by Tonya Kappes
“I’m guessing that’s my bag.” I didn’t bother making small talk with the deputy. “And somehow it’s tied into this break-in?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was very polite. “It appears the person who broke in had the most interest in your open locker. All the shelves were torn out, and as you can see, the lining of your bag is ripped as well as the pockets.”
“It looks like someone got angry.” A chill ran up my leg, and it wasn’t from the cool morning.
“I’m going to need a list of names and addresses of all the customers you see on a daily basis.” He rattled off a few more things he was going to need.
“You can get all that information from the postmaster or Monica Reed, who is with Angela right now.” I reached for my bag; he pulled it back.
“Sorry, evidence. There could be fingerprints on it. It’s a federal offense to break in to a post office.” He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know since we had to learn all of that in training. “Have any of your customers acted strange lately or asked about packages they are waiting on?”
“Not that I can think of, but it’s pretty early, so my brain isn’t functioning at full capacity.” I tapped my head. “Plus, Doc Hunter did mention something about me having some white specs due to an old brain.”
His brows dipped, his face contorted, he opened his mouth, and then shut it as if he were trying to process what I’d said.
“But I’ll think on it and get back to you.” I helped make it easy for him.
“Yeah. Just call the sheriff’s department if you think of something.” He took a few steps back.
“Are we going to get to work soon?” I asked in hopes I could start and possibly help Gerome out if I did get finished quickly.
“It’s gonna be a few to clear out the scene. Maybe an hour or so. We called down at WSCG to let Lucy Drake know so she can broadcast it on her show this morning.” He smiled. “Thank goodness for her and her show. Folks around here just love her show.”
“Mmhhmmm.” I tugged on Buster’s leash. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t bother telling anyone I was heading down to the gas station. I figured I could get down there and deliver Simon’s letter to him before I walked back to the post office in about an hour.
The sunlight was starting to illuminate Sugar Creek Gap, and though the garage was on the outskirts of downtown, there was a nice sidewalk along the road the entire way. It was built a few years ago when they had built the new streetscape with the extra grant money our town received from the state. It was a complete overhaul with a new paved road, sidewalks, lights, and some buildings that had been refaced.
The grant was to keep the town up so it could stay on the historical registry. When you could claim your town as a part of the state’s history, all sorts of money was thrown to preserve it. Being an old mill town with a working mill definitely qualified Sugar Creek Gap, making me super thankful for the redone sidewalks. Especially this early in the morning.
The lights under the gas station roof where the pumps were located were on and shined brightly. The garage door was wide open, and I could hear music coming from the radio or should I say the sweet sound of Lucy Drake’s seductive voice dripping through the speaker of the old transistor. I stopped when I heard her talking and could see through the office window that Simon was in there working at the desk. I let Buster’s leash go, and he trotted into the garage like he’d done before when we’d stopped to get gas or even just take a nice long weekend walk.
Good morning, y’all. This is your gal Lucy Drake with an important announcement from Sheriff Angela Hafley. Please be patient with your mail carriers today. The post office was broken in to, and though they do not believe any mail was stolen since the door to that area of the post office wasn’t compromised, the sheriff and her deputies are working diligently to make sure everything is safe and secure down there before they let our mail carriers have their route mail. Also, the lobby will remain closed as well, so don’t be going down there and sweet-talking Monica Reed to grab your stack of mail because we all know that they are gonna be swamped. So be sure to love up on your mail carrier today. Even throw them a little treat or two.
Hello caller, you’re on Coffee Chat with Lucy. Do you have a question?
Aw, Lucy. Me and my family just love you. You sure are as pretty as you sound.
Her giggle made me just about nauseous.
Why, aren’t you the sweetest. What’s your question?
Do you figure it was someone who broke in to the post office because there might be something important being held up in there? I mean, we are only an hour or so from Fort Knox, and it’s all full up on gold.
“Where do they get these callers?” I asked Simon as I headed into the office knowing he’d just heard exactly what I’d heard. Buster had jumped up and put two paws on Simon’s chair, swiveling it a little. “Buster. You can push him away.” I smacked my hand to my thigh. “Buster! Down!” I moved my attention to the certified letter in my back pocket, and when I looked up to give it to Simon, his chair had turned to face me. “Simon?” I questioned when I saw his eyes were open, his face was grey, and his lips were blue. “Simon!” I screamed when I realized he wasn’t moving or breathing.
I took a few steps forward, hitting an empty bottle of pills with my shoe. It twirled away under the desk.
I threw the letter on the desk and immediately felt for a pulse. Nothing.
I reached into my other pocket and quickly dialed 911.
“Hurry. The gas station. Simon Little isn’t breathing.” My heart beat rapidly. “I think…” I gulped. “I think he’s dead.”
Chapter 7
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I’d found a dead body, and I knew to leave well enough alone by grabbing Buster’s leash and slowly backing out of the office, where we tried not to disturb anything.
I’m not going to lie, before I crept out the way I had come in, I did take a little look-see around to try and see if there was a tad bit of foul play, even though I wouldn’t think so. It all looked as if Simon had drunk the entire bottle of bourbon that was sitting on the desk next to a glass with a little drip of golden-brown liquid settled in the bottom.
There also looked like there was some sort of document that’d been typed out on the computer. I tried to squint but couldn’t make out what it said unless I took a step closer. I already had the heebie-jeebies from how close I was standing to a dead body, and I wasn’t about to take another step forward.
I gripped Buster’s leash tight, making him come as close to my legs as he possibly could, in fear he’d go rogue and start sniffing around.
We waited outside of the office near the gas pumps for just a few minutes before I saw the red-and-white sheriff lights flashing in the pink sky of the early morning sunrise. Angela Hafley’s sheriff’s car was the only department car with red-and-white lights. The deputy cars and Jeeps only had red lights.
If Angela was coming, there had to be a question on Simon’s death, or she would’ve stayed down at the post office with the federal offense crime scene since that had never happened in Sugar Creek Gap. Someone dying was not an everyday occurrence, but it was something that did happen.
“And look who it is.” There was a long pause in Angela’s disposition when she noticed it was me.
“Yes,” I said, deciding to play along, “Buster decided to join me.”
“You know I’m not talking about Buster.” She reached into her car and pulled out the official sheriff’s round brown hat with the Sugar Creek Gap logo embroidered on it.
That’s when I knew Angela meant serious business, not that finding a dead body wasn’t serious. It was. But when she wore the hat, it was very serious. There was a deputy with her, and he’d already gone inside the office. He came out to confirm Simon was dead, so they didn’t need to call the life squad.
While he did all the talking on the walkie-talkie attached to his sheriff’s brown uniform shirt, Angela decided to qu
estion me.
“Why is it that you’re like a coon dog and can sniff out a dead body better than they can sniff out a raccoon?” Even though she asked the question, I knew better than answering because she didn’t want an answer. It was her way of telling me to back off.
“A gift, I guess.” I shrugged and let the grip on Buster’s leash lessen because he was doing his wiggle and jiggle to let Angela pat him. She did.
“What am I going to find in there?” she asked, her eyes hooded under the large round rim of her hat.
“Simon Little. Eyes open. Empty handle of bourbon. Some sort of note on the computer monitor.” I replayed the scene in my head. “Oh! An empty prescription bottle that I accidentally kicked under his desk when I went into the office to give him the letter.” I patted around my body. “The letter!”
“What letter?” Angela eyed me.
“The reason I’m here is because Simon had a certified letter that was accidentally put in my mailbag yesterday.” I rolled my hand in front of me, deciding not to tell her how Buster had gone through my bag to get to the food my mom had given me on my route, and cut to the chase. “Long story short, I still had the letter to give to Gerome this morning, but since we couldn’t get our mail loops until later, Buster and I walked down to give him the letter. Certified letter. But I bet the pills are for his disease.” My mind wandered off. “I told him I had it when I saw him at the doctor’s office yesterday.”
“You mean you had a certified letter for Simon Little in your mailbag. The mailbag that someone who broke in to the post office was very interested in seeing? But they didn’t get the letter because you had it at home and brought it down here today?”
“When you put it that way, do you think all of this is tied?” My jaw dropped, my eyes grew big, and my mouth dried.
“Do you think it’s all by accident?” she asked and turned her head toward the office. “Where’s the letter?”
“I dropped it on his desk when I went to feel for a pulse. Then I called you.” I pushed back the thought that this was a murder and it had to do something with that patent.
“Then you looked around?” Her eyes narrowed like they always did when she let me know I’d overstepped my bounds.
“I didn’t walk around. I searched around with my eyes, but never tied the two together. Two, meaning the post office and Simon’s murder.” The disbelief that this could happen curled in my head.
“Whoa.” Angela put her hands up. “I never said this was a murder. Maybe Simon went looking for the letter since he knew you had it. When he couldn’t find it, maybe he took his medication while drinking a bourbon. Accidentally killing himself.” She let out a long deep sigh. “But we won’t know anything until I get in there and assess the scene. So why don’t you wait right here?”
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch anything.” I wondered why she wanted me to stay. “Can’t I just come down to the station later today?”
“No.” She pointed at me like I would Buster. She commanded, “Stay.”
“I guess we are staying.” I sat down on the curb of one of the gas pumps and had Buster sit between my legs. I cradled him to me while more and more sheriff’s deputies and the WSCG radio van, where they did mobile live news, drove to the scene.
None other than Lucy Drake hopped out in the cutest pair of cropped skinny jeans and red short-sleeved pullover sweater. Her makeup was on point, her lipstick matched her sweater, and her hair lay in loose waves down her back.
She pointed and gestured to the audio man to follow her. I twisted around so she didn’t see me, but apparently, she saw me before she got out of the van.
“Bernie”—her peppy voice made me cringe—“What’s going on? I was doing my broadcast, and when I saw the sheriff zooming out of downtown, followed by all the deputies, I told Rod we had to jump on this.” She turned to the guy in the skintight black tee shirt and equally tight jeans, who had sleeve tattoos on both arms.
“Yeah, we love a good sheriff’s case.” He winked at Lucy, which struck me as odd. Her schoolgirl giggle was even more strange.
“So, what’s the gig? I want to go live.” Her eyes popped open, and a smile curled on her perfectly lined lips before her lids slowly and seductively lowered.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged then pushed away the microphone she’d shoved in my face. I didn’t like the last few times she did this to me, and now I really didn’t like it, considering the deep feelings I was harboring about her.
“Of course, you do. It was on the police dispatch that you called in that Simon Little was dead.” She was good at listening to the police scanner. “If the entire sheriff’s department is here, that means it’s more than just dead.” She reached over and tapped Rod on the arm. “Start the remote.”
He pushed all sorts of buttons on a gadget he took out of the bag that had been strapped across his body.
“This is Lucy Drake with breaking news.” She talked into the microphone, causing the radio in the garage to echo her voice. “Simon Little, owner of the mechanic shop, has been found dead in the gas station office. We are here with Bernadette Butler, who actually called in the emergency to the sheriff’s dispatch.” She took that darn microphone and slid it back over in front of my mouth.
I clenched my jaw and gave her a good hard stare. She brought the microphone back to her mouth.
“Bernie, do you mind telling us why you were here this morning? I don’t recall you being the mail carrier for the garage, and I believe all mail has been put on hold for delivery today until further notice.” She stuck the microphone back in my face and then decided to really try to get me to talk. “Is this a related case? Did you know something about it and come to warn Simon? I can only conclude Simon had something to do with the post office break-in. Or maybe the two of you did it…”
If I didn’t stop her crazy rant, I knew she’d keep going with all sorts of conspiracy theories.
My phone in my back pocket started to chirp messages from people who I knew were listening to Lucy’s made-up, but not off base, tales about what was going on.
“I am…” I started to say before Angela Hafley cleared her throat a distance behind me.
“I will be more than happy to give the listeners a statement once we know something.” Angela looked down her nose at the microphone Lucy had now stuck in her face. “As for Bernadette Butler, we had told her at the post office that we’d let them know in an hour if they could start to deliver their mail routes, so she had informed me that she and her dog were going to go for a walk. When Mrs. Butler walked past the gas station, she noticed Mr. Little was here and came in to tell him hello like we all do when we see our friends in our tight-knit community.” Angela clasped her hands in front of her and looked at me. “If you’ll excuse Mrs. Butler, a deputy is going to take her back to the post office where I’m very proud to announce the mail carriers will be able to start their workday.”
Angela gestured for me to follow the deputy, and I gladly accepted the invitation and was very appreciative for the ride.
“Sheriff Hafley wanted me to tell you that you are to keep your mouth shut about the letter Simon had left behind for his family and, for that matter, to keep your mouth and observations to yourself as this is an ongoing investigation that has to do with the federal offense of him breaking in to the post office.” The officer gave me specific instructions as he drove me downtown to the post office. He threw the Jeep in gear. “You are to come to the department after work and give your full official statement. Do you understand, Mrs. Butler?”
“Yes.” I opened the door and pulled Buster out behind me.
Chapter 8
There’s a saying about small town and gossip. I believed it went something like this: small towns, small minds, big mouths, big rumors. And, boy, were the rumors flying all around like bats at dusk. And, of course, the gossip was ahead of the police, making me a very popular mail carrier.
“And you don’t know if it was related?” Vince
Caldwell, the retired FBI agent and full-time resident of the senior living condominiums at Sugar Creek Gap Nursing Home and Senior Living, had asked as soon as I walked up with his mail in my hand.
“Good morning to you too.” I looked over at him patting the open space on the front porch swing where I found him every single morning with the newspaper in his hands. Today, he had an extra cup of coffee.
Could’ve been because I was more than an hour late to our morning rendezvous, or he wanted a little information, and coffee was a way to loosen my lips. He handed me the cup of hot steaming java.
“I figured you’d want to discuss all the muck and mess up inside of your brain.” He looked around. “But I heard Buster was with you.”
“He was, and after the deputy took me back to the gas station, I knew I had a few minutes before Monica and some of the other clerks were ready for us to get our loops, and I wanted to avoid any questions, so I took him home.” I held the cup in both hands.
Vince was right about one thing. I was planning on telling him all about it. He was the only one I would probably discuss it with in detail.
While we sat there, rocking on the swing and sipping our coffee, I told him everything: from hearing about Simon’s disease to seeing him at the doctor’s office to finding him dead at his desk.
“Do you think he killed himself?” Vince asked. It was a question I’d even asked myself.
“I don’t think so, but I did know he was in pain from the tightness of his hands. He seemed pretty happy when he told me he was glad the patent letter had come through because, if he did get it, then he could sell the part and pay for the surgery to fix his hand so his parents didn’t have to pay for it.” I took another sip, trying to force the goose bumps off my legs though I knew it wasn’t from being cold.
My mind started to play the events of yesterday that circled around the letter. My eyes darted back and forth along the concrete patio with thoughts of me talking to Nick Kirby. He really seemed taken aback by the fact there was a certified letter to Simon only.
