Traci knew about young boys like Milo that were put into detention centers, shelters and foster homes. Then got lost in the shuffle of bureaucracy. She had spent most of her life in and out of them.
“You think she was killed, don’t you?” Traci said. Her eyelids felt heavy.
Milo turned around and looked straight into her eyes.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, “That’s what I think and you can’t convince me otherwise neither.”
“But, why would somebody do that?”
“I don’t know but, somebody did.” He sat down and placed his hands on his knees. “Whoever did it, took everything from me. I wish I could find them.”
Traci put her hand on Milo’s shoulder and butted her forehead into his, “We’ll find them, Milo.”
Chapter Six
“HELLO?”
Traci sat up and looked in the direction of the voice. She had fallen asleep on the overstuffed recliner in her living room. From what she could make out through sticky eyelids, someone was standing in the open door of her house. She tried to make out their features, though her eyes were blurry, and head pounded
“Ms. Simmons?” the man said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Traci said, climbing to her feet, “who is it?”
“It’s Officer Wells. May I come in?”
Traci vaguely remembered she and Milo had talked all night about growing up on the streets, about how they have to finish the season on Bent Willow for Miss Rowena’s sake. And how they had to find her killer. She glanced over at the sofa where she had last seen him sleeping soundly, mud covered shoes and socks on the floor. Now there was no trace of him.
“Ms. Simmons?”
“Yes, come in.” Traci glanced through the kitchen and noticed the back screen door was unlatched. Milo had taken off, and she hoped she would be able to find him again.
Officer Wells almost filled the entire frame of her front door. If you took away the uniform, he could be mistaken for the handsome soccer player from Trinidad on that dating show. “What was his name? she thought, “Andre? No, Eric? No, that’s not it.” She realized she was staring, shook her head, and walked over to greet him.
“Hello,” she said raking her fingers through her hair.
“When I didn’t get an answer, I tried your door. Did you know it’s not locked?”
“Yes, I know. I need to replace the locks.”
“You should do that right away.” He closed the door behind him and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “It’s not safe for you to live here alone with open access to your home.”
She nodded, trying to gather her thoughts.
“You do live here alone, correct?”
“Yes. I’m still working on it. Got a long list of repairs, Land Bank First-Time Buyers program, and all that. Just haven’t gotten to everything.”
“Ah,” he said and nodded, “Well, make those locks a priority, okay?” He was smiling at her. It made her uncomfortable.
“Is there something wrong?” she said, then cleared her throat. “I mean, why are you here?”
“I’m here about the incident at the neighboring property across the alley.”
“Rowena Garrett.”
“Yes, I just wanted to follow-up with you and ask a few questions. If you have time.”
“I have time,” she said, straightening her clothes and clearing a space for him to sit down on the sofa. “It’s a shame. I hope you find the killer.”
“Killer?” he said, taking off his sunglasses and stepping into the living room.
“Isn’t that...” she stuttered, “aren’t you searching for who did it?”
“Ms. Simmons, we’ve classified this an accident. A fall from an upstairs window, no apparent home intrusion.”
“Oh, I see,” she said backing into the kitchen, “I’m going to make some coffee. Do you mind? I mean, would you like some?”
“I would love some, but I’ll have to take a raincheck,” he said again with that smile.
Traci looked down at her trembling hands. She needed something to take the edge off. Instead, she fumbled through the package of filters, added one to the chamber and positioned the carafe. She turned on the coffeemaker, then realized she forgot to add the water and the coffee. She peeled back the strands of hair stuck to her forehead and started again. She waited in the kitchen alone while it brewed, piecing together her thoughts and calming her nerves.
“I’m sorry, what did you need to ask me?” she said after pouring a cup and returning to face the officer. He was still standing in the same spot.
“Well, a few simple questions. Did you see anything unusual at Rowena Garrett’s property?”
“No, I was at work.”
“Yes, I have that in my notes. You were at work,” he said, “but you were also on the premises. How was that?”
“Well, my job is with Dependable Flyers. And, I had a delivery run through the neighborhood.”
“Got it,” he said showing those dimples again. Traci walked back into the kitchen. The officer followed.
“Did you see anyone near the house,” he said, poising his pen over a notebook, “after you arrived?”
“Well, I saw you.”
“Anything odd,” he said, “besides me?” He grinned. She wished he wouldn’t do that.
“Just the crowd of people standing around,” she said and wiped away the coffee stains on the counter with a damp dish towel. “I don’t think I have any information that can help you. I really didn’t know Miss Rowena.”
“No?”
“Not really. I just met her less than a week ago. She seemed like a friendly person, I suppose.” She turned off the burner, dumped the grounds in the trash and the rest of the coffee down the drain.
Officer Wells made a few notes.
“But you think someone killed her.”
Traci almost dropped the carafe in the sink.
“Based on what you said earlier,” he said, twirling the pen slowly between his fingers, “you think she was killed. Why is that?”
“Oh, that’s just my imagination. I guess from movies, y’know.”
“You like movies?” he said, putting away the notebook and walking to the door.
“Yeah, everybody does, right? I guess.” She wiped the perspiration beads from the bridge of her nose and followed him to the front porch.
“Thank you, Ms. Simmons,” he said and walked down the steps. He turned at the sidewalk and pointed at her, “And, get those new door locks installed, ASAP.”
He smiled and slipped his sunglasses back on. Traci smiled back then quickly walked back into the house, rubbing her hands on her leggings. She wanted to go to bed and start the day over. But she had an uneasy feeling about what happened to Rowena Garrett and wondered if Milo would be okay without her.
Chapter Seven
TRACI WAS HANGING HER laundry on the line in her backyard, while her favorite French Afro Beats playlist streamed through her phone tucked in her waistband. She would let her few items air dry while she searched for Milo. She was pretty sure that they had agreed to meet, but she couldn’t recall where or when. She felt something brush against her ankle. It was the orange tabby from Rowena Garrett’s house. Traci remembered that Milo had stored a tub of cat food in the garden shed. She finished pinning the last pair of leggings and matching tank top, then changed out of her flip-flops into her sneakers.
She started down the alley to the red and white house with the tabby following close behind. It was strange to see the place in stark daylight looking uninhabited, the porch vacant and fields empty. The torn yellow police caution tape flapped in the breeze. She could see small dark stains on the concrete where Rowena Garrett’s body had lain.
Traci walked around the small kitchen garden, found the bucket in the shed and filled the tin plate with kibble. In seconds the three felines were surrounding it. She looked for a container to add water for them when she noticed something moving out of the corner of her eye. Probably just a bird or
squirrel on the tree limbs. She glanced toward the old house and the decorative gables along the roof. She noticed the open window on the third story above the kitchen.
It was pretty high; she thought. If that was where they thought Rowena Garrett had fallen from, there was no way she would have survived it. Traci saw something move again. This time she was sure that it was a shadow in the kitchen window. She walked behind the house to the side door. It was ajar. There were no cars parked along the alley or in the driveway. There was very little traffic on the street nearby. The only sounds were the cats pushing the tin plate across the garden stones. Traci wanted to go inside. Just to peek around for a minute or two, she told herself. She wouldn’t touch anything. She pushed her shoulder against the door to open it without putting her hand on the knob.
“Miss Traci, come in. Hurry up.”
Milo was standing just inside the door. He closed it immediately behind her when she joined him in the kitchen.
“What are you doing here, Milo?”
“You said you would meet me here,” he said, “We’re going to find out what really happened to Miss Rowena, remember?”
Traci took a deep breath. “This is a mistake,” she whispered to herself. Her head was spinning, trying to retrace their conversation from last night. Being in the dead woman’s house with Milo, after a visit from that police officer, sent her mind into a spiral trying to connect the dots of what was happening. Her hands began to quiver and heart race. Looking around the room, she tried to re-calibrate her thoughts.
Four things you can see. Three things you can feel. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste. Relax, breathe, refocus. Yes, that was it. Refocus.
“Okay, Milo,” she said gently. “On second thought, this is a terrible idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“The police don’t think anyone killed her. And we definitely shouldn’t be here messing around.”
Milo turned away and opened a closet door to reveal a set of roughhewn cedar stairs.
“Come on.”
Reluctantly, Traci followed Milo up the narrow staircase to the attic crowded with bits of furniture, boxes and bags. There was a bed with a antique iron frame covered in a hand-sewn rose blossom quilt. Milo went straight away to the end of the room, to the open window overlooking the back of the house.
“This is where she fell,” Milo said, “But I don’t understand. Why would she even be in this old attic?”
“I have no idea, Milo,” Traci said, “Let the police figure it out, okay?”
“No. I told you she believed ghosts lived up here. She was too scared to even open the door. If she came up here, it must have been important. Let’s figure it out.” He stepped away from the window and began looking around the room.
“Milo, we should not be going through her things.”
“You said you would help me,” he insisted. “You said that. You promised.”
“The police ...”
“They don’t care. I’m telling you, Miss Traci. They don’t care at all. She was nobody to them.” He covered his face and wept.
“Okay, let’s think about this,” she said placing her arm around his shoulders. “First question, why would someone want to kill her?”
He calmed down and wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Think about it. Did she make somebody mad? Did she owe somebody money?” Traci said stepping back and looking around. “Did you ever hear her mention something like that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he said opening a small closet door and peeking inside. “Maybe she came up here to get something. But it’s just a bunch of junk.”
“Milo, it’s too hot,” Traci said tugging at her collar. “Let’s go back downstairs. I understand why she didn’t like it up here. It’s pretty creepy and hard to breathe in this room.”
Back in the kitchen, they each took a paper towel, wiped the sweat from their faces, and fanned themselves with paper plates.
“So weird for it to be empty like this,” Milo said, his eyes tearing up again. “What’s going to happen to this place now?”
“The house and land would go to the next of kin,” Traci said searching for ideas. “Do you know who that is?”
“She didn’t have none. Like me. We was her kin. All of us growers. We was her family.”
“Well, I guess that’s the first thing to check on. I’ll find out what the plans are for the house and farm.”
“She said there was always somebody calling her about Bent Willow. But she never paid them no mind,” Milo said as they walked through a back hallway that led to the front of the house. “Nothing and nobody was going to change her mind. She said that more than once, Miss Traci. I heard it but I don’t know what she meant.”
Traci walked into the massive front room of the house where a breeze carried the scent of heirloom roses through the large open windows. There were tall cherry wood French doors with thick leaded glass that opened to a shady flower garden on the north side of the house. It was full of pale blue hydrangea and tall evergreen shrubs. Moss covered river rocks outlined the path around hostas and lily of the valley. Beyond the treetops was the silver silhouette of Mount PierPoint in the distance.
She could see the imprint on the burgundy and gray pinstriped wallpaper where old gas lights were before they installed modern electric sconces. She looked at each framed photograph arranged neatly on the granite and oak mantle. There was one picture that stood out to her. The larger frame was oval and very ornate. She took it down and examined the faces of the couple in the photo. It was a man and a young-looking Rowena Garrett. But that could not be her, Traci thought. There were horses tied to posts in the background behind them. Plus, the hairstyle and clothing were from a different era. Traci picked up another one in a cheap floral acrylic frame that was a recent photograph of her with a man at her arm. She gently opened the back of the frame and looked at the inscription on the back of the photo.
To Earl and Rowena, Best Wishes for a Happy Future. Keep the music playing. Signed - C. Carter
She put the photo back in the frame and turned to show it to Milo.
“Ms. Simmons.” Officer Wells stood in the middle of the room watching her.
“Oh, hello,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “You scared me.”
“My captain sent me over to secure the building,” he said with his hand resting on the gun holster. “Once the obituary lands in the Sentinel, the rest of the community will know about Ms. Garrett’s death, and that can attract treasure hunters.” He walked closer to her, “We wouldn’t want anyone trying to steal from the estate of the deceased.”
Traci put the photograph back on the mantle.
“Why are you here?” he said.
“I came over to feed her cats.”
“Cats?”
“Yes. Peter, James and John,” she said pleased with herself for remembering that. “She named them after the three Apostles in the Bible.”
“I see,” Officer Wells said and stepped toward the mantle to look at the photographs, “Was Ms. Garrett a religious person?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Traci said. “I just overheard that’s how she named her cats. And how she liked to feed them scraps from the kitchen. And everybody, actually. She fed everybody around here. Not kitchen scraps, of course. That would be stupid, I’m just saying...” She unclenched her fists and wiggled her fingers. Shut up, Traci, she thought.
“You seem to know more about Ms. Garrett than you originally suggested,” Officer Wells said turning to face her. “It’s nice of you to be concerned about the wellbeing of her pets. Where are these cats?”
“Right around here somewhere. Maybe out back.”
She led him slowly through the house to the back door, looking around each corner for Milo. He was gone. Again. Traci pointed toward the cats lounging on the patio that led to the small kitchen garden. They circled her legs when she approached them.
“The orange one is Peter,” s
he said. “He ate one of my birds. Well, technically the bird didn’t belong to me. It was on my property, so I kinda considered it mine. If that makes sense. But I’m not mad about that, not anymore. A cat’s gotta eat, right?” She wanted to steer the conversation away from discussing Rowena Garrett and why she was in the house.
“I see,” Officer Wells said. “I’m advising you to not come around Ms. Garrett’s home anymore. It’s rather isolated and could be dangerous. Also, it is ‘technically’ trespassing.”
She nodded. “You’re right, of course. I’m going to go home now.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
Traci wondered if Milo could see her leaving the house with Officer Wells. He tried to engage in small talk as they strolled along together. She thought it best to keep quiet the entire way home. Nothing she had said so far made any sense at all. So, she just listened while he went on about the weather, how he just installed a deck for a friend, and enjoyed meeting new people as part of his job on the police force.
She tuned it out until he said, “So, what do you like to do on your days off?” He pushed back a tree limb so she could pass under it. “Besides feed your neighbor’s cats.” He smiled.
“Nothing really,” Traci said looking at him. It was a personal question that revealed that she had no personal life. And that was none of his business. She started walking faster. “Work on my house, mostly.” She stepped ahead of him once they reached her backyard. “There’s always that.” She shrugged and picked up her laundry basket. And, without looking at him, she continued up the back steps and into her house.
“Don’t forget to replace that lock on your front door,” he shouted. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Traci watched from her kitchen window as Officer Wells walked away and disappeared down the alley. Once he was out of sight, she went through the dark house to the upstairs bedroom. She pulled back the curtains and opened the window to let the air stream through. She could see a sliver of the moon in the day sky and stepped out onto the roof to her favorite spot while pondering what he was like, this Officer Wells. Was he married, with children, a cheater, a liar? An abuser? She went back inside. Then put her phone on the charger and sat on her bed hugging her knees. She hoped that Milo got away before Officer Wells saw him. Who was the man with Miss Rowena in that picture? Where was it taken? She opened the app and found the R-3 bus schedule. She’d take the 11:40 to City Centre and McClendon Library stop. She had work to do.
Final Harvest Page 4
