Dead Wrong

by Vannetta Chapman

  By the time he’d wiped the water from the floor, the Cox brothers were back in the room and Agatha had served drinks and snacks to everyone who wanted something.

  The young couple with the baby introduced themselves as Stuart and Brooklyn Willis. Brooklyn was average height, thin, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked tired, but then he supposed most new mothers did. Stuart seemed the geeky type—large glasses, pale skin, and wearing a t-shirt that read Keep Calm and Reboot. Baby Hudson was six months old and sucking on a pacifier that took up the entire lower portion of his face.

  Stuart, who remained standing behind his wife’s chair, was the first to speak. “This is nice and all, and we appreciate your hospitality, Agatha. But what’s going on? Are we in danger?”

  “No one’s in danger, Stuart.” Agatha sat perched on the edge of a straight back chair. “One of the guests—Mr. Dixon—has died.”

  Which started everyone talking at once again.

  Agatha raised a hand to shush them, and Tony was surprised when they complied. But then she stared down at her hands, apparently at a loss for words. Finally, she glanced over at Tony, and he stepped forward. “Let Agatha explain, and then if you have any questions that I can answer, I’d be happy to do so.”

  An older Amish gentleman ran his fingers through his snow white beard. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Antonio Vargas—Agatha’s neighbor on the north side.” Tony crossed the room to shake the man’s hand.

  “I’m Joseph. This is my wife Miriam.”

  Tony walked around the room, shaking hands and introducing himself to those he hadn’t yet met.

  Agatha waited for the room to quiet and then again stepped to the front of the room. “Antonio can perhaps explain what is happening better than I could.”

  “I was also employed with the Hunt Police Department for thirty years—first as a cop and later as a detective.”

  “Perhaps we’ve got the buggy before the horse here.” This from the older gentlemen—Henry Glick. He paused, pulled a piece of lemon candy out of his pocket, freed it from its wrapper and popped it into his mouth. He sported a long beard, and his wife, Jan, was dressed in a style similar to what Agatha wore.

  From what Tony could tell, about half the guests were Amish.

  Glick tucked the candy wrapper into his pocket and added, “Perhaps first we should pause a moment to pray.”

  The Amish folk bowed their heads, as did Agatha.

  Tony stared at his feet. He’d prayed many times in his life, but never while assessing a crime scene. No, that wasn’t exactly true. There’d been several cases where his heart had cried out to God as soon as he caught sight of the victim.

  After a moment of silence, Agatha cleared her throat and began explaining what had happened. “I went to change Mr. Dixon’s linens. He didn’t answer when I knocked on the door, so I used my key to go in. He wasn’t in the room, but the back door was open. He was...he was lying in the grass back behind the cabin. I don’t know what happened. Maybe he had a heart condition, or...well, I just don’t know.”

  “He was here in the house last night,” Brooklyn said. “Hudson is cutting teeth, and he woke up fussing. I saw Mr. Dixon when I came out to the kitchen to heat some milk for a bottle.”

  “What time was that?” Agatha asked.

  “Two a.m. exactly. Hudson used to sleep through the night, but since he started teething that’s all changed. The last two weeks have been crazy. I remember looking at the clock and wondering if I’d ever have a solid night’s sleep again.” She pulled the baby closer to her. “Which seems like a silly thing to worry about now.”

  “Sleep is very important,” one of the Amish women said. “And yes—you will get a full night’s sleep again. I remember wondering the same thing with all eleven of my children.”

  “So how long do we have to stay inside?” Paxton asked. “No offense, Agatha. But we came here to fish, not sit around and eat cookies.”

  Agatha looked to Tony for the answer, so he moved in front of the fireplace and addressed the group. “What the officers are doing now is standard procedure for a 10-39.”

  “Ten what?” Xavier asked.

  “Report of a dead person. Each police department has its own protocol in such a situation—steps they follow, which includes obtaining a witness statement from each of you. Since this appears to be a fairly open and shut case...” A twinge of guilt caused him to pause. He did have questions about what he’d seen, but they were probably easily explained. And this isn’t my case. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two, and then you all can go on about your vacation.”

  That seemed to settle everyone down. Ten minutes later Jolene arrived with the witness forms, and Tami directed each couple into separate rooms to fill them out.

  “Another standard operating procedure?” Agatha asked.

  “Pretty much.”

  “So they can’t...corrupt each other’s testimony?”

  “This isn’t a murder investigation, Agatha. I don’t know what you’ve seen on television, but this isn’t that.”

  “I’m Amish, Tony.”

  “So you mentioned.”

  “I don’t watch television. We don’t use electricity.”

  “None at all?”

  “I did have it installed in the cabins for the guests.”

  “Oh.” Glancing around, he realized that must be one of the reasons the place looked so clean—no televisions, computers, stereo systems. In fact, it reminded him of his abuela’s home.

  “So why do they need to be separated?”

  “Because we’re all very open to suggestion. That conversation we had earlier? Where you told everyone how you found Dixon? It probably shouldn’t have happened, but I didn’t feel like it was my place to stop you.”

  “I rather wish you had.”

  “People think the memory works like a video recorder.” He stopped, glanced around again, then asked, “Uh...do you know about video recorders?”

  “I don’t own one, but I know how they work.”

  “Okay, well, obviously a device can record events and then play them back exactly as they occurred.”

  “But the human mind doesn’t work that way.”

  “Not at all. Our memories are reconstructed.” He spied a table tucked into the corner of the room with a half assembled jigsaw puzzle of a cat in a garden. “Like that puzzle. We put the pieces together, and the way we do so is susceptible to the way other people do so.”

  “Like you put a puzzle together based on the picture on the box.”

  “Exactly. Only in the case of Mr. Dixon’s death, we don’t know what the picture on the box looks like yet. That’s what the detective has to do—put together an accurate picture of what happened.”

  “And you’re a detective?”

  “I was, but I’m not anymore.”

  Chapter Four

  Three hours later Agatha watched the paramedics roll Russell Dixon’s body to the waiting ambulance. He was covered with a sheet, of course. The emergency personnel loaded him up, then jumped into the ambulance and drove away—at a much more sedate speed than they’d arrived and without the siren blaring. Russell Dixon wasn’t in a hurry. It wouldn’t matter how long they took to deliver him to the county morgue.

  Had it really only been a few hours since she’d found him? How life could turn on a dime.

  She stood watching, her Bible in one hand and a basket of food in the other. Tony walked over and said something to the lieutenant. Those two seemed like oil and water. Lieutenant Bannister reminded her of a peacock her neighbors in Shipshe had once owned. The thing would strut around with its feathers spread wide and cry like a baby. She’d been rather relieved when they donated it to a local zoo.

  Antonio Vargas, on the other hand, looked like a man who had just strolled onto her property. Warm brown skin, black hair sprinkled with gray, and brown eyes that caused her to wonder what had happened to him. Tony looked for all the world like a m
an who’d woken abruptly from a long nap and found himself dropped into the river of life.

  She thought back to the day she’d moved to Hunt. The property had been in a state of disrepair and she’d been exhausted by the long trip to Texas. Not ready to face what was on the inside of the house, she walked around the porch and sat on the steps to watch the river flowing by her property. Tony drove down the drive that separated their two homes, parked in his carport, and trudged into the house. He’d looked exhausted even then.

  He still looked exhausted.

  As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he turned now and walked toward the front porch.

  She met him at the steps, a book in one hand and a basket in the other. She handed him the basket.

  “For me?” His eyebrows shot up as he peeked under the dishtowel.

  “You were working with the officers while the rest of us ate.”

  “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I think you rather earned it.”

  Tony tucked the cloth back around the dinner. “Would you like to sit for a minute?”

  She led him over to the rockers. A rocking chair could soothe her soul when few other things could. The cat immediately jumped down from the window sill and began winding his way through her legs.

  “You’ve already been fed, Fonzi.”

  “Fonzi?”

  “Gina—my friend—named him. He came with the house, and we’ve become gut freinden.” As if to prove her point, the cat dropped on the porch floor and rolled onto his back, paws in the air, a soft purr emanating from him.

  Agatha rubbed his belly, then glanced up at Tony. “Who was the man in the blue sedan?”

  “Our county ME—Medical Examiner.”

  “And why was he called?”

  “In Texas, if there’s an unattended death, then it’s standard procedure to bring in the ME. His name is Scott Millican. He’s a good guy.”

  Agatha blinked rapidly. She patted both of her pockets then the top of her head to locate her glasses. She only needed them to read. She was always leaving them lying about, which was one of the problems with only needing them for certain tasks. She’d like to open the Bible in her hand and read one of her favorite verses. She needed that guidance now more than ever. As it was, she felt like a blindfolded child trying to find her way, only this wasn’t a game of hide and seek.

  “This Mr. Millican will determine the cause of death?”

  “He will. He can request an autopsy, but in some cases—hopefully, in this case—he can determine the cause of death by performing an external examination and reviewing the deceased’s medical records.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Twelve to twenty-four hours. Longer if a full autopsy is needed.”

  Agatha had meant to work on her knitting project this evening. Knitting project? Why was she thinking about that? They were discussing a dead man in Cabin 3. She needed to pull herself together.

  The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than she noticed Tony studying her closely and waiting. At least the man knew how to abide silence. Being rushed right now would only fluster her more.

  “Do you think the cause of death was natural?”

  “Probably.” Tony placed the basket on the floor and leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees.

  “I know you already filled out a report for Lieutenant Bannister, but I’d like you to tell me what you noticed when you first walked into Cabin 3. Not just what you saw, but what your first impressions were.”

  The last thing Agatha wanted to do was re-experience finding Russell Dixon yet one more time. She’d already given her written statement, as well as endured questioning by the lieutenant. The Hunt Police Department had been quite thorough in its investigation of a man who had, in all likelihood, died from a heart attack.

  “You’re tired. I get that, but...well, memories tend to fade, and I just want to verify a few things.”

  “All right.” She walked him through calling out to Dixon, knocking on the door, and finding it locked.

  “And everything on the porch looked as it should?”

  She closed her eyes, rocked, and allowed the slight breeze to wash over her. Suddenly her eyes popped open. “There was a mud print on the bottom step.”

  “Why did you notice that?”

  “I try to keep an eye to anything that needs cleaning or tidying. When I walked up the steps I noticed the print and thought Dixon must have been out along the river. I was wondering if he’d also tracked mud through the cabin.”

  “And had he?”

  She closed her eyes and tried to envision the inside of the cabin. “Only to the bed, I think. He must have sat down and taken off his shoes.”

  Tony nodded. “He was barefoot when you found him, so that’s possible.”

  “But why would he go out the back door, and why wouldn’t he put on his shoes?”

  Tony shrugged, which she was learning was his way of saying, go on.

  “Okay. Well, the covers were thrown back. It definitely looked like he’d slept there. His clothing was...tossed everywhere. I didn’t spend much time looking at the room because the back door was open, and I thought that was odd.”

  “Wide open or ajar?”

  “Wide open, as if someone had thrown it open.”

  He motioned with his hand for her to continue.

  “I saw him...saw him almost as soon as I looked outside. We only mow about ten feet out from the cabin. The natural grasses, they bring in birds like roadrunners and bobwhite quail. Anyway, beyond the perimeter of the cabin, the grass is quite tall, nearly waist high. He was lying in it, and I couldn’t see most of him. But his foot was sticking out onto the mowed part, as if—well, as if he’d been standing there and someone had pushed him over.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nein. Except...” She rubbed her eyes, suddenly realizing how desperately tired she felt. But she wanted to get this right, wanted to see her memory—not one she might have reconstructed from hearing the others talking. She took a deep breath, pushed aside thoughts of a hot cup of tea and questions over whether this would be bad for business and what would that poor man’s family think when they learned he’d passed. She began at the bottom of the steps and walked back through the cabin.

  “The breakfast tray.”

  “What about it?”

  “I left it on the porch steps early that morning. Dixon had fetched it and placed it on the nightstand beside the bed, but the mug...the mug was shattered on the floor.” Her eyes popped open. “And the bedding...it wasn’t thrown back. Someone—I suppose Mr. Dixon—had dragged it toward the open back door. Why would he do that?”

  “Something startled him perhaps.”

  “Or someone.” Agatha’s mouth went suddenly dry. “If you jumped up out of bed, wouldn’t you throw the covers back? And why was the mug broken?”

  Tony ran a hand up and down his jaw line. Finally, he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She rubbed the palm of her hand over the smooth oak of the rocking chair’s arm and admitted, “It’s been a long day.”

  “I won’t keep you then.” Tony stood, picked up the basket, and walked toward the steps. He turned back toward her before she’d even risen from the rocking chair. “If you see or hear anything...”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything at all, Agatha.”

  It occurred to her that it was the first time he’d used her name, and why did he suddenly look so concerned?

  “If you see or hear anything, come and get me.”

  Without any other explanation, he stepped out into the darkening night.

  Chapter Five

  Agatha woke the next morning just before the crack of dawn, as was her custom. But this time she opened her eyes with a sense of foreboding, and at first, she couldn’t figure out why. The memories of finding Russell Dixon returned like waves crashing on a beach.

  If there was one thing she’d learned through he
r own troubles it was that dwelling on tragedy was never beneficial. So she went through her normal routine of dressing quickly and tidying her personal quarters, which consisted of a bedroom, bath, and living area. The small office she left for Gina to clean. Within twenty minutes she was drinking her first cup of coffee on the side porch where she could watch the river.

  Fonzi sat cleaning his face after having consumed his breakfast rather quickly. No doubt he’d prowled about most of the night.

  The view of the river didn’t give her the peace it usually did. She had trouble focusing on the beauty before her. Her gaze repeatedly turned toward Tony’s house.

  She’d lived in Hunt almost a year, and she didn’t really know the man at all.

  Yet she’d run to him when she was frightened.

  Why had she done that?

  A light was on in his kitchen, so either Tony was up or he’d left it on all night. She found herself praying for her neighbor, and for Russell Dixon’s family, and even for her guests, that they would not be unnecessarily traumatized by the previous day’s events.

  It wasn’t her job to solve the mystery of Dixon’s death—if it was a mystery. So instead, she went inside, poured herself another cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table with a pad of paper and pencil. She always began each day with a to-do list. It freed up her mind to focus on other things.

  She’d need to get in contact with Gina and ask if she could come out and take care of Cabin 3. Gina Phillips did basic house cleaning for her and helped with the shopping since she was Englisch and owned a car. But more than that, she’d become a good friend, and Agatha found her mood improving at the thought of seeing her. Gina pretended to be grumpy, but she always expressed it in such a funny way that they both ended up laughing. Gina would have a better perspective on all that had happened.

  Agatha had pre-made all the dinners for the week, so she’d only have to pop tonight’s casserole into the oven. If things went well, she’d have time to work in the small vegetable garden she kept next to the barn and catch up on the knitting project she’d planned to work on the day before—her niece was expecting another grandbaby before summer’s end. The family had seven girls and desperately hoped for a boy, though in their letters they claimed an eighth girl would be just fine too.