“Yes,” I agreed, “it was a bummer. Especially for Frank.” I casually waved a hand in front of my face. “Phew! It’s warm today, isn’t it?”
“That’s because you’re hauling around some extra pounds,” Junebug noted, looking me up and down appraisingly. “You should drop some weight. I suppose that’s hard to do if you’re around food all the time but you should try then you wouldn’t be hot. Now take me; I’m never overheated but I’m twenty-three pounds underweight. I have an extremely high metabolism. As a matter of fact, I’m usually chilly.”
Bully for you, I thought. I have to admit that I’ve never been too fond of extremely petite women. “How wonderful that must be.”
“It ain’t bad,” Junebug agreed. “Makes me look years younger too.” Junebug looked at the box I was holding. “I’ll take that cupcake sample, if you don’t mind. I could go for a cupcake around now.”
“I wonder if I could bother you for a glass of water?” I made a show of fanning my face again. “I’m just so warm.” The coughing bit had worked with Claudine so maybe asking for a drink would do the same thing with Junebug too.
“Why not? But I’m telling you, lose that furnace you’re carrying around and you’ll cool down quick enough. Come on.” She gestured for me to follow her. We walked across the lawn to a large screened porch and I followed Junebug inside.
“What a lovely porch,” I remarked, trying not to pant as I tried to keep up with Junebug’s pace. The woman trotted like a puppy that had just woken up from its nap and was heading for a bowl of chow. It was a lovely porch, filled with white wicker furniture, green and white cushions and hundreds of plants all in terra cotta planters. The porch was so feminine that it was hard to believe Junebug had decorated it. She definitely seemed more like the type who would lean more toward old wooden wagon wheels and pictures of cowboys on the last roundup.
“I can’t take credit for that,” Junebug said airily. “That was all Jeff’s doing.”
“Jeff?”
“My husband. Jeff loves to decorate. Loves to cook too. What he doesn’t love is to earn a paycheck. Have a seat and I’ll get your water.”
I sat down on one of the wicker sofas and looked around the porch. Marching across a rattan table was a line of trophies. Getting up, I hurried over to examine them before Junebug returned with my water. FIRST PLACE-SENIOR ARCHERY TOURNAMENT, 2007. THIRD PLACE-SENIOR GOLF TOURNAMENT, 2011. FIRST PLACE-SENIOR SOFTBALL TOURNAMENT, 2009. And that was just the first row. Behind it stretched a line of more trophies that had to go back decades. Until I’d seen Junebug in action with the bow and arrow and now looking at her impressive array of trophies, I hadn’t seriously believed that someone as tiny as the older woman would have been able to take down someone as vital and as strong-looking as Frank Ubermann. Now I was having serious doubts about my previous assessment of Junebug. I heard tiny footsteps pitter pattering down the hall so I scooted back to the wicker couch and sat down again.
“Here you go,” Junebug said when she came back onto the porch a few seconds later. She handed me a glass half full of tepid water that had the taste of water from a bathroom tap instead of a kitchen. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the glass Junebug had given me was speckled with toothpaste. Junebug must have grabbed the water glass from the nearest bathroom instead of toddling on her black cowboy boots all the way to the kitchen. After pretending to take a sip, I smiled and set the glass down on top of a small wicker table.
“Thank you,” I said, smacking my lips. “That really hit the spot.”
Junebug blinked at me and I had the distinct impression that she’d forgotten who I was again. “I’m sure you’re going to miss Mr. Ubermann,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation back to the murder.
“Who?”
“Frank Ubermann—your boss?”
“Ohhhh, him.” Junebug said, nodding her head slowly. “Well, to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t say ‘miss’ is the word I’d use when it comes to Frank.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ‘really.’” Junebug replied, mimicking me in a way that reminded me of my older brother when he was about twelve and being a pain in the neck. “Frank was one tough nut and about as hard-headed as a person can get. We’ll do better with a new director at Eden Academy. Out with the old and in with the new, that’s what I always say.”
Except when it came to herself, apparently. “Still, it’s terrible how he died,” I pressed. “Murder is so frightening and so unexpected, especially in a town the size of Kemper.”
“Live by the sword, die by the sword.” Junebug chuckled. “Although in Frank’s case, I guess it’s live by the arrow, die by the arrow—although rumor had it that he was quite the swordsman if you get my drift.”
“Not really.”
“He was a real playboy,” Junebug said impatiently. “He fooled around with every women he met—or at least he tried to.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Surely not every woman,” I said, not wanting to come out and ask Junebug if Frank had ever made a play for her. That seemed pretty far-fetched but anything was possible.
“He sure did. He even patted my fanny a few times back when I first started. Of course, I was younger then but even though I thought Frank was one hot-looking man, I set him straight but fast. Junebug McClellan does not fool around.”
“Did any of the other women on the staff fool around?”
“Are you kidding me? They all fooled around! Frank moved from one woman to the next one like a bee pollinating flowers.”
“Even Ruth Sparrow?”
“Well, no, but she’s just the receptionist. Frank had his standards.”
“I wonder who shot him,” I said.
Junebug shrugged and looked disinterested. “Could have been any of a whole cast of characters. The whole staff had a bone to pick with him both individually and collectively.”
“The whole staff? Why?”
“Oh, he was always watching us, always coming into the classrooms and telling us how to do our jobs. Like anyone has to tell me how to teach. Why, I’ve been teaching since before Frank Ubermann was out of didies and I do it a lot better than some of those upstarts he’s hired. Jack Mulholland couldn’t teach a tree how to drop its leaves. And Simpson! That idiot wouldn’t be able to tell you how to make two dollars in change from a two dollar bill.”
“My, my,” I said as I pretended to take another sip of water.
Junebug was warming to her subject. “And Frank was always picking on the kids. ‘Why aren’t you in class?’ ‘Where’s your hall pass?’ The kids hated him. You might ask a few of the students on the archery team what they thought of Frank if you’re so curious. You’d get an earful for sure.” Junebug’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you, anyway? You’ve decided to become a private eye instead of a caterer?”
“Something like that,” I said.
Junebug snorted. “That’s not such a bad idea. Maybe you’d be better off going from cooking to spying. Might be more dough in it.”
“I’m not spying––”
“Prying,” Junebug amended, “and you know you are prying.”
“Maybe a little,” I admitted. Junebug’s memory might not be the sharpest but she was still plenty observant.
“You don’t have to look embarrassed. Nothing wrong with doing some good old fashioned snooping. Find out anything good so far?”
“Not really.”
“Well, don’t give up yet. Facts don’t lie and the fact is that Frank’s deader than a door nail and one of us had to have done it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the school is harder to get into than Fort Knox. I lost my keys to the back door a few weeks ago and I’ve been having to go around to the front door to get in. I can’t even find an open window to climb through.”
“Why don’t you just get a new set of keys?”
“Because if a staff member loses their keys, they have to pay to have the whole building rekeyed, that�
��s why. Frank was adamant about that. No way am I paying two hundred bucks plus for that dump! I just never told him I lost my keys.” Junebug smiled. “And now I guess I’ll never have to.”
So a set of keys to Eden Academy was floating around. Anyone could have found them and used them the day Frank was killed. “The school is hard to get into. Jack Mulholland let me in when I catered the lunch. No one told me I wouldn’t be able to use the back doors.”
“Probably didn’t think of it. They’re good at not thinking about anything that doesn’t directly impact them.” A car door slammed outside. “That’s my old man. You should be going now unless you want to stay for supper. We could throw another steak on the grill.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “Maybe another time.”
Junebug took a long drag on her cigarette. “Who knows?” she responded somewhat enigmatically. “One of us could die before that happens.”
She had a point. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“Of course,” Junebug added, “you’re a far more likely candidate that I am. I bet I could outrun you if I had a mind to. I may look old on the outside but inside I’m made of steel.”
With a Teflon ego to match. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” I told her as a tiny man climbed the back steps and came onto the porch.
“I’d win for sure,” Junebug insisted as if she didn’t believe me. “I could kick your butt.”
I turned my attention from Junebug to look at the man standing in front of me. He was about the same size as Junebug and was also dressed in Western gear—Western style jeans, cowboy boots and a black shirt with shiny silver snaps in place of buttons. “Hello there,” he said, taking off his hat when he saw me.
“That’s my man, Jeff,” Junebug said. “Married me for my money, didn’t you, Jeff?”
“Well, it sure wasn’t for your personality or your looks,” Jeff squawked. Both Jeff and Junebug threw back their heads and began to laugh. I joined in somewhat hesitantly.
“This here is DeeDee something or other,” Junebug informed her husband.
“DeeDee Pearson,” I said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Jeff came over to the wicker couch and squeezed my hand hard. He leered down at me lasciviously, not surprising me a bit. Somehow having a dirty old man for a husband suited Junebug to a T. “You two gals visiting?”
“She brung us a sample from her catering business. She’s the one who made the food for the party when Frank bought the farm but she ain’t staying.”
I winced at Junebug’s grammar. For someone who thought so highly of her teaching skills, Junebug talked like a bad comic book about cowgirls.
“I see,” Jeff said, sitting down next to his wife and looking at me with interest. “So you’re the one. Junebug and I thought for a little bit that you might have killed Frank—you know, poisoned him.”
“I didn’t even know him!” I said hastily.
“I told him that,” Junebug said. “I told him that you weren’t a likely suspect. To be fair, you had to have known Frank Ubermann for a good half hour to work up a real hate for him. I knew the bastard for fifteen years so I know what I’m talking about.”
“He was one mighty sour piece of work,” Jeff agreed, nodding solemnly. “He was after my Junebug to retire something fierce and anyone can see just by looking at her that this filly ain’t ready for the pasture yet.”
“Not by a long shot,” Junebug agreed. “I don’t plan on ever retiring. Why should I? My mind is still like a steel trap and way sharper than any of them juvenile delinquents we get at the academy.”
“How about you, Jeff?” I asked politely. “Are you retired?”
“Sure am. I stopped the day I turned 65 and became a house-husband.”
“Why do you think I don’t want to retire?” Junebug demanded. “We’d kill each other if we was around each other all day long making faces and trying to decide who gets to control the remote. No way!”
“We might at that. Junebug has one sharp temper and she’s never been shy about using it.”
Oh, really? I contemplated that piece of information. It was obvious that Junebug was highly competitive along with being completely narcissistic. That she had a sharp temper too went along with the rest of her less-than-charming character traits.
“Say, maybe you should ask her about catering our next party,” Jeff suggested to his wife.
“I was thinking about that but I’m not so sure. She’s not that good,” Junebug said as if I wasn’t sitting five feet away from the two of them. “She’s too new. I think we should go with our usual caterers.”
“KFC is getting kind of expensive,” Jeff responded, “and the last time we used them we got almost all dark meat and you know how much I hate dark meat. Plus they didn’t give enough rolls. I say we give her a try. How bad can she be?”
I made a show of looking at my watch. “Oh, my, look at the time. I should be going,” I said to neither of them in particular. “My husband will be expecting me soon.”
“Oh, all right,” Junebug agreed, still ignoring me, “I guess we can give her a try.”
“Good!” Jeff turned and smiled triumphantly at me. “She looks like a winner to me.” He winked broadly and I tried to smile in return.
“Well, who knows? Maybe we’ll luck out and she’ll kill some of our more annoying friends,” Junebug chortled. “What do you say, Doris? Are you free to cater a party this Saturday?”
I felt my mouth drop open. I hadn’t expected to get a catering gig out of my visit to Junebug, even though that was the premise I’d used to drop in on her. “This Saturday—as in the day after tomorrow?”
“That’s right.” Junebug looked at me with eyes that didn’t seem to quite focus all the way. It had to be meds. “You busy or something?”
“Let me think––” Pride made me pretend to be searching a chock block full mental calendar although I knew perfectly well that it was totally blank until a New Year’s Eve party that I was catering for a co-worker of Steve’s. Still, it wouldn’t do to appear too easy to book. “I’m not sure. Why don’t I give you a call after I get home? I think I’m free but this is awfully short notice.”
“You do that. We’re having ten people over for drinks and dinner. Call me when you know because if you can’t make it I need to get an order in to the Colonel as soon as possible.”
Oh, what the hell. It wasn’t like I had a burning need to impress either Junebug or her husband by pretending I actually had any other catering jobs. Why not just go for it? A bird in the hand and all that. “Come to think of it, I’m free,” I said. “I’d be happy to cater your party.”
“I thought you were!” Junebug crowed. “I could tell just by looking at your face. You’ve got one of those open faces that plain stink at lying. I bet you suck at poker.”
“I’ve never played poker,” I admitted.
“Don’t start,” Junebug advised. “Unless you want to play with me sometime. I’d clean your clock.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“You bet. Okay, we’ll see you on Saturday. We told everyone to get here around seven.”
“Do you want to discuss a menu or a price––”
Both Junebug and Jeff waved my questions aside. “You pick out the menu. Just make sure it’s heavy on red meat and hard liquor,” Junebug told me.
“And send the bill to me,” Jeff added. “We’ll pay it. You can tell by looking around that we ain’t broke and we ain’t deadbeats.”
At least I wouldn’t have to hound them for my paycheck. I rose and smoothed my pants. “I’ll see you Saturday then.” Maybe Steve could help me. It might be fun if we catered the McClellan’s party together and it would also soften the blow when I told him that I had to work that night. Steve and I always spend Saturday nights together. Well, Steve would understand.
I waved good-bye, leaving the older couple on the porch. I walked around the house slowly, trying to picture where I could set up the f
ood for the party. As I moved, I tripped over something tucked in the grass. Looking down, I saw that it was an arrow half buried in the velvety lawn, obviously one Junebug had neglected to pick up during one of her target practices. Thoughtfully, I poked at the arrow with the tip of my sandal. Junebug was one heck of a shot. I was sure that Junebug most likely excelled at any number of sports. Looking back, I could see the tiny figures of Junebug and her husband sitting side by side, like miniature salt and pepper shakers, their white heads bobbing as they talked animatedly to each other. Could Junebug possibly be behind Frank Ubermann’s death? Could she possibly have snuck down into the basement of Eden Academy and popped Frank while everyone else was upstairs eating my brownies and complaining?
No. No way. She was too old.
Since when does age have anything to do with murder?
Besides, other than a somewhat spotty memory, Junebug didn’t seem all that old. She seemed awfully spry and extremely determined to stay that way. Still, what could her motive be? She said everybody hated Frank, herself included. But hating someone wasn’t really a motive for murder. Maybe Junebug had another motive, such as the way Frank was trying to force her to retire. But murder? That was a pretty extreme response to forced retirement.
“What are you looking at?” Junebug called down from the porch. “You lose something?”
I shook my head. “Just thinking about how I’ll set up for Saturday night.”
“Make sure you bring plenty of booze!” Jeff responded. “We’re a drinking crowd and we love to get rowdy!”
I wasn’t surprised by that revelation in the least.
Chapter Fourteen
Junebug called the following afternoon to tell me where I should buy the meat for the party I was catering. “Go to Hillside Market,” she ordered, “and tell Bill that this meat is for the McClellans. I always get my meat from Bill. We have a personal relationship.”
Hillside Market is the most expensive grocery store in all of Kemper, a place where only the truly wealthy can afford to pay the jacked up prices, but if Junebug and Jeff wanted their meat from Hillside that was fine with me. It was their party plus I’d finally get to taste one of Hillside’s famous steaks. “All right,” I agreed. “That’s where I’ll go.”
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