Kill 'Em with Cayenne

by Gail Oust

  “Best of terms?” Dottie giggled. “My dear girl, Maybelle despised Becca. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if she had something to do with poor Becca’s untimely demise.”

  I gaped at Dottie. “Surely you don’t believe Maybelle would harm Becca?”

  “Shame on you, Dottie Hemmings.” Melly shook an arthritic finger at her. “Maybelle is a sweet, good-natured soul. Wouldn’t harm a flea.”

  “Pish-tosh.” Dottie dismissed “sweet, good-natured,” with a wave of her pudgy hand “Those two were oil and water ever since they were schoolgirls. Becca was the pretty popular one, captain of the cheerleading squad and homecoming queen. Maybelle was the brainy sort, president of the National Honor Society and class valedictorian. She was the perennial wallflower while Becca was queen bee.”

  I clucked my tongue in sympathy. “It must have been hard on Maybelle when Becca returned after her divorce and set her sights on Buzz.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Reba Mae said, her tone hushed. “There he is now.”

  In a synchronized move worthy of a water ballet, the four of us turned and locked our gazes on Buzz Oliver. Becca’s boyfriend stood alone in the midst of a crowd. His eyes red rimmed, face lined and haggard, the man genuinely appeared grief stricken.

  “You darn tootin’ Maybelle was mad Becca stole her intended. Madder than a wet hen.” Dottie’s head moved up and down like one of those bobblehead dolls you see in the rear window of an old Chevy. “I told Chief McBride that very thing when I saw him. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I’d better get in line at the buffet table before the good stuff’s all gone.”

  “Wait up, Dottie,” Melly said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “S’pose McBride took Dottie seriously?” Reba Mae asked.

  “He’s probably hearing the same from people all over town.”

  “Well, I, for one, will rest easier knowin’ Maybelle’s alibi is rock solid.” Reba Mae looped her arm through mine. “C’mon, sugar, let’s have us some dessert before folks realize it’s slim pickin’s at the sweets table.”

  The desserts were displayed on a small table more suitable for playing bridge. I helped myself to a small slice of Lottie Smith’s Can’t-Die-Without-It Coconut Cake that, along with a Texas sheet cake, had joined the meager assortment. Since the cake looked lonely on a plate all by itself, I added one of Reba Mae’s tassies, a miniature tart with pecan filling. Reba Mae took cake but left the tassies to the masses. We found ourselves a relatively quiet spot in a corner.

  McBride appeared from the direction of the buffet table, holding a Styrofoam plate heaped high with food. “Y’all are to be be commended,” he drawled, his Georgia roots evident. “I didn’t know y’all were members of the Life’s-short-eat-dessert-first Club.”

  I paused, fork halfway to my mouth, and scowled up at him. He was out of uniform in black blazer and slacks, white shirt. He’d unbuttoned the top button, ostensibly because of the summer heat. If I’d had a top button, I’d unfasten it, too, but not because of the outdoor temperature. It ought to be illegal to look that good.

  “Hey, Wyatt.” Reba Mae patted the chair next to her. “Sit a spell. Take a load off.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” McBride said with an easy smile. Instead of taking the empty seat next to Reba Mae, however, he plunked himself next to me.

  “You here on official business, McBride?” I asked. “Or on the prowl for a free lunch?”

  He grinned his dimple-showing-off grin. “Enough can’t be said for free lunches for lowly paid public servants.”

  “Hope you have a weakness for mushroom soup.” Reba Mae nodded toward his plate. “’Cause you’re in for a treat.”

  “Green bean casserole, beef Stroganoff, chicken Stroganoff, cheesy potatoes, mac and cheese.” I ticked them off on my fingers.

  “And that’s only for starters,” Reba Mae added.

  I’ll never know what made me glance toward the dessert table at that particular moment, but as I did I glimpsed Maybelle disappearing out the back entrance. Her signature Hummingbird Cake occupied pride of place on the sweets table. “Well, I’ll be,” I breathed.

  “What’s up, honeybun?” Reba Mae asked, seeing my expression change.

  “Maybelle brought a cake.”

  McBride, his back turned from the sweets table, polished off the last of his mac and cheese. “How do you know it’s hers?”

  “Aside from the fact I just saw her disappear out the door?” I asked innocently.

  “Don’t be a wiseass,” he said.

  “No one—and I mean no one—makes Hummingbird Cake like Maybelle. She even lines up those pecan halves perfect along the side. You have any idea how hard it is to make nuts stick without messing up the cream cheese icing?”

  “Cream cheese icing is not my area of expertise,” McBride commented drily. “I’m better informed on the subject of nuts—and I’m not referring to the pecan or walnut variety.”

  “That was awful nice of Maybelle to bring somethin’.” Reba Mae sampled her slice of coconut layer cake. “Too bad she didn’t stay and visit.”

  “Ms. Humphries, I’m afraid, spotted me chatting with y’all and decided it prudent to make a hasty departure.” He scooped up a forkful of Stroganoff.

  “Why is she avoiding you?” I asked.

  “I’ve issued Ms. Humphries a personal invitation to come down to my office later this afternoon and answer a few questions. Too many rumors circulating about her and Becca Dapkins to ignore.”

  “No wonder Maybelle’s makin’ herself scarce,” Reba Mae said to me after McBride excused himself in response to a summons from Mayor Hemmings. “I don’t blame her not wantin’ the third degree.”

  Dessert finished and ready for our second course, we explored the buffet table. I decided to forego dishes in which unidentified objects swam in a gluey gray sea. I played it safe instead with a chicken and rice combo. In Becca’s memory, I took a small serving of her specialty—green bean casserole.

  “Aren’t you afraid of puttin’ on extra pounds eatin’ all those carbs?” asked a voice sweet as a Georgia peach.

  “Hey, Amber,” I said, making an effort to sound equally sweet. “Considerate of you to worry about my figure. Since I took up jogging, however, I can eat most anything I want and not gain an ounce.” I had no idea if this was true or not, since I hadn’t been jogging long enough to test the theory.

  “Joggin’s all right for some, I s’pose, but not for me.” She smoothed her hair, which didn’t need smoothing. Privately, I thought she only did that to flash her two-, maybe three-carat diamond engagement ring. “I don’t think,” she continued, “that runnin’ around all sweaty in public is very ladylike.”

  But sleeping with another woman’s husband is?

  I bit my tongue to keep from saying that out loud. Determined to be pleasant even if it killed me, I smiled. “Where’s your fiancé? He desert you?”

  “CJ wanted to drop by the Chamber of Commerce and give Maybelle one of his business cards. He heard she might be needin’ a good lawyer.”

  Reba Mae sidled closer. “If she needs a good lawyer, she won’t be callin’ CJ.”

  “That’s downright insultin’, Reba Mae.” Amber turned her back on us and started to stalk off.

  “Try the chocolate sheet cake!” I called after her. “It’s delicious!”

  “I don’t eat chocolate,” she informed me haughtily. “It makes my skin break out.”

  “Don’t worry, dear.” Reba Mae chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll outgrow it.”

  The crowd had begun to thin by the time Reba Mae and I returned to our original seats. “Umm,” I said around a mouthful. “The chicken and rice is delish. To quote McBride, ‘enough can’t be said for free lunches.’”

  I was finishing the last bite when Gerilee Barker, an apron over a simple black dress, stopped at our table. “If you two are finished, I’ll take your plates.”

  Reba Mae handed Gerilee hers. “The VFW got you workin’ today?”<
br />
  “The Women’s Auxiliary offered to help the bingo ladies since they expected a big turnout. Been back in the kitchen most of the time. Thought I’d get a head start on the cleanup.”

  I blotted my mouth with a paper napkin. “The women ought to be commended for the fine job they did.”

  “Thanks, Piper. I’ll pass along the compliment.”

  “Dottie mentioned gathering the cream of mushroom soup recipes into a cookbook. Kind of a tribute to Becca.”

  Reba Mae reached into her purse and reapplied lipstick. “She even mentioned selling them at the Chamber. Maybelle will be fit to be tied.”

  Gerilee added the plasticware to the pile of used Styrofoam plates she carried. Her brow creased into a frown. “I gotta admit, I’m worried about Maybelle. She’s been acting strange lately.”

  “I’m sure she’s upset, as we all are, over Becca’s death.” I pushed away from the table and got to my feet. “Considering their history, it’s a good thing she has a solid alibi.”

  Reba Mae stood and hitched her purse onto her shoulder. “Yeah, good thing she was at the food bank with you the night in question.”

  “With me…?” Gerilee stared at us blankly. “You’re mistaken. I went alone that night.”

  Reba Mae and I exchanged glances. “You sure?” I asked when I found my voice.

  “Positive.” Gerilee added another plate to the teetering stack she already held. “Maybelle called at the last minute and canceled. Said she didn’t feel well and didn’t want to spread her germs.”

  We watched Gerilee move off to clear an adjacent table.

  “Well, I’ll be darned.” Reba Mae finally spoke. “Maybelle lied.”

  “And what’s more,” I said, “Maybelle doesn’t have an alibi.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “EVEN THOUGH HE’S going through the motions and questioning suspects, deep down McBride still considers Becca’s death a mugging. Call it woman’s intuition if you will, but I can’t help but think the big-city cop’s got it all wrong. I’m convinced the case is much more complicated than the man cares to admit.” I climbed into the Beetle and cranked the air to max.

  Fanning herself with a program from the memorial service, Reba Mae slid into the passenger seat. “I could see a breakin’ and enterin’—a home invasion even—but hittin’ a poor defenseless woman on her way to deliver a brisket is, well … it just ain’t right.”

  I shifted into reverse, backed out of the parking stall, and pulled out of the lot. “I’d like to take another look around Becca’s house. See if we missed anything the first time.”

  “Fine by me.” Reba Mae pulled down the visor and inspected her image in the small mirror. “Her son, Kenny, gave me a key. Told me he and his sister would appreciate havin’ someone keep on eye on the place.”

  I looked at her suspiciously. “When did that conversation take place?”

  “While you were visitin’ the little girls’ room,” she said smugly. Satisfied with her appearance, she flipped the visor back up. “I walked over and introduced myself. Told ’em I’d be happy to help any way I could.”

  “So just like that”—I snapped my fingers—“they gave you a key?”

  “More or less,” she said. “Becca’s kids plan to call a pro to appraise the house for valuables. Kenny gave me a spare house key after makin’ me promise not to let the appraiser out of my sight. He and his sister don’t want the guy runnin’ off with the family treasures.”

  I made a right at the fork in the road and headed toward town. “From what I could tell, Becca’s things didn’t seem worth much, but I’m no expert.”

  “Dividin’ up the silver is a big to-do in the South. I’m surprised the kids aren’t fightin’ over butter knives and seafood forks.”

  “I got the impression they’re the take-the-money-and-run type,” I told her. “I’m going to stop by the Chamber for a minute to check on Maybelle. Care to join me?”

  “Wish I could, honeybun, but I got a perm waitin’ on me.”

  After agreeing to meet her later, I dropped Reba Mae off at the Klassy Kut and drove to the Chamber of Commerce. Maybelle looked up from her desk behind the counter as I entered. The Chamber could use some sprucing up. A fresh coat of paint over the institutional beige would be a good start. A couple plastic chairs of the stackable variety hugged one wall. The other wall featured blowup photos of Brandywine Creek’s “points of interest”—the courthouse, the opera house, the town square.

  “Hey, Maybelle,” I said cheerily. “Seeing how you didn’t stay for lunch, I brought you a plate. Just nuke it in the microwave for a minute or two.”

  “That’s awfully sweet of you, Piper. Maybe later.” She took the plate from me and made room for it in a dorm-size fridge next to a file cabinet. “I can’t eat a bite these days. Even the thought of food makes me nauseous. I’ve been a bundle of nerves since Becca … died.”

  “Becca had a real nice turnout. She would’ve been pleased.”

  Maybelle tucked a stray salt-and-pepper wisp behind her ear. “Becca always did like being the center of attention.”

  “Her children didn’t seem very distraught at her passing.” Passing. There it was again, the euphemism of the day. Was there a Euphemism-of-the-Day calendar? If not, maybe there should be. Could be a bestseller during the holidays. Something along the lines of Page-a-Day Sudoku, or 365 Days of Beer.

  Maybelle rested her hands on the counter and folded them primly. “Don’t think for a minute I don’t know what people are thinking. They’re saying I had it in for Becca. That I was angry at her for stealing Buzz. Maybe even angry enough to kill her.”

  “That’s just talk, Maybelle. No one who knows you believes that nonsense,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

  But why lie about her alibi? There had to be a logical explanation for the lie. All I had to do was find out what it was. Easy peasy … not.

  Maybelle reached into a desk drawer and took out a business card. “Your ex dropped by and gave this to me. Think I should give him a call?”

  “I don’t think you’re in need of a lawyer yet, Maybelle. Besides, CJ’s a whizbang at trip and falls, but he hasn’t had a lot of experience in criminal cases.”

  “Criminal” caused Maybelle to wince. Me and my big mouth, I berated myself silently. Didn’t the woman have enough worries on her plate without me heaping on more?

  “Chief McBride’s called me in for questioning,” Maybelle blurted. “What’ll I tell him?”

  “McBride doesn’t use thumbscrews. Just tell him the truth. He’ll have this mess sorted out in no time.”

  “You really think so?” she asked hopefully.

  “Of course I do,” I replied, trying to infuse confidence. “Considering the rumors flying around town, talking to you is probably only a formality. Don’t forget the man’s paid to be suspicious. All you have to do is be honest.”

  Honest? That brought me to the crux of the matter. I absently picked up a brochure advertising the Brandywine Creek Opera House’s fall season. I noticed Steel Magnolias was on the schedule. A real tearjerker, that one. “Maybelle,” I said, clearing my throat, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  CJ’s card clenched tight in her fist, Maybelle nodded for me to continue.

  “Gerilee helped clean up after today’s reception, and we got to talking.” Did I only imagine it or did panic flicker across Maybelle’s face? “According to her, you weren’t at the food bank the night Becca was murdered. Gerilee claimed you weren’t feeling well and canceled.”

  Maybelle’s clasped her hands so tightly her knuckles shone white. Her face paled, then reddened. “I must’ve been confused.”

  “If you weren’t at the food bank, where were you?” There, I’d gone and done it. Addressed the elephant in the room.

  “I, um, was home … alone.”

  Home Alone was probably a better movie than it was an alibi. From my television viewing I knew “home alone” was a hard one to pr
ove. Or disprove.

  “Good,” I said. “All you have to do is tell McBride what you told me, and you’ll do fine.” I placed the brochure back on the pile, careful to align it with the others on the counter. “I’d better get back to my shop and relieve Lindsey.”

  I gave Maybelle a smile as I left the Chamber, but she didn’t smile back.

  In the VW once again, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Did finding Becca’s body give me a vested interest in the case? Or was I just plain nosey? Nah, impossible. I had an inquiring mind, is all. But truth be told, the answer wasn’t that simple. I worried Maybelle was about to find herself in the same predicament I’d been in not so long ago. I remembered what it felt like to be falsely accused. To have people you’d known for years suddenly regard you as an axe murderer. Or in Maybelle’s case a brisket bludgeoner. With Becca’s homicide—and Maybelle’s uncertain future—uppermost in my mind, I twisted the key in the ignition and headed for Meat on Main.

  Pete Barker’s ruddy face creased in a grin at the sight of me. A white canvas apron swathed his ample girth. “Hey there, Piper,” he said, shoving a tray of ground chuck into the meat case. “How’d the funeral go? Big turnout, I heard.”

  “Half the town was there. Guess the other half had to work.”

  Pete stripped the plastic gloves from his hands, bunched them up, and tossed them toward a wastebasket. One glove landed in the intended target; the other hit the floor. “Gerilee expected a crowd. Told me she’d be dead on her feet when she came home. Advised me if I wanted supper, I’d better pick up a pizza after I lock up.”

  “Never go wrong with pizza.”

  “Say, can I interest you in today’s special? Boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Want me to wrap up a couple?”

  “Sure, why not? I’ll make Lindsey and me some nice chicken salad.”

  Pete donned another pair of gloves, selected a couple plump chicken breasts, and placed them on the scale. “Gerilee raved about the chicken salad you brought for the Friends of the Library luncheon. Said she’s never tasted better.”

  “Tell her I add a touch of curry.” I watched him wrap my purchases in heavy butcher paper. “Business must be booming,” I said, getting down to the real purpose behind my visit. “With the barbecue festival right around the corner, you must be selling a ton of brisket.”