by Curry, Edna
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Do you know his name?”
“He said he was Jack Kent, Agnes’ employee. A thin, middle aged man. Drove a dilapidated Ford pickup with a trailer behind it.”
Ben smiled and nodded, a relieved look on his face. “I know him. He has quite a few customers around the area. So you’re done with this case, now, right? Patti told you to find Agnes and we found her, so you’re done?”
I fidgeted in my chair and swallowed hard, knowing he wasn’t going to like my answer. I met his gaze. “Uh, no, Ben. She says you think she’s a suspect and is very upset about that. She wants me to find out the truth.”
“That’s my job. This is my case.” Ben’s smile disappeared and he sent me an icy glare.
I swallowed and raised my chin, meeting his gaze head on. “I respect that, Ben. But Patti hired me before that was true and I need to finish what I started. I’ll do my best not to interfere with your investigation. But I have a business to run and a client to keep happy as well.”
He frowned. “Damn it, Lacey. I wish you’d stick to safe investigations. Whoever killed Agnes is still out there. Who knows what else he’ll do? Or she? Be careful.” He stared at me until I nodded agreement and then he waved me off.
My stomach turned over at his serious warning. I knew he sincerely cared about me and that he was right about the danger, but I couldn’t just turn tail and hide. It just wasn’t in my nature. I had taken on this job and I’d see it through.
I finished off the stale, bitter coffee, dropped the Styrofoam cup in the wastebasket and left.
***
Knowing I wouldn’t get any more info out of Ben, I went back to my office and began the tedious job of searching out answers on my own.
I started with finding everything I could about Agnes and her background and her family.
I still hadn’t gotten an answer to my request for Agnes’ movements from the cameras that capture license plate numbers, but I was hopeful that would tell me something about Agnes’ last movements. How long before I got the info? I had never asked before, so I had no idea.
Something was fishy about Agnes’ accident. Patti said she was supposed to meet her at Maplewood Mall. But her car seemed to go into the lake from the west. That meant she was returning from somewhere, not heading toward the cities. So if I could find out the time of the accident, it would help figure out what had really happened.
Thanks to Patti’s info, I had some starting points, her bank and credit card numbers. Since I couldn’t get the info directly by calling them, I began by hunting through the computer files I’d copied from her computer.
First, I tried various passwords people often use, like her maiden name, her parents’ names, her and their birthdates and various combinations of those. Nothing worked.
Scamp barked and I rose, grabbed my keys, and took him for a run along the lake path. I sat on my bench along the lake, enjoying the gorgeous spring weather. The fresh, earthy smells of fresh green plants contrasted with the stench of a dead fish washed up on the lakeshore. Bright sunlight sparkled on the lake and a soft breeze stirred up little waves that lapped along the shore. My little fishing boat bounced against my dock, teasing me. If only I had time to go try for some sunfish or crappies. I sighed and whistled for Scamp. He bounded to me and we went back to my office.
After another couple of hours on the computer, I needed to stretch and do something else. I’d read a lot of recent emails without learning much except that Patti and her aunt were close and enjoyed talking to each other about all the details of their lives. Nora had described Agnes as being reserved and secretive about her personal life. Her emails to Patti certainly weren’t, but maybe she was different with her family. Both her and Patti’s love for each other came through their words, loud and clear. I wavered back to the idea of Patti’s innocence.
I did a few stretches and went for another run with Scamp, then decided to drive into the city to interview Agnes’ mother and her second husband at the nursing home Patti had told me about.
After an hour long drive, I arrived at the long, brick nursing home and consulted the directory hanging in the hallway for their room number. People in wheel chairs filled the front area, some asleep, some reading, some carefully watching everyone’s movements. I smiled and said hello to the ones who seemed to notice me. Some just stared, others responded. The sharp odor of disinfectant met my nose as I started down the hallway labeled with numbers that included theirs.
I strode on down the hallway glancing at room numbers and patients names posted beside the doors. Uniformed employees pushing carts or with armfuls of towels seemed to be everywhere. I found their room and was pleased to see the door open, inviting company. I could see a heavy-set, bald man sitting in a wheelchair, watching TV. I knocked and he glanced up and said, “Come in.” He waved me to the only other chair in the room.
In the second bed, a thin, white haired lady slept.
He yelled at her, “Wake up, Henny, we got company.”
“Oh, don’t wake her,” I began, but she’d already sat up, staring at me.
“Who is it? Did Agnes come today?”
Oh, dear. Had no one told them Agnes was dead? I certainly didn’t want that job. I swallowed hard and introduced myself. “I’m Patti’s friend.”
“Patti?” She frowned and seemed to concentrate hard. “Who’s Patti, Orland? One of the night nurses?”
He pursed his lips and reached for his container of water, held it to his mouth and sipped from the plastic straw. “Your granddaughter, I think, Henny. Maybe Kelvin’s girl?”
“You think so? She looks too big to be Kelvin’s little girl. And Kelvin’s girl had longer blonde hair.” She looked at me doubtfully.
“I’m Patti’s friend, Lacey Summers,” I repeated. “I just wanted to stop in and say hello.”
“Oh. Well, then, hello.” Henny cackled and swung her feet out of bed. She threw back the hot pink and purple crocheted afghan and padded to the bathroom.
“Never mind her, she gets a bit forgetful at times. Can’t even remember who Matt Dillon is on TV. Pitiful.” Orland clicked his teeth together and shook his head.
A nurse’s aide strolled in with a clipboard and smiled hello at me. She told Orland, “Tonight’s dinner menu choices are roast chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy or a fish sandwich and coleslaw. Which do you want?”
“Chicken.”
“And Henny?”
“She’ll probably want the fish sandwich.”
“No, I don’t. I want the chicken,” Henny said, behind her. “Don’t you be choosing my food for me, you old goat. I know what I like. I ain’t senile yet.”
“Very good,” the aide interrupted with a smile and hurried on her route.
“Now, what was your name again?” Henny asked, sitting on the side of her bed.
I sighed. This was obviously going to be a waste of time. “Lacey. Can you tell me a little bit about your daughter, Agnes?”
“Who is Agnes?”
Yikes. Maybe Patti was right. She was too confused to be much help. “Your daughter.”
Orland put it, “One of the kids you had with Roscoe. Don’t you remember?”
“Roscoe? Where is he now?”
“He hung himself, remember? You found him in the garage.”
“Oh, no.” She turned to me, her face crumpled and tears running down her wrinkled cheeks. “It was awful. He just died and left me.”
Orland frowned. “You’d already left him months before that, remember? You got a divorce from him.”
Henny didn’t answer, she just covered her face with her bony, wrinkled hands and cried harder.
“I’m sorry,” I said, squirming in my chair and wishing I hadn’t come. After a minute, she reached for tissues from the box on her side table, blew her nose and seemed calmer, so I asked, “Can you tell me about your daughter, Agnes?”
She wiped her tears. “Oh, Agnes is a good daughter. She comes to see us lots of days. Always
brings some cookies or candy. She said she’s got lots of money and can bring us all we want.”
“She doesn’t have lots of money,” Orland objected. “That lawyer, Rolly something, said so when he came to see us one day.”
“She does too. She said so herself.” She turned to me. “Did you bring us any goodies?”
I kicked myself for not thinking of doing that. I should have known they would like it, even expect it. “Not this time. But if I come back another day, I’ll do that.”
“Good. I like chocolate.” She smiled encouragingly at me.
Orland changed the channel on the TV to a courtroom drama and scolded, “Don’t you be asking for presents, Henny. That ain’t polite.”
Henny glared at him. “I’m just saying, you old goat. Mind your own business.”
“Humph.” He turned back to the TV program. The judge was lecturing the two who were suing each other. Orland cackled with glee. “You tell ‘em, Judge.”
“When did you last see Agnes?” I asked, trying to get Henny back on track.
“Why, just yesterday,” she said.
“No, it weren’t,” Orland said, obviously listening to us as well as the judge on TV. “Was before Sunday, because we went to the chapel yesterday.”
“No, chapel was on Sunday. Today’s Wednesday, isn’t it?” Henny looked at me for help.
“Yes, it’s Wednesday,” I agreed.
“See, I told you. Then it’s been a long time since she was here.” She began to cry again. “I hate it when she doesn’t come to see us.”
“Now see what you did?” Orland glared at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. This was getting me nowhere. Patti was right. They were past being able to converse with in any meaningful way. I rose and said, “Thank you for visiting with me today. I have to go, now.”
“Bye,” Orland said and rolled his chair over to pat Henny’s hand. She leaned forward and laid her head on his shoulder.
On the way back to the entrance, I wondered if I should talk to the Chaplin and tell him about their daughter’s death. Then I chickened out and left. It wasn’t my place to break the bad news. That was the family’s job. They would have to decide how to do it themselves.
***
On the way home, I stopped at a restaurant and ate a seafood salad for lunch, pondering my next move. I called Patti and told her I’d seen her grandparents and they hadn’t yet been told of Agnes’ passing. She promised to take care of that, though she didn’t say she’d do it herself. But I couldn’t help that. She said Agnes’ funeral was scheduled for Friday.
“Will the coroner release her body that soon?”
“Yes. He already has. I talked to him a while ago. He said Agnes drowned.”
I shuddered at the idea of her going into that cold lake. Had she tried to get out of her car? “Did he give you the time of death?”
“Yes and no. He thinks it was Friday afternoon, but it could have been several hours sooner or later. He can’t pinpoint it any closer than that, because they didn’t find her until Monday. He said something about trying to find out where she ate last.”
“I see.” I swallowed, said goodbye and hung up.
I called Dr. Miller myself and didn’t learn much more. At first he didn’t want to tell me anything, until I said Patti had hired me to help her find out what had happened. Then he admitted Agnes’ last meal had been a salad. “Lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, ham and turkey,” he said. “Probably eaten less than an hour before she died.”
“Thanks.” Sounded like a Chef’s Salad to me. Probably eaten in a restaurant. So where had she been on Friday and had she gone to meet someone? If she was coming west on highway eight when she went into the lake, she could have been returning from the Twin Cities. She could have been to see Henny and Orland as Henny had said. Or maybe met a friend or business acquaintance somewhere along the way.
The possibilities were endless. I decided to go back through her emails and phone records again. Maybe those would help. Or maybe I could get the sheriff to ask the cell phone company to trace where she’d made those last calls from. That would give us a starting point, at least.
***
After driving back to Landers, I looked up Jack Kent, Agnes’ gardener. He lived in a neat, older two story house along a tree-lined side street. He was out in his yard, mowing his own lawn. When I pulled into his crushed rock driveway, he looked up and reached down to shut off the mower and climbed off of it.
I got out of my car and breathed in the wonderful odor of fresh cut grass as I headed over to talk to him.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “You were with Patti at Agnes’ house on Monday. What do you want?”
I stopped near him. “Can you spare a few minutes to answer a few questions?”
He spat tobacco juice onto the lawn and sat on the cement step, indicating for me to sit also. “I reckon I need a break anyhow. It’s getting hot out today for being only April.”
I nodded and sat on the step. “Did you work for Agnes very long?”
“A few years now, I guess.”
“So you knew her fairly well?”
He shrugged. “Can’t say’s I did. Just talked to her a bit once in a while, if she wanted something different done, like plant some new bulbs in the flower bed or a rosebush or something. Otherwise, I just showed up, did my work and left again. Sometimes I didn’t see her for weeks at a time.”
“Didn’t you talk to her when you collected your pay?”
“Nope. I put a note in her mailbox telling her how many hours I worked and she mailed me a check. We figured that system out when I first started. She wasn’t always home, you know. Off to some church meeting or something a lot of the time. So it was just easier that way.”
“I see. Did you know her housekeeper?”
“Millie Manders. Sure. Went to the kitchen to get a drink from Millie when I was thirsty. She always kept the coffee pot on if it was cold out or some lemonade in the ‘fridge if the weather was hot, you know? Thoughtful, she is. Sometimes gave me a cinnamon roll or piece of cake, too.”
“So you knew her better than Agnes?”
“I guess. We talked a bit now and again.”
“Did you know Millie’s husband?”
Jack scowled at me and spat more tobacco juice into the flower bed. “I knew of him. Millie deserves better. She’s well rid of the drunken bum.”
“I see. I hear Millie got in trouble with Agnes about letting you in the house one day.”
He scowled. “Yeah, Millie told me. But it wasn’t her fault. Last summer one day it was real hot when I was working in Agnes’ yard and I started feeling funny. Went to Millie for a drink and she got all worried. Said I looked awful and made me come into the den and lie down for a while. Agnes wasn’t home. But later she yelled at Millie. Said she should have sent me to the hospital instead of bringing me in the den.”
“Why do you think she was angry?”
He lifted a bony shoulder and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Don’t know. I sure didn’t want to go to no hospital. Can’t afford it and I didn’t need to, anyway. And I sure would never have sued her. I just had a little heat problem, you know. Had it before. Drink some cold water and have a bit of rest and I’m fine again.”
“What did Millie say about it?”
“Said for me to not worry about it. Agnes is just funny that way. Doesn’t—I mean, didn’t—like people in her house. Hardly ever invited anyone over, Millie said.”
“I see. When did you last see Agnes?”
He scratched his head, thinking. “I guess last Wednesday. When I drove in, she came to the door and asked me to plant a couple of rose bushes she’d just bought. So, I did. Roses like cool spring weather, you know. Plant them early and they get a nice head start growing. I didn’t work there the rest of the week. Then I came on Monday to mow the lawn and water stuff and you and Patti were there.”
“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate your talking with me.”
&nbs
p; “Yer welcome.”
I could feel him watching me as I headed back to my car.
Next I went to see Millie. She lived in a small apartment over a coffee shop downtown. I climbed the rear wooden stairway and rang her doorbell.
A tall, thin lady with dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses peeked out the little window in the door, then opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on. “Who are you?”
“Lacey Summers, Millie. I’m Patti Jones’ friend. Remember we met the other day at Agnes’ house when I was there with Patti? May I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“What about?” Her voice held suspicion.
“Agnes Simms.”
“She’s dead.”
“I know. That’s why we need to talk.”
She hesitated a moment more, then closed the door. I heard the chain rattle, then she opened the door again and allowed me inside. The apartment was neat and clean, but jammed with knick-knacks on every surface. Shelves lined every wall except where glass-fronted display cases stood.
I gaped in awe and gasped, “Oh, wow! You have a lot of collectibles.”
“Yes,” she admitted, waving me to a chair at the kitchen table. “It’s my hobby. Want some herbal tea? I just made a fresh batch with orange in it.”
“Sure. That sounds interesting,” I said. The scent of oranges lingered in the air. I’m not usually into herbal teas or any other new-age thing, but it seemed the polite thing to say. I eyed the thimble collection in the nearest curio cabinet. Hundreds of thimbles in every shape and size sat close together on the glass shelves. Some were mother of pearl, some brass, some ceramic and some even looked like silver. I gasped, realizing some were very expensive pieces. How could a woman who worked as a maid afford all these? Or should I ask, why would a woman who can afford these, work as a maid?
I tried not to show my surprise, but asked, “Where in the world did you find all these?”
She shrugged and placed a fancy cup and saucer set on the table in front of me, then poured the tea from a matching teapot decorated with red roses. “Oh, here, there, and everywhere. Some from auctions and yard sales, some from antique stores, some from the internet. Actually, some were my mother’s and my aunt’s. I inherited those and just kept on adding pieces to them.”
