Aloe and Goodbye, page 9
“I’ll call you to set something up as soon as possible.”
I was going to have to find a babysitter for Allie, and fast. I knew she’d resist the idea of afterschool care, but there was no way I was going to leave her by herself until after dinner each night.
Bette brought my tea over as I headed for the door.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked. “Don’t you want to stay and chat for a minute?” Questions, always questions from Bette.
“No, thanks. Boomer’s outside, and I don’t want to leave him for long. But maybe you can help me. Do you know where I could find a babysitter for Allie?”
“Does that mean things worked out for ya at Ferrell’s Feed and Tack?” Bette asked, a note of surprise in her voice.
“No, actually. It turns out he wanted me for something less wholesome than ringing up purchases and carrying sacks of chicken feed.”
“Darn. I was afraid of that. I should have warned ya about him,” Bette said. “I’m sorry, sugar.”
“The good news is, it looks like there might be an opening at the Hilltop Hotel. Swing shift. So I’ll definitely need someone to help out with Allie after school.”
“Ya sure Allie needs a babysitter? Your girl doesn’t need one at her age,” Bette said.
“She’s not really used to being left alone.”
“You’d both better catch up on some things; you can’t be pampering her like that for the rest of her life, ya know,” Bette said.
Bette didn’t understand that in big cities, we were protective of our kids—some sort of perceived danger in a high-crime area—in a way that didn’t seem to exist out in a middle-of-nowhere small town.
“I know, we’re still getting used to things here. It’s a little different from where we came from. So, do you know a sitter?”
“You could try Flora Lane, up the hill past the hardware store. She’s kind of crazy, but maybe you’ll like her.”
“What? Is she crazy? Good crazy or bad crazy?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself,” Bette cackled as she grabbed a pot of coffee and made a beeline for an empty cup at the end of the counter.
Was Flora Lane crazy? Bette hadn’t stuck around to tell me. I was going to have to find out. What I learned from many years of working in the art industry—and living in New York for that matter—was that crazy ranged from mildly eccentric to full-tilt insane. I was hoping Flora was the former.
I walked outside and was stunned to discover that Boomer was missing. His collar and leash were there, but there was no sign of him. I hoped he’d simply slipped out of his collar and run home. Allie would be devastated if Boomer was lost.
“Boomer! Come here, boy!” I shouted as I race-walked home, trying hard not to spill my tea. I crossed my fingers, hoping to find my dog by the front door, but no such luck. He hadn’t gone home. Or had he? I recalled that his home, at least at some point in the past, had been right next door. I rushed to Mrs. Stramtussle’s house, but he wasn’t on the porch. The crime scene tape had been removed, and the door was ajar.
Did I dare enter? I was on a mission to find Boomer. That’s what mattered most. This wasn’t really trespassing, after all, I was simply looking for my dog.
“Boomer?” I called quietly as I entered. The living room looked unlived in—silent and cold. There was no sign of the dog. “Boooooomer,” I called again, this time a little louder.
I crept from room to dusty room. In the kitchen, I found an open door leading down to a root cellar. Strange—my house, which had the same layout as this one, didn’t have a root cellar like this. Just then, Boomer came dashing up the stairs and flew into my arms.
“Such a good boy,” I whispered in the dog’s soft ear. It was time to get out of there before anyone caught us. As I approached the front door, a figure filled its frame. I stopped in my tracks, holding Boomer tightly. Who had found us?
“What are you doing here?” His Texas twang gave him away.
“Victor! I could ask the same of you!”
“I came to check on you. I know you were pretty upset last night,” Victor said.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“I’d say that’s an excellent idea. I wouldn’t want any local law enforcement to find you breaking and entering. You do know that if you’re found guilty of a crime, we can toss you out of the WITSEC program.”
“Yes, I know! I may have done the entering part, but I didn’t do any breaking. The door was open. I was looking for my dog. Don’t I get off the hook for that?”
“It’s a damn good thing you found your dog, and that I located you before the sheriff’s deputy did.”
Back in my living room, Boomer settled into his dog bed. The little stinker had gotten me in trouble.
“I shouldn’t have brought your sister by. I’m sorry about that,” Victor said.
“I’m sorry too. I wish it had worked out. Thanks for bringing her. I’m crushed she didn’t want to stay with us, but at least I know she’s safe.”
“She’s safe as long as she doesn’t make any silly moves.”
“Right. I hear you loud and clear.”
“Allie’s at school—I take it that’s going well?” Victor asked.
“Not great. The school wants to move her to a lower grade—which I am fighting. I’ve got to go to the school board to see if they’ll retest her.”
“Mm-hmm. Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“I am. Allie could really use a win right now. I promise I won’t do anything crazy.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Me? I’m okay. Seems like every time I turn around, I run into a Stramtussle.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“It is if you want me to avoid the family of the lady who was murdered next door.”
“Right. You staying out of her house would be a step in the right direction.”
“I will, I promise. Under the radar, like you told me.”
“I’d best be going.” Victor said. “I left you a couple of lamps and some soil for that garden of yours. They’re on the back porch. The lamps are officially from the marshals’ office. The soil is from me.”
I went to hug him, but he stood rigid, not returning my attempt at an embrace. So I clutched his forearm instead.
“Thank you, Victor. Really, truly.”
After Victor left, I checked out what he brought me. A twenty-pound bag of potting soil rested against the railing on the back porch. For all of his complaining about my unusual requests, Victor had come through for me. I appreciated it more than he would ever know.
After pulling a beat-up table from the shed and dusting off the cobwebs, I shoved it to the end of the porch near the stairs. Then I hefted the bag of soil onto the table and filled the pots from the thrift shop. There was nothing more I could do until I got some plants. But it didn’t matter, I was as happy as a pig in mud, or soil, as the case may be.
I brought the brass lamps with frosted glass shades inside and put them on the tables on each side of the sofa. Then I turned them on. Ahh. Glorious light. I spun in a circle to admire the room, which was looking better and better each day.
Boomer had settled into his dog bed and was chewing on something. It didn’t look like a dog toy.
“What do you have there?” I asked the dog, crouching down to see what he had. “Come on, boy, let me see what you’ve got.”
Boomer was reluctant to give up his goodie, but finally released it when I offered him his favorite frog-shaped squeaky toy.
I examined the piece of plastic. It was slender and red and had been thoroughly chewed, thanks to Boomer. It looked like the earpiece from a pair of eyeglasses—red glasses.
I called Darla.
“I found another clue.”
“Great, is it going to implicate you in a crime? Because maybe you don’t want to actively find ways of making yourself look even guiltier.”
“No, I think this points to another suspect. I found—well, actually Boomer found—the temple from a pair of eyeglasses, and I’m pretty sure they belong to Mrs. Heard.”
“Hm. Interesting. Where did you, or Boomer, find them?”
Rats! I hadn’t thought this out. I couldn’t tell her where I’d found them without telling her that I’d broken into Mrs. Stramtussle’s house.
“Okay, I can explain. You see, Boomer wriggled out of his collar while I was at Bette’s Place. I went looking for him and found him inside Mrs. Stramtussle’s house. I guess it was his old home, so he wanted to go there, or was confused about where he lives now.”
“Let me get this straight. You broke into the victim’s house?”
“I didn’t break in. The door was open. I was searching for my dog. He came home with the piece of plastic in his mouth. I only just discovered it. So strictly speaking, I found the temple to the glasses in my house.”
“Which doesn’t sound much better than you finding it at Mrs. Stramtussle’s house.”
She was right. I was sunk.
“How do you know the eyeglass temple is part of a pair of glasses owned by Mrs. Heard? Are you keeping track of everyone’s eyewear?”
“Of course not. When Allie and I met with her on Monday she couldn’t find her red glasses and asked Meg Stramtussle if she’d seen them. But then yesterday, she was wearing a different pair of glasses—silver. I don’t think she ever found the red ones.”
“Couldn’t she have more than one pair of glasses?”
“Sure, but then how do we explain this thing that Boomer found?”
“I can’t explain it. Do me a favor. Don’t touch it—”
“Too late. Also, it’s covered in dog slobber.”
An audible sigh came from the receiver.
“Put it in a plastic bag, okay?”
“Will do, sir—er—I mean madam.”
Silence.
“That was a joke. But listen, this piece of plastic means that Mrs. Heard was at Greta’s house the night she died. Isn’t it possible that Mrs. Heard is the killer?” I asked Darla.
“Those glasses could’ve belonged to Mrs. Heard,” Darla grudgingly admitted. “It also could be that those were some old glasses that belonged to Greta Stramtussle. Maybe Boomer picked it up from the road or somebody placed at the scene of the crime to lead me on a wild goose chase.”
“I thought you’d want to know. Believe it or not, I really am trying to help you.”
“Well, thanks. But maybe you could try and stay out of trouble too.” Darla sounded an awful lot like Victor. “Put the thing you found in a plastic bag, and I’ll stop by the school to talk with Mrs. Heard.”
“Can I ask for a favor?”
“You can ask, but I don’t have to say yes, right?”
“Can you pick up Allie from school when you stop by to talk with the principal? After sprinting around looking for Boomer, I’m ready to take my sneakers off and have a beer.”
“Sure, no problem. Maybe you should call the school office and let Meg know so there’s no question about why I’m taking Allie home.”
I called the school, but there was no answer. Where the heck was Meg?
ELEVEN
That evening, Allie and I walked to the bottom of our street for the Haunted Hayride. Allie tried to hide her excitement, but it was clear from her quick pace as we turned the corner onto Grimly Flats Road that she was looking forward to the event. She’d never been on a hayride, and I was pretty sure the only horses she’d seen in real life were ridden by police officers in Central Park.
We approached a gathering of people behind a large flatbed truck, all chatting in small groups. Bette greeted everyone with caramel apples as they arrived, and as she reached out to give Allie an apple, I saw a sparkle on the ring finger of her left hand. I’d never noticed a ring before, and this one wasn’t easily overlooked. Allie pulled me away before I had a chance to ask Bette about it.
“Take my apple and find us a spot to sit. I’ll go buy our tickets for the ride,” I told Allie.
Derek Stramtussle stood beside a folding table with a display of tour brochures, collecting money for the event.
“Nice to see you this evening, Ruby,” Derek said as I approached the table.
“Yes, you too,” I said, handing him a ten-dollar bill.
“I’ve got some tours coming up soon, so I hope you’ve been practicing with your script.”
“Yes, indeed,” I lied. I hadn’t even looked at it. I was glad to see that he wasn’t holding a grudge after the smart aleck remark I’d made last time I saw him.
“Please, take a seat. We’ll get the ride underway shortly.”
Allie was sitting on the edge of the flatbed trailer, her feet dangling off the side. I squeezed in next to her, and she passed me my caramel apple. We each bit into them—they were absolutely delicious and incredibly messy. Juice ran down our hands.
“I thought this was going to be a horse-drawn carriage or something,” Allie said between bites.
“Me too, but I guess this is the modern version,” I said, passing Allie a napkin. She continued to munch on her apple, eyeing a few children her age who were admiring the horses. The horses, apparently, were for show and wouldn’t be doing any actual pulling of the flatbed. “Do you know any of those kids?”
Allie shrugged. She was in one of her less-talkative moods. That was okay. She needed time. She’d entered that age when it became more awkward to simply approach another child and ask to be friends. Middle school was the worst. I remembered how it was when Claudia and I were growing up. She was always popular and had no trouble making friends. Me? I was more like Allie and had trouble fitting in.
“So, how is school?” I asked. I’d frankly been nervous to ask for fear I’d hear how much she hated it and how miserable she was having been moved down a grade.
“They’re moving me to sixth grade next week.” Her voice was flat as she looked straight ahead, not willing to look at me. Her excitement about the hayride suddenly faded. Rats! I should have waited to ask that question.
“I know, sweetheart, I’m trying to fix it. I hope you’re not too miserable.”
“Some of the kids aren’t being too nice about it. Teasing me and saying I got rejected from seventh grade. It sucks, Mom. Everything about this place sucks.”
“Not everything. This is fun, right?”
“Whatever, Mom. I just wish I had someone to eat lunch with.”
As people found their seats, Derek Stramtussle climbed on a bale of hay and spoke to the crowd.
“Welcome, everyone, to the Haunted Hayride! We’re happy to start this new tradition, which, of course, we’re hoping will become a big tourist draw in the years to come.”
There was a brief smattering of applause from the crowd, and Derek continued, “Now, as we go on this trip, we’re going to see some spooky scenes, but don’t worry, none are too gory and, of course, remember none of this is real. Or is it?” Derek let out a fake evil laugh, which was hilarious, and prompted a round of applause. He was trying to excite the audience and was finally having some success.
“Hi, sugar,” Bette said, squeezing into a space—more like half a space—next to me. I saw the glint on her left ring finger again as she adjusted her purse in her lap. Could it be possible that Bette was engaged?
“Is that an engagement ring?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, it is. Derek popped the question last night!” Bette wiggled the fingers of her left hand in front of my face. It was a lovely ring, with a large diamond featured prominently among swirls of yellow gold on a broad band. I wondered where Derek got it. I hoped he’d bought it and hadn’t yanked it from his mother’s cold hand after he’d found her murdered—or worse, after he’d murdered her. Could Derek be the culprit? It seemed impossible that he would have been so brazen as to kill his mother, steal her wedding ring, and turn around days later to give it to his betrothed. I couldn’t imagine he was the killer, though if he were guilty, it sure would take the heat off of me.
“Congratulations,” I gulped. It all seemed more than a little strange to me. I didn’t think Derek was much of a catch, but I supposed that options for marriage material were thin on the ground in a small town.
A tractor hitched to the front of the flatbed rumbled to life and slowly pulled the cart along Grimly Flats. Horses flanked each side of the flatbed, adding an air of excitement to the event. We passed Luke’s farm on the far side of the street. There were lights on in the little house past some vegetable beds and shade structures. Since I didn’t see him on the hayride, I assumed he’d decided to skip the event. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d hoped I might see him tonight.
The first spooky scene we came to was a dummy hanging from a tree. The artist in me couldn’t help noticing the proportions of the figure weren’t quite right—the head was a little too big, the arms a little too long.
Bette nudged me with her elbow.
“Pretty good, right? That’s the one I made.”
I nodded and made positive-sounding noises. It was the best I could do.
After that was a delightful collection of pumpkins painted to look like all sorts of funny monster faces. Not terribly scary, but pretty darn cute and all painted by the kindergarteners at the Paradise School.
Next, we came to a scene that was much gorier than I expected. A woman was lying prone across a bale of hay. On her back were four red piercings in a line across her blouse. A bloody pitchfork lay on the ground. It looked far too realistic to have been the work of some amateur artist. My head started to spin. I grabbed hold of Allie and covered her eyes. I had a horrible feeling about this.
A rumble ran through the crowd. Then a woman walking beside the truck shouted, “That’s not a dummy! Oh my God—it’s Mrs. Heard!”
The tractor came to a screeching halt, and the man driving it yelled something unintelligible as he climbed down from his perch to get a closer look. There was a simultaneous gasp as we all came to the same horrifying conclusion. Mrs. Heard had been murdered. While some people craned their necks to get a glimpse of this horrid sight, many others looked away in shock.
Derek Stramtussle came trotting up from behind the flatbed and tried to take control of the situation.
