Murder on Old Main Street (Kate Lawrence Mysteries)

by Judith Ivie

  “So,” I asked Margo, “any hot prospects?”

  For answer, she fanned a sheaf of buyer qualification sheets at me. “More than I’ve had time to count. Unless I miss my guess, while you’re loungin’ around at the theater tonight, I’m goin’ to be up to my glorious backside in a biddin’ war,” she opined with satisfaction. “By this time tomorrow, Will and Janet should be off the hook. Well, speak of the devil,” she finished up, peeking through the front curtains. The Copelands were venturing onto the premises at last. They were about to ring the doorbell when Margo threw open the door.

  After saying a quick hello, I left Margo to deliver the good news and go through a couple of hard offers that had already been made on the property. I whizzed through both floors of the house, turning off lights and collecting paper cups in a trash bag, then fled out the front door.

  “Go, go!” Margo assured me. “I’ll be just fine.”

  Not only was she fine, I knew, she was entirely in her element and having the time of her life. I made a run for it.

  My heart sank at the scene that greeted me when I turned into The Birches. Several Metropolitan Water District vehicles, including a pumper truck, lined the street. Floodlights shone on half a dozen men in yellow rain gear and boots. They stood on either side of a large trench in my across-the-street neighbor’s yard. The flow of water had been stemmed, but the street remained clogged with sodden leaves, pieces of broken pipe and other debris. After waiting for several minutes, I was motioned ahead by one of the MWD workers. It was just barely possible to squeeze through the trucks and maneuver into my driveway. To my surprise, Armando’s car was already in the garage. I rushed up the stairs and yanked open the kitchen door, knowing I was late but glad, at least, to have an indisputable excuse. “I’m home!”

  Armando sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea before him, reading the newspaper. He was immaculately turned out, as always, in gray slacks, crisp blue shirt, navy sport coat, and neatly knotted silk tie. I immediately felt frumpy, but he looked up and smiled.

  “So you made it.” He rose and kissed my check. “It was a very interesting situation out there when I came in half an hour ago. Are they making any progress? Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Oh, good, he’s decided to quit pouting. “There’s no time for tea,” I said, conscious of time ticking past. “Where’s Joey?” I added, noticing the silence from the family room.

  Armando looked surprised. “I do not know. He was not here when I arrived.”

  That’s odd, I thought. I tossed my briefcase on the counter and headed for my bedroom. “Just give me two minutes to freshen up, and I’ll be ready to go,” I threw over my shoulder. Thank goodness for Margo’s apple bars, since I wasn’t going to get dinner any time soon. Hurriedly, I threw off my flat shoes and blazer and ran into the bathroom to brush my teeth and reapply lipstick. I flicked a little blusher and powder onto my cheeks, ran a brush through my hair, and spritzed on a little cologne. From the closet I grabbed a fitted silk jacket in a royal purple color that Armando liked. It would dress up the black pants I was still wearing. I shoved my feet into strappy sandals as I buttoned the jacket. That would have to do. I checked the time. Five forty-five. We could just make it, if only we could get out of the driveway.

  When I got back to the kitchen, I put food down for Jasmine and Simon, who also were nowhere to be seen. No doubt they were hiding from all of the strange lights and sounds in the street. I plucked a light coat from the front closet and headed back out to the garage. The scene was the same as it had been a few minutes ago, but things seemed to be winding down. Several MWD workers were shoveling dirt back into the trench they had created across the street, now that repairs had been completed. Others had fanned out into the driveways of the houses in the immediate area and were working with heavy rakes and shovels to clear them of leaves and mud.

  To my surprise, Armando stood in the driveway, attempting to get the attention of the yellow-suited worker who was clearing debris in the gutter. I watched in disbelief as he snapped his fingers in the worker’s direction, yelling, “Over here! You! Over here!” The man, who looked exhausted, stopped what he was doing and looked up at Armando, not understanding what he was yelling over the noise of the pumper and other trucks and workers. “There are leaves and mud here that must be removed,” Armando called imperiously. “Please attend to it immediately. It is important that we be able to exit, as we have theater tickets, and we are already late.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears, and apparently, neither could the MWD worker, who didn’t bother to conceal his disgust for this arrogant fool who seemed to think he should care about his theater tickets. Armando wasn’t aware of my presence, and I looked at the worker and shook my head slightly. Whirling on one heel, I stalked back into the garage, grabbed a rake and took it to where Armando still stood, yelling over the truck noise. The MWD worker had his head down, ignoring us. “Here,” I yelled, thrusting the rake at Armando. “Use this.”

  Armando looked at me but didn’t reach for the rake. “That is what he gets paid for,” he said, and my jaw dropped.

  “It will only take you a few seconds, Armando. This man doesn’t work for us.”

  “It is what he is being paid to do right now,” he insisted stubbornly as I continued to stand there, awkwardly holding the rake.

  “Fine, then. I’ll do it myself,” I retorted. I waded into the mess despite my leather sandals and angrily began pushing at the sodden leaves. Armando took hold of the rake.

  “No, you will not do his job.”

  Becoming aware that we were quarreling, the MWD worker looked up and decided to head off further trouble. Sullenly, he lugged his rake over to where we stood and started to deal with the clog.

  “Thank you,” Armando said.

  The man did not acknowledge him, and I didn’t blame him. I yanked the rake away from Armando. My shoes were ruined. I squelched back up the driveway and hurled the rake into the garage. Armando followed me closely.

  I was furious. “You are being a total jackass!”

  His face turned into an affronted mask, his eyes flat and cold. “In that case I am sure you would prefer that Estella and I attend the theater without you this evening,” he said stonily. Without another word, he got into his car and left, narrowly avoiding the worker still pushing at leaves and mud at the end of the driveway.

  “I’m sorry!” I called to the worker, who lifted a hand to me and shrugged.

  “No problem, lady,” he called back. “We get guys like him all the time.”

  Well, I don’t, I fumed silently. I don’t get guys like him at all.

  An hour later, having quieted my temper in a bubble bath, I stood at the kitchen counter in baggy sweats, putting together a chicken sandwich for my supper under the watchful eyes of Simon and Jasmine. They had reappeared at the sound of the refrigerator door opening. I never knew precisely where they hid out during times of stress, but I had stopped worrying about it. When the coast was clear, all I had to do was call “Chicken!” and they rematerialized. I put some tidbits for them on a paper towel on the floor, then sat down at the kitchen table to eat and try to sort out the events of the day. Predictably, the phone rang. Whoever it is can just leave a number, I thought irritably. I waited for my outgoing message to end so I could hear what the caller said.

  “Hi, ‘Cita. Guess you’re out with my stepdaddy somewhere,” Emma said, using the audacious nickname she had invented, only half in jest, for Armando. “Just wanted you to know that I’m on the job. I did computer searches on most of the names in Millie’s contact file and didn’t come up with anything fishy. Most of them are business contacts, customers and like that. I called everyone I could, saying I was from an insurance company and needed to check some information with her, and every single person knew her by the name of Millie Haines. Two of the people I called turned out to be relatives, and they said she’d never been married, didn’t go by any other names. Anyway, got a hot date, so I’m out t
he door. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you. Bye.”

  By this time I was on my feet and nearly to the phone, but she was gone. Hot date, huh? I racked my memory for any mention she might have made of a new love interest but came up empty. Maybe it’s Rick Fletcher, I thought, remembering their several encounters over the past few days. Despite our verbal sparring match of the previous evening, I liked rick very much. Whoever it turned out to be, I was glad Emma was getting out and about again. She worked far too hard for a young woman, to my way of thinking. There would be plenty of time for work in the years ahead.

  I returned to the kitchen and my uneaten sandwich. I was disappointed in the results of Emma’s research on Millie Haines, but realistically, what could we expect to discover? Even if she was Mavis Griswold’s long-lost daughter, she would be known by relatives and customers by her adopted name. Short of hiring a private detective, I didn’t know what else we could do, and even that might prove to be a dead end if the adoption papers were sealed. I had a dim recollection that adoption files in California were now searchable once the adoptee reached the age of twenty-one, which Millie certainly was, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard that. I made a mental note to look into it tomorrow. Once again, I picked up my sandwich, and once again, the phone rang.

  “Hi, Ma. Where are you? I got called into work tonight, so I didn’t get all the way through—“

  This time I was faster on my feet and snatched the phone from its charger. “Joey! I was wondering where you’d gone. What did you find out so far? Where are the diaries?”

  “I found out exactly nothing except a lot of silly gossip,” he said with disgust. “That Harriett Wheeler must have been some piece of work. I plowed through one whole volume and half of the next one, and all I can tell you is that she was the most self-righteous, judgmental cow you can imagine. You think Philpott is bad? Trust me, you did not want to be one of Harriett Wheeler’s neighbors. She didn’t have one good word to say about anybody. Hang on, Ma, I’ve got somebody on the radio.”

  I mulled over what he’d said as I listened to his exchange with another trucker on the citizen’s band radio Joey always had on in his cab. They went back and forth a few times about a major accident down the road and alternate routes that were still viable. Then Joey came back on the phone.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got to get off. There’s a big pile-up on I-95, as usual, and the Sunday night traffic is going to be a mess.”

  “Wait, wait! Where are the diaries?” I yelled frantically before he could disconnect.

  “Oh, yeah. I put them under your bed so they wouldn’t be lying around in the open. I didn’t know if Armando was up on this murder gig you’re into. Gotta go.”

  “Murder gig? Hey, this isn’t something I chose—“ but he was gone, leaving me only marginally informed and frustrated once again. This time, when I trudged back into the kitchen, I carried the cordless phone with me. I seated myself and took an enormous bite of my sandwich. As I chewed, I thought about the unread diaries under my bed. Guess I wouldn’t lack for amusement this evening after all. Somehow, the thought didn’t make me feel any better. The phone rang while my mouth was still full, and I chewed frantically while my message tape played in the living room.

  Margo, sounding distraught, started to speak right after the beep. “Sugar, the most distressin’ thing has happened. I know you’re out—“

  I spit chicken and lettuce into a napkin and punched on the phone. “I’m here. Are you all right?” I asked without preamble.

  “Kate! I’m so glad to hear your voice.” The slight tremor in Margo’s voice was totally uncharacteristic, and my stomach tightened.

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s the house, the Wheeler … the Copeland …” Margo gulped.

  “I know which house you mean. What about the house?” In the ensuing few seconds of silence, I could feel Margo making the effort to pull herself together.

  “There was an intruder,” she began again.

  “An intruder? While you were still there? Are you okay?” I asked again.

  “No, no, not while I was there, although earlier I saw someone … no, it was more like I felt someone peekin’ at me through the kitchen window.” She shuddered audibly.

  “Margo, where are you now? I’ll throw on a raincoat over my sweats and be right there,” I said. I stood up and looked around the kitchen for my purse and car keys.

  “You don’t have to do that, Sugar. John is here with me.”

  “The police are there? That does it. I’m on my way.” I headed for the front closet.

  For the first time, Margo chuckled, sounding more like herself. “This is more in the nature of a social call, if you get my meanin’, although it surely didn’t start out that way. Now just be still for a minute and let me get through this.”

  “Okay,” I said obediently and sank back into my chair, clutching my car keys.

  “Here’s what happened. After you left, I visited with Janet and Will for a bit, talked with them about the number of visitors we’d had, assured them we were confident of a quick sale, that sort of thing. They were happy to hear it, but they were not happy to be in that house, I could tell. So I said good night and promised to call them later this evenin’. Then I went upstairs, turned off lights, finished tidyin’ up. I packed up my briefcase and went into the kitchen to put that big bag of trash out on the back porch, and that’s when I saw him.”

  “Him?”

  “The man on the back stoop, peerin’ through the window at me.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t see him.”

  “Well, I mean I didn’t get a real good look at him. He was scrunched over with his hand half coverin’ his eyes, leanin’ off the stoop to look into the window.”

  I imagined the scene, and a chill ran down my spine. “What did you do?”

  “Why, I nearly jumped out of my skin, of course. What would you do? And then I got myself together, figurin’ it was just some latecomer tryin’ to get a look at the place. So I pulled open the door.”

  “Margo, you didn’t!” I wailed. “You should have called the police.”

  “Just hush up and give me a minute. So I pulled open the back door, and whoever it was almost fell off the stoop. I was standin’ there ready to introduce myself, and he just ran off across the yard. He must have been dressed in dark colors, because all I could see were his big, white shoes runnin’ like fury for the privet hedge that runs along the back of the yard. And then I called the police.”

  “Oh, great. By the time they showed up, there was no trace of this guy, right? I’m sure it was very frightening, and I’m appalled that you opened the door to a stranger who was prowling around in the dark, but it’s not like you to sound as upset as you do over something that happened hours ago. What’s the rest of the story?”

  “If you would just settle down, I would be more than happy to tell you,” Margo snapped. She sounded more like herself with every moment, thank heaven. An intimidated Margo was unimaginable. “As it happened, John was on duty, and he took the call personally.” Some muffled smooch sounds made it past the hand with which Margo was covering the phone. I distinctly heard her giggle, but I wanted to know the rest of the story more than I wanted to know what was going on in the background.

  “Margo?” Impatiently, I drummed the table with my fingernails.

  “Sorry, Sugar. Like you said, when John got here, he checked everythin’ out thoroughly,” another giggle, “and found no trace of an intruder. So we locked the place up and left. John was getting’ off duty, so we went to have a little dinner in the South End. That’s when he got the call.”

  “Another call?”

  “Well, not from me, silly. From the desk sergeant at the police station. While we were at dinner, the Wheeler house was broken into and ransacked, Kate. John and I went over there, and it was just awful. From the outside, it looked perfectly normal, not a thing out of place. But the inside … oh, Kate.” The tremble returned to her voice. />
  “What about the inside?”

  “It wasn’t just a burglary. There wasn’t anythin’ to steal, really. All the electronics had been moved out long ago. This wasn’t just vandals, kids messin’ up the place for fun. This had to be the work of a crazy person, Kate. All that beautiful molding, the hardwood floor. Somebody took an axe to it, and a crowbar, and other things, too, from the look of it. The investigatin’ officers said they had never seen anything like it in this town. There are great big holes punched in the walls. The kitchen cabinet doors are ripped off the hinges. The bathroom tiles are smashed. I simply could not believe my eyes.”

  And I couldn’t believe my ears. That beautiful old house violated in this awful way just as it was about to find a new owner who would love and enjoy it. For what reason? It made me ill to think of it.

  “Nobody saw or heard anything? What about Janet and Will? Weren’t they right next door while all of this was going on?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. Nobody heard a sound, because it was done inside with the doors and the windows all shut tight. And here’s the strangest part. Technically speakin’, the house wasn’t broken into. When the police got there, the doors were all locked. The lock box was right where it was supposed to be on the front doorknob, and the house key was still inside it.”

  I put my head in my hands and tried to think. “Then who called the police to report the, uh, whatever you call this?”

  “They don’t know. They believe the call was made by whoever did this from right inside the house.”

  “That’s not possible. The house line was disconnected weeks ago.”

  “The call wasn’t made from a land line, Kate. It was made from your cell phone. You must have left it there this afternoon.”

  Ten