Read Online Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Anna Drake - Free Book Online
Authors: Anna Drake
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before turning to business. “Sure,” she said, “I know who you mean, That’s Doc Barstow. He’s Mrs. Whitcomb’s sister’s son.”
“A nephew? Of Mrs. Whitcomb? Is his mother still alive?”
“No, she died several years ago.”
“Does Doctor Barstow live around here, then?”
“Sure. He keeps an office in Weaverton and works out of the hospital there. But he lives just outside of town here. That’s a real benefit, because he’ll see Hendricksville patients at home during off hours in a pinch.
The good doctor sounded more like a good doer than a killer, but I was rather short of suspects.
After signing off with Rose, I picked up the phone and called the Sheriff’s Department. I wanted a little chat with our good detective.
TEN
T he Weaver County Sheriff’s Department occupies a yellow-brick building in Weaverton, the county seat. The city has a population of some twenty thousand and is the area’s largest town. As such, it offers residents access to several grocery stores, a small, multi-screen theater, a hospital, the courthouse, and two big-box stores.
I pulled my car into the parking lot and set off toward the sheriff’s building, which in addition to his offices also housed the county jail. I’d never visited a police department before, and I paused to pull in a generous breath before tugging open the heavy door.
The room I entered looked surprisingly normal. Cinderblock walls were painted a creamy yellow. Some stiff, faded plastic chairs lined one wall. A couple of more inviting seats with padding were lined up opposite them, while a serious-looking man with salt and pepper hair sat behind a metal desk just inside the door. He pulled his gaze away from the pile of papers he’d been sorting. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
I cleared my throat. “I’m here to see Detective Oberton.”
The man on the desk asked my name before checking a clipboard hanging to his right. I must have passed muster as he then offered me directions. “You go straight down the hall to the third door on your right.”
I thanked the man and took off.
Oberton stood when I entered his office, an old-fashioned gesture which I found a lovely treat. He wore his usual khaki slacks topped by a sports coat, but there were dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
Waving me to a chair, we exchanged a few comments about the weather and our health before Oberton got down to business. “What’s this news you have about the Carrie Flynt case?”
“It was after the funeral, sir. While I was at the luncheon. An elderly couple said they’d seen a man going into Carrie’s house the day before she was murdered. If you want to speak with them, their names are Harold and Dotty Stark.”
“Did they recognize the person?”
“No, but they said he was a middle-aged man in a brown suit.”
Oberton smiled at me like a father gazing at a not-too-bright child. “That could have been anyone. A door-to-door salesman or someone she knew and had invited over.”
“Yes, I just thought when you find the suspect, this could be a piece of information that might be helpful. Something to question him about, at any rate.”
“I see. Well, thank you. It’s certainly something no one else has mentioned.”
I nodded. “Also, I’ve lived a good long time now, and I can count on one finger, the number of times a man wearing a suit has stopped by my door recently.”
“What day was this?”
“The day before Carried died.”
“Yes well, thank you. I’ll talk to the Starks just to follow up,” he said.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But don’t get your hopes up. I doubt this will lead to anything.”
“Have you identified any suspects?”
A flicker of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “I’m always chasing one lead or another.”
“Did the diary help in any way?”
“I’ve looked into it, but we haven’t found any direct connection yet, no.”
“So you have a suspect?”
He ose. “I
“A nephew? Of Mrs. Whitcomb? Is his mother still alive?”
“No, she died several years ago.”
“Does Doctor Barstow live around here, then?”
“Sure. He keeps an office in Weaverton and works out of the hospital there. But he lives just outside of town here. That’s a real benefit, because he’ll see Hendricksville patients at home during off hours in a pinch.
The good doctor sounded more like a good doer than a killer, but I was rather short of suspects.
After signing off with Rose, I picked up the phone and called the Sheriff’s Department. I wanted a little chat with our good detective.
TEN
T he Weaver County Sheriff’s Department occupies a yellow-brick building in Weaverton, the county seat. The city has a population of some twenty thousand and is the area’s largest town. As such, it offers residents access to several grocery stores, a small, multi-screen theater, a hospital, the courthouse, and two big-box stores.
I pulled my car into the parking lot and set off toward the sheriff’s building, which in addition to his offices also housed the county jail. I’d never visited a police department before, and I paused to pull in a generous breath before tugging open the heavy door.
The room I entered looked surprisingly normal. Cinderblock walls were painted a creamy yellow. Some stiff, faded plastic chairs lined one wall. A couple of more inviting seats with padding were lined up opposite them, while a serious-looking man with salt and pepper hair sat behind a metal desk just inside the door. He pulled his gaze away from the pile of papers he’d been sorting. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
I cleared my throat. “I’m here to see Detective Oberton.”
The man on the desk asked my name before checking a clipboard hanging to his right. I must have passed muster as he then offered me directions. “You go straight down the hall to the third door on your right.”
I thanked the man and took off.
Oberton stood when I entered his office, an old-fashioned gesture which I found a lovely treat. He wore his usual khaki slacks topped by a sports coat, but there were dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
Waving me to a chair, we exchanged a few comments about the weather and our health before Oberton got down to business. “What’s this news you have about the Carrie Flynt case?”
“It was after the funeral, sir. While I was at the luncheon. An elderly couple said they’d seen a man going into Carrie’s house the day before she was murdered. If you want to speak with them, their names are Harold and Dotty Stark.”
“Did they recognize the person?”
“No, but they said he was a middle-aged man in a brown suit.”
Oberton smiled at me like a father gazing at a not-too-bright child. “That could have been anyone. A door-to-door salesman or someone she knew and had invited over.”
“Yes, I just thought when you find the suspect, this could be a piece of information that might be helpful. Something to question him about, at any rate.”
“I see. Well, thank you. It’s certainly something no one else has mentioned.”
I nodded. “Also, I’ve lived a good long time now, and I can count on one finger, the number of times a man wearing a suit has stopped by my door recently.”
“What day was this?”
“The day before Carried died.”
“Yes well, thank you. I’ll talk to the Starks just to follow up,” he said.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But don’t get your hopes up. I doubt this will lead to anything.”
“Have you identified any suspects?”
A flicker of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “I’m always chasing one lead or another.”
“Did the diary help in any way?”
“I’ve looked into it, but we haven’t found any direct connection yet, no.”
“So you have a suspect?”
He ose. “I
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