2 On the Nickel (9 page)

Francine recovered first. She
reached for another bulletin to fold. “Good morning, detective.”

“I see you’re keeping the world
safe from improperly folded bulletins,” he said with a flirty wink.

“We do what we can,” Muriel said,
accepting the partially folded bulletin Francine handed her.

After what we’d just discussed, I
couldn’t imagine Muriel calmly going about her business, and yet she was doing
just that. A Shakespearean actor couldn’t have given a better performance than
Muriel.

That last thought had the wheels
in my head turning. Was Muriel acting now, or had she been acting when she
seemed so distressed a few minutes ago? What was going on with this older
crowd? They sure didn’t want anyone to find out. Which only made me need to know more than ever.

What were they hiding?

Britt turned his attention to me. His steely gray eyes glittered with intensity. “Cleo, I didn’t know you were a member of the folding brigade.”

“Just lending a hand where it’s
needed,” I said airily.

Britt wasn’t fooled by my
altruism. He knew exactly who was missing from this picture. “Where’s Delilah
today?” he asked.

In a flash of blinding insight, I
understood the bulletin sisters’ work ethic. A busy person was less vulnerable.
I rose to man the folding machine.

Even without Britt stepping foot
in the room, his physical presence cast a long, dark shadow in our workspace.
His leading questions were like bait in a bear trap. I didn’t want to get dismembered when he sprang the trap.

Besides, Britt wasn’t asking
about Mama for social reasons. This was police business. I inhaled shakily and
squashed five more bulletins. “Mama couldn’t make it today.”

I knew a thing or two about
difficult topics. Changing the subject was imperative. Time to apply a little
offensive strategy to this situation. “What brings you to church today, Britt?”

“Conducting interviews for the
Hodges investigation,” Britt said evenly. “I had hoped to talk to Francine,
Muriel, and Delilah today. About the Tuesday evening hospitality committee meeting.”

So much for my inept attempt to
change the subject. Did Britt see my hands tremble as I inserted another wad of
bulletins into the folding machine?

Francine didn’t miss a beat in
her folding routine. “What about the meeting?”

Britt focused on the bulletin
sisters. “I wanted to verify the time of your meeting and when everyone went home.”

Muriel brushed aside his inquiry.
“No need to trouble Dee for that. The meeting started at seven. We discussed
the hospitality preparations for the bishop’s upcoming visit. At seven-thirty,
Dee drove Francy and me home.”

“Delilah drove?” Britt flipped
his notebook open and scribbled fast.

My heart sank. Would he demand to
see Mama’s car, now that he knew it had been at the church that evening?

“Yes,” Muriel said. “Both Francy
and I are night-blind.”

“Were there any other cars in the
church parking lot that night?”

“Erica drove, so her Caddy was
here, but that’s all I remember seeing,” Francine said. “And Erica left before
we did.”

Britt scribbled some more. “Did either of you think Mrs. Hodges acted out of character?”

“I didn’t notice anything unusual—did
you, Francy?” Muriel said.

“Not a thing. It was business as
usual around here,” Francine said smoothly. The last bulletin passed swiftly
between her and Muriel.

“Do you have anything to add,
Cleo?” Britt asked.

Color rose to my cheeks. “I
wasn’t here for the hospitality committee meeting.” Praying that he didn’t mention the Monday meeting, I ruthlessly shoved the final clump of bulletins into the folding
press.

Francine and Muriel were lying
about the time they left the church. Either that or Mama went elsewhere after
the meeting. It was way past seven-thirty when she returned home that evening. I remembered because the girls and I had gone through their backpacks on the
kitchen table to make sure they had everything they needed for the first day of
school on Wednesday.

Another piece of damning
evidence. Mama’s late arrival at home suggested she had a window opportunity to
kill Erica. My hopes plummeted. How could I keep Mama out of jail if the
evidence pointed to her?

“I need to talk to Delilah, Cleo,”
Britt said.

“You know where to find her,” I
said with false lightness. At this rate Mama would be behind bars by nightfall.

Francine rose. “Will you be needing
us for anything else, Detective?”

“Not right now. Don’t leave town,
ladies.”

Francine and Muriel collected the
boxes of neatly pressed bulletins and scurried out of the small workroom. I
tried to make myself appear as inconspicuous as possible, hoping Britt would
follow them out and leave me alone. No such luck. He blocked the doorway again.

“They’re lying,” Britt said, his
arms barred across his chest. Thick muscles stretched his shirt sleeves to
their maximum endurance. “Why? Do you have any idea why they’d lie to a police
officer?”

“They lied to me, too,” I admitted.

Britt leaned heavily in the
doorway. “I’m going to have to arrest every gray-haired lady in town for
obstructing justice. The mayor will flip out.”

I remembered Darnell’s quote in
the paper. He’d promised a swift but thorough investigation of Erica’s death.
The mayor thought it was bad for tourism to have killers running loose on the
streets of Hogan’s Glen. I agreed with him on that point.

Britt’s detective gaze settled
heavily on me. “You know something. What is it, Cleo? Do I have to arrest you
too?”

The things I knew were only
exceeded by the things I didn’t know. I needed to toss Britt a bone, or he’d
figure out I was investigating Erica’s death. “This isn’t public knowledge yet,
but Jonette has decided to run for mayor.”

Britt cracked a smile. “That’s something to look forward to.”

“She’ll give Darnell a run for
his money, that’s for sure.”

Britt steeled his face. “Be
careful, Cleo. Something ugly is afoot in this town. I don’t want you mixed up
in it.”

I raised my hands in mock
surrender. “Hey, me neither.”

“Seriously, go home. Stay away from Trinity Episcopal until I get this mess straightened out.”

“You think someone on staff here killed Erica?”

He scowled at me. “You’re not going to trick me into revealing how Erica Hodges was killed.”

Of all the nerve. “I’m not trying
to trick you into anything. I don’t understand what’s going on. What happened
to our sleepy little town?”

Britt ignored my question. “I
thought your recent stint in handcuffs would have kept you from snooping
around, and yet here you are back at the church.”

His accusation heated my blood. “If
you notice, I’m not outside poking around the church parking lot. I’m
volunteering in the church office. Big difference.”

“Not in my book. I know you,
Cleopatra Jones. You won’t let good enough alone. I’ve got enough to do without
worrying about your safety.”

I resented his implication. “I
don’t need a bodyguard. If you recall, I got myself out of trouble last time.”

“Exactly my point. You put
yourself in a very dangerous situation. Let me handle this hunt for Erica’s
murderer.”

“Murder?” That two-syllable word
clanked in my empty stomach. I searched his face for something more to go on.
His rugged features were as inscrutable as ever. “I thought Erica’s death was
an accident.”

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but
I’m going to. Maybe it’ll shock some sense into you. Preliminary autopsy
reports indicate that Erica Hodges was struck by a vehicle, run over
repeatedly, and left for dead.”

I grimaced. Erica hadn’t been a
nice person, but no one deserved to die slowly, painfully, and alone. “She
didn’t die right away?”

“Not at the slow speed of impact
a vehicle could muster in the church parking lot.”

I grabbed my middle to corral my
jittery stomach. Thank God I hadn’t actually seen Erica’s body the other day
when I’d trespassed in the parking lot. My active imagination brought up a
visual of Erica, cartoon-character thin with limbs bent at impossible angles.
As flat as if she’d been passed through the bulletin-folding machine. I
shuddered. “That’s terrible. I had no idea.”

Britt handed me my purse and clamped a beefy hand on my shoulder. He ushered me out the nearest door. “Get
out of here and don’t come back.”

I didn’t like being manhandled or
shoved around, but Britt meant well. Trouble was, I needed to be in that
church. I needed to know the dark secrets surrounding the life of Erica Hodges.
Otherwise, how would I have a chance at saving Mama from herself?

Since the fall weather was so
mild, I’d walked the eight blocks down to the church this morning. While I’d
been inside working on the bulletins, a stiff breeze had sprung up and it went
straight through my thin, summer-weight clothing. I shivered and headed home.

“Need a ride, Cleo?”

My head whipped around. A dark
Beemer pulled out of the traffic lane on Main Street and idled next to me. Through the open window a slug of familiar cologne wafted out to me, confirming what I
already knew. Charlie Jones had stopped to give me a lift. Ordinarily, I
wouldn’t consider getting in the car with my ex-husband, but this wasn’t
ordinary times.

I was filled with an urgency to
get home and talk to Mama. “Thanks.” I stepped toward his Beemer as he opened the door from inside.

“I’m headed out for lunch.” Charlie’s
grin stretched from ear to ear. “You interested?”

Lunch with my ex-husband would
give him hope he could win me back. A ride was one thing. Sharing food took our
level of intimacy to a whole other level. “No, thanks, I’ve got to get home.”

“No problem there. I love your
cooking.” Charlie masterfully steered through a series of lefts as we reversed
direction. Already I regretted the impulse that led me to accept this ride. I
had to be very firm about the boundaries I set for Charlie, or he would insert
himself in the picture.

“You’re not invited to lunch,
Charlie.”

“Don’t be cruel, Cleo. I’ve
apologized for my mistake. I’m a new man. Promise. A man who wants you back.
What’s the harm in a lunch?”

He had my complete attention.
Purple cows could have fallen from the sky, and I wouldn’t have noticed. “It’s
not about harm. It’s about trust. I don’t trust you anymore. Why can’t you
accept that and move on?”

“You want to talk to me about trust? How come every time I turn around, Britt Radcliffe has his hands on you? He’s a
married man, Cleo.”

My blood raced at the insult. I
couldn’t believe how quickly Charlie could get me riled up. This was exactly
why I stayed away from him. “I am not interested in Britt Radcliffe. He’s not
interested in me. I don’t know where you get these bizarre ideas, Charlie.”

Charlie slowed the car. “Then
what did I just see?”

“You saw me being ushered out of
a crime scene by a police officer.”

My driveway was full since both
my car and Mama’s were there. Charlie parked on the street next to the curb. “Crime scene? Are you in trouble with the law?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Britt took
exception to my helping fold the Sunday bulletins.”

Charlie rubbed his chin. “I don’t
buy that. Not for a minute. Erica’s death wasn’t an accident?”

I chose my words with care. “Britt
thinks there was more to it.”

A frown flickered across
Charlie’s face. “I thought he got all the sinister folks rounded up a few
months ago.”

“Apparently not.” I opened the
car door. “Thanks for the lift. I appreciate the favor.”

“I know how you can make it up to
me.” His eyebrows rose suggestively. “Lunch?”

“No lunch.”

“I’m not giving up, Cleo. You
need me.”

I slammed the car door. “Goodbye,
Charlie.”

I mounted the porch stairs
searching through my purse for my keys.

Mama opened the door before I
could get my key in the lock. She grabbed my arm and pulled me in the house. After working the bulletin mashing machine all morning, I wasn’t surprised at
her grip strength.

Static electricity crackled in
the air. “Are you satisfied?” Mama snapped.

I was satisfied I wasn’t eating
lunch with Charlie. I was satisfied Mama wasn’t going to jail right this
minute. I was satisfied Francine and Muriel didn’t beat me at the folding game. I bent down to pet Madonna, who had waddled forward to greet me. “What do you mean, Mama?”

“Muriel called. She said you
grilled her and Francine about Erica. I should have known you would spy on me. Only, why did you have to damage my car and make me hide in the house for two days? Why not
just ask me?”

Talking to Charlie about lunch
reminded me of how empty my stomach was. I started toward the kitchen. “I did
ask you about Tuesday night, and you didn’t tell me a darn thing. Furthermore,
I did not damage your car. You did.”

Mama circled around and blocked
my way. “I told you I didn’t run down Erica Hodges. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because the evidence points to
you, Mama.” I ticked off the facts on my fingers. “You and Erica had a public
blowout on Monday. She turns up dead at church after being at another church meeting with you. You won’t account for your time Tuesday night. And finally, your car looks
like it hit someone. Britt said Erica’s death was murder. Murder, Mama. Serious
stuff. You could go to prison for life.”

Mama’s face darkened. She hammered one fist into the palm of her other hand. Flesh smacked against flesh. “This is America. I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

“I want to help you, Mama. Don’t
shut me out.”

“This isn’t fair. Erica Hodges
was a rotten person. I’m not the only person in this town who hated her guts.”

My stomach growled. I identified
with its emptiness. Despair ate at me. Mama’s future seemed bleak, and I
couldn’t do a darned thing about it. Britt would never believe it was
accidental that Mama ran over Erica a bunch of times. Mama’s chances of
convincing him of her innocence were slim to none.