Murder Under the Covered Bridge (19 page)

twenty-one

They found Jonathan, but
he was in the kitchen, having been recruited by Mary Ruth to help with food prep for tomorrow. The pink apron looked out of place over his black shirt, but no worse than Toby, who had his over an ugly camouflage sweater with fall decals he must have picked up at Bridgeton. The men looked out of place next to the four baker-helper women from the Festival Committee.

Alice worked on creating scones for the next day, which were
cranberry-orange
. Joy wasn't around but Francine presumed she was doing something for Channel Six. The whole place smelled of cookies and scones baking.

Talk of murder and computers snatched illegally from cars to see what they might reveal took a back seat to Mary Ruth's need to get food prepared for tomorrow's rush.

Francine slipped on the pink apron Mary Ruth handed her. “That's fine. We're glad to help.”

There was a knock on the kitchen door that opened to the outside, and Marcy walked in without waiting for someone to let her in.

Mary Ruth acted like she expected Marcy to be there. “I switched out the flavors of cookies and scones like you suggested. Some of them, anyway.”

Marcy slipped off her jacket. “Exactly,” she said. “Ramp up the anticipation by swapping out a few items every day. Not the corn fritter donuts, which are becoming quite the attraction, or the cinnamon rolls, but the easier things.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes as Marcy donned a pink apron. “I'm confused. Whose publicist are you now? Ours? Joy's? Merlina's?”

“I'm Mary Ruth's publicist officially now, so you don't have to pay me anymore, Charlotte.”

Charlotte's eyes went wide as she put a finger to her lips, hoping Marcy would stop talking.

Francine knew instantly what was going on, like a bubble of understanding had suddenly risen up in her. It made her smile. “Item fifteen: Be more generous and philanthropic,” she said.

Charlotte cleared her throat loudly. Marcy realized what had just happened. She tried to cover. “I'm also handling Joy's bookings and Merlina's bookings,” she announced, “but Merlina's are mostly local and easier to accommodate. Mary Ruth's are national!”

The news took Francine by surprise. “National?”

Marcy clapped her hands. “I'm pleased to announce that Food Network is back and interested in Mary Ruth Burrows! As it happens, a camera crew for Robert Irvine's new show will be making a detour stop through Rockville for a look at Mary Ruth's Fabulous Sweet Shoppe.”

“Ooohhh!” Charlotte said. “Isn't Robert Irvine the one with really big biceps?”

“And the very cool British accent,” Alice added.

Francine went to the refrigerator and extracted four sticks of butter according to the peanut butter cookie recipe. “But I thought he was the guy who's always trying to fix what's wrong with things, like restaurants and recipes and stuff. What's this new show about?”

Marcy waved her hand in a dismissive way. “I'm not sure, but I think it's about how to sell more product.”

“That's the only thing Food Network seems to be focused on,” Alice said. “Selling more of
their
product. That and creating competition shows. What ever happened to cooking and baking?”

“That's on the Cooking Channel,” Mary Ruth observed. “It's not as popular. The economy's recovering, and people are cooking less and eating out more. Food Network is all about celebrating chefs.”

“Or being a celebrity chef.” Francine threw the butter into a stand mixer.

“Precisely what we're aiming for with Mary Ruth,” said Marcy. “We want Robert to see the lines of people, taste the baked goods, and have him give an excellent report.”

The group was ordered back to task by Mary Ruth. Within minutes the kitchen was humming with activity.

They worked until suppertime. No one felt like making dinner, so Jonathan ordered Mexican from a restaurant on the square in Rockville. It was within walking distance. Francine volunteered to go with him to get it. She knew it was far enough away that Charlotte wouldn't volunteer to go with them. Besides, Charlotte was dying to get her hands on William's laptop. Francine, on the other hand, had the second diary tucked away in her purse and hoped they would have to wait for the food and she could skim the entries while she waited.

Francine and Jonathan walked at a good clip toward the square in Rockville.

“Tell me,” Francine began, “did you know Charlotte had taken William's tablet out of the back of the car when she gave it to you?”

“She came in from the outside, so I'd wondered where she'd gotten it. I had no idea it was William's.”

“She's probably scouring the tablet right now looking for clues.”

“Not unless she finds someone who knows William's password. It was password protected. Charlotte tried to get me to turn it on, but I couldn't get past the first screen.”

“Toby might be able to do it. He's done it for her before.”

As they walked along, Francine couldn't help but marvel at the large historic homes in the area and how many appeared to still be homes. In the greater Indianapolis area, such homes were largely turned into businesses because the upkeep was so great. Langley Funeral Home on the other side of the street seemed to be the exception.

She gave it more than a passing glance and saw William's car parked in the lot. There weren't many other cars. Langley wasn't the name of the funeral home Dolly had given Francine for William's arrangements.
Must be that nursing home resident she mentioned.

El Monterey Delgado was doing a brisk business, mostly from
Hispanic-looking
faces, so Francine hoped it would be authentic food. She could detect cumin and adobo in the air, and the aroma of tortilla chips being fried was strong. Jonathan checked on their order and found it would be a few minutes. The place was mostly take out; there were a few tables, but there was no waitstaff that she could see. The tables were already occupied. They found a spot on an empty bench inside the restaurant that seemed to be specifically for waiting. She opened her purse and took out the diary.

The first entry in this diary was much later than the other diary, October of 1944. Francine did some calculation and determined her grandmother, Ellie, would have been
thirty-nine
years old at the time. Francine's own mother was twenty, and expecting. Francine would be born in April of 1945.

She tried to
speed-read
, knowing that it wouldn't take long for the order to be ready, but the handwriting didn't lend itself to that. She found herself absorbed in the context of the entry.

I do not think it is inappropriate for my mother to consider marrying a man who is not a doctor. She is, after all, a widow, and has been for five years. She loved my father in her own way, and she has remained faithful to his memory, at least in public. Having proven she can live on her own, must she, forever? She has had suitors of my father's station, but none of them have interested her. I would defend her ability to fall in love with a simple tradesman like a gardener, let alone someone who has an international following like Doc Wheat. It does not matter that he has no degree; he has proven that he can produce marvelous remedies. Some people say he's a huckster, but Mother does not believe that, nor do I.

Francine stopped. Her great-grandmother married Doc Wheat? Surely she would have known that. Wouldn't her mother have told her that? Or her grandmother?

She began to skim the entries looking for key words like
marry
or
Doc Wheat
. Two entries later, she found a reference.

Mother and I cannot believe the stir that has been created by her relationship with Doc Wheat. One would think she has chosen to marry someone whose brain is not right in his head. Even my husband believes it is not for Mother's
well-being
. “Doc Wheat is a fortune hunter,” he has opined. “He is only after the money she has inherited from her father and from her husband.” I grant that this is a substantial sum, but Doc Wheat is himself successful. Years before he took up with Mother, back when Father was still alive, he had purchased additional land adjacent to his farm and paid for it in cash. At least that was the talk. A brook runs through it, and also a good deal of forest land. I have toured it with Mother. There are places where it is hilly, and it has a lovely meadow where the brook emerges from the ground. Doc Wheat has a garden there where he grows his medicinal herbs.

And then there is the matter of love. It would not appear to me that he is after her money. I have known of their secret relationship for the past three years. They took great pains to hide it then. You, my diary friend, know that I have written of how I have witnessed their love many times. I accompanied them on summer picnics when my husband had business out of town. Doc would hitch up his horse and carriage and we would take paths deep into his property to where the sycamores and the maples provided shade from the noonday sun in a perfect grassy spot. I watched him spread out the blanket for us, and he and I would sit in anticipation as Mother retrieved the food she had prepared. She made simple meals but beautiful ones. Then they would hold hands as we sat and talked and ate. The passion they had for each other, the way he would caress her hands, the way Mother's breath shortened at times when she would get back in the carriage and he was close behind her, helping her, their bodies briefly in contact. It was as if they were my age instead of theirs. Would that my husband made me feel this way!

“Jonathan!” a heavily accented voice called. Francine jerked her head up from the page and saw a Hispanic man put two large paper bags with handles on the counter. She found herself momentarily confused, jerked out of an idyllic scene to return to the sights and smells of El Monterey Delgado.

Jonathan, fortunately, was more together. He leaped up from the bench and went to the counter.

The diary had a fabric placeholder in it. Francine marked the spot she was at and carefully returned the diary to her purse. She met Jonathan at the counter. She checked over the order to make sure it was correct. When they left the restaurant, she noticed it had only been ten minutes.

“Did you learn anything?” Jonathan asked.

“They were certainly in love, at least in my grandmother's eyes.”

“Who is they?”

“My
great-grandmother
and Doc Wheat.”

“Did we know they were in love?”

“No. This is the first I've heard of it.”

They took the same path back to the mansion. It took them past Langley Funeral Home once more, but Dolly's car was not there. A few cars remained in the lot, and Francine wondered about the older resident for whom Dolly and William had such affection that they were willing to arrange for a funeral. Would she recognize the name if she saw it?

“Would you mind taking dinner back to the group without me?” she asked. “I want to check out the visitation at the funeral home. William's car was there on our way to the restaurant, and now it's gone. I'm curious what Dolly was doing in there. It's not where William's body is going to be.”

Jonathan made disapproving noises. “I could come with you.”

“And then everyone's order would get cold. I'll be along in a few minutes. Really.”

“You spend too much time around Charlotte. Her penchant for being a snoop is rubbing off on you.” But Jonathan let her go and headed toward the mansion toting both bags of meals as she'd asked.

Believing the cars in the lot meant the doors would be open, Francine walked up the concrete sidewalk. She tentatively tried the door handle, not wanting to make much noise, but the door swung open easily. A small directional sign with removable letters stood in front of her.
Belinda Miles Flowers,
it read, with an arrow pointing to the left. She noted that the calling was from four to five o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Francine was struck by the Miles name, which was her own maiden name. She tried to think of any relatives named Belinda, but none came to mind. It was a common enough name, especially in the area. She couldn't help but take a peek into the room, just to find out if there were any clues as to who Belinda might be. She wasn't at all certain it would be the woman Dolly had spoken about, but the fact that Dolly had been there ten minutes earlier and that there were no other funerals listed fueled her desire to investigate.

Ahead of her were double doors that led into a smallish viewing room. The doors opened into the back of the room. As she approached it, she saw chairs set up, ready for visitors to sit while they shared their grief over the death of Ms. Flowers. Francine could hear someone grieving, and she hesitated before sticking her head in. She didn't want to disturb whoever was in the room. But she was certain the person would be facing away from her, focused on the front of the room, and she still wanted to know if it might be an acquaintance or relative of hers from long ago.

She peered into the room. Zedediah Matthew sat in a plush turquoise funeral chair in the front row, his head in his hands, weeping.

twenty-two

Francine didn't quite know
how to handle the situation. What was Zed doing there? Who was Belinda Flowers that Zed would be weeping over her death? Was she even sure that Belinda Flowers was the woman Dolly had mentioned?

Francine ducked her head back in to the hallway. Her heart was beating rapidly. She wasn't sure she wanted Zed to know she was there. Moving slowly so her jacket wouldn't rustle against her clothes, she slipped away from the room and back to the entryway to look at the signage. Belinda Flowers was the only name listed as having a funeral tomorrow, exactly as she'd thought. She'd seen Dolly here earlier. So Belinda was the woman from the memory unit, right? And Zed was in there weeping. So Zed must have a connection to her.

It
was
Zed, right? She'd only seen him from behind. Now that he was
clean-shaven
with a neatened hair style and blended into society better, her first impression that it was him might be wrong. She snuck back up on the room and peeked inside again.

The room was empty.

Francine could feel the goosebumps begin to form on her arms. This would be the time in the movies when the heroine would turn around and find the person she was trying to spy on, spying on her. She turned around, fully expecting to see Zed. Her mind was wrestling with what she would say to him.

But he wasn't there.

She peeked one last time to be sure. But the room was empty. He was gone. Had he known someone had been spying on him and exited from the front?

She didn't question whether or not her eyes had played tricks on her. She strode back to the front door, pretending that her being in a funeral home with no scheduled showing was perfectly natural. She prepared herself to nod at anyone as though it were an expected encounter. But no one saw her.

She hurried back to the mansion, breathing easier once she was inside.

Or would have, if Charlotte hadn't been at the mansion's front door to accost her.

“It's about time you got back,” Charlotte said. “You know I can't eat spicy food too late in the evening or I'll have acid reflux that feels like the inside of a
two-liter
soda pop bottle when someone drops Mentos down it.”

“You could have started without me.”

“We did. We're snacking on chips and salsa. But we're holding up on the main meals. Mary Ruth has them in the warming oven. Jonathan said you'd be along in a minute. Where were you?”

“He didn't say?”

“Nope.”

Francine didn't feel like being challenged by Charlotte just then. She took her jacket off and laid it aside on one of the chairs. “We can talk about it over dinner.”

She marched into the kitchen and Charlotte followed. She spotted Jonathan in the dining room setting the table for dinner.
Probably trying to get away from Charlotte.
Toby was also in the dining room. He had moved a television in from the media room and was hooking it up.

Francine sidled up to Mary Ruth. “Are we set for tomorrow?”

“Amazingly enough, yes. Even with most of you spending part of the afternoon in Bridgeton, we'll be done after the last of these cookies come out of the oven. The rest of the food is either in the freezer or the refrigerator.” She spread her arms to indicate four sheet trays of cookies that were ready to be placed in the two wall ovens. “For now, let's eat.”

Francine helped her pull the Mexican food out of the warming oven. She, Mary Ruth, Joy, Alice, Charlotte, and Marcy joined the men in the dining room.

Toby turned on the television. “Good thing they have cable here. Otherwise we wouldn't be able to get the Indianapolis stations.”

Joy had a chair closest to the television. She nibbled on a taco and stared at the screen. “I know you're not thrilled that I had to interview you, Francine, but I think it came out all right.”

“I guess we'll see,” she said.

Charlotte carried in the chips and salsa, which she was still snacking on. Toby sat next to her and began to wolf them down. Mary Ruth finally glared at him. “Eat the bean and rice burritos,” she said. “They haven't been fried.”

“But I'm starved,” he protested. “And anyway, I promise, I'll eat those too.”

“You know what I mean.”

Joy's reporting from the Covered Bridge Festival came later in the news program since there really weren't any new developments on the fire that consumed the Roseville Bridge. It was mainly about the minor fire at Bridgeton, which was believed to have been started by Zedediah Matthew, who was escaping from police wanting to question him in connection with the death of William Falkes. Joy reported that the fire had been quickly contained, but the crowd had stampeded. The report ended with Francine's emergence from Big Raccoon Creek after escaping the crowd's rush toward the bridge. Joy's interview with Francine consisted of questions about the scariness of being caught in a mob scene, but the anchors ended the segment by reminding viewers that Francine was one of the
Skinny-Dipping
Grandmas, and they dredged up a photo of Francine in the wet sundress from the summer fiasco.

“I'll never live that down,” Francine said, her head in her hands.

“You don't want to live that down,” Marcy said. “You want to embrace it.”

Francine ignored Marcy.

“Eat some more of your fajitas,” Charlotte suggested. “Fajitas make everything better.”

“I can't eat another bite. And I thought
chocolate
made everything better.”

“It does as well.” Mary Ruth rose. “And I created a smaller version of the peanut butter chocolate chip trio cookies for us to have for dessert.”

They had no sooner finished when the doorbell rang. “I'll get it,” Joy said. She almost leapt from the table to go answer it. She disappeared out of the dining room.

“The amount of energy she exudes drives me nuts,” Charlotte muttered.

Jonathan began to gather up the empty Styrofoam containers.

Alice helped him. “We all know she's the Energizer Bunny of the group. But I think she might be expecting someone.”

“Ahhh!” they exclaimed all at once.

Jonathan took into the kitchen the containers he and Alice had collected.

Joy returned with a dejected look on her face. “It's for you, Francine. A courier of some sort.”

Francine wrinkled her nose. “A courier? Do they even have those in Rockville?”

Charlotte got up from the table in a much slower manner than Joy. “It's probably not his regular job. I'll come with you.”

Francine couldn't think of a reason to stop her, so she let her come along.

A short man in a brown suit stood inside the front door. Francine figured Joy must have invited him in. He looked to be in his twenties. He held a manila envelope in his hand.

He looked from Francine to Charlotte inquisitively. Francine didn't let him remain confused for long. “I'm Francine McNamara.”

“Could I see some kind of identification, please?”

Now Francine was confused. She frowned down at him. She could see the top of his head. “I could go get my purse, young man, but is it really that important? Don't I just have to sign something? What is this about?”

“I'm with Frost & Associates Law Firm. I have a notice here to deliver to Francine McNamara.”

Charlotte answered him. “She's Francine. You can be sure of that. She's one of the
Skinny-Dipping
Grandmas. Don't you recognize her?”

The young man blushed. “Well, I do. Sort of. But you'll need to show me some ID anyway. It's required. I mean, if you want the document.”

“Why wouldn't I want it?”

He seemed completely flustered now. “I didn't mean to say it like that. There's nothing wrong. It's just that you're invited to the firm tomorrow.”

Francine crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would I be invited to a law firm tomorrow?”

“For the reading of a will.”

“Whose will?”

He opened his mouth and then shut it.

“You might as well spill it,” Charlotte said.

“Please. I need some kind of ID. So I can say in all honesty that I saw it.”

Francine exhaled noisily. “All right.” She turned and went upstairs and returned with her purse. She pawed through it.

“What's going on?” Jonathan asked, joining Francine and Charlotte in the living room.

Charlotte was visibly excited and answered before Francine could. “It's a summons.”

Francine removed her driver's license and thrust it at the young man. He recorded the license number on a form he had and handed it back to her. “Thank you,” he said. He made a little bow, handed her the manila envelope, and left.

“I kept an eye on him while you were gone,” Charlotte said, “so he couldn't pull any funny business.”

“I don't think funny business is what he had on his mind.” Francine took a seat on a leather couch by the door, sinking into the cushions. “I think he was just an intern.”

Charlotte settled into the spot next to her. Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest and stood in front of them. “So, what is it?”

“I'm getting there.” She examined the envelope. It had her name on it, and then “c/o” the address of the mansion. “I wonder how they knew where I was staying.”

“Will you just open it?” Charlotte said.

Francine did. She pulled out a notification and read it. “It says it's for the last will and testament of Zedediah Matthew.” She folded the paper and laid it on her lap. “But that can't be right, because I just saw him.”

“You mean at Bridgeton?”

Francine looked at Jonathan, not sure if she should reveal to Charlotte where she'd just been. But then, Jonathan didn't know either. She hadn't had a moment alone to tell him. He shrugged.

“No,” she answered. “I mean not less than a half hour ago. On my way back from the Mexican restaurant, I stopped at Langley Funeral Home because I thought I had seen Dolly's car in the parking lot on my way there and I wondered what she was doing there.”

“But instead you found Zedediah?”

“In a manner of speaking. There was only one visitation on the schedule for tomorrow, and I went to that room because I was curious about the woman it was for. I wondered if it was the older woman Dolly had mentioned, the one she and William had been close to. I heard someone weeping, and it was Zed.”

“
Weeping
is a strong word. Did you talk to him?”

“No, I was so surprised that I backed out of the room to check the name of the woman a second time. When I went back less than a minute later, he was gone.”

“You're sure it was him?” Jonathan asked.

“Pretty sure. Although he's cleaned up now, not so much the mountain man since he's trying to get away from the law.”

Francine told them the name of the woman whose funeral would be tomorrow had her maiden name, Miles.

“We have to assume whoever arranged the service—maybe Dolly—wanted to emphasize her maiden name,” Charlotte said with her usual authority.

“Maybe. But that still doesn't answer the question of who she is.”

Charlotte waggled her eyebrows. “Because, Watson, that has been left to us to figure out.”

Alice entered the room. “You three have been gone a long time. Who was that at the door?”

“Francine has been summoned to a law firm tomorrow morning to hear the last will and testament of Zedediah Matthew,” Charlotte blurted out.

Alice looked confused. “But you and I just saw him today. Jonathan did too.”

Francine nodded. “But he told me it's his plan to disappear.”

Charlotte tried to get off the couch and found herself too deep in the soft cushion to gain traction, especially with her short legs. She held out a hand to Jonathan. “Help me out of this couch, please. I have work to do.”

Mary Ruth and Joy came in behind Alice. “Did I hear Charlotte say she has work to do?” Mary Ruth said, taking off her pink apron. “Now's a fine time for her to decide that, when we've already cleaned the kitchen for the evening.”

Jonathan held Charlotte steady so she could pull herself forward and get her feet on the floor. She leaned forward and came to a standing position. She steadied herself with her cane, which was parked nearby. “The work we have to do is planning for tomorrow. Somehow, even though we'll be staffing Mary Ruth's dessert booth, supporting Joy's reporting duties, and getting ready for the Food Network to stop by, we've got to figure out how to free Francine up to make the reading of the will, get time for a subgroup to visit the funeral home to see who this mysterious woman is that Dolly and William cared about, and anything else we can figure out needs to be done.”

“A visit to the retirement community might be a good idea,” Jonathan suggested. “Before you jump to too many conclusions, you should make sure the woman who died in the memory care unit is, in fact, Belinda Flowers.”

Charlotte weighed that in her mind. “Good point. Although I'm pretty sure we're right on that point.”

Mary Ruth scratched her head. “Back up a minute. What will? What funeral home?”

A lot of catching up was necessary, which under Charlotte's direction involved being back in the kitchen, having coffee and eating more cookies. At the end of Francine and Charlotte's summary, Mary Ruth was the one who had the ideas.

“Marcy's gone for the day, but she'll be back here early tomorrow morning. She had to make a bunch of calls to the local press to alert them to the Food Network being here tomorrow around noon. If I can redirect her energy in the morning, she can help Alice, Toby, and me finish off the prep work and get the booth up and running. That will free up you and Charlotte to do your sleuthing. Joy will be off reporting. Jonathan, I assume you'll be around tomorrow too?”