Kill 'Em with Cayenne (14 page)

“Felicity told me the two are packed and ready to leave the second the reception's over.”

“Hey, y'all.” Dottie Hemmings bustled over. In keeping with the funeral's theme, she wore a pink flowered polyester dress that strained at the seams. Her blond helmet looked newly sprayed and teased. Reba Mae and I were drab in comparison, a black wrap dress for her, a navy sheath for me. “Did you ever see so many casseroles?” Dottie gushed. “Too bad we didn't think of doing a recipe exchange.”

Reba Mae smiled, but I recognized the devilish glint in her eyes. “Maybe it's not too late to ask folks for recipes. Maybe put them in a cookbook. Dedicate it in Becca's honor.”

Dottie clapped her chubby hands together. “What a marvelous idea, Reba Mae. I can't think of a more fitting tribute to Becca than a collection of cream of mushroom soup recipes from all her friends and neighbors.”

“Perhaps you could sell them at the Chamber of Commerce,” I suggested, tongue in cheek.

“Why didn't I think of that?” Dottie beamed, obviously delighted at the notion. “I'll speak with Maybelle and ask her to help.”

What had we started? I could envision a no-holds-barred battle between the mayor and Maybelle Humphries if that came to fruition. The thought of Maybelle hawking cookbooks dedicated to her archrival almost made me smile. She'd probably use them for a dart board.

Dottie, oblivious of the irony, rattled on, “For the life of me, I don't understand why folks are so eager to jump on the cremation bandwagon. What about you, Reba Mae, cremation or burial?”

Reba Mae glanced my way, but I gave her my keep-me-out-of-this look in return. “Um, burial?” she said, more question than answer.

“This isn't a pop quiz,” I hissed in her ear.

“You had a lovely service at First Baptist when Butch passed. Everyone crying and carrying on. Lots of flowers. Brenda Nash at the organ. Pinky Alexander brought the house down when she sang ‘Amazing Grace.'” Dottie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she extracted from her ample cleavage. “Pinky got a standing ovation.”

I didn't have the heart to remind Dottie the congregation was already on their feet at that point.

Dottie smiled fondly in her husband's direction. Harvey Hemmings, busy extolling the virtues of small-town life to anyone within earshot, ignored his wife. I wished Reba Mae and I could do the same. “No carnations or gladiolus for me,” Dottie continued. “As for hymns, my favorite is ‘Abide with Me.' A good rule of thumb is no hymn composed after 1940. My husband the mayor has clear instructions what to do if I should pass first.”

“Pass” was a euphemism for dying—or, in Becca's case, being murdered. I'd never heard the term as a child growing up in Detroit, but it seemed a much gentler phrase than “kicked the bucket,” “bought the farm,” “cashed in her chips,” or just plain “croaked.” Since moving to Georgia, I'd adopted the word. “Passed” was now part of my vocabulary right along with “bless her heart.”

Melly approached our little conclave. “Pardon the interruption, ladies, but have any of you seen Maybelle?”

I was overcome by a fierce desire to hug my ex-mother-in-law. I don't think I've ever been so grateful for an “interruption” as I was after listening to Dottie prattle on—and on and on.

“Maybelle, the poor dear”—Melly fingered her pearls—“has been feeling under the weather ever since Becca passed.”

“Maybelle and Becca weren't exactly on the best of terms—” Reba Mae started to say.

“Best of terms?” Dottie giggled. “My dear girl, Maybelle despised Becca. I wouldn't be the least surprised if she had something to do with poor Becca's untimely demise.”

I gaped at Dottie. “Surely you don't believe Maybelle would harm Becca?”

“Shame on you, Dottie Hemmings.” Melly shook an arthritic finger at her. “Maybelle is a sweet, good-natured soul. Wouldn't harm a flea.”

“Pish-tosh.” Dottie dismissed “sweet, good-natured,” with a wave of her pudgy hand “Those two were oil and water ever since they were schoolgirls. Becca was the pretty popular one, captain of the cheerleading squad and homecoming queen. Maybelle was the brainy sort, president of the National Honor Society and class valedictorian. She was the perennial wallflower while Becca was queen bee.”

I clucked my tongue in sympathy. “It must have been hard on Maybelle when Becca returned after her divorce and set her sights on Buzz.”

“Speak of the devil,” Reba Mae said, her tone hushed. “There he is now.”

In a synchronized move worthy of a water ballet, the four of us turned and locked our gazes on Buzz Oliver. Becca's boyfriend stood alone in the midst of a crowd. His eyes red rimmed, face lined and haggard, the man genuinely appeared grief stricken.

“You darn tootin' Maybelle was mad Becca stole her intended. Madder than a wet hen.” Dottie's head moved up and down like one of those bobblehead dolls you see in the rear window of an old Chevy. “I told Chief McBride that very thing when I saw him. Now if you ladies will excuse me, I'd better get in line at the buffet table before the good stuff's all gone.”

“Wait up, Dottie,” Melly said. “I'll go with you.”

“S'pose McBride took Dottie seriously?” Reba Mae asked.

“He's probably hearing the same from people all over town.”

“Well, I, for one, will rest easier knowin' Maybelle's alibi is rock solid.” Reba Mae looped her arm through mine. “C'mon, sugar, let's have us some dessert before folks realize it's slim pickin's at the sweets table.”

The desserts were displayed on a small table more suitable for playing bridge. I helped myself to a small slice of Lottie Smith's Can't-Die-Without-It Coconut Cake that, along with a Texas sheet cake, had joined the meager assortment. Since the cake looked lonely on a plate all by itself, I added one of Reba Mae's tassies, a miniature tart with pecan filling. Reba Mae took cake but left the tassies to the masses. We found ourselves a relatively quiet spot in a corner.

McBride appeared from the direction of the buffet table, holding a Styrofoam plate heaped high with food. “Y'all are to be be commended,” he drawled, his Georgia roots evident. “I didn't know y'all were members of the Life's-short-eat-dessert-first Club.”

I paused, fork halfway to my mouth, and scowled up at him. He was out of uniform in black blazer and slacks, white shirt. He'd unbuttoned the top button, ostensibly because of the summer heat. If I'd had a top button, I'd unfasten it, too, but not because of the outdoor temperature. It ought to be illegal to look that good.

“Hey, Wyatt.” Reba Mae patted the chair next to her. “Sit a spell. Take a load off.”

“Don't mind if I do,” McBride said with an easy smile. Instead of taking the empty seat next to Reba Mae, however, he plunked himself next to me.

“You here on official business, McBride?” I asked. “Or on the prowl for a free lunch?”

He grinned his dimple-showing-off grin. “Enough can't be said for free lunches for lowly paid public servants.”

“Hope you have a weakness for mushroom soup.” Reba Mae nodded toward his plate. “'Cause you're in for a treat.”

“Green bean casserole, beef Stroganoff, chicken Stroganoff, cheesy potatoes, mac and cheese.” I ticked them off on my fingers.

“And that's only for starters,” Reba Mae added.

I'll never know what made me glance toward the dessert table at that particular moment, but as I did I glimpsed Maybelle disappearing out the back entrance. Her signature Hummingbird Cake occupied pride of place on the sweets table. “Well, I'll be,” I breathed.

“What's up, honeybun?” Reba Mae asked, seeing my expression change.

“Maybelle brought a cake.”

McBride, his back turned from the sweets table, polished off the last of his mac and cheese. “How do you know it's hers?”

“Aside from the fact I just saw her disappear out the door?” I asked innocently.

“Don't be a wiseass,” he said.

“No one—and I mean no one—makes Hummingbird Cake like Maybelle. She even lines up those pecan halves perfect along the side. You have any idea how hard it is to make nuts stick without messing up the cream cheese icing?”

“Cream cheese icing is not my area of expertise,” McBride commented drily. “I'm better informed on the subject of nuts—and I'm not referring to the pecan or walnut variety.”

“That was awful nice of Maybelle to bring somethin'.” Reba Mae sampled her slice of coconut layer cake. “Too bad she didn't stay and visit.”

“Ms. Humphries, I'm afraid, spotted me chatting with y'all and decided it prudent to make a hasty departure.” He scooped up a forkful of Stroganoff.

“Why is she avoiding you?” I asked.

“I've issued Ms. Humphries a personal invitation to come down to my office later this afternoon and answer a few questions. Too many rumors circulating about her and Becca Dapkins to ignore.”

“No wonder Maybelle's makin' herself scarce,” Reba Mae said to me after McBride excused himself in response to a summons from Mayor Hemmings. “I don't blame her not wantin' the third degree.”

Dessert finished and ready for our second course, we explored the buffet table. I decided to forego dishes in which unidentified objects swam in a gluey gray sea. I played it safe instead with a chicken and rice combo. In Becca's memory, I took a small serving of her specialty—green bean casserole.

“Aren't you afraid of puttin' on extra pounds eatin' all those carbs?” asked a voice sweet as a Georgia peach.

“Hey, Amber,” I said, making an effort to sound equally sweet. “Considerate of you to worry about my figure. Since I took up jogging, however, I can eat most anything I want and not gain an ounce.” I had no idea if this was true or not, since I hadn't been jogging long enough to test the theory.

“Joggin's all right for some, I s'pose, but not for me.” She smoothed her hair, which didn't need smoothing. Privately, I thought she only did that to flash her two-, maybe three-carat diamond engagement ring. “I don't think,” she continued, “that runnin' around all sweaty in public is very ladylike.”

But sleeping with another woman's husband is?

I bit my tongue to keep from saying that out loud. Determined to be pleasant even if it killed me, I smiled. “Where's your fiancé? He desert you?”

“CJ wanted to drop by the Chamber of Commerce and give Maybelle one of his business cards. He heard she might be needin' a good lawyer.”

Reba Mae sidled closer. “If she needs a
good
lawyer, she won't be callin' CJ.”

“That's downright insultin', Reba Mae.” Amber turned her back on us and started to stalk off.

“Try the chocolate sheet cake!” I called after her. “It's delicious!”

“I don't eat chocolate,” she informed me haughtily. “It makes my skin break out.”

“Don't worry, dear.” Reba Mae chuckled. “I'm sure you'll outgrow it.”

The crowd had begun to thin by the time Reba Mae and I returned to our original seats. “Umm,” I said around a mouthful. “The chicken and rice is delish. To quote McBride, ‘enough can't be said for free lunches.'”

I was finishing the last bite when Gerilee Barker, an apron over a simple black dress, stopped at our table. “If you two are finished, I'll take your plates.”

Reba Mae handed Gerilee hers. “The VFW got you workin' today?”

“The Women's Auxiliary offered to help the bingo ladies since they expected a big turnout. Been back in the kitchen most of the time. Thought I'd get a head start on the cleanup.”

I blotted my mouth with a paper napkin. “The women ought to be commended for the fine job they did.”

“Thanks, Piper. I'll pass along the compliment.”

“Dottie mentioned gathering the cream of mushroom soup recipes into a cookbook. Kind of a tribute to Becca.”

Reba Mae reached into her purse and reapplied lipstick. “She even mentioned selling them at the Chamber. Maybelle will be fit to be tied.”

Gerilee added the plasticware to the pile of used Styrofoam plates she carried. Her brow creased into a frown. “I gotta admit, I'm worried about Maybelle. She's been acting strange lately.”

“I'm sure she's upset, as we all are, over Becca's death.” I pushed away from the table and got to my feet. “Considering their history, it's a good thing she has a solid alibi.”

Reba Mae stood and hitched her purse onto her shoulder. “Yeah, good thing she was at the food bank with you the night in question.”

“With me…?” Gerilee stared at us blankly. “You're mistaken. I went alone that night.”

Reba Mae and I exchanged glances. “You sure?” I asked when I found my voice.

“Positive.” Gerilee added another plate to the teetering stack she already held. “Maybelle called at the last minute and canceled. Said she didn't feel well and didn't want to spread her germs.”

We watched Gerilee move off to clear an adjacent table.

“Well, I'll be darned.” Reba Mae finally spoke. “Maybelle lied.”

“And what's more,” I said, “Maybelle doesn't have an alibi.”

 

C
HAPTER
16

“E
VEN THOUGH HE'S
going through the motions and questioning suspects, deep down McBride still considers Becca's death a mugging. Call it woman's intuition if you will, but I can't help but think the big-city cop's got it all wrong. I'm convinced the case is much more complicated than the man cares to admit.” I climbed into the Beetle and cranked the air to max.

Fanning herself with a program from the memorial service, Reba Mae slid into the passenger seat. “I could see a breakin' and enterin'—a home invasion even—but hittin' a poor defenseless woman on her way to deliver a brisket is, well … it just ain't right.”