The Ghost and Mrs. Fletcher (16 page)

She picked up her pen. “You're holding it on Halloween. Isn't that kind of a busy day?”

“It was the only weekend date we could agree on that didn't conflict with activities by the library and the Friends of the Library.”

“The library has its Halloween Parade that day, you know.”

“I'm hoping the library director, Doris Ann, will agree to have the parade on the grounds of the Spencer Percy House. That way it would get lots of parents of young children to the sale. Charlene Sassi has offered to hold a cookie sale to benefit the library, too. It promises to be a fun event.”

“Okay. Okay. I'll put something in the paper after I run the story on the medium.”

“The medium?”

“Yeah. Arianna Olynski. She invited me to watch the filming of her show. She says she's a good friend of yours.”

“I wouldn't go that far.”

Evelyn shook her head. “It looks like the
Gazette
is going to be camped out at the Spencer Percy House all month, what with the medium, your book sale, and my lead story, of course.”

“Your lead story?”

“The murder of Cliff Cooper. What do you know about it?” she asked.

“Nothing. You probably know a lot more than I.”

“I find that hard to believe, considering your reputation for knowing, well—for knowing everything that goes on in town.”

“That's flattering,” I said, “but hardly true.”

The sound of a rock ballad emanated from Evelyn's pocket. A man's voice sang, “You know it hit me like a hammer.” She pulled out her cell phone. “That's Huey Lewis and the News,” she said, indicating her call music. “It was the only news reference I could find.” She pressed a button, and the music stopped. “Evelyn Phillips here. Okay, stay with him. I'll be right there.” She gathered up her pen and pad. “Seth has emerged from hiding. I have to run. Thanks for the tea, Jessica. I'll call you later.”

Saved by rock music,
I thought as I closed the front door behind Evelyn. Poor Seth. But at least I didn't have to duck her questions. I took my teacup into my office and sat at my computer. The rest of my phone messages could wait. The problem was that while sitting in my quiet home office was satisfying, I couldn't get my brain to cooperate.

I'd found Eve Simpson's behavior toward Elliot unnecessarily harsh, although I understood her need to clear out the house, including a new occupant, as a precursor to showing it to prospective buyers. Even so, she was days away, maybe longer, from having the house in shape, and she could have allowed Elliot a bit of slack until after the funeral for his grandfather. Selling the Spencer Percy House was going to be a challenge no matter what, considering its overall condition, as well as its reputation for being haunted.

That latter stumbling block was silly, of course—unless you happened to believe in ghosts. I'd found it surprising how many people in town had actually come to accept that a spirit occupied the house. I suppose it's a testimony to our ability to become immersed in a rumor and have our imagination override our intellect. While I don't personally believe in ghosts any more than I believe in extraterrestrial aliens, I'm not so closed-minded as to definitively rule out the possibility that they exist.

To my surprise, I dozed off in my chair, until the arrival of Mort's deputy woke me.

“Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said when I handed him the plastic bag containing the green scrubs. “What do you think of Mr. Cooper's murder?”

“Very sad.”

“Yeah, I know, but it has folks buzzing around town. We sure get a lot of murders in Cabot Cove, don't we? Well, I'd better get back before the sheriff starts looking for me.”

We have had more than our share,
I thought. Even one murder was one too many as far as I was concerned. I hoped this one would be solved quickly and things would calm down.

That turned out to be wishful thinking.

“I
really appreciate you doing this, Mrs. F.,” Mort said as he held open the door of the patrol car parked in front of my house.

“Happy to help, Mort, only I don't think it's really necessary to have me accompany you to interview the Conrad twins. They're nice people.”

“I'm sure they are, but since you know them pretty well, I figured having you along would put them at ease.” He laughed. “People tend to get uptight being questioned by law enforcement, especially when it's a murder that's being investigated. It's not like they're suspects or anything, but I'm told they were close to Mr. Cooper and might have some insight into why he was killed.”

Mort had called Lettie and Lucy to arrange to meet that morning. While I thought my presence was more likely to put our sheriff at ease than to reassure the Conrad sisters, I had to admit, to myself at least, that I was curious to hear what they would say about Cliff Cooper and their relationship with him. We had talked a lot about Cliff's relationship with his son and daughter-in-law, and to a certain extent with his grandson, Elliot, but how Cliff's neighbors fit into his life was more a matter of speculation on my part. They hadn't divulged any intimacies in their relationship to me.

Lettie answered the door and invited us inside. Judging from the surprised look on her face when she saw me, Mort hadn't told them that I'd be with him. But she didn't say anything. We were ushered into the living room, where Lucy sat by the window, her Christmas tree quilt wrapped around her knees.

Mort took out the pad he used to make a report. “As you may have heard,” he said, reading his notes, “‘the Cabot Cove Sheriff's Department is investigating as suspicious the death of one Clifton Cooper, age eighty-three, who resided at . . .'” Mort recited his boilerplate introduction, and looked up uneasily. “It's customary to interview witnesses individually,” he said, “so I'll have to ask one of you to leave temporarily. I know it's an inconvenience, but it's standard procedure. If you object, we'll have to invite you to police headquarters for the questioning. I thought this would be a more pleasant environment for both of you.”

“Is Jessica going to leave, too, or is she an official interviewer?” Lettie asked.

“Unofficial,” I said. “The sheriff asked me to participate since I'm a friend of yours and was a friend of Cliff's.”

“That's if it's okay with you,” Mort said. “Wouldn't want to put you on the spot if you'd prefer to be interviewed without her present.”

“I've got nothing to hide,” Lettie said, “but I want to know why we're considered ‘witnesses.' We weren't at the hospital when Cliff died.”

“Merely a technical term,” Mort said. “We're talking to all the deceased's friends and acquaintances to get the lay of the land, so to speak.”

“You mean to find out if he had any enemies?” Lettie said.

“That, too,” Mort said.

“Is Elliot or Beth here?” I asked.

“No,” Lettie said. “They've gone into town to make arrangements for tomorrow's funeral. I mentioned that you were going to be here this morning, Sheriff, but they said they were sure you'd track them down when you wanted to talk with them. Isn't that right?”

“It would have been handy if they'd been here. Saves wear and tear on the patrol car, but, yes, I can talk with them another time.”

Lucy, who'd said nothing beyond hello, picked up her quilt and walked to the door. “I have things to do in the kitchen,” she said. “I'll be there when you need me.”

Mort and I sat on the couch; Lettie took a ladder-back chair from a corner and placed it across the coffee table from us. “What do you wish to know, Sheriff?” she asked, a challenging expression on her angular face.

“Well,” Mort began, “maybe you can fill me in a little about your friendship with the deceased, Cliff Cooper.”

“You mean my sister's friendship with Cliff Cooper,” she said.

“Weren't you friends with him as well?” I asked.

“We were neighbors nigh onto forty or fifty years.”

“Yes, but you were also familiar with details of his life, of his relationships with his family. That makes you more than simply an acquaintance,” I said.

“I guess you could say we were friends of a sort, but it was really my sister he was interested in. I was just along for the ride. He'd probably have been just as happy if I hadn't been around.”

“Okay,” Mort said, “why don't you tell us about your sister's friendship with him?”

“Don't you think you'd be better off asking
her
that question?”

“I'll get to that,” Mort said. “Right now I'm asking
you
the question.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Lettie was becoming agitated.

“Why don't you tell the sheriff about Lucy's friendship with Cliff,” I said, hoping to smooth the waters.

“It was more than friendship,” Lettie said. “He was courting her. He asked her to marry him, and she agreed.”

“She did? Then why did they never marry?” I asked.

“Because I put my foot down and said no.”

“
You
said no?” Mort said, mirroring my reaction.

“What did Lucy say when you told her you were against their getting married?” I asked.

Lettie looked at me. “You probably think it sounds selfish, don't you?”

“I'm not in your shoes, Lettie. I don't know what you were thinking. Why did you oppose their marriage? Didn't you like Cliff?”

“Oh, I liked him well enough as a neighbor. Liked his wife, too. When she died, we brought him casseroles and such like neighbors always do. Like lots of women in town did, for that matter. He was an eligible bachelor. Not bad-looking, with a big house and his own business. Plus, his son, Jerry, was going to go off to college in a few years.”

Not a very romantic assessment, I thought but didn't say. To me, Lettie always appeared to be the practical twin, so her opinion of Cliff as a prospective husband was not surprising.

“Was Cliff interested in marrying Lucy many years ago, when Jerry still lived at home?”

She shook her head. “No. He didn't start to court her until after Jerry and his wife took off for parts unknown. We helped him out a lot when Elliot was a tyke, watching the boy until the babysitters arrived, things like that. I think that's when he took a shine to Lucy. For a while, I thought I was the one he was interested in, but no, he wanted the prettier one. Always that way, isn't it?”

“But you're twins,” Mort said.

“All identical twins will tell you that people always like to say one is prettier or handsomer than the other, as if that's the only way they can tell us apart.” She looked out the window with a view of the Spencer Percy House across the road, and was silent.

“You were going to explain why you didn't want Lucy to marry Cliff,” I reminded her.

Lettie shook her head as if I'd just interrupted a dream. “It
was
selfish on my part, I admit. She was willing to marry him but not to live in that monstrosity of a big house with all those rooms to clean. Cliff didn't have a lot of money, you know, only the property over there, the house and barn.”

“Did she want him to sell the house?”

Lettie snorted. “I wish. No, she invited him to live in our house. Can you believe it?”

“That wasn't good?” Mort asked.

“Good for him maybe. Good for her. But what about me?” Lettie was working up steam. She glared at me. “I'll bet you think Lucy is the sweet one. I've heard that my whole life. But let me tell you, she might seem to be the sweet one, but she always got her way. My fault. I let her get away with it because it was no skin off my nose. Besides, everything was peaceful as long as she thought she was in charge. I've always been content to let her handle the household finances and write out the shopping list based on what
she
wanted us to eat. Then I did the cleaning and shopping.”

“Who cooked?” I asked, trying to move Lettie off her complaints about her sibling. It seemed a logical question even though it had nothing to do with Mort's inquiry into Cliff Cooper's murder.

“We both do, although I make the main dish and do all the baking.” A smile crossed Lettie's face. “She does make cookies every now and then,” she said. “I've always gone along with what she wants; I don't care what we eat as long as we don't go hungry. I don't like confrontation, although people who know us find that hard to believe.” She paused, wiping away a tear. “I feel as though I'm betraying our most intimate family secrets.”

“Whatever you say stays right here,” Mort said. “Isn't that right Mrs. F?”

“Of course. Lettie, I have a question if you don't mind.”

“If I did, it's a little late,” she said.

“Was there anyone aside from you and Lucy who got close to Cliff?”

“Virtually no one,” she replied. “There was that nurse when Elliot was a baby, but I put an end to that. I told him she was just after his money. He laughed and told me he didn't have any.”

“Maybe that's why he wanted to move in here,” Mort suggested.

“If that was the case, he would have been using Lucy and her feelings for him.”

“Did Mr. Cooper have any enemies?” Mort said.

“Knew you'd get around to asking that,” Lettie said. “Aside from me stepping in between him and Lucy? No one that I knew. Frankly, he was a loner, like his son. That's where Jerry got it from. That's why, after he retired from carpentry, all Cliff did was read. Maybe there's someone in town who has a complaint about his work—you know, the door came off a cabinet or a step was loose. Ask around.”

“That's exactly what we're doing,” Mort said.

I was pleased that he'd deflected Lettie's sarcasm instead of responding with anger.

“Anything else?” she asked. “I've said all I wish to say.”

“No, ma'am,” said Mort. “Would you please ask your sister to come in now?”

A long period passed before Lucy entered the room, and I assumed that she and Lettie had had a conversation before she joined us. She took the chair that Lettie had vacated, smoothed the quilt over her lap, and smiled. “Lettie says that I'm free to say anything about our family. I hope she didn't reveal too many secrets.”

“Not at all,” Mort said. “She did say that you wanted to marry Cliff Cooper and have him move in here with you and your sister.”

She nodded demurely.

“But Lettie was against it,” I said.

“Yes, she was.”

“That must have been difficult for you, being in love with him,” I said.

Lucy hesitated before saying, “I have to admit that I really didn't love Cliff. He was a kind man and so well-read, never without a book in his pocket. Not that he was a snob about books, mind you. He liked the popular novels as well as history and philosophy. I liked him a lot. But I didn't love him.”

“Then why did you want to marry him?”

“It's complicated. I've never been married. It would have been nice to experience that once, to be called Mrs. Cooper instead of Miss Conrad. I'm not so modern that I would have kept my maiden name.”

“Is that the only reason?” I asked.

“No. That would have been very selfish of me if that was the only reason. I thought we could all take care of one another as we got older. That's not such a bad idea, is it?” This time a few tears came from Lucy, which she wiped away.

“Is there more to it than that, Lucy?” I asked.

“There is, but you mustn't say anything to anyone, especially Lettie. Promise me, Jessica.”

“Our conversation is completely confidential,” Mort said.

I agreed.

Lucy's eyes met mine. “All right. I'll tell you. I've been feeling myself starting to lose my faculties and—I just hope that you never experience this, Jessica. It's so distressing.”

“Everyone has forgetful moments, Lucy,” I said, “even young people.”

“Mine are different, though. I don't have them all the time—at least I hope I don't—but when I do, they're bad. It isn't just, ‘Where did I leave the keys?' It's more, ‘What is this cell phone doing in the refrigerator?' And I keep forgetting things.” She clutched the quilt to her chest and sighed.

“Go on,” I said. “Is there more?”

“What?”

“You were telling us why you wanted to marry Cliff,” I said.

“I was? Oh, yes. I thought that if Cliff moved in with us, it would be security for Lettie, company and help for her when I could no longer manage our affairs and needed caring for. Lettie's mind is still sharp; she remembers everything; every little thing I've ever said to her. She throws it back at me when she gets mad. She'll tell you she's the easy one, but I've been walking on eggs around her since we were children. Mama tried to protect me, told me to get some backbone and stand up for myself. I try. I'm not always successful. Lettie will let me do what I want, but then she'll fume and fuss, and eventually she'll explode. Well, she got her way. Cliff didn't move in. He got sick instead. At the end of his life, he was so pale and so frail, he didn't even want me to visit him in the hospital.”

“He did say he wanted you to remember him as a healthy man, not how he looked in illness,” I said.

“People think women worry over their looks, but I think men are worse. I didn't care that he was grizzled and weak. I just wanted to tell him how grateful I was that he cared for me, and how he'd been a wonderful friend and neighbor and an even better grandfather to Elliot.”

“Was he a good father to Jerry?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Jerry, Cliff's son,” I said.

“Oh, right. Yes, he was a very good father, although Jerry never appreciated him.”