by Rose Pressey
I wanted to air the paint scent out, but I couldn’t afford to leave the window open all night—that was like sending a pretty printed invitation to the killer. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shoved the window down and flipped the lock in a hurry.
I decided to sleep in my clothes instead of jumping into my comfy pink and white polka dotted pajamas until after Mr. Littlefield returned. I didn’t want him to think I'd been in bed. That way, he wouldn’t feel guilty for waking me up—not that he would, but just in case. I stretched out on top of the covers with mystery novel in hand.
Next thing I knew, I woke to pounding on the front door. I sat up and blinked at my watch. One-thirty in the morning. He certainly kept late hours. Where could he have been? Maybe at the bar in the next town? Lordy, please don’t let him be drunk. I didn’t like dealing with drunks. Taking care of Ross when he had his nights out with the boys was enough to last me a lifetime. I jumped up and slid down the hall. As my hand touched the knob and I twisted, I realized I didn’t know for sure if it was Mr. Littlefield. What if it was the killer?
Chapter Twenty-Three
I let go of the knob. “Who is it?”
“The Easter Bunny. Who the hell do you think it is? How many other guests do you have? You locked me out. I paid for my night, you know.”
I unlocked the door and opened it. A frown stretched across Mr. Littlefield’s face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave the door unlocked with the kill...”
He probably didn’t know about the murderer. Did I really want to advertise that a body had been discovered in the back yard? Nope—probably not.
“I don’t like to leave the door unlocked at night. Sorry. I knew you’d knock and I was listening for you.”
He looked me up and down. “Maybe you should rethink your system.” He stepped through the door and past me toward the staircase. Halfway across the room the folder he’d been carrying under his arm fell to the floor. I hurried over to help him pick up the scattered papers.
“I can handle it. Don’t touch anything.” His face turned red.
The paper on top was a plot plan of the entire street. My house was included on the map. Why would he have a map of the area? His behavior accompanied with the papers made me extremely nervous. I watched as he stomped up the stairs. That hadn’t gone well. Nothing made him happy.
***
I woke at five a.m. Not much sleep, but I had a long day ahead of me and I didn’t want to waste a minute of it. After I showered, as I slipped on my shorts and tank, I heard the front door slam. I ran down the hall. From the front door, I spied Mr. Littlefield hopping into his car. Well, hellfire. Why did my one and only guest not want my free breakfast? The continental was one of the best parts of the stay. Well, at least for me it was. I sighed and slipped back to the kitchen and grabbed a muffin and juice for myself.
As I sat at my new dining table, I admired my handiwork. Not bad, if I did say so myself. Later in the day, if I had the time, I’d decorate the living room. As much as I enjoyed the room, the murder wouldn’t stay out of my mind. Was I nuts for thinking I could investigate a homicide? Obviously I’d never done anything like it before, so I’d be winging it. In the novel I was currently reading, the heroine talked with as many people as she could. My first plan of action was to talk with the victim’s husband. Teeny problem though, I didn’t know where to find him. He worked as a roofer, I knew that much, but did he have an office in town? Or was he on top of a roof somewhere? Since his wife just died, I doubted he’d be working anyway.
After I washed the few dishes in the sink and placed them in the cabinet, I called Claire Ann.
“Hey, what have you got planned for the day?” I stacked the last plate in the cabinet.
“Well, I have to be at work by noon.” Her dog barked, echoing through the phone.
“Do you want to help me?” I asked.
She paused. “Sure? What am I doing?”
“Maybe you should ask what it is before you agree to it.” I leaned against the counter.
She laughed. “For you, anything. Well, almost anything. So what is it?”
“I want to talk with Nancy’s husband.”
“Oh Lord, you’re right, I should have asked first.”
“I need to find him.”
“I guess we can ask around.”
“Come on over.” I moved across the room, closer to the window.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I poked around my stash of decorating items while I waited. Mrs. Mathers had three of the cutest plastic pears hidden away in an upstairs bedroom—again, random items. What had motivated her decisions, I had no idea. They color of the fake fruit had faded, so I painted them white—I just couldn’t resist spray paint. Issues: I had them. Heck, I had seen a therapist once, but when she said she had the same issues, I stopped going. How the heck could she help me if she couldn’t help herself?
In my décor stash, I had plates and plate hangers. I took an old plastic-framed print from the wall and replaced it with seven plates, then stepped back to admire my handiwork. I placed the six white ones on the wall in a circle, then placed the light blue one in the middle. The hangers cost more than the plates. A knock sounded on the door and I hurried over.
Claire Ann stood with a big smile across her face. “I’m ready for some sleuthing.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Let me grab my purse and keys and we’ll head out.”
Within a couple of minutes, we were backing out of the drive. My lovely neighbor was staring at us. She wore tight black shorts and a bright yellow tank top, which made her look like a giant bumble bee.
“My neighbor isn’t so friendly.” I tilted my head in her direction.
“Oh, Judy? Yeah, she’s got a big chip on her shoulder.”
“Any reason why?” I waited for a truck to pass so I could pull out.
“She was born with it. I’ve heard rumors about her.” Claire Ann lowered her voice, as if Judy might hear her.
“Really?” I asked as I steered out of the drive on onto Main Street. “And you’re just now telling me this why? Why not tell me the first day?”
“It just didn’t cross my mind. Too many other things to think about, I guess.”
Like her mystery date maybe? Now that I had her in the car, I’d corner her into telling all the details.
“Are you going to tell me about Judy now? Or do I have to torture you with my Bluegrass CD?”
“You know that music reminds me of Bob. The day he walked out on me, I wanted to choke him with his mandolin strings. He thought he was so special because Roger Milby asked him to play at the jamboree.”
“He’s history, just like Ross, remember? So spit it out, tell me what it is.” I accelerated to thirty miles per hour. Ten over the speed limit. I’d better slow down unless I wanted Kent to cuff me. Ahem.
“I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “Of course, all this is just hearsay.”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded.
“I hear she’s involved with a not-so-good group of people. Like some kind of hillbilly gangster thing. Moonshine or drugs or something. Of course that’s hearsay. So I don’t know.”
“You mean I’m living next door to a drug dealer?” My eyes widened.
“No, no. I don’t think she’s selling drugs, but just maybe she’s friends with people who do.”
“That’s great. Just great. I want to make Honeysuckle a quaint little tourist town with cute little shops and cafes. I can’t have things like that going on. Maybe I could have those buildings declared historical. Then we could have a little historic part to town.”
“Well, good luck with turning this place into something. Where are you going to get the money to do all this?” She quirked an eyebrow.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s just a long term goal, that’s all.”
“Or a fantasy. Or wishful thinking.”
That was the one problem with Claire Ann. I loved her, but she never set her si
ghts for more. She believed most things were impossible. Whereas I thought anything was possible. I'd taken on that new attitude, by the way. Maybe I could teach her to think differently, or give it a try at least.
“If you’re really serious, my uncle is on the historical society, I can call him. I’ll give you his number, too.”
I smiled. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“Hey, pull in here.” She pointed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I whipped the car into the church parking lot. Only a few cars dotted the pavement. The Gothic-style structure loomed tall with its ornate stained-glass windows, intricate archways and bell tower. Mitchell leaned up against the building. Only in Honeysuckle did the town drunk hang out at the church.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Mitchell may be a drunk, but he hears and sees more in this town than anyone. I think we should ask him some questions.”
“If you say so.” I pulled the car next to him and put it in park.
“Hey, Mitchell,” Claire Ann said and waved.
He approached my car, then hiccupped. “I think he’s had a few sips.”
“Hey there, sweet ladies. You want to take me for a spin?” He smiled, displaying the gap between his teeth.
“Mitchell, I think you’re spinning enough as it is. Maybe you should go home and lie down,” I said.
“No rest for the wicked.” He chuckled. “There’s time for that later. I got things to do today.” He held out brown bag wrapped bottle. “Here, why don’t you have a drink?”
“I’ve had my share for the day already.” I smiled.
“I’m trying to quit,” Claire Ann said.
He shrugged. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Mitchell, you know where we can find Mark Harper?” Claire Ann asked.
“Sure do.” He nodded. “I think he's over on Routt Road, last I heard.”
Mitchell leaned into the car and I smelled the whiskey on his breath. “Whatcha want with him? Ya lookin’ to get a new roof?” He chuckled. “I’m pretty handy with a hammer.”
Oh dear heavens. I pictured him on a roof, weaving and swaying. If he made it to the top, he’d fall off within two seconds. But somehow, I knew his volunteering was more of a double entendre.
“We want to talk with him about his wife,” Claire Ann said.
He stepped back from the car. “That’s a real shame what happened to her.” He leaned forward into the car window again. “People are crazy. There’s a lot of mean folks in this world. Of course, a lot of nice ones, too. Like you beautiful ladies.”
I looked at Claire Ann and she shrugged. I was in a church parking lot having a conversation with the town drunk about a murder. What the heck happened to my life? At least he had both eyes in today; I noticed when he opened them wider again.
“I heard Martha saying some stuff. She’s got plans for this town, she said.”
“What does she mean by that?” I asked.
Claire Ann was right. He did have the 411. Mitchell didn’t answer. I thought he’d dozed off again.
“When he’s drunk like this, you can’t get much info out of him,” Claire Ann said. “It just comes in bits in pieces. We’ll have to catch him when he’s sober.”
“He acts completely different when he’s drunk.”
She nodded. “It’s sad.”
“What do we do with him now?” I looked at Mitchell, then focused on Claire Ann.
“Same thing we always do. He’ll sit here on the lawn until he sobers up, then he’ll go home.”
“Will he sober up? Maybe we should call Kent to come and get him?”
“Sounds as if you just want an excuse to call the handsome sheriff.” She gave a lopsided smile.
“I do not.” I tried to hide my smile, but concealing it grew harder the more she stared. “He is handsome,” I said as Mitchell walked away.
“Who, Mitchell?”
“No, Kent!”
Claire Ann laughed.
“Come on, let’s get over to Routt Road and ask some questions.” I put the car in reverse.
“You’re brave. I’ve heard he’s not the friendliest guy in town and that’s saying a lot coming from some of these characters.” She pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head.
I turned back onto the road and looked in my rearview mirror. Mitchell was sitting on the lawn as the pastor made his way toward him. Maybe he could help him. I hated leaving Mitchell there like that.
Within a few minutes, we pulled onto Routt Road. An old pickup honked and swerved around me. The old guy shook his fist as he passed. He must have been from out of town, because no one around here got in a hurry.
Up ahead stood three houses all in a row, two white ones with a yellow one in the middle. My car crept down the road until we spotted the house getting repairs. As the engine of the old man’s truck faded, I spotted a man on the roof and assumed it was Mark Harper. I steered the Mustang down the gravel drive, the pebbles dancing in its wake, stirring up dust. The engine and crunch of gravel must have caught Mark’s attention because he glanced our way. I pulled up in front of the small white house. Mark looked up again, held a hand above his eyes and watched us until we came to a stop. He looked away and began pounding the roof with his hammer again.
“Maybe he thinks we’re here to see the homeowners,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Claire Ann said sarcastically.
I climbed out and Claire Ann followed. A red Toyota stood in the drive. As I walked past, I glanced in the window. The interior was clean, only a bandana and papers set on the passenger seat. One odd thing though, the paper on top was a map of the old buildings on Main Street.
We trudged forward. The lawn needed mowing and dandelions speckled the lawn. Pear trees stood in front of the house.
“Mr. Harper?” I asked when I reached the side of the house. I cupped my hand over my brow to shield my eyes from the sun.
He looked down. A scowl stretched across his face. “What do you want?”
“Hi.” I waved. “I’m Raelynn Pendleton. I just wanted to find you and say how terribly sorry I am about your wife.”
He stared, then finally said, “Screw you.”
Claire Ann gasped. His gaze was fixed on me. The situation was very awkward.
“Um. I’m not sure if you know, but I own the house where she was found.”
“I’m aware.” He crouched down again and hammered a nail. “And I really don’t care.”
When he finished pounding I said, “It must be terrible to get such news.”
I looked at Claire Ann and she shook her head. I shrugged. “I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.
“That’s obvious. You're terrible at this.” She nudged me.
Mark was still focused on his work. I twisted my hands together. I think my teeth even chattered a little. “Do you have any idea who killed her?”
“What are you a cop?” He looked at me, his face set in a frown.
“No, no, just curious.” I held my hands up in surrender.
“I don’t know a thing. Now if you’re finished playing Nancy Drew can I go back to work?”
“Yeah, sure.” I frowned.
I turned on my heel and trudged back to the car. Claire Ann followed a few steps behind me. When I reached the car, a loud thud rang out near me. I looked to my left and spotted a piece of wood. Unless the sky was raining random pieces of lumber, Mr. Harper had thrown it my way—on purpose. I spun around. Mark stood, glaring at us.
“Get in the car,” Claire Ann yelled.
I fumbled with the car handle, then finally opened the door. I jumped in and Claire Ann slipped in the passenger side.
When I slammed the door she said, “Well, that went well.”
I let out a breath and started the car. “I can’t believe he threw that at me.”
“Well, I told you he was mean. You need to call Kent.”
I shook my head. “No way. I don’t want hi
m to know I came out here. Plus, I don’t need any more trouble with Mark Harper. I’ll just let sleeping dogs lie, thank you very much.”
“Whatever you say.” Claire Ann shook her head in obvious disapproval.
“I guess I should have planned out what I was going to say,” I said.
“You think? I would say don’t quit your day job but... that’s just cruel.”
My gaze shot daggers her way.
“Sorry.” She smiled and held her hands up in mock surrender.
I shook my head as I backed out of the drive. “So what do you think?”
“About Mark?”
“Yes.” I steered onto the street.
“I don’t know. Maybe we need to look into more about him.”
“Somehow I don’t think there’s a lot to know. But we definitely need to find out more about his relationship with his wife and the mistress.”
Claire Ann nodded. “Well, considering he had a mistress, I think we can guess what his relationship with his wife was like. Strained to say the least.”
We headed down the country road, soaking in the beautiful summer scenery with its abundance of green and making our way back toward the store to drop off Claire Ann. Farms with old farmhouses and cow pastures with miles of black pasture fencing set on each side of the road. Horses grazed in the lush fields.
As I steered, I daydreamed about my future. Visions of the old house clean and a huge success as a hotel filled my thoughts. It was a short distance back to town, and I lost myself in thoughts of decorating. It was the only thing keeping me sane at the moment. Well, that and Claire Ann. Thank goodness I had such a great friend. I tried to keep myself from thinking of Nancy.
I decided to ask about Claire Ann about her date. At least it would get my mind off the horrifying thoughts. Turning down the radio, I broke Claire Ann out of her reverie. “So tell me about the mystery date. I’m beginning to think you made the whole thing up.”
“Okay, I deserved that for the ‘day job’ comment.”
I grinned. “You did deserve it. But you’re still avoiding the subject. Why is that? What’s wrong with him? Does he like to wear women’s underwear?”
“Nothing is wrong with him. Well… at least not that I know of yet.” She looked out her window when I glanced over at her. “He’s a very private person. Besides, I don’t want to jinx it. I probably won’t date him again anyway.”
