Rest in Peace, Miss Aggie (The Misadventures of Miss Aggie) Page 5

  He snorted. “Or maybe funnel, or kennel, or any number of words. For crying out loud, Victoria. Why do you have to imagine things?”

  Indignant, I went back to my chair and sat. “Fine. Scoff if you like. But who would hide a note about a kennel or a funnel in a bedpost?”

  “Bedpost? You broke his bedpost?” He jumped up again then ran his hands through his hair.

  I felt a giggle coming on. “Of course not. The knob was loose. Miss. . .I mean. . .I saw it was loose, so I unscrewed it. And voila, there was this mysterious scrap of paper.”

  “Umm-hmm. I don’t think it’s anything, but thanks for bringing it to me.”

  I leaned forward. “You mean you’re not going to check it out?”

  “Victoria, will you leave the police work to me? Go home and take care of your old folks.”

  I sat and stewed for a few seconds, wondering if I should push him any further. “Oh, by the way, Miss Aggie figured out what Whatzit has been trying to say.”

  “Just sounded like squawking to me. I figgered he was upset about Clyde not bringing his dinner.” He chuckled.

  “You figured wrong. He’s screaming, ‘No, no, get out!’ ”

  At a choking sound from behind me, I looked over my shoulder to see Tom slapping his knee and laughing. Turning back, I caught a smirk on the sheriff’s face, which he tried to hide.

  “Fine. Laugh all you want.” I jumped up. “But you know that bird talks. And Miss Aggie’s been around him long enough to interpret his squawks.”

  Standing as tall as possible, I lifted my head and stalked from the room. I guess the effect was ruined when I tripped over a loose tile. A burst of laughter sounded from the office. I considered faking a fall and suing them but quickly repented.

  My mood changed as I stepped out into the fresh air. At least I didn’t get tossed into jail. I was free. I tilted back my head and inhaled the chilly air. A wonderful aroma sent another thought running through my mind. I’d left home without eating lunch, and Hannah’s was only a block away. Probably packed full at this time, but I needed a crowd right now. I should have changed clothes after all. Oh well, they’d seen me in faded jeans before.

  I went in and glanced around the crowded café. The elderly Borden twins, Fred and Ted, were getting up from a booth halfway down from where I stood. I headed there quickly, and when they’d left, I plopped myself down on the red vinyl, expecting to have to wait. But Hannah was at my side in a flash.

  “I’ll get this table cleaned off for you, sweetie, and then I’ll bring your water and a menu.”

  I smiled as she placed the dishes on a tray, wiped the table with a damp cloth, then swiped a dry towel over it. “Got stiffed, didn’t you?”

  “Oh hon, I’d bet my grandma’s silver that those two haven’t tipped anyone in their whole life.”

  She took off with the tray and was back in less than a minute with my menu and water. Now why was she giving me the VIP treatment when she had customers stretching their necks to see why she wasn’t waiting on them?

  Before I had a chance to open the menu, she took out her ticket book, turned over to a new page, and said, “Now, what’s this I hear about Clyde Foster’s death being a murder?”

  Groaning, I thought fast. I wasn’t about to get into this discussion with Hannah, especially with half the town within earshot.

  “So you told her everything?”

  I wouldn’t have minded the dismay in Benjamin’s voice, but the amusement teed me off. He’d stopped by shortly after I got home from lunch, and we were sitting on the porch swing. I rested against the slatted back and shivered as cold ran through my body. Why was it so chilly this early in the season? And why in the world were we sitting out here in the cold when a fire was leaping and dancing and warming the parlor? “No. I did not tell her everything.”

  I gnawed my bottom lip. “At least not completely every- thing.” His raised eyebrows infuriated me. “Oh, go home.”

  “I will not.” He grinned. “Honey, don’t kick yourself too much. Hannah could get top secrets out of the FBI if she put her mind to it.”

  “But Ben, what if the murderer was in there? Now he knows we have clues.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Hmm,” I sighed.

  He leaned closer, and I got ready to be kissed or nibbled on the ear. “Which of our neighbors do you suspect?” he whispered.

  I sat up and gave him a shove. “I’m going inside.”

  He laughed. “No, don’t go. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  Maybe it was time to change the subject. “How is your new secretary working out?”

  “Tiana’s doing great. She caught on really fast.”

  “Tiana?” I raised my eyebrows.

  “She asked me to call her that. It’s her nickname.”

  “Yes, I know. So, she’s doing great, eh?”

  “Absolutely. She’s wonderful with the business people. Advertisements are picking up.”

  I tightened my jaw to keep from snarling. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” Maybe this choice of subject wasn’t so good either. My jealousy was building steam big-time.

  He turned and, putting his finger beneath my chin, lifted my face. I closed my eyes.

  “Look at me, Victoria.”

  I shook my head. No way was I going to let him see what was in my eyes.

  “Vickie. Look at me.”

  I opened one eye. Then the other. “What?”

  “Are you jealous of Tiana?”

  “Of course not, and stop calling her that.”

  “Why?” A bewildered look crinkled his face.

  Duh. Because it sounds like a term of endearment? Like when you call me Vickie? “Oh, I don’t know. I have to go inside now. I need to mop the kitchen floor.”

  “All right, sweetheart, but you don’t need to worry. Tiana is my secretary. Nothing more.”

  If he didn’t stop calling her that, I was going to clob- ber him.

  We stood up, and I turned and lifted my lips for his good- bye kiss.

  “See you later, honey.” His kiss was light, and as he headed back to his truck, I already missed him. He opened the door then turned around. “Oh, I forgot. I have a meeting tonight. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  I went inside feeling rejected and unloved. Stop that, Victoria. You’re behaving like a fourteen-year-old girl. No, twelve.

  The house was empty except for Mabel finishing up the dinner preparations. She left at two on Friday but always made a roast or meat loaf—something easy to warm up— and there would be a salad in the refrigerator. Even the smell of caramel pie didn’t lift my spirits. What if Ben were fall- ing for that seductive young woman? What if I lost him?

  Mabel left. I dusted the furniture in both parlors, then went to the great hall. I lifted my eyes to Franklin Storm’s portrait—the man who’d founded this town. He’d bought up miles and miles of land, finally dividing the acres into separate lots and selling a large portion to his friends. The town of Cedar Chapel was part of his original landholdings. He’d built this room. The first Cedar Lodge. A real lodge in those days. His descendants had added room after room, and then the second and third floors.

  Usually I found comfort in this room. But not today. Somehow the pride I’d always harbored concerning my her- itage felt like a character flaw. Like jealousy. I’d always thought I was a pretty good person. A true Christian. Maybe I’d been kidding myself. I was full of sin. I was a proud, jealous lawbreaker. Yes, there was no denying it. I broke laws. Like going into places I shouldn’t and searching people’s private belongings. Clyde’s wasn’t the first. But the jealousy was the worst. It was tearing me apart.

  The sound of cars pulling into the garage jerked me out of my self-examination.

  Laughter and squabbling rang throughout the house as the seniors filed in. Relief washed over me. My friends. They loved me.

  I rushed out int
o the foyer. “Miss Jane, how was lunch today? Miss Georgina, did you play bingo?” My voice sounded high and overly excited even to me.

  “What’s wrong with you, Victoria?” Miss Jane’s forehead furrowed. “The food at the center is terrible. You know we don’t go there for the food.”

  “You know we don’t play bingo on Fridays, too,” Miss Georgina piped up. “Are you ill, dear? Let me see if you have a fever.” She placed her plump hand on my forehead then smiled. “Cool as a cucumber.”

  Miss Evalina and Frank came in and went upstairs to rest.

  “Anyone want to watch a movie with me?” Martin’s voice didn’t sound too hopeful. When Frank got married, Martin had lost his movie buddy.

  Miss Jane harrumphed and headed up to her room.

  “I’ll watch a movie with you, Martin,” Miss Georgina said, her eyes fluttering.

  Martin’s eyes lit up; then he cleared his throat. “Okay, but we’re not watching no girl movie.”

  “All right, Martin.” She trailed after him on her tiny feet.

  I put Buster in the basement, got the mop and bucket from the broom closet, and set about scrubbing the kitchen and storage room.

  After that was done, I went downstairs to the basement. I’d finish up the laundry while the floors dried. Buster threw me an accusing look for banishing him to the nether regions.

  “Don’t look at me like that. It’s your own fault.” He probably had forgotten all about the time he’d tracked mud onto my freshly scrubbed floor, but I sure hadn’t.

  I took a load of towels from the washer and tossed them into the dryer, then loaded sheets in the washer and turned it on.

  “C’mon, boy. Let’s go for a walk.” I grabbed his extra leash from beside the basement door. No sense staying down here while we waited.

  Buster’s ears popped to attention, and he scrambled up, wagging his tail and nudging my hand. I laughed and scratched him behind one ear.

  We walked up the steps to the side yard and headed for the front of the house. Buster strained against his leash, wanting to run. We started down the sidewalk at a jog.

  “Victoria, yoo-hoo!”

  Oh no. Why didn’t I have enough sense to go the other way?

  Mrs. Miller, my next-door neighbor, came stumbling across her lawn in high heels. Good grief.

  I put on a smile and waved. After all, she’d been one of Grandma’s friends, although I’d been told Grandma put the woman in her place on a number of occasions. It wasn’t that Janis Miller was wicked or treated people badly. But she was voracious in her quest to squeeze every last drop of gossip out of anyone she came in contact with. Especially me. She’d been wringing family secrets from me all my life.

  I didn’t know what she was after today, but my lips were sealed.

  She tripped the last few steps to me and stood huffing and puffing until she could catch her breath. In her hand she held a yellowed, rolled-up newspaper.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Miller?” I had a terrible fear that she’d drop at my feet in a faint one day.

  “Fine, just fine,” she gasped.

  Finally, her breathing slowed. “Whew. Taking your doggie for a walk, I see.”

  “Yep. He thinks he’s taking me.”

  She laughed. “I hear you’re the one who found Clyde Foster.”

  Okay, here it came. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “There’s talk going around that he was murdered.”

  “Really?” Did my voice sound innocent or evasive?

  She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t be coy with me, Victoria.”

  Coy? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be.”

  She looked me straight in the eye, searching. I tried to keep my gaze neutral.

  “Ha. That’s what I thought. And it doesn’t surprise me one bit that someone killed the old codger.” She held the newspaper out to me. “He had it coming, the horse thief.”

  Chapter Six

  When I’d invited Phoebe to lunch with me at Hannah’s, I hadn’t intended to use her as a sounding board, but I suspected that’s what I’d been doing. “It seems obvious to me Clyde’s death is linked to the Penningtons. Just like the last two crimes in Cedar Chapel. And all coming so closely together would indicate they’re linked.” Hmm. Maybe not all of them. I stared at my coffee and stirred. “That is, ex- cept for Miss Aggie’s kidnapping, but even that took place at Pennington House, so maybe it was connected as well.”

  “I don’t know.” Phoebe paused and took a sip of her soda then set it back on the table. “I think you should let the sheriff handle this.”

  Et tu, Brute? I scrunched up my nose. “C’mon, Phoebe, I need some support here.”

  She giggled. “You have plenty of that. The seniors are always willing and ready to dive into a mystery.”

  “You’ve got that right.” I shook my head. “I used to worry, but then I realized every time they started sleuthing they seemed more chipper than ever. I think the excitement keeps them young.”

  “And I agree.” She set her glass down and threw her wadded paper napkin on her empty plate. “I have to get back to work. See you at dinner. Oh, and thanks for inviting Uncle Jack. He’s looking forward to seeing you all again.”

  “Yeah, see you later.” I watched as she stopped at the register and handed her ticket and money to Betty, Hannah’s new waitress. She turned and waved before she opened the door and went out.

  I took the last bite of my chicken fajitas and dabbed my lips with my napkin. I’d hoped to get some feedback from Phoebe. But it looked like I was on my own.

  It was time to get serious about my list. I grabbed a notepad from my purse, glad to see the pen attached to the hard cardboard back.

  “Need a refill?” I glanced up to see Hannah hovering over me with a coffeepot.

  “Yes, thanks.” I shoved my mug closer to her and waited until she filled it and walked away.

  I pursed my lips and stared at the blank page. Okay, here goes.

  Who had a motive to kill Clyde?

  1. His daughter?

  a. To get revenge for his treatment of her mother?

  2. Christiana?

  b. Motive unknown.

  3. Someone who suspected Clyde knew the location of the Pennington jewels?

  4. Someone who suspected Clyde knew they were involved with the theft/disappearance of the Pennington jewels?

  5. Or could it be possible that Mrs. Miller was right and Clyde had stolen Burly Anderson’s prize horse? But Mr. Anderson was eighty-five, and his sons both lived in Chicago. Anyway, forty years was a long time to hold a grudge strong enough to kill for.

  Excitement burned in me as I looked over the list. Okay, maybe it was lacking any real evidence, but at least I’d put some thoughts on paper.

  I tapped my pen on the table, deep in thought.

  Clues:

  1. A fragment of a note/receipt/message with the letters

  n-n-e-l (tunnel?).

  2. Whatzit’s frightened screeching of “No, no, get out.”

  3. A 1968 copy of the Gazette with the story of the horse theft. (Which didn’t mention Clyde was a suspect.)

  I frowned. Not much in the way of clues. But it was a start. I crammed my notebook and pen back in my purse and paid my check, then left Hannah’s and drove back to the lodge. I needed to get the house ready for my dinner guests. Thank the Lord for Mabel. At least I didn’t need to worry about dinner. The day before, I’d given her the menu for the evening, and she hadn’t blinked an eye when she realized she’d have to panfry chicken for ten people.

  When I stepped into the kitchen, she looked up and smiled, then continued slicing vegetables for the salad.

  “Can I help out with anything before I wax the dining room floor, Mabel?”

  “Floors are all done.” She raked cucumber slices from the cutting board into the bowl.

  I shook my head. “You make me feel guilty, like I should double your salary.”

  She laughed. “Don’t
be silly. You pay me plenty. And for stuff I enjoy doing. Never thought I’d get paid for cookin’ and cleaning.”

  “You deserve it. Guess I’ll go wax the furniture then, if you’re sure you don’t need me in here.”

  I retrieved the furniture polish and cloth and did the dining room table and sideboard, then put a clean white linen tablecloth on the table. I knew Mabel would have checked the silver and napkins, so I headed for the great hall.

  When I stepped through the door, I glanced, as I always did, at the portrait. Resplendent in a dark green hunting coat and snug, tan pants, the Storm patriarch stood with a tall musket in the curve of his arm, a Bible in the other hand, clutched to his chest. I knew Franklin Storm had been a godly man, even starting a church for his family and neighbors. I’d only recently discovered through family records that he’d actually become a minister in his older years.

  His lips were pressed tightly together, and his face ap- peared rigid, but I would have sworn a twinkle lurked in those hazel eyes. Eyes that Grandma always said looked like mine. I tilted my head and examined his face. A deep cleft lay deep in his chin, just as it did in my father’s. Strange how family features could be so strong they’d last through generations.

  I turned away and busied myself polishing the mantel and the rest of the antique furniture scattered about the room. Was it wrong to be proud of my heritage? Just a few days ago I’d thought so, even repented for the pride. But now, I wasn’t so sure. Feeling a link with the past was different from ancestor worship.

  Oh, was I ever deep thinking today. I stood in the doorway and scanned the room. Satisfied I’d missed nothing, I went out and closed the door.

  Chores over, I headed for my office and took my original list from the desk drawer. Retrieving the other from my purse, I typed both lists into a Word document and saved the file.

  There, that was more like it. My files were password protected, so I didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing them. Not that anyone would get on my computer anyway.

  Once, when Miss Aggie was missing, we’d thought she might have left a clue to her disappearance on my computer or the one at the library. That had turned out to be a false lead. Her computer activities at the library had simply been research about posh hotels and restaurants. And she hadn’t touched my computer. But I’d made a new rule that day that my computer was off-limits.