Slip and Go Die (A Parson's Cove Mystery) (16 page)

“Oh, Mabel, I’ll just have coffee this morning. Your muffins are delicious but I have to watch my diet.”

“I know but these are full of fruit and fiber. Very healthy.”

Flori smiled and picked up her first one. “Well, as long as they’re healthy, I don’t suppose one would hurt.”

Neither of us said a word until she was half way through her second muffin and I’d poured her another cup of coffee.

“So, why,” she asked, patting her lips with a napkin, “was your phone off the hook? You know you shouldn’t do that, Mabel. What if there were an emergency and someone had to get hold of you?”

“I know it’s a terrible thing to do, but what would you do if the chief of police was sitting at your kitchen table? Don’t you think it would be very bad manners to have the phone ringing all the time, interrupting your conversation?”

“You had the chief of police here?”

I nodded.

“Who’s the chief of police? Someone from the city?”

I shook my head. “No, Flori. Parson’s Cove’s chief of police.”

She still looked puzzled. “I didn’t know we had one.”

“I meant Reg Smee.”

“Ha!” She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s a good one. I’m sure Reg would be thrilled to think you left the phone off the hook for him.” Then, she remembered why he might be visiting, and said, “So, what did he have to say anyway? Have they caught the crooks yet?”

I shook my head. “I think this is one that you and I are going to have to solve. Reg knows less about the case than what I do.” I shook my head again, hoping that Flori would see the seriousness of the situation.

Flori stared at me. Her eyebrows reached up until her bangs completely covered them. Her frozen hair peaks were now starting to thaw and droop.

Her stare turned into a glare. “No, Mabel, we are not going to be solving anything. A bunch of hooligans robbed your store and it’s up to the police to catch the criminals. For all we know, they could be armed with guns and knives. In fact, I’m sure they are. We are not going to lift a finger.” She set her cup down on the table with a bang. “And, what did you mean when you said that you know more about it than Reg does? You better not be accusing Esther again.” She pointed her finger at me. “You can’t just accuse people of things. You have to have proof. How many times do I have to remind you of that?”

“Are you finished?”

She nodded.

“At this very moment,” I whispered, “there is someone in Parson’s Cove who knows who stole all my things.”

“Well, of course there is–the crooks. Why are you whispering?”

“No, Flori. Someone besides the crooks. I’m whispering because the person who witnessed the crime is in danger.”

Flori sighed. “I know, don’t tell me; her life is in danger. Right, Mabel?”

“No, smarty, his life is in danger. What made you think it was a woman?”

She shrugged. “How do you know that it was a man?”

“Because,” I whispered, “he told me. But, he’s afraid to say who it was because the people involved have threatened to hurt him. I don’t dare tell Reg. They specifically said that if he went to the police, they’d go after him.”

Flori’s eyes widened. “Are you making all this up, Mabel?”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.” I was back to talking in my regular voice now. “It simply means that you and I are on our own. We’re going to have to find these people. I need Beulah’s things back. How will I ever pay for my furnace? If I can’t keep my store running, what will I do? I’ll have to sell my house and the shop and then live on the street after the money runs out. Is that what you want to happen to me?”

I tried to make tears come to my eyes but I just don’t have Flori’s talent for that.

“Oh sweetie.” She got up off the chair and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “You know I would do anything for you. I would never let you live on the street.” She straightened up. “You have to tell me what you have in mind though. I’ll do anything for you but I won’t do anything that’s illegal.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I knew I could count on my best friend.”

Notice that I didn’t say a word about not doing anything illegal. My motto is never make a promise that you feel the least bit hesitant about making. For, as Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche said, “One must have a good memory to be able to keep the promises one makes.”

Whatever.

Chapter Twenty

Flori left but swore to me that she wouldn’t tell a soul (that there was a witness to the crime, that is. I wouldn’t give her Charlie’s name because Flori is, after all, just a human being.) By not telling a soul, I was specifically referring to Jake. Not that she means to tell secrets to Jake; it’s just that he has a way of making her talk. I hated to do it but I had no choice. I told her that if she told anyone at all, my life would be as good as over. I would be murdered, chopped into dozens of pieces and thrown into the middle of the lake. (Some folks might refer to that as a lie; I tend to prefer the term, exaggeration. Well, I’d already left my phone off the hook so I might as well go all the way).

Now came the hard part. I had to plan my strategy. How could I flush out the scallywags who had stolen all my things? How could I do that without getting Charlie in trouble?

I decided that I would start at the beginning. The scene of the first crime: Beulah’s murder. Oh, I know, no one believed that it had been a murder. She was old; she’d fallen on the ice; she’d hit her head; Esther had found her body. It was true, Esther had not killed her. But, who had? Had Esther arrived just when the killers were about to steal all her valuables? Had she scared them away and then, when they had all been collected together in my little shop, the creeps had returned and taken everything that they’d intended to take the first time round? That sounded logical to me.

Someone had been snooping in Beulah’s house after she’d died. Perhaps, Reg would like to think it was just some curious youngsters. I doubted that. Someone or some persons were obviously searching for something. This reminded me of what he repeated twice as he was going out the door: why did they take everything? Now it had me wondering–was the person or persons involved searching for only one item? Had they stolen everything because they hadn’t found this item yet or had they taken everything to throw all of us off? This was something I was going to have to find out and time wasn’t standing still. The longer this case lingered on, the harder it would be to solve.

I would start at Beulah’s cabin. Flori wouldn’t be able to get away in the middle of the afternoon with Jake hanging round all the time so I would have to start out on my own. This was assuming that my 1969 Buick would start. I hadn’t had it out of the garage in three months. The insurance was overdue and I hadn’t changed the oil in over two years. The only thing going for the old girl was the fact that the gas tank was full. And, of course, I’d given her a good washing, waxing and vacuuming in the fall.

I had to shovel the snow from the garage to the street. That took over an hour. It was deep and heavy from the few days of warmer weather and then the cold again. As a result, it was almost four by the time I opened the garage door and started up ‘Old Gertrude.’ Perhaps, I should cease from calling her ‘old.’ She puts me to shame. The motor turned over as if it were the third of July. I’m sure that the oil coursing through her veins was thick with cold, but she purred like my cats when I treat them to something other than dried cat food. Reg says that I should appreciate my car more. Maybe he’s right.

I sat in the garage and let the motor run for a few minutes. When I couldn’t see my breath anymore inside and I was sure the motor wasn’t going to conk out, I raced back into the house and picked up a few supplies. Besides a cup of hot coffee in my travel mug, I brought a flashlight, candles, matches, a blanket and several plastic bags (in case there was evidence to retrieve). While I was getting the bags, I spotted my rubber gloves so took those for good measure. No point in leaving prints all over the place and announcing to the world that I was breaking in, right?

A few people turned and stared at me as I drove down the street. I didn’t need the attention but what could I do about it? Personally, I think they’re more interested in my car than they are in me anyway.

It was starting to get dusk by the time I reached the road that led up to Beulah’s cabin. Although the main road was clear, there was almost a foot of snow on the narrow trail leading up to the house. It would have been nice to be able to drive up to the house and keep the car out of sight but I really had no choice. I pulled over to the side as far as I could without getting stuck and turned off the engine.

“You sit here and wait for me,” I said to my trusty Buick as I gave the steering wheel a couple of love taps. “And when I get back, be a good girl and start up again.” I picked up the grocery bag that contained all my detective paraphernalia and added, “And if I don’t get back in an hour, run into town and get Sheriff Smee.”

For some reason that made me feel better.

Chapter Twenty One

The walk to the cabin went faster than I thought it would. There was a faint, partially blown-in trail to follow. I imagine Beulah made it as she walked down to her mailbox at the end of the lane. The snow was so hard in the open places, I could walk on top of it. Where the trees sheltered me from the wind, the drifts were deeper. Twice, my leg fell through but I managed to pull it out without getting too much snow in my boot. The wind was starting up now, whipping snow in my face. By the time I reached the front door, my cheeks didn’t have much feeling left in them.

The cabin had only one door. This I knew because, although I’d never been to her place, I remembered how much Beulah complained about it. She always worried that if there were a fire, she might never get out. There was no backdoor because the building was built right into the hill. I’d driven by many times over the years, even before Beulah had moved in. The whole area looked rustic and breathtakingly beautiful. That was what Beulah had loved. Even with everything covered with snow, it took my breath away. Well, that and the wind.

The door wasn’t locked. I doubt it had ever been. Perhaps, Reg would have preferred to lock it but I doubt there was even a key. Most people who lived out in the country left their doors unlocked even after they moved away and the house sat empty. Especially in the winter. You never knew when someone would need shelter from the cold. Or, someone’s vehicle might break down. Or, as I was learning, a place for lovers to meet.

I stepped inside and switched on the light. Nothing happened. It was a good thing I’d brought the flashlight. The sun had disappeared behind the tree line and there was that gray gloominess that lasts for about half an hour before darkness takes over. It was just light enough that I didn’t trip over any furniture but too dark to see any details. I walked over to the living room window and looked out to the road. The tall old spruce and cedar trees that surrounded the house hid my car completely from view. It would be easy for someone to slip up to the house without being seen. That thought made me shiver.

I turned on my flashlight and did a quick scan of the room. The living room was quite large, at least, bigger than mine (which doesn’t say much; mine is about the size of Jake’s shed). But, even with all this roominess, it would have been crowded with all those heirlooms, or whatever they were. The walls were bare now and I couldn’t see any shelves or bookcases for displaying ornaments. However, the room was filled with lots of overstuffed, ancient furniture, looking very much like Beulah would be back home soon. I’m sure she’d rented it furnished. I didn’t know who the present owners were. Many of the cabins surrounding Parson’s Cove and the lake are owned by people from the city. Or, even from different countries.

Against one wall, jutting almost into the center of the room, was a potbellied stove. The stove pipe went straight up, made a ninety degree turn and then up again, disappearing into the ceiling. The old heater was made of iron and had probably survived the Civil war. ( I could see ‘U.S.A.’ engraved into the door).

A stack of old yellowing newspapers, some kindling and four or five large logs were placed neatly in a tin box along the wall. Now I fully understood why Beulah might be worried about the place catching on fire. At the moment, however, that wasn’t my main concern. My main concern was trying to solve a crime and not freeze to death in the process.

It took all of three minutes to have a rip-roaring fire going. I was counting on no traffic on the road. If someone drove by and saw smoke belching from the chimney and my car parked on the road, I’d be in trouble. I’m not sure what kind of logical explanation I could come up with but I’m sure I’d think of something if the occasion arose. By the end of five minutes, I’d removed my coat, hat and mittens. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps an old wood stove might work at my shop if I had to get rid of my new furnace. I’d have to invest in some good fire insurance if I decided to go that way. It would, however, give the place a rustic touch. I could imagine Flori and me sitting in front of the stove with our feet up on the Coke box, drinking wine and having a great time. After closing, of course.