Murder Comes by Mail (7 page)

“Right. I forgot the feud for a minute.”

“I’m not feuding with anyone,” Betty Jean said stiffly. “I treat Hank with the same courtesy I would any other citizen of the county.”

“He probably votes.”

“I should hope so.” Betty Jean huffed a breath.

“He might put your picture in the paper sometime and some great-looking guy somewhere might see it and propose marriage.”

“It could happen.” Betty Jean scanned her list of names. “Three of these wanted to know your marital status. I put a star by their names. Should I have gotten their numbers for you?” She smiled up at him sweetly.

Michael laughed and surrendered. He never came out on top in any verbal exchange with Betty Jean. “No, that’s okay. Names are enough. If it’s written in the stars, then it will happen, right?”

“I gave up on the stars a long time ago.” Betty Jean held up another pink note. “I did try to take one number. Alex called. I guess she must have been talking to Reece about our local hero.”

Michael tried not to act interested, but the mere mention of Alex’s name had a way of making his blood pump a little faster. He used to try to deny it, especially to himself. After all, Alex had rarely made anything more than cameo appearances in his life since they were kids and had vowed to be friends forever. Alex was tall, leggy, incredibly beautiful, and even more intelligent.

Ever since she’d shown up in Hidden Springs last year during that bad time after they found a body on the courthouse steps, Michael had quit trying to tell himself that Alex was no more than an old friend. That didn’t mean he didn’t still try to convince the rest of the world of that. So now he kept his voice low key. “She say what she wanted?”

“If it’s you, all I’ve got to say is poor Karen.” Betty Jean waved her pink While You Were Out pad.

“Karen and I aren’t dating. I help with the youth group at her church. That’s all.” Michael wondered when he’d get to quit explaining that to people. Karen told him to stop explaining anything, but then she hadn’t lived in Hidden Springs all her life the way he had. People seemed to think they had the right to know everything there was to know about him or at least do their best to find out.

“Some folks around town think there’s more than that between you and Karen.” Betty Jean gave him a look. “Or that there should be.”

“Then they’re wrong.” Michael swallowed a sigh and explained one more time. “We decided it was better to stick to being friends. She’s got her church. I’ve got my job.”

“And Alex.”

Sometimes Betty Jean wouldn’t give it up. Trouble was, she was right. Not about him having Alex. He didn’t. That didn’t mean he didn’t wish he did. “Alex and I are just old friends.”

“Yeah and the sun’s nothing but a little yellow circle in the sky.”

“Come on, Betty Jean, I haven’t got time to be playing your romantic games. She’s an old friend. So did she leave a message or not?” Irritation or maybe eagerness leaked out in his voice.

Betty Jean raised her eyebrows but backed off. “Let’s see. It was something like this. There was a recess in her big trial where she’s trying to get some bigwig out of a jam he shouldn’t have gotten himself into to begin with, and she heard the news. Wanted to let you know she always knew you were hero material. Said she tried your cell number but you didn’t answer. When I told her you’d probably forgotten to charge your phone, she laughed and said that sounded like you.”

“Glad I gave the two of you a laugh.” Michael pulled out his phone. He had switched it off while he was with the doctor and then forgot to turn it back on. Cell phones could be a pain, but when Alex’s number flashed on the screen, he was definitely sorry he hadn’t remembered to turn the ringer back on.

“She said to tell you not to try to call her. The trial and all. But she promised to call back,” Betty Jean said.

“Maybe in three months when she needs me to check Reece’s furnace filter or whatever.”

“She does set great store by her uncle Reece.” Betty Jean gave him a sideways glance. “Does she have any other men in her life?”

“Dozens, no doubt.” Michael did his best to sound nonchalant, but the words jabbed at his heart.

“Yeah, life’s rotten sometimes.” Betty Jean made a face.

The phone rang, but after a quick check of the clock to assure herself it was three seconds past five, she let it ring.

“Might be an emergency,” Michael said after four rings.

“Then answer it. I’ve handled all the emergencies I’m going to handle today.” She clicked off her computer and shoved some papers into a drawer. “Then again, the trial might be having another recess.”

“That’s not why I’m answering. I’m picking up because you haven’t turned on the answering machine yet.” Michael lifted the receiver. It wasn’t entirely true, but then it wasn’t Alex either. Instead it was Mrs. Hastings, who lived out on Bear Ridge Road ten miles outside of town. She was sure somebody was peeking in her windows and rattling her doorknob. The old lady thought that was happening at least once a week, sometimes more.

“Are you sure it’s not the wind, Mrs. Hastings?”

“Wind? Are you daft or just hard of hearing, young man? I said I saw eyes staring at me through the window.”

“Maybe a neighbor kid?”

“I don’t care who he is. I want him arrested.” Mrs. Hastings’s voice hit a shrill high note. “I pay my taxes. I’m entitled to protection. What’s the world going to think if you let an old woman get murdered in her own home?”

Michael held the receiver away from his ear and let her have her say. Her spiel didn’t vary much week to week.

Betty Jean picked up her purse and mouthed “I told you not to answer.” She waved and walked out the door with a wide grin on her face. She was usually the one who got stuck listening to Mrs. Hastings.

Michael caught a pause and stuck in, “We’ll send somebody out.”

The old woman’s tone changed at once. “Deputy Stucker came last time, and I just know he scared away whoever was bothering me.”

It was tempting, but this was Wednesday, the night Lester always took his mother to church. As much as Michael hated listening to Mrs. Hastings, Mrs. Stucker was worse. Besides, Lester wasn’t there, and while it was unlikely anybody was actually rattling Mrs. Hastings’s doorknob, someone might be messing around out there. It wasn’t on the way home, but what was another hour? Jasper would wait patiently on the front porch for his supper, and the fish in the lake weren’t exactly going anywhere. He still had Aunt Lindy to see to, and Alex would no doubt have some kind of high-profile dinner date that would push the hero of Hidden Springs right out of her mind.

Betty Jean was right. He shouldn’t have answered the phone. Betty Jean was always telling him his biggest problem was that he thought he could solve everybody’s problems and make everybody happy. She said he needed to remember that most of the time when you solved one problem for somebody, the person thought up two to take its place.

As Michael drove around the twisty turns of Bear Creek Road to scare away the boogeyman for Mrs. Hastings, he wondered if the jumper would be that way. Michael had come along and solved his problem of not enough courage to turn loose of the railing and jump. What problems had ballooned up to take their place?

He wished the doctor had let him see the man. Maybe if he saw him he could get rid of this uneasy feeling that the man might be right. Maybe it would have been better if he’d chanced driving the old church bus on the interstate.

8

Michael missed the six o’clock news. At six thirty he was still going through the motions of checking out Mrs. Hastings’s phantom prowler. The old lady, Olive Oyl–thin and wearing a sweater buttoned all the way to the top even in the July heat, followed him around, complaining about how long it took Michael to get there. She obviously missed out on the news that he was a hero, and somehow that kept the trip from being a total waste. He could handle being an ordinary mess-up guy better than a hero any day.

He even managed to smile and nod when she let him know how that nice Deputy Stucker would have been quicker, how he knew what an emergency was, how he wouldn’t have just come poking up as if nobody’s life was in danger. What was the use in taxpayers paying for the likes of sirens and those flashing lights if he wasn’t going to use them?

After he inspected her windows and door, he looked around in the old woodshed that was falling down under its own weight and peeked in the outhouse that had sunken into the ground until the door wouldn’t open more than a crack. Not a prowler to be found, Michael assured Mrs. Hastings as he backed away from her toward his car, promising that he’d be sure to send Deputy Stucker out if anybody bothered her again. As he drove away, he figured that would be tomorrow, as soon as Mrs. Hastings spotted his footprints in the soft dirt below one of her windows.

The next morning Michael was finishing his coffee when Hank Leland showed up at the Grill and plopped a handful of printed-out newspaper stories on the table in front of him.

“Isn’t the internet the wonder of the universe?” Hank slid into the booth on the other side of Michael and called over to Cindy behind the counter. “How about some coffee and a blueberry muffin?”

“You’ve already had a Danish today, Hank,” she told him.

“That was so early it was practically last night, and we’re just talking about one muffin. What harm can one little muffin do?”

“Look in the mirror.” Cindy gave him the once-over when she brought the coffee and muffin. “And check your blood pressure.”

“It’s this job and trying to keep up with our heroes.” Hank pulled the saucer with the muffin closer to him as if he was worried Cindy might grab it back. “Did you see our local boy make good on television last night, Cindy?”

Cindy pushed her short red hair back from her face and beamed at Michael. “I sure did. Albert brought the little TV from home and set it up on the counter. Nobody so much as chewed until they went to a commercial. You looked very handsome, Michael.”

“He did.” Hank shot a grin over at Michael. “I expect he could probably get a job at one of the Eagleton used car lots now without a bit of trouble.”

“If things get too slow here in Hidden Springs, I’ll send out résumés.” Michael scanned the headlines on the clippings. He was relieved none of them included the word
hero
.

“Things are always slow here in Hidden Springs,” Hank said.

“Come around Sunday after church lets out and try keeping enough chicken fried to feed the Baptists and Methodists,” Cindy said.

“I’m talking about news, Cindy.” Hank took a gulp of his coffee.

“You mean like folks trying to jump off bridges.” Cindy picked up the sugar shaker and swiped up a drop or two of spilled coffee. “I’d rather read about Zelma Ann’s granddaughter winning a scholarship to that art school in Virginia.”

“I told your sister I’d put that in the paper next week.”

“That’s the trouble with newspapermen. They don’t ever want to write nothing but bad news. A kid gets in trouble, it’s plastered all over page one, right enough. A kid does something good, then maybe a mention on page four in section three.”

“The
Gazette
hasn’t had three sections since last year’s Christmas parade.”

“See what I mean?” Cindy stuck her wipe towel in her apron and headed toward the kitchen.

Hank looked at his almost-empty coffee cup and then Michael. “What do you think my chances are on getting a refill?”

“About the same as Zelma’s granddaughter making the front page.”

“Now I was thinking about sticking it down in the corner on the front page if nothing too exciting happened this next week.” He took a little sip of coffee as if trying to conserve what was left. “You think anything exciting is going to happen this week, Deputy?”

“I hope not.” Michael stood up and dropped some money on the table.

Hank stuffed the rest of his muffin in his mouth, grabbed up the clippings, and tagged after Michael. When he swallowed, he said, “You might make some people believe that, but not me. Weathermen like storms and policemen like knocking heads with bad guys.”

“You’ve got it all wrong. Policemen like getting bad guys off the streets so all the regular folks are safe and happy.”

“So if you like locking bad guys away, that means you have to like murders and robberies, because without something like that, there aren’t any bad guys to get off the street.”

“What do newspapermen like?” Michael asked.

“News, of course. A rare commodity in Hidden Springs, I must say.”

“Then why are you here?” Michael looked back at Hank as he held the door open for him.

“I tell myself it’s the challenge. You know, finding news where there is no news, and then every once in a while some nutcase tries to jump off a bridge and I get to take pictures of a hero.”

“I’m no hero.” Michael let go of the door. It banged into Hank’s shoulder.

“You’ll do till Superman shows up.” Hank pushed on through the door and waved the papers in front of Michael’s face. “Don’t you want to read what the Eagleton papers had to say about you?”

“No.” Michael headed down the street.

Hank trotted after him. “Just wait. Next time I make a hero, I’ll pick somebody like, like . . .” Hank hesitated as if no likely candidate would come to mind until he noticed Paul Osgood checking parking meters down the street. “Like Paul. Now he’d appreciate being a hero even if he’s a little short for the job.”

Paul was at least ten feet away from them, but at the word “short,” his head whipped around.

“He couldn’t have heard me, could he?” Hank looked in the opposite direction from Paul, who was glaring at them. “I won’t be able to park in my own driveway without getting a parking ticket.”

Michael laughed, which caused a dark look to thunder across Paul’s face.

“You’re not helping.” Hank frowned at Michael. “Now he thinks we’re laughing at him. Uh-oh, here he comes. We were talking about Cindy’s strawberry shortcake.”

“That hasn’t been on the menu for weeks.”

“But we were wishing it was, okay?”

Hank looked so desperate, Michael took pity on him. “It would taste good with a scoop of ice cream on top.”