The Hunter House Tour

Snyder and Croft nodded as they wrote their notes.

“Smitty, you and I are going up to the Sanders place. Carl, talk to any of the neighbors around the scene that we didn’t get yesterday. Did they see anything. See if any of them know what Sanders’ schedule was. Did he come and go at regular intervals, that kind of thing.”

The meeting wound down with small talk and when the topics became far removed from the investigation, members of the group dismissed themselves one by one.

Eric and Sherrie sat drinking coffee in the dining room.

“Well, if I can get up out of this seat I might go for a short ride,” Eric said. “Care to join me?”

“Where to?”

“I think I’m going to head up towards the Sanders place and see if I can catch Mrs. Sanders. I’ll use the excuse that I just wanted to extend my condolences. But, I can’t stop thinking about what that mailman told us. I wonder if she even knew about that stuff?”

“You’re assuming she’s not too distraught over this whole thing,” Sherrie said.

“Well, if she is we’ll leave her alone…for now. You coming?”

“Sure, I enjoy watching you make an ass out of yourself.”

They changed and met at the back of The Hunter House. They filled their water bottles in the kitchen, each of them grabbing an apple from the morning’s fruit bowl. Within minutes they were heading north out of Clearview on another beautiful summer morning.

When the last of the village’s old homes was behind them, they again found themselves in the rolling farmland. A church bell rang faintly in the distance, followed by the general silence of the countryside. Cows grazing behind wire fences raised their heads indifferently as the two riders went past. The cyclists could feel heat radiating from the chest high fields of corn even this early in the day.

They topped the hill that once held the body of John Sanders. A patrol car containing a lone officer sat the side of the road blocking the entrance to the sealed off dirt path. They waved as they passed and rolled down the other side of the hill, the wind whistling through their helmets as they gained speed.

Sherrie pulled up beside Eric. “OK, genius. Any idea where you’re going now?”

“The first road that goes to the right has to be ours…I think,” he said.

The road appeared when they crested the next small hill about a quarter of a mile later. They turned onto the tar and chip surfaced road, past a small section of woods and over an almost dried up stream. To their right were acres of open pastures. The small stream wound its way like a snake between the gentle rolls of the land. On the left were thick woods—the thickest they had seen in this area.

They rode almost half a mile before they saw a large ranch style home on top of one of the many swells on the right side of the road. The bright green grass surrounding the house stuck out noticeably among the brown fields. As they approached the house, Eric and Sherry saw a lone figure in the driveway.

Judy Sanders didn’t sleep much Saturday night. The image of John’s face on that table at the morgue when they had asked her to positively identify him wouldn’t leave her mind. The sheriff’s questioning had sickened her. Now, John’s things were everywhere. She lay in bed at three in the morning thinking she should have accepted her sister’s invitation to stay with her in Cincinnati.

She woke up a few minutes past eight when Kelly, a beagle now without his master, made it known he wanted out. Judy Sanders had tried to fall back asleep, but it was useless. Too many things on her mind. The funeral. The investigation. The face.

By nine o’clock she had showered, put on an old pair of shorts and one of her favorite shirts and was sitting at the kitchen table trying to eat. She found herself staring out the window, across the vast open fields. Her mind was racing, but on too many things to concentrate on any one thing.

She got up, dumped out a half cup of cold coffee and refilled the cup. She moved to the family room and switched on the TV. Channels flashed by as she searched aimlessly for something to occupy her mind. After settling on an old movie, she laid on her side on the couch. Her eyes moved up to the fireplace mantel containing pictures of her and John, John and Kelly, John…

She closed her eyes to keep from crying. Judy Sanders didn’t know why she didn’t want to cry, but she didn’t. Who was she trying to impress, she thought. She had cried in front of the sheriff. People would probably tell her it was better to let it out.

What people? She didn’t have anyone left. Forty-five years old without a friend she could call close. Certainly not in this god-forsaken bit of country. She thought when she agreed to let John buy the land and build the house that it would be good for him; that it would allow him to get away from the pressure of his job in Columbus. It worked wonders for him, she thought, and had nearly driven her crazy. The people were boring, low-class, and didn’t know the first thing about fashion jewelry, let alone have the money to buy any.

Now this. She put her head in a pillow and cried herself to sleep.

She awoke to the sound of Kelly barking. When he didn’t stop after a couple minutes, Judy went through the kitchen to the door leading to the garage and, in her bare feet, out to the side of the garage where he was tied.

She knelt down. “What’s the matter, Kelly? Your chain caught again?”

The dog came to her panting, then just as quickly moved away from her the ten feet his chain would allow towards the road. Kelly barked again and Judy followed his line of sight to the road. Two bikes slowly rolled up the hill to the end of the driveway. She could see the cyclists talk to each other for an instant, then stop. The man had stopped his bike completely and had one foot on the ground. The female rolled past him slowly and, looking back at the man, turned into the driveway. The two cyclists coasted down the driveway, with Kelly getting more excited by the minute.

“It’s OK, Kelly,” she said, petting his side.

Eric and Sherrie stopped a few feet in front of the woman and her dog and got off their bikes.

“Excuse me,” Eric said hesitantly, “but, is this the Sanders residence?”

“Yes,” Judy answered.

Eric and Sherrie took off their helmets. Eric used the back of his gloved hand to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.

“My name is Eric James and this is Sherrie Carlyle. Are you Mrs. Sanders?”

“Yes,” Judy said again. “Judy Sanders.”

“Well,” Eric hesitated. “We wanted to express our regrets over the death of your husband.”

“You’re the two who found him, aren’t you?” Judy asked.

Eric and Sherrie nodded without speaking, their eyes dropping to the ground and back to Judy.

She smiled. “Thanks for coming over. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Is there anything we can get you or do for you?” Sherrie asked.

Judy looked down at Kelly. “You know what,” Judy said, looking back up at Eric and Sherrie. “You can come in and talk for a while, can’t you? I would like that more than anything right now.”

“Sure,” Eric said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

Judy led them through the garage and into the house, apologizing as they went for what she considered messes in the garage and kitchen. The aroma of coffee filled the large kitchen and eating area.

“How about something to drink. Coffee or something cold?” Judy asked.

“Coffee for me,” Eric said. “Same here,” Sherrie added.

Eric and Sherrie sat at the rectangular table at the far end of the kitchen. It was separated from the family room by a low wall and ornate wooden railings that extended to the ceiling. Both visitors found themselves looking out the large bay window into the expanses that was the Sanders’ back yard.

Judy Sanders opened a cabinet to pull down two cups. She was an attractive, short woman, with long reddish-brown hair. Not a natural color, Sherrie thought. Her shirt was untucked and nearly covered her shorts.

“Are you from around here?” Judy asked, putting the cups, cream, sugar and silverware on the table.

“Columbus,” Sherrie said. “Both of us.”

“Did you ride all the way down here this morning?”

“No, we’re staying in Clearview at The Hunter House.”

“Oh. That’s nice. Has Mrs. Hunter talked your ears off, yet?”

Eric laughed. “As long as she keeps cooking, we can put up with it.”

Judy poured each of them coffee and sat down at the table. “I doubt if she has a very high regard for me. I really don’t try to associate with those people much. They’re nosy and don’t present much of a market for my jewelry. I make jewelry, but sell most of it in Columbus.”

“Mrs. Hunter said it is nice jewelry,” Sherrie said smiling. “Not that she would buy it, but that it was nice.”

“Well, I told John that if we were going to move down here to the middle of nowhere I wanted to be able to continue making and selling my stuff. He converted one of the bedrooms into a workroom for me.”

“I’d like to see some of your work before we leave,” Sherrie said.

“I’d love to show you.”

“What did your husband do to keep busy, if I may ask,” Eric said.

“Oh, he took a lot of walks around the countryside. Mainly, he was interested in buying some more land down here, so he would walk or drive around and look for the best deals. He would drive up to Sherman and talk to real estate agents or go to the courthouse and look at land records. It was his way of trying to secure our future, I guess.”

“Do you have children?” Sherrie asked.

“No,” Judy sighed. “John had a son from his first marriage. Chris. He’s in the Navy.”

“Did your husband and his son get along?” Eric asked.

Judy hesitated. “Well, John never really tried to stay in touch with him much. Tina, his first wife, would send John letters from Chris about once a month, but I don’t think John ever read any of them. I think he stacked them up in his closet, as if he was going to get to them someday. But....”

Eric nodded at Sherrie while Judy looked out the window.

Eric said, “What can you tell me about this Bill Steadman.”

Judy snapped her head around sharply and looked at Eric. “Word travels fast down here, doesn’t it. My husband got a lot of pleasure out of making Steadman miserable. I used to think Bill Steadman was a harmless old fart. The longer we were here, though, the more I began to believe that maybe old Steadman wasn’t so stupid after all. People who knew him better would tell me he was looking for land, just like John. The difference was Steadman didn’t have the same means my husband had.”

“Was your husband looking to buy any of Steadman’s land?” Eric asked.

“I don’t think so,” Judy said with some doubt in her voice. “Not that I know of.”

“Were there ever any threats between them?” Sherrie asked while filling all three coffee cups.

“Oh, no,” Judy said. A small smile crossed her face. “I used to think they were like two little kids sometimes.”

Kelly could be heard whimpering in the garage, and Judy excused herself to get the dog. She returned seconds later and followed the animal towards the table. When the two guests had both petted Kelly to his satisfaction, he sat at Judy Sanders’ feet.

Judy broke the momentary silence. “What do you two make of our sheriff?”

Eric and Sherrie looked at each other and shrugged.

“He seems awfully young,” Eric finally said. “But I thought he knew what he was doing around...well, the crime scene.”

“Do you think he can solve this?” Judy asked.

“Oh, it’s way too early to say that,” Eric said with emphasis. “I mean, we’ve only talked to him once.”

“I know. But you don’t realize how frustrating it is not knowing what happened,” Judy said, holding back tears. “I’m not a vindictive person, but I have to know what happened to...to finalize it, I guess.”

“Well, if it helps any, one of the reasons I decided to stick around a few days was to try to figure some things out myself,” Eric said. “I’m not a professional, but if you want the help and are willing to confide in me, I think we might get somewhere.”

Judy’s face brightened for the first time since Eric and Sherrie had arrived. “You’re on. Just tell me what you need.”

“How about if we look at those letters from your step-son first,” Eric suggested.

Chapter 8

Judy Sanders walked into the kitchen carrying a large box filled with brown manila envelopes. She laid the box on the table in front of Eric and Sherrie and sat down, Kelly at her heels.

Eric peered down into the box and guessed there were fifteen or twenty envelopes, all with the same neat, feminine handwriting on them. He turned the top one over. Then the next. And the next. None of them were opened.

“Do you mind?” Eric asked, looking up at Judy.

“Not at all. But I can’t imagine what help they could possibly be.”

Eric looked at the postmarks on the top three envelopes and decided they were, in fact, simply piled one on top of the other as they were received. He took a knife from the table and cut open the top envelope.

Inside were four white envelopes. As Eric pulled out the four letters, Sherrie leaned closer with anticipation. Judy Sanders looked on with an apparent lack of interest.

The envelopes were addressed to Tina Sanders in a north side Columbus suburb.

“She kept your husband’s name?” Sherrie asked Judy.

“That’s what I’ve heard. She always was...different,” Judy said with particular emphasis on the last word.

Eric spread the letters on the table and noted the regularity of the postmarks. One letter a week. Every week. He began to open one of the letters, but Sherrie put her hand over Eric’s to stop him.

“Judy, can we take these with us back to The Hunter House?” Sherrie said softly.

“Of course. But why? There can’t be anything in them of interest to you.”

“Probably not,” Eric interjected. “But it couldn’t hurt. If you put them all in a bag of some sort, I can strap them on my bike rack.”

Judy got up to get the bag and Sherrie signaled with a nod of her head that she and Eric should leave. Eric acknowledged the sign and pulled the remainder of the envelopes out of the box.

Judy returned with a large plastic trash bag and Eric shoved the envelopes in.

Sherrie got up from the table. “Listen, Judy, we should be getting back. This was very nice of you,” she said. “We’re sorry about your husband. If there’s anything we can do in the next couple days, call us.”

“I’ll look at these for a few days and see if there’s anything there,” Eric said. “We’ll bring them back as soon as we can.”

“OK,” Judy said. “Thanks for coming up. Anything you can do would be appreciated. I’m leaving it up to the sheriff at this point, I guess.” She didn’t sound particularly hopeful.

Eric and Sherrie each patted Kelly as Judy let them out through the garage. Eric attached the bundle of envelopes to his bike rack and the two cyclists waved back at Judy Sanders as they rode up the driveway.