HEARTBREAKER (18 page)

“We waited and waited,” she said. She patted Nick’s hand before she let go. “I’d almost given up on you, but Bessie Jean never lost faith. She was just certain her letter was misplaced, and that’s why she wrote another one.”

“It’s not like the FBI to drag their feet,” Bessie Jean said. “That’s why I knew my letter must have been lost in the mail. I wrote a second letter then, and when I still didn’t hear—”

“She wrote to the director himself,” Viola explained.

Bessie Jean led the way into the living room. It was cool and dark and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. One of them had been doing some baking, and his stomach rumbled in response. He was hungrier than he’d realized.

Dinner would have to wait. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the darkness, then Viola opened the front window curtains, and he was squinting again. The room was cluttered with antiques. Directly ahead of him was the fireplace. The mantel was lined with candles, and above was a huge oil painting of a gray-haired dog sitting on a burgundy cushion. The animal appeared to be cross-eyed.

Bessie Jean ushered Nick and Laurant to the Victorian sofa, then removed the needlepoint pillow from the wicker rocker and sat down, crossing one ankle over the other as she’d been trained to do by her mother. Her posture was so stiff, she could have balanced a couple of encyclopedias on her head.

“Get your pad out, dear,” she ordered.

Nick barely heard her. His attention had been arrested by all the photos cluttering the tables and the walls. The subject was the same in every one of the silver frames—the dog—a schnauzer he guessed, or maybe a mixed breed.

Laurant touched his arm to get his attention and said, “Bessie Jean and Viola wrote to the FBI for help in solving a mystery.”

“Not a mystery, dear,” Viola corrected. “We know exactly what happened.” She was sitting in a big floral print easy chair and was busy repinning the doily on one of the arms.

“Yes, we know what happened,” Bessie Jean agreed with a nod.

“Why don’t you give him the particulars, Sister.”

“He doesn’t have his pad and pen out yet.”

Viola got up and went into the dining room while Nick patted his pockets, looking for a pad he knew he didn’t have. It was in the car with his folders.

The sister came back with a pink notebook about the size of a pocket calculator and a pink pen with a purple feather sticking out from the end.

“You may use this,” she said.

“Thank you. Now tell me what this is all about?”

“The director was remiss in not telling you what your assignment was,” Bessie Jean said. “You’re here to investigate a murder.”

“Excuse me?”

Bessie Jean patiently repeated her announcement. Viola nodded. “Someone murdered Daddy.”

“Daddy was a family pet,” Laurant explained with a nod toward the oil painting looming over them.

“Daddy was named after our daddy, the colonel,” Viola added.

To his credit, Nick didn’t smile. “I see.”

“We demand justice,” Viola told him

Bessie Jean was frowning at Nick. “Young man, I don’t mean to criticize . . .”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’ve just never heard of a law officer not having a pad and pen. That gun clipped to your belt is loaded, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

Bessie Jean was satisfied. Having a gun was important in her opinion because, once he caught the culprit, he might very well have to shoot him.

“Have the local authorities looked into the matter?” Nick asked.

“Not a matter, dear. It was murder,” Viola corrected.

“We called Sheriff L.A. right away, but he won’t do anything to help us find the criminal,” Bessie Jean explained.

Viola, wishing to be helpful, interjected, “That’s Lard Ass, dear. Now write it down.”

Nick couldn’t decide which was more jarring—a pet named Daddy or a sweet old lady using the words
lard ass
.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened.”

Bessie Jean gave her sister a relieved glance and then began. “We believe Daddy was poisoned, but we can’t be absolutely certain. We kept him chained to the big oak in the front yard off and on during the day and sometimes into the evening on bingo night so he could take in the fresh air.”

“We have a fence, but Daddy could jump it, so we had to use the chain,” Viola explained. “Are you writing that down, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Daddy was in the best of health,” Bessie Jean told him.

“He was only ten and in his prime,” Viola supplied.

“His water bowl was completely turned over,” Bessie Jean said as she rocked back and forth, fanning herself with her handkerchief.

“And Daddy could never have managed to turn that bowl over, because it was weighted down so he couldn’t.”

Bessie Jean nodded again. “That’s right. Daddy was clever, but he couldn’t get his nose under that bowl.”

“Someone had to have turned the bowl over,” Viola said emphatically.

“We think poison was added to his water, and then after poor Daddy took a big drink, the culprit got rid of the evidence.”

“We know how he got rid of it too,” Viola announced. “He threw the poisoned water into my impatiens,” Viola said. “He killed my beautiful flowers. They were in glorious bloom one day and shriveled up and brown the next. They looked like someone had poured acid on them.”

A bell started ringing in the back of the house. Viola struggled to get out of the chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get my buns out of the oven. Could I get you anything while I’m up?”

“No, thank you,” Laurant said.

Nick was busy writing on his pad. He looked up and said, “I could use a glass of water.”

“We often take a gin and tonic in an evening,” Viola said. “It’s quite refreshing on such hot humid days. Would you like one?”

“Water will do,” he answered.

“He’s on duty, Sister. He can’t drink.”

Nick didn’t contradict her. He finished making a note to himself and then asked, “Did the dog bark at strangers?”

“Oh my, yes,” Bessie Jean answered. “He was a wonderful watch-dog. He was quite persnickety about letting strangers get near the house. He barked at everyone. Why, he took exception to anyone who walked down the street.”

The topic of the dog was obviously still distressing to Bessie Jean. As she talked about him, she gradually increased the pace of her rocking. Nick half expected her to fling herself out of the chair.

“There are some strangers in town now, working up at the abbey. Three men moved into the old Morrison house across the street and are renting it while they’re here,” she said. “And two more moved in with the Nicholsons at the other end of the block.”

“Daddy wasn’t partial to any of them,” Viola interjected from the dining room. She carried a glass of ice water across the room to the coffee table and set it on a napkin she pulled from her pocket.

Nick was rapidly getting the idea that Daddy wasn’t partial to anyone.

“Those Catholics are always in such a rush,” Bessie Jean remarked. She had obviously forgotten that Laurant was Catholic and that her brother was a priest. “They’re an impatient lot if you ask me. They want to get the renovations completed on the abbey so it will be ready for the open house during the July Fourth celebration.”

“It’s the abbey’s anniversary celebration as well,” Viola said.

Bessie Jean realized they were getting away from the investigation. “We had the doctor put Daddy in the freezer so you could oversee the autopsy. Are you getting all this down on your pad?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” Nick assured her. “Please go on.”

“Just yesterday I received a bill from the doctor for cremation services. I was thunderstruck, and I called him up right away. I was certain there had been a mistake.”

“The dog was cremated?”

Bessie Jean dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief and then began to fan herself again. “Yes, he was. The doctor told me that my nephew had called him and told him we’d changed our minds and to go ahead and cremate poor Daddy.”

The rocking chair was really moving now, the floor creaking beneath it.

“And the vet followed those instructions without consulting you?”

“Yes, he did,” Viola said. “It just never occurred to him to check with us first.”

“Your nephew—”

“But that’s just it,” Bessie Jean cried out. “We don’t have any nephews.”

“If you ask me, the culprit wanted to get rid of the evidence,” Viola said. “Isn’t that right?”

“It would seem so,” he agreed. “I’d like to look at those flowers.”

“Oh, you can’t do that, dear,” Viola said. “Justin helped me dig out the roots and plant new flowers. He saw me out there, down on my knees, struggling so, and even after the hard day he’d put in doing carpentry work up at the abbey, he was kind enough to come over and help me. I simply can’t keep up with the yard anymore.”

“And who is Justin?”

“Justin Brady,” Bessie Jean answered, impatiently. “I do believe I already mentioned him.”

“No, you didn’t,” Viola said. “You told Nicholas that three workmen moved into the Morrison house and two others lived with the Nicholsons. You didn’t say their names. I heard every word you said as clear as a bell.”

“Well, I meant to,” Bessie Jean replied. “I’ve only met the three across the street. There’s Justin Brady. He’s the only one we like.”

“Because he helped me,” Viola said. “And then there’s Mark Hanover and Willie Lakeman. They were all sitting on the porch steps together drinking beer, and all of them saw me struggling, but Justin’s the only one who crossed the street to help me. The other two kept on drinking.”

“Well, young man, do you believe Daddy was murdered, or do you think we’re just a couple of dotty old ladies making up stories?”

“Based on what you’ve told me, and assuming that it’s accurate, I agree that your dog was killed,” Nick said.

Laurant’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes,” he answered.

Bessie Jean clasped her hands together. She was elated. “I knew the FBI wouldn’t fail me. Now tell me, Nicholas, what are you prepared to do about it?”

“I’m going to look into this myself. Some samples of the soil where those flowers were planted would help. And the water bowl . . . you do still have it, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do,” Viola said. “It’s packed away in the garage with all of Daddy’s favorite toys.”

“Will you keep us apprised of developments?” Bessie Jean asked.

“I most certainly will. You didn’t happen to wash that water bowl, did you?”

“I don’t believe we did,” Viola said. “We were so upset, we just put it away so we wouldn’t be . . . reminded.”

“Viola wanted to take the painting down and pack up the pictures, but I wouldn’t let her do it. It’s a comfort having Daddy smiling down at us.”

In unison, everyone paused to look up at the oil painting. While Nick was wondering how the women could tell that the dog was smiling, Laurant was pondering how the sisters could feel such affection for the nasty-tempered animal that snapped at everyone who came into the yard. He’d bitten so many people, the vet kept his shot record posted on the waiting room bulletin board.

“We do hope the culprit turns out to be someone from outside our peaceful valley. We don’t like to think that one of our own could do such a terrible thing,” Viola said.

“I wouldn’t put such cruelty past the sheriff’s boy. Lonnie’s always been trouble. The boy’s got a real mean streak inside him that runs deep. He gets it from his father, of course.”

“He’s a sneaky one all right. His mother passed on several years ago. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she was a mousy woman. She didn’t have any backbone at all, not even when she was a young girl. She was a whiner too, wasn’t she, Bessie Jean?”

“My yes, she was.”

“You said there were a lot of strangers in town,” Nick said. “Have you noticed anyone hanging around your house or Laurant’s?”

“I spend a good deal of my time sitting on my porch and I will occasionally look out the windows at night, just to make certain things are as right as they should be. Except for the man I saw going into Laurant’s house yesterday, I haven’t noticed anyone in the yard or lurking about. Like I said before, most of the strangers are workmen helping out at the abbey. Some of them come from as far away as Nebraska and Kansas.”

She planted both feet on the floor and brought the rocker to an abrupt stop. Leaning toward Nick and Laurant expectantly, she asked, “You’ll stay to supper?”

“It’s macaroni night,” Viola announced as she pushed against the cushions with both hands to raise herself out of the low chair and then headed for the kitchen. “Macaroni and brisket and homemade cinnamon rolls, and I’ll make company salad.”

“We don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Laurant protested.

“We’d love to join you,” Nick said at the same time.

“Laurant, why don’t you help Sister, and I’ll keep Nicholas company,” Bessie Jean suggested.