Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 03 - Haunted (6 page)

“Good luck, Lexie,” Nadine said as I walked back to the washbasin.

* * *

I made a nail appointment for later in the week, and then drove around the college campus on my way home. I found the gymnasium without any problem. Tomorrow was Saturday, and I planned to get up bright and early so I wouldn’t be late for cheerleading practice. I’d been a high school cheerleader myself, but that now seemed a hundred years ago. I hadn’t gone on to college, marrying Chester right out of high school. We’d begun dating in ninth grade, so Stone was really only the second man in my life. And there had been a long, dry period in between them. I’d been reluctant to start a relationship with another man, but I couldn’t help falling in love with Stone. A widower himself, he had felt the same way. We hadn’t gone looking for love; love had come looking for us. Now I was extremely glad it had found us.

I stopped by the grocery store next and bought several bags worth of non-perishable items, stashing the full bags in the back seat of my Jeep. I would need to walk into the inn with them tomorrow after an imaginary visit to the market. I’d want another excuse to leave the house for a while. Sometimes it was best not to tell Stone every little detail of my day. We got along better that way, and my little omissions seemed to keep his blood pressure down to a tolerable level. Since he wasn’t exactly thrilled about my decision to participate in the investigation, the less he knew of the extent of my involvement, the better. I didn’t like lying, but being the impulsive creature I am, not divulging the whole truth was sometimes in my best interest.

I wasn’t surprised to find Detective Johnston in the kitchen with Stone when I returned home. I was even less surprised to find him wolfing down a huge bowl of chili from the pot I’d prepared before leaving for my hair appointment.

Stone stood up and kissed me, and Wyatt, with his mouth full, nodded and winked. As it was nearly noon, I dipped out a cup of chili myself and sat down at the table. I was anxious to see what had brought the detective to the inn.

“Any new developments, Wyatt?” I asked.

“Not really,” Wyatt said, after swallowing a mouthful of chili. Wyatt tended to eat like a Rottweiler tearing through a raw rump roast. He had an insatiable appetite, but no sign of one molecule of fat on his large frame. He must have a membership at the local gym, I decided. “We’ve mostly been notifying relatives this morning. The story leaked out to the media before we could locate everyone, and that’s never a good thing. Nobody wants to hear their loved one has been murdered on the evening news.”

“Yeah, that would be awful,” I agreed. “What other relatives could be found, other than Melba?”

“Like I said before, Walter has a sister living here in Rockdale, just west of the historical district. Her name’s Sheila Talley. We also found out he has a half-brother, Chuck Sneed, who lives in Chillicothe, which is on Thirty-Six Highway, straight east of here,” Wyatt said for Stone’s benefit, since Stone hadn’t lived here long enough to be thoroughly knowledgeable about the area. “Walter’s father, Clarence Sneed, was married to Chuck’s mother prior to being married to Melba. Chuck’s biological mother is dead now, and Clarence lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Chuck’s a few years older than Walter or Sheila.”

“I’m sure Sheila and Chuck were shocked and dismayed by the news,” I said.

“Not really,” Wyatt said. “They took the news pretty matter-of-factly, the chief of police told me. He was surprised by their lack of emotion, in fact. Close family ties do not seem to be a feature of the Sneed clan. They’re your typical dysfunctional family.”

“Could either Chuck or Sheila have a possible motive for getting rid of their brother?” I asked.

“The local police are looking into it,” Wyatt said. “Both stood to inherit quite a bit of money from Melba, which they would naturally have had to split three ways. Melba owns the small home she lives in and had received a sizable sum from her husband, Clarence, in the divorce settlement. Clarence owned the local lumber mill downtown for many years before moving to Albuquerque to start a new business. The lumberyard sold for a pretty penny to a group of investors, so Clarence is apt to leave the kids a substantial amount of money, as well. For such a screwed-up, dysfunctional family, they are not without means.”

“I guess greed can be a powerful motive,” Stone said. “Probably second only to jealousy and/or retribution.”

“Yes, unfortunately. Money is the root of all evil, they say. It’s been the driving force behind more murders than any of us can imagine, I’m sure,” Wyatt said. “And it can tear a family apart too, particularly when an inheritance is involved.”

“I suppose you are planning to speak to Sheila and Chuck, aren’t you?” Stone directed his question at me. Knowing the answer without waiting for me to reply, he continued. “I know you better than you think I do, Lexie. And I’m not sure it’s such a wise idea, particularly if one of them is capable of murdering their own brother. Wyatt has said the police are looking in to it, so I can’t see any reason for you to do so also.”

“We’ll see—” I said, jumping up to grab the coffee carafe. “Would anyone like a refill?”

“No, but thanks for the offer. I’ve got a pretty full schedule today, what with the murder and all. So I guess I better get back to work.” With that Wyatt stood up, tipped his hat at us, and walked out the door leading to the back porch. “Later.”

* * *

I spent the next couple of hours putting away the haunted house props and setting the inn back in order. I was disappointed the haunted house idea hadn’t gone as planned. Stone had convinced me it wouldn’t be in good taste to reopen it, considering the circumstances. People would be thinking the place might really be haunted from the souls who passed on here, and visiting the scene of the murder might give the local children nightmares.

As instructed, I left everything in place in the parlor. More investigating of the crime scene might be necessary, I’d been told. But every time I glanced at the coffin I got the willies. I found it less traumatic to walk the long way around the house to avoid the parlor entirely.

We didn’t have any guests currently staying over at the inn. But we did have a couple from Oregon due in the next afternoon, and I needed to get the inn ready for them. We didn’t have a housekeeper/chef on the payroll because autumn wasn’t the busy season at the inn. We would be hiring one in the spring when business picked up again.

Our new guests, the Dudleys, were coming to town tomorrow for a family reunion to be held the following weekend, and they planned to make a vacation of it. I spent a few minutes setting their room up for them. I put fresh bedclothes on the bed, dusted and vacuumed the room, and placed a fresh bouquet of fall flowers in a vase on the slide-out shelf of the armoire, next to the TV. Antique furniture complemented the four-poster bed, the Belgian lace curtains, and the age-old feel of the room. Although the inn had quite a number of rooms and suites, this was my favorite in the house. I always assigned it first, before using any of the other ones.

At this point I was tired of housework and went downstairs to pour myself a cup of coffee and look through the daily
Rockdale Gazette
that Howie Clamm had delivered earlier that morning. I went out on the back porch for a much-needed break. It was a bit chilly, so I grabbed my jean jacket on the way out. The back porch was inviting with its long flower planter, filled with bright orange mums, that ran around the far edge of it, and its comfortable outdoor lounge chairs. I needed frequent caffeine fixes, and this was where I usually took my breaks.

I sat my cup down on the wrought-iron table and opened the paper. As I’d expected, Walter’s face was plastered all across the front page. Under what appeared to be a picture of him taken during a basketball game, the headline read, “History repeats itself. Local man killed at Alexandria Inn—again!”

Oh, swell. Stone’s nightmare had come to life. There’s nothing like free advertising in the city newspaper. I’m sure this headline would encourage Rockdale’s citizens to recommend our inn to their families and friends. The thought made me more determined than ever to find out what was behind the death of young Walter Sneed. How dare the reporter be so flippant when a young man’s life had been taken, and a perfectly respectable lodging establishment’s future was at stake?

The article following the headline told me little more than I already knew. The only tidbit of new information I garnered from it was that Walter’s father, Clarence, was in town from Albuquerque, and had been for over a week. Hmmm. This seemed like an odd coincidence. I wondered what, if anything, Clarence might stand to gain from the death of his son. Nobody was beyond suspicion, the way I saw it. History would prove more fathers killed their own children than mothers did. Men were just naturally more physical and violent than women in most instances.

Apparently, Clarence now owned a company called Sneed Heating and Cooling in the Sandia foothills of Albuquerque. Isn’t late October a busy time for a business that deals with furnaces? Granted, Albuquerque had a milder climate than Rockdale, but people who lived there still had occasional use for their furnaces. October seemed like the ideal time to have a furnace serviced, repaired, or replaced, right before cooler weather set in. Why would Clarence take time off from his work now to come back to Rockdale? He’d divorced Walter’s mother several years earlier. Could his visit possibly have something to do with his son’s death? I made a mental note to check out this possibility.

I’m sure Clarence was being questioned thoroughly by the detectives, but I wanted to talk to him too, if I could find him. I might just pick up on some clue the police overlooked. Finding Sheila Talley was probably the easiest and fastest way to find Clarence, and she was another person who might benefit from Walter’s death. I’d hoped to talk with her, anyway.

Sheila lived in Rockdale, I recalled Detective Johnston saying. I also recalled him saying she wasn’t particularly upset about the news of her brother’s death. Maybe I could find her number and address in the phone book and pay her a visit. If she happened to be unlisted, I could contact the local funeral home. There was only one such establishment in the town of Rockdale. I was, obviously, interested in the funeral arrangements, considering that Walter’s death occurred in the Alexandria Inn.

Chapter 5

Saturday morning brought cloudy, misty weather, and I woke up wondering if cheerleading practice would still be held over at the small college campus. I knew I’d be there, one way or the other, to make sure I didn’t miss an opportunity to talk to Walter’s girlfriend and maybe even his ex-girlfriend.

I needed to think of a ploy that sounded reasonable to explain my presence at the practice. Just being a former cheerleader myself a hundred years ago didn’t warrant a visit to their practice. I knew I could come up with something plausible though. The ability to create schemes and execute them was one of my best, and worst, traits.

While I mulled this over, I checked the guest record to make sure the Dudleys were not due in until mid-afternoon, poured myself a cup of strong, black coffee, and headed out to the front porch to sit and relax before it was time to leave for the college. The sun had broken out for a few minutes and I wanted to take advantage of it. The front porch was in full sunlight, and the warmth from the sun felt good on my skin. The shaded back porch was still a bit too chilly this morning.

Stone had repaired his lawn mower as best he could, and was making a circular route around the front yard on his John Deere. He loved mowing, and he enjoyed tinkering with his lawn equipment. He mowed every time he could reasonably justify it. He waved and I waved back as I watched him make cornrows of mulched leaves. I could tell he was having fun.

It suddenly occurred to me that if I hurried, I could make my exit without having to discuss my plans with Stone. Then I wouldn’t have to come up with any long-winded half-truths that could only come back to haunt me in the future. As I have always maintained, it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission in most instances, particularly instances that involve me.

I nearly burnt my throat as I took huge gulps of coffee. I probably should have just poured the remaining coffee down the drain and headed out, but I knew I couldn’t proceed without my caffeine fix.

Just a few minutes later I ran out the back door, fired up my yellow Jeep Wrangler, and pulled down the driveway with one final wave to Stone. He looked at me quizzically as he waved back in return.