Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

“Because of physical problems?”

“No. But I thought it might be easier to move now than later.”

“That’s probably true. What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Megan Grant.”

“Hmm, don’t think I know her.”

“She married Lyle Grant.”

“Ah, I’ve seen her with him then. I know Lyle, I just didn’t know your daughter’s name.”

“You grew up in Hendricksville?” I asked.

“Yes. I lived here until I left for college.” He fingered my neck, checking my glands. “After finishing my education, I surprised myself and moved back.”

“I’ve heard it takes lots of money to become a doctor.”

He laughed a bit uncomfortably. “I don’t know what I’d have done without college loans.”

“Ooo, I’ve heard so they’re hard to pay off.”

He sighed. “That’s true.”

At  those words, I suddenly doubted he’d been made a millionaire by a deceased aunt. It seemed unlikely doctors sighed that heavily over college loans unless they had a few to pay off.

I smiled to myself. Maybe, this guy was innocent of his aunt’s murder, and  I’d be able to stay with the good Doctor Barstow for many years to come.

A
fter finishing my session with Barstow, I set out for the Weaverton County Courthouse. Three stories tall and made of red brick, it sat in the middle of the Weaverton Downtown Square. Two ring roads circled the impressive old building. Each road offered parking spaces with the outer street lined on the outside edge with shops.

Given their location near the courthouse, a lot of the buildings were crammed full of lawyers’ offices. But there was also a bakery, two banks, an antique mall, and what looked,   judging by the number of cars parked near them, to be three very popular restaurants.

After pulling my car into a parking space on the innermost road, I fed the meter and set off for the courthouse. I was eager to learn if the local gossips were correct. Had Carrie really inherited Mrs. Whitcomb’s money?

A series of steep stone steps led to the first floor of the courthouse. Once I’d mounted them, I stepped inside the building and  made my way to the County Clerk’s office at the far end of a short hall, where I entered a busy office.

Long windows on the far wall let in the day’s muted sunlight. Yet overhead, light fixtures buzzed. The office smelled of old papers and dust. A total of five women were hard at work at desks scattered about the room. One of them must have caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye, because she rose from her chair and scurried to me.

The clerk was of medium build with short, curly hair, and a businesslike smile. “May I help you?”

“I hope so,” I replied. “I’m looking for the will of a woman named Lillian Whitcomb.”

“Do you have a case number?”

“A what?”

She smiled. “Never mind. I think I can fix you up.” She turned to a computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Thank you.”

She nodded. “Not a problem.” Then, after staring at the screen for a minute, she grabbed a pen and paper and jotted down some notes. “Files this old are stored in the other room. It won’t take me long to fetch it. Wait here.” She turned and  hurried down a short hallway to a wide exit door.

Behind me, the door to the County Clerk’s office opened and closed. A gentleman stepped up beside me, a stack of papers and briefcase in hand. He was well dressed and well fed and shot me a megawatt smile.

The word lawyer instantly popped into my mind.

A clerk from across the room called out a greeting. She Rose from her chair and came to the counter. Obviously, the man had come to take care of legal business. They huddled for several minutes. Papers and money were swapped. Then, the man gave me a brief nod and left.

Shortly after he’d departed, my helpful clerk hurried back into the office. She carried a large file, which she placed on the counter in front of me. Pointing to a desk on my side of the barrier, she said, “You can sit there to sort through the papers. We’ll make photocopies of any pages you choose. Just give me a wave, and I’ll come right over. The charge is only fifty cents a page.”

I thanked the woman, strode to the desk, and sat. After tugging the file open, I withdrew a deep stack of papers. The depth of the pile surprised me. I hadn’t realized wills generated this much paperwork. But once I started pouring over the stack, I soon realized why there were so many pages.

The will  was simple enough. It showed that my little knitting friend had been correct. Carrie Flynt had inherited all of Lillian Whitcomb’s property. The woman’s house, investments, cash, and every scrap of whatever she owned was targeted to go to Carrie as the estate’s only heir.

Then I came across a second batch of papers. They turned out to be part of a petition contesting the will. In them, a woman named Madge Barstow claimed Carrie had used her position of housekeeper to unduly influence Mrs. Whitcomb. Without such influence, the petition said, her sister would never have left her money to Carrie. Based on the fact that Madge was Lillian’s sister and closest living relative, she asked  the judge to throw out the current will and name her and her son as the rightful heirs.

My jaw dropped.
Doctor Barstow’s mother had actually gone to court to try to get her hands on her sister’s money
.

Apparently the judge hadn’t bought Madge’s argument, because in his final ruling, he declared Mrs. Whitcomb to  have been an intelligent woman, “who was perfectly capable of making her own decisions.” Then, he went on to dismiss the Barstow claim and approve Carrie as the rightful heir.

I glanced up at the window across the room and chewed my pencil, remembering the condition of Carrie’s house.
Where had all that money gone?

***

I couldn’t resist driving past Carrie’s house on my way home, and I was stunned to see a car parked in the driveway. I knew the place was to be sold. I wondered if it was on the market already?

I reduced my speed and gawked. Who was in the house? And I was totally stunned when  I saw Hank Pickering step out of the front door. He’d have been my very last guess.

Easing my car to the curb, I came to a stop and beeped. Hank looked up. I waved. I swear I could almost hear him moan.

But it wasn’t me he objected to. He hadn’t appeared to be a social kind of guy with anyone, I told myself, recalling our session at Rose’s house.

“Hello,” I said, stepping out of my car. “What good luck to find you here.”

He offered nothing in the way of a return greeting.

“What are you up to?” I crossed the lawn and joined him as he stepped off the front porch.

“I’m just sorting through the last bits in the house.”

“How kind of you to come all this way. I would have thought Jennifer would handle this.”

“I had to come back. An old friend of mine is sick. I wanted to come see him. So, as long as I was here…..” He waved an arm toward the house and shrugged.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear about your friend, but I’m pleased as punch to see you again.”

“Right. You, too,” he said without much enthusiasm.

I linked my arm through his. “I tell you what, I was just going to take a break at Alma’s Diner. I hear she has the best cherry pie in town.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Good. Then why don’t we go have a piece? You look like you could use a break.  My treat.”

He stepped away from me, his face flushed. “I’m sorry. I really don’t have time. The realtors start showing this place tomorrow. If I don’t have it cleaned up by then, Jennifer will have my hide.”

“It’s just that I want to know how you feel about all that money you’re about to inherit.”

Hank looked puzzled. “What money?”

“Why the million dollars that Carrie inherited from Mrs. Whitcomb. I assume its is now headed to you and your siblings?”

He looked stunned. And a short time later, Hank and I sat ourselves at a lovely little table in Alma’s Diner.

With such an unappealing name, I had expected to find the diner to be a much less pleasant setting. But the walls were painted a cheery yellow, the table was antique and boasted fresh flowers at its center, and the scent of food drifting about us was fabulous. This definitely wasn’t my idea of a diner.

“How is Jennifer?” I asked, shrugging off my coat.

“She’s fine.”

“And Chester?”

Hank nodded. “He’s good, too.

A waitress arrived. She was tall and thin and wore a charming smile. I ordered cherry pie and coffee. Hank repeated my order, exactly.  And we both were silent for a for while as we watched her head toward the counter with our orders.

“And the money?” I finally asked. “What are your plans for that?”

Hank shook his head, unzipped his jacket, and leaned back in his chair. “Lady, there isn’t any money that I know about. What makes you think there is?”

“Do you remember Mrs. Whitcomb?”

“Sorta. I think Aunt Carrie cleaned for her?”

“That’s correct. She did. And did you ever meet the woman?”

“I believe so. A time or two, maybe.”

“And what was your impression of her?”

He ran his large hand through his tousled hair. “The way Carrie and my mom treated her, I figured she was a pretty big deal.”

“Did she give you the impression she had money?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t think there was any doubt of that.”

“You see, I’ve just come from the county courthouse,  where I read her will.”

“Mrs. Whitcombs?”

“Yes. And would it surprise you to learn that she left everything she owned to your Aunt Carrie?”

“Surprise me? It’d knock me off this chair.”

The waitress returned with our orders. We paused our discussion while she set our plates and coffee mugs in front of us.

At her departure, Hank leaned in  over the table. “If Aunt Carrie got Mrs. Whitcomb’s money, she’d be rich. Right?”

“I would assume so, yes That’s the million dollars I mentioned earlier.”

He shook his head. “Well, you’re wrong. You must be. Aunt Carrie didn’t have a million dollars, no where near it. She did have maybe a couple of hundred dollars in a savings account at the local bank. Beyond that the only money we’ll get will come from the sale of the house. But you’ve seen it. I doubt it’s going to go for much.”

“No, your aunt was Mrs. Whitcomb’s heir. I’ve seen the will.”

Hank scowled at me. “So if Aunt Carrie inherited a bunch of money, where’d it go?”

“Yes. That’s the very question I asked when I read her will. Do you have any thoughts?”

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “But I need to check something out.”

“Better yet, you should contact Detective Oberston. Let him look into it.”

Hank nodded slowly. “Yes, of course, I will.”

“
A
ren’t you the cat that’s helped herself to the cream?” Andrew floated just inside my front door.

“Am I? You might be right this time.”

“You found the will, I take it?”

I nodded, and squared away my coat and hat and scarf. “And I’ve cleared a suspect.”

“Who?”

“Hank Pickering.”

“The nephew?” Andrew scowled at me. “You never told me that  you suspected him.”

“He wasn’t high on my list. But when I spoke with him today, I learned he’d never heard of the inheritance. So it’s doubtful he’d killed his aunt to get his hands on money he didn’t know she had.”

“Maybe Carrie never saw a dime of it.”

“How could that be?”

“Maybe Mrs. Whitcomb spent it all before she died. Or maybe she gave it all away to a charity or something. Or maybe her investments soured, and she lost everything.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.  But you’re forgetting one thing
—
the house. I can’t imagine Mrs. Whitcomb would have lived in a home that wouldn’t fetch a good price. And it wouldn’t have been sold until after her death. So she couldn’t have spent that money or given it away, either.”

Andrew grimaced. “Maybe we’ll never learn what became of the cash.”

“Oh, but we must. When we find the money, we’ll have the murderer.”

“You believe it’s that simple?”

“I think so. But answer me this, if you would. Could Mrs. Whitcomb herself be a ghost?”

Andrew frowned. “I doubt it. I’d probably have sensed her presence by now if she were. Plus, there aren’t that many of us around.”

“But if she were a ghost, could you speak with her?”

“Possibly.”

“Will you put out feelers…  or check around… or whatever you do to get in touch with one another?”

“I will. But I have to tell you, we prefer avoiding each other.”

Right. It was only living people they liked to frighten?
I sighed and shook my head. “What about Carrie?”

“Are you asking if she’s a ghost?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt it. I’ve never felt any vibes from her anywhere, and I’ve spent time inside her house.”

I felt my shoulders slump. “I’d really hoped you could have a chat with them. But if you say they’re not around, they’re not around.”

“I wish I could be more helpful. But maybe it’s better that I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that you shouldn’t let this murder upset you so much.”

“Please, understand. I was as close to that poor murdered woman’s body as I am to you right now. Her death haunts me. I can’t let it rest.” Turning on my heel, I took off for the kitchen.. Some days, a slice of pie simply isn’t enough. I  needed cookies, too.

***

A little later that afternoon, I decided on my next step. I was standing beside the closet, donning my coat and hat and scarf when Andrew materialized beside me. “Where are you going?”

“I thought I’d check out the homes of a couple of our suspects. I want to see if they’re living above their means.”

Andrew shook his head. “Barstow’s a doctor. Hubbard’s an accountant. Neither will be living in a hovel.”

“I know. But viewing the size and status of their houses sounds better than sitting home. It’s also something I can do without sticking my nose directly into their lives.”

“I’ve been to Hubbard’s house. I can tell you that it’s very nice.”

“There’s nothing like seeing it for myself.” That said, I dashed through the door and headed  for the garage. Even if my effort was wasted, it would get me out of the house.

According to the phone book, Doctor Barstow lived just outside Hendricksville on County Road 361 East. I pulled my car from the garage and headed it in that direction.

Still not having adjusted to the numbering system for rural addresses, I lost my way a couple of times. And it took me almost a quarter of an hour to find the place. But a quick glance at the owner’s name on the mailbox told me I’d finally hit the right spot. Rolling my car to a stop, I studied the grounds before me. They  made a charming winter scene.

The trees around the house were bare, their dark branches contrasting nicely with the white snow surrounding them. A pond down near the fence was crusted over with ice. Standing at the top of an imposing hill, the house was large. It was made of red brick in the Georgian style. The place looked like a wonderful setting in which one could  live a very good life.

“He certainly doesn’t look as though he’s struggling to pay off student loans,” I muttered to myself. It wasn’t welcome news. I liked the man. I wanted him to be my doctor for the rest of my life, which he couldn’t do if he were locked up for murdering his aunt.

I sighed and turned the car around and headed back into town.

My next target was easier for me to track down. I just drove to my daughter’s house. The home across from hers was, of course, another Victorian. It was beautifully restored and had been painted in the bright colors popular for the style. Obviously no expense had been spared on house or grounds.

“All of that had to have cost a pretty penny,” I muttered, as I motored past it. That thought cheered me up. Barstow wasn’t the only one of my suspects flashing cash.

***

When I got back home, I found Backie waiting for me just inside the front door. I bent over and petted him. “You just won’t stop it, will you?” Andrew asked from behind me.

I straightened. “Stop what?”

“Spoiling that cat.”

“Nonsense, Blackie’s been my best friend for a very long time, now.” I scooped him up off the floor and lowered my face to his.

“You need to stop making such a fuss over him.”

Blackie twisted himself around and jumped to the ground and sprang at Andrew in an apparent attempt to attack him. Blackie  looked a little startled when he flew right through the ghost.. Still, he turned and gave Andrew a hearty hiss before stalking off toward my bedroom.

“You two need to learn to get along.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Andrew snipped.

I sighed and removed my outer gear. “So what’s Hubbard’s house like inside?” I asked.

“Very nice. All the latest conveniences and such. In fact, I’m headed back there now.”

In the midst of reaching  for a coat hanger, I paused and looked back at him. “Hubbard should be at work this time of day. Why are you headed to his house?”

“His son has this great video game. I enjoy watching him work his way through it. I wish we’d had those things when I was young.”

A video game? I sighed.
I couldn’t possibly be making this stuff up.

I finished putting my coat away and headed for the kitchen. “What happened to keeping an eye on the father?”

“I’ve dialed those efforts back, I guess. I don’t believe the man’s a killer.”

I turned on the cold water faucet and started filling the tea kettle. “He’s an accountant by profession. Who better to make money disappear?”

“What’s happened to your fears about my scaring him?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you should stick with him.”

“Fine. But you’re wasting my time. As I’ve told you, Hubbard is a dull knife.”

I moaned. “Murderers don’t have to live their lives in a state of high drama.”

“But they still have to show at least a few signs of life.”

I bit back a sudden flash of anger. I liked Doc Barstow. I wanted the killer to be Hubbard. “It’s early days yet. Stay with him. See what you can find out.”

“Is that an order?”

“Ah….”

“Never mind. I’m on my way. Your wish is my command… and all that rot.”

***

The next morning, the TV weatherman laid a fresh tale of woe on my doorstep. He stood before a map of the nation announcing that another round of snow was on its way.

“Enough already,” I groused.

“Enough of what?” Andrew asked.

“Snow.” I crossed to the toaster and slid two slices of bread into the slots.

“I don’t remember you disliking snow this much when we were young.”

I pulled down a mug and poured myself some coffee. “There are lots of things I liked when I was young that I don’t like now.”

Andrew studied the floor. “I don’t know much about that, I guess.”

And at that moment, I could have kicked myself. Complaints about old age might  sound stupid to someone who’d died in his twenties. I felt dreadful for reminding for bringing the whole thing up. “Anyway, if the snow arrives as predicted, Blackie will be happy.”

“Now that’s a thrill.”

“It is for him. You see,. I don’t go out of my house at all until the snow stops and the streets are cleared. He likes having me home with him.”

Andrew chuckled. “I’ve got you beat on that one, then. I flit off wherever I please and whenever I want, no matter what the weather is.”

“That’s handy,” I agreed. The toaster spit out the bread. I grabbed it and started slathering on the butter. The TV slipped from a commercial to the start of the local newscast. I glanced up at the small set I kept on the kitchen counter and nearly dropped my knife.

The news anchor sat at her desk with a photo of Hank Pickering displayed over her left shoulder. “Police say a thirty-two-year-old  man was found murdered last night in Hendricksville.” My knees threatened to give way. I grabbed the edge of the counter to keep myself upright as I watched the rest of the story.

“The body was discovered at about four this morning. Police say a neighbor was passing the residence when he noticed the front door hanging open. Pickering was staying at the home of Carrie Flynt, who was herself a recent murder victim.”

“Hetty, are you alright?” Andrew asked.

“I’m fine.” I crossed over to the table and sat down.

I picked up the remote and switched  the TV off.

“What do you think?” Andrew asked. “Are the deaths related?”

“They have to be. I could see Hank thought he knew something. He said he was going to checked something. And now…” I paused to draw a breath. “Now, he’s dead.” I shook my head. “I have this terrible feeling that whatever i told him I got him killed.”

“Nonsense.”

“No. No, I was the one that told him about the money.”

“But you also told him to take his suspicions to the police.”

“I wonder where he went? Who he met with?”

“Leave that to Oberton to sort out.”

I shivered. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

But I was convinced an innocent man had died because of something that I’d said. How could I walk away from that?