Murder by Mushroom

by Virginia Smith

  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.

  NINE

  After a dessert of Shaker lemon pie and a leisurely stroll around the lush grounds, the group split up. Jackie rode in the silence of Margaret’s car, jotting down thoughts from her two interviews of the day. Margaret, staring pensively ahead, refused to be drawn into conversation.

  As the car approached town, they passed the turnoff to the city dump.

  “Hey, look at that.” Jackie pointed toward a police car in the road, a blinker signaling its intention of turning onto Mrs. Farmer’s street. As Margaret’s car whizzed by, Jackie caught sight of the man in the passenger seat. “Wasn’t that Detective Conner?”

  “I think so. I wonder if they’re going back to Alice’s house for something.”

  Jackie twisted in her seat to watch the police car execute the turn and disappear down the street. “Why don’t we follow them and find out?”

  “Sorry, I don’t have time. I have an appointment this afternoon.”

  Jackie studied Margaret’s suddenly closed expression. Did she really have an appointment, or was that just an excuse to get rid of her?

  “You know, Margaret, I know you don’t approve of my investigation—” she tried to keep the hurt out of her voice “—or think I’m capable of handling it.”

  “It’s not that.” Margaret gave her a quick smile before returning her eyes to the road. “I’m sure you can find things out, maybe even some things the police wouldn’t be able to find. I just worry about all the people who might be hurt in the process.”

  “I know, I know. Gossip is terrible. But I think I handled myself pretty well at lunch.”

  “You did, but that’s just what I’m talking about. I don’t believe for a minute that Esther killed Alice. But your questions dredged up some painful memories for her, just like they did for Sharon this morning. Who else will be hurt before this is over?”

  Jackie resolutely ignored the memory of Sharon’s furious expression and the twinge of guilt that accompanied it. She would apologize to Sharon the first chance she got, and from now on she would handle things better. Still, she couldn’t ask questions about Mrs. Farmer without dredging up unpleasant feelings. The old woman seemed to have that effect on people. “You know what they say. You have to break a few eggs—”

  “—to make an omelet. I know.” Margaret smiled wryly. “I hate making omelets. They never turn out like I want them to.”

  When Margaret’s Buick pulled out of the parking lot of Jackie’s apartment building, Jackie went straight to her own car. She needed to get some cat food anyway, and since she was going out, she might as well drive by Mrs. Farmer’s house. If the police were looking for new clues, she intended to be there when they found them.

  A police car and a white van filled the narrow
driveway. Jackie left her car parked on the street and walked across the yard. The front door opened while she was still several feet away.

  “Miss Hoffner,” said Detective Conner, spearing her with a green gaze. “What brings you here on this fine afternoon?”

  Jackie ignored the arrogance in his tone. “I was going to ask you the same.”

  “We’re here on official business. And you? Come to do some more housecleaning?”

  At that moment, three men came around the side of the house, saving Jackie from trying for an appropriately scathing response. Two wore jeans and button-down shirts, and one of them carried a sophisticated-looking camera. The other held several large plastic zipper bags, the same kind Trooper Walsh had used to cart off the contents of her kitchen. No surprise, the third man was the young state trooper himself.

  Eyeing the bags, Jackie tried to make out their contents. One looked like it held a dirty paper plate. Another had a balled-up wad of something she couldn’t identify—something translucent. And the third…She gasped. A knife! A small one, like a kitchen knife. They’d found a knife in the backyard! Or maybe in the thick woods behind the yard?

  “Got what we need, Detective,” one of the men told Conner as they brushed by Jackie. “We’ll run these over to Frankfort today. The lab boys should be able to ID the trace material on the knife. The rubber gloves look clean, though.”

  Rubber gloves!

  “I want the photos on my desk in an hour,” the detective responded. He gave Jackie one more direct stare, then retreated into the house and closed the door behind him.

  As the two plainclothesmen pulled away in the van, Jackie walked toward Trooper Walsh. She gestured with her head toward the closed door.

  “Is he always so condescending?”

  The young man shrugged a shoulder. “He’s the best.”