On the Run (18 page)

I got the impression Mikki was more annoyed by this
thoughtlessness
than heartbroken over the loss of her in-laws. Although perhaps she was hiding her grief. Hiding it well.

“It does seem that people like Jock and Jessie would want to tie up loose ends before . . . doing what they did.”

She gave me an odd glance. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing in particular. Just that it seems odd. Out of character.”

“Surely you don’t think it was something other than suicide?” The shrewd blue eyes took on an unexpected alertness.

“Deputies and the medical examiner were here. There didn’t appear to be any doubts about the manner of death. Homicide/suicide, I believe it’s referred to technically, in Jock and Jessie’s case.”

“Frank mentioned that everyone seemed quite professional and competent. I’m sure their conclusions can be trusted. And there was the note, of course. That doesn’t leave any doubt.”

Yes, the note. My nagging suspicions about murder still weren’t totally squelched, but, given the note, suicide seemed the only possible conclusion. I detoured that subject, however, and said, “Frank mentioned he thought Jock and Jessie might have had a private safe hidden here somewhere, and the wills could be in that.”

“Not in this house, there isn’t a safe,” Mikki declared. She crossed over to the kitchen sink, dumped the remainder of her coffee, and squashed her cigarette in a saucer. “I’ve looked behind every picture, under every rug, in every cubbyhole—”

She broke off as Frank’s SUV, pulling a U-Haul trailer, came around the house. At the same time the phone started ringing. Mikki made no move to answer it.

“The . . . uh . . . phone’s ringing,” I pointed out.

Mikki lifted a dismissive shoulder. “Natalie calling to bellyache about something. She called earlier. She’s such a hotshot real estate agent . . . she even bought the apartment building they live in, did you know? . . . but
we
wind up penny-pinching because she’s always demanding more child support or something extra for ballet lessons or soccer camp or some ridiculous thing. She even hit Jock and Jessie up for money a few times. When what those kids
really
need is more attention and discipline from her. It’s no wonder they’re so ill-behaved, they’re on their own so much. Now I suppose she’s trying to figure a way to grab some of the estate.”

The phone kept ringing persistently. Mikki just as persistently ignored it. Finally I said, “Perhaps I should answer it just in case it’s someone other than Natalie?”

Mikki shrugged, and I walked over and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

A female voice that sounded both wary and doubtful said, “Mikki?”

“No. This is Ivy. We’re helping out here for a while.”

“Oh. I see. This is Natalie Northcutt?” An upswing at the end seemed to ask if that meant anything to me.

“Yes, of course. What can I do for you?”

“I heard about Jock and Jessie’s deaths. I was just wondering about services. I’m thinking the children and I should probably be there, although . . .” The thought ended on another doubtful slide, although I wasn’t sure if she was doubtful about her own welcome at her ex-parents-in-law’s funeral or about the wisdom of taking the children to such an event.

“Frank said there will be only a simple graveside service at the cemetery out in California where they’ll be buried. I’m not sure of the date, but I could have Frank—” I realized Mikki was watching me like a hawk-eyed salesclerk suspecting someone of shoplifting, and I rephrased the statement. “I could ask Frank about the date and call you back.”

“No. That’s okay. We wouldn’t be able to go out to California anyway. But thank you for your helpfulness. I’m sure Frank is quite devastated. They were wonderful people.”

She hung up, and Mikki, sounding triumphant, said, “See? It was her, wasn’t it?”

“She just wanted to know about funeral services. Is that what she called about earlier?”

Mikki hesitated, and I realized she probably hadn’t given the ex-wife a chance to say much of anything on the earlier call. Another shrug. “I don’t know. She asked for Frank, and he was about to leave for town. So I told her she’d have to call back.”

And then when Natalie did call, Mikki wouldn’t answer the phone. I suppose I was feeling a bit snide at Mikki’s attitude, and I jumped back to the subject of the will with a suggestion I doubted would soothe her.

“Maybe the wills might show Jock and Jessie left part or all of the estate to the children.”

Mikki’s mouth actually dropped open. She stared at me. She’d obviously never thought of that.

Actually, I regretted the comment as soon as the words were out. What if Mikki decided that the complication of no wills was preferable to wills that left Frank’s kids in control? Might something “accidentally” happen to such wills if they were found?

That would be a drastic, even illegal step, but somehow, looking at the horrified expression on Mikki’s face, I wouldn’t put it past her.

19

Frank backed the U-Haul trailer up to the deck, and Abilene and I spent the afternoon helping Frank and Mikki load it.

First item on Mikki’s agenda was the largest piece, the player piano, and it took all four of us to huff and puff it out to the deck and into the covered trailer.

Next came an antique, pedal-style sewing machine, the rosewood desk from my upstairs bedroom, several small antique tables, and, stuffed in around them, the Navajo rugs. Also in need of “safekeeping,” as Frank had earlier phrased it, was a heavy, metal tea service, probably silver but possibly an incredibly valuable platinum. An antique-looking lamp, two boxes of piano player rolls, the Oscar, and quite a collection of film memorabilia, plus numerous boxes with contents unknown to me.

One thing to be said for Mikki: she didn’t just give orders. The temperature was in the nineties, sultry enough to raise a sweat just lifting an eyebrow, but she was right in there packing and lugging and stuffing, eyeliner smudged to jungletrail rings around her eyes and T-shirt glued to her back with perspiration. During a break, when Abilene went to check on a noise in the emu pen and Frank was at the refrigerator getting ice, I remarked to Mikki that she seemed quite knowledgeable about antiques.

It was a euphemistic way of saying what I was really thinking, that it looked as if she was expertly scooping up anything of value that could be dragged, carried, or pushed out of the house. By now I’d also observed that the music box and the lovely perfume bottles in the bedroom were gone, and I was sure Jessie’s squash blossom and turquoise jewelry collection would never be seen here at the end of Dead Mule Road again.

“I have an antique corner in my beauty salon where I sell a few things. It’s just too bad the player piano isn’t grand-piano style. They’re much more valuable—” Mikki broke off suddenly, gave me a sharp look, and added hastily, “But the sentimental value is what really matters, of course. These are heirlooms Frank’s children may want someday.”

She was sweating like a plow horse for
sentimental value
? I gave a silent
ha!
to that. I was reasonably certain most everything in the U-Haul would turn up in her “antique corner” eventually. If not sooner.

Mikki also, to my surprise, emptied the gun cabinet, rolled the guns in blankets, and loaded them into the trailer. I would have expected guns to activate one of her delicate shudders, but she seemed surprisingly knowledgeable about them, tossing a couple of small handguns aside as “cheap Saturday night specials.” I finally remarked on her unexpected expertise.

“My former husband and I ran a sporting goods store in Oregon for several years, so I couldn’t help but learn a little. We wouldn’t want these to get into the wrong hands,” she added, her tone virtuous as she stuffed a heavy, deadly looking handgun into a pillowcase.

I suspected Mikki’s interest in the guns was based more on monetary value than safety worries—she didn’t seem concerned about whose hands those “cheap Saturday night specials” might fall into—but it was none of my business, of course. One thing I learned as I helped in the wrapping process was what those objects I hadn’t been able to identify in the bottom of the gun cabinet were. Mikki knew. Silencers. Even Frank looked startled at that revelation, although I couldn’t tell if he was startled by the news that his parents owned silencers or that Mikki could identify them.

It was close to 8:00 by the time the trailer and SUV were both as tightly packed as pills in a bottle. I thought Frank and Mikki would rest up and start for home in the morning, but Mikki announced they were taking off now because driving would be cooler at night. The plan was that Frank would go ahead and Mikki would follow in her car, in case he ran into any problems with the trailer.

“I’ve had the mail forwarded down to our address, and I’ve notified Jock and Jessie’s Hollywood agent and everybody else I could think of about their deaths. If you get phone calls from anyone who hasn’t heard yet, you can just refer them to me,” Frank said as he stood beside the open door of the SUV. He looked as enthusiastic about this drive as a tired soldier on a forced night march. “And give me a call if you run into any problems.”

The cluttered mess of folders on the dining room table had been swept into boxes, but I knew Frank still hadn’t found any of the important papers he needed. Hesitantly, because I wasn’t certain he’d want me poking around in private matters, I said, “I have some experience with filing and such. If you’d like me to try to get things organized . . . ?”

“I would be forever grateful for any organization you can give anything here.” He made an exaggerated bow of gratitude. “Keep an eye out for a safe deposit key or letters from a lawyer, anything like that, okay? And I still think there may be a safe hidden around here somewhere. Though probably nothing big or we’d have found it by now.”

“Have you looked into the computer files?”

“I tried, but I couldn’t get past the password. But if you’re into computers . . . ?”

“My grandniece showed me a few things.”

“You’re welcome to give it a try. There isn’t an Internet connection, however. I suppose Jock and Jessie were afraid someone would hack into their stuff and steal their emu records or something.” He grimaced, then slid into the SUV and gave me a smile and wave. “Don’t forget to eat a lot of corned beef.”

He took off down the driveway, the big SUV pulling the heavily loaded trailer without difficulty.

“I won’t bother locking the house,” Mikki called from the deck as dust billowed behind the departing vehicle. Frank had already put the suitcases in her car along with an overflow of boxes. “You’ll be moving in right away, won’t you?”

I was relieved by the question. I hadn’t been certain she knew we were going to live in the house, that Frank might have avoided telling her because he thought she’d disapprove.

“Yes, we will.”

“Well, good luck living here. If I were you, I’d stay out from under those antler chandeliers.” She rolled her eyes. “They look like disasters waiting to happen.”

“I keep thinking they’d make the perfect instrument for an ‘accident’ in a murder mystery.
The Horns of Death
, perhaps. Or
Assassination by Antler
.”

Then I realized that bit of levity was in very bad taste, considering her in-laws had recently died in that very same room. But she didn’t seem to notice my gaffe. She laughed.

“Right.
The Case of the Deadly Chandelier.
Wouldn’t you know, Frank just loves the ghastly things? He thinks we’re going to take one down and put it up in our new house.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got news for him.”

“Who knows?” I said. “Maybe they’ll accidentally fall and break into a zillion pieces.”

“One can only hope,” she said, and we smiled at each other in conspiratorial agreement.

Not that I’d ever actually
do
anything to the chandeliers, of course. I was here to take care of things, not destroy them.

Mikki slid into her car, then rolled down the window, her moment of lightheartedness cooling to tight lines around her mouth. “If that ex-wife of Frank’s shows up, don’t let her in the house. Or anywhere else.”

“Why would she come here?”

“Because she’s greedy and ambitious and pushy. A friend in Dallas said she and the boyfriend bought some old folks’ home and are turning all the people out in the street so they can put up high-priced condominiums. All heart, you know? She’ll try to glom onto anything she can here, with some oh-so-noble story about doing it for the kids.”

Well, the ex-wife wasn’t going to get any antiques, that was for sure. Nor any of Jessie’s collection of Navajo jewelry. Mikki had already “glommed” onto all that herself. With her own self-righteous claim of saving heirlooms for Frank’s children.

I waved her off. I was, I had to admit, glad to see them go. They weren’t unpleasant people, but a tense, before-the-storm atmosphere swirled around them, and the place seemed much more serene and peaceful with them gone. Just me, Abilene, Koop, and the emus now.

Frank had found the septic hookup his folks had used for their travel trailer, so with Abilene guiding me I moved the motor home over there and emptied the holding tanks. The logical thing would be for us to move into our new rooms immediately, but the day had been hot and sultry, and it didn’t feel as if the night was going to cool down much. Abilene decided to sleep outside, so I did too.

We spread our blankets and sheets on the grass near the deck. The mosquitoes were already out, and I was grateful the Northcutts had hoarded a good supply of mosquito repellent. The crescent moon had already gone down by the time we went to bed, and only the stars, like incandescent grains of sand, decorated the sky.

I crossed my hands behind my head, remembering what Abilene had once said about looking up at stars. Koop had planted himself on my midsection, his purr motor rumbling. “Are you thinking about God now?” I asked Abilene.

“Mostly I was thinking about the kids.” There was a bobble in her voice that made me reach across the grass between us and pat her hand in sympathy. “We used to do that wishing on a star thing. You know, star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might . . .” An audible swallow. “Whatever. Something like that.”