Only Time Will Tell

“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo.”

“Shut that bird up!” Felix shouted.

“You love that old clock,” Leona said.

“No, you love that clock, I wanted to burn it for firewood years ago,” Felix muttered.

“But you love me, and I love that clock,” Leona said.

“Well, it’s going to be the death of me one of these days, it startles me every time it strikes the hour, not to mention goes on and on longer the later it gets,” he said.

“They’ll be here in an hour; do you think you can put yourself in a better mood darling?” she asked.

“I still don’t know why you insist on doing this every year, I’m getting too old for these meetings,” he said.

“These people are your biggest fans, they love your work, they want to hear what you have to say, that’s rare these days when even I get tired of listening to you, you should learn to appreciate them,” she said. She stopped at the door, “and my dear old clock.”

Every year Felix Thurman had hosted a writer’s retreat for emerging young writers in his home. He chose four to come spend the weekend at his mansion with he and his wife. He himself had been very successful as a novelist, and many young writers vied for a chance to come and be mentored for a few days. It wasn’t planned but every year he seemed to pick a favorite to take under his wing and help along with their careers. Even being mentioned by Felix Thurman was as good as a Pulitzer in the literary world. Every year they had fun even if he was a grouchy old man. He threatened to quit doing it every year before they came. And every year when they left on Sunday evening he hated to see them go. Leona always helped as much as she could to make the weekend run smooth. They also had a lot of help from their nurse, Harvey. He’d been with them for twenty years, he felt like a son to both of them.

“I got the fireworks ready for tonight,” Harvey said bringing bags of groceries into the kitchen just before four o'clock, where Felix was having tea before anyone arrived.

“Bah, those loud things,” Felix groaned.

Harvey laughed, “you can stay inside with Leona if you don’t like them.”

“No, that’s alright I’ll go,” Felix said. Leona hadn’t gone down to the lake with them to watch the fireworks for five years. Six years ago, she fell and broke her hip, so walking very far was hard on her. At five til four exactly, his guests started to arrive. First was a man named Carmine Shad who wrote historical fiction. Second was a woman named Wren Alden, who wrote whodunit mystery novels. Felix had never had a whodunit writer at his retreat before because most in the literary world didn’t take them seriously. Felix thought it was probably time for it, Agatha Christie having sold more novels than anyone else and all.

The next two arrived together, a man and a woman, they were friends, MFA graduates who wrote really well but also wrote like the overly educated. They were up and comers and everyone expected Felix to pick them for the retreat. He hadn’t actually wanted to but couldn’t find anyone else that interested him. Their names were Robert Alec and CeeCee Rowen.

********

Wren Alden pulled up in the circular driveway in her pea green Volkswagen beetle right behind a very old pickup truck. It made her feel a lot better seeing someone at a writing retreat not in a Mercedes or Cadillac. She got out of her car a few moments after the driver of the pickup. He was tall and mildly handsome with salt and pepper hair. Odd since he looked young for it. He grabbed an old ratty backpack out of his truck and slung it over his shoulder.

He looked back at her, she was trying to pull her giant duffel bag out of her trunk, he smiled, “need some help?”

“Please,” she breathed, finally letting it go. It was wedged between boxes in her trunk that had fallen around while she drove, crushing the duffle bag, trapping it.

“Just move the boxes,” he grunted pushing one aside, “geez lady, do you live in here?” he looked at her and she looked at the ground, he shook his head, “oh… sorry.”

“No, no, that’s okay, I’m just between houses at the moment,” she sighed. He introduced himself as Carmine, then helped her with her bag and they went inside. Then the other two showed up. What a pair. CeeCee and Robert. They had pulled up in a Mercedes, together. They weren’t together-together but they were friends who had gone to Harvard at the same time.

They walked inside and Wren was so fascinated by the large house that she wandered into the wrong room. A cuckoo clock chimed four times for the hour and popped out scaring her so much that she screamed.

Behind her, a man laughed, “oh that old thing, I forget it’s there sometimes I’m so used to it now that I don’t even hear it, come on in and meet the family.”

She looked at the little yellow bird, “it’s cute.” Then she followed his lead.

That man was named Harvey, he introduced her to Leona, and finally, the master author, her inspiration, Mr. Felix Thurman. He was a curmudgeon, but she hadn’t expected anything else. He saved all his beautiful words for the page. They all got along as well as someone would expect people who had wildly different tastes in books to get along. Which is to say, not really at all. Carmine was almost alright. The other two were snobs, there was no polite way to put it. Felix was a grouch but somehow kind, Leona was an angel and so was her nurse Harvey, who behaved like a butler, serving everyone for no good reason other than the kindness of his heart. Dinner was fabulous, the talk was heated but that was nice because it meant they were all passionate. Then most of them were sent down behind the house to a lake to watch fireworks. Felix complained all the way to the lake, it was worse because his wife had suffered a broken hip a few years prior and couldn’t make it down with them. She stayed behind with Harvey to watch from the window.

They found an array of personal fireworks to play with, Wren had some fun with Carmine. They had sparklers, bottle rockets and firecrackers. They watched the big display that was happening across the lake. What fireworks had to do with writing, Wren did not know. But it was pretty. After that was done, they slowly made their way back to the house where Harvey served them drinks in the living room. He had already taken Leona upstairs to bed.

“It smells like bleach in here,” Robert complained.

“I’m sorry, I cleaned in here earlier today,” Harvey said, Robert just sneered and took a drink from him. Drinks flowed and so did conversation, even if it wasn’t all friendly. Robert seemed to hate Felix despite agreeing to come to the retreat. Maybe it was jealousy? Felix was probably the most successful author alive.

Carmine got irritated at one point and got up and left the room. A few moments later a bang from upstairs caused everyone to jump. Wren spilled her drink. They looked at one another then took off toward the sound. Wren looked at the clock to mark the time, one thirty a.m.

They ran up the steps by twos except for Felix who was slower because of his age. They got into the bedroom and CeeCee screamed covering her mouth. The others also made noises of alarm. Leona was laying on the bed with a gun in her hand and blood covering half of her face.

“Oh no, no, no,” Harvey went to his knees crying. Felix leaned on the door frame, maybe to keep from fainting. But he didn’t make a sound or even open his mouth. Wren hadn’t noticed if he’d made one when they first came in because he was behind them all.

“It’s a suicide,” CeeCee said.

“It has to be, we were all in the living room,” Robert nodded.

“Not Carmine,” Wren said, “but I saw him coming from the kitchen.”

“You’re right he had left the room right before we heard the gun,” CeeCee said.

“I was in the kitchen,” Carmine came in the room squeezing in past Felix, he didn’t seem surprised to see a dead body though.

“So, it couldn’t have been murder,” CeeCee said.

Wren walked over to the bed; something didn’t look right.

“What are you doing? Get away from there,” Robert said.

The blood looked wrong, old, she placed the back of her hand on the barrel, “it’s cold.”

“This room is chilly,” Carmine said.

“Yea and good job getting your fingerprints on the gun,” CeeCee scoffed.

“I laid the back of my hand on the barrel; you ever see someone pull a trigger like that?” Wren asked. CeeCee stayed silent.

“Oh, my poor Leona, she was like a mother to me,” Harvey sobbed. Felix stood by the door staring silently, there was not one tear on his cheeks nor in his eyes. Maybe he was in shock? Wren looked around the room. There were long thick candles everywhere, by the window was one shorter than the rest, that had just gone out, it was still smoking. She looked at all the other candles, none had ever seen a flame. Why light just one candle?

“That candle is smoking; how did it go out?” Wren asked.

“Probably blew out when we all rushed in here, swinging the door open,” Carmine said.

“Oh, she loved her soy wax candles,” Harvey ran to the smoking candle, grabbed it and hugged it.

“Soy wax, how long are they, like in inches?” Wren asked.

“Oh, for crying out loud, who cares? A woman is dead and you’re asking about the length of a candle?” CeeCee shouted.

“They look like they’re about ten inches,” Carmine said.

“Never trust a man about the number of inches,” Wren muttered to herself, they were more likely about eight.

“Let’s get out of here and let the police handle this, I think we should get Felix some tea,” Robert said. But Harvey seemed more upset than Felix did. They all filed out of the room. Wren grabbed an unused candle and held it behind her back as she followed the rest of them. She placed it behind a random vase in the hall to come back for later. She wanted to measure it.

The police came and went, ruling it a suicide. CeeCee told everyone she told them so, but no one seemed to hear her. Everyone was watching Felix, who hadn’t said a word since they’d found her body.

“If it was a murder, Carmine was the only one not in the living room, but he didn’t come in the bedroom until after us and Wren said she saw him in the kitchen,” Felix said after a long silence. Everyone was sitting around the table watching cups of tea get cold.

“She’s the only one that saw him though, why do we believe her? Maybe they are in on it together,” Robert said.

“No one had time to get up there. Carmine had just left the room. He couldn’t have done it; it was suicide we all know that. Why are we still here? Let’s just leave,” CeeCee whined.

“You’re wanting to leave awfully bad, that’s kind of suspicious,” Carmine said.

“I was right in front of all of you when we heard the gunshot,” CeeCee shouted.

“Not me,” Carmine shrugged.

“Yea because you were the only one not in the room,” CeeCee retorted.

“Stop this, all of you, I’m trying to think,” Wren said, chewing her thumbnail.

“Think about what? It was suicide, the police even said so,” CeeCee said.

“The gun was cold, and that candle,” Wren muttered.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake shut up about the candle,” CeeCee scoffed.

“I think it would be best if we all go to bed, get some rest and maybe things will seem clearer in the morning,” Felix said.

“Sleep here? With a murderer?” Carmine asked.

“It was a suicide, but I don’t want to stay here either.” CeeCee said.

“Soy wax candle,” Wren muttered.

“Ugh fine I just need to get away from her,” CeeCee threw up her arms.

They all chose rooms, but Wren couldn’t sleep she stared at the ceiling muttering, “no smoking gun, but a smoking candle” and “eight-inch soy wax candle” over and over. She had measured it. The next day they all wandered around the house; everyone was scared to leave first because it would look suspicious, after dinner they sat in the living room. Finally, Wren addressed it.

“No one can leave until we figure this out,” she said.

“We were all downstairs when she was shot,” Robert said. Wren didn’t respond, so they all sat there staring at each other. Harvey left the room in tears. The pressure was getting to him.

“Look what you did. Isn’t it bad enough? She was like a mother to him,” CeeCee said.

“Yes, and Felix is like his father isn’t that what you said?” Wren asked. Felix nodded.

“This isn’t one of your mystery stories. A real woman is dead, real people are hurting, no one else came in here last night, we would have heard them. She was just sick, she was old and didn’t want to get older,” CeeCee said.

“Is that it Felix? You knew her best; would she have left like that?” Wren asked him.

“No, no she wouldn’t have, you all should stay,” Felix said watching Wren curiously.

“You’re manipulating a grieving old man, no one wants to believe someone they love would do that to themselves,” CeeCee shouted and jumped up like she was going to attack Wren.

“SIT DOWN! I said stay, we listen to Wren until morning at least,” Felix said. CeeCee relented but left the room instead of sitting. Robert and Carmine got up to leave too.

“Make yourselves at home, but don’t leave the property,” Felix said, looking at Wren who nodded that it was the best call. The two of them sat there silently for a long time, Harvey brought them tea and left again.

“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,” the clock said, twelve times, midnight, it had been thirty-two hours since they’d arrived. Twenty-two and a half since Leona had been murdered. Or had it?

Wren had been watching it, the bird, it was light yellow the day before but now it had a big dark spot on its back. She stood up and walked over to it, examining the face of the clock. She opened the glass front panel and moved the hands back to midnight. It struck twelve and the bird shot out again almost hitting her in the face.

“What’d you do that for? Now it’s going to holler twelve times again, it’s driving me insane,” Felix said.

She ignored him and examined the bird as it “hollered” twelve times, now covered in blood.

“The murder didn’t happen upstairs, and it didn’t happen at one thirty in the morning,” she said.

“We heard the gunshot upstairs and at one thirty, we all heard it at the same time,” he said.

“Did we? Or did we all just hear a loud noise?” Wren asked. She continued, “Last night at eleven o’clock all of us were outside except for Harvey and your wife. They were inside, alone,” she said.

“He said she had asked him to help her to bed, like every night, like clockwork at eleven,” he said.

“Yes, exactly like clockwork,” she smiled.

She called the police and then called everyone into the living room, but Harvey was nowhere to be found, just as she had expected.

“What is it?” Cee asked.

“Last night during the fireworks, Leona stayed inside just like she has every year since she broke her hip six years ago, when we got back inside Harvey had taken her to her room to sleep at eleven just like every other night. Felix stayed up talking to us, like he does every year while Harvey brought us drinks, Harvey was standing right in this room with all of us besides Carmine who had just left the room to go to the kitchen, when we heard the “gunshot”. We ran up together and found her in bed, gunshot to the head, gun in her hand. But that’s not exactly what happened.”

“It’s not?” Carmine asked.

“No, Harvey killed her while we were down at the lake. He set up the fireworks display, he knew how long we’d be gone. And that the fireworks would drown out the sound of the real gunshot, the one at eleven o’clock when he shot her, he took her body up to bed put the gun in her hand, came back and cleaned this whole room… remember Robert saying it smelled like bleach when we got back from the lake? Harvey said he’d cleaned earlier in the day, but it didn’t smell like that until after we went to the lake. He cleaned the room spotless, but he forgot one little thing,” she pointed to the clock, “at eleven the bird was out cuckooing eleven times, this is when he shot her, splattering blood onto the bird. In his hurry to get her upstairs and clean the room before we got back, and because it was done cuckooing and back inside the clock, he didn’t even think to look, he was so used to hearing it that he didn’t even notice it was out while he was shooting her, everyone else here noticed when it cuckooed even you Felix, everyone except Harvey and your wife complained about the noise, he even said yesterday it didn’t bother him anymore because he was used to it.”

“Well, I’ll be, I always hated that clock, but she loved it, now it has brought her justice, but why would Harvey do that?” Felix asked.

“Your will, she was your only living relative. If she’s gone, he’s the only person who you might leave everything too, especially after him being there for you as you grieve for your wife,” she said.

“Wait, what about the gunshot at one-thirty?” Robert asked.

“The candle, when we went up to her room I touched the gun, remember? It was cool, it had been two and a half hours since it had been shot, the same amount of time it would take a candle that’s eight inches to burn down to the wick of a firecracker that’s three inches long, the smoking candle in the room.”

“How do you know how long it takes a candle to burn?” CeeCee asked with a scoff.

“I did research on soy wax for one of my books, soy wax burns an average of thirty minutes per inch, that means five inches in two and a half hours. The firecrackers we were playing with outside were three inches. The unlit candles in Leona’s room were all eight inches long. He timed it so he would be standing in front of all of us when the firecracker went off, I couldn’t figure out why someone would light only one candle or why the gun was cold, or who did it, not until I saw the blood on the cuckoo clock, that’s when I pieced it all together, that it happened in here, and that it happened when the cuckoo was cuckooing for a while, eleven times, while all of us were gone except for Harvey and Leona.”

“Oh, it is just so awful,” Felix sobbed, finally crying. Wren went over to try and comfort him.

The police showed up outside, just before Harvey came in the room.

“What’s going on? Why are the police back?” Harvey asked.

“Because you murdered Leona Thurman,” Wren said.

“How’d you know?” Harvey asked seemingly giving up.

“Let’s just say a little bird told me,” Wren said.