Nobody Can Say It’s You: A Hadley Pell Cozy Mystery

by Green, Jeri

  “You think we could try to have this thing again next week?” Hadley asked.

  “We could try,” said Hobie. “I know Ruth was counting on the money raised here to help the shelter get through the winter. I could talk to some of the folks. See what they think. Maybe Dickie Earl down at the radio station would give us some free publicity. He’s been wanting a mandolin for a couple of years, but my backlog list is so long, I been putting him off. I could tell him I’d move him to the top of the list and see what he says.”

  Hadley looked up at the sky.

  “If we do it, I just hope the weather holds,” she said.

  “Yeah,” said Hobie, “it was perfect today. You couldn’t ask for a prettier day if you put in an order. But it is getting late in the season.”

  “Well,” Hadley said, “if it turns nasty, we could call our little shindig the ‘late Halloween and Early Winter Wing-Ding.’”

  “We might have to,” said Hobie. “This time of year is so unpredictable. It can be sunny and nice one day and snowing and a three-pig night the next, but I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can talk the pups into playing all afternoon. That should be worth something.”

  “If you could do that, Hobie, we could pack the gym with people if the weather’s rotten. Charge a small fee, and let Ruth have it.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Hobie. “I’ll call ya tonight.”

  Hadley was glad that as talented as he was, Hobie’s feet were still planted firmly on the ground. This idea would surely help Ruth.

  “Maybe,” Hobie said, “we could raffle off one of my old guitars.”

  “Hobie, you gotta heart of gold.”

  “I’ll call ya and let you know how the idea goes over.”

  Hadley smiled.

  “I’ll be there,” she said.

  Generous, talented, and handsome. He was the kind of man a girl could get used to having hang around the house, she thought.

  “I wonder if he likes cats?” she muttered softly to herself.

  Chapter Four

  Hadley was sitting at her kitchen table the next morning drinking hot coffee and eating a cream cheese-slathered bagel when she heard the familiar “thud.” But this morning, it sounded differently. She got up and opened the back door. The paper tossed by Rocket Randy, Hadley’s paper boy, had ended up in the bird bath Harry had fashioned from a hollowed log. Hadley liked the natural look of the log birdbath, and the birds seemed to be attracted to its woodland design.

  Hadley retrieved the soggy mess from its watery grave and promptly tossed it into the trash.

  “Plan B,” she muttered.

  Wearing her dead husband’s ratty old robe, she took her coffee mug and wandered into the study. She booted up her computer and searched for any news of the dead person who so abruptly brought the festival to an end yesterday. Local television had only stated that the person was a male whose identity had been held pending notification of next of kin, and investigations were on-going.

  Bill had taped off the area around the body and put up a makeshift barrier to provide security around the corpse, which was loaded into the ambulance and taken swiftly away. With all those rags covering his head, it had been impossible to tell who the man was. And everyone looked alike zipped up in a body bag.

  Curiosity was eating her up. Who was the mystery man who had crashed the town’s festival? Was he a local? A tourist? Anyone she knew? Hadley wanted desperately to know.

  Onus, the big male tabby that Hadley had adopted, sauntered into the study.

  “Good morning, old man!” Hadley said. “Sleep well last night?”

  Onus scowled.

  “I know you think I should let you sleep on my pillow and curl up on top of my head. I’m sure you love the warmth and the feathery nest of pillow and my thick head of gray hair, but I really can’t seem to fall into a deep sleep with your tail tickling my nose.”

  Onus looked at her with a stern stare.

  Her argument was unconvincing.

  “Well, anyway,” Hadley said, “you still have the whole house to snooze the night away in. From the bathroom sink to the couch, wherever your little pea-picking heart desires. It’s your roost. You have my blessing. You know you’re welcome anywhere. Just not on top of my face, old bird.”

  Onus turned his back on Hadley and started grooming his unmentionable parts.

  “Let’s see here,” Hadley muttered to herself, her attention now on the screen. “If that don’t beat all!”

  She grabbed her cell. She couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Maury!” Hadley said. “You up?”

  “Well,” Maury said, “I did have to rise to answer the phone. What is it?”

  “Have you seen the morning edition?”

  “No. I was still in bed. Now, I’m talkin’ to you,” said Maury.

  “Well, neither have I,” said Hadley. “Rocket Randy threw my copy into the bird bath. I had to resort to looking up what happened yesterday on the Internet. There wasn’t a lot of information, just a few lines with the barest details. Has Bill said anything to you about it?”

  Maury’s husband was Bill Whittaker, the sheriff of Hope Rock County.

  “I haven’t seen him,” Maury said. “He got in sometime in the middle of the night and crawled into bed. I think I remember rousing enough to kiss him before nodding off, but maybe I dreamed that part. He was up and showering and gone again at the crack of dawn. That’s why I was sleeping in. I waited up for him last night until I was cross-eyed. Really didn’t sleep worth a diddle-bean hoot.”

  “You will not believe who was under that mask!” Hadley said.

  “Who?” said Maury. “I had to come home and slug down a glass of Ivy Benedict’s homemade huckleberry wine to relax. My nerves were tore up! Shot to pieces! Seeing Bill chasing that hooded hooligan down Main Street like that, with Elwin and Wayman following him in hot pursuit and their guns drawn like some Hollywood thriller movie, was horrible! It was like living one of my worst nightmares. And to have that thing drop dead right at our feet! I swear, I still can’t believe it. I hope I never see anything like that again for as long as I live! Cold chills and heebie-jeebies, Hadley!”

  “Take a breath, Maury,” Hadley said. “Take a breath. I’m busting a gut here trying to get a word in edgewise. Do you know who it was?”

  “No, I told you,” Maury said, “Bill and I haven’t talked since he left for work yesterday morning.”

  “It was Button Dudley!” said Hadley.

  “Button Dudley!” said Maury. “What in the world! And I was sure it was a demon from the fiery pits! Or maybe some kid strung out on something. You never know what kids will try these days, and nobody knows what it will do to them! But Button Dudley’s old as dirt, Hadley. He was running down the street like somebody had rubbed red peppers on his piles. What’s going on? Was he possessed?”

  “I dunno?” Hadley said. “I know Button was always lean and fit. He’s never been anything but spry.”

  “But that old goat has got to be pushin’ a hundred,” Maury said. “He’s been old for as long as I can remember.”

  “Maybe he’d found the Fountain of Youth. The way he was running,” Hadley said, “you could have mistaken him for an Olympic athlete.”

  “Did his heart give out?” Maury asked.

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if it just didn’t burst in his chest,” said Hadley. “Something had to be really wrong. It’s not every day a man goes screaming and running down the streets like fiends are on his heels. And then to drop like a rock. Just like that. And dressed in that crazy costume! Button Dudley! Who would have ever thought it?”

  “Oh, Sis,” Maury said, “hearing this has got me really spooked. I mean it. I feel just like souse meat melting over a hot fire. I ain’t nothin’ but chilblains and chitter-jitters! For sure.”

  “You’ve just got goose bumps because it’s almost Halloween,” said Hadley.

  “No,” said Maury, iit’s not that. It’s somet
hing more. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. Just a feelin’, you know. Nothing I can really put my finger on.

  “Button comes from the back country. And not just the fringes, but way back in them hollers. He’s as old as the hills and about as steeped in the old ways as they come.”

  “Yeah,” Hadley said. “In Button’s case, the mystery is how did he get to the festival, and why would such an old man be dressed up like Death?”

  “Where was he running to?” Maury asked.

  “Maybe we should be asking ourselves who or what was he running from?” Hadley said.

  Chapter Five

  At the stroke of midnight on All Hallow’s Eve, the time has come. It is the bewitching hour, and spirits roam. At midnight’s toll, the heavy eyes have closed to twilight’s sleep. All is quiet at hearth and home. The clock’s hand tick. And tock. And tick. The earth is still.

  Is it resting or merely waiting for what comes next?

  Asleep or holding its breath?

  The candle is lit, and the looking glass reflects the darkening gloom. The candle’s flame flickers in the looking glass and shadows dance o’er the room.

  Arise and go to the mirror.

  Arise and go.

  Gaze into the glass.

  The smoky haze begins to clear. Look closer. Closer, still.

  The sights and scenes will be revealed: the wonders, the splendors, the horrors. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. There is always tomorrow. The curtain parts and you begin to see. All that is tomorrow. And all that is to be.

  It is there for you to read like a magazine.

  * * *

  “Beanie!” Hadley said. “What on Earth are you doing?”

  Beanie Fugate was an old friend of Hadley’s. She had known him since grade school. An unfortunate accident at a pulp mill had injured one of his hands and scarred his forearm. His mental faculties were dulled by the injury, too.

  Many in town made fun of Beanie, calling him the town retard or worse. Beanie was the caretaker for the town’s largest cemetery, Memorial Gardens. He was also Hadley’s sidekick whenever she picked up odd jobs that got her out of the house and gave her an excuse to be rambling about.

  Beanie had his head stuck inside a large paper sack from Pixie-Squares Supermarket.

  “I’m drunker than Cootie Brown,” said Beanie.

  He sounded terrible. Hadley was worried.

  “What’s made you dizzy, Bean?” Hadley asked. “Do you have high blood pressure or something?”

  “Naw,” said Beanie. “Nuthin’ like that. I was puttin’ my tools away in the work shed. I was goin’ to walk over to Hennishaw Pink’s. Hennishaw said he had an old mower that Harvey could have for the cemetery if I would just come over and get it.

  “You know Harvey. He’ll take anything if it’s free.

  “Harvey gave me the rest of the day off. Hennishaw’s is about a two hour walk. I’se supposed to push the mower home and bring it back to the Gardens tomorrow.”

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Hadley asked. “Did you get over-heated?”

  “Naw,” said Beanie. “Nuthin’ like that, neither. I ain’t even started to walk to Pink’s. Oh, Hadley. You just don’t know.”

  “Tell me, Beanie,” Hadley said.

  “June Mae Miller ’n’ June Bug Browley drove up to the cemetery to pay their respects to their Mam ’n’ Pap. You know, Hadley, it’s a good thing June ’n’ June live in the same house. Two folks named the same anythin’ will keep the haints away.”

  “Uh-hum,” said Hadley. “And June Mae and June Bug, did they say something to hurt your feelings?”

  “Oh, no,” Beanie said. “June Mae ’n’ June Bug’s always real nice to me, Hadley. June Mae brings me a leftover biscuit sometimes when her ’n’ June Bug come over fer a visit. Mam ’n’ Pap raised ’em like ’at, ya know.”

  “I know, Bean. They were good folks. Now, get your head out of that sack and tell me what happened.”

  Beanie did as he was told, but he couldn’t help looking longingly down into the bottom of the sack.

  “June Bug asked me where Sadie Finch was buriet. I shoulda jus’ told ’em where she rests, but I was in a awful hurry. If I didn’t get a move on, I was gonna be walkin’ home from Hennishaw’s in the dark! In the dark, Hadley! Pushin’ a lawnmower! That’s jus’ askin’ fer trouble, you know it?”

  “Um-hum,” said Hadley.

  “Why, that’s jus’ a fine howdy and an open-invitation fer enny spook to foller me home! Right to my back door. Come on in ’n’ haint my skin! Beanie’s back, so come on in!

  “I’da rather not have that happen, if ya don’t mind. Life’s hard enough without a bunch a poltergeistezes turnin’ yer house topsy turvy. My own comp’ny’s plenny good enough for me. You know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Um-hum,” said Hadley.

  “Well, anyways, I shoulda jus’ told June Bug ’n’ June Mae where Sadie Finch was buriet. I shoulda just done that. Her plot is near the corner of the fence that runs near Moonshine Crick,” Beanie said. “But I didn’t.”

  Beanie stuck his head into the paper bag, again.

  “Beanie,” Hadley said, “pull your head outta that poke! Just tell me what has you so upset. I’m not a spring chicken. At this rate, my fallen chest will hit to my knee caps by the time you get around to finishing this story! You look like Juniper’s mule at feeding time.”

  “Oh, Hadley! Oh, Hadley!” Beanie said, reluctantly pulling his head out of the bag and looking her in the eyes.

  Beanie was truly afraid. Hadley could tell that much. But if he didn’t tell her the reason for this fear, she could never help him.

  “Just take a deep breath, Bean,” Hadley said, “and spit it out.”

  “I wasn’t thinkin’. I wasn’t! I wish I was. But I wasn’. I pointed to where Sadie Finch was buriet,” Beanie said, looking like he was going to pass out right there in front of Hadley.

  “And?”

  “Don’t you get it? I pointed, Hadley. I pointed! I didn’t tell June Bug ’n’ June Mae where Sadie rested. I pointed! Oh, heavens to Betsy! I pointed in a graveyard! In a graveyard, Hadley! My finger’s gonna rot off!”

  “Oh, Bean,” Hadley said. “It will do no such thing. That’s just an old superstition. It’s totally false. Your finger’s fine.”

  Beanie remained steadfastly unconvinced. Hadley could see it in his eyes.

  “Okay, my friend. Let me see your finger.”

  Beanie showed Hadley his index finger.

  “Looks like we still got plenty of time. Only thing I see is a little rust and a lot of dirt. Get your poke, and come with me,” said Hadley.

  “Where we going?”

  “Just get in the car. We’ll swing by Hennishaw Pink’s place. Pick up that old piece a junk lawnmower.”

  “How you know it’s a piece ‘a junk lawnmower?” Beanie asked.

  “Have you ever known Hennishaw Pink to ever give away anything that he hadn’t plum used up, tore up, or totally gotten all the goodie out of?” Hadley asked.

  Beanie shook his head “no.”

  “Well, like I said, we’ll head west to Dilcie Pickle’s, then we’ll swing by Pink’s and stow that piece ‘a junk mower in the trunk. Drop it off at your place.”

  “We gonna see Granny Dilcie?” asked Beanie.

  “Yep,” said Hadley. “It’s been too long since I paid my respects. You seen her lately, Bean, like in a month a Sundays?”

  “Oh,” said Beanie, who was strapped into his seatbelt in the front passenger’s seat with the Pixie-Squares paper poke neatly folded on his lap, “I think it’s been a lot longer ’n ’at.”

  “Just as I thought,” Hadley said. “And don’t go stuffing your head in that poke, anymore. You will be drunker than Cootie Brown riding around in a car without looking at the scenery. Don’t worry about your finger. Don’t fret. It’s gonna be all right. I promise. We’ll get all our chores done, and we’ll be back long before it gets dark.”

  “We gonna pa
ss the news with Granny?” Beanie asked.

  “Yes. We’ll see how she’d been doing. But more importantly, Bean, we are going to get Granny to fix your finger so it won’t rot off,” said Hadley.

  “Hadley, you’re the best friend a guy could have.”

  “Beanie, if you ain’t preachin’ gospel.”

  Chapter Six

  The old log house sat beside a swift running stream. Hadley turned down the dirt driveway and crossed a homemade wooden bridge just wide enough to accommodate the car. She got out of the driver’s seat just as the screen door opened, revealing a small woman who had stepped out onto the front porch.

  “Hadley Jane, you wuddn’t miss a hawg killin’ no matter what time of the year it was,” said Granny Dilcie. “It’s good to see ya. Mighty good.”

  Granny Dilcie was a slight speck of a woman whose wrinkled face belied her real age. She could have been 60 or 600. Her shiny white hair was twisted into a bun on the top of her head. She had no teeth, but her eyes still sparkled with intelligence and youthful mischievousness. She had a deep, throaty laugh that shook her whole body and made the light in her eyes shine even brighter.

  Hadley and Beanie and Granny Dilcie stood underneath her shake-shingled porch. Four locust posts held it up. Neither the posts nor the house or porch had ever seen a drop of paint. The wood had weathered to a dingy, charcoal gray. It was cold, and as they spoke, little puff clouds filled the air.

  “I do try to stay busy,” Hadley said. “Bill and Maury are forever saying I’m into everything. But I have to fill the time, you know. Otherwise, I’ll succumb to cabin fever.”

  “I know jus’ whut ya mean,” said Granny Dilcie. “We gotta stay busy. It’s what the good Lord wants. ’Sides, keeps us outta trouble. A busy body keeps this old woman from being a nosy, old busybody. Too tired to do anythin’ but hit the bed early.”