Murder in Her Stocking

by G. A. McKevett

  Stella gasped as her searching mind found what it had been looking for. She turned and looked at Savannah. “Her family owned a farm up north. She took me there a couple of times when we were teenagers. She still owns it, loves it. Couldn’t let it go.”

  “That must be where Mr. Bagley was going the other day. Up to her old farm. But why would he go there, you think?”

  Abruptly, Stella stood and gathered the blanket into her arms. “Come along, sugar. I know it’s Christmas, but if I can get Elsie to watch you young’uns for me, I’m fixin’ to take a drive. It ain’t that far. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

  Savannah gave her a suspicious look, then said, “I know where you’re going.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Yes I do. You’re going to Miss Florence’s old farm. The one she took you to when you were teenagers.”

  Stella stared down into the little face, with its know-it-all grin. “Don’t tell anybody.”

  “I know what you’re doing, too.”

  “Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants. What am I doin’?”

  “You’re going sleuthing.”

  Stella started to deny it, but she knew that Savannah had an internal lie detector that was almost as accurate as her own. There was no point in even trying to deceive the girl. “Okay. I am. Don’t tell anybody that, either.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yep. I promise. Don’t worry. I won’t have a chance to tell ’em, ’cause I’m going with you.”

  Chapter 25

  As Stella drove the truck through the wooded areas that lined the riverbank north of McGill, the forests of pines mixed with hardwoods thinned and gave way to meadows. There was hardly any snow here. With no evergreens to add color, everything looked the same muddy shade of brown—the trees, with their bare limbs, and the bushes and grasses, dormant and dead, that lined the narrow two-lane road.

  Savannah stared out the window, taking in every bit of the scenery.

  “I’ve never been this far north,” she said. “I love going places I’ve never been before. I wish I could go around the whole world and see everything. Maybe even go all the way to California, where they have palm trees.”

  “You have an adventurer’s spirit inside you, Savannah girl,” Stella told her. “That’s a fine thing. Promise me that you’ll always have adventures in this life of yours. They’re more important than fancy cars or big houses or even pretty clothes.”

  “Unless you’re Marietta.” Savannah snickered and made a face. “Clothes and hairdos are all she thinks about. How she looks.”

  “Marietta lives in a world of her own inside that head of hers. Try to be a bit nicer to your sister for me, Savannah. It ain’t easy bein’ her.”

  “No, I don’t reckon it is. The smell alone would—”

  “Stop! That’s the kind of ugliness I’m talkin’ about.”

  “I wouldn’t say stuff like that if she wasn’t so mean.”

  “Like most folks, Mari can be contrary sometimes. But we treat people—”

  “I know. I know. According to who we are, not who they are.”

  “That’s right.”

  They rode along in silence as the meadows turned into small farms with ramshackle houses and barns that looked like they might collapse at any moment.

  It won’t be long now, Stella told herself. Just a few more miles and then we’ll know.

  She hoped she could live with what she discovered.

  “Are we about there?” Savannah asked.

  “Another mile or so.”

  “Did you remember to bring the camera?”

  “Sure did. Did you remember the flashlights?”

  “I did. We’re all set to sleuth. All we need is one of those big magnifying glasses, like Sherlock Holmes has. But why do we need the flashlights? It’s not dark yet. Won’t be for a few more hours.”

  “We might want to look in the house or the barn. I don’t think Florence keeps the power on anymore, since she’s never there.”

  “You don’t think cranky ol’ Mr. Bagley will be there, do you?”

  Stella hesitated, then said, “No, sugar. I don’t ’spect we’ll be runnin’ into him.”

  Since they had left the house, Stella had entertained some misgivings about whether or not she would recognize the farm when she saw it. After all, it had been nearly forty years since she had been there.

  But when she spotted the weathered sign on the side of the road, with its rearing white stallion and the words PALE HORSE FARM scrawled across the top, she turned to Savannah and said, “We’re here. You ready?”

  Savannah held up the flashlights, one in each hand. “Ready!”

  * * *

  “It’s a darned good thing we brought them flashlights,” Stella said once she had climbed through the bathroom window and pulled Savannah in with her.

  They were standing in the tub, which Stella had discovered was a particularly uncomfortable place to land when one miscalculated one’s “boosting jump” and fell headfirst through a window.

  “Here.” Savannah handed her a light. “What are you gonna use it for? To look for some sort of treasure?”

  “First, I’m fixin’ to make sure my face is still in one piece.”

  Stella shuffled to the mirror and examined herself. Other than a slight bruise forming on her chin, she appeared to be all right.

  “Okay, kiddo,” she said. “Let’s get this detecting business on the road. We’ll start with the downstairs.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Won’t know until we find it.”

  “O-o-kay.”

  Actually, Stella had a feeling she knew what she would find here on Pale Horse Farm. But there was no point in raising Savannah’s suspicions any higher than they already were.

  Stella desperately hoped that this impromptu Christmas Day trip would turn out to be for naught. Nothing would please her more than to discover that her own imagination was working overtime.

  As she and Savannah made their way through the old, abandoned farmhouse, Stella shuddered to see the state of the home, which she had enjoyed visiting as a child.

  Florence’s parents had brought the girls to this place for a few long weekends in the summer. Though it was no longer a working farm by that time, Stella and Florence had enjoyed running through the fields, exploring the woods, and swimming in a nearby pond.

  Florence’s mother and father were long gone, along with the rustic charm of the place. Now it was just an empty, crumbling deserted building, inhabited only by vermin, a fact made all too obvious by the rodent droppings scattered across the half-rotten wooden floor.

  “You were right,” Savannah said. “Mr. Bagley wouldn’t live in a place like this. There’s not a stick of furniture in it. Plus, it’s way too grubby and gross. He’s big on things being clean. When I was working in Miss Flo’s garden last summer, I could hear him yelling at her because he thought he saw some dirt somewhere.”

  “He ain’t all that worried about dirt, darlin’. He’s never picked up a rag or a broom to clean nothin’ in his life. He just likes bossin’ other folks around. Makes him feel strong for a minute.”

  “If that’s the only way you know to make yourself feel strong, you’re not strong at all.”

  “My dear, you are wise beyond your years.”

  They walked through the living room, the bedrooms, and the kitchen. Stella checked the pantry thoroughly, even the top shelf, thinking that was one of the better places to hide something if one had a mind to.

  “It’s not easy to hide things in an empty house,” she murmured, more to herself than to Savannah.

  But Savannah heard her and said, “We’re looking for something that’s hidden?”

  “Sure. That’s more fun than lookin’ for something that’s lyin’ out in plain sight.”

  “True.”

  Stella was about to give up and declare the trip a write-off when she remembered something.

  She
recalled the summer when she had smoked her first and only cigarette. Florence had stolen a pack from her father and had hidden it in her room. One afternoon, when her parents had gone into town for some groceries, Florence had produced the pack. They had each smoked a cigarette and become violently ill as a result.

  Neither had ever smoked again.

  “Let’s check that front bedroom one more time,” Stella said.

  “Did you forget something?” Savannah asked.

  “No. I remembered something.”

  Once inside the bedroom that had been Florence’s, Stella went straight to the bay window and the window seat, which had once been cushioned but was now bare. She knelt on the filthy floor and shone her light on the seat.

  “Wait a minute,” Savannah said, directing her own beam onto the floor. “Somebody’s been here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Look on the floor in front of the window. The floor’s got clean places, where the dirt’s been messed with. Somebody besides us was walking there. Quite a bit, too.”

  Although the child’s description lacked sophistication, Stella could instantly see that she was right. Someone had been there. Recently.

  Her heart started to pound when she saw the scuff marks on the front panel of the window seat—the very panel that she had been about to remove.

  “Hand me the camera,” she said. “And hold my flashlight on that spot right there. I want a good picture of those scratches.”

  “Somebody moved that board there, huh?” Savannah said, producing the camera from her pocket.

  “I think so.” Stella took a few pictures, then set the camera on the seat.

  Carefully, she pulled at the panel and was surprised to see how easily it came off. She set it aside and shone her light into the alcove.

  “Look, Savannah girl. That’s what I was afraid I’d find.”

  Savannah bent down, pointed her light under the seat, and gasped. “It’s Mr. Bagley’s gold coin collection inside those fancy wood boxes! He showed them to me once.”

  “And his guns,” Stella said. “Along with Flo’s twenty-two rifle. The one I taught her to shoot back there in that pasture. And his suitcases.”

  Again, Stella reached for the camera and took numerous shots of the items under the seat.

  “What does all this mean?” Savannah asked. “Why did Mr. Bagley put his gold here in this icky old house, and his guns, too? They’re worth a lot of money. Somebody could steal them.”

  “People do all sorts of foolish things, honey,” Stella told her as she replaced the panel, leaving everything exactly as it was. “Especially when they’re trying to cover up what they did wrong. Let’s go check that barn now.”

  “Hopefully the barn won’t be locked,” Savannah said as they headed for the door. “Then you won’t have to fall through . . . I mean, climb through the window and break your face off.”

  “Next time I wanna hear from you, young’un, I’ll yank your chain. Understand?”

  Savannah giggled.

  “The kid’s scared to death o’ me,” Stella muttered as they went out the front door. They were careful to lock it securely behind them.

  “Yeah. I’m plumb terrified.”

  Chapter 26

  The next morning Stella replaced the kitchen phone on its wall hook and turned to Savannah, who stood nearby, looking up at her with eager eyes.

  “Okay,” Stella said somberly. “That’s done. Are you sure you’re up for this, Savannah girl?”

  “I sure am!”

  “Don’t think I’m gonna be lettin’ you skip school ever’ day to do this sorta thing.”

  “Come on, Granny. Like we would do this sorta thing every day? This is a once-in-a-lifetime event!”

  “I certainly hope so.” Stella walked to the cupboard and pulled out a Tupperware container filled with fudge. She checked the coffeepot on the stove to make sure it was still hot.

  Then she turned back to her granddaughter. “Remember, the second we hear the knock on that front door, you hightail it outta here. You don’t come back inside till you get the signal.”

  “Then, once I come back in, I give you the signal, one way or the other.”

  “That’s right. But what’s the most important thing I told you to remember?”

  “At the first sign of trouble, even a smidgen bit of trouble, I make a beeline out the back door, run to the shed, climb up into the rafters, and wait till it all blows over.”

  “That’s exactly right.” Stella looked over at the envelope on the table. “I reckon we got it covered. All except sayin’ a prayer that it all works out the way it’s supposed to.”

  “How do you figure it’s supposed to work out?”

  “I have no idea. That’s the point of the prayer—droppin’ the whole darned complicated, tangled-up mess in the hands of somebody way smarter than us.”

  * * *

  As Stella hurried to answer the front door, she heard Savannah scurry out the back, just as she’d been instructed.

  Not for the first time, Stella worried that she was placing too much responsibility on a child’s shoulders. But then she reminded herself that her oldest granddaughter was more capable than most adults she knew.

  Besides, if it hadn’t been for Savannah, her honesty and keen eye, Stella would never have gone to the farm or made the discoveries she had. It seemed only fair to allow the girl to continue, if she chose to do so.

  “Well, here we go,” she whispered as she hurried to the door and opened it.

  “Good morning,” she said a bit too brightly.

  “If you say so,” Florence replied. “I’m not feeling so good, but you said it was important, so here I am.”

  “I appreciate it.” Stella opened the door wider. “Come on in and set a spell with me. I’ve got just the thing to perk you up.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Fudge.”

  “For breakfast?”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Stella led her friend into the kitchen, with a pang of guilt that felt a bit like a bad case of indigestion. She was seldom false to people, and it didn’t sit well with her when she was.

  By the time both women had sat down at the table, Stella had dropped the casual, cheery tone. She poured Florence a mug of coffee and one for herself, then slid the plate of fudge in front of her.

  “I gotta tell you, Flo, I didn’t invite you over just for coffee and fudge,” she said.

  To Stella’s surprise, Flo dropped her own facade and looked at her with haunted eyes. “I had a feeling there was something in particular on your mind.”

  “There is. Somethin’ that kept me awake, tossin’ and turnin’, till the mornin’s light.”

  Florence’s hands curled around the mug so tightly that Stella was glad she’d given her one that was sturdy earthenware. “Are you sure you have to talk to me about this, Stella?” she asked. “Do you suppose it’s a conversation we could avoid . . . just put it aside, forget about it, and go on?”

  “That’s what I was wonderin’ last night, while I was doin’ all that wrasslin’ around between the sheets. I was wonderin’ if I could live with myself if I just never brought it up.” She took a deep breath and searched her old friend’s eyes. “I was wonderin’ if you could live with it.”

  “I was gonna try.”

  “How’s it workin’ so far?”

  Tears filled Florence’s eyes. “I do a lot of tossing and turning myself at night, too.”

  “I ’magine you do.”

  Florence looked down at the envelope lying in the center of the table. “Have you got something to show me there?”

  “Yes.”

  Stella reached for the envelope, opened it, and showed Florence that it contained numerous photographs. “The drugstore’s gettin’ fast when it comes to developin’ pictures. Used to take ’em days. Now it’s hours. I took these yesterday and picked them up this mornin’.”


  Florence watched, a look of ever-increasing anxiety on her face, as Stella removed a photo from the envelope.

  “Me and Savannah took a drive yesterday,” Stella continued, “to a place that holds some sweet memories for you and me, Flo.”

  She laid a picture on the table, in front of Florence. It was of the Pale Horse Farm sign. “The place is fallin’ apart at the seams now, but there was a time it seemed like paradise to a poor kid who loved to visit there with her well-to-do friend.”

  Florence blinked, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I remember, Stella. They were good times. Some of the best of my life.”

  “That’s where we decided we weren’t going to be smokers when we grew up. Those cigarettes that you hid there in the window seat . . . just one each was all we had, but that made our minds up for us once and for all.” Stella laid a picture of the window seat on the table. “That was a great hiding place you had. I remember you also kept those naughty books you liked to read in there, and your love letters from Chris Franke.”

  “I should’ve married Chris. He was poor as a lizard-eatin’ cat, but he loved me, and he would’ve been good to me.”

  “Chris didn’t own any gold coin collections back then.” Stella put a picture of some of the alcove’s contents on the table, namely, the coin boxes and suitcases. “He probably still doesn’t, but you’re right. He’d have been good to you. No point in torturin’ yourself about the past, Flo. Those days are gone. We’re here. That’s all that matters.”

  Stella flipped another picture down. “I remember how good you were with that twenty-two after I taught you how to use it.”

  Again, Stella searched her friend’s eyes. “Please tell me, Flo, that I’m not gonna be sorry I taught you how to use a gun, that I’m not gonna regret it for the rest of my life.”

  Florence looked down at the tabletop, sniffed, and said, “You’re not going to regret teaching me how to use a gun, Stella.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. I promise.”

  Stella pulled another picture from the envelope. “I remember all the hours we played in that old barn, wallowin’ around in the hay, talking about which boys we’d kiss and which ones we wouldn’t look sideways at.”