Murder by Mushroom (11 page)

The telephone sounded like an alarm, its shrill tone piercing through the low hum of the TV. She jerked upright, sending Linus off the couch at a run, and shook off the last of the drowsiness as she jogged into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jackie, this is Dennis Walsh.”

Her jaw and fingers slackened at the same time, and the phone almost slipped out of her grip. Dennis Walsh, the world’s most gorgeous cop, was calling her? An image of gray eyes and a crooked grin swam to the front of her mind.

“Are you there?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up, Dennis?” His name sounded good on her lips.

“Not much. I just got home from work a few minutes ago. Listen, I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet me for coffee some morning.”

“Coffee?” She sank against the doorjamb for support. Was Mr. Good-Looking Cop asking her out on a date? No, she couldn’t be so lucky. Her dates—and there hadn’t been many of them—tended to be more along the lines of pizza-delivery guys. There had to be another explanation.

“Yeah. We sort of got interrupted today, but I’m really interested in hearing more about those rumors you mentioned. How does Thursday look for you?”

Rumors. Jackie stood upright and bit back a disappointed sigh. She was right. Of course this wasn’t a date. She didn’t have
that
kind of luck with men. He just wanted to get information from her.

“Thursday’s good, I guess.” Her voice sounded calm, even casual, she noted with pride. “Will your
boss
be there, too?” A touch of acid slipped into her tone.

“No, he’s tied up in Frankfort on Thursday mornings. It’ll just be the two of us.” He paused. “I hope that’s okay.”

Was that a hint of uncertainty in his voice? Like maybe he hoped she wanted to spend time with him alone? Jackie shook her head.
Stop grasping!
This was about the murder case, and this guy was all business.

“That’s fine. Where and when?”

“How ’bout McDonald’s around nine. Is that too early?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll see you there.”

His voice flowed warmly through the phone. “I’m looking forward to it.”

She heard the click indicating he had hung up, but for a moment she couldn’t move. Had her imagination taken over, or had his voice gotten softer at the end, like he really
was
looking forward to seeing her?

Stop it! This isn’t a date!

Moving slowly, she replaced the phone and returned to the couch. Much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was really looking forward to seeing him again, too. Date or not.

J
ackie sat at Margaret’s round table, her elbows propped on a daisy-covered tablecloth, sipping from a steaming mug of honey-sweetened coffee. Bright shafts of morning sun shone through the kitchen window, setting the yellow curtains aglow. The light glinted through a crystal prism suspended nearby, sending dancing rainbows all over the gleaming white cabinets. This morning, sitting in Margaret’s cheery kitchen, her suspicions of last night seemed ludicrous. Margaret was no more a killer than she was.

“My aunt Betty used to sweeten her coffee with honey,” she commented, blowing on the surface of the hot liquid before taking a sip. “Mmm. This is a real treat.”

Margaret turned from the counter to smile in her direction. “You don’t use honey at home?”

“Splenda. Low-carb, low-cal.”

“Ha. As if you need to worry about your weight. Here, have one of these.”

A plate of banana muffins, fresh from the oven, tantalized Jackie’s nose with a sweet, beckoning aroma. She’d had her morning oatmeal already, but…

“Oh, yum.” Eyes closed, she chewed with pleasure. “These are awesome.”

“I’m glad you like them. They’re Earl’s favorites.” Coffee mug in hand, Margaret took the seat opposite Jackie’s. “So what’s on your agenda today, Miss Detective?”

“I want to talk to some more old people. You know, someone who might give me another lead. Don’t worry,” she added when Margaret drew breath to speak, “I’m not going to gossip.”

“I’m sure you’ll handle yourself diplomatically.”

Jackie washed down a mouthful of muffin with coffee. “What made you change your mind? Yesterday you lectured me about spreading gossip.”

“I’ve prayed about it, and I’ve said my piece. That’s all I can do. I still think the police are better equipped to find the murderer.” She shrugged an apology. “But if you’re determined to question every person in the church, I’ll help however I can. You’re my friend. And I do want this murderer brought to justice, you know. The sooner the better.”

Nodding, Jackie watched Margaret bite into her own muffin. She did consider Margaret a friend. Not the kind to go shopping or to the movies with, but sort of like a mother-type friend.

But still…why the sudden change of attitude? Was Margaret hoping to keep Jackie focused on someone other than herself?

Stop it. I don’t believe Margaret is a killer.

An image of the page she’d added to her notebook last night flashed into her mind. Less writing covered that page than the others. To be honest, she could write nearly as much on a page with her own name at the top.

“So.” She smiled across the table. “Who should we visit today? I want to talk to someone who knew Mrs. Farmer pretty well.”

“Then I suggest we pick someone in the Prime Timer Sunday school class,” Margaret replied. “Let me get the church directory.”

While Margaret left to look for the directory, Jackie sipped her coffee and wondered if she should mention Dennis’s call last night. For some reason, she wanted to talk about it. Maybe if she did, she could get her mind off his voice and onto something else.

When Margaret returned with the directory, Jackie flipped the cover open and scanned the names. “By the way,” she said nonchalantly, “you’ll never guess who called me last night.”

“Who?”

“Trooper Walsh.”

“Really?”

The unconcealed glee in Margaret’s voice made Jackie look up. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Because just the other day I was thinking the two of you would make a cute couple.”

Heat suffused Jackie’s face. “Oh, please.”

“Seriously,” Margaret insisted. “I talked with him for a few minutes at church on Sunday, and he’s very intelligent. He’s a Christian, too.”

Jackie stared at the directory, though the tornado in her brain made it hard to focus on the names.

“You can’t deny he’s handsome. And those muscles! He must work out.”

Handsome? Jackie wouldn’t call him handsome, exactly. Much of the night had been spent thinking of how she
would
describe Dennis Walsh. With those high cheekbones and broad shoulders, he was more like…drop-dead gorgeous.

“I suppose he’s cute enough.” She flipped a page. “But I don’t think he’s interested in me. He just wants to get together to talk about the case.”

Across the table, Margaret’s eyes gleamed as she straightened. “Get together? When? Where?”

“Tomorrow morning at McDonald’s.”

Margaret deflated. “McDonald’s?”

“It’s not a date, Margaret. We’re just going to have coffee and talk about the case.” She looked up and leaned forward to confide, “I think Detective Conner has a meeting or something on Thursday mornings, which is why we’re waiting until then. I got the impression Dennis doesn’t want him to know we’re talking.”

“Dennis? You’re calling him Dennis?”

Margaret’s grin sent a new wave of heat to Jackie’s face. Maybe she wasn’t ready to talk about Dennis after all. She tapped on the directory and changed the subject.

“Who should we visit today?”

Margaret continued to grin a moment, cocking her head to stare across the table. Jackie breathed a relieved sigh when she apparently decided to let the subject drop and looked down at the pictures in the directory.

“There’s Mrs. Anderson, but she volunteers at the hospital during the day. You could try to catch her at church tonight, though.”

“Okay.” Jackie flipped a few pages. “Mrs. Stafford, then.”

Margaret shook her head. “She works.”

“Mrs. Whitehouse?”

“Out of town this week, visiting her daughter in Kansas City.”

Jackie turned back to the front. “What about Mrs. Coates?”

“She goes to a different Sunday school class. I don’t know how well she knew Alice.”

“But she’s on the prayer chain, so she has connections in the church. Anyway, it’s a place to start.”

“True.” Margaret’s pensive expression cleared. “She and her husband are both retired, so they might be at home.”

Jackie slapped the directory closed. “Let’s give her a call.”

“Sad news about Alice.” Audrey Coates shook her head. “You expect to hear about things like that on television, but right in our own church?”

“It’s terrible,” Jackie agreed.

She and Margaret sat on a tan sofa in Audrey’s living room. Her home bore evidence of years of happy living, with every surface covered by a cheerful array of knickknacks. Dust catchers, Aunt Betty used to call them.

Audrey’s husband, Ron, had greeted them and then excused himself to the garage to perform an oil change on a neighbor’s car.

“It has been quite a shock for everyone,” Margaret said.

“And especially you, my dear.” Audrey cast a sympathetic glance toward Jackie. “How terrible to have your casserole used as a weapon.”

Jackie swallowed a curt reply and smiled. “Which is why I’m doing everything I can to help the police catch the murderer.”

“You are? My goodness.”

Audrey’s expression became eager. Ah, here was a woman who wanted to talk. No need to tiptoe around the issue.

“That’s what brings us here this morning.” Jackie leaned forward, arms on her legs. “We hoped you might be able to tell us if you’ve ever heard of anyone having a grudge against Mrs. Farmer.”

“Oh, my dear, that could be just about anyone.” One corner of her lips twitched in a humorless grin. “Alice led a sad life, really. Known by a lot of people, but loved by few. She was her own worst enemy.”

“Yes,” put in Margaret, “we’ve certainly discovered that, poor woman.”

“I suppose you’ve heard about Joshua Hodges, then?” Both Jackie and Margaret nodded, and Audrey shook her head slowly. “A sad thing, that was. Something like that could have damaged the boy’s career for the rest of his life. And it was just spite on Alice’s part.”

“We heard there have been other spiteful things Mrs. Farmer did.” Jackie shot a quick glance at Margaret. “We don’t want to gossip, of course.”

“Certainly not.” Audrey’s forehead creased. “But of course that’s what Alice did. She gossiped about everyone. Poor Vince Carlson, when his son first married—”

“Yes,” Margaret said quickly. “We know about that, as well.”

Audrey sat back, smiling. “My, my. You’ve already heard a lot. And poor Kathy Dorsey, too, I suppose?”

Jackie straightened. A new name! Kathy Dorsey, a young woman not much older than Jackie, was a divorced single mother and a regular attendee at HCC. Beside her, Margaret drew herself up, as well.

Audrey nodded. “I see you haven’t. Well, it really is a perfect example. Kathy is a teller at the bank where Alice did business, you know. A few months ago, it seems the poor girl made a mistake in counting change from a customer’s deposit. Bad luck must hover over her, because the customer was none other than Alice.”

“Oh, dear.” Lines creased Margaret’s forehead.

“Alice spoke quite sharply to her every time she saw her, even at church. I heard that myself. Poor Kathy scurried to get out of her way, you can believe that. Alice didn’t mind telling me why, when I asked why she was so hard on the girl. Told me she thought Kathy was unfit to hold any job, much less one at a respectable bank where Alice held stock. I’m surprised you two didn’t hear about that yourselves.”

“People don’t really pass gossip along to the pastor’s wife too often,” Margaret said.

“And nobody ever tells me anything,” Jackie put in. “I’m still the new girl, I guess.”

A concerned expression came over Audrey’s features. “Please don’t think I’m accusing poor Kathy Dorsey of killing Alice. I’m sure she’s incapable of doing anything so terrible. A sweeter girl never walked the earth. I’m just giving you an example of Alice’s behavior. I’ll bet every person you ask could come up with a different one. That’s how she was.”

“Yes, that’s what we’re finding out,” said Margaret.

Jackie remained silent. Maybe Kathy Dorsey really was a sweet girl…or maybe her sweetness was a front for something ugly. Either way, Jackie intended to ask her a few questions about that bank deposit.

T
he sweet scent of honeysuckle tickled Jackie’s nostrils when she pulled into the church parking lot that evening. Big, overgrown bushes covered with pale yellow blossoms lined one side of the field where they’d held their picnic.

Jackie shuddered. She did
not
want to think about that picnic!

The parking lot held no more than a dozen cars. She was among the first to arrive. Wednesday nights didn’t typically draw a big crowd, except for the kids’ classes. Some parents liked to use Wednesdays at the church as a free babysitting opportunity. Judging by the amount of whooping and laughter that drifted into the sanctuary from the downstairs activities, Jackie didn’t think the kids minded.

A red Chevy glided to a stop on the far side of hers. Jackie halted her progress across the parking lot. Providence was on her side tonight. Kathy Dorsey and her twins had arrived.

Kathy turned to speak to her sons in the backseat, her voice carrying clearly through the open window. “Charlie, if you hit your brother at church tonight, there will be consequences.”

Through the back window, Jackie glimpsed the four-year-old’s pensive expression as he considered his mother’s warning. “What consequences?”

“A big one. No television all day tomorrow.”

“
All day?
Aw, Mom.”

Jamie raised his chin to smirk at his brother as the trunk popped open. Kathy got out of the car and headed toward the rear. Jackie didn’t know much about her beyond the obvious fact that she was a single mother of rambunctious twins and one of the reality-show group. She glanced at Jackie as she rounded the back of the car.

“Oh, hi.” She lifted her nose and inhaled. “Mmm, doesn’t that honeysuckle smell wonderful?”

“It sure does,” Jackie responded. “Do you need any help? Looks like you’ve got a load.”

“That would be great. It’s my night to bring snacks.”

Jackie took a bulging grocery sack in each hand as the boys tumbled out of the car and headed for the church at a gallop.

“Don’t run inside the building,” Kathy shouted after them, then grinned at Jackie. “I don’t know why I bother. The dog listens better than they do.”

Jackie had no experience whatsoever with kids or dogs, so she limited her response to a smile. Kathy took a gallon jug of fruit punch in each hand and closed the trunk. The two women followed the boys toward the church at a more leisurely pace.

Though she had a bit of practice under her belt, Jackie still bumbled around with trying to turn the conversation to Mrs. Farmer. As she sifted through a few possible openings, dismissing each one as too obvious, Kathy took the situation out of her hands.

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to you on Sunday, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened.” She gave an embarrassed shrug. “You know, with your casserole.”

“It wasn’t my casserole that killed her,” Jackie said, too quickly.

“Oh, I know,” Kathy rushed to agree. “The boys and I ate some of it. It was really good.”

Her ruffled feelings placated, Jackie nodded. “But I have had a terrible time. Especially being interrogated by the police.” She peered sideways into Kathy’s face. “Have you been questioned yet?”

The girl started and gave her a quick look. Her light brown hair formed a widow’s peak in the center of her forehead, giving her round face a heart-shaped look that was more interesting than flattering. Especially with her eyes rounded like that.

“No, of course not. Why would I be?”

“Well, I figured someone would eventually mention that little problem you had with Mrs. Farmer.”

Kathy’s face went pale. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh.” Jackie shrugged. “But I heard about it so it’s probably just a matter of time before the police hear it, too. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you.”

They arrived at the door, and Kathy stopped. She turned her back to the building and stood staring toward the empty field. Jackie watched, seeing her throat move convulsively as she swallowed. Was that fear on her face?

She spoke without looking at Jackie. “We had a disagreement, that’s all. No big deal.”

“I heard she went around telling people you shouldn’t be allowed to keep your job.”

Kathy didn’t answer. Jackie’s conscience twinged. The girl really did look frightened. But did she look guilty? Jackie couldn’t decipher that stare and convulsive gulping. Whatever the reason, Kathy certainly knew something.

“Hey, look, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying if I heard that rumor, the police are going to hear it. And you know, I’m working with the police on this case.” Jackie paused. Not a lie, exactly. After all, Dennis wanted to hear any information she discovered, didn’t he? “So if you have anything to say, you might want to tell me. That way I can report that I’ve talked with you and it’s no big deal.”

Another car pulled into the parking lot, and they both looked toward it. Margaret’s Buick. Kathy’s attention remained fixed on Margaret and Pastor Palmer as they got out and headed toward the church.

“I made a mistake on her transaction. I corrected it before she even walked away from my window, but she harped on it for weeks.”

“That’s all? She didn’t threaten to get you fired?”

Kathy shook her head but continued to watch the approaching couple, her shoulders so tense they shook. Jackie felt a flash of sympathy. The girl looked really scared. But about what? If she was innocent, why wouldn’t she tell Jackie what had her so frightened?

“Hey,” called Pastor Palmer as he and Margaret reached the concrete walkway, “you two look like you could use a hand.”

He ran up the sidewalk to open the door, reaching for one of Jackie’s sacks. Margaret looked questioningly toward her, and Jackie shook her head. She’d talk to Margaret later.

And Kathy Dorsey, too. That girl still had some explaining to do.

“So what are you wearing tomorrow?”

Someone tugged her shirt, and Jackie turned to find Margaret following closely as she exited the sanctuary. Pastor Palmer still stood up by the altar, talking with a group of lag-behinds.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Probably jeans and a T-shirt.”

Margaret’s horrified expression spoke volumes.

“It’s not a date,” Jackie reminded her. “We’re meeting to talk about official business.”

“There’s no reason it can’t be both official business
and
a date.”

“If the guy wanted to ask me out on a date, surely he’d pick someplace besides McDonald’s.”

Margaret dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “His intentions don’t matter at this point. What matters is that you make the most of the opportunity.” She gave Jackie a stern look. “You may not wear jeans. Don’t you have a nice spring skirt and blouse?”

A mental review of her closet revealed nothing of the sort. She did have that black skirt she’d bought for the funeral. That looked good on her. But she’d worn it the morning Dennis and Detective Conner came to her apartment.

She shook her head.

“I know!” Margaret’s face brightened. “The outfit you wore to the picnic was very flattering. That pink blouse really set off your dark hair. And, Jackie…” Her focus swept upward. “Wear your hair down tomorrow. In front of your ears.”

Jackie’s hand went self-consciously to the side of her head. “What’s the matter with my ears?”

“Not a thing, dear. But your hair is lovely, and it frames your face beautifully.”

At that moment, Emilee Howard approached and claimed Margaret’s attention to discuss some matter related to Vacation Bible School. Still stinging from the ear comment, Jackie walked to her car.

Inside, she swiveled the rearview mirror so she could examine her reflection. The scrunchie came out, and a toss of her head set her hair free. She did have nice hair, if you were into uncontrollable curls. How many times had Aunt Betty told her that lots of women paid big money to get curls like Jackie’s? Turning her head from side to side, she decided wearing it down did make her jaw and chin look softer, a little more feminine.

She smoothed the hair behind her ears with a quick gesture and looked again. That looked…controlled. Neater. But her nose did seem to take up more of her face this way, and her ears did stand out a bit…

Forget Margaret, anyway! There was nothing wrong with her ears. She jerked the thick mane through the scrunchee, scowling at the mirror. She would wear her hair however she liked!

A movement outside drew her attention. The Dorsey twins soared past her front bumper, racing to their car. Kathy followed at a slower pace carrying a grocery sack in one hand. Now might be a good time to continue their interrupted conversation.

But when the young mom looked toward Jackie, her expression froze. She looked quickly away and picked up her pace, as though she hoped Jackie had not seen her, though they both knew she had.

Jackie remained in her car while an uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. It was like high school all over again. Kathy was only a few years older than Jackie. Under different circumstances, they might have been friends. But Jackie had to go and act like a big-time interrogator, so of course Kathy wanted to avoid talking to her.

But the questions were necessary! How else could she get to the bottom of Mrs. Farmer’s death? And without a doubt, Kathy knew something she wasn’t telling.

Jackie watched the other woman snap the boys’ seat belts before getting behind the wheel, all the while keeping her back to Jackie’s car. Jackie chewed on a fingernail as the Chevy pulled out of the parking lot.

What did that girl know that made her so afraid? If they’d had a few more minutes before Margaret and Pastor Palmer arrived earlier, Jackie would have gotten it out of her. Another question or two would have done the trick.

She turned the ignition key and the Toyota roared to life. Whatever Kathy knew, Jackie intended to find out tonight. Nicely, of course. Diplomatically. They’d just have a little girl talk, and Kathy would share her secret and clear up the issue.

If Kathy’s secret turned out to be something important, Jackie could alert Dennis in the morning.

While going through the church directory, Jackie had noted the Dorsey address because it wasn’t far from her apartment. She drove there now, catching a glimpse of Kathy’s red Chevy ahead of her every so often. She turned onto Taylor Avenue in time to see Kathy pull into a driveway halfway down the street.

The houses here were modest-sized, single-story buildings, each with a pair of trees in the front yard. No garages, so Jackie pulled over to the side of the road several houses away from Kathy’s and watched as the boys ran from the car to the front door of a rectangular brick home. Kathy, carrying her grocery sack, followed with her keys and let them inside.

Should she go in right now? Jackie’s stomach fluttered at the thought. Maybe she should wait a few minutes. It was almost nine o’clock, surely close to the boys’ bedtime. Maybe after they were in bed, Kathy would talk more openly.

One fingernail reduced to a nub, Jackie switched to another.

A vehicle passed. A white Grand Cherokee, new by the looks of it. She noted it in passing, her attention focused on deciding the right time to continue her interrogation. The vehicle passed Kathy’s driveway and parked on the street two houses beyond. A man got out. He slammed the door, walked a few steps away, and turned to point a remote-controlled power lock at the Cherokee.

When he walked quickly toward the Dorsey residence, Jackie sat up in her seat. Average height, dark hair, gray suit. Hard to make out details in the rapidly diminishing twilight, but this was a professional man, by the looks of him. He took long strides, carrying himself with confidence. He—

Wait a minute! When he stepped into the ring of light shed by the porch lamp, Jackie got a good look at him. She recognized this guy. That was Richard Watson, Laura’s husband. What was he doing at Kathy Dorsey’s house at almost nine o’clock at night?

The front door opened. From her vantage point, Jackie couldn’t see who stood inside the house, but she saw Richard say something, and then he stepped across the threshold. The door closed behind him.

Jackie threw herself against the backrest. This felt big. Richard Watson was a vice president at Versailles Bank and Trust, the same bank where Kathy worked as a teller. What possible reason would a vice president have for visiting the home of a teller, unless…

She shook her head. No. No way. Richard was married to a beautiful, gracious woman. He had a great job and was respected in the church and the community.

They were both
church
members, for cryin’ out loud! They couldn’t be having an affair.

On the other hand, if they were having an affair, and if Mrs. Farmer had somehow found out about it, her poison pen would certainly not have dawdled over this one. Imagine the scandal that sort of news would cause! Richard would probably lose his job at the bank.

The fear on Kathy’s face loomed large in Jackie’s mind. Her job would probably be in jeopardy, too. Was this the secret Jackie saw lurking in her eyes, the one she refused to tell?

Something else occurred to her. That day at the picnic, when Mrs. Farmer was going on about the UPS man, what had she said? Something about people wallowing in sin. Jackie scrunched her eyes shut, trying to reconstruct the scene. They’d been sitting at the picnic table, Mrs. Farmer on Jackie’s left, Margaret and Pastor Palmer across from them. Pastor Palmer said Christians should pray for people who struggled with sin, and Mrs. Farmer said struggling was one thing, but wallowing in sin was another. The old woman had been glaring at someone. Jackie remembered looking in the same direction.

What if Mrs. Farmer had been referring to someone there?

Jackie pounded her palm on the steering wheel. She couldn’t remember. Who had been standing there?

She couldn’t be 100 percent sure, but she thought Richard and Kathy had both been in the general vicinity of Mrs. Farmer’s glare. She did remember Kathy washing spaghetti sauce from the twins’ faces, because she’d felt a surge of pride that they’d eaten her casserole. She was almost sure Richard stood nearby.