Butler Did It

by Donna McLean

  Campbell looked at the wise little lady who stood before him, so determined, her eyes so bright and birdlike. And he felt better.

  EIGHT

  The Thursday morning edition of the Sparrow Falls Harbinger sold out within an hour at the bookstore and all the local storefront bins. Subscribers held onto their newspapers to share with neighbors who hadn’t seen it yet. Those who were internet savvy hit the webpage as soon as it went live. The article on the unknown victim set tongues wagging all over town. Headlined Mysterious Goings-On at MacGuffin Mansion, it promised to reveal as much information as was currently available on the investigation.

  Magda held the newspaper in front of her nose. She tilted her head back a little to catch the bifocal part of her oversized and outdated eyeglasses, and read the article out loud to the ladies gathered in Hazel’s Beauty Parlor. “It was murder!” she proclaimed in an awed voice. “This is the conclusion drawn by the special investigators called in to search the scene of the crime at the MacGuffin Mansion on the afternoon of—”

  Delcie snatched the newspaper from Magda’s plump, short fingers. “We know all that. Get to the good stuff,” she said rudely, shook the paper with ferocity, and then proceeded to skip the paragraphs detailing the location and time of discovery.

  “The victim,” she intoned, “is thought to be Victor Aldric, last known to be from New York City, who had come to Sparrow Falls for reasons as yet unknown. The victim had a long criminal history of forgery, blackmail and extortion. He had recently been released from prison after serving full sentence for a crime committed in New York twelve years ago.”

  Tilda repeated the words as though she were thinking things over. “Forgery, blackmail and extortion. But no mention of breaking and entering, or safecracking, or anything that indicates he knew how to get in or out of that locked room in the MacGuffin Mansion.”

  Ms. Needles snorted in disgust. “Tilda MacArdan, you know as well as I do that criminals are criminals! He probably knew all kinds of tricks of the trade. Getting into an old house and a locked room wouldn’t be any problem for an experienced crook like that man. He must have led a shameful life, simply shameful!”

  Peggy and Magda repeated the word ‘shameful’ with glee and knowing glances.

  The spunky senior lifted her chin in defiance. “It wasn’t just any old house. It was the MacGuffin Mansion! Full of all kinds of tricky locks and knobs and buttons and things like that. I say it would take some real skill to break into that place. And the door to the room was locked on the inside but there was no way for the murderer to leave the room and then fasten the door behind him.”

  “Well, obviously, the victim locked the door after the murderer left the room!” Delcie Needles defied Tilda to argue that point, but she underestimated her opponent.

  “Nope. Couldn’t have happened that way. The coroner says the man died instantly, sitting right there at the desk! So he could not have followed the murderer to the door, locked it, and then gone back to the desk, and sat down in the chair, and died. He just could not have done that!”

  Tilda and Delcie glared at each other in a battle of wills and shocked silence blanketed the beauty parlor. Hazel’s hand was frozen into place, hovering over Peggy McAlister’s freshly sculpted hairdo.

  Tilda leaned back in the pink faux leather chair, crossed her legs, and started bouncing one foot triumphantly. “So as y’all can see, it is a real life locked room mystery, that’s what it is, and either that there victim had a few tricks up his sleeve or the murderer did!”

  “Butler’s Boxes!” Peggy blurted out with a gasp.

  Everyone turned to stare at her. She gulped, sinking a little into the chair as though suddenly self-conscious.

  “Well?” Delcie inquired with ice in her voice.

  Peggy straightened up in the chair. “I remember back in high school Butler Jenks was purty darn clever with puzzles. He used to make those little wooden boxes, you remember, Delcie? We called them Butler’s Boxes. They looked like plain old blocks of wood but he figured out how to make them with hidden drawers that would pop open if you knew where the secret latch was, and you could hide things in them, little pieces of candy and jewelry and love notes and things like that.”

  Magda said, “He gave one to my little brother, and he put old coins and rocks and rusty old bottle caps and marbles in his. You know how little boys are! Wonder whatever became of that box and all his wee treasures?”

  Delcie’s eyes gleamed. “I’d forgotten all about those puzzle boxes. Butler Jenks does have a useless talent for foolishness such as that. Can’t do simple, ordinary things worth a hoot, but something convoluted and sly, that’s another story!” She puckered her lips, giving the impression that she had bitten into a lemon. “Come to think of it, a talent like that one might come in handy for getting into a locked room, and back out again, without getting caught!”

  “He got that stuck cabinet open all right,” Hazel paused with a comb in one hand pulling up strands of Peggy’s hair, and pointed toward the cabinet with her other hand, which was holding sharp scissors. “I lost the key months ago and tried every hairpin I’ve got, and nothing worked. Went to fetch Whit over at the hardware store but when Butler heard what I needed he walked right up to me and said he could do it. Well, I figured he couldn’t do it, but I thought, what the heck. Let the man try. Couldn’t do no harm, I thought! And sure enough, he managed to unlock it somehow or other. Didn’t take him no time.”

  The ladies of Hazel’s Beauty Parlor began twittering like a tiding of magpies at the unexpected idea that Butler Jenks, the town nuisance, could be involved in the murder of a mysterious stranger!

  “Dear me, I don’t believe that a bit!” Tilda protested, but Delcie Needles nodded her head wisely.

  “Oh, I do believe it is possible, very possible!” she stated. “Always been an odd one, and finally went just plain crazy! It probably happened completely by accident, of course. He couldn’t even do murder right, the clumsy old buzzard.”

  * * * * *

  At this very moment Addie McRae was approaching Butler Jenks outside the hardware store on Main Street. He was sitting in one of the old rocking chairs lined up in front of the store, alongside some of the other old men from the town who liked to gather each morning and have some friendly arguments over such important topics as the best fishing hole in the county, whether to plant soybeans next year or stick to peanuts, and the topic currently under discussion, the weather.

  “We’re fixin’ to have a storm,” declared one white haired gent. He pointed to the sky with a gnarled finger.

  The other members of the porch sitters club scanned the horizon and nodded their agreement. The sky was bright blue but in the distance dark, lavender-gray clouds were beginning to gather.

  “Give us a break from the heat,” another elderly man said, as though this bit of wisdom had never been uttered before.

  They all mumbled comments of approval until, startled, they looked up in unison. To their shock and dismay, a woman was standing before them, standing within the narrow perimeters of their hallowed masculine ground, and this woman was smiling!

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said with cheerful enthusiasm.

  “Morning,” they replied, polite but suspicious. It was not common practice for a young female, or any female, for that matter, to interrupt the vital dialogue of the porch sitters club.

  Addie’s gaze moved swiftly over the wrinkled, tanned faces and grizzled beards, and rested upon the most decrepit specimen. She eyed Butler Jenks with sympathy. His graying hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in a lifetime. There was gray stubble on his narrow chin. His clothes, ill-fitting, baggy, and, she realized in dismayed embarrassment, smelly, were probably all he had. She had never seen him wearing anything other than the faded red and black plaid shirt, the scuffed work boots, and the dark denim overalls he now wore.

  She noticed, with a shock, that one strap of the overalls was being held up by a nail. A corner of t
he overalls’ bib was folded over the long nail, the cloth stapled together with a heavy duty staple to hold the nail in place. This nail was then inserted through the wire hook that was attached to the denim strap. The button, she assumed, was long gone; the man, she figured, had not known how to sew a new one in its place. He had done the best he could. Addie’s kind heart went out to the poor, illiterate, helpless old man.

  “Mr. Jenks? I’m Addie McRae, and I’d like to hire you to do a job for me, if you’re interested.” She offered her hand in introduction, and smiled into the foggy eyes.

  “Job?” he echoed, surprised. His fingers brushed hers in a brief handshake.

  Addie thought she sensed his feelings of inadequacy already coming to the surface. She explained hurriedly. “Oh, it’s just a minor job. I need someone to pick up my new stove and deliver it to my house. Tilda MacArdan’s carriage house, actually. And install it. An electric stove. It only needs to be set up and plugged in. A simple task! And I thought you might be just the man to do it!” She beamed at him and waited for the obviously uneducated, hapless fellow to reply.

  Butler Jenks blinked twice and opened his mouth to speak. He hesitated as though trying to gather his thoughts. He bent his graying head and stared at the worn toes of his faded boots. Then he lifted his eyes and stared at the young woman waiting patiently before him.

  Addie gave him her most reassuring expression.

  Butler Jenks cleared his throat and said: “Although such menial tasks do not ordinarily fall within the perimeters of my milieu, I have always sought to adhere to the firm tenants of the chivalrous code followed by the knights of old, and therefore, ma’am, will be most happy to oblige in this matter.”

  Addie took a step back. Shock spread over her in a cold wave. This man who looked like a bum certainly did not talk like one! He sounded more intelligent than most of the people she’d met during her lifetime!

  “You—you—” Addie stammered. “You will be happy to oblige?” she echoed, and to her disbelieving ears she now sounded as dumb as she had assumed Butler Jenks to be.

  “Yes, ma’am. If you will inform me as to the current location of this stove and the approximate time you wish to receive it, I will see that it is delivered to Ms. Tilda’s carriage house in a timely fashion and installed correctly therein.”

  The young redhead gulped. She took a deep breath and tried to organize her stunned thoughts. Somehow Addie managed to convey the correct information and they agreed that the stove would be delivered at one o’clock that afternoon.

  She thanked Butler hurriedly and left, knowing that the startled faces of the entire porch sitters club stared after her, as baffled and astonished at her behavior as she was in the intellectual superiority of Butler Jenks!

  * * * * *

  At exactly one o’clock Butler’s old ’57 pickup, battered and dented and with only one hubcap, backed slowly into Tilda MacArdan’s driveway. With utmost care Jenks allowed the truck to roll past the house, past the flowerbeds, past the tall pine trees, and come to a stop inches from the door of the carriage house.

  Addie McRae, standing in the yard next to the driveway, exhaled and relaxed.

  Butler Jenks nodded a greeting without saying a word. He uncrated the stove, leaving the cardboard packing materials in a pile next to the old pickup truck. He pushed the metal dolly beneath the stove and cleanly lifted it, steadying the stove with one hand and guiding the dolly’s wheels with the other, all very smoothly and efficiently, as he pushed the stove toward the open front door of the little carriage house.

  Addie watched the proceedings with a growing sense of self-satisfaction. So far, no Butler-esque mishaps had occurred. She had the warm feeling that her confidence in Butler’s stove delivery ability was well placed, and knew that she would tell people so at every opportunity. Not in a gloating manner as if to say “I told you so” but in a kind manner full of gentle reproach towards all those who had, until now, blighted this poor hapless gentleman’s reputation. Those people would, in turn, realize her wisdom in seeing through the falsehoods about him, and grow kinder. She, Addie McRae, would see to it that all of this would happen.

  Butler carefully lifted the dolly-with-stove to rise above the two cement steps, and just as carefully deposited the bulky parcel onto the wooden interior floor. Addie noted with approval that the wooden doorframes had not been scratched and that the screen on the outer door was still intact, without punctures.

  She followed Butler into the house and called cheerfully from behind him. “Roll it straight ahead into the dining nook. The kitchen is just beyond that and you can see where the stove should go.”

  Butler nodded and grumbled a muffled, “Yes ma’am”. He obediently rolled the dolly through the little corridor, bypassing the dining nook on the right, and deposited the stove neatly in exactly the right spot in the little kitchen. The spindly old gent deftly removed the dolly’s prongs from beneath the stove while Addie watched with happy approval. Their eyes met for a brief moment and the young woman gave him an encouraging smile, beaming like a proud parent upon a dutiful child.

  Butler said, “I merely need to remove this tape and then she’ll be ready to go. This lightweight packing tape does not leave a residue upon the new electric appliance. It was put in place to prevent the oven door from opening while being delivered. And I’ll go ahead and remove this clear static sheet which effectively serves the sole purpose of preventing the oven’s window glass from being scratched during the delivery process.” His gnarled hand dug around in the deep pocket of his overalls and retrieved a small pocketknife. Butler flipped this knife open and easily sliced the tape, removing it, wadding it into a ball and handing it to Addie. She accepted the tape with pride.

  Butler then cut the yellow plastic tie wrapping the electric cord, unwound the cord and plugged it into the correct three pronged grounded outlet that had been installed specifically for Addie’s new electric stove. “Let’s see if she works,” the man said, and turned the knob of each burner until the glass circular tops showed red.

  His solemn eyes met Addie’s pleased gaze. “It is quite refreshing to find that some of these new ceramic topped stoves have knobs rather than electronic keypads. The digital age cannot always improve upon the simple but effective methodology of the past.” Butler turned the knobs again to shut them off. “And you operate the oven in the same way,” he continued in complete seriousness. Addie nodded.

  Satisfied that he had made all this clear to the daft redhead who seemed, to him, so helpless, Butler Jenks resumed his usual shuffling step and headed toward the front door, wheeling the empty dolly before him.

  Addie McRae followed on his heels like an eager puppy. “Thank you so much, Mr. Jenks! Here’s twenty dollars. Is that enough? I really appreciate your taking care of this for me.”

  He barely glanced at the money she extended toward him, grasping the bills and shoving them into a pocket as though embarrassed. “Don’t mention it. Glad to do it, ma’am” he mumbled, and tossed the dolly into the bed of the pickup truck, throwing the packing materials after it while muttering something about the importance of recycling.

  As the pickup truck drove off, Addie lifted her hand high in a friendly wave. The delivery had gone well, exceptionally well, and this gave her the gratifying feeling that she had been right about Butler Jenks. All the man needed was someone to believe in him, to give him confidence, and she, Addie McRae, had done just that!

  Pearce Allen Simms sauntered into view and grinned at the pretty girl standing in the doorway with a smile of smug confidence upon her face. “I take it that you have a new oven? I passed Butler on the way over.”

  “He did a great job! Not a mark on the door frames or the floors. Even set the stove up for me and made sure it works correctly.” She crossed her arms in a satisfied stance. “I knew he could do it. All the mean old bitties in this town were wrong about Butler Jenks!”

  Pearce Allen stood on the bottom step. This put him at exactly the rig
ht height to kiss her adorable nose, which he did. “I’m proud of you for believing in the hapless old geezer,” he said. Addie kissed his cheek. “And you’re already cooking something! I’m proud of you for that reason, too.”

  Surprise crossed Addie’s face. “I’m not cooking something! Why do you say that?”

  The young man pointed. “There’s smoke coming from the general area of the kitchen, so I just assumed you were . . . uh, I mean . . . .”

  Addie shot him an angry glance and turned toward the kitchen in a panic. “I’m not cooking anything! We tested the burners but I’m sure he shut everything off!”

  The couple ran into the house and reached the kitchen door at the same time, stopping in appalled horror at the sight of the flames jumping and dancing behind the glass window of the oven door. Smoke floated around the room in lazy circles, not a great deal of smoke, but enough to cause concern.

  Addie ran toward the stove, screaming in fear and in anger. Pearce Allen grabbed her arm just as she reached for the handle of the oven door. “Don’t open it, Addie! The oxygen’s nearly used up by now and the fire will put itself out.”

  Pearce Allen checked the knobs at the top of the stove. “The burners are off but it looks like the oven was already set to ON when it was plugged in. I’m cutting it off now. That should finish the fire.” He glanced around the kitchen, then looked at Addie. “You don’t have a fire extinguisher around here, do you?”

  Addie shook her head. “No, I was going out later today to get one, along with some food to make you a nice home cooked meal on my brand new oven!” She stood there, staring at the beautiful new retro-red appliance as the flames began to die down. “I didn’t even get a chance to use it,” she said hollowly, anger permeating the shock.