Mini Mystery
Homer Wallace sat on his front porch with Sheriff Charles Jones and retired teacher Angela Potts. The sheriff stared at Homer while Angela stared at the trees in the yard. It was late afternoon on Memorial Day, and the rain had stopped. The sky was overcast, the leaves dripping water. Q. Why couldn’t the beaver work on his computer? A. He forgot to log in!
“So, the doc says she’ll be okay?” Homer asked.
“He thinks so,” Sheriff Jones answered. “Single blow to the back of the head. She was lucky.”
“Good,” Homer said. “How much was stolen?”
“Won’t know until she can take a look. But her purse was gone, and her jewelry box was emptied.”
Angela, still silent, had turned to study Homer Wallace. He was the one who’d found 80-year-old Maggie Ross this morning, unconscious on her kitchen floor, and called 911.
“I understand you come to help Miss Maggie on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Angela said.
“Yes, ma’am. Odd jobs, handyman stuff.”
“But this is Monday. Why’d you come today?”
“I just brought her her mail. Stopped by the post office to pick it up.”
The sheriff frowned. “There’s no mailbox at her house?”
“No sir. Says she don’t want one. She likes going downtown to get it, so she can chat with the ladies there.”
“So, why’d you get it for her this morning?”
“It was raining. I know she don’t like to get out in bad weather.” “You have her P.O. box key?” the sheriff asked.
No, the postmaster knows me—they give me her mail when I ask for it.”
“Where’d you put it when you got to her house?”
“On the kitchen table,” Homer said. “Why?”
“We didn’t see any unopened letters there.”
Homer looked surprised. “Maybe I still had it when I left. I was pretty scared when I saw her layin’ there.”
“That reminds me,” the sheriff said. “How’d you get into her house if Maggie was already out cold?”
“The kitchen door. She never locks it during the day. I’ve told her she should, but she won’t.” Homer frowned. “I guess the guy who hit her on the head got in and left the same way.”
The sheriff slowly glanced down at his notes. Homer had told them he’d seen, from a distance, someone leaving Maggie’s house when he arrived there. Dark hair, skinny, blue jacket and khaki pants.
Angela cleared her throat. “She told me once that you were close, the two of you.”
“Yes, ma’am. Miss Maggie’s been real good to me.”
Everyone sat there staring at each other. The porch was dead quiet.
“By the way,” the sheriff said. “That 911 call came from here at your house. Why didn’t you call from Maggie’s?”
Homer looked as if he might be about to cry. “I been wondering that myself, Sheriff. I told you, I was scared. I saw her there on the floor, and I just ran off. I don’t have a cellphone, so I drove back here and called. It was only a few minutes.”
We tried several times to reach you since then. Where were you?”
“Driving around mostly. Looked like the rain moved all the holiday speeches and celebrations inside.” He paused. “I guess I didn’t stay home ’ cause I didn’t want to hear if there was bad news about Miss Maggie.”
The sheriff jotted a note in his pad. A silence passed.
Angela leaned forward. “Homer,” she said. “Yes, ma’am?” “I think you’re lying to us.” He blinked. “What?” “I think you invented that dark-haired man, Homer. I think you came right back home here because you had to hide what you stole, and I think we couldn’t reach you since then because you didn’t want us to.”
Homer’s cheeks had gone pale.
“Don’t make us search your house,” she said. “You’re the thief, aren’t you? You’re the one who hit her.”
His face crumpled. Slowly, he nodded.
After he’d been handcuffed and escorted to the patrol car, the sheriff turned to Angela.
“How’d you know?” he asked her. “Was it the mail?”
“Yes,” she said. “But not because it was missing.”
“Then why?”
What did Angela know? Day. Memorial on open isn’t ceoffi post The SOLUTION:
— John M. Floyd