“You were there when she emptied it?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Well, I wasn’t in the room with her when she took its contents, but I have all the keys to the boxes. No one gets in without me.”
Kate paused. “Mr. McKinney, I’m not asking you to tell me anything you shouldn’t, but I’m concerned about Mavis Bixby. I think she might be in some danger. Did she say anything when she closed her accounts to make you think someone might be threatening her?”
“No. But only the week before, she inquired about taking out a rather long-term certificate of deposit. Her decision to leave town seemed rather abrupt.”
“Was there anything else that bothered you? Other than the timing?”
“Well . . .”
“Please, Mr. McKinney. Any help you can give me might make a big difference to Mrs.Bixby.”
“Well, her box was very heavy.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Usually, boxes that heavy have someone’s coin collection in them. Or . . .”
“Or what?”
“Or a gun, Mrs.Hanlon. A box that heavy often contains a gun.”
Chapter Nine
Kate knew that more than one elderly lady in Copper Mill possessed a firearm, purely for self-defense. Renee Lambert had once confessed to owning a lovely pearl-handled revolver that had been passed down among the womenfolk in her family for several generations.
As Kate turned into Agnes Kelly’s driveway several miles out of town on Pine Ridge Road, she wondered how many of the ladies turned up for bridge club armed and dangerous. The thought was certainly disturbing. But even more unsettling was the idea that Mavis Bixby had needed a gun. She must not have felt threatened before she left town, since she’d put the gun in the safe-deposit box. But it had been there. Just in case. And she’d taken it with her. Kate shivered.
Agnes’ large white farmhouse sat beneath a stand of pine trees, their spindly branches stark against the blue spring sky. A wide front porch and dark red canopies over the windows on the second floor almost gave the house a welcome feel, but the empty yard and the absence of porch furniture hinted at the loneliness of the home’s occupant. Kate had seen it all too often—widowed ladies left in houses too large for them, their families moved away. It had been as common in San Antonio as it was here. As a result, older women in a church often banded together, acting as a surrogate family and providing casseroles and transportation to the doctor as needed. If Renee’s bridge club held true to form, these women would know something more about Mavis Bixby than what Kate had already discovered.
Kate pulled her black Honda Accord alongside Renee’s enormous pink Oldsmobile in the grass next to the graveled drive. Six or seven other cars indicated the size of the group. Several foursomes at least, Kate thought. A good-sized pool of informants. She smiled at the thought and lifted the plate of deviled eggs from the seat beside her.
“Kate! There you are!” Renee waved to her from the front porch so frantically, she thought she must be late, but a quick glance at her watch showed it was still a few minutes before one o’clock.
“Hello, Renee. Thank you again for inviting me.” Kate mounted the two steps onto the porch. “Hello, Kisses.” She knew enough to greet Renee’s dog as well.
“Well, now that you’re finally here, we can begin.”
Kate frowned. “I thought you said one o’clock?” She’d worked very hard not to be late, as she thought she might be.
“Yes, well, that means we’re seated and ready to begin play then.” Renee whirled on a cloud of Youth-Dew and led Kate into the house.
The farmhouse’s musty interior could have used some strategically placed lamps, Kate thought as she followed Renee toward an elderly woman wearing a thick brown cable cardigan and a red stocking cap pulled firmly over her ears.
“Agnes? Here she is. This is Kate Hanlon. Kate, this is Agnes Kelly.”
Agnes grunted. “Glad to see you could make it.” Graciousness and hospitality were clearly not the woman’s strong suit.
“Thank you for including me.” Kate nodded toward the plate of deviled eggs in her hand. “Where would you like me to set these?”
“Deviled eggs?” Agnes gave the plate a suspicious glance.
“I’m sorry. I thought Renee requested that I bring them.”
“Just put them over there.” Agnes waved with a gloved hand toward an archway that led to a dining room beyond. Kate could see several older ladies she knew laying out dishes on the dark-stained harvest table. The table’s leaves had been extended to hold the bounty of food sprawled across its surface. Well, the women of the bridge club certainly weren’t going to go hungry. Not before summer, at any rate.
“Of course,” Kate said and then speedily detached herself from her hostess.
Renee stayed behind to chat with Agnes, so Kate made her way into the dining room alone.
“Kate! There you are!” Martha Sinclair pounced on her immediately.
Kate winced but kept a smile pasted on her face. She should have remembered that with certain groups in the church, being on time generally meant arriving fifteen minutes early, especially if there was food involved. And here she’d simply prided herself on not being late in the traditional sense of the word.
“Hello, Martha. It’s good to see you again.”
“Betty cut your hair too short,” Martha said and then gasped, blushed, and put her hand to her mouth. “Sorry. Dot’s always telling me I just let things spill out without thinking.” She patted Kate’s shoulder consolingly. “Your hair looks lovely . . . really.”
Kate couldn’t hold Martha’s remark against her. The woman might be a bit of a goose, but she was kind and she meant well. Kate racked her brain to try to remember if Martha had seemed to know Mavis Bixby when the subject had come up at the beauty shop on Saturday. Then she remembered. Martha, the self-styled matchmaker, had been the one who said Mavis Bixby had been sweet on Agnes Kelly’s husband.
“So, how are you Martha?” Kate asked.
“Can’t complain, although my rheumatism keeps acting up.”
Kate spied a coffee urn on the scarred sideboard. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked Martha.
“Yes, please. That’s a nice idea.”
Martha Sinclair’s round, friendly face made her look more like someone’s favorite aunt than the local matchmaker, but she was obsessed with romance nonetheless. Not surprising that she’d been the one to bring up the gossip about the missing Mavis and Mr. Kelly.
By the time Kate had Martha outfitted with a coffee cup, sugar, and creamer, more ladies had entered the house, and the dining room was bustling. Kate saw no indication that anyone felt the need to be seated and awaiting their cards at one o’clock on the dot. She swallowed her frustration with Renee and focused on Martha instead.
“How is your family?” Kate’s simple question guaranteed an extended response. She was genuinely interested in the well-being of Martha’s assorted children and grandchildren, so it was no hardship to listen. It always warmed her heart to hear grandmothers brag on their grandchildren. She’d never understood that until she became a grandmother herself.
Martha talked for several minutes without pause, but then she stopped, flushing. “I’m sorry, Kate. You should know better than to ask me a question like that. I’m sure that’s far more than you ever wanted to hear.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” She cast a glance over at the dozen women who were still crowded around Agnes’ harvest table, some filling Fostoria plates with tidbits, and others simply scooping them directly from the platters into their mouths. Kate was pleased to see that her deviled eggs were already half gone.
“Well, you probably want to mingle,” her companion said.
Actually, Kate wanted to quiz Martha more about Mavis Bixby’s supposed feelings for Agnes’ husband, but now she’d have to wait. Kate was saved from having to respond to Martha’s comment when Renee, standing in the archway between the living room and dining room, rapped against her
Fostoria punch cup with a teaspoon to get everyone’s attention.
“Ladies, ladies. We need to get started.” Renee suffered no compunction about acting the hostess in another woman’s home. “You’ll find place cards with your assigned seats.”
The women tramped back into the living room, amidst the chattering of voices and plates clattering. The furniture had been pushed back against the walls, and three card tables had been squeezed into the available space. The tables were so close together, Kate was going to find it difficult to be discreet in her questioning about Mavis.
“Here you are, Kate.” Martha waved from a nearby table. “You’re my partner.”
Kate sent up a silent prayer of thanks and crossed the room. Her chair was wedged between the table and the mantelpiece of the empty fireplace. A serious draft blew down the chimney, chilling her instantly, and she wished she’d thought to wear a sweater.
Two ladies whom Kate had never met settled into the metal folding chairs on her right and left. They introduced themselves as Roberta Grant and Lucy Sullivan. When they discovered that Kate was the wife of Faith Briar Church’s new pastor, they quickly identified themselves as faithful Episcopalians. Kate swallowed her chuckle at their speedy declaration. She’d encountered her share of people who thought that since she was a minister’s wife, she’d immediately try to convert them to her own brand of Christianity.
The bridge game began, and Kate spent the first few minutes recalling the rules for bidding. She sorted her cards by suit and tried to concentrate on the game, but her hidden agenda—and the draft from the fireplace behind her—kept intruding on her thoughts. Thankfully, when bidding ended on the first hand, she found herself the dummy and was able to lay her cards down and allow Martha to play the hand.
Martha, however, didn’t need to refrain from talking in order to play cards. “So, Roberta, I hear your grandson is back from Iraq. If he’s interested, I think Earlene McDaniels’ granddaughter is staying home from school this semester to help out around the farm. They sure would make a cute couple.”
Roberta looked a little taken aback by Martha’s forthrightness, but less than five minutes later, she’d made a date on her son’s behalf with the McDaniels’ college-age daughter. Kate had to admire the ease with which Martha pulled it off while also taking enough tricks to make their bid. As the next few hands progressed, conversation at the table became more general—the dreary weather, construction on the interstate, the new Hamilton Springs Hotel and its spa services.
“I hope the Bixby house next to the church will sell quickly,” Martha said to no one in particular as she trumped Lucy Sullivan’s ace of clubs, much to the well-coiffed woman’s dismay. “After the go-round we had with the hotel,” Martha continued, “I just want a nice quiet family to move in so there’s no more commercial development.”
“I expect it will be more commercial development,” Roberta offered as the ladies continued to play their cards so automatically it was almost second nature. “That’s the way everything’s going these days.”
“I heard they wanted to put a SuperMart out there on Smoky Mountain Road. Across from the high school would be the perfect location,” Lucy Sullivan added.
“No,” Martha said. “Copper Mill’s too small. I expect we’ll have to keep driving to Pine Ridge until we’re old and crotchety.”
Everyone laughed at Martha’s joke.
“I understand you all knew Mavis Bixby, the woman who owns the house next to the church,” Kate offered after the laughter had dissipated.
“A sweet lady,” Roberta said. “Although sad too.”
Lucy frowned at the others and cut her eyes toward the next table, where Agnes sat. “We barely knew her, really,” she said.
“Were you surprised when she left town?” Kate asked quietly.
Lucy frowned deeply at the question and cast another nervous glance toward Agnes.
“I’m sure she wanted to be closer to family” was all Lucy said in reply.
Martha jerked her head meaningfully in Agnes’ direction and put her forefinger to her lips. Kate silently groaned. Did these women really think that Mavis had been carrying on with Agnes’ husband? But then they didn’t know what she knew about the Bixby family complications.
Fortunately for Kate, though, at that moment Agnes laid down her cards for her partner to play and excused herself from the table. She disappeared through the dining-room arch.
“We couldn’t say too much in front of Agnes,” Martha said with a conspiratorial look at Roberta and Lucy, “but Edwin Kelly disappeared around the same time as Mavis.”
Kate started at the news. So there was some foundation for the rumors?
“People think they ran off together,” Martha finished.
“And no one’s asked Agnes where her husband is?” Kate thought a simple question would be a lot kinder than all this gossip.
“Would you ask her?” Roberta said with a knowing look, and Kate had to concede she had a point.
Agnes was a pretty forbidding character and didn’t seem like the kind of person who would take kindly to interference in her personal matters.
“I guess not.”
“Mavis never did fit in,” Roberta added. “She never seemed to settle in here.”
Kate reached over to cut the cards Roberta was preparing to deal. “Did she ever talk about where she came from? She sounds homesick to me.”
“Up north somewhere,” Lucy said.
“Like Chicago?” Kate knew she was pressing too hard, but once Agnes returned, the other women wouldn’t want to discuss Mavis anymore.
“Maybe.” Lucy picked up the cards Roberta had just dealt her.
“Did she have any children?”
Roberta looked up from sorting her own cards. “Why are you so interested in Mavis Bixby?”
“Just curious.” Kate could have groaned with frustration, but obviously she wasn’t going to learn anything more. “I guess because her house is between the parsonage and my husband’s church.”
At that moment Agnes returned to her table, and Kate knew she had to let the matter drop. She resisted the urge to blow on her fingers to warm them and, with a sigh, resigned herself to a chilly afternoon of bridge.
Chapter Ten
Two days after her bridge-club experience, Kate was still stumped as to how to proceed in the matter of Mavis Bixby. Livvy had called earlier in the day and asked her to stop by the library for lunch. They often went for a walk on Livvy’s lunch break, but today Kate volunteered to bring Paul’s experimental chili and some corn bread, and Livvy happily agreed. As a busy working mother, she was always delighted to eat a meal that she hadn’t had to cook.
Kate found Livvy in the staff’s tiny break room, pouring two glasses of iced tea.
“Come on in,” Livvy called, glad to see her friend and waving her into the room. They exchanged a quick hug.
“So, how’s your family?” Kate asked Livvy as she pulled out the containers of food she’d packed in her picnic basket. “Are the boys doing well?”
“Still eating me out of house and home,” Livvy laughed. “I’m delighted to get a full portion of food for lunch today, thank you very much.”
Kate chuckled. “I remember those days, and I only had one son, not two.”
Livvy helped Kate lay out the silverware and napkins, and Kate ladled chili into the bowls she’d brought.
“So, anything new on Mavis Bixby?” Livvy asked.
Kate settled into a hard plastic chair and took a sip of her iced tea. “Not really. I thought I might find out something from her bridge club, but they didn’t seem to know much except for idle gossip.”
The hum of the soft-drink machine and the low whistle of the heating unit provided some soothing white noise that helped to counter the room’s harsh fluorescent lighting.
Livvy’s brow creased. “Hard to distinguish, isn’t it, between gossip and truth when it comes to something like Mavis Bixby leaving town?”
Kate
blew on the spoonful of chili before she raised it to her lips. It was a perfectly good bowl of chili, she knew, but somehow all she could taste was the absence of her grandmother’s secret ingredient. “I feel like I’m overlooking some vital piece of information.”
“Maybe you should write it all out on a whiteboard like they do on those crime shows on television,” Livvy suggested, half teasing. But Kate nodded in agreement. Maybe Livvy’s suggestion would help her sort through all the thoughts churning around in her head.
“That’s a pretty good idea. After we eat, can we use one of the library conference rooms?”
Livvy nodded her assent.
Thirty minutes later they had packed up the remains of their lunch and relocated to one of the conference rooms on the second floor. Like the rest of the library, it was well worn, but it was also well cared for. The scarred table, like the one in the Hanlon’s kitchen, had seen better days, but the wood still shone with much polishing. Livvy produced some dry-erase markers from a storage cabinet and handed them to Kate.
“Have at it, Detective Hanlon,” she teased.
Kate looked at the empty whiteboard, unsure where to start. “What do I write down first?”
“On television they always have those straight lines shooting off everywhere, but you might do better with a bubble diagram.”
“Good idea.” Kate popped the top of a blue marker and wrote Mavis Bixby’s name in large letters in the middle of the board. She drew a circle around the name and began to write the names of the people she’d talked to in a circle around it.
“Renee Lambert. Gail Carson.” Livvy read the names as Kate wrote them, making notations beneath each one. “LuAnne Matthews. Sam Gorman. The bridge-club ladies. Evelyn, Georgia, and Melvin at the bank.” By the time Kate had finished writing everyone’s names and what she’d learned from each person, she’d almost run out of space on the board.
“Wow,” said Livvy. “Maybe it would have been shorter to make a list of the people in Copper Mill you haven’t talked to.”
“That’s what worries me,” Kate said, sinking down into one of the chairs beside the conference table. “All those people, and no solid information.” Except for what the sheriff had told her. Kate flushed with guilt at the omission.
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