House on the Hill

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

Abigail listened to the crunching sound of the dried leaves as she slowly made her way toward the house on the hill. She wondered why the townspeople had started calling the charming old Victorian house by that name. Actually, it wasn't much of a hill but, now, it did seem to set the house apart from the houses that had been built around it in recent years.

Abigail didn't know why she wanted to walk up to the house. She had come back to this small Kentucky town after Frank died and she retired from their clothing business that still carried her name. Before they married, she and Frank had decided that they would not have children, since they were both anxious to get the business in California going . She was the designer and Frank was the Accounting department. The arrangement had worked out better than they could have imagined. However, it took so much of her time that she had been unable to make many trips to the small town where she had been born and raised.

After college, she had been offered a job in California . When she met Frank, they decided to start their own dress design company. Frank had majored in Accounting in college, so they made a perfect team, both in business and marriage. They had put off having children until the business was stable. Then, when they thought the time was right, it didn't happen.

She felt so alone in the city, that she moved back to Livingston., where she still had friends from her high school days. Her best friend, Peggy, who had gone to the same college, still lived here. They had kept in touch over the years. Peggy had aged. Abigail could see that her friend looked every day of her sixty-two years. Abigail had taken a second look at herself in the bedroom mirror that morning. She was 62, too, but she had decided to help her hair keep its beautiful light brown color. She had always been tall, so it took only a simple diet and an easy exercise program for her to keep her figure at its best. She always wore clothes of her own design and had been told she was their best advertisement. Today she had worn a lightweight coat over her outfit. The air seemed to be getting a bit chilly.

Her city friends had seemed to disappear after she retired. Now, she felt as if she had come back to her family, although the only relation still left here was Aunt Martha, who had never approved of her running off to California when she graduated college. It felt good to walk down the street and have someone call out your name in greeting. She was surprised that they remembered her. Aunt Martha told her she was rather like a celebrity since her name was on some of the clothes they wore.

She smiled as she remembered her aunt's first words to her on her return. "Well, did you finally decide we were good enough for you?"

She had laughed and hugged the old lady. "Aunt Martha you have always been too good for me so can we bury the past?"

She wasn't sure but she thought her aunt had hugged her back just a little tighter as she answered. "Might as well bury it now. I don't want it buried with me when I go."

Abigail had to hold back the tears as she said, "Let's hope that's a long time from now."

Aunt Martha was quick to ask, "Where are you living? Did you forget that I have that spare room upstairs?"

"I didn't forget but I found an apartment two streets over that will do just fine until I can find a house to buy. Do you happen to know of anything on the market?" Abigail had remembered the spare room but she also remembered Aunt Martha's unbridled tongue. She knew it would be best for their relationship if they lived apart.

Aunt Martha laughed , "How about the old Livingston house on the hill? They tell me that it has been hard to sell since Arthur, the last Livingston, was found dead there. He was about your age, I think. Of course, the Livingston children were always sent away to school so you might not have known him. An autopsy showed that he had been poisoned but no one was ever arrested for it. That shows you how efficient our police force is. I think you did go to school with the chief, Bob Thornberry. "

Abigail smiled. She had some rather fond , and some not so fond, memories of Bob Thornberry. "If Bob Thornberry was in charge, I'm sure the investigation was thorough." She said as she remembered having to listen to the long explanations of some problem he was trying to solve. They had dated a few times but the explanations had always turned her off.

Maybe her memories had led her here to the dry leaf covered walk that led up to this house. When she looked up, she saw that the door was opened a little way. It was a big, gray house that boasted a gingerbread design that had always attracted curious sightseers. Abigail felt a sadness come over her when she saw the gray paint peeling away. It was like seeing a loved one accepting Time's demanding destruction without fighting back. She thought of Peggy.

"Maybe the agent is there," she thought as she climbed the front steps and crossed the porch.. She pushed the door open and called out, "Hello! Is anyone here?" There was no answer so she tried again, but there was still no answer. "I guess whoever was here last forgot to close the door," she thought as she made her way down the hall. "As long as I'm here, I might as well look around."

It was much as she imagined it. As she was growing up it had always represented the wealthy part of town. Then, it had set on, what appeared to her as, acres of land Now, it seemed to be watching over the middle class families that occupied the new houses that were scattered around it. She remembered hearing, some vague time in the past, that the Livingston family had had to sell off some of the extra land to bolster the meager income that came with retirement. She looked into the rooms on ground level, a living room, a sitting room. a large dining room and kitchen that boasted a pantry. She was already thinking of how she would change things to suit her when she heard footsteps upstairs.

"Hello up there" she called up the stairs. There was no answer. "Perhaps I was imagining I heard something, " she thought. But it happened again. This time she was sure. When she didn't get an answer to her second call, she decided to leave. Maybe she would have the agent come back with her. There surely was some explanation. Besides, she had already imagined herself settling into this grand old house but she would prefer it without noises.

The air was turning chilly. She pulled the lightweight coat more tightly around her. Aunt Martha's house was closer than her apartment. The turn in the weather helped her decide to stop in to see the old lady. Besides, her aunt had always been a good source for the town news.

After she rang the bell, she heard her aunt's slow steps coming toward the door. She pushed the door open as she said, "Just me, Aunt Martha."

"Well, come on in and close the door. You're letting in all the cold air."

Abigail could see that the old lady was prepared for the change in the weather. She was wearing a hand knitted gray shawl around her shoulders. "I see you knitted a shawl to match your hair. It looks lovely."

"Well, I don't spend a fortune at a beauty parlor getting my hair colored. Maybe you should think about that one of these days."

Abigail's hand went to her head. She pushed a few of the well-coiffed brown locks beneath the stylish beret she wore. "Maybe I will, one of these days." She knew it would do no good to try to explain to her aunt that the dye job had become a habit she couldn't, probably wouldn't , ever break.

"In a pig's eye," the old woman retorted. "Well, come on in and sit." She slowly made her way to the old rocking chair that had always been her place to sit. The living room looked the same as it had before Uncle Ben died. There was the big sofa and two large comfortable chairs to match. Each boasted lace throws on the arms. Abigail had no trouble recognizing her aunt's handiwork.

"What brings you over this way?" her aunt asked.

Abigail wasn't sure she should tell the old lady about her visit to the house on the hill but she knew her aunt would be able to tell her about the family that had lived there. She sat in one of the big chairs as she answered. "You told me that the house on the hill might be on the market. I thought I might give it a look so I walked over there this afternoon."

Her aunt shook her head. "I should have warned you to stay away from there. I didn't want you to think of buying it. I was just kidding when I told you about it. I knew you would remember that at one time, the people that built and owned it when you were young, were the wealthiest people in town. You might want to buy it just for that reason. Lord knows you probably have enough money from all you made in that dress business."

"Now Aunt Martha you shouldn't make assumptions about my money. Maybe I spent it all on reckless living. (They both laughed.) I admit that the fact that the house used to belong to the Livingstons did cross my mind. And I could see that it would take a little fixing ..." she hesitated.

"You mean a LOT of fixing up, don't you?" Aunt Martha always came to the point.

"Yes, I guess I did mean that. And I wondered if …" she didn't know whether she should tell her aunt about the noise.

"You wondered about the ghost." No fooling around with words by Aunt Martha.

"A ghost!!?? There's a ghost!!??" Abigail had tried to keep herself from even thinking that word from the time she heard the noise. Now, here was her aunt saying it out loud.

Her aunt laughed.

Abigail said, "You were kidding." After a pause, she added, "Weren't you?"

Aunt Martha shrugged her shoulders. "Abigail, you know how I hate to repeat gossip."

Before she answered her , she thought of her aunt's " pig's eye" expression but said aloud. "I know, but I seriously want to consider that house. I need to know everything about it you can tell me."

"Everything?" her aunt asked. "Even about the family?"

Abigail recognized the urge in her aunt's voice to share secrets. "Especially about the family." She answered, " I remember hearing stories about the Livingstons but, when I was young, I was too busy with my own life to pay much attention." She saw her aunt settling herself into her rocking chair and knew she was going to hear Aunt Martha's version of the Livingston story.

"Now remember, Abigail, most of what I know is second hand. I don't know how true some of it is. You can decide which parts you want to believe." She paused

"I understand, Aunt Martha. I won't say anything that would cause someone to sue you. I just want to know what I might be getting into if I buy that old house." She was getting anxious to hear what her Aunt could tell her.

The old lady picked up her knitting. Abigail remembered the picture of Aunt Martha knitting and telling them some story or fairy tale when she and Peggy were young. They sat on the floor as they listened to stories of princes, princesses, dragons, ghosts or any number of real or made-up characters. Aunt Martha had been the best story teller she had ever known. She felt sorry that her aunt had never had children of her own. Abigail resisted the urge to sit on the floor at her aunt's feet. She probably would have a hard time getting up.

Her aunt took some glasses from a pocket in her skirt and fitted them low on her nose so she could look over them. "The Livingston family, in the horse and buggy days, owned a buggy shop. You understand this was long before my day. When the automobile made its appearance, they were smart enough to switch to an automobile dealership. This was all in the big city where the family lived. When they became wealthy, they bought the land out here and put up that old gray house on the hill. Later, when the area became more populated , the citizens wanted to incorporate as a town. They thought naming it " Livingston" would honor their best known family. The earlier Livingstons were hardworking and frugal."

"Somebody along the line must have lost the frugal gift from the looks of that old house now," Abigail observed.

"That's true. The last couple of generations have lived like the money would last forever. Arthur, the one who was murdered a few months ago, liked to have big parties. He was about your age, wasn't he??" Abigail knew her aunt could recite the date birth of everyone she felt noteworthy, The Livingstons were the most noteworthy of the town.

"From some of the stories I heard, I think he might have been a big spender."Abigail answered. Arthur had been out of her league, socially. From some of those stories she had heard about him, she was glad she hadn't known him better.

Aunt Martha cleared her throat. "Your friend Peggy would know. I heard she was seen with him a few times after she came home from college. That was after you deserted us and went off to California"

Abigail stared at her aunt for a few seconds before she said, "Are you sure? We have always kept in contact with each other but she never told me anything about Arthur."

Her aunt pushed her glasses farther up on her nose. "Maybe it was just a rumor. You know how something like that gets started. Besides, Peggy must have married Doug Malton about then. He was always crazy about her. As I remember, you were so busy with your dress business you didn't come home for the wedding?"

Abigail felt the guilt all over again as she answered, "I did send a gift. I wish I could have come."

"Well, you didn't." Her aunt scolded. "No excuse is good enough to keep you from your best friend's wedding."

"I know, Aunt Martha. I was scheduled to go to a convention of people in the industry. I guess I thought it was important for the new business we were starting. " She tried to excuse herself.

"Like I said, no excuse is good enough. But it's part of the past that we buried, so we'll forget it." Her aunt didn't sound like it was really buried… Abigail made a mental note to stop in to see Peggy to apologize once again and, perhaps to ask her a few questions.

"May I use your phone, Aunt Martha ? I changed purses this morning. I guess I forgot my cell phone " she queried, as she continued to search ."

"Of course," her aunt answered as she pulled a cell phone from a pocket in her skirt. Abigail must have shown her surprise. Her aunt asked, "Did you think we hadn't joined the twenty-first century? I have to admit it took me a while to get used to it. But it's good to be connected to the rest of the world no matter where you are."

Abigail laughed. "I'm proud of you. Aunt Martha. I just wanted to see if Peggy's home. It's still fairly early.. I'll stop in and see her for a few minutes."

"Remember, you heard it here first. So if my version of anything is wrong, I trust you to set me straight." The old lady knew her niece was going to find out about Arthur Livingston

"I can't imagine your getting anything wrong, but it's a promise. I'll talk to you about it, later." Abigail had dialed the familiar number, "Darn, she's not home. It can wait. I'd better get going" She kissed her aunt goodbye. "I think I'll go downtown and see if I can see Bob Thornberry. Does the bus still stop at the corner.

"Didn't get a car yet?" the old lady asked. Abigail shook her head. "Remember to let me know if I've got my horse pulling the wrong buggy."

Abigail laughed as she opened the door. "I'll do that. I'll let you know about the house, too. I hope everything is OK there. I know it will need a lot of work but I think I'd really like to own it. See you tomorrow if I have anything to report.''

Abigail felt too excite d to go home. It was still a fairly small town. She waited at the corner for the next bus. "I'll go into town to see Bob or stop at the real estate agent's office," she decided.

By time the bus came, she was really cold. She had forgotten how early the cold weather came. "You do go by city hall, don't you?" She asked the driver as she dropped her fare in the box, after the young driver told her the amount. She had decided on Bob.

He looked up. " We surely do, Ms Abigail. It's good to have you back."

He was about a third of her age so she wondered why he should be glad to have her back.

"My grandma told me about you. You're the town's celebrity".

She laughed as she took a seat behind him. "I really want to go to the police department. I understand Bob Thornberry is the Chief."

He kept his eyes on the road as he answered. "You understand right, Ma'am. He's a good one, too, even if he hasn't found out who murdered that Livingston fellow. Just give him time." The young man sounded sincere. "I'll let you know when we get to city hall. By the way, the police department is inside, on the ground floor."

"Thank you." She told him as she settled back into the seat and began to try to recognize some of the places they passed. Everything had changed since she had been back the last time. That must have been about ten years ago.

The driver was silent except for greeting people as they got on. When he turned to tell her that her stop would be coming up soon, she remarked, "You seem to know all your customers."

"I grew up here. I've been driving this bus since I got out of High School, four years ago..'

"You didn't go to college?"

"No", I got this job. It looked like it would be pretty steady work so I didn't think college would do any better for me," he explained.

Abigail wanted to tell him all the advantages of going to college but he was telling her they were at her stop. "Here we are, Ms Abigail. Door to door service." He said as he opened the door.

Abigail didn't recognize the building, "I have been gone a long time. When did they put this new building up."

The young man tried not to laugh, "Oh, about twenty five years ago, I think? When you go in , just go down to the end of the hall. You'll find the police department there. It has it's main entrance from the parking lot on the other side of the building."

Abigail did laugh, "Well, I haven't visited in a long time and I tried not to get myself arrested when I was here about ten years ago, and I didn't have any other reason to visit City Hall," she told him.

He said, "I understand. Have a good day, Ms. Abigail."

As she departed she said, "Maybe you should think about going to college."

He laughed as he closed the door.

Abigail climbed the few steps that led to the door of the building. As she reached to open it, it opened from the other side and a tall, gray-haired man came out. She decided he was one of the handsome older men, tall and certainly physically fit. When he spoke, "Well, I'll be darned, if it isn't Ms. Abigail." She still didn't recognize him but said as if he were an old friend, "I'm looking for the police department. Actually, I'm looking for Chief Thornberry."

The man smiled. "Well, you've found him, Abby. What can I do for you?"

She felt awkward as she scanned his face again and asked, "Bob?' When he nodded, she felt her face turn red. "I'm sorry. I've been trying to visualize what you would look like, after all these years."

"And you're disappointed!" he teased.

"More like 'very pleased'". She couldn't believe she was flirting.

He laughed. "Well, I would have known you any place. How is it that you haven't changed even a little bit?"

She could feel that he was picking up on her mood and felt the embarrassment setting in.

He smiled as he asked. "How about having a cup of coffee with me and you can tell me your problem."

"Sounds good to me." She told him.

"There's a pretty nice place down the block," he said as he guided her toward a small business not far from the city building. "We might run into some of the force, so try not to mind if they look you over." he added.

As they entered the quaint little coffee shop, she saw what he meant. There were two uniformed men at one of the tables. As soon as they had entered she could see them giving her the once over as they said, "Hi, Chief."

"Afternoon, boys. Ms. Abigail , I'd like you to meet about a third of our police force, Ed Ryan, Ben Elbers." He said then continued, " I take it you two are on your break." They had both stood when the Chief introduced them.

When Abigail put her hand out to each of them, they took it timidly as they confirmed that they were indeed on a break and were about to leave. They sounded like a duet as they told her, "Nice meeting you, Ms. Abigail." They left hurriedly but gave one last look back at the Chief and Abigail.

He laughed as he went to a nearby booth. "This will give us a little privacy."

He helped her into her seat and took one opposite her. "A real gentleman.Nice." she thought.

When a young woman appeared, he told her, "Two coffees and a lot of privacy, Edna."

"Yes sir," she said as she saluted. Abigail recognized the warmth that everyone felt for the "Chief".

"They all like you, don't they?"

"Of course. I'm the Chief. They might want to ask me for a favor one of these days," he teased.

She laughed with him but knew their feeling for him was more than that.

Edna appeared magically, with the ccffee and sugar packs and some small containers of cream.

"Thanks, Edna. Now all we need is the privacy." She saluted again as she departed. "Ok, Abby, what's the problem?"

She felt silly bringing up a real estate problem with the Chief of Police. She cleared her throat twice before she could start. "I'm sorry, Bob. It really isn't anything in your area of expertise. But I' m thinking about buying a house. Aunt Martha told me about the old Livingston house on the hill."

"That old gray house? It would take a small fortune to fix it up." She could hear the reservation in his voice.

"I could handle that, Bob, but when I was there earlier today, something happened that I couldn't explain…" she hesitated.

"The ghost. You heard the ghost." He sounded so sincere she knew he wasn't kidding.

"No. I heard a noise, in fact two noises I couldn't explain. I don't believe in ghosts but I would want an explanation before I could consider buying it."

"Abby, I'm still in the middle of a murder investigation. Hold off on even thinking about buying that old rat trap until I have something definite." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. When she felt him squeeze it, she wondered why she felt a change in his attitude.

"And how long will that be?" she asked him. She smiled as she looked across the table and waited for an answer. He looked at her but didn't answer her immediately. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, no, of course not. It's just that I am so close…" he looked down at the table.

"O.K, Bob. I'll wait until you can tell me to go ahead. But I would like for you to go out there with me. I'd like to see the upstairs. I may not even want to buy it after that."

"If that's a promise, how about setting a date and we'll go out and scare the ghosts away." He sounded relieved.

"How about day after tomorrow? I'd like to see if Peggy is busy tomorrow. We have a lot to catch up on. It's too late to see her today." She hoped to sidetrack his evident concern about the house.

"Peggy?" he asked, almost hesitantly.

"Peggy Malton. It used to be Emerson when we were in High School. You remember. We were best friends. We kept in touch all the time I was in California. At least, I thought we did." She tried to hide the uncertainty she felt about the "keeping in touch" part.

"I didn't remember. I do know who Peggy Malton is, however." His words became serious. "The whole family was at the party when Arthur was killed so we had to question everyone about what happened."

"Is there something wrong, Bob?" she asked.

He laughed. "No. Everything's fine. I just don't know why I forgot that you two were so close. Now about that date we have to inspect that old house on the hill. Day after tomorrow will be fine. Just give me your address. I'll pick you up about one."

From force of habit she pulled one of her business cards from her purse. When she realized what she had done, she turned it over and wrote her address and telephone number. "A matinee date. And I've only been back a couple of weeks." She teased as she handed it o him.

"Who knows? Maybe it will be the first of many." He said as he left money on the table and followed her to the door.

She tried to sound nonchalant as she asked, "Would your wife like to join us?"

"What wife? I did have one a long time ago but she couldn't stand being married to a cop. I figured it would be best not to… try again?." He sounded like he had ended with a question.

"You have to do whatever's best for you." She hoped she didn't sound too pleased.

As they got to the street, he took her arm and led her toward the city building. He suddenlyI asked, "Did you drive here?"

"No," she told him, "I always had a company car in California. When I had personal things to do, I drove my husband's car. I sold it before I came back. I haven't got around to buying one here. I came by bus."

" OK, then. I'll drive you home. Let's go through the department. I'm sure Ed and Ben have spread the news about the Chief's "girl friend". I think the rest of them should have a chance to see you," he told her.

As they made their way through his department, she could tell that everyone was deliberately trying not to stare but each one close by, hailed the chief as he passed. As they went out the door to the parking lot, she could hear a buzz of conversation start before the door closed.

When they reached the car,he helped her into it. It was a nice car

I like your car. I have to get one soon. I don't really know much about them." She said. Feeling a little bolder, she asked, "Would you have time to help me?"

"Thought you'd never ask," he answered

When he got to her address, he jumped from the car and opened the door for her.

"Ah, you're a true gentlemen," she told him

"I try." He answered.

As he saw her to the door of her first floor apartment, he said, "I'm looking forward to our visit to the old house."

"I am, too." She was looking into his eyes, hoping he wouldn't notice the pleasure in her voice.

He didn't. "See you then. By the way, wear your old grungies, if you have any. We might want to see the attic and it's a steep climb and dirty when you get there."

"Don't worry. I have grungies." She was already planning what she would wear, her own designed jeans, a blue sweater, boots and the dark blue jacket that went so well with the blue sweater.

She watched as he went back down the steps.

As she entered the apartment, the phone was ringing. When she answered, it was her friend.

"Abby, this is Peggy. I got the message you left. We were working with a little group of kids down at a center that one of the churches had made for them. Doug is so good with games for them and I teach them crafts. They like Doug's games better." She confided. "By the way, I'd love to see you tomorrow."

"Good. I'll be there. I'm proud of you for taking the time with a bunch of kids." She felt a compliment was deserved.

"Oh, I have lots of that. Doug keeps busy with the drugstore and Junior keeps busy with a small electoral business. Doug has never wanted me to work. I had a hard time when Junior was born and he still think's I'm too frail."

Abigail asked, "You call him Junior?"

She laughed. " Everyone does. Doug is very proud of him."

Abigail asked, "Is he married?"

"Not yet. He's 38 but he's says he's still looking for the right girl."

"He still lives at home. How about that?" She thought she had sounded a little too judgmental so she added, "I think that's nice. Most kids can't wait to leave the nest."

"We're glad to have him. " Abigail heard a hint of resentment in the answer. "Junior and his father are….were real buddies until he got so taken up with the business…and he became such good friends with….Arthur Livingston. I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

"I'd better come early. Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do." Abigail did as she always did when she talked to a customer or a buyer. She started to plan her conversational attack for the next day.

Abigail had trouble sleeping that night. She was trying to recall everything she knew about Peggy and found that she really knew very little. She decided what she would ask her and what she would tell her. She lay for a long time editing all the conversation she planned to have with her friend so it wouldn't spoil their relationship.

She slept only sporadically and was ready to get up when the sun streamed through the bedroom window.

She decided to wear the grungies. It would be good to give them a try before tomorrow.. Besides, she didn't want to make Peggy feel bad. It seemed ages before she could leave. She would have to ride the bus again.

Peggy opened the door immediately after she rang the bell. Maybe she was anxious to see her, too

"Well, come in. Welcome to the Dalton castle." That was something else Abigail had forgot about her friend. When she wanted, she had a sense of humor. "We'll have time to get caught up on at least a part of our lives. The breadwinners won't be home until lunchtime." They sat down in the large, beautifully furnished living room. Peggy had always had good taste.

Abigail had noticed a change in her friend. She had a new hairstyle . She also was wearing one of Abigai'ls designs. "You look great, Peg. I see you like my design."

Peggy sounded apologetic as she said. "As a druggist's wife, it took me a long time to save up for it. Your clothes are expensive, Abby."

"Sorry about that. It just worked out that way when my designs were completely accepted by the customers." She thought she sounded too proud but Peggy did n't notice."

"Have you seen your Aunt Martha lately?"

Abigail felt her plan was working. "Yesterday in fact." she answered. "By the way, she told me that she heard you had dated Arthur for a while after you came home from college. You never wrote me anything about it."

"I don't know how your aunt gets her news. Yes, I did date him for a while. It was by accident I met him. After I graduated, I took a plane home. Somehow, they had to bump me up and I ended up in First Class seated beside him. He had been drinking and wanted to talk. He's different from most people who get cranky with a few drinks. He was the opposite, charming and cordial when he drank. When he was sober, he became a true Livingston who thought he was better than anyone else. I only saw the good side and went out with him for a little while. I called it off. I can see why someone might want to kill him." She seemed to want to drop the subject but Abigail hadn't finished with her plan.

"By the way I'm thinking about buying that old Livingston place. I dropped by to see Bob Thornberry to get his opinion. I dated him…briefly, in High School." Peggy must have remembered because she laughed. " He said you three were at the party the night he was murdered. How did that happen?" Watch it she told herself.

"You know I told you that Junior became friends with Arthur . He did some electrical work for him and they seemed to hit it off. Arthur, in a weak moment, had decided to sell off some more lots to pay for much needed repairs He started on the inside so he could show off at all the parties. I understand that he commissioned a paint job for the outside…before..you know." Abigail thought Peggy was going with the plan.

"So Bob told me." Abigail confided."Would you like to talk about the night of the murder? If it's too painful for you we have a lot of other catching up we could do." Abigail was giving her an out but she seemed eager to go on.

"I don't mind. I can only tell you what we saw that night." She paused for a minute. "We were usually invited to Arthur's parties but we didn't go. I don't know why we went that night." She looked like she was trying to remember as she paused, momentarily, then continued,"It wasn't long after we got there. Arthur found a strange bottle of whiskey sitting on the bar. It wasn't open, thank goodness, but he opened it and poured himself a big glass full. He was in his drinking mood. He always loved surprises and probably thought it was a gift A few minutes later, he excused himself and told us he felt a little nauseous. Later, we found him in the bathroom on the floor. He was dead. We called Bob Thornberry. He came right away. We told him about the whiskey bottle but by time he got there, the bottle was gone. We all looked everyplace we could think of but the bottle had disappeared. I don't think they've found it yet. Now, let's talk about something else." Abigail felt her plan had been satisfied so they began recalling some of the best or funniest parts if their High School and college days..

When Doug came home, they were laughing about something that concerned him.

"What's so funny?" he asked. He still had the geek look that set him apart in High School. He was almost average size, with straight brown hair that had seen its fullest days many years before. He still carried a little too much weight. The black-rimmed spectacles were still there. Abby didn't know why but she had always thought he looked comfortable, like someone you could depend on.

Abby laughed. "We were remembering the time Peggy asked you to take her home from a party because she had to be home by eleven. You did, but you got lost and didn't get her home until after midnight. We decided you did that on purpose."

"Of course I did. How was going to spend more time with my favorite girl unless I got sneaky every once in a while." He crossed over to them, kissed Peggy and shook hands with Abigail. "Glad you two finally got together when both of you have time to talk. " he told them. " Why don't I call for pizza. "You two can keep on talking and Peggy won't have to try to figure out what to make for lunch. Junior will be here shortly. He called me at the store. I'll order enough for all of us. You two go ahead. You can talk about me, if you want to. I'll set up in the dining room. I'll even toss some lettuce in a bowl and call it salad for two such beautiful ladies." He kissed Peggy again before he went to the kitchen.

Abigail could still feel and see the overwhelming love he had for Peggy. No wonder her friend saw the difference between Arthur and Doug. She had made a wise choice.

When he had gone from the room, Abigail couldn't help herself when she said, "He always did worship you, Peg. You're a lucky girl. Of course, I think he's lucky, too."

"You're right on all accounts," Peggy laughed. "Now that that's decided, let's get on with the catching up. Tell me more about your Aunt. I see her occasionally but not for long enough to know how she is really."

"Same ole, same ole," Abigail told her. "She's still has better info than the newspaper. Would you believe she has a cell phone? And she can still spin a good yarn."

Peggy sounded nostalgic as she said, " I remember all those stories she told us. Of course, some were true but some were pure fabrication." They both laughed.

They were still recalling Aunt Martha's stories when the doorbell rang. Peggy got up to answer as she said, "Storytime Is over. Lunch is ready." She seemed to find money on a nearby table. "Doug must have slipped in and left some money." A she opened the door, the delicious smell of pizza floated into the room. As she took the box she handed the delivery boy the money. "There's a little something extra there, Freddie. It won't put you through college but it might buy you an ice cream cone." The boy thanked her and left.

"Hey. Give that to me. I don't want you eating my share." A young man had entered from the back of the house, crossed to her and taken the box from her. He leaned over the box and kissed her.

"Junior I don't know if you remember her. This is my friend Abby."

"How could I forget, even though she didn't get back for a visit very often. But she's the town celebrity." Abigail hoped he was kidding about the visits. She was feeling more and more apologetic for the missed opportunities to visit her home town.

"I would say 'my how you've grown' Junior. But I can't remember what you looked like last time I was here." Abigail thought maybe honesty would be best.

"I think it was my fault that time. About ten years ago, wasn't it? I was on a job. Your visit wasn't long enough." He scolded.

Abigail decided to get the conversation back on track. "Well, I'll make up for that. I'll stay this time for the rest of my life. Now, how about that pizza."

At lunch, the two women told some of Aunt Martha's stories. The men listened politely but both hurried off as soon as the pizza was gone.

"I guess we bored them long enough," Peggy remarked as they made their way back to the living room "Now, where were we?"

Abigail thought she better let talk about the party drop. After all, Peggy would be available if she needed to know anything else. "Tell me about Bob Thornberry. He seems to be well liked."

Peggy sounded relieved as she answered, "Yes. Let's talk about Bob. He's a good man. He's single, by the way, if you're interested."

Abigail hoped she wasn't blushing. "Of course, I'm interested. He's still a friend."

Peggy waited for a moment, after they sat down on the couch, before she answered. "He was married to someone he met at college. She wasn't very happy living in Livingston. I think Bob had always planned to come back here to become a cop. He majored in law but didn't even try to take the bar exam. Bob was always solving one problem or another. Wasn't that why you broke up with him in High School?" Abigail laughed. "I think that, and the fact that he has always been someone you could trust, made him a good cop. When he became Chief, Dora decided to leave. They didn't have any children. Bob was pretty broken up for a while, but being Chief helped him get over it." Peggy took her friends hand. "So, I think you two would be good for each other."

"You were always a matchmaker. I didn't like most of the boys you set me up with. Didn't like Bob,either…then. He's going with me tomorrow to find out about the ghost that I heard when I looked through the old house on the hill. I'm thinking about buying it when everthing is cleared up"

"Oh no" Peggy exclaimed. "Not that old place. It still needs a lot of repair. " She calmed down as she continued, "I just can't see you living in that antiquated monstrosity. It takes a Livingston to be able to live there." Abigail thought she heard real concern in her friend's voice.

Abigail assured her friend that she was only thinking about buying. "Besides, I'll get your permission before I decide to move in." She teased.

Peggy laughed, "And I will not give you permission, my dear friend."

Abigail thought she had better steer the conversation away from the old house on the hill and began to ask about other school friends. Peggy brought her up to date on them. The rest of the afternoon went by so fast that Abigail was surprised when she looked at her watch. "I'd better get out before I'm asked to stay for dinner," she thought. She wanted to go home and think over the after noon. She felt she had forgotten to ask something, something important.

On the bus ride home, Abigail tried to think of anything she might have forgotten to ask Peggy She decided that it would probably come to her later. When she started to think about her date with the Chief the next afternoon, she forgot about it completely. Now she began to think of questions she would ask him.

She decided that time moved slower in Kentucky because it seemed like an eternity until she woke the next morning. Since she still had a whole morning to spend before her " matinee date", she decided to walk over and spend some time with her aunt.

She knocked before she opened the unlocked door and yelled, "Aunt Martha! It's only me." She wondered how long it would be before Livingston inhabitants found they should keep their doors locked.

Her aunt came from the kitchen carrying a plate of homemade cookies. They were Abigail's favorite.

"Aunt Martha," she exclaimed, sniffing the fragrant aroma. "My favorite. You remembered."

"Of course I remembered. Did you remember that you were going to tell me if I got my facts straight?"

Abigail took a couple of cookies and sat down in one of the big chairs. Her aunt sat in the rocking chair as she pushed the plate of cookies at her niece. "You take these. Eat what you want and take the rest home with you," she said as she gave Abigail a brown paper bag. "Now. What did Peggy have to say?"

"Thanks for the cookies. Nothing like these in California." Abigail tried to swallow so she could talk to her aunt.

"Well, what're you waiting for? Eat the rest of those at home. Right now, tell me what happened after you left here yesterday." Aunt Martha sounded anxious.

"First, I went into town and talked to Bob Thornberry. You didn't tell me he had grown into such a handsome older man." Abigail teased.

"I figured you'd find that out for yourself, sooner or later. Did you find out he's not married? Was once, though." Abigail nodded. "Did he find out who killed Arthur Livingston yet? Seems like he's taking a mighty long time."

Abigail took her aunt's hand in hers. "Don't judge him so harshly, Aunt Martha. You know he's so thorough he would want to be sure. Besides, he said he's close."

"Close to whom?" her aunt would want details.

"He didn't say. He couldn't say. You know that." Abigail admonished the old lady.

Her aunt laughed, "I know. But I was hoping I would be the first to know."

Abigail squeezed her aunt's hand, "Well, you'll be the second to know that he's taking me, this afternoon to see if we can scare the ghost out of that old house on the hill. I told Peggy yesterday when I went to see her."

"I see you haven't wasted any time. He's a good catch and two years is long enough to wait after your husband died."

Abigail held up her hand to stop her aunt. "It's nothing like that. He's just a good friend."

"In a pig's eye." Her aunt mumbled. "What about Peggy? Was I right?"

"Your horse was pulling the right buggy." She teased. "They were dating for a while after Peggy got back from college."

"Well, what happened?" her aunt always wanted details.

"I guess she found out he was a true Livingston…arrogant…haughty. Doug Dalton was still there for her when she broke up with Arthur. As you said, he always loved her. They are very happy. Junior still lives at home." Abigail didn't know how much she should tell her aunt.

"I heard that he's been seeing a lot of Arthur lately." It seemed to Abigail that her aunt still had her sources.

"Where do you get all your news?" Abigail was really curious.

Aunt Martha picked up her knitting from beside the rocking chair. "It's a small town, Abigail. I have many friends who are more than happy to pass on the gossip they hear."

Abigail thought for a moment before saying, "Peggy did say that Junior had some some electrical work for Arthur. You know he's been selling off more of the property to fix up the house." Her aunt nodded. "I guess they've all become friendly."

The old lady said, "Mighty friendly. They were all there the night Arthur was murdered, at least, that's what I heard. Must have been a little uncomfortable for Peggy….and Doug. "

"Oh, I think the past was all water under the bridge, Aunt Martha. They were all very concerned about Arthur's murder." Abigail lied. Not one of the three of them had expressed any sorrow. "I'd better be going home. Bob is going to pick me up in a little while." She had put the rest of the cookies in the bag. As she picked it up, she told her aunt, "Thanks again for these. I'll share them with him."

Her aunt laughed. "Make sure that's all you share with him." Abigail could feel her face turn red as she left.

Back at her apartment, she poured herself a glass of milk and took some more cookies from the bag. She tried to think over what her aunt had said. She felt the old lady had held back something she didn't want Abigail to know. She decided to not worry about it. It was probably just some gossip her old cronies had told her.

She was finishing up the cookies and milk she had started, when there was a knock at the door. She saw that it was one o'clock.

When she opened the door, Bob asked, "Am I too early?" He looked handsome even in the old clothes he had on.

"Right on the button." She told him. "Wait 'til I get my jacket." She handed him the bag. "Have some. There Aunt Martha's best." As she got her jacket, she heard him opening the bag. When she came back, she could hear, "Um, umm".

"They are good. Nothing like them in California." She said.

"Glad you're finding some things best in Kentucky. We'd like to keep you." He had looked her over. "Well, California "grungies" are certainly better than the local ones. You look great."

"These old things?" she teased.

He laughed as he took her arm to help her down the stairs and into the car.

As he got into the car he asked, "Do you mind a question from the past?"

"It depends on the question," she told him.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb before he answered. "I always wondered why you broke up with me in High School."

"Are you sure you want to know?" When he nodded his head, she continued, "You always talked too much."

His laugh seemed to rock the car. "When my mother was sending me off to college she told me, 'Bob, stop talking so much. Give other people a chance'. Wish she had told me that before I started going with you. I did watch myself when I got to college. It took a year or so, but I think I finally got to know when to shut up. In fact, just listening has been a big help in the job I have now. Why don't you tell me about your life in California?"

She was glad to tell him about Frank and their good life together and how they had started the business. When she looked at her watch, she realized she had been talking so long that Bob had stopped the car on the street in front of the house on the hill. "Seems like I'm the one talking too much now."

He took her hand. "Sounded good to me. Now, let's go in and look for that ghost."

As they walked up the leaf strewn walkway, Abigail said, "I hope you have a key."

He pulled one from his pocket and held it up. "I had to have one. I've been here quite a few times since the murder. You never know what you might find to help with a murder investigation. In fact, Arthur's was the first murder I've had since I became Chief. That's why I feel I have to solve it even though it might mean arresting someone I know. In fact, I knew everyone at that party. Arthur had even invited me but I always felt he was way out of my league." He had unlocked the door and waited for Abigail to enter.

"I can't imagine anyone being out of the Chief's league," she said as she passed him and headed for the stairs.

"Well, there was always a lot of drinking going on. My limit is a glass of good wine with a meal when I eat out." He saw her headed for the stairs. "Hey, wait up. Don't you want to see the downstairs first?"

"I gave it a quick look when I was here the other day. I want to know what makes noises on the second floor." She continued up the stairs as he walked fast to catch up with her.

"Ah, yes, the ghost." He mocked her.

"I do believe in noises but not ghosts," she reminded him as she reached the second floor hallway.

"Well, here we have Arthur's bedroom," he said as he opened one of the doors on a room that still contained the clutter of the murdered man. "You can see he certainly wasn't very tidy. Next to that is the bathroom that opened into the bedroom and also into the hall. It's where they found his body. When the house was built, the Livingstons evidently didn't want a bathroom downstairs since this one and another one on this floor are the only ones."

Abigail shrugged. "Well, that's something I'll have to change when I buy the house."

The Chief took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. "You promised you'd wait to decide until…well, later." He sounded more concerned than he should be.

"Of course. I'll wait until you arrest all the ghosts. I was just thinking about…."

"Don't think!" he said. "Not now."

Abigail stared at him. "You're not telling me something. OK, I won't think about buying until I get permission from you. Oh yes, I have to get permission from Peggy, too."

"Smart girl, Peggy. Did you have a nice visit with her yesterday?"

"Very nice. She told me all about the party and about the bottle that disappeared. Funny that no one found it afterwards." Abigail told him.

"Well, it's not because we didn't look. Everyone helped. I even came back the next day and went up into the attic. I've been back here so often that I could even draw you a map of this old place from memory."

She could tell he was trying to get the conversation back on a personal level. "Why don't we go up there now. I've always loved old attics. It's amazing what people can store in them."

"Yes, I know." He agreed "I'll have to get something to stand on. There's a hand grip that I need to get hold of to pull the door down." He went into one of the other bedrooms and came back with a small ladder. "I brought this with me the first time I decided to look up there." He stood on it and pulled down on the door to the attic. He grabbed onto something hidden and stepped down from the ladder. "Abby, would you move the ladder out of the way." As she did, he pulled on a length of rope that had been hidden . A small stairway came down to the floor. It led to the room above.

"How ingenious!" Abigail exclaimed. She started up the stairs.

"Wait for me," he told her. "I'm the one who has to arrest any ghosts we find."

When they had both reached the attic, the accumulation of years of Livingston store-aways filled the place.

"I've been through all this before, but, who knows, maybe there's more to find. Have at it." He told her

Abigail looked around trying to find a place to start when she spied an old desk. "Oh, my gosh!" she said.

Bob dropped whatever he was holding and came to her side. "What is it?" he asked.

She had pushed a lot of clutter aside to get to the desk. "This desk," she told him. "It's just like one my Uncle Henry had. In fact, Aunt Martha still has it."

"Oh. I thought you had found something important. We went over that old thing. Nothing there." He sounded disappointed.

"Did you find the secret drawer. Uncle Henry always kept important papers in his." Abigail was running her fingers underneath another drawer the way she remembered her uncle doing. Suddenly a little drawer seemed to appear from nowhere under one of the other drawers. "Voila!" she exclaimed.

By that time Bob was beside her. They both saw it.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Bobexclaimed as he lifted an ehnvelope from the drawer. "To be opened in case of my death. Arthur Livingston" he read.

"Well," Abigail said. "He's dead. Aren't you going to open it? After all I found it. I should get to know what's in it."

Bob folded the envelope and put it in his jacket pocket. "Sorry, Abby. It's part of my investigation now. I'll be sure to let you know what it says…at the right time. If you've found enough ghosts," he teased "Do you mind if we go now? I have been waiting for something to be sent back to me from the forensics lab in the city. I'm hoping to get enough information to make an arrest."

Abigail felt a cold chill run up her spine. "That important, huh?" she asked

"Probably won't be anything, anyway." Lying was not something he could do easily.

"OK. Drop me off at Aunt Martha's. It's still early. Maybe she'll invite me to stay for dinner. I'm tired of my own cooking." Abigail wanted to get their "matinee date" back into the comfort zone.

"Maybe you could get her to invite me, too." He laughed.

The ride back to Aunt Martha's was a quiet one. The Chief seemed to have something on his mind that he couldn't share with Abigail. She was happy just to sit quietly and try to think over all the things that had happened in the last few days.

When the car stopped outside Aunt Martha's house, Abigail didn't wait for him to come around to open her door. "I know you're in a hurry," she told him as she got out "Don't forget to let me know what's in that letter." She slammed the door.

"I won't." he said as he pulled away.

Aunt Martha must have heard the car stop because she was holding the door open for Abigail as she came up the walk. "Hope you planned to stay for dinner, I put a roast in the oven."

"I was trying to think how I could get you to ask me to do just that." Abigail kissed the old lady as she entered. "Bob said to ask you if he could come, too."

"Of course. A Police Chief is always welcome here. Our portions might be a little smaller." Her aunt smiled at her. "Maybe I could get a little more information from him than I do from you."

Abigail through her jacket on one of the big living room chairs. "If you do, it will be more than I could do. I found a letter in the attic out there. It was hidden in a secret drawer of a desk like that old desk of Uncle Ben's. It said to be opened in case of Arthur's death. He took it and put it in his pocket, saying it might be evidence. He wouldn't have had it if I hadn't known about that secret drawer." Abigail tried to sound mad but she couldn't hide the pride she felt in the Chief for keeping the evidence secret.

Aunt Martha understood. "He's the right man for that job. I hope you two are getting to know each other again."

Abigail smiled. "I think we're making progress."

Her aunt hugged her. "Good! Now, tell me what happened out there today. You can leave out any secret that might be about the case…or personal."

Abigail and her aunt sat down in the living room. "I feel I've come home when we sit down like this, Aunt Martha. I remember all the times Peggy and I sat on the floor and listened to those great stories you told us."

Her aunt picked up her knitting as she answered. "Wish you and Peggy would still do that. Maybe I wouldn't be the one telling the stories."

Abigail had heard the sadness in her aunt's voice. "Why would you say that?" she asked.

It sounded like the old lady tried to change the mood as she answered. "Well, you certainly must have a lot of stories from your life in California. And Peggy…" She shrugged her shoulders as her voice trailed off.

Abby felt the chill again. She felt she didn't want to hear what Peggy might add to the conversation.

The situation was saved by a warning bell coming from the kitchen. Her aunt put her knitting down and got up from the rocking chair. "Saved by the bell," Abigail said.

"Darn thing always goes off at the wrong time. Guess we better go and get started without the Chief. You better call him and tell him he's welcome but to come as soon as he can. We'll warm his up when he gets here."

Abigail laughed. "Aunt Martha, I think he was only kidding about being invited to dinner."

"Well, I wasn't," her aunt retorted. "And I don't take lightly to being refused."

Abigail hugged her as she went by. "You're my favorite aunt." She told her as she picked up her purse and pulled out her cellphone.

"In a pig's eye" her aunt said. "I'm the only one you have left." The old lady went into the kitchen as Abigail dialed the Chief's number.

"OK, this is the Chief. What can I do for you?" Abigail thought she heard irritation in his voice.

"Something wrong, Bob?" she asked. "This is Abigail with an invitation to come by Aunt Martha's for a warmed over dinner. Her warmed- overs are better than most other first timers." She hoped her attempt at humor would help.

"Abby, sorry, but something is wrong. I can't get away…wait a minute. Maybe I should. Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can. It may be an hour or so. I'm not sure I'll have time to eat." He hung up before Abby could answer. When she went into the kitchen, she saw that her aunt had everything ready to go. The delicious smell of pot roast brought back such nice memories that her concern for the situation was almost forgotten.

"Well? Is he coming, or not." Abigail's aunt had an empty plate in her hand.

"He's coming but I'm not sure he's going to eat. He said it might be an hour before e gets here." She felt the chill again.

"If he's coming at dinner time, he's going to eat." Her aunt said as she started to fill a plate. "The microwave will heat it up in a hurry when we hear his car stop out front." She noticed her niece's silence. "What's wrong?"

"He sounded so serious. I hope everything's OK." She sat down and began to fill her plate.

"We'll know when he gets here." The old lady said. "Now eat before I have to put your plate in the microwave, too."

The two ate in silence for a while until Aunt Martha took over the conversation by telling her niece about some of the other friends from her high school days. Abigail tried to appreciate that her aunt knew she was worried and was trying to send her mind in a different direction but it wasn't working. She hoped she looked interested but all she could think about was Bob and what had gone wrong.When they heard a car stop in front of the house, Abigail went to the front door while her aunt put his plate in the microwave.

Abigail had the door open for the Chief. As he leaned over to kiss her, she retuned it as if it were something that had always been done. Bob straightened up. "Sorry about that. I've got so much on my mind."

Abigail laughed. "You're forgiven only if you promise to do it again. Come on to the kitchen. I'm sure Aunt Martha has your dinner ready."

Her aunt had overheard. "Get yourself in here and sit down, Bob Thornberry. I won't take "No" for an answer." When he had taken a seat at the table, he told her. "I am hungry and this smells so good. I guess I can take a few minutes."

Aunt Martha had heard the urgency in his voice. "What is it? Did you catch the murderer?"

"Not exactly. I"ve caught three of them. That's where I could use your help, Abigail, " he told them between bites

Abigail shouted, "Three of them?!!"

Her aunt had only smiled at the Chief's disclosure. "Never mind, Abby. Let's let the Chief finish his dinner. He'll tell us what he means," she said as she set a slice of pie down for him.

"That I will, Abby. I can't remember the last time I had home made pie." He had pulled the pie in front of him.

"Bob, for goodness sake. How could there be three murderers?!" T he Chief finished the pie and wiped his mouth on Aunt Martha's linen napkin.

Abigail and her aunt watched the Chief who seemed reluctant to say more.

"Bob, you know you're going to tell us so you might as well start at the beginning. And how can my niece be any help?

The chief cleared his throat. "I just don't know how to tell you. Abby, you remember we went up into that old attic the other day? Well, just like we found something then, I found something about a week ago. We had searched it after the murder but didn't find anything. I guess we thought it might have been too hard to hide anything there. But then I remembered that everyone at the party had known about it and the party went on for a long time before anyone thought to search for Arthur. Maybe someone did hide that missing bottle up there. I went back three or four times before I found it stuffed down in the thick sleeve of an old hunting jacket."

Abigail began to feel a chill. "You found the bottle?" she asked

"Yes," he answered." " And I sent it up to the city forensics department to see if they could find any fingerprints on it. When I got back today, the bottle and their report were there. I had sent them the prints of everyone at the party." He tried to get a last bit of pie from the plate.

The old lady was the first to break the silence. "So, they did find some prints. Well, who did they belong to, three people?"

"No, just one. Junior Dalton's!"

"Oh, no" Abigail cried. "Not Junior. This will kill Peggy!"

The Chief went on " The bottle had been wiped clean but there was a clear thumb print on the bottom of the bottle." The Chief sounded like he was apologizing as he looked at Abigail.

"How did you get three people out of one print?"she asked.

"I'm sorry, Abby. But when I went over there to arrest Junior, first, Doug Dalton stepped in front of him before I could handcuff him. Doug said it wasn't Junior but it was him. Doug! He said that Junior had suspected something when Arthur got sick so Junior took the bottle and hid it in the attic. Well,I was about to handcuff both of them when your friend, Peggy stepped up to say that Doug was just trying to protect her and that it was Peggy herself who had poisoned the Scotch. I know one of them did it but who? I thought you could talk to your friend, Abby and help me straighten this out." When he looked down and saw another piece of pie in front of him, he took up his fork and started to eat again.

Abigail had settled back in her chair. "Not Peggy. It couldn't be Peggy." She looked up to see the Chief eating again. "For goodness sake, Bob, put down that fork and take me over there. Maybe I can figure why she would confess to something I know she wouldn't do." She had put on her jacket. She felt her aunt slip something into the pocket.

"If you have any trouble, ask her this. It might help." The old lady winked at her.

"If you know anything, Aunt Martha, you should tell Bob."

"I don't know anything. Just ask her the question if you get stuck." The old lady had put on her wise face so Abigail knew it would do no good to question her further.

The Chief was waiting by the front door. "Well, come on, Dr. Watson. Let's get this investigation all tied up. Maybe we'll have time to come back for another piece of that pie."

She patted his firm midsection. "I don't think so, Bob"

They were both quiet on the way to the Daltons. Abigail was tryng to think of how she would talk her best friend out of claiming she was a murderer. When they were let in the front doo by a uniformed officer, the gravity of the situation struck her. The blow seemed to have landed in the region of her stomach because she felt like she would throw up.

Bob guided her to a chair in the living room. "Would you like to talk to Peggy alone?" He asked.

Looking at Peggy who was nodding her head, she answered, "Probably be best."

The Chief took them both to a small recreation room at the back of the house and left. They sat together on an old couch. One of the policemen took his place outside the door as he closed it.

"Peggy, what is all this nonsense about your committing a murder?" Her stomach had quieted. Now she was feeling defensive about her friend.

"It's not nonsense, Abby. I did it. I'm sorry they had to drag you into all this." Peggy had lifted her chin in defiance.

Abigail recognized that Peggy was going to stick to her story. She remembered Aunt Martha's note and pulled it from her pocket. She unfolded it and as she read it, she felt her mouth drop open.

"Is something wrong, Abby?" her friend asked.

Abbigail handed her the note.

Peggy took it and read it. "Oh no," she cried. "She knew, but how?"

Abigail put her arms around her. "I think she only guessed. I'm sorry I was so far away and so busy that I didn't keep in touch better. Who is Junior's father?"

Peggy was softly crying into Abigail's shoulder as she answered. "Arthur."

"Did Doug know?" Abigail thought she knew the answer.

Peggy straightened up. "Of course. He was always my best friend next to you. When I told him, he insisted we get married at once. My baby would be his baby. You know how he has always protected me. He insisted. We even went up north to visit his aunt when the baby was born so we could hedge on Junior's date of birth. We were sure no one would think anything about it. Evidently your sweet aunt guessed but kept my secret all these years."

Abigail had a lot more questions but had to take them one at a time. "You didn't kill Arthur, did you.?"

Peggy lowered her head as she shook it.

"Who did, then?."

" I don't know, I only know that Junior hid that bottle. I don't think he killed Arthur because he had become fond of him. But Arthur was a true Livingston to the end. He called that morning before the party and asked to speak to Doug. He told Doug that he knew that Junior was really his son. Junior had done a lot of work on that old house so he was able to have their DNA's analyzed. He told Doug he was going to make a new will and leave everything to Junior and tell why."

"That was so long ago, Peggy. Today, no one thinks anything of things like that."

Peggy cried again, "But it happened to me almost forty years ago. Doug would never want me to go through that kind of embarrassment with our friends. Why did Bob have to find that bottle?"

Abbigail hugged her friend. "Because he's Bob, I guess. I think we better call him in."

When the Chief joined them, he heard the whole story. As they finished, he pulled something from his pocket. "Abigail and I found this the other day." He told them. "It's a will leaving everything to you, Peggy." He handed the document to her.

Her hand shook as she read it. "He says it's because I'm the only one he ever really loved and since there were no other Livingston's left, I should have it. He must have written this a long time ago. Will it stand up in court?" she asked.

"Probably. We'll see. Now, who do I arrest? We could say that Arthur had been making advances toward you and Doug got too jealous. After all, being a druggist, he certainly would have access to cyanide. Every one in town knew and hated Arthur. They all went to his parties because he always had lots to eat and drink."

"But since all three of us confessed, how can you accuse Doug? If he did it, he was only trying to protect me?" Peggy reasoned.

"That would make a mighty good defense, don't you think?" Bob told her.

"My poor husband. All his life he has watched out for me. Who will do it if he is sent to jail?"

"You will still have your son." Bob assured her. " And he really is Doug's son. He's very much like him. Maybe the Livingston gene wasn't really part of his makeup."

When the Chief, Doug, Junior, and the officers had gone, Abigail put her arms around Peggy. "It must have been hell for you since Arthur's death. But it's over. "

"I really love Doug, you know. He was so busy loving and protecting me that I don't believe he knew how much I loved him. Thanks to Bob, maybe they won't be too hard on him or Junior. Junior didn't do anything but hide the bottle." She started to cry again.

Abigail let her cry. When she stopped, Abigail confided. "Bob and I have got pretty close the last few days. What do you think about him?" She thought it would be good to make Peggy think of something beside the days events.

Peggy smiled, "I like him," she said. "Is he coming back for you? I could drive you home."

"He's coming back. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Peggy shook her head. They sat in silence until they heard a car stop outside.

Bob came in the door without knocking. He walked over to Peggy and took her hand. "Sorry about all of this. I don't think it will be too hard on Junior. Doug has convinced him to stop confessing to the murder. So, Doug will go on trial as soon as it can be arranged since he has signed a confession. He was just trying to protect you from Arthur's advances." The Chief had made it sound like the natural thing to do. " A jury will probably go as easy on him as they dare. He's a well loved man in this town and everyone knew what kind of man Arthur was."

Peggy was crying as she asked, "Can I see him?"

"Any time you want to." He told her.

Abigail put her arms around her friend. "I'll always be here, if you need me."

Peggy stopped crying and stood up. "By the way. Don't think about that house. I would never sell it to you. Too many memories. And, you two don't have to baby sit me. I'm OK."

No one said anything for so long that Bob put his arm around Abigail."Well, Dr. Watson. Are you ready to go?"

She looked at Peggy. Peggy tried to smile as she said, "Go. I'll be fine. And, when you see your Aunt Martha, give her a hug for me."

When they were in the car, Bob asked her, "Where to? Home or Aunt Martha's?"

Abigail laughed, "Aunt Martha's. After all she helped with the investigation. I think she should hear that Doug did it"

Bob said, "Do you think she will believe that he did it to protect Peggy from Arthur's advances?"

Abigail answered, "No. She'll know the truth. But she kept the other secret for nearly 40 years. She'll keep this one, too, forever…if necessary."

Bob started the car. "I'm glad we're going to Aunt Martha's. Maybe there's some of that pie left."

END