by Donna McLean
A carved column surrounded by a budding vine caught Tilda’s eye. She wandered toward it, bending to look at the flowers in planters along the way. It was not quite dusk yet, and there was still sunlight to see the pretty garden and the lovely statuary.
Suddenly she spotted someone who seemed familiar, someone standing close to the front of the restaurant. The sun was low in the sky. It was striking behind the restaurant that Tilda was facing and making it harder to see, but she was certain that the man was none other than the Yankee stranger with the closely cropped beard. He was wearing a dark green polo shirt, a baseball cap and blue jeans. At first, he appeared to be leaving the restaurant. Then Tilda realized that he was waving at someone in the parking lot she had just left.
She tiptoed forward, curious, and peered out from behind a statue. The stranger had stopped walking and was now conversing with someone who was exactly the same height and hair color, wearing a summer blazer and a tam cap. Try as she might, Ms. MacArdan could not get a good look at the profile, but she thought, with a thrill, that she was finally going to meet the twins. To her disappointment, the pair started walking at a fast pace and disappeared behind a stone wall.
Tilda hurried toward them. The man in the tam cap suddenly stepped out from behind the wall and almost bumped into Tilda MacArdan!
“Watch it, lady!” The man brushed the shoulder of the blazer and glared at her.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” Tilda stammered. She glanced behind him and noticed, to her disappointment, a crowd of people vanishing into the dimly lit restaurant.
He started to go around her but she said sweetly, “Oh, you are one of the McGrady boys, aren’t you? I’m Tilda MacArdan, and Mr. McGrady is a good friend of mine.”
The man stared at her, startled. He scratched the bottom of the beard with a thumb. “Yeah, I am. How did you know that? I haven’t met many people around here.”
“Oh, word gets around a small place like Sparrow Falls. You’re probably not used to that, are you? Being from up north and all. You are from up north, aren’t you?”
The man’s eyes darted around the garden and his feet danced impatiently, as though he didn’t have time to get into his life story with some nosy old woman. “Yeah, New York City. Gotta go, left something in my car.”
“Nice meeting you!” Tilda called after him, but he scurried away without a word.
The spry little lady turned back to the garden with a dejected sigh. She still had not met the twins! At least, she thought, one twin is inside that restaurant right now. Maybe she could meet that one, if she spotted him near her table and made up some excuse to introduce herself—
Tilda’s plans changed abruptly when a sudden sound exploded in the peaceful air right behind her. She turned around and gasped. She could clearly see that a bullet had ripped through the back of the lightweight blazer, and the man wearing it had fallen down dead in the parking lot.
SEVEN
Officer Douglas Winton Campbell removed his cap, scratched his blond curls, and cast a skeptical eye toward Tilda MacArdan.
“You say you saw the other man, this one’s identical twin, go inside that restaurant right before the shot was fired?”
“Yes, sir, he must have gone inside with that crowd of people who were going in the door! I’m certain of it!” She glared at him in defiance.
The officer said, “The shot came from somewhere near the parking lot opposite the restaurant. One shot. Through the heart, dead center.”
They were standing at the edge of the parking lot surrounded by policemen, the EMT crew, and a crime scene photographer who seemed to be taking hundreds of photos in the growing dusk.
“Then someone else must have done it. The twin was inside the restaurant!”
Campbell sighed for the tenth time. “Ms. Tilda, we have checked and checked. Even went over the surveillance footage from the closed circuit cameras. No one who looked like this man ever entered that restaurant tonight!” He pointed toward the body still lying where it had fallen, a white sheet stretched over it.
Tilda crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and refused to say another word.
A young policeman spoke to the officer in low tones. Campbell bent his head to listen, then rubbed his eyes with one hand as though the stress was getting to him.
“Okay, Charlie, thanks for checking that out.” He turned toward Ms. Tilda. “Ma’am, there is another entrance that the twin could have used, around the side there. It is only for employees. Could he have gone that way?”
Tilda shook her head stubbornly. “No sir, he could not! I saw a bit of a green shirt disappear right inside the restaurant, right through that door! A whole crowd of people were around him! I know what I saw!”
Dane Donovan placed a hand upon Tilda’s shoulder. “Surely, Officer, if the twin was there, he is long gone by now. May I take Ms. MacArdan home? She very nearly witnessed a terribly traumatic event.”
“Yes, I think that is a good idea.”
Tilda opened her mouth to protest, but Addie shook her head. “Now, Tilda, there is nothing more you can do here. You gave the police your statement. Officer Campbell can contact you at any time if he needs more information. Right, Officer Campbell?”
The policeman tried to form a polite smile, which resulted in something that looked more like a grimace. “Yes, Addie, that is correct,” he said through terse lips.
Tilda placed both hands on her hips and tilted her head back to stare up at the tall man. “I think there is more going on here than a simple shooting. Why, that twin could not have done it, not if he were already inside the restaurant, and I know he was already inside the restaurant! And another thing. There’s no motive. They appeared to be getting along just fine. Just fine! They were not arguing or—”
Officer Campbell clasped both hands behind his back, stared straight ahead and stated the facts. “You saw them exchange a few words but you were too far away to hear what was said.”
“Yes, Douglas, that is right, but they didn’t look angry or upset or anything like that at all! They were not fighting. They seemed right friendly! Now I just do not believe that led to a shooting all of a sudden like—”
“I appreciate your help, Ms. Tilda, I really do. But we won’t know anything until we find that twin and question him. They may have appeared to be friendly but perhaps there was longstanding animosity between them. Maybe one twin wanted all the McGrady money for himself. Maybe they were fighting over a woman—”
Tilda MacArdan tilted her head to one side and gazed at him with admiration. “Douglas Winton, you are such a romantic! And you’ve got a good imagination, too. Just like when you were a little boy. Your mama always said that you had a creative streak and that you could have been an artist or an actor or a writer or some such thing.”
The officer’s handsome face turned red. He did not say a word.
Addie took Tilda’s arm and led her away from the crime scene, much to the officer’s relief.
The mood on the return trip was decidedly different. Addie and Dane tried to keep a light conversation going, but Tilda remained silent except for a few polite comments uttered here and there. It was obvious that she was replaying the evening’s events in her mind, going over every detail again and again. Addie wondered if Tilda had told the police everything, and made up her mind to question the little lady just as soon as they were alone. And there was something she had to discuss with Tilda, too, the pretty strawberry blond silently mused.
* * *
The doorbell rang bright and early the next morning, but Tilda MacArdan had already been out of bed, dressed, and repotted a few scraggly root bound plants before company arrived.
Puddin’ barked and ran in circles all the way to the door. Tilda peered out, and opened the door with an exclamation of delight.
“Pearce Allen Simms! You get yourself in this house and have a seat. Wait a minute, let me hug you first.”
He grinned, his blue eyes lighting up and the dimple in his cheek deep
ening.
“What brings you here today? Addie?” Tilda’s eyes were shining with hope.
The handsome editor with the golden brown hair shook his head in dejection. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m on a story, and you’re my main source!”
“Oh, the murder. Of course.” Tilda led him to an overstuffed chintz chair and said, “Have a seat while I get you some coffee and homemade apple caramel muffins, or do you want something else?”
Pearce Allen laughed. “None for me, thanks, Ms. Tilda. I really can’t stay long. Have to go to press fast on this one.”
The spry lady nodded and sat down on the sofa. She fastened her innocent, hazel green eyes on the young man’s face. “What do you know already? No need for me to repeat any information you’ve got . . .”
“Now Ms. Tilda, are you trying to scoop me?” Pearce Allen teased.
She tossed a hand in the air and laughed. “No, no, but I am being a little bit nosy, I reckon.” She gave him a rueful smile.
“I doubt that there is any new information at this point. You probably already know what I’m going to write.”
“Basil Falters is dead, or is it his brother? I assume he was the twin that was killed, and that it wasn’t the other one? They sure did look exactly alike.”
Pearce Allen nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He had a driver’s license on him.”
“And the police are looking for the other twin just for questioning, that’s the way they usually put it.”
Again, the young man nodded. “They aren’t calling him a suspect yet. For all they know, it may have been a random shooting or an attempted robbery.”
“But his wallet and money were still on him, weren’t they? You said he had a driver’s license and most men carry that in their wallets.”
“Yes. The police still have to proceed as though robbery is an option, only because no one saw what happened. No vehicles leaving the scene of the crime, no one running the other way, nothing.”
Tilda tilted her head and tapped a finger against her chin. “Now that is interesting,” she mused.
The young man’s blue eyes twinkled. “All right, Ms. Tilda, now I’ve told you all I know. What do you know?”
“You mean for a newspaper story?” Tilda seemed a little flustered. She leaned forward on the sofa.
“I only want an unofficial statement, that is, a few words, about what you saw, since you were on the scene at the time it happened.”
She leaned back on the cushions and relaxed. “Oh. Well, you know, I really did not see very much. The twins were talking to each other. Then they started toward the restaurant. Well, I wanted to meet them! The McGrady twins, turning up after all these years! So I hurried up, trying to catch up with them, you know, and get a good look at them for myself. Well, you don’t have to put all that in the paper, Pearce Allen, about me running after them!” She paused with an anxious look on her face.
He grinned. “No ma’am, I won’t put it that way. You saw the twins walking toward the restaurant, and then one twin turned around and went toward the parking lot, while the other twin went into the building?”
“Yes, that is right. That is exactly right!”
“Got it. Now, what happened next?”
“Well, I’m ashamed to say it, but I was walking so fast, trying to catch up with them, that I ran right smack into the twin in the gray blazer! And he was very rude. I introduced myself to him but he kept right on walking, like he was in a big hurry. Yankees always are, aren’t they?”
“Seems that way. And then?”
“Well, then I looked toward the restaurant and I caught a glimpse of a green shirt heading for the building. There was a big crowd of people all around him, but it looked like the same shade of green so it must have been him. And then, all of a sudden like, I heard a loud bang! It was a gunshot! Sounded like it was right behind me! Scared the living daylights out of me.”
Pearce Allen’s pencil scratched the notepad. He paused, the pencil dangling in the air. “Addie with you when it happened?” he asked, trying to appear unconcerned.
Tilda’s mind raced. She didn’t want to lie but saw no need to mention Dane’s presence, if she could avoid it! “Yes, but Addie was in the garden so she wasn’t anywhere near the shooting.”
The relief that crossed Pearce Allen’s face warmed Tilda’s heart.
He nodded, closed the notebook and stood up. “Well, thank you, Ms. Tilda. I’ll be sure to keep my article succinct where your involvement is concerned. No mention of you chasing young men around a fancy restaurant,” he teased.
Tilda laughed. “Bless your heart!”
He grinned back at her as he opened the front door, almost bowling over the strawberry blond who was about to step inside the house.
Addie gasped and stared at the young man, shocked.
Pearce Allen gasped and stared at the young woman, surprised.
No one said a word.
Tilda waited, holding her breath, as though by doing this little thing she could will the former couple back into each others’ arms.
Pearce Allen tried to step aside, but Addie accidently moved in the same direction at the same time.
“I, uh,” Pearce Allen stammered.
Addie bit her lip.
Pearce Allen suddenly bolted past her and fled down the porch steps.
Addie walked past Tilda and slumped down on the sofa. She bent her head and covered both eyes with her hands.
Ms. MacArdan carefully sat down next to her, and waited.
After a few minutes Addie rubbed her eyes and looked up. She gave Tilda a brave smile. “It’s okay, Ms. Tilda. I was just caught off guard, that’s all. Kind of a shock seeing him here after all this time, you know, where I used to see him a lot.”
“Yes, dear, I understand.”
“Why was he here, anyway?”
“A story for the newspaper. About the murder last night.”
The anxiety vanished from Addie’s face. She nodded. “Oh, okay. That makes sense.” She cleared her throat, and her voice underwent a subtle change, a more serious tone. “Ms. Tilda, Officer Campbell called me a few minutes ago. He wanted me to bring you down to the station, right away.”
Tilda’s eyes lit up. “Maybe there’s been a new development! I’ll fetch my purse and we will go right now.” The spry little lady jumped up from the chair and scurried away.
Addie watched her, a concerned expression crossing her pretty face.
A few minutes later they entered Officer Campbell’s office at the police station. He rose from his chair, offered the ladies some coffee, and sat down when they politely refused.
Tilda MacArdan plopped her purse on top of the policeman’s desk and leaned forward on the chair, her eyes eager. “Well, what has happened?”
He frowned and cast a furtive glance in Addie’s direction, then back at Tilda. “What makes you think something has happened?”
“Why else would you have Addie bring me all the way down here?” the little lady demanded.
Officer Campbell used a pencil to push Tilda’s purse to one side. It was blocking his view.
He leaned forward and said, “Mr. McGrady took ill after you left his house the other day.”
“Yes, he did, bless his heart. Hannah told me that he had taken a turn for the worse.”
“When did she tell you that?”
Tilda thought about it. “Well, let me see. I was over there on Wednesday. And the next day we went to water the flower bed on Main Street, you know the one that the Ladies Garden Club planted last fall, and then Addie asked me to go out to eat with her and Dane Donovan that very same night! I tell you what, I had to get on home and change clothes in a hurry, having been out there weeding and watering and—”
“When, Ms. Tilda. When did Hannah tell you that Mr. McGrady had fallen ill?”
Something in Campbell’s tone of voice made Tilda stop cold. She hesitated and replied, “I believe it must have been, now let me think. Yes, it was! It was right after I got to
the flower bed. Addie wasn’t there yet, and Hannah just happened to be stopping at the pharmacy for a minute, and she saw me and walked on over to tell me that Mr. McGrady was doing poorly. I told her that was odd, because he had been just fine when I was there the day before!”
“When you took McGrady a pie?” Campbell’s tone was flat, his expression inscrutable, but Tilda MacArdan suddenly felt that her cooking was being insulted!
She leapt to her feet and put both hands on her hips. “Douglas Winton Campbell! Are you saying that my homemade blueberry pie made Mr. McGrady sick? Is that what you are saying?”
“No ma’am, I am not. The pie didn’t make McGrady sick.” He studied her face closely. “It was the arsenic.”
EIGHT
Stunned silence greeted this remark. Addie and Tilda stared at the officer who stared back at them.
“Can you explain that?” Officer Campbell asked, his voice calm, his demeanor intense.
Tilda’s hand flew to her cheek. She sat down on the chair. “I am just flabbergasted! No, no, I cannot explain that, Douglas! Arsenic, in my homemade blueberry pie? Who in the world would do such a terrible thing, Douglas Winton? Who?”
“At this point in time I haven’t a clue,” he replied.
“Oh my goodness. Poor Mr. McGrady! How is he doing now?”
Addie leaned over and patted the little lady’s hand. “He’s okay, Ms. Tilda. He’s at the hospital, and a policeman is stationed outside his room.”
“Which is supposed to be a secret, Addie,” Campbell said, glaring. “I reminded you of that this morning before I asked you to bring Ms. Tilda here.”
“And I did keep it a secret, until just now! Can’t you see how upset she is? Of course she didn’t try to poison Mr. McGrady!”
“No, I did not! And it makes me right mad!” Tilda said angrily.
“What does?” Campbell asked.
“Somebody tried to use my homemade blueberry pie as a murder weapon!” The little lady brought her fist down on the top of the desk with a loud bang. Her hazel green eyes flashed fire.
