Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set Page 14

  "After ya done with ya breakfast, why don't ya go back and see old Nitwit Pitt agin?" Harriet asked. "No sense wearing out me floors and being under me feet all day. Ya ne'er know. Ya jest might git something useful outta the ol' nutcase."

  "Hey, that's a good idea, Harriet. Thanks. I'll take her a few more books. I'm not sure she'd be ready for more candy yet. It hasn't been that long since I gave her ten pounds of chocolates."

  "Ha! Are ya blind, girl? She had dem candies et up befer you left the parking lot, iffing ya ask me."

  I knew Harriet was exaggerating, but she did have a valid point. Wanda Pitt did not get to be her size by eating sensibly. I'd pick up one more five-pound box of chocolates and several Harlequins on my way to Serenity Village. It would kill a little time and keep my mind off what might be happening to Wendy.

  And who knows? Maybe Harriet was right and I would pick up some useful tidbit of information.

  "Take dem pictures with ya, why don't ya?" Harriet said as I rinsed my empty platter and set it in the sink. Stone had shown Harriet and Andy the reprints while we ate supper at the Union Street Diner the night before.

  Chapter 22

  Andy gave me his cell phone and promised to call me just as soon as he'd heard from his uncle. He encouraged me to try and relax in the meantime.

  "Uncle Stone said he'd call on Harriet's number for just this very reason," Andy told me. "He knew you wouldn't be able to sit still this morning while you waited to hear from him. I'm restless myself. That's why I decided to paint Harriet's back porch."

  "Is that the only reason, Andy?" I teased.

  "Well, no. It's also because I had quite a lot of leftover white paint, and Harriet didn't want to see it go to waste. I doubt she wanted to waste the 'elbow grease' I was offering either."

  Andy chuckled in an endearing manner that reminded me of Stone. I was surprised that somehow, in the very depths of despair, I could still find humor in life's everyday situations. Once again, I found myself laughing to keep from crying.

  * * *

  On the way to Serenity Village, I stopped at the pharmacy to pick up the care package items for Clay's mother. I recalled her comment about celebrating a birthday this week and had a sudden desire to try and make it special for her so it would not be the lonely, depressing event she'd anticipated.

  I found a large wicker basket and two bright, colorful silk scarves to line the bottom. To fill the basket I bought the books and chocolates, along with a brush and comb, several tubes of lipstick, a manicure set, two bottles of nail polish, and a selection of lotions, shampoos, and perfumes. I'd tell Wanda she deserved to be pampered on her birthday, and this gift was a collection of self-pampering tools. With any luck at all she'd utilize the items and take a little more interest in her appearance.

  I selected an appropriate greeting card that complemented the basket before proceeding to the checkout counter. The clerk at the pharmacy recommended a bakery a few blocks away. There I selected a small chocolate birthday cake, and had the top decorated with icing spelling out "Happy Birthday, Wanda." One large candle was placed in the center. Hopefully, Wanda had at least one friend at the center to share her cake with and help celebrate her birthday.

  There was a different young girl at the front desk of Serenity Village from the first time I'd visited, so I informed her I was Wanda's niece, Clara Pitt, and headed down the hallway to Wanda's room with my armload of goodies. Under the birthday basket was a folder with the photos we'd had reprinted from Jake's negatives.

  A becoming smile brightened Wanda's face when she saw the cake and basket. I realized Wanda had probably been a very beautiful woman at one time. She could be very attractive again, if she made an effort to take better care of herself.

  "Carla! How good to see you again!"

  "Hello, Wanda. It's Clara, Clara Ransfield. I thought I'd drop by to wish you a happy birthday." I set the cake on her kitchen counter and handed her the basket.

  The look on Wanda's face told me I had never given anyone a gift as appreciated as the one I'd handed her. I was thankful that Harriet had suggested the idea of visiting Clay's mother again.

  I didn't mention to Wanda that the cake I'd bought was made of sugar-free chocolate, with low-fat, low-calorie vanilla icing. I could see no purpose in adding to her weight problems. The box of chocolates was also endorsed by the American Diabetes Association and contained a sugar substitute. She was certain to notice when she opened the box, but maybe she'd discover they were a tasty alternative to the real thing.

  I chatted with Wanda about trivial matters for several minutes and watched while she inspected all of the treats in her basket. She agreed that maybe she could benefit from a little self-pampering and told me she was anxious to try out all the items I'd brought for her. Wanda thanked me effusively as she fawned over each item in the basket.

  "Bringing me all these nice things was so thoughtful of you, Claire. I really appreciate your kindness. By the way, have you seen Clayton, my son?" Wanda asked, abruptly.

  I wasn't sure how she could have expected me to see him, or even where to find him, but I welcomed the opportunity to switch the subject over to discussing Clay. I had to remind myself that Wanda Pitt had lived in a home for the mentally ill for many years. She might have forgotten that, to her, I was just an administrator at the Serenity Village facility. After all, she couldn't even remember my name for five minutes.

  "No, Wanda, I haven't seen your son. But I've recently visited with an old roommate of his, named Jake Jacoby. Do you know Jake?"

  "No, can't say I ever heard of him."

  I opened my folder and pulled out the picture we'd had enlarged of Jake and Clay. I handed it to Wanda, and she smiled as she stared at the photograph.

  "That's my boy, Clayton Oliver! Don't recognize the other one, though. Is this one the roommate you visited?" Wanda asked, pointing at Jake in the photo.

  "Yes, that's Jake Jacoby."

  "What's all that stuff on his face?" Wanda asked as she moved the photo closer to her face and studied the earring in Jake's eyebrow. She'd been in this facility for so long that I doubted she'd witnessed the recent trends of the younger generation.

  "Body piercings. It's a new fad. A way for young folks to express themselves—like tattoos. I have to admit I don't see the attraction of it, but maybe that's just my age showing."

  "How old are you, by the—?"

  "—Forty-eight. Probably close to your own—"

  "Yeah, I turned fifty yesterday. I never thought I'd see the day that I'd live to be fifty. But stranger things have happened, I suppose."

  I smiled and nodded. I thought it must have been a very sad day for Wanda. Fifty was a milestone. To reach the milestone of a half century in age, without the company of another human being, must be a very lonely experience.

  I was glad I'd purchased a new apron for Harriet at the pharmacy, in order to thank her for her recommendation that I visit Wanda once again. I planned to stop at a silk-screening shop on the way back to the inn to have it personalized. "Welcome to Harriet's kitchen" it would read across the front. It would be a time-consuming distraction for me.

  Wanda grunted and repositioned herself on the sofa, reached across the coffee table, and picked up the other photos in my folder.

  "Do you mind if I have a look at these?"

  I could see she was anxious to view more photos of her son, Clayton, whom she'd said she hadn't seen in many years. I wished I had a stack to offer her, instead of just the two photos. Next time I visited I'd bring her one of Clay in a tuxedo, taken at his and Wendy's wedding in August. She'd be proud of what a handsome man her son was today. I could surely concoct a believable story to explain why I had all the photos.

  "Sure. There's only one more of Clayton, however," I said, as I picked out the photo of Clay behind the slaughtered moose. "Big moose, huh? Do you happen to recognize the cabin behind Clayton in this photo?"

  "No, never saw it before," she said, shaking her head. She loo
ked at the next photo in the stack and beamed broadly. "Well, I'll be damned! Here's a picture of Ma and Pa! This had to have been taken shortly before Pa died. What a wonderful photo of the two of them! Oh, how I wish I had a copy of this one."

  I looked down at the photo of the elderly couple I'd mistakenly assumed were Jake's grandparents. "This is your mother and father?"

  "Yes." There were tears of joy in Wanda's eyes.

  Wanda stared at the photo for what seemed like several minutes. Eventually, she set the photo down on the coffee table and picked up the rest of the reprints from the pile.

  "Here's Clay's first car," she said. "He saved his money and was so proud when he could finally afford to buy this convertible. He used to take me on rides around town in it, with the top down. Oh, and look here. It's his old dog, Buddy. Surely Buddy is gone by now. Buddy and Clayton were inseparable when they were both young."

  It suddenly occurred to me the stack of photos we'd found in Jake Jacoby's house had belonged to Clay, not to Jake. I thought back to a conversation I'd had with Wendy on the phone while she was still attending college and had just begun "officially" dating Clay. I vaguely remembered her mentioning that Clay had sold his old car and bought the new half-ton Chevy truck. Apparently it was the Mustang that Wendy had referred to, and Clay had sold it to his roommate, Jake.

  I wasn't sure if, or how, this information would help us in any way. And I didn't think I was apt to get anything else out of my visit with Wanda that would be beneficial. I wanted to stop and get Harriet's apron personalized and be back at the inn by the time Stone called. I spent a few more minutes with Wanda before giving the excuse that I had to get back to work in the administrative offices of the care center. I would be back to see her soon, I promised. It was a promise I intended to keep.

  As I was preparing to leave, Wanda picked up the enlargement of Clay and Jake for one last look. She grinned as she handed it back to me.

  "He sure has become a handsome man, hasn't he? 'Course he was good-looking as a kid too. Took after his daddy in that respect. Homer's always been a looker. Got to give him that much anyway."

  "How old was Homer when he... uh... died?" I asked, hesitantly. Wanda's use of the present tense had confused me.

  "Died? Hell, Caroline, Homer ain't dead, just locked up. He's still in the pen, last I heard."

  "The pen?" What happened to the damn fool bleeding to death on the kitchen floor after he ran right into the butcher knife? I wondered.

  "Yeah," Wanda said. "Someone told me a few years ago he got sent up the river for robbing a liquor store. Shot the fellow behind the counter. Didn't kill him, but the poor fellow's still got a hunk of lead in his skull. Pretty much a vegetable now, from what I hear."

  "But... but, Wanda, didn't you tell me you killed Homer in self-defense, and Clayton witnessed the whole thing?"

  "Now, Cora, don't be silly. Why would I tell you something as crazy as all that?"

  Oh my goodness, Wanda. Because you are crazy, that's why! What had I been thinking? Just because Wanda sounded intelligent and competent most of the time didn't mean anything she told me was the truth. There had to have been a good reason for her to live in this facility for the last sixteen years. After all, they didn't normally institutionalize perfectly sane people in homes for the mentally ill. Occasionally, perhaps, but not very often.

  "I'm sorry, Wanda. I must have misunderstood."

  I was shaking my head in disbelief as I gathered up the photos and prepared to leave. Everything I thought I knew about Clay's childhood, and about his parents, had just flown out the window. If nothing else, I still believed the old couple in the one photo was Wanda's parents, and the photos we'd had reprinted had belonged to Clay, not Jake.

  "So long now—uh, what was your name again?"

  Carlene? Connie? Wanda had called me so many different names that, for a moment, even I couldn't remember the one I'd invented. "It's, er, Clara. Yeah, that's it."

  "Oh, yes, it's Clara, of course. Be careful in the hallways, Clara," Wanda cautioned, as I opened the door of her apartment. "Thanks again for the gifts and coming to see me."

  I said good-bye and then wished her a happy birthday once again—a birthday I now realized could have just as likely been four months ago, as yesterday. For some inane reason, I looked around, as if concerned about being pursued by Wanda's purple, one-eyed monsters on the way to the parking lot.

  Chapter 23

  "Lexie?"

  "Yes?" I said to Andy, as I spoke to him on his own cell phone.

  "Uncle Stone just called. Detective Glick took him and the sheriff out to the murder scene, as promised. He thought maybe you'd want to see it with your own eyes."

  "He's right, I do."

  "He asked me to bring you to the Sinclair station in DeKalb. He said he'd meet us there, and we'd all take your Jeep out to the site."

  "I'm on my way back to the inn right now, Andy. I'll be there in less than ten minutes."

  "This is a pretty remote area, isn't it?" I asked Stone as the three of us stood in the dense forest, in an infrequently traversed section of the Adirondack Mountain Range.

  "Yes. According to Glick it's not a very popular area because of the dense underbrush and the abundance of stinging nettles."

  "Did he or Sheriff Crabb happen to mention why or how Eliza's body got moved to the location where Crowfoot eventually discovered it?" Andy asked.

  "No. They are both baffled by how or why that occurred. They've considered the idea a mountain lion may have dragged her there, but the forensic scientist nixed the possibility. The body showed no bite marks, or anything of that nature."

  "See those dozen or so stones over by the large pine tree?"

  Stone pointed toward the tree.

  "Yes," I said, as Andy and I both looked in its direction.

  "That's where Eliza's sweatshirt was found, and also her blood, which was splattered all over one of the stones. That particular stone was taken in for DNA testing. Glick thinks it was most likely the blunt object used to kill Eliza."

  Stone and Andy wandered off to inspect an old abandoned cottage they spied about three or four hundred feet on the other side of my Jeep. I walked about a hundred feet in the opposite direction, to the assortment of stones that Stone had pointed out.

  I sat down with my back against an old tree trunk. The tree had probably fallen many years earlier. I sat quietly, thinking about Eliza's gruesome death, and wondering what kind of sick individual could do such a horrific thing to anybody, much less a pregnant woman. There were tears in my eyes and sweat on my brow as I thought about Wendy being in the hands of the same individual who had perpetrated this crime.

  I was absentmindedly picking up the stones one by one and piling them up beside me. "Leave no stone unturned"—Sheriff Crabb's motto—went through my mind as I dug out the last of the scattered stones. It was tough to dislodge since it was half-buried in the hardened mud. I placed the stone on top of the pile beside me and noticed the sun glint off something shiny where the stone had been. The shiny object was half-covered in fine dirt. As I reached over and picked up the shiny object, a large hand clamped down over my wrist and jerked my body sideways. I let out an involuntary scream in response, just as another hand covered my mouth.

  "What are you doing here?" I heard a familiar voice ask.

  I looked up into the square, angry face of Detective Glick. He slowly released his right hand from my wrist, and then removed the left one that was covering my mouth.

  "What are you doing here?" I countered. "We thought you'd left."

  "I came back to pick up an exposed film cartridge that I'd left on a log back by where your Jeep is parked. Did I hear you say 'we'? Are you the other half of Officer Van Patten, by any chance?" he asked in an irritated voice. It had just dawned on him he'd been tricked, and he wasn't happy about it.

  "I have a right to be here, detective."

  "No, you don't, Ms. Starr. This is a crime scene—the site of a murder inves
tigation—not just the scene for your next chapter. A young woman lost her life here, savagely. How would you feel if you were a member of the family that's been devastated by her death? Would you like to have writers crawling about the murder scene, interfering with the investigation, and contaminating potential evidence?"

  "I am a member of the family that's been affected, Detective Glick! That's why I'm here. I'm almost certain the person who killed Eliza Pitt has abducted my daughter, the second Mrs. Pitt. Her name is Wendy, and she's now married to Clayton Pitt."

  "What? Clayton Pitt has remarried? He married your daughter and now she's missing?" Glick seemed overwhelmed by this new turn of events. "So, you're not just here because you're a writer, Ms. Starr?"

  "Please call me Lexie, Detective Glick."

  "Okay, Lexie. I'm Ron." He motioned for me to continue.

  "I'm not a writer at all, Ron. I told you a lie because I thought maybe I could get some information from you, but, as you well know, I was wrong."

  "Why didn't you just tell me the truth? I would've helped you had I known the real reason you wanted information about the case."

  "I didn't want anyone to know I was here in New York, investigating the murder. I didn't want any information to get back to my new son-in-law, Clayton Pitt, whom I feared was the killer. But now it has anyway, and my daughter, Wendy, has vanished. We've come to the conclusion Clayton is most likely not involved in her abduction, but there is a connection there somewhere we haven't figured out yet." I began to cry in frustration. I'd been controlling my emotions quite admirably until now.

  "You need to tell me everything you know. We'll work together and see what we can come up with by putting our heads together. Here comes Officer Van Patten. I want to hear the whole story from both of you. Oh, I suppose he's not really an officer. He—"

  "He is—"

  "—and the younger guy with him? They're running. They probably heard you scream."