Cozy Suburbs Mystery Box Set

by Lisa B. Thomas

  They headed out to the car and Russell insisted Estelle ride shotgun so that his “good ear” would be toward her, explaining how he had lost most of the hearing in his left ear when he was in the army. He used his cell phone’s GPS to direct Deena.

  Mudshed was in Brindle County in the piney woods of East Texas. The crisp air and fragrant pines lining the highway made the drive pleasant and adventurous.

  Unfortunately, Estelle’s optimism that she was in for a sentimental reunion with her long, lost uncle would be short-lived.

  “START LOOKING ON THE right,” Russell said as they slowed down to read the numbers on the mailboxes that dotted the side of the dirt road where they had exited the highway. The trees made it hard to see what was beyond the road, and it seemed some of the properties no longer had structures on them.

  “This must be it,” Estelle said as they got to a mailbox that was rusted through on one side with its flag bent and dangling. “I think it says forty-two.”

  Deena slowly pulled onto the gravel driveway, but stopped when she saw a banged-up metal sign that read “Private Property—No Trespassing.”

  “We’re not technically trespassing because I’m family,” Estelle said.

  Deena noted a doubtful tone in her voice.

  “Keep going, Deena,” Russell said.

  Overgrown bushes and weeds scratched at the sides of her SUV as she steered around deep pits in the drive. Another sign, homemade and faded, read, “Keep Out!”

  “Are you sure about this?” Deena asked.

  “I can see the house through those trees,” he said. “Pull up a little farther.”

  When she stopped, they all looked at the battered house in front of them. It looked like it came straight off the set of “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” There was a blue tarp over one side where the roof must have leaked. Much of the formerly white paint had peeled away. Some of the screens were torn and one of the front windows was cracked.

  “Surely this is the wrong house,” Estelle said. “I can’t imagine anyone lives here.”

  One, two...four dogs ran up from the back of the house snapping and growling at the car.

  Deena cringed as their overgrown nails scratched her car. “What should we do?” she asked.

  “Wait here,” Russell said. “We didn’t come all this way to leave without at least seeing if he is here.” He slowly pulled on the handle, and the dogs ran to his side of the car.

  “Russell! You can’t go out there with all those dogs. They’ll eat you alive!” Estelle reached for him in the backseat. “Let’s just go.”

  “She’s right,” Deena said.

  Without saying a word, he inched out of the car and closed the door softly behind him. The dogs jumped and yelped, but he kept his eyes on the front door, his hands deep in his pockets.

  Deena put her hands to her face and held her breath as he crept to the front porch.

  He stepped gingerly on a cinder block that had replaced the first step. He skipped the next step that was rotted through. The dogs continued to pace and bark but did not follow him up the porch.

  Deena felt a tinge of relief that the dogs had seemed to back off. A letter envelope had been shoved into the edge of the screen door. She watched as Russell tilted his head to read it and glanced back toward the car, shaking his head. This must be the right place, Deena thought.

  She rolled down the windows so she and Estelle could hear what was going on. If Bigelow was inside, he knew someone was there and had not yet come out. Russell knocked on the side of the door and sprinkles of paint fell to the ground. No one answered, so he knocked again. Nothing. “Mr. Bigelow?” he called out.

  “Get off my property!” The voice from inside the house was gravelly, but strong.

  Estelle started to yell something out the window, but Deena held up her hand. “Give him a chance.”

  “Mr. Bigelow, I need to talk to you.” Russell stepped back away from the door.

  “Get off my property, now!”

  “Mr. Bigelow, I am here with your niece, Estelle Fitzhugh. She wants to meet you.”

  “I don’t care if you got Santa Claus in that car, I said, git!”

  “Russell, let’s go,” Estelle pleaded out the window.

  “Mr. Bigelow.” Russell heard footsteps creaking through the house, and then a screen door opened and slammed shut. “Mr. Bigelow?”

  He walked to the side of the porch just as the gray-bearded man came around the side of the house, cocked his rifle, and fired a shot up into the air. He then lowered the barrel to take aim straight at the intruder.

  That’s when Russell bolted. The dogs bit at his legs and feet. He jumped in the car, breathless. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Deena put the car in gear and floored it through the gravel and mud, not slowing down until they were safely back on the main road.

  “Are you okay?” Estelle asked. She took off her seatbelt and turned completely around to check on him.

  “Yeah,” he said, gasping for air. “Luckily, I had on my boots.” He poked his finger through a hole at the bottom of his jeans.

  Then Estelle did something that caught Deena off guard. She threw her leg over the seat and fell in the back next to Russell. “I was so scared for you,” she said. “You could’ve been killed.”

  Russell looked into her eyes and gently kissed her lips. Putting his arms around her, he glanced into the rearview mirror to see Deena watching him. He looked like a teenager trying to sneak some action in the backseat of his parents’ station wagon. “Well, the good news is that we made it out of there in one piece,” he said. “The bad news is, that was definitely your uncle.”

  “Are you sure?” Estelle asked, her words dripping with disappointment.

  “I’m pretty sure. There was a letter stuck in the door with his name on it.”

  Deena looked at her brother in the rearview mirror. “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “To be honest, all I saw was white hair and the barrel of a shotgun. I have no doubt that if we’d stuck around, the next bullet wouldn’t have been fired in the air.”

  Deena sighed. “I thought maybe he would have had red hair.”

  “Red? Why red?” Estelle asked.

  “Remember Marie’s list? She said she saw someone with red hair in the kitchen. I thought there was a chance that it might have been Bigelow.”

  Russell motioned for Estelle to put on her seatbelt. He held her hand as they drove.

  “I told Howard Collier, my accountant, that Mother recently hired a private investigator. I wonder if she was checking up on my uncle. I tried calling the detective agency, but of course, they wouldn’t tell me anything. If I could just find that report, I might have a better idea of who we are dealing with.”

  “What makes you so sure that he’s the person she had investigated?” Deena slowed down to let a car pass, her hands still shaking.

  “I just have a hunch. Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know,” Deena said. “Maybe one of the staff, like Marie—” She stopped quickly then added, “—or Irene or her driver.”

  “I guess that’s possible, but she has known them for years. I think she would have told me if she suspected them of anything.”

  Deena nodded. Dodged that bullet, she thought. Definitely not a good time to tell her about Marie. “Have you looked through her papers to find the report?”

  “Yes, but Mother was known to hide things.”

  “Like her silver bells?” Russell asked.

  “Yes,” Estelle smiled and leaned her head so it rested on his shoulder. “Just like that.”

  “Let Deena have a go at it. She’s great at finding hidden things.” Russell tapped his sister on the shoulder. “You remember? You always found my dirty magazines and cigarettes. She would snitch on me to Mom and Dad.”

  “That’s what little sisters are for!” She found a radio station playing Christmas music and they settled in for the drive back to Maycroft. As she drove, she tho
ught about the rickety clapboard house and the snarling dogs. The sound of the gunshot still rang in her ears. Gary was not going to be happy when he heard about what happened. I’m in for a big “I told you so,” she thought.

  After driving for a long while, she broke the silence and asked Estelle, “Did you say that Barnabus Bigelow showed up a couple of months before your father died?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering,” Deena said. After a long pause, she asked, “How did you say your father died?”

  “A hunting accident.”

  MARIE HURRIED THROUGH her work at the Fitzhugh estate on Wednesday. When she arrived, Miss Estelle was away from the house and Marie hoped to be finished before she returned. Knowing that on Friday she would have to confess to her thefts, she did not think she could look Miss Estelle in the eye today without bursting into tears or worse.

  She started with Irene’s bedroom. As she grabbed the hamper out of her closet, she spotted something unusual. She heard Irene approach and quickly closed the closet door.

  “Why are you running around like a mad woman?” Irene asked as Marie ripped the sheets off the bed to launder them. “Do you have another job to go to later today?”

  “Um...no ma’am. I just wanted to get things nice for when Miss Estelle returns. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  “No. And you need to be careful. You nearly turned over the night table.”

  Marie nodded and hurried to the second floor to get the bed linens. Besides laundry, she did all the dusting and cleaned the bathrooms, two chores Irene particularly disliked.

  She tiptoed toward Mrs. Fitzhugh’s bedroom, not sure of what she should do. She half expected to open the door and be attacked by her unearthly spirit. Swallowing hard, she gripped the doorknob. Her sweaty palm slipped as she began to turn it. She heard a floorboard creak, and a shiver ran down her back. She felt as though someone were spying on her. She straightened up tall and opened the door. Peeking around it, she looked over at the bed. It did not appear to have been slept in since she was there on Tuesday, the day of the party. Nothing seemed disturbed. She shut the door quickly and leaned her back against the wall, waiting for her breathing to even out.

  The door to the spare bedroom was partially open. Usually, she changed the bed linens once every few weeks even though the bed was never slept in. Not today, she thought, and shut the door without even looking inside.

  The middle room was Mrs. Fitzhugh’s sitting room where she kept her desk, family photos, books, and other mementos. The door was wide open, and Marie could feel a breeze coming through the doorway. As she stepped inside, a sudden movement and sound turned her around. A sharp stinging sensation made her grab at her neck. Clover, with nails like razors, had pounced from the bookcase onto her shoulder and was out the door in a flurry of fur and hissing.

  “You wretched beast!” she yelled as she wiped at the trails of blood running down her neck. The balcony door had been left ajar, causing the drapes to billow like ghosts into the room. She hurried over to close them, shivering against the cold air.

  “What are you doing?”

  Marie spun around to face Irene. “Oh! You scared me, miss.”

  “Leave this room to me. You don’t need to be in here.”

  Marie walked out, and Irene shut the door behind them.

  “Hurry up and get the linens so you can start the laundry.” Irene headed down the back staircase.

  Marie was not used to Irene meddling in her chores. Something was up, she thought. Maybe she was suspicious or knew what Marie had done. She charged into Estelle’s bedroom and grabbed the towels out of the bathroom hamper and stripped the bed. She clomped down the back stairs to the laundry room, making sure Irene was aware of her presence.

  As she placed the linens into the over-sized machine, she noticed something fall to the floor. It was a rubber band all in a tangle with a wad of red hair. She snatched it up and stuck it in her pocket, knowing full well where it had come from.

  ESTELLE HAD PHONED Irene on the drive home and asked her to prepare lunch. Deena parked around the back of Estelle’s house. When they walked in the back door, Irene took their coats and leaned in to give Estelle a one-armed hug, something Deena had never seen her do before.

  The kitchen table was set with a white eyelet tablecloth and pretty chintz dinnerware. Deena recognized it as a Royal Winton set. “This is lovely,” Deena said to Irene as she surveyed the spread. “Hot tea is perfect for a day like this.”

  “I can make coffee, if you prefer,” she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

  “I’d like some,” Russell said and sat down at the table.

  Estelle excused herself and went up the back staircase to wash up.

  With Irene gone as well, Deena whispered to her brother. “So what’s the verdict? Is it you or Blake?”

  Russell grinned. “You know I don’t kiss and tell,” he said. “But it looks like Blake is out of the picture.”

  “Whew.” She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead in dramatic fashion. Her cell phone rang and the barking dogs caught her off guard. “I’ve got to change that ringtone,” she said and dug in her purse. Again, it was Trey.

  “I see...I see.” She nodded her head as she listened. “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Estelle returned with freshly applied lipstick. Deena remembered when she used to do that whenever Gary was around.

  Estelle sat down at the table. “I called Howard Collier and told him to stop payments to that lunatic immediately. Now that Mother is gone, he can’t do anything to hurt us. He said he would call his sheriff friend to check on him and warn him to stay away.”

  Russell nodded. “That’s a good idea. He seemed a little dangerous to me.”

  “That was Trey,” Deena said, setting her cell phone next to her plate.

  Irene walked in with Russell’s coffee and stopped to listen.

  “He tried to reach you but the answering machine picked up. He didn’t want to leave a message.”

  Estelle glanced at Irene. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I must have been running the vacuum.”

  Deena tried to sound positive. “He asked me to tell you that the Medical Examiner ruled your mother’s death an accident. No murder and no foul play.”

  “An accident? Of course it was an accident!” Irene blurted out. “Who said it wasn’t?”

  An awkward silence fell over the room. Estelle blotted her lips with the cloth napkin and turned to the housekeeper. “Irene, dear, will you give us a few minutes? That will be all for now.”

  Irene raised her chin, turned on her heels, and stormed back to the kitchen. Much more characteristic of Irene, Deena thought.

  “Did he say anything else?” Estelle asked in a low voice.

  “Just that it appeared your mother fell down the stairs backwards, based on the injuries to her head.”

  “Oh, no!” She covered her mouth. “That means she watched as the person pushed her!” Estelle broke into sobs and tried to muffle them with her napkin.

  Deena and Russell exchanged glances. It seemed apparent that Estelle was holding on to the idea that her mother was murdered as a way to cope with her death.

  Russell knelt down beside her. “Hon, I think you need to accept the fact that your mother’s death was a terrible, tragic accident. There’s no proof otherwise.” He patted her back.

  “But...but...what about the missing knife? What about the red-headed man in the kitchen?”

  Deena realized she could not wait until after the funeral to tell Estelle about Marie. She took a deep breath, wishing she had already told Russell about her findings.

  “About that,” she said, trying not to make eye contact. “We found the knife.”

  “You what?” Estelle’s eyes widened.

  “Sandra and I found the knife in one of the boxes of coats that was delivered from here to the thrift store.”

  Russell sat back down in his chair. “When? Why did
n’t you say anything before?” His face stiffened, and he looked at his sister with a combination of confusion and hurt.

  “It was last week...Friday.” She could only imagine what they were thinking right now. “There’s a reason I didn’t tell you about it then. You see, the knife had blood on it.”

  Glass shattering in the kitchen put an exclamation mark on her words.

  “Irene, are you all right?” Estelle got up and walked toward the kitchen.

  Irene emerged holding a few pieces of broken porcelain. “Sorry, ma’am,” she said. “I dropped a teacup.”

  “Oh, you scared me to death. Please bring Mr. Sinclair some more coffee. We are going to move into the parlor. You can bring the tea tray and fresh cups in there.” Estelle stood up and looked at her guests. They all knew that Irene had been eavesdropping.

  Her sour expression had returned when she came back to refill Russell’s cup. They walked down the hall to the parlor. The door was open, and Marie was inside dusting.

  “Oh, sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know you were coming in here. I’ll finish up later.” Marie rushed out of the room, brushing past Deena without acknowledging her.

  Deena felt even more like a creep knowing she was about to rat on poor Marie.

  Estelle picked up Clover who was nestled against a pillow on the sofa. Deena immediately felt a sneeze coming on and realized she had forgotten her antihistamine again. Estelle and Russell settled onto the couch.

  “Now,” Estelle said, “I want to hear everything.”

  Deena rubbed at her nose and explained about finding the knife and calling Trey. “I didn’t want to worry you about it until we knew if there was a connection to your mother. The report came back showing the knife had cat blood on it, not human blood.”

  “Cat blood?” She looked down at the furry bundle in her lap. “It must have been from Clover. Remember how she was bleeding the other day?”

  “That’s what I think, too. She must have climbed into the box and cut herself on the blade.”