Old Murders Never Die Page 16

  “No, I can’t say with certainty. I think Mueller did it. His wife could be a suspect, too. And if you think about it, someone could have stolen that knife. It’s probably not likely, but it might have happened.”

  “We could say the Muellers left town in a hurry because one of them did it, but that wouldn’t account for everyone else leaving in such a hurry.” Chalk up another point up for Pete.

  While he continued to search the front of the house, I wandered back to the teacher’s bedroom. Everything was as she’d left it. Her bed almost appeared as though she’d just arisen, except that the bedclothes were dirty and somewhat tattered from more than a hundred years of neglect. She had a wardrobe, too, and I opened it. It contained four rather plain dresses and a pair of tiny black shoes. I pulled a dress out. She hadn’t been a tall woman, at least not by today’s standards. I supposed that back in 1880 she would have been considered tall. I held the dress up in front of me. Since I’m five foot three, I estimated she was probably about five foot four or five.

  Putting the dress back, I picked up one of the shoes. They’d been well worn and had a small hole in the sole. I reached inside and found that she’d stuffed it with paper to cover the hole. As a teacher, she was probably a woman of very modest means.

  I moved on to the chest of drawers. Inside I found a framed picture of a man and woman. It looked like a wedding picture, and the couple looked young. The woman fit the very general description we had of Margaret Simpson. If it was her, then where was her husband? There was nothing in this house to indicate a man lived here, and the sheriff had referred to her as Miss Simpson. Maybe she was a widow and the townspeople hadn’t known there’d been a husband. All I could do was make uneducated guesses. I took the picture with me to show Pete and returned to the front of the house.

  I found him in the kitchen, looking at the tea kettle where it had fallen to the floor. He glanced at me and looked at the frame I had in my hand.

  “I think it might be a picture of the teacher,” I said, handing it to him.

  “Could be.” He glanced at it and handed it back. “You know, we haven’t really looked for photographs at the homes we’ve searched. Maybe there are more.”

  “Oh, I’d love to be able to put faces to some of these people. Now that you mention it, I think there was a frame turned upside down at the Ambrose house. I never bothered to pick it up and look at it.”

  “Okay, there’s another thing for your To Do list.”

  “So what is that tea kettle telling you?” I asked.

  “That it was knocked off the stove, not slammed on the floor. If I had to guess – and everything we’ve come up with is pretty much a guess – I’d say someone took the teacher by surprise while she was heating water and the kettle was bumped off the stove, or she might have been picking it up when she was surprised.”

  I thought he might be right. I found myself taking a look at things in a different light because of Pete’s comments about investigating. “Yeah, the pieces are spread out, but not like they are with the things in the other room.”

  I took photos of the crime scene, so to speak, thinking I might want to review things later while I read the sheriff’s records. I might see something I’d missed before if I could relate his notes to the teacher’s house.

  We’d seen everything there was to see and decided it was time to go home and eat something. I hoped we wouldn’t be eating fish for every meal, but it was better than nothing.

  “On our way back, let’s stop at the schoolhouse again. I’d like pictures of that, too.”

  Margaret Simpson’s home was behind the schoolhouse, so we didn’t have far to go. The sun sat lower in the sky. I took my pictures quickly, not wanting to have to resort to the flash.

  “Okay, let’s go eat,” I said, turning off the camera.

  “I know you don’t like fish, but – ”

  “It’s okay. I’ll get used to fish. And we can have something different tomorrow night.”

  He frowned. “If we’re still here tomorrow night. I want to go back to the cowboy’s cabin in the morning and look for the ignition relay.”

  “Right. We’ll do it again, just like today. And I’m going to see what’s under that loose board. Will the loner be Suspect Number Twenty? Or whatever number we’re up to. What was his name? Oh, yeah, the loner was Daniel Mack.” I was surprised I’d remembered his name. The people of Wolf Creek were becoming familiar to me, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  I wondered about the loose board. Obviously, Daniel Mack used it to hide something, but what could it be? Was it something that would relate to the murders?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I woke up with a sore back the next day. Sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag was finally getting to me. I longed for my nice, comfortable bed in Los Angeles, and I longed for a normal shower and the use of my hair dryer. I wanted to prepare a normal breakfast, drink a cup of tea at my own kitchen table, and turn on the radio or the television. I was out of my comfort zone, and on this particular morning I was feeling it. In short, I was cranky.

  Chocolate could have improved my mood, if I had any. Chocolate could cure almost any of my moods. Wait a minute! I thought I remembered buying a chocolate bar at the last stop Pete and I made before turning off on what he’d thought was a road, the road that led us to this crazy place. I was sure I hadn’t eaten it. Could it be hiding in one of the compartments of my backpack? I glanced at the backpack and quickly looked away. I wasn’t going to share my chocolate with anyone, not even my fiancé.

  He and Bubba were up, and I saw Pete had already fed the dog. It was a good thing I’d brought a big bag of dry dog food. He’d heated water on the cook stove and handed me a cup of tea. My mood lifted infinitesimally. The gesture was sweet of him, but hot chocolate would have tasted better than tea. Pure chocolate would be even better than cocoa.

  While Pete returned to the stove where he was preparing something, I knew not what, I casually walked over to my backpack and began searching for the candy bar. Chocolate is something you take for granted until you don’t have any. I always kept my cookie jar stocked with chocolate chip cookies, and I always kept some lovely light brown candy in a drawer in the kitchen. Chocolate ice cream sat waiting for me in the refrigerator at home. I sighed. That refrigerator was hundreds of miles away.

  I couldn’t find the candy bar and I began taking everything out of my purse. I was positive I’d bought some at the store.

  Looking up, I saw Pete watching me with curiosity. “Did you lose something, Sandi?”

  “Chocolate.” Me without chocolate was something like my mother without her hormone pills.

  He took a step back. He knew. If he had any chocolate, he’d probably run out the front door and toss it to me as he ran by, and I doubted he’d be back until I eaten every last bite.

  I started to laugh. I’d just had a vision of my face with melted chocolate all over my mouth, and it wasn’t a pretty picture.

  He followed suit and chuckled, although cautiously.

  “It’s okay. I’m dying for candy, but I’ll make it.”

  He smiled and went back to cooking.

  With his back to me, my smile changed to a frown. It was early. The sun wasn’t even a glimmer in nature’s eye yet. Starting the day with no candy and no sunlight was… I didn’t want to examine my feelings.

  Pete had taken the last egg we had and the last of the bread and made French toast. We didn’t have any syrup, but that was okay. It still tasted better than plain toast.

  “So tell me what it is about you and chocolate,” he said while eating his breakfast.

  “I can’t explain it,” I replied. “If I’m in a bad mood, chocolate will perk me up. One time when I was frightened, I ate a whole box of Bordeauxs, a specialty candy. They kept me going. There’s a type of chocolate called ganache. It’s chocolate mixed with heavy cream, and it’s… It’s a taste that can’t be described. Chocolate is sweet, but not like ot
her sugary candy. As it melts in your mouth, it leaves its own unique flavor bouncing off the tongue and back again. I’ve read that dark chocolate has some healthy attributes, but unfortunately I prefer the light chocolate. It’s kind of like a nerve tonic for me.” I put my hand to my mouth, checking to be sure there wasn’t a trail of drool on my chin.

  Talking about it was stirring up the craving again. I closed my mouth and my eyes and tried to summon up the scent of cocoa, at the very least. I couldn’t do it.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “This time I want to get there early and watch the cowboy leave. I’d like to see which direction he takes.” Apparently my chocolate addiction hadn’t phased him.

  “Just let me brush my teeth and hair and then we can leave.”

  He walked outside with Bubba following.

  I didn’t really want the big bruiser to go with us because I was afraid he might tip off the cowboy that we were around, but there wasn’t any choice. I couldn’t close him up in the house.

  By the time I finished washing my face, cleaning my teeth and brushing my hair, my candy passion had dissipated, a little. I was ready for the day, and hopefully the exercise I’d get would clear out all the cobwebs in my head.

  We walked through town and Bubba found something of interest to sniff. Some critter had probably wandered the street the night before. I let him be, knowing he’d be fine. I wouldn’t have to worry about his presence giving us away unless he decided to catch up. His nose was to the ground and he was zigzagging back and forth across the street. I thought he might be busy for a while.

  Pete and I climbed the incline again. The walking had helped my back and it wasn’t hurting anymore. It seemed like the climb was easier this time.

  We reached the edge of the trees and saw the horse was tied up in front of the cabin. He was already saddled, so we knew it wouldn’t be long before the cowboy left.

  I felt a cough coming on and covered my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, trying to soften the sound. It worked, but I saw the horse look our way. He snorted and pawed the ground. I hoped the cowboy didn’t come out until the horse had settled down.

  After about five minutes the cowboy made his appearance, coming around from behind the cabin. He hung something from the saddle, but I couldn’t see what it was because there wasn’t enough light yet. He turned the horse and they headed out, climbing another incline and taking off up a narrow path.

  “Come on,” Pete whispered, taking hold of my hand and pulling.

  I felt something brush my behind and jumped nervously. Turning my head and looking back, I saw Bubba had caught up to us. I wondered how long he’d been there. I guessed it hadn’t been long or the horse probably would have caught the dog’s scent.

  We approached the cabin and found the cowboy hadn’t pulled the door closed tightly. Pushing it open, we walked inside. I commanded Bubba to lie down because I didn’t want him to disturb anything. Turning away from the dog, the first thing I noticed was the map that had been tacked to the wall was gone. I pointed it out to Pete and he shrugged.

  “Do you think he realizes he had company yesterday?” I asked.

  “No way to tell, but I don’t think so. He probably wouldn’t have been so casual when he left if he thought we’d been here. Okay, I’m going to start looking for the ignition relay. Why don’t you work on the loose board?”

  I nodded. That suited me fine. He handed me a screwdriver to try to pry the board up. There was still a lot of dirt holding it tightly in place. A thought struck me and I checked my pocket. I still had Ambrose’s pocketknife, and I pulled it out.

  “Hey, check this out.” I held out the knife.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “This is what was holding down the pages at Ambrose’s house. He was using it like a paperweight.”

  He took it from me and examined it. “Nice knife – very nice. Do you mind if I keep it?”

  “Not at all, but I’m going to use it to loosen some of the dirt around that board first.”

  “Try not to break the blade.”

  “You don’t think it could have been a murder weapon?”

  “I doubt it. If he was using it for a paperweight instead of actually hiding it, then I don’t think so. Besides, my guess is that the killer used a bigger knife to do the kind of damage that was done.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I didn’t push the issue. Instead, I began prying dirt out from between the boards. When I thought I’d cleaned the area as much as I could, I folded the knife and put it in my pocket, and picked up the screwdriver.

  I heard familiar whistling off in the distance. “Pete! He’s coming back.”

  He set down whatever he was looking at, and I stuck the screwdriver in my pocket. The area around the board looked too clean, so I pushed some of the dirt back over it.

  We made it out the front door and back into the trees before the cowboy rode up. I held on to Bubba’s collar and again commanded him to lie down. He was less likely to bark if he was in the down position. This time we watched instead of leaving. We were going to wait to see if he stayed or left again.

  After tying the horse to a railing that appeared to be relatively new, he walked behind the house.

  The horse must have caught Bubba’s scent. He turned his head in our direction and made a snuffling noise. I gently placed my finger on the dog’s nose, hoping to keep him quiet.

  The cowboy returned with a burlap bag and tied it around the horn of the saddle. It clanked and I wondered what was in it. He didn’t seem to notice that the horse was a little distracted.

  “Can’t believe I forgot my bag,” he said, either talking to himself or the horse. He rode off again, heading in the same direction as the first time.

  We returned to the house. “I think we’d better get done and get out of here,” he said.

  I nodded and returned to the loose board.

  He continued his search. I watched him for a moment and saw that he was being careful not to move things around. He still didn’t want the cowboy to know we’d been in his cabin. We didn’t want to give ourselves away, just in case we couldn’t find the car part. We didn’t want to make things worse than they already were.

  I worked at raising the loose board, but it was stuck fast so I tried prying out more dirt and grime with the pocketknife. It was slower going than I would have liked, but little by little I was cleaning out the space between the boards.

  “Sandi, I can’t find the relay anywhere.”

  Setting the knife and screwdriver down, I stood. “What does this relay thingy look like?”

  “It’s about an inch square, and…” Pete described the relay to me.

  “Okay, I’ll worry about the board later and help you look for the relay. It’s got to be here somewhere. Something that small would be easy to hide. It could be anywhere.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  We searched every nook and cranny, but no ignition relay was to be found. I was feeling frustrated, and in the process my mind wandered to chocolate again. The craving grew. I had to do something to get my mind off of the soft, melt-in-your mouth ganache chocolate that kept interrupting my thoughts.

  “Let’s see if we can pry that board up and then we’ll look outside. Maybe he’s got a shed or something behind the cabin,” I suggested.

  “Let’s look outside first. If he comes back again, I want to know I’ve looked everywhere I can think of for the relay. It’s a lot more important than that board, I guarantee you.”

  He was right, and I knew it. Maybe I was becoming a bit, just a tad, obsessed with the town and all the hiding places.

  “Bubba, go home,” I said, pointing in the general direction of town and the sheriff’s house. He looked hurt because I didn’t want him to stay, and dropping his tail between his legs, he slowly wandered through the trees, toward the incline.

  We found an outhouse behind the cabin, and groaning, Pete took his flashlight and went inside to search.

 
I stood outside and waited. “You know, there wasn’t a bank in this town so there weren’t any safe deposit boxes or anything like that. Did they have safe deposit boxes back then? I’m sure they must have. So, anyway, that must be why people hid things around their houses. If they had anything they valued, they had to have some place to put things. Right?”

  He grunted.

  I pointed my flashlight inside the outhouse. More light would probably help.

  “So, it makes perfect sense that we’re finding hiding places. And I’m sure there are some we won’t find. Not everyone would have left a loose board so they could stash things. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pete stuck his head outside the outhouse and took a deep breath. I could smell a hint of a disgusting odor even though I was outside. He must have been getting the full dose on the inside. He returned to his search.

  “Anything?” I asked.

  He stuck his head out again. “Not yet.”

  After disappearing for another moment, he finally exited the tiny, smelly space and closed the door with finality.

  “Nothing there. He sure wouldn’t have dropped it down the hole. I’m guessing that at some point he wants us to leave. What’s he waiting for? He’s watching us at least part of the time, but I don’t get it.” He lifted his hands toward me, palms up, as though expecting me to hand him an answer.

  “After what he said about us being after something, maybe he’s watching to see if he’s right or not. But now it’s my turn. Let’s go lift that board and see what’s hidden under the floor. After that I want to go back to the house and take another bath and wash my hair. This place makes me feel dirty. I think the cowboy just sleeps and eats here. Period.”