Maybe Murder

by Penny S Weibly

  “You always did love the bad boys!” Emelia sniffed.

  “Gareth was never a bad boy!” Jane interjected, pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

  “Agreed. I only liked bad boys in fiction. In real life, I chose a truly good man.”

  “So, Nancy, that’s where the idea for our library’s Summer Star Readers program originated,” Randal interjected.

  “I re-commissioned that idea.”

  Miss Winterjoy rose. “All right everyone: dinner is served.” She directed her guests to serve themselves buffet-style. Randal nudged Kalico to signal his appreciation of the feast. Spinach salad with ricotta and cherry tomatoes, pineapple and mustard glazed pork loin, scalloped potatoes, and homemade applesauce graced the sideboard. Soon the guests were seated, chatting and eating and complimenting the cooks.

  “Save room for the desserts,” Randal said, indicating a small table with an apple pie, lemon tarts, and a berry cobbler. “I’ve been eating pizza since my wife Joan’s been gone.”

  As he ate, Kalico observed the group trying to spot any tension or unease when he caught Jane’s dark brown gaze on him. She raised an eyebrow, then averted her eyes. When the individual conversations quieted a little, Kalico spoke up. “You all haven’t finished telling me how the book circle began. I assume that Emelia and Nancy initiated it?”

  “And you’d be wrong!” Susan asserted. “Our science major and future surgical nurse, Margie, set up the first meeting. If I remember correctly, she liked a young man in her sophomore Writing About Literature class, but was too shy to speak to him. What was his name again?”

  “Travis. Tall, blond, with green eyes that could stop a bus.” Margie pretended to swoon.

  “Anyway, she asked Em and Susan, who were in her class, and they invited Nancy and Jane.”

  “And each of us invited a guy we wanted to get to know!” Susan laughed.

  “And did this match making scheme work?” Lynn queried.

  “No,” Margie sighed. “Travis did not turn up, and the other guys drifted away after one or two meetings.”

  “But we persevered, earned A’s in English, and became lifelong friends,” Jane finished.

  “That’s so cool,” Lynn stated. “I haven’t stayed in touch with anyone from high school or college—yet alone elementary school. I guess I should spend more time on Facebook. Jane, how did you become a part of this motley crew?”

  “Susan and I were dorm mates.”

  “The original odd couple,” Susan interjected.

  “Beauty and the beast, someone called us.” Jane scowled at the memory.

  “Oh, surely not!” Nancy exclaimed.

  “Yes, they did. But we became instant friends. We both adored Joan Baez and Pete Seeger, molten brownies eaten directly out of the pan, and John Wayne movies!”

  “Hold up there, Pilgrim,” said Randal trying to imitate the Duke as he got up for seconds.

  “Anyway, our book circle formed, and we’ve met ever since,” Nancy concluded.

  “Yes, through careers, marriages, births, and deaths. But our circle was not complete until Jane returned last year.” Susan reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand.

  “Jane moved away during our junior year and returned from Arizona when she retired last year,” Emelia explained.

  “And I’m so glad that I did! To be back with my sisters of choice…there are no words.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

  As dinner progressed, Lynn and Kalico casually directed the conversation toward memories. The old friends recalled all night cram sessions, flirtations, anxieties over grades and majors, and road trips.

  “Our road trips always ended in disaster!” Nancy declared.

  “Oh, they were fun. And we all survived,” corrected Margie.

  “Barely!” intoned the others.

  “Remember the skunks that invaded our campsite in Big Bend?” Emelia’s nose curled at the memory.

  “Aunt Em, you camped?” Lynn was incredulous.

  “Reluctantly. Why people choose to sleep on the hard ground, I will never understand. But Susan’s boyfriend du jour had decided to camp in the Basin over spring break, and so we followed.”

  “That was Frank—had a physique like a Greek god.”

  “And the intellect of a Greek olive!” deadpanned Jane.

  “Anyway, someone—Jane—had a jar of peanut butter in her tent—skunk ambrosia.”

  “I woke up in the middle of the night with two skunks nosing at my sleep bag,” Jane shuddered. “Susan screamed, the skunks sprayed us, and the rest was smelly history.”

  “And we had to ride back with the two of them stinking to high heaven!” Nancy laughed.

  “Wasn’t that the trip when our van broke down?” Jane redirected the conversation.

  “Yes. We had a flat tire in the middle of nowhere.” The ladies groaned in chorus.

  “You’d think that five intelligent women could change a tire, but we were hopeless.” Nancy shook her head.

  “We took home economics, not shop, in school,” justified Margie.

  “What happened?” Lynn and Kalico asked.

  “A handsome cowboy in a white pick-up truck stopped and changed it for us.” Susan said.

  “So all was well that ended well—to misquote the Bard,” said Lynn.

  “Sort of. Margie’s father made us all enroll in an automotive repair class that summer.”

  “Susan, my Dad didn’t make you,” Margie corrected. “He made me enroll, and as a sign of solidarity, you joined me.”

  “Now we can all fix a tire, replace a battery, and change our oil!” Jane added.

  Emelia pushed her chair back, declaring that she was going to put the kettle on and asking if anyone would prefer coffee as Lynn gathered the dinner plates. “Dessert now or after our book talk?” she asked.

  “Now.” Randal moved toward the apple pie.

  “Later,” the ladies said in chorus.

  “Randal, you may have some pie now and more dessert later, if you like,” offered Nancy.

  “Great.”

  The group returned to the living room. Copies of the evening’s novel appeared and the book talk began, informally led by Nancy. Kalico let the discussion buzz around him as he watched the interactions. Everyone loved and mourned the elderly victim, Jane Neal. Margie and Susan disagreed on the inspector’s character. Nancy declared that she’d love to live in Three Pines, while Jane said that such a place would be claustrophobic. She disparaged the author’s idealized view of village life. After an hour, the circle ended. The only business left was to set the time and place for the next meeting.

  “Jane, it’s your turn to select the book for next time,” Nancy stated.

  “I choose Atonement by Ian McEwan. It’s a marvelous book, raising the question: Can someone atone for an unforgivable act?”

  “Atonement it is, then. Jane, our potluck will be at your house, then, on April 19th.”

  “They’re renovating my duplex, so it would be better to hold it at someone else’s house. Or we could just meet at a restaurant?”

  Discussion ensued until it was decided to meet at Margie’s. As the circle adjourned to the dessert table led by Randal, Lynn held Kalico back. “Can you stay behind after the group leaves? Aunt Em would like us to share impressions.”

  “Of course.” Kalico tucked her arm in his. “Let’s guide the talk to relationships.” He wanted to get a sense of any long-harbored jealousies.

  In a few moments, encouraged by Lynn’s rapt attention, each lady recalled past loves. Susan recounted meeting her future husband, Jefferson, at the dry cleaners—the most unromantic place imaginable. They’d discussed the benefits of having shirts laundered and pressed. They married the next month.

  “Forty-two years together, three children, seven grandchildren: all because I spilled cranberry juice on my silk blouse!”

  “Frank died six years ago of pancreatic cancer. It was brutal,” whispered Lynn to Ben.


  “You never know where romance will blossom,” Nancy smiled. “I met Gareth in the new Undergraduate Library. I worked there part time to help cover tuition. I recall that I was shelving books on the Tudors when I heard a deep and resonant voice say, “Here, let me get that for you.” I think I fell in love in that instant. That voice. How I miss that voice!” She paused as if listening to a distant sound. “Anyway, Gareth took a particularly weighty volume from me and placed it on the top shelf. I thanked him, not having the heart to tell him that he’d put a 900’s volume with the 800’s.”

  “Good heavens, Nancy. I’m surprised that you married him,” Randal joked, taking a gigantic bite of berry cobbler. “Erroneous shelving is a serious offense!”

  “Too true. Gareth asked me out right there in the English history section. We saw each other every day after until we married at the end of our junior year.”

  “Of course, we were all bridesmaids, forced to wear Kelly green tulle embroidered with pink roses!” Susan flourished her hands across her bodice. “Except for poor Jane! You came down with a horrible flu.”

  “I hated to miss the wedding, but I didn’t want to spread germs and ruin the honeymoon!” Jane lowered her eyes regretfully.

  Margie, next, recalled how her high school sweetheart reentered her life the day after she graduated from nursing school. Martin Davis had called out of the blue to congratulate her. They met for coffee, began dating, and they married two years later. “No grand romance, I guess, but I feel so lucky. I have spent my life with my best friend.”

  “Jane, were you ever married?” asked Lynn, hoping that she was not being too nosey.

  “No. Emelia and I are the old maids of the group.” Her laugh held a small edge of bitterness or disappointment. “We never found our matches.”

  “Wasn’t there that one boy in college?” Susan bit her lip, trying to remember.

  “No. There was no one in college.”

  “A boy in your astronomy class…?” Susan frowned, but the memory evidently would not take shape.

  “No. No one.”

  “But Em did find her match,” Nancy said quietly. All eyes turned to Miss Winterjoy.

  “Yes, I did.” Her eyes held a faraway look and for a moment Lynn and Kalico could see the lovely young woman she had been.

  “Aunt Em, please tell us about him. What happened?”

  “It’s ancient history.”

  “Please!”

  Emelia gazed at the faces all turned to her expectantly. “His name was Paul Laurence. We met in an Introduction to Acting class. He was destined to be a leading man: tall, dark, and handsome, with the deepest blue eyes that seemed to be always laughing at me. We were cast in The Glass Menagerie. I was Laura, and he was my gentleman caller.” She paused, a scene playing before her eyes.

  ‘“Blow out your candles, Laura,’” Randal quoted under his breath.

  Emelia shook her head. “We fell in love. Paul was killed in a convenience store robbery.” She sniffed. “We only knew each other a few weeks.”

  Lynn rose and hugged her aunt.

  “Em, we never knew!” exclaimed Susan, Jane, and Margie.

  Miss Winterjoy pushed back her chair signaling that the evening was over. Lynn and Kalico volunteered for kitchen duty, while Jane and Susan filled seal-tight containers with left-overs for each guest. Margie delivered empty dishes to be washed so that they could be returned to their proper owners. Finally, in a flurry of activity, everyone departed.

  Susan could be heard telling Jane: “No. Don’t give me cobbler to take home. I can’t resist sweets. It will be gone before I go to bed!” Nancy called to Moody, then sang, “Good night, Ladies! And Randal.” A chorus of good nights followed.

  Dishes and glasses neatly stacked in the dishwasher, pans washed and dried, left-overs placed in the refrigerator, Lynn and Kalico sank into the living room couch, followed a moment later by Miss Winterjoy who perched with perfect posture in the arm chair. Trey and Snow settled by her feet, and Perdita curled up in her lap.

  “I’m exhausted!” Lynn yawned and stretched. “Who knew listening could be so tiring?”

  “I must admit that I, too, am fatigued. But I must congratulate you two.” She beamed at her niece and her detective. “You certainly got the girls to talk.” She focused her attention on Kalico, whose arm had insinuated itself around Lynn. “What is your assessment, Benjamin? Did a prime suspect emerge?”

  Kalico’s mind raced, and he pushed his hands through his hair making it stand up at odd angles. He measured his words carefully: “I enjoyed the company and the conversation. Although I need a little time to process what I heard and saw, it seems improbable that any of your old friends would want to harm Nancy.”

  “What about Margie? She’s still simmering over losing that fifth grade reading contest,” offered Lynn, trying to lighten her aunt’s mood.

  “If she were the perpetrator, she’d want to kill me. I won the contest!”

  Suddenly the corgis raised their heads, ears alert. Nancy appeared in the entryway, hands on hips.

  “What are you three up to? Who wants to kill whom?”

  No one responded. Lynn let out a gasp that turned into a nervous giggle. Kalico stared at his shoes. Only Miss Winterjoy looked directly at her friend.

  “Come on, Emelia. Give. I could tell that you three were conspiring to take us all down memory lane tonight.” With sudden insight, she turned to Kalico. “Ben, were you here as a book lover, a boyfriend, or as a detective?”

  Kalico looked helplessly at Miss Winterjoy, who nodded her acquiescence. “As a detective,” he admitted. “But I enjoyed the book talk and the dinner. Never had such a good pork loin and that apple pie….” Lynn elbowed him in the ribs. He shut up.

  “Mr. Kalico is here tonight at my request. I have been deeply concerned, Nancy, about the accidents that have befallen you, so I hired a detective to see if there were any basis for my worry.”

  Nancy’s mouth gaped open for a second, then she laughed delightedly and joined the trio in the living room. “Em! You are such a dear to worry about me, but really? A murder plot? And who is your chief suspect? Sweet and practical Margie?”

  “I do not find your well-being a topic for levity. Anyone of your so-called accidents could have proved fatal.”

  “How could you imagine that any of our friends—our lifelong friends—could wish me harm?” Nancy shook her head. “And you two! You must have encouraged her.”

  Lynn protested as Kalico stepped in. “Miss Winterjoy requested that I look for any evidence that your accidents had been engineered, and to investigate anyone who may have had the means to tamper with your car or even to take your EpiPen. I was going to say….”

  “Emelia Rose Winterjoy!” Nancy’s voice held a dangerous edge. “Did you hire Ben to investigate Connor?”

  “Since your accidents began shortly after Connor moved in, I felt that there was––shall we say––a slim possibility….”

  “Enough! He is my grandson. Your other suspects are our closest friends.”

  “But Nancy….”

  “I said, ‘Enough!’ Hiring a detective, setting up a dinner so you all could interview them without their knowing it—Em, your actions….I have no words!”

  Kalico held his breath as the two woman locked eyes for what seemed like forever. He barely felt Lynn squeezing his hand. Then he saw Miss Winterjoy lower her eyes. She appeared to deflate, her ramrod straight spine contracting in on itself. Lynn started to rise, but stopped, as her aunt reassumed her posture.

  “Nancy, I owe you an apology. I should not have gone behind your back. I should have addressed my concern for your safety to you directly.”

  Silence, broken only by the dogs’ panting, descended on the room. Kalico inhaled and prepared to speak, but Lynn nudged him. Nancy rose and paced the room. Emelia’s worried eyes followed her.

  Finally, she stopped. “I don’t know whether to slap you or hug you, Em. You really got carried away this time! H
iring Ben! I hope he charges you a fortune.”

  As the two old friends prepared to rehash all that had transpired over the past three months, Lynn and Kalico quietly left the room. They heard Nancy declare, “If I am to forgive you, you must promise me to stop this nonsense!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning Emelia Winterjoy slept in late—a most unusual occurrence. Had it not been for the intermittent “ding” of a cell phone, she might have slept in past seven. Trey gently licked her elbow as Snow rolled over, ready for a belly rub. Their mistress acknowledged her boys and sat up, still groggy from a deep sleep. Perdita emitted an indignant meow in protest at being dislodged from the pillow. “Sorry, Purr-purr.” The phone chimed again. She reached for her phone, but no message appeared. Again: “Ding!” As her mind cleared, Emelia realized that the sound was emanating from somewhere in the dining room. A moment’s investigation revealed a cell phone tastefully bedazzled in a pink cover. She could read a text message on it: “Mom, hope it’s not too early in Austin for you, but I have great news! Call me. Lizzie.”

  The mystery phone belonged to Susan. Lizzie was Susan’s youngest daughter, a staff writer for The New Yorker. Seven o’clock was definitely too early for Susan, who since she had retired from her position as an editor for The Austin American-Statesman, often slept in until ten or even later. A shameful waste of daylight. Emelia made a mental note to return the phone later that morning before running some errands.

  At a few minutes after 10 a.m., she pulled into the Jankowsky driveway. The tan brick, two-story house was located in the Circle C neighborhood. Susan’s metallic blue Audi was parked in front of the white, three-car garage. Emelia marched to the front door and rang the bell. When Susan failed to answer, she rang the bell again and knocked three times for good measure.

  Perhaps she’s taken up jogging again. I could leave the phone in her mailbox with a note.

  She peered through the beveled glass in the door, but could make out only fuzzy shapes. Nothing moved inside. She shivered and turned to leave. Probably out jogging, she reassured herself. But worry nagged at her. I promised Nancy to not let my imagination go wild. As she began to walk back to her car, she felt someone watching and from the corner of her eye, she caught the rustle of a lace curtain at the front window. I’ve become a ridiculous old fool, Emelia thought as she stepped off the walkway into the front flowerbed, squeezed between two prickly Burford holly shrubs, and squinted through the glass into pair of golden eyes. “Delilah! You gave me a fright!” she said to Susan’s fifteen year old black cat. “Where’s Susan?” The cat began vocalizing and pacing back and forth on the windowsill. Emelia leaned in closer. Was that Susan sitting in Frank’s over-stuffed club chair? She tapped on the glass. Delilah jumped down, flicked her tail, and bounded into the living room.