Past Due for Murder Page 6

  “Quite right.” Aunt Lydia dropped a few dessert forks on my tray. “Perhaps this will cheer you up—I just heard from your mom. She said that she and Nick want to come for a short visit next weekend. I thought it sounded like a lovely idea and agreed.”

  “My parents are coming here?”

  “Yes. It will be the first time Debbie’s been back to this house in quite some time. I suppose we’ll need to give everything a good cleaning, but we do have a week to take care of that.”

  “It will also be the first time they have the opportunity to meet Richard.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the tray. “Whenever I’ve visited since we met, he’s either been traveling for his choreography projects or couldn’t get away from campus.”

  “I know.” My aunt walked over to the counter to pick up a silver-plated coffee carafe. “Strangely, you’ve always chosen weekends when he was busy. Not that I suspect you of doing that deliberately, of course,” she added as she crossed back to the kitchen table and set the carafe on a second tray.

  “I’m guessing you planned this, knowing he said he’d be home next weekend.”

  “Could be.” Aunt Lydia’s smile confirmed my suspicion. “Anyway, it’s time they met. Now—how about you carry the cake into the sitting room? I’ll bring the coffee.” Aunt Lydia placed ceramic cream and sugar dispensers, spoons, and a few mugs next to the coffee pot.

  I swallowed back a sharp retort. She was right—I had deliberately delayed my parents meeting Richard. Not because I thought they wouldn’t like him. Quite the opposite. I was more concerned that they would immediately rush out and rent a hall for a wedding reception.

  But they did need to meet him sooner or later, so I might as well make the best of it. I cleared my throat and pointed toward the coffee tray. “Maybe I’d better carry that one. It looks heavy.”

  Aunt Lydia raised her chin and stared down her aristocratic nose at me. “Are you suggesting that I’ve grown feeble in my declining years?”

  I snorted. “Declining? Seems to me you’re more active than ever these days.”

  “Exactly. So don’t treat me like an old lady. I’m only sixty-five. Not ready for the nursing home yet.”

  “I just meant your bum leg might make it more difficult …”

  Aunt Lydia’s white eyebrows rose in two delicate arches. “My leg is just fine, thank you very much. Now, grab that tray with the cake and follow me, missy. And please, for the love of heaven, try to smile.” She strode out of the kitchen and down the hall, forcing me to quicken my pace to follow her.

  As she stepped back to allow me to enter the sitting room, she leaned in and whispered, “Richard is madly in love with you, Amy. Anyone with eyes can see that. Stop wallowing in your insecurity.”

  “Okay,” I said, plastering a smile on my face.

  “That looks delicious.” Zelda, who was seated next to Walt on the suede sofa, slid forward to get a better glimpse of the cake.

  While Aunt Lydia filled two mugs and carried them to the end table next to the sofa, I followed behind her with my tray.

  “Anything new with you, Walt?” I asked as I handed him and Zelda each a slice of cake.

  “Certainly nothing as interesting as the disappearance of the young lady from Clarion. Have you heard any more about that, Amy?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact …” I placed a slice of cake on the end table next to my aunt’s favorite chair, then carried the tray over to a tall side table. Setting it next to the coffee items, I shared the information about the footprint Kurt had discovered on the edge of Mary’s property. “And I did provide Brad Tucker with some interesting information I found through some Internet sleuthing.” I met three expectant stares. “Sorry, he asked me not to share any details until he checks it out.”

  “Way to dangle the carrot,” Zelda said, patting her blonde curls.

  “So strange.” Aunt Lydia, settled in her favorite armchair, tugged her pale-pink skirt over her knees. “What would compel a young woman not known to be a hiking enthusiast to wander up into the mountains on her own?’

  “Bethany claims that Lacey wanted to look for some piece of jewelry she had lost hiking the trail the previous weekend.” I refilled my cup and took a sip of coffee. “Of course, now some people are saying she was lured away by the mountain lights.”

  My aunt waved her hand. “Such nonsense. That mountain lights tale has been circulating longer than the oldest book at the library. I’ve heard endless variations—UFOs, fairies, and all sorts of other ridiculous notions. Personally, l think those young women simply left town to start a new life elsewhere. I heard from old Mrs. Dinterman that one of them was being forced to marry someone she despised and that’s why she and her friend ran off.”

  Walt crossed one long leg over the other. “I’ve heard that as well. As for the lights, to me that’s a separate story. It’s older than the girls’ disappearance, you know. I’ve even read that the lights are linked to Native American folklore about warriors killed in battle. Meanwhile, a lot of people think it’s just a natural phenomenon. A form of ball lightning or something. I’m in that camp.”

  I rested my mug against my other palm. “Have any of you ever actually seen the lights?”

  Walt shook his head. “Not me.”

  “I never have.” Zelda patted her brightly tinted lips with her napkin. “But my grandma claimed she saw them once. She said they were glowing orbs that bounced above the treetops. Although”—she winked—“Granny liked a nip of her moonshine, if you know what I mean.”

  “So, like granny, like grandchild?” Walt’s teasing tone took the sting out of his words.

  Zelda’s crisply permed blonde curls bounced as she tossed her head. “Walter Adams, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

  “Because you love me?”

  “I suppose.” Zelda turned to me, her merry expression sobering. “I just pray they find that poor child soon.”

  Walt tapped his fork against the china cake plate. “And I just hope the sheriff’s department doesn’t target Delbert Frye over this.”

  “Why would they?” I asked, examining his thoughtful expression.

  Aunt Lydia toyed with the handle of her mug. “I know he’s a bit of a curmudgeon, but surely they wouldn’t suspect him in some girl’s disappearance.” She looked over at Walt and Zelda. “Everyone have what they need?”

  “Yes, it’s all perfect, Lydia, as always,” Walt said, while Zelda took a large bite of her cake and made an approving noise. “As for Delbert, you must have heard the stories of him chasing hikers and other people off his property with a shotgun. It isn’t a lie. He pointed a rifle at me the first time I visited his cabin.”

  “Really?” I set down my coffee mug. “He didn’t take a shot at you, I hope.”

  “No, not once he realized who I was. But he can be a prickly character. Although he did explain to me that part of his hatred for trespassers comes from what he calls the ‘dang fools’ who crawl all over his property looking for some mythical treasure.”

  I studied Walt’s calm face. “That’s funny, Mary Gardener mentioned something about gold. She seems to think it’s like the pot at the end of the rainbow—a tale connected to the ‘Folk,’ as she calls them.”

  Walt waved his hand. “That might be an embellishment to the folktale, but it’s also mixed up with some story about a valuable cache of coins lost in the mountains during the Civil War. Or so Delbert told me once when I asked what he meant about strangers scouring his property for gold.”

  “I’ve never heard that aspect of the story, although I do remember my grandmother’s friends gossiping about some treasure hidden on the mountain,” Aunt Lydia said.

  “Well, who knows? Maybe Delbert just concocted that story to shut me up. He doesn’t much care for questions.” Walt took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “He builds some beautiful musical instruments, though. I can’t play, or I’d have bought one of those dulcimers for myself. But I do admire the craftsman
ship.”

  “And Walt truly appreciates that sort of thing, being a craftsman himself,” Zelda said. “In fact, he’s got a garage full of some absolutely lovely furniture if you know anyone who’s interested.”

  Walt gave her knee a pat. “Now, no advertising. Amy and Lydia don’t want to buy anything from me. It’s just a hobby anyway.”

  “I was thinking more about Richard. He hasn’t completely furnished that house of his, has he?”

  “Stop it, Zel. If Richard wants any of my pieces, he knows how to find me.” Walt shot me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, but at least it seems I’ll never need to advertise with Zelda around.”

  “Now that you’re retired, you can use the money,” Zelda muttered before taking another bite of her cake.

  Walt cleared his throat. “But anyway, Amy, that’s how Delbert and I bonded. We both love woodworking. Once he realized that I was more interested in talking about lathes and chisels than in invading his space, he became quite congenial.” Walt grinned. “Well, maybe not exactly that. But less gruff, anyway. I’ve visited with him several times since.”

  “You don’t think he would actually harm anyone?” Aunt Lydia lifted her plate from the end table and settled back in her chair.

  Walt wielded his fork with a delicacy at odds with his large hands. “I don’t think so, but I’m sure the authorities have other ideas. Delbert does have a temper, and I admit that I have seen him lose it over what I would call minor inconveniences. Of course, there’s also that other fellow living in the area now. The one who recently lost his girlfriend in that accident. Some sort of musician, from what I hear. His property is adjacent to Delbert’s, so I guess the sheriff will be talking to him as well.”

  I swallowed another slug of coffee before speaking. “Yeah, Charles Bartos.” I twitched my lips into a tight smile. “Aunt Lydia knows Charles, although they only met once or twice.”

  “Indeed I do.” As she raised her mug to her lips, my aunt’s eyes asked me a question.

  I frowned. “You may not know this, Walt, but Charles and I used to date when I worked at Clarion.”

  “Ah,” said Zelda, with a knowing look at Aunt Lydia. “That Charles.”

  Aunt Lydia’s gaze remained focused on me. “Yes.” She took a delicate sip of coffee. “Not my favorite person, but it has to be a tough time for him. I understand they still haven’t tracked down the driver who struck his girlfriend.” She shook her head. “That must be maddening.”

  “It’s an ongoing investigation, or so I hear. Such a shame.” Zelda patted her permed curls. “So unfortunate too. Right after they spent all that money renovating the old Patterson place, she goes and dies before she really has a chance to enjoy it.”

  “It is too bad,” Aunt Lydia said. “Although I’m not particularly fond of Charles Bartos, I do sympathize deeply with his loss.”

  I met her brilliant blue gaze. Of course she did. She’d lost her own first love, my Uncle Andrew, in another tragic accident.

  “According to the news, the police are determined to find the driver, but they don’t have much to go on. It was dark that morning, and apparently no one else was on the road at the time.” Walt shook his head. “You’d think the driver would come forward. Imagine hitting someone and just driving off without even anonymously calling for help. I couldn’t live with the guilt, myself.”

  “Most decent people couldn’t,” Aunt Lydia said. “But unfortunately, there are many irresponsible and callous individuals in this world.”

  “It’s so sad.” Zelda clucked her tongue. “I never actually met the woman, but we did see her once. Remember, Walt? It was at that concert at the Kennedy Center. The one where your coworker’s daughter was playing a solo with a chamber orchestra.”

  “Oh, right.” Walt set his empty cake plate on the table beside the sofa. “As I recall, that concert featured a few different performers, including Charles Bartos. He played a couple of piano solos on the program.”

  “Yes, and when we went backstage to congratulate your friend’s daughter, we practically fell over him.” Zelda shot me a conspiratorial look. “He was standing backstage, right in the way, not paying any attention to us because this beautiful blonde was draped over him and they were kissing like there was no tomorrow.” Zelda fanned her face with her napkin. “His hands were all over her too. About made me blush.”

  “That sounds like Marlis Dupre,” I said.

  Zelda bobbed her head. “That’s what I figured, especially when I saw her photo in the paper, poor lamb. I didn’t get a good look at her face that night, but I remembered that blonde hair and lovely figure.”

  “I guess she accompanied Charles to some of his concerts even when the trio wasn’t playing.” I picked up my empty coffee mug and clutched it tight. “I know some people might wonder if I blame her for Charles dumping me, but I really don’t, and anyway, I think it’s a terrible shame, her dying like that. She’d just turned thirty and had so much talent …” I met Aunt Lydia’s speculative gaze. “Well, it’s always tragic when someone dies so young.”

  “Yes, it is,” my aunt said, giving me an approving smile.

  At that point, the conversation turned to other, less interesting topics, so I excused myself and headed into the kitchen, where I loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed the pots and pans Aunt Lydia had used to make dinner.

  When Walt and Zelda left, I followed them out onto the porch. Waving goodbye, I glanced over at Richard’s house and noticed that his car was in the driveway. Promising Aunt Lydia we’d talk about my parents’ upcoming visit later, I bounded up the stairs to my bedroom and flung myself across my bed, cell phone in hand.

  Richard answered my call on the third ring.

  “Hi there,” I said.

  “Hey,” he replied, in a subdued tone.

  Perhaps it was simply exhaustion. “It’s good to hear your voice. I know you probably don’t feel like leaving the house. Do you want me to come over?”

  “Um … Maybe not tonight. I just finished unpacking and still need to do laundry. Then I plan to crawl into bed and crash. Honestly, I don’t think I’d be very good company.”

  I lowered my hand and stared at the screen of my cell phone, as shocked as if it had suddenly transformed into a snake. Raising it back to my face, I forced a brightness into my tone that I didn’t feel. “If that’s what you want, sure. I had a rather long day myself. It’s fine.”

  That was a lie. It wasn’t fine. We hadn’t seen each other in several days and Richard had never been too tired for my company before. Even when he’d been injured or ill. Even after we’d stumbled over dead bodies and faced murderers with loaded guns.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I really am beat. I’ll see you tomorrow sometime, okay?”

  “Fine. It will have to be later in the day, though, since we’re both working.”

  “Sounds good. Now I have to wash a few things so I have something decent to wear tomorrow. Catch up with you soon.”

  “All right. Good-night then.” I hung up the phone before he could say anything more. And promptly burst into tears.

  I allowed myself a good cry before running to the bathroom to vigorously scrub the dampness from my face with a rough washcloth.

  Staring at myself in the mirror, I was glad no one else could see me. My hair was a tangled mess, my nose shone bright as a tomato, and my eyes were rimmed with red.

  But Richard doesn’t want to see me anyway … I gulped back a sob and fanned my heated face, telling myself that while I had every right to cry, I now had to clear my head and think things through.

  Because no matter how hard I tried to dismiss my concerns, I knew in my heart that something significant had happened to Richard while he was away. As I contemplated the possibilities, my insecurity padded up on its little soft paws and whispered in my ear. Perhaps he met an old acquaintance in his hometown. Some elegant, beautiful, woman he’s always secretly loved. Someone unattainable, until now.

  “Stop it,” I told my ref
lection. “Stop imagining the worst.”

  I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my hair before I dared to descend the steps and face Aunt Lydia. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice any traces of my recent crying jag, or if she did, would assume my appearance was simply due to exhaustion.

  Squaring my shoulders, I marched into the sitting room to find my aunt dozing in her chair. I didn’t wake her. Instead, I crept back upstairs, brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed. Although sleep, like the answers to the mysteries of Lacey’s disappearance and Richard’s strange behavior, eluded me.

  Chapter Seven

  I put on a brave face at work the next day, but Sunny wasn’t fooled.

  “As the grands would say, you look like something the cat dragged in and refused to eat,” she said as I slumped over the circulation desk after lunch.

  I waved her off with one limp hand. “It’s nothing.”

  “Sure, tell me another one.” Sunny ran her fingers through her silky hair. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  Sunny shook her head. “Well, you know where to find me when you do.”

  I thanked her and went back to compiling statistics from our integrated library system. It was a part of my job that I hated, which made it a perfect match for my mood.

  Not long after I’d completed my task, with my mind still fuzzy with figures, I decided to head out to the archives. Perhaps another dive into the documents referencing the mountain lights story would take my mind off thoughts of Richard’s strange behavior.

  Flipping through some of the folders I’d pulled for Mona and not yet refiled, I discovered numerous descriptions of the lights, along with a few other related interviews. One in particular caught my eye. It was a transcription of oral recollections of the 1879 disappearance of the two young women.

  I leaned over the worktable, scanning the typed report. It contained much of the same details as other material on the topic, except for one difference—it included comments by an elderly woman from a town on the other side of the mountains.