Eine Kleine Murder (9 page)

My precious locket. I had broken the chain soon after I started seeing Len. He had searched high and low to find the braided antique chain that matched so perfectly. He had given it to me the Christmas we were together. I wore the locket every day, since Gram had given it to me, but I'd replaced Len's chain the day after he put me into the hospital.

Added to the blow of losing the locket, was losing the pictures inside: tiny images of my mother and father. I climbed onto the rumpled daybed and wailed for a good ten minutes.

Had Mo, the alleged jewel thief, taken it while I was out? I remembered him fingering the chain. And the footprints, and the whiff of cigarette smoke late at night.

My stomach heaved. Had I been poisoned?

Chapter 15

Tumultuoso: Vehement, impetuous; agitated (Ital.)

I paced the cabin until it could no longer contain me. I put on my tennis shoes, threw the rechristened Ivan the Terrible into my purse, and went outside. Wanting to go someplace new, I fled down the crude steps toward Gram's dock. The peaceful lake began to soothe me as I stood near the overturned boat and loosened up inside.

The silence was broken by the roar of a powerful motor from within the thick woods. When I looked back toward the steps, a tractor was making its way down the hill, using tire ruts I hadn't noticed before, a steep road that wound down the hill through the trees beyond the steps I had come down.

The tractor reached the bottom of the hill, a jiggling mower attachment raised up in the back. On the driver's seat bounced one of the most enormous women I had ever seen. Not the tallest, just the widest. Wreaths of chins surrounded her face, and a slim brown cigar dangled from her thick, loose lips. Her soft-looking body sagged around the tractor seat and wobbled with the vibrations of the motor and the bobbing of the vehicle as it made its way across the grass toward me. Her pink muumuu billowed out behind her like a parachute. I hoped I wasn't staring.

She saw me, waved, braked to a stop beside me, and struggled off the seat, dislodging a bright yellow cushion onto the grass.

“Hi. I'm Sheila Weldon.” She extended her pudgy hand and I took it and introduced myself.

“Glad to meet you, Cressa.” She shifted the thin cigar with her meaty lips as she talked. “Your grandmother was an old friend of mine.”

“I do miss her. She died so suddenly.”

“Yeah, that was strange.”

“Were you there?” If an adult, as well as the two children, had seen Mo there, I might place more credence in what they'd told me.

“When she died? No. No one was, so far as I know. Especially not us. My husband and I do the work here. I do most of the mowing.” She stooped with a loud grunt to pick up her yellow cushion.

“It's a beautiful place. You do a nice job.”

“Well, we don't do everything we should. Toombs,” she spit his name out the side of her mouth opposite the cigar, “should hire more help, but he don't do it.”

Her ample bosom lifted and fell in a gloomy sigh. The thin smoke of her cigar hung in the air, giving the meadow a faint barroom smell.

“You know, this club ain't what it was back in the day,” she continued shifting the cigar to the other side of her mouth. “It was pretty nice here then, but it don't get managed like it should with that snake doing it. Six people used to do what me and Wayne try to do.” She climbed back onto the tractor with a great deal of grunting, arranged her muumuu, and clashed the gears with a swipe of her hammy hand.

Toombs had failed the course in “Winning Friends and Influencing People” when he self-educated himself. Didn't anyone here like him? She steered the mower across the small patch of grass. Then she muttered, “Guess I'll hang up the mowing for now. Grass is too wet, clumping up on my blades.” She lifted the attachment and drove back up the hill.

I turned back to inspect Gram's rowboat. The red-bottomed vessel had been hauled onto the grass beside the dock and its oars were lying beside it. I tugged, but it didn't budge.

A soft footfall made me look around. Rebecca and Rachel were standing beside me.

“Hi, girls,” I said tentatively, not wanting to scare them off. They gave me doubtful looks. Could they know I wanted to ask them questions?

Rebecca answered “Hi” and her little sister looked down, as usual.

“It's a nice day out,” I prodded. “Did you see that tractor that was just here? I guess you know Mrs. Weldon, huh?”

Rachel kept her face averted, making me wonder if she had a bruise, too. They both nodded in response to my question. Progress, I thought. I decided to plunge right in.

“Do you remember the night when Ida Miller was swimming and your Uncle Mo was there?”

Two more nods. Rachel glanced up at me, then looked out at the water, her delicate eyebrows raised. Was her expression wistful or fearful?

“Do you remember where they were?”

“Down by the lake,” answered Rebecca.

“On the beach,” ventured little Rachel.

The beach was on this side of the lake, the shorter east side as the water curved around in its confining valley. Her body was found on the far side.

“Both of them? Together?”

“No. Mrs. Ida went in the water,” said Rebecca. “Uncle Mo was watching her. Mrs. Ida didn't see him.”

“Was it dark out?”

“Uh-huh,” said Rebecca.

Rachel nodded.

“Did you see Ida come out of the water?”

“No, just Uncle Mo.”

“But we ran away, Becca. Don't you ‘member?”

Rachel sprinted away toward the steps. Rebecca turned to watch her little sister, then followed her.

I stared after them. It wasn't exactly an indictment of Mo. More like circumstantial evidence. Not chorus and verse, but at least a stanza. I wanted to ask them if they'd been around when Grace died, too, but maybe I shouldn't traumatize their little minds any further.

The girls disappeared up the hill into the foliage. Soon their light treads stopped and an angry voice accosted them.

“What in the hell were you doing?” It was Mo, yelling at the little girls. I couldn't hear an answer, but he continued at a slightly lower decibel level. I strained to hear.

“Were you talkin' about Ida Miller? I told you, don't talk about her. Stop spreading lies or you'll wish you hadn't.”

The hair on the back of my neck tingled in anticipation of Mo's appearance. Maybe they had all continued up the hill. Now was the time to get this boat turned over and into the water, in case Mo showed up.

I managed to slide it down the hill and wrestle it right side up at the same time.

I clambered down into it from the dock, threw my bag onto a seat, and poled against the muddy bottom to get out of the shallows. Then I rowed north out of the cove. Still no sign of Mo. Good. A breath of relief escaped.

Being in a rowboat in the middle of a lake seemed like a good idea. I would be unreachable, for one thing, in case a killer lurked at the lake. A shiver rose up my spine at the thought that Mo might be the killer.

Maybe, if I could calm my mind, my stomach would stop aching so and my head would clear on my way across the lake.

Okay, clear your mind, Cressa. Concentrate on… On what? On rowing the boat, on the moment, on where you are. Use the yoga breathing you've been practicing with Neek.

The water trailed smooth ripples behind me as I sat backwards and aimed for the middle of the lake. I grew hypnotized by the slowly widening ridges of my wake, dissolving into the calm surface of the water. After I pulled completely out of the cove, I could see Al Harmon's tall form fishing in his boat, almost around the bend to the west, too far away to hail. I assumed he was taking his solace there and wouldn't want company. He fished like I wrote music: as an antidote. I would go to his place later and see if there was anything I could do.

I thumped the oars into the boat to rest a moment, the oarlocks jangling, as I reached the point halfway to the other side. My arms ached from the unaccustomed strain of rowing.

The fog had mostly dissipated and was lifting into the clouds where it belonged. The lakeshore looked even more beautiful from out on the water. The trees bent down and brushed the water where the woods were thick, and here and there, the wooden boat docks poked out into the lake with an air of solidity. The earthen dam, a solid grass-covered strip dotted with bushes and a few small trees, stretched from shore to shore at the eastern end of the lake, daring the captive water to go anywhere. Clumps of white and yellow flowers bloomed in the open spaces on the dam, spots of brightness among the green.

My mind decided to start working overtime, dreaming up more and more improbable scenarios. I went on to consider it possible Mrs. Toombs's daughter was abusing her own girls and Toombs merely trying to protect them. Yeah, right. Or maybe she had a boyfriend who mistreated them? Or maybe the younger one was just shy and the older one had fallen and hit her cheek.

There must be some way to get to the bottom of what Rebecca and Rachel are telling me. Their story of Mo being in the vicinity is the only indication, besides coincidence, that those two ladies didn't drown naturally. And I'm the only person who thinks so.

Would it do any good to ask Eve more about the two little girls, and maybe about Mo, too? As soon as I got out of the boat I'd call Neek to get her thoughts, if Ivan would cooperate. On the boat, our conversation would bounce off the water, like vibrations from a piano soundboard, ringing out to the whole place.

To think that the water I'm staring into is what took your life, Gram. What really happened that night?

A glance at my phone showed the connection bars full and a message waiting. I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID, but it was a local one. I listened, and the message was from Gram's lawyer, and unwelcome.

“Ms. Carraway, I've spoken with your cousins and they're not happy about the terms of Ida Miller's will. They say they're planning on contesting it. I wouldn't worry about this—there's no chance they'll win—but it will hold things up a bit. I suggest you occupy your grandmother's cabin, if you can, until probate is finished, in order to retain possession. As I said, they don't have any grounds, but it puts you in a better position if you stay there as much as possible. I'll talk to you later, Ms. Carraway. Call me if you have any questions.”

The mention of a court battle brought my nausea back full force. I longed for Gram's homemade chicken soup, and her gentle touch to accompany it. Foul tasting bile rose in my throat. Those rotten boys! Would they ever be done tormenting me? One thing I knew, they would
not
get the cabin. It was mine.

Al Harmon's boat had gone around the bend ahead of me, out of sight.

I considered, again, who could have killed the women. Mo was my prime suspect. But what did I know about the rest of the Toombses, really? Only what the Harmons, Eve, and Sheila had related. Gram had said little about the Toombses. Al Harmon was harassed by him and Sheila Weldon also felt he didn't treat her right.

I jumped and my hand knocked an oar into the water when, just as I was thinking about him, Toombs's nasal tones came ringing across the water in a loud, clear whine. How creepy.

“And who do you think is in charge around here? This place is run on a schedule, damn it! And
I
make the schedule.”

His voice sounded like an oboe played by a drunken beginner. Also a little like Mo, when he had yelled at Rachel and Rebecca. At a higher pitch, but with the same anger.

I recovered the oar, still in its oarlock, and peered at the shore, looking for Toombs. My gaze traveled to the top of the rise.

Toombs and Sheila Weldon stood in the road by the Weldons' trailer. It was quite a distance, but from their elevation, and with no growth of trees in the way, the sound carried across the water. They were two tiny silhouetted figures from where I sat, but I easily identified them both. The voice of the one was unmistakably Toombs's, and the rotund shape of the other was just as decidedly Sheila's. I probably imagined I could smell her little brown cigar.

Poor woman. Was everyone here a victim of this imbecile? I clenched my eyes to shut out an unbidden vision of Len's fist just before it smashed into my face.

“You women are all, are all ruled by hormones, or, or the phrases of the moon, or something. You can't unnerstan a simple sss, schedule.” He was still shouting, and slurring his words. Phrases of the moon? More self-education. I wanted to belt him one, like I hadn't been able to hit back at Len.

Sheila spoke in lower tones and I couldn't make out her words. I saw him stagger and heard his answer, though.

“I don't care how wet it is! That hill gets mowed today! You're not gonna get your feet wet sittin' on the tractor. Just… Just mow the, the damn grass!”

He wheeled, lurched, then stalked away. Sheila's stout figure slumped a bit, then she slowly lumbered over the crest of the hill, out of sight.

Chapter 16

Subito: Suddenly, without pause (Ital.)

It was time to resume rowing, to get as far away from these people as I could. I pulled and clanked until the boat bumped the other shore. In spite of my haste to cross the lake I had drifted toward the dam, almost right onto it, so I turned my craft and headed away, hugging the northern shore. Turning awakened more queasiness, but I wanted to make sure Al Harmon wouldn't see me from his boat. There was no sense in digging at his wound unless it became necessary.

When I rounded the bend, he was no longer on the lake. His boat was moored across the water, beyond the beach. I nosed into the shore on my side of the lake, grabbed a protruding tree root, and pulled myself onto the mud bank in the shade of a tremendous old oak. An exposed series of rough tree roots made a crude but useable stairway. I looped the boat's rope around one of the roots and straightened up. A cold tremolo ran up my spine. This was, as near as I could tell, the spot where I had found the two bodies. I didn't want to be here, but I had to see if there were any signs left by a killer.

It was too cool a morning for swimming. Not surprisingly, no one was on the beach across the lake, giving me total privacy.
It wouldn't be too cold for Gram. She'd be out there—if she were still alive.

Okay. So, if she had been killed, it would have happened right around this place.

My cell phone trilled. It was Neek. The connection here was good and her familiar, calming voice came through clearly.

“Cress, I don't think I'm going to be able to save that ficus. Have you ever watered it, even once?”

Ficus. Oh yes. That stupid plant Len had given me.

“Maybe not. I don't like it much. Pitch it if you want.” I hated to kill living things, but this was one more reminder of Len.

“Where are you? Whatcha doing?”

“Well, for starters, I haven't thrown up yet.”

“Huh?”

“I feel lousy today, Neek. But right now I'm standing, well, I'm standing where Gram's killer must have stood.”

“What!? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Oh, Neek, I'm more and more sure she was killed.”

“And why are you in the place where she died?”

I told her how I had taken Gram's boat and just ended up there. “I vaguely remember walking around this lake with Gram when I was very young. Grace complained about the footpath that leads over here. She said it wasn't being kept up. I can see the path from here. And it's weedy, all right.”

My dim memory focused slightly. My mother and father were leaving on yet another road tour, this one for four months. I was four years old, and Mom made me put up four fingers, thinking a time period of four months would make sense to a child that young.

The way I remembered it, I cried for days after they left. It may have only been hours, though, or minutes. The vivid part of the memory, surfacing now, was Gram scooping me up and driving me to this lake. We had walked on the footpath, the one I could see from the shore. I don't know if we made it all the way around the lake or not, but the memory of holding Gram's hand and the thrill of being in what I saw as wild woods was clear.

“Cressa, why did you go ashore?”

“I'm not sure. I want to see it again. The place Gram died. And… think about it: if someone stood here, waiting for her to swim over, let's see… Would she have gotten out of the water, or would she have turned around and swam back?”

“Well,” Neek said. I could hear sitar music behind her. In addition to herbs and plants, she loved all things Eastern. “I'm thinking. Why would she get out of the water?”

“You're right. She wouldn't. Unless someone she knew needed her to. But why would they? It's not all that easy to climb up here in broad daylight and it was night. It's shallow here. So she stands in the water and, if she turns around to go back, she could be surprised from behind. From where I am.”

“How did the killer get there?”

“The path is probably not totally impassible. I'll have to try it. And if Grace's killer is the same person as Gram's killer, they would've stood in the same place.”

“Grace's killer?”

“Oh, I haven't told you.” I sagged against a tree trunk. “Grace was killed last night, just like Gram, in the same place—right here.”

“That's the lady that was so nice to you? Your grandmother's friend?”

“Yes, she and her husband have been super.”

“I hope, at least, you didn't find… I mean, I hope someone else found … They didn't did they?”

How did she always know? “No, no one else did. I'm the one who found her. Just like Gram.”

“Oh, Cressa,” she wailed. “I wish I had more days off. I wish I were there. I really do. This must be so hard for you.”

“Well, it's not easy. But you're here on the phone with me. That's almost as good. Help me with this, Neek. The foliage doesn't look too dense to walk through, but it would make a good screen, especially at night.” Treading with care, I searched the ground for anything telltale; I found nothing but sticks and leaves. “Maybe there's something that could tell us who was here. A footprint or something.”

“But it's part of the club, right? If you
did
find a footprint here, what would that prove?”

She had a point. Lots of people had a right to walk around here. I slumped against the trunk of the oak and slid down to the damp ground, heedless of my jeans.

“Okay, you're right again,” I admitted. “There wouldn't be any evidence here.” I sighed into the cell phone. “So, you called to ask me about the ficus?” She wouldn't have called about a plant.

“Not exactly. I hate to bring this up,” Neek said, “but you told me to get the messages off your answering machine.”

“Yes?” I straightened up against the tree trunk. I hoped Len hadn't left any.

“Somebody named, uh, TRIGG-vee called. He sounded nasty. He said he and his brother were going to take you to court.”

I groaned. “Oh damn.”

“What's he talking about?”

“Gram left her cabin to me. My cousins must think there's a lot of money to fight over because they're contesting the will. Gram's lawyer says they won't win.”

“Oh, Cressa, what a nuisance. And on top of everything else.”

“Yeah. They're not my favorite people.”

We said goodbye, then I saw it. A shiny metal something sticking out of the wet leaves. I lifted a soggy layer of vegetation and discovered a pair of silver-rimmed bifocals.

I heard, in my mind's ear, Grace's progress the last time I'd seen her out my front window, her dark form heading for the swimming area, a large towel draped over her arm, her flip-flops going
twup
,
twup
as she went, and the silhouette of her glasses—her silver bifocals—perched on her nose. But how did they get here?

I retrieved my bag from the boat and, being careful not to put my fingers on the lenses—who knows, they might carry fingerprints—nudged them into the bag with a twig.

Could I have actually found evidence? Excitement vibrated inside me. I had to show these to Al.

I set the bag down with more care, climbed in, rowed back to the cove as fast as I could, and headed for the dock. I glanced over my shoulder and thought I was lined up, but the next time I looked, the boat had drifted sideways. I tried it again. Missed again. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

I didn't need any more last straws. I slammed the oars into the water, but that didn't help anything.

Okay, take a deep, cleansing breath. I should be analytical about this. Maybe landing a boat is like working on a composition—the ending is the hard part. I stopped for a moment, drew a steady breath, and re-aimed.

I hummed Richard Strauss's
Thus Spake Zarathustra
, the piece that was used for the opening of the movie
2001: A Space Odyssey
, for inspiration. I hummed it aloud and I guess it worked, because at last my craft bumped against the big wooden post. I threw the rope to loop around it, grabbed the dock and pulled the boat over, then hopped out.

After the boat was secured, I dashed up the stairs to take my findings to Al's place. He was bound to be back home from his fishing expedition.

“Kisha, Kisha, can't get me!” shrieked a high, light voice. Others answered with shrieking laughter.

Curious to see what the commotion was, I slowed. Three children ran across Eve's yard playing tag, and two more stood near her cabin door.

“Everything's ready,” Eve called from inside. “Come on in, kids.”

They all piled onto the stoop and crowded through the door. Their small, piping voices continued from inside Eve's cabin. They were cute kids, all with shiny black curly hair, and close together in age. I wondered who they were, and whether they should be going into Eve's. Rebecca and Rachel seemed fine, though. And I was in a tremendous hurry to get to Al's.