Game of Scones

by Mary Lee Ashford

  In a matter of five minutes I was at the shop. Dixie pulled into the back parking lot as I was getting out of my car. She had several bags of groceries. I thought we’d just done a grocery run but it seemed like there was always some ingredient we were missing for the latest test recipe.

  I opened the door and then held it for her.

  She stepped through the doorway and then screamed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What is it?” I dropped my tote, my purse, and the bag of groceries I’d taken from Dixie and rushed forward. “Are you hurt?”

  I stepped around and then saw what or rather who had caused her reaction.

  Dixie’s Aunt Bertie sat on one of the stools at the counter. It appeared she’d been looking through some of the pictures I had been showing Max.

  “Egads, Bertie!” Dixie gulped air. “How did you get in? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry about that.” Bertie pushed up wire-rimmed glasses. “I thought I’d better stop by and let you know I was back in town. I hear you were a little worried.”

  Uh-oh. I backed up.

  “A little worried?” Dixie face flamed red. I watched her get control of her temper.

  Bertie continued to flip through the pictures in silence.

  “I’m glad you’re okay.” Dixie gave her aunt a hug. And then held her at arm’s length.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  “When I stopped by to see Sheriff Terry, he said you’d been worried,” Bertie explained, not answering Dixie’s question about where she’d been. “Of course, that could have been an excuse to talk to you. You know he’s still carrying a torch for you, right?”

  “Not true. Terry Griffin is not carrying a torch or anything else for me.”

  “Back when you two were an item…” Bertie began.

  So I hadn’t imagined it. Dixie and the sheriff did have a past.

  “Bertie…” there was a warning in Dixie’s voice. “Where did you go?”

  “I went to visit a sick friend.”

  “Who was it?” Dixie asked. “Anyone I know?”

  “No, not anyone you know.” Again, only answering half of the questions.

  “Why didn’t you let someone in the family know where you were?”

  “This third degree is worse than the sheriff.” Bertie shook her silver curls. “I didn’t know any of you would be looking for me.”

  “Well, it sure made you look suspicious.”

  “Suspicious? For Pete’s sake, girl. You know I didn’t kill Elsie Farmer.”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “So there you go. Nothing to worry about. Nobody’s business where I was.”

  “Really.” Dixie fished in her bag which she’d dropped on the floor when she came in. “What about this?” She pulled out what I was sure was the receipt for the rat poison.

  Bertie plucked the paper from Dixie’s fingers and looked at it. She tucked it into her pocket. “So the sheriff hasn’t seen this?”

  “No, but only because I took it off your desk when I went to the B & B to try to figure out where you were.” Dixie sat on the stool beside her aunt.

  “I’m sorry I worried you, dear.” Bertie smoothed the skirt of her soft pink print dress. “This is really nothing to worry about. I don’t know who killed Elsie. Probably a lot of people wanted to, but it wasn’t me.”

  “What about the poison?” I asked.

  “That’s nothing to worry about either.” Bertie crossed her arms.

  “It’s a lot of rat poison,” Dixie noted.

  “Can you think of anyone who had a reason to kill Elsie Farmer?” I asked.

  “Like I said, plenty of people.” She got down from the stool. “Listen I’m not being flippant. I’m sorry Elsie’s dead. But I’m sure Sheriff Terry will figure it out.”

  Dixie stood also. She gave her aunt a hard look but then stepped forward and gave her a big hug.

  “How did you get in by the way?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “Key in the geranium pot.” She held up a key tied to some green yarn.

  “Dixie!” I had repeatedly warned my partner that we needed to get rid of that spare key and if we needed a backup, we could leave a key with one of our fellow merchants on the square.

  She had the grace to look guilty. “I know I promised. But I keep forgetting my key and I’m usually the first one here…”

  It was a bad habit a lot of people in town had of either leaving doors unlocked or leaving keys where it was very easy to find them. The town had a low crime rate, but the pharmacy down the street had a break-in not too long ago. There was no use tempting fate.

  “Sorry.” She looked sheepish.

  Bertie stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “I guess I missed Elsie’s funeral by a day, huh?”

  “Yes, though she missed it too.” Dixie explained about the medical examiner being backed up and Elsie not being able to make it.

  “Was it nice?” She tipped her head.

  “As funerals go, I guess so,” Dixie answered.

  “A lot of people?”

  Dixie nodded.

  “She would’ve liked that.” Bertie stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  “Wow,” I said when she was gone. “That was a shock. I wondered how it went at the Sheriff’s office. I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

  “Me, too.” Dixie picked up her bag and headed to the kitchen area. “Me, too.”

  We made short work of putting the supplies away while the coffee brewed and then we each got busy with our own tasks. I really wanted to ask Dixie more about her aunt’s comment regarding Sheriff Griffin and her, but held back. If she hadn’t been forthcoming under the influence of wine the other night, probably under the influence of coffee wasn’t going to work. I would need to pick my time.

  We each finished up our duties and then headed out to take care of other business. I had some things to mail and errands to run. Dixie had promised to help her mom with sorting out some things that had been stored in her former bedroom at the farm.

  “You watch out for valuable things in that cleanout of your room,” I cautioned. “According to Greer the idea that one man’s junk is another man’s treasure is true, and according to her sources, which I believe consists of reruns on that antiques TV show, you might find something worth thousands of dollars.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Dixie laughed. “But I’m afraid in this case, one woman’s junk is still just another woman’s junk.”

  I organized my things, headed out the door, and then stopped to make sure it was locked. I paused and checked the geranium planter to make sure my partner or her aunt had not put the key back.

  Back in the office that afternoon, I stood and stretched. It seemed like I’d been on the phone all day, getting prices, confirming advertising. I’d been drinking water since I was talking so much but I’d also begun to get hungry. Of course, it might have had something to do with the smells coming from the test kitchen.

  I wandered into the kitchen. “How’s it going?”

  “Really well.” Dixie picked up her notebook and made a couple of notes.

  “I’ve nearly finalized our advertising for the cookbook. I’m following up by phone to confirm and sending the ad copy to Liz.” Liz was our graphics person.

  “It feels so good not to be worried about Bertie.” Dixie leaned against the counter.

  “I’m sure it does,” I agreed. “Though it still feels unsettling to know the police feel there’s a murderer out there.”

  “I know.” She sighed.

  “I’m thinking about calling it a day.” I glanced at my watch. “I need a break from the phone. Unless there’s something in particular I could help you with?”

  “Not really.�
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  Suddenly the bell dinged out front. I went to see who it was.

  “Thought I’d come in the right way this time.” Dixie’s Aunt Bertie had just stepped through the door. This time she was in her usual work clothes. Jeans and T-shirt, and a Jefferson Street B & B apron tied in front.

  “What can we do for you?” I asked. “Dixie is in the back.”

  “Hey, there.” Dixie rounded the corner and joined us. She leaned in and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I guess I’m going to forgive you for giving me gray hair.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Really I am.” She sounded a sincere this time. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m trying to get some work done at the B & B and the sheriff says all my papers they confiscated I can’t have back. They’ve given them to some state crime something or other. Terry said you had them and they took them from you. Can you tell me if my Rolodex was part of what they took? Sheriff Terry didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.”

  “I might know something about that but I’m not sure I can be forthcoming when you’re not open with me.”

  “About what?”

  “About the rat poison, Berts.”

  “You always were too snoopy for your own good, Spicey. Even when you were a kid.”

  Dixie waited for a few minutes and then went to the cupboard and pulled out the Rolodex and handed it to her aunt. “I could put these addresses on the computer for you. It would be a lot easier to update.”

  “Thanks, hon, let’s do that.” She smiled innocently.

  “And the poison?” Dixie stared her down.

  “I have rats,” Bertie finally sputtered.

  “Oh, gosh, no.”

  “I bought it because I have a rat problem. I didn’t buy it locally because if word got out that I had a rat problem no one would want to stay at my place.”

  “Did you tell the sheriff and the state people that?” Dixie asked.

  “No. I did not.” Bertie put her hands on her hips defiantly.

  “Why not?”

  “Did you hear what I just said?” She raised her voice. “Once they put it in a public record it’s there for everyone in the world to see. I can’t have that. The only ones who know right now are me and you two.”

  “But because you aren’t telling them where you were they are going to continue digging and you are still a suspect.”

  “Yeah, having a DCI agent at the B & B this morning wasn’t exactly good for business either.”

  “I imagine not.”

  “I know you guys have been asking questions while I was gone. What have you dug up?”

  “I saw Kenny with someone—a female someone—at the church the day of Elsie’s funeral.”

  “The one she didn’t attend?” Bertie rolled her eyes.

  “That’s right.” I chimed in. “He was kissing a woman in one of the Sunday School rooms. But I couldn’t see her, only him.”

  “There’ve been some rumors about him from time to time. He’s always been sort of full of himself.”

  We heard the bell ding again and again I went back out to answer it.

  It was the sheriff.

  This wasn’t going to go well. Any fool could see the writing on the wall. Another Aunt Cricket expression.

  “Come on back.” I motioned to him. “The gang’s all here.”

  “I stopped by the B & B and Ilene said you were here.” The sheriff walked into the backroom. “The DCI agent who is looking in Elsie Farmer’s death said you had asked to get your papers back.”

  “That’s right.” Bertie glared, her chin set. “Since I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “If you have any evidence of any kind,” the sheriff looked at Bertie and then at Dixie, “it is a crime to withhold it. Do you understand?”

  Both stubborn heads nodded. Neither spoke up.

  I escorted the sheriff back out. I guess just because Bertie was back in town didn’t mean she was no longer a murder suspect.

  After Bertie left, I took a break from phone calls and started the process of sorting names and recipes. I looked up to see Dixie leaning on the doorjamb of my office.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking.” She rubbed her forehead with her hand. “I’ve tried to think of how we could figure out who it was you saw Kenny with at the church.”

  “I would recognize that dress anywhere,” I offered. “I’ll bet not one other woman in town has one like it. I, for one, wouldn’t be caught dead in it.”

  Dixie gave me an eyeroll.

  “Sorry, bad use of that expression.”

  “Anyways,” Dixie continued. “Maybe we don’t need to look for the ‘other woman’ at all. Maybe we simply need to watch who comes and goes at Kenny’s house.”

  “Right,” I followed her line of thinking. “Or rather who comes and stays. I like it.”

  We agreed to meet later that evening. Our thought was if the woman came to Kenny’s house, she probably wouldn’t show up in broad daylight.

  “I’ll pick you up,” I called, as Dixie left.

  “I’ll bring snacks,” she answered.

  * * * *

  I don’t know how private detectives do it. I have to say that surveillance is the most boring work. There was the boredom and then also the discomfort. We sat scrunched down in the seat so that we wouldn’t be easily seen.

  In the suspense books Greer had loaned me, the police or private detective usually had stale coffee and terrible snacks to help them stay awake on a stakeout. Because Dixie is who she is, she’d brought great snacks. Tonight’s snack was homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. So, there was that. I’d brought a thermos filled with good hot coffee.

  The first two nights we’d taken Dixie’s pickup. Then the third night we switched to my Jeep. We were afraid the neighbors would notice if the same vehicle was parked down the street from the Farmer house night after night.

  We were right. By the fourth night, there was a tap on the window.

  “What are you two doing?” It was the sheriff.

  I hit the button to lower my window. I had just crammed a cookie into my mouth, so Dixie answered.

  “Just talking.” She leaned forward to look at the Sheriff. “We’re not parked in a ‘No Parking’ zone, are we?”

  “No, but one of the neighbors called in a suspicious vehicle. Everyone else was busy with other calls so I said I’d check it out. I should have known.” He bent down to see into the car. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Cookies,” I answered, holding out the bag. “Want one?”

  He reached in, snagged a cookie, and bit into it. “Wow, really good.” He took another bite. “You make these?

  I nodded toward Dixie.

  “These are great.” He reached in and helped himself to another. “Alright, you two. Move along. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if there’s any need for watching the Farmer house, law enforcement will take care of it. You,” he pointed at us, “are not law enforcement.”

  He ambled back to his car munching on a cookie. We sat in silence as he pulled away.

  Once his headlights had disappeared, I started the Jeep. It looked like our watch was over for the night. All of a sudden Dixie was bouncing in her seat. She pointed at the Farmer house, the garage door had gone up. Kenny Farmer’s white Cadillac backed out, and headed east down the street. At least I was pretty sure that was east. I pulled out and followed. He headed toward the square and then turned at the light.

  I followed the Caddy as closely as I could without being seen. When he headed out of town, I glanced over at Dixie.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked. “Should we stay on him?”

  She nodded. “You bet.”

  He stopped at the edge of town and then pulled onto the main highway. Churchville, 8 miles,
the sign said. I stayed with him but hung back. There was hardly any traffic on the road so it was easy to keep him in sight.

  “I don’t think Sheriff Terry would approve.” I glanced at Dixie.

  “I’m not looking for that man’s approval.” She leaned forward in her seat. “It looks like he’s turning.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what the deal is with you and your animosity toward the man? He seems really nice. He hasn’t arrested your aunt even though she refuses…”

  “Look.” She pointed at the Caddy’s taillights.

  Apparently tonight was not going to be the night I learned about Dixie’s history with Terrance Griffin. I could ask someone else in town. I imagined everyone but me (and maybe Max) knew, but that didn’t seem to me to be fair play. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me.

  Kenny had pulled off the highway at a sign that said, Churchville, Population 193. There was a gas station which was open, a diner which was closed, and a small motel called The Weary Wanderer Motel, and, sure enough, there was a church. He pulled into the parking lot of the motel.

  Bingo.

  The gravel in the parking lot crunched like the sound was on loudspeaker as I pulled in. Or at least it seemed extremely loud as we were trying our best to be inconspicuous. I headed into an empty parking place that gave us a good view of the whole area. It was a white single-story structure with all of the rooms facing a small cabin-like building in the middle that said, “Office.” Amazingly, there were other vehicles parked in the lot.

  Kenny didn’t go to the office. He approached one of the rooms and knocked. Though it was dusk and getting a little difficult to see, we had a clear view. The door opened and he slipped inside.

  Dixie and I looked at each other.

  “I told you he was having an affair.” I slapped the steering wheel. “I knew it.”

  “Guess you were right.” Dixie shifted in her seat and settled in getting comfortable. “Doesn’t it seem strange though that he’d meet whoever it is at a motel? I mean, he doesn’t have a wife at home.”

  “Maybe he wanted to keep it from the neighbors. Look how quickly they reported us, sitting in a car on his street, minding our own business.”