Murder by Gravity

by Barbara Graham

  “Where did you pick it up?”

  “Not far from the airfield. He was very particular about his parking. He had breakfast with his son.”

  “And? After the oil change? What did you do then?” Tony watched the play of light on his face.

  The butler’s jaw tensed but he said nothing.

  Tony stared at the butler. “Why not park it where it had been?”

  Anderson blinked once. Only the movement of his eyelids showed he was alive. “I did.”

  “We’d like to talk with Mrs. Cashdollar now.” Tony wasn’t satisfied. The butler’s answers filled in some holes and left others. They followed him through the house to a smaller room than the one they’d met in earlier.

  The lady of the house was polite, but decidedly less friendly than before as she looked up from her magazine. “Anderson?”

  “Madam, you have insistent visitors.”

  “Yes, there is a whole group of us.” Dupont led the way into the room and the three lawmen lined up near the doorway, pulling Anderson inside and closing ranks behind him.

  Tony glanced at their surroundings. It was not the huge, uncomfortable room of their previous visits. This evening they had been shown into a much smaller, lighter, and very feminine room. The walls were covered with pale yellow fabric. Tony wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was silk. The chairs and chaise lounge were clearly antiques, French was his guess. The elegant fireplace was actually the main heater of the space.

  “Yes?” Unlike the room, Mrs. Cashdollar seemed decidedly less welcoming. Cold.

  “We’ve recovered some evidence that your husband was drugged, possibly poisoned, which then led to his death.” Tony thought he’d just drop it out there and see if the wife or the butler jumped. “It seems there was a curious mix of coffee and chemicals in his favorite travel cup. Several prescription sleep medications.”

  The corner of the butler’s lips turned down, and his eyes narrowed. He appeared to be seething. Tony thought he recognized the description of the cup.

  The widow’s face held nothing but disdain.

  “Sir,” the butler addressed Tony. “She asked me to take the car and have the oil changed and to be sure to throw away all of the trash in the car, including the travel cup.”

  Was this the truth, or words spoken in spite or vengeance? Tony waited. Wade would have spoken, but Tony shook his head. He wanted to see what happened next.

  Laura Cashdollar rose to her feet. “It was a jest, a quip, not a serious offer. I was miffed at my husband. It was his favorite cup. He wouldn’t be happy if he lost it.” She strode toward the door only to find neither Wade nor Dupont willing to allow her to pass. She turned to walk toward the fireplace.

  “Ridiculous.” Speaking to her moving back, the butler stayed where he was. “Madam never banters with staff.”

  Tony pulled handcuffs from his jacket pocket. “Mrs. Cash-dollar, I’ll guess you got greedy and needed the body for insurance purposes. You’d have gotten away with his murder for hire if you’d left him up on the mountain. You are under arrest. My prosecutor’s office is turning the whole thing over to the State of North Carolina. You have the right to remain silent.”

  Surprising all of them, she did.

  Tony was delighted to have handed off the whole Cashdollar case and returned to his own state and his own office. He’d be called to North Carolina to testify at the trial, but he expected there to be years of legal mumbo jumbo. Not his problem. On the afternoon after he returned home, his cell phone rang. Dupont.

  “Sheriff, I know you’re dying to know this because I was,” Dupont said.

  “Hello to you too.” Tony leaned back in his chair, positive this call wouldn’t give him more work to do. “What’s up?”

  “You ever wonder why that Land Rover kept moving?”

  “Absolutely.” He did remain curious about the Land Rover’s ever-changing parking situation. “Why couldn’t the vehicle stay in one place?”

  “Our chatty, but not too bright, Mr. Smith has shared with me. Seems the butler put it back where Mr. Cashdollar parked it, but, after she had the butler get the oil change, Mrs. C got nervous. She met Mr. Smith at the car, they moved it, and he shuttled her back and forth and handed over the keys. She did provide, um, a personal service for him before leaving him at his car and driving off. He feels cheated.”

  Tony started laughing, the two men said their goodbyes, and he hung up the receiver.

  Ruth Ann’s voice came through the doorway. “Sheriff, the report is in about the skeletons.”

  Tony lifted his receiver. The phone call came from a Ms. Vera Hunter in the university anthropology department. She got right to the point.

  “We’ve done a cursory examination of your excavation contents. It’s a pretty cut and dry case. All of the bones came from four bodies, nothing extra, not much disturbance or signs of animal activity. Given the bone structure and location of the discovery, we’re going to say runaway slaves. The skulls showed almost all their teeth missing, even the younger ones, and many of those teeth were found along with traces of mercurous chloride in the surrounding soil.” She paused, letting Tony absorb what she was saying. “In short, your people were being treated for cholera, but they died.”

  “Cholera?” Tony shook his head as if refusing to accept such a diagnosis. “Who has cholera in Tennessee?”

  “Had, Sheriff, had. Remember, these people died over a hundred and fifty years ago. Our best guess is they were being treated with calomel, which is where the chemical compound would have come from.”

  Tony fell silent, thinking, condensing her words. “So, you think they were runaway slaves and someone tried to help them, maybe gave them medicine?”

  “For all the good it did, yes.” Ms. Hunter cleared her throat. “If the people helping them didn’t succumb to the disease as well, it was a miracle. In those days cholera medication, if available, was sometimes more harmful than letting the disease run its course. In this case, mercury poisoning.”

  Tony scribbled a note about mercury. “After all these years, should we be concerned about starting another cholera epidemic by digging them up?”

  “No.”

  It sounded like Ms. Hunter must have shuffled her papers directly into her speaker phone.

  “But cholera’s nothing to sneeze at. It still exists on the globe and it can kill within a few hours, so let’s just say if you develop any symptoms, no matter how minor, get checked out by your doctor.”

  “Symptoms, like being dead?” Tony’s stomach protested the sudden inflow of acid.

  Ms. Hunter laughed. “No. Like diarrhea, vomiting, cramps. Don’t worry; it’s a highly unlikely scenario, but if it happens you’ll notice you’re not feeling well. Just don’t ignore it. Early treatment has an almost perfect record.”

  “Wonderful news, doctor. Anything else?”

  “Do you want your bodies back?”

  “Yes. I’m sure our county can arrange to bury those people, in real graves. We don’t know where they came from, but they belong in our county now. I’ll have Cashdollar’s Mortuary contact you.”

  Tony stared unseeingly at the file. These were not the first old skeletons found in the county. Almost any time someone dug a basement or there was a need to dig a trench, they might encounter old bones or ancient possessions. The bones were always reburied in the cemetery. In the rare case where possessions existed, they became the property of the landowner.

  People in the past had simply buried their dead, especially in the far past when disease was rampant, and sometimes they erected no marker. Or a stone or wooden marker had been set once, but years of weather had simply caused them to disappear. Up in the higher hills, and on isolated farms, there might be a family plot, a vaguely organized, moss and lichen covered grouping of stones.

  This family would receive a special reburial, in the local cemetery. The headstone would identify them as four souls known only to God.

  Theo parked the twins with Maybell
e, giving thanks once again for the gentle woman’s assistance. Maybelle was quickly becoming acclimated to Silersville and to Kara and Lizzie. And Theo was delighted to have the assistance.

  It was time for a change of pace. Theo went to pick up Miyoko. They were headed to Knoxville to reclaim Miyoko’s quilt.

  The couple responsible for the theft of the priceless quilt had confessed and had thrown themselves on the mercy of every-one—the court, and Miyoko. Because the quilt was undamaged and the couple so apologetic, Miyoko had agreed that six months of community service would be sufficient punishment for the otherwise law-abiding couple.

  Theo knew they were lucky—the thieves and herself and the quilt’s owner. There had been horrible cases of damaged or quilts stolen and lost forever. Thankfully, this one was not.

  Theo looked forward to her first good night’s sleep in over a week.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Barbara Graham has loved mysteries “forever” and wonders what could be more fun than making up people and killing them off. Legally. She began making up stories in the third grade. Being a “writer” sounds much better than being a “liar” but she considers the two words to be almost interchangeable. Born and mostly raised in the Texas Panhandle, she has lived in Denver, New Orleans, and East Tennessee before moving to Wyoming. Professional mom, ballet teacher, and travel agent are jobs in the past. Her life is filled with family, books, quilts, and a weed-infested garden. Visit her at www.bgmysteries.com