Murder by Mushroom (8 page)

Jackie drew a breath. “Why would she do that? Why would she think her opinion mattered to you?”

“Because she worked a million years at the Schilling Paper factory, and she still has friends there. She wanted to let Nick know if he moved forward with applying for that supervisor job, she intended to make sure her friends knew why he shouldn’t have it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jackie said. “Lots of people have children and never even bother to get married. Surely that wouldn’t make any difference.”

Sharon shook her head, her lips twisted. “You have no idea. This is a small town, and Schilling Paper is a family-owned business. The owners are
Christians
—” she spat the word “—and nobody holds a grudge like a Christian.”

Jackie’s back stiffened. “Hey, I’m a Christian. I don’t hold grudges.”

Blue eyes stared at her for a moment. When Sharon spoke, her voice dripped accusation. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

A flash of shame heated Jackie’s face. Though she wasn’t here to accuse Sharon of getting pregnant before she married, she
was
here because of an old woman’s gossip. Not a very good reflection on the character of a Christian.

She met Sharon’s gaze. “Not because I hold any sort of grudge or even make any judgment about you. I’m just following up on a lead, trying to get to the bottom of a murder. If your husband had a reason—”

Sharon placed both palms on the table and stood. She leaned across the surface until her face was inches from Jackie’s.

“Leave my husband out of this. Leave my daughter out of this. And leave me out of it, too. That nasty old spider never did anything but spread her poison and cause us heartache. If you keep at it, you’ll end up just like her.”

She left without another word. Stunned, Jackie sat in the silent room. Had she just been threatened? Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the recorder and saw that it was still running. Good. If she turned up dead, at least the police would have a record of the threat.

Her hand shook as she slipped the device back into her purse. Rarely had she been on the receiving end of such anger. Was that the reaction of a murderer trying to cover her tracks? It might be. But something about the fierce fury on Sharon’s face made Jackie wonder. The emotion might also have been that of a wrongly accused woman who had been hurt by malicious actions too often in the past.

She had botched this interview, for sure. Maybe she owed Sharon an apology. But how did one apologize to a furious potential murderer?

She rose from the table and wound her way through the building toward Sharon’s desk.

But with guilty relief, she discovered she wouldn’t have to figure it out today. Sharon’s cubicle was empty.

“And whatever you do,” Margaret told her, “don’t accuse anyone of anything.”

Jackie kept her attention on the road through the windshield of Margaret’s Buick. The last thing she needed this morning was a lecture from the pastor’s wife.

“And I don’t just mean not to accuse anyone of murder,” Margaret went on, “but
anything
. Don’t accuse anyone of disliking Alice or of having a reason to resent her or anything. This is supposed to be a fun lunch, not a cross-examination.”

“Yes, Mother.” Jackie didn’t bother keeping the sarcasm from her voice. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Margaret’s head jerk her way.

Actually, if Jackie’s mother had survived the car accident, she would be about Margaret’s age. Aunt Betty had been a wonderful parent, but she was really a great-aunt, and much older than Jackie’s real mother. What would it have been like, having someone like Margaret around during her teenage years?

Her mind turned to the teenager most often in her thoughts today: Samantha Carlson. Was she close to her mother? When Samantha was younger, had Sharon gone to her piano recitals and school plays? Had she taught her how to turn cartwheels in the grass, and do duck-unders on the swing at the park? A sick, guilty heat churned in the pit of Jackie’s stomach as she pictured Sharon’s face across the break-room table. The way she’d sneered at the word
Christian
revealed a deep disgust, maybe even hatred, toward anyone associated with the church. No wonder she never attended with her daughter. And Jackie certainly hadn’t done anything to change her opinion.

She turned toward Margaret. “Do you think Mrs. Farmer was a Christian?”

Margaret shot her a startled look. “What a question! Why do you ask?”

“Sharon Carlson.”

“I wondered how that went.”

“Terrible. She really doesn’t like Mrs. Farmer, and she apparently thinks all Christians are out to get anyone who makes a mistake.” She looked down at her lap. “Me included.”

“Ah. That couldn’t have been a comfortable conversation, then.”

“It wasn’t.” Jackie looked up again. “But what gets me is the look in her eyes when she realized why I came to see her. She was angry, yes, but I think she was also…” She fell silent.

“Hurt?” Margaret’s voice was a soft breeze.

Jackie nodded. “And she blamed me, just because I’m a Christian. Guilt by association, or something. When she talked about Mrs. Farmer and others at the church, I felt…ashamed. I didn’t want to be associated with Christians if that’s how they acted.”

She looked away, embarrassed by her admission. They rode in silence for a moment.

“Christians aren’t perfect, Jackie,” Margaret said finally. “We all give in to the temptation to sin every now and then. Unfortunately, some sins hurt other people.”

She executed a turn from County Road 68 onto the long driveway leading to Shaker Village. Jackie stared out the window at acres of green pastures framed by black plank fences. Horses grazed or stood serenely in pairs, soaking up the spring sunshine. Outside the car, peace reigned in those verdant fields. Inside the car, Jackie’s thoughts disturbed any pleasure she might have gotten from the charming scenery as Margaret steered the car down the narrow driveway and rolled to a stop in the shady parking lot.

Margaret turned in her seat. “When Christians sin, we can so injure another person that it keeps them from accepting the Lord. How that must grieve Him! We’re supposed to be His representatives, and instead we turn others away by our actions.”

Jackie felt pierced by Margaret’s regard.

“Gossip and spite are sins, Jackie, and Christians aren’t immune to them. Sharon Carlson is a victim. We need to pray for her and do everything in our power to show her what Christian love is all about.”

The memory of Sharon’s anger and pain were branded in Jackie’s mind. Margaret was right. Anyone who had been hurt like that needed prayer.

“But what if she and Nick killed Mrs. Farmer?”

Margaret shrugged. “They need Christ just like everyone else. The sooner the better, preferably before they go to prison.”

Jackie gave a slow nod. She should pray for Sharon Carlson…and maybe ask for a little forgiveness herself.

Her spirits lighter, she turned a smile on Margaret. “I’m starved. Let’s go eat.”

J
ackie stepped inside the restaurant, an old Shaker building dating back to the mid 1800s now in use as a bed-and-breakfast. They informed the hostess of the number in their party, and then spent a few minutes admiring the furnishings. On each side of the entry hall, identical spiral staircases rose to the upper levels, their hand-carved wood railings gleaming with years of polish. A small room to the left of the front door held antique furniture and a display of Shaker items.

“Here they come,” Margaret announced, gazing through a side window.

Jackie performed a quick check of her recorder. She pressed the record button and clipped the microphone to the shoulder strap. Her conversations with Mrs. Sawyer and Sharon sounded perfect, but the mic’s range had been unobstructed. She couldn’t very well set her purse on the table at lunch, and she worried that their voices wouldn’t pick up well if she shoved it under the table.

The ladies arrived at the entrance in a group, Margaret and Jackie standing inside to welcome them. The first through the door, Laura Watson greeted Margaret with a hug and then caught sight of Jackie and smiled broadly. “Jackie, what a nice surprise.”

Laura was the ultimate Southern lady, in Jackie’s opinion. Her soft voice, pitched pleasantly low, held just a touch of attractive Southern drawl with none of the harsh hillbilly twang. She wore her dark hair in a short, respectable style that complemented her oval face, and her makeup always looked professionally applied. Her nails were perfectly manicured, as usual, and her purse matched her shoes. Standing beside Laura, Jackie felt like a poorly dressed waif in her khakis and comfortable loafers.

“Jackie has the week off work,” Margaret explained to them all, “so I invited her to join us.”

Behind Laura, Julie McCoy gave a quick “Hello, Jackie,” on her way to admire a sturdy Shaker chair against one wall, leaving a scented trail of lilac in her wake. Jackie had become acquainted with her since they both attended the women’s Sunday school class and liked her quiet personality. She was a bit older, though, and married, with two teenagers.

“You picked a great day to come along, Jackie,” announced Sylvia Graham. Towering a full head over Jackie, she wore a straight red dress that complemented her slender figure and deep tan. “I haven’t been to Shaker Village in years. I’d forgotten how beautiful the drive is.”

“We’re so glad to have you come along!” exclaimed Esther, pressing forward to take Jackie’s hand in her warm one.

Jackie’s smile froze as she faced her number-one murder suspect. Esther Hodges wore her habitual open expression and toothy smile. The air around the woman seemed vibrant, constantly churned by hands that never ceased their expressive movements. In her midfifties, her broad face and ruddy complexion were perfectly crowned with a mop of unruly dark hair. She spoke in a loud voice that seemed harsh after Laura’s soft, cultured drawl.

“Sorry we’re late, and it’s all my fault. Locked my keys in the car, so Julie had to come get me.”

“Oh, no,” said Margaret. “Not again.”

“Yep. Third time this month.” Esther shook her head in disgust. “And that hide-a-key thing Jim put under the back bumper musta fell off, because I couldn’t find it. And he’s out of town again and has my spare on his key ring.”

“What will you do?” asked Sylvia.

“Oh, not to worry. I’ll call Triple A when I get home. They’re getting so they know my voice.”

“You need to get another spare made immediately,” said Laura. “This time, put it someplace where it won’t fall off.”

“I keep a spare key inside the gasoline door,” Jackie volunteered. “The little box fits right in there, and it can’t fall off with the door closed.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea.” Esther turned a grateful smile on her. “Never thought of that.”

Margaret awarded Jackie a proud smile. Honestly! Did she think Jackie couldn’t be civil? Was she worried Jackie would pounce on Esther and shriek
Murderer!
the moment she came through the door?

“Our table’s ready,” announced Julie from across the room.

A hostess wearing a plain gray dress covered with a white starched apron and shawl led them to a wooden table surrounded by six chairs. Sunlight streamed through wide floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side of the room. They looked out onto an old Shaker building converted to a gift shop and, beyond a plank fence, a big vegetable garden. Jackie selected a place next to the wall and hung her purse over the chair back, the microphone pointed as unobtrusively as she could manage toward the rest of the ladies. Across the table, Margaret caught sight of the purse and sighed. Jackie pretended not to notice.

When everyone had taken a seat, the hostess gave each of them a one-page menu announcing the day’s lunch selections of breaded catfish or porcupines, along with a variety of vegetables and relishes.

Jackie stared at the menu. There had to be some mistake. “They don’t serve real porcupines, do they?”

Esther laughed. “No. I guess they’re a Shaker thing, because I’ve never seen them anywhere but here. There’re made with ground beef.” She slapped her menu onto the table. “That’s what I’m having.”

“Sounds great,” agreed Margaret. “And real sweet tea to drink. I’m splurging today.”

They placed their orders, and, after the server had disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, exchanged smiles.

“What a great place,” Julie said, examining the make of the sturdy wooden table. “I’ve never been here before. Is the furniture all original?”

“I don’t think so,” Sylvia answered. “But they’ve taken pains to make sure they kept everything looking as authentic as possible.”

Directly across from Jackie, Esther leaned forward to speak. “After lunch we can take a stroll around the grounds. Everything’s so green and beautiful this time of year.”

“I’d like that,” Julie said. “I think I’m going to bring the girls here one day this summer. They’ll love it.”

The server arrived with their drinks and placed a big bowl of coleslaw and a basket of cornbread in the center of the table. When she walked away, they bowed their heads. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Jackie did, too. She wasn’t accustomed to saying a blessing in restaurants.

“Gracious Father,” Margaret prayed quietly, “thank You for this wonderful group of women. I’m so grateful for their friendship. And thank You for this beautiful day and the food we’re about to eat. Bless those who work to prepare and serve it for us. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed four voices softly.

Jackie opened her eyes. That hadn’t been too bad. No one was staring at them or anything.

At the opposite end of the table, Laura raised her napkin and discreetly removed something from her mouth. She slipped the folded napkin into her purse, then noticed Jackie’s stare.

“Braces,” she explained with a shy smile.

“You’re kidding!” Jackie shook her head. “I didn’t notice you were wearing braces.”

“Good. They’re supposed to be invisible.” Laura sipped from her tea glass.

“My dentist mentioned them,” said Sylvia. “Are they working?”

Laura nodded. “I’ve only had them three months, and I can tell a difference already. I like them because I can take them out when I want to, like a retainer. The worst part is going to the dentist every month.”

“But Laura,” said Margaret, “your teeth aren’t crooked. Why do you need braces?”

“They are a little uneven.” She gave a modest shrug. “I’ve always been sensitive about them. Richard and I are planning a big anniversary trip next spring, an Australian cruise, and I don’t want to feel self-conscious smiling for photos.”

“Wow, an Australian cruise.” Jackie leaned forward. “I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise, but I couldn’t afford it.”

Laura laughed. “Actually, cruises are an economical way to vacation. We’ve gone on several. But this one is a bit pricey, and the airfare to Sydney is outrageous.”

“My daughter-in-law had those invisible braces,” commented Esther around a mouth full of coleslaw. “They worked for her. Teeth straight as anything now.”

Daughter-in-law? Would that be the wife of Joshua, the one Mrs. Sawyer had told her about? Jackie racked her brain, trying to think of a question that would get Esther talking about her son.

Margaret beat her to it. “How are Joshua and Emily doing up in…is it Cleveland?”

“That’s right.” Esther beamed, pride suffusing her humble features. “He’s the associate pastor of a big church there, and Emily teaches third grade. I expect they’ll make me a grandmother one of these days.”

“An associate pastor?” Jackie ignored Margaret, who was trying to catch her eye. “That’s great. Has he always wanted to go into the ministry?”

She raised her eyebrows at Margaret.
See? I can be discreet.
Margaret settled back in her chair with a relieved smile as Esther answered.

“Law, no! That boy was a pistol growing up. Into trouble all the time. I stayed on my knees, and every chance I got I told him the Lord had a hold on his life and he couldn’t run forever.” She smirked. “I was right.”

“So, he must have had some pretty tough odds to overcome, to go into the ministry with a past like that.”

Two spots of red appeared on the woman’s ruddy cheeks. “He surely did. But he was lucky to find a church that understood what it means to be saved and have your past mistakes forgiven.” She looked down at her bowl, speared a forkful of slaw with a vicious stab, and added softly, “The second time.”

“So,” Margaret said in a voice louder than necessary, “Julie, how are the girls? Has Amber decided on a college yet?”

“She’s still waffling between EKU and the University of Kentucky.”

As Julie expounded on her daughter’s college decision, Jackie spread butter on her corn bread. How frustrating! She hadn’t asked any embarrassing questions or accused Esther of anything. Why did Margaret have to change the subject so abruptly? But Esther’s anger when she mentioned her son’s first church assignment had been patently obvious. Now, how to turn the discussion to Mrs. Farmer and see what kind of reaction she got?

Their food arrived, momentarily sidetracking the conversation as the women exclaimed over their lunches. Jackie’s porcupines—rounded mounds of hamburger and rice covered in tomato sauce—tasted almost exactly like Aunt Betty’s meat loaf. She should have ordered the catfish.

“So,” she said as the women chewed, “that’s awful news about Mrs. Farmer, isn’t it?”

Laura put her fork down on her plate. “Must we talk about that terrible business?”

“And over food, too,” put in Julie.

Esther gave a loud snort. “At least it’s not potluck food.”

Jackie’s lips tightened, which Esther must have seen. She reached across the table toward Jackie. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean anything personal. Everyone knows it wasn’t your fault someone picked your casserole to plant the poison in.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” agreed Margaret, and all the heads around the table nodded.

Mollified, Jackie dipped her forehead in acknowledgment. “I still can’t imagine who would want to hurt a nice old lady like Mrs. Farmer.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the table. No one met her eyes. Laura picked up her fork again and became absorbed in her catfish. Sylvia grabbed for her glass and gulped tea. Beside her, Julie bit into a dainty glazed carrot, her eyes fixed on the far wall.

Esther’s lips pursed. “Well, she wasn’t a nice old lady by any standard I ever heard. I can think of several reasons someone might want to get rid of her.”

“Esther,” whispered Margaret, her voice heavy with warning.

“It’s true,” Esther insisted. “Everybody here knows that. I’m just stating a fact.”

Sylvia leaned forward to speak around Julie. “She’s right, you know. Alice wouldn’t have won any popularity contests. Since Margaret and Jackie are new, they haven’t had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of her tongue. Let me tell you, it wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

“Her tongue,” added Esther, “or her poison pen.”

Margaret closed her eyes, and Jackie wondered if she was praying. And if so, what for? For the truth to come out? Or for her friends to shut up?

“What do you mean?” Jackie asked.

“Alice was famous for writing letters, letting people know what she thought. She wrote a letter once to our former pastor, telling him his wife’s skirts were too short and that she was purposefully tempting the men in the congregation to have sinful thoughts.”

“I remember that,” said Laura. “It really hurt Marcia’s feelings.”

Esther bit her lip, her face flushed with anger. “And she wrote a letter to my Joshua’s first church, telling them he was a troublemaker and shouldn’t be around young people. That one got him fired.”

“That’s terrible,” exclaimed Julie. “What a cruel thing to do.”

Esther nodded. “So you see what I mean. That woman was just nasty, that’s what she was.”

“Even so,” said Margaret, “she was a child of God and didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

“Of course not,” agreed Sylvia.

Esther toyed with her food, pushing it around on her plate without taking a bite. “Yeah. Of course not.”

“I wonder if we’ll all be questioned by the police,” said Julie. Her gaze slid to Jackie. “I dished up those leftovers.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Laura, looking disturbed at the idea.

“What if we are?” Sylvia shrugged. “We just tell them where we were from Sunday afternoon until Tuesday night, when Alice was found. I’m sure none of us paid Alice a visit during that time. No big deal.”

“Not if you have an alibi,” said Esther. “Jim was out of town on a business trip, as usual. There’s nobody’s to vouch for me.”

Jackie cast a triumphant look at Margaret. Esther Hodges was still bitterly angry with Mrs. Farmer over that letter. Maybe even angry enough to kill her. And she had no alibi.