, khaki shorts and boat shoes. He looked Claire up and down, and smiled in what she knew he thought was a sexy way.

  He jerked his head up slightly and pursed his lips, which was his way of saying, “Hello, potential sex partner. Would you like to engage in some flirtatious behavior that may escalate into extramarital intercourse?”

  Claire found it easy and preferable to ignore him.

  “Hey, Phyllis. Hey, Trick,” Claire said. “I just came to deliver this tote bag back to Mamie. She left it in the salon.”

  “I’ll take it,” Phyllis said, and came halfway down the steps to get it.

  There was something a little too eager about her offer.

  “That’s okay,” Claire said. “I’d like to give it back to her, personally.”

  “She’s not in,” Trick said, at the same time Phyllis said, “She’s not feeling well.”

  They both looked at each other and then back at Claire.

  “What’s going on?” Claire asked.

  “The thing is,” Trick said. “I know she’s in there, I can see her sitting in her chair, but she’s not answering the door. She’s mad at me, on account of, well, a lot of things, but I really need to see her about something.”

  “And why are you here?” Claire asked Phyllis.

  “The depot delivered her lunch today, and I’m picking up the dishes.”

  “Since when does the Mountain Laurel deliver?” Claire asked.

  “Since Mamie offered to pay cash for it,” Phyllis said.

  Claire came up onto the porch and leaned over so she could peek through the gap in the curtains. Mamie was sitting in her upholstered chair, with her back to the window, facing a huge flat screen television, but the screen was black.

  Claire knocked on the window but Mamie didn’t move.

  “I think she’s asleep,” Claire said.

  Something on the floor at Mamie’s feet caught Claire’s eye, and she shielded her eyes so she could see more clearly. There were some loose papers and unopened mail on the floor, as if she’d dropped them there. Also, her lunch lay on plates on the end table next to her. It didn’t look as if she had eaten much.

  “I think we better call the fire department to break in,” Claire said.

  “Here we go,” Phyllis said.

  “I’d rather not get the authorities involved if we don’t have to,” Trick said. “Think how mad she’ll be if she’s just asleep.”

  “Do you have a key?” Claire asked.

&
nbsp; “Yes,” Trick said. “But Mamie doesn’t know I still have one.”

  “I think in this case you ought to take a chance,” Claire said. “If she’s had a stroke or something we may need to call an ambulance.”

  Trick opened the front door and Phyllis pushed past him before he could get the key out of the door. Claire could feel the kitten stir in her handbag. The heat in the house was oppressive, and there was a sour, metallic smell in the air that turned Claire’s stomach.

  “Phyllis, wait!” Trick shouted with irritation.

  He looked at Claire and said, “That woman.”

  Claire thought that expression had never conveyed more regret than it did coming from Trick regarding Phyllis Davis.

  When Claire and Trick reached the doorway to the sitting room, Phyllis was backing up, her hand to her chest. When she backed into Trick, she jumped, startled, and then turned around. Her face was pale underneath her heavy makeup. She clung to Trick for support.

  “She’s dead,” Phyllis said to Trick. “What’ll we do now?”

  There was no doubt Mamie was dead. Her head lay back against the wing chair, her eyes were open, and her mouth gaped as if she were yawning. Or screaming. It was a horrifying facial expression. Her elbows were bent, and her hands were drawn up, claw-like, in front of her chest. Claire’s skin crawled and her stomach turned.

  On the end table next to her were the plates of food, a few paperback romances, some wadded up tissues, and her eyeglasses. There was a tea cup and saucer upside down on the floor and the carpet was wet. Some of the envelopes on the floor were wet, and loose papers were scattered as if she’d dropped them. The room was so hot, and the sharp metallic smell so pervasive, Claire thought she might throw up.

  “I’m going outside to call Scott,” Claire shouted. “Don’t touch anything.”

  Outside the air was so clean and cool that Claire took a few deep breaths before she called the police station. More than anything, she never wanted to go back into Mamie’s house again, so she waited outside for Scott to arrive.

  Rose Hill is such a small town that it only took two minutes for him to get from the station to Mamie’s house. He had the cruiser’s lights on but not the siren. He pulled into Mamie’s driveway and parked behind her car. While she got him caught up, Claire checked on the kitten, which was awake and curious. Scott peered in at it.

  “Hannah never came back, huh?” Scott said with a grin.

  “Shut up,” Claire said.

  She zipped the top of her purse, leaving it open just an inch for air, and then tucked it behind a large cement planter, out of which grew a tree pruned to look like a tall, skinny corkscrew; it matched another one on the other side of the front door. She carried Mamie’s tote bag in with her, and left it in the foyer.

  Neither Trick nor Phyllis was anywhere to be found.

  “I didn’t see them leave,” Claire told Scott.

  Scott went into the room where Mamie’s body was, and Claire went looking for Trick and Phyllis. She found Phyllis in the kitchen, washing the dishes on which Mamie’s supper had been served.

  “Phyllis, you weren’t supposed to touch anything,” Claire said.

  Phyllis didn’t look at her as she continued to dry a plate.

  “I couldn’t stay in there,” Phyllis said. “That smell was rank.”

  After she dried each dish, she stacked it in a bus pan that had “Property of Mountain Laurel Depot” written on the side in black marker. The cup and saucer were turned over on the drain board.

  “Did you deliver her lunch?” Claire asked her.

  “No, Kevin did; he’s our bus boy.”

  “Did he say she seemed okay then?”

  “Said the old buzzard only tipped him a quarter.”

  “Sounds about right,” Claire said. “Where’s Trick?”

  Phyllis shrugged, but Claire heard footsteps upstairs on the squeaky wooden floors. She went back down the hall and met Trick coming down the main staircase. He seemed startled to see her and then peeked over her shoulder to look in the room where Mamie’s body was. He was whistling under his breath and his eyes darted here and there. Claire thought he couldn’t have acted guiltier if he tried.

  “What were you doing up there?” she asked.

  “Just checking to make sure no one else was in the house,” Trick said, but he avoided meeting her gaze.

  “Liar,” Claire said.

  “Not as far as you know,” he said, not quite under his breath.

  Scott came out of the parlor and closed the pocket doors behind him.

  His face was pale and white around the mouth. Claire thought he looked as if he might throw up. He met her eyes and then looked at Trick.

  “Trick,” he said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Oh, yeah, terrible thing, brochacho,” Trick said. “Just a terrible, terrible thing. Heart attack, you think? Stroke?”

  “I don’t know,” Scott said. “But the medical examiner will be able to tell us.”

  “And why are we involving him exactly?” Trick said. “I thought we’d just call Machalvie’s and they’d take care of her.”

  “That’s quite possibly what we will do,” Scott said. “But someone will have to sign a death certificate first.”

  “Call Doc Machalvie,” Trick said. “He’ll do it.”

  “I want to confer with my colleague at the sheriff’s department first,” Scott said. “Just to be safe.”

  Trick started blinking and twitching.

  “But what for?” Trick asked. “Mamie’s been on her last leg for years. Why do we need to involve the sheriff?”

  “Did you find Phyllis?” Scott asked Claire.

  Claire pointed to the kitchen.

  “Make sure nobody else goes in there,” he said to Claire, pointing at the entrance to the parlor.

  He went down the hall toward the kitchen and Trick turned to the newly deputized Claire.

  “I don’t understand why he would call the sheriff’s office,” he said. “Why is he complicating everything?”

  “I don’t know, Trick,” Claire said, fascinated by how agitated he was getting.

  Scott came back, saying, “She’s gone. Must have gone out the back door.”

  He regarded Trick.

  “Trick, my man, I’d like you to light somewhere and stay there. It can be here or down the street at your house, but I need to be able to get to you quickly.”

  Trick seemed torn. He looked at the parlor door, the front door, and then glanced upstairs so quickly Claire just caught it.

  “I guess I’ll just go home then,” he said. “That’s where I’ll be.”

  “Good man,” Scott said, and escorted him out the door. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Scott, he turned to Claire.

  “I know this is unpleasant, but I need you to come in here and tell me if anything is different from when you arrived.”

  Claire braced herself and then followed Scott into the parlor. She looked everywhere but directly at Mamie’s body.

  “Well, first of all,” she said, “there were dishes on the side table, the ones Phyllis was washing in the kitchen. She said they were delivered from the Mountain Laurel by the bus boy a few hours ago. Evidently, Mamie was fine then. It looked like very little had been eaten, if any of it. There was a tea cup and saucer on the floor, there where the carpet is wet.”

  Scott touched the wet carpet, smelled his fingers, and wrinkled his nose.

  “Smells like metal,” he said.

  “Be careful,” Claire said. “It might be poison.”

  “I guess we could cut up this part of the carpet and have it analyzed.”

  “Seems awfully extreme for an old lady who probably died of a heart attack.”

  “A very rich old lady with a trust fund,” Scott said.

  “What a horrible thing to do to someone,” Claire said.

  “I’ll check the trash cans in the kitchen,” Scott said, a
nd left the room. When he came back, he said they were empty.

  “Phyllis must have put it all down the garbage disposal in the sink,” Claire said. “I’m certain she took the dishes with her.”

  “Anything else different?”

  “The mail,” Claire said. “There were envelopes and papers on the floor around her feet. They’re gone.”

  “So either Trick or Phyllis may have taken those.”

  “Trick was upstairs; maybe he took them up there.”

  “There’s no telling with those two,” Scott said.

  “Do you really think someone killed her?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t know,” Scott said. “Why were you here?”

  Claire told him about finding Trick and Phyllis on the front porch when she arrived, and that Trick had a key Mamie didn’t know he had. She went to the vestibule and retrieved the tote bag. She told Scott about Mamie’s visit to the Bee Hive. Claire opened the bag and took out one of the romance novels. As she lifted it out, paper money fell out of it.

  “What’s that?” Scott said.

  Claire picked up the fifty dollar bill that had fallen out. When she shook the book, several more fell out. She dumped the whole bag of books out onto the floor and went through each book.

  “They’re all full of money,” she said.

  Scott walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed full of paperback romances, and chose one at random. There were ten one-hundred-dollar bills in the first one he chose. The second one, from another shelf, had several fifties in it.

  Scott said, “I hate to do this but I’m going to have to call Sarah.”

  Sarah Albright was in charge of homicide investigations for the county sheriff’s office.

  “Do you think Trick and Phyllis murdered Mamie?” Claire asked him.

  “I know something nobody else knows about Mamie,” Scott said. “At least I think no one else knows. A few years back I intercepted a poison pen letter that was intended for Mamie. I brought a copy to her, and she confessed the information in it was true. Since no crime had been committed, and it was really none of my business, I locked the original in the station safe. I think I’m going to have to get that back out now.”

  “What was Mamie’s dirty secret?” Claire asked.