Chile Death

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Hark laughed. “Oh, hell, I’ve got an opinion like that on just about everything. I usually save it for the editorial page, but you asked.” He shrugged. “Of course, not everybody thinks the way I do. Some folks feel like their insurance man is their best friend. And some of ’em are. Pokey was named as godfather to the Shaws’ last baby, after he helped them straighten out their big hospital bill. Old man Lund made Jerry Jeff his executor.”

  "Old man Lund. Edna’s father?” Somehow, that seemed incongruous. But maybe J J and the Lunds had been longtime friends.

  “Yeah. And both Jerry Jeff and Pokey are joiners. Lions Club, Rotary, Chamber of Commerce, Honchos — you name it, they belong.” He grinned. "Now, a skeptic like me might say that membership in all those organizations is part of their public image. Maybe they do it because their hearts are pure.”

  I looked out the window and saw Mae Belle making her way around the third side of the square. "Thanks for the lunch—and the information.” I pushed back my empty plate, grabbed Pokey’s mountain oyster chili recipe, and stood up. “I hate to eat and run, but I have to see somebody.”

  “Better huriy,” Ruby said, following my glance. "MaeBelle’s a tough lady. She doesn’t take bribes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It doesn’t matter who you are, or what you’ve done, or what you think you can do. There’s a confrontation with destiny awaiting you. Somewhere, there’s a chile pepper you cannot eat.

  Daniel Pinkwater "A Hot Time in Nairobi”

  “Have you heard from the Manor today?”

  Mae Belle ripped off the ticket she’d written and deftly inserted it under the wiper blade—not my wiper blade. My car was a block over, still parked in front of Cody and Clendennen. "Nary a word,” she said cheerfully. She turned and saw my face. "Why? Somethin’ happen?” "Your aunt’s roommate died this morning.”

  "Rachel Rogers? Aw, gee, that’s too bad.” MaeBelle’s round face grew sad. "She was a sweet little thing. Her’n Aunt Velma was real attached. They didn't talk much, of course, but they looked out for each other, in small ways.” "Your aunt seemed pretty upset by her death,” I said. "It might be a good idea if you stopped in to see her later today.”I hesitated. I hadn’t intended to tell MaeBelle about the violent scene between Opal Hogge and her aunt until I knew more about the situation, but now—after the roommate’s death—I was having second thoughts. If I didn’t warn Mae Belle and something happened to Miss Velma, I’d feel responsible.

  "I wonder,” I said, "whether you’ve ever considered a different place for Miss Velma to live—the Oaks, maybe.” The Oaks is an older nursing home on the east side of town, across 1-35. It isn’t as upscale as the Manor, but it has a reputation for caring treatment.

  “A diffrent place?” MaeBelle’s forehead puckered. "Is somethin’ goin’ on I oughta know about?”

  “Well, I don’t have anything very concrete,” I said, "and I certainly don’t want to alarm you. But I happened to be at the Manor this morning when Mrs. Rogers was discovered dead, and your aunt—well, she seemed afraid.”

  Mae Belle opened her eyes wide. "Afraid? Afraid of what?”

  I gave her a direct look. "Opal Hogge.” I paused, then came out with it. "Look, MaeBelle. I heard from one of the aides that she saw Mrs. Hogge shaking your aunt. I don’t know whether she’s telling the truth, but—”

  "Shaking!” MaeBelle’s eyes bulged. “Bunny Hogge, shaking Aunt Velma! Why . . . why, that’s elder abuse! I saw a piece on Sixty Muiutej about that just last week! Old people can die that way, same as little babies.”

  "Remember,” I said cautiously, "it’s only a report. It hasn’t been confirmed.”

  "That don’t make no difference.” MaeBelle’s eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Rogers is dead? You don’t suppose somebody shook her, do you? I better—” But that was as far as she got.

  "MaeBelle,” a voice called urgently, and both of us turned around. Flying across the street toward us was Dorrie Hull, in blue jeans and cowboy shirt, blond hair loose around her shoulders. Dorrie is the day-shift dispatcher in the police department, and a regular customer at Thyme and Seasons. She gave me a quick smile and a hello, then turned breathlessly to MaeBelle.

  “Mae Be lie,” she said, "you gotta come quick. The boss has called an emergency staff meeting.”

  Mae Belle tipped her uniform cap forward. "An emergency meeting? Today! Why, everybody but you and me is gettin' sensitized! Must be something big happened. What’s it about?”

  Dome’s blue eyes were big in her pale face. "He’s quit,” she said, "effective soon as the Council can find somebody to take the job.” She dropped her voice. "But don’t let on you know it when you get back to headquarters, MaeBelle. It’s supposed to be a big shock.” She looked at me. "And don’t let on you heard it from me, China. He’s gonna make a public announcement soon’s he tells the staff, but it wouldn't do for word to get out before.”

  "Bubba Harris has quit?” I asked incredulously.

  "Sure as shootin’,” Dorrie replied, glum. "He says it’s more’n he can do to keep the peace in this town an’ keep the Council happy at the same time.”

  "You don’t suppose he got fired, do you?” MaeBelle’s voice was low and shuddeiy. "Maybe he wasn’t sensitive enough to suit 'em.”

  "Maybe it’s a case of snatchin’ the pan off the fire when you smell the bacon bumin’,” Dorrie said sagely.

  MaeBelle’s face was dark. "Well, I’ve alius believed in leavin’ with the one that brung ya. Guess I should be thinkin’ about findin’ myself another job.”

  "You better think about gettin’your tail to the meetin’,” Dorrie said, taking MaeBelle’s arm. "This is happenin’ now, and if we don’t git ourselves back to the office, we’ll miss the show.”

  Torn between two loyalties, MaeBelle looked at me.

  "I’ll head, out to the Manor as soon as my shift ends. And if I don’t like the look of things, I’ll haul Aunt Velma out of there tonight, if I have to take her home with me.”

  She and Dorrie scurried off.

  I stood still for a moment, wondering who the Council would hire to fill Bubba’s scuffed boots and how his resignation would affect the current situation with regard to the goings-on at Cody and Clendennen—probably not at all, since there was still no evidence of a crime. Anyway, the resignation might be just a ploy, a big stick Bubba was brandishing in an attempt to get the Council to call off their sensitivity consultant. Maybe it would work, and they’d back off. Maybe it wouldn’t, and we’d be breaking in a new police chief.

  But Monday is not a day for loitering on the town square, even if it is my day off. The courthouse clock had just struck one-thirty and I was only a couple of blocks from Thyme and Seasons. If I didn’t do another thing today, I had to fax a couple of orders so they’d be delivered by the end of the week.

  When you go into an herb shop, you’re likely to see entire shelves lined with big glass jars of dried plant material. Some of these herbs—lavender, mint, lemongrass, rose- maty, sage, thyme, to name a few common examples— are probably grown in the owner’s garden and harvested, under duress, by the owner’s kids (or long-suffering spouse or craty friends who pretend to enjoy bending and stooping in the sun). Other herbs, however, are purchased from one of the big wholesalers—like Frontier Herbs, which grows forty-plus herbs on its sixty-acre organic farm and imports thousands of other varieties of herbs and spices from around the world. Look in the Frontier wholesale catalog, for instance, and you'll see ten different whole chile peppers, ranging from 2,000 units to 200,000 on the Scoville heat scale—ancho, arbol, birdseye, chipotle, gual- jillo, habanero, Morita smoked. New Mexico, pasilla, red—and almost two dozen crushed chiles, ground chiles, and chile blends, from all over the world.

  The first order of business when I got to the shop was to feed Khat and reassure him that he was top puss in my menagerie, no matter what nasty rumors Howard Cosell floated. Having polished off lunch in a flash, he leapt lightly to the counter for his
postprandial nap while I dug out my Frontier order form, added a few last-minute items, and faxed it. While I worked to the background music of a contented cat’s furry purr, my mind kept flipping back through the various conversations I’d had today and I began making a mental list of the things I had to tell McQuaid. I was picking up the phone to dial him when the door to Ruby’s shop opened and Ruby came in, carrying a smart new leather briefcase and several sheets of paper.

  "You ran out of Krautzenheimer’s so fast that I didn’t have time to ask you to sign these.” She put the papers on the counter next to Khat and held out a pen. "I hope you didn’t get a ticket.”

  “1 wasn’t overparked. I needed to talk to MaeBelle.” I looked at the papers. "What’s all this?”

  "Bank stuff," Ruby stud carelessly. "Signature card, checking account authorization, consent to the kidnapping of our first-born unless we follow the rules. If you’re in a hurry, don’t bother to read. Just sign at the X.”

  I gave her a suspicious glance. I distrust people who tell me not to read what I’m about to sign, and then make a joke about it. "How much did you deposit?”

  "Enough to get us started." She thrust the pen into my fingers. "Hurry up, China. The bank closes at two.”

  "It'll open again in the morning,” I said. “How much?”

  "Twenty thousand,” Ruby said. She eyed me. "Now, don’t start yell—”

  "Twenty thousand!” I squawked. "Ruby, that’s real money!” Khat woke up and yawned, showing a pink tongue and sharp ivory fangs.

  "Of course it’s real money.” Ruby was nettled. "What do you expect to pay architects and contractors with? Vanilla beans?”

  "But that means I owe you ten thousand dollars, and we haven’t poured a single cup of tea!” I was beginning to feel like the captain of the Titanic, confronting the horrifying evidence left by his first major iceberg. What was happening to the independent China who had bootstrapped her own business without anybody’s help, not even the bank’s? What about the woman who insisted On being responsible only to and for herself? She owed a big pot of money, had entered a partnership with a suddenly assertive friend, and had agreed to get married. Good grief!

  "We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Ruby said authoritatively. She took my hand and bent my loose fingers around the pen. "Don’t think, sign.”

  Mrrow, Khat remarked. He stood, put his front paws on the papers and elongated himself in an elegant stretch, then leapt from the counter to the windowsill. Mrrow, he said again, with greater emphasis.

  "You see,” Ruby said sagely, "even your cat is telling you to do it.”

  "After he was bribed with the promise of fresh chicken livers sauteed in butter and garlic.” I sighed. At some point or another, everyone encounters the inevitable. Closing my eyes to the sinister fine print, I signed at the X’s.

  "Thankyou,” Ruby said. “Nowyou can go back to that call you were making when I came in. Was it important?”

  "Only a conversation with McQuaid.”

  She picked up the papers and put them into the briefcase, which was impressively stamped with her initials in gold. “Don’t you think you could break down and call him Alike, now that you’re actually going to many him?”

  "Listen, Ruby,” I said heatedly, "I am caving in on big- time issues here, and it's not an entirely delightful experience. Don’t push me on the small stuff. Okay?"

  Whatever she said was drowned out by the loud jangle of the cowbell that hangs on the front door handle. The door opened a few inches, and a girl’s face appeared.

  "Mrs. Bayles?” The voice was tentative, almost apprehensive. "We know you’re closed today, but we saw your car out front and we wondered if—”

  "Angie!” I said, more than a little relieved. "And Carita. Come in!”

  On the job, in scrubs and with their hair pulled back, Angie and Carita had looked like cool, crisp nursing professionMrs. Now, mops of shiny dark hair artfully tangled, slender and petite in close-fitting shorts and sandals and pastel crop-tops that bared their brown midriffs, they looked more like teen models. Standing side by side, they looked remarkably alike, too. But of course—Angie had said they were cousins. They came into the shop quickly, one after the other, and almost apprehensively, glancing over their shoulders as if to make sure that they weren’t seen.

  "Gosh,” Angie said, glancing around, “this is a great place.”

  Carita sniffed. "It smells good.”

  “I think so,” I said. I introduced them to Ruby as aides from the Manor, and Ruby as my friend and business partner.

  "I asked for you this morning at the nurses station,” I told Angie, "but you weren’t at work.”

  “I didn’t go in,” Angie said. "Carita needed somebody to talk to. It’s been pretty bad for her, since Saturday night.”

  Carita swallowed. “Angie and I, we’ve been talking, all day yesterday and all this morning. We think we’ve got it figured out, about the thefts and the credit card.” She glanced apprehensively at Ruby. "But maybe . . .” She tugged at Angie’s arm, turning toward the door. "We’ll come back later, when you’re not busy.”

  "Wait,” I said. "Why don’t we let Ruby hear your story? She’s every bit as good as Jessica Fletcher when it comes to figuring things out. Remember the cat lady? It was Ruby who did the detective work that got her out of jail.” At the question in their eyes, I added, "And don’t worry. You can trust her not to share your story with anybody. How about if I fill her in?”

  The two girls gazed at Ruby, in her variegated costume, then held a silent consultation with their eyes. Carita gave a doubtful nod and Angie said, "Okay, if it’ll help.”

  The story took only a few minutes. Ruby asked a couple of questions, and I had to go back over a point or two, but there really wasn’t much to it. Employee suspected of theft, stolen item discovered in employee’s possession, employee fired. Pretty simple.

  "But simple things are often complicated,” Ruby said sympathetically. She looked from one girl to the other. "What do you mean when you say you’ve got it figured out? What do you think happened?”

  "It’s all tangled up,” Angie began, "but we think we know who put the credit card into Carita’s purse.”

  “We know who, but we can’t figure out why,” Carita said, frowning. “And we sort of don’t believe what we think we know.” She shook her head. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  "So we hoped maybe you’d have an idea,” Angie added. "We thought you might be able to help us decide what to do.”

  "Okay.” 1 leaned on the counter. “So who did it?”

  The girls stepped closer together, almost as if for protection, and I thought again how alike they were. There was a quiet shyness about them, too, that I found attractive — unlike some teenagers, who are so in-your-face that you’re glad to get away from them.

  "We don't know for sure about the other stuff that was stolen,” Carita said. Almost unconsciously, she reached for Angie’s hand and they hooked little fingers, like two kids with a magic talisman. "Some of the staff think maybe it was Deena.”

  “Deena?” I frowned, tiying to remember. "Oh, yes. The one who got fired for not reporting the faulty kitchen equipment.”

  "Excuse me?” Ruby asked, and I explained what Angie had told me earlier.

  "Except that some people think Deena realty got fired for stealing,” Carita said, "not for the other thing. They say Mrs. Hogge didn’t tell anybody the real reason—not even Deena herself—because she wanted to see if the thefts would stop. It was like a test, or something.”

  "It makes sense," Ruby said. "And if Deena was the thief, she would know why she was fired. She wouldn’t make a fuss over it, either, because she wouldn’t want stealing on her employee record.”

  The girls nodded in concert.

  "Did the thefts stop after Deena left?” I asked.

  "Yes," Angie said. "Everybody noticed it. All the aides, I mean. They talked about it in the break room. To tell the truth, people w
ere relieved, because the rest of us weren’t under suspicion any longer. There was one little problem, though.”

  "The earrings," Carita said, taking up the story. "Deena gave them to me after she got fired, and I wore them to work. Mrs. Hogge accused me of taking them."

  “Soyou didn't get them from the flea market, after all,” I remarked.

  “No. I didn’t want to get anybody in trouble. I said the first thing that came into my head. It was a lie.”

  “So." I looked from one of them to the other. "How did the stolen credit card get into Carita’s purse?"

  Their faces were sober and somehow more adult. They traded looks again, perhaps for reassurance.

  "We think," Angie said, "that Mrs. Hogge put it there.”

  "Mrs. Hogge?" Ruby arched skeptical eyebrows up under her fringe of gingery hair.

  "We know it’s a terrible thing to say,” Carita replied earnestly, "but this is what happened. Last Saturday, I worked the three to eleven shift. I took my break at six and got my purse out of the locker so I could give Alarguerite — she’s one of the nurses—the two dollars I owed her from lunch the day before. The credit card wasn’t in my wallet then. I would have seen it.” She blushed. “When I gave Alarguerite the money, the wallet was empty. But five minutes after 1 put my purse back in the locker and went back to work, Mrs. Hogge called me to her office. My purse was on her desk. She told me to open my wallet, and there it was.”

  Ruby frowned. "Five minutes doesn’t seem like much time for—”

  "Exactly!" Angie exclaimed. "There wasn’t time for anybody else to put the credit card in Carita’s purse and tell Mrs. Hogge it was there—and then for Mrs. Hogge to find it. The only way it could have happened was for Mrs. Hogge to get the purse herself and put the credit card in it, so she could accuse Carita.”

  "But why would she do such a thing?” Ruby asked.

  "That’s the part we don’t understand," Carita said helplessly. "It doesn’t make any sense at all. Nobody’s ever complained about me."

  “In fact,” Angie said, "just last week, Mrs. Hogge herself told Carita that she was doing a good job.”