She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. “A little over a year now.”
I followed her example, unsure when we would begin and wondering if there were certain rules that followed.
“May we sit with you ladies?”
I looked up to see a woman who appeared to be in her eighties and a younger woman probably in her sixties standing beside our table. Both wore pretty whimsical dresses and hats that sported roses. The older woman had a rose hatpin stuck to her dress.
“Of course, Hattie.” Darlene stood and pulled out a chair for the older of the two women.
After they were all seated she made introductions. “Hattie, Sadie, this is Claire Parker. She’s visiting today and might join our little group.”
I felt like an animal behind a glass wall as they stared at me through watery hazel eyes. “Hello.” I smiled to show I was an animal that wouldn’t bite. But, I don’t think they were buying it.
“You’re Mitzi’s friend, aren’t you?” Sadie, the younger of the two asked.
I swallowed. She’d said it as if Mitzi were still alive. “Yes, I was.”
Hattie reached for the teapot.
Darlene quickly picked it up, “Can I fill your cup, Hattie?” She smiled at the older woman.
“That would be nice dear.” Hattie answered, pushing her cup toward Darlene with a shaky hand.
Sadie continued to stare at me. “I understand you are trying to find her murderer.”
I opened a package of raspberry tea and pulled out the bag. “Yes, I am.”
“Why not leave that to the police?” Darlene sat the pot down with a thud.
Taking a deep breath, I picked it back up and smiled. “I am. But, I’m also trying to find out who would hate her enough to kill her. Do you ladies know anyone who would hate her that much?”
Hattie’s hands shook as she pulled her tea bag from its package. I realized that in twenty-five or thirty years, I might be just like her.
“Here Mom, let me help you with that.” Sadie offered.
She pushed away Sadie’s hands. “I’ve got it. God has allowed me to keep my hands. I’ll use them. It might take me a few moments, but I can do this.” Hattie winked at me across the table. “Leave me be and answer Claire’s question.”
I smiled at her. Hattie and I were more alike than I’d first thought.
“Mitzi didn’t have any enemies that I know of. She was sweet and kind in a lot of ways,” Sadie said. She chose a finger sandwich from a clear dish that rested on our table and passed the plate across to me.
Hattie proudly dipped her tea bag in the hot water in her cup. “Mitzi had a way about her that just made people love her. Everyone here wanted her to succeed. She was the youngest one. Darlene was until Mitzi came along. Isn’t that right, Darlene?”
“I suppose so.” Darlene tore apart the finger sandwich she’d just taken from the dish.
Sadie turned her gaze on Darlene. I was glad she’d removed it from me. “That’s right, there was a little animosity between the two of you, wasn’t there?”
“I wouldn’t call it animosity. She just didn’t like me much, that’s all.” Darlene tore the sandwich even more.
Mitzi liked everyone. I couldn’t imagine her not liking anyone. And, she hadn’t said a word about not liking anyone from this group. Maybe Darlene misunderstood.
“Oh come on, she didn’t like Mabel either.” Darlene tossed the mangled bread onto her plate. “I’m not feeling well, excuse me.” She got up and left the table.
Hattie laid her tea bag down on her saucer. “That was uncalled for, Sadie.”
I had to agree. It would have been nice if Darlene had stayed. I’d like to know why she thought Mitzi didn’t like her.
“Yeah, I guess it was. She’s just been too happy since Mitzi’s been gone. Everyone knows it’s because she has her status back as the baby of the group.” Sadie laid her finger food down and focused on me again. “How old are you, Claire?”
I felt a smile tugged at my lips. “Fifty-two and proud of it.”
Hattie laughed, “You’re safe. Too old.”
“That’s good to know. What about Mabel? Is she too old, too?”
Sadie grinned. “She’s ninety. Very safe.”
I had to know if the animosity that Darlene felt from Mitzi was real or not, so I asked. “Do either of you think Mitzi disliked Darlene and Mable?”
Hattie snorted. “Of course not, Mitzi tried to be friends with Darlene. I doubt she even knew Darlene felt the way she did. That woman has a way of hiding her true emotions.”
“Not with me she doesn’t. “ Sadie pulled her shoulders back and smiled with pride.
“That isn’t something to be proud of Sadie. You bring out the worst in that woman. You better be careful, or she’ll say you don’t like her next.” Hattie nibbled on the end of her sandwich.
“So why did she say Mitzi didn’t like Mable, too?”
Hattie reached across and patted her hand. “Aw honey, don’t let her kind get to you. She was just lashing out, after all Mitzi isn’t here to deny it, now is she?”
I shook my head. Mitzi hadn’t mentioned Darlene or Mable, so maybe Hattie was right. Maybe the whole situation was all in Darlene’s head.
Our conversation stopped when Margery tapped the side of her teacup and called everyone to attention. A large poster of the poem, Warning, by Jenny Joseph was brought to the front of the room. I’ve never heard a group of women recite so well together. I looked about and saw several of them laughing and hugging one another.
Afterwards, we were told that since this was a tea, there would be no meeting but to enjoy the social time together, and next month we’d discuss activities for the fall. She left the front as gracefully as she’d approached it.
“What kind of fall activities?” I asked, sipping at the raspberry sweetness.
Hattie waved her spoon. “Usually we have a film we go see in the fall, or a play.” She dismissed the subject by biting into a cookie from another tray.
“Oh Mother, that’s not all we do.” Sadie set down her cup. “Some of us also join in the fall motorcycle rally.”
I really couldn’t see it. The woman in front of me looked like a strong wind would break her in half. She didn’t look or act like a motorcycle mama to me. I couldn’t contain the note of surprise in my tone as I said. “Really?”
Excitement built in Sadie’s voice. “Oh yes. We have the best time. I love the feel of riding like the wind on the back of a Harley.”
Hattie chuckled as I stared open mouthed at the woman who had seemed uptight earlier. “Yeah, and picking bugs outta your teeth is pretty amusing too.”
“She’s just jealous she can’t do it.” Sadie huffed. She crossed her arms and frowned at her mother.
I leaned forward. “How many ladies do this every year?” And why hadn’t I heard about it before? I thought.
At my interest, Sadie gave up her anger at Hattie. “About five of us. Well, this year it will be four.” Sadness filled her voice.
“Someone quit?” I gently probed.
Her hazel eyes stared into mine. “Mitzi.”
Once more I was taken aback. Mitzi was a motorcycle mama? “Mitzi?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh yeah, you should have seen her last year. Do you remember that, Mama?”
Hattie nodded.
Sadie continued. “There was a young couple there. They made some rude remark about Mitzi and Doug, and she laid into them. Can you imagine her surprise when they showed up at her writing class?”
“Who is Doug? And what couple?”
“Are you sure you were a friend of Mitzi’s?” Sadie asked, nibbling on a finger sandwich.
“I’m beginning to wonder that myself.” I confessed.
Sadie patted my hand. “I’m sorry, that was an unfair question. Oh course you were her friend. I can’t tell you the number of times she spoke of you.”
“Thanks.” It felt good to know Mitzi talked about me when we
weren’t together.
“Doug works down in Hartshorne. He’s a mechanic there and has a nice cycle. Mitzi met him when her car broke down a few years ago. Remember?”
I nodded, vaguely remembering her car breaking down, but I didn’t remember her mentioning a man named Doug. Had she and Doug dated, or were they just friends?
“Anyway, she took a fancy to that bike and had soon talked Doug into doing the rally with us.” Sadie’s hazel eyes shone in her small face. “This year, I’ve asked him if I can ride with him.”
“You aren’t riding with Hank anymore?” Hattie asked.
Sadie sighed. “No Mama, I told you that last week.”
She leaned toward me and whispered. “Mom’s memory is slipping.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I whispered back.
“Me, too.” Hattie huffed. “Good thing there isn’t anything wrong with my hearing, Sadie Jean.”
I hid a smile behind my napkin while Sadie tried to make amends with her mother.
“Is everything going OK over here?” Margery asked, coming up to stand beside our table.
“Everything is lovely.” Sadie answered. “I was just telling Claire about our annual motorcycle rally.”
Margery’s eyes light up. “Oh that is so much fun. Are you planning on joining us, Claire?”
For a moment I wasn’t sure if she meant the rally or the club. I decided to play it safe and answered. “I’ve never been to a motorcycle rally, but I’ll consider it.”
“Good. I’ve checked, and if it’s okay with you Sadie, I’d like to ride with Hank this year.” Color filled her cheeks as Sadie put her under that stare.
I felt sure Sadie must have been a schoolteacher in her early years.
“Now, why would I mind?” Sadie asked, still studying Margery.
Margery pulled herself up straight. “Oh stop playing games, Sadie. We all know you’ve been sweet on Hank for years. I’m just trying not to make waves. So stop staring at me like that.” She smoothed out an invisible wrinkle in her violet colored dress.
Sadie picked up her cup. She ran her finger around the lip. “I’m sorry. Go on and ride with Hank, I’m riding with Doug this year.” She sipped her tea.
Margery made small talk with Hattie and then moved on to the next table.
We drank our tea in silence for several moments after she left—my mind on Mitzi and how little I knew about her. I thought we told each other everything. It was starting to occur to me that I did all the talking, and she did all the listening.
“Were you serious about joining us at the rally?” Sadie finally broke the silence.
I smiled at her. “I’ll want to learn more about it but I’m thinking I would.” I wondered if Brandon had a motorcycle.
A giggle escaped as I pictured myself on the back. Me, a motorcycle mama.
TITLE
Lethal Lasagna
Chapter 18
I stopped by the Piggly Wiggly on my way home and bought a barbeque chicken and a tub of potato salad. Hot rolls from Jim’s Bakery rounded out my dinner. The warm aroma of fresh baked bread made my mouth water and my stomach growl.
Brandon stood on the front porch. He walked to the car and took the chicken and potatoes. “How was the meeting?”
A smile touched my lips. “Fun. I’m looking forward to becoming a permanent member.”
“I’m glad to hear you had a good time.” He opened the front door.
We stepped into the porch. My cozy nook had changed. Several colorful screens had been brought up and the artificial trees and short bushes had been arranged in the opposite corner.
“Want to see what I’ve done?” He asked.
I nodded and moved forward. Behind the screens sat a small cot and an end table. A clothes rack stood at the head of the bed and I noted his clothes hung nicely, looking fresh and clean. “Are you sure you’re going to be comfortable out here?”
He stood beside me. “As long as we don’t have a cold snap, I think so. I’ve got all the comforts of home.”
The chance of us having ‘a cold snap’ wasn’t likely in the middle of summer. “I’m not so sure about that, but I’ll feed you good tonight. Let’s take these inside.” I led the way to the kitchen.
Within a few moments, we had dinner on the table. Brandon spooned potato salad on his plate. “This smells wonderful.”
I inhaled, and the scent of sweet onions and boiled potatoes filled my nostrils. “They do smell good, don’t they?”
He nodded.
Laying a napkin in my lap, I broached the topic of my nosey neighbors. “Sara came to see me yesterday. She and the others are concerned about you staying here.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That you would be here until Mitzi’s murderer is found and for her to assure the neighbors it’s all innocent over here. But, maybe they’re right.”
Brandon began shaking his head no before I could even finish the sentence. “No. You’re right. I’m not leaving until that killer is captured.”
I smiled across at him. “Thanks.” His stance to stay made me feel good. It had been a long time since a man wanted to protect me.
Warmth radiated from his return smile. “I’m happy to do it.”
“I just wish I could come up with something on this case.” I said. “Or that the police would.” I sighed and poured us each a glass of iced tea.
Brandon grinned. “Well, I’m doing my part. Wednesday night I took a few moments to sit with the mystery writers in my class.”
“There are six members, right?” I laid a chicken breast onto my plate and passed the bucket to him.
Brandon took it and dropped two barbeque-glazed chicken legs onto his plate. I noted he preferred dark meat. “Yes.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Here are their names and the type of mysteries they write.”
I took the list and read, “Margaret-cozies, Debbie-cozies. The older ladies?” At his nod, I continued. “Shelby-chick lit with a twist, Heather-Romantic Suspense, Robin-Detective mysteries. These are the younger gals?” Again he nodded and chewed. “Fred-Cozy Mysteries. OK, what does this tell us?” I asked, laying the sheet down and picking up my fork. The taste of mayonnaise, pickles, and onion teased my taste buds.
“It tells me that Margaret, Debbie, or Fred could be the author to the short story we found in Mitzi’s apartment.” He answered and then took a sip of tea.
My gaze moved down the list of names again. Margaret, Debbie, and Fred all wrote cozy mysteries. “Because they all write cozies?” What was a cozy anyway? Would I look stupid asking? I looked over the list. Chick lit? Wasn’t that a kind of gum?
“The story I found at Mitzi’s has the characteristics of a cozy mystery. Anyone of them could have written it.” He tore at the chicken leg reminding me of the films I’d seen of King Henry VIII.
Since he didn’t elaborate as to what a cozy was, I decided to look it up online later, along with chick lit. “Do you think you can find out which one?” I asked.
He wiped his mouth. “Maybe. There’s something I should have told you before. The final for my class is a short story. The student with the highest grade will have their story published in the fall edition of the campus magazine. They playfully call it a contest.”
I laid down my fork. “I already knew about that, remember? You were supposed to mention it to Detective Howard.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll do that tomorrow.” Brandon focused on his food.
“Good.” After a few moments of silence I asked, “Are you thinking someone may have murdered Mitzi because her story was better than theirs?”
Brandon swallowed. “I guess it’s possible. People have killed for less.”
“But, publication in a campus magazine?”
He sighed and laid his napkin on the table. “To an author, publication is gold.”
I hated to admit it, but I honestly didn’t understand this desire to be in print. To me there was nothing that could cause me to kill an
other human. Nothing. I took my dishes to the kitchen counter.
Brandon helped me clear the table. “Do you have any notebook paper?” He asked.
“Sure, go to the living room and look in the drawer in the table at the end of the couch. There should be a notebook there.” I scraped the plates and then put them into the dishwasher while I waited for him to return.
He came back into the room. “I’ll also need a pencil.”
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