Finding a Killer

  Finding a Killer

  Pineville Gazette Mystery #4

  Wendy Meadows

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Thanks for Reading

  About the Author

  Read more by Wendy

  1

  The last thing in the world Mary Holland wanted to do was take another road trip. After barely surviving a horrifying night trapped in a creepy mansion hidden outside a dark town in Maine, Mary had no want or desire to leave her lovely hometown in Tennessee. She was home, safe, and back with all her familiar surroundings, complete with faces she knew and people she loved and trusted. “And now,” Mary sighed, placing her soft brown hair into a ponytail, “we have to leave town again.”

  Betty nervously sat down on the couch in Mary’s office. “Do we really have to?” she asked, holding a pen and pad of paper in her hand. “Mitchell is due back from Los Angeles tomorrow with Valerie. I was really hoping to see them. Also,” Betty added in a sad voice, “Millie had to extend her vacation time due to her aunt being sick, and William isn’t very happy about having to pull her workload.”

  Mary finished tying her hair and waved her hand in the air. “William can go work for another paper if he keeps complaining,” she said in a stern voice, knowing full well William could hear her every word.

  “Oh dear,” Betty sighed, “I would hate to lose William.”

  Mary rolled her eyes and then straightened out the soft white dress she was wearing. Betty liked the dress more than Mary did. She loved the yellow roses embroidered onto it. Betty didn’t like the pink dress with brown stripes she had chosen to wear for the day—she felt like a piece of peach pie that had been sitting out in the sun for too long.

  “Honey, William isn’t going anywhere,” Mary assured Betty. She quickly tapped the Model 03 Hektowriter typewriter sitting on her desk and then turned her attention to a Model 40-140T Philco Radio that was producing the tunes of Harry James and his Orchestra. Mary reached forward and turned down the radio. “I know the ordeal we experienced in Maine was confusing and scary—”

  “Terrifying,” Betty confirmed.

  Mary nodded. “And until this very moment my mind still doesn’t have all the answers. I’m still not sure who was standing behind the portrait…where the…bodies vanished to…very scary and strange,” Mary told Betty. “We left that poor sheriff with a mess.”

  “But at least that nice man didn’t think we were guilty of any crimes,” Betty pointed out.

  “Thank goodness for that,” Mary agreed. “The sheriff was already suspicious of strange activity going on at the mansion. And when your aunt went missing…” Mary shook her head and drew in a deep breath. “No sense in thinking back on that awful, confusing night.” Mary looked at the radio and then raised her eyes to Betty. “My uncle—”

  “Funny Bone,” Betty finished for Mary in a tormented voice.

  “My Uncle Albert,” Mary continued, wincing a little at the name Betty used, “is sick and needs family. He lives alone—”

  “In Atlanta,” Betty sighed.

  “Atlanta isn’t as far away as Maine,” Mary pointed out, hoping to cheer Betty up. “Honey, Uncle Albert is in the hospital. He needs family.”

  “Uncle Albert is your husband’s uncle, Mary,” Betty replied in a miserable voice. “The last time that man visited our town he nearly caused a war.”

  Mary winced again. “I guess he…kinda did,” she confessed. “Uncle Albert does have a tendency to go overboard with his jokes and pranks.”

  “I’ll say.” Betty nodded her head up and down, up and down.

  Mary stared at Betty and felt a grin touch her lips. “You’re still upset with Uncle Albert for putting cayenne pepper in your coffee, aren’t you?”

  Betty nodded her head up and down again. “Yes,” she pouted, “and Mother wasn’t very happy when that awful man put a fake spider on the dinner table next to her plate. Why, I nearly had to call the doctor for Mother.”

  Mary tried to fight back her grin. Sure, Uncle Albert was a royal pain and went overboard with his pranks and jokes, but she had to admit, the man was funny and did create a few good laughs. “Uncle Albert put glue in my shoes,” she told Betty. “I thought I would never get my shoes off, and it took days to scrub the glue out from in between my toes. John thought it was hilarious. I didn’t think it was funny at the time. I guess it was a little funny.”

  Betty moaned. “Mary, that awful man is the absolute worst.”

  “Honey, you don’t have to travel to Atlanta with me,” Mary told her. “Actually, I would prefer you stay here at the paper and help William.”

  Betty glanced down at the notepad she was holding. “I don’t want to go, Mary…I mean, Boss…I mean…Mother asked me to travel to Atlanta with you. Mother doesn’t like for you to travel alone.” Guilt struck Betty’s face. “Please don’t be upset with me for being so awful. It’s just that…well, there’s been so much trouble lately, and we’ve only been home from Maine a month. A month with no trouble.”

  Mary smiled. “I understand, honey,” she promised Betty.

  Betty looked around the old office. “I love this office,” she confessed. “I love being home, Mary. I don’t like leaving Pineville. I like taking my walks to the diner for lunch and I love working here at the paper. I like strolling past the dress shops…dreaming of romance.” Betty blushed a little. “Pineville makes me feel safe.”

  “Pineville makes me feel safe, too,” Mary told Betty and offered her a loving smile, “but family is family. John would be upset with me if I didn’t go visit Uncle Albert.”

  Betty closed her eyes. “I know I’m going to regret this trip,” she said, “but Mother asked…and you are my best friend…and you did travel to Maine with me.”

  “A true friend to the end,” Mary told Betty and then tapped her typewriter. “We’re leaving at six sharp,” she announced, “so we better get to work.”

  “Six sharp?” Betty asked, hearing an early autumn wind whispering outside. “Can’t we leave at noon?”

  “The early bird catches the worm,” Mary told Betty. She looked toward the office window and listened to the wind. Outside the office, the wind was blowing leaves across the cozy small-town street lined with old cars belonging to homegrown people who were wandering about here and there and enjoying the late morning. The feeling of autumn in the air created images of pumpkin patches, apple cider, hay rides, pumpkin pies, evenings on the back porch with a warm cup of coffee whose odor mingled with the smell of fireplaces waking up from a long spring and summer nap.

  “I love autumn,” Mary said, changing the subject. “Autumn is my favorite time of the year. I’m not very fond of summer. I love winter, and even though spring is beautiful, it means a long summer is next. I wish it could stay autumn forever.”

  “I know what you mean,” Betty said and actually smiled. “I love to see the leaves change color and bathe the town. I love it when the air turns cool…not cold…but…crisp.” Betty looked at Mary. “We didn’t have a very hot summer this year. I’m very grateful for that.”

  “Well, we did spend some time out of town,” Mary pointed out and picked up a brown cup holding coffee. “The weather in Maine was very cool, but Los Angeles was very hot.”<
br />
  “And very crowded,” Betty added. She watched Mary take a sip of coffee and then felt her tummy grumble. “It’s almost lunch time.”

  Mary checked the clock hanging on the wall. “Why, so it is,” she said in an amazed voice. “My, this has been a very busy morning. We’ve been running our legs off to get caught up on the paper for tomorrow—”

  “And then Albert called.”

  “And then Uncle Albert called.” Mary nodded and put down her coffee. “Poor Uncle Albert, sick and alone in a big old hospital in Atlanta.”

  Betty felt her tummy rumble again. She began craving meatloaf and a slice of apple pie. “Mary, can we talk more at the diner?” she asked in a hopeful voice.

  “Of course, honey.” Mary smiled and quickly grabbed a white purse sitting at her feet. “Ready?”

  Betty enthusiastically stood up and hurried out into the front room where she found William sitting at his desk clattering away on a typewriter. “I had an early lunch,” William mumbled and glanced up at Mary. “I can work at other papers,” he said.

  Mary rolled her eyes. William was in an especially fussy mood. The poor man was sitting at a worn-down desk wearing an ugly gray suit that made him look far older than he was. “Why are you so moody today?” she asked.

  William lowered his eyes and stared at the typewriter. “Mary, I don’t mind covering Millie’s workload while she’s away. But I do mind getting stuck with one boring story after another.”

  “You covered the murder story,” Mary reminded William. “You wrote a great piece on the murder and the tornado that struck town. I admit that the town has settled down a bit since then—”

  “Down to a slow faucet drip,” William said.

  Mary sighed and sat down on the edge of William’s desk. “William, we’ve had two murders in town this year. That’s enough. Be grateful that Pineville is back to normal.” Mary folded her arms. “If you want big stories, move out to Los Angeles. Always something exciting happening out there.”

  “I should,” William fussed. He looked up at Mary and Betty. “I’m wasting my talent in this town.” William shook his head and focused his eyes on his bad leg. “I’m wasting my life…doing nothing.”

  “Ah,” Mary said, finally understanding why William was upset, “the war.”

  William kept his eyes low. “Every day our guys are fighting in exciting battles…major stories every day…and here I am writing about next week’s guest speaker at the Women’s Annual Charity Meeting.” William raised his eyes. “Mary, I couldn’t care less about some old lady driving down from Boston to speak to a bunch of stuffy old chickens.”

  Mary grinned. “Mrs. Hineheart is a well-respected woman in Boston,” she told William. “She has contributed a great deal of money to many charities.”

  “Including our local community…yeah, yeah, I know.” William rolled his eyes.

  “Having a new retirement home built behind the hospital instead of having it way out on Dove View Road is going to help a lot of people, William,” Mary continued.

  William picked up a pencil and began tapping his desk. “A bunch of old people sitting around farting on themselves…big deal.”

  “William!” Betty gasped and fought back a giggle. “That’s not very nice.”

  William sighed. “I guess it wasn’t. I’m sorry,” he apologized.

  Mary stood up. “I know not being able to fight in the war is difficult for you, William,” she said in a compassionate voice, “and I’m very sorry about your accident. The only comfort I can offer you is that Pineville is your home, and the people here love you. You’re surrounded by friends and family, and that’s a blessing.”

  “Is it?” William asked. He raised his eyes. “I got a letter from a friend who is training to be a paratrooper.” William tossed down the pencil he was holding. “This guy is having all sorts of fun…running…jumping out of planes…training to fight the enemy. And what am I doing?” William stood up and looked around the office. “Maybe I should move to Los Angeles,” he snapped. “Maybe I should move where there’s some action. Yeah, that’s the ticket.” William looked at Mary. “I quit,” he said and stormed out of the office.

  “Oh my,” Betty gasped, “I’ve never seen William in such a frenzy before.”

  Mary picked up William’s pencil and studied a line of bite marks. “John always told me that a man has to work out his own path in life. If William leaves us and moves to Los Angeles, that’ll be his choice.” Mary set the pencil back down. “I hope William stays at the paper. John and I are both very fond of him. He’s like family.”

  “I know what you mean,” Betty said, staring at the front door.

  “But,” Mary added, “you can’t keep a caged tiger locked in a closet. Maybe what William needs is to experience more than Pineville has to offer.” Mary looked at the front door. “Lunch?”

  “Okay.” Betty sighed and followed Mary outside into the windy day. As soon as she stepped out the door, a leaf blew into her face. “Oh, how lovely,” she said as Mary locked the front door.

  Mary turned and studied the front street. Even though the air was still warm—not hot, just warm—and the touch of summer was still softly touching the land, Mary clearly felt autumn’s sleepy eyes opening up and peeking around. “It won’t be long now,” she whispered and took Betty’s arm. “Soon the pumpkin patches will be full, and the leaves will begin changing colors.”

  “And Mother will start baking her pumpkin pies and gingerbread cookies.” Betty smiled.

  Mary smiled at Betty. “Your mother bakes the best pumpkin pies in Tennessee,” she said and slowly began walking Betty down the street, passing familiar faces and stores that sent a feeling of peace into her heart. “We can’t stop William from leaving town,” she said, “but we can’t let his own war prevent us from enjoying autumn when it arrives.” Mary stopped in front of a dress shop and looked at a beautiful blue and white dress. “Betty, we’ll drive down to Atlanta, visit Uncle Albert, and then hurry home as quickly as we can,” she said in an excited voice. “It won’t be long before the annual pumpkin pie contest begins and the farm fair arrives.”

  “And don’t forget about the Pumpkin Festival,” Betty added and hugged Mary’s arm. “I can’t wait to taste Mr. MacLeod’s apple cider. And, oh,” Betty beamed, “the church bake sale…all those cakes and pies…”

  Mary felt her mouth begin to water. “All those wonderful cakes and pies,” she said, staring at the dress. “Oh, I simply can’t wait to bring out my autumn dresses and put my summer dresses away.”

  “Me, too,” Betty said and pointed at the dress in the window. “Although that summer dress is lovely.”

  “Beautiful,” Mary agreed and checked her watch. “Uh, honey, want to do a little dress shopping before lunch?”

  Betty giggled. “I was hoping you would ask,” she said and rushed into the dress shop with Mary.

  Far away in Georgia, a short, plump, round man sat on a very nice bed tossing cards into a hat and singing to himself, fully aware that a murder was about to take place and that he, Uncle “Funny Bones” Albert, was going to be the number one suspect.

  “A mental hospital?” Betty gasped in horror, spotting a two-story gray brick building standing on twenty acres of lush country land northeast of Atlanta. The building was surrounded by beautiful trees keeping watch over breathtaking flower gardens that were whispering to a manicured green lawn that was treated with love and care. Yet, Betty felt, spotting the hospital, even though the grounds were beautiful, the building itself was horrendous and creepy… shaped like some spooky prison she had read about in a book once.

  Mary eased her 1936 Chevy Slantback up to a tall black iron gate and stopped. “Goodness,” Mary said, staring at the building. She quickly glanced behind her and spotted a narrow two-lane back road that stretched for miles. The road was covered over with a dark gray sky dripping with a sadness that seemed to complement the mental hospital instead of harm it. “Uncle Albert didn’t say h
e was in a mental hospital. All he told me over the phone was that he was in a hospital in Atlanta.”

  “Honey, Atlanta is a city,” Betty whispered in a scared voice. “We’re not in a city.”

  Mary turned back around in her seat. “Well, we’re close to Atlanta.” She winced.

  “I guess,” Betty said and pointed at a large square stone sitting off to the right. The stone had a fancy sign embedded into it. The sign read: Deep Woods Mental Hospital. “What a creepy name.”

  Mary bit down on her lip and stared through the iron gate. Somewhere in the spooky building was her husband’s Uncle Albert…a silly man who was probably wearing a white straitjacket surrounded by other crazy people.

  “Stop it,” Mary whispered, fighting back images of people dancing around a white padded room, flapping their arms like birds while mumbling unintelligible words to themselves. “This is a hospital for people who need…care.”

  Betty swallowed. “Honey, let’s go home, please.”

  Mary was tempted. The sight of the mental hospital gave her the creeps. But she had promised to pay Uncle Albert a visit—and a promise was a promise. “We’re already here,” she told Betty in a weak voice and looked behind her again at the gray road. “We might as well go inside and see Uncle Albert.” Mary closed her eyes. “We’ll go inside, say hello, visit for a few minutes, and then drive back home.”

  Betty felt a whine arise in her throat. “But Mary—”

  Mary turned back around. “Honey, it’s the right thing…the Christian thing…to do.” Mary looked around and spotted a gray and white guard box sitting inside the gate, off to the right, on a little patch of pavement. An old man reading a newspaper was perched inside the guard box not paying Mary any mind. “I guess I need to go speak to that man,” Mary said and hurried out of her car before Betty could object.