What Lies Beneath the Graves, page 17
part #5 of Spookie Town Mystery Series
“Not yet. But I’m working hard. You should see the muscles I’ve grown. Woo wee. I almost have the whole cemetery sectioned off and combed.”
Kate put the pastry and the coffee in front of Myrtle and Myrtle gave her a crinkled well-worn dollar bill.
Myrtle continued speaking to her in a low voice. “But that’s not the reason I came looking for you, Abby. I’ve been in most of the shops in town and tracked you down. Claudia said she saw you come in here so here I am.” Myrtle took a bite of the crème horn and made the happy face she always made when she was eating something she loved. When she was eating anything really.
“Why are you looking for me?”
“I wanted to know how Frank and Glinda are doing in Chicago. I didn’t want to call and pester them if they were on the job, you know, corralling bad guys and slapping handcuffs on them, but I am anxious as to what’s happened. I been having these weird feelings all day. Something has happened.”
“Actually they should be on their way home right now. With Glinda’s help they caught the kidnappers and saved two of the girls.”
“Two? Ah, one of them didn’t make it?”
“Alice Wood. But they saved the girl who was scheduled to die last night if they wouldn’t have found them. And Odette, Laura’s friend, was one of them rescued.”
“That’s good. Except for the one dead girl. I’m glad the whole mess is over and Frank and Glinda are coming home. A shame the third girl died, though. That’s awful. Awful.” Myrtle let a sad look settle on her face for a second and then rattled on. “No need to go into details, I expect Glinda will tell me everything when she gets home. She always does. It gives us something to yak about.”
Myrtle was staring at the rain through the glass when she said, “The other reason I was looking for you is I want you to help me find someone who most likely lives around town somewhere. Rally our forces so to speak. Maybe we could get Samantha to help us, too, or some of the other shop owners. Maybe even Frank.”
Kate had been listening to their conversation. “Who are you looking for?”
“I never found out his name. I asked enough times but he’d never tell me. Wily old fox. I’ve seen him around town for years, though. He’s a tall, skinny old timer, married, not in the best of health and he wears this beat up black fedora–”
“Silas Smith,” Kate supplied the name.
“That’s his name? Hmm, that was my late husband’s name, too. God rest his soul.”
“Yep. He comes in here every so often for donuts.” Kate sent a glance at Abigail. “Ask Frank about him. He knows him. It wasn’t but about a week ago Silas was in here and so was Frank. Frank bought him a coffee and donuts because Silas was short of money. I think he’s often short of money. Silas and his wife have fallen on real hard times from what I can piece together with bits of conversation I’ve overheard. I don’t know their entire story but from what other people who know of him have said he’s real sick. Cancer, I think. His wife has been ill, too. Really bad luck. Why are you looking for him?”
“I’ve talked to him on the street before and last time something in his manner touched my heart.” Myrtle placed her hand on her chest. “I felt he was a lost person. He needed help but he wouldn’t take any from me when I offered it. Not comfort or even a penny. Too prideful, I’d say. Lately, for some reason I don’t understand, I can’t get him off my mind. He’s kinda haunting me. Today, while I was busy,” she tossed Abigail a conspiratorial look, “doing something I couldn’t get him off my mind. I think he’s in deep trouble somehow. So, since I always listen to that little voice in my head, I’ve decided I need to find out where he and his wife live and pay them a visit. See for myself. Sooner than later. Could be I can discover why he’s haunting me.”
“Why that is so kind of you, Myrtle.” Kate reached into the glass case and brought out another crème horn and put it in front of her. “On the house.”
Myrtle smiled like a child and lifted the sweet to her mouth. “Oh boy, thanks.”
“And,” Kate announced, “I also know about where Silas and his wife live. After he came in last week and I overheard what Frank said to him, I was curious. I began asking people if they knew him. Another old timer, Barnaby Evans, who lives on the edge of town told me Silas lives at the very end of Cherry Street out in the woods about five miles from here in a rundown wreck of a house. I don’t know the address but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”
“Hot dog!” Myrtle slapped her hand on the counter. “Now I know where they live. I think I even know the house.
“Abby?”
Abigail knew before Myrtle asked her what the request would be but played dumb. “Uh huh?”
“Could I get a ride with you out there? I have this really strong feeling these people need us. Now. They need someone to help them. And Pastor Dan always says we should help people who need help.”
Kate was watching them, an eyebrow gently lifting. She grinned at Abigail. “Tell you what, if you take Myrtle to their house I’ll throw in a box of donuts to take to them. I know which ones Silas likes. It’ll get you in the door, I’m sure.”
“Of course, Myrtle, I’ll take you,” Abigail conceded. “You want to go now?” She knew Frank and Glinda wouldn’t be home until later so she had the time. She’d finished Miguel’s mural and was taking a short break before starting Samantha’s political campaign advertising. She had time to do a good deed.
“I do. I want that old man to stop haunting me. I have important work I need to get back to. So drink your coffee, Abby, and we’ll take a ride out there.”
Abigail finished her drink, accepted the box of donuts from Kate and she and Myrtle left. The rain had increased into a downpour, so she was glad she’d brought her umbrella. She shared it with Myrtle, even though Myrtle had brought her own.
In the car she turned to her passenger. “Send me in the right direction.”
And Myrtle did.
Chapter 14
SILAS HAD BEEN NAPPING on the living room couch when someone started knocking on the front door. Now who could that be? They rarely got visitors anymore. When they’d moved to Spookie thirty years before they’d had friends, but now most of them were old and sick as they were or were dead, and thus had begun their creeping isolation. Years past Violet’s church people would come by with warm meals and comforting conversation. Violet had enjoyed those visits. They’d caught her up on the world outside their home and made her feel part of the congregation where once she’d never missed a Sunday morning. But that had been years ago before Violet had become so very ill. The church and its congregation had forgotten them as had the rest of the world.
He got up and hobbled to the front door. As he opened it rainwater blew in along with a gust of wind. He hadn’t taken his customary walk because the rain had drummed a heavy beat most of the day on the outside land, too heavy to stroll out in, and the day had darkened early to evening. He’d been waiting for the rain to let up, had laid down on the couch and next thing he knew he’d been sleeping. That’s how it was being old. One minute you were awake and the next you were drowsing. It didn’t matter where you were, you fell asleep.
“Hello?” He blinked at the two women out on his porch standing beneath a bright yellow umbrella. One of them, the younger, held a large grocery bag clutched in her arms, while the older one held on firmly to the umbrella’s handle. The wind was trying to blow it away. He didn’t recognize the younger female but the other one was the old woman with the wagon who kept accosting him on the street wanting to offer him help. Maybe they were the new crop of church women.
“What can I do for you, ladies?”
The old woman blurted out, “You can let us in, Silas, before the wind blows us into another state.”
He didn’t want them to come in but Violet would be upset with him if he were to be rude to any church people so, against his better judgement, he opened the door wider. “Then, by all means, come on in. But if you’re here to see Violet, she’s asleep right now and I won’t wake her. She’s been very ill fighting that cancer of hers, can’t sleep much because of the pain, and needs her rest when she can get it.”
“That’s okay. We came to see you and bring you and your wife some provisions,” Myrtle stated once they were inside and Silas had shut the door.
“How did you know where I lived?”
“Kate at the donut shop said Barnaby Evans mentioned you lived out on the end of Cherry Street and I kind of guessed what house. I guessed right, huh?”
“It’s the only house at the end of the street. So it’s not hard to miss.”
“Well, show us the kitchen, Silas, and we’ll put these groceries away for you. By the way, we’ve never officially met, I’m Myrtle Schmitt and this is my friend Abigail Lester.”
“Hello Myrtle and Abigail.”
The old woman who called herself Myrtle didn’t wait for an invitation but sauntered towards the kitchen as if she owned the place.
Silas followed them there. It was a mess and momentarily he felt the old embarrassment and then, as he now did with so many other emotions good and bad, he let it go. Who cared if dishes were piled up in the sink and the floor hadn’t been mopped in ages? What did any of that nonsense mean anyway? The house was cleaned, the house got dirty again. It was a vicious circle. Violet used to take care of those things and try as he might he couldn’t seem to keep up. He watched Myrtle dump the bag on the cluttered table, making room for it with a swipe of her hand.
“Lester...Lester,” he mumbled glancing at the younger lady. “Are you related to Frank Lester, ex-detective and donut aficionado?”
“I’m married to him,” she admitted. She was staring around the kitchen probably taking note of all the dirty corners and dusty counters.
He felt that stab of embarrassment again and shook it off. “Oh, I like him. He’s a kind man.”
“I know.”
“I hear he writes murder mysteries?”
“He does,” she said. “Pretty good ones, too.”
Myrtle was taking the groceries out of the bag and he couldn’t help but smile. “A box of Kate’s donuts. Chicken Noodle soup, Fig Newtons, biscuits, milk, eggs, bread and frozen lasagna. Chocolate milk and jelly beans. Some of my wife’s favorite foods and snacks. How did you know we were low on the basics and what we liked?”
The old woman lightly tapped the side of her head. “I’m intuitive, that’s how. I sometimes know things.”
Silas shook his head. What an odd woman. Most likely off her rocker. Pulling wagons around town like a homeless person and bursting into stranger’s homes and forcing free food on them didn’t make her a candidate for normalcy.
“Oh, I almost forgot, the donuts are a gift from Kate at The Delicious Circle.”
“Tell her thank you for us.”
“I will be sure to do that.”
What happened next took him by surprise and he stood there with his mouth open. Violet, his bed ridden wife who hadn’t been out of her room in weeks except to go to doctor and hospital visits, ambled into the kitchen in her nightgown with a big smile and wide eyes. Her skinny arms were open.
“Oh Silas, why didn’t you tell me we had guests? If I had known we were having visitors I would have straightened up the house and put on some nicer clothes.”
“Violet!” he exclaimed as he rushed to put his arms around and support her. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, sweetheart. You know what the doctors said. You need rest.”
His wife shoved his arms away and went towards the women. “I know you,” she said to Myrtle. “You’re the wanderer of Spookie town, the singer of Perry Como songs who travels the streets pulling your wagon behind you.”
“That’s me all right.” Myrtle performed a slight bow. “Singer of Perry Como songs. But, sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m Violet Smith, Silas’s wife.”
Silas guided her to a chair and lowered her into it. She was trembling, weak, and the blood was draining from her face, but she was still smiling. He was still trying to take in the fact his wife was out of her room, her bed. It had really surprised him.
“Oh, look, my favorite cookies.” His wife reached out for the package, opened it, and stuffed a Fig Newton into her mouth. “Ooh, so good.
“Did you bring these groceries for us?” she queried Myrtle.
Myrtle nodded.
“That was so kind of you both.” Violet acknowledged the younger woman, Abigail, with a nod of her own. “Silas, where are your manners? One good turn deserves another. Offer our guests some refreshments, why don’t you?”
So Silas poured the chocolate milk into four glasses and they sat at the table, drank and ate Fig Newtons. He noticed Myrtle and Abigail didn’t eat many cookies and poured most of their chocolate milk back into the carton before they drank what was left. As much as he wanted to ask the ladies to leave so he could put his wife back to bed again where she needed to be, he understood she’d been hungry for company as much as sustenance and she was enjoying their visit. He’d seen her smile so rarely lately. So he allowed them to stay.
They didn’t intrude on their privacy for long and he was glad of it. The women chatted about trivial things, women’s things, and the town; people they found out they knew in common and he sat there and listened. His wife smiled, and laughed softly once in a while and it made him feel good she did. It’d been a long time since she’d shown any joy or interest in anything other than her cancer and it made his heart lighter.
When the uninvited visitors were ready to leave Silas first ushered his wife to her bed and returned to escort them to the door. The rain had stopped.
“Thank you for the groceries and the visit,” he told them in as gentle a voice as he could muster these days. “It cheered my wife up so much. She’s been having a hard time of it since she started her last cancer treatment.”
“What kind she got?” Myrtle asked.
“Breast cancer. Stage four.” It was hard even now to say the words. He hated saying them. It seemed unreal that his beloved Violet could have this terrible disease.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” For the first time the older woman’s expression reflected more pity than the earlier compassion. “And you? You have cancer as well I’ve heard.”
“I do.” He didn’t want to tell her, didn’t want her or anyone else’s pity, but something about her kindness made him answer. “And my cancer has spread to my bones.”
“Real bad luck all right, you both having cancer at the same time.”
He said nothing.
Standing on the porch, the old lady squinted her eyes at him before he closed the door. Right before he did she handed him a scrap of paper with letters and numbers on it. “That’s my name and telephone number, Silas. If you ever need anything, money, food, a visitor for you or your wife to cheer you or her up, or just someone to help you with her, call me, you hear? I know how hard it is to care for a sick loved one. I’ve done my share of it in my time. Yet a person can’t always carry the burden alone.”
He was afraid tears would sneak out of his eyes so he turned his head away long enough to wipe them off. “Thank you. Both of you. Your visit helped my wife more than you know.”
To the younger woman he added, “Say hello to that husband of yours. Maybe next time you come over he’ll tag along. He told me he was a detective in Chicago for years. My father was a cop, too. So we have something in common.” He couldn’t believe he’d offered the invitation, it’d simply slipped out. Perhaps he was lonelier than he’d thought. His wife as well.
“I’ll tell him.” Abigail smiled. He thought she had a rather pretty smile. It reminded him of his Violet’s smile when she was young. Those days felt like a different life.
Then he shut the door and it was only him and his wife again. He went to check on her. For the first time in a long time, though, he felt lighter and stronger. All it had taken was someone else acting as if they cared.
“THAT WAS A GENEROUS thing you did, Myrtle,” Abigail professed as they were getting into the car. “Taking food to those two old people.”
“Ah,” Myrtle waved her admiration away, “you were with me, too. You helped me get the groceries and drove me over there. We both helped them.”
“But it was your idea and it was a kind thing to do. You want to come home with me?” Abigail started the car and pulled it out of the driveway. “I think Frank and Glinda should be back from Chicago by now.”
“Sure. Frank can catch me up on his murder case...since you two hid it from me for so long.” Myrtle tried to sound petulant, but Abigail knew she hadn’t cared too much because of her treasure hunt.
“I told you why we did that.”
“I know, I know. I was joshing you. I have no desire to go to Chicago for any reason. I loathe big cities. Too crowded, too noisy. Yeck. I’m happy solving mysteries around here; there’s usually somebody doing something to someone. Yet I sure am curious to hear all about it from Glinda and Frank when they get home. I’m so happy they rescued at least two of those young women, they’re alive and...now Laura will be safe.” Myrtle’s body visibly shuddered in the seat beside her. “Only evil monsters steal and kill children. I hope they’re put behind bars for the rest of their miserable lives. They deserve it.
“Did I tell you about some of the weird things my metal detector has been unearthing as I’m looking for the treasure? Well....”
Abigail maneuvered the car down the highway as Myrtle blabbed on about every moment and detail of her search for Masterson’s lost treasure when all Abigail could think about was that Frank would be home when she got there. She’d been so scared for him, Glinda and, of course, Laura. She’d decided she didn’t like her husband going up to the big city to solve crimes. She wanted him at home, safe and close by.
Frank’s truck was in the driveway.
“Good, you’re home.” Frank embraced her when she walked in the kitchen. He was making sandwiches for him and Glinda. “Where have you two been?” His gaze included Myrtle.
