Bring Home the Murder (10 page)

 

Chapter 17

T
he murmur of conversation, loud laughter and clink of glasses slit the air inside the Legion Club. Walter held a tall glass under a beer tap and filled it to the top. He set it on the bar in front of a male patron.

Meggie looked away. She stirred her rum tonic and let her mind wander to the hobby farm. So much had happened since the day she drove out to Rileys' to housesit. She found it difficult to comprehend it all.

After Bulldog broke the news to Molly and Michael about possible human remains in the old well behind their house, Molly wanted to cut her vacation short and return home. But Meggie encouraged her to stay in North Dakota and enjoy the rest of her time with Michael. She promised Molly she would keep in touch if there were any new developments.

Walter leaned over and laid his hand on the bar in front of Meggie. “You're deep in thought. Something troubling you?”

Meggie started at his words. She swished her drink and contemplated a response. “Questions persist in my mind about the whole Fred and Amelia thing. I feel I should be doing something to find some answers. Now that the remains from the well have been positively identified as Fred's, I want to know what happened to Amelia.”

“The authorities will investigate and find out who murdered Fred.” Walter drew his hand off the bar and straightened up. “Whatever happened to Amelia doesn't concern you. Let it go and back off. Be grateful they've identified Fred's remains.” Walter glanced at his watch. “Where are Bill and Shirley? They better get here if they don't want to miss the meat raffle.”

A few minutes later, Shirley burst through the door and pressed her palm to her heart. “Thank heavens we're on time. I didn't think we'd make it.” She gave Bill a curt nod.

“Don't blame me.” Slighter and not much taller than Shirley, Bill defended himself. “You're the one who had to change clothes a hundred times.”

Meggie grinned and slid off the bar stool. She led the way into the well-lit section of the Legion Club. Most of the tables were occupied with patrons hoping to win free steak or fish packages. She found an empty table near the pull-tab booth.

“Walter loves being in charge of the meat raffles. He thinks tonight will be very profitable for the Legion Club. Butcher's Meat Market donated the best-looking steaks.” Meggie saw her husband approaching the table with a roll of raffle tickets. She dug in her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Here's hoping I win.”

 

 

Later that evening, Walter handed out the last package of steaks to the winning patron, picked up his drink and ambled over to Meggie's table. He sat down and asked her if she needed another drink, but she shook her head.

After congratulating Shirley on winning three steak packages, he turned to Bill and soon the men were deep in conversation. When Walter divulged that walleyes were biting on Rabbit Lake, plans were made for a fishing trip.

It grew quiet at the table, both couples lost in thought. Then Walter spoke up, “I talked with the commander of the Legion Club in Bluff. Fred was a member so they plan to hold a burial service for him.”

Bill shook his head and piped in, “The authorities sure are keeping everything hush-hush. There's no doubt in my mind someone killed him. They suspect foul play, but so far no suspects have been identified.”

“Sooner or later they'll catch the guilty party. Either that or it becomes a cold case, which would be a darn shame,” Walter added.

The evening grew late. Only a few people remained in the club. Two couples occupied a table on the far side of the room. An elderly man nursed his beer at the table next to them. He seemed in no hurry to leave. Even the bar area boasted few hangers-on.

“Whoever killed Fred must be shaking in his boots.” Shirley crossed her legs and swung her leg up and down.” If it hadn't been for Sherlock and Watson, that poor man would still be lying at the bottom of an old well. I'd love to see the faces of all those gossipmongers who were so sure Fred and Amelia ran off together.”

Meggie noticed the man sitting at the table next to them leaned in their direction. He must have been served one beer too many.

“As for the whereabouts of Amelia,” Walter began, “I've already told Meggie to let go and back off.” He glanced at his wife. “For once, I think she's going to take my advice.”

As soon as Walter and Bill left the table to buy pull-tabs, Meggie set her drink down and turned to Shirley. “Here's what we're going to do . . .”

 

 

The Volkswagen Bug clattered across High Bridge from Duluth, Minnesota, to Superior, Wisconsin, under a gray sky. The St. Louis River churned beneath the bridge.

“Are you sure Amelia's sister lives in Superior?” Shirley glanced at the speedometer, then into the river. “You better slow down or we'll end up swimming with the fish.”

Meggie kept her eyes on the road. “I've got the driving under control and no, I'm not sure Amelia's sister lives in Superior, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed.”

“I hope you're right and this doesn't turn out to be another one of your featherbrained escapades. We both know it wouldn't be the first time.” Shirley shook her head and let out a long breath. “By the way, who's Edith Knutson and how does she know Amelia's sister?”

“Edith and I met at Vera's shop. I worked with her at St. James church bazaar in Bluff.” Meggie stopped at a red light. “Edith grew up with Amelia in a small town in northern Minnesota. When they were young, they both relocated to the Bluff area. Evidently, they were fast friends until Amelia married her husband. After that, Edith rarely heard from her.”

“I wonder what happened to their friendship? Do you think Amelia's husband put the kibosh on it?”

Meggie shrugged and drove on. “Edith suspected Herman didn't want his wife to have any friends, but Amelia never told her as much.” Meggie flashed a quick look at Shirley. “I quizzed Edith about Amelia's disappearance to see if she knew anything. She told me rumors swirled around Bluff for years. Gossips said Amelia and Fred Jackson had a thing for each other.”

Shirley's chin jutted. “So when they both went missing everyone assumed they ran off together. But now we know for sure Fred didn't run off with anyone. I wonder if Amelia is dead, too.”

“I heard through the grapevine that some people think Amelia had something to do with Fred's death. But I don't believe it for a moment. You know how it goes. One rumor squelched and another one pops its ugly head up.” Meggie glanced out the driver's window then back on the road. “I think it's only right, and Molly agrees with me, that we return Amelia's letters to her if she's alive.”

“A shot in the dark,” Shirley mumbled.

“According to Edith, Amelia's older sister married and moved to Superior. Edith didn't have an address for her, but she remembered Ruth lived near a park by Lake Superior. I did a Google search on all the parks near the lake.”

“Just so we're on the same page. You think Amelia's sister lives in Superior but you don't know for sure. You think she lives near a park by a lake, but you can't be certain of that either.” Shirley shook her head. “Like I said. A shot in the dark.”

Meggie pulled off to the side of the street. “There's a park over there,” she pointed to her left, “and that house right there is the only two-story home on the block.” She looked at Shirley. “Are you coming with me or do you want to wait in the car?”

Shirley decided to wait in the car so Meggie made her way to the house alone. She pushed the doorbell and waited. Several seconds went by. When no one answered the door, she pushed the button a second time. After another short wait she turned toward the Bug and shrugged.

Behind her the door opened. A young woman with a child in her arms peeked out. When asked if Ruth Burnson lived at the address the woman shook her head. “If you give me a minute, I'll find her forwarding address.” Minutes later she returned and handed Meggie directions to an assisted-living home.

Meggie slid into the front seat and buckled her seat belt. “She doesn't live here anymore, but the young woman believes she stills resides at Holy Angels, an assisted-living facility.” Meggie pulled away from the curb and made a U-turn. She repeated the directions to Shirley, asked her to keep her eyes open for the street and turned left at the corner.

Minutes later she pulled up in front of Holy Angels. “Well, here goes. Let's keep our fingers crossed that Ruth still lives here and she can give us information about Amelia.”

The two women crawled out of the Bug and walked up to the front door of the building. The glass door opened, and they stepped inside the small entryway. A directory on the wall to the right displayed initials, room numbers, and buzzers.

Meggie stepped closer and scanned the initials. At the very bottom of the list she spotted R.B. “I think we're in luck. Let's hope she's home.” Meggie pushed the buzzer, heard a click and pulled on the lobby door.

Soft music played in the background. A number of armchairs were arranged around an oblong coffee table. Two loveseats sat opposite each other in front of a gas fireplace. A white-haired lady sat knitting at the end of one loveseat. She glanced toward the door and smiled at the two women.

Several small tables were positioned nearby. A food cart with carafes, mugs, and a covered food tray had been parked next to the tables. Two elderly men sat at the table closest to the cart and focused on a game of checkers.

Meggie looked around the area. “I don't see an information desk. Let's find room 119.”

Shirley fell into step with Meggie and together they walked down the carpeted hallway. They passed several apartment doors decorated with wooden greeting plaques and other craft items of welcome.

“Here it is.” Meggie stopped in front of room 119 and knocked on the door. She waited several seconds then put her ear to the door. Footsteps approached and the door knob turned.

A thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair adjusted her glasses and glanced up at Meggie. “May I help you?” she asked in a soft voice.

“My name is Meggie Moore, and this is my friend, Shirley Wright.” She paused. “We're looking for Ruth Burnson.”

“I'm sorry but she's out at the moment. I'm her sister. Maybe I can help you or let her know you stopped by.”

“Amelia Schmidt?”

The woman nodded.

Meggie looked dazed. “We didn't expect to find you here. We thought you might be . . . I mean, we didn't know . . .”

Sometime later Amelia sat on a cream-colored sofa near a window in the sitting room, the package of letters beside her. She had expressed her sorrow about Fred's death and composed herself. “Thank you for telling me what happened to my Fred. I have always wondered.” She took a deep breath and began to tell her story.

“Fred found my step-grandson's silver motorcycle in the brush near the pasture line between our two places. He remembered that a witness reported seeing a silver motorcycle speed away from the bank over in Foxville after the robbery. Fred got to thinking that Darrell might be involved in the crime and confronted him. He told Darrell to turn himself in or he would call the sheriff. Fred thought a lot of Darrell. And Darrell looked up to Fred.”

“When did Fred tell you this?” Meggie asked.

“Right after he read the newspaper account about the silver motorcycle. It upset him to no end because he had taken Darrell under his wing time and time again.”

“In what way?”

Amelia confided that her husband could be very abusive towards his grandson. “Fred knew how things were for Darrell at home so he gave him odd jobs now and then. That way Darrell could earn a bit of money. Fred was always helping someone. That's the kind of man he was.”

Meggie glanced at Shirley and then back at Amelia. “Do you know if Darrell helped Fred close off the stairway to the attic?”

Amelia shook her head. “Fred closed off those stairs right after his wife died. She was quite young and pregnant with their first child. Fred came home one day and found her lying at the bottom of the staircase.”

Meggie squeezed her eyes shut. “How awful.”

“That's not to say Darrell didn't know about the stairway. He spent a lot of time at Fred's place.” She paused. “I didn't know for years that Fred closed off the stairs to the attic. He could be very close mouthed. We didn't spend time together in his house.”

Color rose in Amelia's cheeks. “Fred and I had become more than friends but we weren't lovers. I want you to know that. We both wanted more, but I had a husband, and Fred was a gentleman. He told me not to give up hope. We could work things out.”

Her face tightened and her eyes appeared cold. “Folks gossiped about us being lovers for years. I'm sure you know how small towns are when it comes to fabricating stories.” When the two women agreed with her, she continued on and seemed to choose her words carefully.

“Darrell acted real strange the night after Fred threatened him. It was late, and I had gone to bed but couldn't fall asleep. Darrell moved around in his bedroom for a time and then snuck out of the house.”

Amelia wrung her hands. “I got out of bed and peeked through the window. I could see him in the moonlight. He walked into the shed and came out with a bag of something and a shovel.”

Meggie leaned forward in her chair. “A shovel? Where did he go?”

“He headed for the woods. I knew my husband wouldn't be home until the bars closed so I followed Darrell. I kept my distance so he wouldn't hear me.”

Meggie's stomach fluttered. “Did those woods connect with the back of Fred Jackson's land?”

Amelia nodded. She lowered her hand onto her lap, brushed her fingers across her dress and gazed out the window. “Yes, the woods started behind our house and ended near the pasture line. Fred and I loved to ride horses together. That's how our relationship began. Of course, Herman didn't know anything about it. At least I don't think he did. He was away from home a lot.”