Chile Death

by Susan Wittig Albert

  "It’s like she all of a sudden had to get rid of me,” Carita said. Her large dark eyes were filled with unhappiness. “I don’t know why.”

  I looked at one cousin and then the other. If the girls couldn’t see why Mrs. Hogge had to get rid of Carita, I could. "Maybe it’s a case of mistaken identity,” I said.

  Carita stared at me. "Mistaken — ?”

  Angie was quicker. "You mean, she got the two of us mixed up?” She frowned. "But that doesn’t make any sense, either. I haven’t done anything to get fired for. There was that business with Miss Velma, but I didn’t tell anybody but you.”

  "Pardon me,” Ruby said in a puzzled tone, "but I think I'm missing a piece. Can somebody fill me in?”

  Haltingly, Angie reconstructed what she had witnessed in Miss Velma’s room. "But I don’t see what that’s got to do with Carita,” she concluded.

  "If Mrs. Hogge only got a glimpse of you,” Ruby said, "she might have thought you were Carita. So it was Carita she fired.”

  "See?” I said. "Jessica Fletcher.”

  “But Angie and I don't look anything like each other,” Carita objected. "Angie’s much prettier, and she’s got that little mole on her chin, and her hair is longer and — ” "Minor differences,” Ruby said confidendy. "To a stranger, or someone in a huny, or scared, you’re the Bobbsey twins.”

  "The Bobbsey twins?” Carita looked puzzled. "I don’t think I’ve met them.”

  "Maybe they work in the kitchen,” Angie said. “Really.” Ruby rolled her eyes at me. “Am I that old?” I could have said they were that young, but I didn't want to insult them. "Ruby just means,” I explained, "that you two look veiy much alike.”

  "You know,” Angie said thoughtfully, "I’ll bet Mrs. Hogge did mix us up. She planted that credit card so she could fire Carita and keep her from telling.”

  "And to discredit her,” Ruby said. Her eyes narrowed and her voice crackled. "That woman has no business running the Manor. As long as she’s in that job, patients and employees both are vulnerable. Why, she could have killed Miss Velma, shaking her like that!”

  "But what can we do?” Angie asked helplessly. "Mrs. Hogge is the boss. She runs things the way she wants and nobody dares to question her. And neither Carita nor I can prove anything. She’ll just say we made it up.”

  "I wish we knew somebody on the board of directors who would back us,” I said. "Somebody with some clout. McQuaid thought he had a contact, but it turns out that the guy is Opal Hogge’s nephew. He helped her get the job in the first place, so I don’t think we can count on him for anything.”

  "We do know somebody,” Ruby said, unexpectedly. "She’s the president of the board, in fact. Her name is Liz

  McKenzie. I met her at a workshop a couple of years ago, and we see one another every few months. We can trust her to help without putting Angie into jeopardy. She might even be able to see that Carita gets her job back.” "She said might," I cautioned, but Carita gave a joyful yelp anyway, and Angie's arm went around her shoulders.

  “That would be wonderful.” Angie wore a wide grin. "Carita needs her job worse than anything. Her family needs it, too. Gosh, thanks, Ms. Wilcox.”

  "The old girls network strikes again,” Ruby said, smiling modestly. "Behind every great woman is another great woman. We’ll see Liz as soon as we can.”

  The girls left a few minutes later, and Ruby looked down at her watch. "Well, I’m glad I hung around, but now it’s after two and the bank has closed. I guess that paperwork will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  "Do you have anything else to do today?" I asked. Ruby eyed me. "That depends. What’s on your mind?” "Behind every great woman is another great woman,” I said humbly. “I’m tired of trying to figure this out for myself. I’m going out to the Manor to talk to McQuaid, and I’d like you to go along.”

  Ruby leaned forward. "It’s about Jerry Jeff, isn’t it?" she said. "You’re onto something. You think somebody actually murdered him.”

  "Maybe,” I said, "although to tell the truth, it’s hard to know how much I really know, and how much I’m making up. If you take my meaning.”

  "I do.” Ruby sighed. "Sometimes I have the same problem.”

  "The thing is,” I said, "that there’s no evidence. I mean, if I were an attorney in this case, I’d have no trouble coming up with two or three different theories. Any one of them might be true, but which one? And Cody’s death isn’t the only thing I’m not sure about. Miss Velma’s roommate died this morning.”

  "Oh?” Ruby sighed. "Well, I don’t suppose that’s an unusual event at the Manor—in the Alzheimer’s unit, anyway.”

  "No,” I said. “But something about it is making me uneasy. You see, Angie wasn’t the only person who saw what happened between Opal Hogge and Miss Velma. According to Angie, Mrs. Rogers—Miss Velma’s roommate-witnessed it too. In fact, she tried to get out of bed to stop it."

  Ruby thought about this for a moment. Then she stiffened. "You don’t think Opal Hogge could have — ” She pulled in her breath. "You’re not saying she killed her!” "I don’t know what I’m saying,” I replied. “Mrs. Rogers must have been eighly, maybe more. Most likely, she died of simple old age. But it’s easy enough to kill an old person without leaving any traces, and Opal Hogge has been in her line of work long enough to know how it’s done."

  "That’s right,” Ruby said. Her voice became taut. "Remember that nurse who killed all those old people with insulin injections? And I read about somebody else, too — somebody who used potassium. China, this is jerioiu. Hogge has managed to discredit one witness by charging her with theft. Now the only other witness turns up dead! Velma Mayfield might be in danger, too.”

  “I spoke to MaeBelle about it,” I said. "She said she’d see about moving her aunt. Meanwhile, I’ve got a call in to a woman in San Antonio who is supposed to know why Opal Hogge left her position there.”

  Ruby was pacing back and forth, agitated. "But we have to do something, China! We can’t just stand back and let—”

  “Do what? There1 s no evidence of an assault, unless an examination turns up bruises. And even then, it’s probably impossible to say for sure how she got them. We have a victim who can’t make a reliable report, a witness who—’’ "That’s it!’’ Ruby stopped pacing and snapped her fingers. "We have Angie. She’s a good witness.”

  "Not so fast. She’s comfortable with us, but she probably wouldn’t do very well in court. Hogge’s lawyer would start by asking why she didn’t report the abuse to her supervisor, then suggest that she’s lying in order to tarnish Hogge’s reputation and redeem her friend. And there’s something else, too. We can’t act until we understand her motive. What does Opal Hogge have against Velma May- field? Did Velma simply get under her skin, or is there more to it than that?”

  "Well, we’re not going to figure it out standing here,” Ruby said. "Come on. Let’s go see McQuaid.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  If you can’t stand the heat, it may be because you have too much taste. Literally. Some people can’t eat hot chiles because they have nearly twice the average number of taste buds per centimeter of tongue area. Approximately one quarter of the population are these "supertasters.” Another quarter are “nontasters,” with fewer than average taste buds. The rest of us are—well, average. Some tasteless people may be able to chomp their way through a peck of peppers without shedding a tear, while the thought of even one small jalapefio is enough to steam up a supertaster’s glasses.

  China Bayles

  "Hot Pods and Fired-Up Fare”

  Pecan Springs Enterprise

  McQuaid, in his wheelchair, was waiting for us in the lobby. “Jug’s having a nap,” he said. "The domino game this morning wore him out.”

  “It must be a new experience, having an eighty-year- old roommate,” Ruby remarked, as we settled into the corner behind the aquarium. "I don’t know if I could handle that.”McQuaid grinned. "I'm learning that the world doesn’t revolve around me. Pro
bably qualifies as a learner’s permit For marriage.”

  Which led to Ruby’s congratulating McQuaid on our getting married and saying how coincidental it was that our wedding reception would take place at the same time as the grand opening of Thyme for Tea. McQuaid raised his eyebrows at me, and I shrugged.

  "What can I say? She has the checkbook.”

  We didn’t have time to debate the question, because an old woman shuffled up, bent over an ornately carved wooden cane. She was wearing four or five long, silky petticoats in shades of neon red and orange and purple, layered one over the other and anchored by a dozen loops of plastic Mardi Gras beads hitched around her waist. Her drawn-on eyebrows and lipsticked mouth gave her a clownish look, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye. She bent over and dropped a kiss on McQuaid’s forehead.

  "What would you say to black-eyed peas an’ okra for supper tonight, sugar?” she asked gaily.

  "Hot diggity,” McQuaid said, and smiled up at her.

  • She patted his shoulder. "Well, don't you be late, now, y’hear? The girls'll be disappointed if you don’t get there in time to give each of ’em some of your sweet, in-dee-vi- jual attention.” She looked at Ruby and smiled hugely, showing perfect dentures. "My, honey, I surely do admire them pants. You’ll be a big hit with the boys tonight.” She patted Ruby’s cheek, then off she went, twirling her beads. In a moment, she was bending over to stroke the bald head of an old man in a yellow plaid sport coat.

  “When I grow old," Ruby remarked appreciatively, "I shall wear purple. And red. And orange.”

  “Her name is Madame Iris LeBeaux,” McQuaid said, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did. "Now, where were we?”

  In the midst of another interruption, that’s where. At that moment/ eight Sweet Adelines arrived, wearing bouncy red petticoats, red vests over white peasant blouses, and red felt Swiss hats perched on poufed hair. Giggling and chattering among themselves, they began the melodious process of tuning up while seniors gathered expectantly and aides began pushing chMrs. toward the middle of the room. Edna Lund came in and hung a big paper banner announcing "! !The Sound of Music!!” at the front of the room, and the Ladies Guild started setting up a snack table in the back.

  Bowing to the inevitable, we turned down an offer of strawberry Kool-Aid and relocated to the patio, under the deep shade of the huge live oak that overhangs the building. It was nicer outside, anyway. The sky was a cloud- dappled blue and the temperature was in the upper eighties—one of those afternoons when you’d rather be sailing on Canyon Lake—but a breeze lifted the shiny oak leaves, and the muted sound of women singing close harmony was a pleasant background. McQuaid and I started off by bringing Ruby up to date on everything we knew, and I concluded by reporting what I had learned from Pokey, finishing my narration to the distant tune of "Down By the Old Mill Stream.”

  McQuaid rearranged himself in his wheelchair, as if he were reorganizing his thoughts. “You're saying you think Pokey Clendennen is an innocent bystander?”

  “I can’t swear to it,” I said, "but that was my impression. The idea that Jerry Jeff had been murdered seemed to come as a genuine surprise to him. But—this is how I’ve got it figured, anyway—after a moment's thought, it occurred to Kim that Roxanne might have done it, with the intention of implicating him.” The Sweet Adelines swung into a spirited version of “The Sidewalks of New York.”

  “Maybe he has a reason to suspect her.” Ruby brushed a misguided bee from the leg of her flowered pants. "Anybody could come along and toss something into those open chili pots, you know. Maybe Pokey saw Roxanne dump in a bag or two of Planters, and only remembered it when you told him how Jerry Jeff died.”

  "That could be," I agreed. "It would certainly explain his knee-jerk reaction. But if she wanted to be sure that Jerry Jeff got a good dose, that wasn’t her only opportunity. The cups were assembled in the check-in tent before they were taken to the judging tent. Roxanne was working there. I saw her myself.”

  "She certainly stands to benefit,” Ruby said thoughtfully. "Jerry Jeff told me that he carried over a million dollars in term insurance. He sold it to himself and got a commission on it, so it was cheap.”

  “A million bucks!” I exclaimed. "Now, that’s what I call motive.”

  "In a way,” McQuaid said reflectively, "Roxanne not only stands to benefit, she can’t lose. Let’s assume that it was Roxanne who put the peanuts into sample number twenty-two. If everybody thinks that Jerry Jeff died of natural causes, she’s home free, a rich widow. If the cops figure out how he died, decide he was murdered, and trace the nuts to Pokey’s chili, she’s JtiU a rich widow and Pokey’s the guy who takes the fall.”

  "How clever,” Ruby murmured. Inside, the Adelines held the last “New York” until it was drowned out by enthusiastic applause, some shrill whistling, and the thumping of canes.

  “But nobody’s going to take the fall,” I said. "Let’s be practical, you guys. So what if there are a few peanuts in Pokey’s chili? Nobody can prove he put them there. The same goes for Roxanne, only more so. You know as well as 1 do that no prosecutor in his right mind would take either one of them before a grand juiy. Motive and opportunity don’t add up to a conviction.” I sat back, listening to the plaintive notes of “Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie.”

  McQuaid’s fingers drummed on the arm of his wheelchair. "What we need is an eyewitness who saw Roxanne or Pokey doctor that chili.”

  "What would that prove?" 1 asked with a shrug. "This is not like a case in which party A bashes party B with a blunt instrument. So Pokey or Roxanne put peanuts in the chili. There is certainly room to argue that it was done without any ill intention. The perfect crime—unless one of them confesses.”

  "That’s not veiy likely,” McQuaid said.

  Ruby wore a musing look. "I wonder how Pokey is feeling right now. He must be pretty upset. Angiy, too.”

  "You’re probably right.” I spoke slowly, thinking it through. "In fact, if Pokey suspects that Roxanne deliberately implicated him by using his sample, he might be angiy or scared enough to spit it out. I’ll have another conversation with him, and see if I can dig up anything more.”

  Ruby frowned. “Pokey and Roxanne—is there any chance that they’ll do a flit?”

  I tried not to smile. "Do a flit?”

  Ruby waved her hand. "That’s what some crook called it in a crime novel I read last week. It means to fly from justice. Run away.”

  "I doubt it,” McQuaid said. "Why should they flee?

  They’re not charged with anything. They both have homes here, and business connections."

  "Yes, but maybe Pokey knows something and he doesn’t want to lie,” Ruby persisted. "Running away would be the easiest way to avoid it. Or maybe he was taking money out of the business, too, and he’s afraid an IRS audit will catch him." She cocked her head and frowned, as if she were listening to an inner voice, maybe. "Really, China. I’m getting a hunch. I have the strangest feeling that Roxanne and Pokey might just fly off — ’’

  "I agree with McQuaid,” I said, thinking back on my conversations with both Roxanne and Pokey. "They’re not the type. But I’ll consider that as I talk to Pokey,” I added more mildly, not wanting to discourage Ruby.

  Actually, it is veiy difficult to discourage Ruby. “I could go with you,” she offered helpfully. "We could both talk to him.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” McQuaid said. "How about if you interview the people who were working in the checkin tent. Ruby? One of them might have noticed something—like Roxanne putting peanuts into a sample cup.”

  "Check with Fannie Couch,” I said. “She recruited the helpers. She’ll give you a list of the people who were there.”

  "Well—” Ruby frowned to express her preference for a more prominent role in the investigation, but she didn’t want to be left out. "Okay.”

  "Good,” McQuaid said. "I’ll reconnect with Charlie Lipman. He was going to make sure that Cody’s stash, wherever it
is, is still intact.” He glanced at me. "What about Craig Burkhart?”

  "But Roxanne and Pokey are the ones who stand to gain,” I protested.

  "Maybe,” McQuaid said. "But you’re forgetting about those blackmail letters. So far, we have no idea who may have written them, or how that person is connected with all this. Burkhart is a pretty good candidate. He lost that lawsuit—and he may have been afraid that he'd lose his wife as well.”

  "And they used to be partners, didn’t they?” Ruby asked. "Burkhart might have known that Jerry Jeff wasn’t reporting all his income.”

  "Burkhart’s wife said he’d be back home this afternoon,” McQuaid reminded me. “Go over there and see what you can dig up. If something comes of this and we hand it over to Bubba, I want to be sure we’ve covered all the bases.”

  "We won’t be handing it over to Bubba,” I said, and broke the news.

  "Bubba Harris has t/uitl” Ruby was incredulous. “Why . .. why, that’^s like saying the sun’s stopped shining!”

  "It’s true,” I said. "I was talking to MaeBelle when Dorrie the dispatcher came rushing out to fetch her for a staff meeting. The chief was about to break the news to his team.”

  McQuaid’s face was grim. "IVe never been Bubba’s biggest fan, but I’m sorry to see him forced out. The job is tough enough, damn it, without City Hall kicking sand in your face.” He paused, tapping his teeth with his thumbnail. "I wonder who will replace him. There’s nobody in the department who has enough experience to step into the job—or rather, nobody that the City Council will trust. They’ll have to do an outside search.”

  “Maybe they’ll hire a woman,” Ruby offered hopefully.

  "In this town?” McQuaid was vastly amused. "Come on. Ruby, get real. This Council isn’t ready for a woman.”

  "What are they ready for?" I asked. "A sensitized male?”

  "Kerrville’s got a woman chief,” Ruby said with dig- nily. "If Kerrville’s City Council can bring themselves to hire a woman, I fail to see why Pecan Springs can’t. I personally intend to phone the councilwoman for my precinct and let her know that—”