(11/40) A Little Yuletide Murder Page 5

  “Sounds that way to me, too. I told her I’d get your advice on what to do.”

  “Doesn’t seem to be much question about what to do,” he said. “Because of Robert Brent’s accusation, my next move is to go out there and talk to Jake. But I sure don’t want to walk into a war.”

  “No one wants that,” I said. “I assume you intend to call the house before going.”

  “Sure, except the only phone is in Mary’s house in the middle. You know that setup out there. She lives in the middle house—more like a shack, it seems to me—Jake lives in the one by the road, and her brother lives up the hill in the third house. Calling out there will just reach Mary. And if Jake won’t talk to Mary or Dennis, doesn’t seem I have much chance to reason with him except in person.”

  I asked, “Did Jake have any friends in town, Mort? Anyone he spent time with, trusted, maybe would confide in?”

  There was silence while he pondered my question. Finally, he said, “None I can think of, Mrs. F., ’cept for maybe Doc Hazlitt.”

  “Seth? I didn’t know Seth was friendly with Jake Walther.”

  “He’s not. But Jake had a couple of medical problems over the last few months and went to Seth for treatment. From what I hear, Jake was pretty pleased with the way Seth handled things. Somebody told me—I can’t remember who—that Jake said Seth was probably the only honest doctor in Maine. I don’t think Seth charged him, at least not much.”

  “Then maybe Seth would have success talking sense to Jake, to get him to realize that the only sensible course is to cooperate with you, answer your questions, and put to rest any accusations that he killed Rory. Provided, of course, that he didn’t.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Mrs. F. I’ll call Seth and run it by him, see if he’ll come out to Jake’s place with me.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “If Seth agrees, would you have any objection to my coming along?”

  “I don’t see any,” Mort said. “You might be helpful, considering Mary Walther came to you.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  I heard from him five minutes later. “I got hold of Seth just as he was leavin’. Told him the situation. He says he didn’t charge Jake for treating him because he knew he was down on his luck and didn’t have any money to speak of. Jake seemed real appreciative, according to Seth.”

  “Did Seth agree to go out to Jake’s house with you?”

  “Ayuh. He suggested we not go in my car. Might set Jake on edge. We’ll go in Seth’s.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “You’ll pick me up?”

  “Be there in a half hour.”

  Seth pulled into my driveway exactly thirty minutes later. By then it had really begun to snow, the flakes big and wet and sticking to the ground. At least the wind had abated, lessening the effect of the cold.

  I got in the backseat and we headed for Jake Walther’s farm.

  “Seems to me an unusual way for the sheriff to interrogate a witness,” Seth said grumpily, both hands on the wheel, eyes focused straight ahead.

  “No rule about how I approach a suspect in a murder,” Mort replied from the front passenger seat. He’d pulled his Stetson down low over his eyes and tucked his chin against his chest. “Seems to me we’re doing it exactly the right way, considering what might happen if I did it by the book. No sense adding to the problems of having a leading citizen murdered here in Cabot Cove by ending up in some stupid standoff. Better to try and get Jake to cooperate. I’d hate to have to go out there, guns drawn, and drag him off. More people might get hurt.”

  “I think you’re right,” I said from the backseat. “The impact of Rory’s murder is just really settling in on me. These kinds of things just don’t happen in Cabot Cove, especially at Christmas.”

  Seth grimly reminded me of a couple of other murders that had occurred in our idyllic Maine town, although they had happened a number of years ago.

  “Now tell me, Morton, how you want me to proceed with this,” Seth asked.

  “Depends on how brave you are, Doc.”

  Seth glanced over at the sheriff. “What in hell do you mean by that?”

  “Well, according to Mrs. F., seeing me will only set Jake off, and we sure wouldn’t want to send her up there to knock on the door. The way I figure it, we’ll park out on the road a little bit away from the house. You’ll go up to the door and tell Jake who you are and why you’re there.”

  I leaned forward and placed my hands on Seth’s shoulders. “That could be dangerous,” I said. “If Jake is in as tormented a state of mind as Mary says he is, he’s liable to panic. He might have guns with him.”

  “Somehow, no matter how mean-spirited Jake Walther is, I just can’t see him shooting anybody,” said Seth. “I don’t think I’ll have a problem getting him to talk to me. He’s one of those fellas who’s got a gruff exterior, but down deep there lurks a decent person. At least, that’s the way I read him.”

  “What kind of medical problems did he have?” I asked.

  “Can’t discuss that,” Seth said. “Doctor-patient privilege.”

  I didn’t press him, but he volunteered, “Man has wicked arthritis. Neck, shoulders, hands, back. In lots of pain. Maybe that’s why he’s so jo-jeezly all the time.”

  I silently thought that Seth was probably right, and felt a twinge of compassion for Jake.

  As we approached the Walther property, Seth slowed down, eventually stopping fifty yards from a narrow, rutted dirt driveway leading up past the three separate houses.

  “Might as well get to it,” Seth said, shutting off the lights and engine.

  “I don’t like this,” I said. “I think we should go with you.”

  “But if Jake sees me, he might—”

  I interrupted Mort. “I don’t think Seth should simply go up there by himself, Mort. If the three of us go up, we’ll have each other to lean on. You and I can stay back and let Seth do all the talking. If he’s successful, and Jake opens the door, then you’ll be right there to take advantage of it.”

  Mort chewed his cheek while he thought. He turned to Seth and asked, “What do you think?”

  “Jessica is probably right,” Seth said. “Of course, I don’t mind goin’ up there alone. But maybe we should be together. If I get him to cooperate, no sense having to come back down here and bring you up. Besides, if I’m going to stand out in the cold, you might as well, too.”

  I didn’t think that was a particularly good reason for us to accompany Seth, but didn’t express it. We got out of the car, slowly walked down the road to where the driveway intercepted it, and looked up at the first house where Jake lived. It wasn’t much of a house, nor were the other two.

  “Here we go,” said Seth, leading us up the driveway. We reached a stone path that twisted up to the front of Jake’s house, we took it, but paused at the two small wooden steps leading up to the porch.

  Mort whispered, “Jess and me will stand over there on the porch while you talk to him through the door.”

  “Ayuh,” said Seth. He drew a deep breath; his lips were pressed tightly together. I said a silent prayer that this wouldn’t backfire. Bad enough Rory Brent was dead without having someone else fall victim to violence.

  We stepped quietly up onto the porch. Mort and I moved to our right, approximately six feet from the door. Seth knocked. There was no response. He knocked again. This time Jake Walther’s raspy voice growled, “Who the hell is it?”

  “Doc Hazlitt,” Seth said loudly.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jake asked. We judged he’d moved closer to the door because his voice had grown louder.

  “Want to talk to you,” said Seth.

  Jake said, “Talk to me? About what?”

  “About ... about what happened to Rory Brent.”

  Silence.

  “Jake, you listen to me,” Seth said. “Folks in town are saying you had a spat with Rory, a pretty serious one, and some of ’em are even saying you might have shot
him. Now I know you didn’t shoot him, and the best way to make that point with everybody is for you to sit down with Sheriff Metzger, answer his questions, and put it to rest.”

  “Can’t do that,” Jake said.

  “Why not?”

  “ ’Cause nobody’ll believe me. Nobody ever does in this town. People would just as soon hang me and get it over with.”

  “Now, Jake, that’s nonsense. Don’t you trust me? You said you did.”

  “As a medicine man? Sure. Best damn doctor I’ve ever known, only I don’t know many. But that’s just you, Doc. Others in town got their own agenda, and it includes getting rid of me.”

  Seth looked to where we stood, our eyes open wide. I noticed Mort had unzipped his jacket and had rested his hand loosely on a holstered handgun on his right hip.

  Seth said, “You can trust me, Jake, with anything, not just medicine. My word is good. You’d better believe that.”

  Jake didn’t respond.

  “You hear me, Jake? I’m telling you that nobody is going to do anything to you just because they don’t like you. That’s not the way things work in this country, certainly not in Cabot Cove. Sheriff Metzger doesn’t think you killed Rory, but he has a job to do. He has to ask questions, and you’re one of the persons he’s gotta ask ’em of. I assure you all that will happen is that you and the sheriff will sit down, he’ll ask his questions, you’ll answer them truthfully, and that will be the end of it.”

  Unless lee did shoot Rory Brent, I thought.

  Walther responded, “Can’t trust nobody in this town. Nope, can’t trust nobody.”

  Seth tried another tack. “Your wife is right worried,” he said. “She came to see Jessica Fletcher earlier tonight, told her how worried she was about you. You don’t want to cause trouble for her and Jill, do you?”

  “Mary had no right goin’ to nobody.”

  “Not true,” said Seth. “Mary is a good woman. Thought she was doing the right thing.”

  “You talked to Mrs. Fletcher?” Jake asked through the closed door.

  “Ayuh,” said Seth. “She’s with me right now, on the porch.”

  That bit of news seemed to stun Jake into another moment of prolonged silence. He eventually asked, “Who else is with you?”

  I knew the internal debate going on within Seth. Does he tell Jake that the sheriff is there on his porch, or does he lie and hope to get Jake to expose himself so that Mort could act. I knew the answer. Seth would not lie.

  “I’ve got Mrs. Fletcher and Sheriff Metzger here with me on the porch, Jake. Now it’s getting pretty damn cold out here. If I get sick, other people aren’t going to get treated, and that’ll be on your shoulders. If you give me pneumonia, I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive you. Now open the door and let us in.”

  During the dialogue through the closed door, the wind had picked up and the temperature seemed to have dropped twenty degrees. My feet were numb and my ears stung. I hoped it would quickly be resolved one way or the other. Either Seth would prevail and Jake would do as he was told, or the standoff would continue. If that happened, it would be up to Mort to take the next step, and I dreaded what that might be.

  Suddenly, the sound of a bolt being lifted from a latch was heard from inside the house. Slowly, the door swung open, and Seth was face-to-face through a torn screen door with Jake Walther.

  “ ’Evening, Jake,” Seth said. “I wouldn’t mind if you’d invite us in.”

  Jake undid a hook and eye on the inside of the screen door and pushed it open. Seth motioned to us with his head, and we followed. It was a sparsely furnished room filled with clutter. Piles of old newspapers almost reached a low ceiling along one side. The only heat came from a wood-stove in another corner. The floor was bare wood and sticky. A small table by a window contained what looked like the remnants of a number of meals, empty open cans of pork and beans the primary cuisine. Also on the table was a handgun.

  It worked, I thought as Mort, who was the last one into the room, closed the inside door behind us. I looked at Jake Walther, the top of his head almost touching the ceiling. He was dressed in bib overalls over a black flannel shirt. He hadn’t shaved in days, and there was a crazed look in his large, watery, pale blue eyes.

  Still, I didn’t feel any sense of danger until I moved aside, affording Jake his first clear view of Mort Metzger. Mort had left his jacket open, and his hand continued to rest on his revolver. Jake scowled, grunted, mumbled an obscenity, and made a quick move to the table where his handgun rested. Mort was quicker. He pushed Walther against the wall, drew his weapon, and placed it against the back of Jake’s neck. “Now don’t do anything foolish, Jake Walther,” Mort said. “Don’t make things worse than they are.”

  It happened so fast that I didn’t have a chance to react. But now my breath came in hurried spurts, and I backed away as far as I could from the confrontation.

  Jake didn’t resist as Mort deftly slipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt and secured them to Jake’s wrists behind his back. That completed, Mort stepped back, allowing Jake to turn and face us. He looked directly at Seth and said, “Should have known not to trust anybody, including you.”

  “Damn fool thing you did, making a move for that gun,” Seth said. “Nobody was here to arrest you. Mort just wanted to talk to you, but you pull a dumb stunt like that.”

  Jake looked at Mort. “Am I under arrest?” he asked.

  “Depends,” Mort said. “Doc is right. If you hadn’t made that move, we’d just be sitting around talking like friends and neighbors. You didn’t leave me any choice. Now we’re going to go downtown and leave that weapon behind. I assume you’ve got a proper permit for it. Once we get to my office, depending upon how you act and talk, I might just take those cuffs off and have that friendly chat I intended to have when I came here. Understand?”

  Jake said nothing, simply looked at the floor as he leaned against a wall.

  I motioned for Mort and Seth to come to where I stood. “Maybe I’d better go up and tell Mary what’s happened.”

  “Good idea,” Seth said, then turned to Mort. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him downtown in my car. Should be an official vehicle.”

  “Right you are,” Mort said. “Mrs. F., there’s a phone up in Mary’s place. Give a call to my office and tell whoever answers to send a squad car up here on the double.”

  I left Jake’s house, went up the driveway to the middle dwelling, and knocked on the door. Mary Walther answered. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  I explained what had happened.

  “Jake isn’t hurt, is he?”

  “No, but he made a sudden move that caused the sheriff to react. He had to put handcuffs on Jake and is taking him to headquarters to interview him about Rory’s murder. I’m sure everything will be fine. I have to call the sheriff’s office to have a car brought up here to take Jake into town. May I use your phone?”

  A half hour later, Jake was in the backseat of a squad car driven by one of Mort’s deputies. Mort got in the passenger seat, and Seth and I watched them drive off from Jake’s front porch. Mary Walther had joined us.

  “Will he have to stay in jail tonight?” Mary asked.

  “No tellin’,” Seth replied. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “I should be with him,” Mary said.

  The woman’s loyalty to her husband was admirable, especially since it was pretty well known he didn’t treat her with much kindness.

  “No, you stay here,” I said. “Is your brother up in the other house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe you should have him come down and stay with you tonight.”

  “I don’t know if he will,” she said.

  “Well, give it a try,” Seth said. “Ready to go back, Jessica?”

  “Yes.”

  Before we left the porch, I looked deeply into Mary’s eyes. There was profound sadness in them, and I wanted to wrap my arms about her and hug her. Which I did. Seth an
d I then drove back into town in relative silence.

  “Come in for a drink, cup of tea?” I asked as we pulled into my driveway.

  “Another time, Jessica. Didn’t think I’d end up spending today the way we did.”

  “Nor did I. Do you have the same feeling I have, Seth, that Rory’s murder is only the beginning of something worse about to happen in Cabot Cove?”

  He thought it over before saying, “Matter of fact, I do. But let’s not dwell on it. Good night, Jessica. Give me a call in the morning.”

  I felt deflated and fatigued as I approached my front door. It had been an unfortunate day, certainly one I never dreamed would occur when I got up that morning and prepared to go about my daily life.

  It wasn’t until I was only a few feet from the door and was about to insert my key that I noticed the large, circular green wreath with a puffy red ribbon hanging from it. I’d forgotten; the man who cut my lawn, shoveled my walk, and did minor repairs to my house always hung a wreath on my door in early December. Usually, the sight of it caused me to break into a smile. But I didn’t smile this time. As pretty and symbolic as the wreath was, it only reminded me that this was shaping up to be a Christmas like no other I’d ever experienced.

  Chapter Seven

  My clock radio went off at seven the next morning, as it always did. I kept it tuned to Cabot Cove’s only radio station, owned and operated by friends of mine, Peter and Roberta Walters. Pete did the morning show himself, weaving in interesting, often amusing tidbits of local news with pleasant music that reflected his own taste—and mine—mostly big band music and singers like Sinatra and Bennett, Mel Torme and Ella Fitzgerald.

  But this morning I was awakened to the strains of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” I stayed in bed until the song ended. Pete came on with his deep, pleasant voice and said, “Good morning Cabot Coveites. This is your humble morning host reminding you that you have twenty-three shopping days until Christmas.”

  That reality caused me to sit up straight. Christmas seemed to start earlier and earlier each year, usually right after Thanksgiving, but even earlier in some instances. I wasn’t sure I liked that, but since there was nothing I could do about it, I didn’t dwell upon it.