Perplexity on P1/2 (Parson's Cove Mysteries) (7 page)

     I tried to remember what Grace had told us about herself. Every time I thought about her standing there at the table looking down at all of us, all I could envision was a bullet hole in her forehead. My mind went blank. If she said something of significance, I couldn’t remember it.

     Ralph stood up. He was a tall man with gray thinning hair and the beginnings of a paunch. And, of course, the dandruff. That told me he was single before he told us. No wife would allow him to wear dark shirts. He said he was newly divorced. I didn’t have to look over at Sally - I could hear her sigh. He was in sales, although I wasn’t familiar with the company. It had something to do with installing lifts for beds in hospitals. His territory covered several states, so he had to travel. No wonder he was divorced. He did mention he had a son in college.

     I asked Mr. Hatcher if he was going to tell us something about himself and he said, quite gruffly, “You have to be kidding.”

     Well, I wasn’t but I left it at that.

     For the time being, this was all I could recollect. I figured that as time went by, more memories would return. Solving a crime is like putting a jigsaw puzzle together and right now, my pieces were spread all over the place.

Chapter Eight

     I made it to work with seconds to spare. Flori, true to her word, phoned at nine. I’m usually there much earlier but one of the cats decided to disappear and I had no choice but to make some sort of effort at finding her. I firmly believe that cats really do have nine lives and that no matter what, they return home - whenever it suits their fancy. My neighbor, ninety-two year old Hilda Whinegate, tends to differ. She spotted Dottie racing across her backyard chasing a rabbit and was sure the cat had either become lost or had returned to the ways of her primordial ancestors and would never return. I never argue with Hilda because who knows how much longer she’ll be my neighbor, so whenever she thinks one of my cats is lost, I make a good pretense at searching. The cat always comes back on its own steam.

     This morning, I was thankful for her eccentric opinion. My chase took me right to the woods behind the nursing home. Well, perhaps, not right behind but I figure two blocks in one direction or the other is reasonable.

     Parson’s Cove’s nursing home is situated on a street that runs parallel with the curvature of the lake. The lake is too far away for any of the residents to see but the forest separating the building from the water is very green in summer and white with snow and frost in winter. Lawn chairs and small tables clutter the back yard, year around. Once in awhile one of the residents wanders off into the woods but so far, we haven’t lost anyone. I think every other day or so, the staff warns its residents of the dangers. I imagine in the same tone that a teacher talks to her first grade class.

     Nothing in our town is exactly north and south or east and west. Personally, I think every street started out as either a covered wagon trail or simply a cow trail. Unlike some of the buildings in our town, the nursing home, built about forty years ago, is well maintained. After all, that’s where the majority of us will be spending our last days. The front lobby and dining area faces east, letting the sun shine in on all the happy faces every morning.

     “Here, Dottie. Here Dottie,” I called out. If the cat were anywhere near, she probably wouldn’t have any idea what was going on anyway. I usually call all of them Cat, except for Phil. Who can keep track of seven cat names? Flori doesn’t even remember the names of all her grandchildren.

     The closer I got to the yellow police tape, the louder I called. No one was around and nothing was moving at the nursing home. I imagine everyone was eating breakfast. Captain Maxymowich and his men had undoubtedly combed the whole area looking for clues. However, it wouldn’t hurt for a fresh set of eyes to have a look-see. Even if, as Flori would say, those eyes don’t work so good close up.

     I slipped under the tape. There really wasn’t much to see. The tall wild grass and low brush were flattened somewhat. I had no idea who flattened it though - the murderer or the cops. About ten feet in front of me, beside an old oak tree, I could see stakes stuck in the ground so that must’ve been where Esther discovered the body.

     Why would Esther Flynn be wandering around in this bush? I always thought she was a bit weird but to be out here, at night? That’s just plain creepy. More importantly, did she do anything to mess up the investigation? Knowing Miss Know-It-All, she probably went berserk, touched the body, left her fingerprints over everything, and trampled all around before having the sense to phone Reg. I wouldn’t even put it past her to start hysterically doing CPR.

     I stepped warily over the bent grass until I came to the stakes. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. There was no blood that I could see, only a larger area of flattened vegetation. I didn’t even have to close my eyes and I could envision Grace lying there, all curled up in a fetal position. Whether she was or not, I don’t know, but that’s how I envisioned her. I shivered. The inside of my mouth suddenly felt dry and tasted terrible. 

     Beyond this point, the trees and brush became denser and on the other side of the bluff, perhaps about a quarter of a mile away, there was a lake. Everyone called it Parson’s Cove Lake but I don’t think it has an official name. There were various paths going through the woods. Everybody who wanted to take a shortcut to the lake created their own. About three or four feet to the right of the police tape, I could see the faint outline of a path. No one had roped this area off. Obviously, the police took it for granted that whoever dumped the body entered the woods from behind the nursing home. I mean, who would carry a dead weight all the way up from the lake and then leave it so someone could find it so easily?

     I heard voices in the distance and looked up. There were three cops standing on the street by their patrol car having a chat. I dashed down the path towards the lake and kept running until I was sure that no one had seen me or heard my huffing. It was probably best that I didn’t return the way I came so I kept walking. I’d simply take another route back and make sure I didn’t come out where the cops were.

     Now that I wasn’t running, I had a chance to check the footpath. It wasn’t one of the well-worn paths but someone had used it not all that long ago. Not that I’m a tracker, but it was obvious someone had been down this path not that long ago. Every few yards, there was the faint outline of footprints. As I neared the edge of the tree line, the ground became softer, probably still moist from our last rain. Now, the prints were clear. I bent down to examine them. As far as I could tell, there was only one set and they were going in only one direction - towards the nursing home. It wasn’t a small print either. Offhand, I would say about a size ten. Most of the grass stood tall so no one had dragged a body through this area. I was sure if the murderer had carried the body, the footprints would’ve been much deeper.

     There is a narrow beach on this side of the lake. It’s made up of small pebbles so few people come to swim here. It seems this is where all the algae ends up too and no one likes swimming in that. If you want to sit on the shore and listen to the water lapping or read a book in solitude, this is the spot to choose.

     I spent some time on my haunches examining the shoreline. The footprints from the path disappeared. There were no discernible prints in the gravel, only little dips here and there.

     It was disappointing. A theory isn’t worth anything without proof. I stood up to leave when my eye caught something shiny almost buried under the coarse sand. An earring. I held it in my hand. A simple gold earring. Did Grace wear earrings? I couldn’t remember. Was she missing one when Reg recovered the body? If she was, I’d solved some of the mystery. At least, from which direction the murderer came. If that were the case, why would the killer carry the body so far? Why not leave it hidden in the middle of the bush? Unless, of course, the murderer hadn’t planned to leave it in the woods at all and suddenly someone, like Esther, showed up so he had to dump it and run. I’m saying, ‘he.’ Grace wouldn’t be that easy to carry a long distance so the murderer would have to be a man. Of course, Andrea was no delicate flower. In a spurt of adrenalin, she could probably lift and carry Grace without any problem.

     I looked at my watch. In five minutes Flori would be phoning  the store. If I wasn’t there, she would send Jake to my house and when he didn’t find me home, Flori would be at the police station screaming at Reg that someone had either kidnapped or shot me. I took off running and caught the phone on the fourth ring.

     “Why are you huffing like that, Mabel?” she asked.

     Now I know how wise my father was to keep the back door unlocked at all times.

     “Huffing?”

     “You sound like you’re having a heart attack. Are you all right?”

     “Of course, I am. I thought this morning I’d jog to work, that’s all.” 

     “Are you telling me a story? You would never jog to work. Did you run because you were afraid someone might be after you? Be honest with me.”

     “To be honest, one of my cats ran away and I had to go looking for her.”

     “You never go looking for your cats.”

     “I know but now I can assure Hilda that I did my best.”

     “Where exactly did you look, Mabel?”

     “Why?”

     “Because I know you. If Hilda sent you out looking, you’d run across town, then sneak back to the shop, and have your coffee. That’s what you always do.”

     I took the earring out of my pocket. Heck, I couldn’t fool Flori anyway.

     “I went searching in the woods, Flori, and guess what I found?”

     “What woods? Not the woods where Esther found the body? Tell me you didn’t do that. Oh, don’t even bother. I know you went there.” She sighed. “What did you find, Mabel? Please, don’t tell me you found the murder weapon.”

     The murder weapon. It could be in the woods somewhere. The murderer could have tossed it somewhere into the bush. The cops might not have searched far enough.

     “Next time, I’m going to take you with me, Flori. We could’ve searched together. I never thought of looking for the murder weapon.”

     “There won’t be a next time. I forbid you to go into that wood again. Do you want to get into trouble? So, if you didn’t find that, what did you find? Her shoe?”

     “Her shoe? Was she missing a shoe?”

     “Oh, for Pete’s sake, I don’t know. What did you find?”

     “An earring. A gold earring. It was on the shore by the lake.”

     “I thought the body was found behind the nursing home. Why were you out by the lake?”

     “Oh, never mind, Flori. Do you want to come to have a look at it before I give it to Reg?”

     “I’m really not interested in some old earring, Mabel, but I will come over for coffee. I haven’t had any yet this morning.”

     The coffee hadn’t finished perking and Flori was in the door, looking quite summery in a pink and purple Hawaiian flowered sundress. It definitely made her reddish-orange hair and matching eyebrows look even brighter than usual.

     I held the earring up for her to see.

     “I’m going to check with Reg to see if Grace was missing an earring. If she was, Flori, it means she was probably murdered on a boat and then carried through the woods.”

     Flori took the earring out of my hand and looked at it.

     She handed it back. “Don’t bother,” she said. “I’d recognize that earring anywhere. It belongs to Esther Flynn.”

Chapter Nine

     All morning, I waited, hoping and almost praying that Esther Flynn would come in. Not that I would accuse her of murder. Oh no, I knew she wasn’t capable of that. She got her kicks out of watching people suffer and squirm. I should know. So would her estranged husband. Chester left her and their daughter, Millicent, years ago. It’s true, he ended up being a scoundrel himself but if he’d stayed with Esther, who knows what would’ve become of him. He could easily have decided, simply out of desperation, to plunge into the lake with a couple of cement blocks tied to his ankles.

     It was almost three when I caught a glimpse of Reg with Captain Maxymowich driving down the street. I opened the door and waved but they were at the end of the block by then. Reg would have pretended not to see me anyway.

     At ten minutes to five, when I was pouring out the leftover coffee and getting rid of the grounds, Esther walked in.

     Let me describe Esther Flynn to you in the most glowing description I can muster. She’s tall, skinny, has short dark hair that is usually permed in an old lady’s style and wears glasses that keep sliding down her long narrow nose. When she speaks, which is quite often, she has a high-pitched nasal voice. Flori says that’s not her fault because she should have had her adenoids removed years ago. Personally, I think she does it to get attention and to irritate everyone. I realize this could describe a very nice person but with Esther, that’s where the nicest part ends. With respect to her personality, she’s humorless, snotty, bigoted, abrasive, pig-headed and a nitpicker. One day I was reading a book and came across the word misanthropist. I looked it up in the dictionary and you can add that to the list.

     “I believe I have fifteen more minutes in which to shop,” she announced as soon as she opened the door. She stood, daring me, with her nose in the air.

     “No,” I said. “You have ten minutes in which to shop.”

     She upped her nose another inch as her glasses started to slide.

     “You would think, Mabel Wickles, since your business doesn’t seem to be all that lucrative, you would be pleased if your clientele came in even if it were last minute. Or, do you think you’re above us since you won that ridiculous trip?”

     “First of all, Esther Flynn, you are not what I call clientele. If you t’were, you would purchase something once in awhile. When was the last time you even anything? All you do is come in to see what I have marked down and then try to get it cheaper. What do you want now anyway?”