Murder by Mushroom (7 page)

Margaret took a few deep breaths, an obvious attempt to calm down. “Jackie, you might not have intended to gossip, but Mrs. Sawyer did. Esther is my friend, and though I don’t know Nick and Sharon Carlson, Nick’s father, Vince, is our choir director and a friend of Earl’s. That conversation left me feeling sullied and low.”

The look Jackie had seen on Mrs. Sawyer’s face as she related the story of Mrs. Hodges’s son certainly proved Margaret’s point. No doubt the old woman was on the phone right now, passing along the information she’d gotten from their visit.

Still, without a doubt Mrs. Sawyer had already been gossiping before their arrival. If anything, Jackie and Margaret had just set the record straight. At least now the gossip would be true. A look at Margaret’s tight lips told Jackie now was not a good time to argue that point.

“Listen, Margaret, I don’t want to gossip, I really don’t. But you can’t get upset every time I question someone. I have to talk to people if I want to get to the bottom of this.”

Margaret took her eyes off the road to give her a quick look. “Why, Jackie? Why is it so important to you to find the murderer?”

“I don’t want my name coming up every time Mrs. Farmer is mentioned. And it will, Margaret. You know it will.”

That was true. But it wasn’t the whole truth. Jackie turned away, staring at the line of trees they passed and admitted the truth to herself.
Because I want to prove I can do something right. I want people to like me.
It was the answer she couldn’t give to Margaret. To anyone. Except maybe Linus.

Margaret remained quiet a long time. Finally she sighed. “You’re making way too much out of this, Jackie. I’d prefer to leave this interrogation business to the police. But if you’re determined to continue, I guess you need me along to temper the conversations.”

Normally, Jackie would have flared with indignation at a statement like that. She could certainly handle a conversation all by herself, for cryin’ out loud! No one needed to “temper” anything for her. But she didn’t want Margaret mad at her.

So she simply said, “Thanks, Margaret. I appreciate your help.”

“Besides,” Margaret went on, “the Bible says older women should teach younger women. Maybe this is an opportunity the Lord is giving me to teach you something. Here.” She picked up the Bible that lay on the seat between them and thrust it into Jackie’s hands. “Before we get to the nursing home, I want you to read Proverbs chapter eleven.”

Jackie obeyed. And tried not to fume when she got to verses twelve and thirteen.

On the den sofa, Margaret snuggled into the curve of Earl’s shoulder. She loved this time every evening, when the supper dishes were put away and the nightly news programs had ended. Strands of Tchaikovsky washed over her, clearing her mind and easing away the day’s tension.

“How did the visitations go?” Earl asked.

“Terrible.”

She told him about the visit to Mrs. Sawyer and about Jackie’s list of “suspects.”

Earl shook his head. “She’s quite a character, isn’t she? I’ll bet she causes quite a stir at lunch tomorrow.”

Margaret avoided Earl’s eyes. “After today, I didn’t have the nerve to invite her to lunch. These lunch dates are one of the highlights of my week, and I don’t want tomorrow’s ruined by uncomfortable questions.” She flushed with guilt at her selfish desire to exclude Jackie from a perfect opportunity to talk with several of the church ladies.

Earl stretched his legs out in front of him and pulled her closer. Margaret closed her eyes, listening to the music and breathing in the faint scent of his aftershave. She supposed she should invite Jackie to her weekly ladies’ luncheon. The girl would jump at the chance, because Esther would be there. But could she be trusted to handle the situation tactfully?

“Did she add anyone else to her list after the other visits?” Earl asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“No. Mrs. Snedegar was entertaining her neighbor, so we didn’t stay long. And Mrs. Harrod was more interested in my cookies than in Jackie’s questions.”

“And Mr. Sheppard?” He grinned. “Did he have any interesting stories for his pretty young visitor?”

“He behaved like a gentleman.” Margaret sighed and plucked at a loose thread on the sofa cushion. “Do you think I should invite Jackie to lunch with the ladies?”

Earl shrugged. “Whatever you think. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”

She already knew what that decision would be. She wouldn’t enjoy herself if she didn’t extend the invitation. She’d be thinking the whole time of Jackie sitting home alone, and how hurt her feelings would be when she found out she had been excluded.

But not tonight. She’d call her young friend in the morning. Tonight she just wanted to relax and forget all about gossip and murder investigations.

She pressed her face into Earl’s shoulder and grumbled, “I
hate
making the right decision.”

Y
awning, Jackie poured coffee into a mug while Linus twined around her legs, verbalizing his impatience for breakfast. Day two of her vacation. Yesterday had not been as productive as she’d hoped after the informative talk with Mrs. Sawyer. The old people in the nursing home hadn’t delivered any new leads on the murder case. Still, she knew they’d enjoyed her visit. Mrs. Harrod kept patting her arm while she munched on Margaret’s cookies, and Mr. Snedegar showed her a bunch of pictures from his war days.

Hopefully today would prove more profitable. She planned to talk with her two main suspects, Sharon Carlson and Esther Hodges. Sharon was easy. She had been out when Jackie called the Carlson residence last night, but a few subtle questions asked of her teenage daughter, Samantha, had revealed Sharon’s place of employment. Jackie planned to drop by her office this morning. With the experience of a few visits under her belt, she didn’t think she’d have any problems leading into a conversation about Mrs. Farmer.

Talking to Mrs. Hodges would be a little more difficult to arrange. Margaret was so protective of her.

The shrill ring of the telephone blared into the apartment’s silence. Jackie grabbed the receiver and propped it on her shoulder, leaving her hands free to open a can of cat food.

“Hello?”

“Jackie? It’s Margaret.”

“Hey, I was going to call you in a bit. Do you want to go by Sharon Carlson’s office with me this morning?”

A pause on the other end. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. I’ve only met Sharon once, so I doubt my presence will help you, and if we’re both there it might look like we’re ganging up on her.”

“Well, I’ve only met her once, too.” Linus’s yowling grew louder as she plopped the smelly mass of congealed whitefish into his bowl. “That time Samantha had a solo in the Easter pageant is the only time I’ve seen her at church. And I’ve never seen Samantha’s dad.”

“He works third shift, so he sleeps during the day. That’s why Samantha comes to church with her grandfather.” Another pause. “Listen, Jackie, I called to invite you to lunch.”

“Linus, back off!” The little fiend made walking impossible. She deposited his breakfast onto the floor mat beside his water bowl. “Sorry to yell in your ear, Margaret. Lunch sounds great. What time?”

“Actually, it’s not at my house. Some of the ladies at church have gotten into the habit of meeting for lunch every Tuesday. We started back when Earl and I first came to HCC, and Esther decided it would be a good way for those of us who don’t work outside the home to get to know each other.”

Jackie’s grip on the receiver tightened. “Esther Hodges?”

“That’s right. And Laura Watson and Sylvia Graham and Julie McCoy. Sometimes others join us, but that’s who’ll be there today.”

A perfect chance to question her number-one suspect! “Where and what time?”

“We’re meeting at Shaker Village at eleven-thirty, but I’ll stop by and pick you up at eleven. Will that be okay?”

“Perfect. I’ll have my recorder ready.”

Margaret’s sigh sounded loud through the receiver. “Jackie, please don’t make this an uncomfortable lunch. These women have been nothing but kind to me since I arrived. They’re my friends.”

And one of them might be a killer!
But Jackie kept her thought to herself. Margaret probably wouldn’t appreciate hearing it.

“I’ll be good,” she promised. “See you at eleven.”

She disconnected the call and turned to Linus. “I’ve got two interrogations today. With luck, I’ll have this case solved by suppertime.”

Unimpressed, Linus ignored her.

Dennis pulled his cruiser into the parking lot of police headquarters promptly at seven forty-five. Yesterday, he’d arrived a few minutes past eight and received a lecture from Conner on the necessity of developing good investigative habits. The detective considered punctuality right up near the top of the list. “Being late implies laziness, and there’s no room in the force for a lazy investigator.”

Dennis endured the dressing-down silently, aware that a half-dozen pairs of eyes watched covertly from behind cluttered desks around the room. He had to remind himself he was lucky to be working with Conner, who reportedly changed partners more often than a teenage girl changed clothes. He was beginning to see why. Not many would willingly perform all the grunt work while the arrogant detective refused to dirty his hands.

But Dennis would suffer that and worse to learn from the best investigator in the state. One day he hoped to lay claim to that title himself.

He picked up the folder containing the notes he’d printed off at home last night. For the most part, his job so far in this case had been great. He’d faithfully recorded notes of every conversation, every interrogation Conner conducted. Their case file was growing. True, they didn’t have much to go on yet, but the detective’s techniques were inspiring. He was certain to weasel out relevant information sooner or later.

Dennis made his way down the hallway toward the crowded room where Conner’s desk was located. The lab report they’d received yesterday had indicated no evidence of
Gyromitra ambigua
on any of the utensils they had confiscated from Jackie Hoffner’s kitchen. True, they had been washed, but the wooden surface of her cutting board bore trace amounts of onions, peppers and ordinary mushrooms. Jackie hadn’t chopped
Gyromitra ambigua
on that surface. While she might not be a great dishwasher, Conner seemed ready to concede she wasn’t a viable murder suspect. Far more likely that the poisonous mushrooms were planted in a leftover portion of her pasta after it arrived at the victim’s home.

Dennis grinned, remembering her expression on Sunday as she faced down Conner. That was one determined girl. While he was in complete agreement with Conner that she needed to stay out of their investigation, he couldn’t help but admire her spunk. If she carried out her plan to talk to the women in that church, she might just dig out a clue or two.

Conner was already at his desk, reading through a typed report. He looked up when Dennis approached, his eyes fixing on the folder. “Those yesterday’s interrogation notes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I needed them an hour ago.”

He snatched the folder. Dennis bit back a sharp retort as Conner pulled out the neatly printed pages and scanned them. Yeah, he was learning a lot working with Conner. How to act like a good investigator. And how not to act like a total jerk.

Tomorrow he’d be here at seven.

He stood while Conner scanned the notes. The detective chewed a corner of his mustache while he read. When he finished the last page, he gave a nod. “Looks like it’s all there.”

That was as close to a compliment as Dennis was likely to get. “Thanks.”

Conner shuffled the papers and pulled a two-hole punch from a drawer. “I’ve got a team meeting us at the victim’s house at noon. I want to go through there one last time.”

“But we already—” Dennis cut off his argument midsentence at a glance from Conner.

“I want the surrounding property combed, too.” The detective punched holes in Dennis’s notes and slid them onto two metal prongs inside the folder he’d been reading when Dennis arrived. “Then we can cut the tape and release the house to the estate.”

Dennis’s cell phone rang. With an apologetic grimace at Conner, he unclipped it from his belt and glanced at the display. His parents’ number. Before eight o’clock in the morning? Something must be wrong.

He flipped open the cover. “Hello?”

“Dennis.” Relief saturated his mother’s voice. “I’m so glad I got you.”

The speed of his pulse kicked up a notch. “What’s wrong, Mom? Is Dad okay?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? He’s out in the garage, as usual, fiddling with the lawn mower.”

Dennis felt the weight of Conner’s stare. He turned his back. “Mom, is this important? I’m working.”

“Of course it’s important. I wouldn’t be calling otherwise. I need you to come to the house for dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?” Dennis lowered his voice and took a couple of steps away from the detective’s desk. “Why is that important?”

“Because I’ve invited someone I want you to meet, and this is the only evening she can make it.”

He closed his eyes. Lately his mother’s efforts to see him married off to a nice girl had crossed the line of mere nagging and become downright frustrating. “Mother, I am not coming to dinner tonight to let you parade another girl in front of me.”

An outraged puff sounded in his ear. “Are you taking a tone with me, young man?”

He took pains to reply calmly. “I’m in the middle of an important case. I don’t have time for this right now.”

“But will you come tonight? I promised Kelly Jean you’d be here.”

“Then you’ll have to call her back and unpromise her.”

“I can’t do that!” A hint of desperation crept into his mother’s voice. “The poor girl will be so disappointed. She’s already made plans to be here.”

“I hope you have a nice time with her,” Dennis said, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be working late.”

“Honestly, who would have thought that such a sweet, compliant little boy would become such an irritating man?” She humphed. “An irritating
unmarried
man.”

Dennis raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Goodbye, Mom. Tell Dad I said hello.”

He closed the cover and clipped the phone onto his belt. When he turned, he found Detective Conner watching him, arms folded across his chest.

“Whenever you’re ready to get to work,” the surly detective said, “we have something a little more important than your love life to attend to. Like a murder to solve.”

Jackie parked her car in front of a single-story brick house that had been converted into an office building. A sign on the door read Hockensmith Transcription Services. Sure that her recorder was turned on and the microphone clipped unobtrusively to her purse, she pushed her way through the front door. The jangle of bells announced her presence. She stopped just inside, faced with a maze of chest-high cubicle walls.

A head appeared over the top of the nearest one, and a young woman peered at her from behind dark-rimmed glasses. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m looking for Sharon Carlson.”

Another head popped up a few cubicles beyond the first, this one blond, wearing a headset. “I’m Sharon.”

“Hi. I’m Jackie Hoffner, from church. Uh, Samantha’s church.”

Sharon looked at her, waiting for her to go on. Jackie shifted her weight to the other foot. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to begin. But she certainly couldn’t shout her questions across the room. “I wanted to ask you about something. Do you have a minute?”

Sharon exchanged a look with the brunette, then shrugged. “Sure, I can take a break.”

She removed the headset and stepped out from behind the partition, and gestured for Jackie to follow. “Come back here where we can talk privately.”

Following her past a row of cubicles, Jackie ignored the inquisitive looks the occupants cast her way. They rounded the last wall and stepped into a small break room where Sharon took a bottle of water from an ancient refrigerator and held it toward her.

“Or there’s coffee, if you’d rather.”

“This is great, thanks.”

Jackie took the proffered bottle and sat in one of three chairs at a round table that dominated the room. She set her purse on the table, off to one side. Hopefully Sharon wouldn’t look closely enough to notice the microphone.

Sharon joined her and twisted the top off her own bottle, watching Jackie in silence with piercing blue eyes. She looked amazingly like her daughter. Blond hair swung in wispy locks around an oval face that was completely free from any sign of age. If she wore makeup, Jackie couldn’t detect it, but her skin shone with health. Her lithe frame belied the fact that she had ever given birth to a child.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” Jackie said, stalling. Sitting across the table from Sharon’s expectant expression, her confidence from yesterday’s visits flagged. How did one casually bring up the subject of murder? This had been a lot easier with eager old Mrs. Sawyer.

“I’ve got to admit, I’m curious. No one from the church has ever come to my office before. Is Samantha in some sort of trouble?”

“Oh, no.” As Jackie shook her head, an idea for an opening sprang to mind. “In fact, I wanted to make sure she’s okay. I’m sure you’ve heard about the death of Mrs. Alice Farmer.”

Sharon’s expression did not change. “My father-in-law told us last week.”

“It has been really upsetting to a lot of us at church,” Jackie continued. “And for a young, impressionable teenager like Samantha, it must be frightening.”

“Not really.” Sharon shrugged. “I’m sure she knew the old woman, but they weren’t especially close.”

“You’ve never heard Samantha mention Mrs. Farmer at all?”

Sharon cocked her head. “Why would you ask that? Do you think Samantha is somehow involved in her death?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why are you here?” Her eyes narrowed. “And don’t give me any garbage about being concerned for Samantha, because she’s never mentioned your name, either.”

Swallowing a mouthful of water to relieve a throat gone suddenly dry, Jackie’s mind played tag with itself. Maybe she should have written out her questions before she arrived. Too late now.

“I know what this is about.” Sharon sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “You aren’t here to check up on Samantha. You’re here to check up on me.”

Busted!

Jackie forced herself to remain calm as she screwed the lid back on her water bottle. “Actually, I did come across some information that might indicate you and your husband didn’t exactly get along with Mrs. Farmer.”

Slamming a fist on the table, Sharon groaned. “Those gossiping old biddies at that church just can’t let anything go, can they? It was fifteen years ago! And they’d still like to paint a scarlet A on my forehead.” She leaned forward suddenly, looking directly into Jackie’s eyes. “And your Mrs. Farmer was the worst. That old bat had the nerve to call my house when she found out Nick was up for promotion and tell me she didn’t think he was
suited
for a job supervising people.”