Angel at Troublesome Creek (21 page)

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Authors: Mignon F. Ballard

BOOK: Angel at Troublesome Creek
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P
hysical labor is supposed to be a calming process. It wasn’t. I picked up pots and pans, stacked them in my gaping cabinets, collected the strewn contents of dresser drawers, straightened a lampshade here, a sofa cushion there, and all the time I was thinking,
somebody is watching me, somebody is waiting. Waiting for me to lead them to the Bible
. They had killed for that Bible and I didn’t think they would have any qualms about doing it again, only this time the victim would be me—Mary George Murphy!
Uncle Ben had asked me to bring the family Bible along as proof of our kinship, but a birth certificate would do as well, and I had a copy of mine. The person who killed Aunt Caroline hadn’t meant for me to learn about my rich old uncle Ben who was just about to totter into the Everlasting Arms. But now that I had, there was only one solution. I had to be eliminated. Then the Bible, of course, would be destroyed. The stark reality of my predicament was not reassuring.
If anything happened to me, who would suspect that an Orphan Annie like Mary George Murphy might stand between my aunt’s killer and Uncle Ben’s fortune?
Delia would know about my family connections. And Sam—although I wasn’t sure Sam believed me. And that wasn’t all I wasn’t sure of about Sam Maguire. He had dropped back into my life with his familiar Peter Pan enthusiasm, and now he was gone. Again. Where?
Doc Nichols knew about the family Bible, and with my permission had locked it in his safe deposit box at Troublesome Creek National Bank until I needed it for my meeting with Uncle Ben. The doc would create a great big stink if somebody did me in, I was sure of it. But would the killer care? I doubted it.
And then there was Kent. He had followed me to the post office and home again. Quite possibly, he had even set fire to the garage on Snapfinger Road so he could search my apartment … and then had the nerve to warn me before he disappeared. I flopped on the sofa and pulled Hairy’s big head into my lap. Had Kent Coffey warned me against himself?
Kent Coffey.
Coffey.
When I made the connection, it blinked in my brain like a misspelled word on a computer screen, and I ran to the kitchen for Aunt Caroline’s copy of
Troublesome Creek Cooks.
There it was, just where I’d left it on the shelf by the sink, only the page with the recipe was missing. I thumbed slowly, carefully through the book, shook the pages, but it just wasn’t there. Never mind. I remembered seeing the page my aunt had marked in the open cookbook in her kitchen, and it was turned to a
coffee
dessert!
Aunt Caroline hadn’t had time to write a note, point a finger when the murderer appeared at her door. But somehow she’d managed to stall him in her kitchen long enough to leave a clue. I remembered now that Delia had questioned her plans to serve a fattening dessert when everyone was dieting.
When Fronie Temple appeared at my door a few minutes later I was almost glad to see her. At least she hadn’t brought one of her inedible concoctions.
“Heard you had another visitor last night, and thought you might need a hand putting things straight. I feel just awful about this, Mary George. Wish there were something more I could do.” My landlady stood in the doorway fingering her bright purple necklace and waited to be asked in. “Sorry to hear about that fire at your homeplace—don’t hold your breath till they find out who did it. I swear, I think I could dig up every one of those azaleas in front of city hall and cart them off in a wheelbarrow in broad open daylight, and those lazy police wouldn’t notice a thing!”
“Miss Fronie,” I began, ushering her inside. “Tell me what you know about Kent Coffey.”
“I know he’s gone. Left in the middle of the night owing two months rent.” She stood in my living room looking about, shaking her head. “And to think I trusted that young man, gave him the benefit of the doubt. Why, I even recommended him to paint your aunt Caroline’s portrait for the choir room. Reckon he’s gone off with that too.”
She looked so old, so tired and forlorn that I went over and put my arms around her. I was going to tell her about the portrait when the phone rang in my bedroom.
“I hear that movie-star-looking fellow upstairs from you has given them the slip,” Delia Sims said. “Bet you ten to one he set that fire, Mary George. After that box you got at the post office, I reckon.” She paused. “Didn’t find it, did he?”
“Don’t worry, the Bible’s safe,” I whispered, glancing through the door at Fronie preening in the mirror over my living room sofa. “Look, I have lots to tell you, but I can’t talk now. Why don’t you ride with me over to Hunters’ Oak tomorrow? I have a date with a rich uncle.”
“You have a date with who? What are you talking about?”
“I still have a relative living in Hunters’ Oak,” I said. “My father’s uncle, Benjamin Franklin Murphy. He’s filthy rich, has no other kin, and is almost as old as that fruitcake you and Aunt Caroline used to pass back and forth every Christmas.
And
he’s asked me to come for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll call and ask if I can bring a friend.”
“Oh, my goodness, Mary George! Do you suppose that’s what all this is about? Caroline must’ve known, or at least suspected … Dear God! Caroline—my poor Caroline! Now I suppose whoever killed her will be after you!”
I made a face. I didn’t need reminding. “After tomorrow, it will be too late, but I would like somebody to keep me company on the drive over. And frankly, I’m not sure how to get there. You will go with me, won’t you?”
“Well, of course. If Uncle Ben’s as rich as you say, he shouldn’t mind an extra person for dinner. What time do you want to leave?”
“I’ve asked for half a day off, so why don’t we plan on leaving around noon and stopping somewhere for lunch?”
“Suits me,” Delia said. “But where are you staying tonight? Didn’t you tell me they broke your kitchen window? Anyone could get in.”
“Doc sent somebody over to replace that. I’ll be fine right here, and Hairy’s with me; I promise to lock up tight.” With Kent Coffey out of the picture, I felt a little less threatened. If the man were to return, he’d have to face not only Hairy and me but a belligerent landlady as well. “I’ll meet you here around noon,” I said.
“Meanwhile, chew on this, Mary George,” my neighbor said. “If your uncle doesn’t have other heirs, who would inherit after you?”
Some distant relative I’d never heard of? A cutthroat “cause” of some kind? I couldn’t imagine who would go to such lengths to eliminate the competition, and I certainly didn’t want to meet up with them. But then, I reminded myself, probably I already had.
The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that Kent Coffey had murdered my aunt, set fire to Uncle Henry’s garage, and, not finding what he was looking for in my apartment, fled before the police could investigate further.
“I hope you plan to notify the police about your missing tenant,” I told Fronie, “because if you don’t, I will. I think Kent Coffey is guilty of a lot more than running arrears in his rent.”
“To tell you the truth, the thought did cross my mind,” Fronie said. “After all, we never had any trouble like this before. But he seemed such a
sweet
young man, so thoughtful, don’t you know? What on earth do you suppose came over him? Do you think he could be on dope, or something like that?”
I said I didn’t care what Kent Coffey was on as long as he was on his way far from here, but I did call my friend Pat Callaghan at the police station and pass along my suspicions and a description of Kent’s car.
 
 
The next morning Pat phoned just as I was getting out of the shower to report that they hadn’t yet found a trace of Kent or his car, but that Bonita Moody was being dismissed from the hospital and would be staying for a few weeks with a relative.
“Good—as long as it’s not around here,” I said, hoping she would be safe.
“Couldn’t tell you if I knew, which I don’t,” Pat said. “But it’s somewhere out of state, I think.”
I wondered if Augusta had gone along as well, and was beginning to feel completely abandoned when Delia phoned to see if I’d survived the night.
“Oh, goody,” she said when I answered. “I’d be most disappointed to learn you hadn’t made it after you promised to buy my lunch today.”
I laughed. “Then I hope you like barbecue. Doc told me about this great place near Albemarle if you can hold off that long.”
“I’ll be on your doorstep before noon,” she said.
But she wasn’t. When I reached home at a little after twelve that day I found a note on my door written on the back of an envelope.
Tried to call you at work, but line was busy. Got a call from realtor—somebody from out of town made an offer on my house and they want to meet for lunch. Sorry—I hate this, but won’t be able to go with you. Call when you get back!
Delia
 
The phone was ringing as I let myself inside and I hurried to answer. I hadn’t been aware that Delia had made a decision about selling her house. Maybe she’d changed her mind about going with me. I dreaded driving across the state alone, and I was terrified of meeting tyrannical Uncle Ben.
“Mary G.!” Sam said. “Boy, am I glad I caught you. They told me at the vet’s you were on your way to—what’s the name of that place again?”
“Hunters’ Oak,” I said. “And where are you? Didn’t know they had telephones at Lake Catchacold—or wherever it is you went.”
“The truth is, we didn’t catch much of anything and I came back a day early. I’m at a gas station just on the other side of Charlotte … and do I detect maybe the faintest hint of resentment? What’s the matter, Mary G.?”
“I was there when you left that message at Delia’s,” I said. Now, why did I tell him that?
“Oh. Well, damn, Mary G.! Now you’ve ruined it. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Ruined what?” I looked at my watch. “Look, I’ve got to hurry. If I’m late, Uncle Ben might not leave me his millions.”
“Ruined my surprise. Remember our buddy Cindy? Used to help in the kitchen at Summerwood? I’ve found her, Mary George. She’s cooking at this resort in the north Georgia mountains—says they’re all a bunch of old farts, and wants to get out. I think I may have talked her into coming to the camp, or at least giving it a try, and she’s going to stay with Delia until we can work something out … .
“Uncle Ben? What millions?” Sam did the backstep all over his tongue.
“I’ll have to tell you later. I’m on my way to meet him right now, and it takes several hours to get there.” But I just had to know. “How did you ever find Cindy?”
“Mr. Mac told me about her. Seems they kept in touch. And I was in the area anyway, so I stopped in for a visit. Told her about you … and that’s not all, Mary G. I think we might be able to—”
“Sam, really, I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. Look, I know where Hunters’ Oak is. Why don’t I meet you for lunch somewhere? We’ll leave my car and ride together. That is, if you’d like the company.”
I’d like the company very much and told him so. “Delia stood me up,” I said, and told him about her note. “So I guess you’ll have to do.”
We agreed to meet at the barbecue restaurant in Albemarle.
If only it were closer!
I thought. I changed into a sea green sundress with full skirt and modest jacket I hoped would meet with my elderly uncle’s approval, then fed Hairy and let him out for a quick run; Doc had promised to stop and check on him after work. I was on my way to the car when Fronie appeared as suddenly as if she’d been dreamed up by a genie with bad fashion sense.
She wore a polyester pants suit of a large floral design in neon pink, some sort of zebra-striped turbanlike head covering, and carried a picnic hamper the size of Alabama.
“Mary George, I hope this isn’t an intrusion, but Delia told me she wasn’t going to be able to ride over to Hunters’ Oak with you, and I wondered if you’d mind if I went along?” My landlady lifted the basket as she spoke. It looked heavy. Real heavy. “Thought you might like a little something to eat along the way. Made some of my poppyseed muffins fresh today.”
Right. And the ones you brought Aunt Caroline were stale!
I remembered. “I’m sorry, Miss Fronie,” I said. “But I’m meeting a friend for lunch, and I really don’t know how long I’ll be. It might be late.”
“That’s all right, honey. I just want a ride to see some kinfolks over there. My first husband was from Hunters’ Oak, you know, and I never get a chance to visit. They’re always gettin’ on to me about that.”
Fronie swung the hamper onto the backseat and slammed the door. “Oh, well, I’ll just bring this along. You never know when we might get hungry.”
I stood speechless with my hand on the door handle. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to say, “Bug off, you frumpy old bag! Can’t you see I want to be alone with my sweetie?” But Aunt Caroline’s gentle ghost would haunt me.

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