by Patricia Fry
“They’re looking for footprints,” Damon said.
Margaret looked at Colbi in time to see tears streaming down her face. She walked over and sat down on the cushy swing next to her, wrapping her arms around her. “Oh dear. You must be scared to death, after all that you’ve been through.” She pulled away and looked at the girl. “You aren’t even dressed. Have you had a chance to shower yet, or get some breakfast?”
Colbi shook her head.
“How about I go upstairs with you. I’ll hang out while you get a shower and put on some clothes. You’ll feel better. Then I’ll fix you two something to eat.”
Damon looked over at Margaret. “Good idea. I’ll see what I can find for breakfast. Coffee’s hot, Ms. Forster…er Sheridan…grab a cup on your way up.”
“It’s Maggie, Damon. Call me Maggie. Yes, coffee sounds good,” she said as she ushered Colbi through the kitchen door. When she spotted Rags and Walter on the catwalk Michael had built for them along the big kitchen window, she called out, “Damon, did the cats eat?”
“Yeah, all the critters have been fed,” he said, looking down at Lexie, who was keenly watching the activity out beyond the corral. “Come on Lexie, let’s go in.”
Damon was staring out the kitchen window when the women returned. Rags, who was sitting on the cat platform next to him greeted them first. He jumped down to the floor, trotted over, and began wrapping himself around Colbi’s legs.
“Feel better?” Damon asked when he saw Colbi.
She reached down and gently scratched Rags behind one ear. Then she stood up, took a ragged breath, and said, “Yeah. I think so. Thank you Maggie. I needed that.”
“Well, you look better,” Margaret responded. She looked up and down the younger woman’s frame. “Are those jeans yours? They’re baggy on you.”
“Yes, ’fraid so,” Colbi said, tugging at the sides of her blue jeans. She pulled the lower edge of her soft green sweater down over her hips. “I’ve lost some weight.”
“Well, let’s start remedying that right now,” Damon said. “I cooked some bacon. Does everyone want scrambled eggs?”
“Sure,” Margaret said.
“I guess so,” Colbi said.
“Good, ’cause that’s the only kind I know how to make,” Damon confessed.
“Is there bread? Can I make some toast?” Margaret offered.
“Yeah, in the fridge,” Damon motioned.
“There’s some of Savannah’s peach jam in there, too,” Colbi said. “That stuff is really good.”
“Any plum?” Margaret asked as she examined the innards of the refrigerator. “I like plum. Oh, here it is. Goodie,” she said as she removed the two jars and carried them to the table. “Sit,” she said to Colbi when she saw her rise from a chair.
“I just thought I’d set the table,” she explained.
“I’ll do it. Damon and I have it handled. You just relax.”
She sighed and walked over to the window. Petting Rags, who was up on the ledge again and peering out into the yard, she said, “I wish we’d get some information.”
“You sound like some kind of journalist or reporter,” Damon said with a chuckle. “You just gotta get the scoop, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah, that’s part of it, I guess.” She spun around. “But Damon, this isn’t some random story from the community. This is happening right in our backyard—well, the Iveys’ backyard—but awfully close to us. Aren’t you concerned…even curious?”
He finished scraping eggs from the frying pan into a bowl, set the pan in the sink and then walked over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. “Of course I’m concerned and I’m curious as all get-out. And we will have some answers as soon as they’re finished out there. But I’m more interested in your well-being. Now come sit down and eat something, will ya? Then we’ll go see what we can find out.” He bent down a little to make eye contact. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she said before turning and walking toward the kitchen table. She sat down. “Oh, grapes,” she said, reaching for a small bunch and putting them on her plate.
“Yeah, I thought you might enjoy those,” Margaret said. “I made more coffee, too.”
“Thanks, Maggie,” Colbi said.
“Yes, we really appreciate you coming over,” Damon said. He served himself a generous helping of the eggs and bacon before passing them to Colbi.
She took a breath, blotted at her eyes with a napkin, and said, “Dammit! I told myself I would go this whole day without crying, but here I am blubbering already and it’s only 8:30 a.m.” She laughed a little through her tears.
Damon and Margaret chuckled with her.
After a while Colbi announced, “I’m full. That was good. Thanks, guys.”
Margaret stood, started stacking the plates, and observed, “Well, you did pretty good there—ate some eggs, half a piece of toast, and all those grapes. Good job.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d let me up from the table unless I ate something.”
Margaret smiled. “You got that right, girlie.”
“Hey, there’s something going on out in the orchard,” Damon said from the large kitchen window.
“What?” Colbi asked. She stiffened, held even tighter to her coffee mug.
“I don’t know,” Damon said, still staring out in that direction. “I think they found something.”
The trio stepped out onto the porch. Damon closed the door behind Lexie.
“Yeah, looks like it,” Colbi said, shading her eyes and squinting out in the direction of the orchard.
Lexie looked over and let out a couple of barks.
“Settle, Lexie,” Colbi said in her hoarse voice. She sat down on the porch swing and put her hand on the dog’s back. “It’s okay,” she crooned. That isn’t how she felt, however. From deep inside she sensed that something awful was about to happen.
Suddenly one of the officers stood straight and called out from the orchard, “Sledge, we’ve got something here!”
Colbi and Damon watched as Craig headed out toward Savannah’s orchard, where a small group of officers stood, looking down at something on the ground.
“They’ve found a body.” Colbi said, pulling her sweatshirt more tightly around her frame. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be so danged focused out there.”
“Yeah, they look pretty intense—just like they do on those police shows I watch,” Margaret said. “But it couldn’t be a body…we’re all accounted for. Who could it be?”
Damon hesitated before saying, “Maybe whoever it was that Colbi saw last night out by the tack room.”
The trio sat quiet for a while, each of them with his or her own thoughts.
Shortly, Craig walked back toward the house.
“What happened?” Margaret asked as he approached.
Craig ignored her question and walked up the steps to the porch. He looked around at the group and asked, “Got any more of that coffee?”
“Sure,” Damon said. “I’ll get you a cup.” He opened the door to enter and stopped. “You take it black?”
Craig nodded. He looked at Colbi, who sat as if frozen in anticipation and fear. When Damon returned, Craig took the coffee mug from him, cleared his throat, and said, “We found a body. I need to ask you some questions.”
Colbi gasped.
“Oh God,” Margaret said, sinking down into a deck chair. “Who is it?”
“Don’t know,” Craig said.
“I think we’ve told you all we know,” Damon said.
Craig glanced around at the trio. “Please bear with me—it’s just routine.” He then pulled out a pad and pencil. “Okay guys,” he said, “what exactly did you see last night?” He looked from one to the other.
“I saw nothing,” Margaret said, her hands up in front of her. “Nothing at all.”
“And you, Colbi,” he asked, “can you tell me more about what you saw or heard? A car, an unusual sound, anything?”
“Noth
ing…just what I told you before—movement out near the corral. I didn’t even see what shape or size it was. Only I know it was bigger than a breadbox.”
Everyone chuckled a little.
“It wasn’t a rodent, for example?” he asked
Colbi shook her head somberly.
“Did you really find a body out there, Craig?” Damon asked. “Who is it?”
He nodded. “Don’t know. Was hoping one of you could ID her.”
“It’s a woman!?” Colbi practically shouted in her still hoarse voice. “She isn’t huge and obese, is she?” she asked sounding panicked.
“No, she doesn’t match the description you gave me of the cat hoarder. She’s small.” He looked over at Colbi. “About your size, actually. But much older.” He addressed everyone around the table. “Have any of you seen a small woman around here dressed in an all-white gown?”
Margaret, Colbi, and Damon shook their heads.
Then Margaret said, “It isn’t Annabelle Tindle, is it?”
“Who’s that?” Craig asked.
“She lives in that house beyond the orchard.”
“Describe her,” Craig said, pen poised.
“Well, she’s like ninety years old, kind of a large-boned woman, although she’s shrunk in recent years. She’s probably still five-eight. Has short cropped white hair—like stark white.”
“Naw, doesn’t sound like the same person.”
“I wonder what a woman was doing out in the orchard.” Colbi coughed and then continued, “Do you think she left that…picture of me here this morning? Why would she do that?”
“Well,” Craig said, “there was more than one of those…”
“What?” Colbi shouted hoarsely. “Where?”
“All over the yard out there,” Craig motioned with one arm.
“That’s crazy!” she said, obviously straining to be heard. “They were all over outside and there was one in my bedroom… and now some woman I’ve never met is dead? What’s going on, Detective?”
“Don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to figure out now.”
“How did she die, Craig?” Margaret asked.
“Blunt force.”
“What?”
“Looks like she was hit over the head with something. Not sure yet if that killed her or if she died from exposure or suffocation. Her face was buried in the dirt.”
“Eeewwwww,” Margaret said.
“Yeah, pretty gruesome,” Craig said.
Suddenly Margaret stiffened. Her dark eyes widened. “So there’s a killer running loose in our neighborhood? Oh my God—and preying on little old women?”
“Now let’s not jump to conclusions—this doesn’t appear to be a serial killing.”
“How can you be sure, Craig? There may have been others or maybe this is his first and he plans more,” Margaret said sounding rather breathless.
“Uh, well…” Craig stammered.
“By the way,” Damon asked, “what did you find out near the tack room—anything?”
Craig cleared his throat. “Actually, yes.” He hesitated, looked over at Damon, and glanced at the women briefly. “We found what look like fresh prints, but there’s really nothing unusual about them. He stared over at Damon, glancing down at his shoes. They could be yours…have you been walking around out there?”
Damon shook his head. “No. Haven’t had reason to. The horse is being boarded, you know.”
Craig looked at his notes and paused. “The only thing sort of out of the ordinary is that the prints are accompanied by a small round print such as an imprint of a walking stick, the end of a shovel handle, or a crutch…”
“Cane?” Colbi said.
“Yeah, could be.” Craig focused his eyes on Colbi. “So you can’t actually describe what you saw out there last night?”
“Nothing distinguishable. Just movement. It was so brief, I wasn’t actually sure I saw anything.”
“Hey, Craig, has Vannie told you about her sightings?” Margaret asked.
He looked over at her, lowering his brows. “No. Where? Out in the same place?”
“No, actually beyond the orchard, over behind the Tindles’ place out there. She sees something white—glowing—in the middle of the night. They’ve gone over in daylight to investigate, but haven’t found anything that would create the images.”
“Oh my gosh!” Colbi exclaimed. “I saw that.”
“You did?” Margaret asked. “I thought maybe Savannah was just seeing things—you know—a side-effect from being preggo or something.”
Craig turned toward Colbi. “Can you describe what you saw?”
“Pretty much what Maggie just said—white shapes, forms that were kind of lit up. They were…ghost-like.”
“Hmmm. We’d better talk to the people who live out there and see what they’ve been up to.”
“Heck,” Margaret laughed before continuing, “I can’t imagine them frolicking around at night; they can barely make it to their mailbox anymore. Both of them use walkers and those four-legged canes anytime I see them outside, which is rare. I go over and take them a meal once in a while. They are really sedentary—house is a mess, doesn’t look like they do much cooking. No, if there’s something going on at their property in the night, they probably don’t know anything about it. And wouldn’t hear it. They’re both practically deaf—have their TV up so it would break most eardrums. Can’t hear much of what I say even when I yell.”
“What are their names?” Craig asked.
“Edgar and Annabelle Tindle. Both of them are in their nineties.”
“Well thanks guys, this has been most enlightening.” He looked over at Colbi and back and Damon. “Do you plan to stay here tonight? When are the Iveys due back?”
“Tomorrow. Yes, we promised to take care of things for them while they’re gone,” Damon said. He thought about it and then added, “I don’t think I want to call them about this; what do you think, Craig?”
“Naw, let them finish out their little vacation trip. There’s nothing they can do here, anyway.” He looked at Colbi. “But we can get you some police protection out here—I think that would be a good idea. Okay with you?”
Colbi looked at Damon. “Yes, I think I would feel better. This can be a spooky place at night.”
Damon nodded. “Whatever Colbi wants.”
She reached out for Damon’s hand. “You’re still staying with me, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah, I was planning on it. If you still want me to.”
“Yes,” she said. “Definitely. I would never be able to stay here alone, even with police outside.”
“Alone? No one is ever alone in this house.”
“What do you mean, Maggie?” Colbi’s eyes widened. “It’s not haunted, is it?”
Margaret laughed. “No. But look at all the animals living here,” she said, making a sweeping motion with one arm. “There’s no privacy.”
Colbi laughed as well. “That’s a fact.”
“Craig,” Damon said, “before you go, can you give me some information for the newspaper? I’d like to get this story in before noon.”
The detective thought for a minute and said, “Sure kid. Got your recorder? We can do a quick interview.”
“Thanks,” Damon said, as he pulled a small recorder from his pocket. “Shall we sit over here?” He motioned toward a round table and chairs along the porch railing several feet away.
***
Three hours later, Damon walked into the home office where Colbi sat in front of Savannah’s computer. He announced, “Well, I guess the investigation’s over—the last car just left.”
“What about our police guard?” Colbi asked
“Oh, he’s out there. No worries.”
“Did you get the story to Boggs?”
“Sure did. He seemed pleased. I mean, how often does a story occur right in a reporter’s backyard?”
“Yeah, literally.” Colbi shut down the computer and said, “Damon, do y
ou have to go back to work?”
“Naw, Boggs gave me the rest of the day off. I told him I could work from here if there was anything he needed, but he said he’s got it covered. He’s bringing Josh and April in for a few days.”
“Well, I’d like to get out of Dodge—can we go for a ride?”
“Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“I’d like to go see my cats and maybe get a few more things from my house. Can we do that?”
“Yeah, sure. I still have the cat food in my car. We’re running low, though. Might want to pick up another bag while we’re out.”
Colbi stared over at Damon.
“What?” he asked defensively.
“I can’t believe you’re feeding my cats.” She started to cry. “I really appreciate it.”
“Sure, what are friends for?” he said, nudging her shoulder with his hand. “You’d feed my snakes for me if I was in the hospital, wouldn’t you?”
“Snakes? Are you serious? You have snakes? No, I don’t think I would be feeding any snakes. Sorry about that.” She lowered her head and then added, “Guess I’m not a very good friend, after all.”
“Oh stop,” he said. “Come on—get your jacket. Let’s go feed those dumb cats.”
They arrived at Colbi’s home in time to see streaks of black, white, grey and tangerine fur as several cats darted under the porch. Colbi climbed out of the car and slowly walked over to the house. “Hi, Butterscotch,” she called. “Hello there, Tiger Lily. Oh Blackie—how’s it going, buddy? Awww, Snow Puff—you cutie.”
In the meantime, Damon carried the bag of food over to the porch. He stood against a post, smiling down at Colbi as she took inventory of her kitties. “Everyone accounted for?” he asked.
“Um, let’s see…” She stood up, shaded her eyes and looked out along the side of the house. “Oh, there’s Gracie, and who’s that?” she asked frowning a little. “Oh no, not a new freeloader,” she said with a sigh. “Well, come on, kitty. You’re welcome, too.” She stooped and peered into the bushes to get a closer look. “Are you hungry?” she asked. The little tortie hissed. “Hmmm, Sassy. That’s going to be your name, if you hang around long enough to wear it.”
Damon reached under the porch and pulled out the dishes. He filled each food bowl with kibbles and emptied the large water bowls, refilling them with clean water.
