Murder by Mushroom (17 page)

No. That scenario didn’t make sense. Why would drug dealers take Jackie’s car? No, this crime had to be related to Mrs. Farmer’s death.

On the other hand, Versailles was a small town. Maybe the drug dealers and the murderer were somehow connected. Maybe…Maybe they had a customer in Heritage Community Church. Maybe that customer was a teenager. What was Samantha doing out that late at night, anyway? Perhaps she, too, was mixed up with these people, and her mother didn’t know it.

Jackie couldn’t very well suggest to a grieving mother that her daughter took drugs. She squeezed Sharon’s arm and forced her to look her in the eye. “I don’t think you’re responsible at all. How in the world would these people pick my car out of all the cars in town? It makes far more sense that Samantha’s accident is somehow related to Mrs. Farmer’s death.”

“Unless they heard about your casserole and decided to make the two look related.”

The hair on Jackie’s arm prickled. Was she being watched by murderous drug dealers? What if Mrs. Farmer had somehow found out Samantha was using drugs and had threatened to expose those drug dealers? They might decide to get the old woman out of the way, and then eliminate the only person who could tie them to the murder—Samantha.

“Listen, Sharon, you’ve got to tell this to the police.”

Sharon sobered. She pulled away and turned a frightened look on Jackie. “Do you really think so?”

“I think it’s critical,” she urged. “Please?”

A wave of relief washed over her when Sharon nodded.

H
eritage Community Church had always been such a friendly place. That was one reason Jackie joined the church several months after moving to Versailles—because she’d felt right at home from the very first visit. But today people avoided her. She actually saw Mrs. Murphy look her way and whisper intently in Mrs. Watkins’s ear. Jackie sat through the service, staring straight ahead at Pastor Palmer in the pulpit without hearing a word he said.

When the last hymn had been sung and the last prayer prayed, Jackie slipped into the aisle intending to leave quietly.

“Jackie! Oh, Jackie, wait a minute.”

Jackie stopped as Kathy rushed up to her. The young mom looked much better today, her cheeks rosy and her eyes clear. She put an arm around Jackie’s shoulders and hugged.

“Thank you so much for calling the police for me,” she said with a quick glance to make sure they were not overheard. “When they came by the house Friday night, they acted totally different. Like they actually believed me. I was so relieved, and I told them everything.”

Jackie warmed at the unexpected kindness in Kathy’s voice. “I’m glad to help. It was the least I could do after what I put you through.”

Kathy brushed that aside with a gesture. “What’s done is done. Now let’s just hope they catch the person responsible.” She glanced behind her to where the Watsons stood talking to the Andersons. “I’d better get downstairs and pick up the boys. See you later.”

With a final squeeze, she ran off in the direction of the basement. Jackie watched Richard Watson for a moment. Could he really be a killer? He seemed so…so civilized. But what about—

She stopped herself. Nope. She was off the case. She refused to even think about it.

At least she hadn’t totally messed up her budding friendship with Kathy. Her mood brighter, Jackie headed for the exit. She had not taken two steps before she heard her name again.

“Jackie, over here.”

She turned to see Margaret waving at her from the other side of a group of people. She watched as Margaret made her way through the crowd. She didn’t look upset anymore. When she grabbed Jackie’s hand and squeezed, Jackie almost cried.

“I am so sorry about your car,” Margaret said without preamble. “I know how upsetting that must have been for you. You were so brave to go to the hospital yesterday.”

“Thank you. Any word on Samantha today?”

“Actually, yes.” Margaret’s smile widened. “Vince told us this morning that she is now fully conscious, and she might even be moved out of ICU as early as tomorrow.”

“That’s great.” Jackie looked at her shoes. “Margaret, I hope you can forgive me for Friday. I feel terrible.”

Margaret’s voice was soft. “Jackie, it’s fine. We all make mistakes. And friends forgive each other.”

She looked up, hopeful. “Are we friends?”

Margaret followed her nod with a big hug. “Of course we are.”

“Thank you, Margaret.”

Jackie’s step had a definite spring as she left the church and headed toward her rental car.

“Jackie Hoffner, hold your horses. Where’s the fire?”

Esther barreled down the sidewalk toward her, her considerable bulk jiggling with every step.

“I’m not as fast as I used to be,” the older woman confessed, puffing for breath as she came to a halt beside Jackie.

“How are you, Mrs. Hodges?”

“Esther, remember? I’m fine, honey, but I wanted to ask you that same question.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “I heard about that car business. Terrible.” She shook her head. “Just terrible.”

Jackie nodded. “Someone does seem determined to get me in trouble.”

“Of course, everybody’s talking about it.” Jackie must have looked as startled as she felt at that admission, because Esther shook her head. “Not about you, honey. They’re all wondering who’ll be next. I even heard some say it’s not safe to go to this church anymore, but I say that’s hogwash.”

“I don’t know,” Jackie said, feeling miserable again. “Maybe it’s just me that shouldn’t come anymore. Then maybe everyone here would be safe.”

Esther drew herself up. “Don’t you think that even for a minute. The police will find out who planted those mushrooms and stole your car.”

A thought sneaked into Jackie’s head. Without a doubt, someone had stolen her car. But how? Her key was still on the ring with her apartment key and the police had told her the spare was still in place inside the gasoline door. Of course, someone who knew where it was could have used it and then put it back, but she’d assured the police that nobody knew where she hid that key. She’d never told a soul, except for…

That day at Shaker Village, Esther had lost her spare key. And Jackie had mentioned the location of her own. She’d forgotten about that.

No, it was impossible. Dennis and Detective Conner had already questioned Esther and apparently cleared her of suspicion.

But others had been at Shaker Village, too. Julie, who’d dished up leftovers after the potluck. Margaret, who…No. She wouldn’t even consider that. Her mind returned to the list in her notebook beneath Esther Hodges’s name. Her throat constricted.

Esther peered at her. “Are you all right, honey? You look sorta pale all of a sudden.”

Jackie forced a smile. “I’m fine. I’ve just remembered I forgot to feed my cat this morning. I need to go, or he’ll get back at me by tearing the sofa to shreds.”

The older woman guffawed. “I had a cat like that once. You’d better get home and feed that animal, honey.”

Jackie nodded and hurried toward her car. Yes, she was through snooping. She had removed herself from the case. But if she remembered relevant information she was duty-bound to turn it over to the police.

Wasn’t she?

“Detective Conner, please,” Jackie said into the telephone twenty minutes later.

Though Dennis’s home number lay scrawled across the back of the card he’d given her, the memory of that hint of laughter in his gray eyes yesterday made her angry all over again. She would not call him at home on Sunday afternoon. Nor would she call Deputy Byers, especially when she remembered his insulting manner during the questioning. Instead, she’d fished Detective Conner’s card out of her purse and called his office. At least he had thawed enough to give her a kind word.

Predictably, the man who answered the phone informed her, “He’s not in today. Can I help you with something?”

“Uh, no thanks. Does he have voice mail?”

“Sure does. Hang on, I’ll put you through.”

A moment later the detective’s pleasant voice requested that Jackie leave a message, which he would return as soon as possible.
Beep
.

“Hi, this is Jackie Hoffner. I thought of something I didn’t mention yesterday. I keep a spare key inside the gasoline door, in one of those box thingies. Several people knew about it, because I told them at lunch last week when Esther Hodges locked her keys in her car. Uh, that’s all. Goodbye.”

Her hand rested for a moment on the receiver after she replaced it. There. Her duty was done. Now she could forget about it.

A sense of failure nagged at her as she paged through a magazine, bored. An entire week’s vacation time, wasted. She had nothing to show for it. The guys at work would want to know what she’d spent her week doing, and what would she say? Going to lunch. Talking to old ladies. Being questioned by the police.

It had all started with poisonous mushrooms in her casserole. The funny thing was she didn’t even know what poisonous mushrooms looked like. Did they look like the regular kind?

She could search references to mushrooms, of course. But the thought of a frustrating session with her ancient computer and dial-up modem didn’t sound appealing. Besides, she wanted to get a look at the real thing in person. If the mushrooms came from the woods behind Mrs. Farmer’s house, there would be more. And the weather today was gorgeous, a perfect day for a walk.

She tossed the magazine aside and went to the bedroom to change into her sneakers. Linus watched from his perch on the pillow.

“It’s not snooping,” Jackie told the cat with a twinge of guilt. “I’m not prying into anybody’s business or making anyone angry. I’m just going for a walk.”

Linus did not look convinced. But what did he know?

As the rental car approached the turnoff to Mrs. Farmer’s street, Jackie made a snap decision. The killer certainly wouldn’t have parked in Mrs. Farmer’s driveway, for fear of his car being spotted by a neighbor. He’d probably come through the wooded area behind the house. The next road lay not more than fifty yards past Mrs. Farmer’s. Jackie turned there instead.

A few houses were scattered on both sides of the street the first half mile or so, followed by an empty field on the left and a wooded area on the right. Jackie drove around several twists and curves, trying to decide how far down the road Mrs. Farmer’s house lay. When she figured she had driven an appropriate distance, she slowed the car and rolled off the pavement. A wide swath of grass lay between the asphalt and the first line of trees. The worn condition of the turf told of frequent use. People must park their cars here fairly often.

She got out and turned in a circle to examine the landscape. No houses in sight. No witnesses if someone pulled their car off the road for a stroll. In fact, the wood was sparse for about fifty feet or so. It wouldn’t be difficult to park a car inside the cover of trees. A dark car at night would be hard to spot.

A canopy of leaves stretched overhead. The bright afternoon sun filtered through to cast green-tinted fingers of light onto the ground cover. The trunks were far enough apart to make walking between them easy, though Jackie did have to climb over the occasional dead log.

In a short time she came to the edge of the wood and peered into the backyard of an unfamiliar house. Not Mrs. Farmer’s, but which way should she go? Taking a guess based on instinct, she turned left and followed the tree line past several yards.

Bingo. Not five minutes later she came upon the familiar-looking thicket of scrub bushes and unkempt trees that marked the border to Mrs. Farmer’s yard. Though she had only seen the backyard through the kitchen window, she recognized the garbage cans on their rickety metal cart beside the concrete porch. This was the place.

Jackie turned her back on the yard. Wild mushrooms grew somewhere around here, she was sure of it. She paced slowly away from the house, heading into the trees, her gaze sweeping the ground.

Not twenty feet away from the tree line, a patch of white at the base of a nearby tree caught her eye. Mushrooms! She stooped to examine them. They had long stems and smooth white caps. Were these the agents of Mrs. Farmer’s death?

When she stood, she caught sight of another cluster of mushrooms nearby. Those were also white, but bumpy. And there were some fungus-looking things that weren’t shaped at all like normal mushrooms, large brownish objects like flattened tulip bulbs poking up through a thick layer of dead leaves about ten feet away.

So many mushrooms! Jackie shook her head. How in the world had the killer known which ones were poisonous?

Research, obviously. You could find anything on the Internet. Or in books, if you didn’t have a computer. And where could you find books
and
computers with reliable high-speed connections to the Internet? The library, of course.

The Woodford County Library on Main Street stayed open on Sunday until five o’clock. Jackie frequented the place. For a small-town library, the shelves held a surprisingly wide selection of exactly the sort of mystery novels she loved to read. She glanced at her watch. Three-ten. Plenty of time.

“Dennis, just a minute. I want you to meet someone.”

Stepping through the church doorway and into the bright sunshine, Dennis looked down at his mother’s two-handed grip on his right arm. Uh-oh. He recognized that determined look on her face. Maybe he could shake her loose and make a run for it.

“Mom,” he warned, “I don’t have time. I need to get back—”

“Nonsense.” Mom scanned the crowd of churchgoers ahead of them on the sidewalk. “It’ll only take a minute, and I’ve told her all about you. She’ll be disappointed if you run off without saying hello.”

He threw a desperate glance toward Dad, who shrugged a shoulder and jingled the change in his pants pocket. Great. The old man would be no help at all.

“There she is.” Mom raised a hand and waved above her head. “Kelly Jean! Oh, Kelly Jean, over here.”

A dozen heads turned their way. “Mom, do you have to be so loud?”

Ignoring his comment, Mom brushed a speck off his shirt as she gave him a quick inspection. “Here she comes. Now just keep an open mind, that’s all I ask.”

He swallowed a sigh as he was dragged forward on the sidewalk. A young woman strode toward them, fighting against the flow of traffic. Blond hair, trim figure, shy smile. She was okay-looking. Not pretty, but not ugly, either. She stopped several feet away, giving him a nervous look.

“Kelly Jean,” Mom said, dropping Dennis’s arm to latch on to the young woman and pull her closer, “I’d like you to meet my son, the police officer.”

Dennis plastered a smile on his face and held out a hand. “Dennis Walsh. Nice to meet you.”

She clasped his hand limply for a moment, then pulled hers away as though he’d burned her. “Nice to meet you, too,” she mumbled, head down.

Mom’s smile widened, as though trying to make up for the girl’s lack of enthusiasm. “Kelly Jean is new to town. She works for the newspaper as a marketing analyst.”

Dennis ducked his head, trying to catch the girl’s eye. “That sounds interesting. What does a marketing analyst do?”

“Oh, you know.” The girl risked a quick look up at him and then focused on the church’s front lawn. “Marketing.”

“I see.” He glanced toward Mom, whose smile had begun to wilt. Behind her, Dad appeared to be having trouble hiding a grin.

Mom said to the Kelly Jean, “Dennis has a very important job with the state police. He’s investigating a murder case.”

Obviously murder investigations weren’t high on Kelly Jean’s list of things to be impressed about. She gave a slight nod but didn’t comment.