Charity Begins at Home - Ch. 7-8

Excerpt from Charity Begins at Home by Pat Otterness

CHAPTER SEVEN

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It was a long time before anyone came to interview me. I had no trouble filling the time, though. It always seemed to take forever to download my seedling photos to the computer and replace the camera’s photo numbers with the plant identifiers I used in my labeling. It was tedious work, but it held my attention and kept me from worrying about the process taking place near the creek. It also distracted me from thoughts of how much damage the forensic team might be doing to my breeding garden. Fortunately, I hadn’t yet begun doing crosses, so there were no developing seedpods to be toppled by the careless bump of an arm or shoulder.

Notebook in hand, I filled in checkmarks on my map as indicated by the day’s notations. In some rows, almost everything had already bloomed and been evaluated and photographed. Other rows were coming along more slowly. It was interesting to see which seedlings bloomed early, mid-season, or late. My green iris seedling had opened its first bloom very early, as had two of its sibs. The sibs were pretty, but not green. One was yellow with a green cast radiating out beyond the veins. Another was white with deeper green veining than either parent. I made a mental note to pollinate them as soon as possible with pollen from their green sibling.

A knock on my door interrupted me at long last. I was dismayed to find Investigator Hunt alone on my doorstep. No Captain Morris or Deputy Cook anywhere in sight. This must be what they meant when they said the shit was about to hit the fan. I had held my tongue in my earlier encounter with Hunt. Without a buffer present, oil and water were about to mix, and I was hoping to come out on top.

“Come on in,” I said, not smiling, but not yet scowling my true displeasure. I led the investigator through the kitchen and dining room, into my chaotic living room. I indicated a chair. “Have a seat,” I said.

“It’s covered with cat hair!” he said sharply.

“Just brush it off. Or take a different chair,” I said, knowing full well that they were all layered with cat hair.

Hunt looked around, then retraced his steps to retrieve a wooden chair from the dining room. He lowered the butt of his pristine uniform onto its seat and wrinkled his nose. “This house stinks of sandbox.”

Yay, cats!?I thought.?One point for our team!?I maintained my silence.

“Is it Miss or Mrs. Chance?” Hunt began.

“Ms.” I said.

“Miz,” he echoed, with just a hint of something in his tone. Scorn, perhaps? “Miz?Chance, tell me how you happened to discover a body that was way down in the creek bed. Wasn’t that an odd place for you to be?”

“What do you mean, odd?”?Suspicious?is what he implied.

“What caused you to be in that place, Miz Chance? Just answer the question, please.”

“I was looking for boot prints I saw on the creek bank a few days ago.” I stopped being obstructive for a moment and reminded him of the intruder I’d had in the garden. Hence my desire to get another look at those boot prints.

“And did you locate the boot prints?” As he spoke, Hunt’s eyes traveled around my living room, taking in the disarray, presumably making his own judgments.

“I found the place where I’d seen the boot prints,” I said, “but they were gone. The rain had washed them away. I was standing there, looking from that spot … you know, looking down at the creek … when I saw an obstruction in the water.”

“An obstruction?”

“I thought it was a log or something – just a dark blob, with water flowing over it. I went to investigate.”

“You went to interfere with a crime scene?” he said. “You went to look at a body? Isn’t that a little unusual for a woman, Miz Chance? Most women would run the other way.”

Yes, indeedy. They would run screaming to a big, strong man like you, I thought.?A protector.?“I didn’t know it was a body. I went closer to see what it was. As it turned out, it?was?a body.”

“And then what did you do? Did you come straight home and call the Sheriff’s office?” he said, knowing I didn’t.

“I climbed down the bank to see if he was alive,” I said. “He wasn’t. Then I came home and called the Sheriff’s office.”

“Expert, are you, at determining the presence of life?”

“Able to recognize?rigor mortis,” I said. “Cold and stiff say dead to me. How about you?”?Watch it, I thought.?This is not a man who will tolerate your wisecracks.?“Face down in the water seemed like a bad way to leave a man if he was still alive,” I added.

“You touched the body, then?” Not really a question. “You disturbed a crime scene?” Hunt leaned forward. I guess he was having a harder time intimidating me than he’d expected. “Did you remove anything from the body, Miz Chance?”

“No, I didn’t,” I said, maintaining my cool.

“Didn’t you take his wallet? His money? His identification? What else did you take,?Miz?Chance?” Hunt thrust his red face right up to mine.

“Excuse me?” I said, hoping he would get the message from my icy tone. Just then, there was a knock on the door, and I rose to answer it.?Saved by the bell, I thought. Deputy Cook stood on my doorstep, hat in hand. “Is Investigator Hunt finished?” he said. “I need to catch a ride back to town with him.”

I rolled my eyes at Cook. “Yes, Investigator Hunt is definitely finished,” I said, partly for the benefit of the man himself, who had followed me to the door.”

“I’m not through with you yet, Ms. Chance,” said Hunt as he joined Cook on the steps. “I’ll be back. Count on it.”

“Have a nice day,” I said, closing the door in his face.

In spite of my bravado, I was rattled. Did Hunt really think I had taken something from the body, and if so, what? Or was he just trying to push my buttons and see what popped up? I fixed myself yet another refreshing glass of iced tea, returned to my computer, and pulled up the photos of the body in the creek.

A knock at the door?… please, God, not Hunt again?… drew me to the kitchen. But it was Hiram who stood on the steps, looking a little unsure of his welcome. “Can I come in, Chat?”

I opened the door, and Hiram followed me back to the living room. His eyes immediately went to the computer screen. “Omigosh! Is that the body?” He went closer and examined the picture on the screen. “Are there more?”

I showed him where to click and he moved through the pictures one by one, examining each one carefully before moving on to the next, his expression grim.

“I probably shouldn’t be letting you see those,” I said. “I shouldn’t be talking to you at all.”

Hiram looked stricken. “I forgot,” he said. “I don’t want to cause any problems. I’ll go.” He moved as if to get up from the computer chair.

“Stay!” I said. “I need to talk to somebody. You won’t believe what Investigator Hunt accused me of. He thinks I took something off that man’s body. His wallet … his money … his ID. Maybe something else.”

“Did you?” Hiram sank back into the chair and looked into my eyes as if searching for truth.

“No! Of course not! The only thing I ‘took’ away from that scene was those photos.” I nodded towards the computer screen. “I don’t think that’s a crime.”

“Umm …” said Hiram.

“What?”

“Umm … I think I have …?a?problem,” he said.

“What do you mean? What kind of a problem?”

“Umm …” Hiram turned back to face the computer screen again. “See the clothes this guy is wearing?” He pointed to a dark plaid shirt, then to what looked like wet black jeans.

“Yes? What about them?” Did Hiram know this guy?

“I’m pretty sure they’re mine,” he said, his expressive face full of disbelief.

“Are you sure? How could he get your clothes …?” But even as I spoke, I remembered the suitcase in the road, its contents scattered about.?Oh, boy!?“Do you know him?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I can’t see his face, so I can’t be sure.”

“Well, nobody has to know,” I said. “I mean, clothes are clothes, right? No reason anybody would connect them to you.”

“Umm …” said Hiram.

This isn’t going to be good news,?I thought.

“Umm …” Hiram began again, “they have my name in them?”

“Your name?”?What!!!?“Your name … is in … your clothes?”

“Just my first name. But they’ll know. It’s kind of an unusual name.” Hiram twisted his shirt collar around so I could see a name tag.

HIRAM, all in capitals, stamped on a cloth tape and carefully sewn on, just the way I’d always done it for my kids before they went off to camp. I was dumbstruck.

“See,” said Hiram “They’re gonna know. Chance disappears, I show up, and a man dies in my clothes. They’re gonna think I did it.”

Finding my voice at last, I asked the burning question: “Why, Hiram? Why in the world would a man your age sew name tags in his clothes?”

“It’s Jones,” he said. “Jones is a common name. Back home I took my laundry to this place that kept mixing up my laundry with these other Joneses. Harry Jones, and Hank Jones, mostly, but sometimes even Joneses that didn’t have the same initial. I got tired of it, is all. I got laughed at a lot for my name tags, but I always got my own laundry after that.”

You’re right, I thought.?They’re going to know right where to look. Just then a heavy pounding sounded at my door.?Bingo!

?CHAPTER EIGHT

?This time I had the foresight to close my photo file before answering the door, and a good thing, too. It was Hunt again, and he was loaded for bear.

“Is Jones in there?” he bellowed. “He must be in there! He’s not at Cassidy’s place.” Hunt thrust his large, pink presence into my kitchen, looking around as if he thought I’d stashed Hiram under the table or something.

“Yes, he’s here with me,” I said. “What seems to be the problem, Investigator Hunt?” I led the way to the living room where Hiram had moved to one of the cat-hair encrusted recliners, and was casually sipping my tea.?Nice touch, Hiram!?“Can I get you a beverage, Investigator?” I took his grunt for assent, and returned to the kitchen to fix myself a fresh glass of tea. After a moment’s hesitation, I selected a particularly nasty, flat root beer from the fridge and poured Hunt a nice big glassful. It was the same color as the tea.?Bon appetit!

Hunt had reclaimed his same wooden chair from the dining room. Now, without a ‘thank you,’ he reached for the glass I offered and took a long swallow. “Blech!!! he said, gagging. He looked daggers at me.

Hiram raised a questioning brow, but I ignored him. “Too warm?” I asked. “I can get you more ice for that, if you want.” All innocence, I maintained a straight face. Hunt muttered something and placed his glass on the floor beside his chair.?Oh, goody!?I knew what would happen next.

While Hunt quizzed Hiram, I trained my eyes on the floor show. A black-and-white cat crept out from behind Hiram’s chair and sauntered, oh so casually, in Hunt’s direction. A long pink tongue lapped thirstily at the discarded root beer. Then, purring, the cat rubbed her face against Hunt’s leg. Before he could react, she leapt onto his lap, securing her perch with a tight grasp of claws. Thrusting her face to his, she landed a wet kiss on his mouth.

“Get it off me!” Hunt tried to push her away, but she merely tightened her hold on him. “Shoo!!” He grasped her roughly by the nape of the neck, so that she loosened her grip. Pulling suddenly free, she twisted in mid-air and performed what my kids and I called ‘the flying vomit’.

I had rarely felt more pleasure in having a bulimic cat. A long, slimy string of cat vomit splashed across Hunt’s pristine brown uniform, adding a touch of color, a whiff of root beer.?Sweet!

“Oh, you poor thing,” I said, but instead of going to Hunt’s assistance, I picked up the frightened cat and stroked her fur, crooning.

Hiram was all over Hunt, dabbing at him with tissues and a damp rag, but he succeeded only in making the officer madder than before. Rigid with anger, Hunt stalked to the door and summoned Deputy Cook, who had been left to wait in the cruiser. Cook was casually dressed, no longer in uniform. “Take over here, Deputy,” he said sharply. Abandoning Cook, he climbed into the cruiser and barreled off down the road.

Deputy Cook accepted a can of Coke, settled himself in a fur-lined chair, and petted the cat, who purred happily on his lap. Hiram cast envious glances at the deputy. I could have told him he smelled too much like dog to win the affection of the cat, but I didn’t want to embarrass him.

“What happened to Hunt?” Cook asked. “His uniform was a mess.”

“The cat … that cat you’re holding … vomited on him,” I said, not bothering to hide my grin.

Cook continued to stroke the cat. “Good choice,” he said softly in her ear. “What’s this one called?” he asked me.

“Precious,” I said. “Precious Underfoot. All of my cats bear the Underfoot name.”

“What a clever cat,” he murmured. “A different approach from Demon Underfoot’s, I see.” He grinned at Hiram.

Surprisingly, Hiram gave an answering grin. “I expect the whole Underfoot family is full of surprises,” he said.

Cook drew himself up straighter in the chair and pulled a notebook from his pocket. “I guess we’d better do this before he gets back,” he said. “Hiram, a new piece of evidence has come to light, and it seems to connect you to our mystery man.”

“You mean Chance?” said Hiram, looking puzzled.

“No-o-o, I mean the body Chat found in the creek. Did you know him, Hiram?” The deputy turned solemn eyes on Hiram, who resembled a deer caught in headlights.

“Umm … I don’t think so,” said Hiram. “I didn’t see his face, so I can’t be certain.”

“I was under the impression that you never saw him at all,” said Cook.

I broke in. “He saw the photos I took of the scene, that’s all.”

Cook’s eyebrows rose. “Photos? This is the first I’ve heard of photos. Does Hunt know about this?”

“I burned a CD,” I said, avoiding the question. “For Captain Morris.” I grabbed it off the desk and held it out. “See, it has his name on it. Could you give it to him for me?”

Deputy Cook took the CD and looked at it. “Mind if I pop this in the computer and take a look?”

“Go ahead,” I said, deciding it might be better not to mention the copies on my hard drive.

Cook lifted the sleeping cat and placed it gently in Hiram’s lap, then moved to the desk and loaded the CD into the computer’s disk drive.

The first photo I had taken popped up. It was taken from the top of the bank, showing the body face-down in the creek. “You can see, there were no footprints leading to the body,” I said. “At first I thought maybe he’d jumped or fallen from the highest point of the bank.”?Or been pushed.?“But I’ve been thinking about it since then. There could still have been footprints. All that rain could have washed them away. It all depends on how long he’d been there.”

“Good point,” said Cook. He turned to Hiram, who was sitting very still, trying not to wake the sleeping cat. “Tell me, Hiram, what did you notice about these photos. Recognize anything?”

“You might as well tell him,” I said.

“I know.” Hiram gave a little sigh. “He was wearing my clothes,” he said. “I guess you saw the name tags?”

Between us, Hiram and I filled Cook in on the plundered suitcase, the missing clothes, and the reason for the name tags in Hiram’s clothing.

“That, at least, can be checked,” said Cook. Give me the name of the town, and the name of the laundry. I’ll give them a call and verify what you’ve told me.”

While Hiram was providing that information, I considered the nature of what had gone unsaid. Neither Hiram nor I had mentioned the gun. The gun that was missing. The gun that -?please God?- would never be heard from again.

“Anyone else hungry?” I said. “Think I should order a pizza?” Cook and I looked at each other and laughed.

“What?”?said Hiram, not getting the joke.

“Nobody delivers pizza this far out,” Cook explained. “But yes, I’m hungry. No car, though. I don’t know how Hunt thinks I’m supposed to get back to town.”

A check out the window verified that the last of the deputies and state police forensic team had departed. Even the curiosity seekers seemed to have drifted away as dinnertime approached.

“I’ll drive you,” I said.

“Thanks! I guess we could get some pizza in town.” Cook smiled. “You coming, Hiram? We can finish our interview in the car.”

“Umm …” said Hiram.

“Problem?”?Cook asked.

“Umm … it’s?Baby,” he said. “Chance’s dog. I need to check on him first.” He reddened. “I can’t leave him for too long.”

Or you’ll find him in a puddle of pee, I thought.?Poor Hiram.

“Okay,” I said, “we’ll take care of Baby first.”

Hiram’s face brightened. Relinquishing the cat, he actually had a lilt to his step as we headed out to the car.

The road to Chance’s house wasn’t long, but I drove slowly. I hadn’t been down that section of road since Chance and his Rottweiler took up residence. Newly cleared fields were freshly plowed. Daylily fields, not yet in bloom, seemed weed-free and thriving. Nearer the house, a new field of tall bearded iris showed a few colorful blooms. Another time, I thought, it would be fun to explore, to take a closer look at Chance’s garden.

The new house Chance had built on the hillside was impressive, a house of many windows. It wasn’t huge, but I could tell, even from the outside, that those windows offered wonderful views of the valley. I was eager to go inside and look out, to see the valley as Chance saw it.

Stepping inside, however, my first thought was not of vistas but of Baby. Clearly we were too late. Smells from the back of the house indicated ‘cleaning up’ rather than ‘taking out’ was in order. I pretended not to notice, and went to one of the big front windows.?Glorious!?I could see Chance’s lower fields, all daylilies, and beyond that I could see across the creek to the Ortiz fields, bright with iris blooms even this late in the afternoon. Several ladies still lingered there enjoying the beauty of the day.

“I’ll help you,” I heard Cook tell Hiram. I was marginally aware of the two men disappearing into the?bowels?of the house. I chuckled at my own wit. As their voices receded, I turned my attention back to the window. Oh, for a pair of binoculars, I thought. I could see several figures walking past the Frees brothers’ acreage in the far distance. I headed for the stairs.

The narrow, enclosed stairway led to a landing where a central bathroom was flanked with rooms on either side. Both large bedrooms were rich with late afternoon light from windows on three walls. If I’d thought the downstairs views were wonderful, the upstairs views were magnificent. Each room had a chair facing front windows, and each had binoculars on the sill. After a moment’s hesitation, I took a pair and looked out over the valley. From up here, I could see even farther down the creek. In fact, I noticed abruptly, I could also see the yellow crime scene tape along the bank where I’d found the body. I couldn’t see down into the creek bed itself, but almost everything around it was clearly visible. A little chill ran down my spine. Who, I wondered, had Chance Cassidy been spying on … and why?