The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set

by Blanche Day Manos

  Grant nodded. “That’s probably the case. But since the house was built originally on a tall foundation, I think it would be a good idea to have an expert take a look at the underpinnings before long.”

  He nodded to Joe and his helper. “Thanks a lot, boys. We may need a statement from you later, after the medical examiner has taken a look at the body, but I’ll get back to you if we do.”

  I was sitting on the porch steps watching Ted Everett bandage Mom’s knee when Lieutenant Dave Swearingen from the Oklahoma State Police arrived. He got out of his car, shaking his head. “I would have been here sooner, but things are pretty bad just south of here. There’s a lot of trees down and that Quik-Mart at the corner of Hazel and Oak is in shambles. I had to take a detour and come down Highway 82 because the main roads are mostly blocked. But so far, I haven’t heard of any casualties.” He gestured toward the man on the ground. “Except this one. I won’t be surprised, though, if there’re more. A search crew is out right now.”

  “What about the bridges?” Grant asked.

  Swearingen shook his head. “All okay so far as I’ve heard except for the one over Spring Creek. Seismologists pegged the quake at about 6.5. They say the epicenter was way south of us, in an area of open fields, and that limited the destruction that might have occurred if it had smacked Levi right along Main Street.”

  Swearingen took a laptop from his car. “The medical examiner will want to take a look at this guy, but we don’t need an expert to tell us what happened here. All we need now is confirmation of his identity.”

  He opened the laptop, knelt beside the crushed body, and lifted one of the dead man’s hands flat against the computer screen. “I’ve already called headquarters and they’ve got somebody waiting to compare these fingerprints with the ones we have on file.”

  It took less than five minutes for the message to appear on the screen. Confirmed. Rusty W. Lang, dob: 02/27/81. Convictions on record for theft, breaking and entering, assault, violation of probation and numerous juvenile charges.

  “You knew it was that Lang person right away, didn’t you, Darcy?” Mom asked.

  I nodded. “I’ll never forget how he glared at me in the courtroom. He really hated me for taking that picture. I guess he meant it when he said he’d get me.”

  “Is my mother okay?” I asked Everett, who was putting his tools back into his bag.

  “She’s going to have a walloping bruise on that knee and you were right about her blood pressure. I gave her a pill that’ll help her relax. She ought to go in and lie down. That med will make her kinda shaky.”

  Grant and I held onto Mom’s arms and helped her up the steps and across the front porch. But before we got inside, she turned to Grant and gave him a look that seemed not at all affected by the tranquilizer. Her speech didn’t seem slurred either.

  “Grant Hendley, now that this man is dead, is my daughter safe and we can breathe easy?”

  He patted her hand. “I think you can relax. You sure won’t have to worry about Rusty Lang anymore.”

  I noticed he didn’t really answer her question.

  We walked her to her bedroom and slipped off her shoes and tucked a quilt around her shoulders. I kissed her forehead. “Rest a little now and when you get up, things are going to look a lot better.”

  She looked up at me. “Is that a promise?”

  “Sure, Mom. That’s a promise.”

  Grant went with me into the kitchen. A glance at the old oak cabinets brought me up short. They appeared to be slanting toward the northeast corner of the kitchen, and there was a crack between the largest one and the kitchen floor. I tried to open the lower cabinet door where we kept the coffee. It stuck. Grant moved around me, put both hands on the door and pulled. The door came off and he sat down suddenly.

  I giggled. “Sorry, Grant. You just looked rather surprised.”

  Grant grinned. “That’s how I felt, too. Anyway, it’s off and it’ll stay that way for a while.”

  Mom and I had been debating the wisdom of trying to remodel and update the old house. My mother wanted to stay where she had lived for forty years, but I believed a new house would be more comfortable and convenient for her. The earthquake had most likely resolved the matter.

  “It looks like the quake gave the kitchen a whole new look,” I said, reaching for the can of coffee.

  He took the can from my hands. “I may not make a cup of Joe that equals Miss Flora’s, but I’ve had lots of practice. You sit down and I’ll do the honors.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” I said. “If I ever yearned for a cup of hot, bone-jarring caffeine, it’s now. Thanks for being here.”

  “I’ll go soon—it’s going to be a long day. But first, we both need something to settle our nerves. In lieu of anything stronger, I hope this coffee fills the bill. I imagine that lieutenant out in the yard could use a cup too.”

  A white van from the Ventris County Morgue was pulling up to the gate as Grant and I walked back into the front yard. I carried a cup of coffee to Lieutenant Swearingen who was sitting on the porch, busily entering data into his computer.

  Hopping out of the van, a white-coated attendant opened the hatch and pulled out a gurney. Doc McCauley alit from the passenger side and bustled toward the body. He nodded to Grant and me. “Grant. Darcy. Miss Flora okay?”

  “She will be a lot better after her nap,” I answered.

  “Well, bring her in tomorrow and I’ll take a look. You too, Darcy.”

  As well as his small black medical bag, Richard McCauley always brought with him a sense that things were going to get better. He knelt beside Rusty Lang. “Darcy, you are going to have to find a new profession,” he said.

  “You don’t care for my newspaper stories, Doc?”

  “Your writing is fine. It’s your nose that’s the problem.”

  “You don’t like my nose?”

  “It looks all right but you’re always sticking it into trouble. You’ve gotta stop that.”

  Grant raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I keep telling her.”

  Dr. McCauley might be reassuring, but he was also blunt. And it looked like he was right.

  “I’m done here.” He snapped his bag shut and grunted as he got to his feet and dusted off his knees. “Take care, Darcy. I’m serious,” he said over his shoulder as he followed the gurney with its burden back to the van.

  “Hey, Doc, got a minute?” Lieutenant Swearingen intercepted him as he turned toward the gate. Jim Clendon joined them.

  Grant took my hand and led me away from the porch, toward the peony bush by the front gate. His tone was somber. “I need to talk to you, Darcy.”

  “It’s not really over, is it, Grant?”

  “I’m afraid it may not be. I don’t know. You see, I think Rusty was out for revenge, pure and simple. But I think you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest with your investigation into the disappearance of Andrea Worth. We haven’t resolved anything there. Haven’t found Andrea, haven’t uncovered anything about what might have happened to her. I think you’d better be very cautious and watch your back, Darcy.”

  This was sounding more and more ominous. A hornet’s nest was a pretty apt description. I had a mental picture of a swarm of those angry little yellow insects zeroing in on me. But at least a person could see the hornets coming and I had no idea who my enemies were.

  My mouth suddenly felt dry. “Okay, Grant, let’s assume that somebody who doesn’t want me nosing into the Andrea business hired Lang; maybe Andrea herself hired him, if she’s still alive and doesn’t want to be found. Maybe Lang wasn’t out for revenge. Maybe he was just trying to carry out orders.”

  Grant ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Think about it, Darcy. It makes a whole lot more sense that Rusty Lang had planned to get even with you the whole time he was locked up. I doubt that Andrea or anybody else hired him. It’s a possibility, but I think he acted on his own. I doubt very much that just because Lang is dead, you
are no longer in danger. I think somebody in Levi doesn’t want you snooping around the Worth case and that person is still very much alive.”

  The horror of what he was saying felt like somebody had punched me in the stomach. “So, it may be that Rusty wasn’t my only enemy? There may be somebody else out there who just doesn’t like me very much?” I gulped.

  Grant nodded. “Maybe.”

  “And you think that maybe he or she is still determined to . . . um . . . silence me?”

  Grant’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Could be.”

  Once again I wished that our mailman had lost Sophie Williams’ letter. I wished I had turned a deaf ear to her plea. I had not only opened myself up to danger, I had put my mother in danger, too.

  “But Grant, you are just guessing. I really think that Rusty was my only immediate worry. With him gone, I don’t think there’s anybody else who would be willing to commit murder. That’s a dangerous thing in itself. Nobody ever gets away with taking someone else’s life. Most people draw the line at that. Anyway, most sane people do.”

  Grant was silent, staring off down the road. Finally, he muttered, “You just said it, Darcy. I agree—most sane people would never attempt to kill another human being. But what if there is an insane person in town who is just unbalanced enough to think he could get away with it? What if he has weighed the risk of getting rid of you against the possibility that you might find out what happened to Andrea? Maybe the stakes are so high that he is willing to take that risk.”

  I shook my head and shivered. The morning sun was doing nothing to dispel the chill in the air.

  “You must have a guardian angel, Darcy Tucker, watching over you. I just hope he’s always there when you need him.”

  I was so near tears that I couldn’t even correct him. Tucker, Campbell, whichever, I had never been so afraid in all my life. And yes, I believed in guardian angels. Mine must be very busy.

  Chapter 20

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted me as I came downstairs the day after the earthquake, but that was all that was normal about the morning. My mother stood in front of her sink looking at the dilapidated cabinets with tears in her eyes. I saw no sign that she was preparing breakfast.

  I put my arm around her. “It’s a real mess, isn’t it?”

  She nodded without speaking.

  “Why don’t we have a cup of coffee to sort of get our eyes focusing properly and then go to Dilly’s for breakfast?”

  She sighed. “That’s about the only thing to do, Darcy. Everything inside the house is torn up and I don’t really have the heart to tackle it. Maybe I’ll feel better after some of Artie’s pancakes.”

  “And, Mom, if the inspector says there has been extensive damage to the foundation and supports, it might be a good time to think about moving to a newer house, don’t you think?”

  Mom glared at me. “Now Darcy, we’ve been all through this. The house is old but then I’m no spring chicken any more either. Would you want to throw me out if I had a car wreck and needed a lot of expensive surgery? No? I don’t want to throw out this old house either. I’ve got a lot of good memories of your dad wrapped up within these walls.”

  Was there ever anybody as hardheaded as Flora Tucker?

  Much of Levi must have had the same idea we had, because the parking lot at Dilly’s was full. Thankfully, the cafe looked intact. A fallen tree lay near the parking lot. I would guess it had once been across the lot but had been dragged away to make room for customers. Artie waved us to a booth that had just been vacated. Tony wiped off the table and with a flourish handed us the breakfast menu.

  “Glad to see you two are all right,” Tony said. “Levi was lucky that we didn’t have more damage. There’s a crack running up the wall of the kitchen but that’s all we’ve seen, so far.”

  I sat down and relaxed. I loved this place.

  We were halfway into our pancakes when Zack Crowder ambled over to our booth. I smiled at this young man who was a third or fourth cousin, I wasn’t sure which.

  “Darcy, Aunt Flora, do you mind if I sit down?”

  I scooted over to make room. “Would you like some coffee? I don’t see much of you anymore. Your mom said you are driving a truck. Who are you driving for?”

  Zack frowned. “I drive for this one and that.”

  Tony came by with the coffee pot to refill our cups. “Gary Worth, is who I heard,” Mom said.

  I popped another bite of crusty brown pancake into my mouth. “Your mother was worried about you the other day. Do you drive out of town?”

  He was silent and Mom tapped my foot with her toe.

  I shook my head at my mother. So, okay, maybe it was a nosy question but a reporter had to be nosy, didn’t she? However, I didn’t want Zack to be offended and leave in a huff. “Sorry, Zack, curiosity of the reporter.”

  “That’s okay. I wanted to ask you, Darcy, if you’re going to go ahead with that book.”

  “Well, sure I am. Why would I not?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes people around here get kind of nervous when reporters start asking questions.” He twisted a high school class ring on his left hand.

  “Surely nobody would object to answering questions if they have nothing to hide.”

  “Darn it, Darcy, some of the people in town think that you’re going to be sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Why can’t you just let well enough alone?” Zack asked.

  What was it about my nose? Doc McCauley had objections to it too.

  Zack was shredding a paper napkin. “It stands to reason that if you are getting involved in another police matter, you might be putting yourself in danger. I heard talk about a dead guy being found squashed outside your house after the quake. Rumor is that he was carrying a gun.”

  Suddenly Dilly’s pancakes lost their flavor. Dilly’s must surely be the most efficient purveyor of information in the whole state. How under the sun did Zack already know the details of Rusty Lang’s death? And if Zack knew, his mother knew, and Earlene Crowder considered it her civic duty to pass along every juicy tidbit that fell upon her eager ears.

  Zack slid out of his seat and stood looking down at me. “Why can’t you just be happy with helping Aunt Flora and puttering around your yard? You don’t need to be doing any writing about Levi. Folks around here are kinda private.”

  After he left, I looked over at my mother. A frown creased her forehead. “I’m not much hungry any more, Darcy.”

  “Nor am I. Let’s go, Mom.”

  “I need to run across to the grocery store. I’ll be along to the car in a few minutes,” she said. “There’s a food sale going on ’cause a lot of canned stuff was dumped on the floor. If the cans aren’t actually dented or damaged, I don’t mind buying them.”

  I was so lost in thought as I left Dilly’s that I almost bumped into one of Levi’s oldest and most colorful characters. Burke Hopkins put out a hand and grabbed my arm. “Whoa there, Darcy. I didn’t mean to run into you.”

  I grinned and shook his hand. “Mr. Hopkins, it was my fault. I should have watched where I was going.” I had always admired this man. My dad used to say there wasn’t a person anywhere more honest than this old gentleman who stood smiling in front of me.

  Burke Hopkins was Cherokee. Although I had not seen him for about ten years, his brown leathery face looked the same as I remembered. He had to be nearly ninety because he had two sons who were in high school with my mother and she was 67. He let go of my hand and heaved a case of Dr. Pepper into the back of the truck parked at the curb. He had evidently been to the grocery store, too.

  “How are you, Mr. Hopkins? You don’t look a bit older than you did the last time I saw you.”

  He chuckled. “Oh now, I bet you learned how to make an old man feel good while you were down there in the big city. Why, I’ve got a birthday coming up and I’ll be 89.” He stepped back onto the sidewalk. “Actually, you don’t look a bit older than you did the last time I sa
w you either. I think you must have been about 16.”

  I laughed out loud. “If I looked 16 the last time you saw me, it must have been 25 years ago!”

  Although his father had been half Cherokee and half Hispanic, Burke Hopkins was clearly the son of his Cherokee mother. With his hooked nose, prominent cheekbones, and the still-thick snowy hair, he was the kind of man who stood out in a crowd. His bushy brows were black as a crow’s wing and his narrowed eyes were the color of tarnished copper. Time had not bent his broad shoulders. He would retain his dignity and character as long as there was a scrap of Burke Hopkins.

  I noted his scuffed boots, blue jeans, and red plaid shirt, faded as was the man who wore them, but impeccably clean and well fitting.

  “Are you still living in that pretty white house south of town?” I asked.

  “Oh yes, with Wolf and Ranger. I’ve got those old dogs beat as far as age goes but they’re sharp as tacks, don’t talk back to me, and tell me if a stranger is coming. Now who could ask for more?”

  “Sounds like the best of worlds to me. You used to keep a flock of hens, too.”

  He nodded. “Still do. I sell the eggs at the farmer’s market every Saturday. Course, the quake might have put them off their egg laying for a spell. It sure riled up my two old dogs.”

  His deep voice softened. “I was sorry to hear about your husband dying, though, Darcy. Bad trouble, that.”

  I swallowed the painful lump that clogged my throat at the mention of Jake. Hurriedly, I changed the subject. “I can remember when you and my dad used to go fishing together and stay on the river all night.”

  He nodded, and pushed his old black Stetson away from his forehead. “Yes, and then we’d build us a little fire out of tree branches along the creek and fry up some catfish and perch for breakfast.”

  Hopkins patted my arm then stepped back a little and his big, warm, calloused hand slid down my arm and folded around my hand. For a moment we stood on the sidewalk together, remembering the past.