Within minutes, our two deputy friends, Bill and Paul, came around the corner of the house. Paul looked like a storm cloud ready to swoop down on us with thunder and lightning. “What the devil are you doing back here when we told you to stay away from this crime scene?” He acted like he hadn’t even noticed Terry on the ground, he was so busy chastising me.
I realized they’d seen us on the security camera they’d set up in the trees at the front of the house. I’d forgotten all about it; Andrea probably hadn’t forgotten but didn’t care. I pointed to Terry. “What we’re doing here is catching a murderer for you.”
They both looked at Terry, who hadn’t said a word or even moved since Chad dealt with him. “What makes you think he’s a murderer?” This from Paul.
“He planned to shoot us and grind us up in the chipper.” If that didn’t impress them, I don’t know what would. I picked up the article of clothing Andrea had tossed to the ground when she went for the plastic ties. It was a jacket with stains on the front.
I held it out to Paul. “I think you’ll find those stains are spatters of Ollie’s blood, from when Terry Forsythe shot him. There’s a dry cleaner’s tag stapled to the label. If you check it out, you’ll discover the jacket belonged to Forsythe. Andrea found it under a pile of old lumber under the house.” This was a lot of conjecture on my part, but I was willing to bet everything would turn out as I predicted.
Paul didn’t look as if he were ready to thank us for solving their case for them. “Where’s your sister?”
“Terry Forsythe shot her dog. Do you remember the dog that was here when we discovered Ollie’s body? Andrea has her now. She took her to a vet.”
Paul shoved Chad aside and grabbed Terry’s bound hands. He jerked them upward, and Terry made the first sound since he’d been taken down. It was a groan of pain. “You shot a dog? You dirty bastard.”
Paul obviously loved dogs more than people. He and Bill yanked Terry to his feet and marched him to their car. Paul came back for the jacket. “We do appreciate your help with this case. Sorry if I’ve been short with you, but we’re not used to having volunteers involved in our cases.”
You wouldn’t even have had a case if we hadn’t discovered Ollie’s body, I thought. I smiled my most pleasant smile, however, and said, “Always glad to do what we can.”
As they were driving away, I heard another vehicle coming from upstream. It sounded like something big. I slogged through the mud to the middle of the road and stood there, waiting.
They had to stop, and the driver stuck his head out of the truck window. “What’s going on?”
“The man who thinks he owns this property has just been arrested for the murder of the previous owner. You’d better stop cutting trees till you find out the legal status of the place.”
The driver looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re sure?”
“She’s more than sure—she’s positive. The cutting has to stop now.” Chad had come up behind me. His Krav Maga training was making him more assertive. He was going to be an excellent volunteer for Jordan.
“I hate the idea of them cutting these trees. They’re so tall, I don’t think they’ve been touched in centuries,” Chad said when the truck moved on.
“I agree. They’re too beautiful to be cut. Thanks for backing me up.”
We sat on the porch steps and enjoyed the spring twilight, waiting to be rescued by Andrea and Jack. They showed up shortly and reported that Rosy was probably going to be okay. They’d left her to recuperate with a vet in Moundsville.
We left Hog Run, undoubtedly for the last time, and went to Young’s Cafeteria in Glen Dale for some tasty down-home food. The meal was a celebration, because we’d solved two murders and caused an embezzler to be arrested. In addition, Andrea had rescued a dog, and I had saved some hardwoods. Not bad work for a couple of senior volunteers and their assistants.
EPILOGUE
Andrea and I were sitting on the Garden Room deck, waiting for our lunch to be served. The weather was perfect now, and we had chosen to eat outside. How was it that we were eating at the Garden Room without Jack? It’s not a long story; rather, it’s a delightful one.
The members of the country club demanded a reorganization after Stuart Kerr’s arrest, and the board of directors was kicked out. With a new board in control, which included Jack, Andrea and I were made honorary members for life. Everyone at the club was so grateful that we discovered the embezzlement—which resulted in a quarter million dollars being returned to their account—that they couldn’t do enough for us. I’m loving our new status as country club members, and I think Andrea probably is, too. It’s harder to tell with her.
The prosecutor agreed to probation for Stuart, but only if the money from the Cayman Islands account was turned over immediately. Some of his wife’s jewelry had to be sold to finish paying what he owed. Jack bought it back from them, and I’m sure he paid them a decent price for it. That’s the way he is—he’s a decent person.
Stuart’s probation officer insisted that he get a job immediately, so from what I hear, he’s working on the loading dock and in the warehouse at Wal-Mart. I’m sure the exercise will do him good. His wife, Faith, is looking for a job so she can help make ends meet.
As for the case against Terry Forsythe, Andrea and I were asked to sit in on the questioning, since we were so instrumental in solving Ollie’s murder. I declined, preferring to watch the proceedings through the one-way glass. With Andrea in the room, I had no doubt about the outcome. Math teachers, even retired ones, have a demeanor that demands truth, regardless of the consequences. When presented with evidence from the dry cleaner tag in Terry’s jacket and the DNA results of Ollie’s blood on the jacket, Terry and his attorney had a mumbled conference and started discussing a plea deal. His DNA matched that of Lea’s killer, and when he saw her calendar entry about meeting him on the evening before her death, he confessed to that, too. He pled guilty to both crimes and will spend forty years in prison.
The gun Terry threatened us with was the same weapon he used to kill Ollie, he told the prosecutor. The Smith and Wesson we found in the burned-out house must have belonged to the previous owners, after all.
We hadn’t heard anything from Lea’s mother. We assumed she’d thank us for solving Lea’s murder, even though this resulted in the arrest of her son. We speculated about whether she knew of one or the other of his crimes all along, or whether she was present when he shot Ollie. Terry insisted during his questioning that this wasn’t the case, but the son she said never helped her had given her money in the end for some reason. We’ll probably never know for sure whether she was guilty of something.
The status of Ollie’s property is still up in the air. It looks like the state will take over the place, since there are no heirs to be found. I’m going to start campaigning for the area to be turned into a state park, which would guarantee that no trees would be cut and no gas wells drilled.
Rosy was here on the deck with us. She was sleeping quietly under our table, and the waitress raised her eyebrows but said nothing. I’m sure it’s against club rules, but we were on our way to the vet for a follow-up check on her gunshot wound and thought we’d stop for lunch on the way. She still has a slight limp due to the injury to her left shoulder. Andrea will keep Rosy, of course. She turned out to be a beautiful dog, now that she gained weight and started looking healthy.
We decided to put off tackling another cold case for a week or two. We’ve been invited to what promises to be a fascinating get-together with some relatives we never knew we had. These relatives live in the Canaan Valley, somewhere near Parsons. We’re looking forward to a relaxing trip and a chance to forget about murder for a while.
“The moon will be full when we arrive in the Canaan Valley,” I said while we sipped our coffee.
“Then that’s a guarantee than absolutely nothing can go wrong.” Andrea had a smirk on her face when she said this, and I’m sure she was being sarc
astic. As for me, I’d hope for the best and be prepared to deal with the worst.
MOON SIGNS EXCERPT
By
Helen Haught Fanick
Book 1, Moon Mystery Series
Copyright © 2011 by Helen Haught Fanick
Cover photo copyright © 2011 by Ben Rehder
Cover art copyright © 2011 by Becky Rehder
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.
For Karl and Ossy
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to express my gratitude to the many people who have helped me in my writing career, especially to my many family members who are also writers, and who have given me their unending encouragement and support. To those who have read my work and suggested changes and corrections, I’m grateful. They are all extensive readers, and their suggestions have improved my novel immensely. Included are Ben Rehder, Ed Fanick, and Vernon and Marguerite Shettle. I’ve done extensive research while writing Moon Signs, but if there are any errors in the book, they are mine.
I hope my high school English teacher, Louise Hall, realized how much she influenced my love of literature before she died. Her enthusiasm for fiction and poetry of all types was boundless, and I hope some of her passion rubbed off on me and shows up in my work.
CHAPTER ONE
My sister Andrea thought mingling with a bunch of foreigners would be an enlightening experience for both of us. It would broaden our horizons, she said. Andrea always has been the one in favor of broadening our horizons, while I’m the one who’s content to stay home with my plants and needlework.
Mingling with foreigners wasn’t what persuaded me to leave home in the dead of winter, however. A much more intriguing idea for me was searching for two lost Monets in the old hotel once owned by our grandparents. Andrea, skeptical as usual, couldn’t believe we were going to find paintings worth millions. So for different reasons we loaded our suitcases into Andrea’s car and left for a long weekend in the Potomac Highlands.
The roads and sky were clear; otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to go into the West Virginia mountains in winter. I was eager to find the paintings, but not at the risk of my life. It was mid-morning when we started. Our town, Pine Summit, is in the hills, and we began to see deeper snow in the woods beside the highway as we approached the mountains. Pine branches sagged almost to the ground under the accumulated load. We hoped to make it to the Canaan Valley by mid-afternoon, before snowmelt that had run onto the highway had a chance to freeze into icy patches.
Andrea’s a skeptic about a lot of things, and I feel it’s my duty to convince her of the possibilities of certain situations, such as finding two of Monet’s water lily paintings. “I can’t wait to see the papers Maggie found.”
Andrea nodded and smiled the same Mona Lisa smile she always gives me when she’s waiting for more evidence before she makes up her mind. A math teacher, that’s what she is . . . or was. My sister retired three years ago after teaching for forty years at Pine Summit High School. I’ve noticed that math teachers want evidence before making decisions about even the smallest matters.
I persisted, wondering if Andrea had any romance in her soul at all. “It’s lucky Maggie found Grandpa Flynn’s records.” Maggie is our niece. Her big thing these days is genealogical research, and she’s found out a lot since moving to the Canaan Valley.
Andrea shifted into fifth as we reached cruising speed. “I think Maggie has a big imagination. It’ll be good to see her, though, and to see the hotel.”
Mama always said our grandparents, Samuel and Abigail Flynn, owned a hotel in the Canaan Valley at one time. No one in the family ever took the trouble to locate the place until Maggie started digging into family history. I think working in the valley is what got her started. Now she lives in the hotel and works for the owners. I tipped my seat back a notch and wondered how long Grandpa and Grandma had owned the place.
I also wondered why, if they bought two valuable Monets at the turn of the twentieth century, no one in the family knew about them. Our grandparents had a reputation for extravagance, but it was hard to believe they ever had enough money to buy two of Monet’s paintings. Maybe Maggie’s records would shed some light. She had been insistent that we come for a long weekend, and I had agreed immediately but conditionally, depending on the weather. Well, we were on our way now to what I considered a great adventure.
Andrea had been eager to go, too, because she loves to travel into the mountains any time of year, and she considers meeting people from foreign countries a bonus. The Potomac Highlands has become a popular ski destination for a lot of folks along the Eastern Seaboard, including many Europeans who are living more or less temporarily in the Washington area.
Troublesome times have followed us in the past when we’ve gone exploring together, and I’ve tried to convince my sister that Grandma Flynn was right when she maintained we should arrange our affairs by the signs of the moon. Andrea can’t see this, even though murder and mayhem have dogged us in the dark of the moon, and even at half-moon, a time of turbulence and trouble.
I was truly annoyed with myself, because I hadn’t looked at my calendar before we left to see which phase of the moon we were in. The reason I hadn’t checked was that Maggie called us in the middle of the day Wednesday and asked us to come on Thursday. I was so busy packing, arranging for neighbors to water my plants and pick up mail and papers, and double-checking my outdoor faucets to make sure they were thoroughly wrapped against the freezing nights that I just didn’t think of it.
Now I was hoping we were near the full moon, when good luck and prosperity can shine along with the moon’s glow. I rarely forget to look at the calendar before a trip, but the excitement about the Monets was something else that had occupied my mind. I pointed this out to Andrea, that I had forgotten to check the calendar, and she merely smiled that mysterious smile of hers again. I wasn’t about to ask her whether she had noticed where we were, moonwise. She never has set any store in living by the phases of the moon.
The sun was shining through the windshield, and the heater had finally warmed the car enough so that my fingers were thawing. The temperature had gone down to fifteen degrees last night, and it had taken the car quite a while to warm up. I persisted with the subject of the paintings. “Do you suppose Daddy and Mama knew about the Monets? They never mentioned them.”
“They probably didn’t know anything about them.”
“And considering how much time we spent with our grandparents, I’m surprised they never mentioned buying paintings in Paris for the hotel.”
“They never talked about the hotel at all. After all, they went bankrupt. They probably were embarrassed to bring up the subject. How about pouring some coffee? I put the thermos behind my seat.”
I said Andrea was the cautious type, but that’s only when it comes to jumping to conclusions. She’s prone to whizzing around the curves on our West Virginia highways with a cup of coffee in one hand and the steering wheel of her Honda Accord in the other. I gave up years ago trying to talk her into driving sensibly. I always just buckle up and hope for the best. I was warm enough now that I wanted to take off my parka, but it would have meant unbuckling, and that was a chance I didn’t want to take. I sighed and poured the coffee.
“How much do you suppose two Monet water lily paintings would be worth?” I ventured as I put her cup in the holder. I was reluctant to shut up on the subject; after all, it was the main reason I agreed to go to the Canaan Valley.
She laughed and shook her head. My question was too ridiculous to deserve an answer. I sniffed. “You and Maggi
e and I are the only heirs, you know.”
“To be heirs, there has to be something to inherit. Grandpa somehow managed to pay for Grandma’s funeral. Then he died with five hundred dollars in the bank for his burial, which just about covered it back then.”
“Maybe he didn’t know the value of the paintings. Maybe Monet sold them to someone when he was a young starving artist. The owner fell upon hard times and put them on the market later, not realizing Monet was becoming famous. Maybe our grandparents bought them at a flea market when they went to Paris. You see people on the Antiques Roadshow all the time who’ve found something worth millions on a garage sale table for three dollars.”
“Dream on, Kathleen” Andrea said. Now and then she uses a phrase she learned from her students, and it’s usually something irritating. I ignored it.
I sat back and sipped my coffee. It would be well to change the subject. I would simply wait until we discovered the paintings, and then I would allow myself the pleasure of gloating. “Do you think we’ll meet many foreigners at the hotel?”
“When Maggie and I talked on the phone, she said a lot of people come from the Washington area for skiing. Some of them are diplomats and employees of European governments. She said the house down the road from the hotel is rented to Germans for the season. The husband’s a member of the Ski Patrol. And, of course, the new owners of the hotel are from somewhere in Europe. The Czech Republic, I think.”
We rode for a while without saying anything. Andrea turned on the radio, and strains of Schubert’s Serenade floated from her favorite National Public Radio station. She turned down the volume. “Do you plan to ski?” she asked.
Evil Under the Moon (Moon Mystery Series Book 5) Page 16
