People always say that the apartments of the dead look like an old person’s home. Not Annabelle Murphy’s. It looked like a young person’s home, from a different era.
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There were no fussy doilies, or collections of salt shakers, or cat figurines. It was decorated simply, in a kind of art deco style. The furniture was old, but immaculately kept. There was a large console stereo, with a huge record collection, and everywhere there were framed pictures of her laughing.
She laughed at the Eiffel tower, she laughed in Vegas, she laughed on the beach. And in every single photo, she was with a different man. There were some repeats, but the girl had gotten around.
I found a bathroom at the end of the single hall. It was small and smelled like soap. I was careful not to make a mess. She would have wanted it that way. And I washed my hands before I came out, but resisted the urge to dry them on the good towel, settling instead for a rough, cotton towel, hanging on the shower door.
Leeanne was in her bedroom when I got out. She had dresses laid out on the bed and was choosing accessories.
I went into the living room, looking for whatever a clue looks like. There was a big flat screen TV, about the only thing modern in the place. It was a smart TV and the remote sat beside a big, comfortable looking rocking chair, with a padded foot rest.
On the table beside it, was a book of crossword puzzles, an electronic sudoku game and a half-finished glass of what looked like Ice Tea, but smelled a little stronger.
I opened the drawer in the table and immediately regretted it. I was greeted by a loud buzz, and there in the drawer, was a pink vibrator, trying to shake its way out. Leeanne came up behind me and burst out laughing.
She reached around me and turned it off.
“So glad you did that, I wasn’t about to touch it,” I said.
“We need to find out what she wanted to say to you,” Leeanne said.
She looked around the room.
“Where’s the phone?” she asked.
“I don’t know, maybe in the kitchen?” I said.
She rolled her eyes at me. “No, it was always on that table. A little white slimline push button,” she said.
I looked between the chair and the table. There was the phone, lying, no doubt, where she’d dropped it. I moved the rocking chair over and picked it up. Underneath the phone, was a yellow stenographer’s pad. I picked it up.
For eighty-seven, she had surprisingly strong hand writing. On the top page, there was a message.
‘D.W. Ask Vernon about wh-‘and that was all. The writing trailed off across the page. She’d called the ambulance from the life alert pendant around her neck. This might have been the last thing she ever did before that.
“What does it mean?” Leeanne asked.
I handed her the tablet. She flipped through the pages. There was nothing else.
“What were you supposed to ask Vernon? Does she mean Vern, the teddy bear perv?” she said.
“I guess. How did she even know about that?” I said.
“What, you think I’m going to hear that Vern has a taste for furry flesh, and I’m not going to tell somebody? She was extremely trustworthy, and in case you didn’t notice, my only other friend, besides you and Ben and Fred,” she said. “Even with gay guys, sex talk gets weird with men, so I told Nana Murphy. You have a problem with that?”
I laughed.
“Okay, so she knew, but what does this message mean?” I asked. “She was writing it down, so she wouldn’t forget. It must have been important.”
“Ask him why? Ask him when? Ask him what?” Leeanne said.
“Where! Ask him where,” I said.
“Where what?” Leeanne said.
“Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Come on, the funeral home is on the way,” I said.
I ran out the door. I hopped in the truck. I’d left Leeanne to struggle with a garment bag and a small overnight bag, I assumed held jewelry, or maybe a scarf. I ran back and took the garment bag. Leeanne locked the door.
We ran to the truck together. I placed the garment bag in the back carefully and hopped in. I put the truck in drive and pulled out.
“Where what?” Leeanne demanded.
“Where he got the bear. It never even occurred to me.
That could be the most important information ever and I never even thought of it,” I said.
The funeral home was one block off of main street, across from the Methodist church.
“Is anyone here now?” I asked.
“Mr. Acres is always here. He lives in that little white house next to the chapel,” Leeanne said.
She grabbed the overnight bag, I took the garment bag. We went up to the door. She knocked. A tiny man, with a handlebar mustache answered the door.
“Oh, yes, Leeanne, come in,” he said. “These must be Ms. Murphy’s things. If you’ll just put them in here.”
He opened a closet. Leeanne hung the garment bag.
“How are you, my dear? I heard you were back,” the man said.
“No time to talk, Mr. Acres, sorry,” Leeanne said. “Maybe next time.”
We ran back to the truck and I turned it toward Vern’s Antique shop. When we got there, there were no cars in the drive. All of the lights in the house were on, and the front door was standing open.
Since it was a store, I didn’t think anything about it, just walked right in.
“Vern?” I called.
No one answered. I went into the office. It was empty. There was no sign of him on the first floor. Leeanne followed me down the hall. The door to the basement was open. After what I’d seen, I had no intention of surprising this guy, no telling what we might be interrupting.
“Vern!” I called.
Nothing but my voice echoing back to me. I started down the stairs, but stopped, halfway down. His feet were almost touching the bottom step. Vern lay sprawled in the floor, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. A pool of blood was spreading from behind his head.
“Oh, dear god,” Leeanne said.
She was whispering.
What now? I didn’t see any sign of an intruder. Maybe he’d fallen down the stairs? If he was dead, I wanted nothing more to do with this place. But if he was alive, I couldn’t just leave him like this, no matter how creepy he was. I’d have to check the pulse.
Being very careful to avoid leaving footprints in the blood. I approached the body. One of his arms lay sprawled, almost pointing toward the stairs. I picked it up, felt the wrist. There was no pulse, or was there? I couldn’t tell, my own pulse was thumping so hard, my fingertips were pulsing in beat with it.
I couldn’t get to his neck to check it, without stepping in blood, or going over him. I opted for the second choice. I placed a knee on his chest and leaned in.
“Sorry, Vern, if you’re still alive, I’m sure this isn’t helping,” I said.
I put my finger on his neck. It was cold. I felt nothing. The man was dead.
“He’s dead,” I said.
“Geez,” Leeanne said. “People around you are dropping like flies.”
“Thanks, that’s helpful,” I said.
I looked beyond Vern to the shrine room. I’d come this far, if that bear was in there, I needed to get it and I was not coming back. I stepped onto his chest. The air pushing out of his lungs made a sigh. I looked down. No movement. Then I heard a crack. This was going to show up in the autopsy.
“What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing?” Leeanne asked.
“My teddy bear is in there,” I said. “Not leaving without Mr. Ted.”
“You should hurry, whoever did this might not be far away,” she said.
“I think he did this to himself,” I said. “He was really out of shape, should have seen…”
Nope, definitely murdered. The door swung wide. The Plexiglas shrine was busted open. The bear was gone. Who besides me, knew it was here. Or, even wanted the damn thing?