Prayers of Agnes Sparrow Read online

  “Anyway, Ivy says the door was open slightly. She rang the bell anyway, wanting to be polite and all. But after a minute or two Al Capone went loping through the door like he knew something.”

  Tears welled up as my whole body started to shake.

  “Oh, poor Ivy,” Agnes said. “She must be a wreck.”

  “Ivy said Al Capone went straight to her. I’m thinking Vidalia was one of Al Capone's regular stops for treats.”

  “How's Ivy?” I asked.

  “She went on home after she told her story. She said Al lay down next to Vidalia and kept licking her hand like he was trying to wake her up.”

  “What about Hezekiah? Did Ivy find him?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am, Hezekiah wasn’t at the boarding house, so I thought maybe he came over here,” Mildred said. “Doc and I figure he might have heard or saw something.”

  “He was here yesterday working on the garage,” Agnes said. “He left around four, but I haven’t seen him since then.”

  “I can’t say for sure if he was there or not, but I didn’t see him at the concert. Vidalia was—” I couldn’t fight the tears. “Vidalia was there, with me and Ruth and Zeb.”

  “Um.” Mildred scribbled notes in a little black book she pulled from her hip pocket. “I am so sorry to have to tell you this.” She pushed hair behind her ears.

  I stood and then sat right back down. I was so shaky. “Where is she now?”

  “Still in the house, I think. Doc will need to do an autopsy.”

  “Doc?”

  “He's also the coroner, Griselda. It's S.O.P. in suspected murder.”

  I nodded. “How terrible for him. I didn’t think Bright's Pond would need a coroner.”

  Mildred scribbled another note. “Heck, Griselda, even OZ had a coroner. Now, I’ll need to contact her next of kin.”

  “That would be Winifred. She lives out of town. Oh, but wait.” I didn’t think it could be possible but my heart sank lower. “She's on her way here. She's supposed to arrive by train this afternoon.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Agnes said. “This is just awful.”

  I swiped tears away and let out a sigh. “She's coming here with three of her kids.”

  Mildred looked thoughtful a minute. “Do you know what time her train arrives? I imagine she’ll be coming into Shoops.”

  “No, but maybe you’ll find a clue at Vidalia's house,” Agnes said. “I’m sure she wrote it down somewhere.”

  “Wait a second. Are you sure her train has even left?” Mildred asked.

  “Winifred probably left yesterday. She's coming from Michigan,” I said.

  Arthur slinked past my ankles. I picked him up and held him close. “Who would want to hurt Vidalia? She's the kindest woman in Bright's Pond. She opened her house to anyone in need and—”

  “Speaking of which,” Mildred said, “if Hezekiah comes by, let him know I want to speak with him.”

  “Sure thing, Mildred.”

  Crying, I walked her to the door. “I guess you could just call the train station and find out when the train from Detroit will arrive.”

  “Good idea.”

  I grabbed her arm. “Mildred, let me go to Shoops and meet her. It will be less traumatic.”

  She cracked a rare smile. “We’ll get the scum bucket that did this.”

  When I got back to Agnes she was trying to reach a box of Kleenex. I plucked three and wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Agnes,” I said, “am I dreaming? Wake me up because I don’t want to be in this nightmare anymore.”

  She patted my hand. “I’m so sorry, Griselda, but it's not a dream.”

  “But why would anyone want to kill Vidalia. I can’t believe it. I’m going over there.”

  “Oh, Griselda, don’t go. What if you see her?” She took a breath. “Remember her alive, not … like that.”

  “I’ve got to go, Agnes. Vidalia was my friend. I need to see for myself.”

  I pulled a gray sweater over my head and slipped into my sneakers. “Would you call the train station, Agnes? Get the time the train is arriving.”

  “Sure, but I wish you wouldn’t go.”

  I stepped out on the porch and saw Eugene Shrapnel across the street. “I told you,” he hollered, shaking his crooked, old cane. “I told you the sky was gonna fall.”

  “Go on home now, Eugene, you miserable, old fool. Get away from my house.”

  He harrumphed and kept walking like he owned the town.

  Word had already started to spread. I thought a minute about going over to Ruth's. She would be devastated. But I had to see Vidalia first. I had to see with my own eyes. I had to hear Doc tell me she was gone. The closer I got the faster and harder I walked, until I was running down the sidewalk.

  I stopped when I saw a red and white ambulance backed into Vidalia's driveway. Doc met me at the door, and by the time I got to Vidalia, she was zipped tight in a black body bag. Two men in white doctor coats carried her out as a small group gathered.

  Tears poured down my face when they closed the ambulance door. I turned to Doc.

  “Stabbed? Really?”

  Doc nodded. “A detective from Shoops was here. He did some snooping, dusted for fingerprints, but didn’t have much to say. Thinks whoever did it, knew her.”

  “Knew her? Like someone in town?”

  “Looks that way.”

  I fell on Vidalia's flowery sofa. Anger boiled inside. “Who would do this? Why?”

  “The detective said it might have been robbery. Her jewelry has been rifled through, and we found her purse open over there.” He pointed to the dining room table. “If she had any money, it's gone.”

  “Doc, this is all too weird. She didn’t have any other borders except Hezekiah and—you don’t suppose—”

  “Hezekiah? Don’t know, but he hasn’t been seen all morning.”

  “Sometimes he goes into Shoops for supplies, but he didn’t take my truck and didn’t say anything to me or Agnes.”

  I pulled myself up. “I can’t believe this has happened. Nobody dies like this in Bright's Pond. Nobody deserves to die this way, especially Vidalia.”

  “I know, Griselda. This is our first murder.”

  I cried.

  “Come on, Griselda,” Doc said. “Let's go. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “No, I want to stay a minute or two.”

  Mildred came into the room. “Can’t let you stay, Griselda. It's a crime scene. I’ve got to make it off limits now. There might be more detectives coming in to look around.”

  Doc and I left. He climbed into his Dodge Dart and followed the ambulance—slowly like the funeral procession had already begun. Folks stood in Vidalia's front yard, yakking at each other like chickens, each one sadder than the next.

  “Who did it, Griselda?” Frank Sturgis called.

  “Yeah, who's the son of a—” Fred Haskell hollered. He was leaning against his plumbing truck.

  I shrugged. “They don’t know.”

  I saw Ruth running down the street. “Griselda, Griselda, Zeb just told me.”

  She ran into my arms and sobbed. “I just saw the ambulance pass by.”

  “Come on, Ruth. Let's go home.” We pushed our way through the group.

  Agnes was on the phone. “The train is due in at 2:25 this afternoon,” she said, replacing the receiver.

  “What train?” Ruth asked.

  “Winifred's.”

  “You mean Vidalia's daughter?” Ruth shook her head and continued crying. “This is the most terrible thing that ever happened—ever.”

  “Winifred was coming for a visit,” I said. “And now—”

  “Now she's coming to plan a funeral,” Agnes said.

  “Does Mildred have any clue who did this?” Ruth asked.

  I shook my head no.

  “She’ll get him,” Ruth said. “Say what you will about Mildred but she’ll nab the killer. I mean even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.”

  The
ride to Shoops was the longest of my life. Every bump and curve down the mountain stabbed and pulled at my heart. Even in Stu's Caddy, I felt every single one of them. My friend had been murdered, and now I was going to tell her child and grandchildren. It was the worst day of my life since my parents died.

  The Shoops’ train station, located right within the city limits, was a large white house with a green, shingled roof and pillars out front. I found Winifred's train on the large schedule that hung over the ticket counter.

  “On time,” it read. “Platform nine.”

  I only waited ten minutes on the platform before the train pulled into the station. It was a silver and red Amtrak Night Coach. It screeched to a stop, and within minutes, the doors opened and people flowed out.

  I searched the sea of faces and found Winifred. I hadn’t seen her in years but she looked just like Vidalia, except thinner and prettier. I moved closer to the woman who was holding fast to two little children while a third ran in circles around a pole.

  “Winifred,” I called and waved. “Winifred.”

  Our eyes met. “Griselda?” she called. “Where's Mama?” I stopped moving as the swarm of people circled around me in a blur. “Winifred, I … I came instead.”

  “That's fine.” Then she looked into my eyes. “It's so good to see you, Griselda. I’d give you a big hug but I’m afraid to let go of these two. They’d be gone in a flash.”

  Winifred looked good, happy, standing there with two little boys. She had shortened her hairstyle since I last saw her.

  “Maybe we should get the suitcases. I’m so anxious to see Mama. Why didn’t she come for us?”

  I ignored her question and bent down to introduce myself to her boys.

  “This is Chester,” Winifred said, lifting her left arm. “And this is Drayton. The child climbing the railing is Tobias. He's six and never stops moving.”

  “I’ll get him,” I said.

  I pulled the child from the stair railing. He looked at me like I was trying to steal him until I pointed to his mother.

  “Come on, Tobias,” Winifred called. “I want to get to Nana's.”

  “Nana,” Tobias said, and he wrapped his arms around my legs.

  “Oh, no—no honey. I’m Griselda, not … Nana.” I choked back an urge to cry or scream.

  “Winnie,” I said, “let's get the bags. I took Studebaker's car.”

  “Studebaker Kowalski? How is he?”

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  I felt a tear run down my cheek as I moved ahead of her. We retrieved their four suitcases and found the car. Everyone and everything fit nicely in Stu's Caddy. I looked at the boys in the rearview mirror, and all three looked like they could fall asleep any second.

  “They had a long trip,” I said still looking.

  “They had a long trip,” Winifred said, her voice raised an octave. “Ever travel with three little boys? Let me tell you, I thought I might lose my mind. Tobias disappeared somewhere between Detroit and Cincinnati. I thought I’d go out of my head until the conductor found him hiding in an overhead baggage rack. Said he was playing suitcase.”

  I laughed.

  “Then Chester threw up all over that nice Father Franklin, while Drayton ate a Band-Aid he found in my purse after he emptied it onto the floor. My prescription bottle and two marbles rolled down the aisle.”

  “Okay, okay, you all had a long trip.”

  We drove ten minutes before I noticed the boys had finally nodded off.

  “Now, you gonna tell me why Mama couldn’t come? You’d think she’d want to greet her grandchildren, unless of course she's home baking up a storm. Um, um, um. I am so gonna eat all the sticky buns I can.”

  “Winifred. I … I need to tell you something.”

  I pulled off the road and stopped the car.

  “Your mama—your mama died this morning.” I said it fast like it would somehow lessen the blow.

  “What? I spoke to her yesterday. She sounded fine. She would have told me if she was sick. I don’t understand, Griselda?”

  I grabbed both her hands. “Winifred, she wasn’t sick, she—she was killed.”

  “What, a car wreck?”

  “No. She was stabbed.” I hollered the words that time, hollered them loud. The boys woke up and called for their mother.

  Winifred turned to them. “It's all right, boys. Go to sleep. We’ll be to Nan—we’ll be there soon.”

  “Griselda,” she whispered, “what are you saying?”

  It wasn’t sinking in. So I told her again. She buried her face in her hands and cried silently until we reached Bright's Pond.

  23

  Ruth greeted us on the porch and managed not to say a single word about Vidalia until Winifred and I snuggled all three boys into the extra bedroom upstairs.

  “They’ll sleep for maybe an hour,” Winifred said. She lingered a moment at the bedroom door. “How do you tell three little boys their Nana is dead?” She closed her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. “Oh, Griselda, I can’t believe this is happening. It's like my heart's been twisted and wrung like a rag.”

  I pulled my friend close and let her cry into my shoulder. “I know. I keep thinking I’m about to wake up, but—”

  “It's a shock. A shock, but stronger. Isn’t there a better word?”

  Vidalia's death was a storm of lightning strikes that wouldn’t stop.

  “Why my mother?” Winifred pulled away after a minute and went back to her boys. She double tucked them, kissed each one on the forehead, and pulled the door closed to a crack.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let's go downstairs. Agnes is anxious to see you. It's been a lot of years.”

  “I had a much different image in my mind about seeing you all again,” she said.

  Agnes clicked off the television and stretched her arms to embrace Winifred. “I’m so sorry. I just don’t have words to say.”

  Ruth, who had busied herself in the kitchen while we settled the boys, poured coffee in all our cups. Then she added cream to each. “It's terrible.” She blubbered louder with each cup. “Terrible. First Mabel Sewickey, then Cora, and now Vidalia. Of course it ain’t exactly the same seeing as how Cora died from a bad heart and your mama—”

  “Ruth,” I said. “Mabel died ten years ago.”

  “I know that, Griselda, but she was still my friend. You don’t forget friends just ’cause ten years slips by.”

  Winifred sat near Arthur on the sofa. He curled close to her as she rubbed his neck. “Maybe if I never left town.”

  “No, no, you can’t take any blame for this tragedy,” Agnes said. “This came right out of the blue.”

  “But maybe if I came last week. Mama wanted us to come early, but I told her I had other plans.”

  “Winifred,” Ruth said. “Don’t go stirring them waters, dear. No good can come of it. You decide right now that you had no control in what happened to your mama. You start thinking about what she would want you to do right now.”

  Winifred sipped coffee. “This is good, thank you. That stuff they called coffee on the train was like dishwater.”

  “Yuk,” Ruth said “You’ll always get an honest cup of coffee here.”

  Ruth had a knack for saying just the right thing to lighten the mood even though I never believed she had any idea of what she was doing.

  “Now I remember when my Bubba died,” Ruth said, “’course it wasn’t exactly the same, although if you ask me, that nasty brain cancer is as much a murderer as the creep who did this.”

  Winifred touched her stomach like a wave of nausea had rippled through. Funny how folks touched their stomachs when they felt sick. Maybe it reminds us of when our mamas would rub our tummies after we ate too much candy.

  “We want you to stay right here with us,” Agnes said after a while. “It might be too hard to go home right now.”

  “That's probably the best idea, Winnie,” I said. “They sealed off the place as a crime scene.”

  “Thank you
.” She took a deep breath. “I guess I better make plans and … should I talk to the police?”

  “I imagine we should start at the funeral home,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Thank you, Griselda.”

  “I still have Stu's car. I’m sure he’ll let me keep it so we don’t have to take the truck into Shoops.”

  “And the boys can stay with me,” Ruth said. “I’d love to have them.”

  “You’re all being so wonderful.” Winifred dabbed away tears. “I better call Toby before I do anything else. He must be worried because I was supposed to call the minute I arrived. He might have even called Mama's house five or six times by now.”

  We finished our coffee, and Winifred bundled the boys up for the drive to Ruth's. The children were skittish at first, but the second Tobias laid eyes on Russell, Ruth's blue and white parakeet, he was fine, and Chester and Drayton followed right behind.

  “Don’t you worry a minute, Winnie,” Ruth said. “They’ll be fine, just fine.”

  “I’ll need to tell them soon,” she said.

  “Later,” I said. “Maybe we should see if Mildred's heard anything before we head into Shoops. Agnes is going to call the funeral home and let them know we’re coming.”

  “Thank you, Griselda. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  She kissed each boy on the nose. “Now you all be good for Ruth, and I mean it Tobias. That bird better be alive when I get back.”

  Ruth cringed but covered it nicely. She didn’t know the first thing about children. She and Bubba never had any.

  Mildred had a little office in the town hall. It was really little more than a desk and a telephone. She had WANTED posters hung on a bulletin board on one wall and a portrait of Richard Nixon on the other. She had her head buried in True Crime magazine when we interrupted.

  “Excuse us, Mildred,” I said. “But this is Winifred, Vidalia's daughter.”

  Mildred shoved the magazine into a drawer and stood up. “I was just taking a quick break from the investigation.” She reached out her hand. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

  “We came by on our way down to Shoops,” I said. “Have you heard anything new?”

  “Only this, Griselda, and you aren’t going to like it.”