by Mitzi Kelly
"Wimps," Millie muttered as she pulled a pen and the list of names from her purse and spread it open on the table. "We've got work to do" She placed a check mark beside Charlie Simms' name and wrote "no" beside it.
"I'm glad we all agree," Trish said dryly.
"What? You think there's a possibility that Charlie's guilty?"
Trish rolled her eyes. "Of course not, but before you go checking anybody off that list we should all voice an opinion, in case one of us picked up on something the others missed."
Edna nodded. "That's a good point. So, do we all agree that Charlie is off the list?"
"I should hope so. I'd hate to think Millie just hired a murderer to do my lawn."
"Don't worry. You've never made me that angry. Okay, I think it's safe to say Charlie is not our man. He looked me straight in the eye."
"What do you mean?"
"A guilty person never looks you straight in the eye when they talk to you"
"That's true," Edna said. "I've heard that all my life. In fact, just the other day, this remodeling company was trying to sell me new flooring-"
"Edna, we get the point!" Millie snapped.
Trish hid a grin. "So, who do we check out next?"
"Maybe we should turn this list over to the police," Edna suggested.
Millie frowned. "Do you really think Chief Espinoza is going to check all these people out? Of course he isn't," she said before Edna could reply. "We need to have some concrete dirt on someone before we say a word to the police. We need motive and opportunity. You saw the way he acted today. He isn't going to take us seriously unless we can raise some doubt in his mind that Sam is guilty."
Trish sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, Millie has a point. You both realize, though, that this could have been done by a complete stranger, don't you? This could be a waste of our time."
Millie leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't think so. I have a gut feeling the guilty person is on this list. I just wish it wasn't such a long list. Sam sure has a lot of friends."
Trish looked at both Edna and Millie. "They could be friends-or enemies. Look, girls, there's something we need to consider before we go any further. If, as we suspect, Susan's murder is the result of someone out to get Sam, then that person isn't going to take our interference lightly. Actions have consequences, and we need to be sure we're willing to face those consequences, because this could be very dangerous."
There was complete silence at the table. The looks that passed between them were serious and focused, and Trish was pleased that finally her friends seemed to understand her fears. They weren't getting ready to embark on a game of Clue, where all they had to do was move game pieces around a board and declare Colonel Mustard the murderer. Someone had killed Susan Wiley, and they probably wouldn't think twice about killing again.
Millie leaned forward and picked up the pen. "Okay, now that Miss Paranoid has had her say, let's get back to work. Now, who's next on the list?"
Trish sighed. It was good to know that she'd gotten her point across.
Millie wanted to drive the next morning, but Trish flatly refused. Their self-imposed mission was danger ous enough. So they piled into Trish's car and drove to Bennie's Remodeling Company. Bennie Johnson had bought Sam's company a few years ago, and according to Sam, the two men had become-and still were-good friends.
Millie had once again surprised her friends and come up with a brilliant plan. Since none of them had ever formally met Bennie, it should be easy enough to gain information, they figured. Bennie would be ignorant of their close friendship with Sam. At least, that was the idea.
A tinkling bell over the door announced their entrance into the main office. A young girl looked up from the computer on her desk with a smile. "Can I help you?"
"I'm afraid we may have the wrong place, dear," Millie said in her best old-lady voice. "Is Sam Wiley here?"
The girl grimaced. "I don't know. I've only been here a couple of weeks. But if you don't mind waiting, I'll find out for you."
"Not at all. We'd appreciate it," Millie smiled.
"Just have a seat and I'll be right back."
"Thank you." Millie turned and winked at Trish and Edna, and then she sat in one of the chairs alongside a wall of windows facing the parking lot.
Edna sat down beside her, primly holding her purse in her lap as she leaned over and whispered, "You're doing great."
"I know," Millie chuckled. "Once you're past seventy, you can get away with anything. You can even make bodily function noises and no one will say a word. Just wait," she said, patting Edna's knee as though she was sixteen instead of sixty-five, "and you'll see for yourself some ay.
Trish grinned and turned away to glance around the office. It was small, clean, and looked amazingly efficient. This wasn't the average fly-by-night contracting company that gave construction workers a bad rep, but Sam's business hadn't been, either. Evidently, when Bennie had bought Sam out, he had adhered to the same high quality standards.
A large picture window gave a full view of the parking lot with Bennie's Remodeling Company painted across it in big, bright yellow letters. A tan leather sofa sat under the window next to a small table covered with popular remodeling magazines. On the other wall were the chairs Millie and Edna were sitting in, and a huge potted plant sat in the corner, perfect for catching the morning light. The desk, covered with the latest technological gizmos, centered the remaining wall and faced the sitting area. Awards of every kind, from Remodeler Of The Year to Best Design graced the walls in wooden frames that were subtly elegant. The air even smelled fresh and clean, certainly an oxymoron for the type of business conducted here.
The swinging door the girl had passed through earlier swung open, and a big man with a big smile and a big handshake came into the office. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, but he had such a friendly, boyish face it was hard to tell. He greeted them all individually in a loud boisterous voice and introduced himself as Bennie Johnson. "What can I do for you?"
Millie smiled a perfectly innocent smile. "You'll have to forgive a bunch of old ladies. We were actually looking for Sam Wiley. I'm afraid we must have gotten lost"
Bennie shook his head. "Nothing to forgive, and you're not lost. This used to be Sam's place. I bought him out a few years ago so he and his wife could enjoy their retirement" Bennie suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Are you friends of his?"
"In a way, I suppose we are. He did some work on my house several years ago. Now Trish here needs a new patio cover. Naturally I recommended Sam, but I didn't know he had closed his business."
Trish froze. Their original plan had been to discuss exterior painting, something she was somewhat familiar with, not a patio cover! She smiled, but the look she gave Millie would stop a freight train. Millie must have picked up on her mistake because she added quickly, "And she wants it painted."
Bennie nodded. "Sam's a good man. I was proud he decided to sell his business to me. He comes by every now and then just to say hello, and I'd be glad to let him know you were thinking about him." Then he looked down and cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, Sam's wife passed away recently. I don't know how long it will be before I see him again."
"Oh, my goodness," Millie said, her eyes round as she daintily covered her mouth with her hand. "You know, I remember reading something in the paper, but I didn't make the connection. She accidentally electrocuted herself, didn't she?"
Bennie nodded sadly. "Mrs. Wiley was one of the best. She'd always bake a cake or some cookies and send them along with Sam when he came by. And she never forgot the anniversary of the day we bought Sam out. Without fail, we'd get a huge basket of sausage and cheese with a congratulations card"
Trish felt the air leave her lungs as a sudden thought entered her mind: Susan's funeral. She racked her brain trying to recall if Bennie Johnson had been there, but she just couldn't remember. There had been so many people there and the sadness and grief had kept any socializing down to a m
inimum at the gathering afterward, but Trish, Edna and Millie had all helped out with the food and drinks. If Bennie had been there, it would only be a matter of time before he realized that not only were they good friends of Sam's, but they were also his neighbors.
Professional sleuths they weren't, Trish thought to herself ruefully. Why hadn't they thought about this possibility before now? Well, it was too late to change their story, but Trish had to do something before Edna or Millie put their foot in it any further. "I think that says a lot about you, Bennie, that you became such good friends with the Wileys," she said in her most charming voice. "I've heard nothing but good things about Sam. I imagine he took the loss of his wife very hard. Were you at the funeral?" It wasn't a great segue, but it would have to do.
Bennie shook his head. "No, I was out of town. Mark, who worked for the Wileys as a driver and stayed on with me when Sam sold out, called and told me. I immediately called Sam, but he wasn't able to talk much, just thanked me for taking the time to call. Mark went to the funeral to represent us and express our condolences. I figured I'd give Sam some time to deal with the tragedy and then I'd get back in touch."
Trish's relief that Bennie had not been at the funeral was short-lived. Mark had been there, and she remembered seeing him there. He was hard to miss-over six feet tall, long and lanky, with a head full of salt-and pepper hair. He had been at Sam's house several times during the years he had worked with him, a trusted and loyal employee, according to Sam. She didn't realize he was working for the company that had bought Sam's business, though. But that was beside the point. He would recognize them instantly.
Bennie straightened and seemed to shake himself mentally. "I'm sorry to get off on such a depressing subject, ladies," he said, his voice once more friendly and cheerful. "Now, about that patio cover, I'd be glad to give you an estimate if you'd like."
Trish reached down and grabbed Millie's hand, pulling her up. "I just remembered that I have an appointment," she said apologetically. "Can I call you and schedule an appointment for an estimate later this week?"
Millie, of course, didn't take the hint. "What appointment are you talking about? You didn't say anything earlier."
It would have been too obvious to kick Millie in the shin, so Trish squeezed her hand instead, painfully. "It's my hair appointment. I completely forgot, but if we don't hurry I'm going to miss it."
Millie raised her eyebrows and looked at Trish's hair. Trish very seldom ever went to a salon, something Millie considered downright neglectful, and her tone of voice said it all. "It's about time."
Bennie walked over to the front desk and grabbed a business card while Trish glared at Millie behind his back, a silent message demanding she keep her mouth shut. "Here you go, ma'am," Bennie said. "You call me whenever you're ready."
"Thank you. I'll do just that. I appreciate your time." Bennie shook all their hands and walked them to the door. Here was another suspect they could cross off their list, Trish thought. There was nothing sinister about him at all that she could see. He appeared to be a kind, considerate man running a legitimate business, and he seemed sincerely upset about Susan's accident. Positive that Millie and Edna would agree, she ushered them into her car and backed out of the parking lot.
"Where are you going to get your hair done?" Millie asked. "Lynette over at Marsha's Beauty Salon does a great job. She could get rid of some of that gray."
"I am not getting my hair done!" Trish snapped. "Millie, you have got to learn to pick up on hints without blurting out whatever is on your mind! Edna was as surprised as you were at my announcement, but you didn't hear her voicing any arguments. If we're going to secretly investigate people we think may have committed murder you're going to have to learn to zip your trap!"
"That man is no more capable of murder than you or me," Millie said in a huff.
"That's not the point!" Trish said in exasperation. "The next person may be. And, if he's not, I may just pay him to do it!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, it means nothing." Trish sighed deeply. "The reason I was so anxious to get out of there was that Bennie said Mark worked for him now, and Mark was at the funeral. It would have looked mighty suspicious if Mark had walked in and mentioned that we're Sam's neighbors and friends."
Millie sat quietly for a moment. "Oh"
Trish glanced over at her. "Well, I think the meeting was productive, anyway. We seem to agree that Bennie is not our man, and we found out one of Sam's former employees works for him now"
"Girls, I hate to change the subject," Edna interrupted, "but there's a strange car in front of Millie's house"
Sure enough, a dark, four-door sedan sat parked beside the curb. They drove by the car slowly and tried to peer in the tinted windows before Trish pulled into her own driveway.
"That's an unmarked police car," Trish said and glanced at Millie.
"Don't look at me," Millie shrugged and opened the car door. "I haven't done anything."
"Somehow, I find that hard to believe," Trish muttered as she and Edna climbed out of the car.
The first thing Trish noticed was how extremely handsome the young man was who climbed out of the car in front of Millie's house. Probably in his midthirties, she thought as she took in his appearance, tall, muscular and slim, with jet black hair and dark eyes, he wore khaki pants with a white open-necked shirt and brown loafers, and he wore it all well-very well. He waited beside the car with a warm, friendly smile while they crossed the street.
"Hello," he said, his voice rich and deep, "I'm Larry Thompson"
"You're also a cop," Millie said, her chin jutting up as she placed her hands on her hips.
Trish coughed and hurriedly stuck out her hand. "I'm Trish Anderson." While her hand was engulfed in Mr. Thompson's firm grasp, she nodded over her shoulder and said, "This is Edna Radcliff, and the feisty one over there is Millie Morrow."
Edna smiled and shook hands with Mr. Thompson, but Millie eyed him suspiciously before she grudgingly held out her hand. "What do you want, Mr. Thompson?" she asked bluntly.
He grinned, clearly not offended. "Please, call me Larry. And, yes, I'm a cop. Actually, to be specific, I'm a detective." His voice was rich and deep with a sincere, friendly tone. "Chief Espinoza mentioned you came by the station concerned about your friend, Sam Wiley, and since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd stop by"
Millie's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Edna gasped. "Millie! Stop being so rude!"
But Larry just threw back his head and laughed, his eyes dancing with amusement. "I wanted to meet the women who believe so strongly in their friend's innocence that they would threaten the chief of police."
Trish groaned and grabbed Millie's arm, propelling her toward the front door. "Let's go inside before the neighbors think we're being arrested or something. However, if there's a reward for Millie, then I'll gladly hand her over. Edna hurried after them, motioning for Larry to follow. Millie huffed, but she dutifully unlocked her front door.
Once inside the house, Trish looked over her shoulder at the detective. "By the way," she told him quietly, with wide, innocent eyes, "we didn't threaten the chief. Millie did."
"I heard that," Millie snapped as she led the way into the kitchen.
Millie's kitchen was comfortable, cozy and cluttered. Every imaginable appliance, ranging from turkey roasters to watermelon scoops, perched on the yellow tile countertops. When Trish had asked Millie why she kept all of her cooking tools out, Millie had replied, "They give me inspiration. You've heard of writer's block? Well, I get cooker's block. When I can't decide what to fix, I just look around, and wham!, I get an idea."
Yellow and white frilly curtains covered the kitchen window facing the front of the house and the bay window facing the back yard. The white cabinets sparkled, and the hardwood floor was clean enough to eat off of, according to Millie. Everybody just took her word for it.
Millie poured iced tea while everybody else sat down around
the oak table. "Your home is beautiful," Larry said to Millie's back.
"I bet he told you to say that," Millie muttered.
Larry looked puzzled. "Who?"
"Don't play innocent with me, young man," Millie said as she carried the glasses to the table, her lips pinched in a tight line. "Henry told you to come over here and make us back down, didn't he?"
"The chief? No, of course he didn't. Why would he?"
"Maybe he's afraid we might be right about Sam's innocence, and that would be pretty embarrassing for him. Arresting the wrong man wouldn't look too good on his record, now, would it?"
Larry coughed and reached for his tea, obviously trying to hide a smile. Trish felt sorry for the detective. Until you got to know Millie, she could be quite overwhelming, but Larry appeared more amused than flustered. Trish bit her bottom lip and glanced at Edna, who was staring down at her hands. Poor Edna, always the peacemaker, she was probably trying to think of something to say to diffuse Millie's outburst. Sometimes there just aren't enough words, Trish thought wryly.
Larry sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. "All the evidence so far points to Sam Wiley," he said gently, "but this is still an open investigation. Chief Espinoza relayed your concerns to me and said I might want to talk with you. That's it, I promise." He held up his hand in the traditional boy scout salute, his expression completely guileless.
Trish found that she believed him, and by the pleasantly surprised expression on Edna's face, it seemed she did, too.
Millie, on the other hand, might need more convincing. She glared at him suspiciously as she pushed her glasses up her nose. "What did Henry tell you?"
"He told me that if Susan Wiley didn't die from an accident, then you believe your friend has been set up to take the fall for murder."
And that's all it took. Millie's face broke into a huge smile. "You may be all right, after all, Larry. Would you care for some more tea?"
"Yes, please. Thanks, Mrs.-"