Slip and Go Die (A Parson's Cove Mystery) (6 page)

By the time I’d turned back to her, Esther was flying out the door, her scarf dragging along the floor. Her red hat flew off and landed on top of a box of Beulah’s old ornaments. She slammed the door. Everything on the shelves jiggled and fortunately, only an old copy of
How Green is My Valley
fell to the floor.

Unfortunately, for Esther, part of her scarf stayed in the store. She tried tugging on it a couple of times from outside but it didn’t give. I always make sure my doors close tightly.

Flori and I walked over to the window and watched in amazement as Esther ran across the street, jumping over snow banks. When she was finally out of sight, I opened the door and retrieved her scarf. Now she would have to return. There was no way she would let me keep her hat and scarf. She’d probably stay awake half the night, worried I might sell them. Besides, she had to return; I had a lot of questions for that woman.

“What did you think of that?” I asked.

“I think we really spooked her. I don’t understand why though. It’s not as if we’re ever especially nice to her. Do you think that finding the body was difficult for her, Mabel? Maybe we upset her with all our accusations.” Her eyes were starting to glisten with unshed tears. “I mean, Esther is a human being. She does have feelings.”

“No, she doesn’t.” There was no way that I was going to get sentimental over Esther. I walked to the counter. I needed a cup of coffee, too. “She’s up to no good, Flori. Something’s going on and I’m going to find out what it is.”

Flori closed her eyes and groaned, very loudly.

Chapter Six

Finally, we had a break in the weather. Buzz, from the Post Office, told me that the high-pressure system that had been hanging over us for the past week had moved eastward and we were getting some warm air up from the Gulf. I really didn’t care if there was a low or high sitting above us; all I cared about was the change in temperature. I don’t understand high and low pressure systems anymore than the meteorologists do. Except I’m honest and say that I don’t. It was good to see the streets become active again. Everyone had a smile on his or her face. Some were rushing to get stocked up on groceries again, just in case we got another burst of cold.

Another activity takes over in Parson’s Cove when we have a few warm winter days. Personally, I think they have all lost their minds but who am I to judge? If a person wants to go out on the ice, on the lake in some little shack and sit for hours, freezing their behind, with a fishing rod in his hand, staring into a small hole, go right ahead. I’d just as soon watch paint dry.

Flori, of course, was quite happy that Jake decided to get out all his fishing gear. She realized why he was enjoying it so much when she caught him pouring whiskey into his thermos of coffee.

“You know what, Mabel?” she said. “I didn’t say a word. At least, it’s better than hunting. I mean, I can’t stop him from doing everything, can I? Besides, it keeps him out from underfoot.”

She was right when she said it was better than hunting. The entire town of Parson’s Cove breathed a sigh of relief when Jake finally gave that up. (Although I hear the Johnson family still won’t let him on their land after he shot their Great Dane, believing it to be a deer.)

There was, however, another side benefit to the ice fishing. A few city stragglers wandered in to try their hand at it. Most only came in for a day. They didn’t have shacks to sit in and I guess it gets somewhat cool when a brisk wind whips across the ice. Not that the men of Parson’s Cove don’t feel sorry for them; it’s just that we share our lake all summer–give us a break! As a result, no one talks to the city folk and no one offers their shack for them to warm up. So, after an hour or two of shivering, they come into town for coffee or a meal before heading back home. The folks at Main Street Café treat them very politely and invite them to return. Not too often, but once in awhile, one of them will stop by my place to pick up a little something for his wife, who probably sits at home feeling sorry for herself, hoping she doesn’t have to clean fish.

Reg Smee dropped in about ten to pick up some books for Beth, his wife.

“She’s got some kind of bug,” he said. “Soon as the weather changes, she ends up sick in bed.”

He finally chose a cup after peering inside each one and poured himself a coffee.

“By the way, you selling any of Beulah’s things?”

“Well, this is really the first half-decent day, Reg. There should be a few people in tomorrow. Most of them are getting groceries today. I did put a sign in the window.”

He sat down in the wicker chair and held his coffee cup on his knee. The first thing he’d done when he came in was remove his hat. It was now perched on top of a wooden coat rack, which I’d explained umpteen dozen times, was not for customers to use–it was for them to buy. Sometimes, I declare, I doubt English is his first language. His size forty-six winter jacket hung below it. To stop the whole thing from toppling onto the floor, he’d hooked the wooden Coke box, my footrest, on the hook opposite his coat.

He cleared his throat. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about, Mabel.”

Oh, oh. I knew something was up. Reg has to have a reason for clearing his throat. Personally, I think our police chief doesn’t have enough work to occupy his days. And, as I always say, ‘idle hands make for a lot of time being spent in foolish and mundane endeavors.’

“I don’t think you should have said that if all of Beulah’s things weren’t sold that you’d have to close your store and go on government aid.”

I walked behind the counter and pulled out a bag of my homemade muffins. It was a good thing I’d happened to bring Reg’s favorite. His eyes lit up when he saw them.

“Well, it’s the truth.” I placed four strawberry muffins on a plate. “Want me to warm these up in the microwave?”

“Sure.” He was beginning to drool.

“Besides, don’t you think that might help me get rid of all this?” I waved my arm to take in the whole room. “Or, at least, some of it?” I looked at him. “There must be enough stuff here to pay for three furnaces. Never mind a furnace and coffin. What will we do with what’s left over? Go to Hawaii for the winter?”

His gaze followed my arm. There were boxes I hadn’t even attempted to unpack yet. I had stacked them, one on top of the other, in a corner. The top box was about six inches from the ceiling. There wasn’t a spare inch of space on any of my shelves; some items were stacked three layers high. There was one narrow path from the door to the counter and a narrower one between each row of shelves.

I handed him a warm muffin wrapped in a napkin.

“I didn’t mean you and me go to Hawaii, you know.”

Reg grunted; his mind was only on his stomach.

Here,” I said, “let me warm your coffee.”

For a few moments neither of us spoke. Reg chewed, swallowed, drank, swallowed.

“Maybe you could find a nicer way of saying it,” he said finally, as he wiped crumbs from his chin.

“Saying what? You and me going to Hawaii?”

“No. The sign in the window. Maybe you can word it differently.”

“Why? Who complained?”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I want to know who it was, Reg. If I knew who it was I could go and explain my situation to them.”

He shook his head as he reached for another muffin.

“No, that wouldn’t make any difference.” He put almost half the muffin in his mouth.

“That means it was Esther.”

He took a swallow of coffee to wash down the muffin.

“I didn’t say it was Esther.”

“You didn’t have to.” Darn that woman anyway. Just because I didn’t want to get ‘in’ on something with her, she was going to make sure my life was ruined.

He picked up his third muffin.

“By the way, Reg, did she ever tell you what she was doing out at Beulah’s that day? You know, when she found the body?”

Reg took a long drink of coffee, tipping it up to get the last drop.

“Mabel,” he said, placing the empty cup on the counter, “this is a free country, you know. Esther has as much right to go out to Beulah’s as any of the rest of us do. Would you want to be questioned everywhere you went?”

“That’s not the point. The point is Beulah is dead. What was Esther doing out there?”

Reg stood up and walked over to his coat. He carefully removed the Coke box with one hand and his jacket with other. The coat rack swayed back and forth a couple of times but stayed upright.

Before putting on his coat, he stood still for a moment and gave me a stern look.

“That’s right, Mabel. Esther went out to Beulah’s and found the body. Now, stop and think about this, if it’s at all possible for you to do: if Esther was guilty of something, why did she phone to tell me? She was out in the bush, no houses for miles around, all alone with a dead body. She could have gone back home and no one might have found Beulah until spring thaw. Have you thought of that, Miss Wickles?”

Chapter Seven

“He has a point, Mabel,” Flori said after I’d repeated Reg’s thoughts to her.

Flori had popped in that afternoon for a cup of tea (she claimed that she was ‘coffee-ed out’). Jake was still out on the lake, doing either lots of drinking or lots of fishing. Perhaps, both. There were worry lines around her eyes. I didn’t want to upset her but it seemed to me that she was starting to miss him hanging round the house and messing up her day more than what she claimed. There was always the worry, I suppose, that he might have one too many shots of whiskey and fall through the fishing hole. Of course, I didn’t mention that. If she began to stay at home waiting for Jake every day, she’d never come to visit.

“But, something’s going on. Why in the world would Esther go out there in the first place? Has she shared that information with the sheriff? And, I mean the truth. She’s hiding something. Besides, how did she get out there? Even if she did drive, she could go only so far and then have to walk at least half a mile up to the cabin. The road up to the house wouldn’t be ploughed out.” I shook my head. “There’s no way Esther would go to all that work to say ‘howdy’ to someone. She wouldn’t even do that for her own mother; you know that. No, Flori, she’s up to no good.”

Flori scowled at me over the top of her cup.

“It’s not a half a mile up to the house.”

“Well, whatever. That’s not the point. It’s a long walk, that’s all I’m saying.”

“You know I always stick by you, sweetie. This time I think I have to agree with Reg though. There’s absolutely no reason to blame Esther for anything. There is no mystery to the death. Beulah was elderly; she slipped and fell. Esther happened to be visiting her for some reason, which doesn’t happen to be any of our business, and she found Beulah. She phoned Reg. End of story.”

I tried to clear a spot on the shelf for one of Beulah’s vases. It was an ugly looking thing. Certainly, no one in Parson’s Cove would be interested in having that on display. Who, in their right mind, would? Why would Beulah have wanted it? Surely, she must have had some taste. Here all this time, I’d thought she was this simple country woman. She was no such person at all; she was an accumulator. An accumulator of ugly things. A hoarder of horrible things.

I sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

Maybe what Esther said was true: I’d met so many criminals in the past couple of years that I was beginning to think like one. Not that I’d planned any of the meetings, some things happen just by chance.

“Say,” Flori said, wanting to change the subject, “have you seen any more people going into Krueger’s old house?”

I shook my head.

“Maybe that was all in my imagination, too.”

Flori grinned. “Would it make you feel better if we went and checked it out?”

My eyebrows involuntarily went up. “You would go back into that house?”

I needn’t remind her that the last time we went snooping around there, we found blood on the basement floor.

She shrugged. “Life is getting kind of boring, don’t you think? That’s why you want to find out about Esther–you’re yearning for some excitement.”