Bring Home the Murder (7 page)

“I imagine Darrell's arrest created a lot of excitement in the neighborhood.”

“I won't forget that day. It was my birthday and I had a chocolate cake in the oven. Fred's boar got loose. It took off down the driveway and ended up in our garden. By the time Fred and I corralled that pig I was fit to be tied. And my chocolate cake burned to a crisp.”

A short while later Donna stood up and thanked Meggie for her hospitality. On her way out the door she glanced back at Meggie and smiled. “Did you know you have weeds in the pansy bed?”

 

Chapter 11

T
he next morning after chores, Meggie slipped on jean shorts and a tank top. To be on the safe side she stuffed a light jacket into her backpack along with her fishing license, sun block, and cell phone.

Before leaving the house she locked the back door and closed the kitchen curtains to keep the sun out. She grabbed a couple apples from the refrigerator and several containers of bottled water. At the front door she tapped her bottom lip, mentally checked to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, then closed the door after her.

Minutes later the Bug bumped along the dirt road. The morning sun scaled the tall pines and hung high in the sky. Meggie rolled the driver's window down and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. She adjusted the car radio, slumped back in the driver's seat and kept time to the music.

The Bug rolled through Bluff and onto Highway 52 where it picked up speed. Within a short time a sign came into view on the side of the road and gave directions to the north side of Spirit Lake. Meggie slowed the Bug and turned right onto a paved road that eventually turned into gravel.

The gravel road wound around the lake past several houses. As she traveled on, the area became more isolated. There were fewer residences but more trees and foliage. She followed the bend in the road and soon came upon a sign that marked the public landing. Turning right she followed a narrow dirt road through the trees and into a clearing.

There were two vehicles in the parking lot but neither one belonged to Walter. Her eyebrows narrowed. She checked the time and found to her surprise that she had arrived early.

Meggie whistled a tune while parking the Bug then stepped out of the car into the bright sunlight. She strolled to the water and sat down on the bench near the landing. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she gazed out at the gentle rise and fall of the sun-tipped swells. She closed her eyes and inhaled the freshwater smell. The waves lapped against the shore.

A moment later she squeezed sun block on her arms, spread it over them and onto her legs. When finished she stood up and walked closer to the water. There she studied the latest information regarding noxious weeds posted in a secured enclosure by the Department of Natural Resources. She glanced at her watch, concerned. It wasn't like Walter to be late.

A low rumble caught her attention. She expected to see Walter's truck pull into the parking area any second. The low rumble grew into a roar and an oversized black pickup truck propelled itself through the trees. The driver swung to the right and backed the boat trailer toward the landing.

When the driver spotted Meggie, he braked the vehicle. The beefy man squeezed out from behind the driver's wheel and slammed the truck door. “You lost, Meggie? Or just running away?” Detective Lars “Bulldog” Peterson stood near the truck and removed his sunglasses. His grin spread ear to ear.

“Always the jokester, Bulldog.” Meggie clenched her jaw and strolled toward him. “You haven't changed much since high school.” She sized up the detective's shiny truck, smiled up at him and crossed her arms. “Actually, I'm waiting for Walter. We're taking our brand new pontoon out on the lake today.”

“Nice day for it.” Bulldog arched his back and puffed his chest out. He scanned the shimmering blue water. “I took the day off and plan to catch me a few sunnies. Probably not much else biting in this heat.”

Following a moment of silence, he turned back to Meggie. A slow smile grew on his beefy face. “I hear you're housesitting a hobby farm now.” He leaned against the side of the truck and twirled his sunglasses.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” She narrowed her eyes. This man had been a thorn in her side for years and never missed a chance to needle her. “You must be referring to my 911 call? I'm sure by this time you've seen the deputy's report.”

“Now Meggie, don't get your dander up.” Bulldog teased. “We've known each other a long time, so friend to friend?”

Meggie nodded, and he continued.

“It's a professional worry for me when you take on those housesitting jobs. A personal one, too.” He scratched his neck. “Seems like trouble has a way of ferreting you out.”

“Let's call a truce then.” Meggie struggled to find the right words. A flush crept across her cheeks. “I know I saw an intruder in the attic whether anyone believes me or not. I really did.”

Bulldog pushed himself away from the truck. “From my understanding, the deputies did a search of the house and property.” He hesitated, peered down at Meggie and dropped his voice. “They even pried open the trapdoor. They could tell it hadn't been used in a while.”

Meggie's hands curled. “I know what I saw. I don't imagine things.”

“Let's sit a minute.” Bulldog pointed to the bench and hung his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt.

Meggie lowered herself onto the bench.

Bulldog plopped down beside her, leaned over and rested his forearms on his thighs. He didn't say anything right away, just stared out across the water.

After a few seconds he sat up straight and swiveled his head toward her. “I don't want you to take this the wrong way, okay? And what's said at Spirit Lake stays at Spirit Lake.” He grinned at his own joke.

Meggie's palms began to sweat and she wiped them on her jean shorts. “Go ahead.”

Bulldog cleared his throat. “I read the deputy's report yesterday. They didn't find anything or anybody that would prove there had been a break-in. No forced entry.”

“I didn't have the doors locked.”

“Nothing had been disturbed or seemed out of place in the house—downstairs, upstairs or in the attic.”

“I saw an intruder in the attic,” Meggie sputtered.

Bulldog turned and faced Meggie head-on. “The deputy did observe something and wrote it down in the report. After I read about his observation I got to wondering.”

“I knew they would discover something. Tell me.” Meggie's eyes took on a bright look. She clasped her hands and sat breathless.

“Well,” Bulldog paused, “He observed a bottle of rum on the kitchen counter that appeared to be half-empty.”

Meggie's jaw dropped and her eyebrows rose. She jumped off the bench, her muscles quivered. “Are you trying to imply . . .”

Bulldog slapped his knee and rose to his feet. “There you go again. You're way too sensitive for your own good. I'm not trying to imply anything. I'm only telling you what the deputy observed and wrote in the report.”

He craned his neck at the rumble of a vehicle and the clank of a boat trailer, took a step backward and raised his hand. “I have to unload my boat and get my truck and trailer out of the way. You have a good day. Don't let the sun burn you.”

Sun burn me? No sunburn compared to the pain you inflicted. And you didn't even give me a chance to tell you about Indiana Jones. But what's the point? You already think I have no gumballs left in my machine.

Bulldog backed the boat trailer into the water and braked. He jumped out of his truck and climbed into the boat, plunked down behind the wheel and started the engine. The boat puttered toward the dock. A look of surprise crossed his face when he saw Meggie waiting on the dock to secure his boat so he could park his vehicle.

Minutes later his fancy fishing boat skimmed over Spirit Lake, churned blue water into frothy foam and spread a wake to each side. The boat circled Camper's Island and disappeared from view. Were fish attracted to fancy fishing boats?

 

 

A short while later, the pontoon bobbed up and down near one of the smaller islands on Spirit Lake. Meggie sat under the canopy, tossed her fishing line in the water and called to Walter. “And that's not all. Do you know what Bulldog insinuated?”

At the front of the pontoon Walter reeled in his line. He checked to make sure the fish hadn't stolen his bait and cast the line back into the water. “No. I don't know what Detective Peterson insinuated.” He tossed a dead minnow into the water and watched a gull swoop down after it.

Meggie flared her nostrils. “He had the audacity to insinuate I was drunk the night I called 911 and reported an intruder. Can you believe it?”

Walter pulled the bill of his cap low on his forehead. He turned away from the sun and scrutinized Meggie. “Why would he think that? Were you tipping the rum bottle again?”

Meggie clicked her tongue. “You're just trying to push my buttons, but it won't work. You know as well as I do that I don't drink much. I had one weak drink. The nerve of that man. He made me sound like I'm some kind of lush.”

Walter sat with his back to Meggie, cast his line into the lake and didn't say a word. He didn't have to. She knew what he was thinking. He had the annoying habit of laughing so hard his shoulders shook.

 

Chapter 12

T
he following morning, Meggie washed the last breakfast dish, set it on the drain board and wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. She gazed out the window above the sink and drummed her fingers on the counter. Her blood boiled every time she thought of Bulldog and his insinuations about her drinking. She took a deep breath and walked out of the kitchen.

Meggie hurried down the porch steps and crossed the yard in the direction of the garage. She lifted the short step ladder off the hooks, set it across the wheel barrow and wheeled it back to the house.

In the upstairs bedroom, she spread the ladder's legs until they clicked into place and slid the ladder over until it stood directly under the trapdoor that led into the attic. With latches secured, she placed her hands on the sides of the ladder, stepped on the first rung and began to climb.

Near the top of the ladder she stretched her arm toward the trapdoor. When she couldn't reach it she climbed to the next rung, placed her right hand against the ceiling and pushed up. The ladder wobbled under her and she steadied herself. The second time she shoved up and pushed the trapdoor over. The opening yawned above her.

Her head moved slowly up through the hole in the floor until she could see into the attic. The entire room stood empty. The air smelled musty. Muted sunlight shone through one small window on the attic wall to her left. Dust particles floated in the light stream, zigzagged on the way down and drifted out of sight.

Meggie held onto either side of the gap, planted her foot on the next ladder rung and climbed into the attic. She sat down on the edge of the opening and removed the flashlight from her pocket.

The light flashed around the empty room. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why the deputy's search had ended almost before it began. He could view the entire attic without stepping foot in it.

The window facing the road appeared to be broken. Upon closer inspection she found several pieces of glass on the floor beneath it. Was the storm to blame? She made a mental note to board up the broken window and let Molly know about it.

She turned away from the window and began to make her way around the attic when she noticed shoe prints in the dusty floor. Her pulse raced. She knelt down to get a closer look and waved the flashlight over the floor in front of her. There were several small clumps of dirt strewn about. The shoe prints seemed to go in different directions but ultimately ended up by the attic window that faced the backyard.

The deputies had pried the trapdoor open, which could mean only one thing. If the intruder didn't use the trapdoor to get into the attic, he entered another way. She retraced her footprints to the trapdoor to verify the prints left by the intruder did not start there.

Eager to find a second way into the attic, Meggie began to circle the area. Unfinished walls sprouted worn insulation and several pieces of dusty lumber lay on the floor nearby. Midway in her search the light flashed over a black area. She pointed the light into the dark cavity and gasped.

In the semi-darkness she could see a narrow set of wooden stairs. She stuck her foot out and tapped the first stair. It felt solid enough so she set her foot down and edged her way into the close area.

She felt somewhat constricted but descended the stairs one by one. The glow from the flashlight bounced in front of her and onto a second set of footprints. She gripped the flashlight and carefully stepped around the second set of footmarks.

After several stairs she came to a dead end and could go no further. A thin layer of light shone at the bottom of the wall to her right. She pushed against the wall but nothing happened.

She turned to ascend the staircase but her foot slipped off the bottom stair tread. She fell to her knees. In an attempt to right herself she noticed the stair tread shifted. Curious she aimed the flashlight, wiggled the tread and lifted up.

Her breath hitched. Several yellowed envelopes lay inside the hollow stair. She fingered the envelopes—all addressed to Fred Jackson in what appeared to be feminine handwriting. Her fingers lingered on the top one.

She weighed the pros and cons about removing mail that didn't belong to her, but determined that under the extenuating circumstances it would be all right. She gathered the letters together and carried them up the stairs.

When Meggie reached the trapdoor she tossed the letters through the opening. She stepped onto the first rung of the ladder and continued downward until her feet rested on the solid bedroom floor.

She collected the letters, carried them into the first bedroom and set them on the bed while she conducted her investigation. If her guess was right, the door leading to the hidden staircase would be in this bedroom. She focused her eyes on the wall near the bedroom door. They came to light on a small narrow bookcase.

Meggie removed the books from the bookcase and placed them on the floor. She tried to slide the bookcase out of the way, but it held fast. She stood back, studied the timeworn paneling and pushed a second time. Upon closer inspection she realized the bookcase had been fastened to the wall.

She grasped the side of the bookcase and pulled. The wall section grated and swung open. Natural light from the bedroom shone across the hidden staircase. Her lips parted in a satisfied smile and she pushed the door back into place.

Meggie walked to the window and gazed outside. She pinched and tugged at the bottom of her lip. If Molly knew about the secret staircase wouldn't she have mentioned it? Maybe not, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that someone out there knew about it. The question was who.

Downstairs she carried the yellowed envelopes into the kitchen and laid them on the table. At the sink she filled a glass with water, carried it back to the table and sat down. She sipped the water and slipped on her readers.

Her hand hovered over the stack of letters for several seconds. She snatched her hand back. She didn't feel good about snooping and had always been taught it was wrong to read other people's mail. She rubbed her wrist with her thumb.

Why did she feel compelled to read the letters if she wasn't meant to? She pulled her chair closer to the table and gathered the envelopes together. They were all addressed the same way—To Fred.

Meggie took a deep breath, opened the first envelope and slipped out the letter. She set it down on the table and laid the envelope next to it. After all the envelopes were opened and the letters unfolded, she organized the letters by dates.

Her hand trembled as she picked up the first piece of paper. She read it and slipped it back inside the envelope. She went on to the next letter and the next until the last letter had been read and placed inside its envelope.

The letters told a story. Not the whole story, but a story. Meggie closed her eyes in an attempt to see into the past. Amelia in an abusive relationship, void of love. And Fred. All alone since the death of his wife. Amelia and Fred find each other later in life and fall in love.

Meggie opened her eyes. She glanced down at the letters and pondered. How did their fairytale end?