When we were back in her room, I reopened the subject. “Let’s examine the facts. We don’t have any proof of wrong doing. Mitchell died of unknown causes, but that doesn’t mean a person is in danger. Has anyone gotten sick, disappeared, or in any way been harmed? I think the best thing to do is to settle in and remain calm. Watch your stories until the Scrabble contest.” I handed her the remote.
Hattie zipped the front of her cobalt blue jogging suit before gratefully slumping into an easy chair that must have come off Noah’s ark. She accepted her favorite afghan. I tucked her in and pecked her on the cheek.
“Goodbye dear.”
Whew! I scooted out before she could protest. Hattie had a great imagination. Could there be any truth to her claim? She was a lot of things, but she was no fabricator, more of a fact embellisher. My stomach churned. I started toward the exit. Then I remembered that I had promised to visit Elvira and drop off some church stationery.
I could already feel that disapproving stare and imagine Elvira tapping her watch. That school teacher soul always found a way to remind me that I was late. Although health problems had prevented the matron from attending services for years, Elvira stayed involved. She sent letters to visitors and shut-ins, organized special benefits, and made generous contributions to First Church. Elvira’s family donated the communion trays and offering plates. That’s a gift one doesn’t forget and she made sure no one ever did.
I found Miss Honeycutt in the solarium reading a stack of Christian magazines and periodicals basking in the sunshine. Hattie’s predictions were still ringing in my ears as I approached.
“Good morning, Elvira dear.”
“It is past twelve, so technically it is afternoon,” and there it was – the watch tapping.
“So it is. And how are you today?”
“Same as every day. Busy with the Lord’s work. Did you bring more church stationery? I have letters to write, cards to mail, missionary brochures to read, magazine articles to cut out, and phone calls to return.”
“Of course I brought plenty of stationery and envelopes. Let me know when you need more. Tom was just saying how wonderful that you continue to keep up with First Church here at Golden Palms. You don’t miss out on anything.”
“I keep up my duties even if I can’t attend services.”
“That you do. That you do. Tom sends his regards.”
“Tell him that I would appreciate a visit instead.”
Our one-way conversation included Elvira’s ideas about changing the format of the weekly church bulletin, revamping the newsletter, and adding a spring revival. She insisted that First Church host not only the traditional Mothers’ Day Tea, but sponsor a Father/Daughter banquet, plus a Yard Sale to raise funds for new choir robes. Elvira was uncharacteristically excited about a new gardening project at Golden Palms. I listened respectfully which is all you can do when Elvira is on one of her tirades. After an hour of listening, nodding, and adding appropriate “I see” here and there, I yawned, stretched, and did my own watch glance.
Once I made the mistake of complimenting Elvira. It proved to be a bad idea leading to a reminder of what the Scriptures say about pride coming before a fall, vanity, and falling from grace.
“Wow, look at the time. I’ll pass along your suggestions to the appropriate committee chairs. But for now, I’ve got to get home and make dinner. It’s been lovely, Elvira. I must be off. See you next week.”
I handed over the stationery and gave Elvira a quick hug. She handed off her lists along with items to mail. Mentally, I ticked off another visit. Try as I might I couldn’t get Hattie’s words out of my mind. When I turned the corner, Hattie and her groupies were returning from the Scrabble fiasco. I ducked into the dining room. It wouldn’t do to let her know that I was still at Golden Palms. Schedules don’t mean much to this population, but like children, they get jealous if one visitor stays longer, gets a gift, or receives special attention. I couldn’t let Hattie draw me back in.
I swung by the post office, picked up stamps, and dutifully mailed Elvira’s correspondence. How did these women become so different? How different Golden Palms would be without Hattie. Her antics like hiding in a display coffin, swiping her roommate’s dentures, cheating at poker, and her frequent high jinx of running away kept GP from being a pale shade of gray. Hattie was the colorful antidote to a black and white world. Her lively spirit refused to surrender even if it was trapped in a deteriorating body. The family says in her youth, she was a doozy. I think she still is. That’s why her seriousness today bothered me. I wanted to look into GP’s history and do some research on my own. On the other hand, Elvira had all the advantages, but she seemed to have a grudge against the world. What made her so prickly? I don’t suppose that I will ever find out. Like a carrot, the foot rub and Chardonnay beckoned to me. No knitting club for me tonight.
The Knit at Noon Club changed its time from noon to six p.m. which made no sense. I soon learned that in Athena once you named something that was that. No discussion. So the knitting population still referred to it as the Knit at Noon Club. Never mind that half the seniors dropped out because they don’t drive after dark. I kept my hand in not only because I love knitting, but again here I am just ‘one of the girls.’
Tonight we were to tackle the cable stitch and turn in our homework —6” x 6” knitted squares. I didn’t get by Pins and Needles for more yarn to finish my squares. I could turn them in later, tonight I needed time to myself.
Tom and his colleagues were on an overnight retreat so supper wasn’t an issue. Besides, Hattie’s little “bomb” had given me a headache, plus I needed a shower to wash away the antiseptic smell of Athena’s retirement residency. What did they use that created that smell?
I rolled down the car windows and breathed in the smells of autumn. This was a move back home for Tom and me. After years of traveling the globe, this was to be our last appointment before retirement. The sun setting over golden fields added to my serenity about our first fall in Athena. We had moved into the parsonage just after the Christmas holidays last winter. I was looking forward to all of the First Church events of the season, even the Christmas Drop In. Twilight signaled the end of a still warm day.
My brain jerked me back to Hattie. Maybe she was suffering from sort of dementia. Tom’s father had dementia. He told himself jokes and laughed at them. Dementia for a ninety-year-old was not uncommon. The doctors told us that dementia manifests itself differently in every person. That’s what it was. Of course! It had to be.
As I turned in the driveway, I spied a large sheet of paper taped to the glass sliding doors. I immediately recognized Suzy’s handwriting. My hands trembled as I tore the note off the door.
Called Meeting of the Thursday Club Tomorrow. Yes, I know it is Friday.
7:00 AM Sharp. Will pick you up.
Suzy
~3~
There was more to the Langford sisters than met the eye. Amy was among the first parishioners I met. She greeted me in the parking lot when we arrived with the U-Haul. Like a platoon commander, she assigned everyone a task in the moving-in process. Someone had placed a padded rocking chair in the front room where Amy ushered me with a cup of tea and orders to “rest.”
Meanwhile, my dishes, linens, towels, and grocery items were being shelved in places unknown all under the guise of “helping” the preacher’s family transition into the fold. I had learned from playing this game at other congregations to go with the flow and rearrange later. Mostly their hearts were in the right place. My experience proved that occasionally you’d get a social climber who expected preference, but that wasn’t Amy’s style. She was a genuine person, full of fun, and anxious to be my friend.
I didn’t know Amy had a sister until a car accident made it impossible for her to continue living alone. Consequently, Suzy took early retirement. One afternoon she and her 24-foot Ryder truck rolled in and took over like Eisenhower at Normandy on D-Day. I found it surreal that a petite blond like S
uzy could manage a semi-truck and trailer weighing 80,000 pounds. She probably didn’t weigh 100 pounds soaking wet. At gatherings, she told her everyone that she is semi-retired. People smiled because they thought they understood. It’s her little “inside” joke. Around the house Suzy captures her Clairol© enhanced blond curls under a Mack Truck hat while she tinkers in the garage on all things mechanical.
And then there’s Clara. That first day she joined me in the parsonage living room and explained that the Langford family was the closest thing Athena had to aristocracy. Their decorated forebears rested at the community cemetery. The library even had a reading room named for them as well. As far as Clara knew, Amy was the last of their lineage. We were pleasantly surprised when Suzy came on the scene. Now that Suzy and Amy were reunited, they were inseparable. Amy was a professional woman who had chosen not to marry. No one seemed to know if Suzy was married, separated, or divorce. She went by Suzy Langford and that was that. The sisters couldn’t be more different. They were both blond and petite and that’s where the similarity ended. Yet they fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Makes me wonder what their parents were like. Pity the fool who tried to come between them! Maybe that’s why Suzy has exes.
A screech of brakes broke my reverie. I knew that was Amy’s red van dubbed “Scarlett” was indeed outside. After ten seconds I predicted a honking session from Suzy so I gathered my things and raced out the door. Tom wasn’t due back until evening so I had all day for another adventure. It was the first time Clara, Suzy, and I had been together since the cat funeral. I wanted more details than just the bad feeling that Hattie had about Golden Palms.
“Hey Roxy,” came the chorus when the van door slid open.
“Hello girls,” I countered and scanned the group. Everyone was there even Hattie!
With seatbelts clicked, Suzy gunned the engine and we were off. To where I hadn’t a clue. Scarlett buzzed along the loop and exited on 78 headed toward Pauline’s Café, the unofficial Thursday Club headquarters.
10 o’clock on Thursdays was our usual meeting time. That gave Clara time to preside, have Amy read the minutes, and more importantly order lunch. That was on a NORMAL meeting date and time. It was now 7:20 a.m. on Friday. What could be so important?
I was relieved everyone dressed casually. Hattie wore a smart pillbox in the style of Jackie-O from her millinery collection. It was a lovely shade of powder blue and brought out the color of her eyes. However, I am not sure Coco Chanel would approve of it paired with a chartreuse jogging suit. No one dared comment on her selection.
I opted for jeans and an aqua sweater that I bought while taking golf lessons. This sweater hadn’t gotten much mileage since Tom gave up hope of me ever learning a bogie from a brassie or a niblick from a wedge. It’s for the best because the game that he loves gives me a migraine. It was a nice sweater though.
Suzy and Amy wore their usual designer pants suits. Suzy selected a navy with white trim. Amy’s was bright pink. Those girls had a closet full of Chanel’s, Dior’s, and Ralph Laurens to choose from. I should Google how the first Langford made his money.
Suzy veered into the empty parking lot at Pauline’s Café and activated Amy’s lift.
“All ashore who’s going ashore,” Amy called out. Like ducklings in a row, Clara and I followed Amy, Suzy, and Hattie into Pauline’s.
“Does Pauline serve breakfast?” I asked as it suddenly hit me how early we were.
“She does today,” Amy answered as the doorbell jingled.
Clara was the sensible one, the one who “kept her head” when chaos reigned. Clara’s motto for the paper “shedding light on the community” was inherited. Born and raised in Athena, Clara knew where all the bodies were buried. She was the “go to” person with juicy tidbits about scandals, cover ups, pedigrees, illegitimate trysts, and skeletons in the closet. Officially, Clara retired years ago. But with no spouse or children to keep her busy, she still spent a lot of time at the newspaper. Clara’s dark hair (touched up I’m sure) and thin body made her a striking figure in any crowd but she never seemed to be aware how lovely she really was.
At my first meeting of the Thursday Club, the quartet filled me in on the club’s origins. The Thursday Club began as a harmless book club. It met weekly in the parsonage under the leadership of the pastor’s wife. Since it met in the morning, the group was never very large. Through the years it waned as more women became employed or had small children to care for. Eventually it dwindled to Amy, Clara, and Hattie. When Hattie moved to Golden Palms, the club began meeting at Pauline’s Café. By that time Suzy had joined the little band of mischief makers.
To date, the Club has discussed a couple of books and even a screenplay but our major interest was catching up on local gossip, getting the lowdown on GP from Hattie, and having manicures once a month at Total Image – Hattie’s treat.
While Suzy and Amy made a beeline to the ladies, I joined Clara and Hattie at our regular table. I was curious as to what had happened since Mitchell’s demise, but I was hesitant to probe. Clara stirred her iced tea vigorously. Pauline’s was empty so her spoon clanked as the Splenda© crystals dissolved. Hattie arranged and rearranged the sweetener packets. Once that was accomplished she proceeded to re-polish the stainless silverware with her napkin. Like me, they were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When Amy and Suzy returned to the table, I could tell by their facial expressions that they were still recovering from Hattie’s retelling of the revival story. For some reason, Hattie felt called to entertain us in the van with the tale of the professional revival goer in Athena. When this individual attended a summer revival meeting at First Church, the congregation was treated to howling noises from the balcony. At first everyone tried to ignore the sounds until the howls grew so loud the children began to laugh. Hattie declared that hoots and eerie wailing continued until three deacons ousted the visitor from the premises. By the time the deacons returned, the congregation had erupted with laughter, the children squealed, and the guest speaker closed his Bible and sat down. Without a clue as to what to do, the choir stood and sang the last hymn. Hattie’s rendition was no doubt embellished, but my insides were sore from laughter.
Amy and Suzy adjusted their napkins, sipped their lemon water, and tried to put on a serious face but to no avail. Like youngsters in church, they only had to lock eyes before the smirks began.
To give them time to gain composure, we silently ate our salads. I thought how dull life would be without the Thursday Club. Their humorous exploits were a wonderful counterbalance to a stressful life in the ministry.
Suzy stole a bite from Amy’s plate. Hattie sent back her Caesar salad because it had dressing, go figure? Meanwhile, Clara oversaw us all like a mother hen. Unfortunately, the one thing Clara wanted was denied her. No marriage and no children. Still, she proved to be the steel magnolia in the group. She was fiercely loyal if she liked you and a nightmare if she didn’t. Fortunately I was in the first category.
I broke the reverie. “Okay. I think I’ve waited long enough. Strike One. I went to a funeral and a reception for a feline. Strike Two. I am out way too early on a morning when I usually sleep in. And, if that isn’t enough. Strike Three. I have no idea what this is about or what we are doing here.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Suzy nodded. “You have been left out of the link too long. Mitchell’s body was not cremated. He’s in the van.”
Suzy ignored my gasp and continued, “My ex-husband is going to examine him. After this, we are delivering the body. When he completes the examination, we will be able to confirm if indeed Mitchell was poisoned. If so, with what and by whom. Any questions?”
Clara appeared to be as stunned as I was. After a few seconds that seemed like years, Hattie picked up her fork and began picking at her dressing-less salad. Clara continued to stare at her tea glass. Amy and Suzy munched away as though everything was perfectly normal. I was in shock, but I wasn’t the only one. I pushed my half eate
n salad way. My appetite waned as I pondered traveling in a van with a cat corpse.
“Suzy, how did you deal with the odor? I mean it’s been several days.”
“Oh that. He’s frozen dear.”
That got rid of what was left of my appetite. The waitress removed our salad plates, and presented our entrees. I waved mine away. I had a lot to take in. Is that what Amy and Suzy were doing those days they were away? Who was Suzy’s ex-husband the coroner? Why were we going to a coroner? Were we going to witness the necropsy?
Brunch continued in silence. If I could read minds, I’d say that we were concentrating on what new horrors this day would bring. We were the only ones in the café so Pauline checked on us midway through the meal. We managed enough Southern courtesy to compliment her on the scrumptious repast for Mitchell’s reception. After coffee, Suzy and Amy picked up the tab. We shuffled out of Pauline’s. Suzy turned Scarlett north.
By the time we reached the next town, my brain thawed. Clara asked ‘where was a good place to buy bridal attire?’ That got our attention. She explained that her nephew was getting married soon. She had been asked to stand in as the groom’s mother since her sister in law succumbed to cancer years ago. Amy wanted to visit the Outlet Mall and nagged Suzy to stop. The back and forth discussion of mall prices, shopping online, and weddings continued until Suzy could take no more.
“No. All of you. We are not stopping. I’ve got to get to Tony before he changes his mind. You know that after Happy Hour he’s no good to anyone. Besides, if he thinks about it too long, he’ll back out. He only agreed to do this so that I would have dinner with him.”
“Rekindling that spark, are you?” Clara chimed.
You know the ‘if looks could kill adage’? It would apply here. Again the frosty treatment from the driver’s seat. We rocked along with intermittent silences. After crossing the Stephens County line, the van slowed to a stop in front of a strip mall. On one end of the row of stores was a Dollar General and other anchor store was a going-out-of-business Radio Shack. Suzy deftly parked the crimson vehicle and pushed the button to release Amy’s chair. Doors slid open and we began to disembark.
Murder at Royal Palms (A cozy mystery novella) (Thursday Club Mysteries Book 1) Page 2