Murder Takes the Cake Text (13 page)

“It’s more like it won’t let me rest, Uncle Hal.” I told him what I’d overheard at the church and Violet’s reaction.

“Honey, once again I’ll have to take your sister’s side on this one. A baby is a lot harder to hide than a fling.”

“A marriage isn’t.”

“If the girl was underage and her parents had it annulled, it is.”

I huffed. “I need to know. Do you think Mom was ever married to Vern March?”

Uncle Hal was silent.

“Joanne told Tar that Gloria wasn’t involved in her dad’s life, and that she’d only met the woman one time,” I continued. “Is it possible Joanne’s Gloria is Mom? That Mom’s past with Vern is what made her consider leaving Dad for him?”

“Well, the main thing is to weatherproof your windows. You lose more warm air around your windows than you realize.”

“Aunt Nancy’s back.”

“Sure is, honey.”

“You never told her?”

“I don’t see a need for that. You just put some weather stripping around your windows and the bottom of your doors, and that’ll help you save on your heating bill.”

“Okay, Uncle Hal. Thank you. Give my love to Aunt Nancy.”

“You bet.”

I finally got around to my warm, relaxing soak in the tub. Both Violet and Uncle Hal had been a wash—pun intended. Neither could confirm that Mom and Vern March had a past prior to their affair, but neither could deny it. I suppose I could ask Joanne, but I’d like to exhaust all my other avenues first. Myra did say that Peggy March still lived in town. Maybe I could pay her a visit. But on what pretext?

I got out of the bathtub and was drying off when the phone rang. I hurried to the bedroom to answer it. It was Uncle Hal.

“Don’t have but a second,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “But I did remember something else. The way I found out about your mother was that a woman called and told me. She said not to let Vern ruin another family.”

“Another family? Who was she?”

“I don’t know. She said what she had to say and hung up. Maybe she was Vern’s former wife.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m probably wasting my breath, but leave this alone . . . please. You might uncover something no one wants revealed.”

CHAPTER NINE

Sunday was a wasted day. I wore slouchy old clothes and watched tear-jerker movies. I failed to give my website a much-needed update. In fact, I didn’t log onto the computer at all. I didn’t phone anyone. I simply vegged in front of the television and tried to forget my problems. No such luck. If you’re ever trying to forget your problems, don’t watch TV. The gardening channel did a show on poisonous plants growing in your own backyard. Many of the women’s channels had infidelity-themed movies, and the crime channel did a special on wrongly accused people getting justice after spending years in the penitentiary.

Even the most inane things made me think of either Yodel Watson or Mom and Vern March. Or both. Take the commercial of the woman serving brownies to a group of friends. My first thought was, “Wonder which of the men she’s seeing behind her husband’s back?” Then, “Wonder if the brownies have been laced with poison? They say cyanide tastes like almonds. That would only complement the flavor of the brownies.”

All in all, the day was a morbid little pity party.

I awoke Monday with a new resolve. Today was most certainly not going to be wasted. I even made a list of an impossible number of tasks to complete. If I got as many as half of them done, I’d be ecstatic. With the list in my jeans pocket, I headed out before nine a.m.

My first stop was Dr. Lancaster’s office. Dr. Lancaster was our town’s only veterinarian, and I hoped he could give me some advice on how to help Sparrow.

I stepped through the door and saw that a half-grown St. Bernard was taking up the majority of the small waiting area.

“Hello!” I said to him. I flashed a smile at his owner, a tall, athletic-looking woman with streaked blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.

The puppy bounded over to reciprocate my greeting. I bent and rubbed his furry head.

“You’re so precious!” I squealed.

He truly was adorable, big and ungainly with hair that was still mainly puppy fuzz.

“What’s his name?” I asked his owner.

“Linus.” She smiled. “He has a blue blanket he drags around all over the house.”

I laughed and kissed the top of Linus’ head. “What a sweetheart. He doesn’t have any brothers or sisters who need a home, does he?”

“I’m afraid not.”

I nodded. I really wished he did have. I’d even call the dog Charlie or Lucy. I was lonely. I could use a terrific puppy to cuddle on the sofa with. Suddenly, an image of Ben came to mind, and I straightened up and addressed the receptionist.

“I have a stray cat at my house. She’s missing her left eye. She’s awfully skittish, but I’d like to help her if I can.”

“Let me see what Dr. Lancaster thinks,” the receptionist said. “He’s in the back right now, but he should be out here any minute.”

I noticed a gray parrot sitting in a cage beside her desk. “That looks like Banjo, Mrs. Watson’s parrot.”

“It is.” She looked at the bird. “Animal Control brought him over because he has a respiratory infection. Don’t you, Banjo? Poor baby.”

Banjo didn’t reply, merely bobbed up and down on his perch.

“Mrs. Watson must’ve been crazy about him,” I said.

“Why do you say that?”

“She apparently let him have the run of the house.”

The receptionist raised her brows. “Where’d you get that impression?”

“I once saw a yellow stain on Mrs. Watson’s carpet. I thought it was . . .you know . . . parrot pee.”

She laughed. “I don’t know what you saw on that carpet, but parrot urine is clear. Like water. The fact is, Mrs. Watson wasn’t terribly enamored of poor little Banjo. He had belonged to her husband, and I think she only kept Banjo out of a sense of obligation. I can’t imagine her letting him out of his cage at all, much less to run around the house.”

“Oh. What will happen to him now?”

“If no one in Mrs. Watson’s family wants him, he’ll be available for adoption. Are you interested?”

I cocked my head and considered Banjo for a moment. He stared back at me with what appeared to be thoughtfulness and intelligence.

“I’ve never had a bird before.”

“They’re not too hard to take care of.”

Dr. Lancaster opened the door dividing the waiting area from the exam area. He had white hair that looked as if it had sprouted from his head like an unruly weed and was growing in all directions. Tortoise-shell glasses framed his heavy-lidded brown eyes.

“Is Linus here for his rabies shot?” Dr. Lancaster asked.

“He is,” the receptionist replied, “but first this lady has a quick question for you.”

I explained about Sparrow and her eye. “Could I give her some medicine or vitamins or something in her food?”

“Does the eye appear to have been recently injured, or is it inflamed?”

“From what I can tell, the eye socket appears to be empty, but it doesn’t look like an open wound.”

“Good. Without seeing the cat, I can’t provide any particular suggestions as to her care. If you’ll continue feeding her and perhaps use bits of meat to help you gain her trust, hopefully you can trap her and bring her in.”

“I’ll try to do that. How about vitamins?”

“If you’d like to give her some, Dobbs should have some decent ones in stock.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Lancaster turned and nodded at Linus’ owner, and she led him through the door that led to the exam rooms.

As I turned to leave, the receptionist called to me. “Do you think you’d be interested in adopting Banjo?”

“Probably not. Having never had a bird before, I just don’t know that I could take care of him properly.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.”

I opened the door, stepped out into the chilly November air and almost ran headlong into Walt Duncan. I recognized Mr. Duncan because he’s looked exactly the same for the past twenty-five years.

“Good morning, Mr. Duncan.”

“Mornin’, young-un.” He squinted. “Why, hey, howdy! You’re Jim’s oldest, aintcha?”

“I sure am.” I smiled. “I’m Daphne.”

“Daphne…that’s it. Hal said you’d moved back to town. You doin’ all right?”

“Just fine. How’d you guys do on your hunting trip?”

“Fair to middling. Me and my brother bagged a ten-pointer Saturday morning.”

“Wow. That should keep you well fed for the rest of the winter.”
Don’t think about Bambi. Don’t think about Bambi.
“How did Uncle Hal do?”

“Didn’t get a dad gum thing.” Mr. Duncan chuckled. “Of course, he was only with us on Friday. He left early Saturday morning.”

“He . . . he did?”

“Yep.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the pavement. “He had to go to the doctor or something.”

“Oh, uh, how about that?”
So where was Hal Saturday and Sunday?
I nodded at Mr. Duncan’s pet carrier. “What’ve you got there?”

“My grandson’s snake. The boy had to go back to work today, so bringing the snake to the doctor fell to me.”

“That doesn’t sound like a fun job.”

“Ah, I’ve had worse.”

“It was good seeing you, Mr. Duncan.”

“You, too, darlin’. Tell your daddy I said howdy.”

“I sure will.”

Mr. Duncan ambled into the veterinarian’s office. I got in the car and squeezed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. So Uncle Hal had not been with the Duncan brothers for the entire weekend. He’d left early Saturday morning. But if he’d truly had a doctor’s appointment, why wouldn’t he have gone back home?

I was hesitant to talk with Uncle Hal again. I didn’t want him to think I was checking up on him. And it
was
possible he’d begun feeling ill Friday night and had decided to go to a doctor or to the emergency room Saturday morning. It was a possibility, albeit an unlikely one. If Uncle Hal had begun feeling ill, Mr. Duncan would’ve said, “He got sick Friday night,” rather than, “He had to go to the doctor or something.” Of course, I could look into this without involving Uncle Hal.

I got out my list and added, “Check with area doctors,” to the bottom. While I had the list out, I double-checked the address for Peggy March I’d gotten off the Internet. Lucky for me, she hadn’t remarried. I suppose she had her hands full raising Joanne by herself.

*

The white house was small, but it and the lawn surrounding it were as tidy as could be. Most of the leaves had been raked up and disposed of; the few that remained looked as if they’d been artistically placed rather than had merely blown off the trees. I saw a curtain move in one of the two dormer windows. My presence had been noted, but I wasn’t sure it would be acknowledged.

I got out of the car and walked on the smooth stepping stones to the front door. I thought those might be slippery when the weather turned colder; but by the looks of the rest of her home, I imagined Peggy March would be outside with a bag of rock salt by the time the last snowflake hit the ground.

Which reminds me, I need to buy rock salt before the weather turns colder.

I rang the doorbell and wiped my palms on my thighs. I was getting more nervous by the second and didn’t want to offer a sweaty hand if Ms. March was the handshaking type.

If I’d been given only one adjective with which to describe Peggy March, it would have had to be “dainty.” When she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, I felt like a giant standing before her. She was barely five feet tall and appeared no heavier than a whisper. She looked as if a good stout wind would blow her away. Her hair was a golden blonde, and I noted strength in her hazel eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I hope so. My name is Daphne Martin. I just moved back into town about a month ago and wanted to reconnect with some of my parents’ old friends.” I smiled.

Peggy eyed me with suspicion. Not that I could blame her. My story sounded lame even to my own ears.

“Do you know Vern March?” I asked.

“I was married to Vern’s son, Jonah.” She opened the door. “Why don’t you come in and tell me what you’re really doing here?”

One part of me wanted to turn and run back to my car. The part of me that sought the truth—no matter how painful it might prove to be—took a deep breath and stepped into the house. Like the home’s exterior, the interior was magazine-beautiful.

“Are you an interior designer?” I asked.

“No. Would you prefer to talk in the kitchen or in the living room?”

“Either would be fine.”

She led me to the kitchen where the décor was a retro black and white. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

She got herself a cup—black—and sat down at the gleaming white table with the black-and-white-checked cloth. She looked at me expectantly, and I sat down across from her.

What am I doing here? Where did I think Joanne got her hatred of our family in the first place? What am I hoping to gain?

“Well?” Peggy asked.

I folded my hands in front of me. “I suddenly feel the need to apologize . . . though I don’t know why.”

Peggy simply stared at me. She apparently knew why I should apologize, but she wasn’t forthcoming with the reason.

“I’m here to find out if your husband was my half-brother.”

She nodded. “I figured that was it.” Now that Jonah’s skeleton was out of the closet and lying on the table between us, Peggy decided to proceed at a more leisurely pace. She took a sip of her coffee. “Sure you won’t have a cup?”

“Positive. Thank you.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“A few days ago, I learned my mother had an affair with Vern when I was a little girl, about thirty years ago. She even consulted a divorce attorney. She was going to leave us.”

“Go on.”

“Then at Mrs. Watson’s funeral, I overheard your daughter talking with Tar. He asked about Joanne’s grandmother, Gloria.” I took a deep breath. “My mother’s name is Gloria.”

“And you’re here to find out if your mother is
the
Gloria.”

“Yes. At least I think I am.”

“Why didn’t you simply go to her?”