High Stakes, a Hetty Fox Short: a Hetty Fox Short Story (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 3) (2 page)

“And his wife? What is she like?”

Megan shrugged. “I don’t know much about her. She’s a quiet thing. Keeps herself to herself mostly.”

“Any children?”

“Yes, three. But they’re all grown up how and live in Chicago.”

Nodding, I considered the irony. Megan had been raised in Chicago and moved here. She’d had no choice. Her husband’s business was headquartered in Hendricksville. But most young people growing up here moved to cities in their adulthood in search of good jobs. Trust Megan to turn normal on its ear.

I only lived in Hendricksville at my daughter’s insistence. She was terrified I’d fall someday and be unable to get back up, or that I’d suffer some other kind of disaster that seems to plague people my age. She’d wanted me close in order to keep watch and to know I was safe. She’d pressed the idea on me repeatedly.

Finally, I’d agreed it would be easier to move now rather than later. But I’d insisted on buying a house of my own. I wasn’t about to move in with her and her family, or to join others in some kind of senior living arrangement.

Megan glanced about the yard and shrugged. “I can’t think of anyplace else to look.”

“Maybe Chaos never left?” I said, brightly. “Maybe he’s still hanging around inside the house?”

My daughter laughed. “Wouldn’t that be too funny, but I don’t think so. Hugh said he saw the thing escape.”

It was my turn to sigh.

My glance shifted back down the street. Back to the Benchley lawn with its press of police cars and scurrying forensics team. I counted four officers closely examining the grounds near the body. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Mazor?” I asked. It was impossible to rid myself of the memory of those lifeless gray eyes.

Megan nodded. “There was rumored to be some bad blood recently between him and another man. Tabitha Cross was talking about it after church last Sunday. Apparently Mazor had done something that had ticked off Berton Brooks.”

“Who’s he?”

“I don’t know, actually. Anyway,” she continued, “according to the grapevine, Mazor was said to have cheated Berton out of a bit of money when he sold him an old car.”

“That’s hardly something to commit murder over.”

“I agree. But you asked me, and that’s the only trouble I know of.”

Suddenly there was a male voice speaking into my ear. It was Andrew. “Hugh’s gerbil is under the back porch,” he whispered.

I swivelled around. “Hugh,” I yelled, waving. “Over here.” I took off for the porch at a gallop with Megan trailing behind me. Hugh caught up with us in seconds. “Under there,” I said, pointing at the dark opening beneath the wide boards.

“Thanks Grandma.” He shot me a broad grin and scurried under the structure.

Megan looked physically ill. “That’s just the kind of place to be stuffed full of spiders.”

“He’ll be fine.”

She glanced my way and shook her head. “You two will be the death of me.”

But a few minutes later, Hugh crawled out from under the wooden porch with Chaos held tightly in his hand. He shot me an admiring glance. “You’re the best, Gram.”

Megan’s jaw dropped. “How did you do that?” She turned a disbelieving eye on me.

I smiled. “Someone came along and whispered the pet’s whereabouts in my ear.”

Megan laughed. “Right. Anyway, let’s go inside. I need coffee.”

“You’re not the only one.” And I might have drunk more of it, if I’d known then what was yet to come.

***

About a half-hour later, I returned home. I was happy to have solved my grandson’s problem but still disturbed by my brush with a corpse. And I couldn’t see anything I could do to settle myself.

In the kitchen, I removed some leftover chicken from the fridge. As I began cutting it into cubes, Andrew showed up. “Didn’t I make you look like a champ for little Hughey?”

I smiled. “You did, and thank you. But where have you been since then?”

“I hung around at the crime scene. I wanted to see what they had to say.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“But it’s okay when you tell me to?”

I had sent  him to spy on Oberton a couple of times before. So I kept my mouth shut. He was here now, and no one had apparently been running around town claiming to have seen a ghost. Thank heavens for small favors.

Andrew accepted my silence without further comment and resumed his report. “The coroner estimated the time Mazor died at somewhere around midnight. He’d apparently been shot in the chest.

"Shot?"

Andrew nodded. "They found little evidence anywhere near the body beyond your skid marks and a single foot print in a man’s size nine. Since the victim wore a size eleven shoe, they suspect the print belongs to the killer. Also It was some special kind of brand. Kinda rare, I guess. They mentioned its name, so I’ll recognize the shoe if I come across it.”

I put my knife down. “A man’s shoe print? This case hinges on a man’s shoe?”

“I’m only telling you what I heard. The only other important point is that Mazor wasn’t killed where he was found. He’d apparently been dragged to where you ran into him. But those tracks didn’t lead very far. So police don’t know exactly which direction the killer came from.”

“And I was just the lucky duck to run headfirst into the mess.”

Andrew grinned. “Don’t worry. Oberton’s not holding it against you.”

“And I’m so glad to hear it.” Having finished chopping chicken, I set a small bowl of it aside for my cat, and grabbed an onion to add to my portion.

“That may be,” Andrew responded, “but the bigger issue is what can we do to help the police?”

I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, Oberton and his men are back there moving along at a snail’s pace. While here you and I are, fleet of foot and totally unemployed.”

I turned a dark gaze on Andrew. “I have no intention of getting involved in this case.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know the victim. Because no one I know is involved in any way with this death. And because I don’t want to. The last time I became involved with a murder was bad enough.”

“But what about your civic duty? Oberton could use a hand. He’s terribly short of staff. You know that as well as I do. Besides, we can do things he can’t.”

I scoffed. “Do you really think we can find the person who killed Mazor?”

“I do. In fact, I’d say we’re getting good at it. I bet you’ve already pumped Megan for information, haven’t you? Come on. Fess up.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “Well, I might have.”

“So, what did she say?”

I filled him in on what Megan had told me, which wasn’t all that much. But Andrew fixated on the bit about the car.

“Okay,” he said. "I think we should go drop in on Mr. Brooks.”

I scooped up the chopped onion and added it to the larger bowl. In the distance someone fired up a lawn mower. I stood there listening to its shrill whine.

“Come on,” Andrew said. “Say something.”

I cleared my throat. “I doubt a dispute over the price of a car triggered a murder. I can’t see it playing out that way.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

My cat, Blackie, strolled into the room and jumped up to the top of the fridge. He was excessively fond of my daily protein and liked to watch me while I worked in the kitchen.

I grabbed a stalk of celery. “It sounds like a flimsy case to put forward to me.”

Andrew floated nearer. “Let’s assume Megan’s right about that fight, and it was Brooks who killed Mazor. Who’s to say there isn’t some evidence in Brooks’ house that would convict him? Like a size nine shoe or even the murder weapon? If I went there, I could search through his entire house in short order. You know that.”

“I’ll think it over while I eat.”

“Oh come on,” Andrew protested. “That only gives Brooks more time to hide the evidence.”

Regrettably, I realized he had a point. Plus, I knew Andrew was good about staying invisible. It was doubtful he’d be seen. There was very little to lose by approving this junket. So I nodded. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll be waiting here when you get back.”

“Come with me.”

I put the knife down and stared up at him. “What?”

“You heard me. Come along.”

“Why would I? I can’t skip through that man’s house unseen.”

“No, but you can distract him. Guarantee he doesn’t accidentally spot me. Besides, it strengthens Oberton’s chances when he seeks a search warrant if you can tell him you were inside the house.”

I don’t know exactly  why I agreed to the suggestion. Maybe, on some level it sounded like fun. Plus, I didn’t want any trouble over the search warrant. But after tossing a piece of plastic wrap over the two bowls of chopped chicken, I looked up at Blackie and said, “I’m sorry love, but you’ll have to wait for lunch until we return home.”

Blackie reared back and sent out a hiss in Andrew’s direction. Then he jumped down from his perch, turned his back on Andrew and me, and with tail raised high in quivering disgust, he marched his way out of the room.

***

Out on the sidewalk, I was struck again by how lovely the day was. Sunshine warmed my face. The scent of recently mown grass drifted around me. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago I had come face to face with a corpse.

Andrew and I walked quickly forward. We had only one more block to go now to reach our destination. I glanced about me at this dear neighborhood I now called home.

There are only a couple of dozen or so houses on this side of the river. All vintage, but some are more so than others. My place was a sweet clapboard affair with a wraparound porch on three sides and a charming little cupola on the roof. It looked to be of southern origins to me. With its long, narrow windows reaching nearly to the floor, I thought it probably had been built sometime during the Civil War.

But this place we walked toward now, I suspected, only dated back to the late 1800s, to the age of the robber barons. It was massive and  looked similar to houses I’d seen in the pristine and exclusive suburbs north of Chicago. Constructed of stone, this house stood tall and imposing in the mid-day sunlight.

It was the kind of place that made people, seeing it from the other side of the river, assume that everyone living over here was rich. Which wasn’t the case at all
—
  at least not with me.

“What do you think of this pile of stones?” I asked Andrew.

“I think it’s impressive, which I assume is what its original owner would want me to think. Come to that, the current resident probably feels that way too.”

“Yes, but why would a guy who could afford a mansion buy an old car from a high school janitor? From the looks of  his house, I would think Brooks could own any car he pleased.”

Andrew frowned. “Maybe he is a collector of cars. Maybe the car was a valuable antique.”

“That might explain it, I suppose.”

Andrew chuckled. “Or maybe, Brooks doesn’t have as much money as he once did. Maybe he’s managed to cling to this house but has very little cash left.”

“He could always take out  a reverse mortgage,” I mumbled uncharitably.

“What’s that?”

“Never mind, it’s a recent invention. One I wouldn’t expect you to know much about.”

Andrew scowled. He disliked being reminded that his knowledge was sometimes out of date. “You can pull up a page explaining the subject on your computer, and I’ll read up on it.”

That was one weakness with Andrew. As a ghost, he couldn’t lift things, or pull drawers out, or tap keyboards. So his searches could be a little less than thorough.  But what he lacked in physical abilities, he more made up for with sheer nosiness and determination. And if he had a mind to, he could even slide inside a closed drawer. I’d yet to send him on an assignment that he couldn’t find some way to fulfill.

We came to the sidewalk leading to the home. I turned and started forward. As we drew nearer to the house, I witnessed clear signs of decay. The trim needed a fresh coat of paint. The roof looked as though it had neared the end of its life. The lawn could use better care.

I strode up to the massive front door and pulled the bell. We stood there a long moment. At last I heard footsteps and soon a man opened the door. He was probably about my age, somewhere in his middle sixties. But he had a bulbous nose and closely cropped wiry hair. He studied me with a sour expression on his face. “May I help you?”

Face to face with the guy, I suddenly found myself squirming. After all we were here to invade his private space on a fairly flimsy excuse. I cleared my throat.  “I hope so,” I said. I gave him my name and pulled a donation card for the library from my purse. I’d volunteered to collect on their behalf at the last session of our knitting group. One of our members had suckered me into the mission. And now I stood before this man smiling sweetly. “I’m collecting on behalf of the Hendricksville library.”