Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (7 page)

I
f Oberton was surprised by my visit to the station that day, he hid it well. I found him in his office, which was lucky, since I hadn’t bothered to call ahead for an appointment.

Again, he stood to greet me. “Mrs. Fox, how may I help you?”

“Hetty,” I replied. “Everyone just calls me Hetty.”

“Of course, please forgive me. What brings you my way?” He smoothed his tie and pointed me to a chair in front of his desk where I sat. Light from a large window to his right poured into the room, making his office look cheerful, which was a long way from the way I felt just then.

“I think I’ve done something dreadful,” I began.

He smiled reassuringly. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“No, you don’t understand.” I took a deep breath. “I recently came across information about Carrie’s finances, or at least what I thought they should have been. I shared that knowledge with Hank Pickering.  And now…,” I swallowed hard, “...now, he’s dead.”

Oberton leaned toward me, resting his elbows on his desk. “You can’t think anything you said caused his death?”

“I wish I didn’t. But when I told him of his aunt’s inheritance, I think it sparked a memory. And from something he said, I believe he went off to check up on whatever it was. And that’s what got him murdered.”

“I see.” Oberton leaned back in his chair. “Well, first of all, I’m sure his death is not down to anything you did or said. But for my benefit, tell me, what is this inheritance you told him about?”

“It was from Mrs. Whitcomb.”

His brow furrowed. “Mrs. Whitcomb…? She committed suicide a long time ago, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes. That’s the one.”

“So what’s important about her will?”

“Carrie was listed as the only heir. And people around here seem to think the Whitcombs were well off.”

“I see.”  He shifted in his seat.

I sighed. “Worse yet, I told Hank that, as Mrs. Whitcomb’s heir, Carrie should have inherited close to a million dollars.”

“And you think that information may have gotten him killed?”

“I’m afraid it might have, yes. He told me Carrie didn’t have any money. So the question we both asked was where had it gone? That question, I believe, is what got him killed.” 

“And where did you learn about this inheritance?”

“We got to talking about Mrs. Whitcomb in the knitting group on day.”

“Gossip,” he said with contempt.”

“Don’t be so quick to discount it.”

His gaze swung to the window, and he spent a rather long minute studying the parking lot. Finally he returned his attention to me and stood. “Hetty, I appreciate you sharing  your concern with me. I hope in the future, though, you’ll come to me first rather than spreading rumors around town.”

Yeah, right.
Try removing gossip from conversations in a town this size.

***

“I like your detective,” Andrew said when I arrived back home.

“He’s not my detective,” I snapped. “Besides, I thought you were going to spend the day with Hubbard.”

“I am. I was just taking a little break before I flit back out into the cold, cruel world. And while I’m holding up my end, what will you be doing?”

“It’s too soon to tell yet. I only know I need another cup of tea.”

“Well, I’d like it very much it you’d put your feet up. You’ve had enough excitement to last for a while. Why don’t you spend the day sitting in the living room knitting?”

“I think I’d enjoy that. Thank you for the suggestion.”

He shot me a quick smile and then vanished.

I shook my head. If it was my imagination dreaming that man up, I was doing a bang up job of it.

I put my coat away and headed to the kitchen. Blackie followed me and kept me company while I scurried about the room. Since I was in no mood to enjoy my tea alone, I picked up the phone to see if I could find a friend.  And a short time later, I opened the door to admit Rose. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I appreciate the break. I’ve been cleaning cupboards, and I’m bored to tears.”

I’d defrosted a lovely carrot cake I’d bought last week at the bakery in Weaverton. I carried it to the kitchen table which I’d already set with cups and saucers and two small plates.  I cut the cake. Then, I fetched the tea.

“There’s sugar, creamer, and a couple of sweetener packets on the table. Help yourself.”

“Goodness,” Rose said, “this looks good.”

“Are you spring cleaning,” I asked, as I sat opposite her.

“Yes. I like to do it early.”

“Me too. But that’s one nice thing about moving. I haven’t lived here long enough to bother with spring cleaning this year.”

“Lucky you. What have you been up to, then?”

“Not much. I joined the knitting group.”

“Ah, that should keep you busy.”

“Yes, it’s an interesting collection of women. They know a good bit of local history.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I can imagine.”

“They said Carrie inherited everything Mrs. Whitcomb had when she died. Every penny.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“You spent a lot of time with Carrie. Did you see signs of serious wealth?”

“Hetty, I’d never contradict any one of those women, but you should know by now you can’t believe everything you hear.”

“And now Hank has been killed.” I sighed.

Rose set her cup down. “I know. I can’t imagine what he was doing back here.”

“Didn’t he stop by your place?”

Rose’s eyes grew large. “Heavens no. Why would he contact me?”

“It’s just that I came across him while he was busy cleaning out the rest of Carrie’s house. I thought perhaps he’d sought your help?”

“No. I didn’t even know he was in town.”

“He said he’d come to visit a friend who was ill. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“Goodness, no. As I said, I barely knew any of the children… let alone their friends.” She paused and gazed at me. “Hetty, you need to let this rest.”

“What?”

“Your obsession with these murders.”

“What makes you think I’m poking around in them?”

“The will. The money. Hank’s friend. What are you doing? You’ll make yourself ill if you’re not careful. These are the golden years. Play with  your cat. Visit your grandchildren.”

“And leave the murders to the police?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not chasing a killer, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t know. I happened to stumble across the information about Mrs. Whitcomb’s will. It’s not like I went out seeking it.”

Well, that was true if you discounted my trip to the County Clerk’s office to read the will for myself. And the fact  that I deliberately introduced Mrs. Whitcomb’s name during the knitting session. But I didn’t mention those parts. Those things were just me being me. And I couldn’t see much hope that I could change. Not at this age.

***

That night, when Andrew popped back home, he made an announcement. “Oberton has a suspect.”

I stopped dead in my tracks on my way to the stove and turned to face him. “Who is it?”

“The man is named George Pratt.”

I frowned. “The handyman?”

Andrew shrugged. “That was the name on our good detective’s sheet.”

I crossed the room and sat down at the table. “How did you learn about this?”

“I dropped by Oberton’s office on my way home from Hubbard’s place.”

My heart thumped inside my chest. “You didn’t.”

Andrew smiled broadly. “I did. But don’t worry. He didn’t suspect a thing.”

Oh, joy.
I grabbed a breath and decided not to waste it. Andrew obviously had no intention of listening to me when it came to his trips about town.  “I’m pleased he has a suspect, but I can’t think of any reason for Oberton to believe Prat’s the killer. Can you?”

Andrew shrugged. “Maybe Prat had done work for Carrie. Maybe he’d even built that hidy-hole in which she’d stashed her goodies. Maybe he’d gone in and out so often that no one noticed that afternoon when he slipped inside the house one final time. Or… maybe Oberton has it wrong.”

I shook my head. “Carrie hadn’t spent much money on keeping the house up. How could Prat become seen as a routine visitor there? Or maybe he didn’t go to fix the house. Maybe he was Carrie’s sweetheart. Maybe that’s why people didn’t notice him going in and out of Carrie’s house.” But at their ages, I found that an unlikely thought.

“Well, for whatever it’s worth, there’s your scoop. Now, I’m off to watch Hubbard’s son play video games.” And with that, he vanished
—
again.

***

Rose called the next morning before the coffee had even finished brewing. “Can you come over?”

“Now?”

“No. Later today. I’ve just had a call from Chester.”

“That poor man. He must be reeling after his brother’s death.”

“He’s more mad than shocked. He’s demanding answers. He’s flying in today and wants to meet with the two of us. I told him I’d check with you.”

“I can’t see what I can tell him, but I’m free all day. Set whatever time you please. I’ll be there.”

I hung up the phone. I’d have to be careful. I certainly wasn’t about to tell Chester that I might have gotten his brother killed. Oberton could be correct. Hank might have died from some other cause. Innocent until proven guilty was my new mantra now.

“Who was that?” Andrew asked.

“Rose. She says Hank’s brother is flying here today.”

I wondered what Chester thought he’d accomplish? The police wouldn’t work any faster because he showed up. But he might know who his brother had come here to meet.

Could I really get that lucky?

Blackie wandered over to me. We acted out our morning ritual, which, as usual, put Andrew’s nose out of joint.

“Am I officially off Hubbard’s case now that Oberton has a suspect?” he asked.

“Nonsense. I’m not sold on Prat. Why don’t you stick with your man for now?”

“You hate me, don’t you?”

I gave him a warm smile. “Right.”

After he had disappeared, I shook my head. I was behaving more and more as though Andrew was real. I needed to stop that.

***

Chester arrived at Rose’s house a little before one. He was red of face and demanding answers. “What is going on? I was stunned and saddened by Aunt Carrie’s murder. But why in the world did Hank have to die?”

“Let’s go to the dining room,” Rose said. “I have coffee waiting there.”

Chester nodded and kept on talking. “I called the detective. He wouldn’t tell me anything helpful. In fact, he was less than useless.”

I cleared my throat. “He doesn’t have to keep you up to date with everything he’s thinking.”

“Why not? Hank was my brother. How could he think I wouldn’t want to know every detail of his death?”

I smiled to put a kindness to it. “Because you might turn out to be the killer.”

His jaw dropped. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Then try thinking of it this way. It is his job to suspect everyone until he finds a reason to rule them out.”

He blinked. “Even me?”

I nodded. “Even you.”

“But that’s stupid. I loved Hank. I would never have harmed him.”

“Oberton doesn’t know that. And he won’t necessarily believe it even if you tell him. Besides, if you think back to your aunt’s death, I think you’ll find he behaved the same way.”

We entered the dining room. A large spray of fresh flowers sat in the middle of the table which had been draped with a lovely, white cloth. China and silverware gleamed under the muted sunlight spilling through the two large windows. Rose seated herself at the head of the table while Chester and I took our places on either side of her.

She poured coffee. “How was your flight?”

Chester sat and looked sheepish. “I am sorry about my earlier behavior. I was being a bully. And look how you’ve put yourself out for me.” He took a deep, calming breath. “My trip was fine. And I thank you for taking time to set all of this up. You were always kind to Carrie. She was lucky to have a good friend like you.”

“Your aunt was never a burden to me. I was glad to help. How’s your sister?”

“She’s devastated,” he said. “Hank was the baby of the family. He was her favorite brother.”

“The middle child,” I murmured. “It’s always a difficult role.”

Chester shook his head. He looked as though he’d aged ten years since I’d last seen him. He unfolded his napkin. “I can’t believe my brother’s dead.”