The Ghost in Mr. Pepper's Bed Read online

  “Mrs. Turner!” she exclaimed so that everyone in the cafe turned to see what Marsha was going on about. “It is you! My goodness, I haven’t seen you since before Poppy left.”

  Marsha made a beeline over to Nellie and gave her a hug.

  “How are you, Mrs. Turner? How’s Poppy?” Marsha asked, her face full of happiness and hope. Tilly’s Café’s head waitress was the same age as Poppy and had gone to school with Nellie’s daughters.

  Nellie’s heartache welled up with the remembrance of Marsha being Poppy’s friend. With a trembling smile, she looked up at the still beaming Marsha and said in a voice choked with emotion, “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, but my Poppy is dead. It’s her body they found in that horrible pit out at Whispering Pines RV Park.”

  There was a universal sucking of air into lungs followed by a reversal of that same air in a chorus of shocked exclamations from the cafe’s patrons.

  “Oh, my God!” Marsha cried. She dropped her order pad on the ground. “Poppy? Dead? Who would have wanted to kill her?”

  “I…I…I don’t know,” Nellie stammered. The actual words had reawakened the wound in Nellie’s heart.

  By this time, the entire cafe was hanging on Nellie and Marsha’s every word. It was Earl Higginbotham, one of the Table Three coffee drinkers, who voiced what the rest of the locals were thinking.

  “Do they have any idea who might have killed her, Nellie?”

  Nellie looked at Sonya, who with deliberation slowly shut and opened her eyes once as a way of encouraging her.

  “I’ve come back from living with my other daughter, Rose, in Australia, but while I was there, I received a letter from Poppy saying she’d run off with some man from Springville. That was a lie because we know Poppy was already…dead.”

  Nellie stumbled again from the emotion. Sonya reached over and placed her hand on Nellie’s giving her the courage to continue.

  “Someone else wrote that letter to keep me from looking for Poppy. I’ve got that letter and I’m taking it to the sheriff. With that DNA testing, they’ll be able to find out who killed her.”

  No one spoke for half a second; then everyone talked at once.

  “Good! I hope they catch him and put him away forever,” one coffee drinker said forcefully. The rest of his buddies all agreed with equal vehemence.

  The women patrons whispered to each other and lots of heads shook back and forth at the horribleness of such a crime happening in what they thought was a safe, small town. Sonya and Nellie finally got to give their order to Marsha, who was red-eyed and constantly expressing her sympathy to Nellie for such a terrible thing having happened to poor Poppy.

  Once Marsha disappeared into the kitchen, Sonya and Nellie were left to talk and sip their coffee. They didn’t dare discuss the letter or Poppy again. Sonya knew it had been enough for Nellie to announce it to so many of her old friends and neighbors.

  They did hope, however, that someone would ask where Nellie was staying. They didn’t have to wait long because out from the back kitchen came Tilly. She walked straight toward their table, pulled out a chair and sat down with her own iconic cup of coffee. Everyone in the cafe surreptitiously watched and kept their conversations low so as to hear better from their own seats.

  “Marsha told me what’s happened, Nell. I’m so sorry to hear about your girl. Poppy was a sweet thing. This is going to kill Ryan Houseman. He’s been carrying a torch for her since the day she left Willow Valley. Do you need a place to stay while you’re here or are you staying with Mrs. Caruthers?”

  Tilly gave a short, friendly nod at Sonya and waited for Nellie’s answer.

  Nellie patted Tilly’s hand that was lying on the table and smiled.

  “Thanks, Till. It’s good to see you again. I’m coming to terms with all this and I’m staying out at my old place, the farm. I’ve made a nice little nest in the barn and I’m getting a real estate agent to come out and put the place on the market. I won’t be staying long. My daughter, Rose, is still out in Australia and she needs my help.”

  Tilly nodded with a stern expression and lowered her voice for a more confidential exchange.

  “You know, you’ve set yourself up mentioning that letter, Nell. You’d better hightail it over to the sheriff’s office and hand that letter over as quick as possible. Your life’s not worth a plug nickel until you do. The killer may still be here in town.”

  Nellie shot Sonya a knowing look and raised her own voice enough to let most of Table Three and a few others close by hear her reply.

  “Thanks, Till. I’ve got to get back to the barn and collect the letter. It’ll be in the sheriff’s hands by tonight. Can’t go before because I’m waiting on the real estate agent this afternoon.”

  Tilly gave Nellie a penetrating look along with a wily grin barely tinging the corner of her mouth. She nodded with her own knowing expression saying, “Well, good, Nellie. You need anything, anything at all, just give me a call. I’m glad to see you again, and I’m sure sorry about poor Poppy.”

  Tilly got up and went back into the kitchen. With the bait fed into the gossip machine, all that was left was to hope it would be well strewn throughout the town. Soon, their lunch arrived and they enjoyed their fried chicken, homemade biscuits, and mashed potatoes, along with a sizable helping of green beans seasoned with onions and bacon drippings.

  “Goodness!” Sonya said with gusto after having a few bites of the best fried chicken she’d ever had. “That Tilly is an amazing cook. It can take years to perfect this. Reminds me of the way my mama used to make it.”

  “Honey, I may have to have Rose and her Aussie hubby move back home from Melbourne,” Nellie said as she chewed on a second chicken leg. “I’ve missed my Southern food. Have you tried your biscuit yet? Light as a dream.”

  Sonya laughed softly. “Good luck with getting young people away from a beach Nellie. In the meantime, should we order some of that incredible homemade banana cream pie?”

  Chapter 28

  Deputy Tommy Kirchner was putting Sheba, his new police dog trainee, in the back of his car when his cell phone rang. Looking at the incoming number, he realized it was Laney. His heart skipped a beat and he quickly answered it.

  “Hi!” he said, the excitement in his voice extremely apparent. “What’s up?”

  “You’ve got to get over here to the office, Tommy,” her voice agitated and worried sounding. “It’s Ricky Mitchell and he’s angry with Dr. Dempster about turning the police on to him. Doc is out, but I’m afraid for Percy. If I have to, I’ll deal with Mitchell myself.” In a low whisper, she said, “I think he’s been drinking. Percy is trying to barricade him at the reception area, but it’s getting nasty. My two cleaning appointments ran out of here terrified.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Tommy said. He heard yelling going on in the background of the call. “I’ll bring the sheriff. Hold on and if it gets too ugly, you and Percy need to lock yourselves in a room.”

  “I’m not afraid for me, Tom. I’m afraid I’ll get mad and hurt Ricky. Get over here as soon as you can.”

  Laney hung up and the deputy ran back inside to get Sheriff Walker. He found him sitting at his desk looking at an old letter encased in a plastic bag.

  “Sheriff, there’s a problem over at Dr. Dempster’s office. Laney Bodwell just called and said Ricky Mitchell is there and he’s drunk. She says he’s mad at them for providing dental evidence against him in Poppy’s murder investigation.”

  Zeb quickly got up from his desk. “Let’s bring that nincompoop in and put him in a cell. I’m so sick and tired of him muddying the water. Come on, Kirchner. Grab a Taser. I hate to use force, but Mitchell can be a handful. He’s like a slippery pig when he’s fighting mad.”

  The two officers made what would have been a ten-minute trip, in less than five. As they pulled up in front of the dentist’s office, Percy came bolting out of the front door, his facial expression one of crazed fear and his bun wobbling on the side of
his head. The t-shirt he was wearing had the neck stretched over his shoulders like someone had pulled it down forcefully halfway to his elbows. With both upper arms restrained tightly by the shirt, Percy ran at the police vehicle waving his hands frantically at Tommy and Zeb.

  “Come on, let’s save Percy,” Zeb said, his tone cynical. “Rick’s going to be ornery, so get that stun gun ready.”

  They stepped free of the vehicle and that’s when they heard the gunshot. The two men exchanged thunderstruck expressions, while Percy let loose a high-pitched scream and went running off down the side alley of the dental office.

  “Get around to the back. If Rick tries to escape that way, I want you to hit him with Taser,” Zeb said. “I’m going in the front.”

  Tommy didn’t argue. His training taught him to follow orders. He followed the retreating figure of Percy while Zeb strode up to the office’s front door and pushed it open. There quivering in a corner was Ricky and standing over him with a shotgun was Laney. She smiled broadly at the sheriff.

  “There’s one hell of a hole in the ceiling tiles over the reception area, but Ricky’s being a real good boy now, aren’t you, Rick?” she asked while tapping the barrel of the gun with a nicely manicured fingernail.

  “Oh yes, I’m all done, Laney,” he stammered. “I’m awful sorry to have bothered you. I’ll go with Zeb.”

  “You got a license for that gun?” Zeb asked Laney, hoping she did.

  “I have my conceal carry and my paperwork on the gun. If you need to look at it, it’s in my purse. Give me a minute and I’ll get it for you.”

  Zeb gave a congenial nod as Tommy burst in through the back door.

  “Better go tell, Deputy Kirchner you’re okay,” he said with a grin.

  Laney walked off toward the back with the shotgun’s barrel dropped down next to her right leg and Zeb gestured in a bored, distasteful manner for Ricky to get out of his corner. Dr. Dempster walked in through the front door and spied Zeb, Ricky and the gaping hole in his ceiling.

  “Tell me Laney didn’t shoot Percy,” he said turning to Zeb. “They’ve been fussing at each other all day over who’s going to pull all the back-dated files and scan them into the computer.”

  Zeb pointed at Ricky saying, “Laney’s been teaching Ricky, here, to not drink and harass his local dental practice.”

  This appeared to agree with Dr. D. and he nodded sagely in agreement with his office manager’s proper use of a firearm.

  “Well, I’ll have to replace those tiles. Looks like she deliberately used one shell. That’ll make it easier. Hope there isn’t any damage to the roof.” He studied the ceiling with a critical eye. “Ricky, I ought to have you pay for this. Laney’s not the kind to use her gun unless she feels it’s a worthy cause. You must have been kicking up a lot of dust in here.”

  “He ran off two clients and roughed up Percy,” Laney said coming back up to the front with Tommy, who had a huge grin on his face. “Percy’s extremely upset and that makes my blood boil, Ricky. No one picks on Percy,” Laney said with a look on her face that made Ricky cringe next to Zeb.

  “I…I’m sorry,” he said shaking his head and slurring his words, “I got to drinking and the more I thought about everything, the angrier I got. You’re trying to prove I killed my wife, Doc.”

  “Ricky, where I’m taking you, you’ll get to sober up and make amends by doing some community time. I think Judge Winston will be glad to let you come over and fix Dr. D.’s ceiling and maybe do some work on his roof as well.”

  Zeb had to help Ricky out the door, and upon getting into the back seat of the police vehicle, he saw his old dog.

  “Hey, this is my dog,” he said. Sheba, not holding any grudge for the terrible neglect she experienced at his hands, sat serenely on her side of the seat.

  “Was your dog,” Tommy said, sliding into the car’s front passenger side. “We’re teaching Sheba to search for illegal drugs, bring down attackers, and track missing people.” He gave Ricky a steely look. “And deal with pain-in-the-ass drunks.”

  “Which brings up an interesting point,” Zeb added as he maneuvered the car out into afternoon traffic. “We may have a break in Poppy’s murder investigation. Nellie Turner is back and she brought a letter with her that was sent, most likely, by either the murderer or their accomplice. Should take us right to the killer.”

  Zeb, using the rear view mirror, looked in the back. At first, Ricky said nothing in return. He lifted his gaze and staring Zeb right in the eyes, said, “Well, I wish you luck, Sheriff. Poppy’s killer is probably on the other side of the country by now. I know I would be, if I’d murdered someone. But I didn’t, so I don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Ricky turned and fixed his gaze on the scenery passing by out his side window. The rest of the ride to the police office was quiet, but everyone had a great deal on their mind.

  As Sonya’s Morris Minor chugged up the dirt road to the Turner farm, the afternoon was coming to a close. A balmy seventy-degree temperature was going to make for a perfect evening free of humidity. Anyone in Missouri will tell you the blight of summer humidity is one of the reasons for the state being sometimes called Misery by its tongue-in-cheek native population.

  Sonya parked the car. She rarely drove the Morris, so if their visitor tonight saw it, hopefully, he would believe it was Nellie’s and that she was home. Taking their things up into the hayloft, they made a comfortable spot to sit where they’d be unseen. Sonya had packed a thermos of coffee to keep them awake, plenty of snacks, two flashlights, and the always necessary can of bug spray. Those same natives will also tell you that ticks, fleas, and mosquitos are the other three reasons Missouri gets the Misery nickname.

  The root cellar was in fairly good shape and its entrance was easy to see from the loft above. Someone thirty years ago had run electricity to it, so there was a single light bulb hanging from a metal fixture, and, after a light cleaning, the phony accommodation wasn’t too disreputable.

  “Do you think anyone will believe I’m staying in this place?” Nellie asked as she hit the dust accumulated on her overalls sending it billowing up into brown clouds around her.

  Sonya continued to knock down cobwebs in the rafters. “No worries. We’re going to make it look hospitable enough and with some music playing on a radio inside, it’ll give the illusion of being inhabited.”

  They dragged the two metal garden chairs from the backyard into the cellar and arranged them around an old dairy can with a square piece of plywood for a top to make a makeshift table. With hay strewn over three wooden pallets laid end to end, Nellie added her bedroll to give the impression that this was where she’d been living.

  “Let’s put my picnic basket on one of the chairs. The food poking out over the edge will make someone think you’re here. Also, we need your luggage bags laid on top of the bedroll and completely opened,” Sonya directed.

  Once the stage was set, they turned their attention to making sure their surprise prison would be able to perform its job. The root cellar door was substantial enough to hold anyone locked inside. It was made of oak and it had two iron L-brackets mounted to either side of the opening. A two-by-six plank of wood, on its own metal hinge, rotated and dropped into the brackets securing the door completely.

  “That should do it,” Nellie said. “I’m going to put some papers on the table and you tie the rope to the end of the plank. Then, all we need to do is wait.”

  Soon they were nestled in the loft, hoping the killer would take the bait they’d thrown around at Tilly’s and Lana’s earlier that day. They weren’t roughing it too terribly. Fortunately, neither woman was skittish about vermin. Spiders, on the other hand, had caused some difficulties, but most of them had been run off with the broom.

  “I hope Zeb didn’t tell anyone he had the letter. That’ll ruin it for us,” Nellie said watching the sun beginning to set over the old oaks in the yard. “I used to miss this place sometimes, but now it will always be the place whe
re my child died. I wish I’d been the one to burn it down.”

  Sonya breathed deeply and watched the crimson and purple streaks in the summer evening sky darken, creating a once-in-a-lifetime painting that would never be seen again, even if the world existed into eternity.

  “Poppy’s in a wonderful place, Nellie. Any suffering she may have known is over for her. You’ve got some time ahead of you for the grieving, but not forever. If there is anything this crazy world teaches us, it’s that nothing lasts forever, even loss.”

  Birds flew among the trees, telling each other of the possible threat sitting in the barn loft. Sonya and Nellie enjoyed the bird’s winged acrobatic show with a dusky sunset for a backdrop. A motorized vehicle of some sort murmured in the distance. It was coming up the road in the direction of the farm.

  “Oh, my God!” Nellie whispered. “This could be it.”

  Chapter 29

  “I’ll get the rope ready for the lock. You be ready to slam the door. Don’t forget to hide in the stable area,” Sonya said breathlessly.

  They were both actually terrified at the realization their plan might be falling into place. In minutes, they’d be face to face with a killer. Nellie scrambled down the loft ladder and tucked herself into a stable stall right behind the root cellar door. Sonya worked the rope mechanism to make sure it would swing the two-by-six easily and without hiccups into the metal brackets. Both women heard the crunching of tires on gravel and the sound of an engine as it whined to a stop in the driveway in front of the burnt-out house.

  “Hello!” called a woman’s voice. “Hey! Is anyone here?”

  Neither Sonya nor Nellie dared to speak. They crouched down further into their different hiding spots.

  “Mrs. Turner! It’s me, Marsha! I wanted to come out and bring you some dinner!”

  “Was it Marsha who killed Poppy? But why?” Sonya thought frantically to herself. Feeling a brush of wind against her cheek and a low whisper in her ear, she knew Fritz was back.