“Or who was with him,” I murmured.
“Exactly.”
“Hiram, or whoever removed the plywood, must have used some tool to do it. I wonder what happened to it?”
“There was a hammer. The police took that too, but it turned out to have only Uncle Hiram’s fingerprints on it, and no trace of blood. They said it wasn’t the weapon.”
“So the killer didn’t just grab whatever was readily available to kill Hiram. Which means the killing wasn’t a spur-ofthe-moment impulse. It was planned, with the killer thinking ahead to bring his own weapon.”
“I guess so,” Kelli said, although she sounded uncertain, as if she hadn’t thought of that particular angle. “Even though I know it happened, I-I still find it hard to believe that someone could deliberately kill him.”
“You’ve never been officially charged with the murder?”
“Much to most people’s annoyance and exasperation, no.”
“Why not?”
“Except for the motive of grabbing Uncle Hiram’s assets, they haven’t any real reason to charge me. There’s no solid evidence. They couldn’t find any weapon at my place. My fingerprints weren’t anywhere up here. Which doesn’t remove me from the top of the suspect list, of course, because everyone figures I could have dumped a weapon out at the mine. There are old shafts out there you could probably shove a Volkswagen in, and it would never be found.”
“Motive looks like the big thing, then. But someone else must have had a strong motive too.”
“It’s all speculation. Unfair speculation,” Kelli added on another note of bitterness.
“Do you have an alibi?”
“I have the truth. Which is that I was working on my book manuscript, at home with Sandra Day, the evening it was probably done. Unfortunately, a cat alibi doesn’t carry a lot of weight with the police.” Kelli tried to speak lightly, but the words snagged on a convulsive swallow. “Sometimes I get … afraid. I know I’m innocent, and I-I believe in our legal system. I wouldn’t be a lawyer if I didn’t. But people do get convicted of crimes they didn’t commit.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand, her very cold hand, and tried to think of something reassuring and helpful. But she was right. Sometimes innocent people were convicted. “Do you work on a computer with your book?”
“When I’m at the office. That’s where my computer is. But at home I just fill up these big, yellow, legal-size tablets. Then I transfer them to the computer, revising as I go.”
Which shot down my idea that some expert could go into the internal workings of her computer and prove that she’d been using it at the time Hiram was killed.
“No fingerprints anywhere?”
Kelli shook her head. “Nothing up here. And too many prints of all kinds of people downstairs. I guess prints can hang around for a long time.”
“Did you find the body?”
“No, it was Lucinda, his fiancée. She’d been trying to call Uncle Hiram for a couple of days. When she kept getting no answer she decided to come over and check on him.” Kelli moved over to look down now, as if pulled by something stronger than the revulsion that held her back.
“She waited two days before coming over? Didn’t they keep in closer touch than that?”
“They weren’t like teenagers on the phone half a dozen times a day. It also wasn’t unusual for him to go out of town for a day or two. He was dealing with some big mining outfit about reopening the Lucky Queen, or he may have been trying to round up some private investors. He didn’t discuss any of that with me. In any case, he was too independent to think he was obliged to keep anyone informed of his whereabouts.”
“Not even a fiancée?”
“Not a fiancée, and certainly not me, either.”
“How long had he been dead when she found him?”
“Probably two to three days. With the body outside, and the variable weather conditions we’ve had, they couldn’t pin it down exactly.”
I studied the street in front of the house. It was not busily traveled. Only one car went by as I watched. There were no houses beyond the far side of the pavement, just a concrete curb. The narrow street followed the curve of the hillside, the ground falling off steeply beyond the curb on the far side, only roofs of houses below visible. It was a large lot, houses on either side at least a couple hundred feet away, trees between. Ideal setting for a murder.
“No one spotted the body in all that time?”
“The hedge blocks view of the yard from the street, so someone would have had to actually come into the front yard to see him lying there on the bricks, and I guess no one did. Oh, there’s Chris!”
She waved wildly at a man getting out of a red Mustang, but he didn’t look up to see her. “Be back in a minute,” she called as she dashed for the stairs.
I didn’t see any point in lingering at the window. Not because I wasn’t interested, but because, since we were going to be living here, I could return for a closer perusal any time. Which I definitely intended to do.
I reached the foyer just as the guy stepped inside. He and Kelli greeted each other with a light kiss. Kelli introduced us—full name Chris Sterling. “Well, Christopher Sterling II, if you want to get technical,” she said, and he grimaced lightly. She explained our motor home predicament and that Abilene and I would be living in the house for a while.
He smiled as we shook hands, but he afterward looked at his hand with a grimace of distaste. With good reason, I realized guiltily. I’d left fingerprint powder residue on his hand. He got out a clean white handkerchief and, frowning, rubbed at the smear. At the same time, when he said, “Do you really think it’s a good idea having someone live here? It’s such a rickety old place,” I could see that he wasn’t overjoyed with the news about our living in the house.
I figured I knew the reason, and it wasn’t a “rickety” state of the house. He was afraid we were of questionable character and were taking advantage of Kelli’s generous nature. Not an unreasonable assumption, I had to admit. Or maybe he was afraid one of us intended to fall down the stairs deliberately and sue for neck or back injury. After he stuck the handkerchief back in his pocket, he put a protective arm around her shoulders and looked at me. I tried to think of something to ease his concerns.
“Kelli and I haven’t discussed it yet, but I’m thinking we can do some cleanup work in the house in exchange for living here.”
He glanced at the dust-covered piano in the living room. “Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Although my own thought is that someone ought to just strike a match to the place and be done with it.”
I thought Kelli might be put off by that attitude toward a house that probably had some sentimental family value for her, but she just smiled tolerantly. “Chris isn’t into old. He’s always saying what Hello needs is a good computer and electronics equipment store, not another antique place selling more useless old knickknacks, dreadful lamps, and ugly jewelry.”
Chris was looking at me, and I had the feeling he was perhaps classifying me in there with all the other useless old antique stuff.
“Have you gotten Hiram’s office cleaned out?” he asked Kelli.
“I think so. Although he sometimes squirreled things away, so I’m not sure I have everything.”
“Yeah, I thought a lot of the old guy, but he was a little strange sometimes. You feeling okay now?”
“I’m fine.” With a glance at me she added, “I ate something a couple nights ago at the Russo that didn’t agree with me.”
I wanted to know more about Chris Sterling. I could see that he was tall, blond, and well built, his angular jaw and deep-set eyes handsomely sculpted. Although, as a complete package, he was a bit too Greek-goddish for my taste. I rather like some small imperfections. My friend Mac MacPherson’s knobby knees, for instance. And the blue motorcycle tattooed on Mac’s forearm has an unexpected appeal. No tattoos on Christopher Sterling II, I was sure.
Chris was well dressed in a dark
business suit with light blue shirt and diagonally striped blue and silver tie, a bit more urbane than I’d have expected in Hello. I could also see from the way Kelli looked at him that she was probably in love with him.
Oddly, I felt a sense of protectiveness of my own. I barely knew Kelli, but I didn’t like the way the town seemed to have unfairly ganged up on her. This man seemed different, caring and concerned about her, but, with the disdainful attitude toward the house and that picky way he’d wiped his hand, did he deserve her love?
“I tried to call you at the office and home, but I couldn’t reach you. So I decided I’d run over here and check before I left town.”
“Is something wrong?” Kelli asked.
“No, I just wanted to let you know I can’t make it to lunch today. Something came up with the Swenson case, and I’m going to have to make a quick trip up to Denver,” he said, and I gave him points for thoughtfulness. “Unless you’d like to come along?”
“Thanks, but I have an appointment with Nick about the Bronco, and I want to help Ivy and Abilene get moved in.”
“Mom wants us to have dinner with her tomorrow night.
Okay with you?”
“Sure. I have to run out to the mine tomorrow afternoon, but I’ll be back in plenty of time.”
Chris’s dark gold eyebrows edged together. “Kell, don’t you think you’re doing too much for that old guy out there? He can’t expect you to be his personal errand girl. You were out there only yesterday.”
“I know, but his pickup’s broke down, and he needs some feed for the chickens and something for his stomach problems. And he was coming down with a cold too.”
“For which he wants you to bring him what? A couple bottles of that tequila he and Hiram were so fond of? Or maybe some eye of newt, snake oil, or powdered lizard tongues?”
Kelli pounded her fist lightly on Chris’s arm, a gesture that looked more affectionate than angry. “There you go again. Ol’ Norman’s not into weird stuff like that.”
“They don’t call him Nutty Norman for nothing. And I’m not so sure the old coot isn’t dangerous. One time when I came over to talk to Hiram about something, he and Norman were yelling bloody murder at each other.”
“Norman’s just a little eccentric, and their arguing didn’t mean anything. All he needs are cough drops and Nyquil, and some blackberry balsam for his stomach. Perfectly ordinary stuff. And he’s no more dangerous than my Sandra Day.”
“Your Sandra Day always looks at me as if she’s thinking about clawing my eyes out. I don’t want you going out there alone.”
“Okay, maybe I won’t go alone. Ivy, you want to come along?”
I knew nothing about Nutty Norman, or what this trip entailed, but I promptly said, “Of course. I’d love to.”
Chris rolled his eyes, and I could see he figured I’d be as much help to Kelli in a dangerous situation as a month’s supply of lizard tongues. He didn’t argue anymore, however. Just a put-upon expression and another light kiss. “Be careful,” he said and headed back to the Mustang. I looked at Kelli after he was gone.
“Someone special?”
She smiled. “Very much so. Though he worries too much. You don’t really have to go out to the mine with me tomorrow. The road’s pretty rough.”
And muddy, I suspected, from the condition of Kelli’s Bronco. But, after two seconds’ thought, I knew, if she hadn’t invited me, I’d have tried to finagle a way to go along. That mutant curiosity gene in action, of course. “I’d really like to go.”
7
By that evening, Abilene had the job with Dr. Sugarman, plus an appointment with the dentist, Dr. Li, for the following day. She and I had cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer in the motor home while Nick adjusted the carburetor on Kelli’s newly washed Bronco. I arranged with Nick to drain the water system on the motor home so it wouldn’t freeze up and break something. Kelli had then ferried everything we thought we’d need over to the house. We could always come back later for anything we’d forgotten. I’d told Nick I’d let him know as soon as we figured out how to pay for a new engine.
“No rush,” he said generously. “I’ll just drag the motor home around behind the shop where it’ll be out of the way.” After an odd little hesitation he added, “You be careful over there at the McLeod house, okay?”
“Careful of what?”
“Well, you know. Old Hiram got murdered there.”
“I doubt his murderer has anything against Abilene and me. And I certainly don’t believe in spooks or ghosts or anything like that in old houses.”
Nick looked uncomfortable and suddenly became busy searching a drawer for something, as if he wished he’d never brought this up. “I just know I wouldn’t want to be living there,” he finally muttered.
“We’re looking forward to it,” I said firmly.
At the house, I cautiously let Koop out of the cat carrier, making sure all the outside doors were securely closed. I didn’t want him to get frightened and bolt. But I should have known Koop was too laid-back a feline gentleman for that. On a busy but calm tour, he investigated the jungle-fungus sofa and jumped to the piano, leaving delicate cat tracks in the dust. He checked out the windowsills in the tower room and prowled under the dining room table. In the kitchen, he hissed at the khaki-covered cot, which still commemorated Hiram’s heavy smoking habit. He checked out the bedrooms, including a foray into the depths of the armoire, then left us to continue his tour upstairs.
Abilene chose one of the single beds in the smaller bedroom for her living quarters. I debated between the other single in the same room and the master bedroom. The master bedroom, I finally decided. It was a bit gaudy for my taste, but what other chance would I ever have to sleep in a velvet-canopied bed with three carousel horses for company?
We found a serviceable washer and dryer in a utility room beyond the kitchen and caught up on laundry, including the sheets and blankets from Abilene’s room. Ol’ Norman, Nutty Norman as Chris Sterling had called him, apparently scorned showers as city-folk nonsense. Both beds in that room smelled of unwashed body, old smoke, and garlic, with a scattering of gritty sand in the foot area. We turned the mattresses too.
The sheets in the master bedroom were crisp and new, delicately patterned in tiny yellow roses, almost as if prepared and waiting for someone special. Lucinda? No, because after the wedding they’d planned to live in her place, not here. Perhaps just leftovers from the last wife who had occupied the room. They didn’t look as if they needed washing, but we washed them anyway.
We moved the cot from the kitchen to one of the empty rooms and dined on TV dinners from Hiram’s plentiful supply. A few minutes later I answered the unexpected chime of the doorbell and was surprised to find Kelli standing there. From the front door, town lights winding through the valley below looked fragile and insignificant beneath the black silhouettes of mountains looming against the star-studded night sky.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she said brightly. She waved a sack. “I thought a housewarming party might be in order. I hope you like double-chocolate pecan crunch ice cream and Twix cookies? And I brought a copy of the Hello Telegraph. It’s the local weekly newspaper.”
Ice cream and newspaper were a sweet and thoughtful gesture, but at the same time I suspected an ulterior motive on Kelli’s part. Not a bad ulterior motive. Just a bit of loneliness in a town that obviously hadn’t taken her under its protective wing. I wondered if she intended to stay on in Hello after she got Hiram’s estate settled. I wondered, too, why she’d come to Hello in the first place. Maybe I could work those subjects into the conversation on the way out to the mine.
I led her through to the kitchen, by far the most homey room in the big old house. We’d turned on the electric fireplace, and it put out both heat and flickering flames, which, though imitation, added a nice aura of coziness. A scent of perking coffee rose from the old, blue-enamel pot on the stove.
Kelli lifted her nose an
d sniffed appreciatively. “There’s nothing like coffee from Uncle Hiram’s old blue pot. He said the wives were always wanting him to switch to some fancy coffeemaker, but that was where he put his foot down. They could change the furniture all they wanted, but his coffeepot stayed.” Again I heard that note of affection in her voice. If I wasn’t already convinced Kelli couldn’t have murdered her uncle, this settled it.
“I’ll get dishes for the ice cream,” Abilene said. Dishes were one thing in plentiful supply here. The cupboards were full of them, from a set of delicate old Meito china, with a platter just like the one my mother used to have, to a modern set of black, octagonal plates made of something I suspected could survive anything from temperamental wives to chemical embalming, plus a shelf of orphaned irregulars.
“We’re fine, settling in nicely,” I assured Kelli. I pointed to Koop, who’d already claimed as his personal domain a miniature-sized, imitation white bearskin that we’d found in the bedroom and moved out here in front of the electric fireplace for him. “Have you heard from Chris?”
“He called and said he was going to dinner with the client and would drive home in the morning. You might want to check out the photo on page 3 in the newspaper,” she added.
I did. “Abilene, come look at this!” She came over, and we stared together.
The photo was of Abilene and a little girl holding a wide-eyed cat, the caption identifying Abilene as the person who had just saved the cat’s life with CPR. The smiling little girl was Mindy Carchoun, daughter of a regular features writer for the newspaper, which no doubt explained why she’d had a camera handy for the occasion.
“You’re a local heroine now!” Kelli said.
“I’ve never had my picture in a newspaper before.” Abilene sounded rather overwhelmed but pleased.
Stranded Page 6
