Bad Moon Rising

  BAD MOON RISING

  Three Stories

  By

  Helen Haught Fanick

  EPIGRAPH

  What the detective story is about is not murder

  but the restoration of order.

  P. D. James

  Copyright © 2012 by Helen Haught Fanick

  Cover photo copyright © 2012 by Ben Rehder

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  BAD MOON RISING

  HALF-MOON

  DARK OF THE MOON

  MOON SIGNS EXCERPT

  MOONLIGHT MAYHEM EXCERPT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For Betty, Carole, and Polly

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My family includes several writers, and I’m grateful to all of them for their endless love, support, and encouragement. Books have always been important to me, and I can thank my family for this, too—the parents and aunts who read to me when I was young, and those who always made sure we had books in our house. My gratitude also goes to those who have read my work in manuscript form and suggested corrections and changes. Included are Ben Rehder, Ed Fanick, and Vernon and Marguerite Shettle. Thanks to pixelstudio for the cover design.

  BAD MOON RISING

  By

  Helen Haught Fanick

  My sister Andrea and I suspected the mayor was having an affair; what we never dreamed was that this would lead to his murder. At least, I immediately began assuming it was the affair that resulted in his death. Andrea is more cautious and wants evidence before she makes a decision about anything of this sort. She’s a retired math teacher, and logical thinking is a way of life with her.

  Because Andrea is so logical, she doesn’t believe our lives are influenced by the stages of the moon. Our Grandmother Flynn taught us everything she knew, but her ideas about the moon and its effect on our affairs didn’t take with Andrea. When I pointed out to her that the murder had occurred when the moon was only a sliver, going on dark, she merely smiled to humor me. She refuses to believe this is a time of trouble and turmoil in spite of the mayor’s death.

  Of course, murder isn’t common in our little town of Pine Summit. The day after the mayor died, the police chief announced that this was the first in thirty-seven years. The whole town was buzzing with the news that Henry Wilson had been shot in the chest and the head while on his early-morning jog in Summit Park, a lovely hilltop green space surrounding a frame farmhouse, the former home of the settlers of our town and now our Community Center. The killer had held the gun to the side of Henry’s head and fired, probably after the shot to the chest had disabled him.

  A few people living near the park had heard a shot, but no one thought anything of it since hunting season began last weekend, our town is surrounded by woods, and a few over-eager hunters occasionally take a shot before it’s fully light. The fact that all the witnesses claimed to have heard one shot while the victim had been shot twice only added to the mystery.

  The mayor’s wife assumed he had gone straight on to City Hall after his jog and wasn’t concerned about him; at least that was her story. The two employees at City Hall weren’t worried either, since he never kept a regular schedule. Being mayor of Pine Summit isn’t that big a challenge. It wasn’t till Twila Estep, one of my quilting buddies, went for a mid-morning walk that the body was found.

  Andrea isn’t one to gossip, but she mentioned to me a while back that she had seen Henry go into the home of Susie Adams, who lives in a house that sits just below Andrea’s place. Our whole town is built on a hill, with winding streets connecting our modest homes. Andrea is one of the few people in town who have a deck, and her deck overlooks Susie’s house.

  “I couldn’t sleep past four o’clock this morning,” she told me a few weeks ago. “I went out on the deck with a cup of coffee, and about five I saw someone go into Susie’s house without knocking.”

  I was intrigued. “You couldn’t tell who it was?”

  “I’m not positive, but I think it was Henry Wilson.”

  “What would he be doing . . . oh, my gosh!”

  “I’m not positive it was him. Don’t say anything.”

  Asking me not to say anything about a potential affair involving our mayor is like putting me in a padded cell in a strait jacket, but I would never reveal anything Andrea asked me not to tell, so I agreed.

  Two weeks later, Andrea reported the same sort of incident. “This time it was lighter, so I’m positive it was Henry.”

  “That’s unbelievable! His wife thinks he’s jogging up the hill to the park, and he’s stopping off at Susie’s.”

  Andrea just nodded and didn’t say anything. Speculation about these incidents wasn’t something she’d indulge in, since she’s somewhat straight-laced. I, on the other hand, was ready to speculate away. “How long do you suppose this has been going on?”

  “We don’t know that anything’s going on.”

  I ignored that remark. Of course we knew something was going on. “He must be twenty years older than she is.” Andrea and I are in our sixties, and my guess is that Henry was mid-fifties. Susie looks thirty-something. Everyone in Pine Summit knows everyone else, and we had known Henry since he was a baby. We had known Susie for only about ten years. She married a man who lived here, and they moved into the house next to Andrea. When they divorced, she kept the house.

  Andrea pinned me down with her sharp gaze. “What does their age have to do with anything?”

  I hated to use the ‘a’ word, but I did anyway. “It looks like she’d pick someone nearer her age if she wanted to have an affair.”

  Andrea had given me a pained look that told me she thought I was jumping to conclusions. “Just remember what I said. Don’t say anything about this.”

  #

  We wouldn’t have done anything more than to sit around speculating about who had killed Henry if it hadn’t been that Susie was Andrea’s neighbor. That, and the fact that Andrea has an insatiable curiosity about any sort of mystery. When the police chief and his lone officer knocked on Susie’s door the afternoon after the mayor died, I happened to be sitting with Andrea on her deck, sipping mocha-flavored coffee and enjoying the loveliest Indian summer we’d had in years.

  I was concerned Andrea might think I had leaked the information about the mayor visiting Susie. “I haven’t said a word. Someone else must have known about the affair and told the police.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t use that word. We don’t know what was going on between Henry and Susie.”

  I sipped my coffee and thought about the situation. “If she’s a suspect, I think they’re barking up the wrong tree. I think the mayor’s shrew of a wife would have been the one to do him in. Either her or that delinquent son of hers.”

  Andrea nodded. “I don’t think Henry ever got along with his stepson. He seemed to be trying to straighten the kid out, but I don’t think it worked. As for Jackie—I wouldn’t call her a shrew. Assertive, maybe, but not shrewish.”

  We sat for a while amid the drifting red leaves of the gum tree and the yellow leaves of the oak that stretched their branches over the deck. “I could use more coffee. How about you?” I asked.

  “Thanks, I’d like another cup.”

  I took her cup and headed for the kitchen. While I was inside I heard a car start, and I wondered
if the police were leaving. By the time I got back outside, Susie was coming up the steps onto the deck. She occasionally came to chat with Andrea, but this time she looked different. Her eyes were puffy; it was obvious she’d been crying.

  Andrea opened another of her folding lawn chairs. “Have a seat, Susie. Would you like some coffee?”

  She nodded without saying anything and sat down.

  I headed back into the kitchen as fast as I could go, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t miss anything interesting. I left the sliding door open—maybe I’d be able to hear what was being said. And I fully expected Susie to tell us what was going on. She’s a fluffy little blonde who needs someone to lean on. She doesn’t have much poise; she’s needy—I believe that’s the popular word today.

  I heard Andrea say, “Are you okay?” as I walked back through the kitchen. I closed the door quietly, hoping to hear Susie’s answer, but she only shook her head. I handed her the coffee and took my seat.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Andrea asked.

  “They think I did it!” She began to sob.

  “Calm down, Susie,” Andrea said. “Why would they think that?”

  She said nothing for a minute, getting her voice under control. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Henry stopped by my place in the mornings while he was out jogging. Yes, we were having an affair. But I didn’t kill him. Chief Simpson says I wanted him to divorce Jackie and marry me, and he wouldn’t, and that’s why I shot him. I’ve never shot a gun in my life. I wouldn’t know how.”

  “That’s the lamest theory I’ve ever heard,” Andrea said. She’s not one to criticize the police, or anyone else for that matter, so I guess that sentence popped out before she took time to think, something unusual for Andrea.

  I couldn’t have agreed with her more. Much more likely his wife found out and followed him to the park. Or maybe it was her son, Jason. If he found out his stepfather was having an affair on top of all the harassment he’s had, he’d be a likely suspect, too. And he’s a hunter.

  “I wonder if he had life insurance,” I said.

  “I’m sure he did,” Andrea said. “He was retired from one of the plants along the river. I forget which one he worked at, but I’m sure life insurance would have been part of his retirement package.”

  “No doubt Jackie would have been the beneficiary,” I murmured, not wanting to actually accuse her in front of Susie, but to let Susie know there had to be other suspects, that she wasn’t the only one.

  “Did Henry ever mention being afraid of anyone, or having a problem with anyone in town?” Andrea asked.

  “He never said anything.” Susie blushed. “Actually, we never talked that much. It was, you know, a rather physical relationship.”

  Andrea sat there looking thoughtful. Then, “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do, but we’ll see.”

  #

  “Let’s take a walk,” Andrea said the minute Susie left.

  I gulped the last of my coffee, and we carried the cups to the kitchen. “Where are we going?” I asked, pretty sure we were headed to the park so Andrea could nose around the murder scene.

  “Let’s walk up to the park,” she said, right on cue.

  We were just about to enter the park on the main trail when Art Tennant drove up in his sporty Jaguar. He was the most recent resident of Pine Summit. He moved here a year ago from Martindale, our county seat, to work for the city. I believe his work involved financial matters, but I couldn’t think for the life of me just what his title was. He’s caused quite a stir among the single young ladies here.

  “Hi, Art,” we both called out.

  He waved, made a screeching turn in the cul-de-sac that ended the street, and parked next to us. He got out and came around to the passenger side door, where he took a pair of sneakers from the floor of the front seat. As he was getting them out, a book fell to the pavement, a book that would be a real conversation starter with Andrea, since Daniel Silva is one of her favorite authors.

  He tossed the book back into the car. “Overdue library book. Gotta turn it in on my way back to City Hall.” He sat on the seat and began changing into his sneakers.

  “I read The Confessor a couple of years ago,” Andrea said. “Daniel Silva is one of my favorites.”

  They continued to chat about books while he finished changing shoes. Then he said, “You ladies out for a stroll?”

  “We walk up to the park frequently,” I said. Actually, Andrea walks up to the park frequently. I avoid exercise unless it involves something exciting like searching for clues to a murder. But why were we chatting about books and strolling as if it were an ordinary fall day? I wanted to get on to more important matters. “Terrible about the mayor, wasn’t it?”

  Art nodded. “Everyone’s stunned. Ruby and I are lost without him at City Hall.”

  Ruby’s the other employee of the City of Pine Summit. I suppose “mayor’s secretary” sums up her duties better than any other term.

  The three of us headed into the park on the trail, which looped through the area in a rough circle. We hadn’t gone very far when we came to crime scene tape stretched around trees to enclose a segment of woods beside the trail. This was no deterrent to Andrea, who ducked under it and began shuffling through the fallen leaves. Art just stood there and stared at her.

  Finally he said, “Miss Flynn, should you be inside that tape?”

  “They’ve surely finished their investigation by now. They just haven’t gotten around to taking down the tape.” She continued to shuffle

  He looked concerned. “I can’t imagine what you’re looking for, if they’ve finished their investigation.”

  I was standing there thinking he was a typical city employee, fearful of breaking the rules and nervous about being present when someone else is. “It’s okay. She’s just double-checking. Andrea has a way of finding things others miss.”

  He smiled. “I’ve just never seen a civilian cross a crime-scene tape before.”

  Andrea leaned down and picked up something. She looked at it for a minute and then began stirring through the leaves with her hands. She was wearing a zip-front sweatshirt, and she picked up a few more items and stuffed everything into a pocket.

  Art seemed to be amazed by this. “You actually found something?”

  “Some scraps of paper. They need to be pieced together, like working a puzzle.”

  “I’m headed for City Hall now. I’ll take them to Walter.”

  Walter Simpson is our police chief. He has only one officer on his staff—Charlie McGraw—and I knew Andrea would never agree to turn the scraps over to Art. She’s a realist. She’d never say so, but she knows she’s ten times smarter than the chief and his officer put together.

  And of course I was right. “I’m going down there myself. Ruby and I are going for coffee later. I’ll give them to Walter.”

  Art looked frustrated. Obviously, he wanted credit for a big find, if that’s what it turned out to be. “I need to go on and make the loop,” he said. “I’m due back at the office shortly.” He strode off along the woodsy lane.

  When he was out of sight, Andrea pulled out her cell phone. Andrea loves gadgets, and she’s always trying to get me to add a list of numbers to my phone. I simply explain to her that it’s for emergencies, and all I need to know is her number and 911.

  She punched a few buttons. “Hi, Ruby. Want to go for coffee? Yes, I’ll be there in a while . . . probably forty-five minutes.” She stirred the leaves a while longer without finding anything. “Let’s go,” she said, and we finished the loop and headed home.

  Within fifteen minutes Andrea had pieced together the scraps of paper she’d found and applied tape to the back to hold them together. It was obvious some were missing, and some of the scraps had been chewed by bugs. She made a photocopy of them with her printer. “It’s just some numbers. Across the top is something that looks like it might have been a six. Then there’s four, eight, and zero after that. The bottom row h
as a one, an eight, and a two.”

  I looked over her shoulder at the paper. “Could they be parts of phone numbers?’

  “There’s no way of telling, with some pieces missing.” She put the photocopy in her desk drawer. “They may have nothing at all to do with the mayor’s murder. Come with me to City Hall. I’ll have to confess to crossing the crime scene tape when I give this to Walter, and then we’ll go to coffee with Ruby.”

  #

  The funeral was everything I expected, and more. I couldn’t think of anyone in Pine Summit who wasn’t there, and a few city and county officials from Martindale came, too. Jackie, the mayor’s widow, was dressed in a high-fashion suit of an appropriately subdued mauve. We saw her only for a moment at the church as we passed by the row of relatives to pay our respects. She was gracious as everyone murmured their sympathetic thoughts. Jason sat beside her. I would have described his look as sullen, as if he would much rather be anywhere but in that church.

  I had more time to study Jackie’s reactions at the cemetery, since we stood across from her, the open grave with the coffin over it between us. I couldn’t help feeling that her thoughts were far away—she wasn’t hearing a word the minister said. At one point I’m sure I saw a slight, sly smile on her face.

  “I’m convinced Jackie did it,” I said as we walked back to Andrea’s house. “Did you notice how she smiled at the cemetery?”

  “I noticed, but I’m not sure it means anything. If she knew about Susie, which she probably did, she may simply be thinking Henry got what he deserved.”