Murder at the Mansion (8 page)

I pulled in and saw a gold van parked in the guest lot. Andy and Phil had arrived. I entered the kitchen just as they made a toast.

“To great wine,” said Phil. His short tight curls of gray hair covered his head like a cap.

“Paired with phenomenal cheese!” Andy chimed in, and they clinked their glasses together.

“Ah . . . Kelly, so good to see you again.” Phil rose and gave me a quick hug. He was about my height, which put him at five feet six inches. “And you're running the inn now. Congratulations!”

“Thanks, Phil. I'm looking forward to settling in here.”

Andy gave me a hug as well. “You're just in time to enjoy some luscious flavors!” He waved to a plate with several different cheeses—a blue-veined wedge, a rich orange rectangle, and a creamy round.

Sampling cheese for a living created some diet challenges, and it didn't appear Andy had made much progress on the diet his doctor had ordered. He ran his fingers through his thin light brown hair.

Phil had taught me what a flight of wines was and Andy introduced me to the world of artisan cheese.

“I'll have to pass. I'm off to a birthday party.”

“Another time, then,” Andy said. The men sat and resumed their sipping and tasting.

Entering my suite, I headed for one of my packed boxes from the ranch. I rooted around in it for a few minutes and found what I was looking for—Mom's homemade huckleberry jam. I pulled two jars out. One would make a nice hostess gift, the other one I'd give to Stevie when I saw him after the party, since Gertie had said, “No gifts please.”

I thought back to how much fun we'd had as kids going out to pick the berries. It was a family ritual. My two brothers alternated between pounding on each other and carefully picking the fragile fruit. My sister and I chattered away, filling our buckets and basking in the warm sun of the short Wyoming summer. Grandpa filled us in on how Native Americans used the berries for medicinal purposes.

Grabbing a cobalt blue sweater, I changed out of my fleece and traded jeans for black slacks. Leather walking shoes replaced lightweight hiking boots. Slipping into my down jacket, I was ready to go.

Voices drifted from the parlor, where Andy and Phil had moved. Helen's directions to the party were on the counter. I grabbed them and headed out. In five minutes, I was parking.

When I got to the door, I noticed in the entryway a large patch of red chard. The scarlet veins formed an intricate, vivid pattern on the bright green bumpy surface of the leaves. Something had trampled a large section of the brilliantly colored plants, leaving crushed leaves and jagged red edges on the broken stems. I knocked.

Ivan opened the door. He looked over me, a fierce frown on his face, and stared out at the pitch black night like a warrior ready to battle an unseen enemy. He pushed the door a bit wider. “Come in,” he growled, his deep voice rumbling like thunder. “Come. Gertie hurt. She attacked.”

I
van stepped aside, firmly closed the door behind me, and locked it. I could see people over at a kitchen counter. Mary handed a brown bottle and cotton balls to Helen, who took them and poured some of the liquid from the bottle onto a piece of cotton.

Gertie looked over her shoulder. “Hi, Kelly. Glad you could make it.”

The others waved a greeting, but frowns were on their faces. The living room on my left was filled with two beagles, a basset hound, and Tommy rolling around on the floor in front of a wood-burning stove, flames flickering in its window. Divine mouthwatering aromas filled the house. I joined the group gathered around Gertie.

“This is going to sting,” Helen said.

“You have no idea how many times I said that to Stevie when he was growing up.”

Helen gently dabbed the back of Gertie's hand. A froth of white bubbles appeared. She dried it and applied some antibiotic ointment.

Mary hovered nearby. “How do you feel? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Heavens, no. They're only superficial scratches. I feel fine.”

I leaned over to look at her hand. “What happened?” Angry red lines covered her pale, almost translucent skin.

“Someone tried to take my purse.”

“Have you called the police?” I asked.

“No, the person is long gone by now. Probably someone after the new phone Stevie gave me. I was at the deli getting more milk for Tommy and Allie. Alex, the man behind the counter, saw the phone when I went to pay him and commented on it. There were young men hanging around nearby. I wouldn't be surprised if it was one of them.”

The Professor cleared his throat. “Even so, I feel you should report it, my dear.”

“I will. But there's no reason for the police to waste their time to come out just for this. Billy said he'd stop by later, and I can tell him then.”

“Who's Billy?” I asked.

“Deputy Sheriff Bill Stanton. Also known as William when he was misbehaving in my fifth grade class. He said he'd come by for a few minutes.”

I repressed a grin. Deputy Sheriff Stanton, the big, serious officer. Billy.

Rudy spoke up. “He'll want a detailed description of the incident and what the person looked like. Do you have some paper I can use? We can get that out of the way now.”

Gertie nodded. “Good idea. Then we can get the party started and not have to be interrupted by that later. There's a notepad on the end of the counter.”

Rudy retrieved it, along with a pen. He looked quite dapper in a tweed jacket instead of his usual wool sweater. “Okay. What can you tell us?”

“I heard a noise behind me as I was about to get out my keys. I felt a sharp pain on my hand and a tug on my purse. I turned away, and my purse slid off my shoulder into the corner of the entryway. The person lunged for it.”

Gertie gave a triumphant smile and held up her metal cane. “Then I gave the attacker what for with this. I whacked whoever it was on the arm twice and once on the head. I heard a grunt, too.”

Stevie rested his hand on his mother's shoulder. “I arrived, saw the person lunge, and yelled at them to stop. The person turned and ran.”

“That's when I took one more swing, lost my balance, and crushed my poor plants.”

“Male or female?” Rudy asked.

“I don't know. Whoever it was had a knit cap pulled down to the top of their eyes and over their ears. A scarf had been tied over the lower part of the face. They kept their head down when they made their grab.”

“Did you get a look at any of the attacker's face?” the Professor asked.

“Just the eyes and nose, but the porch light was too dim to get any details.”

Rudy made notes. “What did the person look like overall?”

“I can't tell you much there.” Gertie paused and thought for a minute, then looked at me. “The person was about Kelly's height, maybe a little taller.”

I am five foot six, so that didn't give us a lot to go on.

“Hard to tell about size. They seemed large, but I don't know if that was because of clothing or body shape.”

“Is there anything you can add?” Rudy asked Stevie.

“I saw a glimpse of a dark, puffy coat and sweatpants, but that's it.”

Rudy pulled the page he'd written from the notepad. “That's done. We'll give it to the deputy sheriff.”

Helen started to place a bandage on Gertie's hand.

“Helen, please, wait a minute, and I'll take photographs.” I pulled my camera from its case and took a couple of pictures. Maybe they wouldn't have to remove the covering from her fragile skin to see the injury.

Helen applied two large bandages and removed the cuts from sight.

“Now,” Gertie said, “let's get this party going. We're here to celebrate my son's birthday!”

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Mary asked.

“Mary, I'm fine.” Gertie got up and gave her friend a hug. “Thanks for your concern. You know me. I never say something I don't mean. If I didn't feel up to it, I'd tell you.”

The anxious look left Mary's face. “Yes, Gertie, you always tell it like it is. One of the things I love about you.”

The two longtime friends hugged again.

The tension in the room dissipated as smiles replaced frowns, and people began to move around.

Gertie turned to me. “Kelly, you can put your things in the first room on the left.” She pointed to a hallway.

“This is for you.” I handed her the huckleberry jam. “My mom made it. I brought it from home.”

“How sweet of you! I'll try it tomorrow morning.”

I left to put my jacket and camera away. Entering the room indicated by Gertie, I was immediately struck by the beautiful quilt covering the bed. A huge multicolored star covered the top, and designs of bird, hearts, and tulips adorned the corners. I'd have to ask Gertie about it. I went back to the main living area.

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Daniel and Allie.

“I'm glad you two are here. Perfect timing. We're about to start,” Gertie said.

Daniel leaned down and gave her a hug. “We've been looking forward to it.”

Gertie directed them to the room where I'd put my things. When they returned, she asked us all to gather near the counter.

“I'm very thankful for my wonderful son, Stevie. To celebrate his day of birth, I decided to make his favorite meal, Thanksgiving dinner, and share it with the wonderful friends I'm so grateful to have.”

Stevie wrapped his arm around his mom's shoulders, a gentle giant next to a little elf. “Thanks, Mom. That's the best present ever.”

We all took turns wishing him a happy birthday, some with hugs, others with a pat on the back.

“While the table is being prepared, would someone go out and get the broken chard for me? I don't want it to go to waste.” Gertie held up a woven basket.

“I'd be happy to do it,” I said. Besides, I could look around the area and see if the attacker had left anything behind.

“I go, too,” Ivan said.

Gertie pulled a large flashlight from its wall mount and handed it to Ivan. She gave me a smaller one from a drawer. She put two pairs of clippers in a basket. Ivan took it outside.

I went to get my coat. As I walked back through the room, helpful hands busied themselves, and dishes flowed out of the refrigerator and oven and off the countertops. Stevie carved the turkey as Gertie directed where to put the food on the table.

I found Ivan glowering into the dark under the porch light. I flicked on the flashlight and began to cut the chard. He'd placed himself with his back to the house and often looked up, seeking anything that might be lurking in the blackness. His silver mane of hair in the porch light reminded me of an Irish wolfhound, his watchfulness that of one protecting its territory.

While I cut, I searched the area, shining my flashlight beam all around. I checked under the broken leaves and beyond, into the uninjured plants. The person had used something to hurt Gertie. She said she hit the attacker on the arm twice. Maybe they'd dropped the weapon.

I stood, stretched, and went over to the doorway. Nothing there. There were no flowerpots for something to hide behind. I began to cut the chard closest to the entry.

We were about done when something on the ground at the edge of the concrete sidewalk glinted in the sweep of my flashlight. I shined my light on it and saw what I thought was a hatpin, its jeweled top twinkling. It looked vaguely familiar. Taking a tissue from my pocket, I wrapped it and slipped it into my jacket.

I'd have to wait to examine it more carefully. I wanted to keep this to myself for now—something like this might set Ivan off again if he saw the sharp object.

We finished gathering the leaves that had cushioned Gertie's fall and went back inside. Ivan cast one more fierce look into the night and once again closed and locked the door behind us. Gertie took the basket of chard and headed to a small room off the kitchen.

“I have a soaking sink. I'll put them in there and deal with them later,” she said.

I wanted to look at the pin. I went to put my coat away and pulled it out. The unusual pattern on the top looked like one I'd seen this morning. I reached for my camera to find the picture.

“Kelly, we're ready to start dinner,” Stevie called out.

It would have to wait. I tucked the pin back in my jacket, put my coat on the bed, and went back to the kitchen.

Gertie returned from tending to the chard, carrying a dog bed and a bag. “I have treats for the four-legged kids, and Fred can lie on this. I keep it just for doggie guests.”

Daniel took the bed and put it next to the two that were already there for the beagles. Gertie pulled three chew bones from the bag.

“This will keep them busy for a while,” she said, then turned to the group. “Let's have dinner!”

The table must have been groaning. Green bean casserole with crisp onion rings on top, cranberry jelly, which I was willing to bet was homemade, piles of mashed potatoes, gravy, candied yams, dressing, and a huge platter of turkey. Everyone heaped their plates full. Indeed, a Thanksgiving feast.

“Have the Silver Sentinels solved any crimes while I was gone?” I filled my fork with tender turkey.

“Actually, we did,” Mary said. “The owner of our local market approached us and asked for help. Sweet young man.”

The Professor put down his fork. “He'd been having liquor bottles go missing on a regular basis. He hadn't been able to find anything by skimming his surveillance tapes. Looking at them was very time consuming, and they needed a close review.”

Mary took up the story line. “We each took tapes and then met to show each other what we'd found. We discovered three young men working as a team. Because there were three of them, it was harder to spot what was going on because they provided cover for the person taking the bottles. They also traded off and at times only two would show up, so there was no pattern formed.”

Gertie shook her head. “The Henderson boys and a friend. No surprise there, considering their father. He's been in and out of jail numerous times.”

Mary made a sound. “They should have arrested the woman in the produce section who was pinching those poor avocados. Bruised them all. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind.”

I smiled and asked, “Anything else happening?”

Ivan reached for the mashed potatoes. “They not let me enter my borscht in the Whale Frolic chowder contest.”

The Professor patted his mouth with his napkin. “Ivan tried to convince them it was beet chowder, but they weren't buying it.”

Everyone laughed, and Gertie said, “Just because it isn't in the contest, it doesn't mean it doesn't taste great. You're a master borscht maker, Ivan.”

Ivan smiled broadly and ladled gravy on his mound of mashed potatoes.

With contented sighs, dinner came to an end. The Sentinels began to clear the dishes and insisted Daniel, Helen, the kids, and I relax. Finally, I had a chance to check for the picture of the pin. I went to the coat room, pulled out my camera, and looked at my photos. There it was. Unless there were two identical pins, the one I found had been left in a locked cabinet at the mansion.

A knock sounded on the front door, and a group greeting was given to Deputy Sheriff Stanton. I needed to get him aside and show him the pin. Grabbing my camera, I went back to the living room.

Gertie welcomed him. “Billy, I'm so glad you could make it. We have something we want to share with you, but cake first.”

Gertie had set the sequence of events. Nothing was going to stop the party from going to its next celebratory step.

Helen put her work of art on the table to a chorus of
ooh
s and
ahh
s. Two miniature beagles adorned the top, one with a pink collar, the other blue. I glanced at Jack and Jill, then back at the cake. She even had the spots right. A single beeswax candle in the middle had honeycomb spiraling up the sides.

I began taking pictures. It was an event to remember.

Gertie lit the candle and an always off-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday” was sung. Stevie's dark green shirt with gold, red, and blue tie-dyed splashes looked great next to the cake. He made a wish and blew out the flame.

Helen began cutting pieces and putting them on plates. “I hope you all like chocolate cream cake.”

She was kidding, right? Not like chocolate cream cake?