Read Online Bones & Boxes: a Hetty Fox Cozy Mystery (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Anna Drake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anna Drake
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Day. Her knitting was a little raw. Still, I was certain with practice she would improve. But she certainly knew everything there was to know about Lillian Whitcomb, whose name I’d just happened to drop into our conversation.
Laura’s eyes grew large. “Oh, she was such a particular person.”
“You knew her then?”
“Of course. My mom and she were good friends. She visited our house lots of times when I was a kid.”
“Her death must have shocked your mother then.”
Laura nodded. “She took it hard.”
“Did she have any idea why the woman might have killed herself?”
“No, she used to say the woman had everything... even money. Especially money.”
“Really? She was rich?”
“Mom thought her estate had to be worth at least a million dollars.”
I almost dropped a stitch. “A million dollars?”
“Oh, at least.”
“What happened to the money?”
“Carrie Flynt inherited all of it.”
“Carrie? Are you sure?” I recalled the woman’s worn kitchen floor. The ancient carpet. The fact she couldn’t afford to pay to have someone call her every day to check on her condition.
What had happened to all that money? I certainly hadn’t seen any signs of it.
“I’ve heard that rumor, too,” a woman to my left said. “But I never believed it.”
Laura, who looked to be a shy creature, stuck out her chin. “Trust me. The story is real. Mom knew one of the men who witnessed the will. He told her Carrie was the heir.”
“Goodness,” I said. “That’s quite a windfall, but I helped Rose clean out Carrie’s house. It didn’t look like the home of a millionaire.”
“I know. I always figured Carrie hoarded the money. Some people are like that, I think. If they’ve been really poor, and they get their hands on some cash, they can’t let go of it. Not even for what most of us would think of as a very good reason.”
“Like new carpeting and paint?” I asked.
She blushed. “Yes, very like that.”
“Who are you talking about?” a woman to my right asked. She appeared to be twice Laura’s age, and from the deep scowl on her face, she also appeared to be twice as unhappy with life. Her name was Valerie Jarrett.
I told her we were discussing the deaths of Mrs. Whitcomb and Carrie.
“Oh dear,” she said. “They were a pair of misfits if you ask me. And as to the money, I know Mrs. Whitcomb’s nephew was struggling. Then, after his aunt’s death, he suddenly marched off to college. If Carrie inherited everything, where did he get that money?” She nodded briskly. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Her nephew?” I asked, attempting to see if she were speaking of the same person whom I’d seen at the funeral..
“Doctor Barstow. He operates out of the hospital in Weaverton. I can’t believe Mrs. Whitcomb wouldn’t have kept the money within the family.”
“Who is this?” a woman across from us asked. She had tightly curled gray hair and a pair of eyeglasses perched at the end of her nose.
“Doctor Barstow,” Valerie said. “I was telling our new member that Mrs. Whitcomb was his aunt.”
“You’ll like him,” the gray-headed woman said, missing the drift of our conversation by miles. “He’s a very good doctor. Everyone says he has wonderful bedside manners.”
I leaned back in my chair and swallowed a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
But I also closed my eyes in satisfaction, knowing what my next move would be. Everyone needs a doctor, right?
***
A few days later, I waited in an examination room to meet the good Doctor Barstow. His first name turned out to be Phillip. I’d been stunned to wrangle an appointment on such short notice. But I felt terribly lucky that he was accepting new patients.
But if he was such a good doctor, I only hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be his aunt’s murderer. His office had been busy, which was always a good sign and the staff pleasant. As a physician, the man looked promising.
Just then,
Laura’s eyes grew large. “Oh, she was such a particular person.”
“You knew her then?”
“Of course. My mom and she were good friends. She visited our house lots of times when I was a kid.”
“Her death must have shocked your mother then.”
Laura nodded. “She took it hard.”
“Did she have any idea why the woman might have killed herself?”
“No, she used to say the woman had everything... even money. Especially money.”
“Really? She was rich?”
“Mom thought her estate had to be worth at least a million dollars.”
I almost dropped a stitch. “A million dollars?”
“Oh, at least.”
“What happened to the money?”
“Carrie Flynt inherited all of it.”
“Carrie? Are you sure?” I recalled the woman’s worn kitchen floor. The ancient carpet. The fact she couldn’t afford to pay to have someone call her every day to check on her condition.
What had happened to all that money? I certainly hadn’t seen any signs of it.
“I’ve heard that rumor, too,” a woman to my left said. “But I never believed it.”
Laura, who looked to be a shy creature, stuck out her chin. “Trust me. The story is real. Mom knew one of the men who witnessed the will. He told her Carrie was the heir.”
“Goodness,” I said. “That’s quite a windfall, but I helped Rose clean out Carrie’s house. It didn’t look like the home of a millionaire.”
“I know. I always figured Carrie hoarded the money. Some people are like that, I think. If they’ve been really poor, and they get their hands on some cash, they can’t let go of it. Not even for what most of us would think of as a very good reason.”
“Like new carpeting and paint?” I asked.
She blushed. “Yes, very like that.”
“Who are you talking about?” a woman to my right asked. She appeared to be twice Laura’s age, and from the deep scowl on her face, she also appeared to be twice as unhappy with life. Her name was Valerie Jarrett.
I told her we were discussing the deaths of Mrs. Whitcomb and Carrie.
“Oh dear,” she said. “They were a pair of misfits if you ask me. And as to the money, I know Mrs. Whitcomb’s nephew was struggling. Then, after his aunt’s death, he suddenly marched off to college. If Carrie inherited everything, where did he get that money?” She nodded briskly. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Her nephew?” I asked, attempting to see if she were speaking of the same person whom I’d seen at the funeral..
“Doctor Barstow. He operates out of the hospital in Weaverton. I can’t believe Mrs. Whitcomb wouldn’t have kept the money within the family.”
“Who is this?” a woman across from us asked. She had tightly curled gray hair and a pair of eyeglasses perched at the end of her nose.
“Doctor Barstow,” Valerie said. “I was telling our new member that Mrs. Whitcomb was his aunt.”
“You’ll like him,” the gray-headed woman said, missing the drift of our conversation by miles. “He’s a very good doctor. Everyone says he has wonderful bedside manners.”
I leaned back in my chair and swallowed a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
But I also closed my eyes in satisfaction, knowing what my next move would be. Everyone needs a doctor, right?
***
A few days later, I waited in an examination room to meet the good Doctor Barstow. His first name turned out to be Phillip. I’d been stunned to wrangle an appointment on such short notice. But I felt terribly lucky that he was accepting new patients.
But if he was such a good doctor, I only hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be his aunt’s murderer. His office had been busy, which was always a good sign and the staff pleasant. As a physician, the man looked promising.
Just then,
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