by Linda Reilly
Prescott shook her head. “Maybe I can stall them. The new info on McPhee’s car will be helpful. Maybe we can delay Lucas’s release for at least another day. But you need to cease and desist—do you hear me?”
“I hear you perfectly well,” Talia said. She heard the ire filtering into her tone, but she didn’t care anymore. “I just want to say one more thing. This murder is far from being solved. If Crystal is brought to trial, it will be a travesty. Because the real killer will still be out there, only he’ll be doing the dance of joy.”
“He?”
Talia fidgeted. Was she so sure the killer was a man? “I’m using the word in a generic sense, but yes, the killer could well be a ‘he.’” Especially if it was Wesley Thurman. “Have you looked any more into Wesley Thurman’s background?” Talia asked her. “I mean, showing up in town after being away for a couple of decades? Are you telling me he couldn’t have had that ridiculous contest anyplace else?”
“You mean the ridiculous contest you entered?”
“Yes, I mean that one.” Not for the first time, Talia wished she had a time machine that would let her roll back the clock. She would have told Crystal, “Thanks, but no, thanks,” when she asked her to enter the contest. “I’m sorry now that I ever got involved in it.”
“Too late for that.”
Yeah, no kidding. “So what are you doing about Thurman?” Talia prodded her.
Patti snatched up her take-out bag and rose from the granite bench. “This conversation is over. Thanks for the goodies, Talia. And remember, I’ll be watching you.”
16
Not long after Talia’s contentious conversation with Prescott, a thin, elderly woman with limp gray hair and a world-weary expression toddled in to Fry Me. In her hands she clutched a white plastic purse, the type that snapped open at the top. For several moments she stood stock-still. Her gaze roamed around the dining area, as if she didn’t quite know where she was.
Noticing her hesitation, Talia grabbed a menu from the counter and went over to greet her. “Hello. Welcome to Fry Me a Sliver. Would you care to be seated?”
“Um . . . yes, I think I would,” the woman said. She brightened a little when she saw the wall clock. “I like that octopus. It’s quite the ticket, isn’t it?”
Talia smiled. “Thank you. It’s a unique piece. Our local potter made it for us.”
Something about the woman’s face was familiar, but Talia couldn’t quite think why. She was pretty sure she’d never met her before.
Talia escorted her over to one of the smaller tables. Upon closer inspection, she saw that the woman’s skinny legs were clad in worn-looking cotton slacks. A ring of grime lined the collar of her short-sleeved pink blouse. The entire ensemble was in desperate need of an iron. A faint odor of sweat emanated from the woman. Not necessarily unpleasant, just . . . stale.
“I simply love fish and chips,” the woman said, plunking her purse onto an adjacent chair. She barely glanced at the menu before pushing it aside. “By the way, I’m Ethel Anderson. I’m Norma Ferguson’s sister.”
Talia stifled a gasp. This was Norma’s sister? No wonder she looked familiar.
All at once, Talia felt two sets of probing eyes from the kitchen turn and gawk at her.
“Oh my,” Talia said softly. She touched the woman lightly on the shoulder. “Ms. Anderson, I’m Talia Marby. I was one of the contestants that day. I am so very sorry for your loss. I knew Norma only briefly, but—”
But what? Talia felt suddenly tongue-tied. She really hadn’t known Norma at all. Plus, with the exception of Jodie Ferringer, she couldn’t recall anyone having said a kind word about her.
“Actually, it’s Mrs. Anderson,” Ethel said, saving Talia from having to conjure up a polite response. “Not that it matters. I’ve been widowed for a very long time.”
Talia nodded at the chair next to Ethel’s. “May I join you for a moment?”
“Of course, dear. Although I wouldn’t mind if you’d ask one of your cooks”—she peeked over the counter at Martha and Molly—“to make an order of fish and chips for me. And bring me a glass of lemonade.”
Talia grinned. When it came to hunger, the woman was not shy.
Molly signaled that she would get started right away. Martha scooted over to the table with a tall glass of pink lemonade.
“Thank you.” Ethel leaned in for a long sip. “My, that’s good. The police called me yesterday,” she went on. “They’ve released Norma’s body for burial. I drove down from Maine to make the funeral arrangements. And to clean out her apartment. The landlord who owns her building wants to lease the space as quickly as possible. Affordable apartments are very much in demand, I understand.”
The seed of an idea burrowed itself in Talia’s mind. “So . . . the police said it was okay to clean out her apartment?” She tried to sound casual, but her nerves were jumping over one another.
“Oh, yes. They said they’d already gone through everything and wouldn’t need to get in there again.”
“Did they find anything, um, helpful?” Talia prodded. “I mean, anything that might help solve their case?”
Ethel scratched at a red welt on her forearm. It looked like a mosquito bite. “No. In fact they said they pretty much found nothing. Norma didn’t even own a computer.”
Talia tried to put on a blank face. “Have you been to Norma’s apartment yet?”
Ethel took another, smaller sip from her straw. “I’ve been there since this morning, packing boxes,” she said. “I managed to get all of her personal effects boxed up and loaded into my van. The landlord is going to take most of her clothes to the Salvation Army for me, bless him. I certainly have no use for them. I only took a break when I realized how hungry I was. Norma didn’t have much to eat in her kitchen except for frozen things, so I decided to drive into town and find something hot and fresh. I’m so glad I stopped in here.”
“I am, too,” Talia said. “I’m sure it was hard to, you know, have to go through your sister’s things.”
Ethel nodded. “Oh, it was. And whew, was it ever hot in there! All closed up like that for days.” She waved a hand in front of her face, as if the apartment heat had followed her. “I turned on the air-conditioning unit, but it took a long time for it to kick in. Thank heaven her apartment is on the basement level. I don’t know as I could have climbed stairs in that stuffy building.” She shook her head. “My poor old legs. I’m afraid I’ve already worn them out, what with packing all those boxes. And I still have to pack up the kitchen.”
Talia heard Martha clear her throat. Loudly.
“Mrs. Anderson—”
“Please. Call me Ethel,” she insisted. She swung her attention toward Molly, who was approaching the table with Ethel’s meal. “Oh my, doesn’t that look delicious?”
Molly set the serving cone on the table, along with flatware, napkins, and condiments. She gave Ethel a tiny salute and then hurried back into the kitchen.
“I’ll let you enjoy your lunch in peace,” Talia said, rising. “But after you’re through, why don’t I follow you over to Norma’s apartment? I can help you pack up the kitchen. Between the two of us, I’ll bet we can get it done a lot faster.”
Ethel stabbed a fork into a chunk of steaming fried haddock. Holding it aloft, she said, “You would do that for me?”
“Of course,” Talia said, smiling. “It’s really too much for one person to handle. Besides, I’m reasonably strong for my size.”
Talia could almost hear Martha’s cackle.
Tears welled in Ethel’s eyes. “What a kind soul you are. I will accept your offer.”
I’m also sneaky, Talia thought, feeling a smidge guilty. But she wasn’t going to pass up this one opportunity to have a look around Norma’s apartment.
While Ethel ate, Talia snagged a few peeks at her from the kitchen. The woman was devouring her fish and chips as if she hadn’t eaten in days, poor lady. She must have been ravenous from having to pack up Norma’s belongings.<
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Talia was itching to get into Norma’s apartment, but she worked patiently in the kitchen, preparing a fresh batch of the eatery’s tangy tartar sauce. She didn’t want Ethel to feel rushed.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay if I leave again?” Talia whispered to Martha and Molly. “It’s going to start getting busy.”
“Yes!” they hissed at her in unison.
“You’ll never get another chance like this,” Martha added in a hushed tone. “Go. Do your thing over there. Play detective.”
Exactly what Prescott had ordered her not to do.
But really, she told herself, how could she let this poor elderly woman pack up the kitchen by herself? Norma had to be an excellent cook to have won that contest. Which meant that her kitchen cabinets and drawers were probably jam-packed with stuff. It would be callous of Talia not to offer Ethel some help packing it all up, wouldn’t it? And if Patti Prescott didn’t like it? Well, then, she could just stuff it into a suitcase and toss it off a cliff.
For about the hundredth time, Talia glanced over at Ethel. This time the serving cone looked empty, and Ethel was wiping her fingers with a napkin. She waved at Talia, signaling that she was going to use the restroom.
Talia removed her apron and stuffed it into her locker. “Wish me luck,” she murmured to her coworkers. “But don’t get your hopes up. Remember—Ethel said the police didn’t find much of anything.”
“Yeah, but you’re a lot nosier than the police, remember?” Martha pointed out. “They’re doing a job to get a paycheck. You’re fighting for justice.”
“Martha!”
She shrugged. “I speak the truth. What can I say?”
Talia knew Martha meant it as an upside-down compliment. But she had to wonder—were people really calling her the nosy girl, like Dylan said?
Ethel walked over to the counter, white plastic purse clasped in her hands. She unsnapped it and pulled out her wallet.
“No, Ethel, your meal is on me,” Talia said. “After everything you’ve been through, it’s the least I can do.”
“But—” Ethel’s eyes grew misty again. She closed her purse. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It’ll help cover the cost of gas back to Maine. I guess we should go, then. I parked in that lot down the block. Parking is terrible in this town, isn’t it?”
“It’s not easy,” Talia said, smiling at her. “Luckily, I’m parked in the same lot. I’ll follow you in my car.”
• • •
Talia followed Ethel’s Nissan SUV into the parking lot of 379 Elm. The building itself was a three-story brick affair, its dreary front yard unadorned with flowers or shrubs of any sort. Bare-bones, Talia thought. Couldn’t someone have planted a few bushes, or some impatiens? Maybe snipped the weeds that were curling around the cracks in the front walk?
Ethel pulled her SUV into a handicapped space near the back entrance. Talia swung her Fiat into a slot farther back, then hopped out and followed Ethel into the building.
“Technically, I’m not supposed to be in the handicap spot,” Ethel explained. “But the landlord said I could use it while I load up Norma’s things.”
They made their way down three stairs to the basement level and then along a dimly lit hallway. Ethel stopped about halfway to the end, scrounged through her purse, and pulled out Norma’s key. She shot an apologetic look in Talia’s direction and then opened the door.
The fusty odor was the first thing to assault Talia’s senses. Rank humidity ran a close second. They stepped into a narrow vestibule that led to the galley-style kitchen. Ethel flipped up the light switch on the inside wall. A weak overhead light in the kitchen snapped on.
Talia tried not to wince as she skimmed her gaze around the kitchen. The cabinets were faux mahogany, with handles hanging loose every which way. A couple of screws and a screwdriver could have fixed them, but apparently no one had cared enough to bother.
The fridge and electric oven were avocado green, a color that had come into vogue during the 1970s. She couldn’t imagine how Norma had ever prepared her delicious concoctions with such outdated appliances. A coffee-splattered microwave sat on the counter next to the tiny stainless-steel sink.
“Sorry it’s so warm in here,” Ethel said. “I had the AC unit running all morning and decided to give it a rest. Now I’m sorry I did.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ethel. With the two of us working together, we can probably finish up in no time.”
Next to the kitchen was a combination dining/living area. The worn sculptured carpet was—no surprise—a faded avocado green. The table where Norma had eaten her meals looked more like a patio table scrounged from a yard sale than a real dining table. Two dented metal chairs sat askew in front of it. The rest of the furnishings could have been a snapshot from a 1950s sitcom, well . . . except for the wide-screen television that rested against one wall. Talia wondered if Norma had had to save up all her pennies to buy such a pricey item.
“I left some more boxes in the bedroom,” Ethel said, and pattered off to fetch them.
Talia quickly reached up and opened the cabinets above the sink. She wanted to do a bit of snooping before Ethel returned.
A few odd drinking glasses and some chipped mugs rested on the shelves. In the taller cabinets over the counter, a variety of store-brand soup cans and cereal boxes rested among jars of pears and peaches. Not much else was there, except for a box of powdered milk.
The next cabinet yielded a horde of snacks. Salty crackers, pretzels, and bags of hard candy filled the shelves to the brim.
Talia looked around to see if Norma had any canisters. She spotted only one—a dented metal thing that said SUGAR on the front. Wouldn’t Norma have needed flour to make her flaky-top chicken stew?
Talia peeked around to see if Ethel was anywhere in sight, then clicked open the door to the microwave. The inside was splattered with stains. She quietly closed the door.
Ethel was still in the bedroom. Talia could hear her fussing with boxes and muttering to herself. She took the opportunity to investigate the fridge.
If Patti Prescott thought Mother Hubbard’s cupboards were bare, she should take a gander inside Norma’s refrigerator. With the exception of a plastic pitcher filled with what looked to be iced tea, there was almost nothing in there. A bag of white rice was tucked away on the top shelf. There wasn’t even a single egg or a container of milk. How did she bake or cook? Or had she run out of eggs the day of the contest and hadn’t gotten the chance to buy more? The vegetable bin had a few limp carrots and a package of bologna, half gone.
The mother lode was in the freezer. Stacks of frozen dinners were piled inside. Meat loaf with gravy looked to be the favorite, with mac and cheese the first runner-up.
Talia closed the fridge just as Ethel returned, dragging four empty liquor boxes. “I got these at the package store down the street. Not very large, but they’re clean.”
“Why don’t I start with the lower cabinets?” Talia suggested.
“You’re so sweet for doing this,” Ethel said. She plucked two mismatched glasses from the cabinet over the sink. “I’ll pour us each a glass of iced tea. That’s one thing Norma always kept plenty of.”
The iced tea came from the plastic pitcher in the fridge. Ethel took a sip from her own glass and smacked her lips. “Awfully sweet,” she said. “That’s how Norma liked it, I guess. I hope you like yours without milk. Norma’s milk had gone sour and I had to throw it out.”
Talia never used milk in hot tea, let alone iced tea. She sipped from her glass gingerly, and her lips instantly puckered. She had to resist the urge to spit the stuff into the sink. Norma must have dumped a pound of sugar into the pitcher! She remembered Vivian’s story about the salt. Apparently Norma seasoned her concoctions with a heavy hand.
“It’s fine, Ethel.” Talia set her glass down on the counter and went to work.
The contents of the lower cabinets proved equally puzzling. Scant didn’t begin to describe the state of No
rma’s cookware. It didn’t take long for Talia to pack up the two scratched saucepans, an ancient Dutch oven, and a couple of casserole dishes. Talia set aside the first box, then knelt and tugged open the drawer beneath the oven. A large frying pan and its smaller mate nested in there, along with an old-fashioned egg beater. She stuck them in box number two and closed the drawer.
“Ethel, did the police remove any of Norma’s cookware from the apartment?” Talia asked. “It doesn’t seem as if there’s very much left here.”
Ethel swiped her brow. “Why, no. Not that I’m aware of. As I said, they told me they pretty much found nothing.”
Pretty much found nothing.
That was exactly the way Talia would have described it.
“Did the police say they’d removed anything else? You know, for evidence?”
Ethel slowly shook her head. “No. At least they didn’t mention it. Quite honestly, I’m not sure I’d know if they did take anything. I hadn’t visited my sister in years.”
Ethel finished emptying the utensil drawers, a task that took only about five minutes. A thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead. She swiped it away with the back of her hand. “Do you mind if we sit for a few, Talia? I’m getting a bit light-headed from the heat.”
Talia instantly went over and took Ethel’s arm. She led her to one of the metal chairs in the dining/living room. “Be right back,” she said, and returned with Ethel’s half-filled iced tea glass.
Talia sat down next to the woman. Ethel had to be at least eighty. Didn’t she have anyone who could have driven here with her? Helped her with the unpleasant task of packing up her sister’s things? She reached over and squeezed Ethel’s hand. “This is really hard for you, isn’t it? I wish there was more I could do.”
“Oh my, you’ve already done so much. Why, even Norma’s own son didn’t want to help me! Said his mother never owned anything decent and that I shouldn’t waste my time. His advice was to call a junk collector and pay them to haul everything out of here.” Ethel wrapped her bony fingers around her glass. “You must be wondering why my sister lived like this, Talia. Without even a decent piece of furniture.”