Old Murders Never Die

by Marja McGraw

  “I didn’t think I’d be working on murders. I figured I’d be working on insurance cases and that kind of thing, maybe spying on a wandering husband once in a while. At least this is an old case. I don’t actually have to see the bodies.”

  “Except in your mind’s eye, if I know you.” He wandered back to his bucket of fish. “I wish I could protect you from the seedier side of life, but I know I can’t. I understand the work we do is what you live for, but –”

  “It really is. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than work as a private investigator. I’m my own boss, I can pretty much set my own hours, and it’s up to me to keep the business going. I love solving the puzzles people hand us.”

  “What about me? I help keep everything running smoothly. I’m part of the firm, too.” Surprisingly, he looked hurt. I’d apparently stepped on his toes.

  “You’re invaluable, sweetie. I don’t know what I’d do without you. From the first moment I met you, I knew you and I were going to make a good team, and I was right. We complement each other, both on a business level and on a personal level.”

  “That we do. From the first moment, huh?”

  I smiled. Pete knew I loved him, and I knew he loved me. One day we’d be married and then we’d be partners in every area of our lives. I gulped, wondering what a twenty-four/seven relationship might do to us when it wasn’t just a vacation.

  “Okay, I’ll go clean the fish. You decide whose house you want to look at, and we’ll take another walk.”

  He took the fish outside and I studied my notes. Bubba stood by the door and looked dejected. He’d wanted to follow the fish, but Pete had firmly closed the door when he left.

  I decided to take one more look at the sheriff’s records before we went into town.

  Stephen Mueller came to see me. That blacksmith makes me feel funny. He gives me a feelin he knows somethin. I can not figger him out. He says his wife sent him an that she is mighty scared, thinkin she might be the next woman we find. Marie Mueller is the last female I would be worrisome about. That lady is almost as big as Stephen, and probly just as strong. She would give any killer fits. I think she might have a mean streak, too.

  I can not figger out what is botherin me about Mueller. I guess it must be his way of doin things. He and Marie keep to thereselves so much, and they are so quiet like. Why, he hardly even jaws with the people who come to him to get there horses shod. He does his job an goes home, an not a soul sees him agin until he is back at the smithy shop. When a body talks to him, he just watches the talker, ne’er sayin a word unless he has to answer a question. Those big bulgy eyes of his jist watch us all. My Annie says he aint nothin but a quiet man who wants to be left alone. Mebbe I should take what she says to heart.

  My Annie is goin to take over teachin the childrun. She will do a mighty fine job. She’s a smart woman. I plan to walk her to school and back each day.

  I wanted to see the blacksmith’s house. Maybe we’d find something there that would give us a clue. I hoped that when he and his wife left town, they were one of the families who left everything behind. I still didn’t get it. Why did people leave in such a hurry? I must have asked myself that question a dozen times over the past few days.

  So Annie was going to be the new schoolteacher. I could understand the sheriff wanting to walk with her each day. He didn’t want his wife to be the next victim.

  Pete returned and set the bucket on the cabinet.

  “Don’t leave it there,” I said. “When we come back this whole place will smell like fish.”

  He rolled his eyes at me and pulled the sheriff’s little desk under a window, setting the bucket on top. “There. It’s by an open window.”

  “Why can’t you leave it outside?”

  “Because some critter will come along and take the fish.”

  “Are there bears around here?” I sincerely hoped we wouldn’t be luring any large critters to the house because of the fish smell.

  “I don’t think so. I was thinking more along the lines of a coyote or something. But Bubba hasn’t reacted to anything around here either. In fact, the only thing I’ve seen him react to is that horse and its rider.”

  “As long as there aren’t any bears.” I hadn’t thought about wild animals until Pete brought it up. Fine – one more thing to worry about.

  “So, did you decide where you want to look next?” He already had the map out and he set it on the kitchen table.

  “I want to find the blacksmith’s house. The sheriff said the man made him feel uncomfortable, but his wife said he was just a very quiet, private person. I’m inclined to agree with her, but I’d still like to take a look at the house.”

  He studied the map and finally tapped his finger on one of the houses in the drawing. “Here they are. The blacksmith and his wife lived at the other end of town, not too far past his shop.”

  “Let’s go then.” I turned and found Bubba sniffing the bucket with a look of longing on his face. He nudged it with his nose, reminding me of one time when someone had left a dead rat on my porch. I’d put it in the trashcan, but Bubba really wanted that rat, just like he really wanted the fish. I’d had to get rid of the rat by finding a commercial trash bin to leave it in. “Bubba, come with us.”

  We headed for the door, but the dopey dog ignored us.

  “I said to come along,” I repeated. I finally had to walk over and grab his collar to get his attention. I sighed, knowing if we didn’t take Bubba with us, the fish would disappear in a flash of teeth.

  Pete took hold of the dog’s collar and tried to pull him outside. Bubba stood his ground, with his head turned toward the bucket. Pete was like an ant trying to move a whole apple.

  I’d brought some treats along for Bubba, and one of the bags just happened to be fish jerky. I’d put them on top of the cabinet in the kitchen, so reaching up I pulled down the bag. Watching Bubba was like being at a tennis match. His head kept swinging from me to the bucket and back again. Pulling out two pieces of jerky, I walked over to Bubba and let him sniff. When he reached to take them from me, I threw them out the front door. Although I’d had the big lug for some time now, it still surprised me to see how fast he could move, and he almost knocked Pete over.

  Pete pulled the door shut behind us, and we headed to town. Bubba caught up in mere seconds.

  We walked past the smithy shop, as the sheriff had called it, and headed for the second house on our left.

  Pete held the map in his hands and studied it again. “This is it,” he said. “Let’s see if this one is easier to get into than the others.”

  The windows were boarded over, but the front door was simply closed. He turned the handle and pushed. The door didn’t open. He pushed a little harder, and the door swung inward with just a little extra pressure.

  “I think we were meant to see this house,” I said. “It almost feels too easy.”

  He walked in and looked around, motioning for me to follow him. It was dark inside. The blacksmith had done a good job of boarding up the windows.

  As with the other houses, there was a heavy layer of dust and dirt on everything. My hope had been fulfilled. The Muellers had left everything behind. Like the Ambroses, they’d covered most of their possessions with cloths that had become tattered. Maybe they’d planned on coming back for their things at a later date.

  “Let’s get rid of some of these cloths and see what we can find.” Pete began removing the tatters, none too gently.

  “Please be careful. Don’t break anything.” As I watched, I saw him uncovering antiques, and from the look of them, they were probably brought over from Germany. They rested on a side table. A few had fallen over and broken, but most had been kept in place by the clothes. I saw a bisque figurine depicting a man and woman looking into each other’s eyes. Picking it up, I saw that the facial features were quite detailed. It was a little more than a foot tall, and the style of clothing appeared to be from the mid-1800s. Astonishingly, I found there were no c
racks or chips.

  “What’s that?” Pete asked.

  “An antique dealer’s dream,” I replied. I began examining some of the other pieces.

  “I thought you wanted to look for clues, Nancy Drew.”

  “I will, but these are amazing. I can’t believe they’re in such great condition.”

  “Well, take one home for a souvenir. I’m sure no one will care since they’re all long gone.”

  “Maybe I’ll just do that.” Sighing as I walked away from the antiques, I began to examine the rest of the living room area. The fireplace oak mantle was in unbelievably good condition. Nothing but the best for the Muellers. It had running deer carved into the sides. A mahogany regulator clock sat on the shelf. It was a clock that used a complex set of pendulums that controlled each of the clock's hands. I’d looked into buying one at one time. There were candlesticks on each side of the clock, although they had fallen and broken. It was rather eclectic for the time period, but apparently it had made the couple happy.

  I moved on to the kitchen area of the home. The cook stove almost overwhelmed the kitchen. Marie Mueller had spent a lot of time cooking, if the size of the stove meant anything. From what the sheriff had said about the couple’s size, they probably ate quite well. A porcelain teapot still sat on a shelf above the stove, and a heavy tea kettle sat on the stove itself. A very large pot appeared to have burned food remains in the bottom of it.

  This kitchen had a more ornate cabinet than we found in the sheriff’s house. It was L-shaped, and I saw another cloth covering something on the shelf. Lifting it, I decided I’d call Pete over to see what his thoughts were. “Pete, would you please come in here?”

  “Did you find something?”

  “I think so. Look at this.” I moved from in front of the shelf so he could take a good look.

  “Knives,” he said. “Big knives. Lots of them, and they’re neatly lined up in order of size.” He took a closer look. “And one of them is missing.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Yes,” I said, “and one of the knives is missing. Of course, it may mean nothing at all, but since all of the women were killed with a knife or something like it, this is an interesting find. Don’t you think?”

  “I do.” Pete picked up one of the knives and examined it. “These are good cutlery, too. It doesn’t appear that the Muellers skimped on anything. The whole house is filled with quality stuff.” He set the knife down and picked up a whetstone that had been used to sharpen the knives.

  “That stuff is probably worth a lot of money, but what I’m wondering is, where did they get the money for all these things?”

  “Good question. I doubt that a blacksmith made a fortune in this little town.” He set the whetstone down.

  “Of course, it could be that when Marie came over from Germany, she brought a lot of these things with her. Maybe it was her trousseaux, her contribution to the marriage. After all, a lot of these things appear to be German.” I picked up the teapot, and without thinking I turned it over to see if there were any markings on the bottom. The lid fell to the floor and broke into several small pieces. “Damn!”

  “Good job,” Pete said. “Break all the antiques.”

  I frowned at him. “Why do you think the Muellers would have so many knives? It seems like overkill to me, no pun intended.” I stopped and thought for a moment. “No, I guess in those days you didn’t just run to the grocery store and buy a precut chicken. You had to cut your own meat.”

  He was still studying the knives. “Still, it’s interesting that these are so neatly lined up and one is missing.”

  “Now that I think about it, I don’t recall seeing silverware and cutlery at the other houses we’ve look at, but then I wasn’t really looking for any.”

  “I noticed some fancy silverware at the Ambrose house.” Pete picked up the whetstone again, along with one of the knives. He spat on the whetstone and began sharpening a knife.

  “Why did you spit on that?” I asked.

  “Because there’s no water in here. The stone needs to be wet.”

  “Oh. You’re not planning on using that knife, are you?”

  “No.”

  I left him in the kitchen and visited the bedroom. There was only one, so apparently Stephen and Marie didn’t have children. I didn’t see anything that would pertain to a child either. The bedroom was sparse, unlike the rest of the house. There was a very plain and basic chest of drawers and an even plainer wardrobe. The bed consisted of nothing more than a frame. There was no window in the bedroom, which surprised me. I got the feeling that these people didn’t spend much time in this room.

  Checking the dresser, I found it was empty, so I knew they’d at least they’d taken their clothing with them. I opened the wardrobe and found it was also bare.

  Returning to the living room, I took a good look at the room. There was a very ornate secretary against the wall. No expense had been spared for the desk. I opened it and found paper and a dried inkwell, but no pens. The paper was blank. The drawers held notes that were of no help because they were all written in German. They didn’t quite look like letters, but more like lists and Note to Self type things.

  A chill ran down my back when I suddenly felt like I was being watched. Pete was still sharpening a knife in the kitchen, so he wasn’t the watcher. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come on me. I shrugged off the discomfort and took a good long look around the room.

  In addition to two side tables and the desk, there was an old formal sofa. Interestingly, there was a very rustic bookcase which wasn’t at all like the other expensive furniture. It almost looked like maybe Stephen had built it himself. I glanced at the few books on the shelf and found that they were all in German.

  There were torn drapes hiding one of the windows. Time had taken its toll on everything that was fabric.

  Hearing noises in the kitchen, I found Pete snooping through every nook and cranny he could find.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking for the missing knife. If I find it, you can take the Muellers off of your list of suspects.”

  Returning to the kitchen, I helped him look. In all honestly, there weren’t that many places to search.

  We finally gave up and left the house, closing the door behind us. I walked behind the house and found another outhouse. “You know, if I were a killer and trying to get rid of the murder weapon, I just might toss it down the hole in the outhouse.”

  “Well, I guess it’ll stay there then, because that’s one place I’m not going to search.” He stood in front of the Mueller’s place and pulled out the map again. “Where do you want to look next?”

  “Does your map show where Alvin Smith lived? You know, the town drunk.”

  “It looks like he lived in a little cabin not far from the saloon. Is that our next stop?”

  “Yes. I doubt if it was him, but you never know. If he got drunk enough, anything could have happened. Maybe he was a mean drunk.” I turned and headed for the saloon.

  We found the cabin, but there was nothing left of it except some rotting boards.

  “Okay, how about the reverend’s house?”

  Pete reopened the map. “They lived right behind the church. Follow me.” He seemed to be having a good time, and he pointed to the church before moving ahead.

  We found the reverend’s house out of sight and hidden in trees behind the church. It was small and in poor condition, worse than the rest of the houses we’d looked at, with the exception of Alvin Smith’s place. Like many of the others, there were still a few things sitting in the house, just waiting for us.

  “It looks like they took some of their things, but not all of them,” I said, walking through the home after Pete broke the door down. Well, to be fair he didn’t really break it down. It just fell in when he pushed on it. “Not the best built house, is it?”

  “No. I’m sure it served its purpose at the time, but this wasn’t a long term building.” He w
alked from room to room. The cook stove was still in the kitchen, as was the standing cupboard, and the kitchen table was still in place.

  There were things scattered around.

  “If I were to guess, I’d say these people left in a hurry.” I picked up a broken hand mirror from the floor.

  “It looks like it. I get the feeling they grabbed what they could throw on their buckboard and skedaddled.”

  “Skedaddled? Oh, Pete, I’m seeing a side of you that you’ve kept hidden until now.” I couldn’t help but grin when he curled his lip at me.

  “When in the Old West, do as the Old Westerners did. Or at least talk like them.”

  Bubba had followed us inside and I saw he was sniffing around the kitchen, his nose practically glued to the floor. Could old scents linger this long? A mouse ran out of the corner and I knew whose trail he’d been stalking. Poor ol’ Bubba wasn’t fast enough to catch the little critter, and it scurried through a hole at the base of the wall.

  I walked over to the stove and saw it was covered with mouse droppings. “Ick. Let’s take a quick look around and get out of here.”

  There wasn’t much to see except trash on the floor and a few pieces of plain and functional furniture. I found the remains of a rag doll which had apparently been ravaged by the mice. I didn’t see anything else that made me think of a child, so this little girl seemed to have saved whatever she had. I didn’t imagine she had a lot of toys, judging by the Spartan looks of the house.

  There was only one bedroom. It contained both a full-sized bed and a child’s bed. It seemed that this was the home of a poor preacher, but then I guessed a lot of them were poor in those days. I wasn’t sure.

  Hearing a loud crack, I ran back to the kitchen. Pete was picking himself up, and Bubba was sniffing around a hole in the floor.