The Cemetery Club (Darcy & Flora Cozy Mystery Book 1) (7 page)

Chapter 9

Silence hung heavy in the
plush room; not even the noise of traffic invaded this citadel of antiquity.
The walls must have been heavily insulated and the effect was of entering a
realm of near-reverence. Mr. Allred’s place of business reminded me of another
edifice of my childhood —the old Carnegie Library. One always spoke in whispers
there and the feeling was the same, even to the musty odor.

Three small lights glowed in
the panel above a small desk in the foyer, showing that the security system was
on and functioning.

Sunlight filtering through
the storefront window did little to relieve the gloom, and nothing at all to
displace an air-conditioned chill.

“Mom,” I whispered, “I don’t
like this.”

“Neither do I,” she said.
“That sign outside says the store opens at 10:00 but it’s a quarter after that
now. Surely someone is here.”

Certainly the proprietor or
a sales clerk should have hurried to meet us. Businesses that display items in
the window with a $2,000 price tag usually are not left unguarded and the door
unlocked, even with a security system in place.

When my eyes adjusted to the
gloom, I saw something that raised goose bumps on my arms. A glossy, cherry
wood display case lay toppled on its face on the floor in a scattering of
broken glass. A long necklace of colored stones hung crazily across the back of
a chair.

The odor of mustiness grew
stronger; yet, it was more than just the smell of old wood and books. It was
heavy and acrid. Had Jason Allred become ill before leaving his shop? Perhaps
he had started to lock up, stumbled against the display case, and vomited
before he passed out?

“Is there a light switch in
the entryway?” I asked Mom.

I heard her hand sweeping
against the wall and then light from several chandeliers flooded the store. My
breath caught in my throat. The tumbled display case was only the tip of the
iceberg. This long, beautiful room looked as if a tornado had whipped through.
Tables and desks lay on their sides. Shards of broken dishes littered the
floor. Paintings had been ripped out of their frames.

Instead of immediately
calling the police, as I should have done, my reporter’s instinct kicked in.
Who had wrought this havoc and why? Was it a wanton act of vandalism? Had a
fight occurred between Jason Allred and an assailant? Evidently the object was
not theft. Although I was no expert, I knew that many of the items in the shop
would bring a bundle if sold in the right market.

I jumped when Mom touched my
arm. “Let’s go, Darcy,” she said. “Let’s get out of here and then call 911. I
don’t want to be involved in any more trouble.”

I shook my head. “No, Mom,
we can’t go yet. What if Mr. Allred is here? What if he needs help?”

Tiptoeing through broken
glass, I saw an open door halfway down a hall which connected to the showroom.

“I’m going to check that
room,” I said, pointing to the doorway.

When I peered inside the
small room, I saw that it was an office,
but
it was in as bad a shape as the rest of the shop. File folders and
manila
envelopes spilled onto the floor. An empty spot on the desk
showed where a computer once sat. The destruction
was so complete
that a front-end loader could not have done a more
thorough job of demolition.

Mom clung to my arm as we
crept into the office. Again she whispered, “Come on, Darcy, let’s call the
police.”

Briefly, I wondered why she
was whispering. Evidently, we were the only ones in this ransacked shop. The
building had an empty feel.

“Wait here, Mom,” I said. “I
want to see if there’s anything in this office to give us a clue about what has
happened.”

As I inched toward the desk,
the acrid smell grew stronger. Dim overhead lights cast an unnatural, orange
glow over the wreckage.

I saw the puddle first, so
dark it resembled grease in the gloom. Then, a man’s shoe came into view on the
floor near the desk, a shiny, black loafer. My heart hammering, I moved closer.
Dressed in a suit and stretched out on his side on the floor lay the body of a
man. Around and under his head pooled the source of the pungent smell. He lay
in blood, and I had the sinking feeling that I had found Jason Allred.

Steeling myself against
rising nausea, I bent over that pitiful figure and felt his wrist for a pulse. He
was cold and I could detect no flicker of life. An open billfold beside his
hand identified him as Jason Allred, but something caught my eye just as I was
about to get to my feet. A small gold chain glittered between two buttons of
Allred’s shirt.

Mom grabbed my shoulder.
“For heaven’s sake, Darcy! What are you doing? Don’t touch that poor man! Don’t
you know what they say on TV? You’re going to have your fingerprints all over.
Maybe the killer is still here. Let’s leave! Now!”

Carefully, I undid a button
near the chain. A narrow leather belt was buckled around the dead man’s chest
and another strap extended over his shoulder. The belt ran through slots in a
long velvet pouch. Gently, I pulled the chain and a medallion slipped out of
the pouch into my hand, the same medallion as in the photograph in Templeton’s
office in New York.

Mom and I stared at each
other in horror. So this is what happened to Ben’s heirloom. Jason Allred would
never divulge any secret Ben may have told him. My mother and I had arrived too
late. 

Chapter 10

It was mid-afternoon before
Mom and I had lunch at the Spaghetti Warehouse, but even then neither of us
felt hungry. After the police arrived at Allred’s shop they questioned us
extensively, both there and at precinct headquarters. I debated whether I
should hand over the medallion to the police, but Mom persuaded me that it was
the right thing to do. However, that involved going into depth about the
background of the medallion and Ben’s murder. Finally, the investigating
officer called Grant to verify our story. Grant must have done some fast
talking to keep us from being detained. At any rate, our trip to escape a
killer in Ventris County and clear our minds of past sad events had failed
miserably.

“Do you think the person who
killed Mr. Allred is the same one who killed Ben?” Mom asked, taking a sip of
icy sweet tea.

“I would say that it is a
strong possibility. I don’t know how the killer learned about Jason Allred, but
there has to be a connection. He must have been hunting for the medallion and
Allred refused to give him any information. Maybe Allred was killed to keep him
from identifying his killer. I would guess that something scared off the
murderer before he searched Mr. Allred’s body. Oh, I don’t know, Mom. I’m just
trying to figure all this out.”

A horrifying suspicion
caused me to choke on my tea. I knew for sure that someone was watching
me—possibly Ray Drake—as I had seen his car slide past my hiding place when I
was on the way to Granny Grace’s. Had he or someone else followed me to New
York City? Had he been in the plane during my flight? Had he tailed me through
the labyrinth of city streets to Arlen Templeton’s office? Fishing in my purse,
I pulled my cell phone out and found the number for Forrestal Antiquities.
Punching it in, I waited as it rang in that far off office.

“Who are you calling?” Mom
asked.

I held up one finger. “I’ll
tell you in a minute.”

The brittle voice of Minda
Stilley answered on the first ring.

I identified myself but
before I could tell her the reason for my call, she laughed and said, “Oh, Mrs.
Campbell, I’m so glad to talk to you again. One of your concerned law officers
from Levi dropped in after you left the office. He said he is keeping an eye on
you and wanted to be sure you stayed safe. He wanted to know where you planned
to go next. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Mr. Templeton was out of his office but I
found that paper on his desk with the address of the Oklahoma City antiquities
dealer. Of course, I want to aid the law in every way I can and most certainly
thought it was nice of him to be watching over you, like a guardian angel.”

A cold hand seemed to close
around my throat. Shutting my eyes, I waited for a moment before I could find
my voice. It was just possible that Ms. Stilley’s helpfulness had cost a man
his life.

“Can you remember what the
law officer looked like?” I asked.

She giggled. “Cute. He kept
his cowboy hat on the whole time, but he had dark hair and a nice tan. Very
attractive. I wouldn’t mind having somebody like that watching over me.”

Thanking her, I hung up.
Cute? Surely that let out Ray Drake. A lawman? Was it Jim Clendon or somebody
with a fake ID?

Mom’s voice betrayed her
anxiety. “Why did you call that New York antiquities dealer, Darcy? Why are you
looking like that?”

Shaking my head, I said,
“I’m afraid that Mr. Allred’s death just got more complicated.” And I
reiterated Minda Stilley’s information.

Mom was silent for a long
while, gently stirring the ice in her glass. At last, she said, “We may as well
go home tomorrow. I sure don’t have the heart to sight-see and evidently we are
just as safe in Levi as we would be here.”

I nodded. “You’re right.
Thank goodness the chief gave us permission to leave. Since he had us write
down our life history, he probably feels it’s safe enough to let us go.”

When we arrived back in Levi
the next evening, the telephone’s
message
light was blinking. I pushed the play button and heard Grant’s
voice.

“Darcy,
when you get home, give me a call either at the office or at
my house.
I’ve found out something about Ray Drake that you should know.”

It was after six o’clock, so
I found Grant’s home phone number and punched it in.

“Thanks for helping us get
out of the city,” I said. “If you hadn’t talked to Chief Spencer, we’d probably
be locked up by now.”

“I doubt that,” Grant said.
“I did some checking on this Drake character and that isn’t his real name. He’s
a long way from being an FBI agent, and the blue Buick he drives is a rental
car. Drake is actually Cub Mathers. It was a long route to trace him down
through papers he filled out for the car agency but he rented it in Houston,
flew there from Chicago, and then drove up here. That’s a roundabout way to get
to Oklahoma, but he probably had other fish to fry along the way. Anyhow, Cub
is a big-time crook in Chicago. He’s officially known as a hit man.”

“A hit man?” I gulped.

“Yep. You and Miss Flora
entertained one of the most heartless guys in Illinois. There’s not much he
wouldn’t do. Like it or not, I’m sending a patrol car by your house every hour.
Leave all your outside lights on so my man can have a good look as he passes,
and Darcy —”

“Yes?”

“Darcy, be careful. I think
trouble follows you like a hound dog follows the trail of a raccoon. When did
you get to be such a magnet for danger?”

“Hey! Thanks for comparing
me to raccoons and hounds. I’m not a magnet for anything, thank you! This is
your quiet, peaceful town, Mr. Hendley. May I remind you that I’m not the
sheriff here?”

As I hung up, I heard him
chuckle. He irritated me so that I forgot to tell him what I learned from Minda
Stilley.

Sleep eluded me that night.
Tomorrow was the long-awaited Decoration Day at Goshen Cemetery. Mom and I
would get up early, load the car with flowers, and return to the cemetery.
Neither of us had been there since the day we found Ben’s body.

Somewhere in the darkness,
an owl hooted. Crossing to my bedroom’s double window, I peered out. Perhaps I
could glimpse my favorite bird. I didn’t believe the ancient superstition about
owls announcing trouble. Hearing an owl could mean there would be a change in
the weather. That wasn’t superstition; that was fact. Again, the owl hooted
softly.

Another superstition haunted
me, the one about trouble coming in threes. First was Ben’s death, then the
Oklahoma City antiques dealer. If I believed that old saying, there’d be one
more death. Superstitions surely did not belong in a civilized society. “Fear
is the opposite of faith,” I told the invisible owl.

Nevertheless, someone was
responsible for the murders. Allred’s death must surely be tied to Ben’s, but
enough of such thoughts! A cup of hot tea would relax me.

As I turned from the window,
something moved at the front corner of the house. My heart did a flip and
landed in my mouth. Had the movement been a piece of paper blown by the
mounting wind? Or maybe it was just a shadow and my nerves were playing tricks.
But, as I squinted into the night, the shadow moved again.

Gripping the windowsill, I
forced myself to breathe normally. If someone was lurking around the house,
would he try to get in? Should I call Grant or dial 911? If it turned out to be
just a cat or a dog looking for scraps of food, I would feel foolish calling
the law.

Dad’s handgun still lay
downstairs in the bookshelf drawer. I would feel better if I had it, just until
I could decide what else to do. Mom was sleeping and I didn’t want to wake her.
Hopefully, she had remembered to lock the outside doors before going to bed.
Another thought stopped me on the stairs. Had someone managed to get in while I
debated what to do? Was an intruder even now waiting for me in the darkness?

Creeping down the stairs and
into the living room, I slid open the bookshelf drawer, lifted out the small
gun, and tiptoed into the kitchen. I didn’t dare turn on a light. Familiar
objects looked alien to me; shadowy shapes that must be the table and chairs
could be hiding places for an intruder. A soft scratching sound came from the
back door, the rasp of metal on metal. I stopped, paralyzed. Someone was trying
to get into the house.

At that moment, a horrible
eardrum-splitting noise shattered the stillness. Our neighbor’s donkey brayed
one long and raucous blast. My nerves snapped. I screamed and heard footsteps
running across the back porch. Adrenalin shot through me, blotting out the
fear. I wanted to see this person who had dared invade our home. Gripping the
gun, I ran to the door and yanked it open. On the other side of the trees, a
car started. Tires screeched as it roared away.

“Darcy! Are you all right?
What in the world is going on?”

Mom ran into the kitchen as
I picked up a scrap of paper wedged between the screen and the door. Slipping
it into my pocket, I closed and re-locked the door.

Turning to my mother, I
muttered, “Somebody just paid us a visit but the donkey spoiled his surprise.”

Mom blinked. “Somebody tried
to get into this house?”

“Yes.”

The
adrenalin evaporated, leaving me feeling as limp as a wet
dishrag.

“Oh, what are we going to
do?” Mom wailed. We held onto each other and I don’t know who was shaking more.
“We should call Grant,” she added.

“I guess. It won’t do any
good though. Whoever it was is not here now. We are evidently dealing with an
evil person or people, someone who is so sure that we know something about
Ben’s gold that he is willing to go to any length.”

Mom’s voice sounded quavery.
“The Lord certainly protected us tonight, Darcy.”

“Do you mean when the donkey
brayed?”

“Yes. I don’t remember that
it ever brayed in the middle of the night before this. That and your scream
scared away the person at the door.”

“Then
I’m grateful to the Good Lord, Mom. He must hear your prayers.”

“He always does,” Mom said.
“He hears yours too.”

I pulled the paper from my
pocket. “I found this between the screen
and
the door.” In my palm lay a wrapper from Red Man Chewing
Tobacco.

Mom
poked it with her finger. “Do you know who chews that
brand?”

“I saw Jim Clendon take a
package of it from his pocket the day we were at Goshen Cemetery.”

We stared at the cellophane
wrapper. At last Mom said, “Lots of people chew tobacco and lots of them buy
Red Man.”

“Yes, but do we want to show
it to Grant? In fact, do we want to tell him about this at all? He’d probably
move a deputy right into our front room, and who knows if it’d be someone we
could trust? Maybe our intruder was the officer who has been driving past our
house every hour. Maybe he is Clendon or one of the other deputies.”

“I’m bringing some quilts
and pillows downstairs,” Mom said. “We can leave on all the lights, inside and
out, and sleep down here the rest of the night.”

“And I’m sleeping with this
little fellow,” I said, patting the gun. But our plans for sleep were
optimistic. We heard a thunderstorm blow in, shower us with rain, and move out.
The owl’s prediction was right as far as the weather was concerned. Was he also
predicting the near break-in? At last, the sun appeared and our long night
ended.