Archie Goes Home

Chapter 5

It had not taken me long to realize that Aunt Edna’s ominous suggestions about my mother’s health were unfounded and were a ruse to draw me to Ohio and get me interested in the death of Logan Mulgrew. Mom seemed every bit as healthy and vital as she had been on the last two occasions when I had been with her, both of them in New York. And her interests seemed as wide-ranging as ever. I hoped when — or if — I reached her age, I would fare as well.

Her breakfast that morning held its own against Fritz’s productions: an omelet with onion, green pepper, tomatoes, and chives; link sausage; bran muffins; cantaloupe slices; and orange juice. And her coffee measured up as well.

“I suppose the time has come for me to call Aunt Edna,” I said, sighing as I finished my second cup of coffee. “What are your plans today?”

“I’ve got a sanctuary guild meeting at church this morning and bridge in the afternoon,” she replied. “Maybe Edna will have you over for lunch.”

“Or perhaps I’ll pop for it at one of the town’s finest spots. Does she have a favorite place to dine?”

“She isn’t terribly fussy, and I’m sure she will be delighted to share a meal with you anywhere in town. I’ll be leaving in just a few minutes.”

“I assume you still drive.”

“I do, although not very often at night anymore. And I still use the same car your father had when he died. I make sure I take it to a local garage for regular servicing.”

“Is that the same garage where Charles Purcell works?”

“No, we’ve been going to Beck’s Ford dealership for years, and I see no reason to change.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, so to speak.”

“So to speak,” my mother the former English teacher said, rolling her eyes and getting ready to depart for the church. I then dialed Aunt Edna’s number, and she answered after several rings.

“It’s Archie,” I said.

“My goodness, you sound close enough to be next door,” she exclaimed.

“I am — almost. I’m staying with Mom. I just got in last evening.” There was a long pause at the other end.

“My goodness — oh, I’m repeating myself, aren’t I? Marjorie’s, she’s... all right, isn’t she?”

“Absolutely. I thought I might drop by and see you this morning. Mom’s gone off to a meeting at church.”

“Oh yes, yes, please come by. I live right in town now. Unlike your mother, I didn’t stay in the farmhouse after Melvin died. Too many memories, I suppose.”

She gave me her address, along with some directions, which I didn’t need as the town had not changed all that much. After a ten-minute drive, I pulled up in front of a two-story Cape Cod house a short walk from the town square that looked like it was lifted off a Hollywood suburban set, complete with the freshly painted white picket fence that enclosed a small front yard of well-tended grass as lush as a putting green.

“Dear Archie!” Aunt Edna said as she pulled open the front door while my finger still hovered over the button. “It has been years since I have laid eyes on you, simply years,” she added while reaching up to squeeze me. “Your mother gets to see you more than I do because she travels to New York every two or three years.”

If she was hoping I would suggest she accompany Mom on her next trip north, she would be disappointed. My mother has made it clear to me that her sister is best taken in relatively small doses.

I stepped into a small entry hall and then a living room that reflected Aunt Edna’s love of antiques. This was not a room a man would feel comfortable in, as the chairs and even the sofa looked like they would collapse under the weight of a normal-sized male.

But at my aunt’s urging, I sat on the sofa while she went to the kitchen for coffee. When she brought in cups for each of us, she sat opposite me in a chair that looked like it was already old when Paul Revere rode his horse through the Massachusetts countryside to warn his neighbors that the Redcoats were coming.

“Please be honest, Archie,” she said after taking a sip of coffee. “Did you come to town to see your mother or because I asked you?”

“A little of each,” I told her. “But now that I’m here, I am interested in learning more about your thoughts on Mulgrew’s death.”

“Let me ask you a question first,” my aunt said. “What did your mother say about Logan Mulgrew? I am sure the subject must have come up yesterday or this morning.”

“It did. Mom described him as ‘cold, aloof, and godless.’”

“All true, Archie — but much more. He was a mean, vindictive individual who didn’t care a whit about other people or their feelings.”

“Please don’t hold back.”

That brought a smile from Edna, who really did have a sense of humor. “One more question about your dear mother: Did she have any thoughts about who might have done away with Logan?”

“Before we go any further, I want to take you to lunch after we finish our coffee. Is there a spot nearby that you like?”

“Caldwell’s is a pleasant spot, just three blocks from here,” she said. “You won’t remember it because it doesn’t date back to your years living here.”

Caldwell’s turned out to be a typical small-town café, booths lining one wall, tables in the middle of the room, and a row of stools at the Formica-topped counter. The walls were covered with black-and-white photographs showing scenes of the town in earlier times.

We settled into a booth and ordered, a club sandwich for Edna and chili for me. “Back to my earlier question, Archie,” she said. “Did your mother have any thoughts as to who might have killed Logan Mulgrew?”

“When I posed that question to her, she told me about two men, Charles Purcell and Harold Mapes, who did not like the banker.”

“That is putting it mildly! They detested him. But they are not the only ones who had reason to dislike Logan.”

“Go on, you have my undivided attention.”

“Oh, where to start? Did your mother happen to mention Lester Newman?”

I shook my head and Edna continued. “His sister, Sylvia, had been married to Mulgrew for, well, forever, it seems. When she died a little over a year ago, Newman was outraged and made no attempt to hide his anger. Sylvia, who had a heart condition and also had become more than a little senile, died from an overdose of her digitalis heart medication, and her brother, who lives down south of here in Waverly, was absolutely convinced that Mulgrew had fed her that overdose, and that in her mental condition she wouldn’t have realized it.”

“Just why would he want his wife dead?”

Edna leaned forward, as if about to share a secret. “Aha, I knew, being the good detective you are, that you would ask that question. There was, shall we say, someone else in Logan Mulgrew’s life.”

“A little old to be chasing around, wasn’t he?”

“He may have been old, but he certainly didn’t act his age,” Aunt Edna huffed. “And this wasn’t the only time in recent years that he was frisky. But then, I’m getting ahead of myself. One flirtation at a time.”

“Go on, I am all ears,” I told her.

“During Sylvia’s last months, Logan brought in a young and very attractive woman to be her caregiver.”

“Don’t tell me that she—”

“You know where I am going, don’t you, Archie? This thirty-two-year-old, named Carrie Yeager, settled into the Mulgrew house and also made herself at home with the lord and master, if you get my drift.”

“And just how do you know this?”

“It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Carrie and Mulgrew started being seen around town in restaurants on numerous occasions. Oh, they weren’t acting lovestruck or anything like that; they both were too smart.”

“It seems there’s only circumstantial evidence of an affair,” I observed.

“Perhaps, but just how often do the caregiver and the spouse of the patient need to consult — and over dinner at that? And there’s more: After Sylvia’s death, Miss Yeager moved out of the house and took an apartment in that new postwar-style four-story building on the square downtown. And who do you suppose was seen more than once going into that building?”

“I have a feeling that you are going to tell me.”

Aunt Edna nodded, lips pursed. “So now you can see why Newman saw Logan Mulgrew for what he was — an out-and-out philanderer. And his own sister was the victim of this, this... dalliance. As far as I’m concerned, that sort of behavior could cause a man like Newman to do violence, and some people might not blame him.”

“Possibly,” I said. “Does Miss Yeager still live in that apartment building?”

“Interesting you should ask. She moved out a week or two ago, from what I have been hearing via the grapevine. And nobody I’ve talked to seems to know where she’s gone.”

“Not even that newspaper woman of yours, Verna Kay Padgett?”

“Not even Verna Kay, although I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she’s done some checking up.”

“I definitely want to meet Miss Padgett. Have the police learned anything about that shot that was fired through her window?”

“If they have, I am not aware of it.”

“I don’t suppose you have any other suspects to run by me.”

“Oh yes I do, Archie. A man named Eldon Kiefer, whom I’m sure you have not heard of.”

“You’re right. What was his beef with Logan Mulgrew?”

“His daughter, Becky, worked as a secretary in Farmer’s State Bank, and Mulgrew, so the story goes, took liberties with the young woman, supposedly against her will.”

“And let me guess — she then refused to press charges, right?”

“Right. She is a very shy young woman, without a lot of self-confidence. I’ve heard that her father urged her to speak out, but she refused.”

“I hope she didn’t keep working for that so-and-so.”

“No, and she did not even want to stay in town anymore, which was certainly understandable. She ended up moving to Cleveland, where she has an apartment and a job with another bank, or so it’s said. You won’t be surprised to hear that Farmer’s State gave her a great recommendation.”

“Anything to get her out of town, eh?”

“That’s right, Archie. But you had better believe that her father remained irate with Logan and would have gone to the police himself if his daughter hadn’t begged him not to.”

“You seem to have awfully good sources,” I said.

“Your mother thinks I’m a gossip, as you probably know. But people just seem to tell me things.” Yeah, and you go out of your way to encourage that, I thought but held my tongue. No sense alienating a good source. “So is that it as far as suspects that you are aware of?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Aunt Edna answered, tilting her chin at me and folding her arms across her chest.

“It hardly makes Logan Mulgrew look like an exemplary member of the community,” I conceded. “Just out of curiosity, do you know who Mulgrew left his estate to?”

“I do,” my aunt said in a smug tone. “It just so happens that a friend of mine is married to the lawyer who handled Mulgrew’s financial matters. Mulgrew and his wife had no children, so all his financial holdings go to his grandniece, Donna, and the proceeds from the sale of his house are to be given to the Salvation Army, so at least the man was possessed of some of the milk of human kindness.”

“You have a nice way with words, Aunt Edna. And now I would like to talk to that columnist, Verna Kay Padgett.”

“I would be happy to introduce you.”