Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

The three of us stood on the front porch discussing which neighbor to visit since the homes on both sides of 147 had closed blinds. Clare hadn’t seen anyone coming from or going to those houses in the past three days, making her wonder if anyone lived there.

“I know what you mean,” I agreed. “I never paid attention, but they’re occupied since the grass on both sides are trimmed. Now that I say that, Liz’s lawn looks nice, too.”

“Good point,” Alan agreed. “They might have a landscaping service, or share the work like Ryan and I do. Let’s start at 149 and see if anyone’s home.”

I rang the front doorbell, and the others stood behind me. We waited for three or four minutes, then heard the turn of a lock. An old woman peered from the space a security-chain permitted.

She squinted at me, then the other two. “May I help you?”

“Hi,” I said with an engaging smile. “I’m Sue Jaworski. My husband and I bought the house across the street on the corner, and I use the old cabin for a garden shop.”

“Is that so?” It was more a figure of speech than a question. “I suppose I should welcome you to Aspen Notch.”

“Thank you. Do you go to the Harvest Gala?” I asked.

She looked confused. “What’s that?”

“It’s a fundraiser for the town,” I said, figuring she wouldn’t want any game tickets. “How long have you lived here?”

“I guess about seventy years,” she replied. “Everyone’s dead now.”

“Do you mean your husband?” I pressed.

“Yes, he’s gone, and the kids are gone. Everyone’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, estimating her to be about ninety.

When Alan stepped forward, she began to close the door. “We need your help,” he said gently. “I’m Sue’s husband, Alan, and this is our friend, Clare Dolan. She’s a nun.”

She took the chain off the door and opened it wider. “Nice to meet you, Sister. Are you from St. Stephen’s?”

“No, I’m a missionary in Africa. My sister…”

“Bless you, sweetie. Lizzie’s been waiting for you.”

Clare gasped. “Is she here?”

“I haven’t seen her today.”

“Yesterday?” Clare asked.

“I don’t think so. She brought me ice cream, and I finished the carton last night.”

“Does Liz do your grocery shopping?” Alan questioned.

“Yes, every Saturday. She won’t take any money, God bless her. Oh, and her husband and son are dead, too.”

“Yes,” Clare said. “When Lizzie brought your groceries on Saturday, did she say where she was going afterwards? ”

The woman paused, thinking. “I don’t think she did, but my memory is failing. I’ve seen her light on at night, so I assume she’s there.”

Clare shook her head. “I’m staying at my sister’s house, though she doesn’t know because she’s not home.”

“Oh, my,” she sighed. “Where could she be?”

“I don’t know,” Clare replied. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

I had a feeling we’d continue going in circles, which Alan must have surmised as well. He reeled the conversation back by asking the woman her name.

“Goodness gracious, I must have forgotten to tell you. I’m Jane Windsor.” She smiled pleasantly. “And your names?”

I doubted she’d remember, but we again went through the introductions. I also gave her five tickets for the Butterflies and Blooms games, not that I thought she’d use them.

“Do you know if Liz Sterling was friends with anyone else on Church Street?” Alan asked.

“Who?” Jane queried.

Clare responded, “Lizzie.”

“Oh, right. Unfortunately, Lizzie and her husband had a falling out with the neighbors on the other side. I don’t recall what it was about, but they don’t speak.”

“Well,” Alan said, “we still need to pay them a visit.”

“They won’t be home,” Jane said with a decided frown. “He’s a doctor, and she meets friends at that fancy golf place just outside of town.”

“River Mill Country Club?” Alan pressed.

“That sounds about right,” she nodded.

“Do you know their names?”

She laughed. “Do you think I’d remember? Wait a minute… Doctor ‘Spyly-Wiley.’ That’s it: Wiley. ”

Alan smiled. “Thank you, Jane. You’ve been very helpful.”

She giggled, looking proud. “Glad I could help. Lizzie came up with that name and that’s why I could remember it. Would you like to come in?”

Alan and I begged off since we intended to visit everyone on our block of Church Street. Clare, however, decided to stay for a while, which I considered very thoughtful.

We gave our farewells and proceeded to the sidewalk. “That was interesting,” I murmured.

“Very,” Alan agreed. “I think I’ll do a little digging into the background of Dr. Wiley and his wife while you entertain the girls at your garden club this afternoon.”

“Good idea.” I wanted to know more about the Wileys.

^^^

As Jane noted, the Wileys weren’t home, though a frazzled young woman dealing with two toddlers and a baby answered the door at 151 Church Street. She didn’t know Liz Sterling, but gratefully accepted the slew of game tickets I gave her.

No one answered the door at any other home on that side of the block. On the way back, I complained to Alan about the isolation caused by not knowing our neighbors. He laughed, probably because I typically groused that we hardly had any time alone.

Kareen, pulling weeds in her front garden, called her hello when she heard our voices. “Out for a stroll?” she queried .

Heading her way, I said, “We wanted to meet our neighbors, but didn’t have much luck.”

“If you ask me, people are too busy. I’m glad Gerome and I have retired and can enjoy an easier pace. Of course, we have the grandkids to spoil, and I appreciate the garden club. Those keep me going.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.

Alan, still focused on our case, interrupted to ask, “Have you met Dr. Wiley and his wife? They live next door to you.”

Kareen gazed at the closed-up house. “Yes, though they’re rarely home. I believe they have a summer residence at the shore.”

“Who cuts their grass?” Alan pressed.

“They have a landscaper, like most people on this side of the street. He tried to get our business, too, but we have the time to mow our own lawn.”

Alan gave a quirky grin, no doubt thinking about how much he hated lawn care. At least for now, he and Ryan worked together on our property and his, and that lightened the tedious job for both of them.

“We just met the old lady at 149,” Alan continued. “Her name is Jane Windsor, and I don’t know if she’s able to live alone.”

“Does she have any family?”

“According to her, they’re all deceased. I’ll look into that this afternoon.”

“Maybe I’ll check on her later,” Kareen replied. “We have our garden club meeting at two-thirty.”

I smiled, happy that she’d remembered. “I’m sure Jane would appreciate a visit from you. Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

As we crossed the street, I asked Alan to help me carry the box of wreath materials home, and he didn’t even complain.