Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

“Yes.”

  “Did you know that his body was identified a few months ago?”

  “Yes, I read about it in the paper. I suppose you want to ask me about the night he disappeared.”

  “Yes.” Deena held her breath and crossed her toes. She didn’t want to have to beg.

  Donna hesitated. “You say he was your uncle?”

  “That’s right. Now that we know he was murdered, I am trying to find out everything I can about his disappearance.”

  “I told the cops, investigators, everybody who asked me, what happened that night.” Donna paused again. “I’ll make you a deal. You can have one hour and ask me all the questions you want. But after that, I never want to hear from you again.”

  Deena’s pulse raced. “That sounds fair. You name the time and place.”

  “It needs to be in public.” Donna thought a moment and then said, “How about tomorrow night. There’s a place in the Stockyards called Jerry’s. I’ll be there with my husband at nine o’clock.”

  “Perfect,” Deena said, scribbling down the details.

  “I’m only doing this for one reason. You’re his kin, and kin means a lot to me.” She hung up.

  Donna did not sound like the cheating blackmailer Mrs. Fitzhugh had described. Obviously, a lot can change in fifty years. Maybe Donna could help fill in some of the pieces of this puzzle before it was too late.

  A strong wind blew dark clouds across the sky. Large drops of water turned to mud on the windshield. The temperature dropped. Searing heat became suffocating humidity.

  Deena pulled into the garage just as the sprinkle turned into a shower. Her cell phone rang inside her purse, but she let it go as she hurried into the house. Although they were desperate for rain, this was the kind of storm that brings with it a foreboding feeling. Deena shivered even though she was far from cold.

  After setting her purse on the kitchen counter, she pulled out her phone and looked at the number for the missed call. She expected it to be Gary, but it was an unfamiliar number. The caller left a voice message. It was Leon Galt. He wanted her to come to the hospital to discuss an important matter, saying it had to be now or never.

  Chapter 30

  As soon as Gary entered the house, Deena accosted him. “We’ve got to go.”

  “What? Where?”

  Deena grabbed her bag and headed to the door. “To the hospital to talk to Leon Galt.”

  “Now? What about dinner?”

  “We can eat afterward. Please?”

  Gary trailed after her and got in the car. “What’s so important this time?”

  “He says he has a proposition for us. He is being discharged tomorrow morning, so it has to be today.”

  Gary turned on the wipers and the defroster to clear the fog from his windshield. “Frankly, I am ready for this whole thing to be over. You are no closer to having an answer than you were a month ago. I’m ready to use a big hammer on this guy, legally speaking, and be done with him.”

  “I totally agree. No more playing games. He either tells us what he knows or we call his publisher and threaten a lawsuit. Even if we can’t disprove what he says, no publisher wants to be sued.”

  They drove to the Bingham County Hospital, just on the outskirts of Bingham. Deena talked about her visits to the thrift store and to Mrs. Fitzhugh. Gary was jealous that she got a look at the inside of the legendary house. She told him about her scheduled meeting with Donna Morrison.

  “Tomorrow? I have out-of-town clients coming in tomorrow. Jeff and I have to take them to dinner. In fact, I was hoping you would go.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to push it by calling her back.”

  “No, you probably shouldn’t. I am not letting you go by yourself, though. Either Russell goes with you, or I’ll make an excuse to Jeff.”

  “I’m sure Russell can go.” She knew what her husband was thinking even before he said it. “Don’t worry. We’ll be good.”

  “There’s supposed to be more rain tomorrow night. I don’t want you driving back that late in a storm. Promise me you’ll get a hotel room in Fort Worth and come home in the morning.”

  “But that—”

  “Promise,” Gary said.

  “Okay.”

  When they pulled up to the hospital, Deena opened her new umbrella and they walked quickly to the front door.

  “Follow me,” she said, leading the way to the elevator and then the room. The door was propped open.

  Leon Galt was fully dressed and seated in a chair across from the hospital bed. “Please sit down,” he said, motioning to a green vinyl sofa.

  Deena looked around and noticed the untouched plate she had brought on Sunday.

  Galt followed her eyes. “Can I offer you anything?” he asked. “Water or maybe a...cookie?”

  Gary started to speak, and Deena smacked his foot with hers.

  “No thanks,” Gary said.

  “No doubt you are anxious to hear what I have to offer. I’m ready to lay all my cards on the table. No more games.”

  “That would be refreshing,” Deena said. She sat back and crossed her arms.

  He had a notepad in his lap and began rifling through the pages, keeping his bandaged hand slightly elevated. “Matthew Meade was a top marksman in the army. He served under MacArthur and then Ridgeway in Korea. He performed special assignments. After he was discharged, his reputation followed him. He was one of three men considered to be the best shooters the military had ever seen. One of the men died in a house fire in 1960. That left your uncle and another man who had moved to Brazil in 1961.

  “When a certain foreign group with communist ties decided to eliminate the president, they were led to people familiar with Oswald. He was a loose cannon, though, and they didn’t trust him to get the job done. I have several telegrams exchanged between two operatives arranging for a shooter. Both mention MSM, your uncle. I have an affidavit signed by one of these men stating he met with your uncle in May of 1963 offering him a deal. Meade refused to cooperate, which they found unacceptable.” Galt paused and asked, “Do you have any questions so far?”

  “I assume you have these documents if we needed to see them,” Deena said.

  “Of course. Now, I admit, the next part is a little speculative. According to my source, they continued to apply pressure to Meade. They threatened to harm his parents. Apparently, he gave in.”

  “Apparently?” Gary asked.

  “That’s when my source says he was pulled to work on another job. However, if you compare the description of your uncle to eyewitness reports of the man behind the fence on the grassy knoll, they’re a good match. Obviously, they wouldn’t keep him around after that, so they shot him and dumped his body on that old farm.”

  Deena’s nose itched, a sure sign she was not convinced. “What do you think happened between the time he disappeared and November 22?”

  “They would have kept him in a safe location, working out the details of the plan.”

  Deena and Gary sat in silence, processing the information.

  “I have a question,” Deena said at last. “If Matthew was such a good shot, why wasn’t Kennedy hit from the front or side?”

  “Again, this is speculation. I think he realized that Oswald had done the job and shot high. Either that or he lost his nerve and missed on purpose. Both scenarios, however, explain why witnesses heard more shots than were found to have hit the president.”

  “This foreign group you mentioned, are you going to tell us who that is?” Deena asked.

  “No. If the book isn’t released, I need to keep that information concealed for now—for safety reasons.”

  “Aunt Lucy said you asked her about people with Russian names.”

  “One name actually, Zoyenka. It was a code word. You might find it mentioned in your uncle’s papers. It would prove they made contact with him. I don’t suppose you have seen it anywhere?”

  “No,” Deena said. “In your book, did you call him a willing particip
ant or what?”

  “I describe his role just as I told it to you. I even call it speculation.”

  Deena and Gary eyed each other. “What do you think?” Gary asked.

  “To be honest,” she said, “it sounds reasonable but thin.”

  Fumbling with the pad of paper, Galt pulled out a typed document and handed it to Gary. “I am hoping this offer will close some of the holes you see in the story. I am offering you ten thousand dollars to spend in any way you like if you get Cora Meade to sign this release form, waiving all rights to legal action in connection with this book.”

  “You’re kidding!” Deena exclaimed. “You are bribing us?”

  “Not a bribe—a fee for services rendered. I can have a check cut as soon as you get me a notarized signature. As far as the money goes, you can keep it, give it to charity, or give your grandmother a really nice funeral— someday, that is.”

  Boiling inside, Deena tried to remain calm. “Mr. Galt, I’m afraid you have misjudged us. We have no intention of making money off the death of my uncle.”

  “Are you sure?” Galt asked. “You were willing to use the story to land a job. That’s not much different. And your cousin, Mark, he seemed more than willing to take advantage of my generosity and help me out.”

  “Mark took money?” She figured he was involved but would never have believed he was actually working for Galt.

  “How do you think I got your cell phone number and always seemed to know where you were? He has been very helpful.” Looking at Gary as though they were pals, Galt said, “Perhaps you two should think this over. Talk to your family and see what they say. I’m flying out on Wednesday. My cell number is on that document. Call me as soon as you have a decision.”

  Gary stood up, towering over Galt. “What if we tell you we intend to sue you and your publisher if this book is released? What do you say to that?”

  “Unless you have contradictory evidence, I say that’s just more publicity—more sales—more money. I know it sounds crass, but in my line of work, that’s just how it is.”

  Deena got up and stood by her husband. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You will definitely be hearing from us again.”

  They walked out of the room and got on the elevator.

  Gary did not even bother to crouch under the umbrella as they hurried through the rain to the car. When they settled inside, he turned to Deena. “Look, I know this is important to you, but it has to end. Go meet with that woman tomorrow night, but that’s it. You know I support you, but I’m worried. This thing is bigger than just us now.” He turned on the ignition. “I think we need to talk to Lucy and Richard and Gran and tell them everything we know.”

  “And Mark,” she said.

  “I think you should ask them what they want to do and then put an end to this.”

  Deena was surprised by her husband’s suggestion. “You aren’t thinking about taking the money, are you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Gary said more calmly. “Who knows, maybe the book will come out and be seen as just another failed attempt to complicate what was really a simple case—one lone nut pulling off the crime of the century.”

  “You’re right. Maybe I should just call Donna and cancel the meeting.”

  He shook his head. “I know you. You will always wonder what she might have said. Besides,” he added, “you wouldn’t want Mrs. Fitzhugh to have covered her best dress in hot tea for nothing, now would you?”

  Chapter 31

  Full of nervous energy, Deena decided to clean out the refrigerator and pantry. Maybe she would take up cooking since she obviously was not cut out for investigative reporting. She was picking Russell up at seven o’clock. He insisted on getting the hotel room, telling Deena it would be a surprise. She already packed an overnight bag and put it in the car. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and she hoped it would stay that way.

  Her refrigerator looked like a science project. Fruits, vegetables, and leftovers in various stages of decay seemed more like abstract art than consumable food. She pulled the trash can over and repeated the ritual she had performed on her car. Some of it was too disgusting to bother removing from the plastic containers. She threw them away, lids and all. A bag of lettuce had turned to liquid. Tomatoes looked like prunes. If it was wrapped in foil, out it went. This was just the fresh start she needed.

  The pantry was not much better. She found four nearly empty bags of chips. Hidden behind the soup and jars of spaghetti sauce was a moldy bag of bread. Three half-empty boxes of cereal were pushed to the back. She checked the expiration dates. Two were almost a year old. These must have been from when Gary went on that diet. The musty odor was not just from the bread. She pulled out a bag of potatoes that had roots the length of her hand. I can’t grow roses, but potatoes I’m good at. By the time she was finished, she had filled two large plastic bags. Good thing Gary wasn’t coming home for dinner. She had totally lost her appetite.

  Opening the blinds in the den filled the room with a wave of dust, little sparkles catching the few rays trying to peek from behind the clouds. Maybe I need a maid like Mrs. Fitzhugh, she laughed to herself. Preferably, someone who would also cook. She sat at her desk and decided to continue reading through the stack of Gran’s correspondence. The first was a letter from a cousin in Missouri, dated 1939. The letter told about her husband’s new job and the baby’s illness (croup, of course) and the visit from another cousin—typical life for that era. She read several postcards from places around the country, all wishing the Meade’s well and hoping to see them soon.

  One stack of letters was bound with a brittle rubber band that broke apart when Deena tried to remove it. These were letters to Gran and Grandpa from Matthew when he was stationed overseas. An hour flew by as she read letter after letter, each with the same greeting: “Dear Mama and Papa, I am fine.” He would go on to tell them some little story about what he had eaten or what he and some of his buddies did for fun. If she hadn’t known these were wartime letters, she’d have thought he was away at summer camp. No details of the harsh conditions or brutal missions. All the letters were white washed as clean as Tom Sawyer’s picket fence.

  As she got up to add these to the box of pictures, another letter on the desk caught her eye. It was sealed shut, nothing written on the outside. She sat back down to read it.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  If you are reading this, then you know that I am dead. I am sorry for the pain I have caused you by my actions. I took money to assassinate the president. I was blackmailed. I thought they would leave me alone, but they must have killed me.

  Your loving son,

  Matthew

  At first, she was stunned. Then she remembered the joke Gary had made about looking for this kind of letter. Could he just be playing a trick on her? Purple roses, she noted, examining the border on the paper. It was the very same stationery Gran used for the thank-you note she sent.

  Deena read it again, and then the truth hit her. Finally, something in this case made sense.

  THE STOCKYARDS WERE hopping with live music despite the dark clouds and occasional brilliant flash across the night sky. Donna introduced her husband, and Deena introduced Russell. At first, Donna seemed suspicious, expecting Deena to be alone, but she decided Russell could stay. She told her husband to wait at the bar for her so she could talk outside on the patio in private. He handed her his jacket, saying she might need it if the skies opened up.

  They sat at a metal table covered by a large Corona umbrella. Donna drank Bud Light and took long drags on a cigarette. She slapped at a mosquito on her baked, leathery shoulder where spaghetti straps revealed a lifetime of sunburns. Although her hair was over-bleached and frizzy, she still had a girlish look about her.

  Knowing the clock was ticking because of the weather and Donna’s time limit, Deena skipped the small talk and got right down to it. “First, let me ask you about the warehouse. Was there anything fishy going on?”

  “You mean people stealing?
Apparently so.” Donna blew smoke out of the side of her mouth. It seemed to get stuck in the air around her face. “I didn’t know anything about it until they were all fired. I think it was just a few of the guys involved, but I was clueless.”

  “Was that after Matthew disappeared?”

  “Yes, about a week. I quit right after that.”

  “Didn’t they fire you, too?”

  “No. They knew I hadn’t done anything.” She took a swig of beer and glanced up at the clouds.

  Donna had confirmed Gene’s version of the story.

  “What about Matthew?’ Deena asked. “How did people feel about him?”

  “He was really well liked. Very polite. A little shy, but very nice.”

  A waitress came by and Russell ordered a couple of beers.

  Things were becoming clearer for Deena. “How did management find out about the problems in the warehouse? Did Matthew tell them?”

  “Not that I know of. Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention to what was going on at work. I did my job and that was it.” She twirled a finger in the side of her hair. She might have been a dumb blond back in the day.

  “Can you tell me what happened that last night at the café?”

  “My car was in the shop, so Gene—Gene Collins— do you know him?”

  “We did,” Russell said solemnly.

  “Anyway, Gene said he’d give me a ride home. Then he invited me to go to the diner for supper with him and Matthew, so I did. After we ate, I watched for my ride. He pulled up, I ran outside, and that was the last time I saw Matthew.”

  Deena felt her pulse quicken as she envisioned that fateful night. “What about Gene? Was he at the table when your ride showed up?”

  “No. He had gone around the corner to the men’s room, I guess. I remember saying bye to Matthew.”

  “Did you pay your check?”

  “No,” she said and chuckled. “I was in such a hurry I left my coat and forgot to pay my check.”

  It all matches up with what Gene had told them. “When was the last time you saw Gene Collins?”