A Distant Murder

by Donna McLean

  Addie snapped, “Will you lay off that guy? We will never find the most likely suspect if you’re determined to prove that poor old man guilty before we even start looking for the real murderer!”

  Pearce Allen placed an elbow upon the table and his chin upon his hand and gazed at her with obvious fondness. “You really liven up this little town, Addie McRae. I’m glad you came to Sparrow Falls. Do you know that your green eyes have pretty golden flecks in them that flash when you’re angry?”

  “They only flash when you’re around!” she retorted. Pearce Allen laughed and Addie changed the subject abruptly. “So who’s next in the notebook?” she asked with pointed finality.

  The young man averted his gaze from Addie’s face and focused on the notes. “Let’s see. After Delcie MacWellsee we have Peggy McAlister and Magda Waltham, now known as Magda Moseley. Miss McAlister never married.”

  “So the trio was hanging out together even then. I assume they were all teenagers at the time?”

  “Yes, I think you’re right about that. Maybe recent graduates of Sparrow Falls High School. I don’t see anything here that made them suspects. Grandpa probably wanted to organize his thoughts by listing every possibility, even the less than likely ones.”

  Pearce Allen perused the notebook silently and then continued, “Let’s see. The next name is that of your grandfather, James McRae. The book says that his alibi checks out because he was playing a game of horseshoes with three men at the time of the murder. So we can safely cross him off our list of suspects.” He smiled at Addie, who gave him a warm smile in return.

  “The next page just says, ‘mysterious stranger?’ with a question mark, followed by ‘probably Van Devlin’. So Grandpa had the same suspicions we have now about that rumor.”

  Addie murmured in agreement.

  Silence fell between them. Pearce Allen picked up a pencil and repeatedly bounced it, eraser end down, against the pine slab. From time to time the young man bent his head over the paperwork and Addie followed, both working together in comfortable silence. Finally Pearce Allen pushed the pile toward Addie as though quietly signaling that he was finished with the chore. Addie obstinately continued sifting through the remaining papers and photos on the table, pausing every so often to peer closely at something and then put it down with an aggrieved sigh.

  At last she said, “I think we’ve extracted everything we can get from the secret file, unless there’s a cryptic code that we haven’t stumbled upon yet.”

  Pearce Allen grinned and shook his head. “No, I’ve studied everything in detail over the years since finding the notes. Haven’t stumbled upon a cryptic code yet, I’m afraid.” His tone became serious. “Listen, Addie, I know you don’t want to hear this, but it really does look as though Grandpa believed Van Devlin did it, although apparently he never had any real proof. At least not enough proof to charge someone with the crime.”

  The young woman ran nervous fingers through her long strawberry blond locks. She frowned. She replied to the statement with a touch of stubbornness in her voice. “If he had no proof it may have only been a suspicion or even a hunch. That means there’s still the possibility that someone else committed the crime. We just don’t see it yet. Maybe he never saw it, either.”

  A slight breeze stirred the muggy air and Addie noticed that the light had changed from bright midday sun to the creeping shadows of late afternoon. The muggy heat was becoming oppressive within the confines of the little room and the breeze had long since ceased. Discouragement began to steal over her.

  “I don’t know what we’re doing, Pearce Allen. How can we read the minds of people who died decades ago?” She picked up the notebook and fanned the pages. “Why should we even try? It won’t change anything. It won’t bring my grandmother back. I never even knew her.”

  “I knew my Grandfather very well. And it will change things, for his memory, and for my family, here and now.” The sharp tone had returned to his voice, and the blue eyes glinted hard in the fading light.

  The nagging sense of unease returned, filling Addie’s mind with doubt. She shifted uncomfortably in the chair and stood up. “I guess I’d better be going,” she stammered awkwardly.

  Pearce Allen gathered the papers and stuck everything back into the accordion file. He wound the ribbon around the button slowly, thoughtfully. Then he stuck the file under his arm and said, “Let me walk you to the car.”

  They walked out of the old house together. He turned to lock the door and said, without looking at her, “I’m sorry, Addie. Sometimes it just gets to me. Living in this little town with all these rumors that I know in my heart can’t be true. Not about my grandfather. He was a decent, caring man. He was the most honest man I ever knew. It gets to me sometimes.”

  They walked down the stone steps together, slowly. Addie saw her little blue car and remembered the thoughts that had run through her mind upon arriving at the old Simms place only a few hours before. The pang of sympathy sounded again within her heart.

  Pearce Allen opened the car door for her and she slid under the steering wheel. Addie looked up at him, shielding her eyes against the lowering sun, and said, “Our grandfathers were good friends, and I think you’re right about both of them. They couldn’t have hurt Ada, either one of them. We will get to the truth about this thing together, Pearce Allen. I’m sure we will!”

  She warmed to the charming grin that appeared on his handsome face. His blue eyes lit up in the way that was becoming so endearing to her. “Yes, ma’am, I believe that too. We will get to the truth, together.”

  She drove away, glancing back in the rearview mirror one last time and lifting a cheery hand to return the wave of the handsome young man who, she finally admitted to herself, was slowly stealing her heart.

  thirteen

  It was early on a summer’s evening, just after seven o’clock, that time of day when the light was beginning to change in a barely discernable way, signaling the approach of nightfall. There was still enough sunlight to make turning on the lights in Tilda’s house unnecessary and the window curtains were still open. They moved a little in the gentle breeze that blew through the open window.

  The young writer shut the door behind her. “It’s me, Tilda!” Addie had taken to calling out the lady’s name every time she walked into the house so as not to take her by surprise. She paused just inside the front door, waiting for an answering call, but when none came she continued on into the living room and dropped her plump shoulder bag onto the overstuffed sofa. “Must still be visiting the shut-ins with the other ladies,” Addie mumbled to herself.

  Suddenly she stopped walking and listened hard. Where was Puddin’? The little terrier always barked ferociously when someone set foot upon the front porch. She heard something coming from the direction of the back of the house, a faint scratching noise, barely audible.

  Addie lifted the cell phone out of her purse with her left hand and clutched it tightly in case she needed to make an emergency phone call. Then she used her right hand to pick up the heaviest thing she could spot on short notice, which happened to be an awkwardly sculpted bookend that was supposed to resemble Robert E. Lee but failed miserably. Its hefty weight soothed her nerves and she walked stealthily across the room and toward the unnerving sound.

  She approached the kitchen’s entrance with quiet footsteps and hesitated, scanning the room. Nothing moved except the yellow and white gingham café curtains stirring against the summer breeze.

  The faint scratching noise stopped abruptly and was replaced with the sound of snuffling. A few seconds later the little dog’s sharp yap broke the silence and the scratching began again in earnest.

  Addie exhaled in relief. Puddin’ had accidently been shut inside the screened back porch. The young woman hurried to the wooden entrance door and opened it to let him come into the kitchen. He jumped against her legs, his stubby tail wagging fast and furious.

  “Puddin’! How did you manage to get closed up on the porch like that?
” The terrier responded to the young woman by hopping joyfully on his hind legs. Addie crouched down and scratched the top of his head with her fingers. “Did Tilda forget you were out there? Did she shut you in by mistake? You poor little doggie. Poor little boy. Out on that hot porch all afternoon. You’re a good boy. Yes you are! Let’s get you some water. Some nice, cold water. You must be thirsty in this heat.”

  She filled his water dish at the sink and placed it on the floor. Puddin’ ran to it eagerly and lapped the cool water. “I’ll get some food for you, too,” Addie remarked. She walked to the cabinet, poured some dry food into the pup’s dish, patted his head affectionately, and then turned to carry the bag of dry dog food bag back to the cupboard. Satisfied that he was comfortably fed and watered, the young woman walked back into the living room and realized that the setting sun had now bathed the room in encroaching shadows. She reached out to turn on a lamp.

  She glanced down at the telephone and saw that a piece of paper was sticking out from under it, one corner dangling off the table. “Looks like Tilda left me a note,” Addie said aloud, and at the sound of her voice Puddin’ came trotting happily into the living room to join her.

  She held the note out for Puddin’s inspection and then read it to him in a very serious tone of voice. “Pearce Allen wants you to meet him at the lake tonight at 7:30.” She grinned and said, “Not you, Puddin’! Me!” Then Addie frowned, pursed her lips and reviewed the note again, thoughtfully. “Pearce Allen wants to meet me at the lake tonight? That’s odd. I wonder why he didn’t mention it earlier? I just left him a few minutes ago.”

  Puddin’ looked at her earnestly but was unable to provide an answer.

  Addie laughed at his intense expression and then shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he discovered something important and is dying to tell me right away!”

  She picked up her shoulder bag but immediately dropped it back onto the sofa. “I don’t feel like carrying that heavy thing just to go to the lake.” She crinkled the note and absentmindedly shoved it into her jeans pocket, followed by her driver’s license, and clipped the cell phone to a denim belt loop. Addie McRae grabbed the car keys and waved affectionately to the tiny dog as she walked out the door.

  The night birds were first beginning to sing when Addie arrived at Ambrose Lake. It was not yet dark but the moon hung low in the sky, just beginning its arcing rise and emitting a faint light against the fading day. Lightening bugs sparked against the backdrop of the growing dusk and an owl called faintly from across the lake. Here and there the stillness was broken by the sudden splash of a fish hitting the surface of the water to catch bugs.

  Addie felt a sharp sting on her arm and gave a mosquito an angry slap. “Pearce Allen Simms, why in the world did you want to meet at this place, at this time of night? It’s like a tropical jungle out here!” Another insect buzzed around her head and she waved it away in frustration. “He probably thinks it’s romantic,” she muttered.

  Ten minutes later she was still waiting at the edge of the lake and growing impatient and angry. There was light enough to see by, but the rose and lavender hued sunset was fading quickly and clusters of clouds scudding across the sky made it unlikely that there would be much light from the slender crescent moon. Addie regretted not bringing a flashlight.

  She scanned the sides of the lake all the way around. “I’m waiting two more minutes and then I’m out of here!” she said out loud and with vehemence. Addie was on the verge of leaving when she spied a tall, lanky figure in the distance, walking quickly toward the water.

  “Finally! Wait until he gets here. I’m really going to give him a piece of my mind!” She crossed her arms against her chest, shooing off another flying pest, and looked toward the man again.

  There was no one on the lake’s perimeter but Addie.

  She felt a sudden chill in the night air. For the first time she thought about the note Tilda had left for her and wondered exactly when Pearce Allen had called. It couldn’t have been that afternoon because they’d spent all that time together, going over his grandfather’s secret file. Tilda had probably left the house long before Addie had left the old Garnett Simms place, so when could Pearce Allen have spoken with the spunky lady?

  Addie frowned and tried to reason it through. She was certain that Tilda had said she would be leaving to visit the shut-ins around four o’clock and return sometime after seven, following the Ladies’ Sunday School meeting. Addie had left Pearce Allen’s place around six thirty. Tilda would not have been home to answer the phone during the time Addie was absent.

  And Puddin’ had been stuck on the screen porch all afternoon. That was odd, too.

  A sudden cry broke into her thoughts. It jarred the serenity of the dusk and was followed by an abrupt splash. Someone had fallen into Ambrose Lake!

  A voice sounded over the water. “Help! Can’t swim!” It was followed by the noise of someone splashing around in a panic. “Help!”

  She instantly thought of Pearce Allen Simms and Addie’s heart leapt into her throat. Her hand went to her cell phone and she hit 911 and yelled into the phone as she ran toward the floundering figure. “I’m at Ambrose Lake. Someone’s drowning!”

  The voice on the phone sounded calm but urgent. “We’re sending help right now. Stay on the line. Can you see the person?”

  Addie stopped at the lake’s edge and peered through the gathering darkness, craning to see if it was really Pearce Allen who bobbed and splashed in the water. “I can see someone treading water but he’s having trouble staying afloat.” She kicked off her shoes and placed the cell phone on a large rock next to the lake as she prepared to dive in. “The phone is turned on so you can track it. I’m going in!” she shouted to the emergency operator.

  Before she could jump into the murky lake water, Addie felt sharp pain crashing into the back of her head and everything went dark around her. She crumpled to the ground.

  The throbbing in her skull made it painful to open her eyes. She barely squinted through half closed lids and saw the thin curve of a crescent moon peering at her from behind a black cloud. She realized that night had fallen and it seemed to her that it had grown very late. Addie thought that she was laying face up on the grass and it seemed that a bright light streamed across her, like the illumination from the headlights of a car.

  Someone was bending over her, a face she didn’t recognize. She noticed the EMT insignia on the white shirt and closed her eyes again, wishing the painful throbbing would cease.

  There were more sounds than before, a whirling kaleidoscope of sounds that drowned out the croaking frogs and the murmur of breezes and the simple music of the bob white. Addie could hear people moving all around her, walking, hurrying, calling to each other or talking in urgent whispers.

  Something was buzzing right next to her ear. She thought it must be a mosquito but it was much too loud, and then she realized it was the sound of an engine whirring nearby, a loud noise created by a large vehicle, like a fire truck or an ambulance.

  A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Immediately the stranger touched her hand and she forced her eyes to open. The man said, his voice urgent, “Miss, we’re right here. We’re going to help you now. Can you hear me?”

  She tried to nod but something seemed to thud painfully against her brain. She whispered, “Yes” and squeezed her eyelids together, tightly.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Addie,” she said, wincing. Her head throbbed with the slightest movement. Her throat was dry. “McRae.”

  “Looks like you’ve got a bad bump on the head, Addie McRae. Lie still. Don’t try to move.” More voices asked her questions but she didn’t respond. She wished they would go away. She wished the pain would cease. She wondered if Pearce Allen were still waiting for her.

  She wondered . . .

  Her eyes opened suddenly and she groaned, almost sobbed. “He’s in the lake! I can’t reach him! I can’t reach him!”

  A hand grabbed hers and she clutc
hed it tightly, her fingers digging into skin. The EMT said, “It’s okay, Miss Addie. Everything is fine. Everything will be okay.” He turned his head and called to someone over his shoulder.

  A tear slipped out of the corner of Addie’s eye. She glanced to the side, wincing painfully, and saw Tilda’s kind face approaching her. A policeman peered at Addie over the spritely lady’s shoulder.

  “Tilda! Tilda,” the young woman cried. “Pearce Allen is in the lake!”

  “No, no, dear, it’s not Pearce Allen. He’s standing right over there next to that big old oak tree.” She took Addie’s hand from the EMT and held it gently.

  Addie McRae visibly relaxed. The pain still played across her face but the fear had vanished. She whispered, “Who was in the lake?”

  Tilda answered, “It was Frank. Frank Dowd.” She patted the young woman’s shoulder but did not let go of her hand.

  The policeman spoke up in a low voice. “Miss MacArdan. Why did she say it was Pearce Allen?”

  Tilda looked at him in surprise. “Why, I don’t know.” She studied Addie’s face curiously. “Addie, dear, why did you think it was Pearce Allen?”

  Addie swallowed hard. The pain made it difficult to concentrate and there were so many questions. People asking questions, and more questions running through her mind, but she couldn’t keep up with the racing thoughts, couldn’t form any answers.

  She said, “The note. You left it on the table.”

  Officer Campbell shot Tilda a questioning glance.

  She frowned at him and shook her head, baffled. “The note, Addie? What kind of a note?”

  The young woman lifted an arm. It felt heavy, a weight that was difficult to move. She stuck her fingers into the pocket of her jeans and grasped the crinkled piece of paper.