“My money’s on aliens,” she confessed in a low voice. I assumed it was out of deference to Phoebe and not because she worried about what others thought of her belief in aliens. Myra was a UFO enthusiast who attended a local alien convention every year.
“You think extraterrestrials killed Frank.”
“I do indeed. I think they planted some sort of chip in his head that made him spout all that antigovernment nonsense.”
“But why would they murder him?” I was whispering, too. The whole conversation felt so disrespectful I was becoming queasy just listening to Myra, let alone participating.
“I bet the chip was malfunctioning and they had to dig it out before anyone detected it.”
“You think an alien species that can build a craft and navigate a course into a distant solar system would hit Frank over the head with a piece of firewood to retrieve delicate technology?” Myra bit her lip then changed the subject.
“How’s it going with Mr. Hot Stuff?” Myra raised her voice a bit like she wanted Mitch to hear her.
“I’m sure I don’t know who you mean.” I was getting prim, I could just feel it. You know how when Pinocchio lies his nose grows longer? Well, with me, my posture improves and I feel my buttocks clench and I suck in my cheeks a bit because my lips are pursing like a devout spinster with a mouthful of sauerkraut juice. My voice raised an octave and my fingers itched for something to do like stitching a sampler or tatting a doily. My mother would say the lying stressed me out so much it caused me to revisit a previous incarnation. Or maybe allowed me to channel a long-dead family member with better moral fiber than my own.
I expect if she was right, it was Myrtle Greene, the unmarried sister of the only pastor the family ever boasted. Her strict sense of decorum and behavior befitting a Christian is the stuff of family legend. If you ask me, Myrtle wouldn’t condescend to channel herself in the first place. Such a thing would carry the stink of the occult. But if she did, she’d surely choose to filter through Celadon instead of me. After all, Celadon is the one who teaches Sunday school and I only manage to get to church at all one Sunday in three. I know because my grandparents remind the Saturday night before the third Sunday morning.
“That stud in the outdoorsy gear. You know, the game warden.”
“They’re called conservation officers now.”
“No matter what you call him I’d be happy to let him measure my fish anytime.” Myra is a winker, which makes me uncomfortable at the best of times. But when Myra does it, it takes on a leering, conspiratorial quality that leaves me feeling like a felon. This was not something I needed while sitting in the police station awaiting questioning in a murder investigation. Her eyelids were fleshy and droopy and covered in far too much sunset yellow eye shadow. When she winked it was like a blinking traffic light: Caution, caution! Not to mention if Mitch overheard anything complimentary concerning Graham it might put him in an even more combative mood. I needed to steer the conversation to another topic.
“I’m sure he would trust you to only keep regulation-length fish. After all, you are involved in law enforcement, too.” Reminding Myra of that sometimes slows down the gossip train. Usually it doesn’t, but it was worth a try.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got that other guy chomping away on your bait. With how good Phoebe has been looking lately there isn’t a lot of chance you’ll be turning Mitch’s head your way again.”
“She looked pretty torn up at the house. She and Frank were so close and she was shocked.” At least she seemed to be shocked. Then again, she and Frank had been arguing something terrible when I had stopped in to encourage Frank to join the cooperative in the first place.
“Well, of course she was. Phoebe’s a decent girl. She loved her stepdaddy to pieces. Especially once her mother got so sick there at the end.”
“Phoebe’s had it rough. I hope she and Mitch are happy together.” I meant it, too. If I were entirely honest, like channeling Myrtle Greene honest, I would admit that if Phoebe ended up with a happily ever after it would alleviate some of my guilty conscience about how I’d treated her when we were kids. One thing that prickled in the back of my head though was the possibility that she was dating Mitch just because I had, in the same way she had copied the way I dressed when we were in middle school. I hoped for both their sakes she was dating him because she really enjoyed his company.
“Things seemed like they were really turning the corner for her though before this happened with Frank. With her new hairdo and her wardrobe changes she was looking so nice and acting so much more confident. She’s like a whole new woman.” Myra was right. Phoebe had undergone quite a transformation in the last few months. It had happened slowly enough to not feel like a makeover like you see on television or in a magazine article but in the end the result was the same. Truth be told, Mitch hadn’t shown any interest in Phoebe until recently and it may well have been because of her formerly mousy demeanor and complete lack of style.
“Maybe her new sense of confidence will help her to bounce back from Frank’s death more easily.”
“I hope so. She must’ve spent a fortune on her looks lately. It would be a shame if the expense didn’t end up giving her a lasting boost,” Myra said. I never thought of Phoebe as having a lot of money. She worked part-time at the local confectionery and gift shop in town, Sweet Treats. Her expenses couldn’t be too high living at home, but still, she couldn’t have had a lot of spending money. Retail just doesn’t pay that much. I wondered if Phoebe had been arguing with Frank about money when I saw the shouting match between them. More important, I needed to decide if I should tell Mitch about Phoebe’s argument.
Before I could make up my mind, Mitch popped his head around Lowell’s office door and motioned for me to join him. He shut the door behind me and I was surprised to find myself feeling uncomfortable in Lowell’s office. I had never felt uncomfortable there. Lowell’s office had been like a home away from home for me, since not only had Lowell been the police chief in Sugar Grove all my life, he had been my godfather and dearest family friend all that time, too. For a kid who didn’t get into trouble I had spent an awful lot of time in the police station. It just didn’t feel right seeing Mitch behind Lowell’s desk, especially the way he was looking at me across his steepled hands. I wondered if his posture was part of a course on intimidating body language. If it was, he should have earned an A.
“Tell me why I should believe you didn’t murder Frank.” No beating around the bush for Mitch. He was all business and all cop, which helped me to make up my mind about telling him about Phoebe.
“Did you ask Phoebe the same question?” The stunned look on his face made me feel a little more sure of myself. Now I was at least on an even footing.
“Why would I ask her a thing like that?” He dropped the steepling and gripped the sides of the desk like he was preparing to launch himself at me.
“Family always has a reason to feel sore about something. With no spouse in Frank’s life, a child is a logical next person to investigate.”
“What makes you such an expert?”
“I never said I was. But isn’t there statistically a much greater chance a murder victim is done in by someone close to them. No one would ever say Frank and I were close.”
“I know how to do my job.”
“Since I know I didn’t kill Frank and you seem to think it is possible that I did, I’ll have to disagree with you there. You still ought to ask Phoebe why she was having a roof-raising argument with Frank on Friday morning. Did she happen to tell you about that?”
“What makes you say she was arguing with Frank?”
“I saw them, that’s why.”
“For someone who claims not to be too involved with Frank’s life, you sure seem to be well informed. First Bob Sterling, now Phoebe.”
“I went to Frank’s place on Friday to ask him about my car. When I
pulled up Frank and Phoebe were yelling at each other.”
“That doesn’t sound like Phoebe. She never yells. Phoebe’s a real lady, unlike some women I can think of.”
“Don’t you think that makes it all the more suspicious? Frank yelled all the time. You could have used Frank’s voice to blast granite ledge if you wanted to put in a new foundation. Phoebe would have been used to it. It wouldn’t have provoked her.”
“Don’t you think that’s pretty desperate of you, trying to implicate Phoebe? You must really want me back.” Mitch shook his head at me like I was pitiable, like a butterfly with a crumpled wing. I felt myself beginning to boil over. Which is never a good thing. When I get angry I get all blotchy in the face. My voice gets even squeakier and I tend to punch the air with my tiny fists. Really, I look more like a child in the throes of a puberty-fueled fit than an adult woman with a right to be angry.
“It has nothing to do with any prior relationship you may have thought we had. I am never going to be more interested in you than I was when we broke up. Besides, I like Phoebe. I didn’t even want to mention the argument to you but you just bring out the worst in me.”
“Let’s pretend for a moment that I believe you. What do you think the argument was about?” Mitch leaned back in Lowell’s chair and actually flung his feet up onto the desk. I was definitely going to tell Lowell when he got back.
“I don’t know from overhearing anything in particular. Phoebe yelled at Frank for sticking his nose into her business. Frank said she wasn’t appreciating him. She agreed she didn’t appreciate what he was up to and then she stormed off. I’d never seen her act like that before. And she was on the property, too, when I found Frank’s body.” The intercom on the desk squawked and Myra’s nasally smoker’s voice pulsed into the room letting Mitch know Bob Sterling had shown up for his interview and wasn’t happy about being kept waiting. He said he’d be with Bob in a minute.
“You aren’t off the hook yet, Dani, so don’t even think about leaving town.” Mitch pointed at the door. “You’re free to go for now. On your way out tell Bob I’ll see him.” I wasn’t sure how it was that I could simultaneously be both a suspect and a police department employee. I decided I wasn’t and that Mitch could fetch his own suspects. As I reentered the waiting area Bob stopped his pacing and stepped toward me.
“Mitch called me in here to question me because of your tattling. I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Frank and I have a whole lot better things to do with my time than to be in here answering a bunch of insulting questions because a pip-squeak like you had to offer up opinions on stuff she knows nothing about.” Bob towered over me and I was glad Myra was sitting right there at her desk. At least if Bob decided to rough me up there would be a witness.
“I don’t owe you any favors. I’m in here because I’m a suspect, too. And you were leaving the scene in an awful hurry.”
“There’s no shortage of suspects as far as murdering Frank is concerned. There was no reason to single me out.”
“You were at the scene. It wouldn’t have been right not to mention you leaving like that.”
“What about Knowlton? He was on the scene, too.”
“I didn’t see Knowlton. I only saw you. And Phoebe.”
“Well, I saw him. He was skulking away into the woods just as I arrived. For all I know he killed Frank and then just sauntered off to round up roadkill like nothing ever happened.”
“You said he might have killed Frank. Does that mean you never got to talk to Frank when you were there?”
“That’s right. I pounded on the door until I thought either my hand would break or the door was going to. The only one I managed to rouse was Frank’s damn dog.”
“Was that why you were so angry?”
“Damn right it was. Frank’s truck was sitting right there in plain sight and I was certain he was just not coming to the door because he didn’t want to deal with me.”
“Why didn’t you go into the sugarhouse like I did if you were so hot to talk with him?”
“Because I’ve got better sense than you. No one pokes their nose around on Frank’s property without an invitation. And no one gets an invitation. I had no desire to find myself at the business end of Frank’s rifle. He hasn’t been exactly quiet about his enthusiasm for the stand-your-ground legislation.”
“Or maybe you did go into the sugarhouse and fixed your boundary-dispute problem once and for all.”
“You just had better hope you and your whole family have no need for an ambulance anytime soon. If I’m the one on duty, I might just have my radio turned down when that call comes in.” Bob shoved me out of the way with a large square hand and hurried to Mitch.
* * *
Back home once more I just wanted to reach out to someone I loved in order to talk over the chaotic events of the day. Luckily for me, the house is full of family. Usually, I was more likely to be looking for a quiet spot to gather my own thoughts than to engage, but when I needed to talk to someone I was spoiled for choice. I popped my head into the barn looking for Grampa but he wasn’t around. I toyed with the idea of wandering up into the sugar bush to see if he was there but then decided the person I really wanted to talk to was my older brother, Loden.
Knowing him like I did, I was fairly certain he would be in his train room on a Sunday evening. Ignoring the grumbling coming from my stomach, I headed for Loden’s special space. Loden’s train room is housed in an addition unfortunately dreamt up by one of the more eccentric, and fortunately long-dead, members of the family, Verdant Greene.
Gripped by the Egyptology mania that swept much of the world at the time, Verdant built a pyramid replica on the side of the house. He was so thoroughly devoted to the authenticity of the space that he chose not to include such niceties as windows for light and cooling or a heating system of any kind for the winter. These design decisions, along with an entranceway modeled after a real tunnel into King Tut’s tomb did little to endear this part of the house to anyone except Loden.
Family legend has it that, like an intrepid archeologist himself, at age two Loden had somehow toddled to the doorway and wriggled along the passage. An hour after frantically ransacking the farmhouse and adjoining fields in search of her missing son, my mother sat down in the far pasture to call upon her spirit guides for assistance. She claims she had a vision of Loden perched on a golden throne dressed in a loincloth. Moments later she burst into the pyramid to discover Loden contentedly sitting in the corner as though he owned the place. And he has, for all practical purposes, ever since.
I don’t really give a lot of credence to my mother’s spirit-guide story but I will say Loden’s effect on the space is magical. He has turned the whole place into an extravaganza of miniatures. All of Sugar Grove is spread out in lavish detail. Loden has crafted all the buildings, down to the very last detail himself. He spends countless hours researching each new piece he adds to the display and then executes it with just as much care.
I may not like the accommodations but I love visiting the pyramid because of what Loden has done with it. And because he is there. Loden never was the kind of big brother you feared. I think my tiny size made him unusually protective of me. As an adult I try not to take advantage of his instincts but as a kid on the playground his protectiveness was always welcomed.
I scooted through the entryway and landed at the other end eager to tell him all about Frank and my run-in with Mitch. He looked up from a small barn whose roof he was carefully covering in miniature shingles.
“So how did things work out at Tansey’s?” he asked. Truth be told, I had mostly forgotten about Tansey and the threatening dummy in her barn. I told Loden about my visit to her and then my decision to head up to Frank’s to confront him. When I got to the part about finding Frank with his head bashed in, Loden carefully set aside the miniature barn and gave me his full attention. When I mentioned
being questioned by Mitch as a suspect, Loden started pacing the floor. Between the amount of space taken up by models and displays and the slanted ceiling, pacing was no easy feat.
“And to top it all off, Bob Sterling is angry at me for mentioning to Mitch he was leaving Frank’s in a hurry at the same time I was arriving. He told me we had better not need an ambulance anytime soon up here at Greener Pastures.” As I related the incidents of the day to Loden all of the emotion came flooding back at once. I felt light-headed and sick to my stomach. My breath started coming in shallow pants and I worried I was about to pass out.
“Sit down, Dani. You look like you’re about to keel over anyway.” Loden pointed to a free corner and I squatted down in it and put my head between my knees. I felt him sit beside me and take my hand. Sometimes my family makes me crazy with all their interest in my love life or lack thereof and general meddling but at times like these I just felt grateful to have them. When my breathing slowed to normal and the nausea passed I had an encouraging thought.
“The good news is that with Frank dead the sabotage on the sugarhouses should stop. So I can get on with keeping cooperative members on board and placing supply orders.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? What did Mitch say?” Loden asked.
“I didn’t think about it until just now. And besides, I’m not going to ask Mitch for permission to go about my business.”
“How can you be sure Frank was responsible for what has been happening? It could be someone else. Which would make it a bad idea to pursue the co-op.”
“Frank is the only one who raised any objections to the idea of the cooperative. He had to have been the one responsible.” If I kept saying that maybe it would make it true.
“I thought of him as the embodiment of the Live Free or Die motto. He didn’t want anyone telling him what to do and didn’t much care what you got up to either. Given Frank’s attitude toward the sovereignty of his own property, it seems out of character for him to damage some else’s,” Loden said.
Maple Mayhem (A Sugar Grove Mystery) Page 13
