Freezer Burn: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  “A gut feeling?” I wondered about Bruce’s missing young woman, and Lavender’s pesky customer. The likelihood the two were connected, in any way, seemed highly improbable, but….

  Gladiola nodded. “I suppose you could call it a gut feeling, yes.”

  “Well then, ladies, I’ll run this by the chief when I see him. He’ll be in touch if he has any more questions.”

  “Thank you for your time, Magdalena.” Forsythia rose, adjusted her fur collar and fluffed her hair, her nose only slightly in the air. “I appreciate it, very much.”

  “As do I.” Gladiola pushed away from the chair. “And, I think I can safely say it’s from Lavender, too. She may not agree with our methods, but down deep, she’ll be grateful.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but it wasn’t for me to say. “You’re both welcome. Thanks for coming in.”

  These two were very anxious about their sister. Hopefully, their minds were more at ease now than when they’d arrived.

  Wyatt was going to get an earful tonight.

  And, speaking of Bruce, he’d mentioned that Sybil was staying at the Inn at the End.

  Hmm. It might not hurt to go talk to….

  CHAPTER 9

  TIME FOR LUNCH

  CALLING AHEAD WAS A GIVEN. It wouldn’t do to just show up unannounced, not at the Inn. Things tended to get hairy then, and the voice of experience knows best. Even if she is, and has been for … many years, my BFF.

  My Rolodex flipped around to the Js—for Jones, and I dialed.

  “The Inn at the End. How may I help you this bright lovely day?”

  Using my best police dispatcher voice, I crooned, “Good Morning, Miz Jones. This is Maggie Mercer. How ya doin?”

  I knew the sound of that sharp intake.

  It had been four months since she and her family returned from their tour of Europe, and heard all the goings on, in August of last year, that happened in their absence. I hadn’t wanted to call and spoil her vacation. She was a mite perturbed with me, still, because I hadn’t. “For the love of Mike! How long have we been friends? Did I do something to make you mad? What’s with the Miz Jones bit? I’m going to smack you silly next time I see you. I swear.”

  I had to laugh. “Of course not. I thought you were mad at me. But this is an official call.”

  “Oh, well then, that’s different. I forgave you for not calling, Miss Maggie Lou. It was completely understandable, really. And after Eddie and I talked about it, I could see your point. It’s still hard for me to think about. Anyway, I’ll forgive you this time, too. But from now on, you’d better quit that formal foolishness.”

  “I will.” Silently I released a long-pent up breath of relief. We were besties, always and forever.

  It’s hard to be official when you’re dealing with friends.

  “I’m fine, by the way. Thank you very much. But my heavens, Bruce must have hightailed it straight from me to you after he left here. Do you think there’s something to what he suspects?”

  “Not sure yet. Would it be all right if I stopped by? I have a few questions.”

  “Anytime.” A moment’s pause. “Say, why not stay for lunch?”

  Great minds think alike, even though it was a subconscious hope, on my part.

  “We’re having Granda’s chicken pot pie.”

  Oh, yeah.

  The drool glands were already going into overdrive.

  It would be a sin to decline. “Thanks, I believe I will. See you in a few minutes.”

  “All righty. Bye now.”

  As I’ve mentioned, Dandelion Jones—no relation to the Flowers sisters—was one of my best friends, really my very best friend. She’d met Ed Jones (of Ed’s Hardware) at the Mossy Creek Annual Fourth of July picnic-in-the-park, and after an intense three month courtship, married the man … against all odds. About six months later, after converting a run-down mansion sitting at the very end of a dead end, they’d opened the only inn in town.

  Dandy’d named it: The Inn at the End.

  Cleverly creative, don’t you think?

  You can’t just drop-in-for-dinner though, like you can at Annetta’s. Not with Dandelion’s grandmother cooking up the vittles.

  On a side note: Granda Mayfield’s going on 90 come her next birthday, and Dandy finally talked her into retiring. Even so, Granda’s dragging her feet. The Mossy Creek Gazette’s been running an ad in the classifieds for chief cook for the last two weeks.

  So far no takers.

  Though Dandy and I are great friends, I never take that for granted as a means of getting a walk-in spot at one of her pretty little tables. Her invitation today was an honor, and again I went to get myself bundled.

  Grabbing my purse, I shut off the lights before turning the sign in the window to closed, then ventured out into the arctic winter.

  The Inn at the End was only a few blocks away, in the opposite direction from Annetta’s.

  The place was … clamorous, when I got there.

  A family of eight was loading suitcases—each with an opinion on where to place theirs—into a vehicle that looked too small to hold everything. None of the advice, given at the top of their lungs, seemed to be helping make it all fit.

  The front porch and sidewalk were overrun with people, young, old, short, tall, and everything in between. Voices, laughter, and excited shouts filled the frigid air.

  The door opened and closed on several individuals before I even made it to the steps.

  I’d just edged up onto the third one when someone barreled down, knocking me violently against—almost over—the banister, and pushing everyone else out of his path.

  CHAPTER 10

  GETTING THE INSIDE SCOOP

  “HEY!”

  “Watch it, buster!”

  “Look out!”

  Bodies flew like bowling pins in the man’s wake.

  Struggling for balance, ribs throbbing, I fought for a glimpse of the bully. All I saw was a … hmm, familiar windbreaker and dark knit hat, suspiciously reminiscent of the man from earlier this morning.

  My side ached, and I hoped there wasn’t a cracked rib.

  “You okay, Miss Maggie?” Harlan Bates, manager of Ed’s Hardware, took hold of my arm.

  “Ribs are screaming.” I patted his hand. “But I’ll be okay. Thanks for asking.”

  “Jerkwad sure had a bug up his butt. Givin’ Miss Dandy a hard time, too.”

  “Really? She okay?”

  “You kidding? You don’t mess with Dandelion Jones and win. She’s fine. He was het up about somethin’, though.”

  “Any idea what?”

  He shook his head. “No idea, and our Miss D ain’t talkin’. Listen, if you’re all right, I gotta head back to the store and talk Ed’s high blood pressure down to simmer.”

  “You go ahead. I’m good.”

  “See ya.”

  “Say hey to Ed for me.”

  “Sure will.”

  I waded through the crush of people in the lobby, to where my buddy, Miz Jones, was behind the reservations desk on the phone.

  She saw me and waved, but continued her conversation. “Really now, sugar pie, you need to take a few deep breaths and relax. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s no call for you to come home.” A pause, and her head was shaking. “No, I don’t need an ambulance, for goodness sake. Harlan was just here. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when he gets back to the store.” Her voice was thickly honey-fied. “No. Now don’t fret so. It’s not good for your blood pressure. The man’s long gone.”

  Pointing to the receiver, her eyes rolled, but she was smiling. “Not to worry, my handsome man. Besides, Miss Maggie’s just arrived, so we have a police presence on hand. Does that help?”

  I grinned.

  Edward Jeremiah Jones was very protective of his child bride, melting like butter in the hot sun when dealing with her. It amazed me that a man so physically intimidating to everyone else, was such a teddy bear in the presence of his wife. Many a teen—boy
and girl alike—ran home in tears after venturing into his hardware store for a part time job after school. It wasn’t that he was mean, just gruff , formidable.

  From the day he met Miss Dandelion Mayfield, Ed has never left her side. Well, no, not literally, but…. Hush up.

  His 41-years to her 19, (yes, that’s a 22 year age difference) folks speculated they wouldn’t last a month when they started dating. They proved them wrong.

  In fact, just last summer—though their actual anniversary is in November—Ed had surprised her (and their son Josh) with a six week tour of Europe to celebrate their 26th year of marriage.

  Dandy keeps Ed calm and irons out his rough edges. All you have to do is mention Dandy’s name and he gets that love-sick-puppy look on his face. I swear it’s comical enough to make a body want to do it on purpose.

  And to add to all that, she’d given him a son. They’d tried for so long, and finally, perfection. Joshua Jeremiah Jones will be 11 in April. The pedestal Mr. Jones has Miss Dandy on can’t get any higher, but she doesn’t ‘abuse her power’. Mostly she waves it off.

  “Yes, dear. Would you like her to say hello so you know I’m not telling tales?”

  I chuckled, quietly.

  “I didn’t think so. Go unpack some hammers or something. I’m just fine, sweet man. Bye now.” She hung up and began to laugh. “He’s such a worry wart, my Eddie.”

  The laugh couldn’t be stopped. “Is that what you call it? He always looks like a volcano about to erupt.”

  “There is that.” Her perfect pearly whites gleamed behind red red lips.

  You’d think the color would contrast badly with her copper-colored hair, but the bright lipstick only enhanced her pale skin, the sprinkle of freckles, and those very green eyes.

  “Indigestion, mostly,” she explained with a giggle. “Makes him grumpy.”

  I shook my head, wagging my thumb towards the crowd. “So, what’s going on? I know your place is always busy, but you’ve got people coming out your ears today.”

  “Oh, that? An over full Greyhound had to detour because of an accident on Route 19, and they got lost. They should be about ready to,” she made a shooing motion with her hands, “venture forth again, in a few minutes. I believe the driver is finalizing his workaround with Councilman Heckman, so the bus can get back to where it needs to be, and these people can get home.”

  “Ah. And the bulldozer that bounced about 20 of us off the steps?”

  Anger lowered her brows. “What a nuisance.”

  “All I saw was the back of him, but he sure looked a lot like a guy I saw earlier today.”

  “Can’t help you there. I caught him breaking into Sybil Tolliver’s room, or, I suppose I ought to say, attempting to break in.”

  “Oh?” And there it was, my reason for being here.

  “He didn’t get in, though. I swatted at him with my trusty broom,” she said, making sweeping motions. “He skedaddled out of here right quick.”

  “And just about took some of us with him. Wonder what he was after.”

  “Who knows? He didn’t say much, and I only caught a glimpse of his, well, part of his face, before he took off down the stairs. So, what did you want to ask me about?” She linked our arms and aimed us at the dining room.

  “Miss Sybil Tolliver, for one.”

  “Ah. Well, I don’t know much more than what, I’m sure, Bruce already told you.” She stopped, eyes blinking rapidly. “Oh. Of course.”

  “What?”

  “That young man, just now? He’s the one who came calling last night. At least, I’m reasonably sure he’s the same one.”

  I wiggled my eyebrows. “The plot thicken-eth.”

  “Is that even a word?” She snickered. “It does sound very Shakespeare-esque.”

  With a shrug, I matched my pace with hers.

  She threaded through the room to a table in front of a window overlooking a snow-frosted garden. “Sit.”

  A familiar barely-past-being-a-teen approached as we settled in, her pad and pencil at the ready. “What can I get you, ladies?”

  “Heather Riordan.” A Flowers sister’s progeny.

  Hyacinth and Seamus’s daughter smiled widely. “Yes, ma’am, Miz Mercer. How are you?”

  “Great. Good to see you. How are your parents?”

  “Just fine. They’ll be back from Florida on Friday, been visiting with the Anderson’s. Daddy says he likes vacationing so much, he’s thinking about a full retirement.”

  “Envy the warmth, especially today. But full time? He’ll drive your mother crazy. Give them my regards.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. He likes to stay busy. Thanks for asking.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll have a sweet tea, please.”

  “Miz Jones?”

  “The same, Heather. And we’ll both have the Special.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Be back in a jiff.”

  “Now.” Dandelion settled back in her chair. “Where were we?”

  “Connecting dots.”

  “Were we? What picture are you getting?”

  Oops. “One the chief will be interested in.”

  “Cryptic, missy. Is that on purpose, or are you teasing me?”

  “Dee, you know I can’t—”

  “Shoot, girl. No need to remind me. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  “Sorry. It’s a sticky situation. But,” I leaned forward, elbows on the table, “if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to tell me, in as much detail as you can, what you heard and observed last night?”

  “All right. Well, let’s see. We’d just finished serving supper so it must’ve been just six, or a bit after. I was on the desk when the gentleman came in. Asked me, polite as you please, if Miss Sybil Tolliver was in. As I’d just seen her in the dining room, I told him she was having a meal. He wrote out a note and asked if I’d deliver it, said he’d wait for a reply.”

  “He give his name?”

  “No, he didn’t, and I didn’t ask.”

  Crap. “Did he sign the note?”

  CHAPTER 11

  MORE NITTY-GRITTY

  SHE GAVE ME A LOOK. “I didn’t read it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Anyway, Sybil said she’d be just a minute, and to have him stay. I relayed the message and he waited in the lobby. A few minutes later, she came up to the desk. I pointed him out and she sat down next to him.

  “They spoke to each other—though I couldn’t hear them—and hugged, you know, like strangers do.”

  “So, they didn’t know each other.”

  “Hard to say. In any case, they continued to talk. He did most of it. She seemed real interested in what he was saying; I could tell by the way she was sitting. When he stood, she joined him, and they headed for the door. At the last minute, she turned and waved to me.

  “She didn’t come back, though. Still hasn’t. And here he was today, trying to break into her room. How ballsy is that, ya know? I asked him where she was while I was using the broom on his bee-hind. He said he didn’t know what I was talking about. For pity’s sake! How dumb does he think I am?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He must know he’s a suspect in her disappearance. Wouldn’t he know that?”

  “A suspect? In a disappearance? Where are you getting this, Dee? Who says the girl’s disappeared? Was she forced out of here? How do you know she didn’t come back?”

  Dandelion studied me so hard and so long, I was getting uncomfortable. “What?”

  “First of all, you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something fishy going on.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Give me a break, Maggie.” She gave a huff. “At the very least, he’d be wanted for questioning in the matter of trying to enter her room, unauthorized as it was.”

  I squinted back. “The circumstances of which I had no knowledge of when I arrived. How would I have known he’d tried to get in her room? You invited me to lunch, obviously before any of
that happened. Otherwise you would have told me about it on the phone. Right? I didn’t get a phone call about any criminal activity taking place on your premises.”

  She sniffed, then shrugged and studied the nails on her left hand. “I knew you were on your way here. If you hadn’t been, I’d have called back.”

  “That still doesn’t answer my questions.”

  Dandy smiled.

  My forehead wrinkled downward.

  “You really would have made an excellent private-eye.”

  “Gee, thanks.” If I could have gotten away with it, I’d’ve smacked her. “Can we get back to business here?” My subconscious was beginning to churn. “Now, just because he was the last one you saw her with, doesn’t mean he was the last one to see her. But it’s true that Chief Madison might, probably, want to speak to him about his not-so-legal activities of the past couple of hours. It’s possible this man is keeping her at that house he’s renting.”

  “Renting? What house?”

  Aw, crud. “Sorry, thinking out loud.”

  Dandelion frowned and crossed her arms. “You keep leading me on, Maggie. It’s hard to tell.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Here are your drinks, ladies.”

  A short reprieve.

  Heather set the glasses on the table and left.

  “I am sorry, Dandy.”

  “Oh, I know that.” She waved away my apology. “My curiosity’s frustrated, is all.”

  “I sympathize. Any other observations?”

  “Nope. Last I saw of him, he was busting his way through the crowd—of which you were an inadvertent casualty—down the front porch steps.”

  I gently probed my tender ribs. There’d be a bruise tomorrow, and hell to pay when Wyatt saw it. “Can you describe him for me?”

  She thought for a minute. “Probably not well, I’m afraid. He’s tall-ish, maybe five-nine, or 10. Early to mid-20s. Brown eyes, I think. A straggly brownish mustache and chin hair, though neat and trimmed. Huh, that contradicts the straggly-ness, I suppose, but it’s the only way I can think of to explain it. I couldn’t see his hair, or much of his face as he was wearing a knit cap—I do believe it was dark green—pulled down over his ears. Even his eyebrows were covered. Still and all, not a slouch in the looks department. Kinda dishy even.”