Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (8 page)

I picked up my coffee cup. “He told me he’d come to Hendricksville to visit a friend. Do you know who that was?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I thought perhaps the friend might know how Hank had been spending his time here.”

“I thought he was finishing things up at the house.”

“He was. But perhaps he had something else on his plate. Something he might have told his friend about.”

Chester sighed. “You think he was up to something?”

“I think he was checking on a few things, yes.”

“I wish I knew what they were.”

“Do you know which of his friends still live here?”

“Not a clue. Probably not many.. Most of us have to leave if we want to find a good job. It’s a great place to grow up and to raise kids in, but career opportunities here are slim.”

“Would you call me if you think of the name of the person he might have been seeing?”

“You think what he told this friend might matter?”

“I think if we could could figure out what he was tracking, we’d learn who killed your aunt and brother.”

“Wow.”

“That’s only If there’s not some other reason behind the murder that we know nothing about,” Rose chimed in.

***

“Yippee,” Andrew crowed, as he popped back into the living room.

My knitting needles nearly flew out of my hands. “Would you quit doing that?”

“What?”

“Suddenly turning up like that.”

“Did I startle you?”

“No, my heart’s only beating at twice its normal rate for the fun of it.”

“I am sorry. But I was so excited.”

“You’ve learned something else?”

“Yeah, Hubbard finally let his hair down today.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s scared out of his gourd for his future. He’s terrified he’s going to be replaced by a computer.”

“Ah, there’s a lot of that going round these days.”

“According to Hubbard, computers are a real problem for bank officers like him. Apparently, there isn’t a report he can produce that a computer can’t come up with more quickly and at a much lower cost.”

I set my knitting aside. “I hadn’t considered that. But it makes sense. A lot of jobs are being replaced by machines.”

“He says at his age, he’d never find another position that would pay him what he’s currently earning.”

“So getting his hands on Carrie’s money might have appealed to him.”

“Sounds like it to me.”

“Who did he confess his fears to?”

“His assistant. He took her to lunch. She’d been badgering him, wanting to know what he thought her chances were of advancement. But by the time Hubbard unloaded his fears, she was almost in tears. She’s worried about her future, now.”

“Well done, Andrew.”

He beamed.

“I really did love you, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ve never doubted that.”

I gave him a parting nod. Then I grabbed my checkbook and headed for my car. Hubbard had told me if I ever needed any banking help to come and see him. Today seemed as good a day as any.

The First National Bank of Hendricksville was a red brick affair. It occupied a good chunk of one block on the north side of the downtown square. It’s exterior was imposing, but the interior was more relaxed, and its employees were for the most part very friendly. At least they’d appeared that way to me when I’d set up my checking and savings accounts a few short weeks ago.

Today I walked up to a young woman manning the reception desk. “May I help you?’ she asked.

“I’d like to see Mr. Hubbard, please.”

My wish was her instant mission, and within a few minutes, Tom Hubbard came wandering down a hallway toward me, his beefy hand extended. “I’m so glad you decided to come in.”

Guilt reached out and slapped me on the  nose. I didn’t like deceiving people, not even for a good cause. “Since moving, I’ve been putting of some decisions. I  thought you might give me some financial advice.”

He nodded gravely. “I’m only too glad to help.” He ushered me down the hall and into a small office. It was done up in muted tones of gray and taupe. A black onyx pen set decorated his desk, while the lampshade on his brass lamp was the usual banker’s green. The office smelled musty, and I thought of Andrew’s comments about the man spending most of his time pouring through dry financial records.

“I hope you’re finding Hendricksville to you satisfaction,” he said, waving toward a chair in front of his desk.

“Yes. I’m very pleased to be here.”

“Of course it doesn’t hurt that your daughter lives here, too.”

“Exactly.”

“I wish my mother would have been as open minded as you.”

“She wouldn’t move?”

“Not an inch. Anyway, what can I help you with?”

I whipped out my checkbook and led him through some of my financial information. As long as I was here, I didn’t think it would hurt to seek his advice. As we were wrapping up that discussion I slipped Mrs. Whitcomb into the conversation.

“Megan tells me you followed in her footsteps here.”

“Yes, I was named her replacement.” His face flushed slightly. “Her death was such a sad business.”

“I can imagine.”

“She left behind large shoes to fill.”

“So the people in my knitting group mentioned.”

Hubbard smiled. “Mrs. Whitcomb was well liked around town.”

“It’s so sad about her housekeeper.”

Hubbard’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Carrie Flynt,” I said. “The woman who was murdered recently?”

“Ah, yes,” he said, as realization dawned. “I didn’t know her personally, but all deaths are sad.”

“And now her nephew. He’s been murdered, too.”

Really, if Hubbard were innocent of the murder, he was going to think I was the most ghoulish person alive. But these questions needed to be asked, his reactions checked.

“Her nephew?” he asked.

“Yes, it made the news yesterday. He came here to clean out her home and was apparently killed for his efforts.”

“Good grief.”

“You didn’t know?”

“I don’t follow the news much. I did hear about his aunt’s death, but I didn’t know about the nephew.”

I swallowed a sigh. Hubbard appeared not to know much about either death. And worse yet, I had the feeling his responses were honest. George Pratt was beginning to look better and better to me, but maybe only as a matter of convenience. He was handy. He was here. He was on Oberton’s short list.

W
hen he rushed into the examination room the next day, the good Doctor Barstow looked terribly pressed. His hair was a mess, his collar askew. I almost regretted having lied my way into this appointment.

But I reminded myself that I was chasing leads on two murders. I couldn’t afford to be overly kind.

Besides, I’d risked life and limb on the twenty-minute drive to Weaverton. The roads had been brutal, slicked up by a three-inch overnight snowfall.

So how’s that sore throat now?” Barstow asked, stopping to pick up a tongue depressor on his way over to me.

“It’s much better. I really shouldn’t have  bothered you with it.”

“Let me be the judge of that, please.” He snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “Open wide.”

He slipped a tongue depressor into my mouth. It seemed a fitting punishment for the fib that had earned me a place in his busy schedule.

“Well, you certainly appear to be much better.” He stripped off the gloves. After depositing them in the trash, he poked and prodded my glands. “Any fever?”

“None.”

“How’s your appetite?”

“Fine.”

He slid a stethoscope onto my back and ordered me to breathe.

Once we finished up that routine, I undertook my shaky plan. “How is my blood pressure? I’ve been so worried about it lately.” I sighed.

He checked my chart. His nurse had hooked me up to the blood pressure machine when I first came into the examination room. Now, he studied what I assumed was her report. “Your numbers look fine. Why did you think they might not be?”

“I don’t know. Life’s been a little unsettled recently.”

“Why?”

“It’s the murders, I guess.”

“You mustn’t worry. There’s nothing to say we have a serial killer in our midst.”

“It’s just that I found the first body.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I went with a friend to check on Carrie Flynt that day.”

“That could be unsettling,” he said. “How are you sleeping?”

“Poorly.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

He scowled. “I can give you a prescription to help with that.”

“Oh goodness, I’d hate to take any more pills.”

“A glass of wine before bed might help.”

“I’m not much of a drinker, but I might try that.”

“There are some over-the-counter products you could try, too. If none of them help, call me. Sleep is important for your health.”

“Her face haunts me. Did you know her?”

“He glanced away for a moment. “Yes, I knew Mrs. Flynt. She used to be a housekeeper for my aunt. And Hank, yes, I knew him when he was a boy. I’d seen him around, at least.”

“Then what do you think’s going on?”

“Mrs. Fox, for the sake of your blood pressure, it’s probably best you let the police figure that part out.”

“Do you think they will?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said patting my arm. “We can’t have someone running around out there frightening good women like yourself, now can we?”

“Or killing them, either,” I added.

“Indeed.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” I asked.

His eyes grew round. “Me?”

“Carrie cleaned for your aunt while she lived. That gives you a small connection to the murders.”

He laughed. “A very weak one, I’d say.”

He didn’t appear bothered by my questions. But I wasn’t sure what to make of his response. He’d kept his focus mostly on my health. I knew one thing though. After this performance of mine, if he ever caught wind of Andrew’s existence in my life, he and my daughter would have to fight each other for the honor of locking me up.

***

Traffic on the drive back to Hendricksville was light. Road conditions had improved enormously from my trip over.  To either side of the car, farm fields drifted past. Tall trees dotted the fencerows, their winter branches standing out, dark and naked against the blue sky. And as I set my driving on autopilot, thoughts of the murders and what I’d learned caught and held my attention.

According to Andrew, Oberton liked George Pratt for the murder. I pictured him in my mind’s eye and wondered what Oberton had discovered to draw him to this rather unimpressive person. Then, I reminded myself that I knew almost nothing about him
— a
part from the fact that he’d done a good job repairing the closet wall for me.

Of course, neither Barstow or Hubbard were off the table. Either of them could have committed the crime. I sighed, feeling that I had failed in my attempt to pry information from the good doctor. I seriously doubted I could safely go at him again.

Then my thoughts drifted to Carrie’s niece. Jennifer was the administrator of her aunt’s will. If she’d also had power of attorney, she might have helped herself to the money. And she might have killed Carrie to keep the theft from being discovered. It didn’t sound as though the boys knew much of their aunt’s life. But I wondered how much Jennifer had known about Carrie’s affairs?

Reaching the outskirts of Hendricksville, I slowed and blended in with city traffic, which was heavy. People were heading to lunch. I decided to join them and pulled into the parking lot of a fast food joint. I loved hamburgers, and the thought of hot French fries could almost make me swoon.

By the time I got there, high school students had beaten me to the restaurant. I stood in a long line of restless young men and women. Their conversations were loud and filled with good cheer. But I knew, even at that age, life was challenging. Popularity clicks could inflict pain. Friends could turn out to be false. And a well placed word could cut like a knife.

Gradually, the mob of students moved through the lines, gabbing trays stuffed with food and carrying them off to tables.

Meanwhile, the welcome scent of burgers and fries drifted past me. As the line shortened,  newcomers took their positions behind me. Even without a dining companion, I felt connected to and involved with this shifting world.

And to be honest, I reveled in the thought that neither Andrew nor Blackie could show up demanding that I referee their spats.

Reaching the counter, I ordered one of the large burgers. It came loaded with all sorts of goodies. None of which, of course, were without calories. But I showed true restraint by requesting only a small serving of fries. Then I loaded up on tubs of ketchup and headed out in search of a table.

“Hetty,” a voice called out.

I glanced over and saw Laura Day seated two tables to my right.

“Come join me,” she mouthed.

I nodded. “Thank you,” I said when I reached her. ‘This place is packed.”

“It always is during high-school lunch hour,” she said as I lowered my tray to her table.

I laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind for future visits.” I sat in the chair opposite hers. “I’m glad to have run into you. I’ve finished knitting a baby blanket and would like to drop it off sometime soon.”

“You can bring it to my house anytime,” she replied. “If I’m not home… which is rarely the case... you can leave it with my neighbor to the south.”

“Good to know, thank you.” I unwrapped my burger. Taking a bite, I closed my eyes in pleasure. As I chewed, I glanced over at Laura and realized she had to be close to the same age as Jennifer. “Laura, tell me, did you know Carrie Flynt’s niece when you were growing up?”

She placed her burger on its wrapper. “Jennifer? Sure. We were in school together. We went all the way from kindergarten  through high school in the same class. Why?”

“I’ve just been wondering what she was like. I met with her brothers, but no one has told me much about her.”

“Well, it’s been a while. We graduated a whole bunch of years ago.”

“I can’t help wondering what she’s like. I found Carrie’s body after the murder, you know. I guess I’ve become obsessed with the family.”

“Well, the first thing I’d say is that she’s done very well for herself.”

“How so?”

“Jennifer’s family didn’t have much when she was growing up. She and Chester did well in school, though. Hank, poor guy, was more of an athlete than a scholar.”

“She doesn’t look poor now.”

“No, that’s what I mean. First, she married well. Then, she went on to be highly successful in her own right.”

“A local boy?”

“Oh, no. I don’t think she’d have looked at anyone from Hendricksville. She wanted out of here. I couldn’t blame her, considering how her whole family had struggled. Jennifer took secretarial courses in high school and landed a job up by Chicago right out of school.”

“Well, if her situation at home was as bleak as you say, I could understand that.

“And then, after getting the  job, she married her boss. He just happened to be a man moving up. About her own success, I don’t know much. But I do know that she put her brains to good use.”

I felt a slight touch of guilt. It certainly wasn’t a crime to marry a successful man. Nor did it make someone a killer. But I suspected Jennifer possessed a strong love of money. Could her passion have extended to the money that had come to her aunt? Had Carrie trusted her enough to have granted her control over her cash? But I stumbled at the thought of her killing her own brother. That seemed a stretch.

***

“You took your time getting back.” It was Andrew. He hovered just inside the front door, his arms folded tightly across his chest. On the other hand, Blackie was so glad to see me that he threw himself onto the floor and wriggled about in joy. I knelt down and scooped him up.

“How’s my little boy?”

“He’s your cat not your son,” Andrew snapped.

“I know, and he’s such a good one.” I rubbed my chin across the top of his head. Blackie purred loudly and settled in against my chest. “Let’s get you some tuna fish.” His body tensed at the word. Then, he hopped down from my arms and raced toward the kitchen.

“So what can I be doing to help you next?” Andrew asked.

“With what?”

“Certainly not with feeding the cat. The murders. What do you want me to do next?”

“I don’t know. I need to check up on Jennifer, but there’s no way I want you flitting off there.”

I stuffed my coat into the hall closet.

“But it’s so tiring. Hanging around the house all day with nothing to do.”

Ignoring him, I set off for the kitchen.

“Honestly, I want to help.” He trailed behind me.

I found Blackie already camped out beside his food bowl. I picked it up and carried it to the counter.

“So what were you doing that you’re home so late?” Andrew asked.

“If you must know, I stopped for lunch.”

I bit back a sigh. I’d just spent several weeks settling Blackie down from the move. Now, I had to deal with a jealous ghost? This was new territory, and I had no idea where to begin. Besides, Blackie was real. While Andrew... well, who knew what he was.

I pulled a can of tuna from the cupboard and the can opener from the drawer. Blackie snaked his way around my ankles, his motor roaring. Cats were so delightfully simple compared to ghosts. “Why are you here?” I asked mine. “Why have you suddenly turned up in my life? I mean, you’ve been dead for some thirty years.”

“I don’t know. I just found myself here one day. I assumed you’d summoned me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I do that?”

“What’s changed in your life, then?”

I placed Blackie’s bowl on the floor and proceeded to the table.

“I sold up my house and moved here. I suppose that was a bit unsettling to me. Are you saying I’ve dreamed you up?”

He shook his head. “How should I know?”

“You didn’t choose to show up here?”

“Not consciously, no.”

“Where were you before this?”

He shrugged. “Just a sort of misty place. No place, really. Then, suddenly I was here, and I was so thrilled to see you. It’s just that watching you move purposely through life…. Well, it makes me feel useless.”

“Which is why you want to help with sorting out the murder?”

“Yes, I think that’s it.”

I sighed.
What was I to make of this guy… or to do with him?