Who'll Kill Agnes?

by Lea Chan

  “Lottaburger.”

  “What?” sputtered Donovan. “You passed up Mark’s soup and sandwiches or his dad’s cheeseburgers?”

  “I happen to be partial to them big double-deckers. They don’t call then Lottaburger for nothing,” stated Lester calmly, wondering why Donovan should care one way or the other what and where he ate.

  Donovan immediately realized he shouldn’t let personal feelings regarding food, in particular hamburgers, interfere with a possible investigation. However, he felt that Lottalettuce would be a more appropriate name than Lottaburger. He turned to Bernie.

  “After you got to your room, what did you do, Miz Bernadette?” He almost choked, addressing her that way.

  “Tried on some new clothes.”

  “And you, Miss Audrey?”

  “I started to read, then dozed off just as Mark called out.”

  “Miss Penelope, what did you do downtown while Miss Audrey and Miz Bernadette was eating?”

  “Shopping.”

  “What did you buy?”

  “Not much. I was just looking.”

  Metson groaned. What the hell did any of these questions have to do with anything? Putting this poor family through the third degree for no good reason. Donovan was acting like he was out in the trailer park instead of with a grieving high society family.

  Looking at the three women, Donovan asked, “If Miz Agnes had called out for help, would any of you have heard her?”

  Metson groaned again, more loudly this time. What the hell did he think he was doing?

  Donovan himself knew he had asked an improper question the minute he said it. In a court of law it would be objected and sustained. He was getting out of control here. He had to put an end to this interrogation-investigation. But he noticed how startled the three women and Lester were at the question. What was going on? Fear? Guilt? Did they hear something but didn’t go to her rescue?

  “We didn’t hear anything,” said Audrey who regained her composure first. “Or, at least, I didn’t. As I said, we arrived shortly before Mark did.”

  And, of course, she was dead before Mark found her, thought Metson, if they were all telling the truth. And why wouldn’t they be? Donovan needs to let up on them. Poor family. Poor Miz Agnes.

  “Ch-Chief Donovan,” injected Penny shyly, “you said she died from something she ate. Do you know what it was?”

  “We’re not definite on the cause of death. I have an idea but can’t say anything for sure, like I said, until I get the autopsy results. Now then, we need to find Kevin. Mark said he had lunch with him downtown, and I suppose he’s still there. He should be informed of his mother’s death.”

  Metson sighed with relief. Finally he was acting the way he should have all along. Interrogating these people, the very idea.

  At that moment, the front door opened and Kevin’s voice was heard, “Hey, what’s going on? An ambulance just pulled out of the driveway.”

  Donovan wasted no time in informing Kevin of his mother’s death. It was a part of his job that he hated and it was a part he tried to do quickly and efficiently with as much sympathy and compassion as he could muster, which in this case was quite a bit. He had always liked Kevin in spite of the fact that he was a spoiled, rich kid but Kevin had always seemed fond of his mother.

  Devastated, Kevin collapsed on one of the library sofas and was consoled by Lester and Bernie. Penny and Audrey, with stricken faces, stood mute like statues behind the sofa.

  Donovan informed the grieving family that he and Metson were leaving but would return the next day with the autopsy results.

  As Donovan and Metson drove back to the station, the chief commented, “Ya know, I feel sorry for the Henleys, but I get a weird feeling from them.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. They seemed genuinely grief-stricken but something else, too, fear maybe, and they were awful nervous.”

  “Ah, come on, boss, you’re letting your imagination get away from you.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” agreed Donovan. “This is Magnolia Creek, just a small southern town. No way we could have some fancy complicated crime here.”

  “Of course not. Their reactions are normal. At least probably for people like them.”

  “How so?”

  “Rich people hold in their emotions more than us plain folks.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Besides, they weren’t holding anything in. Like I said, they were grief-stricken. Of course they weren’t crying and carrying on like some people would over at the trailer park. They’re too well bred for that, except for Miz Bernie, and you got to admit she was behaving like she should. Besides ole Lester ain’t exactly high society. The one I can’t understand, though, is Miz Agnes herself.”

  “Huh? How do you mean?”

  “Why would she eat poisonous weeds?”

  “Do you know for sure that she did?”

  “No, but it sure looks like it. If she didn’t then why were they in her salad? No use speculating though till we get the autopsy report. I think Mark’s the only one that saw her dead in her salad. I wonder if he knew what those weeds were.”

  “Probably not. I wouldn’t have known, at least not until the medical examiner said so.”

  “Mark was the only calm and cool one in that house,” said Donovan.

  “Well, he didn’t have any reason to mourn. He don’t have any emotional ties to Miz Henley.”

  “Yeah, but will he stay on as Marcel, French chef? He and Kevin were classmates for gawd’s sake. I feel sorry for Miz Henley and her family but this Marcel business is damn strange. I’ll be curious to see if Mr. Lester Henley keeps him on.”

  “I guess he gets the whole shebang.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Lester, as the husband inherits, don’t he?”

  “I imagine.” Donovan fell silent for a few minutes, and then said, “In that case not only am I curious as to what happens to Mark but also to Lester’s sister-in-law and his dead wife’s companion.”

  “I guess we’ll find out sooner or later. Uh, you think when we go back there we’ll get served any of those horse-uh-doves?”

  “Now what the hell kind of oar-doves would Mark Robeson serve us? Chips and cheese-dip?”

  “He might add some chili. That’s what’s he’s going to fix for dinner tonight.”

  “Good lord!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mark quietly entered the library and beckoned to Lester, who reluctantly left his grieving son.

  “Uh, sir, do you want me to go ahead with dinner as planned? It was-uh-chili, you know.”

  “Of course, Mark,” he said distractedly. “We still have to eat.”

  “Please accept my condolences, sir. Miz Henley was an-er-exceptional woman.”

  Lester stared at Mark, suddenly wondering if he were sincere or merely putting on an elaborate act, something he was quite good at. Or was it something more sinister? Did he suspect anything? But staring at the young man’s complacent face, he convinced himself not to let paranoia take hold.

  “Uh yes, Mark, thank you. And the chili will be fine. It’ll be just the thing we need to perk us up.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Mark withdrew from the room leaving Lester puzzled at his behavior, which, although he dropped the French accent, was more Marcel than Mark Robeson. There was no longer any need for the French chef routine.

  He returned to his son. “Bernie, let’s get Kevin upstairs. Son, do you need a sedative or something’?”

  “No, Dad, I’ll be okay. But how could this have happened? She wasn’t that old!” He began shaking and quivering as he embraced his father.

  “We never know when we’ll be called, son. It was her turn, I guess.” He heard Audrey stifle a gasp behind them. Or was it a giggle? Damn, he thought. So far they had played their parts perfectly. If only he could get Kevin upstairs before someone cracked.

  “I hate to mention this, son, but it has to be done.”<
br />
  “What, Dad?”

  “About the arrangements. The funeral. You want me to take care of everything?”

  “Oh lord, yes. I can’t bear to-to think about it.”

  “Uh, Lester,” murmured Audrey.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Don’t forget the autopsy.”

  “What?” wailed Kevin. “But why?”

  “It-it’s standard procedure, son. They think her-uh-death might’ve been accidental-like.”

  “What? You mean it could’ve been prevented? What kind of accident?”

  “Uh, we-we don’t know. Donovan says it was something she ate but didn’t say what.”

  “Oh no! You mean food poisoning? But Mark uses only fresh ingredients! I mean, he grew up with food preparation.”

  “Son, we don’t know what happened. She was found in uh-the breakfast nook. She must have died during lunch.” Lester felt this was not the time to inform his son of the incongruous position of the body, especially the head.

  “Who-who found her?”

  “Mark did.”

  “Mark? But-but I had lunch with Mark.”

  “He found her when he got home.”

  “But where were the rest of you?”

  “We’d all gone to town.” Lester didn’t want to go through the makeshift alibis with Kevin. The less he knew, the better, at least for now.

  “She died all alone?”

  “Looks like it, son.”

  Kevin was silent a few moments, burying his face in his hands. Suddenly he jerked up, “But an autopsy, cutting and slicing my mama. Ohhh.”

  “They’ll put her back together,” said Audrey rather morbidly. “It’s done rather well, I think.”

  Ignoring her, Lester continued to console Kevin, “Don’t you fret, son. Get some rest. Come on, Bernie, let’s get him up to your room.”

  After the three of them had left, Audrey turned to a very silent Penny and studied her for a few moments, then said, “Let’s certainly hope the verdict is that dear Agnes died accidentally.”

  “Of course. They mustn’t think anything else.”

  “Very good, Penny. Keep thinking that way. Now, I think we should both go to our rooms and rest and not say anything else.”

  “Yes, later, but I’m starving. Dead Agnes or no dead Agnes. I’ve got to have something to eat.”

  “At a time like this?”

  “Audrey, I didn’t have lunch!”

  “Oh. Come to think of it, I’m hungry, too. We ate very early. Let’s go see if those sandwiches are okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “Well, lying in close proximity to the corpse and all.”

  “Oh, Audrey, surely not! Perhaps the soup?”

  “Soup would be better anyway. We need something light since we’re having Mark’s chili tonight. Isn’t that the reason you skipped lunch?”

  “Yes, you’re right. I thought I could hold out.”

  As they entered the kitchen Penny said, “Do you think Mark is going to continue working here? It seems strange that we won’t have to call him Marcel anymore.”

  Apparently overhearing her, Mark stepped out of the pantry. “Yes, Miss Penny, I hope I can stay on here and I hope you all want me to. This is a good job with good pay, for the time being anyway. Of course, a lot depends on Lester. But it’s good experience in case I open my own restaurant or start a catering business.”

  “But couldn’t you achieve that with your dad at The Cracked Cup?” asked Audrey.

  “Yeah, but I need to expand my references and my clientele. Not many of you society folks patronize The Cup, and you’re the ones I want to cater to.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t think we’re classified as society folks,” said Audrey, thinking of Lester and Bernie.

  “Miz Agnes sure thought she was.”

  Audrey laughed. “Yes, she did put on airs. And the Briar name was once one to be reckoned with in this town.”

  “Just how did this charade of yours come about, anyway?” asked Penny. “I have a general idea, but not the particulars.”

  “Oh, I imagine it’s probably like you think. Bernie and Kevin used to come in at The Cup a lot and one day, while they were joking around, one of them said I ought to go cook at Henley House and replace those students Miz Henley always hired.”

  “Just exactly who came up with the idea?” asked Audrey.

  “Uh,” hesitated Mark, “I don’t remember exactly. But one thing led to another. Somebody came up with Marcel, French chef. Kevin later joked about it with his dad, who loved the idea. So one day, I got all dressed up and put on an act for Miz Henley, and she hired me on the spot. Didn’t seem to be any harm in the scheme. Everybody was happy. My dad’ll probably retire soon. My mom’s death really got to him. I’d like to work here until I can take over The Cup, then I’d change it to something more upbeat. Anyway, I’m getting some good ideas working here.”

  “Maybe so,” said Audrey, “but The Cracked Cup, as it is, is a Magnolia Creek institution.”

  “Have you ever eaten there, Miss Audrey?”

  “Well, no.”

  “And you, Miss Penny?”

  “Er-no.”

  “So, you see? I need to bring in fresh blood. I can keep my dad’s cheeseburgers but upgrade the place as well.”

  “Then,” declared Audrey, “I hope Lester keeps you on. We love your confections and concoctions but, if you want to upgrade your cuisine, then you’re going to have to eliminate all that fat and cholesterol. However, I don’t know how we managed before you came along.”

  “Everyone had to get his or her breakfast and lunch,” said Penny, “and we got so tired of those students that Agnes hired, one-by-one, to cook dinner for us. Especially those last two who were supposed to be under her tutelage at school. Some nutrition expert! The girls’ meals were disasters.”

  “I hate to be reminded,” stated Audrey. “Then Saint Marcel came and saved us with his unique, down-home, French cooking. You know, I agree with Penny. I’m going to miss calling you Marcel every evening. That was kind of fun.” She remembered she was supposed to be in mourning for her sister in front of Mark and immediately put on a sorrowful face.

  Evidently not noticing any impropriety, Mark grinned, “Well, I’m glad everyone enjoyed my expertise including Miz Henley.”

  Penny and Audrey laughed nervously.

  “Ah yes,” said Audrey, “what joy Agnes had in securing a prestigious French chef who produced such tasty yet fattening cuisine, not that it seemed to matter to her if it was fattening.”

  “Your first meal was a delight,” Penny smiled hesitantly. “Chicken and dumplings. Only you called them ‘pollo con le dimples.’ They were delicious, but how we kept a straight face during that meal, I’ll never know.”

  “Or any of the other meals either, for that matter,” joked Audrey.

  All three laughed temporarily leaving respectful mourning aside.

  “Okay, Mark, are the sandwiches and soup still edible?” asked Audrey.

  “As far as I know. I put them back in the fridge. Don’t eat too much, though.”

  “Yes, we know. Chili tonight. All we want is some soup. Save the sandwiches for tomorrow.”

  As he watched the two women eat at the butcher-block table in the kitchen, the breakfast nook making them squeamish, Mark pondered the strange way in which various people reacted to a death. A sister and a friend using humor to cover their loss. He had felt tension between Agnes and the members of her household but death usually brought remorse and regret.

  Audrey commented, as if sensing his thoughts, “I know we sound perhaps rather callous joking about your cooking and fooling Agnes so soon after her death. But sometimes laughter helps with grieving. She was my sister and it’s hard to grasp that I’ll never see her again.” With watery eyes, she rose from the table. “In fact I think I’ll go to my room and-and think about her.” She quickly left the kitchen, sniffling gently.

  Penny arose, and said,
“Yes, Mark, please understand. Sometimes shock causes people to act in strange ways.” She also left.

  He stood motionless for a few minutes, meditating on the vagaries of people who realized their losses too late. Kevin was the only one in the household who had treated his mother with love and respect while she was alive. And even he had reveled in the Marcel act. Now everyone was obviously regretting their actions, wishing they had shown her more compassion. As for himself, Mark didn’t regret a thing. He had done what he had to do and, in spite of all her pomposity and condescension toward him, he had enjoyed fooling old Agnes.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In her room, Audrey began pacing up and down with anxiety in fear that Mark might have become suspicious of her and Penny’s actions. At least she had managed to squeeze out a few tears for Mark’s benefit.

  “I’ve got to get hold of myself. I’m supposed to grieve for my sister. I can’t let up for a minute. And Penny? What if she cracks? She’s always been such a namby-pamby, goody-two-shoes, and spineless. No wonder Agnes controlled her so easily. And now that damn autopsy looms over us. Why did Agnes have to be such a prominent citizen? I bet if that idiot Justice of the Peace would have signed the death certificate like Lester said, stating heart attack or some natural cause, then the case would be closed. Lester ought to put up some kind of fight. But no, it’s too late for that and he was the one that thought up the X drawing scheme. If anyone cracks, then the finger will point to him first and to me second. Why the hell did I have to be the one to draw the damn thing? Oh how I hope the others keep their mouths shut. I wonder, could Kevin stop the autopsy on grounds he didn’t want his mama cut up without drawing undo attention or suspicion?”

  Penny was equally worried. She sat on her bed and buried her face in her hands.

  “Oh, what will I do if they have an autopsy? I never thought about there being one. Natural causes would be a wonderful solution. Why couldn’t they have left it at that? Me, of all people, drawing that X! How could I have been drawn into that little plot? Will everyone really keep quiet and stick to the alibis? What if someone reveals the plan? Someone like Bernie who will say she didn’t draw the X? Would Audrey and Lester follow suit?”