52 Steps to Murder by Steve Demaree Page B

me wearing tights.
    All those thoughts about skinny men, yogurt, and tofu were enough to make me reach in my pocket and pull out a candy bar. I munched a bite or two while we studied our first suspect of the morning. Lou followed suit with a new bag of M&Ms, even though it had been only fifteen minutes since we had devoured our breakfasts, puny as they were.
    As Mr. Hartley trotted down the steps of the last house and rushed to his vehicle, Lou and I opened our car doors and stepped out to talk with him.
    “Mr. Hartley?” I called out as we made our way across the street.
    A thin man of average height and straight, dishwater blond hair turned to face us.
    “That’s right.”
    “Mr. Hartley, I’m Lt. Dekker and this is Sgt. Murdock. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    As we reached the postman I showed him my identification.
    “Let me see that, again. I’ve never known a cop to drive something like that,” Mr. Hartley said as he pointed toward Lightning.
    I held my identification closer, so he could see it.
    “You’re right, there, Mr. Hartley. Far too few law enforcement officers take pride in what they drive.”
    I could see Mr. Hartley felt he had more important things to do than talk about modes of transportation. He hurried things along with a question.
    “Is this about Mrs. Nelson’s murder?”
    “That’s right, Mr. Hartley. How did you know?”
    “Well, I saw in the newspaper where she was murdered. I can’t believe it, and to think I saw her only Saturday morning,” Mr. Hartley replied with sadness in his voice.
    “Tell us about that, Mr. Hartley.”
    “Well, a few days before I’d gotten a notice to restart her mail delivery. I assumed that meant that she’d gotten out of the hospital and was back at home. I’d been meaning to stop to see how she was doing. I decided to do just that Saturday morning when I saw the front door to her house standing open. I stepped into the house and called out. Since the door was open, I knew someone else was there with her. In a few minutes Miss Penrod, Mrs. Nelson’s next-door neighbor, came down the stairs.”
    “So did you see Mrs. Nelson that morning?”
    “I did. The poor thing. She looked in terrible shape. I told her I hoped she’d be doing better soon and handed her her mail.”
    “What else can you tell me about Mrs. Nelson? For instance, did she seem alert when you talked to her, or was she sleepy?”
    “She didn’t have much strength, but she was wide awake. Is that what you mean, Lieutenant?”
    “Anything else you can think of?”
    “Nothing comes to mind. Sorry.”
    “That’s okay, Mr. Hartley. After you handed Mrs. Nelson her mail, did you leave right away?”
    “No, I talked to Miss Penrod a few minutes, asked her how she was doing and if she would like for me to give her her mail or put it in her box. Then I left.”
    “How was Miss Penrod?”
    “About like always.”
    “And how is that?’
    “Nice, but businesslike.”
    “And did Miss Penrod take her mail?”
    “No, she told me that if it was all right with me she preferred that I put it in the mailbox.”
    “So, you left before Miss Penrod left. Is that correct?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Mr. Hartley, do you by any chance have a key to Mrs. Nelson’s house?”
    “I do. Several people have keys to Mrs. Nelson’s house.”
    “And why did you have a key?”
    “Well, I’d always check Mrs. Nelson’s mail to see if there appeared to be anything important. If so, I’d ring the bell.”
    “And did Mrs. Nelson answer the door when you rang the bell?”
    “Sometimes she did, but many mornings I’d find her eating breakfast on her sun porch as she looked out the window and watched the birds do the same thing. Before she fell, she was in pretty good shape for her age. What time she got up depended on how she felt on a particular day. Some days old people feel old. If she was still in bed, she’d buzz me in. She’d do the same thing if she was in the back on the