Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Page 14

  Eleanor, Dab, and I took turns going to the front door, exchanging a few words with the bearers of bounty, and then jotting notes as to who brought what on a pad by the door. Though the Six hadn’t asked me a thing about discovering Hellspawn’s body, every neighbor wanted the scoop. I sidestepped their questions as tactfully as I could, but the strain set me on edge.

  By the time the food flood stopped, the fridge overflowed and the counters were covered. Maise and Aster packed samplings from every dish for old lady Gilroy next door, and I volunteered to make the delivery.

  “This ought to feed her for a week,” Maise said as she nestled the last of the plastic containers and zipper bags into a box that was longer than it was deep. “Remember, just set the box on the porch, ring the bell, and leave. She won’t come out if you wait.”

  “Will she be able to lift the box?”

  “No, but she’ll pull it inside. That’s what she does when we take over big holiday meals.”

  The police and sheriff and coroner vehicles were gone, and Sherry’s crepe myrtle was upright and holding on to life, but the cars had left tire tracks on the lawn. I shuddered in spite of the pleasantly warm late-afternoon sun on my face. I hoped the coroner would conclude that Hellspawn—okay, Jill Elsman—had fallen, struck her head, and died. After all she’d already been through, Sherry needed a best-case scenario.

  The food box was just heavy, long, and awkward enough to need both hands. It bumped gently against my stomach with each step down Sherry’s gravel drive and along the short walk next door.

  I hadn’t paid much attention before now, but old lady Gilroy’s small house sat on a slightly wider lot than I thought. Her chain-link fence sagged in a few places and the gate with a simple lift-up latch squeaked. I’d shifted the box to my hip to open the gate, then back to pick my way past the two-foot-wide cracked sidewalk. No twisted ankles or spilled food containers for me.

  I took the one step up to the postage-stamp front porch, grasped the box to my body with one arm, and reached to knock. Before my knuckles met wood, the door swung open, and a gnarled hand grabbed mine and jerked me into darkness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  IT WASN’T PITCH-BLACK IN THE SMALL ROOM, BUT dark enough. I fumbled with the box as my eyes adjusted, and blinked at the elfin woman who stared up at me. Sparse white hair covered her head, and she wore a flower-print housedress that had been out of fashion since the 1960s. Wrinkles on wrinkles, hunched shoulders, piercing gray eyes.

  “You know who I am, girl?” she barked.

  I blinked. “Ol—I mean, you’re Mrs. Gilroy.”

  “Bernice, but old lady Gilroy will do, and don’t think I don’t know you caught yourself just then. Now, how old do you think I am, girl?”

  I squinted at her and took a shot. “Ninety.”

  “Hah, I’m ninety-three, and losing time. Get that food to the kitchen.”

  I couldn’t help it. I blinked again, completely befuddled, but followed her without seeing much in the living area besides gloom. She turned right at a doorway and we were in a kitchen with yellow appliances. Yellowed with age, or were they that Harvest Gold color that had once been the rage? Hard to tell with ugly brown curtains blocking light from the back and side windows.

  The fridge light nearly blinded me when Mrs. Gilroy pulled the door open. Nothing save a half loaf of bread and a stick of butter sat on the shelves, but it was sparkling clean, as was the rest of the kitchen as far as I could see.

  Mrs. Gilroy snapped her fingers in my face. “Don’t stand there, girl. Hand me the perishables first.”

  I placed the box on the 1950s kitchen table, only one sad chair beside it, and began digging through the box. I passed containers to her, and she arranged them in a quickly filled fridge. She wanted only the cookies left out, and I put those on her counter by the sink. When I reached for the empty box, she slapped it out of my hand.

  “Leave that. I need it to return the containers, don’t you know.”

  “Aunt Sherry said you don’t return them.” I had no clue why I challenged her, but she merely cackled.

  “Sherry’s right. I don’t. But you never know what I’ll do.” She paused and cocked her head at me. “You’re Sue Anne’s girl, aren’t you? You have her look, but you favor Sissy more. You know who Sissy was?”

  “I’m Nixy and Sissy was a Stanton ancestor.”

  “The Stanton ancestor, far as I’m concerned. What a pistol she was. She and her husband ran the five and dime for years. You know this house was built by the Stantons for one of their married children?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Sissy even lived here. Twice. Once as a young married woman, once when she was older and widowed. A starter home, they’d call it now. Didn’t build but two bedrooms, no dining room, but then I imagine they took their main meals at the big house.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, but none of this made sense. Old lady Gilroy, the hermit, educating me about my ancestress Sissy and about the origins of the house while I stood in her kitchen? An alternate universe had opened along with the front door and I’d fallen in.

  “I’m reclusive, but I know things, girl.” Her eyes narrowed on me, took on a shrewd light. “I know you took on that land woman toe-to-toe.”

  I glanced at the ugly brown fabric at the side window. “You spied on us through your curtains?”

  “I spy on everyone, but the action’s at Sherry’s. Had the windows open, heard that monster vehicle roar up to the yard, and heard most of the dustup. She never darkened my door. Probably knew I wouldn’t answer it. But she drove past so much she liked to have worn ruts in the asphalt out there. Had my bedroom windows open last night. Got up when I couldn’t sleep.”

  It took me a beat to process all that, then it was my turn to give a narrow-eyed look. “Are you saying you heard or saw what happened in the cemetery last night?”

  “I have a pretty good line of sight from my bedroom. Car lights came first on the street over, then a flashlight in those woods behind the big house. Flashlight went off, then I heard whispering voices.”

  I’d forgotten about Hellspawn’s Hummer. She sure didn’t walk to Sherry’s. Had the police found it?

  Fingers snapped in my face again. “Think on your own time, talk to me on mine.”

  “What time was this, Mrs. Gilroy?”

  “Two thirty. Three. I got some water and went back to bed.”

  “And you heard voices. As in more than one?”

  “That’s what the plural indicates, girl. Keep up. One was deeper than the other. Not much, but I pegged it as male.”

  “Did you see anything else? Anything that happened in the cemetery?”

  She looked away from me as if replaying a scene. “I saw dark figures. Two of them. Didn’t see what they were doing other than moving around. But I heard more. Several thunking sounds, like a heavy door closing. Then I heard a short cry. After that, nothing. No noise, no movement.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d tell the detective about this.”

  “You suppose right. I don’t like talking to people.”

  “You’ve talked to me.”

  “I made an exception. You can leave now.”

  She shooed me through the living room, a room that, now that my eyes were accustomed to the gloom, I saw was furnished with two wingback chairs upholstered in a dull plaid pattern, a stained wood coffee table between them, the chairs facing a flat-screen TV bigger than mine at home.

  I planted my feet and faced her. “Did you set that TV up by yourself?”

  “A’course. I’m old, not incompetent. Get out now.”

  She gave me a shove to the door, and I was on the postage-stamp porch, squinting in the sunlight, wishing I had my shades.

  I stood there a moment, perplexed that the woman I’d expected to be a frail eccentric had turned out to be just p
lain eccentric. I hadn’t given her much thought before. Now I wondered how she’d shopped for that TV, much less everyday items. I’d like to have the chance to ask someday, not that she’d answer me.

  I shook my head. At least I had a sort of witness and her story to give Eric. Because, though I hadn’t dwelt on it, seeing that gingham fabric near Hellspawn’s body worried me.

  I wanted to go around the block to check out that line of sight Mrs. Gilroy mentioned, but Eleanor waved to me from Sherry’s porch, where I found the seniors, all six of them, waiting.

  “I can’t believe Bernice Gilroy let you in her house!” Sherry exclaimed.

  “She dragged me in,” I corrected as I joined her on the porch swing.

  The others sat in the wicker and bent willow chairs, staring at me.

  “Report, Nixy,” Maise said. “What did Mrs. Gilroy say to you?”

  I related our conversation to a rapt audience.

  “I’m glad to know she’s well,” Aster said, “but do you think she really saw or heard a thing?”

  “She seemed sure, and that woman is as sharp as I am. Or more so.”

  “Well, Eric may not need her information,” Sherry said. “In spite of everything we went through with Ms. Elsman and the tragedy that she died on our property, the police and sheriff’s deputies searched the house and grounds thoroughly. I can’t imagine they suspect any of us.”

  I winced, and Fred noticed. “Out with it, missy. What do you know that we don’t?”

  I scrambled for a truth I could sell. “I, uh, was just thinking about what the police chief said this morning. That he wants the case solved quickly, no matter who is implicated. Not that I think the police would railroad anyone, but as you said, Sherry, Elsman died on your property. I have a feeling the cops will want to talk with you again.”

  “I do believe they’ll talk to all of us again, but let’s not borrow trouble.”

  “Agreed, Eleanor,” Dab said. “Shall we make inroads on that food?”

  I didn’t have much of an appetite, but neither did the Silver Six. The table talk returned to Mrs. Gilroy, how remarkable it was that she’d let me in her house, and speculation about how she’d gotten the TV in her home, never mind set it up. Then all but Sherry debated whether to go to their volunteer jobs in the morning.

  “Please go,” Sherry urged. “You know how the instructors depend on you to be there. Nixy and I will stay busy with the historical landmark paperwork, and we’ll call if we need you.”

  “I do believe Sherry is right,” Eleanor said. “If we go about our normal business, it will undermine any gossip.”

  “And show the cops we ain’t got nothin’ to hide,” Fred added.

  Maise gave first Sherry, then me, a searching look. “Affirmative, if you promise to call if there are developments.”

  Sherry and I promised, and then I asked to be excused.

  “I want to go check out what I can of Mrs. Gilroy’s story before it gets too dark,” I explained.

  Heads nodded, and Aster pressed a handful of tiny lavender flowers into my hand. “Put them in your pocket and they’ll help keep you calm.”

  “If you’d like another set of eyes,” Dab said, “I’ll walk with you.”

  I didn’t have the heart to turn Dab down. Besides, he was right.

  We left by the front door, Dab hiking his pants up as we descended the porch steps. I put on the light jacket Sherry had insisted I wear, and had my hobo bag with me, my tablet inside. Couldn’t hurt to take some photos. Maybe video.

  “Thanks for letting me tag along. I was hoping to have a look around back and report to Maise.”

  “Looking for anything in particular?”

  “No, just looking. We’re not supposed to ask you about discovering the body, so we’d planned to gather our own intelligence.”

  “That does sound like a Maise plan.”

  He grinned, then shook his head. “Let me tell you, it’s frustrating to be out of the loop. All the other incidents, the mailbox bomb, the barn being burglarized, we were there to set things right.”

  Oh, shoot! The barn break-in. The things that had been taken were—nope, I wouldn’t rely on my memory.

  “Dab, tell me again. What all was missing after the burglary?”

  He pulled up his pants, one side, then the other, as he walked. “It took us a while to figure that out, don’t you know. The place was a mess. Fred and I had a few tools missing. A crowbar and a hand drill that was my father’s.”

  “What about Sherry’s craft supplies? Or Aster’s and Eleanor’s?” I asked, partly excited, partly dreading the answer. Just knowing the crowbar had been stolen, too, worried me.

  “Aster and Eleanor keep most of their supplies in the basement. Sherry was missing some white oak slats, some jute and hemp twine, strips of that blue gingham she weaves in with the hemp, and her cotton gloves. The ones she uses when she crochets the jute especially so it won’t cut up her hands.”

  Images whirled. I needed to check again, but the off-white scrap in the photos could be one of Sherry’s cotton gloves. It could simply not be coincidence that three items near Hellspawn’s body were among those stolen from the barn just a week or so ago. This wouldn’t look good to the police.

  “Why are you asking about the burglary? Is this about what you saw in the cemetery with Elsman’s body?”

  “Dab, it’s killing me to keep quiet, but I promised Detective Shoar. Besides, Sherry is still recovering. Hearing details would just upset her more, don’t you think?”

  “That’s a valid point.”

  In that moment, I realized how valid it was. Seeing the photos I’d taken would only plant ugly images in their minds. Sure had in mine. The seniors were likely tough enough to take it, but that wasn’t a great reason to dish it out. Nope, unless an unforeseen, urgent need arose, I’d keep the photos to myself.

  We came to the south side of the property line, where the pines and blooming dogwood, more pink azaleas, and low scrub plants grew thick. And where trash had blown and been caught in the vegetation.

  “Looks like a critter or two got into someone’s garbage,” Dab said as he surveyed the line of trees. “Mind helping me police this mess before it gets any darker?”

  “You sound like Maise,” I teased.

  “Yep, but I could do worse.”

  We picked our way along retrieving torn pieces of comics, color ads from circulars, what looked like scraps from a book or magazine page, a fast-food napkin, and a take-out menu. Dab didn’t have nearly enough room in his pockets for the debris, so I waded the bigger pieces into balls and stuffed all the trash into the bottom of my bag.

  Dusk deepened as we reached the street behind Sherry’s, but I pulled out my tablet and began taking video. Since we hoped not to attract the neighbors’ attention—or that of the officer stationed nearby—we kept our voices low.

  “Did Mrs. Gilroy say which direction the headlights approached from?”

  “No, but I think they’d be the brightest in her window and most noticeable if they came from town.”

  “You don’t think the trees would’ve blocked the lights?”

  “Not if the car cleared the trees before the lights were turned off.” I dropped my voice more. “Where is the path from here to the cemetery?”

  Dab scanned the deeper shadows of the tree line. “See the place where the undergrowth is sparser? I think that’s it.”

  “You think? You’re not completely certain?”

  “I haven’t used it in years.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing. It’s just this: if the path is that indistinct while we still have some daylight, how would Elsman be able to find it at full dark, even if there was some moonlight?”

  “Good question.”

  Although I remembered now that Trudy had gone off that way on Saturday, and I�
��d pondered her knowing about the path when I’d been with Aunt Sherry Sunday afternoon. If Elsman and Trudy had vandalized the barn, they’d both have known where the path came out on the street. And how could two newcomers know about the path? They could’ve poked around, I supposed, but it was another oddity to put on the back burner of my brain.

  Dab rubbed his hands together. “Let’s find out what Mrs. Gilroy could have actually seen from her window.”

  We padded along the street until we stood opposite what I was pretty sure was the back bedroom window. Mrs. Gilroy’s backyard was flat, void of trees and bushes, and her window was high enough to offer a better view than I had from the street. The azalea bushes marking the cemetery were easy to see even from here. Shadows moving in the darkness? I wasn’t sure.

  Dab and I came to the same conclusion. Without standing where Mrs. Gilroy had, there was no way to be sure she had the angle to see squat. Hear voices and noises? That fell into the definitely probable column.

  Which brought us no closer to knowing who was with Elsman last night, but I had a better sense of the area on this side of the property now.

  When we returned, Maise and Aster were having tea in the kitchen, and Dab abandoned us to watch basketball with Fred in Fred’s room. Eleanor, Maise reported, had coaxed Sherry to go up for a soaking bath and an early bedtime, but rushed to assure me Sherry was merely tired.

  “How are you doing?” Maise asked as Aster poured another mug of tea and pushed it toward me.

  “I’m fine.”

  Maise snorted. “Considering that you found a body, were questioned by the police, and spent time with Mrs. Gilroy, I find that hard to believe.” Maise paused a beat. “Nixy, I was a nurse. I’ve seen more death than Carter had little liver pills. Even if the deceased isn’t family or a friend, there is a measure of trauma that goes with seeing death.”

  Aster placed a gentle hand on my wrist. “You must’ve experienced that when your mother passed.”

  I had, and I swallowed hard at the memory of seeing her take her last breath. But my mother’s death had been peaceful. She’d even smiled.