7 Short Stories Page 3

  “That’s a pretty good whistle for a fella missing his two front teeth,” Bob told him.

  “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth,” Davy sang, dancing in a circle and nearly knocking over the kitchen stool.

  “I’ll be right back.” Bob ducked out the back door. The temperature had fallen below zero and snow crunched noisily beneath his feet. He wished he’d worn his boots. Although the sidewalk was neatly shoveled, the light flurries coming down made it slippery.

  At Mary’s house, he saw only one set of small footprints leading up the walk, probably Ken’s.

  After no one answered the doorbell except the dog barking, he tried her door and found it unlocked. Shouting a hello, Bob entered and found a light switch. Her little poodle jumped joyfully up onto him in greeting, then dashed out the door and squatted next to the pine tree in the side yard. Bob hesitated, not wanting the dog to run away. In a moment the poodle returned inside and yipped pitifully beside Bob.

  Bob patted the little dog to calm him down, then began a search of the house. The living room and kitchen were empty. But when he opened the dining room door, he stopped. Mary lay stretched out on the floor, very obviously dead.

  She was fully dressed except for her shoes and pantyhose. The pantyhose were around her neck.

  Bob opened his cell phone and called homicide, reporting the murder and giving them the address. “Looks to me like the murderer knocked her out, then took off her pantyhose to strangle her,” he said. “I’d guess she’s been dead several days.”

  While waiting for his colleagues to arrive, Bob checked the rest of the house. Then he found some dog food and water for the poodle.

  When the homicide detectives arrived, Bob explained he’d been alerted by the paperboy and told them what he knew of the situation. Then, promising to fill out a report at the office in the morning, he returned home. The case rested on Lt. Walker’s shoulders now.

  Bob was pleased to find Jody had put David to bed by the time he returned. Davy would surely hear of the murder, but he wanted to keep their reactions and at least some of the details from him.

  They sat at the kitchen table, drinking hot cocoa as Bob told Jody what had happened.

  “Oh, no,” Jody said. “A murder! In our neighborhood? But she seemed so nice. Who would want to kill Mary? And why?”

  “That is what we have to find out. Lt. Walker will drop over here in a few minutes. He’ll get the coroner and forensics men going on their investigation at the scene, then he and his men will question all the neighbors. He promised to come here first so I can get some sleep before my early morning shift tomorrow. You know the drill, honey.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So try to remember anything that might help.”

  “But I hardly knew her. And I know nothing of her family or friends or…or enemies, is what he needs, I suppose.”

  Lt. Walker arrived a few minutes later, his huge, well-padded frame filling the doorway.

  Jody hung his coat in the hall closet and waved him inside. He eased his long-legged body into the largest chair in the living room opposite Bob.

  Not anyone I’d want for an enemy. Jody went on to the kitchen to serve the coffee she’d made. She put the tray on the coffee table and sat on the sofa next to Bob.

  Lt. Walker met her gaze. “I’m sure Bob has already told you about Mary’s murder and why I’m here, Mrs. Miller, so I won’t waste time repeating it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just tell me every little thing you can about Mary Zemmer. You never know what little detail might help us.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know much,” Jody said. She related what she knew of Mary’s husband’s recent illness and death and Mary’s teaching job. “That’s probably not much help,” she apologized.

  “On the contrary, Mrs. Miller,” Lt. Walker said making notes on his clipboard. His soft voice always made her want to smile, it sounded so incongruous, coming from so large a body. He ran his thick fingers, stained from chain-smoking, through his brown hair. “This will be a lot of help. There will be a list of relatives in her husband’s obituary. Knowing where she worked gives me another source of people to question. Anything else? Neighborhood gossip? Scandal? Murder is often the end result of other troubles, you know, which the neighbors may know of.”

  “No, nothing like that. Although Mildred Jennings—she lives next door—did say she’s seen a tall, blond man come to see Mary several times lately.”

  “Thanks, I’ll go talk to her next, then.”

  Lt. Walker took his leave and the Millers went uneasily to bed. Until they knew who’d done the robberies in their town, and now who’d committed the murder so close to their own homes, sleep would not come easily to anyone on Circletop Drive.

  ***

  For the next couple of days, Bob worked long hours and came home tired and discouraged. The whole neighborhood buzzed with talk of the murder. Everyone answered police questions over and over and reporters pestered everyone for details of neighborhood life.

  Lt. Walker dropped in to wearily discuss the case with them again over coffee late one evening. They drew diagrams and wrote down details until Jody’s head began to swim.

  “Once again, Jody,” Lt. Walker’s soft voice insisted. “Just anyone, anything out of the ordinary that’s happened over the last few months.”

  “We’ve had lots of holiday parties, of course. We always do, in this neighborhood. Bob and I don’t go to very many. Everyone hires extra help for those—cleaning people, caterers, waiters and so on. Mildred could probably tell you more about who those are. She loves entertaining and would know all the people involved.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Postal and van drivers have regular routes through the neighborhood. The usual gardeners, yard work and delivery people—they all work year around. They helped put up the special Christmas decorations for some people, too. Oh, and the Bakers had a crew in to paint their house earlier this fall.”

  “Anyone else have the same workers lately?”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, that painting company has been doing work in this neighborhood for at least ten years. Dad hired them to paint this house when I was in college.”

  “Any other workers? Any new workers? Repairmen?”

  “Well, yes,” Bob put in. “the TV repairman. He was here last week. The Jones TV Service on Harriet Ave.”

  “Oh,” Jody said. “Yes, come to think of it, Mary Zemmer recommended him to Mildred, so he was at both those houses, too.”

  “Then he’s another possibility. Let’s go, Bob. More legwork. We can see if the Jones TV repair schedules fit the pattern of the robberies. Or if there’s a personal connection to Mary Zemmer.”

  But that angle led nowhere. Nothing seemed to fit.

  Mildred reveled in the spotlight as the woman next door who had seen the mysterious blond man who’d lately been seen escorting Mary. Mildred had her picture taken sitting in front of the fireplace in her elegantly furnished living room, A dozen reporters played up the ‘possible scandal in rich neighborhood’ angle to the hilt. The police had several good descriptions of the man, from Mildred, a waitress in ‘Georges,’ an exclusive restaurant downtown, and an usher at a theater.

  Then, at Mary’s funeral, Mildred saw the ‘blond man.’ He was in the family mourning pew! She almost lost her poise, she was so excited. As soon as the service ended and people began to leave the church to escort the casket to the cemetery, Mildred hurried over to Bob and Jody. Excitedly, she pointed the man out to Bob.

  Bob recognized the man, too—as the dead woman’s brother. Bob had seen his photo on Mary’s dresser, in his Air Force uniform. Disgustedly he told Mildred, “He’s her brother and we’ve already checked him out.”

  “No wonder we didn’t recognize him as the blond man, in the photo, his hair was covered by his cap,” Bob told Jody as they drove home.

  “Odd that Mildred didn’t recognize him—she keeps such close tabs on
us all.”

  “Remember he was in civilian clothes. And Mildred probably can’t see well that far. Besides, you know how she loves to embroider things to make a juicy story,” Bob said. “Mary’s brother had been in service for years, just came home occasionally. He took Mary out to cheer her up. They’d been writing and he felt she needed some attention. He’d gone back to his base before she was killed and just returned home on special leave the morning of the funeral.”

  “So, both the robberies and the murder remain unsolved?”

  “Yeah. Lt. Walker wants us to start working together, on the assumption there’s a connection, even though we haven’t yet found it.”

  “But you didn’t find anything missing from Mary Zemmer’s house, did you?”

  “No. But we don’t have anyone who knows that house well enough to tell us if anything is missing. So we’re only guessing on that.”

  “I see. So she could have been killed in a robbery gone wrong.”

  ***

  The very ordinary explanation to Mildred’s ‘blond man’ lead left Mildred a bit embarrassed and deflated after her hour in the news spotlight. But she’d promised her husband she’d have his office Christmas party at their house, so she busied herself with preparations for it. Mildred didn’t pop into Jody’s kitchen for two whole days, which much have been a new record, Bob insisted.

  But the morning after that office party, she came over early for coffee. Bob was just getting ready to go to work and Jody was in the kitchen in her curlers and wearing an old blue robe, fixing his breakfast.

  “Here’s your milk,” Mildred said, setting the jug on the table. “I found it on the back steps.” She ran a disapproving glance over Jodi’s attire.

  “Thanks,” Jodi said, ignoring her look and continuing scrambling eggs. “How did your party go?”

  “Oh, all right, really. They all seemed to enjoy it and Harold overdid himself serving the drinks. Good morning, Bob.”

  “Good morning,” Bob said, taking his chair and picking up some toast.

  Jody poured each of them a cup of coffee. “Mildred was just telling me of their office party last night. It was the usual big success.”

  “Well, not quite,” Mildred admitted. “In fact, the star attraction, the Santa, didn’t even show up. And after all the jobs I got him with other people here in Circletop—you, the Kerrys, Mary Zemmer, and oh, half a dozen others. You’d think he’d have made a special effort for me, wouldn’t you? But no—he didn’t even call to explain.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “Sure. But I didn’t get any answer when I called his number. Honestly, some people.”

  Bob was staring at Mildred. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?”

  “The connection. That Santa. But what did Mary Zemmer hire him for?”

  “A class party for her students. She was lonely and wanted to do something special for them. She had a party at her home about a week before she was killed. Didn’t I tell you about that?” Mildred’s forehead creased and the silver streak in her carefully coiffed hair moved slightly with it.

  Bob groaned. “No. Why didn’t we think of him? What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know,” Mildred admitted. “Except his first name, James. And I have his phone number.”

  “You don’t know his name?” Bob’s eyes widened, incredulous. “Then how did you meet him?”

  “I—I saw his ad in the paper offering to be the Santa for parties and called him,” Mildred said. She looked defensive now, apparently realizing how irresponsible it sounded to a policeman, to invite someone she didn’t know to her home.

  Bob heaved a sigh. Jody was dismayed, realizing she’d been just as silly, assuming he was okay because Mildred had hired him.

  “What does he look like? Without his suit and mask, I mean? I saw him myself in those.”

  “I—I guess I never saw him without those,” Jody said.

  Mildred shook her head, too.

  Bob groaned. “His car, then.”

  “I didn’t see any car,” Jody said. “I left the kids’ presents in our car out front. I was so busy with the boys, I really didn’t notice.”

  “Our party was at night, last year,” Mildred said. “I don’t remember.”

  “How about the money you paid him? Who did you make the check out to?”

  “I paid him cash,” Jody said slowly. “He especially asked for cash.”

  Bob’s gaze swung to Mildred, who nodded agreement.

  Jody said, “I remember his eyes were blue, Bob. And his eyebrows showed through the holes in his mask. They were red and so was the hair on the backs of his hands. His hands were all freckled, too.”

  “Rings?”

  “No.”

  “Not much to go on. But maybe the phone number and the newspaper ad will lead somewhere. I’ve got to run. Bye, Honey.”

  ***

  Those leads did help Bob. The phone number led to a rooming house where they obtained fingerprints from Santa’s still empty room. James, of course, had moved out.

  The landlady was holding a letter for James Baxter—but he’d left no forwarding address. Checking the return address with the Florida police, Bob learned the sender was James’ sister. James was currently staying at her house.

  At first, Bob and Lt. Walker were elated, thinking their cases solved. Then they learned James had proof he was in Florida when Mary was killed. He’d spent that night in a Florida jail for drunk-driving. And in spite of intensive questioning, they could make no connection to their cases other than the fact that he’d recently been inside all the robbed houses and Mary Zemmer’s house.

  His reason for suddenly leaving Minneapolis was simple, too. His sister had called him to tell him of an aunt’s death and he’d gone to Florida to attend the funeral and visit his sister. He always wintered in Florida after the holiday season’s work ended.

  Lt. Walker and Bob sat in Jody’s kitchen drinking coffee and going over every detail of the cases again and again.

  “I don’t get it,” Bob said wearily. “The Santa connection was the only thing that fit. Everything pointed to him. Even all the guests were different at most of the parties. He was the only one at every house.”

  “Except Mildred,” Jody said, suddenly. “But that’s silly, isn’t it?”

  Bob stared at her. “That’s right. Mildred introduced the Santa to everyone, didn’t she?”

  Lt. Walker set down his cup and got up. “At this point, we investigate everything and everybody. Let’s go, Bob.”

  Hours later, they went to Mildred’s house, again sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee with Mildred and her husband, Harold. She was incredulous when she realized their questions implied her involvement.

  “Me? That’s ridiculous. Yes, I introduced the Santa to quite a few people.”

  “And you were at most of the parties during which the robberies occurred?”

  “Yes, but I attend a lot of parties. I’m usually invited to almost all of the ones in this neighborhood,” she said with an arrogant sniff.

  “With your husband?” Lt. Walker asked softly.

  “No,” Harold answered for himself. He’d been sitting there quietly, letting Mildred do most of the talking, as was his habit. “I don’t enjoy parties, so Mildred often goes alone. I often have business meetings at night, anyway. My partners and I belong to the same club and it’s often easier to talk over dinner there.”

  “I see. Your club is the Blue Bell on Nicollet Avenue, isn’t it?”

  “Why, yes.” Harold looked surprised that Bob knew that.

  “An interesting thing,” Bob said. “My father-in-law belonged there. In fact, I had dinner there one night last week with Jodi’s lawyer.”

  “Henry Summers. Yes, I know him.” Harold licked his lips and shifted nervously in his chair.

  “Henry’s an interesting man. Knows lots of people there. And eats there almost every night,” added Bob.

  “Yes, I know.�
�� Harold crushed out his cigarette, accidently tipping over the ashtray, scattering ashes on the carpet.

  “Be careful!” Mildred scolded in dismay.

  “Sorry.”

  “Were you there every night there was a robbery, Harold?” Lt. Walker asked, his voice dangerously soft.

  “All right, all right, I wasn’t! You know I wasn’t, don’t you? Summers is my lawyer, too! He told you all about it, didn’t he?”

  “Harold!” Mildred exclaimed. “Not you! But Why?”

  “Because I had to come up with cash—lots of it, soon, or be ruined.” Harold sank deeper in his chair, looking miserable.

  “Come up with cash—you? But we always have plenty of money!” said Mildred. “You never told me!”

  “I didn’t want you to know. So I came up with the robbery idea. And the Santa looked like the perfect cover. You were always talking about him.”

  “But why kill Mary?” Bob asked gently.

  “She saw me come out of Madge’s bedroom’s sliding glass doors that night carrying the furs. So I had to get rid of her. I’m sorry, Mildred.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Now I’m ruined, anyway.”

  ***

  Later that night, Bob told Jody all about it.

  “I’m so relieved it’s all over,” Jody said. “But for it to be Harold! Our own neighbor, a murderer, I can’t believe it. And image is so important to her. Poor Mildred.”

  “Poor in more than one way,” Bob said. “I’m sure it will be very hard for Mildred to sell her house and adjust to leaving the social life here. I never suspected Harold’s business was in such bad shape.”

  “I didn’t suspect that, either.”

  “Things aren’t always what they seem, if I may quote somebody ancient,” Bob said.

  “Please don’t joke. Mildred was very good-hearted. I’ll miss her.”

  “I know, dear. But I won’t mind having a little privacy for a change. Come here and give me a little kiss.”

  The End

  Love, Fish and Fangs

  by Edna Curry

  Late Friday afternoon, Bob and Jody Miller and their ten-year-old son, David, drove about two hours south from their home in a Minneapolis suburb to Whitewater State Park.