A Dangerous Woman
A Fay Cunningham Mystery (Book #1)
by Debra Lee
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Debra Lee on Smashwords
A Dangerous Woman
A Fay Cunningham Mystery (Book #1)
Copyright © 2011 by Debra Lee
Originally Published by SynergEbooks
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Disclaimer
Milton, Pennsylvania happily does exist. While a restaurant also exist outside the small town, the one portrayed in my story, referred to as the local gossip corner, does not depict the real place with total accuracy. Most of the homes that stand on the upper side of Broadway are old treasures. But the homes in my story came from my own imagination. All of my characters portrayed in this story are of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
Also by Debra Lee
Featuring Fay Cunningham
Deadly Arrows
Other Novels
Redemption
Taken
Dangerous Bedfellows
Visit the author online at
Chapter One
Had I known people I have feelings for were going to start turning up dead, I doubt I would have been so critical of the day. As it turned out, I was unaware of the horrors that awaited me. So the complaining began.
April showers bring May flowers. I would like to add to that catchy phrase, if they don’t drown first. The monstrous clouds over central Pennsylvania threatened to hang steady until the last drop of moisture was squeezed from each one. This created growing irritability and restlessness in man and beast.
To prove my point, the Ferguson’s terrier got a taste of blood after sinking razor-sharp, petite fangs into my wrist instead of the newspaper I slipped inside the screen door. As I rounded the corner of Front Street and Broadway, the big black tomcat that prowls outside the video store growled and hissed at me from his hunched position beneath a leaky awning.
So as it rained cats and dogs, I, Fay Cunningham, publisher of The Susquehanna Valley Daily, questioned my decision to make a second major lifestyle change within the last year.
“A few more blocks and all second thoughts about my decision will disappear,” I repeated to myself as I flung rolled newspapers onto porches.
Yes, indeed. Once I climb the steps to Joe Wise’s rundown mansion that stands on the upper side of Broadway, and am invited inside for the routine afternoon tea and conversation, all negative thoughts will be chased away by this self-made millionaire’s words of wisdom.
The fifteen minutes it took me to reach Joe’s front porch had made my need to see him more urgent. Besides suffering from a growing state of depression and a powerful craving for a meal loaded with fat, I was wet and chilled to the bone. I dropped my umbrella and watched it skip across the concrete floor as I hurried toward the closed door that should have been flung open by now.
The ancient door knocker received a ferocious work out from me before I heard footsteps in the foyer. A complete minute must have passed before I could respond to the live Barbie doll who opened the door a crack to say, “Yes, can I help you?”
Stammering, “Yes ...Joe. Is he here?”
“Mr. Wise is napping,” I was told, and watched the door close completely before my temporary state of surprise passed and I gave the door knocker another rap.
The door creaked open a few inches, while doll-eyes glared down at me. “Is there something else?”
My eyes seemed unable to leave hers as I slipped a newspaper through the crack.
“Joe’s paper.”
Her thanks was barely audible as she latched onto the rolled newspaper before the door slid shut, with the sound of the key turning in the lock immediately afterward.
I have no idea how many seconds I stood, dazed and confused, before I picked up my umbrella and reluctantly left Joe Wise’s property.
I arrived at the local gossip corner a half hour earlier than usual. Too early for the mid-afternoon regulars. The edge of town restaurant’s L-shaped parking lot was almost vacant. My gas guzzling Lincoln was right where I left it nearly two hours ago. It was an unwelcome surprise to see Mitch Malone’s economically efficient dwarf-sized pickup truck parked alongside my car.
I wasn’t in the mood to see the fit-as-a-fiddle former police chief. The truth is, I didn’t want him to see me temporarily ease my depression with a smorgasbord of unhealthy food. I wanted to indulge and enjoy, without hearing him remind me of how I was defeating the purpose of my ‘on foot’ paper route. Then I’d have to remind him, my decision to do the route was not just to knock off the forty pounds I gained after quitting my twenty year, pack-a-day, nicotine addiction. I also wanted to open the lines of communication with my customers. Hear first hand, compliments, suggestions, and complaints about the newspaper I publish.
The bell over the restaurant’s door announced my entrance. I got a pleasant whiff of cigarette smoke and fat frying as I watched Willie zip out of the kitchen and go directly to the coffee machine the instant she saw me. “It’s gettin’ pretty wicked lookin’,” she said in reference to the coffee.
“How ‘bout I just make a fresh pot,” she offered after giving me a closer look.
“Don’t bother. I need a shot of something stiff.”
Willie chuckled as she went ahead and filled a mug with the scorched black brew. I waited until she started around the counter before heading to the end booth where Mitch was seated. His nose remained in the newspaper he had spread out in front of him when I slid into the seat across from him.
Willie put my mug of coffee down on the center of the newspaper. I am certain she did this to antagonize Mitch. It didn’t appear to faze him though. He went right on reading.
“I’ll have your salad in a jiffy,” she told me, and started to take off again. That is, until my words stopped her in her tracks.
“Make it a burger, fries, and super thick chocolate shake.”
Mitch’s fascination with the agricultural section of the newspaper halted. I didn’t have to look. I could feel his eyes glaring at me.
“Must a been one heck of a day.”
I waited until I heard Willie shift into high gear again and head for the kitchen before responding.
“I’ve had better.”
“Suppose old man Wise was too busy gloatin’ to pay you any attention.”
“Gloating?”
“You shouldn’t let that man’s actions get to you, Fay.”
I don’t know if my face was beginning to tingle from anger or confusion. Perhaps it was a combination of both. It was my anger I acted on when I called back toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Willie, add a hot fudge sundae to my order.”
“You’re only hurting yourself, you know.”
His comment managed to put me on the brink of tears. I knew if I couldn’t stop them, it would prove another victory for the reformed Mitchell Malone. Of late, the man was beginning to become my biggest daily irritant with his purified lifestyle and arrogant attitude. It was days like this one, I missed the former chain-smoking, overweight, foul-mouthed alcoholic he once was.
I am not certain just how I pulled it off, but I stiffened my spine, blinked back the tears, and was about to tell him what he could do with his advice when he started again. Only this time, he was back to attacking Joe Wise.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if he wasn’t on the phone plannin’ the biggest bash of his life.”
“You still like it rare, I hope?” Willie said, as she put the plate of food in front of me.
I looked directly over into Mitch’s eyes when I responded. “A little blood in the diet’s good for what ails me.”
Willie giggled.
Mitch didn’t find my statement amusing. His way of letting me know it was to fold up his newspaper, pick up his Stetson from the seat next to him, plop it down on the graying waves on top of his head, and start scooting out of the booth.
It was at that moment, I knew we were even for the day. The perfect time to part company. Too bad I couldn’t allow it. At least not until he explained his comments about my dear friend, Joe Wise.
“If I don’t eat this plate of lard, will you tell me why Joe was supposed to be higher than a kite today?”
He took nearly a full minute of sitting on the edge of his seat contemplating his decision. Actually, he was pouting. In the meantime, my food was cooling down fast. When he slid his cowboy-clad feet back under the tabletop and looked my way, I knew he decided to stay.
“Joe didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“His lifelong nemesis turned up dead this morning.”
Chapter Two
Silence. I could not speak. My brain shut down on me. I was unable to move. My breath felt blocked. In what had to have been only seconds, in which I sat with such limited abilities, I was able to see. Those doll-eyes were once again glaring down at me, drawing me into the inner depths of their skinny young owner.
What I saw there jolted me so severely that when my body jumped, so did my arm, banging into my plate. Food scattered everywhere.
“Didn’t think you even knew the old playboy,” Mitch said, as he picked up french fries and tossed them back onto the plate.
“He gave me my start in business.”
“Thought Joe -”
“Joe stepped in when his brother tried to take over the newspaper without my knowledge.”
Mitch stopped picking up french fries and was glaring at me again. “What?”
“You could be a suspect in his murder.”
“Thomas was murdered?”
“Callin’ it an accidental drownin’ so far. I’m not convinced the old guy slipped under the bath water without some help.”
When Mitch picked up a french fry and held it between his formerly nicotine stained fingers like he would a cigarette, I knew he was genuinely concerned. But was that concern out of fear his police buddies would treat Thomas Wise’s death as an accident and close the case without investigating the possibility of foul play? Or was he worried they would conclude it was murder and place me on the top of their list of suspects?
Instead of questioning him about it, I decided to give him something else to think about.
“I didn’t see Joe today. According to the young blonde waif who answered his door, Joe was napping.”
I looked straight over into midnight blue eyes, which was like seeing a reflection of my own.
“Joe doesn’t nap,” I pointed out. “At least not when he knows I’m due to arrive.”
I assumed Mitch would immediately want to know if I knew the woman. But no, white teeth sparkled between silver beard and mustache. He was snickering like he did before one of his judgmental comments.
“Thought you licked that streak of jealousy, Fay? You know it’ll only give you-”
“Gray hair and wrinkles like you?”
The purpose of my insult was to shut him up. Certainly not to create the burst of laughter that came from him.
If the restaurant hadn’t started filling with customers, I know I would have dumped my plate of food over his head .Instead, I took a deep breath, shoved back my shoulders, and left the restaurant.
Go ahead and laugh, I thought, because I would have the last laugh once the annoying man realized I stuck him paying the bill for the third time in the past week.
Chapter Three
The rain had eased to a drizzle. Any amount was too much, as far as I was concerned.
I slid in behind the wheel of my older model luxury car. My eyes instantly zeroed in on the glove compartment, while my mind was telling them to look away. Turn away. Turn off the fierce urge to open that compartment and reach for them. They’re probably staler than this dreadful weather anyway, an inner voice reminded.
The pack of cigarettes had been in my glove compartment for months. I bought them the day Allen told me he wanted a divorce. I would like to believe it was sheer willpower that kept me from breaking the seal on that green and white pack of smokes that day, but that would be only half true. Mitch’s words of encouragement kept me strong enough to fight off the powerful urge for a blast of nicotine to my system.
On this particular day, it was because of him, my skin crawled in need of a fix. I closed my eyes, latched onto the steering wheel, and ordered myself to take three deep, relaxing breaths. I took five before slowly opening my eyes. My mouth widened into a smile as I took a long look at myself in the rear-view mirror. This time, I did it my way, and more important, on my own.
“Take that, Mitchell Malone,” I said to my glowing reflection.
I pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward town. Joe should be awake from his nap. If he’s not, I’ll wake him. Miss Barbie Doll will step aside or get shoved aside. This old gal wasn’t taking a backseat to any more pretty young Twiggys. Once was enough in Fay Cunningham’s lifetime.
“I’m in love with her, Fay.” Allen had confessed that mournful day months ago as he pranced around our bedroom like a caged wild animal. I was sitting on the edge of our king-sized bed, a stack of wet balled up tissues next to me. If only I could stop whimpering, I told myself. Then I might feel more than the heartrending pain that numbed my other emotions. Anger, for one. I wished I could get mad enough to throw something at the man I had given the last twenty-five years of my life to.
Weeks went by though before the numbness slid away and made room for the onslaught of everything else. The loneliness, fear, and anger, all took a shot at me over the days that followed my signing the divorce papers my husband took upon himself to hand deliver to me. I got the house, and the outrageous mortgage payment. Of course, Allen agreed to finish paying for our daughter, Alicia’s, college education. Three years to go and he was off the hook. I agreed to keep my fingers out of his law firm earnings so long as he kept his paws out of those from my newspaper business. I also got Kitty, our indoor Calico cat. Allen got Dana, his model thin twenty-something paralegal.
As my car coasted along Broadway, well below the posted twenty-five miles per hour speed limit, I felt some of the gusto from minutes before begin to seep away. I had Mitch to thank for it, too. Maybe he was right. Was it jealousy I felt when it was a beautiful young woman who greeted me instead of Joe? Had I become jealous of all women younger, thinner, and prettier than I? Or just the ones who entered my turf?
Joe was my turf. Twenty years ago when my parents retired to Arizona, Joe Wise was appointed my Godfather. To be completely accurate, Joseph Costello was named my Godfather, the name Joe Wise went by before he left his home in Italy to come to America. In Joe’s words, his brother, Thomas suggested they change their last name to Wise. The brothers would become the Wise men. Joe never told me the whole story behind the name change.
I was already married five years by the time Joe became my Godfather, but Father insisted I needed more than Allen to look after me. At the time, I was furious. Now when I look back, I have to admit that my father knew what he was doing.
In the beginning, I resented Joe’s interference in my life. Enough so that I went to his biggest rival, his brother Thomas, to secure a loan to start my newspaper business. When Thomas discovered I had me a little gold mine, he wanted it all for himself. Joe to the rescue of this damsel in distress. I am forever grateful.
I turned my car onto Popular Avenue and made a sharp left onto the narrow paved road. About a hundred yards in, I made a uey before taking the right onto the rear of Joe’s property, where I left my car. There are four entrances into the three story brick castle-shaped home.
After knocking, waiting, and unsuccessfully trying to open each of the four locked doors, I gave up.
A steady rain was beating down on me by this time. My shoulders were up around my ears as I dashed for the shelter of my car. Ducking inside, I was looking straight over at Joe’s garage. My curiosity would not permit me to leave without checking to see if Joe’s old Mercedes was parked inside. This knowledge caused a few unpleasant words to skip through my head.
I dashed around the front of my car. My sneakers landed on the pile of wet leaves at the precise moment I saw them. Too late to avoid the slipping and sliding. I did manage to get my balance a second before my legs did a complete split. This time those same unpleasant words, and several more, did more than skip through my head.
It would have been easy to let a few more fly out of my mouth after peeking through a dirty garage window and seeing two empty parking stalls. I didn’t have my car backed all the way out of Joe’s driveway when it dawned on me where he probably was. Every Wednesday, without fail, Joe drives across the river to the Farmer’s Market to snatch up the end of the day specials. It was Wednesday, and the end of the market’s day. And it took getting soaked down to my undergarments and over stretched inner thigh muscles for that to occur to me.
I glanced up at my reflection long enough to give myself a much needed pep talk. “Look at it this way, old gal, the day can’t possibly get any worse. Or can it?
Chapter Four
By the time I approached my driveway, I was actually beginning to see myself curled up in front of the fireplace with a book, after a long, relaxing soak in the tub. A pleasant evening awaited me. Or would have if Mitch Malone’s pickup wasn’t parked in my driveway.
I was about to shift into reverse and drive off, but it was too late. Mitch spotted me, because he was already getting out of his truck. It crossed my mind to drive into the garage and hit the remote button to close the door before he had time to dart underneath. I probably would have done just that, had I not glanced in the rear-view mirror once I was inside the garage. When I saw him, reach into the passenger’s side of his truck for something, as usual, curiosity got the best of me. Once I saw what looked like a pizza box, I decided against shutting him outside.
“I come offerin’ peace,” I was told as I stepped out of my car and was handed the pizza box in exchange for the key to my house.
The perfect gentleman held the door for me before following my lead into the kitchen.
I put the box on the table. Mitch dropped my keys down next to it, then broke into the silence that stretched so tightly between us.
“It’s extra pepperoni.”
I finally looked over at him and cracked a smile.
“You really do feel guilty, don’t you?”
“For what?”
I wasn’t in the mood to explain in detail what a nagging pain in the butt he had become lately. Actually, I didn’t owe him an explanation of any kind. For supposedly being such an intelligent man, he could be so thick sometimes, especially when it came to understanding me. Or women in general.
Mitch filled two glasses with bottled spring water while I dug in the cupboard for paper plates. Before I joined him at the table, I grabbed a bottle of soda from the refrigerator. He was staring at me. I could feel it as I twisted off the bottle cap and took a long swallow. It wasn’t until he went to the refrigerator and got his own soda that I looked over at him, completely bewildered.
“I do understand.” He took a swallow of his soda, then added, “I’m sorry, okay?”
Even if I could have spoken, I wasn’t sure what I’d say. One thing was certain though, the man was an absolute wonder.
“You know, Fay, I’d do about anything for you. Except, if you ask me to share a cigarette with you, I’d have to refuse it.”
“Of course you would. And I’d want you to. But I really don’t know why we’re even discussing this. I have no desire to light up one of those stinky things.”
I was dying for one. I’m sure Mitch knew it, too. But the subject was dropped and we polished off the pizza in peace.
It wasn’t until we had worked our way into the living room and Mitch was building a fire, while I made myself comfortable on the couch, that he finally asked me about the woman who answered Joe’s door earlier in the day.
“I haven’t a clue who she is,” I told him.
“What about a daughter? Maybe a niece or-”
“No. Joe doesn’t have any family left. At least not now that Thomas is gone.”
If I hadn’t reminded him about Joe’s brother, possibly a victim of murder, I believe Mitch would have eased down next to me. The man may have given up his badge to become and organic farmer, but the need for truth and justice continued to walk within him. I knew his gut instinct was telling him Thomas’s death might not be accidental, and he would sniff around like a bloodhound until he satisfied himself with the truth.
“You mind if I stop by a little later?”
“Only if you promise to tell me everything you find out.”
He leaned over and planted a kiss on my forehead. When he straightened, I could tell by the way he narrowed his eyes and smiled that he understood it was pointless to deny knowing what I was talking about.
“You’ll know everything I do.”
He left himself out, while I remained in a corner of the couch with my feet tucked up underneath me. It would have been so easy to remain in that position, gazing into the snapping and cracking flames before me, my mind nowhere in particular. But besides having the curiosity of a cat, I also have a strong sense of responsibility. It might be going overboard to make another trip to Joe’s home, but a telephone call was an absolute must.
I pressed the memory button and number five on my cordless phone and listened to three rings.
“Hello. The Wise residence.”
It was her. I recognized the flat voice immediately. It was the waif from earlier. Who was she? And what was she doing answering Joe’s telephone? Why had she answered his door?
“Put Joe on the phone, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wise can’t come to the phone right now.”
“Why not?”
“Mr. Wise is having his bath...”
Whatever else she said went unheard when I dropped the phone and shot off the couch.
Chapter Five
The minute she said Joe was taking a bath, the alarms began going off inside me. It wasn’t the fact that Joe always bathed right before breakfast that set off those alarms. It was remembering what Mitch said earlier about Thomas possibly having help sliding under the bath water that had me breaking speed limits to get to Joe’s place.
I felt pending danger the instant I laid eyes on that sweet-looking skinny woman. It was not sweetness I saw when I looked into those glossy eyes of hers, though. It was what I didn’t see inside that gave me so much fright.
The rational side of me attempted to warn that I was jumping to the wrong conclusion. But the other side knew there were people without souls. People like the ones I ran a newspaper story about a few months back. Unscrupulous individuals who prey on the elderly. Those brilliant scam artists who can con a senior out of everything they own without a second thought about the devastation left behind by their crime. In the worse case scenario, the senior is not only taken for everything it took a lifetime to acquire, but their lives have been taken as well.
That thought is why I stepped on the gas.
The rain had finally stopped, but a blinding fog was settling in right behind it. Joe’s house appeared dark except for the yellow glow coming from the back porch light.
I stepped out of my car and headed toward the light. The sound of a twig snapped somewhere behind me. I refused the urge to look over my shoulder, but picked up speed until my sneakers landed on the paint blistered porch floor. I felt safer in the glow of the porch light and slowly peeked over my shoulder. When a pair of eyes flashed through the haze from a tree branch, I dashed for the door, rattling the knob and banging on the glass top.
The kitchen light came on, but I didn’t let up my attack on the door. I heard the deadbolt slide over and turned the knob and pushed. I was greeted by her. The emotionless creature I already decided I did not like.
Before she had a chance to protest my intrusion, I made my first demand.
“Where is Joe?”
“Mr. Wise is not here.”
“I’ll just check that out for myself,” I told her as I brushed against the silky sleeve of her nightgown.
The entire time I went from room to room, lighting up the house like a Christmas tree, I was calling out Joe’s name. The search took several minutes to complete. In the end, I hadn’t found Joe.
I was halfway down the open staircase when Miss Frosty appeared in the foyer.
“I told you Mr. Wise wasn’t here,” I was reminded in a tone that made my flesh crawl.
“Who are you anyway?”
“Angel Adams.” Angels don’t have killer eyes. “I’m Mr. Wise’s housekeeper.”
“What happened to Ethel?”
“Ethel?”
I was too frustrated to explain to this stranger that Ethel had been Joe’s housekeeper and companion for longer than I could remember. I breezed past her and headed back toward the kitchen. At the back door I stopped, looked over my shoulder, and made direct eye contact with her. “You be sure to tell Mr. Wise Fay Cunningham was here,” I said.
Her cutting gaze followed me out the door and off the porch into the fog. I felt it. As much as I wanted to make a mad dash for my car, I did not do it. Instead, I stood tall and bravely marched onward. That is until an owl gave out a chilling screech that put me in my car in two giant leaps.
The drive home was a nightmare. If it had not been for the lines down the center of the road and along the edge, I would not have known where the road began or ended. I drove at a snail’s pace, hoping-praying, for a set of taillights to follow. No taillights miraculously appeared. But I did spot a reflector on a mailbox, alerting me the road to my place was just ahead. For the life of me though, I could not find it in the haunting fog. Out of nowhere, pair of headlights shot at me from behind, blinding my vision even more.
It was impossible to slow down anymore without coming to a complete stop. I was too afraid to increase the car’s speed. So I coasted toward the berm, holding my breath a drainage ditch wasn’t there. I finally got lucky. My Lincoln didn’t take a nose dive. I also managed to bring the car to a stop without hitting anything or being rear-ended.
Once the blinding headlights shot out around me, I wheeled back onto the road and made a uey. With that successfully accomplished, I flipped on the air vent to blow dry the perspiration that was beading up at various spots on my face.
Calm. Remain calm. Breathe deeply. You’ll get there. So how come I doubted the voice that was whispering inside my head? Suddenly headlights gave me another blast from behind. I had no way of knowing if it was the same vehicle from minutes before, but I had a hunch it was.
Don’t panic. Stay calm. Don’t let your imagination run wild. Then came, don’t slow to a stop again. Hit the gas and get this buggy moving. Which is exactly what I did. I was moving, and so was the vehicle behind me.
Adrenaline rushed through me, zapping at my nerve endings and pounding into my flesh. When the driver behind me flicked his lights on high, a second after being blinded by the flash, I caught sight of the road sign. The turn off to my home was upon me. I whipped the steering wheel to the right. My foot came off the accelerator a split second before I went into a spin.
Somehow, I managed to steady the wheel and straighten out the car. It was impossible to level out my breathing until I saw the lights were gone.
Whoever was following me hadn’t made the turn. This did enable me to breathe a slight bit easier. But I did not let down my guard as I crept along until I spotted the reflector on my own mailbox.
Chapter Six
Raw nerves remained with me as I rooted around in a kitchen cupboard. When I found the bottle of brandy, I didn’t waste time filling a glass. I drank straight from the bottle. A few large swallows came before I allowed myself to sip and enjoy the pleasant taste and warm feeling as it began entering my system.
My nerves were still a bit jumpy when I left the bottle on the counter and headed upstairs, assuring myself a long soak in the tub would bring total calm. While water ran into the tub, I went through three bedrooms, flipping on lights, checking under beds, and inside closets. This is not part of my evening routine. But then, my evenings aren’t typically so traumatic.
By the time I slid beneath bubbles, I can honestly say I felt safe. Or safer.
I rolled my head from side to side until I located a comfortable position to rest it in. My eyes closed. I told myself to let go completely. Clear your head of all worrisome thoughts. I was doing it too.
First, my left hand slid down porcelain and sank into the soothing warmth. My right fingers willingly lost their grip and made the plunge as well, instantly sending me into an upright position from the stinging sensation that pricked my wrist.
I took a close look at the flesh wounds the Ferguson dog’s spiked teeth had caused. The skin around the miniature puncture wounds was red and swollen, but there were no streaks running up the inside of my arm. Whatever that meant. I vaguely remembered hearing somewhere those streaks under the skin are dangerous. But was it because infection was setting in or blood poisoning? I thought the latter was it. If someone happened to stick you with a lead pencil, watch for the streaks.
It didn’t really matter. The way the day had gone, the little beast probably had rabies. I’d have to remember to check with the Fergusons to be sure their little pooch had his shots. It probably wouldn’t hurt to start carrying a pocketful of dog biscuits on my daily route, either.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to take care of things like that, I decided. It was relaxation time. Certainly not the time and place to give my mind a workout. I didn’t want to overload the circuitry and risk a short that would result in frying myself in the bathtub.
I was finally becoming comfortable. My over stretched inner thigh muscles even felt like they were easing back into their proper place. Life was okay again. At least at that very moment it was. My brain waves were slowing down, coming close to shutting down. The tranquility was divine. I was so light, so...
Something squeaked. A door. My eyelids flipped open. Then it was a creak.
Something, someone, was in my house. In my bedroom. My heart was in my throat. My rear froze fast to the tub, while I strained my ears to hear it again. When I didn’t, enough time had passed for me to consider who might have invaded the privacy of my home. I called out Mitch’s name several times before it occurred to me Mitch couldn’t be in my house. The doors were locked. Mitch didn’t have a key yet.
My brain was spinning into high gear again. Don’t just sit there like sitting duck. Get yourself up and out of there, this voice inside my head ordered. Which is exactly what I was attempting to do when the bathroom door swung open.
I screamed. Kitty’s hair shot out like a porcupine as she hissed and sprang back into the bedroom.
Several seconds passed before I lost the death grip on the side of the tub and was able to breathe again. Once my vital signs returned to normal, I quickly dried myself and pulled on a baggy sweatsuit. Then it was time to make amends to the cat.
The one sure way to do this was to open a can of cat food. Nothing, not even the fright I gave her, deterred Kitty from appearing to the sound of the electric can opener.
I assumed my apology was not fully acceptable when Kitty finished eating and refused to join me in the living room. The fire needed wood and a few stabs with the poker before I settled down on the couch. Temptation was high to pick up the telephone and call Joe’s place again. But it was getting late. If Joe had returned home, he surely would be in bed. His internal clock was set with the early to bed early to rise alarm. But then, it didn’t appear he was having a typical day either.
That being the case, I did call. I left it ring at least a dozen times before I hung up. Worry consumed me all over again. I looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was ten o’clock already. Where was Joe? Where was Mitch?
Mitch did say he’d be dropping by later. So where was he? I tapped out Mitch’s numbers and got his answering machine. I didn’t wait for the beep to leave my message. I didn’t have a message.
After getting up and pacing around the room several times, I returned to the kitchen to make a second attempt at getting Kitty to join me in the living room. She refused, of course. Back in the living room, I pushed back a corner of the drape to have a look outside. I faced a wall of fog.
I finally selected a book from one of the two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and carried it back to the couch with me. Once I convinced myself to concentrate on the meaning of the words I read, I was able to be transported into a world gone by.
Chapter Seven
The sound of the doorbell woke me. More like startled me into wakefulness. It took me a few moments to figure out where I was and what had shaken me from dreamland. Or more correctly, the land of nightmares.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” I shouted, and pushed myself off the couch, book tumbling from my lap when I stood.
It was breaking daylight when I yanked the door open and looked up into Mitch’s weary eyes.
“Need some coffee badly,” was his greeting as he stepped inside and headed straight for the kitchen. By the looks of him he needed a shower and some sleep a lot more.
“What’s happened?” I barely had the question out when one of my nightmares flashed before me.
“Joe... Oh God, tell me nothing’s happened to Joe.”
When Mitch picked the bottle of brandy off the counter from where I left it the night before, I feared the worst. Before he had the cap twisted off, Mitch put the bottle back down on the counter. I had no idea what a struggle that decision really was for him.
“It’s not Joe,” he finally told me.
He seemed unable to face me and started filling the coffee pot with water.
“Thomas. You found out he was murdered then?”
Mitch turned off the water and slowly tilted his head in my direction. “It’s Ethel, Fay.”
“Joe’s Ethel?”
“She was found a little after midnight. Bunch a kids decided on a camp out after the rain stopped.” Mitch took a breather to pull out a table chair and guide me into it. After pulling a chair up next to me and folding himself into it, he proceeded. “They were partyin’ is what they were doin.’ Sobered up really quick when one a the girls opened the refrigerator.”
“Refrigerator?”
“They were partyin’ next to someone’s dump site in the woods.”
When Mitch let go of my hand, I latched back onto his “Ethel was in the refrigerator?”
Mitch’s eyes were bubbling up with tears .This time when he pulled away, I let him. It was obvious he needed a moment to get a grip on his emotions. Which he seemed to do by the time he filled two mugs and returned to the table with them.
“She was gagged and tied up, Fay. Looks like she was stuffed in there alive, too. She suffocated.”
Everything he told me was too horrible to absorb all at once. I refused to let myself see the image of what Mitch actually had seen. I also refused to accept the fact that Mitch was talking about the Ethel Johnson I knew most of my adult life.
“How do you know for sure that it’s Ethel? I mean, maybe someone that looks like-”
“It’s her, Fay. Her sister identified the body.”
Down deep, I knew what Mitch said was the truth. Ethel was the one found dead. But on the surface, I still could not believe it. And I certainly wasn’t ready to accept it.
“Got to meet the pretty young thing you told me was at Joe’s yesterday.”
“Joe! Oh God, how is he handling this? Is he-”
“Don’t know. He wasn’t home when I dropped by before comin’ here.”
“Wasn’t home,” I repeated in disbelief.
It didn’t take long for the anger to begin cooking within me. Something was terribly wrong and that woman was to blame. I just knew it.
“So did Angel tell you where Joe is?”
“Said he left on a trip.”
“A trip! That’s ridiculous. Joe would have told me if he was going away. She’s lying, Mitch.”
“You say her name’s Angel?”
“Angel Adams is what she told me. That’s probably a lie too.”
“You gonna be okay if I take off for a while?”
“No. This time you’re taking me with you.”
“I’m only goin’ home to feed the animals.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth. I have no authority to investigate this case.”
“As if that’ll stop you.”
“Don’t you have a newspaper to run or somethin’?”
“I have papers to deliver this afternoon. But I still have my assistant in charge of the daily operations, remember?”
Mitch exhaled in defeat. “Okay, you can come with, but I really do have to stop by the farm.”
“I’ll be changed before you have time to rinse our mugs,” I assured.
I was in my jeans and sneakers in record time and raced back down the stairs and into the empty kitchen. The mugs had been rinsed and left on the counter to air dry. Mitch was gone though. At least he wasn’t in the kitchen.
I dashed back into the hallway and to the front door. As I pulled it open, I got a glimpse of the rear-end of his pickup before it disappeared around the curve in the road.
Somehow, I stopped myself before I stamped my foot like a child on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum. I was no child. I was a full-grown woman. The publisher of a very successful newspaper business too. And that certainly wouldn’t have been possible if I had made a habit of minding my own business.
It is not a crime to admit I’ve done my own share of sniffing out a story to make headlines. So looking around for information about Ethel’s murder wouldn’t be any different, I decided. And at the same time, I could track down the whereabouts of Joe, even if it meant choking the truth out of one Angel Adams.
By the time I left the house, I had convinced myself I could get to the bottom of things without the help of Mitch Malone. His disappearing act was proof enough he felt I’d be more of a hindrance than a help to his investigation. So I really didn’t have any other choice than to go it alone.
Chapter Eight
I left my car parked on Broadway and hiked up the steep hill to the rear of Joe’s property. If Miss Angel was lurking about, I didn’t want her to see me coming. I wanted to take her by surprise like she did me the day before.
Before checking out the house, I decided to have a look inside the garage. I found two empty parking stalls. But that was no guarantee Angel Adams wasn’t inside the house. And just because I knew most of Joe’s neighbors, didn’t mean one of them wouldn’t find delight in calling the police to report a peeping Tom if I started peering in the house windows.
I took my chances anyway. Or perhaps, in hopes someone would call the police. At least they might be able to get the aloof Angel to fess up to the whereabouts of Joe.
There was no movement inside the house from either of the two rear windows I looked through. While I was there, I thought I’d give the porch door a try. Locked. So were all the other doors I tried.
On the west side of the house, I noticed one of the windows had a screen in it. All I had to do was figure out how to climb up to it. I started looking around for something sturdy enough to stand on when I saw old man Mr. Anderson. He was pretending to be filling the bird-feeder in his front yard, but it was as plain as day he was watching me.
I surprised him, as intended, when I waved and called over a good morning. Then I proceeded in my search as if I had every right to be doing what I was doing.
The only thing I saw that looked tall enough for me to be able to reach the window, was a tin bucket I found on the back porch. Let’s hope it can withstand the weight of me, crossed my mind as I positioned it under the window and stepped aboard. I managed to remove the screen without a hitch. It surprised and pleased me that I had enough upper body strength to pull myself up the wall of bricks and rest my fanny on the window ledge.
It was when I was maneuvering myself around so I could slip down inside that I felt it.
The backside of my jeans had caught on something. As I twisted around to try and free myself, the ripping sound was overshadowed by the bang of an upstairs door closing. A decision had to be made without delay. I got a quick glimpse of Mr. Anderson before he disappeared inside his house. I don’t know if it was knowing he wouldn’t see me running from the scene, or if the light footsteps on the stairs made up my mind to take a flying leap to the ground.
I missed the bucket all right, but my right foot landed in a chipmunk hole. I might have imagined the crunch I heard when my ankle turned sideways, but the excruciating pain I felt was real enough as I hobbled down the hill to my car.
You messed up things real good this time, old gal, I told myself as I attempted to drive home. I had my lower body shifted to the right on my seat so I could use my left foot on the gas and brake pedals. I was having trouble believing the stupid stunt I had just pulled. Now how was I going to deliver papers? How was I going to shed pounds sitting on my fanny? And how was I going to track down Joe and find Ethel’s killer?
My mind kept repeating Mitch’s name in answer to that last question. But I refused to listen. I’d find the answers without him. No sprained ankle was going to stand in the way of Fay Cunningham.
Chapter Nine
I had my ankle packed in ice and propped up on the coffee table when I started making telephone calls. Doug, the energetic and bright young man I had running the business end of the paper for me, was called first. I explained my predicament to him. He had to find someone to temporarily take over my paper route. That was a piece-a-cake in comparison to the other problems he was trying to solve.
“We’ve got big trouble brewing with the editorial staff, Fay. Kate wants a larger column. Bill wants a raise and-”
“And I have complete faith in your dealing with all of them, Doug. So I’ll just say good-bye so you can get to it.”
I hung up before he could protest. I also hoped it would remind him of our agreement. The day my divorce to Allen was finalized, I took a good look at myself in the mirror; at the person I had become. I saw very little I liked there. The middle-aged, overweight person that looked back at me was a stranger. At least she didn’t look or feel familiar to me anymore.
I made a decision that day. I was going to find the whole person I once admired and felt comfortable with. In doing so, a major overhaul was put into motion. The elimination of the daily grind that came with running my business was an important first step. That was accomplished by giving complete control of the newspaper to my assistant. Of course, in doing so, I gave up a sizeable chunk of my income. But a sufficient amount remained to allow me to live comfortably.
The agreement reached between Doug and I gave him first option to purchase the newspaper if I decided to sell after my six-month hiatus. Which at the time, I was certain selling would be the result. I wasn’t so certain anymore.
The elimination of stress was only one part of my lifestyle change. I was adamant about losing the forty extra pounds I’d been lugging around since shortly after my first major lifestyle change, which was to quit smoking. A daily exercise regimen was part of the solution to the weight gain. To feel productive was something I needed for my emotional well-being. The ‘on foot’ paper route was the answer to both. The icing on the cake was being able to replace my suits and heels with sneakers and jeans. A remarkable benefit to the comfort zone.
Mitch was the one who coerced me into changing my diet. Eliminate the fat in what you eat, and the weight will go off much faster, he had told me. A change in my diet was the biggest challenge for me. With my injury and inability to walk off the flab, I’d have to stick to Mr. Know-It-All’s advice to do away with the fat, or suffer the consequences and continue shopping in the women’s full-figure section of department stores.
I punched in Joe’s telephone number next. It didn’t surprise me that I didn’t get an answer. Although I thought she might have picked up. A third call to set up an appointment to have my ankle X-rayed was next on my mental list of calls to be made. But since my ankle was numb by that time, I decided it was the perfect opportunity to make my way upstairs and change out of my torn jeans.
By the time that was accomplished, the numbness had faded. I could also put a little pressure on the foot without the sensation of bullets shooting up the outer side of my leg. This led me to believe I was in good enough shape to drive properly again.
Chapter Ten
Just because I botched my plan to get inside Joe’s house and have a look around, did not have to mean the end to my snooping. That is why I drove into town to the police station.
Before I parked on one of the vacant spots outside the borough building, I made a quick survey sweep to make sure Mitch’s pickup wasn’t around. His truck wasn’t in sight, so I parked my car.
I was hobbling to the door of the brick structure that was formerly used as a train station, when I heard a familiar voice calling my name from somewhere behind me.
“Thought that was you,” Bill Miller said, and smiled over at me as he pulled the door open for me.