Mary Had a Little Scare

by Wendy Meadows

  After several minutes of searching she returned to Betty.

  “No phone?” Betty asked.

  “No phone,” Mary said in an upset voice. “I’ve searched this entire living room.”

  Betty crawled to her feet. “Mary, we have to leave this awful place.”

  “I wish we could but there’s a real mean dog waiting outside,” Mary reminded her.

  Betty glanced toward the living room windows. “We could…make a run for it…maybe?”

  “That dog would run us down in a matter of seconds,” Mary said. “The killer…I think he…or she…let that dog loose…to either chase us off or chase us inside.” Mary bit down on her lower lip and carefully sat down on the gray and white couch. “We need a plan.”

  Betty eased down next to Mary and clasped her hands together. “Maybe we can find a kitchen, locate a steak, feed it to the dog, and run while the dog is eating the steak.”

  Mary grinned a little. “You read that in a book, didn’t you?”

  Betty blushed. “A detective novel,” she confessed. “Detective Bransom Bullet had to sneak into a warehouse where ‘Deep Water’ Grayson was hiding. He brought a couple of steaks along with him and fed them to the guard dogs.”

  “What colorful names,” Mary told Betty, shaking her head. “I wish Detective Bransom Bullet was here now with a few steaks. Unfortunately, we’re all alone.”

  “So…what do we do?” Betty asked in a desperate voice.

  Mary wasn’t sure how to respond. All she knew was a killer was lurking about, a dead body was lying in the foyer, a dangerous dog was outside someplace, and a storm was hanging over the mansion.

  “I don’t know, Betty,” she confessed. “I…the killer opened the front door…I’m sure of that. I…it seems that the killer wanted us to come inside. At least that’s what my mind keeps telling me. I think the killer let the dog loose to keep us from leaving.”

  “But why?” Betty asked. “We…we’re innocent strangers in need of help. Why would a killer want to trap two innocent strangers inside this scary mansion?”

  Mary looked around. The living room, unlike the outside yard, was in immaculate condition. “I’m not sure. My theory could be wrong.”

  “What if your theory is correct?” Betty grabbed Mary’s arm. “Oh, Mary, I saw the eyes moving…they looked at me and then looked at you. We have to leave this place.”

  “Honey,” Mary said, forcing her voice to remain calm, “the eyes you saw were human eyes…the eyes of the killer.” Mary looked at Betty. “We’re probably being watched at this very second.”

  Betty froze. “Do you…think…so?” she asked in a shaky voice. Mary nodded. “Oh dear…”

  “Don’t panic…and don’t faint on me,” Mary begged. “I—” Before Mary could finish her sentence, she heard a loud metal click. “The living room doors!” she yelled and jumped to her feet. Betty froze. “I think the killer just locked us in here!” Mary ran across the living room and slid to a stop at the double doors. She grabbed the doorknobs. “Locked!” she called out over her shoulder.

  “Oh my,” Betty fretted.

  Mary let go of the doorknobs and backed away from the doors. “We’re locked in here,” she whispered, “and the only way out is through the front windows…but the dog…” Mary stopped backing up and glanced toward the living room windows. “We can’t outrun that dog…he’ll eat us to pieces.”

  Betty stood up on wobbly legs and maneuvered across the living room. “Why would someone lock us in this awful living room?”

  “Whoever the killer is…he…or she…obviously doesn’t want us to leave,” Mary said. “The question is: Why?”

  “Do we really want to find out?” Betty gulped. She threw her eyes at the living room windows. “Mary, we have to make a run for it. We have to leave this—”

  “Awful place,” Mary sighed. “Yes, I know. But the only problem is that awful dog outside. If we tried to run…why, that dog would chase us down in a matter of seconds and eat us alive.” Mary shook her head. “No, we’re not stepping one foot outside. We’re…safe for the time being…and that’s what matters. Now, let’s just put on our thinking caps and try to come up with a plan.” Mary looked around. “John always told me that no matter what situation you were in there was always an escape hatch…somewhere.”

  Betty closed her eyes and began drawing in deep breaths. “Calm down and think…calm down and think,” she told herself. “There has to be an escape hatch…John said so.”

  Mary focused on the stone fireplace and spotted a fire iron resting against the left side of the fireplace. “A weapon,” she said and hurried over to the fireplace and snatched up the fire iron. “We have a weapon now.”

  Betty raced over to Mary. “Maybe…we can…defend ourselves against the dog with that,” she suggested.

  Mary shook her head. “No, risking our lives is not an option.” Mary studied the fire iron. “Even if I were able to hit that dog outside with this fire iron there is no guarantee it would hurt it enough to allow us time to escape. That dog outside is very big and very deadly.”

  Betty sighed. “You’re right…at least we’re safe…for now. I guess chancing being eaten alive by a ferocious dog isn’t very smart.” Betty shook her head. “Next time Mother sends me off into the unknown to attend a funeral…well…I’m going to tell her no.”

  “You would never tell your mother no,” Mary pointed out and tried to force a smile to her scared face. “You fear your mother worse than that awful dog outside.”

  Betty blushed. “I…suppose,” she confessed. “Mother does have quite the temper sometimes.”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, she does. And speaking of temper,” Mary continued, “I can’t help but to wonder what happened here tonight. Who is the dead man lying in the foyer and who killed him? I also wonder why the body was left in the foyer…why we were forced inside…and what the killer is planning.”

  “That’s why you’re the boss at the newspaper,” Betty told Mary. “Your mind is always on the job. Me…I’m too scared to think very clearly right now. All my mind can focus on is running back to your car.”

  “We wouldn’t get very far, I’m afraid,” Mary told her. “Even if we did make it back to my car, we wouldn’t be able to drive it out of the ditch.”

  Betty sighed. “We’re…trapped then,” she said and sat back down on the couch. “We’re trapped in a spooky mansion on a stormy night with a dead body and a killer. Boy, talk about having a rotten tomato thrown in your face. And to make matters even worse, we didn’t even make it to Aunt Gennifer’s house.”

  Mary eased over to the couch and sat down next to Betty. “If we live through this night, maybe we’ll still be able to attend your aunt’s funeral,” she said.

  “If we live through the night?” Betty gulped. And then the funeral caskets appeared in her scared mind again. “Mary, if we live through this night, I’m going straight home and never leaving again,” she said. She looked over at the stone fireplace. A large portrait of the dead man was hanging over the fireplace. Betty looked at his eyes but to her relief didn’t see them moving. “If we live through the night,” she whispered as the rain grew heavier and the night grew darker.

  Mary stared at the fireplace with sleepy eyes. “It’s been an hour,” she said. “I’m getting very sleepy.”

  Betty reached down and felt her dress. “At least our dresses are drying,” she said, fighting back a yawn.

  “A little,” Mary agreed. She stood up from the couch and stretched her arms. “We heard the front door open about forty minutes ago. It’s been quiet ever since.” Mary eased over to the front living room windows and pulled back a heavy drape. She looked out into the rain and shook her head. “I can’t see anything,” she complained. “That mean old dog could be anywhere. If only I knew where he was. Oh, what’s the point? That dog would run us down in a matter of seconds.”

  Betty fought to keep her eyes open. The hour was late, and it was way past her bedti
me. “Maybe the killer left,” she suggested.

  “Maybe,” Mary said. “And then again…maybe not.” She left the window and walked over to the double wooden doors and tried the door knobs again. “Still locked,” she fussed.

  Betty sighed. She was sleepy and very, very hungry. Her hunger was the ugly enemy keeping her awake. “We could try and break down the doors…maybe?” she offered.

  “We could try,” Mary said. She felt the doors. “The wood is very strong. If we began trying to break them down the killer would surely hear us…” Mary felt frustration rise in her heart. “What is the killer doing? Why did he lock us in this living room?”

  Betty picked up the fire iron Mary had left leaning against the couch and stood up. “I wish I knew,” she said and hurried over to Mary. “And I really, really wish we were at my Aunt Gennifer’s house with my cousin.”

  Mary let her shoulders drop. “Me, too,” she said, taking the fire iron from Betty.

  “I didn’t mean to get us lost,” Betty apologized. “I was following the map, honest.” Betty looked at Mary. “We were supposed to turn off Old Route 87 and travel down Hollow Tree Road. Aunt Gennifer’s house is located on Hollow Tree Road. But when we left Old Route 87, we ended up…lost. I’m very sorry.”

  Mary stared at Betty. Suddenly her mind began asking her one simple question: Were they really lost after all? “When we left Old Route 87, we did turn onto Hollow Tree Road. I saw the road sign. I just assumed you had me turn on the wrong road.”

  “You saw a road sign?” Betty asked, confused. “I didn’t see a road sign.”

  “You were too busy struggling with the map,” Mary pointed out as her eyes left Betty and began exploring the massive living room. “You had me turn onto the right road.”

  Betty followed Mary’s eyes around the living room. “Golly,” she whispered, “and all this time we thought we were lost. Aunt Gennifer’s house could be close by.”

  Mary focused back on Betty. “We got our wires crossed, didn’t we?” she said. “You told me what road to take and I assumed you had me turn down the wrong road. Our communication wasn’t the greatest.”

  “Well, we were talking quite a bit,” Betty reminded her. “It’s easy to get distracted.”

  “I should have told you what road I turned down when we left Old Route 87,” Mary told Betty. “That was my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “I should have asked,” Betty said. “I take part of the blame myself. But at least we know we’re not lost anymore…that’s an improvement, right?”

  Mary wasn’t sure. Her mind returned back to the living room. “Betty, you never visited your Aunt Gennifer after she left Tennessee and moved to Maine, did you?” When Betty shook her head no, Mary bit down on her lower lip. “You said your aunt married a very wealthy man, right?” Betty nodded. Mary continued to bite down on her lip. “How did your Aunt Gennifer die? You never told me.”

  Betty rubbed her chin. “Mother never told me how Aunt Gennifer died,” she confessed. “Aunt Gennifer was only sixty-eight…not very old, but no spring chicken either. But I don’t remember her ever being in ill health. I suppose it must have been her heart?”

  Mary kept her eyes on the living room. “Eccentric wealthy man,” she whispered.

  “What?” Betty asked.

  Mary turned her eyes to Betty. “Did you contact any other of your family members after you found out your Aunt Gennifer died?”

  Betty rubbed her chin again. “No. My Cousin Brenda simply gave Mother directions to Aunt Gennifer’s house and asked for me to attend the funeral.”

  “You?” Mary asked. “Not your mother?” Mary stared into Betty’s eyes, struggling to make sense of the situation. “I thought your cousin invited your mother and your mother sent you in her place.”

  Betty’s cheeks turned red. “Well…May, that’s what Mother is telling people because…she wasn’t personally invited. When Cousin Brenda invited me and not Mother…well, Mother was very offended…not that Mother would have attended the funeral anyway, but it’s the principle that matters to her.” Betty made a pained face. “In order to protect Mother’s pride, I agreed—”

  “To make it appear that your mother was asked to attend your Aunt Gennifer’s funeral and you were sent in her place.”

  Betty nodded. “You know how Mother is, Mary. She is a very prideful woman. When Cousin Brenda requested that I attend Aunt Gennifer’s funeral and not Mother…well, Mother was very upset. And…honestly, I didn’t think it would hurt if people believed that she had actually been invited to the funeral but sent me in her place.”

  “Of course not,” Mary agreed, forcing a weak smile to her sleepy face. “Everyone knows how much you love your mother and it’s very sweet…and noble…the lengths you go to, to protect her feelings.”

  Betty blushed. “I only want Mother to be happy.”

  “I know,” Mary said. She looked around again. “Eccentric wealthy man,” she whispered. “Eccentric wealthy man…”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” Betty asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Mary said. She grabbed Betty’s hand, walked back to the couch, and sat down. “What do you know about the man your Aunt Gennifer married?”

  “Only what Mother told me,” Betty explained. “Mother said the man Aunt Gennifer married was very wealthy and very eccentric.” Betty rested her hands on her lap and began searching her foggy memory. “Mother said Aunt Gennifer married her husband…oh…I believe it was no more than five years ago. Mother said he was a widower…about Aunt Gennifer’s age…maybe a little older?” Mary made a few mental notes and asked Betty to continue. “Well,” Betty said, “Mother said everything seemed to be going well when suddenly Aunt Gennifer’s new husband just up and moved back to Maine. Mother was very curious as to why…but that’s between us girls.”

  “Of course,” Mary promised.

  Betty glanced around. “Gennifer left northern Tennessee and moved to Maine to be with her husband. That’s all I know, Mary, I promise.”

  Mary patted Betty’s shoulder. “You did fine,” she said.

  “Why are you asking me these questions?” Betty asked. “What do Aunt Gennifer and her husband have to do with—” And then Betty’s mind caught up with Mary’s curious questions. “Oh my…wealthy man…eccentric wealthy man,” she gasped and looked around the living room with wide, scared eyes. “The man…the dead man…he’s…”

  “Around the same age you mentioned,” Mary said, taking Betty’s hand. “Could it be that we have arrived at the right location after all?”

  “Golly.” Betty gasped again. “You mean this mansion could belong to Aunt Gennifer?”

  “Or her husband,” Mary pointed out. She stood up, looked around, and then sat back down. “We need to think,” she told Betty, “because there’s a rotten smell in this place.”

  “You’re telling me,” Betty agreed. “Aunt Gennifer is dead. Her husband…if that poor dead man is her husband…is dead…which means…oh my, maybe Aunt Gennifer was murdered, too. Oh, the poor soul.” Betty fought back tears. “Poor Aunt Gennifer.”

  “Betty,” Mary said, lowering her voice, “if your Aunt Gennifer was murdered…and her husband was murdered…and your cousin Brenda is nowhere in sight…what does that tell you?”

  “Oh, poor Cousin Brenda must have been murdered, too.” Betty gasped and threw her hands over her mouth. “Is there no end to this awful night? How many more people must die before justice is served?”

  “No…no, that’s not what I’m implying,” Mary said in a quick voice. “I’m implying that…it may be possible…that if we are in the right house…at the correct location…maybe…your cousin Brenda is…the killer?”

  “Cousin Brenda…the killer?” Betty exclaimed. “Why, Mary, you should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking such a thought. Poor Cousin Brenda never even married, bless her soul. She dedicated her entire life to the care of her mother.”

  Mary rubbed her eyes. “I’m simply leaving
room for options,” she explained.

  Betty stood up. “Assuming Cousin Brenda is the killer is not an option,” she told Mary in a stern voice. “Why, Cousin Brenda is family.”

  Mary looked up at Betty. “How well do you know her?” she asked.

  Betty stared down at Mary. “Not…very well,” she confessed. “But family is family.”

  Mary stood up and placed her hands on Betty’s shoulders. “There is a dead body lying in the main foyer. The body matches the description you gave me of your Aunt Gennifer’s husband. So, can we at least agree the body belongs to the man in question?”

  “Well…I suppose that would make sense.” Betty nodded.

  “And second,” Mary continued, “we have just realized that it’s very possible we are on the right road and possibly not very far from your Aunt Gennifer’s house. Can we agree on that?”

  “I…yes, we can agree on that.”

  Mary nodded. “And can we agree that it’s very possible that we are actually standing in your Aunt Gennifer’s home?”

  “Well…Aunt Gennifer was married to a very wealthy man,” Betty said. She threw her worried eyes around the living room. “I suppose she wasn’t living in a shack.”

  “Exactly,” Mary said and hugged Betty’s neck. “You’re a very smart woman.”

  Betty sighed. “And if I’m smart, maybe…perhaps…it wouldn’t hurt to ask myself where my cousin Brenda is, right?”

  Mary nodded. “That’s right,” she told Betty. “Your cousin Brenda is either…dead…or doing the killing.” Mary walked Betty over to the living room windows. “We did arrive unannounced,” she pointed out. “The dead man…he didn’t appear as if he had been dead for too long, either.” Mary eased back a heavy drape and looked out into the night. “I think we took the killer by surprise, Betty, and now the killer is holding us captive until he…or she…can figure out what to do with us. At least that’s the room my mind is wandering around in right now. If you have any other suggestions, I’m all ears.”

  Betty eased her eyes out into the dark night. Instead of answering Mary she began to wonder aloud. “Why did Cousin Brenda invite me and not Mother?” she whispered.