Dying for a Change (5 page)

Monday morning came too soon. I stood at my kitchen window, sipping my first cup of coffee, watching a brisk breeze blow the remaining clouds away, and yawned. It had taken awhile to get to sleep last night and an awesome nightmare hadn’t helped. Hank’s dead body, stuffed in the closet, had reappeared. A shadowy figure was behind him and this time I was the target. I was fleeing down the stairs, the shadow right behind me, when I woke up. I spent the next hour or so with the light on. Bravery is a relative thing.

I was rinsing my coffee cup, ready to head for the shower, when the phone rang.

“
Mom,” said a plaintive voice, one I knew well. “What’s going on over there? You’re on the news. They said you found a dead body. Did you?”

“
Hello, Susannah,” I said to my daughter. “Yes, I did.”

“
Why?”

Now there was an unanswerable question.

“
It wasn’t my idea,” I told her. “He was there, and unfortunately, so was I.”

“
The news said he was murdered.” Accusation was ripe in her voice.

“
He was, but don’t worry. I didn’t do it.”

“
Really, Mother. I knew that. But someone did. What if the murderer saw you? You could be in danger. Did you think of that?”

I had. My nightmare proved it, but I wasn’t going to share that with Susannah. “There wasn’t anyone around. Just me, Harvey, and Bernice.”

“
Who?” Her confusion was understandable. “How about if you start at the beginning and tell me all.”

I told her the little I knew, reviewing what Sharon had told me about Tom and Nicole, the feud between Hank and Ray, and the list of names Dan had found in Hank’s pocket.

“
Mom, that’s awful.” She said that after she had pulled a detailed description of Hank’s body from me. “Are you all right?”

“
Still a little shaky,” I admitted, “but fine.

“
Who’s Dan?” Susannah abruptly changed the subject.

“
Dan Dunham. He lived next door to me for years, until he went away to college. His parents left town that same year. He turned up yesterday as the Chief of Police.”

“
Is he cute?” Leave it to youth to get right to the point.

“
For heaven’s sake, Susannah. He’s an old friend, that’s all.” I said, in my best mother to child voice.

“
Old friend, right. Did he ask you out?”

“
Susannah,” was all I could think to say. I didn’t mention lunch, but suddenly it loomed large in my mind.

“
I’ve got a class, Mom. Gotta go. Call me tonight?”

“
Sure, honey. Be careful.”

“
I don’t need to. You’re the one finding dead bodies.” She hung up.

I had to laugh a little. How nice Susannah was worried about me. How funny she was thinking of pairing me up with someone other than her father. That thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

I glanced at the clock, and came back to reality with a thud. Eight thirty. I’d better hit the shower and head for the office. I’d never learn to be a real estate agent sitting in my kitchen.

Upstairs, I rummaged through my closet, looking for something to wear. Cords and a sweater? That clear sky promised a chilly day. I caught sight of my red sweats, peeking out of the clothes hamper, and thought about lunch. Out came the new dress I’d been saving for some reason. It was a wonderful shade of blue. If I added a cardigan, I’d be just fine.

“
My, Ellen, you look nice.” Dottie Fielding, our office secretary, looked up as I came in the door and gave her usual tentative smile.

“
Thanks.” I smiled back. Dottie ducked her head and let her fingers fly once more over her computer keyboard. I paused for a second, wondering as I had every day since I met her, how someone who seemed so insecure could be so deadly efficient. Messages wouldn’t get taken, files would disappear, and chaos would reign supreme if it weren’t for her, but you wouldn’t know it from her appearance. Only in her mid forties, she seemed determined to look years older. Shapeless clothes, indifferent haircut, sensible shoes my grandmother wouldn’t be caught dead in, Dottie was the stereotype of an old maid. I wondered why, but there were other questions more pressing.

“
Where is everybody?” I looked around at an almost empty office.

“
They’re all out on appointments.” Almost as an afterthought, as if she was afraid I’d feel bad I didn’t have one, she offered, “Nicole’s back there, at her desk.”

“
Thanks,” I said again and wandered over toward Nicole. I wasn’t sure what to say but she didn’t notice my hesitation.

“
Ellen, there you are. Your Aunt Mary called.” She looked up at me with tired eyes. Someone else had trouble sleeping last night, I thought.

“
Oh? Did she say what she wanted?”

“
Something about flowers,” Nicole answered a little vaguely.

“
Flowers? Flowers for what?”

“
Hank’s funeral.”

“
Hank’s--why would I send him flowers? I didn’t know the man.”

It was obvious Nicole didn’t care about flowers, who sent them, or if no one did. She looked past me toward the front of the office and Tom. He let the door swing shut, dropped a folder of papers on Dottie’s desk, and headed our way.

“
I don’t know what she meant, Ellen.” Nicole pushed back her chair, her eyes firmly on Tom. “Call and ask her.”

“
Hi, Ellen.” Tom barely glanced at me. He took Nicole by the arm and they headed for the coffee machine in the back. Clearly, I wasn’t invited.

I watched for a minute, decided any real estate training I’d planned to get from either of them wasn’t going to happen today, and checked the clock. Nine thirty. Plenty of time to visit Aunt Mary before eleven and my appointment at the police station. Lunch, I resolutely pushed out of my mind.

“
Dottie, I’ll be back at eleven.” I tucked my purse under my arm, and started on the four-block walk to my Aunt Mary’s house.

She is the oldest of my mother’s four sisters. She moved into the house on Chestnut when she and Uncle Philip were married and, after he died, saw no reason to move out. I’d spent almost as much time at her house while growing up as at my own and Dan had been an equally frequent visitor. We “helped” her make cookies, put up apricot jam, set out tomato plants, and, as we got older, painted her fence and learned to make an angel food cake from scratch. At least, I did. She was the one adult who was never too busy to listen, so into her ear went complaints about school, big sisters who teased, girl scout badges that refused to be won, and later, boys who didn’t ask me to the prom. I gradually lost touch with her during the years of my marriage. Brian, my ex, wasn’t interested in small towns or the people in them. But now I was back, the old habit of talking things over with Aunt Mary had returned as well, and heading her way seemed perfectly natural.

Walking through the old residential section of our downtown is like taking a step back in time. The stately Victorians painted pastel colors, with fish scale shingles, and steep roofs are the grande dames. The others, built from the turn of the century to the late thirties, are less imposing but more comfortable to live in. California bungalow, Spanish stucco with real tile roofs, deep-porched farmhouse styles of the early twenties, they are all here. The one thing they have in common is the wide, tree-lined streets and the serene look of homes well kept.

Aunt Mary’s is a white frame house with a green roof built sometime in the early twenties. Her front door opens directly from the porch into a large friendly living room. I chose to walk around the side, through the garden gate and down the still damp path, past the soon to bloom camellias and the freshly trimmed rose bushes, to enter by the old screened in back porch. I called out a hello as I walked into the warm kitchen, but stopped abruptly. There was a woman I didn’t know, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee with Aunt Mary.

“
Oh.” I started to back up. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”

“
Come on in, Ellen.” Aunt Mary’s chair scraped the old linoleum as she pushed it back. She got to her feet and reached for the coffee pot. “Grab a mug off that rack and sit down. I’ve been wanting you two to meet.”

I smiled a little uncertainly at the woman, took a mug, and sat down while Aunt Mary filled it. “Have a cookie.” She pushed a full plate my way. “Ellen, this is Pat Bennington. Pat, my niece, Ellen McKenzie. She used to be a Page.”

Pat nodded. Page, my maiden name, identified my clan in this small town.

“
Ellen’s the one who found Hank’s body yesterday.”

“
That must have been horrible for you.” Pat Bennington’s voice, and eyes, held real empathy. I decided right then I liked her. About my age, soft, reddish brown hair with a hint of gray she hadn’t bothered to cover, light brown eyes, remnants of a summer tan that hadn’t come from a tube, and she visited my Aunt Mary. Yes, someone I needed to get to know better.

“
It was pretty horrible.” I gave a little shudder at the memory.

“
Humph,” was Aunt Mary’s response. There was sympathy in her eyes but she wasn’t ready to let me talk about it yet. “I’ve been telling Pat about you. She thinks you should join their Little Theater group. I do too. You’d love it.”

My hand jerked and a little of the coffee spilt. I reached for a napkin to mop it up, thankful that I could hide the horror I knew was on my face. Little Theater. The very thought made me turn cold. But I managed to look up and smile.

“
Sounds--interesting,” I said. “You’ll have to tell me more about it sometime.”

Pat looked at me, then at Aunt Mary, and smiled. “Right. We meet at the Veteran’s hall. Stop by sometime. Mary, thanks for the coffee, and for listening. I’ll talk to you later about--well, I’ll talk to you later.”

It wasn’t until she was out the door that I took my first good look at my aunt. It was a little unsettling. Never a small woman, over the years she’s added more than a pound or two. Age, and size haven’t slowed her down. She runs most of the rummage sale charity fundraisers in town, and has as long as memory served. A woman of strong conscience, she feels honor bound to purchase anything in her size and, of course, since you can’t waste good money, to wear it. It makes for some bizarre combinations. Today she had on shocking pink sweat pants stretched firmly over her behind and an oversize sweatshirt that featured Mickey Mouse. Mickey dancing across her front was not a sight to gladden Disney hearts.

“
She seems nice.” I ignored her outfit and nodded toward the back door. “What were you telling her about me?”

“
Pat’s a good woman.” Aunt Mary sidestepped the question. “Are you all right? That had to have been terrible for you. Tell me what happened.”

I recited my story once more. When I was finished Aunt Mary said with a sigh, “Poor Hank. Who could have done such a thing?”

“
I don’t know, but there seem to be several candidates. Did you know him?”

“
Of course,” she answered me, surprised. “Hank and Vera have lived here all their lives. Hank and your father golfed together.”

That was news to me. I would have sworn I’d never heard of Hank Sawyer before Saturday when Nicole introduced us. He hadn’t acted like he knew me either, but I’d probably changed a little in the last twenty plus years and my name was no longer Page.

“
What do you mean by candidates?” She looked at me quizzically over the top of her coffee mug. “Hank was a man of strong opinions and he had one or two other small problems, but on the whole, he was a very popular man in this town.”

“
Really?” I put my mug down and let my skepticism show. “I got the impression from what Sharon said that he was a lecherous old guy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“
That was one of his problems,” Aunt Mary admitted a bit wryly. “I never understood how Vera put up with it all these years. She called it flirting; most of us had another name for it. But he was respected as an honest business man, and he really was fun to be around.”

“
I doubt if Ray Yarbourough thought so.” I reached for another cookie. Oatmeal with raisins, just like the ones she used to make when I was growing up. Delicious. “Sharon told Dan Hank was trying to get Ray’s real estate license revoked, or something.”

Aunt Mary sighed. “I’ll bet that was about Emme Murch. So sad.”

“
Who?” I’d never heard of Emme Munch. Aunt Mary knew everyone in town and, even though I’d grown up here, I was beginning to feel I didn’t know anybody.

“
Emme Murch. Her husband died a while ago and Emme couldn’t cope. She’d never paid a bill, written a check, or made a decision in the fifty or so years they’d been married. Her kids had all moved away. Nancy, the daughter who lives in Tennessee, came to take Emme home with her and listed the house with Ray. Hank thought Ray had somehow taken advantage of the situation. I never was sure how.”

“
Do you think he did?” I said that with real interest. I didn’t like the idea of working with someone who cheated old ladies, but couldn’t believe Sharon would allow that to happen.

“
No.” Aunt Mary spoke slowly, a little frown starting on her forehead. “I don’t, but I have to admit, I wouldn’t choose Ray to represent me.”

“
Do you think he would have killed Hank because of that?”

“
Of course not,” she said hotly. “What an idea.” Only, she didn’t look as if she completely rejected the idea. Her eyes narrowed as she thought. “What happens if you lose your real estate license?”