It's Marple, Dear Read online

  A Raymond Murphy Mystery

  Book 1

  It’s Marple, Dear

  L. Mad Hildebrandt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and actions are either the work of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance between any character and any actual person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by L. Mad Hildebrandt

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover and interior design by Gabrielle Felts

  Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-0-578-60032-1

  Published by RoseQuill Press

  www.rosequill.com

  In loving memory of Doris DeGraw

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Also by the Author

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  It’s Marple, Dear

  Chapter One

  As the airplane plummeted toward Albuquerque in a controlled fall, I suddenly realized that the highlight of my career had just occurred at 30,000 feet, and its trajectory now paralleled the 757’s. Somewhere over Oklahoma I’d become aware of the child sitting in the middle seat across the aisle. That he was aware of me was painfully obvious. Every few moments he would look up from the magazine on his lap, and fix his frightening gaze upon me.

  Let’s get this straight right up front. I’m not fond of children. It’s not a lifestyle choice, but more a lack of exposure. So, his periodic stares were disconcerting, to say the least. I tried to ignore him, keeping my own eyes glued to the In-Flight magazine perched on the tray table hanging from the seat in front of me. I could no longer ignore him when he got up and stood in the aisle.

  He stood there patiently, but since I steadfastly refused to look his way, he finally said “yerhur.”

  “Pardon?” I said, looking past the two snoring bodies between me and the aisle.

  “Yerhur,” he tried again, and thrust his magazine toward me.

  “Ah!” You’re her. I silently translated from kid-speak to adult English.

  Beyond him, the beaming mother dug in her bag and pulled out a pen. She passed it to ‘dad,’ who offered it to me. “Can you sign it ‘to David?’”

  “Mm-hmm.” Wow. Smart, I thought, at the guttural syllables I’d uttered—first Ah, then Mm-hmm. I spread the glossy copy of Continental Geographic atop the In-Flight. An African river scene splashed across two pages, and in front of it a miniature me stood, arms spread wide, the queen of her universe and up-and-coming journalist. I scrawled my signature between text and title: “Life with Hippopotami,” by Mary Sue Murphy.

  The dozers beside me awoke. The people in front of, and behind, me peered between seats. And folks catty-corner across the aisle leaned forward curiously. “She’s famous,” the dad informed them. “She’s signing an article she wrote in Continental Geographic.”

  Soon, other passengers entered the aisle, bearing their own copies of the magazine. Who knew so many people read that particular journal while traveling? For fifteen minutes, or so, I smiled, and signed, and talked about my six month sojourn with the hippos of the Serengeti. It had been an anthropological investigation as I camped near them and studied their social interactions. It was also my first step in transitioning from ‘writing about travel’ to ‘traveling to write.’ Even better, I’d been paid to do field research in my academic field.

  Then, the flight attendant interrupted my brief flirtation with fame to collect plastic cups. The intercom binged, and the pilot announced our impending descent into Albuquerque. As quickly as that, my meteoric rise was snuffed…

  My sentence begun…

  Duty under way…

  Locked up…

  The key thrown away…

  In no time at all, we’d landed. I collected my baggage at the carousel, and stepped out to the stifling late afternoon desert. No car awaited me. I looked left, then right, for my brother’s red Ford F-150. I pulled the phone out of my pocket. Nope, no missed calls. I dialed.

  “H’lo?” He answered after one ring.

  “Hi Earl.” I said. “Are you in the lot?”

  “Hi Mary Sue,” he said with that slow drawl particular to people in New Mexico. “Nope, not in the lot. I couldn’t make it.”

  “What do you mean, couldn’t make it?” I tried to control the rising exasperation in my voice.

  “Well, we got real busy in the store. A load of new students hit the college today, you know, the geologist types. They needed outfitting to go in the desert. There was too many of them for Emma to handle on her own, so I’m still here.”

  “Okay, great,” I said. “I’ll just have to get a car.”

  “Good. That’s best.”

  I almost clicked the off symbol on the screen before Emma yelled in the background, “Oh, Mary Sue, thanks for coming to help out with Mom.”

  “Sure,” I said. But after I’d hung up.

  Half an hour in line at the rental agency, and forty-five minutes of driving later, I needed to pee. Not a little. A lot! Shoot, I’d forgotten how long it took to get from Albuquerque to Mother’s place. I peered at every sign that winged past, hoping for a rest area. Wasn’t there one somewhere between Belen and Angel’s Rest? I slammed on my brakes, then took a belated glance behind me. Thankfully the highway was clear for miles.

  “What kind of person has their own exit off the highway?” I growled the words as I backed up along the shoulder, then pulled onto a dirt road at right angles to I-25. Lucky for me and my bladder, though. I slowly picked my way around potholes and rocks jutting up through the dirt. “A guy with a 4x4.” I answered my own question, and realized that I might have to drive a ways before I could turn around.

  “I’m in for it now,” I said as the road narrowed and the terrain dropped on the right. A lonely looking fence, with gnarled wood posts and rusted barbed wire, snaked along the edge of an arroyo. I slowed even further, scanning the darkening, early evening sky for storm clouds. It wouldn’t do to be out here if rain broke. Not even if it was just beyond the low mountains in front of me. A sudden squall up there could send a gravel and mud filled torrent rushing through the gulch, and maybe me with it.

  My heart skipped a beat as I rounded a particularly tight curve, followed by a rush of relief as the road widened and a second trail branched off and disappeared across the arroyo. I nosed the car into the fork and parked. I could easily turn around here, no more driving off into the wilderness. Sighing with relief, I pushed back against the seat and dropped my hands from the wheel. Tension eased from my shoulders and neck, and I realized how frightened I’d become at the thought of running out of gas in the desert. Especially when nobody knew where I was.

  On t
hat thought, I snatched up my cell phone from the passenger seat and checked the signal. Nope. Nothing. A jolt of fear torched through me. Then I laughed. I’d come close to disaster, and then that fright sensation settled in the pit of my…

  “Lord, Lord, Lord,” I chanted as I popped open the door, undid my belt and practically fell from the car. Hopping from foot to foot and clamping tight on my nether regions I took in my surroundings. Nothing but open desert, a few scrub trees, cactus, and gray-green bushes. I caught the tar-bitter scent of creosote shrubs. The sounds of the freeway were singularly lacking. No buzzing of car tires or rumble of semi trucks. I’d traveled quite a distance. Aside from a bird whistling from its perch on the barbed wire, and a lone white faced cow staring at me from the other side of the arroyo, I was alone.

  I stepped away from the car and behind a bush to hide from the cow’s inquisitive gaze. She watched, her jaws chewing ceaselessly, as I unzipped my jeans. Shoving my thumbs between panty and skin I slid them down over my hips. Sweet relief, I sighed, as I emptied my bladder.

  And then I heard it…

  A rumble, rattle, and slide as a vehicle came over the hill behind me and slid to a stop. I stood with a snapping jerk, and yanked my jeans up as I rose. But, thumbs be damned, they got twisted in my panties at the base of my buttocks. Jumping several times, I finally yanked them up, zipped, snapped, and turned abruptly to face my unexpected visitor.

  The door opened on a gray Dodge pickup truck. Late model. It gleamed under a layer of dust. A man in a buff Stetson and aviator glasses as dark as the truck’s deeply tinted windshield stepped out. My gaze dropped to his cowboy boots as they disturbed the loose sand and clay, then climbed back up his snug Wranglers and the navy blue polo that revealed more muscle than it hid. Late sunshine slanted over his shoulders.

  “Evening, Ma’am,” he drawled. He raised his left hand to his face and slid the shades down a hair, revealing tawny gold eyes lined with lush black lashes. I swallowed. Hard. And a silvered jolt of heat hit my face turning it, no doubt, bright red, then shot to fingers and toes before settling in the pit of my… well… let’s say it felt not unlike what I’d felt when I desperately had to pee.

  His wide, sculpted lips turned up in one corner, and he raised his eyebrows. “Need some help?”

  Why, I wondered, did I feel the crazy urge to run my fingers through his shortish, black hair? Especially at that spot where gray hair curled damply over his ears and against his deeply burnished neck. Navajo, I realized.

  “Um, no,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “I think you could use a little help,” he said. The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down my spine. I stared at him stupidly. He nodded toward my car.

  “No, really. I’m fine.” Suddenly his manner seemed overbearing. Or maybe I was overreacting? But here I stood, alone in the desert with a strange man. And then… I wondered what he’d seen. My bare butt had been hanging out there for the world to see. Mortified, I clambered into the rental, started the car and hit the gas. The wheels kicked up dirt and gravel, filling the air with debris. As it cleared, I realized I hadn’t moved an inch except maybe downward. And, reflected in my mirror he leaned lazily against his truck, one leg crossed in front of the other, one hand resting on his hip, the other on the hood of his truck.

  I turned off the ignition and rested my forehead on the wheel. Buck up, I thought. This day can’t get much worse. He strode to the side of my car and crossed his arms over his chest. Like he thought he was a cop or something. “Ma’am.”

  I tried to grin, but only carried off a sheepish facsimile. “I, I think I’m stuck,” I said. He popped open the door and offered to help me out. I took his hand… then yanked mine back with a startled yelp. “You shocked me!”

  “It’s the heat,” he said. But he looked as confused as I.

  I grabbed the door frame and pulled myself out as he walked back to his truck and got a chain from a box in the bed. He hooked it to the back of my car, told me to get in, and pulled me from the hole I’d dug. “Thanks,” I called, as I rolled my window down a bit. He unhooked the chain and walked toward my door. He smiled as he pushed his hat back on his head and stared at me through his mirror shades. I stared at my reflection and smiled.

  “Ma’am,” he said again and nodded. His grin was back, making me feel foolish. “You know there’s a rest area two miles down the highway.”

  Red burnt my face. I shifted my gaze away from my reflection in his glasses. “Er… thanks. See you around.”

  He nodded again, and I shifted into gear and headed back the way I’d come. I glared at the cow, still chewing its cud across the arroyo. “It’s your fault,” I said, shaking my fist at her. She watched as I pulled away, then turned her massive head to look at the cowboy. I glanced in my rearview mirror. The dust from my passage hung between us, but I could see him staring intently toward the ravine. Before he was lost to my view he walked to the spot where I’d been stuck and picked something up. I hope I never see you again, I thought, my face still burning.

  ❃ ❃ ❃

  Angel’s Rest is a village by east coast standards, but a large town–small city by New Mexico’s. It’s home to a noted scientific college, a renowned bird preserve, and a UFO landing. I drove straight to Mother’s. I wasn’t in the mood to spar with the twins. Besides, it was full-on dark now.

  My car tires crunched in the gravel as I pulled off the road, into the driveway, and nosed up to the wooden gate. I gazed at the house. Old memories from nearly forty years ago flooded back—from a time when I lived here. I sighed, and shoved open the Kia door.

  What had I gotten myself into? I didn’t really know my mother. I was eleven when my parents split up. They called the divorce ‘amicable.’ But, when Dad left, he took me, and Mother kept the twins. I spent the next seven years hoping for a Parent Trap miracle that never happened. By the time I graduated from high school, I had set aside that dream. In the intervening years, I’d spent just three summers here. The twins had spent the other four in Baltimore with me and Dad. He got all of us for holidays. I guess the ‘amicable’ part meant she didn’t fight for me. He got one kid, she got two. Fair enough.

  The porch lights had come on automatically, alerted by the motion of my car. I climbed the few steps and searched for the key under several ceramic pots near the door. Watch out for scorpions, Earl had warned, so I rolled the pots away, then back, until I found the one with the key and inserted it into the lock.

  “Hello!” A piercing voice called, and I turned around. “Hello,” an old woman said again as she popped open the screen on the neighboring house. My mother’s house and hers share a single, wide driveway. Her lights had clicked on at the same time as Mother’s.

  “Mrs. Garfield?” I dredged the name up from somewhere in my memory.

  “Is that you, Mary Sue?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” I stifled a yawn as I let the door shut again behind me.

  “Here, wait a minute,” she said as she ducked back in her door. She returned a moment later bearing a ball of fur. “This is your mother’s. I’ve been watching him while she’s… away.”

  I looked at the mouse of a cat she deposited in my arms. The thing was smallish, with mid-length gray striped fur, a puff of a tail tipped with white, and a matching white face, chest, and paws. It gazed at me momentarily, hissed, and sunk its claws in my wrist. I let go. It hopped over the adobe fence, into the front yard.

  “He’s an inside cat!” Mrs. Garfield glared accusingly.

  Blood dripping down my hand, I tried to open the gate, but it wouldn’t budge. I clambered over the fence, thanking God that it’s relatively low as far as fences go. The cat streaked across the tiny yard and paused in the far corner. It turned the round orbs of its glowing eyes toward me, then looked back at the adobe fence. It tipped its head upward, tucked down on its haunches, and prepared to leap for freedom.

  I scrambled across the gravel and leaped for the cat as it jumped. I grabbed it in midair, snag
ging it like a fly ball in the outfield. I landed with a spray of rocks and slid toward a prickly pear in full bloom. Turning to save the cat, and my face, I hit the cactus elbow first. “Aye-yi!” I yelled, but I didn’t lose the cat this time. I leaped upright, and tucked it under my arm like a football, where it spat and hissed. The gate opened easily from this side, and I walked around the house to the side door, yanked it open, and set the creature loose inside.

  Mrs. Garfield pulled her robe tightly closed with one gnarled hand. “Hmpf,” she said, and flipped her head as she turned away. If she’d had long hair, it would have tossed gloriously with that single movement, but she’d cropped it in an old-woman-do, probably years ago.

  “Night,” I said as her door clicked shut. I turned to face my mother’s door. Somewhere inside, the cat waited. I opened the door a crack and peeked in. Coast clear. I switched on the light as I entered, then locked the door behind me. In the bathroom, I found a first aid kit and tweezers. I wiped off the blood, and bandaged the claw gouges on my arm, then began plucking cactus prickles from my elbow.

  Sometime later, I dug a blanket and pillow out of a closet, and headed for the living room. Exhaustion threatened to drop me where I stood. And that was in front of the couch, where the cat lay in a possessive circle. He flicked his tail as he eyed me. “Tough,” I said and hissed at him. He immediately cleared from the room, and I claimed the spot. As I closed my eyes I wondered if he’d exact revenge while I slept.

  Chapter Two

  Sunlight streamed through the white cotton curtains over the couch. I covered my eyes with my elbow. “Ouch!” Pain shot through my arm and I remembered my battle with the cat the previous night. And then I remembered the cowboy. I felt embarrassment flood through me again. Nope. Not going there. I looked quickly around the room. Finding it clear of cat, I began to sit up, but an unfamiliar weight rested on my abdomen. Half-open yellow eyes tried to hypnotize me with a cat’s stare. He broke his gaze with a huge yawn, baring the interior of his mouth, and showcasing his glittering teeth. He flicked his tail a couple times, and stretched out one arm, flexing his claws. He’d demonstrated his weapons. He looked at me again, stood up, and stretched, arching his back. “Mew,” he said, and hopped off me. He walked slowly toward the kitchen door and mewed again. “Truce,” he seemed to say.