A Body in the Bargain: A Kate & Kylie Mystery Read online

  “I didn’t know you could make anonymous calls to the police station,” I said. “I thought you knew where all the calls came from.”

  “We do,” he said with a grin. “It was Hester Foley.”

  He yawned and apologized for yawning.

  “I’m not bored,” he said. “Just missed a lot of sleep.”

  “So,” I asked. “Have you found the infamous blue vase?”

  “No,” he said, sitting up again. “We got search warrants and spent half of last night searching Flip Tarver’s home, car, and business. We came up with nothing. He says he didn’t take it, and we can’t find it, so that case is pretty much closed. There’s a limit to how much manpower we can dedicate to a possibly stolen vase that belonged to a deceased person when we’re trying to find that person’s murderer.”

  “Possibly stolen?” I asked.

  “Well, yes,” he said. “She could have sold it or even broken it and swept it up. The only fingerprints in the china cabinet were the appraiser’s and some we assume were Meredith’s Merkle’s. They certainly weren’t Flip Tarver’s. The only reasons we know for sure the vase existed is that he says he knew about it, and we have a kind of inventory she wrote out for the lawyer when she made her will.”

  “And Hester Foley,” I said with a grin, “and Maxie Lewis.”

  He managed a grin in return, and said, “If I don’t get out of this chair, I’m going to fall asleep.”

  He put down his empty coffee mug and rose to his feet.

  “Thanks for the coffee. That’s really why I came over. For your coffee.”

  I must have looked surprised, because he laughed and said, “I’m kidding. I needed the information.”

  “And while I’m here,” he said when he got to the door, “thank you for letting me know about Eddie Robuck.”

  He yawned again and went on.

  “He’s a sharp old guy, and he was the first person who’s been able to confirm her whereabouts on the day of her death. Now we know she was headed toward….”

  He leaned his head against the doorframe.

  “Go home, Daniel,” I said. “Get some sleep.”

  He snapped to attention and said. “She was headed toward Morgan Road. And I’ll see you Tuesday morning, right? Same time as before?

  “Right,” I said.

  I got back to my sketching, thinking about how comfortable Daniel O’Reilly had looked in my living room.

  I was working on a sketch of the whole dogwood tree, trying to get the angle of the branches right when I got another call.

  This one was from Maxie Lewis.

  “I’m so sorry to disturb you on a Saturday,” she said. “But I got your number from Josh, and he said you wouldn’t mind. I’ve been trying to reach Verily Pickens all day, and she’s not home, and I couldn’t find John Robert either and I wondered…”

  “They’re in Macon visiting family,” I said. “They’ll be gone all weekend.”

  “My goodness, does she go up there every weekend? So she’ll be back tomorrow? What time?”

  “Well, I really don’t know,” I said. “I just know she went for the weekend. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m right in the middle of a project.”

  “Well, would you happen to have their number? I mean Billy’s number in Macon?”

  “No,” I said, “I don’t.”

  In fact, I did have it on my computer list, but I wasn’t going to help her be a pest.

  She sighed audibly and said, “But you do think she’s coming back tomorrow evening?”

  “I think so,” I said, “and I’m sure she’ll be at the library Monday.”

  “Well, let me ask you this,” she said. “I heard you were at Meredith Merkle’s house with Verily yesterday when the police cars were there. What was that all about?”

  I was getting annoyed at that point.

  “Why don’t you just talk with her on Monday?” I said. “I can assure you that the police weren’t there to arrest us.”

  I thought she might pick up my annoyance, but she seemed oblivious.

  “And did she get the personal papers?”

  “Yes!” I said, waiting for the next question to be about the blue vase.

  She was silent.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’m really busy right now.”

  “Well, goodbye then!” she said in a slightly offended tone. “I won’t keep you.”

  I made a face at the phone, and tried to get back to my sketching, but the mood was gone. I decided to tackle the wicker rocker, and after a closer look, I dragged it out to the front yard where the hose was hooked up and started washing it down.

  Sally Turbo took that as an invitation to come out of her house, come over and talk, and I didn’t really mind. I was learning that Sally’s small talk could be pretty interesting, and I had never minded her as much as Kylie did anyway.

  “You sure have the good-looking men coming by,” she said. “First Josh Miller with his big dog, and now the Chief of Police.”

  “Yep,” I said, aiming the hose at the spider webs under the seat. “What’s new with you?”

  “Nothing,” she said, sitting down on the front steps.“I did hear some news. Probably you already heard it, though.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Doris Dabney’s already out on bail, but they’re keeping David this time. Got him on some serious drug charges.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said, feeling slightly annoyed at Daniel O’Reilly. This wasn’t the first time he had seemed candid and talkative, and just not mentioned something really major.

  “So the chief doesn’t tell you everything?” Sally said with a grin as if she were reading my mind.

  “No,” I said. “He just came by to ask me about something else.”

  “Are you two friends or what?”

  “I guess we’re friends,” I said. “I have to talk to him to get stories for the paper. He likes my coffee.”

  “What about Josh Miller?” she asked.

  “Friends,” I said. “Absolutely only friends and you sure are nosy!”

  I laughed when I said it, and she laughed, too.

  “I was born nosy,” she said.

  It was getting dark. She was quiet for a while, and then I turned off the hose, and she got up and changed the subject.

  “Once that chair dries, the best way to paint it is with spray paint. You need to let one coat dry before you add another.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll try that.”

  “It’s probably going to take a half dozen cans,” she said. “Wicker just eats paint.”

  She helped me put the dripping chair on the porch, and we said good night.

  Chapter 17

  Monday morning started off with bad news.

  John Robert Pickens came by to tell me that Aunt Verily was in the hospital.

  “Nothing dire. Just some tests. I would have called,” he said after giving me a hug, “But I couldn’t find the scrap of paper Mama says she wrote your number on.”

  “I’m glad you came by,” I said. “Come on in and tell me about it. What happened?”

  “She stumbled and fell on the stairs up at Billy’s house,” he said. “But she kept saying she was alright, and it was just her bad knee. Then I got her home, and she had some kind of dizzy spell, so I took her to the emergency room. It turned out her blood pressure was through the roof. They called Dr. Jergens, and he said to admit her. Now she’s making a fuss about it and saying she has to go to work, but he says while he’s got her, he’s going to do a bunch of tests and get her medicines straightened out.”

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “Well that’s the other reason I’m here,” he said. “She wanted me to tell you not to let Maxie Lewis know you’ve got those personal papers
of Meredith Merkle’s. Maxie found out somehow that Mama was at Meredith Merkle’s house on Friday. There were about five phone messages from her about Meredith Merkle’s personal papers, and Aunt Verily thinks she’s probably trying to track down some paperwork about that silly vase, or something having to do with Flip Tarver in any case.”

  “Maxie’s already called me about them,” I said. “I did tell her that Aunt Verily got them, but I didn’t tell her I had them in the trunk of my car. Now, just tell Aunt Verily not to give it another thought, and that Chief O’Reilly says they’re dropping the whole thing about the blue vase. Case closed. They have actually searched Flip Tarver’s house and shop and found nothing.”

  “I’ll tell her,” he said.

  “Can she have visitors?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “But this morning she’s having one test after another. Also, Billy and his wife are coming later. Maybe you could visit tomorrow.”

  “I’ll send some flowers,” I said.

  “She’d love that,” he said, “And thanks for helping with the cloak and dagger stuff.”

  “My lips are sealed,” I said. “Wild horses couldn’t…”

  “Enough!” he laughed.

  Remembering that Flip Tarver did the wire orders only, I called Bitsy’s Bouquets and arranged to have flowers delivered to Aunt Verily’s hospital room.

  “You know, Maxie Lewis just called to order something for her, and she said Miss Verily prefers potted plants to cut flowers,” Bitsy Borders said. “She sent a peace plant. I have a beautiful red amaryllis, and she could replant the bulb.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  I had no idea what a peace plant was. Maybe, I thought, Maxie had realized she had gotten on Aunt Verily’s nerves and was trying to make amends.

  Having done that, I went to work on the Flood Festival publicity and began making calls to the different chairpersons, asking questions and getting their promises to e-mail me further information. I assured them that this wasn’t just for The Register, that I would send notices to the television and radio stations and the two dailies that served the region. I even called Sheena QOTJ to ask her to be sure that everybody remembered I was going to take pictures on Wednesday.

  Josh called late in the morning to ask if I knew that Doris Dabney was out on bail, and I said yes, but didn’t mention that I had learned it from Sally Turbo.

  “I’ve got an appointment with Chief O’Reilly tomorrow morning,” I said. “I’ll have an update for you, and remember, you’ve still got that Camelot Court story with the pictures.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, “And it looks like some people are getting worked up about that sign ordinance city council’s going to vote on since you put all that detail in. Maybe there’ll be a turnout at the public hearing next week.”

  My doorbell rang.

  “Just a minute,” I said. “Somebody’s at my door.”

  “Later,” he said.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Maxie Lewis had come to call.

  “I do hate to bother you, dear,” she said, “but I’m hoping you might have an extra key to Verily’s house, being so close to her and all. You know she’s in the hospital, don’t you?”

  The box with the folders in it was right on my coffee table. I stepped out onto the porch instead of inviting her in.

  “Yes, I know,” I said, “And I don’t have a key to her house. You’d need to ask John Robert for that.”

  I didn’t even ask why she wanted it, but she began to answer.

  “Well, I can’t reach him,” she said, “And you know a man is no real help around the house. I thought that while she’s in the hospital, I might go in and tidy up a bit and then get some of her other friends to make casseroles and things for her to have when she gets home. She’s going to need to take it easy, and of course, people will want to visit…”

  I felt a peculiar urge to spin Maxie Lewis around and march her toward the steps, but instead, I smiled and said, “She’s got more family coming this afternoon. I’m sure they’ll take care of things, and I’ll help, too.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Billy and his wife are coming? You know that Billy is the sweetest thing. Well, thank you for telling me. Maybe I’ll go by the hospital and see if I can have a little chit-chat with Billy later today. I just think it would be so nice if she could come home to a tidy house with everything arranged for her, and good food in the fridge.”

  I didn’t argue, and she rushed off.

  First, I called John Robert and alerted him to the household invasion plan, and he said, “Oh my LORD! If anything would give Mama a stroke that would do it.”

  At that point, I decided Verily Pickens had more than enough stress, and there was one I could manage for her. Before I went to visit her in the hospital, I was definitely going to go through those folders, and if there was nothing in them related to Flip Tarver or the blue vase, I could just suggest that I just deliver the whole thing to Maxie Lewis, and have done with it.

  I finished up my publicity work, updated the Flood Festival media list, and sent out some calendar notices.

  Then I went out to my car, got the box from the trunk and brought it into the house. I admit I looked around to make sure Maxie Lewis wasn’t lurking in the hedges.

  In my bedroom, I took out the folders and sat cross-legged on my bed to go through them. I proceeded with the seriousness of a curator, making notes now and then.

  By mid afternoon I had Meredith Merkle’s personal papers divided into five stacks.

  First stack: Personal: Ancient handwritten letters from her mother and others. Some old photographs, including one of a sweet looking little boy I thought was probably Flip Tarver as a two-year-old.

  Second stack: Literary: Letters from assorted publishing houses rejecting various submissions of poetry, essays and short fiction by Meredith Merkle. Photocopies of letters from Meredith Merkle to said publishing houses, criticizing their other choices for publication. Photocopies of letters from Meredith Merkle demanding the return of submissions. Original copies of typed poems and short stories by Meredith Merkle. (Her total body of work was about 75 pages. I glanced but did not read.) All this prior to 2001. At some point, she had given up.

  Third stack: Professional: 26 photocopies of letters sent to the Superintendent of Schools with copies to others, regarding failing grades given to various students whose parents had complained. (I didn’t see David Dabney among them). Photocopy of letter saying she planned to retire and hoped that future generations of young people graduating from River Valley High School would not be hopelessly illiterate.

  Fourth stack: Memorabilia: High school and college graduation programs, her own and some from recent years, a few wedding invitations, a birth announcement, a yellowed clipping from The Register showing Flip Tarver and others at a ribbon-cutting for “Tarver’s Gift Shoppe in its new downtown location.” Sad.

  Fifth stack: Stuff.

  “Stuff” was just that: Stuff that didn’t fit into the other categories, including some pamphlets and brochures on various subjects, some copies of old magazines, and two slender, cheaply bound, very old chapbooks with the title Flowings. They seemed to be the oldest thing in the papers of Meredith Merkle, and they had a faint smell of mold.

  I considered calling and telling Aunt Verily with some glee that I should dump the entire box with the contents of both portfolios on Maxie Lewis’ doorstep. Then I reached for one of the chapbooks and opened it so I could include it in the notes I was going to type.

  It was a collection of poems, a “limited edition,” published privately in Charleston, South Carolina in 1901.

  Flowings

  A garland of verse

  by Catherine Jane Millsaps

  I opened one and saw that it was published in 1901 in Charleston. I sneezed and had a sudden flash of memory. Miss Merkle sta
nding with her handkerchief over her nose at a table full of old books, pamphlets, and magazines at the Cadbury yard sale. For a woman who didn’t like dust and mold, she certainly liked old books.

  I looked at the mess on my bed and began putting everything back into the folders. I held out one of the two copies of Flowings, thinking I would take it to the hospital when I went to visit Aunt Verily.

  Then I went to wash my hands, have a sandwich, and type up my report on the Personal Papers of Meredith Merkle.

  I thought to myself as I began that if Aunt Verily wanted me to, I would print out multiple copies. She could give one to any member of the Literary Society who happened to inquire, and even send one to the ever-nervous Laurinda Dove. Then the box could be given to Maxie Lewis or properly filed in the library’s historical collection.

  After I had finished typing it up and printing it out, I called John Robert Pickens to ask about Aunt Verily.

  “She’s insists nothing’s wrong, but they won’t let her go yet,” he said. “Here. I’ll let you talk with her.”

  Aunt Verily sounded very much herself.

  “I do hope that Maxie Lewis hasn’t been pestering you,” she said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that woman, but it does make me suspicious that she thought Meredith had something personal of hers or had written something about her. I was thinking it was about the vase, but it’s all over town that Flip’s house and shop were searched, and I can’t believe she thinks you and I took it.”

  “Well, I can relieve your mind,” I said. “There’s nothing in Meredith Merkle’s personal papers about Maxie or the blue vase. I’ve just been through the whole thing.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, both folders,” I said. “I’ve made an inventory. I think maybe she hoped somebody would read her poems and short stories, and there was a lot of correspondence with publishers. Also, there are letters she wrote about how awful the students were, and some programs and souvenirs, a few photos, some old letters from her mother, and a couple of old bound copies of some poems by someone named Catherine Jane Millsaps.”