Evil Under the Moon (Moon Mystery Series Book 5) Read online

  “Mom let you go through Lea’s room? I’m surprised. She can be a rather difficult person.”

  The only reason I hadn’t volunteered to go through the album was that I figured there wouldn’t be much of interest there. “Andrea has someone working on the laptop today, trying to figure out the password.”

  “I’m surprised she’d have it protected,” he said. “I wouldn’t think she used it for anything but school.”

  “Did she have any favorite pets when she was young?” Andrea asked.

  “Her first dog was named Stubby. Why don’t you try that?”

  Andrea nodded. “We’ll try it when we get home if my friend Chad hasn’t figured it out. He’s a former student who was good with technical things.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  “I taught math for many years at Pine Summit High School. I’m retired now.”

  The waiter brought our food, and we ate with little conversation. I did manage to say, “This is delicious,” between bites.

  When we were done and having a second cup of coffee, Andrea said, “I understand that Hank Weaver was Lea’s boyfriend. Do you know if she was going steady with him, or was she seeing someone else also?”

  “As far as I know, it was just Hank. He’s a nice young man. I met him a couple of times when they were in Wheeling. I never heard of anyone else. Of course, I hadn’t seen her for a while—probably three months or so—at the time of her death.”

  “Did she ever mention to you that she was having problems with anyone?” I asked.

  “Never. I think she would have mentioned it to me if she had a serious problem.”

  “You can’t think of anyone who would have wanted to harm her?” Andrea asked.

  “Not at all. She worked, went to school, and lived a pretty ordinary life, it seemed to me. I’ve been truly puzzled by what happened to her. I wonder at times whether it was a robbery or rape gone wrong, and that the killer was a stranger. Something else that’s a puzzle—what was she doing out on that golf course in the middle of the night?”

  “We’re considering the possibility she could have been murdered somewhere else and her body left on the golf course later.”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that. It does seem to be a more likely scenario.”

  “Did she have any former boyfriends who might have been disturbed because she broke up with them?” I asked.

  “I don’t know of anyone,” he said. “She dated various classmates in high school, but nothing serious developed that I know of. I think Hank was her main squeeze since she started at West Liberty.”

  Andrea signaled the waiter for the check. “We’re planning to go by the cemetery to see Lea’s gravesite. No particular reason, but it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do since we’re investigating her murder.”

  “I need to get out there myself,” Forsythe said. “It’s been too long, but my work takes up a lot of my time. I’ll make it one of these days, and in the meantime, let’s stay in touch.” He didn’t object as Andrea paid the bill, which I thought made him a more modern man than most of those I know.

  “We appreciate your seeing us, Mr. Forsythe,” I said as we walked toward the door.

  “Please call me Terry,” he said. “I want to stay in touch, and I’ll let you know if I think of anything that might help you in your investigation.”

  Andrea clicked the remote and unlocked the door of the Accord. “Call us Andrea and Kathleen, too. I’ll be in touch if we find out anything useful.”

  “He seems like a perfectly ordinary guy,” I said as we drove away. “He’s not someone who could be considered a murder suspect.”

  “There’s no reason to suspect him,” Andrea said.

  We wound through Wheeling and on out to the cemetery. We entered through enormous wrought iron gates and passed a small office on the right that looked as if it were deserted. “How are we going to find her grave?” I asked. “This place is enormous.”

  “I have a letter and number for the site, but I don’t know where they’re located, of course. I hope we see someone who can help. They must have a caretaker here.”

  Just as she said this, I noticed a man at the distant edge of the graveyard. He had one of those gadgets that folks use for picking up things and was walking along between rows as if he were looking for trash. I pointed in his direction. “What about that guy?”

  “I’ll park here and we’ll ask him.”

  As we approached him I could see that he was elderly—as old as Andrea and I, at least. He was dressed neatly in khaki slacks and a plaid button-down shirt. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?” he asked.

  Andrea showed him a slip of paper. “We’re looking for the grave of Lea Logan.”

  He took the slip from Andrea. “Oh, are you…no, I guess you wouldn’t be, if you don’t know where her grave is.”

  “Are we…who?” I asked.

  He motioned for us to follow him. “I thought you might be the folks who leave the flowers.”

  “Somebody leaves flowers?” This from Andrea.

  “Oh, yes, just as regular as clockwork.”

  “Obviously, you don’t know who it is if you thought it might be us,” she said. “You’ve never seen them?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. They’re beautiful. Sometimes roses, sometimes chrysanthemums. It can vary, depending on the season.”

  “But…you’ve never seen the person who leaves them?”

  “No, they come at night, after the cemetery’s closed. Kinda mysterious and romantic, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “How do they get in, if the cemetery’s closed?”

  “They must climb over the fence. Here’s her marker. Not too impressive, is it, for someone who gets flowers every week?”

  “Wow, they leave flowers every week?” I said. I looked at her marker—one of those flat ones that had her name, date of birth, and date of death. That was it. At the top was a bunch of wilted flowers. “No, it’s not too impressive.”

  “When are the flowers left?” Andrea asked.

  “Every Saturday night. When I get here Sunday morning and make my rounds, I find them here. There’ll be some fresh ones tomorrow when I get to work.”

  Lea’s grave was at the back of the cemetery. Woods crowded the fence, and I wondered whether the flower person came through the trees and climbed the fence at the back. “What’s over beyond the trees?”

  “There’s a road back there. I’m not too familiar with that area. Them woods is pretty thick.”

  “What time does the cemetery close?” Andrea asked.

  “I go home about four in the afternoon, and then I come back and shut the gates at eight this time of year. I close them at nine in the summer.”

  “We appreciate your help,” Andrea said. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

  We started walking back toward the entrance. “If I ever find out who leaves the flowers, I’d be glad to let you know,” he said. “Are you folks relatives?”

  “We’re volunteers with the Baxter County Sheriff’s Department, and we’re investigating her murder.” Andrea handed him a slip of paper. “Please call me at this number if anything unusual happens concerning Lea Logan.”

  The caretaker’s eyebrows shot up. “She was murdered?”

  “Yes, I assumed you knew,” Andrea said. She went on to tell the caretaker about the circumstances of Lea’s death.

  “That does make it kinda mysterious,” he said. “Nobody around here knows this.”

  I imagined he’d have a ball spreading the news. “Would you mind giving us your name and phone number?” I asked. “We might need to be in touch in the future.”

  “I’m John Bailey,” he said. He took a cell phone from his pocket, pushed a couple of buttons, and read numbers that Andrea jotted down in her notebook.

  We started toward the entrance once again. “We appreciate your help in finding the grave,” Andrea said, “and also the inf
ormation about the flowers.”

  “Always glad to help. That’s my job here. You get in touch if you need anything.”

  Back in the car, I said, “Maybe we should check out area florists to see if someone comes in weekly for a bunch of flowers.”

  “I have a different and more exciting idea. First off, let’s see if the McLure has any vacancies.”

  Suddenly I realized where this was heading. Spending a night in a dark, spooky cemetery wasn’t at the top of my bucket list, and I was about to say so when Andrea continued. “We must be in the cemetery tonight to see if we can discover who’s leaving those flowers. I have a feeling they’re bought at a grocery store with cash, so checking with florists wouldn’t help.”

  “If we’re going to spend the night in the cemetery, why do we need a hotel room?” Not that I’d mind staying at the McLure, it’s such a beautiful, historic place. I just couldn’t see the sense of spending the money if we didn’t have to.

  “If the person who leaves the flowers does it at nine o’clock, then we won’t need to spend the whole night in the cemetery. Or what if it’s midnight? I don’t particularly want to drive home at that time of night. It’ll be fun staying at the McLure.”

  Andrea’s just as frugal as I am, but we do like a splurge now and then, so I agreed. I wasn’t happy about being in the cemetery at night, but I couldn’t let my sister go by herself, so I’d be there, too.

  She drove to the McLure and carried a duffel bag into the hotel, since we had no luggage. It was something Andrea had in the car in case of emergencies. We marveled at the beautiful lobby with its tile floor, chandeliers, and fascinating winding staircase to the second floor. After checking in, we settled into a nice double room on the fourth floor. “I’m ready for a nap,” I said. “How about you?”

  “I’m going exploring. I haven’t spent any time in downtown Wheeling in a long time. I’ll be back in time for dinner. We’ll eat at the Vagabond Kitchen.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s here in the hotel. Sounds nice, and fairly casual. We’ll be fine dressed as we are.”

  “It just occurred to me that we don’t have any extra clothes or other essentials,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll pick up a few things while I’m out.”

  I had Ben Rehder’s latest book—Bum Steer—with me, but I couldn’t read it now if I wanted to take a nap. His books are too hilarious and exciting to be able to go to sleep with. I simply lay down on the luxurious sheets and was drifting off in seconds.

  #

  I convinced Andrea that we should have salads, pointing out that this would allow us to have dessert with a clear conscience. She destroyed that illusion by telling me how many calories were hidden in the wonderful dressing on the Mediterranean salad, but we ate it and mango sorbet anyway.

  “What time are we going to the cemetery?” I asked.

  “As soon as we’re through here. If John Bailey closes the gates at eight, the person who leaves the flowers could be hanging around, ready to go in as soon as Bailey leaves.”

  “You realize we’re going to have to climb the fence to get in there—or do you plan to watch the area from the street?”

  She pulled out her notebook and started drawing a map. “Do you remember that huge marker near Lea’s grave?”

  “I suppose you’re about to tell me we’re going to climb the fence and go into the dark cemetery, where we’ll hang out and hope something happens—something that won’t put us in danger of losing our lives.”

  “That’s right. We’ll hide behind this big tombstone and wait. If someone appears and approaches Lea’s grave, we’ll walk up as close as we can get without letting him know we’re approaching. Then I’ll shine my flashlight on his face and hope we can get a good look. This is the theory of how things are going to happen, anyway.”

  “You’re saying ‘him’ and ‘his.’ This could be a woman, you know.”

  Andrea closed the notebook and put it back in her purse. “Of course. I think it’s more likely a man would be bringing flowers to a young woman’s grave, that’s all. We’ll see what happens. So, are we ready?”

  We put our purses in the trunk of the car—we didn’t want to take them into the cemetery with us—and took off. Andrea parked on the street a couple of blocks from the cemetery, and we walked. The fence wasn’t that difficult to get over. It was thigh-high wrought iron, and we could swing a leg over with a steadying hand on top.

  What better time to hang out in a creepy cemetery than the dark of the moon? Too bad it wasn’t also Hallowe’en. The whole area near Lea’s grave was pitch black, since no streetlight shined that far. I was glad it was dark, because I didn’t want to be seen by the flower person until we were ready. Also, I didn’t want to be seen by anyone else who happened to pass by. I wouldn’t let myself think about the possibilities this phase of the moon might bring.

  Andrea turned on the flashlight to get us to the large marker, and we sat down behind it. I also wouldn’t let myself think about what might be crawling around in the grass that would soon be crawling on me. Andrea was sitting where she could see beyond the edge of the marker to Lea’s grave. I leaned back and prepared to be totally bored until something exciting, frightening, and, I hoped, illuminating happened.

  I couldn’t believe I dozed off in this eerie setting, but when Andrea nudged me, I realized my head was drooping. She stood up slowly, so I did, too. I could barely make out a figure walking toward Lea’s gravesite. Andrea started walking toward the figure, and I followed, trying to be as quiet as possible. I thought we were in an area between graves that was nothing but grass, but my toe caught on something, and I plunged forward into Andrea’s back and knocked her head over heels, too. We landed on the grass, and I made a sound that sounded more like “oof!” than anything else I can think of.

  Andrea, always ready to shift gears in an emergency, took the flashlight from her pocket as she lay on the ground and shined it where she thought the person would be. All we saw was a rapidly disappearing back in dark pants and hoodie. He leaped the fence and obviously caught his foot on the top, because he went sprawling to the sidewalk. I’m saying “he” now, too, because considering the way he went over that fence, I figured it had to be a young man. He scrambled to his feet, got into a car, and screeched away down the street.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Sorry. I tripped on something,” I said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think I skinned a knee. How about you?”

  “I’m okay.” She shined the light around, walked toward where we saw the figure, and picked up a bundle of flowers from the ground. From what I could see, they were the type that comes from grocery stores, with a clear plastic cone surrounding the stems.

  I couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing, but she walked over to Lea’s headstone and, I assume, placed the flowers on it. “Let’s get back to the car and go to the hotel.”

  When we got in the car, I saw she had brought the plastic wrap from the flowers. “Good thinking,” I said. “Maybe there’s a sticker on it that’ll tell us something.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  And the sticker did tell us something, but not what we were hoping. We looked immediately when we got in the hotel room and saw the plastic wrapper looked just like those that came from Wal-Mart. Unfortunately there are so many of the stores around now that we couldn’t be sure which one it came from. Maybe we’d have to take the cone to stores in the area to see if it was the same.

  “Let’s go down to the pub and have a drink,” Andrea said. “Maybe that would help us sleep.”

  “I think I need something after all the excitement tonight. And it’s early yet. A glass of white wine would suit me fine.”

  Andrea insisted on walking down, because she wanted to descend the curving staircase into the lobby. I had to admit it was a fun idea. I’d pretend I was entering a nineteenth century ballroom, even if I was wearing slacks and a casual sw
eater.

  #

  We went directly to the courthouse when we arrived in Martindale Monday morning. We were to go to lunch at Tony Calabria’s later, but we wanted to check in with Jordan, and we also wanted a chance to go to the local Wal-Mart to compare plastic flower cones.

  Andrea gave the sheriff all the details of our visit with Lea’s half-brother, Terry Forsythe. Then she explained about our visit to the cemetery and the meeting with the caretaker, followed by the nighttime fiasco. I appreciated the fact that Andrea played down my part in said fiasco.

  Jordan chuckled and shook her head. “I think I’ll resign as sheriff and come back as a volunteer so I can share your adventures. You two are really something.”

  “Only occasionally,” Andrea said. “Most of the time we’re engaged in something mundane, such as checking out the flower wrappers at the local Wal-Mart.”

  “And then after that you’re going to lunch at Tony Calabria’s house. And I’ve never even been to the Garden Room. I’d try to wangle an invitation, but I promised my husband I’d meet him.”

  “I’ll take notes and give you a full report,” Andrea said.

  “Just be sure you take notes about the food, the table, the general atmosphere, in addition to what your interview with him provides. I think you said there may be other employees of the restaurant there, too.”

  “He said he’d try to bring anyone who worked there at the time of Lea’s death, but apparently there’s a big turnover in restaurant help these days, so we don’t know how successful that’ll be,” I said.

  We heard a peck on the doorjamb, and we all looked up to see Rick Smith, the forensics expert, walk in. His left arm was in a sling.

  “Good grief, Rick, what happened to you?” Jordan said.

  “I fell. I was jogging Saturday night on the trail by the river, and I caught my foot on something. I cracked the ulna. It’s not a bad break, but the doctor wants me to keep it in a sling for now.”

  The first thing that flashed into my mind was the vision of the man leaping over the fence in the cemetery Saturday night and falling to the sidewalk. Was Rick Smith the one who brought flowers to Lea’s grave, and if so, what were the implications of that? I couldn’t wait to discuss this with Andrea.