Murder by Mushroom (13 page)

As he spoke, he piled the trash from his breakfast onto a tray, ignoring the look of dismay Jackie turned on him.

“When will we talk again? About the case, I mean.”

“Call me if you hear anything important.” He pulled his wallet from a back pocket and fished out his card. “My home number is on the back.”

Jackie glanced down, and then back up. “And you’ll do the same, right?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for talking with me.”

With a farewell nod at Mrs. Palmer, he made a hasty retreat, the weight of their stares boring into his back as he dumped the contents of the tray into the trash can. As he opened the door, he thought he heard Jackie hiss, “Way to go, Margaret!”

In the safety of his cruiser, he sat back and heaved a sigh. Why did he feel he’d just narrowly escaped the hangman’s noose? After all, the past half hour hadn’t been bad. He’d thoroughly enjoyed talking with Jackie, watching that quick smile of hers flash unexpectedly and then disappear. It made him want to say something to make her smile again. And he’d liked the intense way she looked at him when he talked about the toxicology report, as if she had never heard anything so fascinating in her whole life.

You egotistical jerk. You’re just soaking it up because you think she’s attracted to you.

He shifted into Reverse and backed out of the parking lot. Unease warred with the biscuits in his stomach. Conner would be furious if he found out Dennis had discussed the coroner’s report with Jackie. Yeah, it was public record, but would she have known where to find it on her own? Probably not. And he knew he’d inadvertently verified that the Carlsons were being investigated. What kind of cop was he, to let his defenses drop just because a pretty girl flirted with him? He needed to toughen up.

Honestly, he could be attracted to Jackie. She was cute, and obviously she had a brain in that pretty head. And he’d always been a sucker for curly hair.

He shook his head. No, he wasn’t going there. Jackie might be pretty and smart, but he wanted more in a woman. He wanted someone to look at him the way Mom looked at Dad, even after thirty years of marriage. Some of his college pals had tried marriage after graduation, and more than a few of them were already divorced. Not him, buddy. No way. He’d grown up basking in a living example of love that lasted and had determined a long time ago to settle for nothing less.

Cute as she was, he just didn’t think Jackie was a likely candidate.

“I
still can’t believe you showed up at McDonald’s.”

Jackie glared across the daisy-covered kitchen tablecloth, and Margaret had the grace to look away. Esther Hodges would arrive any minute, and then the three of them planned to go to Mrs. Farmer’s house and sort her clothing for Goodwill.

Two spots of pink appeared high on Margaret’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. Earl says my matchmaking will get me in trouble one day, but I wanted to see the two of you together. You can tell all sorts of things by the way a man looks at a woman across a table.”

Somewhat appeased by the apology, Jackie sipped iced tea from the tall glass Margaret had placed in front of her. She toyed with a napkin, her mind wandering back to the gray depths of Dennis’s eyes.

“And?”

Margaret looked up. “And what?”

Jackie gave a frustrated grunt. “And did you see anything?”

“Are you kidding?” A grin spread across Margaret’s face. “That was no casual coffee meeting, Jackie.”

Jackie couldn’t help her response. “Do you think so?”

“Absolutely. He was so into you he didn’t even see me until I was standing over him. And he was holding your hand.”

A thrill of warmth shot through Jackie at the memory. “He wasn’t holding my hand,” she corrected. “He happened to touch my hand right before you walked up.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever he was doing, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. And I don’t blame him, dear. You do look lovely today. You should wear spring colors more often.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to lecture me again about my clothes or my hair, are you?”

“Of course not. I just thought—”

Jackie was left to guess at Margaret’s thought, for at that moment the doorbell rang.

“That’s Esther,” Margaret said, sliding her chair back from the table. She paused on her way to the front door. “You will be nice, won’t you?”

Jackie threw both hands in the air. “I’m always nice.”

Margaret left, and a moment later the air in the cozy kitchen erupted with activity as Esther Hodges burst through the doorway.

“Gracious sakes alive, I just can’t handle Jim traveling all the time. He’s gonna have to get a new job, that’s all there is to it.” She jerked a chair away from the table and collapsed into it, her forehead damp above ruddy cheeks. “The AC on that piece of junk I drive is blowing hot air again. I told him to have it checked before he left, but did he listen?” She leveled a direct gaze on Jackie. “Of course not. Never does. Men!”

She grabbed a napkin from the holder in the center of the table and fanned herself furiously. Unruly dark curls around her forehead waved in the breeze. With her conversation with Dennis fresh in her mind, Mrs. Hodges seemed far less sinister than before. Jackie found herself enjoying the older woman’s blustery manner.

“Hello, Mrs. Hodges.”

She waved the napkin in Jackie’s direction. “Call me Esther. How are you doing, honey?”

“I’m okay.” Jackie rested her chin in her hand. “I heard the police talked to you about Mrs. Farmer yesterday. How did that go?”

Margaret placed a glass of ice water on the table, and Esther threw her a grateful glance. She downed half of it in a single gulp before answering.

“They wanted to drag up that business about the letter and talk it to death. Said they’d heard about it from people in the church.” She took another gulp, and then sat back. “Bunch of nosey old tongue-waggers. But I just told ’em what happened, and they seemed okay with that. Detective Conner is the nicest man, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” Margaret agreed with a look in Jackie’s direction.

Jackie didn’t answer. Nice?
Yeah, right.
He might look like a friendly Labrador retriever at first, before he turned on you. Like a pit bull. Then again, if Esther hadn’t seen the pit bull emerge, that verified what Dennis had said earlier: Detective Conner must not consider her a murder suspect.

“So is it just us today, or is anyone else coming along?” Esther asked.

“Several others said they would meet us there,” Margaret answered. “Laura and Emilee and maybe Lois.”

Esther turned her head to smile at Jackie. “It’s good of you to join us, honey. Not a pleasant thing to do on your vacation, pawing through a dead woman’s underwear.”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it,” Jackie said.

The women appeared dubious, but Jackie really was looking forward to the afternoon. Not that she expected to find any clues in Mrs. Farmer’s house after Detective Conner and his crew had combed through it. But Laura Watson would be there. Maybe she could learn something about Laura’s relationship with her husband.

Unfortunately, if problems existed in her marriage, Laura Watson was too much a lady to discuss it. After an hour and a half of working side by side, Jackie had been unable to detect even a hint of evidence that Laura was grieving over her husband’s affair. On the contrary, as they sorted, folded and stored clothing in boxes to be delivered to the Goodwill donation center, she spoke with unmasked pride about Richard’s important job at the bank and how he had such compassion for the underprivileged and impoverished.

In no mood to listen to the praises of a cheating scoundrel, Jackie bit her tongue and folded a blue dress with a matching jacket. Was it possible Laura didn’t know about her husband’s affair? Surely every wife knew at some level. There were always signs, weren’t there? Too many nights working late at the office, matchbooks from hotels left in a jacket pocket, unexplained expenditures on the credit card statement…You heard about that sort of thing all the time.

She also knew some women chose to ignore the telltale signs. Maybe Laura was one of those.

She placed the folded dress and jacket into an almost-full box. That was the last article of clothing in the bedroom. She arched her back, stretching tired muscles. The others had moved to the kitchen, and Jackie could hear the low murmur of their chatter as they packed up Mrs. Farmer’s dishes.

Her eyes fell on the small desk in the corner. A lamp sat on one edge of the otherwise clear surface. Had the police taken all of Mrs. Farmer’s papers? With a glance through the door to ensure no one was coming down the hallway, Jackie crossed the room in three quick steps and jerked open the center drawer. Order seemed to be one of Mrs. Farmer’s strong points. A compartmentalized plastic organizer held pens, pencils, paper clips and a roll of stamps. Beside it rested the worn personal address book Jackie had seen the night Mrs. Farmer died. She flipped the cover and fanned through the yellowed pages. The spidery script was faded in some places. This address book was probably older than Jackie.

Beneath the booklet lay a volume she recognized, the Heritage Community Church directory. Heart pounding, she checked out Kathy Dorsey’s entry. The page was clean. Too bad! She’d thought she might find the address circled or something. The C and W pages were clean, as well—no circles, no checkmarks, no writing at all. With a sigh, she put everything back and then opened the top drawer on the right.

There she found Mrs. Farmer’s stationery resting neatly in another plastic sorter, notepaper in a variety of pastels with matching envelopes. She fingered a piece. Was this the paper on which the old woman had written her vicious letters? Seemed sort of ironic, sending a poison-pen letter on lavender-colored paper.

The remaining drawer held file folders. Jackie’s hopes rose. Maybe she would get lucky here.

The same spidery script she’d found in the address book scrawled across the tabs on a row of manila folders. Annual Reports—SP, Annual Reports—VB&T, Bank Statements, Medical Receipts, Tax Deductible Receipts. Suddenly uncomfortable, Jackie flipped through the tabs but did not open the folders. Mrs. Farmer’s personal financial documents were none of her business. Looking at them would be even worse than going through her purse.

Sliding the drawer closed, Jackie heaved a sigh. If there had been anything here to find, the police had already taken it.

She folded the flaps of the clothing box to seal it and carried it down the hallway to pile in the living room beside the two boxes she’d filled earlier. Then she joined the others in the kitchen.

“Would you look at this?” Seated on the floor in front of an open cabinet, Esther held up a heavy black skillet with both hands. “Here’s an old one. You can’t find these anymore, not with a smooth surface like that. This will fetch a pretty penny at our rummage sale next month.”

Margaret, standing at the counter, turned from a stack of newspaper and an assortment of coffee mugs. “I thought those old iron skillets were unhealthy.”

“That’s bunk,” said Esther. “I’ve used one for years. The only way one of these’ll hurt is if you bash someone over the head with it.”

“Actually,” said Laura as she tore off a piece of newspaper, “it is true that they add iron to your food. But I think that’s supposed to be good for you.”

“Really?” Esther inspected the skillet with consternation. “Maybe that’s what’s making Jim feel off his feed. Too much iron.”

Jackie opened an empty cabinet, and then a second one. “Looks like you’ve just about finished in here.”

“There.” Margaret nodded toward a cabinet beside the refrigerator. “That one’s still full. Grab a newspaper and start wrapping.”

Jackie did as she was told. Rolling a green juice glass in a piece of paper, she wondered how she could turn the conversation toward Richard again without having to listen to a list of his accomplishments.

On the other hand, maybe she was taking the wrong approach. Maybe she shouldn’t be asking about Richard at all.

Quickly, she emptied the contents of the cabinet onto on the kitchen table. That way she could sit opposite Laura while she worked.

“Guess who I ran into in the grocery store the other day?” Jackie asked the room in general.

“Who?” asked Margaret.

“Kathy Dorsey. She looked great, really pretty. I think she’s a little thinner lately. Do you think she’s on a diet?”

From the floor Esther said, “I don’t know about a diet, but running after those twins of hers would melt the pounds off anyone. They’re cute, but they’re a handful.”

“They sure are,” Margaret agreed, giving Jackie a measured stare.

Jackie ignored Margaret, her attention fixed elsewhere. Across the table, Laura smiled and nodded absently as she rolled another coffee mug in paper. Jackie studied her expression, searching for the slightest indication that Laura was less than happy with the young mother.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“I
can’t believe it’s Friday already.”

Jackie sat once again at Margaret’s kitchen table, staring sullenly at the steam rising from a plate of blueberry muffins. Friday. The last day of her vacation, and she was no closer to solving the murder case than the first day.

Margaret reached across the table to pat her hand. “Don’t look so down, dear. You’ve made a lot of progress.”

“Yeah?” Jackie reached into her bag and pulled out her notebook. “I’ve taken a lot of notes and recorded a bunch of conversations, but I don’t know about progress.”

She slapped the notebook down on the table and glared at it.

“You’ve also met a nice man and made a good impression on him,” Margaret reminded her. “And you’ve gotten to know several people in our church much better. You’ve made some new friends.”

And a few enemies besides, but Jackie kept that thought to herself. The memory of Sharon’s angry face haunted her as she reached for a muffin. She chased the image away with the sweet scent of hot blueberries.

The doorbell rang.

Margaret stood, her brow creased. “I wonder who that is. I’m not expecting anyone.”

A moment later, Jackie heard the sound of a woman’s sobs and Margaret’s soothing voice telling the person to come inside. She put the muffin down and half stood. Obviously someone had come to the pastor’s wife in need of comfort. Should she go see who was crying? Or should she leave and give them their privacy?

She sat back down. To leave she had to go through the living room, and that would disturb them. She’d better just wait here instead. Only she felt like an eavesdropper, because she could hear every sound.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Margaret asked. “Has something happened to one of the boys?”

“N-no,” sobbed the woman. “They’re fine. It’s…”

Jackie sat straight up. She knew that voice. It belonged to one of her primary suspects.

Kathy Dorsey’s tearful hiccup echoed in the quiet house. “It’s nothing like that. The…the police just left my house. Oh, Margaret, they said terrible things. They think I killed Mrs. Farmer!”

The pain in Kathy’s voice made Jackie cringe. She knew the feeling. When the police had questioned her a week ago, she’d shed a few tears of her own. Compassion stirred in her. She knew what it was like to be questioned by pit bull Conner.

“That is ridiculous. I’m sure they don’t think any such thing.” Margaret’s voice sounded louder, as though she had turned toward the kitchen doorway. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen and have some coffee while you tell me about it.”

“O-okay.”

Panic gripped Jackie’s insides. Would Kathy blame her? The police had never even heard of Kathy Dorsey until she told Dennis about her affair with Richard.

She was not prepared to face Kathy right now. She needed time to compose herself, to get her thoughts in order so she could ask the right questions and lead the conversation the way she wanted it to go. But she had no time. At that moment, Margaret stepped through the doorway, her arm around the shoulders of the sobbing young brunette.

Kathy took one look at Jackie and the tears evaporated.

“You!”

Jackie’s insides sank as Kathy stared daggers across the room. Apparently, Jackie’s name had come up during the questioning.

Kathy took a step toward the table, and Jackie leaned as far back as the chair would allow. The young mom looked angry enough to slap her. Margaret stood with her arms hanging at her sides, her attention volleying between the two of them.

Kathy pointed a finger in Jackie’s face. “You sent the police to my house. You told them terrible lies about me.”

“I did not,” Jackie shot back. “I only told them what I know.”

Margaret took a step forward. “Jackie? What does she mean? What did you tell the police?”

Kathy whirled. “She told them I’m having an affair with Richard Watson.”

Margaret gasped, her eyes going round as melons. “Jackie, you didn’t!”

Feeling blood flood her face, Jackie drew herself up. “I did not say that. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Margaret repeated. “Then what
exactly
did you say?”

Jackie found it difficult to look at the accusation in Kathy’s face, so she kept her gaze fixed on Margaret. “I told Dennis about the mistake on Mrs. Farmer’s account, and how Mrs. Farmer threatened Kathy’s job.” She cleared her throat. “And I told him I saw Richard go into Kathy’s house Wednesday night after church.”

Kathy sobbed, and Margaret stepped forward to put an arm around her shoulders. She guided the young woman to a chair and seated her, then glared at Jackie from above her light brown hair.

“Well, it was the truth,” Jackie said, allowing a touch of anger to creep into her voice.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation.” Margaret’s hand rested protectively on Kathy’s shoulder.

After a few moments of quiet crying, Kathy shook her head and made a visible effort to choke them back. This didn’t look like a woman caught in adultery. The righteous anger, the devastated sobs, the dejected slope of Kathy’s shoulders all had the unmistakable feel of a woman unjustly accused. Jackie shifted her weight in the chair. What if she was wrong? What if there really was an innocent explanation for Richard’s visit?

She pulled a napkin out of the holder and offered it to the sobbing woman. Kathy stared at it a moment, as though afraid it might be poisoned, and then took it without looking up. She blew her nose and took a shuddering breath.

“He did come to my house Wednesday night. It’s the second time he’s been there. The first time was two weeks ago, before Mrs. Farmer died.”

Margaret squeezed her shoulder once, and then went to the counter to pour a mug of coffee. She set it on the table, and Kathy took a grateful sip before continuing.

“Mrs. Farmer thought Richard was stealing money from the bank. She wanted me to use my position to find evidence to prove it.” She balled the napkin in one fist, the other hand clutching the handle of her mug. “She told me if I didn’t, she would file an official complaint against me and have me fired.”

“But surely she couldn’t have you fired for one little mistake.” Jackie tried to sound as though she didn’t believe the tale, but her resolve wavered. Either Kathy was telling the truth, or she was a really good liar.

“She could.” Her face a mask of misery, Kathy sniffed. “That wasn’t my first mistake. I’m…I’m not a very good teller, I’m afraid. One more complaint and I’ll lose my job for sure.” She looked up, first at Margaret and then at Jackie. “I can’t afford to get fired. I’m barely paying the bills now.”

Convicted by the honesty she saw in Kathy’s eyes, the last of Jackie’s doubt melted away. This woman wasn’t a killer, and she wasn’t having an affair. She was a hardworking single mother struggling to feed her kids.

Jackie wanted to crawl under the table. What kind of worm would accuse an innocent woman of adultery and murder?

One who was trying to show off by passing along gossip as though it was truth. One who wanted to impress a handsome police officer with her investigative ability.

Heart in her shoes, Jackie reached across the table and took Kathy’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Kathy. I was way out of line. I should have come to you first before telling the police what I saw.”

Kathy’s chin quivered. Her stare was so direct Jackie felt as though she was being examined from the inside out. She kept her gaze steady, hoping Kathy would see her sincerity.

Finally, Kathy gave a hesitant nod. “I guess you only did what you thought was right. And I guess it did look really suspicious, seeing Richard come to my house.”

Margaret, however, didn’t seem ready to forgive. “What were you doing at Kathy’s house in the first place?” she asked, her voice hard.

Jackie bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she bowed her head and said truthfully, “Snooping.”

She looked at Kathy again. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you some more, because I thought you acted like you were holding something back at the church. I guess now I know what.”

Kathy nodded. “And the worst part is Richard found out that I was asking questions. I’m just a teller, and I don’t have access to any records like Mrs. Farmer wanted. So I talked to a friend in the internal audit department. At least—” her lips twisted into a bitter grimace “—I thought he was a friend. But he told someone about my questions, and it got back to Richard.”

“So Richard came to your house to find out why you were snooping around about him at work.” Jackie used the word
snooping
deliberately, with a quick glance toward Margaret.

“That’s right. I was so upset I didn’t handle things very well. I blurted out the truth, and that’s when he told me he could have me fired far more easily than Mrs. Farmer.” She sniffed again, and reached for another napkin. “And he’s right. He’s a bigwig at the bank.”

Margaret leaned forward. “Do you think there’s any truth to Alice’s accusations?”

Kathy shrugged. “I don’t know. He said there wasn’t, that Mrs. Farmer was just a malicious old busybody who loved to dig up dirt to hold over people’s heads. I never found anything suspicious.”

Jackie chewed on another nail. If Mrs. Farmer’s suspicions were right, then Richard had a strong motive for killing her. Not only would he lose his job, but he would go to prison.

“So why did he come to your house on Wednesday?” she asked.

“He said he wanted to make sure I wasn’t spending any more time on Mrs. Farmer’s claim.” She looked suddenly fearful. “His exact words were, ‘Now that Alice Farmer is dead, I hope her accusations died with her.’”

A chill shot down Jackie’s spine. By the look on Margaret’s face, she felt the same.

“Did you tell this to the police, dear?” Margaret’s voice held a hint of urgency.

A flood of tears returned to Kathy’s eyes. “I was afraid to. Richard really can have me fired.”

Jackie grabbed the young woman’s hand and gave it a shake. “If he murdered Mrs. Farmer, getting fired is the least of your worries.”

Kathy sniffed and sat up. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“I think you should take the day off,” Margaret said.

Kathy shook her head. “I called to let them know I’d be late, but we’re short-handed this week so I have to go in. I’ll be all right.”

Jackie remained at the table as Margaret led Kathy to the bathroom to wash her face. Richard Watson, a murderer. She could hardly believe it. He looked so…so sophisticated. So smooth and gentlemanly.

Correction. No gentleman would threaten a single mother’s job. Nor would a gentleman murder an old woman.

Poor Laura. She was so proud of her husband, so obviously in love with him. Did she know about this? Jackie remembered her face yesterday, glowing with pride as she talked about Richard’s work for poor families in Appalachia. No, Laura didn’t know. And it would break her heart when she found out.

“Thank you, Margaret,” Kathy said as she and Margaret came back into the room. “I feel better now.”

“I do think you should contact the police and tell them everything,” Margaret urged.

Kathy’s jaw trembled as she shook her head. “I just can’t.”

Jackie stood. “I’ll walk Kathy to her car,” she said with a meaningful glance at Margaret.

The older woman hesitated, clearly struggling over leaving Kathy alone with her accuser. As if Jackie would hurt a flea. But then Margaret gave a quick nod.

Jackie followed Kathy out the front door. The weather had turned hot the past few days, and though it was not yet ten o’clock, the sun had already burned through the morning chill to warm the air. A few hardy pink blooms clung stubbornly to Margaret’s dogwood tree, and a bright assortment of dandelions littered her yard. Hidden somewhere in the top branches of a sugar maple, a bird chirped with enthusiasm. If the morning hadn’t been so upsetting, Jackie would have been tempted to take a walk in the park just to enjoy the gorgeous spring day.

At the door of her car, Kathy paused. She didn’t look at Jackie’s face, but stared through the open window. Jackie halted beside her, grasping for words. Apologies never came easily.

“Listen,” she said, staring at the ground between them, “I really am sorry. Sometimes I act before I think.”

Kathy’s gaze slid to capture Jackie’s. “What bothers me the most is that you actually thought I would have an affair with a married man. I wouldn’t, you know.”

Miserable, Jackie said, “I do now.”

“Well…” Kathy managed a smile, but her eyes held a hint of sadness that made Jackie feel like the biggest jerk in the world. “What’s done is done.”

Jackie knew it wasn’t done.

“Listen, Kathy, you’ve got to tell the police everything. They need to know.”

The young woman bit her lower lip in hesitation, then shook her head. “I just can’t face them right now. I’ve got to get to work, and that detective…”

She didn’t need to finish her thought. Jackie knew all about “that detective.”

“What would you think about me telling him?”

She hesitated to even suggest it, because she’d caused enough trouble for Kathy already. But Richard’s comment was more than suspicious; it was downright incriminating. Dennis and Detective Conner needed to know about it.

Hope flared into Kathy’s eyes. “Would you?”

“Of course, but you know they’re going to want to talk to you again.”

“Do you think they’ll come to the bank?” She looked horrified at the thought.

Jackie didn’t blame her. Having the police show up at your job would be humiliating.

“I won’t say a word until they promise not to. But,” she added, “they’ll probably be waiting at your house when you get home tonight.”

Kathy swallowed hard, then nodded. This time her smile was genuine. “Thank you, Jackie.”

She stepped back as Kathy slid inside the car. When the Chevy pulled away from the curb, Jackie lifted a hand in farewell, watching until Kathy turned off Margaret’s street.

She mounted the porch steps at a slow pace, not sure if she was looking forward to calling Dennis or not. He was sure to think her a big dope for jumping to the wrong conclusion about Kathy. But maybe he’d be happy with her for finding out the truth behind Richard’s visit.