by Abigail Keam
“Hello,” I announced, opening the breakfast room’s door.
“Darling,” cooed Lady Elsmere, aka June Webster from Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky. “When did you get back?”
I kissed her cheek. “Yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you let anyone know you were coming home?” she asked, while eying Baby who had lain down in front of the doorway, as was his nature to do.
“It was sort of a last-minute thing.”
June gave me the once-over, but decided her questioning could wait. “Josiah, this is my childhood friend, Ethel Bradley. We went to school together.”
I reached forward to shake hands with Ethel who returned my smile.
“Such warm hands,” she commented after releasing mine.
“Thank you.” I didn’t mention that her’s were frigid. Pouring myself some hot tea, I laced it with my honey from the honey pot and buttered some toast. Oh, there was jam too. My toast needed some jam as well. Any possibility of eggs? Maybe? Two breakfasts in one morning! Things were looking up.
Lady Elsmere asked, “Josiah, don’t you ever eat breakfast at home?”
“I squeeze a grapefruit now and then.” Why tell her the truth?
Just then there was a loud crash and commotion coming from the formal dining room.
“What now?” cried Lady Elsmere, exasperated. “Is that bloody wedding breakfast still going on?” She gave me an evil look. “I don’t know how I was ever talked into renting my house. What will my friends think when they hear of it?”
“The same thing they said when you started giving tours of your farm.”
“And what was that, Josiah?”
“That you’re an astute business woman.” I took a bite of toast. “Besides, it’s for a good cause. Me.”
“Hmmm. That so? I just hope they haven’t broken something precious. Anyway, I’ll deal with that later. It’s portentous that you are here, Josiah,” announced Lady Elsmere.
“Why’s that?” I asked before biting again into my jam-slathered toast.
“Ethel has been concerned lately. Frankly I told her to hire a detective, but now that you are here . . .”
“Whoa there. I just got back from New York yesterday. I’m in no shape to go gallivanting around the countryside. No offense, Miss Ethel.”
“Just listen to Ethel. Perhaps you can give some advice on how to handle the matter.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry about that. Yes, indeed. Miss Ethel, what seems to be the problem?”
Miss Ethel looked at me with watery blue eyes and although they seemed worn out, they conveyed a certain warmth . . . a kindness that some people possess. But then everything about Miss Ethel seemed worn out, from her frayed dress to her thinning blue-gray hair. While June was the same age, she still possessed a certain regalness while Miss Ethel looked liked an overly wrinkled prune – but a sweet prune.
Miss Ethel gave a shy look at June before turning to me. “Well, if you think so, June,” she replied before collecting her thoughts on her problem.
After a moment of silence, I prodded, “Miss Ethel?”
“It’s hard to put into words,” she blurted. “So strange. So strange.”
“Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?” I encouraged.
“Quite so. Yes. The beginning.” She looked up at the ceiling. “The beginning.”
“Just tell her what you told me, Ethel,” urged Lady Elsmere.
Ethel fixed her weak blue eyes on me and began. “I hope you don’t think that I’m daffy because I’m not, but I think someone is trying to kill me.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked.
“Bizarre things have been happening. Things that have never happened before. Like this week, I had a car accident. I’ve never had an accident before in my life.”
“You still drive?” I asked.
“Oh yes, or I would have no transportation, but my nephew, Jubal, sometimes drives me.”
“I see. What makes you think this accident was questionable? Everyone has an accident sooner or later, no matter how good a driver she may be.”
“My brakes went out, you see. Just plum out. I was lucky that I could safely coast into an old tobacco field.”
“Unhuh,” I murmured.
“The mechanic said the brake line looked like it had been cut!” Ethel scooted back triumphally in her chair. “See.” She gave a curt nod.
Ethel now had my attention. “Anything before that?”
“Two things. I love apple cider and always purchase it from a local orchard. Now I have bought cider from this particular orchard for years and never had any problem. That same week, I took a drink out of a new bottle and got very ill. I had the worst stomach cramps.”
“Was the bottle’s seal intact?”
“I don’t remember if it was or not.”
“Did you complain to the orchard?”
“I called them and they said that the cider was made from a large batch and no one else had called about a problem. Only me.”
“Did you have the cider tested?’
“My house cleaner poured it out, unintentionally of course. She just thought it was a bad batch.”
“Anything else?”
“I would swear on the Bible that someone went through my house.”
“Searched it?”
“Yes, my drawers looked different. I’m very neat, Mrs. Reynolds, and my drawers looked different.” Ethel smiled. “Then the little knick-knacks in my curio seemed like they had been moved. Nothing big, just little things caught my eye.”
“And when did this happen?”
“After I went to church on Sunday morning.”
“When did the car accident occur?”
“Monday morning.”
“Where do you live?”
“Outside Perryville in my husband’s family home. We have . . . I mean I have about forty-five acres which I lease out. That provides a little extra income for me.”
“How close are your neighbors?”
“Not too far around the bend in the road, but they wouldn’t be able to see anything. Besides, the house sits back off the road.”
“Do you have good relations with your neighbors?”
“Oh yes, for years. I don’t think they have anything to do with this.”
“Why is that?”
“Just something I feel . . . intuition.”
“Do you have any home security systems in place?”
“No, but I have good sound locks.”
“Did you find any doors or windows unlocked during those two days?”
“That’s the strange thing. The house was locked up tight.”
“Do you have an extra key under the mat or does anyone else have a key to the house?”
“Oooh, I would never leave an extra key under the flower pot. No. No. I do have an extra key, but it was in my car, which I had with me.”
“Did you check to see if the key was still there?”
“I checked. It was there and no one else has a key to my house. No one.”
“Not even the bank, close friend or a relative?”
“No one.”
I thought for a moment. “Does anyone know of the second key’s existence or could someone have stolen your main key and had a copy made?”
“I don’t think so. No one knows of the second key as it is in the passenger seat where the fabric has torn a little bit. It’s my little secret.”
“What about friends or this Jubal getting the main key out of your handbag?”
Ethel gave a flustered sigh. “I just don’t see that. I really don’t.”
“Where do you keep your handbag when you are home?”
Ethel gave Lady Elsmere a bewildered look.
“I told you Josiah would be thorough. If you want to find out what’s happening, you have to go through the process of elimination, dear,” coaxed Lady Elsmere. “Trust her. Josiah’s smart. She’s good at puzzles.”
“I always keep my handbag on the kitchen table
. I go out the back door to get into my car. The front door is always locked.”
“I have a few more questions . . . if you will allow me.”
“Go ahead, dear.”
“Is there a separate key for the back door?”
“The key works on both locks.”
“I see. Who was in your house before all this started happening?”
Ethel thought for a moment. “Well, my housekeeper. She comes once a week, but she has worked for me over fifteen years and is honest as the day is long. Then Jubal, that’s my nephew, comes over often to check on me. He was there the week before I started noticing things.”
“So two people. That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“No window washers or gas men? No deliveries?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere. Was there anything different that you did that week, something out of character for you? Did you bump into someone in the grocery store you hadn’t seen in a long time, or someone coming to the door asking questions? Anything different in your routine?”
“No, nothing.” Ethel thought hard for a moment. “Well, the only thing that was different was that I asked Jubal to buy a lottery ticket for me. I didn’t feel well that day, so he went.”
My heart started beating faster. “Tell me about this.”
“I know this sounds silly, but every week I buy a lottery ticket with my late husband and son’s birthdays as the numbers. It is my way of honoring them. My husband died in a farming accident. The tractor turned over on him. And then my son died in Vietnam. Both silly tragedies.” Her wrinkled cheeks became flushed as she looked at Lady Elsmere for support.
“It’s not that I expect to win or that I even need the money. After all, I have my social security and my husband’s pension. But I thought that if I did, I would give the money away to worthwhile causes in their names. It was my little way of honoring their lives, you see.”
Lady Elsmere reached over and clasped her friend’s hand. “That is a lovely sentiment, Ethel. Just lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“Did Jubal give you the ticket?”
“Of course.”
“Did you win?”
Ethel gave a bitter little laugh. “No, I never win.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, dear, I checked the paper on Sunday. I didn’t win.”
“What did you do with the ticket?”
“I always keep the tickets in my Bible to use as bookmarks.”
“Does Jubal know where you keep the tickets? The housekeeper?”
“Yes to both.”
“Was your Bible at home during the times that you thought someone was searching?”
Ethel’s face seemed to come alive. “Now that you mentioned it, yes. I thought the Bible had been moved from its regular place on my night stand.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I always place my Bible facing towards me on the nightstand, right on the edge, so it is easy for me to reach. The day that I thought someone had been in the house, the Bible was placed the same way, but too far away for me to reach easily when I was in bed. That’s when I noticed the difference. I had to lean over to pick it up.”
“Did your car accident happen after this?”
“Yes. Oh, goodness, you don’t think my nephew had anything to do with it?”
“Is he a blood nephew?”
“No, he is my husband’s brother’s son.”
“So he’s really not any blood kin to you,” I thought out loud.
“One never knows about nephews,” said Lady Elsmere. “I’ve got one on my hands now whom I would like to chuck out. They can be a nuisance.” She turned and looked at me. “What do you think?”
“I would hire a private investigator as you suggested, June. And I would stay with someone until this is over,” I said to Ethel. “Plus I would have a home security system installed with a camera at both doors so you can see if anyone goes in or out of your house when you’re not there.”
Ethel’s eyes grew very wide. “Really? Oh dear, this sounds serious.”
“I would take it seriously too. Take it from someone who didn’t take things seriously enough and got thrown off a cliff for it. Better to err on the side of caution.”
“That settles it. You’ll stay with me, Ethel. I won’t take no for an answer,” demanded June.
“What about a change of clothes?”
I looked at Lady Elsmere. “Send Amelia over for a change of clothes.”
“I have a cat, Petty.”
“Amelia will feed Petty for you. It would only be for a few days until an investigator checks things out for you.”
“Whom shall I hire? I hope they’re not too expensive.”
“I’ll call a detective who’s a friend of mine. He’ll know of someone local who is reputable.” I started to rise. “I just got back home. Haven’t even checked on my bees yet, so you ladies must excuse me. I’ll be in touch later.”
“Oh, we have been an imposition,” declared Ethel. She wrung her hands in concern.
Lady Elsmere laughed. “Don’t worry, Ethel. Josiah loves to be in the middle of intrigue. She would’ve been angry if we hadn’t confided in her.”
I scrunched my nose at June. “See y’all later.”
Not wanting to face Giles again, I went out through the breakfast room. I climbed in the golf cart, but not before I had to help Baby climb in. “Hey, who is disabled here, dog!” I leaned against the cart for a few minutes, breathing hard.
Baby gave me a look of satisfaction. I really don’t think he needed help getting in. He just wanted attention.
Well, he wasn’t the only one.
3
“From what you’ve told me, there’s not much the police can do. She’s not really sure that someone was in her house.”
“She has a strong feeling that things have been moved,” I said to Detective Goetz.
“Police don’t move on feelings. They have to have proof. As for the car incident, I called Mrs. Bradley’s mechanic and he said that the brake line could have possibly been cut by a rock.”
“She doesn’t have a history of being histrionic. I think Mrs. Bradley is correct in her assessment that something is not right.”
Goetz took a bite of his mac and cheese casserole with broccoli that Eunice cooked for lunch from my recipe. He had sounded happy to hear from me when I called, and didn’t hesitate to come to lunch at the Butterfly. I knew Goetz loved to eat and expected that I would fix something that he liked.
He picked at his mac with a fork. “I see you use breadcrumbs and something else . . .”
“I put eggs in mine along with heavy cream instead of milk.”
“That’s why this is so velvety. Very good comfort food on this cold day. Great choice. Why did you come back so soon after . . . ?” He left unspoken the horrible murder/suicide of Doreen DeWitt and Lacey Bridges, which had taken place right in front of me in a church. It had been a terrible experience for everyone involved that day, and I had run to New York hoping to dispel those memories with new ones of living in the city that never sleeps. Goetz took a big bite of the casserole.
“I didn’t want to spend the holidays alone in New York.”
That explanation seemed to satisfy him. “I’m going to my daughter’s home for Thanksgiving. My boy’s family is joining us there.” Goetz took another huge bite. “My daughter is a wonderful cook and she decorates the house up real nice.”
“Will your ex-wife being joining?”
“I still don’t want anything to do with her, so she alternates holidays with me. You know, one year I spend Thanksgiving with the kids, then Christmas the next. Then we switch again. That way, we get to spend time with our kids and never have to deal with each other. The kids seem okay with it. Anything to avoid fighting. Getting back to Mrs. Bradley – I didn’t say she was wrong. I just said that she didn’t have enough for the police to go on.”
&nb
sp; “What do you think of the advice to hire a private investigator?”
“I think that’s the way to go. Can she afford one?”
“Not an expensive one.”
Goetz pulled out his notebook from his shirt pocket. With a stubby pencil, he wrote down a name along with a phone number. “Call this guy. Use my name. He owes me some favors. Tell him I’m calling one in.”
I looked at the name. “Is he any good?”
“Very, but eccentric.”
“Who isn’t around here? Must be something in the water.” I looked at the name and then at Goetz. “You’ve got to be kidding. This is his real name?”
“Yep. What’s the problem?”
“It’s just he has the same name as the character in Double Indemnity.”
“Never read the book but saw the film with Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. Lots of people have the same name as famous characters in books and movies.”
“Yeah? Ever run into anyone with this name before?”
“So – he’s a mystery nut.”
“Apparently his mother was.”
“You’re making too much of it.”
“I just hope this detective’s character is not like the guy in the book. A double crosser.”
“He probably doesn’t even know about his name. It’s nothing. Just a coincidence.” Goetz reached for the casserole dish and, finding it empty, looked disappointed. Taking his fork, Goetz scraped his plate free of any remaining cheese. Satisfied that he had eaten the last bit possible, he looked up smiling and asked, “What’s for dessert?”
Thank goodness I had a chocolate mousse cake with caramel icing ready with ice-cold milk from the Farmers’ Market.
Like I said – the man loved to eat.
4
Giles scratched on the door of the drawing room where Lady Elsmere, Mrs. Bradley and I waited.
“I hate that old French custom of scratching on doors,” I complained. “It’s like fingernails on a blackboard.”
“Yes, Giles?”
“A Walter Neff to see you, Madam,”
“Please send him in. Oh, Giles, please knock next time. Mrs. Reynolds dislikes the continental way of doing things. She has the bad habit of blaming things she doesn’t like on the French.”
