Roots of Murder (19 page)
Authors: Janis Harrison
Margaret's name didn't cause a ripple of suspicion among the group of people in Evan's yard. There wasn't time to explain, and I wasn't sure they'd believe me if I tried. I needed help. All I saw around me was malevolence.I took a deep breath and stepped up to Cecil. Quietly, I told him to call Sid and send him to the Woodgrove Funeral Chapel. He listened, but his chin lowered until it rested on his chest. At the end, I offered a quiet, dignified, “Please do this. A life depends on it.”
He didn't answer. There wasn't time to plead. There wasn't time to find a phone and call Sid myself. I'd wasted too many precious seconds already. I got in my car and drove away.
“Carl, you were right,” I murmured, as I headed for Woodgrove. “It was so damned obvious. I should have seen it sooner.” I cursed my stupidity and prayed that I wouldn't be too late.
I parked a block away from the funeral home, took my keys off their chain, and palmed the miniature flashlightâan item I usually consider too small to be useful.
I locked the car and stuffed the keys in my pocket. I tried the light to make sure it worked. It did.
I locked the car and stuffed the keys in my pocket. I tried the light to make sure it worked. It did.
I walked down the street, stalked the shadows, and mapped out my plan. I drew a shaky breath.
Katie.
She had to be safe. Would Margaret take the life of an innocent child?
An image of three boys killed on the curve of the road to Woodgrove flashed in my brain. An accident? Maybe. But tell that to three grieving mothers. Explain away parking on a road to steal an iron pipe to use as a murder weapon. Justify implicating an old man like Sam Kramer in the murder of Isaac, who had only wanted to grow flowers.
I built my courage on anger. Formed the foundation on injustice. By the time I reached the funeral home, I knew what I had to do.
If Cecil had made the call I'd requested, I could expect Sid or a deputy in about twenty minutes. In that time I had to make damned sure that I was right about Margaret's guilt. I immediately suppressed the thought of Cecil not cooperating. In my house of courage, I added a window of opportunity. I'd have to leave the sash up so I could crawl through.
I crept to the side door and peeked in.
Lights. People. Tears. Flowers.
The main slumber room was diagonally across from my hiding place. I slipped unnoticed in the door and waited for my chance to take the stairs up to the second floor.
It was seven-fifteen. Most visitations last an hour. I had time to search Margaret's apartment before the people left. If I could just get upstairs â¦
I craned my neck. Margaret was at the front door, bidding a couple good-bye. Her back was to me. I looked across the hall to the main slumber room. Only the closed casket. The name on the register: CLARENCE ENGELHART. My old friend.
On tiptoe I swung around the newel post and took to the carpeted steps. My heart pounded for those few seconds when I was in plain view. But once I'd made the bend and was out of sight, I leaned weakly against the wall and sucked a quivering breath into my lungs.
Thoughts flew fast and free in my head.
Margaret had tried to kill me.
Carl hadn't prepared me for this rush of adrenaline that torqued through my body.
Margaret had raised that winch too high, knowing it would let Mr. Engelhart fall. She'd counted on knocking me out, but I'd come around too quickly. If I hadn't, what would she have done then?
Another thought to squelch.
I took a step up and heard the rasp of my shoe on bare wood. The carpet ended at the turn of the staircase. Treading lightly, I worked my way up. At the top I flipped on the flashlight and guided its tiny beam around the room. It could have been inhabited by the Amish. Shades at the windows, no fancy drapes. Plain dark furniture. A kerosene lamp on a dresser. I tested a light switch and almost purred with satisfaction.
Nothing. She'd removed the bulbs. No pictures on the walls. The room was as unadorned as Margaret herself. Dark dress. Braids in the Amish tradition.
Nothing. She'd removed the bulbs. No pictures on the walls. The room was as unadorned as Margaret herself. Dark dress. Braids in the Amish tradition.
Margaret had said “our Lord” when she'd comforted the woman the day I'd reported Leray's murder. The use of that phrase should have alerted me, made me examine her involvement more closely, but I'd missed it. I'd allowed Margaret to guide me into believing that her speaking the Amish language and subscribing to the Amish magazine were because she didn't want to make a blunder when she dealt with them.
This room went beyond any desire to please. I knew, as sure as I was standing here, that she'd grown up Amish. But why had she renounced her beliefs?
I picked up my feet so they wouldn't scuff against the floor and went to her closet. I searched behind the dark clothes hoping to find Katie, but instead, I stirred up a soft, subtle scent that tickled my brain with its familiarity. I crossed the room to Margaret's dresser and eased open a drawer. Nestled under her cotton panties was a round box. The lid read PERFUMED BODY POWDER.
I experienced a flash of doubt. Perfume, scents of any kind, even deodorants are considered by the Amish to be too worldly. I reminded myself that Margaret was playing two roles. For the Woodgrove residents, she's Margaret Jenkins, modern funeral director and good friend. When she's alone, she lives the life of the Amish.
I reached for the box and heard Carl's voice rumble a warning, “Fingerprints, Bretta.” I nodded and used a pair of Margaret's undies to cover my hand. I pried up
the lid and saw cash. Four hundred-dollar bills, some twenties, and tens. Emergency money tucked away. Grimly, I put it back in the drawer and straightened the clothes.
the lid and saw cash. Four hundred-dollar bills, some twenties, and tens. Emergency money tucked away. Grimly, I put it back in the drawer and straightened the clothes.
Sid could make a comparison of this money with the packet of bills in my glove compartment. Would a residue of powder mark my bills as coming from this box?
If so, it was tied up. A done deal.
Katie.
I heard her name so plainly, at first I thought someone had spoken aloud. She was alive, I was sure of it. But she needed help. I made quick work of the few rooms upstairs. She wasn't there, but I did find a back staircase. I eased my way down it, then opened the door a crack into an eight-foot-wide corridor. Murmur of voices. I was close to the slumber room. I stepped out and looked around. Another door. It led to the basement.
I didn't hesitate. I took the steps rapidly, flashed my light at the concrete walls. Only a partial basement. Most of it was the garage. Boxes, empty. The hearse, zero. The family car. A wadded-up Kleenex on the floorboards. I put my ear to the trunk and rapped sharply. No response.
I was running out of places to look. All that remained was the ground floor. Where was Sid? Should I go outside and wait for him? I tried the doors. Locked; no bolt. I needed a key. I flashed my light at the exposed beams, looking for a nail and a key. Cobwebs. I could
break a window, but someone might hear.
break a window, but someone might hear.
My only choice was to go back up a flight to the main floor. I didn't feel at risk until I was at the top, then I hurried down the short hall to a pair of double doors.
The showroom, or “selection room.” Since the visitation was in progress, Margaret wouldn't need this room. I clicked the door open and had barely gotten inside when I heard her voice. She was so close my heart threatened to become an ornament on the outside of my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited.
“Here's the restroom, Mr. Sadler. Watch your step,” Margaret cautioned.
I leaned weakly against the door. Suddenly, it was given a solid whack. My eyes binged open.
“What's in there?” asked a gruff old voice that I took to be Mr. Sadler's.
“I'd rather you didn't hit the door with your walker,” admonished Margaret. “Here, let me show you.”
I whirled to face the double doors. Which one was she going to open? Which one should I hide behind? I jumped behind the door on my left and watched it swing to within an inch of my nose.
“See,” said Margaret, switching on the light. “This is the selection room. When you and your wife come by Monday, I'll be glad to show you everything. But right now I have to ⦔
There was a shuffling and a
klunk.
“Don't see the coffin that Clarence is laid out in.”
klunk.
“Don't see the coffin that Clarence is laid out in.”
“I have another just like it on order.”
“When will it get here?” demanded the old fart. “I don't plan on needing it for a time. But at my age, who knows?”
“I'm sure you won't need it for years, Mr. Sadler, but to ease your mind, the bronze casket will arrive on Tuesday. Now here's the restroom. I have to go back to the front. Everyone is leaving.”
I was plastered against the wall. My lungs screamed for oxygen. I was too scared to twitch, too scared to draw the slightest breath. Sweat gathered on my upper lip.
The lights went off. The door creaked shut. When the latch caught, I put as much distance as the room allowed between me and those doors.
Everyone was leaving? What time was it? A check of my watch told me it was a quarter till eight. Early for a visitation to end. Not much of a crowd for Mr. Engelhart.
Sid should be here any minute. As hard as I tried, I couldn't suppress my fear that Cecil hadn't called him. If I could find Katie, I'd leave, call Sid myself, and throw everything I had into his lap.
Find Katie. But where?
I snapped on my tiny flashlight and let its feeble glow travel the room. Margaret hadn't minded opening the door for Mr. Sadler. Did that mean there was nothing here?
The carpet softened my steps as I hurried from casket to casket. Each casket had two separate lids. The upper one was open, the bottom closed. Katie was small. Could
she be tied and gagged? Her little body stuffed at the foot of one of these death boxes?
she be tied and gagged? Her little body stuffed at the foot of one of these death boxes?
I shuddered.
At each casket, I reached under the drape that separated the head from the foot. All I found were the L-shaped handles and some papers explaining the virtues of the casket.
My emotional disposition moved from apprehension to bitter despair. My light picked up the muted hues of the purple casket that I'd admired the day I'd been here with Margaret.
The lid was closed.
She had said she was going to return it. I advanced with trepidation. What if Katie was dead?
“Shut up,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
The lid wasn't entirely down. One of those L-shaped rods had been wedged under the seal to keep it from being airtight. I needed both hands. I gripped the end of the flashlight with my teeth and pushed my fingertips under the lid. Dread brought goosebumps to my arms. Blood thundered in my ears. I heard the heavy plunk as the rod fell to the floor. But I didn't give it a second thought. My eyes were on Katie.
I took the light out of my mouth and played it over her. She looked peaceful. Her clothing smoothed and arranged. Her hands clasped across her stomach. Her eyes closed. Her skin â¦
I licked my dry lips and put a trembling hand against the flesh of her cheeks.
Warm. Gloriously, deliciously alive and warm.
Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled over their rims. I blinked to clear my vision.
“Katie,” I whispered urgently. “Wake up, honey.”
She didn't move.
I put the light to her closed eyes and jostled her thin shoulder. “Katie,” I said, more fiercely. “Wake up. Come on. Open your eyes.”
Nothing.
I laid the flashlight on the curved lid of the casket, then I eased my hands under her unresponsive body. She was as limp as a flower left too long without water. Softly, I talked to her, trying to penetrate the dark recesses of her mind.
Drugs? Margaret had been a nurse before she'd become anâundertaker. I deliberately substituted this word for funeral director. The woman was a disgrace to her profession. A mockery of all the people who'd allowed her into their lives at a time when they were at their most vulnerable.
“Move your arms, Katie,” I instructed. “Grab my neck. Help me,” I implored her.
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