2 On the Nickel

by Maggie Toussaint

  I crammed a handful of bulletins in the mangler thingy and smashed them flat. This accusation was worse than the last. But the bulletin sisters weren’t going to break me. “I did no such thing. Daddy expected me to look after Mama’s finances. That’s why he deeded the house over to me.”

  “Dee knows how to look out for herself. Why would she suddenly need your help?” Francine asked.

  Heat flamed my cheeks. This question had hovered in the back of my mind, too. Mama wasn’t senile or demented. She was just Mama. Daddy had trusted her to work in his office. Why hadn’t he trusted her with the deed to their house? “I didn’t go behind Mama’s back. Daddy came to me and told me it was a done deal.”

  “If you’re feeling guilty for cheating your mother out of her inheritance, you could sign the house back over to her. Get one of them, what’cha’macallits.” Muriel looked over at Francine. “You know what I mean, Francy. That legal thing that Wanda’s daughter did.”

  Francine snapped her fingers in the air until her memory banks engaged. “Oh yeah. A quit-claim deed. She signed everything back over to her mother.”

  My chin went up. I crammed a handful of bulletins into the machine. They came out of the pressing machine with a thick wrinkle down the center, obscuring the text in the middle of the page.

  Grinding my back teeth together in frustration, I dumped the ruined bulletins into the reject pile with Francine’s crumpled efforts. “I’m not doing that. Daddy wanted me to have the house. He knew I would never evict Mama.”

  “Until you move that new man in,” Muriel predicted, shaking a thinly veined finger at me. “Then you’ll turn Dee out. I’ve seen it happen time and time again.”

  My blood pressure spiked. I grabbed the rounded edge of the table and counted to five. “I am not turning Mama out on the street. I can’t believe you’d say such a thing. Please, let’s change the subject. What about Wednesday’s tragedy? What about Erica Hodges?”

  “Why would we talk about her?” Francine asked. “She’s gone, and we’re glad of it.”

  Francine and Muriel nodded in tandem. Two sisters with one brain between them.

  If they knew how much I wanted answers, they’d clam up to spite me. I had to be smarter than them. “I believe Mama’s funk is related to the feud she had with Erica. Do you know why they didn’t get along?”

  “Sure,” Muriel said. “I’m old but I’m not senile.”

  Much more of this and I’d be senile. “What’s the deal?”

  Muriel and Francine exchanged a knowing look that made my back teeth grind together. “Why don’t you ask Delilah about the argument?” Francine asked.

  “I already did, and she wouldn’t tell me. Please, if you know anything about what went on, I’d like to know. I’m worried about Mama.”

  Muriel folded her bony hands together on the scarred table. She leaned forward. “Erica was a terrible thorn in Dee’s side for years.”

  Finally.

  I was getting somewhere.

  I quit smashing bulletins and sat down across from Francine and Muriel. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I can’t tell you how many times I heard Mama complain about her. Erica never cleaned out the church coffee pot right, Erica used Mama’s assigned parking space at the hospital, Erica took credit for Mama’s accomplishments whenever and wherever she could. All of that’s water under the bridge. What started this whole mess?”

  “Erica wasn’t a very nice person. She took pride in hurting others.” Muriel spoke so softly I strained to hear her.

  “Muriel.” Francine’s sharp tone sounded a clear warning.

  My eyes darted back and forth between the two gray-haired women. I hadn’t come this far to be turned back emptyhanded. “And?”

  “And she wasn’t above bending facts to suit her purposes,” Muriel said in a breathy rush.

  I wasn’t getting the information I needed. Erica was a nasty user. I already knew that. Muriel and Francine were loyal to Mama, but I sensed Muriel wanted to tell me something. What was it? I replayed the last few minutes of our conversation in my mind.

  Erica bent facts. Did she have something on Mama? Something worth killing for? My blood chilled instantly.

  If Erica had been blackmailing Mama, that meant Mama had a strong motive to kill Erica. I prayed that wasn’t the case. I prayed Erica hadn’t pushed Mama over the edge of reason. Regardless, I had to help Mama out of this deep hole. For that I needed more information about the dead woman. What other avenues could I pursue with Francine and Muriel?

  Nasty people weren’t just nasty to one person. Usually. They were nasty to everyone.

  If that were true, there might be other incidents I could uncover. If Francine and Muriel didn’t want to talk about Mama, would they talk about their own experiences with Erica? It didn’t hurt to ask. “Did either of you have nasty run-ins with Erica?”

  Another covert look flashed between the two women. Whatever they knew, it wasn’t information they were anxious to reveal. “I promise to keep it to myself,” I added.

  Francine bowed her head and shook it in mute denial. Whatever Erica had done to her must be too painful to reveal. I felt for Francine, I really did, but her searing silence galvanized my need to know.

  What did Erica have on these women?

  I turned my attention to Muriel. She barely met my gaze before she averted her eyes. Bony white knuckles bulged from fisted hands. I was onto something here. Satisfaction hummed through my veins. I waited while she wrestled with her private demons.

  “Erica said she had proof my son cheated on his college entrance exams,” Muriel whispered, her face ghostly pale, a single teardrop sliding down her rouged cheek. “I didn’t believe her, but I couldn’t take the chance she would jeopardize Robby’s future.”

  Clanging alarms went off in my head. “What did you do?”

  Muriel’s gaze darted sideways like a frightened rabbit. “I did what any mother would do. I protected my child.”

  I saw the raw emotion in her eyes. My heart ached for her, but I had to know how she’d handled the situation. “How?”

  Muriel shook her head so fast she looked like a motorized bobble-head doll gone wild. I was afraid she would bolt out of the room, and then where would I be? I wouldn’t have the answers I needed to help Mama, and I’d have to finish folding these stupid bulletins by myself. Not good.

  I placed my hands palm down on the table and leaned forward. “Please. Tell me what you did.”

  “I can’t,” Muriel whispered.

  Questions boiled in my throat, but they were silenced by the sudden appearance of Detective Britt Radcliffe. His solid law-enforcing presence filled the doorway. His sharp gaze cased the room. Was that disappointment in his eyes? “Morning, ladies,” he said.

  I was still mad at Britt for handcuffing me and Jonette on Wednesday. He could have just sent us on our way, but no, he had to be the Cop in Charge. He’d made his point, but in doing so, he’d burned his bridges with me.

  But I wasn’t a regular here. He’d come expecting to see the bulletin-folding ladies. How did the bulletin sisters feel about having a police detective in their midst? Leaning back in my seat, I pasted a benign smile on my face and studied them. Francine and Muriel had flinched at his deep voice. They knew more than they were telling. Would Britt notice their unease?

  Francine recovered first. She reached for another bulletin to fold. “Good morning, detective.”

  “I see you’re keeping the world safe from improperly folded bulletins,” he said with a flirty wink.

  “We do what we can,” Muriel said, accepting the partially folded bulletin Francine handed her.

  After what we’d just discussed, I couldn’t imagine Muriel calmly going about her business, and yet she was doing just that. A Shakespearean actor couldn’t have given a better performance than Muriel.

  That last thought had the wheels in my head turning. Was Muriel acting now, or had she been acting when she seemed so di
stressed a few minutes ago? What was going on with this older crowd? They sure didn’t want anyone to find out. Which only made me need to know more than ever.

  What were they hiding?

  Britt turned his attention to me. His steely gray eyes glittered with intensity. “Cleo, I didn’t know you were a member of the folding brigade.”

  “Just lending a hand where it’s needed,” I said airily.

  Britt wasn’t fooled by my altruism. He knew exactly who was missing from this picture. “Where’s Delilah today?” he asked.

  In a flash of blinding insight, I understood the bulletin sisters’ work ethic. A busy person was less vulnerable. I rose to man the folding machine.

  Even without Britt stepping foot in the room, his physical presence cast a long, dark shadow in our workspace. His leading questions were like bait in a bear trap. I didn’t want to get dismembered when he sprang the trap.

  Besides, Britt wasn’t asking about Mama for social reasons. This was police business. I inhaled shakily and squashed five more bulletins. “Mama couldn’t make it today.”

  I knew a thing or two about difficult topics. Changing the subject was imperative. Time to apply a little offensive strategy to this situation. “What brings you to church today, Britt?”

  “Conducting interviews for the Hodges investigation,” Britt said evenly. “I had hoped to talk to Francine, Muriel, and Delilah today. About the Tuesday evening hospitality committee meeting.”

  So much for my inept attempt to change the subject. Did Britt see my hands tremble as I inserted another wad of bulletins into the folding machine?

  Francine didn’t miss a beat in her folding routine. “What about the meeting?”

  Britt focused on the bulletin sisters. “I wanted to verify the time of your meeting and when everyone went home.”

  Muriel brushed aside his inquiry. “No need to trouble Dee for that. The meeting started at seven. We discussed the hospitality preparations for the bishop’s upcoming visit. At seven-thirty, Dee drove Francy and me home.”

  “Delilah drove?” Britt flipped his notebook open and scribbled fast.

  My heart sank. Would he demand to see Mama’s car, now that he knew it had been at the church that evening?

  “Yes,” Muriel said. “Both Francy and I are night-blind.”

  “Were there any other cars in the church parking lot that night?”

  “Erica drove, so her Caddy was here, but that’s all I remember seeing,” Francine said. “And Erica left before we did.”

  Britt scribbled some more. “Did either of you think Mrs. Hodges acted out of character?”

  “I didn’t notice anything unusual—did you, Francy?” Muriel said.

  “Not a thing. It was business as usual around here,” Francine said smoothly. The last bulletin passed swiftly between her and Muriel.

  “Do you have anything to add, Cleo?” Britt asked.

  Color rose to my cheeks. “I wasn’t here for the hospitality committee meeting.” Praying that he didn’t mention the Monday meeting, I ruthlessly shoved the final clump of bulletins into the folding press.

  Francine and Muriel were lying about the time they left the church. Either that or Mama went elsewhere after the meeting. It was way past seven-thirty when she returned home that evening. I remembered because the girls and I had gone through their backpacks on the kitchen table to make sure they had everything they needed for the first day of school on Wednesday.

  Another piece of damning evidence. Mama’s late arrival at home suggested she had a window opportunity to kill Erica. My hopes plummeted. How could I keep Mama out of jail if the evidence pointed to her?

  “I need to talk to Delilah, Cleo,” Britt said.

  “You know where to find her,” I said with false lightness. At this rate Mama would be behind bars by nightfall.

  Francine rose. “Will you be needing us for anything else, Detective?”

  “Not right now. Don’t leave town, ladies.”

  Francine and Muriel collected the boxes of neatly pressed bulletins and scurried out of the small workroom. I tried to make myself appear as inconspicuous as possible, hoping Britt would follow them out and leave me alone. No such luck. He blocked the doorway again.

  “They’re lying,” Britt said, his arms barred across his chest. Thick muscles stretched his shirt sleeves to their maximum endurance. “Why? Do you have any idea why they’d lie to a police officer?”

  “They lied to me, too,” I admitted.

  Britt leaned heavily in the doorway. “I’m going to have to arrest every gray-haired lady in town for obstructing justice. The mayor will flip out.”

  I remembered Darnell’s quote in the paper. He’d promised a swift but thorough investigation of Erica’s death. The mayor thought it was bad for tourism to have killers running loose on the streets of Hogan’s Glen. I agreed with him on that point.

  Britt’s detective gaze settled heavily on me. “You know something. What is it, Cleo? Do I have to arrest you too?”

  The things I knew were only exceeded by the things I didn’t know. I needed to toss Britt a bone, or he’d figure out I was investigating Erica’s death. “This isn’t public knowledge yet, but Jonette has decided to run for mayor.”

  Britt cracked a smile. “That’s something to look forward to.”

  “She’ll give Darnell a run for his money, that’s for sure.”

  Britt steeled his face. “Be careful, Cleo. Something ugly is afoot in this town. I don’t want you mixed up in it.”

  I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Hey, me neither.”

  “Seriously, go home. Stay away from Trinity Episcopal until I get this mess straightened out.”

  “You think someone on staff here killed Erica?”

  He scowled at me. “You’re not going to trick me into revealing how Erica Hodges was killed.”

  Of all the nerve. “I’m not trying to trick you into anything. I don’t understand what’s going on. What happened to our sleepy little town?”

  Britt ignored my question. “I thought your recent stint in handcuffs would have kept you from snooping around, and yet here you are back at the church.”

  His accusation heated my blood. “If you notice, I’m not outside poking around the church parking lot. I’m volunteering in the church office. Big difference.”

  “Not in my book. I know you, Cleopatra Jones. You won’t let good enough alone. I’ve got enough to do without worrying about your safety.”

  I resented his implication. “I don’t need a bodyguard. If you recall, I got myself out of trouble last time.”

  “Exactly my point. You put yourself in a very dangerous situation. Let me handle this hunt for Erica’s murderer.”

  “Murder?” That two-syllable word clanked in my empty stomach. I searched his face for something more to go on. His rugged features were as inscrutable as ever. “I thought Erica’s death was an accident.”

  “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m going to. Maybe it’ll shock some sense into you. Preliminary autopsy reports indicate that Erica Hodges was struck by a vehicle, run over repeatedly, and left for dead.”

  I grimaced. Erica hadn’t been a nice person, but no one deserved to die slowly, painfully, and alone. “She didn’t die right away?”

  “Not at the slow speed of impact a vehicle could muster in the church parking lot.”

  I grabbed my middle to corral my jittery stomach. Thank God I hadn’t actually seen Erica’s body the other day when I’d trespassed in the parking lot. My active imagination brought up a visual of Erica, cartoon-character thin with limbs bent at impossible angles. As flat as if she’d been passed through the bulletin-folding machine. I shuddered. “That’s terrible. I had no idea.”

  Britt handed me my purse and clamped a beefy hand on my shoulder. He ushered me out the nearest door. “Get out of here and don’t come back.”

  I didn’t like being manhandled or shoved around, but Britt meant well. Trouble was, I needed to be in that
church. I needed to know the dark secrets surrounding the life of Erica Hodges. Otherwise, how would I have a chance at saving Mama from herself?

  Since the fall weather was so mild, I’d walked the eight blocks down to the church this morning. While I’d been inside working on the bulletins, a stiff breeze had sprung up and it went straight through my thin, summer-weight clothing. I shivered and headed home.

  “Need a ride, Cleo?”

  My head whipped around. A dark Beemer pulled out of the traffic lane on Main Street and idled next to me. Through the open window a slug of familiar cologne wafted out to me, confirming what I already knew. Charlie Jones had stopped to give me a lift. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t consider getting in the car with my ex-husband, but this wasn’t ordinary times.

  I was filled with an urgency to get home and talk to Mama. “Thanks.” I stepped toward his Beemer as he opened the door from inside.

  “I’m headed out for lunch.” Charlie’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “You interested?”

  Lunch with my ex-husband would give him hope he could win me back. A ride was one thing. Sharing food took our level of intimacy to a whole other level. “No, thanks, I’ve got to get home.”

  “No problem there. I love your cooking.” Charlie masterfully steered through a series of lefts as we reversed direction. Already I regretted the impulse that led me to accept this ride. I had to be very firm about the boundaries I set for Charlie, or he would insert himself in the picture.

  “You’re not invited to lunch, Charlie.”

  “Don’t be cruel, Cleo. I’ve apologized for my mistake. I’m a new man. Promise. A man who wants you back. What’s the harm in a lunch?”

  He had my complete attention. Purple cows could have fallen from the sky, and I wouldn’t have noticed. “It’s not about harm. It’s about trust. I don’t trust you anymore. Why can’t you accept that and move on?”

  “You want to talk to me about trust? How come every time I turn around, Britt Radcliffe has his hands on you? He’s a married man, Cleo.”

  My blood raced at the insult. I couldn’t believe how quickly Charlie could get me riled up. This was exactly why I stayed away from him. “I am not interested in Britt Radcliffe. He’s not interested in me. I don’t know where you get these bizarre ideas, Charlie.”