Sight Shot (Imogene Museum Mystery #3) (6 page)

Sally gave me a playful poke, and I waded through the remaining crowd to the door. I caught Pete
’s eye and waved goodbye. He’d come find me tonight when he was done blowing things up.

CHAPTER
6

The chill in the air was seeping into everything else too. Tuppence met me and clambered into the RV as soon as I unlocked the door. She went straight to her huge pillow bed and sank into the middle. At seventy pounds, she’s too big to hide completely, though.

“
Need more blankets in your kennel? Poor dog.” I bent and scratched her back then felt a paw. Her pads were warm and dry and rough. How do you know when it’s too cold outside for a dog — when the built-in fur coat isn’t enough? Tuppence would never tolerate wearing a doggy sweater.

“
Want to go with me this afternoon?”

Her tail thumped twice.

“My last encounter with Edna bordered on an altercation. If things get dicey, I’m counting on you to get me out in one piece.”

Tuppence yawned and wriggled deeper into the pillow.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been out carousing.” I pushed down the edge of the pillow to get a better view of Tuppence’s face, but she was already asleep.

I shivered in my coat and checked the furnace thermostat
— on time and on temp at 70 degrees. Probably my imagination, but some kinds of cold are colder than others. This cold would linger in my bones.

I got a cheese sandwich started on the griddle then went to my bedroom and dug a pair of wool socks out of the dresser. I pulled them on over the pair I was already wearing and stuffed my feet in my warmest hiking boots.

The smell of almost-burnt sourdough snagged my attention, and I hurried downstairs to flip the sandwich over. Something else was niggling at me, something other than the temperature. The idea of visiting Edna made me a little nervous, but there was something else too. Maybe if I focused on a completely different subject, the reluctant thought would pop out of the abyss that was my brain. Factoids seem to geyser up at random from the depths these days, but not always the ones I’m hoping to retrieve. I must be getting old. Now I was worried about the worry I couldn’t remember.

I ate standing up, leaning over the kitchen sink, as I usually do, then rinsed my hands. I quickly emptied the clean dishwasher. When I opened a cupboard to slide in a casserole dish, I spotted the bag of rawhide treats for Tuppence which reminded me of elk jerky which reminded me of Frankie. Weird. But that was it. My niggling worry was Frankie.

I’d liked her take-charge attitude when I’d interviewed her, delighted that she seemed competent to run the gift shop without much, if any, oversight. But her offering the museum as a party venue without consulting me or Rupert was too much, too bold, too bossy. It’d been awhile since I’d had daily interactions with strong alpha-type females. Not my favorite kind of person. I wondered what Frankie would do if she was crossed.

At the sound of keys jingling, Tuppence magically awoke. She followed me outside.

I hauled a sandbag from the stash I keep beside the fifth-wheel and heaved it into the pickup’s bed. I retraced my steps then whumped another sandbag across the tailgate and wiped my forehead.

Loading sandbags is a great workout. In theory, the weight of the sandbags improves tire grip if placed over the rear axle of a clunky, old, rear-wheel drive truck. If we got any dew or radiation fog tonight, the roads were going to be slippery on the way home from the fireworks. I exhaled and hoisted another bag, grunting like a body builder. I
’d leave the sandbags in the truck bed all winter.

“Here, girl.” I opened the door for Tuppence, and she settled into her usual spot riding shotgun.

I swung by the museum to pick up the patched figurine. I also called Sheriff Marge and left a message including Frankie
’s full name and Pennsylvania driver’s license number. I didn’t know if Sheriff Marge could check on someone from out of state, if she could check at all, legally, but she’d tell me if she couldn’t.

Then I headed north. Edna and her mother live way out on a county road that turns to gravel about ten miles from the highway. The sky was brilliant blue and almost shimmery. Bare tree branches crisscrossed each other like gnarled fingers, and far above several parallel vapor trails marked the international flight pattern for commercial planes. You can tell a weather change is coming when the vapor trails feather out in upper level jet streams, but today they were perfectly straight and slowly evaporating in place.

I slowed when we hit gravel and tried to weave between the worst of the potholes. As it was, Tuppence and I were bouncing on the seat so much that we’d have risked biting our tongues if we’d tried to talk — well, if I’d tried to talk or Tuppence had tried to pant. Instead, she left big up-and-down nose smears on the window.

We passed three mailboxes before we came to the right number, and I pulled off into a deeply rutted dirt lane. The Garman house sat in a small clearing with a few ancient fruit trees flanking a garden plot. The white paint was smudged along the foundation, mud-splashed from heavy rains. There were no gutters.

It took me a minute to realize why the place seemed devoid of personality — no flower pots, window boxes or shutters. No tacky yard art, weathervanes, whirligigs or gazing balls — none of the individual touches you usually see in people’s yards. Curtains were pulled tight over all the windows.

Edna
’s Beetle was in the carport beside a gold Chevy El Camino so old it had fins and bug-eyed taillights. I pulled up behind it and turned off the engine.

Tuppence snorted.

“You ready to go say hello?”

She thumped her tail on the seat then scrambled out behind me.

I cradled the figurine and walked on a grassed-over stone path to the front door. We waited in silence for several minutes after I knocked. I raised my hand to try again, but there was a thud and the door opened a crack. A set of faded blue eyes under a white terrycloth turban appeared.

“
Hi. I’m Meredith Morehouse. I was hoping to visit Edna.”

The door creaked farther open to reveal a taller but older, wrinkled version of Edna. She balanced on thin, blue-veined legs, her feet encased in hand-knit slippers. Her bulky, shapeless brown housecoat stopped at her knees, but the sleeves were so long just her fingertips stuck out. She smiled and took a step back.
“Come in. Please. Visitors.”

“
This is Tuppence, but she’s happy to wait outside,” I said.

“
No, no,” Mrs. Garman murmured. “Dogs are welcome.”

Tuppence trotted across the threshold, swiped Mrs. Garman
’s knee with her cold nose, and sat on the living room carpet with her tongue hanging out.

Mrs. Garman let out a light laugh and beckoned.
“That’s right. Come in.”

I stood awkwardly beside Tuppence while Mrs. Garman closed the door. It took some pushing and grating, probably because either the door or threshold had warped with age and moisture. I wanted to reach over and put a shoulder to it but worried I might offend her by hinting that she was incapable. The effort left her breathless.

“I’ll call Edna,” Mrs. Garman wheezed. She shuffled slowly down a hallway.

In the corner of the living room, a collection of pictures of a handsome soldier, a small American flag, a few war medals, a spray of dried flowers and bronzed pair of baby shoes made a sort of shrine on a small, lace-covered table. Lindsay had mentioned that Mrs. Garman
’s husband, Edna’s father, had been killed in action.

I took in the rest of the room
— beige sofa with antimacassars across the back and arms, unused fireplace occupied by a dusty silk plant, over a hundred tiny Red Rose tea figurines arranged in vignettes on the mantel. A faded pastoral print in a cheap frame hung on the wall.

“
Hello,” a soft voice said behind me. Edna, very pale, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater, stood barefoot in the hall doorway. She rubbed the top of one foot with the bottom of the other and chewed on her lip.

I held the bear figurine out to her.
“I accidentally knocked it over so it broke even more.” I ran a fingertip over a glue line. “He’s pretty sad, but I was wondering if—” I suddenly felt incredibly insensitive for offering a shabby item as a gift.

“
I’ll take care of him,” Edna stretched out a trembling hand, and I slid the bear into her palm.

“
This is my dog, Tuppence.”

Tuppence
’s tail thumped at the sound of her name.

“
Would you like to come back?” Edna gestured vaguely down the hall.

“
Um, sure.”

We trooped after her, single-file. Long runners blanketed the hall floor, probably to cover worn spots in the carpet. I wondered if Mrs. Garman was able to hold down a job. She had seemed barely able to hold herself up. Edna led us into a small bedroom with a single bed jutting into the middle. She pushed the door almost closed behind us, leaving a small gap.

“You can sit.” Edna waved her arm toward the bed and gently placed the bear figurine on her dresser.

I eased onto a corner of the bed.

Edna sat on the other corner, and Tuppence immediately scooted next to her and laid her muzzle on Edna’s thigh. Edna traced  the white and black markings on Tuppence’s head then patted the mattress. “Up?”

Tuppence eyed me. I don
’t allow her on the furniture, so I think she was asking permission. I nodded.

Tuppence clambered up and flopped half across Edna
’s lap. Edna, head bent, kneaded the dog’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I had no call to yell at you.”

I picked at a snag on the pink chenille counterpane.
“You had me worried for a few minutes.”

“
Oh, it’s not you — not you at all,” Edna’s eyes flashed icy, and the breath caught in my throat. Pink spots on her cheeks flared then faded.

My leg muscles were taut, ready to bolt for the door in case her mood swung as rapidly as it had before.

“I thought Wade was saying bad things about me, and he’s so — so — he’d make you believe him.”

“
Wade?”

“
Wade’s mean.”

“
How so?”

“
He lies about people who are kind to him, steals from them, hurts — hurts animals.”

“
Has he done something bad to you?”

Edna shrugged one shoulder, tucking her ear against it.
“Just words, and he used to squash bugs so I could see, and he put a dead frog in my locker. But he won’t hurt me — won’t — because Spence made him — made him — Spence was nice.”

I wondered if Edna could sort out the timeline of her memories. Her mind seemed to be jumping around in the past decade and a half.
“You knew Spence Snead?”

Edna nodded.
“He would bring us venison sometimes, or elk, helped take care of us after — when my dad didn’t come back. His brother — the same, didn’t come back. Spence knew.”

Tuppence was snoring softly. Edna stroked one of her long ears.
“Then Wade came. And Spence tried to take care of him too. But Wade is selfish and cruel. Spence didn’t come see us much after Wade came, but I went there once—”

Edna grabbed my hand and looked straight in my eyes.
“That’s when I started taking — things.” Her gaze dropped. “But they didn’t notice. I take good care of them.” The icy light in her blue eyes was back, her mouth set in a grim line. “I take care.”

“
Of animals?”