Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries)

by Marvin, Liz

  “Hold on Elsie.” Walter held the cell phone to his heart. All that pacing had caused beads of sweat to form on his forehead, his self tanning lotion running down his face in streaks. “Now Betty, Betty, you don’t mean that,” he whined.

  Betty snorted. “Don’t I? A man was killed, Walter. If you can’t show some respect, at least try for common decency.”

  “But Betty, this could be huge!” He flung his arms wide and stretched them wider, trying to show the scope of his scheme. “You wouldn’t want to be the reason my career fails, would you?”

  Betty raised an eyebrow at him and jabbed her finger towards the hand still clutching his phone. A woman’s voice squawked unintelligibly from it. “Off.”

  Walter threw up one hand, bringing the other one with the phone in it to his ear. “Elsie! I’ll call you later.” He snapped the phone shut before the woman on the other end could answer. “Happy?” he asked, glaring at her. “It took me an hour just to get her on the phone!”

  “Yes,” Betty returned. “I am happy. Walter, why don’t you go home? There won’t be any rehearsal today.”

  Walter’s chest puffed up. “I,” he said, looking down his bulbous nose at her, “am a witness. I found them.” His voice lowered dramatically. “It was grisly. Blood every where.”

  I really don’t need to hear the details, Betty thought, bile rising in the back of her throat. She breathed deeply, trying to quell the nausea. “Come wait inside. The police should hear what you saw, not me.” She gestured towards the crowd across the street. Edna Rail, a key member of the Gossiping Grannies information network, was practically taking notes. Despite being nearly eighty years old, Edna was perched on her tiptoes to see through the crowd, her short neck craned towards them. “And certainly not them.”

  Walter grumbled, but he entered the theater. He looked at the floor and grumbled under his breath as a he went, like a toddler being sent to his room. He payed so little attention to where he was going that he walked smack into a post.

  “Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing his nose. He glanced around, obviously hoping that no one had seen his little mishap. He frowned when he saw Betty in the door. Betty shook her head and followed him in. The stench from Clarise’s office still pervaded the lobby. She found another cranny to sit in, trying to stay as close to the breeze from the front door as possible.

  Clarise was probably in a cell by now. It probably smelled like peaches compared to this place.

  A policeman pulled Lawrence aside, talking in low tones. Bereft of her husband, Melody made her way over to Betty. She moved slowly, like she would break if she moved any faster. Her blue eyes swam with tears and her white flowered dress fluttered. Even in her frailty, Melody looked stunning.

  “Thank you,” Melody murmured, taking the other seat at Betty’s table and leaning in so her voice wouldn’t carry. She nodded her head toward Walter, who was talking to a policeman with a notebook. “For making him stop. He was being horrible.”

  Betty shrugged. “Of course Walter was being horrible. That’s what he does.” She eyed Melody, taking in her blood shot eyes again. “Were you and Jarvis close?”

  Melody twirled her finger around a whorl in the table, tracing the movement with her eyes. “We were friends,” she said. “It’s hard to lose anyone you care about, and Jarvis and I had been friends for a good long while.” She turned a watery smile to Betty. “He was such a good man, you know? I can’t imagine who would want to hurt him.”

  Betty could imagine plenty of people.

  “Mel?” Lawrence called, walking over to stand by her. “They’re ready for you.”

  Melody nodded and rose, leaving Lawrence standing against the wall. Even at a crime scene he was wearing cufflinks, and a silk handkerchief poked out of his jacket pocket. He folded his arms and stood silently. Betty tried not to fidget, but it was a little nerve wracking to have him standing there.

  Fortunately, Betty didn’t have long to wait before Bill appeared in front of her. “Here’s the list you needed,” he said, handing her a couple of Xeroxed pages. “We kept the original, but all the information is there.”

  Betty thumbed through the papers he handed her. Clarise had kept meticulous notes of the times of rehearsals and the remaining props they needed. Once again, Betty found herself extremely grateful that her friend was so organized. There was no way she could have remembered all this if it wasn’t written down. “Thanks. This helps a lot.” Silence stretched between them. What was she supposed to say now? ‘Sorry I went ape on you, I’d really like to catch up some time but please don’t take that as a come on?’ God, this is stupid, Betty thought. Just say something. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she blurted.

  “No problem.” He smiled. Just a little, but it was still a smile. “We all have days where we need to scream.” There was another awkward pause where he looked back at the crime scene and she smoothed the papers in front of her. “Listen, I have to get back in there and wrap things up. You want to go out for coffee later?”

  Betty waved the to do list Clarise had left her. “Once I get some of this under control, I’d love to.”

  “Good,” Bill said, running his fingers through his hair. “Good.” He eyed the door. “We’ll need to keep people out of the theater today while we look around. We’ll post a sign so people don’t come in for rehearsal. You can have it back tomorrow. I’ll let you know if we need to come back for something.”

  Betty gave him her home phone and the numbers of some other people on the Board of Directors, in case she wasn’t reachable. When she got in her car, Betty sank back into the seat for a moment, going completely limp and letting the day wash over her.

  God, she needed a cup of coffee.

  CHAPTER 5

  There were two places for coffee in town: Duke’s Truck Stop out by the highway and Lofton Drug in the center of town. Duke’s was not an option. Betty’s family owned Lofton Drug, and walking into any store or home in town while holding a giant foam cup with the Duke’s logo emblazoned across it was considered high treason. Once in a great while Betty would give in to temptation and join some friends at Duke’s for a trucker’s breakfast platter. She always regretted it. Between the catcalls and whistles from truckers while she was eating and the guilt trip afterward, Betty just dealt with the fact that she’d be drinking coffee strong enough to give her caffeine jitters for more than an hour.

  The things we do to support our family, Betty thought, pulling into the parking lot of her family’s establishment.

  Lofton Drug had been a pharmacy once. The old neon sign still stood, and so did the name. Sometimes a straggling tourist desperate for cough medicine or sun block wandered in. Whoever was working that day would send them on their way to the CVS across town. When the tourists learned the only drug store in town was a nation wide chain, you could almost see them deflate. A small southern town with no “Mom and Pop” drugstore? Where would they get their cutesy souvenirs and twenty five cent postcards? What was the world coming to?

  But this wasn’t the rest of the world. It was Lofton. And Lofton Drug had been a diner for decades. The red booths were worn but neat and the woodwork gleamed with polish. Light from the windows flooded the dining area during the day, and fluorescent lights hummed by day. The food wasn’t anything gourmet, but it was cheap and filling and no one minded if you took up a table for hours just drinking sweet tea or lemonade. In fact, when Betty’s Great Aunt Laura was waitressing, loitering was encouraged.

  Betty was of the opinion that Aunt Laura had been put on the earth to be a small town diner waitress. She loved her job, and still had steady hands for pouring coffee even though she was in her eighties. Her memory was stellar. She had a special knack for remembering every customer’s name, the names of their parents and children, who was graduating when, who cheated on whom, when so and so was getting out of the hospital and how much they loved a good cobbler, who would be kind enough to deliver that cobbler to their door, and every other tidbit of information t
hat came her way. And though she would be horrified if anyone had the gall to call her a gossip, Aunt Laura had no problem with sharing important information so that neighbors could help each other through their troubles. The Gossiping Grannies loved her.

  Betty shouldn’t have been surprised that the original Gossiping Granny herself, Mrs. Livingston, was nursing a cup of tea in a corner booth when she walked in. She was wearing a purple hat with a wide brim and a matching sun dress. Her posture was ramrod straight, as though she were sitting in a Victorian drawing room instead of a small town diner booth. Mrs. Livingston made it a point of pride to know everything about everyone. She’d founded the club of elderly women who ran the social page in the town newspaper. For better or worse, her columns had revealed scandals, exposed indecencies, and paraded the virtues of Lofton townspeople for decades. When Betty saw her, Mrs. Livingston was speaking with her Aunt Laura. Betty waved in greeting and bee lined for a booth on the opposite side of the dining room. Maybe she wouldn’t get drawn into talking about the murder if she was quick. She’d just grab a coffee and a chocolate chip muffin… right. No sweets.

  Aunt Laura bustled over, smile firmly fixed and coffee pot in hand. She was short and spry, with curling wisps of white hair that escaped her tight bun to frame her face. She wore a long sleeved orange blouse in a cowgirl style had gone out of style decades ago tucked into jeans, with a white half apron tied around her front.

  “Betty!” she gushed, setting down a cream colored coffee cup with a clatter. “Did you hear? It’s the most terrible thing—there’s been a murder down at the theater. The Police won’t say who died of course, they have to notify the family first. Such a tragedy. And in Lofton of all places!” She poured the coffee and gestured to the other patron across the dining room. “Mrs. Livingston thinks it was Jarvis. Can you imagine? Such a sweet boy. She says Clarise was arrested, poor dear. I hope they’re wrong about her. Edna Rail was there when they brought her out. And you, you poor thing. Edna told us all about how upset you were. I’m so glad you came in! We’ll have you right as rain in no time. Here,” she said, opening a creamer and pouring it into Betty’s coffee. “What’ll you have?”

  Betty looked at her Aunt Laura in awe. That woman had superhuman talking powers! Just hearing her talk was enough to sap Betty of all her energy. It took her mind a moment to catch up to the question at the end of the long babble. She made a show of looking at the menu printed on the paper placemat in front of her while her brain recovered. When she came to the word “danish,” Betty’s mouth watered. That was what she wanted. Lofton Drug danishes had been one of her favorite comfort foods since high school. Why not treat herself before her sweet tooth was given a permanent death sentence? She couldn’t really start her new diet until she went shopping, and that wouldn’t happen until tomorrow anyhow.

  “Do you have any cheese danishes?”

  “Baked them yesterday,” Aunt Laura said. She pushed her pen back up behind her ear. “I’ll grab you one right and we can sit and chat for a bit.”

  “Great,” Betty said. Aunt Laura didn’t catch the sarcasm in her tone. Or, if she did, she probably put it up to Betty’s extreme emotional duress. Betty stared out the window, pointedly ignoring the coughing and throat clearing from Mrs. Livingston across the diner.

  Soon, Aunt Laura was back with a danish and her own cup of coffee before Mrs. Livingston mustered the courage to speak. I hope that’s decaf, Betty thought, watching her aunt sip at her beverage. The thought of Aunt Laura on a caffeine high was frightening. Though, it would certainly explain a lot.

  Her danish sat in front of her. It was all glazed edges and white cheese center… pure sugar and fat. She picked it up and took a bite. It tasted wonderful, as always. But… Betty imagined the sugar flooding her system. She imagined going blind, because she couldn’t say no to a danish.

  She wasn’t very hungry any more.

  Her taste buds went into full revolt. That one little taste was far from enough. Didn’t she deserve a little comfort food?

  Of course she did, Betty argued back against her watering mouth. But she’d sworn off sweets, so it would have to be something else.

  “Aren’t you hungry? Is it cooked wrong?”

  Betty flashed a tight smile. “It’s delicious. I think I was just wrong about being hungry.”

  “Nonsense. You need more than coffee in your stomach. Are you sick?”

  She leant forward to feel Betty’s forehead and Betty fought not to roll her eyes.

  “I ate after my doctor’s appointment,” Betty lied. “I’m really fine.”

  “If you say so dear,” Aunt Laura said, eyeing her skeptically. “How’d your appointment go?”

  “Fine.” Betty loved that word. She could use it as an acronym for Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional, and other people never had a clue. “Aunt Laura?”

  “Yes?”

  Betty rushed forward before she could back out of asking. “Well, I was just wondering. At the doctor’s they had me fill out one of those family history surveys, and I realized I didn’t know the answers to any of their questions. Has anyone in our family ever been sick? I mean, with serious stuff. Heart disease, diabetes… anything like that?”

  Aunt Laura laughed. Full out table rocking laughed. Coffee sloshed all over the table. “A Crawford, sick? Honey, we’re as healthy as they come!”

  Betty’s stomach flipped. “No one? No cancer or seizures or anything?”

  “Not a one.” Aunt Laura stood and mopped up the mess with a cloth from her apron. “You don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  Betty sighed and let Aunt Laura believe it was in relief. The bite of danish felt like lead in her stomach. The pamphlet had said you could inherit risk for diabetes, or it could be brought on by an unhealthy lifestyle. If it wasn’t inherited… She had made herself sick. And here she was, doing the exact same things that had given her this disease.

  The restaurant should let her rename their cheese danish. She’d call it ” the Delicious Danish of Death.”

  Then again, that might not help boost sales.

  CHAPTER 6

  With the guilt of the danish hanging over her head, Betty was goaded into action. After she extracted herself from Aunt Laura with as much grace as possible (“You know, I’m feeling a little tired. It’s been a long day. I think I’m going to go home and take a nap.”), she gritted her teeth and headed to CVS to fill her prescriptions. She blasted La Vie Boheme all the way, singing at the top of her lungs. “To living with living with living with, not dying from disease.”

  Jonathan Larson was a genius. So what if he was writing about AIDS? The words fit.

  Clarise had given her this CD for higher school graduation.

  Betty shook off that train of thought. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the morning’s events at the moment. If she was going to live with this disease, then she had to start now. She’d think about Clarise once this step had been taken.

  Betty pulled into the CVS lot and parked the car right near the entrance. Taking a deep breath, Betty dug into her purse, sifting through it until she came to the prescriptions her doctor had given her. She looked at them for a moment.

  This was it. She would walk through those doors, get the prescriptions filled, and the pharmacist would know. Someone else would know she was sick. Would they think it was because she was stupid? Or lazy and fat? Would they look down on her, wondering how she could have done this to herself?

  How could she have done this to herself?

  RAP! RAP! RAP!

  Betty startled and jumped, twisting to look out her driver’s side window. Mike, an elderly gentleman who went to her church, peered back at her. She pressed her hand against her heart, hoping to slow it’s thudding, and leaned over to roll down her window.

  “Afternoon Betty,” he drawled. His breath smelled like tuna fish. “I just saw you in there and I had to tell you—I don’t believe Clarise did it. Not for one moment.”

  “Me either,�
�� she said.

  “You’ll tell her I said that next time you talk to her?”

  “Of course Mike. She’ll be glad to hear it.” She’d be more than glad. Clarise still felt like the townspeople saw her as an outsider. If people like Mike were sticking up for her, it meant she’d finally been accepted as one of their own, and that would mean the world to Clarise. If it wouldn’t be entirely awkward, Betty would hug Mike.

  “That new cop, Bill Owens? He’s an idiot. The old chief would’ve known better than to cause a scene like that.”

  “I’m sure he’s doing his best,” Betty said. She wasn’t about to trash Bill, not when he was still figuring out his footing in this town. If he was going to catch the real murderer the people of Lofton would have to trust him. “It’ll be cleared up soon.”

  Mike shook his head. “If the old chief—”

  “Bill’s a good cop,” she interrupted, as much to convince herself as Mike. “I’ve known him for years.” Mike raised his eyebrows.

  “How’s that?”

  “College,” she answered shortly. “He’ll find the real killer.”

  “Well,” Mike said, straightening his back, “long as it’s not Clarise.”

  “It won’t be,” Betty said firmly.

  Clarise would go free.

  CHAPTER 7

  Inside the CVS, Betty refused to make eye contact with any of the customers. She made a beeline for the pharmacy, prescription clutched in her hand. If she was going to do this, she had to act now. Before she chickened out and put it off for another day. Because once she put it off once, it would be all too easy to put it off again, and again, and then where would she be?

  There was a person in front of her at the pharmacy counter, so Betty turned to an insect repellent display, forcing herself to become absorbed in reading the active ingredients labels. Personally, she always preferred the repellents with DEET. Call her paranoid, but she wasn’t too crazy about ticks and the lyme disease they tended to spread. Still, DEET stank to high heaven! Maybe she’d stick to a natural product this year, and just suffer through wearing long pants when she went on a hike.