“Stay put. I’m going to grab you something to eat and you’re going to eat all of it, Skinny Butt,” Martha said. She stood up and found the long table with plates of sandwiches, fruit salad, and hot tea. Putting a few things on a plate and making two cups of tea with milk and honey, she went back to where Helen was sitting.
“Here,” she said putting a napkin over Helen’s lap. “Eat!”
The girls sat and munched on fresh fruit, a slice of ham on a croissant with cheese and a couple of goat cheese samosas. Soon, Helen said she was feeling better.
“Here comes Merriam, Martha. He looks like a beat cat. Better give him a chance to explain. You don’t want to assume you know his situation. Take a deep breath and hear him out,” she advised.
Johns approached hesitantly.
“Martha would you please give me a few minutes to talk with you?”
“One condition, Merriam,” she said, her hand in a stop guard position.
“Name it,” he said.
“Please go find Piers. He needs to come over and take Helen home. She’s not well. The heat has been too overwhelming.”
Johns nodded and threaded back through the crowd. Soon, he arrived with Piers, who looked worried and picked Helen up and carried her out of the building with her protesting the entire time. Martha laughed and waved. Turning to Johns, she said, “I’d like to take a wooden spoon to you like my mother did when I lied as a child. It taught me to respect her and the truth. Lying in the end, is more painful for everyone involved.”
“I know, I know, Martha. It’s a long story.”
“I don’t have time to discuss this at the moment, Merriam. I’m not sure I want to talk with you until you can give me a pretty damn good reason for not telling me. The press is taking each team’s photo and Polly told me to be ready. We can discuss it when I’ve cooled down. I’ll see you later.”
Martha found her way back through the bustle of humanity, and seeing Polly, she told her that Helen was not feeling well and wouldn’t be able to be photographed.
“Have you met my daughter-in-law, the judge, yet?” Polly asked, giving Martha a mug with a dry tea bag in it.
“No, and why didn’t you mention this last night or EVER? What’s the tea for?” Martha asked.
“Not my place to discuss it with you before Merriam did. I’ve asked him multiple times if he’d told you yet. I think he didn’t want to ever talk about Saundra. How about we have a nice chat about the whole thing before they interview us and take our picture?”
“Okay,” Martha said with a heavy sigh. A twinge of regret at not giving Merriam a chance to explain pulled at her heart. “I have the feeling you have something to get off your chest, Polly. Where’s the hot water?”
“Down at the end of the table. I’ll go with you.”
Polly and Martha didn’t have to wait long. One of the men helping at the hot water dispenser offered to take their mugs and fill them.
But as he took their cups, a female voice came from behind Martha. “Are you going to introduce us, Mother Johns?”
Martha, still facing Polly, took her thumb and pointed it at her own sternum in the direction of the voice coming from directly behind her. She mouthed the words ‘Is that her?’
Polly nodded up and down with a sour look on her face. Turning around, Martha offered her hand to Saundra, who declined to accept it.
“I’m Martha Littleword,” Martha said, putting her hand down.
“And I’m Saundra, Merriam’s wife. Been dating him long?”
“Who?” Martha asked, playing coy.
Saundra blinked. “Why Merriam, my husband, of course,” she said sardonically, while handing the man at the hot water dispenser her mug to fill as well. “He’s been watching you since you arrived, so I guessed you must be the local flavor of the month.”
Martha laughed derisively. “How sweet you are to be so interested in me, a complete and total stranger.”
Polly chuckled and sipped her tea.
“Well, I am a judge for the competition. I should take an interest in the competitors. You look like you know a thing or two about…cooking,” Saundra quipped with one eyebrow arched. She looked Martha up and down. “It must be the big American appetite in you. Lots of experience with food,” Saundra sneered.
“Yes, thank you,” Martha returned in a nonplused, regal way. With a slow turn of her waist so that Saundra would be forced to apprehend Martha’s buxom chest area, she said, “We are a fortunate people, so well endowed with plentiful resources.”
Martha picked up one of the mugs filled by the attendant and gave Saundra an indifferent smile. Turning again to the table, she picked up another mug and handed it to her.
“I was certain Merriam must be depressed,” Saundra said, holding her tea mug, too, and blowing lightly across its brim to cool the hot liquid within. “He’s been so lost without me. He’s begged for so long for me to take him back.”
“Really? I haven’t seen him so happy in years as he’s been the last six months,” Polly piped in.
“Oh, Mother Johns. He appears to have given up. He wasn’t into women who were…beefy before.” Saundra’s eyes glittered as she sipped her tea.
“Why you piece of…” Polly said, but Martha laughed heartily and held up her hand.
“Maybe it’s not that he likes them beefy,” she gave Saundra a quick appraisal, “but that he likes them to look like a woman.”
Saundra’s face turned beet-red. Martha thought the sling had hit home, so she smiled. Saundra coughed.
“Well, if we’re done throwing dirt here,” Martha said, “I think I’ll find the camera crew.” But Saundra’s body went rigid. She lunged for Martha, who was taken off guard by the attack. Saundra’s eyes widened with fear and she clung to Martha’s sweater.
“I…I…I,” she gurgled.
Martha held on to her, but the woman slipped from her grip down onto her knees. Polly tried to grab Saundra as well, but even with both their efforts, Saundra jerked free and gripped her throat.
“What’s wrong with her?” Martha said, confused. “Is there a doctor? Anyone, is there a doctor here?”
Saundra lay on the floor jerking and convulsing. Saliva gurgled from her mouth. The people closest to them turned and yelled for a doctor, too. Aware of an emergency, the entire crowd pressed in on the three women. Martha knelt down over Saundra trying to lift her head to see what she was choking on.
One last convulsion, and Saundra Johns lay still, her eyes staring toward the ceiling. Beside her, lay her tea mug dashed to pieces. The entire crisis had taken less than a minute in total time.
“Saundra! Saundra!” Martha cried, shaking the woman by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Martha! Stop. Stop shaking her. She’s dead,” Polly moaned from above.
People talked loudly and called for an ambulance. Like a bolt from the blue, Martha realized it was her dream. It was coming to life all around her. She let go of Saundra and sat back on her heels, shaking her head. With great effort, Martha tried to grab onto pieces of reality, but her vision faded. Voices became muffled. The last thing she heard was a woman’s voice saying, “She’s fainted. Martha’s fainted.”
Chapter 15
“DEAD? SANTA MARIA! WHY? HOW?” Señor Agosto’s chef’s hat was askew and slipping with each frantic twist of his head as he surveyed first the retreating crowd and the incoming emergency team.
“It must have been a heart attack. We’re waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Chief Johns is with the body,” Alistair Turner said standing by Agosto and watching spectators being turned out of doors by the police.
“Holy Mother of God,” Agosto said, crossing himself as any good Catholic would in such a moment. “How can we make the puddings or the pies with such a catastrophe, a death so horrible?”
Alistair drew air into his lungs in a slow, thoughtful way and let it out. “We don’t, not for today, anyway. I’d better talk with Chief Johns. He’s got to be in a state
of shock.”
Agosto turned his head at an angle toward Alistair and gave him a knowing look.
“What?” Alistair asked.
“They were in a divorce. Did you not know? She had another lover,” Agosto said plainly.
Alistair nodded as if convinced of the statement’s veracity. “No, I didn’t know. I’ve only been here a couple of years. Johns didn’t look delighted when he heard she was coming to judge the contest.”
“From my brief association with Mrs. Johns,” Agosto said, slightly under his breath so only Alistair heard, “I quickly learned she was a formidable woman. Her manner was often…difficult.”
“Here comes Johns.”
Alistair and Agosto waited respectfully until the Chief made his way over to them.
“We’re sorry, Chief, for this terrible thing,” Agosto said gently. “Do you know how she died?”
Johns’ expression was unreadable, but he shook his head saying, “We don’t know anything yet. Saundra was a healthy woman. The body will be removed once forensics has their work done.”
Piers came up to the group of men. He put his hand on the Chief’s shoulder in a gesture of sympathy.
“I’m so sorry, Merriam. I didn’t even know she was your wife.”
“Thank you, but ‘was’ is the operative word. Saundra was my wife, in name only. I’ve been suing for a divorce for a couple of years. We haven’t lived together in over five. She wouldn’t give me the divorce. Come to find out, she’d been waiting until she was certain of a few minor financial details.”
All three of the other men nodded their heads in common understanding and sympathy of the Chief’s true meaning.
“Difficult situation,” Alistair said sagely.
“Ah, the female,” Agosto said, in a tone of pure gravity, “they’ll go to any lengths to procure their security.”
“Indeed,” Johns agreed.
The Chief looked miserable, irritated and pale. No one made a further comment. A young, efficient constable approached the static group of morose looking men.
“Sir, the body is on its way to Leeds. Dr. Townsend, the Head of forensics wants you to call her,” the constable said gently.
Johns nodded and with a terse one-finger wave, indicated a goodbye of sorts to the sympathetic body of men. He disappeared through the Village Hall’s front entrance.
Piers turned to Agosto and Alistair. “The school’s gymnasium is the new venue for the Pudding and Pie Bake-Off. There isn’t another building large enough and with the proper kitchen space. The Headmistress was more than willing to help us. It’s her students we’re trying to raise funds for and she wants to be a judge.”
Agosto’s posture became more upright. “Has she any qualifications?” he asked primly.
“She has an indoor area capable of holding, at least, five hundred people and a commercial kitchen with three cooking stoves,” Piers said in a flat, pragmatic tone, “and she’s not asking for us to pay for the electricity out of our proceeds.”
“Sounds like she’s perfect,” Alistair put in.
“I agree,” Agosto said, nodding, “perfect in every way.”
POLLY AND MARTHA WERE SITTING together in the Village Hall’s secretary’s office. The entire building was a crime scene, and for the last two hours, investigators had cordoned off sections with yellow tape, taken photographs, accumulated minute elements of evidence, and squeezed every last bit of information from witnesses.
Martha sighed. “I’m tired.”
Polly got up and went over to the window. The sun was setting. “They’ve already taken our statements. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Tell me why no one has ever mentioned or hinted at the fact that Merriam was married?” Martha said, out of the blue.
Polly continued to stare out the window. “Merriam grew up here, Martha. It was well known what he endured during his marriage to Saundra. When she left him five years ago, we all breathed a sigh of relief. It was like a death, but one for which you feel grateful, once it finally arrives.”
Martha watched the older woman’s back. Being a mother herself, she was easily able to imagine Polly’s pain at her son’s situation.
“No one said anything to you because most of them believed he was divorced already. This horrible death will reopen all the wounds again, make people talk and ask questions. They’ll learn he wasn’t divorced, how she wouldn’t give him one, how she had lovers, and being human, they’ll begin to whisper to each other about him, about how he was a cuckold and how, most likely, you’re an American tart he took up with for easy sex.”
Polly turned around. The look on her face broke Martha’s heart. Getting up from where she’d been sitting, Martha walked over to Polly and wrapped her arms around her, giving her a warm, loving hug.
“American tart, huh?” Martha said, with a low chuckle.
“I was being nice, dear. It’s probably more like a piece of tail, or something crude,” Polly said, beginning to chuckle a bit, too. The two women went back to the settee and sat down again.
“As for the easy sex comment, why does everyone believe American women are so sleazy?” Martha asked.
“Wishful thinking on the men’s part and worrying on the women’s,” Polly answered simply.
They sat quietly for a few minutes.
“I’m sorry, Polly. I can’t imagine the pain you and Merriam went through.”
“It was heartbreaking, Martha. He wanted children. We missed out on so, so much.”
A woman pushed the office door open, startling Polly and Martha. They stood up quickly.
“Ladies, we only need your fingerprints. You’ll be able to leave afterwards. Thank you for your patience,” the officer said, while opening the door for them.
“Come on, Polly,” Martha said, crooking her arm for Polly to slip hers through. As they walked out into the main room, their eyes both went to the spot where Saundra had died. Martha knew it would be a good time to say something distracting.
“I wouldn’t make a good tart, Polly.”
“I know,” Johns’ mother said firmly, her eyes averted from the place, “and that’s why he was so worried to tell you. He’d lost so much already. He didn’t want to lose you, too.”
Chapter 16
“CYANIDE KILLED HER AND A lot of it, Chief Johns. I’m so sorry.”
The news from Dr. Jane Townsend, the Head of Forensics for the Criminal Investigation Department in Leeds, made Johns’ knees go weak. A wave of nausea overcame him. He’d loved Saundra once, even passionately. He’d never wanted her to suffer.
With an effort to sound like he had some semblance of control, Johns steadied himself and answered.
“Thank you, Jinks. I have to let you go. I’ll call you back in a few.”
He put the phone down and a feeling he’d never experienced before, and would never again, welled up in him. Horror and relief vied with each other, followed by a twist of guilt. If he pushed back at either of the first two emotions, his mind quickly filled the void with something he should be doing or another image of Saundra.
“Got a moment?” Constable Waters stood at the door of his office, holding two cups of steaming tea.
“Come in,” he mumbled, picking up a pen from his desk and beginning to scribble on a piece of paper.
Donna shut the door and sat down in a worn-out leather side chair. She pushed one of the cups over toward him. He stared at it like it was the first of its kind ever to be put in front of him.
“Go ahead,” she said gently, “take it. It won’t bite you and you need it.”
When he looked up at her, his expression of absolute shock and confusion would have shaken anyone. At some point in anyone’s life, they dread to see that face on someone they love or they care for deeply.
Donna waited, sipping her tea. When he was ready, he would talk.
“Someone killed my wife, Donna,” he said simply. “She was a selfish woman who lacked empathy of any kind. I loved her, once. They�
�ll send another inspector, of course, from Leeds to handle the murder investigation. The contest is going to continue, but not until Friday. I won’t be on our team, Waters. So, we need to find a replacement.”
Johns picked up his tea mug, holding it in the palms of his hands. The heat emanating from its heavy, clay structure must have been a comfort.
Donna continued to drink her tea. She’d grown accustomed to murder. “We’ll do our best, sir. Is there anything you need?”
“I need an alibi, for starters, but I don’t have one. I was in the crowd at the Village Hall when she was murdered. So many people were there. Anyone could have slipped something into her drink.”
“We have statements from over one hundred people as of eight o’clock this evening, Chief, that’s about halfway through the crowd. The only people near your wife before she died were Mrs. Littleword and your mother, Mrs. Johns. The people at the refreshment table have all stated they didn’t pay much attention to who stayed to chat around the table, once they’d received their food and drinks.”
Johns sat for a moment, thinking. “Did you get statements from everyone who worked the refreshment table?”
“Not all,” Donna replied.
“I want to see all the video footage from the television cameras. Get on that for me, Waters. I want it by nine o’clock tomorrow. Also, bring me the statements from the people who worked the refreshment table. The inspector from Leeds will be here sometime in the morning. I want to have a chance to go over everything first.”
“You going to be okay, Sir?” Donna asked, rising and walking to the door of his office. She was heading home for the evening.
“Work, Waters. Work does it every time.”
IT WAS NICE TO BE in Martha’s quiet, cozy living room. Piers had made a roaring fire before he left. Amos, Vera, and Gus were curled up by either Helen or Martha. Each woman was wrapped up in her favorite snuggly blanket. Martha’s was made of fleece with a red and brown tartan design, while Helen’s was an ample faux sheep’s wool coverlet with enough breadth to encircle her at least twice.
Pudding, Poison & Pie (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 9