“When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“It happened a few weeks ago. And I didn’t tell you because Patrick said he wanted to forget the whole thing. He chalked it up to child’s play. But I say it’s much more sinister than that! And I haven’t even told you the dirty words to come out of that boy’s potty mouth. But as a Christian woman, I refuse to speak that way.” With dignity, she squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin.
“Ellison is worse than I thought,” I mused, suddenly feeling that I hadn’t incriminated the kid enough during my talk with the sheriff.
“He’s a juvenile delinquent! That’s why he was volunteering here,” Penny revealed.
“What?! I thought his high school required community service,” I said as my heart raced.
“No,” Penny shook her head wildly. “I overheard Ellison saying that he ransacked a classroom at school and the only way he could avoid juvenile detention was to do 300 hours of community service.”
“And he had to pick my shoppe!” I was infuriated. “He couldn’t have chosen some other place? Any other place?”
“No sense in getting angry, dear. I’m sure the cops will be knocking on his door soon,” Penny said knowingly. “I told all this to the sheriff. He should be on his way to Ellison’s house right now.”
Chapter 5
My gray Jeep sailed past a barren cornfield and open farmland where free range chickens clucked and spotted cows grazed. Buckled tightly into her seat, Penny daintily applied a fresh layer of fire engine red lipstick, as though we were on our way to a French dinner and a cabaret show. But no, we had just become snooping partners and were on our way to Ellison’s backwoods house to do a little spying.
“Orchard Street,” I murmured as we pulled onto the boy’s block. “Oh look, that’s the sheriff’s car in the driveway! You were right, Penny. He must be questioning Ellison right now!” I parked the Jeep discreetly alongside a rose bush.
“Hopefully, we’ll see Ellison hauled out of there in a pair of handcuffs!” Penny sniffed. “And then I can go home and get some sleep.” She couldn’t suppress a mighty yawn.
“Are you okay? Should I drive you home?” I asked with concern. The last thing I needed was for Penny to fall ill from exhaustion.
“Oh no, I want to see the action!” She gave me a feisty grin. “It is past my bedtime, though. Usually around this time, I’m snug under the covers after a nice soothing dinner of chicken noodle soup and herb croutons,” she sighed longingly as my stomach rumbled.
“I’m starved too,” I said, realizing that I hadn’t eaten since before all the criminal chaos had broken loose in the garden.
We spent long minutes in silence, craning our necks to see if the sheriff had brought Ellison out of the house yet. But the deserted road was eerily still and the only sound was an accelerating wind that warned of another thunderstorm. Tapping my fingernails on the steering wheel, I thought again of Mr. Fitzsimmons and how truly scrumptious his Irish meal had tasted. My mother had always told me that the mark of a loving person is how sweet their cooking tastes. And Mr. Fitzsimmons’ corned beef and cabbage had been a salty-sweet vacation for my taste buds. How could someone just snuff out his life? Rage filled my system at the audacity of the killer. If Ellison really were guilty, then I would do everything in my power to make sure that he was tried as an adult.
Suddenly, the sound of a creaking screen door echoed along the beating wind. Sitting bolt upright, Penny and I squinted in the moonlight to see what the commotion was about. To my dismay, the sheriff was walking out of the house alone. He hadn’t arrested Ellison! But why?
“Why didn’t he make an arrest?” I hissed.
“Maybe there’s not enough evidence yet,” Penny replied. “Or maybe Ellison wasn’t home and he didn’t even get a chance to talk to him.”
“Oh, I can’t take the suspense! I’m going to go ask the sheriff myself…”
Penny placed a surprisingly strong hand over my wrist. “Dear, you can’t do that! We could get in trouble for snooping like this!”
“I don’t think ‘snooping’ is against the law,” I argued.
“Maybe not, but trespassing is. Interfering with a criminal investigation is,” she said wisely.
“You’re right. Let’s just get out of here before the sheriff sees us and starts asking questions.” I fired up the engine and made a sleek U-turn. My gray Jeep blended into the cloudy darkness as I sped to the corner, halting at the stop sign and then slamming onto the gas pedal.
“Let’s worry about this tomorrow,” Penny suggested. “We’ll be useless if we don’t get some sleep.” She yawned again as I joined her.
“Yes, I’ll drive you home right now. I’m just glad tomorrow is Sunday and I don’t have to open the shoppe. I can do some investigating instead.”
“We can do some investigating,” Penny corrected.
I smiled appreciatively at my elderly ally. “Yes. And the first place we should go is Mr. Fitzsimmons’ house.”
***
The next morning, Penny and I were back in my Jeep, this time headed to the other side of Lemondrop Hills where Mr. Fitzsimmons’ house perched next to an abandoned train station. Blossoming trees waved in the wind as the sun tried desperately to peek out from persistent storm clouds. As we bounced along the pot-holed road, I reflected on how little I knew about Mr. Fitzsimmons’ personal life. Whereas I knew the names of all Penny’s children and grandchildren, I didn’t even know if Mr. Fitzsimmons was a father or if he had ever been married. His life outside the shoppe was a total enigma except for the fact that he was a talented Irish cook.
“Do you know if Mr. Fitzsimmons was ever married?” I asked as I pulled up to a cracked curbside.
“I’m not sure, but I imagine he must have been because he did mention a daughter one time,” Penny answered.
“He had a daughter?” I squeaked.
“Yes, but she didn’t live around here. Actually, I think she lived out of state.” Penny pressed her index finger to her forehead in a gesture of remembering. “Oh yes, she lived in Kentucky. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.”
“Did he visit her often?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure about how close they were,” Penny replied.
“Well she must have been notified about his death by now. Maybe she’s on her way to Iowa as we speak,” I surmised.
“Maybe,” Penny said as she opened the door. “Now what exactly are we going to do other than sneak around the property?”
I grinned sheepishly. “That’s about all we’re going to do, Penny. Sneak around the property and see if we find any clues. Maybe we could even check his mailbox.”
Penny looked aghast. “Dear, don’t you know that mail is government property? We could get in hot water rummaging through his mail!”
“I know. Okay. Scratch that idea. I just want to get to the bottom of this, but I don’t want to be reckless. And I don’t want to land us in jail. Come on, let’s have a quick look around and then we’ll go to Plan B.”
“And what is Plan B?” Penny inquired crisply. She seemed to be losing patience with me, as though I were one of her misbehaving granddaughters. I wouldn’t remind her that my fortieth birthday was looming in September. To a lady of Penny’s age, 40 probably seemed like puberty!
“Plan B is to do some online research and run some background checks,” I informed.
“Background checks of whom?”
“Every single staff member at Green Garden Shoppe. And some of our more frequent customers too.”
“Didn’t you run background checks when you hired everyone?” Penny asked pointedly.
My rosy cheeks deepened to vermilion. “No. I didn’t think it was necessary. This is such a small town and…”
“It’s a small town, but not a small state. Not everyone comes from Lemondrop Hills. Marjory comes from Des Moines, doesn’t she? And I think Janine is from Hawk Crest.”
“Once again, you�
�re right, Penny. You make a good detective partner. In fact, maybe I should promote you to lead investigator!” I joked as she giggled modestly.
“Come on dear, let’s circle the property and see what we find.”
We clamored out of the Jeep and strolled up a cobblestone path dappled with garden gnomes and a wishing well. “This looks like a wizard’s house,” I whispered as Penny nodded.
“Sweet place. Patrick Fitzsimmons was a special man.”
Not surprisingly, the garden volunteer had nurtured a stunning array of blooms in his front yard. Hyacinths and hydrangeas punctuated a plush lawn while towering elm trees provided shade and sanctuary for the entire property. The house was painted classic white stucco with a wraparound porch featuring sea green patio furniture and a mahogany swing. Clearly, Mr. Fitzsimmons had been a man of many talents: cooking, gardening, landscaping, and decorating. Curiously, I wondered what sort of job he had held before retirement that he could afford such a lovely home.
“Did Mr. Fitzsimmons ever mention to you what he did for a living before he retired?” I asked hopefully. Penny had been such a gushing source of information so far that I thought the details would just keep pouring out of her.
Scratching her head, she said, “No. I don’t recall. But he must have made a good living!”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Either that or he didn’t have too many expenses since he only had one child,” I figured.
As we approached the front door, a loud crashing noise coming from inside the house made me bristle with fear. Penny stopped dead in her tracks as a second crash echoed, like someone was deliberately throwing glass onto the floor. Abruptly, the crashing noises stopped, replaced by the rasp of heavy breathing just a few feet away.
Chapter 6
Eyes bulging with terror, Penny and I ran off the property and back to my Jeep. Amazingly, the old lady reached the vehicle before I did, huffing and puffing like she had just completed an Ironman. “Are you okay?” I asked once we were in the safety of my Jeep.
“Y-yes,” she said with chattering teeth. “Don’t worry about me. I still do aerobics. I can run without fainting.” Her voice was high pitched and betrayed her pulsating fear.
Blazing up the engine, I swerved onto the road as the tires screeched and left a billow of scorching smoke in their wake. “Who was inside his house?” I gripped the steering wheel between sweaty palms and raced towards the main road.
“I have no idea. Maybe he didn’t live alone?”
Feeling foolish, I smacked my forehead. “Of course! All this time I’ve been thinking how I hardly know a thing about Mr. Fitzsimmons and I didn’t even consider that he might have lived with someone. Maybe he even had a girlfriend!” My lips twisted into a little grin.
“Maybe he did!” Penny exclaimed, though she sounded unconvinced. “But dear, didn’t it sound like someone was throwing things in his house? I mean, purposely destroying things?”
“It did. That’s exactly what I thought too,” I replied grimly. “I don’t know. This whole thing is so confusing. I didn’t see a car parked in the driveway, did you?”
“No. Maybe the person parked on the street. This is very strange.”
“Or maybe Ellison rode his bike there! He doesn’t have a car. He always rides his bike when he comes to volunteer!” I fumed to think what the delinquent was doing in Mr. Fitzsimmons’ house.
“That would make sense. It would have been easy for us to miss a bicycle tossed onto the lawn,” Penny said bitterly. “And if anyone knows how to break into a locked house, it would be that horrid boy!”
“We should call the police with an anonymous tip,” I decided. “If we give away our identities, then they’ll know we were trespassing.”
“Good idea, dear! Do you want to use my cell phone?” Penny was already shuffling through her handbag for the device.
“No! We can’t call from either of our phones. Not even if we block our numbers. The police have ways of tracing calls. We need to find a payphone!” I said urgently.
“If any still exist!” Penny scoffed. “I haven’t seen a payphone in years!”
Determined, I drove to the town center and passed by numerous bland strip malls before arriving at a grocery store with one lone payphone near the entrance. “I’ll be right back!” I hopped out of the car and grabbed two quarters from my change purse. Then I realized that calling the police was free, so I slipped the quarters back into the holder and dialed 911.
“I need to report a home invasion,” I said before the dispatcher even had a chance to speak. “In Lemondrop Hills, the home of Patrick Fitzsimmons. 316 Spruce Run.”
Promptly, I set the phone in the receiver and dashed back to my car. I had done my civic duty; there was no need to wait for the dispatcher to ask me questions that I wasn’t willing to answer. Feeling the first rush of triumph since I had begun investigating, I slid into the Jeep and winked at Penny. “Done!”
“What next? It seems there’s not much else we can do on a Sunday,” Penny said as the wheels spun in my mind.
“Not true. We can launch our own little cyber investigation. Let’s go!” I swung the vehicle northwards in the direction of my modest apartment.
The house I shared with my husband had been sold during our divorce and the assets split right down the middle. Adjusting to living in an apartment, though, had been easier than I anticipated. There was so much less to clean and worry about. I could spend my free days curled up with a romance novel rather than sweating through grueling yard work or coughing from the chemical stench of Lemon Pine Sol sprayed everywhere.
Pulling into the parking lot, I found my assigned space and smiled. Even better than not having to clean all weekend was coming home and not having to fight with anyone over bills or chores…or mistresses. Sigh. I refused to be bitter even with my milestone birthday that was inching closer with every sunrise.
“Nice apartment building, dear!” Penny exclaimed as we walked up the stairs to my top floor unit. “The terraces are lovely!”
“Thank you, Penny,” I beamed.
“You know, since Stan died, I haven’t been with any other man. But you’re young, dear. You should be open to love,” Penny said as I glanced at her in surprise.
“I am open to love, I think…I’m trying to be,” I said uncertainly.
“Well good! Now let’s do that cyber investigation!” She rubbed her hands together enthusiastically even though I was pretty sure the shoppe cash register was the most sophisticated technology she knew how to use. Her “old fashioned” flip phone was equipped only for real conversations, not for texting or any fancy apps. Yes, Penny was someone after my own sweetly simple heart.
Sweeping into the apartment, I rushed into the second bedroom that I had converted into a home office. “Would you like cup of tea?” I asked out of politeness.
“I’d like to get to the bottom of this mystery!” She replied frankly as I grinned.
“Me too!” I switched on my laptop and waited a minute for the programs to warm up. “We need to find out who Mr. Fitzsimmons’ daughter is. I want to reach out to her, even if it’s just to offer condolences.”
Clicking on the Google Chrome icon, I immediately ran a search for Patrick Fitzsimmons + Lemondrop Hills, Iowa. The Irish name was a very common one but not within our tiny Midwestern community. A smattering of results appeared including a press release from a local chapter of the Elks Club.
“He volunteered with the Elks too!” I marveled.
“What a good man,” Penny said.
Scrolling down towards the bottom of the page, I discovered what Mr. Fitzsimmons had done before retiring. “Look Penny, he was a licensed real estate agent! That was why he could afford such a nice house…” I cut myself off as another search result stole my attention. Gasping, I pointed to the screen and exclaimed, “I think we may have just found the motive for his murder!”
Chapter 7
Penny gawked over my shoulder as I read the short but
crucial article aloud:
December 30, 2014
Patrick Fitzsimmons of Lemondrop Hills has announced his retirement from Hilltop Realty after nearly 50 years of serving the community. His colleagues at Hilltop sent him off in style with a retirement gala at the Sheraton Crossroads Hotel last week. Gloria Nillson, also a real estate agent at Hilltop, had this to say regarding her colleague’s retirement:
“Patrick was the consummate professional. I’m so grateful to have worked with him for the past few years. I really learned a lot from him. Maybe I even learned enough to sell my own 5 million dollar home!”
Indeed, Mr. Fitzsimmons sealed the largest deal of his career this past October when he sold a newly built 10-bedroom, 8-bathroom mansion for a cool $5,000,000.
Penny and I exchanged knowing glances and reflected in silence. If Mr. Fitzsimmons had retired last December after selling such an expensive property, then he could easily be the target for malicious intent. From my memory of buying a house with my ex-husband, real estate agents generally commanded between 5 and 7 percent commission, which meant that Mr. Fitzsimmons likely pocketed half a million dollars from the sale of the mansion.
“The pieces are fitting together now,” Penny said.
“Not quite. If greed was the motive, then I don’t understand why murder had to be the crime. Couldn’t the person have just robbed Mr. Fitzsimmons’ house when he wasn’t there? Wouldn’t that make more sense than killing him?” I argued.
“You have a point there, dear. Maybe greed wasn’t the only motive. Maybe there’s more to the story.”
“A lot more,” I agreed. “Someone must have had a personal vendetta against Mr. Fitzsimmons. Maybe stealing his money was just the icing on the cake.”
“I still say it’s Ellison. He’s such a bad apple that I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed just for kicks!” Penny said with a shudder.
“Maybe, but I think we need to look beyond Ellison now. We need to find Mr. Fitzsimmons’ daughter. And his ex-wife, if he has one. We still don’t even know if he was a widower or ever married at all!” I minimized the screen and ran a new search for Mr. Fitzsimmons, hoping to find some sort of obituary, but there was none. “He never mentioned his daughter’s name, did he?”
Small Town Spooky (Cozy Mystery Anthology) Page 24
