TheCart Before the Corpse (18 page)

She gave him a mug of coffee and set a cream pitcher, sugar bowl and packets of artificial sweetener on the table in front of him.

She didn’t answer, but went to the refrigerator and opened a can of fishy cat food, which the cats smelled immediately. They eddied around her feet and meowed, while she spooned small amounts into three bowls on a mat in the corner, rinsed the tin and the spoon, put the spoon in the dishwasher and dropped the can into the trash compactor. He’d decided she didn’t plan to answer him when she said, “I got to the barn around eleven Saturday morning. I was afraid he’d had a heart attack or an accident. He was already cold. His face felt like marble.”

So rigor mortis had begun to set in by that point. In that chill he could have been dead as long as four hours or as short a time as two. Whatever the television shows said, time of death was not yet an exact science. “You told the state trooper he’d been murdered.”

“That’s after I realized he couldn’t have fallen the way he was laid out.”

“Did you see any drag marks or footprints in the dirt?”

“By the time I started looking, we’d been tramping around. I suppose he could have been dragged. He was certainly
arranged
.”

Geoff had seen the crime scene photos that Peggy had given to Amos. They weren’t bad for an amateur. She hadn’t noticed the broken shaft under the buggy at the back, but neither had anybody else until he’d found it. Of course, he and Peggy were really the only ones looking at the place like a crime scene.

“What do you think happened?” he asked. That was one of the questions he liked to ask of suspects. Amazing how often they revealed they knew more than they should know.

“Am I being interrogated? Should I ask for a lawyer?”

“You’re being interviewed. We interview witnesses. We interrogate suspects.”

“Subtle difference.”

“We Mirandize suspects before we interrogate them.” He finished his coffee. She raised her eyebrows to ask whether he wanted more. He shook his head. “So, what do you think happened?”

“Hiram was as tough as old boots. He and Jacob Yoder built that whole place from scratch, practically single, well, dual handed. I can’t conceive of a stranger driving up that scary road in hopes of finding somebody to rob, much less kill, so he must have known his killer. He was hit over the head and knocked unconscious, so he must have turned his back on whoever hit him. Not somebody he was concerned about. A friend, or at least an acquaintance, business or otherwise.”

“Then what?”

She shrugged. “The person or persons—there might have been more than one—laid him out, shoved the wheel off the vis-à-vis so that it fell on him, cleaned up any mess, and drove away.”

“Not walked?”

“They could have left their car or truck down on the road and walked up, but why would they? Someone might see it and remember it.”

“How about over the fields and down through the other property that Hiram didn’t own?”

“Good grief, anybody who didn’t know that area thoroughly would be so lost by the time they got down the other side of the mountain, you’d still be looking for a missing person. Who would be dead of snake bite or a broken neck.”

He nodded. “Thanks for the food. You’ll check on Merry, I mean, Ms. Abbott, in the morning?”

“Just a minute before you leave.” She took a deep breath. “I plied you with food on false pretenses. Come look at the library.” At the threshold, she waved a hand and said, “Breaking the computers was pure meanness.”

He looked at the mess, and asked, “Either you or Hiram have a backup on a flash drive?”

“We both did, but they were attached to the back of our computers.”

“So they’re gone?”

Peggy nodded. “I suppose we should have kept them locked up separately, but I figured, and I’m sure Hiram did too, that we were backing up to save ourselves from crashes and viruses, not vandalism.”

He’d see about that. “Leave the computers, please. We may be able to reconstruct the hard drives. I’ll have someone pick them up tomorrow.”

She followed him out onto the front stoop and pulled the door almost closed behind her. “Actually, I was planning to call you in the morning anyway. The Mossy Creek Garden club is meeting at Ida Walker’s at eleven-thirty tomorrow morning. If you want to meet the usual suspects in Hiram’s love life, most of them will be there.”

“Can I just show up?”

“Of course. They’ll be thrilled.”

Thrilled? He drove away shaking his head.

On the way to his hotel he stopped by the police station and took his paper bag inside to be signed and sent to Forensics.

Later, lying catty-cornered across his king-sized bed in the Hamilton Inn, his mind refused to turn off. He wouldn’t sleep well until he knew who had killed Hiram Lackland and how he was going to convict the killer. Once he’d made the arrest, he’d go home and sleep for fourteen hours.

He was letting these people get to him. He liked Peggy and Merry. Big mistake. He liked what he’d seen of Mossy Creek. Bigger mistake. Too easy to overlook or miss something important working alone, without allowing personalities to intrude. He needed to do what he always did—concentrate on the victim. He had great faith in forensics, but they operated best when pointed in the right direction.

He’d overseen the arrest and conviction of a number of killers he’d liked. Psychopaths were frequently charming until you got in their way. Some nice folks snapped and found themselves horrified by what they’d done.

But if any of these nice people from Mossy Creek had killed Hiram Lackland, he’d arrest and convict them without a qualm.

Chapter 20

Wednesday morning

Geoff

The next morning when Geoff called Amos to ask for directions to the mayor’s house, Amos said, “Be careful, old buddy. They may look like little old ladies in tennis shoes, but they’ll eat you alive.”

Ida Walker met him at the door to what he could only call her mansion. No wonder Amos was smitten. She might be older than Amos, but she was hotter than most women Amos’s age or younger.

She ushered him into a garden room that stretched across the back of the house and looked out on gardens already blazing with tulips and azaleas.

The LOLITS’s ranged from Peggy in jeans and a plaid shirt to an aged elf named Mimsy Allen in what his mother called a lady dress with lace collar and cuffs. They looked innocent enough.

They’d no doubt been discussing the murder before he got there. Peggy handed him a cup of fruit punch and introduced him. “He wants to ask us some questions about Hiram,” she said.

He prayed she’d stop there. Now that he faced them all, he was hesitant to bring up Hiram’s love life. It was like talking dirty to his Sunday school teacher. He might have to rethink his strategy of interviewing them as a group.

“Have something to eat,” Peggy said. A round table covered with a lace cloth groaned under silver trays and chafing dishes of hors d’oeuvres.

“Thanks, maybe later.”

The crystal punch bowl and cups probably dated from the eighteen hundreds. Normally, he loathed fruit punch. It reminded him of his mother’s boring garden parties. Intending to set his cup surreptitiously on the nearest end table, he tasted his punch to find it surprisingly good and not too sweet.

His mouth felt dry; his palms felt wet. Principal’s office syndrome. He drank the punch, and the smiling elf handed him a full cup. They had been milling around, but froze when he walked in. He couldn’t decide whether they looked like a bunch of chickens that had spotted a fox, or a group of foxes lying in wait for an unsuspecting rooster.

Now one of them in chinos and deck shoes stepped forward and offered her hand. He swapped his punch cup to his left and shook hands with her.

“I’m Louise Sawyer. My husband Charlie and Hiram shared woodworking secrets.”

“Did he ever go up to Hiram’s workshop?”

She followed him over to the wall of windows. “Several times. Charlie crafts lovely furniture,” Louise said. “Keeps him out of my hair now that he’s retired. They glommed onto one another five minutes after we met Hiram at somebody’s dinner party. Charlie has a top-of-the-line planer. Hiram planned to use him after the restoration part of the business got going. And pay him, which thrilled Charlie no end.” She stared out at the garden and sighed. “I don’t know how Ida does it. My azaleas bloom leggy and my tulips are downright squatty.”

“Did you take any driving lessons?” he asked her. In other words, was she alone with Hiram on that mountain?

Everyone around them laughed. Louise frowned at them. “I don’t have time for horses. I herd sheep.”

“She means she has horses
already
, only she calls them Bouviers, and they allow her to live in their house,” Ida said.

“We go to sheepherding contests and train during the week.” She glared at the group. “We win, too. They are perfectly well-behaved dogs.”

“Oh, sure,” Ida said. “
Now
.”

He felt a strong hand on his sleeve and turned to meet a tall woman with hair that would have made Lucille Ball’s look beige. “I’m Eleanor Abercrombie. I’m taking lessons. Hiram was a wonderful teacher. Once, I nearly ran us into a ditch and the pony kept slipping and Hiram had to get out and back the pony by his bridle. He was so sweet about it.” She blushed. “My dear husband would have berated me for years.”

He wondered whether Dear Husband was still around or no longer in Berating Mode.

The punch really was remarkably good. His cup never seemed to be empty.

“Any of the rest of you ladies take lessons?” he asked.

“You know about me already,” Peggy said.

“Not my thing,” Ida said. “Hiram was a great extra man at a party, though. If more men learned to dance, there’d be more happy marriages in this world.”

“He could dance?”

General oohs. “Could he ever!” Eleanor said. “You remember that tango in
Scent of a Woman
? Hiram made Al Pacino look like a walrus on tranquilizers.” She fanned herself with her hand. “Whoo-ee.”

“Such a great bridge player,” said little Mimsy. “I learned on my honeymoon never to play bridge with my husband. If I made a teeny mistake I never heard the end of it. Why I remember once I bid two no-trump and . . . ”

“Yes, dear,” said Louise and patted her hand.

“The point is,” Mimsy huffed, daring the other lady to interrupt, “one night when I was playing with Hiram I ruffed a club when I had a heart left and had to renege and we went down two tricks on a grand slam. He told me it could happen to anyone. He was so sweet.”

Peggy leaned over to him and whispered, “Happens to
her
all the time, bless her heart.”

He smiled beatifically around at them all. None of these sweet creatures could possibly have killed Hiram. Still, he’d have to interview them one at a time later in their own homes. He’d been wrong to try to interview them in a group. They’d never admit to doing the nasty with Hiram in front of their friends. He couldn’t conceive of it either, although his mother always told him that almost everyone has much more sex than anyone believes. He snickered.

“Did you have breakfast?” Peggy whispered. He turned to answer her and blinked. His vision did a little bounce before he focused.

Oh, God. “What’s in the punch?” he whispered back.

“We always have Mimosas before lunch,” Mimsy said. “Of course, we don’t use mixes. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. We have our own recipe.” She giggled. Then she patted him on the back. On the butt, actually. He jumped.

“Maybe you should have a little something to eat,” Louise said. “It’s time for lunch anyway.”

He looked around the room at the ladies smiling benignly at him.

He suddenly saw them as bunch of slavering wolves ready to bite his head off and devour his carcass along with their mimosas and ham biscuits. He had to get away before he fell on his face and broke his nose. Or one of the windows, whichever was closer.

“Uh, actually, I have an appointment for lunch with Amos.” He straightened his shoulders. “If you’d excuse me.” He’d busted lots of drunk drivers early in his career and recognized his careful walk. This was going to be a problem. All these women must realize he was only one step from knee-walking.

Ida and Peggy followed him to the front door as the ladies converged on the luncheon table and the punchbowl. He heard them twittering, no doubt talking about him.

“I’ll drive you to Amos’s,” Peggy said as she took his arm. “You shouldn’t get behind the wheel.”

He started to protest, then mutely surrendered his car keys.

“We’ll take my car,” she said. “Amos can send Mutt and Sandi out for yours.”

As they drove away, he leaned his head back. It spun. “You were all at that punch before I got there and they’re back there still going strong.” He sat up quickly, too quickly. He felt his gorge rise. “Are
you
sober?”

“I am today’s designated driver,” she said. “We rotate.”

“So they knew I was drunk?”

“Lord, honey,” she said and patted his knee. His knee, this time, and not his thigh or his rump. “God Himself knows you’re drunk. I should have warned you. That punch is lethal. We’re all used to it and we eat big greasy breakfasts before we come.”

He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Damn right you should have warned me. Amos should have warned me.
Somebody
should have warned me! They think I’m a stupid sot.”

Another knee pat. “No they don’t. They did want a little time to assess you before they opened up to you, though.”

“Time to get their stories straight, you mean.” He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the road. “You all ambushed me.”

“We didn’t really plan to.”

Riiigght
. “Better drop me at the hotel.”

“What about Amos?” Peggy asked. “Isn’t he expecting you for lunch?”

“That was the first excuse I could come up with. Can you get me the names, addresses and phone numbers of the garden club so that I can call on them singly?”
If I dare face them.

“Sure. We’re all in the phonebook.” She pulled up in front of the Hamilton Inn. “I’ll drop your car keys off at the police station so they can deliver your car.”