Murder by Mushroom (6 page)

Conner’s lips twisted. “Nothing But Trouble.”

“L
ook what I got.” Standing in the doorway of the parsonage on Monday morning, Jackie reached into her purse and extracted a silver box the size of her palm. She held it out for Margaret’s inspection. “What is it?”

“It’s a digital voice recorder. I went to the mall in Lexington yesterday and bought it. Look how small it is. It’ll fit into my purse and no one will even know it’s there.”

Margaret shook her head. “Don’t you think it’s impolite to record conversations? Is it even legal?”

Jackie had spent a long time considering those questions yesterday as she stood in the aisle of the department store, examining the display of recorders. She didn’t want to do anything wrong, but she was afraid people would clam up the minute she started to scribble on a pad of paper, the way Walsh had done in her apartment. It would inhibit their conversations. And if she tried to make notes after she left, she was sure to miss some important clues.

“They do it all the time on TV. And don’t worry, I’ll be discreet,” she assured Margaret.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Margaret stepped back and gestured for her to come inside the house. “Go on into the kitchen. Earl’s just finishing his breakfast.”

Jackie walked through the living room, fiddling with the device. “I got this one because it has an external microphone. The recorder can be hidden in my purse, but the mic clips onto the strap. See?”

She plugged a thin cord into the recorder and demonstrated. The microphone at the end was practically unnoticeable, if you didn’t look too closely.

“I can’t imagine what you think you’re going to discover talking to old people in a nursing home.”

They arrived in the kitchen to find Pastor Palmer sitting at a round breakfast table, sipping coffee. He looked up from his newspaper, eyeing Jackie’s recorder with interest as she slipped into an empty chair.

“Actually,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching, “you never know what Mr. Sheppard might come out with. He’s a colorful old guy at times.”

Margaret held the coffeepot toward Jackie, a question on her face. Jackie shook her head. She didn’t want to be rude, but she hoped Margaret didn’t intend to hang around the house too much longer. The sooner they got started, the sooner they would discover something to help her identify the killer.

To her relief, Pastor Palmer refused a refill and began folding his newspaper. Margaret turned the coffee warmer off and leaned against the kitchen counter. She eyed Jackie with obvious hesitation. “Just remember one thing, please. We’re visiting church members, not interrogating criminals.”

Jackie bit back a sharp response. Did Margaret think her completely incapable of finesse? Did she expect her to go in there with a bright spotlight and a rubber hose to bully a bunch of old people into a confession?

She was trying to come up with an appropriate response when Pastor Palmer said, “You never know. They might be one and the same.”

“Oh, Earl!” Margaret’s hand rose to her throat. “Do you really think someone in our church is a murderer?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. We’ve known these people less than a year.”

“Well, I don’t believe it.”

Jackie leaned forward, her elbows planted on the table. “Maybe it isn’t anyone in our church. I hope not. But Mrs. Farmer has been a member for a long time. Those people know her better than anyone, and someone is bound to know something that will help us identify her killer.”

Uncertainty tinged Margaret’s features, but she gave a single nod. “I suppose you’re right. Let me get my things and we’ll leave.”

Pastor Palmer stood and took his coffee mug to the sink. Jackie left the table and trailed after Margaret down a short hallway and into an office.

“Your boss was okay with you taking off work?” Margaret asked.

Jackie grimaced. “Well, he wasn’t thrilled, but I convinced him. I had to promise to come in if they run into problems later in the week.”

Actually, her boss had told her she was crazy for wanting to mess around in a murder investigation and she should get a life. But she didn’t see any reason to tell that to Margaret.

“How many people will we see today?”

“Four.” Margaret slid open a desk drawer. “I usually only have three, but since Mrs. Sawyer’s still recovering from surgery I’ve been stopping by her house, too.”

She retrieved a handful of church bulletins, then opened another drawer and removed a stack of cassette tapes. A pink tote came out of a third drawer, and she stuffed everything into it. She handed the tote to Jackie and motioned for her to follow as she left the room. Back in the kitchen, she added two Baggies full of cookies.

“I like to take a little something to Mrs. Harrod and Mr. Sheppard,” she said. “The dining room there at the nursing home is nice enough, but I think they appreciate having a little snack in their own rooms.”

Jackie peeked into the tote. The cookies looked like oatmeal, or maybe peanut butter. Two of her favorites.

Margaret picked up a worn Bible from the counter. “I’m ready.”

Finally!
Tote bag in one hand, Jackie slung her purse across her shoulder as Pastor Palmer bestowed a kiss on Margaret’s cheek. “Tell them all I said hello and I’ll be along later in the week.”

During the trip across town, Jackie fiddled with her recorder. Margaret had announced that they would visit Mrs. Sawyer’s house first, since it was the farthest away, and work their way back to the parsonage. A couple of times Jackie noticed her opening her mouth to say something, her forehead creased with lines, but then closing it again. She was probably concerned that too many questions might upset the old people, but she had nothing to be concerned about. Talking to old people was one of the things Jackie did best.

They paused on Mrs. Sawyer’s front porch while Jackie turned on her little device. When everything was ready, she nodded toward Margaret, who rang the bell.

Mrs. Sawyer greeted them, moving slowly with the aid of a walker. Margaret hugged the older woman gently. She looked so frail Jackie worried a breeze might overbalance her. She had to be at least eighty, but until her hip surgery a few weeks ago, Jackie had seen her often at church, both on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights. She was a member of the Prime Timer Sunday school class, the one Mrs. Farmer had attended.

“It’s nice to see you up and around,” Margaret exclaimed as they followed her into the tiny living room. “You look stronger than last week.”

“I hate this thing,” Mrs. Sawyer confided, “but at least I’m able to walk on my own.” She lowered her voice. “My daughter was glad to go back to work. I think I was getting on her nerves.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Well, she was getting on my nerves sure enough.” The old lady smiled. “It’s good to be able to go to the restroom by myself.”

Margaret laughed. “I’m sure it is. You know Jackie Hoffner, don’t you?”

The older lady turned her wrinkled smile on Jackie. “Of course I do. How nice to see you. Young people don’t visit us old folks much these days.”

Jackie returned the smile with a wide one of her own and took the extended hand gently. “We’ve missed you at church, Mrs. Sawyer.”

The older woman gestured for them to sit on the couch and then dropped into a Queen Anne wing chair with obvious relief. “I would offer you coffee, but you’d have to make it yourself. Marsha leaves my lunch on a plate in the refrigerator, and getting it to the table is the extent of my ability with this thing. But I’m learning!”

“That isn’t necessary,” Margaret assured her.

The old lady looked at Jackie with a shrewd stare. “I hear you’ve been having some excitement lately.”

Settled on the couch, Jackie tried not to grimace. “What do you mean?”

“I heard somebody murdered Alice,” Mrs. Sawyer said. “Someone dumped poison in her drinking water, they say, and you found her dead body.”

Obviously the grapevine reaching into Mrs. Sawyer’s home operated on a several-day delay, and without much accuracy. She hadn’t heard about Pastor Palmer’s announcement yesterday morning.

“Actually,” said Margaret, “her water wasn’t poisoned, her food was.”

“Really?” Mrs. Sawyer’s eyes widened, and Jackie detected a twinkle of excitement. Yes, just like Aunt Betty’s friends.

“And when I got to her house she was still alive,” Jackie added. If the gossip was going to get spread around, at least it should be correct.

“My goodness, how frightening. One of our own, poisoned.”

The old lady shifted in her chair and glanced toward the telephone. She’d be on the phone the moment they left, spreading the news. If there was anyone who hadn’t yet heard, that is.

Jackie leaned forward on the couch. “Did you know Mrs. Farmer long?”

“Oh, yes, dear. For nigh on thirty years, ever since my husband and I moved to Versailles when he retired, God rest his soul.”

“Do you know anyone who might want to harm her?”

Margaret shot her a look. What? Mrs. Sawyer didn’t seem offended by the direct question. In fact, she seemed eager to talk. She leaned against the upholstered back of her chair, her lips pursed for a moment as she thought.

“I expect so. Alice wasn’t exactly a friendly person. We all loved her, of course, because she was one of our own, but she had sharp eyes. She knew things about a lot of people in that church. The stories she used to tell!”

“Such as?”

This was just the sort of thing Jackie had hoped to hear. She picked up her purse and set it in her lap, the little black microphone pointed toward Mrs. Sawyer.

The old lady tapped her finger against the molded leg of her walker. “Why, I can’t think of a single one at the moment!”

Jackie hated to ask leading questions, but maybe she could discover a little more information about the incident Mrs. Murphy had alluded to yesterday at church. “Did you happen to hear anything about, uh, difficulties between Mrs. Hodges and Mrs. Farmer?”

Beside her on the couch, Margaret’s back stiffened. Jackie glanced her way, surprised to see a spot of color high on each cheek. Her expression was unreadable. Mrs. Sawyer didn’t seem to notice.

“Of course!” The old lady brightened. “That’s a perfect example. Esther’s son Joshua was a wild one. Drugs, you know. Trouble with the police, too. Oh, the trials Esther had with that boy! But he straightened himself up, and when he got out of high school he went to Bible college somewhere up north. Then he got a job as a youth pastor at a big church in Ohio.” Her attention shifted toward Margaret and then back to Jackie. “Alice didn’t believe someone with a past like his should be leading youth, so she wrote a letter to the board of elders at his new church. They fired him.”

Jackie gasped. What a terrible thing to do to someone. Malicious, even. Had Mrs. Farmer never heard of forgiveness? Didn’t she think people could change?

“Why would she do that?” Margaret asked.

Mrs. Sawyer gave a delicate shrug. “Alice had high standards. And that’s one reason Nick Carlson is probably resting easy about his promotion out at the factory since she’s gone.”

A new name! Jackie shifted the purse to the edge of her knees, as close to Mrs. Sawyer as she could get it without shoving it under the older lady’s nose. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Sawyer included both of them in her smile. “Well, it’s no secret Alice disapproved of his speedy marriage to Sharon, and especially when the baby was born just a few months later.”

Another person with a motive. This was exactly the sort of information the police would take weeks to discover. And she had gotten it her first day on the case!

Jackie opened her mouth to ask for more details, but Margaret stood abruptly. “Look at the time! I’m afraid we need to leave.”

“So soon?” Mrs. Sawyer asked, surprised. “You’ve barely arrived.”

“Yes, Margaret,” Jackie agreed, looking sideways up at her. “We’ve barely arrived.”

Margaret had evidently had enough. “We have three more visits this morning, and I’m afraid I have plans for the afternoon.”

A lame excuse, if Jackie had ever heard one. But the look on Margaret’s face kept her from asking anymore questions. She sat quietly as Margaret gave Mrs. Sawyer a cassette tape of last week’s sermon and a bulletin and then led them in a quick prayer.

They saw themselves to the door, leaving Mrs. Sawyer sitting comfortably in her Queen Anne chair. As Jackie pulled it closed behind them, she saw Mrs. Sawyer reach for the telephone.

“What was that all about?” she demanded, trailing after Margaret toward the car. “Why did we leave in such a hurry?’

Margaret whirled on her. “What on earth made you ask about Esther Hodges?”

“Something I overheard at church yesterday. And my question paid off.”

Margaret’s lips pressed into a hard line. She stalked to the car and jerked the door open. Jackie slid into the passenger seat as Margaret slammed her door shut. Harder than necessary. Jackie shut her own door as quietly as possible. What had she done to make Margaret so angry?

Margaret turned in the seat. “What do you mean by that—that your question paid off?”

Jackie shifted in the seat and looked out the window. Anywhere but at the outrage on Margaret’s face. “I’m assembling a list of possible suspects, people with a motive for killing Mrs. Farmer. Obviously, I’ve just found the first two.”

Margaret gasped. “Esther Hodges is a good, Christian woman! She wouldn’t hurt a flea!”

Jackie shrugged and kept her tone apologetic. “Maybe she is. But Mrs. Farmer hurt her child. Revenge is a pretty strong motive.”

“That is ridiculous.” Margaret twisted the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.

Jackie held her tongue as the car backed out of the driveway and pulled onto the street. Margaret’s hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white.

“Is that the kind of conversation you intend to have every time? Because if so, I don’t think I want to go with you anymore. That wasn’t simply a matter of asking questions. That was nothing but gossip.”

Jackie looked toward her, surprised at the accusing tone. “I wasn’t gossiping. We have to ask about people who have a grudge against Mrs. Farmer. How else will we find the murderer?”