Bring Home the Murder (3 page)

 

Chapter 4

T
he early morning sun filtered through the lacy bedroom curtains and created patterns across the blue-and-white summer quilt. Meggie stirred under the covers and focused her mind, fuzzy from the early morning hour. Flashbacks of the previous night played inside her head.

She threw back the covers, padded across the room and flipped the light switch. The ceiling light glowed. Relieved, she headed for the kitchen. She checked the contents of the refrigerator and found nothing spoiled. All items in the freezer section were still frozen and didn't appear to have thawed at all.

The kitchen felt stuffy. A strange odor lingered in the air. She sniffed. It smelled like cigar smoke. But that was impossible, she thought. The windows had been closed all night, so naturally the room would be odorous. A little fresh air would work wonders.

She slid the kitchen curtains aside and pushed up on the window frame. She inhaled the fresh outdoor smell. A song bird's trill greeted her. The storm had passed and all was right with the world.

But a closer look out the window told a different story. The large flower pot Molly kept near the back door sat upright under the clothesline. The bright red blooms waved in the gentle breeze.

A crumpled white sheet lay on the ground next to the flower pot and a second sheet dangled above it. Her pants, full of life the night before, were wrapped around the clothesline, the air sucked out of them.

Anxious to see what further havoc the storm had wreaked, she prepared a quick breakfast. While she ate, she listened to the radio to catch any news of the storm. She had just finished her poppyseed ­muffin when the broadcaster announced there had been considerable storm damage throughout the area but no deaths reported thus far.

Meggie downed the last of her apple juice and headed out the back door. She gasped at the sight that awaited her. No doubt about it. The storm left its calling card.

The outdoor grill leaned precariously against the outside of the house, blown off the back patio. Debris and branches littered the backyard. The beautiful birch tree lay on its side, a casualty of the storm. The bark's eye-like impressions no longer discernible.

Meggie strode toward the clothesline, picked up the window bird feeder and suctioned it back onto the kitchen window. A long sigh escaped her. The rest of the clean-up would have to wait until later. Right now the animals were her main concern. She prayed they survived the storm.

On her way to the chicken coop, she stopped at the gazebo and peeked in. The wicker chair lay on its side and a puddle of rainwater pooled on the small table. Other than that, there didn't seem to be any damage inside the gazebo. A quick walk around the outside of the building lifted her spirits. The main structure stood fast.

The same couldn't be said for the flowers. The morning glory vines still twisted in and out of the open wall but with fewer blooms. Most of the blue-and-white blossoms had succumbed to the high winds and lay scattered on the ground.

The pretty petunias didn't fare well either. Two hanging baskets lay on the ground near the base of the gazebo, their brightly colored flowers now dressed in mud. She bent over, picked up the baskets and set them in the sun to dry.

Meggie continued on the path to the hutch. She skirted a water puddle and stepped over a large pine branch. The fowl clucked as the coop door swung open. A quick look inside the building told her all was well. She closed the door before the chickens could get out. They could stay in the coop until the yard inspection was completed.

The pigs snorted from the latched pen and their beady eyes followed her as she hurried past them toward the barn. She shot them a dirty look. After what those pork chops put her through the night before, they could grunt all they wanted. They were going to wait until she was good and ready to let them out.

Nothing seemed amiss inside the barn. Black stood near the front of the stall and bobbed his head when she approached. Beauty stood quietly in the next stall over and acted as though nothing unusual happened during the night.

A slow smile crossed Meggie's face. The animals had survived the storm, the house still stood and she had no lingering effects from the night before. With renewed vigor she set about her tasks.

After the horses were fed and watered, she led them out of the barn and pushed the pasture gate open. Black neighed and tossed his head. He nudged Beauty with his nose then trotted off. The mare nickered, glanced back at Meggie and trotted after him.

Meggie turned away from the horses and strode toward the pigpen. Inside the pen she slipped the padlock off the kennel door and lifted the latch. Porky raised his snout and wobbled past her through the gate with Peggy close behind. They loitered near the trough until it was filled then lowered their snouts and slurped along the bottom of the feeder.

On her return to the house Meggie avoided the usual path and headed for the downed birch tree. The porkers had lucked out. If she hadn't rescued them when she did they might be lying under the toppled tree right now. Their grunts silenced forever.

Meggie inched closer to get a better look at the beautiful birch tree. A lump formed in her throat. What a loss. Yesterday the tree stood tall and its leaves glistened in the sun. Now it would be reduced to firewood.

When the wind and tree collided, the tree met its fate. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. As if in agreement, a small bird perched on a branch of the fallen tree, twitched its head and hopped away.

With a heavy heart, Meggie backed away from the exposed roots and turned toward the lilac bushes. She stretched her leg over the upturned earth and planted it near a large clump of dirt. But when she attempted to lift her other foot, it caught in a tangle of roots. Her body lurched and arms flailed before her foot broke free. She wavered back and forth then toppled face down in the wet grass and soil, nose pressed to the ground.

A sharp pain shot through her arm. She bared her teeth then took a deep breath and mustered enough strength to push onto all fours and into a sitting position. She wiped her dirty hands across the front of her shirt and mopped sweat from her brow.

Blood formed across a scrape on her arm. She brushed the dirt away from the open wound and glanced down at what caused her injury. A chunk of concrete protruded through the exposed tree roots. It tilted precariously

Curiosity aroused, she cleared the intertwined grasses and weeds away from the concrete and sat back on her haunches. Her eyes grew round. The tree roots had pulled the piece of concrete off a slight projection in the ground and exposed a gaping black hole.

Deep lines zigzagged across the top of the cement and several edges had broken away. She removed the loose chunks of concrete and tossed them aside. With her shoulders lowered, she attempted to push the remaining chunk of concrete off its resting place but it refused to budge.

Determined to expose the entire hole, she grabbed both sides of the heavy object, wiggled it back and forth and away from her. After several minutes she let go and caught her breath. She continued wrestling with the piece of cement, but it proved to be a struggle.

Meggie scooted to the other side of the concrete and kept working it. At last the heavy chunk teetered, slid off its resting place and exposed a hole in the earth. It appeared to be about three or four feet wide. An abandoned well? She picked up a small piece of concrete and tossed it into the cavity.

A familiar pain shot through Meggie's lower back. She blew through her mouth and slowly straightened up. Her forehead perspired and the skin beneath her nose grew damp. She wiped her face with her forearm and waited for her heart rate to slow down.

She leaned over the opening to get a better look but felt woozy and angled her body away from the black cavity. The pain in her back throbbed. Once again she had forgotten her limitations.

Molly and Michael would probably want to fill the well with rocks or gravel to avoid any accidents. Until then, it would have to be covered up but she had no intentions of moving the concrete back into place.

Once her equilibrium returned, she peered into the hole for a second time. Weathered wood lined the inside near the top of the well. Bricks covered the wall farther down. Without a flashlight she couldn't tell the well's depth, but judging by the clink of the concrete when it hit bottom, she assumed it didn't go very deep.

While she debated what her next step should be, a gust of cold air rose from the well, enveloped her for several seconds and dissipated. Her brows narrowed and a tingle ran down her spine. She pushed herself away from the edge of the old well and stood up.

The odd incident left her shaken and a bit confused. Ghost thoughts inserted themselves into her mind but she ignored them. A job needed to be done and she had to focus. The sooner the well presented no safety hazard, the better she would feel. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Michael had done some remodeling. More than likely he kept his tools in the garage. With any luck she might find leftover building supplies there as well.

Meggie entered the garage through the side door. She flipped the light switch, located the button to raise the automatic garage door and pressed it. The door groaned and rattled upward.

Sunlight flooded the overstuffed area. Empty flower baskets, bags of starter soil and miscellaneous garden tools lined the wall to her left. Larger gardening implements leaned against the wall.

On the opposite side of the garage two sawhorses sat next to a riding lawn mower. Bricks were piled behind the mower. Further down that side of the garage, various power tools hung over a work bench.

Her hands rested on her hips. She surveyed the room and spotted what appeared to be odds and ends of lumber and planks leaning against the back wall. But she had a problem. How to forge a path through all the clutter to reach them?

Empty cardboard boxes, floor lamps, and a vacuum cleaner were pushed aside on her way through the disordered paraphernalia. Dust swirled in the air. She waved a hand in front of her face to clear it away. She squeezed past an arm chair and found herself in front of the building material.

One by one she pulled the odd-sized pieces of lumber and planks toward her. When she came to a piece of plywood that appeared to be the right size, she slid it out. Holding the top of the plywood, she pushed it toward the front of the garage and leaned it against the door frame.

She located a wheelbarrow behind the garage and wheeled it to the open door. After catching her breath, she walked back inside the garage to collect several bricks. She carried them to the wheelbarrow then slid the piece of plywood over the top of the cart. With the wheelbarrow loaded, she wheeled it to the front porch and parked it.

In the house she filled a water bottle and inserted new batteries in the flashlight then returned to the porch. She set the smaller rocking chair upright and sat down to take a short break. She looked at the mess surrounding her.

Molly's hand-painted flower pot lay broken in half near the edge of the porch, its contents strewn on the ground below. Branches from the weeping willow in the front yard lay scattered about and a bird feeder reclined under the maple tree. She closed her eyes to shut out the disarray.

After a short break she pushed the cumbersome cart to the backyard. She knelt down and stretched out on the ground by the well's edge. With the flashlight at arm's length, she swept it back and forth. Someone had partially filled the well with rocks and gravel.

Meggie set the flashlight down and pushed herself up from the edge of the well. She grabbed hold of the plywood, pulled it over the hole and set the bricks on top of it. She brushed her hands off. That feat accomplished, she wheeled the barrow back to the garage and made a mental note to call Molly to let her know about her discovery.

In the front yard, she collected the large branches from around the trees and disposed of them near the wood line behind the garage. On her way back to the house she picked up the bird feeder and hung it from a branch of the maple tree.

Next Meggie began the front porch clean-up. She carried the broken flower pot to the garbage. After replanting the salvaged flowers in another container, she set the container down on the porch floor. She righted the larger rocking chair and swept the entire area.

 

 

Later that afternoon, she lowered herself into the rocking chair. She leaned her head back and tried to rest. But it was not to be. She flinched at a noisy patter close by and opened her eyes. A black squirrel jumped off the porch bird feeder, scampered across the grass and up the maple tree, having located the new home for the bird feeder. Birds flew off when the squirrel took possession.

When the squirrel vacated the bird feeder, a chickadee soared in and lit on it. It picked up a sunflower seed with its beak and flew off. Meggie closed her eyes and thought about all the wild creatures. Where did they hide during a storm?

 

 

That evening after chores, Meggie brewed a cup of tea and sat down in front of the television to watch the news. A shooting in St. Paul, another Vikings football player in trouble, and a pile-up along I-94 during rush hour traffic. Not a good mood setter. The weather report, however, brought a bit of hope for the days ahead.

She turned the channel to one of her favorite evening shows, but found it hard to concentrate. Her mind wandered to the strange occurrences that had taken place since she arrived at the farmhouse —odors unaccounted for, visions in the dead of night, and cold air from an abandoned well. She rubbed her eyes. She was tired, that was it. Everything would look different after a good night's rest.

Meggie attempted to finish the television show, but dozed in the overstuffed armchair. By the time she woke it had grown dark outside. It was late and morning would come early. She stood and straightened her back. It ached from overwork. Would she ever learn?

In the bedroom she stifled a yawn and slipped a nightgown over her shoulders. She shuffled into the bathroom. The scent of Old Spice cologne wafted around her. She froze. Her pulse quickened.