Short Story Fiction, Inspector Pascal Mysteries 1000 #8

Precisely 1000-word Fiction Mystery-Adventures of Inspector Pascal

                              INSPECTOR PASCAL MYSTERIES 1000
                                           # 8 A Beautiful Cup ©2016 T.K. Naliaka

    “Inspector Pascal!”
    He glanced away from his monitoring of the knot of officers and forensics experts conferring inside the ramshackle old farmhouse, “Yes?”
    “Sgt. Braque is asking for you!”
    Big and broad-shouldered, Braque was squatting by the edge of the silage pit.  He straightened.  “Sir, it’s far worse than anyone thought.” He grimaced. “There are more than a couple of bodies – a lot more. That, this decrepit property… everyone’s uneasy.”
    “Sergeant, the deceased owner was 102 years old.  Mrs. Deveraux simply wasn’t physically able to keep up the property after her husband died. They’re wasting their time focusing on her.”  After they hiked together back up the short path to the stable, Pascal stopped to pivot slowly to see what he could of the three adjacent properties. “It must be someone close by - who knows this place very, very well.”
    Fifteen minutes later, Pascal halted discreetly by the driveway of the neighboring house a quarter-mile away.  From where he stood at that vantage point, the property line was obvious. Overgrown with hedgerow and tall grasses, vines and dead trees, the Deveraux ten-acre parcel seemed an abandoned wilderness alongside the eight-acre perfectly manicured grounds in front of him.  The neighbor’s brick rambler was immaculate, no shutters hanging by one hinge, no weeds, not a blade of grass out of place.  Neat flower beds bloomed with summer flowers.
    Sgt. Braque phoned him. “I got the property records you asked for.”
    Pascal listened, then he said, “Please ask Inspector Schmidt to get over here.”
    Five minutes later, Schmidt drove in and parked.  The front door opened and a brunette woman of about fifty, dressed in a floral shirt over mid-calf pants and sandals came out of the house. “Can I help you?”
    Schmidt showed her his badge. “We’re investigating a problem next door to you.”
    “Oh my, we’ve been very curious! There are so many police cars over there today!  Is everything all right?”
    Pascal noticed a solidly-built man of about sixty standing just inside the house, watching them as Schmidt replied. “I’m afraid not, Madame.”
    “I’m Lil Park and that’s my husband Raymond. Would you like to come in?  We were just sitting down for some tea.” She called him. “Raymond, this is Inspector Schmidt with the police department!  There’s a problem at Mrs. Deveraux’s property and they’d like to speak with us!” She waved apologetically. “You know men; he’s just not a big talker!”
    Raymond sat in a corner chair to watch them as they sat on the couch.  She emerged from the kitchen with a large tray.  She set a gold-rimmed china cup and saucers in front of them, each with its own small pitcher of milk, sugar bowl and a silver spoon.  Pascal raised his cup to inspect the intricate blue, white and gold design and the Korean manufacturer’s stamp on the bottom. “This is a beautiful tea set.”
    She smiled. “Why thank you! I was raised to always give our guests the best we have.”
    Pascal turned the cup in his hands thoughtfully as Schmidt pulled out his pad. “Mrs. Park, I need to ask you some questions - whether you’ve seen anything unusual.   Strangers passing through, that sort of thing.”
    “It’s very quiet here so we don’t usually see anybody.” She added. "That widow Deveraux, she’s a bit strange you know, so we keep to ourselves.”
    Schmidt clarified. “She’s deceased.”
    “Oh!  How sad!”  She indicated Pascal’s empty cup. “Can I pour some tea for you?”
    The doorbell rang.  After a long moment, Pascal asked. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
    She shrugged. “It’s probably just another pesky salesman.  Does our house look like it needs a new roof?”
    Pascal set the cup down and stood up. “I’m expecting a document.”
    “Oh!”  She rose quickly to shadow him to the front door.  Outside, Braque was waiting.
    Pascal took the folded paper from him and tucked it into his suit pocket. “Thank you Sergeant. We won’t be long.  Wait for us outside.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    As she escorted him back to the others, Pascal paused and asked. “You’re traveling soon?”
    She pulled the bedroom door shut. “N-no… just tidying up.”  She smiled. “I didn’t catch your name?”
    “Inspector Pascal.”
    “Oh!  You’re an Inspector… also!”
    Pascal sat down; noticing that Raymond’s intense gaze had shifted from Schmidt to fix on him, then to the window whenever there was a glimpse of any of the three police officers outside, then unwaveringly back to him, as if Schmidt wasn’t even there conducting an interview.
    Ten minutes later, greatly relieved to be back outside in the driveway, Pascal sternly stopped Schmidt. “The woman is lying.”
    “Her?  She’s cookies, tea, gardening and crochet.” Schmidt gestured dismissively.  “Look at this place; this is hardly the lair of a crazed mass-murderer.”
    “Harmless… so you drank her tea.  How many others did too… and regretted it?” 
    Schmidt paled. “They wouldn’t dare.”
    Pascal agreed, “Never with witnesses.”
    Schmidt pulled Pascal aside. “You know I need more than that to go on!” 
    “They’ve packed a room-full of suitcases; they’re in a hurry to leave. They’ll disappear and set up somewhere else!”
    “But, there’s absolutely nothing on them, no police records…”
    Pascal unfolded his paper and held it up. “Does either of these two people look familiar?”
    “No.”
    Pascal raised an eyebrow. “But, we were just talking with them.”
    Schmidt quickly took the paper.  He peered at the copy of two drivers’ licenses, then read the home address on both, then the house number in front of them, “Rae and Lily Park... Korean!”  He gasped, “Stolen identities!”
    “Yes, I think we have two very, very cunning and dangerous people who kill and have been killing for a long time.  I shudder to consider the fate of that Korean couple who owned this place.”  Pascal shook his head grimly. “They needed widow Deveraux; as long as she was alive, her ramshackle property was cover for them.  The stolen home was the perfect trap; outside beautiful, but with treachery and wickedness inside.”
                                                           ©2016 T.K. Naliaka All rights reserved