Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

“Yes, that would be my guess.”

“Then the police need to know about this.”

She scoffed. “No way. This stuff is from Carrie’s childhood. It has nothing to do with what’s happening today.”

“You may be right, but this is a murder investigation. I don’t think the police would want us withholding something they hadn’t had a chance to study themselves.”

Rose shook her head. “You read too many mysteries.”

D
etective Oberton arrived at Carrie’s house within fifteen minutes of our call. He stormed through the front door
—
scowling. “What do you mean you discovered a box hidden behind a wall? Who gave you permission to tear walls down?”

“I didn’t do it deliberately,” I protested.  But I didn’t tell him that I’d given that little tab-like thing a good-sized tug.

“That’s right,” Rose joined in. “She was just helping me sort through the household goods. We were at work in the bedroom, and Hetty was in the closet.”

“Why are you two doing that kind of work?” Oberton demanded. “You’re not related to the family. Neither one of you.”

“Please, won’t you sit down?” I asked, waving him toward the couch.

He folded himself onto the sofa, but his mood didn’t seem to improve any.

Meanwhile, I summoned up my most pleasant smile. “As for why we’re here, Carrie’s niece asked us to go through the house for her. As to the wall, I stumbled against it, and it gave way. I don’t know why.”

“In the bedroom closet, you say?”

“Yes, she was in there packing up Carrie’s clothes.”

I nodded, giving Rose a thankful glance for her continued support. “Anyway, the hole is ancient history now. I thought you’d be more interested in the box.” I let my gaze drift to the container which now sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Oberton frowned.  “I suppose you’ve both stuck your noses into it?”

“We opened the box and looked inside,” I confessed.

“And did you touch anything?”

I thought about lying, but what was the point? I doubted he’d believe us, besides, I suspected he could always check for fingerprints. I sighed. “I suppose we shouldn’t have. It’s just that we didn’t think of that then.”

He mumbled something which sounded awfully close to a  nasty word.

I felt my cheeks flush. “It’s hard, you know, when you find a box hidden behind a wall not to be curious.”

It was his turn to sigh. “So what’s in there?”

I listed the contents.

“Did you read the diary?” he asked

“Some of it. But Carrie had apparently written the entries when she was young. It didn’t seem to contain anything to explain her murder.”

“Did it mention Mrs. Whitcomb?”

“The woman Carrie cleaned for?”

Oberton nodded.

“Not that I noticed. Again, I think it was all stuff from her youth. Why she’d have stashed it behind a wall… I can’t say.”

Rose leaned forward. “Do you think it’s tied to the murder?”

“I can hardly answer your question at this point. But from what you say, it sounds doubtful.” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “I’ll take a look at that closet and the wall and then be on my way. Are you two finished cleaning?”

Rose shook her head. “We’d just begun. We have the rest of the house to go through yet.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “But I would think most of the day.”

“Well, give me a jangle when you’re done, please.”

“Why?” I asked.

He looked at me and smiled sadly. “Because I think I’m going to want to keep a close eye on the pair of you.”

***

That evening when I returned home I found Andrew waiting for me just inside the front door. “Well, you’ve had quite a day,” he said with his boyish grin. “A hidden box. A hacked off detective.”

I removed my outer gear and stuffed it away in the closet. Then, lowering my head, I stomped off to the kitchen. I’d had a tough day. I didn’t fancy undergoing a play by play of the day’s problems.

“You should make nice with that detective,” Andrew said.

I pulled the kettle from off the stove and filled it with water. “I’m trying.”

My ghost  lifted his chin and stared down his nose at me. “Try harder.”

I gave him a scathing glance. “Says he who haunts people for fun.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I had any options.”

My heart sank at the sound of sorrow in his voice. I lowered my head from the weight of the guilt it carried. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, really.”

I reviewed our conversation and did an internal eye roll. I was holding a conversation with a man who claimed to be a ghost. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. I took a deep breath.  “Anyway, I learned today that Carrie and I shared a weakness.”

“What’s that?

“Ghosts.”

“She had one, too?”

I nodded. “We found a diary in Carrie’s house.”

“I know that.”

My jaw clenched shut for an instant. “Anyway, in it she’d written about her teenage crush on a boy named Tim. I had a feeling that was the only reason for the box. It was to hold the things that connected her with her first love. I didn’t mention my opinion to anyone, but that’s what I thought its purpose was.”

His voice softened. “Are you telling me you’ve saved some of my things?”

I nodded, blinking back tears. “I still have my favorite photos of you. And I kept many of your letters.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I loved my husband,” I suddenly protested. “You must understand that.”

“And I’m glad. Hetty, I never wanted you to go through life alone.”

I shook my head. I was standing here explaining myself to what was probably nothing more than a creature from my imagination.

If my daughter ever learned of my present condition, she’d doubtless lock me away in an old person’s home in a heartbeat
—
and rightfully so.

Behind me, the kettle sent forth  its shrill blast. It was tea time. Ghosts and daughters and the state of my mind could be sorted out another day. I’d earned myself a welcome break
—
  for now.

***

Although I didn’t know why, the next morning found me more pulled together than I’d been in a while. It might have had something to do with Andrew’s absence from the kitchen. In fact, I hadn’t seen him in any of his usual haunts. Perhaps my imagination had given me a break and slapped a muzzle on my would-be ghost.

Pleased with that thought, I tossed down a glass of orange juice and nibbled on a piece of toast. Finally, I fixed a bowl of cat food for Blackie.

He usually went easy on my morning offering, preferring to load up on real chunks of beef or chicken or pork from my evening meal instead. There was no question about it. Blackie was one very smart cat.

But since I’d skipped supper last night, I thought he might be hungry enough to lower his standards this morning. Not that he’d shown up in the kitchen so far. I figured he was still ticked with me for leaving him alone with Andrew yesterday. They still hadn’t shown any signs of turning into best buddies.

I placed the cat food on the floor and refreshed his water. Then, I returned to my bedroom and changed into a blouse and a pair of slacks. Oberton’s mention of Mrs. Whitcomb’s name yesterday had stimulated my curiosity. I couldn’t help wondering if her death could have any connection to Carrie’s murder. So  just after waking this morning, I’d decided to scratch my newly found itch.

But first, I called Rose to ask what year Mrs. Whitcomb had died. She didn’t seem to understand why I cared, but she eventually came up with  an approximate date. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the year right, at least,” she said. “And don’t forget Carrie’s nephews are due in today. They’ll be here about ten.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. At some point yesterday, I’d promised to help her greet the men. But I had plenty of time to visit the library first. So after hanging up, I donned coat, hat, and gloves and headed out into the crisp, cold day.

The Hendricksville Public LIbrary sits about two blocks off the downtown square. At one time, the square was the center of the city’s shopping life. But as the town’s population shrank, businesses had fled. Or so my daughter had told me.

Now, the square boasted a couple of taverns, a trendy antique mall, and a bank. I thought it remarkable that a town this small managed to support a public library, but Rose had said residents had approved a referendum that guaranteed funding for several years to come.

In addition to books, many by my favorite authors, the library also housed back issues of old newspapers on microfilm. I intended to prowl through the films to learn more about Mrs. Whitcomb and her death.

After pulling my car into the parking lot, I set off at a fast clip for the door. The building I entered was a large, old, red-brick affair. It smelled of dust and long-time use. The microfilm reader was located at the far end of a short hallway. A large wooden chest containing the microfilm rolls stood beside it. I located the drawer with the correct year and pulled forth a film of the
Weaverton Chronicle
.

Weaverton was the largest town in the county and was also our county seat. Its newspaper covered events not just there but also those that happened in the small towns around it, Hendricksville included.

Taking a seat, I switched on the machine and fed the film through the correct slots. Then scrolling forward, I scanned the pages in search of news of the woman’s death. Prowling through an entire year would be slow going, but my curiosity was up and so was my determination.

My search took a while, but I finally spotted the story in an October issue. Police first said it was believed the woman had fallen from the cliff. The story said her body had been found near the river by a fisherman. The next day the report was updated. It said a suicide note had been recovered from her home, and it was now thought the woman had plunged to her death deliberately. Mrs. Whitcomb’s sister, a Paula Barstow, had apparently told police her sister had been depressed, although the article did not say why.

The obit on a later page, listed a husband, Arthur Whitcomb. He’d died two years earlier. There apparently were no children. Other relatives included the surviving sister and a nephew.

I rewound the film and started over again, this time pouring through the pages to see if I could find any more information on the deceased. Midsummer, I found an article in the business section which listed Mrs. Whitcomb as a newly named bank officer at First Federal. It seemed an unlikely appointment for someone who was allegedly depressed.

Satisfied that I’d collected as much information as I could, I returned the film to its drawer and set off for Rose’s house.

After leaving the library, I headed straight for Rose’s house. My search had taken me  longer than I’d expected. I only hoped I hadn’t missed the appointment with the nephews.

“They should be here in another half hour or so,” Rose said as she slammed the door shut behind me. I couldn’t blame her. A nasty wind had come up and was pushing cold air into her living room right along with me.

“Let me have your things,” she said. I shifted out of my winter gear and passed them to her.

After squaring them away in the closet, she said she had a coffee cake in the oven. “I hope you don’t mind hanging out in the kitchen until the boys arrive?”

“It’s always been my favorite room. So tell me, are you nervous at the thought of the family about to descend?”

“Some. I haven’t seen the boys since they were little. Jennifer used to come down once in a while, but not the boys.”

I laughed inwardly at her use of the word boys to describe Carrie’s nephews. They had to be full-grown men by now. My thoughts next turned to Carrie’s husband. I wondered if he’d been the reason that box had been concealed behind the wall? He very well might have been a jealous man. The kind of man who would not take kindly to the idea of his wife stashing away memories of a youthful love.

I could only hope Carrie’d enjoyed a better relationship with her employer. “So what would it have been like, cleaning for Mrs. Whitcomb?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It couldn’t have been easy. That woman was a tiger.”

“Mrs. Whitcomb was difficult, too?”

Poor Carrie.

“Yes, she was as bold as Carrie was meek. I doubt my friend got away with much.”

I sat at the table. Rose proceeded on to the sink, where she grabbed a clean mug from the dish drainer.

“When is Jennifer coming?”

“She’s not due in until just before the visitation.”

“I’d think she’d want to hang out with her brothers for a while before the service.”

“I don’t think anyone in that family was all that close. Not Carrie or her sister or the kids.”

“Huh. I hope the nephews don’t mind our having sorted through the house.”

“That’s not down to us,” she said, delivering steaming coffee mugs to the table. “Jennifer was the one that wanted the work done. I suspect we’re safe. I doubt they wanted to be bothered with the work.”

“That’s not so unusual. Carrie wasn’t their mother, after all.”

Rose snorted. “Or ours, either.”

***

A strong headwind that day blew the two nephews into Rose’s house later than we’d been expecting. But now they stood, tall and windblown in the hall, while I collected their coats. Their names, I learned, were Hank and Chester.

The latter looked to be the older brother and was perhaps somewhere near fifty. Hank appeared to be about ten years younger. But they both looked so little like each other that, if we’d not been introduced,  I’d never have dreamed they were related.

Chester, with his gray hair and round glasses, appeared to be bookish. Hank was still dark haired with a square cut chin. He  looked rugged. I suspected a book was the last thing he’d ever want to lay hands on.

Introductions completed, Rose directed us to the dining room where she had a coffee cake and a large pot of coffee waiting.

Chester sat across from me and smiled graciously at our hostess. “Thank you, Mrs. Stark. This is very kind. My flight left early this morning so breakfast was rushed. Airlines today don’t hand out much in the way of food any more. And they certainly don’t serve anything as good as what you’ve got here.”

Hank mumbled his thanks as well. But he didn’t appear to be nearly as sociable a man as Chester. Even their personalities differed wildly.

Rose placed generous servings of coffee cake on the dainty plates by her elbow. She then passed them round to us.

At my first bite, I closed my eyes in pleasure. “Delicious.” Not being a good baker, I always appreciated a tasty offering from the oven.

Rose thanked me, then updated the men on our work in their aunt’s home.

At the end of her tale, Chester expressed his gratitude for our efforts. “It was very kind of you to undertake such a thankless task. Still, I doubt there’s much I’ll want to keep. We weren’t all that close to Aunt Carrie.”

Upon questioning by me,  Chester told us he lived in just outside Boston, where he taught high school history. “I enjoy the work very much,” he said, “The students make a wonderful challenge.”

I noted the wedding ring. “Your wife couldn’t come?”

“No, Sarah also a teacher. And she’s right in the middle of introducing long division to her poor little victims… ah… students, that is. She felt leaving that job in the hands of a substitute teacher just now was not a good idea.”

“Do you have any children of your own?”

“Yes. A boy and girl... both teenagers.” He paused for a sip of coffee.

“That’s such an interesting age.”

He swallowed and returned his cup to the saucer. “They’re good kids, thank heavens. But they still manage to keep us on our toes.”

I turned to Hank. “And what do you do?”

He shot me a quick glance. “I work for an electrical company.”

“My brother’s a supervisor for them. He travels all over the state. He’s also, by the way, an excellent skier.”

“Oh, that’s right. You live in Wyoming, don’t you? The scenery must be beautiful.”

“It is.”

His brother shook his head. “Go on, fess up. You only live there because of the skiing. If Hank had learned to ski when he was younger, he could have made the Olympics. He’s that good.”

“And are you married?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. I’m pleased to say no one’s tying me down.”

“Really, Hank,” Chester said, “there’s no need to be flippant. Hank’s been married, but now he’s not.”

Hank nodded and shovelled in the last bite of coffee cake and followed it up with a big gulp of coffee. I suspected mountain peaks and wide open skies would seem pretty attractive to him right now.

“Well,” Chester said, shoving his plate aside, “should we go face the ordeal?”

From here, Rose was taking the men to Carrie’s house. I’d begged off going with them. There was nothing I could do now that we’d packed up most of the stray bits and pieces. The rest of it was their business as far as I was concerned. But I was glad to have had a chance to meet them.

***

I arrived home that day to find the phone ringing. I dashed through to the kitchen and snatched up the receiver.

“Mom,” Megan said, “where have you been?”

“I told you I was going to Rose’s place this morning to meet Carrie’s nephews.”

“That’s right. You did. Sorry, I guess I forgot.”

“Is there something you need?”

“No, I just wanted to check on you.”

I closed my eyes. My daughter’s desire to keep tabs on me was the reason I’d moved to Hendricksville. And it was nice to know I lived in the same town as Megan. But sometimes I found her tendency to worry a bit overwhelming.

“Is Jeremy sleeping any better?” I asked. My youngest grandson would turn six months in a few days and had been keeping the entire household up at night with his teething.

“The tooth’s through. He’s doing much better now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Listen, are you sure you’re okay.”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Finding a dead body can’t be easy. Plus, the killer hasn’t been caught yet. Maybe you should bunk up with us for a while.”

“No, thanks dear. It’s kind of you to offer. But I’m fine here. Blackie would claw the eyes out of anyone who tried to harm me.” I glanced down at my little boy who had just strolled up beside my ankles.

“I think you give that cat of yours far too much credit,” Megan replied.

I smiled. “That’s impossible.”

Megan wasn’t happy with my decision, she’s have preferred I’d moved to her place. But after another few minutes of debate, she gave up. I replaced the receiver in the cradle.

Me scared to be alone in my own home? Never.

I leaned down and scooped Blackie into my arms. “You’d protect me, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re still spoiling that dumb animal, I see,” Andrew said.

I gasped. I hadn’t seen him materialize, but there he was, hovering near the stove. Meanwhile Blackie laid his ears back and hissed.

“Would you both cut that out!”

“Cut what out?” Andrew asked.

“Sniping at each other.”

“Don’t look at me.”

I sighed. “And would you also stop popping up like that. It startles the heck out of me.”

He shrugged. “What should I do? You can’t put a bell on me like a cow to tell you when I’m around.. I don’t have a bone in my body to hang in on.”

“Ugh. I’m sorry, but that’s just too much information for me.”

He chortled. “You’ll just have to get used to having me round.... whenever and wherever.”

I’d been so hopeful that my subconscious had decided to quit throwing him up at me. But obviously that hadn’t been the case. Maybe, I should have taken my daughter up on her offer of a temporary home.

But Blackie didn’t really enjoy spending time around children. The boys were too loud and too active for him.

Now, all I had to do was get used to living with these two.

***

The day of Carrie Flynt’s funeral dawned bright and cold and brittle. I sat at the table munching a bowl of cornflakes and reading the newspaper. Blackie was happily lapping up a saucer of milk.

“What’s happening in this old burg,” Andrew asked.

I twisted my neck and gazed up at him. He was hovering over my shoulder.

“Really, can’t you wait until I’m finished with the paper to read it?”

He shrugged. “I would if I could, but I can’t turn the pages… no bones in the old fingers, you know..”

I sighed.

“Are you going?” he asked.

“Going where?”

“To the funeral.”

“Yes, I was planning on it, why?”

“Be careful.”

I looked back up at him. “Whatever for?”

“Because the murderer usually shows up at the funeral.”

I scoffed. “Where did you come up with that nonsense?”

“I’ve watched every one of those mystery shows on TV right along with you. I know about these things.”

“Congratulations,” I said dryly.

“Anyway, detectives always seem to expect the killer to turn up at the funeral.”

I smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out. Not that I’d know the killer even if he or she was there. So far, I haven’t come up with anything interesting.”

“You found the box hidden behind the closet wall. Didn’t you ever think that might be what got Carrie killed?”

“I would have if it had contained anything the least bit interesting.”

“You might have looked right at something important and not known it,”

“Anything is possible, I suppose. Besides it’s in the hands of the police now. Whatever leads might be there are most probably being followed up by them.”

“That’s an interesting thought. Anyway, I’m going to the funeral with you.”

I gasped. “You can’t. What if someone sees you? How would I explain that?”

“Relax. As I’ve told you, you’re the only person I let see me.”

I rubbed my forehead.
Probably because he wasn’t real.

Unexpectedly, I felt a bitter pang of disappointment. It nearly floored me. Was I beginning to grow comfortable with this ghost’s presence in my life?