LATER, AFTER THE SUN had gone down, the Goodnights, as a special welcome, sang a three-part harmony version of “Over the Rainbow.”
After it was over, Hanna Marie said, “Oh, thank you so much, ladies. So that’s what music sounds like. I always wondered. It’s so lovely and soothing. And how wonderful for you ladies to be able to sing so beautifully.”
At that moment Hanna Marie’s great-aunt Birdie Swensen called out, “For goodness’ sake, Elner, don’t you dare sing now. Let the poor girl have her illusions a little while longer.”
Elner laughed. “I’ll try not to, Birdie. I’ll give her a couple of days to adjust.”
Before she went to sleep, Ruby whispered to Verbena, “Verbena, you shouldn’t have said all that stuff earlier about Hanna Marie’s husband cheating on her.”
Verbena said, “Well, how was I supposed to know she could hear? I just hope to God she wasn’t listening.”
—
THE NEXT DAY, when all the excitement had died down a little, Lucille Beemer asked Hanna Marie exactly what had happened.
“When I woke up I started hearing sounds. At first I didn’t know what it was.”
Lucille said, “No, I mean, what brought you up to Still Meadows?”
“Oh, that. Well, I honestly don’t know. But I guess something must have happened, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“No.”
“No. Oh dear, I wonder what it was. I know that Michael was out of town, and the last thing I remember was getting up and heading down to the kitchen…then after that, nothing.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. We’ll find out. Somebody will come up and tell us, but in the meantime, everyone is just thrilled you are here.”
“Oh, me, too, Miss Beemer. I’m afraid I haven’t been very happy lately.”
—
VERBENA WHISPERED TO RUBY, “Did you hear that, Ruby? Hanna Marie said the husband was ‘out of town.’ She may know more than we thought.”
If Lester Shingle had a mustache, he would have been twirling it. Irene Goodnight, the last of his murder suspects, had just come up to Still Meadows, and he was finally going to have his day in court. The next morning, he confronted all four in a loud, booming voice. “This is Lester Shingle speaking! I know one of you did it, and whoever it was, you may think you got away with it. But you didn’t.”
It was true that all four women had threatened to kill him at one time or another.
They had all known he was the notorious Peeping Tom. Ada and Bess Goodnight had told him that if they ever caught him anywhere close to their house they would shoot him. Irene said she’d skin him alive. And Tot Whooten had threatened something even worse involving scissors.
Ada was the first to speak and said, “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. My murder.”
“What?”
“One of you hit me in the head with a bowling ball and killed me in cold blood in the Blue Star Bowling Alley parking lot back in April of 1952, and I intend to find out which one.”
Tot couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you crazy, Lester? You weren’t hit in the head with a bowling ball, you idiot! You slipped on the ice and hit your head on Mildred Ogleby’s car. Oh, for God’s sake.” Then Tot called out, “Hey, Billy!”
“Yeah?”
“It’s Tot Whooten.”
“Oh, hey, Tot, how’s the old left-hander?”
“Just fine….Listen, Billy, I have a question for you. Didn’t you see Lester fall and hit his head on Mrs. Ogleby’s car, and didn’t you call an ambulance?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“The idiot thinks he was hit in the head by a bowling ball.”
“What? Nah. He cracked his head open on her headlight—bent the hell out of it as I remember.”
Mrs. Ogleby, the owner of the 1946 Buick, joined in. “He’s right, Lester, and it cost me an arm and a leg to get it fixed, too.”
Tot said, “See? I ain’t lying.”
After a long pause, Lester said, “Well, shoot. All these years, I thought I had been murdered….Now I feel kinda despondent.”
Irene Goodnight weighed in. “Well, if it’s any consolation to you, if I had seen you that night, I would have killed you.”
“Well, thanks, at least I wasn’t too far off. But still, it’s a big disappointment. All these years thinking I’d been a victim of a crime, and it wasn’t nothing but an accident.”
Bess said, “Well, you know what they say, Lester. There are no accidents.”
“And people get what’s coming to them one way or the other,” added Verbena.
“Yeah, I guess so….But now that I’m not a victim, I feel like a big old nobody….Shoot.”
—
SO, AS IT TURNED out, poor Lester Shingle had not been murdered after all. But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been a murder in Elmwood Springs….
Although she’d been deceased for quite a while now, Verbena Wheeler was still a busybody. Today she was busy staring at the woman who was standing over Hanna Marie Swensen’s grave.
Verbena whispered to Ruby, “Hey, who’s that redheaded woman over at Hanna Marie’s plot?”
Ruby looked over at the woman in the raincoat and whispered back, “I have no idea. She’s not from here….Leastways, I don’t know her. Maybe she’s someone Hanna Marie went to deaf school with.”
Whoever the woman was, she stood there for a very long time, just staring down at Hanna Marie’s grave. Finally she said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then she turned around and left.
After a while, curiosity got the best of Verbena, and she said, “Hanna Marie?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Verbena Wheeler here, and Ruby and I were just remarking what a pretty lady your visitor was.”
“Yes, she was. Very pretty.”
They waited for more information, but none came.
Several days later, Verbena just couldn’t stand it one more minute, and just came right out and asked Hanna Marie point-blank who the lady was.
“Well, Verbena, I wish I knew. I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“Ah, I see. Well, she was pretty.”
The whole thing seemed very odd to Verbena. Hanna Marie may not have known her, but that woman had obviously known Hanna Marie. She had stood there for a very long time. And she’d looked absolutely heartbroken. You can’t be heartbroken over someone you don’t know, she thought. It didn’t make any sense. Strangers just didn’t show up at another stranger’s grave. Unless she was at the wrong grave by mistake…and there was no way that could happen. Hanna Marie had a big headstone with her name on it in great big letters. And the woman had been looking right at it.
She wondered if Hanna Marie knew the woman and just wasn’t telling her. Either way, there was something fishy going on. And what had that woman been so sorry about? Verbena was determined to get to the bottom of it. She loved a good mystery. She had been a devoted fan of Murder, She Wrote with Angela Lansbury.
—
THERE HAD BEEN A MURDER in Elmwood Springs, but sadly, the victim didn’t know it. How could she? She was deaf. She had not heard the man come up behind her. She didn’t know she had been pushed. The police didn’t know it had been a murder. There had been no forced entry. The man hired to do the job had been given a key to the house. Nobody saw him come in or go out.
2013