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  Treasure in Tawas

  by

  Madison Johns

  Copyright © 2014 by Madison Johns

  Treasure in Tawas Madison Johns

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental.

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  Cover by Susan Coils http://www.coverkicks.com

  Acknowledgement

  I’d like to acknowledge my fellow writers and cheerleaders, Lee Dobbins, Cindy Tahse, Pamela Kelley, and Katherine Saunders. Thanks for your friendship, encouragement, and support! Thanks to Tammy Lynn Rodrigue for your friendship. I’d also like to recognize the two most important people in my world, my children Andrea and Luke.

  Dedication

  Thanks to all of the readers for continuing to buy my books. You are the ones I write this series for. If not for you this series would not continue. It’s safe to say you’ll see more Agnes Barton mysteries in 2014.

  If you happen to be in Michigan in the future, I encourage you to travel to East Tawas, Michigan, home to the Agnes Barton mystery series, and my favorite vacation spot.

  Also by Madison Johns

  An Agnes Barton Senior Sleuths Mystery Series in order.

  Armed and Outrageous

  Grannies, Guns and Ghosts

  Senior Snoops

  Trouble in Tawas

  Agnes Barton/Kimberly Steele Cozy Mystery

  Pretty, Hip & Dead

  Romance

  Pretty and Pregnant (Kimberly Steele novella)

  Redneck Romance

  Chapter One

  Cop cars roared into the drive of the Butler Mansion and skidded to a halt. Then heavy feet pounded up the few steps that led to the door. My best friend, Eleanor (or El for short) Mason, and I froze in our tracks as the flashing bubble lights blasted through the sheer curtains. I’m Agnes Barton, and I’m a senior sleuth. Eleanor is my partner, and we’re here in the Butler Mansion, which was the site of a couple of murders a while ago. At that time, Herman Butler had fallen from a third story window. Now, there seems to be more trouble in the mansion. We were led to believe that a portrait of one of the Butlers’ descendants had been stolen. The problem is that we weren’t exactly let inside. We used the key that was located in a real estate lock box. My daughter, Martha, is working as a real estate agent, and I kind of “borrowed” the key to take a look around.

  “I told you they had a silent alarm,” Eleanor said in an I-told-you-so voice.

  I brought my hand to my head in exasperation. “How on earth are we gonna explain ourselves out of this one?”

  Eleanor shrugged. “Beats me, but somehow, I see a trip to the pokey over this one. I mean, we are breaking and entering.”

  “It’s not like I had a choice. Martha refused to let us in to check things out.”

  “She sure takes her job seriously. You have to admire her for that.”

  I pushed Eleanor along the hallway that led to the back door, where we exited the mansion. We pressed our bodies against the overgrown ivy walls until I felt it was safe to move toward the woods. We didn’t even make it two feet before we heard Sheriff Peterson shout, “Freeze!”

  El and I raised our arms, and the sheriff moved toward us, his eyes narrowed. “What in tarnation?” he bellowed. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Actually, I was thinking about buying the place,” I lied.

  “I doubt your social security check will cover that one.”

  I waved the key in his face. “I have a key. How was I to know there was a silent alarm?”

  “Which means you obviously don’t have permission to be here. Did Martha give you the key?”

  I was tempted to just lie and say yes, but I didn’t want to get my daughter into trouble at the real estate office. “Not exactly, but the reason we’re here is—”

  Peterson yanked up the waistband of his brown trousers. “I don’t care what the reason is. You’re both under arrest.”

  No sense in arguing with the man, so we followed him to the front yard, where Trooper Sales stood. When he saw us, he raised his brow. “Figures. Stay right here while we do a sweep of the house.”

  The cops entered the mansion. It wasn’t long before one of them came back, and with a major newsflash. “There’s a body in here!” he exclaimed.

  My eyes widened, as did El’s. “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I ought to know a body when I see one,” the trooper said. “It’s another old lady.”

  “What do you mean, another? Like you think we’re old?” El asked.

  “Yeah, you both are. Aren’t you two kinda old to off another old lady?”

  I stepped forward. “Now, you listen here, young man. Even if you found a body here, it doesn’t mean that we’re responsible. We only came here to see if a painting of the Butler descendants was stolen, that’s all.”

  Sheriff Peterson gnashed his teeth together. “Please say you don’t buy into that nonsense about a treasure map hidden in a painting here?”

  That’s why we’re here, all right, but I wasn’t sure if it was wise to say more without a lawyer. “I think I should be quiet now.”

  El’s face dropped as she said, “Agnes, we should just tell him the truth.”

  “We do that and we’ll be in more trouble. I don’t think we should say anything further without a lawyer present.”

  Trooper Sales appeared in the doorway and motioned me forward. El and I entered, and he led us into the kitchen, where we stopped in surprise at the sight of the body of my nemesis, Mildred Winfree, sprawled out on the floor, a bloodied silver candlestick next to her. My eyes met El’s as we both shook our heads in disbelief.

  “Tell me again why you were really here tonight?” the trooper asked pointedly.

  “First, I never told you anything, and second, I already told Sheriff Peterson that I’m not saying a word until I consult with a lawyer. I will say one thing for sure, though—neither El nor I killed Mildred Winfree.”

  “She’s not exactly a friend of yours.”

  “I’ll agree with you there, but I draw the line on murder. I don’t hate her at all. She hates me. It’s a totally separate thing.”

  “Maybe she was here to find the map,” El said. “You know, the one everyone says is behind one of the paintings here.”

  “That was just a story they featured in some fly-by-night magazine for entertainment purposes. It’s not based on facts. One of the Butlers’ former employees probably sold the story to that tabloid. You can’t believe anything that someone was paid to say,” Sales said.

  Oh, forget the lawyer, I told myself, realizing that if I didn’t fess up, Sales would really think we had killed Mildred. “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and plunging ahead. “So, we came here to find out if one of the paintings of the Butler descendants was indeed missing.”

  “Stolen,” El corrected me.

  Sales rolled his eyes at our story.

  “I swear, we never came into the kitchen,” I blurted out. “We h
ad no idea that there was a dead body in here—least of all Mildred’s.”

  “She’s right,” El said. “We came in the front door using the key from the lock box and had only made it into the drawing room before you cops showed up.”

  “You triggered a silent alarm that alerted us,” Sales informed us. “The Butlers had to upgrade it since all this hoopla about a treasure map surfaced,” he added, peering at us sternly. “You should have known that you can’t just traipse in here like that. It’s breaking and entering.”

  “But we have a key, remember?”

  “I don’t care if you do. My guess is that you stole the key to that lock box from your daughter, Martha. There’s no way she’d just give it to you. She’s really trying to turn her life around.”

  “Spoken like a true son in-law,” I commented.

  Sales was married to my granddaughter, Sophia, Martha’s daughter, who was about to give birth to their first child. They had been married in a small ceremony after our last case.

  Sales continued to stand there with his hands on his hips. “Have you recently had any disagreements with Mildred?”

  I clammed up. Sure, we’d had an argument just last week at bingo, when she accused me of switching bingo cards with her while she was in the bathroom. “None that I recall,” I said. Truth was that I just didn’t want to give the trooper any ammo to use against me.

  “We’ll see about that one, but you are here, and that puts you on the suspect list—the both of you.”

  “Why me?” El said huffily. “Agnes is the one who can’t get along with Mildred, not me.”

  “You also know that I never went into the kitchen,” I insisted, glaring at my friend. “Are you trying to get me pegged for murder, Eleanor?”

  “Of course not. I was just saying—”

  “Saying too much, that’s what.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t have anything to say, and I don’t have any blood on me or on my clothing. If I had killed her, surely I’d have some trace evidence on me.”

  “Good point, Agnes,” El said.

  “I guess we’ll find that out later when we check both of your clothing at the jailhouse,” Sales said.

  I felt naked suddenly. “What will we wear then?”

  “An orange jail outfit.”

  “That won’t do. Orange is so not my color,” El spat. “And it’s not Agnes’s color, either.”

  Sales motioned a deputy forward, and we were frisked, causing a giggle to escape El’s lips. As the heavy cuff slapped closed over our wrists, I almost cried. This wasn’t like the other times we had been arrested. This time it was serious. How on earth would anyone believe that I’d kill Mildred? Sure, we had our differences, but murder? Not!

  We were led outside and placed into the back of Peterson’s cruiser. We traveled the ten minutes to the jail and were shuffled inside and into the processing area. After our fingerprints, mug shots, and strip search, we were each given an orange jumpsuit with the name Iosco County Jail printed on the breast pocket. We bypassed the holding cell and were taken to another cell farther into the building. Once we were locked into the small space, I stared at the two bunks, which didn’t look a bit comfy, and took in the toilet along the far wall.

  “What about our one phone call?” El asked.

  “Maybe they aren’t done questioning us, yet?”

  “I’m scared, Aggie. They really think we had something to do with Mildred’s death.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Who would kill Mildred like that? Sure, she’s annoying, but not worth offing.”

  “I agree, Agnes. It’s scary thinking someone would kill an old lady like that. I mean, how much of a fight could she have put up?” El frowned. “Do you think Mildred’s death was related to the recent theft of the painting?”

  “We don’t even know for sure if a painting was stolen.”

  “Foiled by the cops again. Story of our life,” El huffed.

  We sat together on the bottom bunk contemplating the matter and finally fell silent. Leaning against each other, we both eventually nodded off to sleep.

  ***

  We awoke the next morning to the sound of the metal door being swung open by a female guard. She led me from the cell, down a long corridor, and into a room that no doubt had a large two-way mirror. Centered in the room was a table with two chairs, a box of donuts, and a coffee pot. Seeing these ordinary items somehow made it all the more real to me. It felt like something you’d see on Criminal Minds. Even through my fear, I could hardly wait to see who was planning to question me. Would it be the good cop, Trooper Sales, or the bad cop, Sheriff Peterson? Not that Peterson was really a bad cop at all, though. We just only get along half the time, that’s all.

  Sheriff Peterson entered first, with Trooper Sales following. “Hello, Agnes,” Peterson greeted me. He poured me a cup of coffee and added vanilla creamer. “Just how you like it, right?”

  I nodded. “Are those donuts for me?”

  “Sure, have one.”

  I grabbed a glazed one and bit in. “This is great. I felt my blood sugar dropping.”

  “It can do that when you’re under stress, Agnes,” Trooper Sales said. “Or guilty of something.”

  “The only thing I’m guilty of is entering the Butler Mansion without permission. Since this is my first offense and I hadn’t stolen anything, you don’t have much on me. When my lawyer gets here, he’ll tell you so. By the way, I haven’t gotten my phone call yet.”

  Sales slapped his hand on the counter. “Just tell me why you did it,” he insisted.

  “I told you everything already. I had only just entered the Butler Mansion when you arrived. I never went into that kitchen until you took me there, and I certainly didn’t murder Mildred.”

  “You weren’t friends.”

  “Just because I don’t like someone and they were found dead doesn’t mean I did it. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one in town that Mildred hated. She’s not exactly the friendly type, you know.”

  “You’re right there, but you were there when her body was discovered. What did you hope to gain by Mildred’s death?”

  I had expected Sales to play “good cop.” I can’t believe he was the one grilling me. “It’s clear that you’re not listening, Sales. I’d like to call my lawyer now.”

  Sales leaned back in his chair with a creak. “I see. Lawyering up can be seen as an admission of guilt.”

  “If it were up to you, Sales, you’d have me in the electric chair.”

  “Oh, come now. Michigan doesn’t have the death penalty, and you know it.”

  “And to think you’re part of my family now.”

  “Don’t use that on me, Aggie. I have a job to do, and I plan to do it right.”

  “I know how you cops are. How you like to turn things around. Maybe you shouldn’t be so intent on pinning this on me and, instead, you should put your attention to finding the real killer. You can call Andrew Hart for me now.”

  Peterson nodded and picked up the phone on the wall, calling Andrew and explaining that I needed his legal expertise at the jail.

  I munched on donuts until he arrived.

  From the frown on Andrew’s handsome face when he walked into the room, it was obvious that Trooper Sales had brought him up to speed. I was ushered into a more private room, and before I even had a chance to say a word, Andrew lit into me. “What were you thinking, Aggie? This is a bit much, even for you. You know damn well you shouldn’t have set foot in that mansion!”

  “I didn’t see any harm in it. I had a key and figured nobody would be any the wiser.”

  “Except that Mildred’s cold, dead body was there.”

  “They can’t pin that on me. We simply have to prove she was dead long before El and I arrived.”

  “What time did you get there?”

  “I believe it was about seven p.m.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “Because I looked at my cell is how. I had just gotten off the p
hone with Sophia.”

  “That hardly proves anything, but they can bounce that off a cell tower to determine where you were … but what about earlier in the afternoon, like about five?”

  “El and I went to Fuzzy’s Ice Cream Shoppe, and we both had our hair done at Maxine’s Hair Hut in Tadium.” I smoothed my salt and pepper hair into place. El and I had both had a wash and set. “While we were under the drier, it was Maxine who told us about the treasure map hidden behind one of the paintings at the Butler Mansion. She even hinted that one of the paintings had been stolen, and that was all we needed. El and I felt compelled to check it out.” I looked at the lawyer, adding, “It’s awfully interesting, a treasure hidden right here in East Tawas, don’t you think?”

  Andrew frowned hard enough that a vein in his temple throbbed. “Not enough to perpetrate a breaking and entering. Look where all your snooping has gotten you—implicated in a murder!”

  I interlaced my fingers, not liking where this conversation was heading one bit. “I told you we weren’t—”

  “Look, I have told you in the past that, eventually, your investigating activities will land you into trouble. You and El were nearly killed in a few of your cases. Jesus, Agnes, when will it be enough for you? When are you planning to retire?”

  “Me retire? How about you?”

  He ran a shaky hand through his grey hair. “This isn’t about me, and my clients don’t put me in harm’s way. You, on the other hand—”

  “Hey, now, that’s not fair. I hadn’t meant for you to ever get hurt, but you know who I am and what I do. I thought you liked who I was as a person?”

  “I do like you. God, I love you, Aggie, but you need to stop doing this.”

  I massaged my hands as they began to ache. “El and I didn’t do this … That’s all I can tell you, but I hope you know that we need to investigate Mildred’s death now. How else are we gonna clear our names?”

  “Let the police handle it.”

  “If we do that, we’ll be in prison for sure. I don’t think my aching body could handle that.” I paused. “Are you going to help us or not?”