Gayle Trent (10 page)

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. This is just an informal conversation.” He cleared his throat. “How long have you known Jim Adams?”

“Ah, goin’ on a couple weeks. How ‘bout you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How long have you known Jim?”

“I met Mr. Adams when his wife disappeared.”

“You know,” I said, leaning forward, “I read about that. How long had Flora been missing when Jim called you?”

“That’s just it—he didn’t. One of our officers found an abandoned car with Mrs. Adams’ purse inside. It looked suspicious, so we began to investigate.”

“What did Jim say when you told him you’d found Flora’s car?”

Sheriff Norville frowned. “Who’s asking the questions here?”

I lifted one shoulder. “You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know. Maybe together we can solve this thing.”

“Mrs. Crumb, I’m not about to compromise my investigation.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I just asked how Jim acted when you told him you’d found the car. What’s the harm in that?”

“How do you think he acted?”

“I don’t know.” I rolled my eyes. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked you. I do know they must’ve been a strange couple.”

“Why do you say that?”

“For one thing, Jim’s neighbor told me she’d never seen the two of them together . . . not even outside in the yard.”

“What else?”

“How did he act when you told him?” I asked again.

Sheriff Norville clamped his lips together, and I thought for a second he wasn’t gonna tell me. Then he said, “He didn’t seem too surprised. Now, what else did you find odd about Flora and Jim Adams?”

“Look around.” I pointed to a photograph that sat atop my television set. “That’s my granddaughter in her school picture from last year—isn’t she beautiful?” I pointed to other pictures around the room. “That’s my daughter; that one there is my late husband and me; that’s me, Faye and Sunny at a wedding reception summer before last.”

“Yes, ma’am, they’re all very nice. What’s your point?”

“Do you have photos of your loved ones in your home, Sheriff?”

“Of course, I do, but—”

“Jim Adams doesn’t. I’ve been in his home and have never seen any photographs. Somehow that just seems sad to me.”

“You said you’d only known Mr. Adams for a couple of weeks. Where did you meet?”

“At a dance at the Senior Center.”

“Was it that ‘melon’ dance?”

I looked down at my folded hands. “Yes.”

“I meant to go to that, but I had to work that evening.”

I looked back up at him, and he laughed at my expression.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “I know how to have fun.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” I frowned. “How is it that you’re a veteran but you hadn’t met Jim until Flora disappeared?”

“There are a lot of veterans, Ms. Crumb. I don’t know them all.” He looked at his notes. “So you never met Flora Adams?”

“No, but I’ve been doing a little investigating myself, and she seemed to have been a wonderful person. Jim’s nice, too, you know, so I don’t see why they would’ve had such a strange relationship.”

“Did you say you’ve been investigating?”

“Solely on an informal basis.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Ms. Crumb, please leave the investigating to the professionals. That said, if you learn anything else that may be of interest, please give me a call.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And be careful,” he said. “We have every reason to believe Jim Adams killed his wife.”

Sheriff Norville had no more than got out of sight of the house when Tansie came rushing over in her jeans, oversized sweatshirt and canvas shoes.

“Hello, Myrtle, dear.” She looked at Matlock. “That beast doesn’t bite, does he?”

“He hasn’t bit anybody yet,” I told her.

“I started over here earlier and saw that you had company.”

I nodded.

“Um . . . he was a very attractive gentleman.”

I nodded again. I was beginning to feel like Harold the head-bobbing veteran, but I wasn’t about to volunteer any information to Tansie. If she wanted to know something, then she’d have to come right out and ask. Which she did.

“What’s his name?”

“Cooper Norville.”

“So you got tired of taking care of Jim while he’s bedridden?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed taking care of someone who’s bedridden,” I said. “If that was my calling, I’d have been a nurse. Still, I plan to go over to Jim’s tomorrow to see if there’s anything he needs and to pick up his tablecloth from the dry cleaners. You know the one—the one you made me spill spaghetti sauce on.”

Tansie wrinkled up her eyes. “Don’t blame your clumsiness on me, Myrtle.”

I shrugged. “What did you come to see me about?”

“I just wanted to chat a little bit.” As she answered me, her eyes darted all over the room—a dead giveaway that she was lying.

I sat down on the couch, kicked off my pumps and put my feet up. Tansie sat down in the recliner by the window.

“Have you talked to Bettie?” I asked. “Is it almost time for us to have another melon meeting?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think she’s scheduled another meeting yet.”

“Well, we need to get on with it and plan ourselves another to-do; don’t you reckon?”

“I guess.” She sat there a second looking out the window. Then she turned to me and asked, “Why are you all dressed up and who was that man?”

“I’m dressed up because I went out to lunch, and I told you the man’s name is Cooper Norville.”

“The two of you had a lunch date?” she asked.

“No. I met the man at the diner, and he asked to speak with me privately.”

“So you brought him to your home? A stranger? Do you think that was wise?”

I sighed. “Under the circumstances, yes.”

“What circumstances?”

I didn’t answer her right away so she plowed on with her next question. “Does Jim know about this fellow?”

“I dare say Jim knows more about the man than I do.”

“What do you mean Jim knows more about him than you do? You’re the one having him over.”

“Maybe so, but Sheriff Norville is investigating the disappearance of Jim’s wife.”

“That’s ridiculous! Jim’s not married.”

“Right. He’s a widower.”

“He is not a widower. He’s a lifelong bachelor.”

“Says who?”

“Says Jim.”

I had to think about all this for a minute. Why would he tell me one thing and tell Tansie something else? Maybe because he’s trying to date us both? Or maybe because he killed his wife and can’t keep all his stories straight.

“How about his granddaughter?” I asked. “Remember the story he told you about the ‘me-go-round’?”

“Myrtle, that child isn’t a blood relative. Her family just sort of adopted him, from what I can gather.”

Okay, that much was true. I’d confirmed that with C.C. But I was surprised Jim had been so forthcoming with Tansie after telling her he’d never been married. Maybe Jim really was crazy as a bed bug. Maybe he didn’t know whether he’d ever been married or not. Maybe he was the one with Alzheimer’s.

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. Jim told you he was a bachelor? That he’d never been married?”

“Yeah,” Tansie said. “And he told you he was a widower?”

“Uh-huh. And Sheriff Norville told me that he thinks Jim killed his wife.”

Boy, was this little love triangle getting muddier by the minute.

“I can’t believe you’d say such a hateful thing,” Tansie said. “That poor man has been a bachelor his whole life, and now that he’s trying to find a loving companion to share the rest of his life with, you’re telling lies on him because you’re afraid he’ll pick me over you.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” I handed her Sheriff Norville’s card. “Here. Call this man yourself if you don’t think I’m telling you the truth.”

Her hand shook as she took the card. “I’ll do that. As soon as I get home, I’m calling this Sheriff Norville and seeing what he says about all this. And if you’re lying—” She let the words hang there as she studied the card. Then she looked at me. “If you think Jim might be a killer, why do you want him?”

“I don’t . . . at least, I don’t think I do. I started seeing him in the first place so I could find out what happened to Flora, his wife.” All of a sudden, I felt like crying. This situation had started out as an adventure. Then I got to know Jim and I learned things about Flora, and then they became real people to me—not a possible killer and a possible victim. They were people I had started to care about. Yet, I’d be hanged before I’d cry in front of Tansie Miller.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and went on. “I’ve come to like Jim, but I need to keep a clear head about myself until I find out whether or not he killed his wife. I mean, Ted Bundy was charming, too, right?”

“You’ve got a point,” Tansie said. “And he’s telling you he’s a widower while he’s telling me he’s never been married. He’s lying to one of us.”

I nodded. “There’s just so many things that don’t make sense. Jim seems like a great person, but everyone I’ve talked to who knew her thought Flora was pretty special, too.”

“Then you’ve spoken with people who knew this woman?” Tansie asked, frowning.

“Yes, she worked part-time at the Wells County library. Jim told me that; I followed up on it, and it was true.”

“Wells County, you say? Huh. That’s interesting.” She looked at her watch. “I’d better be going. Ada and Bill are coming over for dinner this evening and I need to get started cooking.” She rose from the chair. “I’ll talk with you later.” With that, she skedaddled out of the house faster than Snyder’s hound. Since I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck this morning, I knew something more important to Tansie than fixing dinner for her daughter had popped into that big blue head of hers. What, I didn’t know . . . and that worried me.

CHAPTER NINE

The next morning, I got up bright and early to make cinnamon rolls because I knew Tansie had her regular hair appointment at ten o’clock every Thursday morning. Sure enough, she backed her black Cadillac out of the yard at nine-thirty sharp.

I kissed Matlock on the head, grabbed a pan of buns and headed to Melvia’s. Melvia came to the door in her housecoat rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. I had on a lime pantsuit and felt a lot like Betty Crocker—the new, modern one, not the old frumpy one.

“Good morning!” I said in a chipper voice with a chipper smile on my face. “How are you this morning?”

Melvia frowned and squinted at me. “What time is it?”

“Why, it’s going on ten o’clock. Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

“Not very.” She nodded at the tin foil covered pan I carried. “Is my nose lying to me, or have you got cinnamon rolls?”

I grinned. “Your nose is true blue. We haven’t sat down for a breakfast chat in I-don’t-know-when. I thought we were due.”

She stepped aside, and I went on through the living room and into the kitchen. I put the cinnamon rolls on the table while she got saucers and napkins and put on a pot of coffee. By unspoken consent, we decided to wait for the coffee before diving on the buns.

Melvia has a cozy little house—not pretentious like Tansie’s house. Melvia’s kitchen is small, but it’s tidy and done up all in yellow—yellow curtains, yellow wallpaper, yellow stove eye covers, yellow throw rug. She sat down across the table from me. “This is about what you and Tansie talked about yesterday, ain’t it?”

I nodded. “I’m worried she’ll go off half cocked and say the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

“Like Jim?”

“Jim, or whoever she knows at the library in Wells County.”  I raised my eyes. “Who does she know there?”

“Vera Hughes, the library director. They went through school together.” Melvia looked over her shoulder and saw that the coffee was done. She got up and poured us both a cup and then put sugar and creamer on the table.

I spooned plenty of sugar and creamer into my coffee. Melvia don’t make the world’s best java. “Did she call Sheriff Norville last night?”

“No. She said she wants to talk to Vera first.” She took the tin foil off the pan and got her a cinnamon bun. “I love these things.”

“Did she say when she’s gonna talk with this Vera?”

Melvia shook her head and swallowed a mouthful of bun. “I figure she’ll go over there after her hair appointment.”

“To see if I made up the story about Flora, or what?”

“No. I think she believes that. I think she just wants to get Vera to confirm your story and to tell her everything she knows about Flora.” She took a sip of her coffee. “She really liked this man Jim, and I think she’s hurt.”

“Do you think she’ll confront Jim?”

“Maybe.”

“If she happens to call you, or if she comes home before going to the library, please ask her not to say anything to Jim. If she compromises Sheriff Norville’s investigation, he’ll have both our hides.”