by Annie Irvin
“I tell you, I know this will work!” Harper crossed her arms, her face stony.
“I hope you’re right,” Lonnie said. “But why do I have to hide in the shadows here on the porch while you get to sit in a warm basement? It’s getting cold out here.”
“Well, your jacket should keep you warm enough but if not, you can go grab a blanket and wrap up in it. Someone has to be on the lookout for Summer and since it’s just you and me, and I have to be in the basement, you’re elected to be on watch. Now do you remember what you’re supposed to do when you spot her?”
“First, I make sure she can’t see me, next I send you a text, then I call 911 and tell the dispatcher to send the sheriff or a deputy.”
“You got it,” Harper exclaimed as Violet and Olivia stepped out onto the porch.
“She got what?” Violet asked. “Seems like you two have been acting mighty strange since the tea party ended.”
“Are you sure you aren’t up to something having to do with the murder?” Olivia questioned Harper. “I don’t think you should be asking any more questions of folks. You should leave that up to the proper authorities.”
Violet narrowed her eyes. “Seems like you’re hanging around here pretty late. We got the cleanup done. Thought I picked up some words you girls were whispering to each other earlier. Words like ‘hide’ and ‘element of surprise.’”
“How silly, Violet. We were only talking about how we were going to handle the basement clean up,” Harper said reproachfully. Taking Lonnie’s arm she escorted her sister inside, holding the door for the older women.
“We’re going to size up the job right now, Mom. See what we need to do tomorrow. No dirt will hide from us.”
“Right,” Lonnie piped up, “we’ll scope the basement out now so there’s no element of surprise tomorrow.” She grinned at Violet as the older woman hoofed it into the foyer.
Harper put her arm around Olivia’s waist and said sincerely, “It was a great party and you worked hard. Why don’t you and Violet call it a day? Lonnie and I will be out of here soon. We’ll lock up.”
“I am tired,” Olivia conceded. “And I know Violet is, too. It turned out very well, didn’t it? I’m going to miss the gentle charm of this old house.”
Climbing the stairs after Olivia, Violet groaned, “I’ll miss the charm but I sure won’t miss these stairs.” She turned and faced Harper. Holding her index and middle finger in a vee, she pointed to her eyes and then to the sisters, who knew very well what the gesture meant.
Creeping quietly across the basement floor to where the twenty gallon Red Wing crock sat wedged into the corner, Harper and Lonnie put their plan into action. Harper stuffed the carefully folded apron back into the crock, exactly where she’d found it.
Then she chose a spot along the adjacent wall to stack several packing barrels and crates.
“Just like a little fort to hide behind,” she told Lonnie as they piled on the last crate. “And there’s a light switch on the wall right beside me.”
Lonnie, still a little miffed at having to wait outside in the cold, grumbled, “There’s a can of bug spray on the floor right beside you, too. If you see any crazy, murderous spiders you can hold them until the bug cops get here. I hope Summer doesn’t drag her feet. I want to get this over with.”
After sending her sister off to the porch with a pat on the back, Harper sat down on an overturned bucket behind her makeshift fort of crates and packing barrels and waited. After what seemed a very long time, she checked her watch. Almost twelve thirty. Maybe Lonnie was right and Summer wouldn’t show up tonight. Yet how could she not if she possessed any brains at all. Harper and Lonnie had made it very clear at the tea party how they would clean out every nook and cranny down here hoping to plant a seed of worry in Summer’s mind. If Harper had committed the murder and hid the apron, she’d break her butt to get down here and snatch it back. She’d get the blood-splattered evidence and she’d burn it. Any sane person would. But maybe Summer wasn’t sane. Harper hadn’t considered that. Summer didn’t come off as insane, just slutty. Harper pondered the difference between falling in love with a man like Mickey versus falling into bed with a man like Mickey and then pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket. Still no text from Lonnie.
She’d sat on the overturned bucket long enough. She needed to stretch her legs. Leaving her hiding place, Harper meandered around the basement. Lonnie would let her know when to return to her fort. She stuffed the cell phone back in her jeans pocket. She had set it to vibrate when Lonnie sent her the text message. In the meantime, she cautiously picked her way around in the deep gloom, dodging a few old pieces of furniture and other items which would probably find their way to the junkyard.
It was dark but Harper’s eyes had adjusted enough to the gloom so she could just make out the form of her old tricycle, the one she’d ridden around and around for hours on the big front porch when she was three or four. Riding on the wooden porch seemed so much easier than peddling down the gravel driveway. The trike had lost one of its back wheels and had seen better days. Next to the tricycle sat a small, discarded wooden chest, a few of its slats broken. Harper smiled as she recalled how years ago her father convinced her it was a treasure chest and once belonged to a pirate. She’d believed him until one day, turning the old chest upside down, she’d seen the words Made in Joliet, Illinois. So much for bottles of rum and dead men’s chests full of gold. Harper smiled at the memory and squinted her eyes. On top of an old table in the middle of the junk pile sat a broken carriage clock that once graced the mantle in the dining room. Harper remembered how one of her chores had been to dust the mantle and the clock when she was young. She and Lonnie actually squabbled over who got to do the dusting because their father told the sisters he purchased the ornate timepiece at a rummage sale held in the Queen of France’s castle. Harper chuckled and stretched out her hand, lightly touching the clock face, remembering how long ago she had to stand on tiptoe, stretching to reach the dining room mantle.
That’s when the truth hit her like a bad smell on a hot night. There it was, the answer to the nagging little tickle pricking at the back of her brain the past few days. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It all made sense now. All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place and there was no doubt in Harper’s mind who killed Grace Potter.
Unexpectedly and with no warning, the sharp creaking of the basement door gradually swinging open sliced through the silence. What the heck? Harper thought. She hadn’t felt the vibration of her phone alerting her to Lonnie’s text. She realized with a start Lonnie probably hadn’t sent her one. And now she had stupidly wandered to the far side of the basement and it was a long walk through the inky darkness before she could reach the safety of the packing crate fort.
Moving carefully, Harper kept her head turned toward the basement door and watched the slim beam of a penlight dance down the stairs ahead of stealthy footsteps. She held her breath and listened. Damn, it was dark down here. She couldn’t see across the room, couldn’t make out who stood behind the light beam floating downstairs. The penlight seemed to be carried by the spectral hand of an invisible ghost.
A frightening thought poked around inside Harper’s head. What if it was Grace Potter who walked softly down those stairs? Goosebumps popped out on her arms. Don’t be stupid, Harper Reed, she barked the order to herself. You know damn well it’s the killer carrying that light. Not that the knowledge made the situation any better. Where was her text from Lonnie? Had Lonnie even called 911 like they’d planned?
In the darkness, Harper ran her shin into the corner of an old steamer trunk. The disembodied footsteps stopped halfway between the stairs and the corner where the stained apron in the crock waited to be claimed. Taking a deep breath, Harper stiffened her spine. It was imperative she move and move quickly. Adrenalin pumping, she sidestepped behind a thick wooden upright beam bracing the floor, holding her breath as the penlight searched the area where she had stood just seconds befor
e.
The light made its calculated search to the wooden joist that she now hid behind, then deliberately moved to the opposite side of the basement. Harper deftly slid behind a worn overstuffed chair and crouched there as the beam of light slowly, carefully inched farther away from her. Sweat trickled down her armpits while she waited until the footsteps resumed their march toward the Red Wing crock.
Harper watched the thin glow of the penlight work its way across the floor until it reached the corner. She knew she had to scramble back behind her fort and she had to do it pronto. Praying nothing was in her path, she silently made her way from the old chair to the stack of crates. Peering over them, she watched spellbound as the light danced across the crock’s lid. Stealthily, a slender hand reached out, thin fingers reaching toward the knob on top. Harper’s own fingers slid inside her jacket pocket, feeling for the Colt. She wrapped her hand around the cold hard weapon and pulled out Lonnie’s cell phone.
Her mind could scarcely take in the fact that she stared at an iPhone5 instead of a Colt .25.
What the heck? she thought. Lonnie and I must have mixed up our jackets. Now what am I going to do?
Thinking quickly, she picked up the can of bug spray and then lightly rested her hand on the switch plate on the wall. Barely allowing herself to breathe, she waited until she saw the apron being pulled from its hiding place.
“Hello, Rachel,” Harper said in the inky darkness a second before flipping the switch and flooding the basement with light.
Rachel Turnbuckle, her brown eyes dazed, stood hugging the bloody apron to her thin chest. She dropped the garment. For a second she stood very still, a soft guttural sound escaping from deep in her throat. Then, throwing back her head and arching her spine, she screamed and screamed, like the hounds of Hell had finally found her.
Startled at the intensity of the scream and the look of absolute revulsion on Rachel’s face, Harper took a step backwards, but Rachel, moving quickly forward until she stood only inches away, wrapped her hands around Harper’s throat with an uncanny swiftness. Falling back onto a packing crate with Rachel on top of her, Harper heard the wood splinter.
This woman who had every reason to hate Grace Potter enough to murder her now clutched Harper in a death grip that belied her slender hands. Rachel held on to Harper’s neck for dear life and Harper struggled to breathe. Fighting to remain conscious, darkness began to creep in around the edges of Harper’s vision and her lungs burned.
With a huge effort, Harper managed to raise her right arm until her hand was even with Rachel’s face. Praying the can was pointed in the right direction, she pressed down on the nozzle of the insect spray. Rachel screamed again, then began making choking sounds as she released her hold on Harper’s neck in order to frantically wipe at her eyes and nose.
Harper was trying to struggle to her feet when a firm but gentle hand grabbed her arm and steadied her. Sucking in as much air as she could, relief flooded Harper as she looked into Maggie’s worried face. Fred had Rachel in a stronghold with no intention of letting go. Rachel struggled for a few minutes, trying to kick Fred and break loose. Then panting heavily with a little drool sliding from her lips, she went limp. She seemed to realize it was useless to struggle with Fred. There was no fight left in her.
At the top of the basement steps, Lonnie uttered a moan. “I didn’t call the cops, I didn’t call the cops. My phone is a gun.”
“Well, take mine and call now, woman,” Maggie shouted, grabbing her cell phone out of her coat pocket and tossing it deftly to Lonnie.
Lonnie rapidly poked the numbers into the phone. By the time she reached the dispatcher, Violet had made her way down from the third floor to the top of the basement steps.
“What in the world is going on down here?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Olivia, eyes enormous, stood behind her while Ezra shoved his way around the two older women and ran to help Fred.
Sobbing, Lonnie put her arms around Harper. Rubbing her throat, Harper croaked, “I’m okay, honest. But, Lonnie, where is my text?”
Chapter Twenty Two
“I almost feel Grace Potter marinating in posthumous publicity,” Maggie joked, offering Harper a muffin still warm from the oven.
“You know it,” Harper agreed, taking the muffin and pouring herself a cup of coffee. It felt good to relax in Maggie’s snug country kitchen. Lonnie and Paul were also invited for coffee and while she waited for her sister and brother-in-law to join them, she let the worries of the previous two days evaporate as she sniffed the aroma of Maggie’s excellent home baking.
Fred meandered into the kitchen, enticed by the aroma of the blueberry muffins and fresh, hot coffee.
“The morning paper is on the counter,” Maggie told him as he lightly skimmed the top of her head with a kiss, a gesture of intimacy Harper sometimes missed.
“I see Rachel Turnbuckle made the front page again today,” Fred observed, unfolding the paper on the table while Maggie poured him a cup of coffee. “Says here she’s undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. Why waste the time on that? We all know she’s crazy.”
Harper grimaced and touched her neck. “I’ll say.” The memories of Rachel trying to strangle her wouldn’t fade away as quickly as the bruising.
“We’ve known Rachel for such a long time,” Maggie remarked. “It’s difficult to believe she could have attacked you, Harper, much less killed someone.”
“She could have killed Harper,” Fred declared. “Did you ever stop to consider as you laid your trap that whoever showed up might have a gun or knife? And the only weapon you were able to arm yourself with was a can of insect spray.”
“Ah, but I did arm myself,” Harper said. “With a Colt .25. The snafu to the plan happened when Lonnie and I grabbed the wrong jackets. She ended up with my gun and I ended up with her phone. Besides, it’s water under the bridge. I came over here this morning to tell you about my visit with Deputy Kennedy yesterday afternoon. Hal and I talked for quite some time and since the evidence I ‘stumbled’ across really had nothing to do with Rachel, I’m not going to get into any trouble with tampering.”
“You mean I don’t get to visit you in jail,” Maggie teased. “How boring.”
“Boring’s good,” Harper stated. “Hal interviewed Rachel’s parents along with a few other people in town, and yesterday the two of us were able to put in place the pieces of the puzzle surrounding Grace’s murder. You deserve to know the whole story since you saved my life, Fred. And I know neither of you will go spreading gossip after I tell you who was doing what with whom.”
Fred laughed. “Sounds intriguing already.”
“But I want to know why you and Maggie got to the Inn so quickly. Lonnie told me a little bit but she didn’t know everything.”
A knock sounded on the back door and Lonnie poked her head inside.
“We’d have been here sooner,” Lonnie apologized, “but Paul spent a lot of time looking for a pair of old shoes.”
“Yeah,” Paul smiled as he followed his wife into the farm kitchen. “She thought she could hide them from me, but I tracked them down.”
Paul stuck out a foot and looked admiringly at the worn leather loafer.
“Harper’s about to tell us everything we need to know about Grace Potter’s murder,” Maggie told them, filling two more cups with coffee and setting them on the table while Paul and Lonnie shrugged out of their coats.
“So start already,” Lonnie demanded, taking the coffee from Maggie.
“Well,” Harper began, “everyone knows Grace was a busybody but she was a bigger busybody than anyone in town suspected. She’d spent years sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and had actually kept notes on the dirt she dug up. Then the week before she was murdered, she stumbled onto not one but three juicy affairs.”
Fred raised his eyebrows. “Love affairs?”
“Yep. Two current, one past.”
Harper took a sip of her coffee. “Before I go on, I want to hear from you and F
red, Maggie. Thank goodness you were at the Inn when you were. You couldn’t have timed it better.”
“We went to bed later than usual that night,” Fred said. “Maggie insists on keeping the bedroom window open a few inches, even when it’s cold. Anyway, about midnight I got up to go to the bathroom. On my way back to bed, I decided I had enough fresh air. I just started to close the window when the light from the half moon revealed a shadow moving along the edge of the timberline. I stood and watched for a minute, until my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I realized it wasn’t a deer but a human shape moving as stealthily as a ghost across the property and onto Olivia’s land. That’s when I woke up Maggie.”
Maggie refilled Fred’s coffee mug and took up the story. “We threw on some clothes and hurried downstairs, pulled on our boots and grabbed our jackets. Fred snatched a flashlight from the kitchen cupboard and we hurried outside. We jogged across the yard to the edge of the timberline where Fred said he’d last seen whoever or whatever it was.
