Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Page 18

  From the look on Sheriff Ben Logan’s face, it was clear that during his many years in law enforcement, he had never expected to find one of the community’s grande dames trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in the kitchen of another of the town’s well-to-do women.

  As the sheriff shook off his surprise, the doctor came striding into the kitchen from the front of the house, followed closely by Thomas Bright Junior. Tall and lean, with just a touch of gray at the temples, Agatha’s son went directly to his mother and knelt down on one knee. “Are you hurt?”

  Agatha patted his shoulder. “Just fine, thanks to Ellen and Martha.”

  “What Martha told me on the phone didn’t make any sense.” He turned to survey the room.

  The doctor frowned as he bent over Nettie, pulling up one eyelid, then the other. She moaned. As she slowly regained consciousness, she began to mumble that there were murderers in the house. Ellen slipped beside Martha and whispered, “We should have gagged her, too.”

  The sheriff wearily swiped a hand across his chin. He’d rather deal with hobos camping down by the tracks or kids joyriding in their daddy’s car. But it seemed the town had gone wacky. First, there was that damn skeleton. Now this.

  “Will somebody tell me what happened here?” The sheriff fought to keep his voice steady and patient.

  Agatha leaned around her son. “We’ll be happy to talk to you, but first the doctor must attend to Miss Vine. Now, Doctor, I’m sure it would help in your examination to know that Miss Vine is groggy because she was hit with a can of peaches. It was peaches, wasn’t it, Martha?”

  Martha nodded.

  “And her wrists may be broken,” added Ellen. “I hit her with a tire iron.” She pointed to where it lay under the table.

  Questions exploded. The doctor’s face registered shock. The sheriff glowered and raised a hand, demanding silence. But, again, it was Agatha who took control. “Tom Junior, why don’t you help the doctor move her into the back parlor? While you’re doing that, we’ll talk to the sheriff.”

  Logan stepped farther into the kitchen, allowing his deputy and Thelma inside. Thelma came over to stand between her sister and Ellen. “I closed the car doors,” she whispered. Ellen nodded. She’d completely forgotten the open car and the sacks filling the back seat. At least Thelma was thinking straight. It just wouldn’t do for the prying eyes of neighbors, who were surely gathering in the street, to get a glimpse of their cargo.

  “Mrs. Bright, if you please.” The sheriff stood waiting.

  “Well, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job. But it occurs to me that Nettie somehow slipped past Mrs. Castle. Shouldn’t someone check on her?”

  The sheriff immediately gestured to Bill, sending the young man out the door.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bright. Now, if you’d please explain what happened here.”

  Agatha nodded. “Ellen and Thelma were putting some things in the car for me. Martha, Ivy, and I were here in the kitchen talking while Martha finished washing the supper dishes. Suddenly, and I must say quite unexpectedly, Miss Vine burst through the door with a pistol in her hand. She threatened to kill us . . . well, maybe not all of us—I think she was mostly interested in Mrs. Hamilton. But, instead of firing at us, she shot a hole in my linoleum. Ellen surprised her, she dropped the gun, and Martha valiantly stepped in to help subdue her.”

  “Why would she want to hurt any of you?”

  The women looked at one another.

  “I suppose you’ll have to ask her,” Agatha answered for them.

  The sheriff didn’t look happy. “The gun?”

  “In the sink.” Ivy pointed.

  A low growl of frustration rumbled in the man’s throat as he walked to the sink. The growl grew louder when the sheriff saw that Ivy had dropped the gun into a dishpan of dirty water and soaking pots. He deftly retrieved the weapon, water dripping, and stared at the double-barrel Remington derringer, which looked to be about as old as the woman who’d been carrying it. Logan deftly checked for another bullet and found it. He shook his head, before glancing at Tom Junior, who had returned to his mother’s side. The look passing between the two men made Ellen shiver.

  The gun was ridiculously small in the sheriff’s hand. It looked like a toy, but Nettie had intended it to be deadly. Ellen gripped Thelma’s arm to steady herself.

  The sheriff pocketed the bullet. He wiped the gun with a dish towel before placing it on the counter. “Now, ladies, do any of you know why someone like Miss Vine would suddenly decide to do something like this?”

  Agatha stood her ground. “I can only repeat what I said before. You will have to ask her.”

  “Didn’t she say anything when she burst in here? Give any reason at all?”

  “Well, yes, but it was garbled. And we were so frightened! It was impossible to concentrate on what she was trying to say.”

  With that, Agatha pushed back her chair and stood with the help of her cane. “We’re going to my husband’s old study to recover from this ordeal. Ladies, come along.”

  One by one, they silently trooped out of the kitchen and down the hall to the study, with its dark leather furniture and walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books. The smell of Thomas Bright’s vanilla-scented pipe tobacco had penetrated the room’s very fiber and still lingered. Once Martha closed the door behind them, Agatha directed her to a leather sofa and told her to rest. Then she turned to Thelma.

  “Come help me with the refreshments. In times like this, brandy is a great restorative; I’m sure the doctor would recommend it.” Agatha opened the glass doors to a high-backed secretary. With Thelma’s help, she retrieved a cut-glass decanter and short balloon-shaped glasses. Agatha poured the amber liquid while Thelma passed the glasses around.

  Ivy took one of the leather chairs beside the fireplace. Agatha settled into another, while Ellen took a seat next to Martha, leaving room for Thelma on the sofa. In unison, they raised their glasses to their lips. Ellen grimaced at the taste, but the liquid’s warmth was a pleasant surprise. The women tasted their brandies or simply held their glasses, breathing in the liquor’s rich aroma.

  “Who’s Malcolm?” The night’s events had shaken Martha out of her usual shy self.

  Agatha glanced at Ivy and sighed. “Many, many years ago, he was one of the young men that courted Nettie.”

  “So he jilted her,” Thelma threw in.

  “Nettie never took me into her confidence, so I cannot say.” Agatha’s tone made it clear she would say no more, and Ivy changed the subject by suggesting they cancel that night’s deliveries.

  Ellen and Thelma disagreed. Sunset wouldn’t come along until close to eight. There was plenty of time to make their run. Both Agatha and Ivy looked relieved. “Wait a little, until we find out what’s happening,” Agatha advised.

  Agatha’s son knocked before stepping into the room. “Brandy. What an excellent idea.” He walked over to his mother and kissed her forehead.

  He turned to face the group. “First of all, Stella Castle is safe. Deputy Snyder found her locked in the pantry. She is understandably upset. I’ve arranged for her to stay with a friend from her church for the time being. Sheriff Logan has left. He is not happy, but he saw how impossible it would be to question Miss Vine. And I convinced him it would serve no good to charge Martha and Miss Hartley with assault.”

  “What!” Ellen and Martha cried. Ellen sank back into the sofa, covering her face with one hand. This couldn’t be happening. She had worried Audrey would get both of them fired, but now she’d done it to herself. Iris Hewitt wouldn’t overlook the fact that one of her WPA workers had wrestled Marie Antoinette Vine to the floor and then stood by while she was bound to a chair.

  “Arrest them? The nerve!” Agatha struggled to rise from her seat.

  The banker put a hand on his mother’s shoulder, gently pushing her back into the chair. “I promise he won’t do anything. They were clearly acting in defense of you and themselves. He knows that, although he h
emmed and hawed, because it seems he should arrest somebody when a gun’s involved. But he’ll have to content himself with the bullet he dug out of the kitchen floor and with the confiscated weapon. Right now, he and the deputy are dispersing the crowd that’s blocking the street.”

  “Oh dear,” Agatha worried.

  “There will be rumors, of course,” continued Tom Junior, “but no one but you ladies truly know what happened here. I suggest the less said, the better.”

  There were nods around the room.

  “Lastly, we come to Miss Vine.” He reached for Agatha’s glass and took a sip of brandy. “The doctor has examined her injuries. The cut was slight. One wrist is broken, the other badly bruised. The biggest concern, of course, is her state of mind. She is obviously a danger to others, and perhaps to herself. The town has come to accept her eccentricities, but this is beyond the pale. Dr. Fox has called a private hospital in Topeka where she can receive the sort of care she needs. The doctor will take her to his surgery to attend to the broken wrist. She will rest there tonight. Tomorrow, the doctor, accompanied by his nurse, will drive Miss Vine to Topeka, highly sedated, I might add.”

  “She’s not coming back, is she?” Ivy knew the answer before she asked.

  “No,” said Tom Junior. “I’ve asked Mrs. Castle to pack things Miss Vine might need or want. I’ll have the house closed up until her lawyer and her only close relative, a cousin in Philadelphia, decide how to handle the property and its contents for her continued financial support.”

  “Poor Tom,” Agatha shook her head. “Saddled with that woman’s affairs even after she’s gone.”

  He didn’t comment but turned to Ivy. “Should I call Dell to take you home?”

  “He and Constance are in Wichita. Ellen brought me, and she’ll take me home.”

  Tom Junior shook his head. “I want Mother to stay with us tonight, and I would feel better if you joined us.”

  “Nonsense!” Agatha protested. “I am perfectly fine. We will proceed as if nothing happened.”

  Ivy agreed, and Tom Junior threw up his hands in surrender.

  His mention of a phone call reminded Ellen of Miss Jewell and Audrey. They knew she was having supper with Agatha. If rumors were spreading around town, and Ellen was sure they were, she needed to call. She asked to use the phone and excused herself, followed by Tom Junior, who intended to stay with the doctor until the sheriff cleared the street of gawkers.

  “Miss Hartley,” he said, taking her hand, “I cannot begin to thank you enough for your quick action. When I think of what might have happened . . .”

  “I don’t want to think of it either.” She inclined her head toward the study. “Those women are very dear to me.”

  “I suspect they feel the same about you,” he said. “And I suspect you and Thelma have errands to run tonight. Please, be careful.” He gave her a wink.

  “You know?”

  “Don’t tell Mother. It would spoil things for her. And, I have to admit I’m a little embarrassed it took me some time to realize what she’s been up to.”

  “What gave her away?” Ellen lowered her voice.

  “Grocery bills. She spends far too much on canned goods and dried beans. When I added that to the stories I’ve heard around town of people finding sacks of things at their door, it suddenly struck me that Mother was the culprit. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out who her partners were.” Tom Junior jerked his head toward the study and smiled. Without another word, he turned on his heel and retraced his steps down the hall to where the doctor worried over Nettie Vine.

  CHAPTER 23

  IVY AND AGATHA

  The doctor left with Nettie. The crowd in front of the house was gone. From her phone call to Miss Jewell, Ellen learned that rumors were indeed spreading. One story had Nettie Vine shooting out street lamps before breaking into Agatha’s kitchen to take potshots at her electric icebox. Ellen assured her landlady that nothing of the kind had happened, saying only that Nettie had appeared with a gun but was disarmed before she hurt anyone. She told Miss Jewell not to expect her back at the boardinghouse for some time.

  Ellen went back to the study. “You won’t believe what people are already saying.” Ellen repeated Miss Jewell’s story.

  “The sillier, the better,” said Agatha. “By this time tomorrow, there will be so many stories, no one will know what to believe, even if they hear the unvarnished truth.”

  “We just don’t add fuel to the fire,” volunteered Thelma.

  Over the last of their brandies, the women agreed.

  Martha announced she was going to straighten the kitchen, and, when that was finished, she would call Chester for a ride home. Thelma and Ellen were anxious to make their deliveries, but, before Ellen left the room, Ivy motioned her over. “Don’t forget that you’re taking me home. I’ll wait here with Agatha until you return.”

  They made the deliveries as efficiently as possible. The evening’s events had cast a pall over the adventure of stealing around in the night, and neither wanted to hash out what had happened. When they did speak, it was to comment on the weather or the expression on someone’s face when they found a sack of groceries or newly made shirts on their porch. The only lapse came when Ellen dropped off Thelma at home. As Thelma said goodnight, she touched Ellen’s shoulder. “You did real good. And Martha! I wish I’d been there to see her thump Miss Vine upside the head.”

  Ellen could feel the tension floating out of her body. She was laughing when she left Thelma, and she was still smiling when she returned to Agatha’s, where she found Martha sitting with Chester in the kitchen.

  “I didn’t want to leave the ladies alone, and Chester came to keep me company.” Martha tipped her head toward a man with an open smile, ruddy cheeks, and carefully clipped brown hair.

  “I offered to stay the night,” Martha continued, “but Miss Agatha won’t hear of it. She and Miss Ivy are still in the study.” With that, she and Chester said goodnight and were out the door.

  Ellen found the women seated as she had left them. Ivy said she wasn’t quite ready to leave, motioning Ellen to take a chair.

  Ivy and Agatha glanced at each other. “We’ve been talking,” Ivy began, “and decided that you deserve an explanation.”

  “But we must have your solemn promise that what we say here goes no further,” Agatha interjected.

  “We trust you already, but I’m afraid we must ask for your promise,” Ivy added.

  Ellen nodded and promised, even raising her hand as a sign of taking an oath.

  “Martha asked about Malcolm,” Ivy said, clearing her throat. “There’s more to him than being one of Nettie’s admirers. Everything begins and ends with him.” She glanced at Agatha, who gave her a nod of encouragement.

  Ivy’s voice grew stronger. “Ewell Morgan is more right than we would like people to know.”

  Ellen felt a chill as she remembered the words of Nettie Vine. Maybe they weren’t out-of-control ravings. Was it possible Ivy knew the identity of the skeleton? If so, that could only mean Agatha did, too. Ellen faced the women, not sure she wanted to hear what they had to say.

  “Ewell almost got the name right,” Ivy began. “The last name was Mahan—Malcolm Mahan. He showed up in Opal’s Grove sometime during the autumn of ’69 and got a job at the lumberyard. As a little side business, he built simple pieces of furniture—just like Ewell remembers. Malcolm seemed a pleasant sort, always ready to trade jokes with the men and pay compliments to ladies. He was quite good-looking.”

  “Knew it, too,” interrupted Agatha.

  Ivy smiled at her friend before continuing. “Mrs. Archer practically swooned the first time he came into the store. He had dark hair that curled over his collar and the kind of long eyelashes that any girl would envy. He was beyond handsome.”

  “I think Ellen gets the idea,” Agatha prompted. “Go on with what you need to say.”

  “Despite his good looks, I stayed clear of him. Early on, he tried to cozy u
p to me. Even if I’d never met Wheat, I wouldn’t have been interested in Malcolm Mahan. He was too friendly, if you know what I mean, and I didn’t like the way he eased his conversations around to money. He hinted about how well I must be doing as a seamstress and how prosperous my Uncle Nate looked when he came to town.”

  “I didn’t like him, not that he would have paid any attention to a married woman like me,” interjected Agatha. “But from what Ivy told me, and the few times I saw him at community events, I thought there was something hard and calculating under that jovial manner of his. I’ve seen some con men in my day, and he fit the bill.”

  Ivy picked up the story. “I can’t be certain of when he met Nettie, but I would guess it was when Sylvester Vine invited the whole town to the homecoming reception he threw for his wife and daughter when they returned from Philadelphia.”

  Agatha dismissed that with a sniff, catching Ellen’s eye. She knew without being told that this was on the heels of Nettie’s rumor mongering.

  “Wherever Malcolm and Nettie met doesn’t really matter.” Ivy shifted in her chair. “He began to visit the Vine home, which seemed perfectly natural when Nettie held one of her social evenings or Saturday afternoon parties. These weren’t as well attended as in the past. I never went, but I knew our crowd was breaking up, going their separate ways to get married or earn a living. Two or three of the boys went off to college. But Nettie persisted with her picnics and evenings of parlor games.

  “In pretty short order, Malcolm began to call on Nettie as a suitor. Mr. and Mrs. Vine were not happy. It was fine to include Malcolm in a group of friends, but he wasn’t acceptable as a son-in-law. For one thing, Mrs. Vine would have been horrified to introduce her upper-crust Philadelphia relatives to a young man with rough, calloused hands and unsure manners. Malcolm wouldn’t have known a soup spoon from a ladle. His dress-up clothes were cheap and garish, although I suppose he thought he looked quite the man-about-town.

  “Both Agatha and I heard snippets of gossip. A word was dropped here and there among Agatha’s friends at afternoon teas. I heard things when my clients had a fitting or when a word was dropped by shoppers at Archers. It was said that Mr. Vine put his foot down—Nettie was not to see Malcolm; he was no longer welcome in the Vine house.”