Married an Alien , with a picture on the cover of a big-eyed, hairless being, lay on the nightstand. The open door of the armoire revealed a couple of plaid shirts, one with a hole in the elbow, and a pair of scruffy, sheepskin-lined slippers. A faint scent of old smoke clung to everything.
“Did Hiram spend some of his nights here rather than in the kitchen?” I asked.
“No. Norman, the caretaker out at the mine, came to town once in a while, and Hiram always let him stay here. Hiram and he liked to smoke and drink tequila and argue about everything from politics to UFOs. It was a rather unlikely friendship, but they were good buddies.”
“Was this buddy around when Hiram was murdered?”
“You’re seeing Norman as a murderer?” Kelli smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m sure he wasn’t, though the police did go out and question him. Not that anyone would suspect ol’ Norman anyway. He’s a bit odd, but harmless. He was terribly upset by the murder. He even showed up at the funeral in a blue suit. Although the tie with a palm tree on it detracted a bit from the effect.”
Harmless or not, I wouldn’t automatically dismiss someone who was apparently here at the house often. Could the authorities know for certain he wasn’t here at the time of the murder? Sometimes even friendly arguments exploded into violence when old buddies drank together. And sometimes murderers were, too late, upset by what they’d done.
The next door opened on a much larger bedroom furnished with impressive antiques that had apparently escaped the wives’ toss-’em-out energies. A huge, canopied bed draped with red velvet curtains stood in regal splendor against the wall. Scattered around the room were several wingback chairs, a graceful, old-fashioned chaise longue, a mirrored dresser, several chests of drawers, and an antique trunk. More red velvet drapes framed an airy bay window.
But all that paled in comparison to what stood in the far corner.
Carousel horses. Three of them. Necks arched, hooves prancing, eyes gleaming, nostrils flaring, tails flowing. One was white, one ebony, one golden. Their saddles were blue and scarlet and purple, bridles and reins of gold-colored leather. Each was mounted on a brass pole, and they stood on a round wooden base, as if poised for the lighthearted tinkle of calliope music to bring them to life. Harley and I had ridden a merry-go-round once, oh so long ago . . .
The carousel horses were so astonishing, so totally out of place here in this bedroom, that I didn’t know what to say.
“Aren’t they amazing?” Kelli said.
“They’re beautiful! Are they antique? Something that’s been in the family for years?”
“They’re old, and they’re original carousel horses that have been restored, not modern copies. Lucinda knows enough about antiques to confirm that. Real carved wood, not plastic or fiberglass. But I have no idea where they came from or anything of their history. Hiram never mentioned them, and I never saw them until after he died.”
“How strange.” But the carousel horses unexpectedly gave me a warmer feeling toward Hiram. I’d been put off by all those wives, but here I saw a hint of small boy deep inside the man. Maybe he’d wanted to ride a merry-go-round as a boy and never had the chance. Another thought occurred to me, a more romantic one.
“Maybe he meant them as a surprise for Lucinda. Maybe they rode a carousel together when they were young, and it held nostalgic memories.”
“If so, I’m afraid Lucinda doesn’t remember. She seemed as astonished as I was to find them here. She says they’re quite valuable.”
Abilene had already crossed the room to run her hand over the sculptured lines of the wooden animals. “Look! The manes and tails are real horsehair.”
I went over to join her, marveling at the level of workmanship carved into the wooden animals. Then I looked down and shrieked.
6
Abilene grabbed my arm protectively. “What is it?
“Did Hiram spend some of his nights here rather than in the kitchen?” I asked.
“No. Norman, the caretaker out at the mine, came to town once in a while, and Hiram always let him stay here. Hiram and he liked to smoke and drink tequila and argue about everything from politics to UFOs. It was a rather unlikely friendship, but they were good buddies.”
“Was this buddy around when Hiram was murdered?”
“You’re seeing Norman as a murderer?” Kelli smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m sure he wasn’t, though the police did go out and question him. Not that anyone would suspect ol’ Norman anyway. He’s a bit odd, but harmless. He was terribly upset by the murder. He even showed up at the funeral in a blue suit. Although the tie with a palm tree on it detracted a bit from the effect.”
Harmless or not, I wouldn’t automatically dismiss someone who was apparently here at the house often. Could the authorities know for certain he wasn’t here at the time of the murder? Sometimes even friendly arguments exploded into violence when old buddies drank together. And sometimes murderers were, too late, upset by what they’d done.
The next door opened on a much larger bedroom furnished with impressive antiques that had apparently escaped the wives’ toss-’em-out energies. A huge, canopied bed draped with red velvet curtains stood in regal splendor against the wall. Scattered around the room were several wingback chairs, a graceful, old-fashioned chaise longue, a mirrored dresser, several chests of drawers, and an antique trunk. More red velvet drapes framed an airy bay window.
But all that paled in comparison to what stood in the far corner.
Carousel horses. Three of them. Necks arched, hooves prancing, eyes gleaming, nostrils flaring, tails flowing. One was white, one ebony, one golden. Their saddles were blue and scarlet and purple, bridles and reins of gold-colored leather. Each was mounted on a brass pole, and they stood on a round wooden base, as if poised for the lighthearted tinkle of calliope music to bring them to life. Harley and I had ridden a merry-go-round once, oh so long ago . . .
The carousel horses were so astonishing, so totally out of place here in this bedroom, that I didn’t know what to say.
“Aren’t they amazing?” Kelli said.
“They’re beautiful! Are they antique? Something that’s been in the family for years?”
“They’re old, and they’re original carousel horses that have been restored, not modern copies. Lucinda knows enough about antiques to confirm that. Real carved wood, not plastic or fiberglass. But I have no idea where they came from or anything of their history. Hiram never mentioned them, and I never saw them until after he died.”
“How strange.” But the carousel horses unexpectedly gave me a warmer feeling toward Hiram. I’d been put off by all those wives, but here I saw a hint of small boy deep inside the man. Maybe he’d wanted to ride a merry-go-round as a boy and never had the chance. Another thought occurred to me, a more romantic one.
“Maybe he meant them as a surprise for Lucinda. Maybe they rode a carousel together when they were young, and it held nostalgic memories.”
“If so, I’m afraid Lucinda doesn’t remember. She seemed as astonished as I was to find them here. She says they’re quite valuable.”
Abilene had already crossed the room to run her hand over the sculptured lines of the wooden animals. “Look! The manes and tails are real horsehair.”
I went over to join her, marveling at the level of workmanship carved into the wooden animals. Then I looked down and shrieked.
6
Abilene grabbed my arm protectively. “What is it?
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