Murder by Mushroom

by Virginia Smith

  Jackie pictured her own doctor’s office. On the counter in each examination room, next to containers of cotton swabs and alcohol rubs, sat an open box of examination gloves. It would be so easy to take a few and stash them in a purse or shove them in a pocket. No one would ever know.

  Then she remembered. She had seen a box of examination gloves recently, and not in a doctor’s office. Where? She closed her eyes and scrunched her nose, trying to picture the open box of gloves. It had been in a wire rack hanging on the wall at…

  “The nursing home!”

  Linus started at Jackie’s shout.

  “There were rubber gloves on the wall right inside the door in both the rooms we visited at the nursing home yesterday, Linus. Anybody can walk into a nursing home on the pretext of visiting someone there.”

  Her mind hovered around a thought, but she refused to go there. Instead she got up abruptly from the table and went into the kitchen. Snatching the telephone from the wall, she paused a moment before dialing. Then her fingers flew over the numbers.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Margaret. It’s Jackie.”

  “I was just talking about you. Sylvia called to tell me what a good time she had at lunch today, and how glad she was that you were able to join us.”

  “Yeah, I had a good time, too. Thanks for inviting me.” She clutched the receiver. “Uh, Margaret, I happened to drive past you and Samantha Carlson this afternoon at Wendy’s.”

  A pause. “Oh, that was nothing. She needed a ride home from school, and we decided to stop for a Coke.”

  “You seemed to be talking pretty intently. And since I just talked to Sharon earlier in the day, I couldn’t help but wonder what you guys were talking about.”

  A longer pause. “I really can’t say, Jackie.”

  “Why not? It might be important.”

  “I can tell you it didn’t have anything to do with Alice or Sharon. Trust me, it’s something completely unrelated and private.”

  Jackie heard the resolve in Margaret’s voice. She wouldn’t budge. Getting anything out of her tonight seemed unlikely.

  “Well, okay. If you say so. You might be interested to know that Esther is no longer my number-one suspect.”

  “She’s not?” Margaret sounded relieved.

  “No. Sharon is.”

  A pause. “You know, Jackie, you really should be careful.”

  Goose bumps rose across the back of Jackie’s neck. “Why do you say that?”

  “Earl said something the other day that has me worried. If someone in our church really did kill Alice, they won’t be too happy when they hear you’re running around asking all these questions. It could be dangerous.”

  Of course Margaret wouldn’t threaten her; she was too nice for that sort of thing. And how sweet that she and Pastor Palmer actually worried about Jackie’s safety.

  “Don’t worry about me, Margaret. I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  “Well…okay. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Maybe I could come over in the morning and we could pick a few more people to visit.”

  “I’ll have coffee ready at nine.”

  “Sounds good. Bye, Margaret.”

  Jackie replaced the receiver and rubbed her neck. Why did Margaret sound so evasive about her conversation with Samantha? What secret could a teenager possibly have that would make her confide in the pastor’s wife?

  Well, teenagers kept lots of secrets. And of course Margaret would have to keep whatever she said in confidence. But maybe Samantha had seen something that connected her mother with the murder. Whatever the secret, Jackie was sure it was important, and Margaret hiding the information was getting in the way of her investigation.

  Mrs. Murphy’s words at church on Sunday morning came back to her. Mrs. Farmer had been the single dissenting vote against Pastor Palmer, and had even talked about getting up a petition against him. Margaret might have heard about that.

  And she had access to rubber gloves at the nursing home.

  “No,” she said, her voice harsh in the empty kitchen. “I don’t believe it.”

  But enough doubt niggled her mind that she walked back to the table with a slow step. If she wanted to be thorough in this investigation, she needed to identify all the suspects, even the ones she didn’t believe for a minute were guilty. She would have to make a new page with the name MARGARET PALMER at the top.

  “Hey, where’s my pen?”

  From beneath the table, Linus looked up with innocent, round eyes. When Jackie confiscated his new toy, he gave her a wounded look and slunk toward the bedroom.

  The evening’s first lightning bugs hovered a foot above the freshly mowed grass when Dennis turned from Walnut Avenue into his driveway. No light shone in the windows of the main house. He glanced at his watch. Eight forty-two. Twelve minutes past Mr. Montgomery’s bedtime. Dennis missed the old guy standing at the front window, watching as he parked his cruiser beside the house. The presence of a police car in his driveway gave Mr. Montgomery a sense of security, especially since all his family lived up in Ohio. And he gave Dennis a discount on his rent because of it.

  Dennis let himself into the garage apartment and flipped on the light. The three small rooms were plenty for him. Five long steps took him across the combination living room/kitchen and into the bedroom, where he unhooked his belt and laid it on the chair beside his bed. He unsnapped the holster strap, readying his pistol for a quick retrieval, grinning as always at the useless habit. Nothing ever happened in sleepy little Versailles.

  Except something had happened. Someone had murdered an old woman.

  His thoughts turned to the afternoon’s discovery as he rummaged in the refrigerator for something to eat. The knife and gloves were the first real clues they’d found, though Conner wasn’t confident they’d lead to the identity of the killer. They couldn’t very well search every kitchen in town, looking for a telltale set of knives with one missing. And fingerprints only identified a perpetrator if they already had a record. If not, they were almost as useless as putting a saddle on a cat. You weren’t going anywhere anyway, so why bother?

  A dried-out slice of leftover pizza went into the garbage can, and that pretty much cleared out the fridge. He pulled a couple of pieces of bread from the plastic wrapper and inspected them. Was that a spot of mold? Nah, couldn’t be. This loaf was only a week old. Or was it two?

  Now Jackie showing up had been an interesting development. As he spread peanut butter on the bread, he smiled at the memory of her excitement when she caught sight of the knife. She was really into this investigation.

  NBT—Nothing But Trouble, Conner said. Was she, really? Some women could weasel information out of another woman that it would take a guy years to find out. His mother was like that. How many times had he seen her stop to talk to a perfect stranger in a grocery-store aisle, and know the woman’s life story by the time they said goodbye?

  The problem was Jackie didn’t really seem the sort women talked to. She was so…pushy. Not like Mom at all. In fact, Jackie might be one of those police groupies Mom had warned him about. And they really did exist. The minute Dennis put on the uniform, they seemed to come out of nowhere, smiling and batting their eyelashes and letting him know they wouldn’t mind if he stopped by after work.

  Nah, Jackie didn’t seem that type, either. Though she had batted her eyelashes once or twice this afternoon. She was cute when she did it, too. But mostly he figured what she wanted was information.

  He dropped onto the couch, bit into his sandwich. Lousy luck she showed up on the scene today in time to see their evidence recovery. And it was patently obvious she had ignored Conner’s demand that she stay out of the case, too. At least she’d seemed willing to tell him what she discovered. Like those rumors and the victim’s letter-writing habit. A shame Conner had interrupted before she’d told him anything of substance.

  Maybe he ought to find out if she knew anything helpful. He chewed thoughtfully.

>   He should probably let it go. Conner was right when he said civilians had no place in a murder investigation. Especially one who was as closely involved as Jackie. Not a murder suspect, but without a doubt she was on the inside of this mess, even if she didn’t mean to be.

  On the other hand, Jackie had glanced away this afternoon when he asked for specifics about those letters. A trained investigator watched for evasive behavior like that. It didn’t necessarily mean Jackie was a criminal, but it did mean she was hiding something.

  He wanted to know what that something was. If it turned out to be important, Conner would praise him for sniffing it out.

  He tossed the last of the sandwich into his mouth and dug the white pages out of the pile of books on the kitchen counter. There he found a listing for Hoffner, J with no address. He smiled. At least she possessed enough sense to keep her first name and address out of the phone book. Single women should never make it easy for a man to find them.

  Channel surfing made Jackie tired. Horizontal on the couch, her head propped on the arm and Linus curled into the curve of her tummy, she struggled to keep her eyes open as she searched for something on television to hold her interest. A medical drama she liked came on at nine, and hopefully it wouldn’t be a rerun. If she could just manage to stay awake for another ten minutes—

  The telephone sounded like an alarm, its shrill tone piercing through the low hum of the TV. She jerked upright, sending Linus off the couch at a run, and shook off the last of the drowsiness as she jogged into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jackie, this is Dennis Walsh.”

  Her jaw and fingers slackened at the same time, and the phone almost slipped out of her grip. Dennis Walsh, the world’s most gorgeous cop, was calling her? An image of gray eyes and a crooked grin swam to the front of her mind.

  “Are you there?”

  “Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up, Dennis?” His name sounded good on her lips.

  “Not much. I just got home from work a few minutes ago. Listen, I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet me for coffee some morning.”

  “Coffee?” She sank against the doorjamb for support. Was Mr. Good-Looking Cop asking her out on a date? No, she couldn’t be so lucky. Her dates—and there hadn’t been many of them—tended to be more along the lines of pizza-delivery guys. There had to be another explanation.

  “Yeah. We sort of got interrupted today, but I’m really interested in hearing more about those rumors you mentioned. How does Thursday look for you?”

  Rumors. Jackie stood upright and bit back a disappointed sigh. She was right. Of course this wasn’t a date. She didn’t have that kind of luck with men. He just wanted to get information from her.

  “Thursday’s good, I guess.” Her voice sounded calm, even casual, she noted with pride. “Will your boss be there, too?” A touch of acid slipped into her tone.

  “No, he’s tied up in Frankfort on Thursday mornings. It’ll just be the two of us.” He paused. “I hope that’s okay.”

  Was that a hint of uncertainty in his voice? Like maybe he hoped she wanted to spend time with him alone? Jackie shook her head. Stop grasping! This was about the murder case, and this guy was all business.

  “That’s fine. Where and when?”

  “How ’bout McDonald’s around nine. Is that too early?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll see you there.”

  His voice flowed warmly through the phone. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She heard the click indicating he had hung up, but for a moment she couldn’t move. Had her imagination taken over, or had his voice gotten softer at the end, like he really was looking forward to seeing her?

  Stop it! This isn’t a date!

  Moving slowly, she replaced the phone and returned to the couch. Much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was really looking forward to seeing him again, too. Date or not.

  ELEVEN

  Jackie sat at Margaret’s round table, her elbows propped on a daisy-covered tablecloth, sipping from a steaming mug of honey-sweetened coffee. Bright shafts of morning sun shone through the kitchen window, setting the yellow curtains aglow. The light glinted through a crystal prism suspended nearby, sending dancing rainbows all over the gleaming white cabinets. This morning, sitting in Margaret’s cheery kitchen, her suspicions of last night seemed ludicrous. Margaret was no more a killer than she was.

  “My aunt Betty used to sweeten her coffee with honey,” she commented, blowing on the surface of the hot liquid before taking a sip. “Mmm. This is a real treat.”

  Margaret turned from the counter to smile in her direction. “You don’t use honey at home?”

  “Splenda. Low-carb, low-cal.”

  “Ha. As if you need to worry about your weight. Here, have one of these.”

  A plate of banana muffins, fresh from the oven, tantalized Jackie’s nose with a sweet, beckoning aroma. She’d had her morning oatmeal already, but…

  “Oh, yum.” Eyes closed, she chewed with pleasure. “These are awesome.”

  “I’m glad you like them. They’re Earl’s favorites.” Coffee mug in hand, Margaret took the seat opposite Jackie’s. “So what’s on your agenda today, Miss Detective?”

  “I want to talk to some more old people. You know, someone who might give me another lead. Don’t worry,” she added when Margaret drew breath to speak, “I’m not going to gossip.”

  “I’m sure you’ll handle yourself diplomatically.”

  Jackie washed down a mouthful of muffin with coffee. “What made you change your mind? Yesterday you lectured me about spreading gossip.”

  “I’ve prayed about it, and I’ve said my piece. That’s all I can do. I still think the police are better equipped to find the murderer.” She shrugged an apology. “But if you’re determined to question every person in the church, I’ll help however I can. You’re my friend. And I do want this murderer brought to justice, you know. The sooner the better.”

  Nodding, Jackie watched Margaret bite into her own muffin. She did consider Margaret a friend. Not the kind to go shopping or to the movies with, but sort of like a mother-type friend.

  But still…why the sudden change of attitude? Was Margaret hoping to keep Jackie focused on someone other than herself?

  Stop it. I don’t believe Margaret is a killer.

  An image of the page she’d added to her notebook last night flashed into her mind. Less writing covered that page than the others. To be honest, she could write nearly as much on a page with her own name at the top.

  “So.” She smiled across the table. “Who should we visit today? I want to talk to someone who knew Mrs. Farmer pretty well.”

  “Then I suggest we pick someone in the Prime Timer Sunday school class,” Margaret replied. “Let me get the church directory.”

  While Margaret left to look for the directory, Jackie sipped her coffee and wondered if she should mention Dennis’s call last night. For some reason, she wanted to talk about it. Maybe if she did, she could get her mind off his voice and onto something else.

  When Margaret returned with the directory, Jackie flipped the cover open and scanned the names. “By the way,” she said nonchalantly, “you’ll never guess who called me last night.”

  “Who?”

  “Trooper Walsh.”

  “Really?”

  The unconcealed glee in Margaret’s voice made Jackie look up. “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Because just the other day I was thinking the two of you would make a cute couple.”

  Heat suffused Jackie’s face. “Oh, please.”

  “Seriously,” Margaret insisted. “I talked with him for a few minutes at church on Sunday, and he’s very intelligent. He’s a Christian, too.”

  Jackie stared at the directory, though the tornado in her brain made it hard to focus on the names.

  “You can’t deny he’s handsome. And those muscles! He must work out.”

  Handsome?
Jackie wouldn’t call him handsome, exactly. Much of the night had been spent thinking of how she would describe Dennis Walsh. With those high cheekbones and broad shoulders, he was more like…drop-dead gorgeous.

  “I suppose he’s cute enough.” She flipped a page. “But I don’t think he’s interested in me. He just wants to get together to talk about the case.”

  Across the table, Margaret’s eyes gleamed as she straightened. “Get together? When? Where?”

  “Tomorrow morning at McDonald’s.”

  Margaret deflated. “McDonald’s?”

  “It’s not a date, Margaret. We’re just going to have coffee and talk about the case.” She looked up and leaned forward to confide, “I think Detective Conner has a meeting or something on Thursday mornings, which is why we’re waiting until then. I got the impression Dennis doesn’t want him to know we’re talking.”

  “Dennis? You’re calling him Dennis?”

  Margaret’s grin sent a new wave of heat to Jackie’s face. Maybe she wasn’t ready to talk about Dennis after all. She tapped on the directory and changed the subject.

  “Who should we visit today?”

  Margaret continued to grin a moment, cocking her head to stare across the table. Jackie breathed a relieved sigh when she apparently decided to let the subject drop and looked down at the pictures in the directory.

  “There’s Mrs. Anderson, but she volunteers at the hospital during the day. You could try to catch her at church tonight, though.”

  “Okay.” Jackie flipped a few pages. “Mrs. Stafford, then.”

  Margaret shook her head. “She works.”

  “Mrs. Whitehouse?”

  “Out of town this week, visiting her daughter in Kansas City.”

  Jackie turned back to the front. “What about Mrs. Coates?”

  “She goes to a different Sunday school class. I don’t know how well she knew Alice.”

  “But she’s on the prayer chain, so she has connections in the church. Anyway, it’s a place to start.”