Murder as Sticky as Jam

by Diana Orgain

  How did my life take such a quick turn into nowheresvillle?

  Looking at her steering wheel and her keys in her hand, she wasn’t sure what to do. If she’d left that darn burner on, she’d never get the insurance money. Worse, if she’d left it on, she’d killed an innocent man.

  Tears fell from her eyes, and her breathing was ragged as she began to cry. Mona was vaguely aware that her body was shaking as she sat in her car, weeping.

  She cried until she was unable to weep one more tear. Heaving, she tried to catch her breath as she wiped her face with her hand.

  Sitting in the parking lot of the police station, Mona was at her wit’s end.

  She put the car in drive and without thinking about it, drove to the shop and parked the car across the street from the burnt remains of her dream. A compulsion to come here was the best explanation she had for why she ended up looking at evidence of the train wreck her life had become.

  She got out of the car and walked to the shop, or what was left of it.

  She closed her eyes and in her mind, visualized the morning of the fire. She mentally retraced her steps and now standing in front of the charred remains, she was more certain than ever before.

  I turned that darn burner off. I know I did.

  I’m innocent.

  She looked at the wreckage with a critical eye. The kitchen and the warehouse seemed to be the most affected part of the shop. The blaze left them in shambles, but the front of the store was in relatively good condition.

  Police tape kept her from venturing into the shop, or else she would have walked into the ashes and began cleaning up the debris. It was astonishing to Mona to think that with a little capital and some hard work, the shop could be rebuilt.

  Am I crazy? Could I rebuild this shop?

  As Mona stared at the shop and imagined it the way it was just before the fire, she felt a small flicker of hope. She didn’t have anything left that was true, Leo would probably never love her, someone in Magnolia Falls wanted her to fail, and the town thought she was an arsonist, but this shop was her dream and she refused to give it up.

  Desperately in need of cheering up, she returned to her car and drove to see the one person she could depend on, Vicki. She arrived at Vicki’s farm to find her best friend chopping weeds in the garden in the hot sun.

  “You need some help?” asked Mona.

  Vicki stood up, leaned against the hoe and surveyed Mona, “You are dressed too fancy to get dirty in this garden with me, let me finish this row of carrots and I’ll join you on the porch.”

  “Sounds like a deal. Is the door unlocked? I’ll make something to drink.”

  “Should be, there’s lemonade in the fridge and a pitcher of ice tea. And pull out the mini pot pies from the oven. They should be about done. They’re gluten-free. I was making them for you.”

  Mona smiled as she left Vicki and opened the door of the farmhouse. The wood floors creaked as she walked across them. The house was over a hundred years old, and Mona loved it just as much as Vicki. This house has been in the Lawson family since the Civil War, and Mona thought of the laughter that used to fill the house when Vicki’s grandparents were alive.

  The delicious smell of pot pies filled the air as Mona crossed the house to the kitchen. The kitchen hadn’t been renovated in over three decades, and Mona was glad that it still felt old fashioned. She grabbed a pot holder and pulled the mini pies out of the oven. They looked as incredible as they smelled. She placed them on a wire rack to cool.

  Then, reaching into the cabinet, she selected two mason jar glasses and filled them with ice. She poured lemonade and ice tea and carried the glasses to the front porch where Vicki was already sitting in a high back rocking chair.

  “Which one do you want, lemonade or ice tea?” asked Mona.

  “I have to go with the lemonade, is that alright with you?” asked Vicki.

  “Sure is, you know I love sweet tea.”

  Mona slumped down on the front porch swing; she wanted to tell Vicki about the police station and the shop, but she wasn’t sure where to start, so she blurted out, “What’s up with you and Alexander?”

  Vicki giggled. “I know you don’t care much for him, but we spent the day together yesterday and ended up having burger and shakes at the Burger Barn.

  Mona made a face. “Did he pay?”

  Vicki smiled. “In fact, he did.”

  “So, was it a date?”

  “Well, we didn’t kiss, but the flirting was pretty fun, so I hope so. He’s coming over later tonight with some new wine from his shop he wants me to sample.” Vicki wiggled her eyebrows at Mona and gave a little woot.

  “Uck,” Mona said. “Can you find out where he was the morning of the fire, before you get all hot and heavy with him?”

  “He didn’t set fire to Jammin’ Honey, Mona!” Vicki said.

  “Get his alibi first, then we can decide.”

  Vicki’s smile faded and was replaced by a frown, “I guess you’re having a bad day, huh. That stupid article in the paper isn’t helping much.”

  “What article?”

  Vicki’s eyes widened, and Mona felt sick to her stomach.

  “Oh no. What article?” She repeated.

  Vicki put the glass of lemonade down on the porch and walked into the house, calling over her shoulder, “Remember, don’t kill the messenger.” A minute later, she returned with a newspaper. Handing it to Mona, she said, “Take a deep cleansing breath before you read.”

  Mona held the newspaper in her hand and read the front page. A one-inch tall headline splashed across the page promised exciting inside information into the ongoing Jammin’ Honey investigation. Mona’s eyes jumped from the headline to the paragraphs below, a color picture of her burnt shop covered nearly half the page.

  Her hand trembled as she dropped the newspaper on the front porch, “Vicki, they’re accusing me of torching the shop for the insurance money, on the front page. I ought to sue!”

  “Mona, I’m so sorry, I thought you knew about it.”

  “That Mrs. Fletcher called me last night about this rumor, I didn’t realize she was serious, that everyone in town thinks I’m an arsonist and a killer. Do they really think that? Vicki, tell me the truth.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, all I know is that Lacey was at the Burger Barn last night, and she was running her mouth about you to anyone that will listen. She blames you for Collin’s death, but Alexander and I are sure it’s just her way of coping.”

  Mona didn’t know what bothered her more, that Lacey was out spreading rumors about her or that Vicki was suddenly aligning herself with Alexander as if they were a couple.

  “Her way of coping?” Mona asked. “Do you mean to tell me that she’d rather blame me for Collin’s death than ask what he was doing in our warehouse? I happen to have heard he was hiding from her!”

  “Maybe so, but you can’t say anything, she’s the widow, it would look bad.”

  Mona groaned and said, “So everyone in town hates me and thinks I’m to blame for Collin’s death because pretty little Lacey says its true, and now the paper prints it, perfect.”

  “Mona, this will blow over, you just have to give it time.”

  “I don’t want to give it time. I’m innocent, you know that, is there anyone left in town that doesn’t consider me a criminal?”

  Vicki squeezed. “Of course, there is! I know you didn’t set fire to the place. Alexander and Leo know that too. And Aunt Bee—”

  “Aunt Bee!” Mona detangled herself from Vicki’s grasp. “I forgot! I have to make a few cases of my blackberry ginger jam. Alana from the Coupon Clippers is going to feature it on her blog.”

  Vicki clapped in childish delight. “That’s amazing!”

  Mona nodded. “Yeah, it’ll help us get some seed money to get a contractor to help rebuild Jammin’ Honey. We can’t just sit around and wait for the insurance people, right?”

  Vicki bit her lip and looked uncertain. “Well
, I’m glad I made you dinner, now you don’t have to cook tonight. Just get busy on those jams.”

  Mona followed Vicki into her kitchen and happily accepted the pies. She said, “Vicki, I promise you this. I am going to rebuild Jammin’ Honey!”

  Chapter Nine

  Mona pulled into her driveway with thoughts bombarding her a mile a minute. On the drive home, she’d realized that she hadn’t yet put in an insurance claim and groaned out loud at the thought of all the paperwork.

  As she walked up the stairs to her house, she ran a mental to do list, and on top of the list was proving that she was innocent.

  Locking the door, she dropped her purse on the kitchen table along with the two mini pot pies and preheated the oven to warm them. She then walked down the hall to the bedroom. Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. The girl she saw that morning who was singing, happy and had perfectly applied her make-up was gone. In her place stood a haggard woman with smeared mascara and a wrinkled blue shirt.

  I’m not going to let them get me down!

  She pulled her hair into a ponytail and put on a pair of boots. She hiked the short distance to some wild blackberry bushes on her property and harvested several pounds for the jam. Then she returned to her kitchen and donned an apron.

  She rinsed the blackberries in the sink, and thought to herself, I’m going to get back on my feet if it kills me.

  The oven beeped having reached the pre-heated temperature, and Mona put Vicki’s pre-made pot pies into the oven to warm.

  At least, I have a purpose now. Selling on Alana’s blog could be good for her. Thank goodness for Aunt Bee’s Coupon Clipper Club. Mona was starting to feel a small glimmer of hope. Aunt Bee believed in her and so did Aunt Cee who’d lent her the money. If she gave up on her dream now, she’d not only be failing herself but her Great Aunts too.

  For the first time in hours, Mona smiled to herself.

  Forget Leo and his “she doesn’t mean a thing to me.” Forget Lacey and her awful gossip. Forget the stupid newspaper. Mona was strong, feisty and fearless. She would fight for her name, her reputation and her shop.

  She put the blackberries, sugar, water, ginger and her special secret ingredients—cardamom and cloves—into a saucepan.

  She was startled out of her daydream by the sound of a car coming up the driveway.

  She wasn’t expecting company, nor did she recognize the sound of the car engine. It didn’t sound like Vicki’s old beater pickup.

  For a moment, she thought of her vulnerability, her house sitting off the road hidden by the trees wasn’t safe. Fear surged through her as she thought of what she could use as a weapon in case this was the killer come to finish the job. Reaching into a drawer, she retrieved a butcher knife as the car came to a stop.

  Her heartbeat raced as she gripped the handle of the knife. If this was the killer, maybe she would be vindicated. Mona thought of the newspaper headline proclaiming her innocence, but she would first have to survive the encounter.

  The car door slammed, and Mona pulled back the curtains, in the fading daylight, she was surprised to see the familiar face of her cousin, Stewart. Judging from the look on his face as he approached the front steps, he didn’t look happy. Mona glanced at the knife in her hand and thought about Stewart. She still considered him to be a possible suspect, but meeting him at the door with a knife would be awkward.

  Opening a kitchen drawer, Mona threw the knife in and slammed it closed as she walked to the door.

  Inviting Stewart in, Mona could sense that he wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. His jaw was firmly set, and his mouth formed a frown.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said flatly.

  “No, I haven’t,” Mona lied. “Have a seat,” she said, inviting him into the living room. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

  He grunted in response and slumped down in a chair.

  He’s so unpleasant, Mona thought, scurrying off to the kitchen.

  “Something sure smells good,” Stewart said.

  There’s no way I’m serving him my dinner! Mona thought.

  Maybe I should grab that knife and put him out of his misery!

  A few minutes later, Mona brought two cups of coffee into the living room and sat down on the couch across from her cousin, a man who had hardly spoken to her since Aunt Cee had loaned her the money for her shop, six months ago.

  “What can I do for you, Stu?” she asked.

  “Mona, thank you for the coffee. You didn’t have to go through that trouble. I wasn’t planning to stay long.”

  He could have told me that before I made it. What a complete pain he is!

  “It was no trouble,” Mona said. “The coffee pot does most of the work.”

  He didn’t smile at her joke, instead he said. “Yeah, well, I didn’t come here to talk about coffee.”

  Mona sipped the hot beverage as she thought about what Stewart said, he was baiting her, waiting for her ask him why he was there, in her house.

  Placing the coffee cup on the table, she studied her cousin before she spoke. He had barely touched the coffee that sat in front of him. His hands gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles were white, and his facial expression was grim.

  “Alright, Stewart, what did you come to talk about?”

  “You know damn well what I came for, don’t act so innocent.”

  “What are you talking about? You aren’t making any sense. Have you been drinking or something?”

  “No, I haven’t had a drop. I heard about you and that insurance money. I’ve got to hand it to you, pretty slick.”

  “You sound crazy. You can’t tell me you believe what they wrote in the paper.”

  Stewart glared at her as he answered, “You think I’m a fool?” He leaned forward aggressively. “I may have been when I let you outsmart me out of Cecilia’s money, but that won’t happen again.”

  Mona’s pulse raced, not out of fear. Any fear she’d felt, that perhaps Stewart was the killer and the arsonist, was replaced by anger.

  Standing, she said, “Hold on just a second, I’ve got something to show you that will put that notion out of your head.”

  Mona stormed out of the living room and walked down the hall to her bedroom. She opened the closet and pulled a box off the shelf. Opening the lid, she pulled out a dog-eared scrapbook. Her emotions were raw.

  How can he make me so mad every time we speak?

  She inhaled deeply and counted to ten. With so much going on in her life, she wasn’t in the mood for an argument. She pressed her free hand to her forehead, a dull headache starting to form.

  I can’t let him get to me!

  She flipped the scrapbook and smiled at the old picture.

  There was some clattering in the kitchen and then the sound of the oven opening and closing.

  Goodness! How long have I been looking at the photos?

  Hugging the scrapbook, she marched out of her bedroom and nearly collided with Stewart in the hallway.

  In his hands he held the microscopic remains of Vicki’s homemade pot pies. He stuffed what was left happily into his mouth and gave her a cocky smirk. “Yum.”

  Fury welled in Mona’s chest.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction of telling him he scarfed down my dinner in a single bite.

  Pig!

  Mona stormed out to the living room and Stewart followed, licking his fingers.

  Mona was about to shove the scrapbook into his sticky hands but thought better of it. Instead, she flipped it open and pointed at the pictures. “There, see all those pictures? Where were you? You weren’t in them because you weren’t there. Look, there is Aunt Bee and Cee at their fiftieth high school anniversary, at church at Easter, making a cake in the kitchen for my birthday, see them?” Mona asked and didn’t wait for the answer as she snapped the book shut.

  “Those pictures don’t mean a thing to me,” Stewart said. “You duped Cecelia into thinking you cared about her so she’d loan
you the money for your stupid shop. I’m glad at least Bee was smarter than that.”

  “It’s wasn’t like that Stewart. No one duped—”

  “But I know the truth,” Stewart interrupted. “You don’t care for anyone but yourself and money. That’s why you burned down your shop for the insurance money and killed Collin.”

  “Stewart, you can’t really believe that? You grew up with me and you think that? Tell me why would I burn down my own shop and kill Collin? That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

  As angry as Mona was with Stewart, she carefully placed the scrapbook on the table as she waited for her cousin to answer. Her dull headache was quickly becoming a throbbing migraine. She had to get him out of her house and get herself to bed.

  “I’m not an idiot,” Stewart replied with venom. “I know you insured that shop for more than the loan, a lot more. And Collin must have wanted his share, on account of you and he were seeing each other. But I know better than anyone, you don’t like to share.”

  “That too? You believe those rumors? Stewart, you are an idiot, I’ve never run around with a married man, and the shop was insured, but there’s no guarantee I’ll ever see a penny of that money.”

  “That’s not what I heard, I heard you were going to be set for life. Especially with old Collin out of the way.” Stewart hovered over her. “All I want is what should have been mine. That money Cecelia loaned you should have come to me. And now you are going to get paid again while I struggle to make ends meet, well I ain’t having it, do you hear me?”

  Mona’s vision blurred for a moment, and she shook her head to clear it. She was starting to feel faint.

  Dealing with him makes me sick, literally!

  “Bottom line, Stewart what the hell do you want? Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  “Pay me, give me my fair share. At the very least, you should have hired me for the shop, given me a job.”

  Mona stood and gave him an answer, “You come into my house, uninvited, accuse me of conning Aunt Cecelia out of her money that she happily loaned me and claim I was running around with Collin, and you think I’m going to give you a dime? You have got to be out of your mind. Now get out of my house!”