03 Murder by Mishap Page 10

  Immediately, she thought of dialing 911. Then she wondered if she should call Charlie instead. What if it wasn’t a man? What if it were Jaycee walking up to her house? No. Edna had seen the figure for a full second and, whoever it was, seemed larger than Jaycee. Considering for a moment, Edna thought of Mary. No, it hadn’t been her either. The figure had looked to be broader than Mary. Perhaps as tall, since Mary was nearly six feet, but she was lanky, not broad and muscular. The person in the driveway had been a fairly large man.

  These thoughts sped through Edna’s mind as she remained staring out the window. Another flash of lightning, as bright and as long as the last, showed only an empty driveway. The figure had vanished.

  Unsure what to do, Edna stood for another few minutes, watching as the lightning periodically spotlighted the neighborhood. Booming thunder that followed each pulsing glow of light did nothing to settle her nerves as she squinted through the rain-spattered window, trying to glimpse any movement outside the house across the street. Who would be walking around on a night like this? Should she call the police? Should she get Charlie out of bed for something that could turn out to be nothing at all? When eventually the lightning wasn’t as bright and the accompanying thunder not as deafening, Edna gave up trying to see through the darkness. The storm was moving off and as the world outside quieted, so did her nerves.

  Still, knowing she would be unable to sleep, she left her room and was heading for the stairs when the door to Starling’s room opened and her daughter shuffled out in flannel pajamas and large, fluffy red slippers. With a wide yawn, she said, “Did the thunder wake you, too? What time is it, anyway?”

  “Between half past one and two o’clock, I think. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like some?” Edna thought briefly of telling Starling about the figure she’d seen, but decided not to frighten her. Besides, she wasn’t even certain what exactly she’d seen or whom. She’d check on Jaycee at a more reasonable hour and make certain her neighbor was okay.

  “Tea at this hour? No way,” her daughter muttered, before turning around and stumbling back into her room. “G’night, Mom.”

  Smiling at the memory Starling had invoked of a sleepy-headed girl of six, Edna padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. Benjamin scooted past her and jumped onto the seat of a kitchen chair to settle down and watch as she filled the electric kettle with water and turned it on. Even with rain sheeting the windows, enough light shown from the street lamp to give adequate brightness to the room, so it wasn’t until she’d started the kettle that she reached for the light switch and flicked it on. Almost immediately, she shut it off again. On the slim chance someone was wandering around in the downpour, she didn’t want to be on display in a brightly lighted room.

  While the water heated, Edna absently took a tea bag and put it into her favorite mug. In a few minutes, she added boiling water and stood at the kitchen sink, dunking the bag up and down while she gazed out the window at the dark, sodden night. Her mind was turning from an image of the figure in the driveway to one of Peg and Virginia. As her thoughts began to calm and settle on one mental picture, it was of Virginia in the Bishops’ kitchen. Virginia preparing meals. Virginia sitting at the kitchen table. Virginia sipping a cup of tea. Virginia sliding red rosary beads through her fingers. Different times, different images, but all of the same stout woman in the Bishop’s kitchen. What could have happened that she was now dead? She’d referred to a weak heart, but she’d certainly seemed healthy enough when Edna last saw her two days ago. Another picture flashed unbidden through Edna’s head. Virginia slipping a sparkling brooch of red-white-and-blue gems into her apron pocket.

  Images brought questions, both roiling in her head as Edna finished her tea and wandered back to bed. Tossing and turning, she dozed fitfully for the next few hours and was startled awake at 4:36 by the sound of tires crunching the broken shells on the driveway. Automobile noises were followed by a thwack against the front door. “Newspaper,” she murmured into her pillow and relaxed. The wind had died down, and she listened to the gently falling rain for the next twenty minutes before finally deciding she wasn’t going to get any more sleep, exhausted as she was.

  Donning her robe, she plodded down the stairs and opened the front door. The newspaper was lying in a puddle and, although bagged, it was soaked through. When she picked it up, she noticed a square of paper lying on the stoop. Picking that up also, she realized it had been a hand-written note, until the water had made a mess of the ink.

  She dumped the newspaper into the recycle bin, knowing it was too wet to bother reviving. Before tossing the note in with it, she looked more closely and decided to let it dry out. Laying it on the kitchen counter atop a piece of paper towel, she then started the coffee and took eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator. She’d let Starling get her own breakfast whenever she got up. Edna hadn’t heard her come in the night before, so couldn’t guess when her daughter would rise.

  Awakened by Edna’s early morning activities, Benjamin jumped off the chair where he’d spent the rest of the night. He took a long stretch with front paws extended and fanny in the air. He then walked to his water bowl and lapped while waiting for Edna to add a dry breakfast treat to his food dish.

  Only when she’d finished feeding the cat and herself and rinsed the dishes did she examine the white square of paper with its abstraction of blue ink. The message seemed to begin with “Go...” The next letter looked like it could be either an “n” or an “r” but it was hard to decipher since the rest of the word had smeared. The middle part of the note was a blur of blue ink, looking more like finger painting than words. Only a bit of the last word and the letter “J” were visible at the bottom of the sheet. The last recognizable scribble was “...rry” and Edna guessed the “J” was the beginning of Jaycee’s signature. She couldn’t think of anyone else whose name began with J who would have left a note on the front door.

  She wondered when and why Jaycee would have left the message, but decided to wait until a decent hour before walking across the street to ask the young woman herself. With her head filled with an image of a dark figure on the rain-slicked driveway, Edna thought she would also use the note as an opportunity to check on her neighbor’s welfare and ask if she’d had a midnight visitor.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Edna was restless. She wanted to talk to Charlie and to Albert, and, most of all, to Peg, but it was too early to phone any of them. Ordinarily, she would have spent an hour or so reading the paper and doing the crossword puzzle, but that was out of the question this morning. Even if the paper weren’t a soggy mess, she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate. Too many thoughts were swirling in her head. She went back upstairs to shower and dress for the day, mentally reviewing what she could remember of the middle-of-the-night conversation she’d had with Peg. Edna found it nearly impossible to believe Virginia was dead.

  By the time she returned downstairs, the wind had picked up again, whipping tree branches against each other as if in a frenzied fencing match. It would be a good day to stay home, but she was too restless to relax. She thought she might drive to Providence later to be with Peg, find out more about what had happened the afternoon before and maybe even have a chance to speak with Goran again. In the meantime, she paced around the house, watching the storm through the windows, first to the north, then to the west. She was in the kitchen, staring out the east-facing window above the sink when Starling came downstairs. She was dressed in fitted jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She looked as she had when she’d been about fifteen years old, but even that pleasant memory couldn’t relieve Edna’s anxieties.

  “What’s wrong, Mom? You’re pacing around like a caged lion. I could hear you from my room.”

  “Sorry, dear. Did I wake you?” She was still distracted, unable to settle down mentally or physically. Uncertain over how to break the news of Virginia’s death to her daughter, she thought briefly of delaying t
he task by asking Starling about her afternoon with Jaycee, but that topic didn’t seem very important in light of everything else that was happening.

  She was saved from having to make an immediate decision by a loud rapping at the back door. Mother and daughter looked at each other in alarm for a second before relaxing. “Mary,” they agreed in unison. The synchronized response made them laugh, and Edna felt the tension in her neck and shoulders ease slightly.

  “Let her in, would you, dear? I’ll make coffee. I’m sure you and she could use a hearty breakfast, too.”

  Moments later, Hank followed Starling into the kitchen and Mary brought up the rear. As usual when the outside humidity was high, Mary’s rust-red hair surrounded her head like a bushy lion’s mane.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  Edna started to smile at the familiar greeting, but stopped when she saw the forlorn look on Mary’s face. Ordinarily, her neighbor would have been just the distraction the doctor would have ordered, but not this morning. “What’s wrong,” she asked. “What are you doing out and about in this weather?”

  “Thought I’d look for the little black kitten. She might be scared or soaked or both after that storm last night. She didn’t eat any of the food I put out for her last night.”

  “She probably found a place to keep dry and didn’t want to leave it for food.” Edna spoke with confidence, trying to be reassuring.

  “Hope so.” Head down, Mary moved to the table and rested her hands on the back of a chair.

  “Come on, Mary, cheer up. The kitten will be fine. You’ll see.” Starling moved to give Mary a one-arm hug and pulled out the chair next to the one Mary was clutching. “I could use some coffee. How about you?”

  Mary looked at her, returned the hug and nodded. Her expression began to brighten. “Sure. That’ll be nice.”

  Learning that Mary hadn’t had breakfast yet, Edna insisted that she and Starling sit, drink their coffee and keep out of her way while she set about frying bacon, scrambling eggs and toasting crumpets. More of the early morning’s tension left her shoulders as she moved about the kitchen.

  Hank flopped down on the floor near Mary’s chair. Benjamin materialized to sniff the dog’s wet, black coat, after which the ginger cat sneezed in disgust and leapt onto his favorite cushioned chair to nap. Head on his outstretched paws, Hank did nothing but follow Benjamin with his eyes before raising them in adoration to his mistress’ face.

  “What’s the good word?” Mary said to Starling before taking a sip of coffee.

  “Dunno. Something’s going on with Mom this morning, but I haven’t gotten it out of her yet.”

  Both stared expectantly at Edna as she brought their breakfasts to the table. After refilling coffee mugs, she sat across from them.

  “Eat before it gets cold,” she advised. “Then I’ll fill you in.” She suspected that neither of them would have much of an appetite once they heard what she had to report. Besides, she could use the time to organize her thoughts.

  Eventually, unable to think of any gentle way to break the news of a death, she approached the topic head on. “Your Aunt Peg phoned in the middle of the night,” she began when Starling and Mary had finished eating and were settled back in their chairs. “Peg has been my best friend since we met as freshmen in college,” she explained to Mary in an aside. “She found her housekeeper dead yesterday evening.” Edna waited a minute for the news to sink in before she went on. “They think it might be food poisoning, but Peg had some people in for lunch--a lunch Virginia prepared herself--and apparently nobody else has suffered ill effects. I don’t have all the details, but I can’t imagine how something like that could have happened, not in their home.”

  “I can’t either.” Starling sat forward. “Virginia kept one of the cleanest kitchens in the world. I always thought she was borderline manic about food preparation.”

  “You gonna investigate?” Mary looked curiously at Edna. “Like you did when Tom died,” she added, reaching down to stroke Hank when he lifted his head at the mention of his former owner. Tom had been a friend of Mary’s since her high school days. Less than a year before, he had been poisoned. Mary had adopted the black Labrador when Tom’s daughter couldn’t take him.

  Edna shook her head in answer to Mary’s question. “Nobody’s saying she was deliberately poisoned. Even if she were, I’m sure the police wouldn’t appreciate someone like me suggesting anything different--or butting into their business. Peg was upset last night, with good reason. I’ll phone her later this morning to see how she’s doing. She might be able to tell us a little more about what happened.”

  “Not to change the subject,” Starling said, changing the subject. “But Mary just reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you ever told Dad about your adventures, or should I call them misadventures?”

  “No, and don’t either of you ever breath a word to him,” Edna said sternly. She felt her stomach go hollow at the thought of Albert learning that his wife had twice been drawn into solving a crime and, both times, had been threatened at gun point. There was no reason to alarm him after the fact. What was done couldn’t be undone, and Edna had no intention of putting herself in that sort of danger again.

  “Aren’t you gonna help your friend?” Mary looked disappointed. Typical of the kind-hearted, well-meaning woman, she went on the alert whenever she heard of someone in trouble. Besides her volunteer work at the nearby South County Hospital and the animal rescue groups, she listened for emergency calls on an old police scanner that had belonged to her father when he’d been a volunteer fireman. Her experiences, coupled with a wary nature, tended to make her believe all activity was suspicious until proven otherwise.

  “I doubt that Peg needs my help,” Edna protested. “The police may already have all the answers they need. I have only initial impressions and those are probably unreliable at this point. Virginia has died, maybe from food poisoning, but maybe from another cause, since nobody else seems to have suffered.” As Edna spoke the words, a shocking thought popped into her head. Might Virginia have committed suicide?

  “I can almost hear the wheels turning, Mom. What are you thinking?”

  Edna shook herself mentally as Starling’s words shattered the gruesome idea. She didn’t want to speculate any further until she had more information. Besides, the thought was ridiculous. “I don’t want to guess,” she said, avoiding a direct answer to her daughter’s question. Not wanting to dwell on the awful news, she said, “What are your plans for the day?” Her gaze went from Starling to Mary and back, inviting either or both to answer.

  “I was going to drive Jaycee up the coast toward Wickford, but it doesn’t look like the weather is going to cooperate.”

  “What about some sort of inside activity, like visiting Gilbert Stuart’s birthplace,” Edna suggested. “She might be interested in learning about the artist who painted the portrait used on our one-dollar bill.”

  “You could take her to the South County Museum.” Mary chimed in. “That place is kinda fun, and they have exhibits of home cooking from over a hundred years ago. Jaycee could get some ideas for her book.”

  Starling wrinkled her nose in disappointment. “Nice places and good ideas, but I was hoping to be outside this week. I spend so much time in the studio.” She sighed. “I’ll see what Jaycee would like to do. She said she’d be over around nine this morning.”

  Edna glanced up at the wall clock behind her daughter. “It’s nearly twenty after. Maybe she figured you wouldn’t be going anywhere in this rain and decided to stay home.”

  Starling pushed her chair back from the table. “I didn’t realize it was that late. I’ll go over and knock on her door.”

  “She might be sleeping in this morning. She had a late visitor.” Mary had a knack for dropping conversational bombshells. “I heard a motorcycle. After midnight,” she added, raising an eyebrow.

  The news brought to Edna’s mind the image of a dark figure standing in Jaycee’s d
riveway about the time the storm had begun. That would have been more than an hour after Mary heard the bike, though. Edna was about to mention her sighting, but Mary leapt up in the quick way she had of leaving. Her hurried departures typically followed one of her verbal grenades.

  As soon as his mistress moved, Hank was on his feet, tail wagging. “I gotta look for the kitten. Maybe Hank can find her.” She ran her hand over the top of the dog’s head. Looking at Edna, she said, “Call me when you find out what happened to your friend’s housekeeper, okay?” Her eyes glowed with anticipation, but she didn’t wait for Edna to reply, confident of an affirmative answer. “Thanks for breakfast,” she called over her shoulder as she and her dog disappeared through the mudroom to the back door. Starling was already on her way to the front door and the neighbor’s house across the street.

  Left alone, Edna straightened up the kitchen before heading for her office to call Albert. She was reaching for the phone when she heard the front door open.

  “Whew, it’s nasty out there,” Starling called from the hall before appearing in the doorway. Removing her rain-spattered coat, she said. “No answer to my knock. I’m sure we agreed to get together this morning. Maybe Mary’s right about Jaycee sleeping in.”

  At that moment, Edna remembered the soggy note she’d found beneath the newspaper and, explaining to Starling, they both went back to the kitchen where the ink-stained paper had been pushed to the back of the counter.

  “What do you make of this?” She handed the now-dry page to Starling. “Could this be a note for you? It must have been stuck on the door. I found it on the wet stoop under the newspaper this morning.”

  Starling frowned over the scrap. “The first word looks like GO- something.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but I couldn’t make out the rest. Could it be ‘going’ or ‘gone’?”