Morning Cup of Murder

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  Since she had time to kill, she began Googling her grandmother’s friends. As she had suspected, all their maiden names matched up with the girls in the picture.

  Lacy stared into space, considering. What were the chances that her grandmother’s friends had all been on the homecoming court with the dead woman but that her grandmother hadn’t known her? Not good. There was a strong likelihood that her grandmother had known the dead woman. If they knew each other, that made proving her grandmother’s innocence more difficult. It also meant Lacy would need to learn as much as she could about any possible connection between her grandmother and the dead woman.

  There was one easy way to do that. She picked up her phone and pressed a button. Her mother’s chipper voice cut through her anxiety, causing her to smile in spite of herself. “Hey, hon, you’re up early. Is something wrong?”

  Lacy thought of her grandmother’s directive not to tell the rest of the family about her predicament. For now, she would honor that request. “No, Mom. I just had a question for you.”

  “Fire away,” her mother commanded.

  “Have you ever heard grandma mention a woman named Barbara Blake?”

  “Barbara Blake,” her mother repeated a few times. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Why don’t you ask her?”

  “It’s sort of a sticky situation.”

  “Are you planning a surprise?” Her mother was a tender-hearted optimist who always assumed the best.

  “Not really, Mom. I was just wondering.”

  “Have you talked to Riley?”

  Lacy’s smile faltered. “No.”

  “Lacy, she’s your sister.”

  Her mother would have said more, but Lacy cut her off. “I should probably go, Mom. I have a few things I need to do.”

  Her mother’s sigh was loud and expressive. “All right. Give my love to Grandma.”

  “I will. Love you, Mom.” Lacy’s voice broke on the last word.

  “Lacy, are you…”

  “Gotta go, Mom.” She closed the phone and took a steadying breath. Keep it together, she warned herself. There was too much to do to let herself fall apart now.

  The large clock on the front of the library told her she still had half an hour before opening time, plenty of time for her to call on one of her grandmother’s friends. She thought of the list from the picture and quickly decided on the one who lived in town--Gladys Smith, nee Harwell.

  As she had expected, Gladys was wide awake when Lacy knocked on her door.

  “Why, Lacy, honey, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

  Was it possible that she hadn’t yet heard the news? Lacy was under the impression that the gossip in this town ran faster than the speed of light. “Not really, Mrs. Smith. I don’t know how to tell you this, but Grandma has been arrested.”

  Gladys paled, gasped, and pressed her hand to her heart. “What on earth for?”

  “For murder,” Lacy said.

  Gladys blinked at her. Lacy watched as the astonishment turned to understanding. “Well that’s just not possible,” she said unconvincingly.

  “That’s what I think. Is it possible to come in for a few minutes and talk? I have some questions.”

  “Oh, well, I…” Gladys broke off and looked behind her. “I have a lot going on right now.”

  “Please,” Lacy pled. “It will just take a moment.”

  “Okay,” Gladys agreed. If Lacy hadn’t been so intent on her purpose, she would have winced at the resignation in Gladys’s tone. She followed the older woman down the hallway to her frilly, lace-inspired living room. Plastic lined all the furniture and lampshades, causing a squeaking sound as Lacy sat. She was glad she had arrived early. The day was supposed to be a scorcher; it wouldn’t do to get stuck to the plastic. Absently she wondered if Gladys had ever had to call the fire department to have someone peeled off her couch.

  “I was wondering what you could tell me about Barbara Blake.”

  “Who?” Gladys’s eyes darted frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at Lacy.

  “The woman Grandma is accused of murdering.”

  “I don’t think I know her,” Gladys said, staring blankly at the unlit television.

  “You were on the homecoming court with her your senior year of high school. I just saw the picture.”

  Gladys’s cheeks flushed a dark shade of red at having been caught in her lie. “Oh, that Barbara Blake. I was thinking of someone else. Um, yes, we were schoolmates, but I haven’t seen her in years.” Suddenly she looked from the television to Lacy. “Did you just say Barbara is dead? Murdered?” All previous color was now gone from her face. In fact, she looked in danger of swooning.

  Lacy nodded. “Yes, and they think Grandma did it. Obviously you know that’s not possible. Please, Gladys, anything you can tell me will be helpful.”

  “There’s really nothing to tell, Lacy.” Gladys pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her forehead. “Barbara moved away soon after high school. We lost contact. I know nothing about her. Nothing.”

  “Were she and my grandmother friends?”

  “No. Barbara was our age, and we didn’t become friends with your grandmother until we were older and out of school. Barbara was long gone by then.”

  Lacy almost smiled at this news. If her grandmother hadn’t known Barbara, then proving her innocence would be a cinch. “Can you think of any reason my grandmother would be implicated in this murder?”

  “No,” Gladys said, dabbing at her forehead once more.

  Lacy stood to go, but instinct made her ask one more question. “Gladys, is there anything else you can tell me about Barbara?”

  “Like what?” Gladys asked, her voice faint.

  “What was she like?”

  “I haven’t known her for years, dear.”

  “What was she like in high school?”

  For a moment, Gladys’s features closed up and became hard. “She was the worst, most selfish, calculating and conniving person I’ve ever met,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and began fanning herself with her handkerchief. “Now I really do have to get back to what I was doing.” Contrary to her statement, she remained seated, staring at the television.

  “Okay,” Lacy said. “Thank you. And if you think of anything else, please call me.”

  Gladys nodded. “Don’t worry about Lucinda,” she said. “There’s no way your grandmother killed Barbara. She had no motive.”

  Lacy turned toward the door with a frown. What an odd thing to say, she thought before she let herself out. But at least she had added two vital pieces of information to the puzzle: her grandmother didn’t know Barbara, and Barbara hadn’t lived here her whole life. Unfortunately, there were now more questions to answer. Why had Barbara moved? Where did she go? Why and when did she return? And why did she retain her maiden name? Hadn’t she ever married?

  And, most importantly, why had Gladys looked so nervous at the mention of the dead woman? Lacy made a mental note to contact all the other women in the picture. Maybe one of them would be more forthcoming. If not, then maybe she would have to apply a little more pressure. After all, her grandmother’s life depended on it.

  Chapter 5

  Just as Lacy reached the library again, her phone rang. Almost before she could say hello she heard the now-familiar voice of Ed McNeil.

  “Miss Steele, I wondered if you’ve had time to consider my offer to represent your grandmother. Lawyers like me don’t stay available for long. Any minute now I expect to get another case, and then I won’t be available for your grandmother. It’s now or never.”

  “I’m going to go with never,” Lacy said. She hung up and turned off her phone before he could argue. She was livid with rage. The nerve of that man! Did he have no shame? No wonder there were so many lawyer jokes. Counting the messages she knew about, he had tried to contact her six times in the past two hours. Maybe some people respected his persistence, but Lacy didn’t; she found his unwavering attitude obnoxiou
s.

  Entering the library worked to cool some of her frustration. The quiet, peaceful atmosphere always had a calming effect on her. In order to expedite her research, she enlisted the help of the reference librarian who showed her where to search for the town’s vital records.

  Barbara Blake was seventy years old--exactly two years younger than Lacy’s grandmother. She had been born in town. Sadly, her parents both died when she was in high school, leaving their house to their only daughter. The house on Chestnut Street had remained in Barbara’s possession for almost the last fifty years.

  Why would she keep a house she didn’t live in? Lacy wondered. Was it because she still had ties to the community? If so, what were they? What had brought the woman back after so long an absence?

  After having found everything she could at the library, Lacy closed her bag and exited the building. Turning right on Main Street, she headed toward Chestnut. She was suddenly insatiably curious about the house this woman had held onto for so long. Had it also been the place of her demise?

  That question was answered as soon as Lacy came within sight of the building. Yellow police tape outlined the perimeter of the house, denoting it as a crime scene. Lacy ducked under a piece of tape, lightly darted up the porch steps, and peered in a window. The house was dark and the outside sunlight was bright; she couldn’t see a thing.

  She itched to go inside, but the sound of a weed trimmer alerted her to the presence of neighbors. No doubt if she let herself in someone would call the police. Just in case there was someone inside, she knocked on the door and rang the doorbell. No one answered. With a sly glance at the horizon, Lacy reached out and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. The temptation to slip inside was almost too much, but she refrained. If she decided to search the house, she would come back after dark when no one was watching. Undoubtedly breaking and entering was a crime, but desperate times and all that.

  Her watch alarm beeped, startling her. She had set it to go off in time for visiting hours at the jail. Tossing her bag onto her back, she began to jog down the street toward her house, noting as she ran how long it took.

  Ten minutes later, she arrived on her grandmother’s doorstep. She would have to drive to the jail; eight miles of country road was too far to walk in this heat. As she let herself in the front door and walked to the garage, she passed by the answering machine in the kitchen. Ten messages blinked at her. She paused, deciding to play them in case there was some news about her grandmother, but then quickly lost patience. Every message was from Ed McNeil or one of his flunky employees. There was even a young-sounding guy who suggested they go for a date to talk about Ed’s talents as a lawyer.

  “Disgusting jerk,” Lacy muttered. She stabbed the erase button repeatedly until the machine was clear. When the phone immediately rang again, she growled, grabbed the keys by the door, and ran out without waiting to hear who the message was from. If she heard one more message from the obnoxious Mr. McNeil, she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions.

  She arrived at the jail promptly at ten, but there was already a line at the jail visitation window. The same jailer whom she had met yesterday stood at the window, buzzing people through after they answered a couple of questions. At last it was her turn, and she was surprised when the guy offered her a friendly smile.

  “Hey, you’re back,” he said.

  She gave him what she hoped was a polite smile. She really wasn’t in the mood for small talk, especially not from a guy who still looked pubescent. Were they hiring kids directly from high school now? “I’m here to see…” she began, but he interrupted her.

  “You’re here to see your grandmother. I remember.” He looked around and leaned in close to the window. “We treated her well last night. She got her own cell away from everyone else. She was as comfortable as she could be; I checked.”

  “Thank you,” Lacy said sincerely, swallowing a lump. Envisioning her precious grandmother spending the night in a jail cell was painful, even if she had been treated well.

  “She’s a sweet lady,” the guy said. “Very polite and friendly.”

  Lacy nodded, blinking back tears. The guy, whose nametag read “Travis,” cleared his throat. “Go through the metal door and turn left. I’ll buzz them to let her know you’re here.”

  “Thank you,” Lacy said shakily. She took a deep, steady breath, waited for the door to buzz open, and then walked through, jumping slightly when it clambered shut behind her. She would never get used to that horrible sound.

  As she sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, she clasped her hands together to stop their trembling. She wasn’t afraid to be here; she was afraid she would fall apart at the sight of her grandmother in an orange jumpsuit like all the other prisoners. Her grandmother--who hadn’t worn pants a day in her life--now had to wear an ugly cotton pantsuit with a number on it. It was almost too much to bear.

  The minutes ticked and Lacy’s anxiety grew. What’s taking so long? she wondered.

  At last the door opened, but her grandmother didn’t walk through. Instead it was Travis. He sat down opposite her and picked up the phone. She did likewise and listened as he spoke.

  “She’s not coming out,” he said.

  Her jaw dropped. “What’s wrong with her? Is she sick?”

  Travis shook his head. “She said she doesn’t want to visit with you. She said she doesn’t want to talk. She said…she said for you to go away.”

  The phone dropped from her hand and she hastened to pick it up, plastering it hard against her ear. “That’s not possible. I need to see her. I have to talk to her. Please.”

  Travis’s sympathetic look turned pitying. “There’s nothing I can do, Lacy. I can’t make her talk to you.”

  Lacy nodded, swiping impatiently at tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, not looking at him to see if he heard her or not. Her hand fumbled with the phone a few times before she finally found the cradle and hung it up.

  She stumbled outside and sat hard on the curb. Nothing in life had prepared her for the pain of her grandmother’s rejection. What possible reason could the older woman have for not wanting to meet with her? There was no reason unless she was actually guilty. But, no, Lacy would never believe that. It wasn’t only improbable; it was impossible. Besides the fact that her grandmother was the sweetest woman on the planet, she had no motive. She hadn’t even known the victim.

  Maybe her grandmother was embarrassed. After all, she was a very proper and private person who always preferred to keep her troubles to herself. Maybe she felt like Lacy shouldn’t have to deal with the situation.

  Yes, that had to be it. Her grandmother was suffering from misplaced pride. Somehow Lacy would have to get a message to her, but how?

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up to see Jason in full uniform, staring down at her. The sun was behind him, casting his face into shadows.

  “I was trying to see my grandmother,” she said. The memory of last night’s almost kiss gave her a heightened awareness of him, but she begrudged that awareness. She didn’t want to be attracted to Jason. She had no time or interest in romance right now.

  “What did you say to Buzz?”

  “What?” She frowned up at him, shading her eyes. “Who’s Buzz?”

  He pointed toward the jail. “He answers the door.”

  “I thought his name was Travis.”

  “It is. We call him buzz because he buzzes people in. What did you do to him?”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, impatience creeping into her tone.

  “He wants to ask you out. He hasn’t stopped talking about you. He asked me if we were an item.” Then, crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned down at her. “Look, Lacy, I don’t know what you’ve been telling people about us, but I think maybe last night gave you the wrong idea. I’m not interested in a relationship.”

  She shot to her feet and brushed the dirt off her behind. “Are you out of your mind?” she practically shouted
. “I don’t know that guy.” She jabbed a finger toward the jail. “He looks like a teenager; he must be a good six years younger than me. And as for you,” she paused to jab her finger in his chest, wincing when it met with his rock-hard bullet-proof vest, “I have no interest in you, either. You have always thought that every girl in the room adored you, but you have always been wrong about me. I didn’t want you in high school, and I don’t want you now. I don’t want anyone. The only thing I want is to clear my grandmother’s name, get her out of jail, and move far, far away where cops don’t arrest innocent old ladies and high school has-beens don’t think the world of themselves.”

  To her chagrin, he laughed at her. “I have news for you: high school has-beens always think the world of themselves. That’s universal. Just like the fact that redheads always have fiery tempers.” He reached out to flick an end piece of her hair, but she batted his hand away.

  “My hair is not red. It’s strawberry blond. And don’t touch me.” She spun on her heel and stalked away from him.

  “That’s not what you said last night,” he said, loudly enough for a group of people on the sidewalk to turn and look at them. She kept going. She wasn’t sure she had ever been angrier or more mortified. By the time she slammed into her car and put on her sunglasses, he was gone. She rolled down the window and sat a few minutes, trying to simultaneously calm down and think of her next move.

  Just as her brain was starting to clear, an answer appeared before her. Travis, or “Buzz,” as Jason had called him, walked out of the building and toward his car. Could it be his lunch break already?

  She stuck her head out of the window and called to him.

  He paused and turned to look at her with a dawning smile of recognition. Throwing his hand in the air, he waved it back and forth. “Hi, Lacy.”