Murder Under the Covered Bridge (6 page)

Dolly answered testily. “He said he was going into Rockville. You know one of our nursing homes is there. It operates
twenty-four
hours a day, so the fact that he was heading there very early wasn't out of line.”

Francine pictured William leaving their home, a Victorian manor out near the tiny town of Montezuma. He should have taken Coxville Road toward US 41 and then turned north toward Rockville. For whatever reason, he went straight across US 41, continued down Coxville past the Roseville Bridge, and went traipsing across a dangerous man's property, a man who hadn't been happy to see him. She wondered where he had parked. “Have you looked into where his car is, Dolly? Has anyone seen it?”

Francine saw something cross Dolly's face. For a moment she thought it was a look of panic, but on second thought it settled into one of surprise. “No. It hadn't crossed my mind. Sheriff Roy was in and he asked what kind of car William drove, but I didn't put two and two together, not until now.”

Sheriff Roy?
Then Francine remembered that Roy Stockton had been the sheriff before he'd settled into retirement as a detective. “Finding the car could be the key to discovering who was responsible for shooting at William.”

“Well, I assume it was Zed Matthew.”

How odd that she called him Zed. It felt almost familiar. But if he's that notorious, everyone probably had nicknames for him, and Zed would be kinder than most.

Jonathan had crossed the room to a visitor's chair and let the women talk. But now he spoke up. “While that's likely, everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”

Francine agreed, but she didn't need him prickling Dolly's mood while she was fishing for clues. “The sheriff has to operate under that premise. I'm sure that's what Jonathan was saying.” She flashed her eyes at him. “Just out of curiosity, do you still own the Buick? What was that, a light blue Lucerne?”

Dolly focused back on William. She took hold of his hand and held it in hers. “Yes. We had OnStar too. It should be easy to track.”

“Do you want us to help you with that?”

“You're being a dear, Francine. I can't concentrate on anything but William. Yes, it would help. What do you need?”

“The license plate number and the keys. If we can find the car, we should be able to retrieve it for you.”

Dolly indicated a small table on the other side of William's bed where a
knock-off
Vera Bradley purse tote lay open. “The keys are in my purse. Let me get it for you.”

Francine was thinking that the bright orange and pink paisley pattern was one she would never be seen carrying when her eyes spotted something else inside the purse: a small vial, similar to the one Jonathan had pulled out of William's pocket. This one, too, had a cork stopper on it. Francine couldn't tell whether it was full or empty, not without picking it up.

Dolly reached the purse and found the key to William's car. “Here it is. I put a light blue dot on the key. It was easy to remember that way.” She looped the handles of the purse over each other so it was no longer easy to see inside.

“Thanks,” Francine said, taking the key from her. “Didn't the Buick have a vanity license plate number?”

“It still does. ‘WRM MMIES.' He thinks it advertises the retirement community, but I think it could also be ‘Worm Mummies'.” She smiled at Francine, but Francine could see the pain in it. “Everything closer to ‘Warm Memories' was already taken.”

Francine eased into a second visitor chair, identical to the one Jonathan was in. It was simple in design—a cube on legs—but upholstered in a rust pattern and comfortable to sit in. She noted how hospitals had changed over the years that she'd been a nurse. Rooms used to feel cold and sterile. Now hospitals tried for a hotel feel. She patted the other chair in the room, which was next to her. “Let's sit for a while.” The gesture was genuine even if she felt a little strange doing it.

Dolly left William's side. She plopped into the chair by Francine, but she leaned forward with her elbows on her knees as though she would lurch out of the seat any moment. “Thanks. My sister is coming up from Memphis to stay with me, but she won't be here for another couple of hours.”

Francine couldn't remember ever meeting Dolly's sister, though it probably would have been at William's wedding and that was decades ago. “I'm glad to know she's coming. So, how are things going at the retirement homes? You and William are certainly the king and queen of the elderly set, at least in western Indiana.”

She half shrugged. “Business is okay, although the rules change constantly. The government is giving a lot of financial support to encourage folks to stay in their homes and get
end-of
-life care. William says we have to adapt by offering different services. He's so business savvy. I could never do this by myself. He's got to recover.”

“I'm sure he will.” Francine caught Jonathan's eye and tried to implore him to help the conversation.

Jonathan steepled his fingers. “What are you doing now, Dolly? Are you managing any of the properties?”

“One of the Terre Haute properties, and also the one in Clinton. They're good, both profitable. I'm also responsible for all the memory care units. The one in Rockville is full and we have a waiting list.” Dolly concentrated on the perfectly manicured nails she was picking to imperfection.

Jonathan seemed to feel he'd done his part of the socializing and sat back in his chair.

Though Francine had difficulties relating to Dolly, at least at the hospital she was in her element. The antiseptic smell of the room, the whispers of concerned visitors in the hall, and the scrolling LED lights of the EKG equipment monitoring William's heartbeat were all features of a scene she'd watched play out over and over again. “Memory care is a growing business. It's good but it's sad. Once a person can't function and becomes difficult to deal with, it's good to have a place where they can get proper care. But some relatives dump them into a care unit and hardly visit them.”

“I see it all the time,” Dolly answered. “We have this one older woman. She tells the most interesting stories.” Dolly hesitated like she realized she shouldn't be talking about it.

Francine wanted to keep Dolly talking. It was easier that way. “What about the stories?”

“They … she … they're just unusual. It's like she's living in the late 1800s. I feel like I'm listening to an audio book of
Little House on the Prairie
, only set in Indiana.”

“Does she get visitors?”

“Her husband. I don't know if he works odd hours, but he only comes in very late at night, and only once a month. I've never met him in person. He stays a half hour, then leaves.”

The nurse came in and checked the monitoring devices. “Mrs. Falkes!” she said. Dolly stood and went over, completely absorbed by the nurse's concerned look.

Francine took that as the right moment to end the visit. Jonathan apparently had, too, because he stood up at the same time she did.

“Maybe this would be a good time for us to get going,” Francine said. “We'll see if we can find William's car for you.” She approached Dolly and handed her a note. “Here's my cell phone number and the address of the place we're staying in Rockville. Make sure your sister has it too. Call if you need anything.”

As Jonathan opened the door for her, she glanced back at William. Would she ever see him alive again? She hoped so, but the figure under the hospital blanket twitched like something was very, very wrong.

seven

“I can't believe you
volunteered us to go look for his car,” Jonathan said after he'd climbed into the truck and shut his door. Francine was already buckling up.

“Was that so wrong?”

“Not necessarily, but with all you've got to do today? Mary Ruth needs your help, and you know I can't stay.”

“You can't?” In truth, she'd forgotten to ask him. She only remembered now she'd told Mary Ruth he would. “Why not?”

He started the truck and drove out of the hospital parking lot. “I have to go back this afternoon. I have an evening meeting tonight and several client meetings scheduled for tomorrow. I thought I'd mentioned that.”

Though he was
semi-retired
from his accounting firm, Jonathan still maintained a few
long-time
clients and hadn't yet given up his partnership. She knew he'd arranged his schedule so he would be free yesterday to come with them to Rockville and today for the early morning photo shoot.
I guess it is an imposition to expect him to stay longer
, she thought.

“Let's hurry back to Rockville then. If Mary Ruth has everything under control, I'll recruit Charlotte to help me.”

“Even if she doesn't have everything under control, she still may be better off if you take Charlotte off her hands to go look for the car.”

Francine chuckled at that. Charlotte and Mary Ruth got along far better playing cards than when they were in a kitchen together. Charlotte wasn't much interested in food preparation except for sampling.

Since it was nearing two o'clock, they made a quick stop at the Dairy Queen on the way out of Clinton and ate in the truck while listening to songs from the 1950s.

The stately home Mary Ruth was using for the week was in an old, historic section of Rockville. Being the county seat for Parke County, Rockville had a number of homes that dated back to the turn of the twentieth century, but few of them were as grand as the Mansfield Estate, an Italianate home on Market Street that also had a carriage house and a gardener's cottage on the grounds. Inside, the house had been renovated several times, most recently to add a
state-of
-
the-art
kitchen and modern bathrooms to six of the ten bedrooms.

There were four unrecognized cars in the driveway, so Jonathan had to park on the street. “Do you know what's going on?” he asked Francine.

“No,” she said. But she suspected Charlotte was up to something.

They rang the front door bell even though they could have just walked in. It wasn't like the owner was there. But with the extra cars, Francine thought it be better to announce their entrance. Plus, she couldn't get used to entering a house this nice without asking for permission.

“Oh, it's you.” Charlotte seemed disappointed when she opened the door. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel she'd carried with her.

“You were expecting someone else?”

“Ummm. No. Just surprised to see you back so soon.”

Jonathan wiped his feet on the mat before entering. “We've been gone a couple of hours.”

Francine admired the wide staircase in front of them and the balcony that surrounded the second floor above them. “I don't think I could ever get used to making a grand entrance into this place.”

“This
is
some house.” Charlotte leaned back to admire the high ceiling.

Francine did likewise. The ceiling was plaster and had a significant amount of crown molding around the walls. A large chandelier with what looked to be a hundred
flame-shaped
light bulbs hung from the center.

Mary Ruth came in from the kitchen, clad in her pink catering apron. Francine still did a
double-take
when she saw how Mary Ruth's clothes now flattered her body. She'd lost almost fifty pounds thanks to her Bucket List item and the hiring of a personal trainer. It was probably the reason she showed none of the exhaustion she had earlier from the tense morning in the food booth.

“I have to say, you do have friends with impeccable taste,” Francine told her.

“And money,” Charlotte added.

Mary Ruth laughed. “Friends of friends, not friends. But it's good to have people who are fans of my food.” She motioned toward the kitchen. “C'mon back. The last of what we're making for tomorrow is in the oven.”

Francine wrinkled her forehead. “How did you accomplish so much in such a short period of time?”

“Two things. One, Marcy persuaded me that I really didn't need to make that much more food, that shortage only made my food more desirable. We did the scones, cookies, and cakes today, leaving us only the cinnamon rolls to bake in the morning. The donuts, of course, we fry as needed.” They followed her around to the back side of the staircase where they entered the kitchen through a swinging door.

“I imagine this is where the butler and servants used to come to get the food from the cook when the house was first built,” Francine said. She held on to one of the swinging door and fingered the wood grain. She wasn't sure if the doors were original, but they looked like could have been used in the early 1900s, when food have been plated in the kitchen and then whisked away to the formal dining room for serving. “What's number two?”

Mary Ruth ushered them in. “I added staff.” Besides Alice, who was working on scones, there were six other women in Mary Ruth Catering pink aprons at work. Two of them were tackling a mountain of dishes to be washed, and the other four were either manning the wall ovens or mixing up what looked to be batches of corn fritter donut dough.

Francine guessed the new recruits to be in their fifties.
Young
, Francine thought. “You hired them?”

“Technically, no. They're volunteers. The Covered Bridge Festival Committee sent them over after lunch. The Committee was apparently really impressed by the crowds we drew.”

Francine walked over to the wall ovens. She didn't know what was in them, but she smelled cinnamon. She found a switch that turned on a light inside the top oven. “Those scones look divine,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Alice, who was using a spatula to transfer from a baking sheet to a cooling rack the biggest
apple-cinnamon
scones Francine had ever seen. “I've been begging Mary Ruth to let me make them. I feel like I've been a good apprentice and ready to try my hand at some of her recipes.” She was dressed in the standard Mary Ruth Catering outfit of black pants, white shirt, black shoes, and a pink apron. Of course, the pants were Michael Kors and her shoes were Kate Spade, but that was Alice.

Charlotte nudged Francine aside so she could look. “Those things are cresting perfectly, and that
fall-ish
smell of cinnamon has been calling to me all afternoon. I can hardly wait to slather one in icing and take a bite.”

“It's a
glaze
,” Alice said. “And we don't slather them. We drizzle them.”

“If I get hold of the icing, they'll be bathed in the stuff.”

“That's why you will not get near them,” Mary Ruth said. “They are Alice's to drizzle. She did exceptionally well making them. And all the help enabled me to get several batches of cookies ready for tomorrow.” She uncovered a space on a countertop to reveal mounds of five types of giant cookies, easily seven inches in diameter. As Charlotte headed toward the cookies, Mary Ruth recovered them with a flour sack towel. “I made some smaller ones for us to have later.”

“We'll need them sooner rather than later,” Charlotte said.

Mary Ruth squinted at her. “Why will we need them sooner?”

“For the séance. We're having a séance this afternoon.” Charlotte said it as though she wouldn't tolerate dissention.

“A séance?” Mary Ruth clearly thought Charlotte was making a joke. “You don't have a séance in the middle of the afternoon. Don't you have them at night?”

“She's giving us the
early-bird
special.”

Francine chuckled to herself. Charlotte was a true senior when it came to knowing about every
early-bird
special available.

Alice blew on a stray piece of hair that hung down by her eyes. “Why on earth are we having a séance?”

Charlotte dug both fists into her hips. “For someone who had Attend a Séance on her Sixty List, you don't sound very enthused. I arranged this for you.”

Mary Ruth's expression was one of realization. “That explains why Marcy disappeared. She's gone to get Merlina.”

Alice's mouth went taut. “Don't think that I don't appreciate your help, Charlotte. It's just that when I got around to being part of a séance, I thought it'd be with someone I trusted a little more than the Great Merlina.”

“You haven't even met the Great Merlina yet.”

“The fact that she's related to Marcy does not inspire confidence.”

“This is where I get out,” Jonathan said. He gave Francine a kiss. “Have fun. I'll call you later when I get home.” He snatched one of the big cookies Mary Ruth had hidden under the flour towel and went upstairs.

Francine sighed and watched him go up to get his things. “Where's Joy?” she asked Charlotte.

“She's back at the Covered Bridge Festival doing ‘color pieces.' Channel Six sent a truck and cameraman after the station got a look at the footage of the rescue. She did a segment on the noon news about it, but the truck wasn't here yet. They want her to do a live segment from the Roseville Bridge for
The News at Five
. Say, Jonathan's not leaving, is he? Joy was counting on interviewing him.”

“Oh, I'm confident he'll be leaving now.”

The doorbell rang. “I'll get it,” Mary Ruth said and scurried off as though she were glad to have something else to do right then.

They could hear the front door open, and then they heard Marcy announce in a loud voice, “The Great Merlina has arrived!”

“Wait no longer,” Charlotte said.

The procession of Marcy, the Great Merlina, and Mary Ruth entered the kitchen, with Marcy swinging open the door and holding it for Merlina. Francine hadn't gotten a good look at her earlier because she'd been in shadows within the tent, but she was pretty sure Merlina hadn't been dressed in a
midnight-blue
gypsy dress that went all the way to the floor. The dress had a dramatic flair, with outer sleeves that covered the arms to the wrists and inner sleeves that fell away from her forearms like petals drooping from a spent tulip. A square neckline settled across her chest with
medieval-looking
embroidery that was repeated at Merlina's chunky waist. The same pattern ran down the front two folds of the dress to her shoes. Francine thought the shoes looked like thick, scuffed gray leather boots. Merlina wore an ornate gold necklace with multiple gold bracelets around her wrists. “I am here,” Merlina said. “Are we ready to contact the spirit world?”

“We would be,” Mary Ruth intoned, “except we have a batch of
apple-cinnamon
scones almost ready to come out of the oven.”

“The spirits will not be willing to come if all parties are not going to be attentive.” Merlina narrowed her eyes at Mary Ruth. “We'll wait.” She threw her arms out to the sides, punctuating the word
wait
as though thunder would roll when she said it. Without pausing for anyone's permission, Merlina put a boot on one of the bottom rungs of a stool. “Does anyone have tea?”

“I'm sure we must have tea somewhere,” Charlotte said, anxious to please. “Don't we?”

Mary Ruth pointed to a long narrow cabinet next to the refrigerator. “In there, I think.”

Charlotte rummaged through the cabinet. “How about English breakfast?” She held out a box to show Merlina, who sniffed.

“Not much of a selection.”

Francine choked back the retort she started to make. Instead, she said, “I might have some herbal tea in my purse. Let me check.”

“Thank you,” Merlina said. She took her foot off the stool and dramatically paced across the kitchen toward the dining room. Marcy, Mary Ruth, and Charlotte followed, along with Francine, who'd grabbed her purse and was rifling through it.

“This will do nicely,” Merlina announced, placing her hands on the long,
old-fashioned
cherry dining room table that Francine was sure was a
well-preserved
antique. “The spirits love to convene around old things. It makes them comfortable.”

“Then they'll love us,” Mary Ruth said dryly.

Now that Francine was closer to Merlina, she noticed the dress smelled of mothballs. She briefly wondered how the spirits felt about mothballs. Merlina's complexion was dark, like she was descended from Mediterranean stock.
Perhaps the dress is authentic
, she thought.
Maybe Merlina does come from gypsy blood.

The women returned to the kitchen. Mary Ruth told her volunteer staff they could go. Francine made tea and Charlotte persuaded Mary Ruth to surrender a few of the smaller oatmeal raisin walnut cookies. The women split the cookies and sat with their cups of tea back at the dining room table. Finally Mary Ruth and Alice got the scones out of the oven. As they joined the others, the scent of apples and cinnamon wafted in with them, making everyone's mouth water.

Merlina issued instructions to no one in particular. “Please douse the lights and lower the shade on the window.” Marcy got up and made the room darker. “I can feel an older energy in this room,” Merlina intoned, glancing furtively around as though she could see ghosts darting in and out.

“If it's on my part,” Mary Ruth said, wiping her brow with the bottom of the apron she was still wearing, “there's not much energy left. I don't know that I'm up to a séance.”