Where There's Smoke

By Margherita Peraino

“Where’s There’s Smoke is a cozy murder mystery taking place in the fictional town of Hartville. The book concentrates on the involvement of Lillian Webber and Harriet Woodside, one of Lillian’s boarders, in the vivid recollection and eventually the positive identification of the man who ran over Lillian’s husband and left him for dead, in the arson of some of the area’s affluent summer homes, and in the murder of a young man and his girlfriend from a neighboring town.

Along with the nightmares Lillian has of that horrific evening when her husband was struck down before her eyes, two other events are taking place that will tax her faith in life and which will tie in, in a most unlikely manner. The arsonist is keeping the community in a nervous state, The ladies almost catch a man in the act of starting a fire at a local car dealership and are now worried the man saw them as well. Also about this time, a young lady from the neighboring town of Millpond approaches the Hartville Police Department and tells the officers she is looking for her boyfriend and wishes to file a missing persons report. A few days later she is found dead.

Lillian Webber and Harriet (Hattie) Woodside have a knack for getting themselves into and out of hopeless situations, but you can’t help but love them for it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margherita Peraino
• Release date: Jul 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476129716

Margherita Peraino

Margherita Peraino, a native of Michigan, has retired from her job as Library Clerk and moved, with her husband Tony, to the small town of Mason, Ohio. She is an octogenarian who started writing, at age 6, the very day she discovered how much fun it was to stretch her imagination. Margherita has written and published short stories and several humor articles and is currently working on the fourth in the Lillian Webber murder mystery series.

Book preview

Chapter One

Friday, January 6, 1937

On the same winter’s evening that Brent Klenner’s summer home burned down, Lillian recalled the face of the man who had killed her husband. For two years, that dreadful afternoon had replayed itself in countless nightmares, with the murderer’s face just out of focus.

The evening had started out blessedly uneventful. The Webber Boarding House was in its familiar after-dinner routine. The ladies, Lillian and Hattie, contentedly knitting and crocheting, and the men, Frank and Eddie, alternately dozing and reading the Herald. All listened, more or less, to Ronald Coleman’s melodious voice on the Lux Radio Theater. The phone’s shrill ring brought Frank to an abrupt wakefulness, midway through a gentle snore. It was shortly after nine. Eddie O’Brien lifted his long, lean frame from the corner easy chair and headed for the hall table.

I’ll get that, Lillian, you just sit.

They heard his end of the conversation.

The hell you say…. That bad, huh?…. Okay, I’m on my way.

He came back into the living room, his arms already slipping into a heavy pea coat. As he tugged at leather gloves, he said, Gotta go in. That was the Chief.

Problem? Frank asked.

Yeah. Somebody set Brent Klenner’s cottage on fire.

Who’s Brent Klenner?

Right. You haven’t been here long enough to know. He’s retired Police Inspector Brent Klenner, a close friend of the Chief’s.

Why do you have to go in? Frank wanted to know.

When the Mayor calls you and asks to be chauffeured from Point A to Point B, do you question him?

Frank gave a deep chuckle. Gotcha. When the Mayor speaks, I bow and scrape like the rest of the people at City Hall. I’d kiss his feet, too, if he’d give me a raise.

Be careful driving, Eddie, Lillian said. Something’s hitting the windows. Sounds like sleet. She added, Why in the world would anyone start a fire on a night like this?

Keep warm? Frank teased. He looked at Eddie. No, seriously, I’m thinking hobos. To keep warm, they hunker down next to somebody’s home or maybe even inside vacant ones. Burn some paper or kindling. Flames get out of hand and before you know it, you’ve got a brutal fire going.

A rush of cold air wrapped itself around ankles as Eddie opened the front door.

Eddie nodded. You may be right, Frank. We’ll see. He looked back at the ladies. Don’t worry, Lillian, I’ll be okay. And don’t wait up, hear?

Hattie, crochet needle stopped midway between stitches, mumbled, Of course not. We’ll just lie in bed, eyes wide open, and fret. She shook her head in disapproval. The movement dislodged two bobby pins from her silky gray hair.

Before he pulled the door securely behind him, Eddie called back, I heard that, Hattie. Go to bed and don’t fret. I’ll be just fine.

He’s got ears like an elephant, Frank said. Almost as big, too.

He stood and stretched muscular arms up to the ceiling and then out to his side. I’ll go down and bank the furnace. Going to bed sounds like a great idea. I’ll leave the locking up to you ladies. He bowed low in front of Lillian. Straight red hair dropped over his forehead and almost obscured his face. "Great meal, as always, m’lady. You do a meatloaf proud.

Lillian laughed. Go on with you, you smooth talker, you.

As they heard him move about in the basement, Hattie looked over at Lillian and commented, He needs a lady friend, too. Don’t you agree? A sweetheart like Eddie’s Mary.

Yes, I surely do. I was just thinking the very same thing. In fact, I was thinking Connie Lumetta. Lillian said.

Uh, huh, Hattie agreed. He sees her every day and she’s really quite a catch. At least, we think so.

Lillian finished the row she had been knitting, stuck the needles into the ball of blue yarn and placed it all into a large shoe box. She gave a grunt, placed her hands on her knees, and rose slowly from her rocking chair. Lillian was slightly overweight with no discernible waistline. This kind of weather brings out my arthritis. I swear every joint in my body aches.

She ran fingers through tight gray curls that had been cut in a fashionable bob. I’ll lock up if you’ll put out the milk bottles. There’s still just a little in one bottle, maybe two cups worth. If I make some hot cocoa to bring up to bed, would you like some?

Hattie lifted herself from the side chair. She was a good head taller than Lillian, thin and wiry. I’ll be in the kitchen anyway, Lil. I’ll put out the bottles and make the cocoa, too. How does that sound?

Like a true friend being a true friend.

Lillian secured the front and back doors, the side door, and all the windows, and then climbed the stairs slowly to bed. Without turning on lights, she pulled back the lace curtains and looked out at the sleeping neighborhood. Bare branches, covered in ice, were transformed into fairyland wonders. In the distance, the ten o’clock train to West Oaks hooted a warning before it rumbled across Hanover Street. She shivered as she undressed and pulled on a pink flannel nightgown. Only then did she turn on the lamp next to her bed and opened the window just a sliver. A soft knock on the door brought Hattie in with a steaming cup.

Oh, you’re a dear, Hattie. What would I do without you?

Let’s not think about that, Hattie said. She turned to the window. You might think of leaving that closed tonight you know.

Lillian smiled. Never. Fresh air puts me right to sleep. Goodnight.

****

2 a.m. Saturday morning

Long manicured fingers tapped impatiently on her small leather purse. Like the raindrops hitting the window, the rhythm was incessant. She stirred in discomfort, turning, twisting, looking over her shoulder, down the street. Tap, tap, tap…. Where was he? How long did it take to buy a pack of cigarettes, for Pete's sake?

Her legs were cold, like the weather. Rainy, damp day, precursor to a predictably cold late fall. The car heater wasn't on. He took the keys with him and she couldn't start the motor. Not sure she knew how to do it anyway….

It's downright chilly, she thought. Maybe if I rubbed my legs together. Like a housefly. She giggled, more a grunt than a giggle.

Pellets of some kind hit the window. She wondered if someone were throwing stones at the car. Why would someone be throwing stones at a car window? She flung her arm over the back of the seat.

Then she saw him. He emerged from the store and waved his silly green pack of Lucky Strikes in the air, that childlike smile on his face. He stuck the cigarettes in his pocket, turned up his jacket collar, pulled his hat low over his eyes and bent into the blinding rain. She motioned with her hand as if to tell him to stay under the awning a bit longer. When it rained this heavily, it only lasted a couple of minutes. It was okay if they were late for the movies. It was a double feature anyway. They would only miss the Pathe News. Can still catch both films, she thought. That silly hat brim kept him from seeing her. He didn't see the car bearing down on him, either. It was surely moving far past the speed limit. Such a stupid thing to do on a stormy evening.

He quite literally flew into the air and landed next to the curb a couple of yards in front of their car. The scream in her throat stayed there. She knew her mouth was open but nothing came out. The car stopped and the driver rushed back. He leaned over Philip and felt his wrist. His head was so low it touched Philip’s chest. Listening for a heartbeat? He made a fluttering gesture with his hand. Was he waving? For heaven’s sake, why is he waving? Then he looked up at her, stood and hurried back to his own automobile. She thought he was going for help or to bring back a blanket, something. Instead, he sped away, eager to leave such a horrific scene. Sped away? Why leave, for heaven’s sake? You’d think he hadn't just smacked into her beloved Philip and sent his body airborne. When she was four, she used to do that with the rag doll her grandmother had made for her. Throw it way, way up and laugh, Fly, dolly, fly.

Why would he do such a thing? Of all people, why would he do such a thing? He's right here. I see him. It's him. It's him.

Lillian's cry of I see him came out simply S' him. S' him. The words were shouted, almost exploded from her in surprise.

She awoke to the constant soft knocking…. What in the world? What…. Lillian stirred, feet kicking at sheets and blankets that held her legs captive.

Lillian, you all right? Hattie’s gentle voice on the other side of the door.

Yes. Yes, Hattie, I’m all right.

I heard you yelling.

Sorry. Come in.

She sat upright and kicked her legs free of the pile of fabric that was once a top sheet. She drew her knees up close to her chest then plopped back onto the pillows as she pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Hattie entered the room as though she were afraid to make a sound. She stood close to the door, like a child slipping into the Principal’s office.

Oh, Hattie, don’t just stand there. Come in. Really, I’m perfectly all right. Didn’t mean to wake you.

Here, let me straighten those sheets. Hattie closed the door and turned on the bedside lamp. The soft glow lit up the patterned wallpaper just over the nightstand. She worked to tuck the sheets back under the mattress. Was it the same dream? she asked.

Lillian had risen, wrapped her robe around her shoulders, and curled herself up on the window seat watching Hattie’s ministering. She started to say yes and then stopped.

Well, was it?

No, Hattie. No.

She looked at her friend and said, Sit down, Hattie.

Hattie looked around her and Lillian scolded, Oh, Hattie. Sit on the bed for Pete’s sake.

Hattie sat on the foot of the bed. Don’t be sassy with me, Lillian.

Lillian smiled and said, It was the same dream, Hattie, but with a different ending. This time I saw him. I saw him, Hattie. I know who killed Philip. This time I saw his face.

She felt an itch on her face and, as she put her hand up, she realized tears had slipped down her cheeks.

Oh, Lillian. My word. Hattie hitched herself back more comfortably on the bed. Who did you see? Who was it?

Another knock at the door made them jump. Eddie called, You ladies okay in there?

Come in, dear. You’ve got to hear this, too, Lillian said.

The door opened slowly. A shaft of light from the hall cast a widening streak across the floor to Lillian’s bedside.

Lillian repeated what she had said to Hattie.

So, who did you see? Eddie asked. He shivered. God, it’s cold in here.

Lillian turned, shut the window and leaned forward so both would hear her. Are you ready for this? Father Sebastian. I think that’s who I saw. It was Father Sebastian.

Father Sebastian? Our Father Sebastian? Now, dear…. Are you sure? Hattie asked.

I’m almost positive."

Eddie remained silent.

I know you’re both stunned. I am, too. But I’ll swear it was Father Sebastian or certainly someone who looked like him. Same height. Same weight.the B

Eddie plunked himself down on the chair next to Lillian’s bed.

Father Sebastian, huh? Tell you what, Lillian, why not sleep on it? This was a dream, you know.

He’s right, Lil. It was a dream, Hattie repeated. I mean, Father Sebastian.

No, it wasn’t just a dream. It was and has been a nightmare. Now I know. Lillian’s teeth were clenched in an I dare you to disagree with me doggedness.

Eddie rested his hands on his bony knees. He smiled. As I was saying, it was a dream.

Lillian started to protest and he held his hands up.

Let me finish. Dreams have a way of reflecting back to things that happened during the day. Sometimes completely unrelated things.

Hattie opened her mouth and Eddie’s hands came up again. He continued, Say, for instance, you see a white and gold balloon….

Lillian’s eyes rolled up and he chuckled.

Bear with me, okay? You see a white and gold balloon and, for a silly instant, it reminds you of the host being raised at Benediction, you know, white host, gold chalice, and you forget about it immediately. Just a passing thought. But in your dream, you recall that balloon somehow and then you see Father Sebastian lifting the host and then the nightmare comes back and, presto, the guy who ran over Philip and drove away leaving him to die was Father Sebastian. Possible?

Lillian stood and paced back and forth from the window to the door and back again. She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

Eddie fished into his robe pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose loudly and dabbed at her eyes.

I’ll give you a ‘possible’ if you’ll give me a possible that it was him. She blew her nose again.

Eddie looked at Hattie. What do you think?

A possible is possible, Hattie agreed.

Eddie stood and gave Lillian’s shoulder a squeeze. Just take your time with it, Lillian, we’re here if you need us. In the meantime, I’m still freezing. Why not make yourselves more cocoa? It’ll help you sleep. Only this time dream good dreams. I’m calling it a day – again.

What time is it? Lillian asked. She glanced at the alarm clock next to the lamp. Oh, dear. Two o’clock. I’m so sorry I disturbed both of you.

Anytime, Lillian, anytime. Eddie winked at Hattie, and in a stage whisper said, Make sure she doesn’t slip that handkerchief back into my pocket.

Both ladies laughed.

Hot cocoa is a grand idea, Hattie said. Out of bed, Lil. Put that robe on the right way and we'll go downstairs.

What’s that noise, Hattie? Lillian asked. Like small stones hitting the window. Is it sleeting?

It certainly is. That woke me long before you did. She wrapped her green flowered chenille robe tighter around her and waited for Lillian to slip her cold feet into a worn pair of felt slippers.

Chapter Two

The breakfast table had been set for four. Eddie O'Brien walked slowly through the house from the front door as he read the headlines of the Herald’s morning edition. A cold draft slithered its way into the kitchen.

Paperboy actually hit the porch today. I really like getting a morning paper, he said as he flung one leg over the back of a chair and slid into a sitting position. It's about time.

I still like the evening paper, Hattie insisted. The morning paper is just a rehash of yesterday’s news. But it does give the Burton boy a nice morning job. She sipped at her morning tea, a strand of hair slipping over her forehead. The white and yellow kitchen was warm, cozy and inviting, a tribute to Lillian’s innate sense of order.

He looked around the table. Frank leave early this morning?

No, he’s actually a bit late today. Lillian got up slowly, with an audible grunt of arthritic discomfort, and reached into the cupboards for another cup and saucer. The reach displaced the belt around her waist and she moved it back under the bulge that was once a waistline. She smoothed the green cotton housedress over her stomach before sitting once more.

Frank walked into the kitchen, the top button of his gray shirt open and a navy blue tie hanging loosely around his neck. He had tucked his jacket and cap under his right arm. He put the jacket over the back of his chair, laid his cap on the floor next to him, and muttered a grumpy, Morning.

Eddie handed him the sports page.

Morning, everyone muttered back.

The early morning sounds consisted of the chink of spoons twirled in cups of coffee, burnt crumbs being scraped off toast, and an occasional rustle of the paper.

Eddie finished breakfast first and put his plate on the white tiled counter. He filled a dishpan with soapy water and turned to see if anyone else had finished.

Frank watched him with a stony stare.

Going to be a really lovely day, he said morosely. I can't wait to drive His Honor around all over the city. Thursdays are ‘go out to lunch’ day. I'd gladly fix him a lousy bologna sandwich if he'd just stay in one place when the weather’s bad.

Frank was chauffeur for The Honorable James Larson, Mayor of Hartville.

Hattie chuckled. For a minute I believed you about its being a lovely day. I looked out the bedroom window this morning and decided there would be no marketing today. I don’t drive when the streets are icy.

Lillian nodded in agreement. We'll eat whatever we have in the house, even if it's scrambled eggs and biscuits.

Sounds good to me, Frank said.

Same here, Eddie agreed.

I know it’s none of my business, Frank said. But did I hear some commotion last night? Or was I dreaming?

Hattie and Lillian exchanged glances and Lillian gave an affirmative nod.

When Hattie finished telling Frank the basic details, he shook his head in disbelief.

A priest, huh? You pretty sure? Father Sebastian? From your parish, right? he asked Lillian.

I certainly felt sure last night, Lillian smiled. Sorry I woke everyone.

Hey, if it brings the picture of the no-good son of a…of him in clearer focus, go ahead and disturb. Frank leaned over and touched Lillian’s arm. If I wasn’t such a sound sleeper, I’d have been in there with you, too.

Again, sorry I woke you.

For maybe three or four seconds. It took me another whole, oh, maybe, five seconds to go back to sleep. That’s why I thought I might have been dreaming.

Not to change the subject, but so long as we’re stuck in the house today anyway, Hattie, let’s bake. The holiday cookies disappeared ages ago. It'll make the kitchen nice and warm.

Go ahead, make it impossible to leave for work, Eddie smiled. I can smell them baking already. Wish I could stay home and help. I'm a very good taster.

What's on your agenda today? Frank asked him.

Your boss, for one.

Really? What's he done? Please tell me you're going to arrest him for something.

No. Not arrest him. Just find some way to keep an eye on his house.

The house? Why? What's wrong with the house? Frank asked.

Doesn't he tell you anything?

Sure he does. He tells me where he wants to meet a council member for drinks, what restaurant he would like to go to for lunch. You know, all those important things. But really, what's up with him?

"What I heard was he thinks someone is studying the place, as he put it. Neighbors have told him they've seen a man driving through the alleyways, always slowly, and they’re a little nervous. That’s a pretty ritzy neighborhood and people are concerned about getting robbed. Not