by Alice Duncan
Mrs. Gunderson shook her head in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. I wish I could help.”
“I’m sorry, too. Didn’t mean to snap.” Phil. Grumpily. “I wish everybody would quit fussing over me.”
Chastened by their understanding, I sank into a chair beside Phil’s bed. “I can take over for you if you need to get back home, Mrs. Gunderson.” It wasn’t merely a gracious offer. I wanted to discuss the case with Phil, and I didn’t want his mother there because I didn’t feel I could be as open about everything with her listening to everything we said.
“Yeah, Ma, you don’t have to stay here and nurse me. I’m fine. For Pete’s sake, I could go to work now if you all weren’t ganged up against me.”
We both eyed Phil, I with reluctant approval, his mother with severity. “That’s no way to speak about people who are trying to help you, Phillip Anthony Gunderson. I taught you better manners than that.”
Phil scowled at his mother but said, “Sorry.” He didn’t sound it.
“But you’re probably right,” Mrs. Gunderson then acknowledged. “It’s silly for me to stay here fretting over you. I’m sure Annabelle will do as good a job at it as I could.” She gave me a sweet smile that I suspected was on the I-expect-you-to-be-my-daughter-in-law variety. Everybody wanted me to marry Phil. Except me.
Nevertheless, I smiled sweetly back at her. For all I knew, they were correct in their assumptions. I sure didn’t have anything against Phil. My reservations had more to do with the married state itself than Phil individually. “I could never do as good a job as you, Mrs. Gunderson, but I’ll do my best.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phil cross his eyes and stick his tongue out at me.
But Mrs. Gunderson left shortly thereafter, and that was the important thing.
Chapter Ten
“Phil,” I said as soon as we were alone on the sun porch. “You’ll never guess what just happened.”
“You’re right,” Phil growled, sounding sort of like I imagine a bear would sound if annoyed during its winter nap. “I won’t, so why don’t you just tell me?”
“There’s no need to get huffy.”
“Sorry.”
I heaved a deep, unhappy sigh. “No, I’m sorry, Phil. I’m so tired of all this, and I feel awfully guilty about you getting bashed over the head. And all because you were trying to do a good deed. Can we be friends again?” I took his hand, which had been lying across his stomach on top of the bedclothes. I noticed that Mrs. Gunderson had made him strip to his long johns. Poor Phil.
He eyed me slantwise. “We’ve always been friends, Annabelle. I didn’t mean to be grouchy. I don’t like being laid up. It isn’t your fault.” Closing his eyes, he heaved a sigh of his own. My heart twanged in sympathy.
“It feels like everything’s my fault. But, Phil, I have something really interesting to tell you.”
“Uh.”
It wasn’t a grumpy uh, but more of an interrogative one, so I continued. “Mr. Copeland–”
”The man who owns the shoe store?”
“That’s the one. He just came out here to ask Minnie if she’d sell him her house!”
Phil’s eyes popped open. “Mr. Copeland? Wants to buy your aunt’s house?”
I nodded vigorously.
He shook his head. “That’s plain weird, Annabelle. How come everybody all of a sudden wants to buy Mrs. Blue’s house? I mean, it’s a nice-enough house and all, but . . . “
”I know. It’s an old ranch house, is what it is, and it doesn’t even have indoor plumbing. Mr. Copeland said he and his wife are tired of the hustle and bustle of city living.”
“In Rosedale?” Phil was every bit as incredulous as I’d been.
“Yup. In Rosedale.”
“That’s strange, Annabelle. There’s no getting around it, something odd is going on here.”
“It’s very odd. Not only that, but I saw Mr. Burgess hiding in the middle of some mesquite bushes when I drove your mother over here.”
Speaking of Phil’s mother, the sound of Mrs. Gunderson clucking her tongue at the horse, then the sound of crunching wheels let us know she was on her way home. So Phil and I could talk in peace. Neither Minnie nor Libby, both of whom were busy, would be bothering us for a while, which made me feel a bit more chipper.
“Mr. Burgess?” Phil closed his eyes again. “You’ve got Mr. Burgess on the brain.”
“I do not! Why was he here, Phil? Why was he lurking behind Minnie’s mesquites? Why did he hide behind the barn yesterday?”
“Beats me. Maybe he’s concerned about your aunt and Miss Libby and wants to make sure nobody’s bothering them.”
That explanation was so reasonable, it irritated me. “Nuts.”
Phil shrugged.
Obviously, Phil didn’t share my mistrust of Mr. Burgess. As there didn’t seem to be any way of making him see the light in that regard, I said, “Anyhow, since you’re not doing anything else today and Minnie said I’m supposed to entertain you, why don’t we try to figure out why whatever it is that’s going on is going on? So to speak.”
“How the devil do you propose we do that?”
His tone was a trifle off-putting, but I persevered. “Let’s think about everything that’s been happening and see if we can make sense of it.”
“How?”
“You don’t have to be so discouraging, Phillip Gunderson! Let’s just think about it. In fact, let’s make a list. I’ll write down all the strange things that have happened lately. Maybe we’ll be able to find a reasonable pattern if we see them lined up in a row and come to some sort of conclusion about what they all mean.”
“I doubt it.” I guess he realized that I was about to blow my top, probably because I clamped my lips together and felt myself turn red, because he added, “But I don’t have anything else to do.”
“Thank you.” Although my inflection was frosty, I was very glad that he’d agreed to go along with my suggestion. I know it sounds crazy, but I was beginning to think that if we wrote everything down and cogitated over them long enough, we might just be able to solve the puzzle before the sheriff’s people did.
The sheriff, by the way, hadn’t been out to Minnie’s place once since he and Earl and Phil had taken the body to town. That didn’t strike me as especially energetic detective work on his part.
“Be right back.”
Phil grunted.
However, I didn’t let his lack of enthusiasm daunt me. I ran upstairs, got a pencil and a pad of paper from the suitcase I’d packed to bring to Minnie’s, and hurried back down to the sun porch. In case Phil had drifted off to sleep, I tiptoed when I reached the door and went inside.
He looked like a fallen hero, poor fellow, with his head bandaged and his lean, tanned face drawn with pain. A dark bruise had become visible on his forehead, where he must have hit himself falling down after being conked from behind, and a number of scratches had been cleaned by Dr. Hanks and dabbed with iodine, creating ugly streaks on his cheeks and chin. It occurred to me that he actually kind of was a hero, and that I ought to go easy on him.
That didn’t mean we couldn’t solve this problem–and the sooner the better so I could go back home again. I sat in the chair and gazed at him for a while. When that got boring, I opened my notebook and tried to think of all the unusual things that had happened around here lately. Those things had started occurring before I got here, so I wrote:
Noises in the night time.
Mr. O’Dell asked Minnie to sell him her house.
I thought about that one for a minute. I’m sure Minnie told me he’d made her an offer before he came out here the day of the murder.
As I tapped my pencil against my cheek and pondered, I realized Phil’s eyes were open and he was watching me. His deep brown eyes were gentle and there was an expression in them I didn’t want to read, mainly because I feared it betokened something I didn’t care to contemplate right then. Therefore, I smiled at him, aiming for jauntiness. “I’m making a list.�
�
The light in his eyes faded and I felt a bit contrite, even though his feelings weren’t my responsibility. At least that’s what I told myself; I didn’t quite believe it.
“A list of what?”
“Of the things that have happened lately.”
“Ah.”
“I started with Aunt Minnie hearing noises in the night time before I came out here, and Mr. O’Dell wanting to buy her house.”
“Sounds good.”
“And then I heard noises.” I thought about that for a second. “Should I put noises down twice, maybe?”
“It’s up to you, Annabelle. It’s your list.”
“Well, I won’t. We can just keep in mind that we’ve all heard noises in the night time. Even Jeepers.”
“He didn’t bark,” Phil pointed out.
“But he heard them. His ears were cocked.”
He didn’t look convinced, but I guess he thought his chances for continued peace would be better if he didn’t argue with me. I thought so, too.
“Then I found the body. That’s extremely unusual.” I wrote it down.
“I’d say so.”
“And then Dr. and Mrs. Longstreet came out here, even though they’re new in town, and said they wanted to buy Minnie’s house. And then you got knocked on the head. And then Mr. Copeland wanted to buy Minnie’s house.”
We mulled over the list for several moments in silence. Pickle smells wafted in to us from the kitchen, and a breeze outside sent a dried-up old tumbleweed scudding across the yard. I wondered if Mr. Burgess was still lurking in the mesquite bushes and recalled that there should be an addition to our list.
“Mr. Burgess!”
Phil started, then grimaced. “Darn it, Annabelle, what did you want to go and shout for? My head aches already. Anyhow, what about Mr. Burgess? I think you’ve got a whatchamacallit about Mr. Burgess. A complex.”
“I do not have a complex about Mr. Burgess. I’m sorry about your head. I just remembered I have to write him on my list.”
“Why?”
“Why? Well . . . what do you mean why? Because he killed Julia Gilbert, is why! I know he did it, Phil. You can’t tell me he didn’t, because I know better. And he might have killed the man I found.”
“I can tell you he didn’t do it,” he said crossly. “But it wouldn’t do any good. But even you have to admit there’s no evidence supporting your crazy theory about him.”
“What about that grave behind his house?”
“It could just as easily be a dead dog in that hole, Annabelle Blue, and you know it.”
“Nuts.” I sat there fuming for a couple of seconds, then decided to put aside the question of Olin Burgess’s villainy for the nonce. “I think what we mainly need to figure out first is why all sorts of different people want to buy Aunt Minnie’s house. I’m sure that has something to do with the murder.” Unless it was Olin Burgess who had killed that man. Mr. Burgess was so strange, he probably didn’t even need a reason. I decided it would be better not to propose that possibility, given Phil’s reluctance to believe ill of the man.
“Is there anything special about the house or the land it’s on?” Phil frowned in concentration for a moment. “I suspect it’s the land, because the house isn’t anything special.”
“Good point. But the land isn’t anything special, either, as far as I know.”
“Well, it’s got to have something on it that people want. Otherwise nobody’d be trying to buy the place.”
“You’re right.”
Unfortunately, Phil’s being right didn’t help a whole lot. We sat there in silence, I trying to think of a way to solve the puzzle, and Phil doing whatever it was he was doing. Probably trying not to give in to his headache. Poor Phil.
Suddenly I sat up straight. “I have an idea!”
“Uh-oh.”
I glared at him. “There’s no need for you to be sarcastic. I know you don’t believe me about Mr. Burgess, but I know I’m right.”
“Huh.”
“Anyhow, this isn’t about Mr. Burgess.
“Well, there’s a switch.”
I was getting mighty tired of Phil’s pessimism. Since, however, he’d been wounded in the line of duty, so to speak, I didn’t chastise him. “When you’re better, you can just go into town and ask Mr. O’Dell and Mr. Copeland–and maybe even Dr. Longstreet–why they want to buy Aunt Minnie’s house.” I thought it was a brilliant idea.
Phil didn’t. “That’s stupid, Annabelle. They already told you why they wanted to buy the place. Even if they lied to you, what makes you think they’d tell me the truth?”
“Darn it, Phil, can’t you even try? There’s no harm in trying, is there?”
“I don’t know. So far, somebody’s been murdered, and we don’t know why. For all you know, there is harm in trying. Why don’t you just let Sheriff Greene take care of it?”
“Because he’s not taking care of it!”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he hasn’t been out here once since the murder!”
“Maybe he’s working on the case from another angle.”
“Fiddlesticks. He’s not working on it at all, is my guess. Probably because nobody in town knew the man who was killed. And I want to go home, darn it!” I regret to say that a couple of tears trickled from my eyes. I didn’t really mean to bribe Phil with a pathetic show of womanly qualms.
But, by golly, it worked.
He heaved a huge and obviously heartfelt sigh. “All right. You can stop crying. I’ll go to town as soon as I can.”
I probably should have been ashamed of myself, but I wasn’t.
Phil went home the next day, which was Saturday, and which was a mighty boring day with him gone. The day after that, the Gundersons picked us up in their wagon and we all went to church in town. Phil and I sat in the back.
I suppose Dr. Longstreet’s wife would have been horrified if she’d been made to ride to church in the back of a wagon. But Mrs. Gunderson had spread blankets back there, and it wasn’t uncomfortable–well, it was no more uncomfortable than most modes of transportation available at the time. I’d rather have sat back there than on the bench with four adults, two of them (Minnie and Libby) rather larger than average. The dust was a little annoying, but the dust was always annoying. We were used to it.
Nudging Phil, I asked, “How’s your head?” He looked like the wrath of God with his bandage and his bruises and his scrapes and iodine smears.
“Better.”
“I’m awfully sorry that happened, Phil.”
“I know you are. Not your fault.”
That took care of that. Not being a mistress of subtlety, I barged on ahead. “This might be a good day to talk to Mr. O’Dell, Phil. He goes to the Methodist church, too. And maybe you could find Mr. Copeland and Dr. Longstreet, too.”
“For crying out loud, Annabelle, can’t you think of anything besides that stupid case and your stupid theories?”
At that moment, the wagon was just turning onto Pine Lodge Road from Aunt Minnie’s drive, and darned if I didn’t see Mr. Burgess standing off to the side, as if he were planning on paying Minnie a visit. I sat up, startled. “Look!”
Phil looked. Then he waved. So did his parents. So did Minnie and Libby. Mr. Burgess waved back.
“Yeah. I see. So what?”
“Doggone it, Phil Gunderson,” I whispered harshly, “I know that man killed Julia Gilbert. He probably killed that other guy, too, and has been lurking around Minnie’s house in order to make sure she doesn’t blab.”
“About what?”
“About . . .” Hmmm. That was a good question. I sagged back against the side of the wagon. “Oh, nuts.”
And that about described the rest of the day, too, although it was fun seeing my folks again. And even Jack. And the people at church. And all my friends. I’d already known I was homesick, but I didn’t realize until then how starved for chit-chat I’d been during the last few days.
> My joy at finding the Longstreets in the Methodist congregation was fleeting, since they chose to ignore me. However, I’m not shy, and I didn’t feel like letting them get away with pretending they didn’t know me.
“Come here, Phil.” I grabbed him by the arm and tugged.
“Where?”
By this time, the church service was over, and most of the people in the congregation had gathered in the fellowship hall for cake and punch. “To meet the Longstreets.”
“They here?” His eyebrows lifted in surprise, which gave him a very odd appearance, what with everything else going on with his face. Poor Phil.
“Yup. Right over there.” I pulled. Phil followed.
Mrs. Longstreet was chatting with Mrs. Clark, a good friend of Mrs. Copeland’s. I walked right up to them and stood there until Mrs. Clark noticed me. She smiled. “How-do, Annabelle. It’s good to see you. We miss seeing you in the store.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Clark. I miss being there.”
Phil nodded at both women.
I forged onward. “I brought Phil over here to meet Mrs. Longstreet.”
“Oh, you haven’t met?” Mrs. Clark took a step back, I guess to give me more room for introductions.
“Mrs. Longstreet, please allow me to introduce you to Phil Gunderson. Phil and his family are neighbors of my aunt Minnie.”
“How-do, ma’am?” Phil gave a polite little bow.
Mrs. Longstreet looked down her pointy nose. “How do you do, young man? Miss Blue.” She sort of sneered when she said my name.
And then nobody said anything. Phil shuffled his feet after a second or two, and I strove onward. “Um . . . is your husband here, Mrs. Longstreet? I mean, did he come to church with you?”
“Dr. Longstreet was unable to attend services with me today, Miss Blue, but he plans on attending regularly.”
“Ah. Well, that’s nice.”
