Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “Of course,” Deena said without hesitation. “I can drive over in the morning.”

  After ending the call, Deena wondered what her aunt wanted to talk to her about. Had they been thinking about death too? It couldn’t be about their will. Their son, Mark, would be getting their inheritance. She’d have to be patient and wait until she got there.

  But Deena wasn’t a patient person.

  The next day she hit the road early. Never had she seen so many 18-wheelers on one stretch of highway. The drive west was always more backed up than the eastbound lanes. Her mind wandered as she slowed down, stuck behind one huge truck after another. She could smell the lemon pound cake she had bought at the supermarket, unpackaged, and then re-wrapped in foil to make it look homemade. Her mother had taught her never to show up empty handed when you go a’calling.

  Deena’s mother had always warned her that Lucy was the drama queen of the family. Matthew had been the stable one; Deena’s mother Margie was the dreamer. After Matthew disappeared, the two sisters had drifted apart.

  Glad to be away from her computer, Deena thought about the latest tedious, boring article she was slaving over for Post-It-Here Pages, one of the online writing sites that Lloyd Pryor had suggested. So far she had written twelve articles on topics ranging from “Top 10 Places to Visit in East Texas” to “How to Keep Rabbits Out of Your Garden.” Her latest article was entitled, “Twenty-five Facts About Labor Day.”

  Nobody gives a rat’s ass about Labor Day, Deena thought when researching information for the article. Only reason anyone cared about it was that they got a day off from work. Still, she had pressed on, hoping one of her stories might strike a chord with Lloyd Pryor.

  She passed several antique shops and had to force herself to keep driving. Besides having her own antique booth, she collected pottery and porcelain figurines. Vintage junk was like heroin, and she was definitely an addict.

  After more than an hour on the road, Deena finally parked her blue Explorer in front of Aunt Lucy’s house. As always, pink roses trailed along the fence despite the hot Texas sun. It was a wonder anything could survive around there.

  Lucy opened the front door and welcomed Deena inside. “Come on in,” she said and gave Deena a hug. “Mama is sleeping, so we’ll be a little bit quiet.”

  They walked past the living room straight to the large country kitchen with its round oak table and bay window. A pitcher of sweet tea and a plate of sandwiches were set out on the kitchen table. Richard set aside the newspaper and stood up to welcome Deena. Lucy thanked her profusely for coming up to see them as she unwrapped the pound cake and put it on a plate. After a bit of small talk, Lucy became more serious and folded her hands on the table. She reminded Deena of a character straight out of Gone with the Wind.

  Was she about to say a blessing? Deena swallowed down a bite of chicken salad sandwich she hadn’t waited to bite into.

  “Deena,” Lucy said slowly, “we asked you here for a favor. Several years ago, I made a promise to Mama. She knew her health was failing and was worried she was going to die. She asked me to look after Matthew if he ever came back home.” Tears began to well in her eyes, and she reached in the pocket of her housedress and pulled out a handkerchief. “Although I knew that would never happen, I told her I would.”

  Deena reached over and patted her aunt’s arm.

  “A few days ago, Mama woke up in the night all in a terror. She said she had seen Matthew’s ghost in her room, rummaging through the cedar chest. She thought it was a sign that he was not able to rest in peace and needed help.” Lucy wiped back more tears and blew her nose loudly.

  Deena narrowed her eyes. “A ghost? Bless her heart. I’m sure it was just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I know, but now she’s been asking me to try to find an explanation for my brother’s death. She doesn’t think he’ll rest until then. I don’t know what to do.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and swooned dramatically. “I don’t want any dead spirit lurking around my house.”

  Richard sat with his head down and his arms folded across his chest. Was he as worried about Gran as Lucy? Deena wasn’t sure.

  “I understand,” Deena said. “Have you thought about hiring a private detective?”

  “We have,” Richard said, looking up at last, “but something happened last week that kind of spooked us. There was a man that came by here asking us all kinds of questions about Matthew. He said he was an investigator, but he didn’t seem like any investigator I ever knew. I asked him what he was investigating, and he said, ‘the murder of Matthew Meade.’ We assumed he was a police detective helping to find Matthew’s killer.”

  Lucy picked up the story excitedly. “He seemed to know all sorts of things about Matthew and Mama and Papa.” Then she whispered, as though an intruder waited in the next room. “He wanted to know about Matthew’s old friends and people he worked with. He had some pictures of Matthew when he was in the army. He even asked us about people with foreign-sounding names.”

  “Not just foreign,” Richard added. “Russian.”

  Oh great. Were they worried about the cold war now? Deena braced herself for whatever was coming next.

  Richard walked over and took something off the kitchen counter. “I asked this fella which police department he worked for. The man hemmed and hawed then pulled out this card.” Richard handed Deena the simple white business card.

  She set down her half-eaten sandwich to read it aloud. “Leon Galt, Investigative Journalist, New York City, and a phone number. Not much information.” She looked up to see their worried faces.

  Richard peered at her over his reading glasses. “That’s when I told him that we just as soon not answer any more of his questions, and he left. It was all suspicious.” He looked at Lucy who had lost some of the color in her face since they’d begun talking.

  “Does Gran know about this?” Deena asked.

  Lucy picked up he cloth napkin and began to fan herself. “No, luckily she was asleep in the back room when he was here.”

  Deena thought about the mysterious visitor. “Did you ask him why he wanted this information?”

  Richard glanced across the kitchen toward the front room. “I did, but it was like he just ignored the question and kept talking. I can’t believe we told him as much as we did.”

  “Maybe you should call the police.” Deena wasn’t sure what else to suggest.

  “We did,” Richard said. “They said to let them know if he ever shows up again. They had never heard of him before and couldn’t do anything since he hadn’t broken any laws.”

  Deena, still holding the business card, just sighed. “I really doubt you said anything that would cause any harm. Sounds like maybe he’s writing an article of some sort. Maybe he really does want to help find out who killed Matthew.” Deena hoped her positive tone would lessen the anxiety that clearly gripped her aunt and uncle. “Did you say anything to Mark about this?”

  “Oh yes,” Lucy said. “Our boy was the one who suggested we call you.”

  Deena hesitated. “I’m glad you called, of course, but why me? What is it you want me to do?”

  Lucy glanced at Richard. “You have always been so clever, dear,” she said. “Everyone says so. You won all those writing awards in college. Since you are retired and know all about this reporting stuff, we were hoping you would look in to this Galt fellow and into Matthew’s death for us and for Gran.”

  “Okay, but what exactly do you want me to find out?”

  “We want to know who killed Matthew and why,” Richard said bluntly.

  Deena glanced back and forth between the two. Were they serious? She couldn’t hide her look of disbelief. “You realize you are asking me to solve a fifty-year-old crime. I really doubt I can do that—I doubt anyone can do that.” Not even Lois Lane.

  “We understand,” Richard said. “But if there is something important enough for this man from New York City to come all the way down here to Texas
to find out, we want to know what it is. You may not find all the answers, but at least you could figure out what he wants.”

  Lucy folded her hands as though she were about to start begging. “We could hire a stranger to investigate, but like Mark said, you never know who to trust. You are family, so we know we can trust you. We’d do it ourselves, but at our age...”

  “I understand,” Deena said. “But why didn’t you ask Mark? He’s retired, right?”

  “He volunteered, but we said no.” Richard sat back and folded his arms. “Let’s just say that Mark has a way of mucking stuff up. Just ask his two ex-wives. He’s not really good on the follow-through, if you know what I mean.”

  Deena stood up and walked to the window that looked out over the backyard. The more she thought about it, the more intrigued she became. This was just the kind of meaty story that could get Lloyd Pryor’s attention. Anything was better than writing about Labor Day. This could be her chance to do some real reporting and show people what she was made of. She turned back around. “I can’t make any promises, but I will see what I can find out.”

  Relief washed over their faces, and Lucy threw her arms around Deena. “Thank you, dear. This means a lot to us. I know Mama will be happy to know someone is actually doing something to bring closure.”

  Richard walked over to the far side of the room. “Mark came by yesterday and helped me pull some boxes out of the attic. These are Matthew’s papers and such that Gran had collected.” Richard tried to scoot the cardboard boxes across the floor using his foot. At almost eighty years old, his back wasn’t what it used to be. “Maybe there’s something in there that can help. Also, keep a list of your expenses. We’ll cover all your costs.”

  Deena nodded and stared at the boxes. What on earth had she gotten herself into? She took the business card and stuffed it in her pocket. A plan was already starting to hatch. First things first. Who was Leon Galt and what was he doing stalking her family?

  Chapter 9

  By the time she walked through the garage door to the house, Deena knew exactly what she wanted to do first. She went straight to the den and sat down at the large oak desk she had bought at an auction. She had painted it white to match the country cottage feel of the room. Many times since, she wished she had left it the original warm brown color with all its former bumps and bruises. The older she got, the more she appreciated things in their natural state.

  The fatigue of the long drive melted away as she waited for her computer to wake up and get to work. She felt certain that an internet search for Leon Galt would spring forth a fountain of information. Rather than a fountain, though, she got a flood. Thousands of results came back for that name. She added quotation marks around it and watched the results narrow to a few hundred. Scrolling through the first few pages, she could not find anyone who fit the description. She tried adding search terms such as “New York” and “investigator” and “journalist,” but she still came up empty. A dentist, a veterinarian, a plumbing service—she would have to dig deeper to find this guy.

  “Hey,” Gary said as he entered the room.

  Deena jumped and caught her breath. “Geez, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come in. Good thing I didn’t go all mad dog on you.”

  “Why are you working in the dark?” He flipped on the overhead light that Deena had been too anxious to bother with.

  “You are not going to believe this,” Deena said as she watched her husband settle into the cushy chair next to the front window.

  “Aunt Lucy and Uncle Richard want me to investigate Matthew’s murder. Actually, they want me to solve it, but we all know the chances of that happening are slim to none. They gave me some boxes of Gran’s things, which I need you to get out of the car for me. And get this—they are covering my expenses.”

  “Deena Sharpe, P.I.” Gary laughed and crossed his legs.

  Actually, Deena really liked the way that sounded. She pictured herself with binoculars and a walkie-talkie peering out from behind the bushes at some seedy motel. “I agreed to do it because I think it will give me real investigative experience and make for a compelling story to show Pryor.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Besides, your relatives are really getting up there in age. I’d hate to think this is hanging around their necks.” He walked over and sat down on the corner of Deena’s desk. “But if you take on this project, who, my dear, is going to tell the world twenty-five facts about Labor Day?”

  Deena grimaced and smacked her husband on the leg. “Very funny. Now will you please go get those boxes?”

  She got up and cleared a space in the middle of the floor. Sitting on the throw rug, she could sort through all the contents, hopefully finding clues. She felt like a doctor performing exploratory surgery, looking for anything that seemed suspicious.

  “What do you want to do about dinner?” Gary asked when he returned, his arms taut with the first heavy load.

  “I’d like to start going through these boxes right away. Could we just get pizza delivered?”

  “Pizza it is,” he said, taking off his tie and heading to the bedroom. Deena followed him to get comfortable, knowing she would be sitting on the floor for a long while. She pulled on a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt.

  “Want to look through the boxes with me?” she asked.

  “Not unless you need me. The Rangers are on tonight, and I need to proofread a report I have to send out tomorrow.”

  Deena anticipated that he would decline her offer. Just like when they were first married and she would ask him to help her grade papers, he would always have something else more pressing. It established an expectation that she took care of her teacher work and he did his financial business. Obviously, nothing had changed. And that was fine with her.

  Deena practically salivated with expectation as she removed the lid of the first box, not knowing what secrets might lay within. The odor of dust and musty old paper filled her nose and made her throat tickle. She felt like an archaeologist when first unveiling a hidden treasure. The inside of the box was jumbled and stacked full. She decided to separate the contents into piles of similar items.

  Photographs, mostly black and white, comprised the top layer of the box. She stared at the people in the pictures, her eyes squinted, mind intent, mood hopeful. So many of the faces seemed familiar—were probably relatives—but were unidentifiable to Deena. She placed the photographs into two piles: with Matthew and without Matthew. She came across a few snapshots of her mother and father, lingering on these longer, drifting back in time. These particular pictures tugged at her heart, making her more melancholy than usual.

  The doorbell rang, and Gary went to pay for the pizza. Brian, one of her students from the past school year, stuck his head around the door to say hello.

  “Hi Brian. I see you’re back delivering pizza again this summer?”

  “Yes ma’am. Last time, though, since I graduate next year.” He hesitated then added, “Mrs. Sharpe, is it true you quit?”

  “Yes. I’m going to miss you guys, but I was just ready to graduate from high school myself. I wanted to try doing something different.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Well, see you around.” Gary closed the door behind Brian and then insisted Deena stop what she was doing to eat.

  “So, what’s in the boxes?” Gary asked before chomping down on a slice of pepperoni.

  “From what I can tell by just glancing, there are pictures, old bills, letters, postcards—just a little bit of everything.” She filled two glasses with wine and sat down on the counter stool. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Hopefully, I’ll recognize something important if I see it.”

  “Be sure to pay attention if you see a letter from Matthew that says, ‘If I am found dead, here’s who did it and why.’”

  “More jokes, really?”

  “You know I’m just playing. I want to be supportive, but this seems like a wild goose chase.”

  “I know.”
Deena wiped the corner of her mouth and took a sip of wine. “I’ve been wondering, though. What are the main reasons a person would kill someone else?”

  “Well, let’s see. Anger...revenge...money...greed.”

  “Also, jealousy or to keep him quiet. I’m sure there’s more reasons, but that’s a good start. So, what might be in those boxes that could tie Matthew to one of those reasons?”

  Gary nodded. “I see where you are going with this. If you find something showing he owed someone a lot of money, you might have a motive.”

  “Right. Or a love letter from a girl who turns out to be married. You know, this is going to take a lot more digging than I thought.”

  “Unless, that is, you find that letter I mentioned.”

  “Ha,” Deena scoffed. “By the way, is that lipstick on your collar?”

  “What? Where?” Gary anxiously tried to look down at his shirt.

  “Gotcha!” Deena ate and thought about her next move. “I’m going to call the Bingham County Sheriff’s Office and make an appointment to meet with that deputy who worked this case. Maybe there is some additional information that can help me retrace what happened when Matthew disappeared.”

  “Do you need me to go with you? I’d have to reschedule—”

  “No,” Deena interrupted. “I’m a big girl. I can do this myself.” She ate a few more bites of pizza.

  Something gnawed at her, trying to make its way from the back of her mind to the front. A sense of foreboding came over her. “By the way, have you ever heard of a man named Leon Galt?”

  THE NEXT MORNING, DEENA got up to tackle the boxes again. After pouring a cup of coffee, she returned to the den and her ever-growing stacks. Most of the pictures of Matthew were portraits taken when he was young. She loved the ones of him in short pants and a bow tie.

  After about an hour of looking through faded photos and greeting cards, Deena’s legs ached from sitting on the floor. She got up and went to her desk to call the sheriff’s office. A receptionist said she could meet with Deputy Simms the next morning.