A Flock and a Fluke (Clucks and Clues Cozy Mysteries)

by Hillary Avis

  “He told you that?!” Eli was usually pretty closemouthed about his cases. He didn’t have many cases this serious, though, so sometimes a detail slipped out here and there. Enough that Ruth and I could put things together.

  “He didn’t say no when I asked.”

  I hated to admit it, but I wasn’t too upset by the news that Amelia might have been poisoned. It was good news for my eggs, anyway. “Great!” I said, before I realized how callous that sounded.

  “Not great. There are Scramblers everywhere downtown, still desperate to find the golden egg and pretty ticked off that they haven’t cracked the riddle yet. Margie Morrow is trying to do damage control by hollering into the microphone, but nobody is listening to her. Plus, once Aaron got sick, a group of people ganged up on Sara, convinced that she poisoned Amelia, and she had to close the café for the rest of the day just so they’d stop harassing her. It’s total chaos.”

  My heart sank. Who cared if my eggs had a good reputation if my one loyal customer had to close her café? If the town sentiment was against Sara, it was very possible that nobody would eat Easter brunch—or any meal ever again—at the Rx Café. I couldn’t just sit around and watch her business fail.

  “We have to do something,” I said. “If people don’t eat Sara’s food tomorrow, she won’t be able to recover. She might have to close.”

  Ruth sighed. “What can we possibly do, though? Go around and convince every single person in town that she had nothing to do with it?”

  A smile spread slowly across my face. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to Easter service at the Church of the Everlasting to give our condolences to Pastor Cal...and while we’re there, we’re going to evangelize for the Rx Café. Everyone’s going to be there, right? It’s the perfect opportunity to set things straight.”

  Ruth was quiet for a minute, and then a loud laugh erupted from the phone.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “I’m just picturing everybody’s faces when the two of us walk through the church door and sit down on a pew. You in your dirty overalls and me with a crystal in my cleavage. They all might keel over like Amelia did.”

  “Too soon,” I said, swallowing the lump that rose in my throat at the mention of her name. “I’m not ready to laugh about that yet.”

  “We’ve gotta laugh or we’ve gotta cry,” Ruth said, her voice sympathetic. “Speaking of gotta, I gotta go get my client brushed out. I’ll see you tomorrow when the church bells ring.”

  “When the church bells ring,” I echoed.

  Chapter 5

  Easter Sunday, Day 2

  Ruth and I sat near the back of the church. Surprisingly, I felt right at home. The Church of the Everlasting had a small sanctuary, with a simple peaked roof and spare, rustic décor, almost as if it were a farmhouse rather than a place of worship. I could hardly see the pulpit through the pastel rainbow of beautifully decorated hats in front of us, though. The women of Honeytree had gone all out, whether out of respect for Amelia or because of Easter tradition, I couldn’t say.

  Though I wasn’t wearing a hat, I’d done my best getting dressed using pieces from my old life as a Beverly Hills housewife—pieces that I’d crammed in the depths of my closet when I moved back to Honeytree, thinking I wouldn’t need them on the farm. I wore a cashmere twin set, a diamond tennis bracelet that my ex-husband, Peterson, gave me for our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple, a tweed pencil skirt that hugged my rear end a little tighter than I remembered, and nude pumps even though I’d sworn I’d never wear heels again. Speaking of swearing, if I hadn’t been sitting in church, I’d have been swearing over how those shoes pinched my toes.

  “How do people stand wearing these every day? How did I stand wearing them?” I whispered to Ruth. Ruth had done her best to look presentable, too. She’d wrestled her usually wild mane of hair into a French twist. A few tendrils escaped and framed her face, drawing attention to her dark blue eyes. The navy dress she wore complemented them perfectly, even though it was a little sedate compared to her usual rainbow fantasy wardrobe. At least she was still carrying her huge purple tapestry purse, otherwise I might not recognize her.

  “Pain is all relative,” she said. “Those shoes didn’t feel so bad when something else hurt worse.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” I said, pushing down the memories of my old life that rushed to the surface at her words. I was lucky to have a friend as compassionate and wise as Ruth. I scooted my feet out of the shoes so my toes would stop screaming and nodded up to the front. “Maybe you should be the one up there giving the sermon instead of Pastor Cal.”

  The woman sitting on the pew in front of me turned around. “I can’t believe he’s up to preaching today, after you-know-what.”

  “It’s such a tragedy,” Ruth said, nodding. “Poor Cal.”

  “Poor Amelia, you mean,” the woman said. “Her life was nothing but serving others, and then cut short like that?” She tsked and then, seeing Preston stand and walk across the dais to the pulpit, turned back to face the front, leaning forward as she anticipated what he was going to say.

  Preston adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat. The whole sanctuary seemed to hold its breath, waiting for him to start. He grimaced, shaking his head slightly as he began. “I know you’re hoping to see Pastor Goodbody up here, not me. Regrettably, Cal is unable to deliver his Easter sermon today.”

  The crowd gave a collective sigh and sat back in their seats. Apparently Honeytree was hungry for a glimpse of the grieving widower. Murmurs rippled up and down the pews.

  “I know, I know.” Preston held up his hands defensively. “I’m disappointed, too. He’ll be at the reception after the service, though, and you can express your condolences at that time.” He went on to introduce the substitute pastor from Roseburg, an elderly gentleman with a large mustache, who proceeded to deliver a dry and droning sermon. I’m embarrassed to admit that I was too busy planning out my arguments to convince people to eat brunch at the Rx after the service to actually listen.

  I tested out my first strategy in the receiving line for Pastor Cal. “That service sure worked up an appetite,” I commented to the substitute pastor, who happened to be in line ahead of me.

  He nodded politely. “I hear they have cookies and juice over by the piano.”

  “I’m going to the Rx after this. They have some fantastic brunch specials,” I smiled brightly. “Sara makes great pancakes.”

  His face purpled and his mustache quivered slightly. His mouth worked as he formulated his reply. “Stay away from there. That Jezebel killed Mrs. Goodbody sure as I’m standing here.”

  I blinked. “Are you talking about Sara?”

  “I don’t know her name. All I know is she’s got the devil’s marks all over her.”

  He meant Sara’s tattoos, I was pretty sure. Heat rose from my chest up to my cheeks and sweat started pouring from my underarms. I took off my cashmere cardigan and flapped my arms a little to dry them out. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “What would Sara have against Amelia?”

  “Who’s to say. But all evil will come to light,” he muttered. He shuffled forward as the line moved toward Pastor Cal.

  Well, that was a disaster. When I reached the front of the line where a life-size color portrait of Amelia was displayed on a white easel, I was shocked. Pastor Cal stood beside her photo looking like a different man. Yesterday, he appeared young, vibrant, and ready to take on the world. Today, his face looked puffy, lined, and fifteen years older. Preston stood next to him and seemed to be propping him up.

  “I’m so very sorry about Amelia,” I said, grasping Cal’s hand. I hoped that he wouldn’t recognize me as the person who found her body, but I needn’t have worried. He looked right through me. I doubt he even registered my words, let alone my face.

  “Thank you for your thoughts,” he said tonelessly, withdrawing his hand from mine and extending it to Ruth in line behind me
.

  “Should he be here?” I asked Preston under my breath as I shook his hand, too. “It seems like he might need more time to grieve—private time.”

  “He insisted,” Preston murmured. “Anyway, Amelia would have wanted him to stay in the public eye. The election is so close, and the campaign was dear to her heart.”

  Of course. The election. But even if he pulled off a win over Margie Morrow, how could Cal possibly lead the town if he was devastated with grief?

  “Look out for him, OK? Tell him to slow down if he needs to. We’ll all understand,” Ruth added worriedly, sharing a look with me. It was clear she agreed with my assessment. Pastor Cal was in no shape for public appearances.

  We headed for the refreshments table. Even if I was planning to make a show of eating the Rx Café’s Easter brunch, that didn’t mean I couldn’t grab a couple of purse cookies. As Ruth and I perused the selections—snickerdoodles and rocky road cookies donated in Amelia’s memory by the Pastry Palace, a small, handwritten sign informed us—the tail end of a conversation caught my ear.

  “She was sick as soon as she ate her eggs. I saw her swallow and then make a dash for the bathroom.” I recognized the voice. It was flowered raincoat lady, Tammy. “And then Aaron, you know, Jennifer’s boy? He did CPR on her, and he immediately got sick. The food poisoning must have transferred from her mouth to his.”

  I turned with a cookie in each hand and saw Tammy surrounded by a gaggle of fascinated onlookers, the feathers on their Easter bonnets bobbing as they hung on her every word.

  “It wasn’t immediately, Tammy!” I blurted out.

  The group turned to stare, and I felt Ruth tense beside me.

  “Pardon?” Tammy said, adjusting her yellow hat. It perfectly matched the yellow flowers on her ruffled maxi-dress. “I don’t follow.”

  “Aaron didn’t get sick immediately. I watched him do CPR on Amelia at nine a.m., but he didn’t get sick until late in the afternoon.”

  Tammy sucked in her cheeks. “So? I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” She abruptly turned back to the group and they huddled together like football players before a big play.

  I tucked the cookies in my purse so they wouldn’t crumble and bulldozed between Tammy and the woman next to her. “So that means Amelia’s breakfast was fine. She wasn’t poisoned at the Rx Café.”

  Tammy barked a laugh. “Don’t tell me what I saw! I was there—she ate those eggs, and then she was sicker than a dog. You can’t argue with simple cause and effect.”

  “Well, you came to church and then spread falsehoods about a dead woman just to get attention. Was it the sermon that caused that?” I held my cardigan over my arm like a shield and braced myself for church-lady attack. The tight group loosened and several people took a step back, eyeing me with new wariness. Great. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? I was here to restore the Rx’s reputation, not destroy my own.

  I tried desperately to get back on track. “All I’m saying is that if it took six hours for Aaron to get sick, then it must have a while for Amelia, too. It wasn’t her breakfast that poisoned her.”

  Tammy turned the color of a boiled beet underneath her spray tan. I thought she might explode right there in the reception hall. “Of course you’d say that. They were your eggs she ate, weren’t they?” She looked around at her audience and their gaping mouths and grinned triumphantly. She pointed an accusing finger at me. “Leona Davis, you keep your poison eggs and your poison opinions to your own self! Honeytree doesn’t need any more of either of them!”

  I felt a tug on my elbow. Ruth.

  “Come on,” she urged. “You aren’t winning any friends here.”

  One glance around the hall and it was clear she was right. Daggers were coming at me from all corners. At this rate I was doing more damage than repair—to my own business and maybe to the Rx’s, too. Plus, I was making the scene at what amounted to a memorial for Amelia, and that was poor behavior on my part.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed over my shoulder at Preston, who was doing his best to move the receiving line along and get Cal out of there as quickly as possible. He smiled tightly at me, ever the diplomat.

  Outside on the church steps, Ruth’s face was still and serious. “I don’t think you could have picked a worse person to tick off than Tammy Jenson. That woman has a viper’s tongue and an elephant’s memory. Seriously, Leona. Why’d you have to butt in on her conversation?”

  “Did you hear what she was saying? It was a complete fiction! You’re the one who always says that you shouldn’t spread gossip unless it’s true,” I sputtered. Ruth’s salon chair might be known countywide as the place to get the skinny on any local rumors, but she was scrupulous about verifying her facts. Surely she’d understand why I needed to correct Tammy’s version of the story.

  “She’s always got a bug up her butt and a tale to tell, and everyone knows that next week it’ll be something new. Nobody pays her any mind...it’s when she pays you mind that you need to start worrying.”

  “They were eating it up. I saw their faces.”

  “Think of it this way,” Ruth said over her shoulder as she headed down the steps toward the street. “Tammy’s like those tabloids at the grocery store. You read the headlines while you stand in line, right? You giggle over them to pass the time. But you don’t buy them and take them home. Those folks were just rubbernecking for entertainment purposes. But once you piped up? Now people are paying attention. Now you’re that celebrity who’s like, ‘No, I did not fornicate with aliens!’ Your ears prick up, right? Like maybe he did, when you thought it was just silliness before.”

  I hoped she was wrong. I caught up to her and matched her stride as we ambled down the hill. “Where are we going?”

  Ruth grinned at me. “We’re going to have Easter brunch.”

  Chapter 6

  The first thing I noticed when we walked in the front door of the Rx Café was that Sara had added ivory tablecloths and fresh flowers to the tables. The silverware and water goblets gleamed in the flicker of the tealight candle at each place setting. The second thing I noticed was that not a soul was seated in the restaurant.

  Sara paced worriedly behind the counter, rubbing her hands together and cracking her knuckles. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she blurted out when she saw us. “I didn’t think anybody was going to come.”

  “Church just let out,” Ruth said soothingly. “I’m sure people will trickle down once they pay their respects to Cal Goodbody.”

  Sara moaned at the mention of Cal’s name. “I’m pretty sure they won’t. If they’re Pastor Cal’s supporters, they’ve already decided I’m the devil who killed his wife. Why is this happening to me?” She ran her hands through her short hair. “Ugh, what am I doing? You’re standing here hungry and I’m just whining. Come on, you get the best seat in the house.” She led us toward a table near the center of the café, but Ruth shook her head.

  “We’re sitting right in the front window where everyone can see. We want people to know that we aren’t afraid to eat here.”

  Sara’s chin crumpled and she blinked rapidly, sniffing as she turned on her heel and took us to the table Ruth requested. She put the special, hand-drawn brunch menus down in front of us and offered us a wobbly smile. “Thank you for believing me. Really.”

  I put my pale, freckled hand on top of her olive, tattooed one and patted it in what I hoped was a comforting way. “Of course we do. It’s pretty clear that whatever killed Amelia was something she ate hours before breakfast. If anyone poisoned her, they did it on Friday night, not Saturday morning.”

  Sara’s elfin face paled slightly, and she took a step back from our table, shaking her head. “Oh, please don’t say that! Don’t tell anyone that—it’ll just make things worse!”

  Ruth gaped at her. “What do you mean, hon?”

  But before Sara could explain, the front door opened and Margie Morrow swept in, patting her helmet hairdo importantly. Doc Morrow, an unassuming man
with a shockingly bad combover that did nothing to conceal his very bald head, carried her handbag and shuffled two steps behind.

  “We’re here for brunch!” Margie announced. Her husband, who owned and operated the pharmacy connected to the café and was Sara’s landlord, scooted around Margie and hung her purse on the back of a chair. She sniffed and pointed to a different chair and he quickly moved it. “That’s better.”

  Sara looked strangely relieved. “I’ll get your menus and be right with you!” She darted back to the kitchen and then bustled around filling the Morrows’ water goblets. She filled ours, too, but as quickly and with as little eye contact as possible. She almost seemed afraid of us.

  “Weird,” I said, following Sara’s frantic movements around the café. I lowered my voice so it was barely audible and leaned toward Ruth. “Why do you think Sara asked us not to tell anybody? Wouldn’t that remove any suspicion that her breakfast was to blame for Amelia’s death?”

  “You’d think so.”

  Sara darted a glance at us and then, when she saw our eyes on her, scurried into the kitchen area. Strange behavior for an innocent woman. Maybe I’d been too quick to defend Sara from her detractors. She was definitely hiding something, and I was going to find out what. I sipped my ice-cold water as I waited for her to come back to take our order.

  A knock came at the window and I inhaled the sip of ice water in my mouth and almost fell out of my chair. Ruth cracked up at my expression. Once I finished coughing, I turned and saw the culprit—Eli was grinning at me from outside. Before I could stop her, Ruth motioned for him to join us.

  He sauntered in, clearly way too pleased at the reaction he’d elicited. He grabbed a chair and pulled it up to our table, scooting the flowers and candles out of his way so he could put his elbows on the table. “I saw you in here like an animal in the zoo and I couldn’t resist tapping on the glass,” he said. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and if he wasn’t so cute, I would have kicked him under the table.