“She doesn’t seem to be grieving too much,” T.J. noted as we straightened up the room.
“People grieve in their own way,” I replied. “Maybe anger is her way of coping.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I should be the one to drive her home. Knowing my luck, she’ll start beating me in the head with her purse again and we’ll have a wreck. Then I’d have to listen to her complain about the way I drive all the way to the hospital in the back of an ambulance.”
I started to protest, but I realized he was right. “Fine, she can ride with me.”
“Great,” T.J. said. “I’ll meet you at her house.” He hurried out the front door, making sure to avoid Gladys, lest she start swinging at him again.
I followed him out. “Come on, Gladys, I’ll take you home.”
I locked the café door, and we got into Mother’s car, which used to be my car, before Mother took it from me. Never get your mother’s car blown up. Trust me, the guilt will last forever. And don’t ask how the car actually blew up. All I will say is crazy serial killer half-aunt and FBI. You can use your imaginations from there. Frankly, thinking about it gives me a headache.
Gladys was quiet all the way home. She stared out the window, clutching her purse to her chest like it was a lifeline. I think I heard her sniffle once or twice, but I didn’t say anything. She only lived a few blocks from my mother’s house, and as I parked behind Iris’ forest green Honda Accord, I got a good look at the Norwell house.
It was painted a pale yellow, and the trim was white. Beautiful flower beds lined both sides of the front. Two huge trees on either side of the yard provided plenty of shade, and a large bench swing under the tree on the right. The house looked warm and inviting, which was in sharp contrast to Gladys’ biting personality. “Your house is beautiful, Gladys.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It was mostly Harold’s doing. He loves…loved working in the yard, and took very good care of the flowerbeds. There’s a vegetable garden out back that has tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, potatoes, things like that. He certainly has…had the green thumb.” Her voice started to crack, and I put my hand on her left hand and squeezed. She patted the top of my hand before getting out of the car. I know she must have hated for me to see her like this, and while we didn’t get along, my heart was breaking for her.
Iris got out of her car at the same time I got out of mine. Gladys saw her, and burst into tears. Iris rushed over and wrapped her arms around her best friend. I didn’t want Gladys to feel embarrassed about crying in front of me, so I turned around and leaned against the car. Mother told me once that Iris, Harold and Gladys were childhood friends. “Thick as thieves,” she once told me. “They went everywhere together. For a while, people thought Iris and Harold would get married, but Iris eloped with some boy she met at college. It just seemed natural that if Harold wasn’t going to marry Iris, then he’d marry Gladys instead.”
T.J. pulled up behind me as Iris started walking Gladys toward the house. “Hold on a minute, Mrs. Norwell,” he called out to the women, “I need to go in there with you.”
I saw Gladys’ back stiffen, and Iris patted her hand as she said something quietly to her. Gladys nodded her head. Iris turned toward us. “It’s ok, T.J., she understands. She may not want to admit it, but she knows you’re just doing your job. You come on inside with us. You can come too, Lizzie.”
“No,” T.J. said to me, “you stay outside. It’s a potential crime scene, and the fewer people trampling any evidence, the better. There’s really no need for you to hang around, since Iris is taking her home after she gets a few things.”
“Good point. Alright then, well, good luck with your investigation.”
“Thanks. Oh, one more thing. I would really appreciate it if none of this appeared in the newspaper just yet. We don’t need to make things harder for her than they already are.”
“I agree. I won’t print anything until I get the all clear from you first.”
“I appreciate that. Goodbye, Lizzie.”
“Bye, T.J.”
As I watched them walk inside, my cell phone rang. Trixie. “What’s up?”
“A little bird told me you got stuck with Gladys.”
“That little bird needs to have his beak glued shut,” I retorted.
“Ooh, testy, testy,” she laughed. “Then the story is true.”
“I also got stuck with T.J.”
“Lucky you.”
“Says who?”
“How is Gladys doing?”
“I think it is starting to hit her. She didn’t really start crying until we pulled up to her house, and she saw Iris.”
“Bless her heart, I do feel sorry for her,” Trixie said sadly, “as much as I hate to admit that.”
“Same here,” I agreed.
“Does T.J. think she did it?”
I glanced at the house again. “I don’t think so, but it was her pie pan. She did tell us that someone stole two pies from her kitchen a couple of days ago.”
“Who in the world would do that?” Trixie said.
“Maybe they were thinking of passing one of her pies off as their own for the best pie contest or something.”
“Like they could get away with that,” Trixie scoffed, “especially if Gladys’ name was on the bottom of the pans.”
“That’s true.”
“What are you doing later?”
“I need to go back to the county fair and see when I will be able to clean up the mess.”
“Good luck with that,” she replied, which meant I shouldn’t call her and ask for help. “Why don’t we get together some time tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know how things are going. I still have to write an article about the fair for the newspaper without mentioning Harold’s untimely demise.”
“I don’t think I’ll get the image of him face first into that pie out of my head.”
“You and me both,” I told her.
We said our goodbyes and hung up. Looking at the house one more time, I got in the car and drove away. I was pretty sure that whenever they searched the Norwell house, they wouldn’t find anything.
I’ve been wrong before…
Chapter Six
“This is still a crime scene, Lizzie,” Owen told me twenty minutes later. “It will be tomorrow, at the earliest, before we’re done here.”
“What about all those pies that were left over?” I said. “You can’t leave them sitting here all night. “Every stray dog in town will be in here eating them.”
“No, they won’t,” he assured me, “because we’re taking them with us.”
“What? Why?”
“To make sure that none of them have been tampered with as well.”
“Uh huh,” I said skeptically. “And just what happens to them once they come back clean?”
“They’re all going into the trash, Lizzie, and the pans will be cleaned and returned to their owners.”
I didn’t believe him for a minute. I had a feeling that some of those pies were going to be eaten by a few deputies and lab techs, but I bit my tongue and didn’t say anything. “I believe there’s another event scheduled for this tent tomorrow.”
“Then you’re just going to have to find another place to hold it,” he replied.
“Oh, that’s easy for you to say,” I said, “you aren’t the one who has to do it.”
“Suck it up, buttercup,” he laughed, “that’s why you get paid the big bucks.”
“I’m not getting paid for this!”
“Wish I could help you out, Lizzie, but my hands are tied.” I knew it wouldn’t do any good to talk to T.J., because he was just as stubborn as Owen when it came to preserving crime scenes. “How did things go with Gladys once you got her home?”
“Fine, thanks to Iris. Poor Gladys,” I said, shaking my head. “She took one look at Iris, and broke down.”
“I can only imagine how hard this is for her,” Owen said sadly.
“T.J. doesn
’t believe she killed Harold, you know.”
“None of us do, but we have to follow the evidence, and that’s the direction it’s pointing right now.”
“Taking Gladys out of the suspect pool for a moment, who in town has a grudge against Harold?”
“No one, as far as I know,” he replied. “Everyone liked him. It’s her they can’t stand. Frankly, I don’t know how he stayed married to her so long.”
“Love makes you do strange things sometimes.”
“Or familiarity breeds contempt. Maybe she got tired of his bad habits and snapped.”
“If anyone was going to snap, it would have been him. She probably drove him just as nuts as she did everyone else in town.”
Owen shrugged. “You’re not to put any of this in the paper, are you?”
“No,” I said. “T.J. already asked me not to before he went inside the Norwell house.”
“Who drove her there?”
“I did.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“Something incriminating, you mean? No, she didn’t. I commented that they had a beautiful house, and she said he was the one with the green thumb. They even have a garden in the backyard.”
“Did she say what kind of things they grew in that garden?”
“Common vegetables.”
“Any rhubarb?”
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he said quickly. I didn’t believe him for a minute, but I didn’t push the issue. “I’m sure they’ll check the garden when they get the search warrant.”
“Did you ever find the judge?”
Owen got a disgusted look on his face. “Yeah, they did. He said that he was not going to go to his office and sign a search warrant while he was with his wife and grandkids enjoying the fair. So it will be tomorrow morning before anything can be done.”
I could see the judge’s point of view, but I felt sorry for Gladys. Someone called out to Owen, and he turned away to talk to them. I realized I needed to get a hold of whoever was supposed to use the tent tomorrow. Unfortunately, that information was on my clipboard, which T.J. still had. I figured Maddie would know, so I left and headed toward the café’s tent.
“Lizzie!” a female voice called out to me, and I turned around to see a very pregnant Angel Ramirez waddling toward me.
“Good Lord, Angel, should you be out here walking around?”
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m not due for another two weeks.”
While I felt sorry for her, I hoped that her water didn’t break until she was safely at home. “Were you looking for me?”
Angel nodded. “My mama wanted me to ask you if anyone was taking a meal to Gladys Norwell. We heard what happened, and she wants to do something for the poor woman. Mama says she knows how Gladys feels. My papa died suddenly like Mr. Norwell did. She said she felt comforted by the people who brought food to the house, and she wants to do something similar for Mrs. Norwell.”
“That’s very sweet of both of you,” I said. “She’s staying at Iris Griswell’s house tonight.”
Angel nodded. “I know where that is. I’ll tell Mama.”
We said goodbye, and I watched her waddle off. I said a silent prayer that she had a healthy baby, and soon. I found my way over to Maddie’s tent. She had a couple of big grills set up outside the tent, and was serving burgers, smoked sausage and ribs. There was a good crowd sitting at five long tables, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. “Can I get you anything, Lizzie?”
My stomach growled, and I realized it had been a while since I’d eaten. “I’ll take a burger, please.”
“You got it,” she said, motioning for me to join her by the grills. “Is it true that Harold went splat into one of Gladys’ pies?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Hers was the third pie he ate. It was just before he started the fourth one that he fell over.”
“But he did go face first into a pie, right?” I nodded. “Tsk, what a way to go,” she replied, shaking her head sadly. “Someone said that T.J. arrested Gladys.”
Seriously, the town gossips were working overtime today. “No, he didn’t arrest her. He just asked her a few questions.”
Maddie flipped four burgers over. “Poor Harold. Always felt sorry for him, being married to that old battleax.”
“I think everyone felt sorry for him.”
“If you want the God’s honest truth,” Maddie continued, slipping her spatula under a hamburger and sliding it onto a bun, “I always thought Gladys would be the one to go first. That woman spews more venom than a cobra.” I had to agree with her on that one. “Frankly, I’m surprised Harold didn’t bump her off a long time ago.” She handed me my burger. “They had a huge fight a couple of weeks ago.”
“About what?”
“Apparently Crandall Martin and a couple of other men convinced Harold to go with them to the Gentlemen’s Club.”
“Uh oh. How did Gladys find out?”
“I’m not sure. But she read him the riot act, and told him if he went out there again, she’d make sure he didn’t go anywhere ever again,” Maddie replied before she turned away to fix more orders.
I walked away with my burger, unable to take a bite as I thought about what Maddie said. Maybe Gladys isn’t as innocent as I thought she was…
Chapter Seven
Quite frankly, I wasn’t sure what to do with the information Maddie had just given me. Did Gladys’ comments mean a permanent, irreversible solution? Would she really go that far? I was so lost in thought that I didn’t really pay attention to where I was going, until I ran into something hard. My burger hit the ground. Sighing, I focused on what I had run into. Oh good grief…it was Jake.
“You must have been thinking about something awfully hard not to see me in front of you,” he laughed, bending down to pick up my now grass and dirt covered hamburger. “Care to share your thoughts?”
“Not really,” I replied as he threw my burger in a nearby trash can. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a hot story, and I was wondering why you hadn’t called in with the details yet.”
“Because I was asked not to,” I said.
“By who?”
“The lead investigator.”
“Who is it? Maybe I can cite freedom of the press, and all that good stuff to get him to change his mind. Where is Owen?”
“It’s not Owen.”
“Why not? This is his jurisdiction, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but he’s a witness.”
“A witness to what?”
“A sudden death.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t believe for one minute that you don’t already know the answer to that question, especially if you know there’s a hot story around here.”
“Ok, so I know Harold Norwell got up close and personal with a pie during the pie eating contest.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“I also know who the lead investigator is, and that you were there when he questioned Gladys Norwell.”
“If you know all that, what do you need me for?” I said, walking around him. I needed to find Faye Robison, the woman who was supposed to be using the tent for tomorrow.
“Because you have all the details,” Jake replied, quickly catching up to me.
“And I told you, I’ve been asked not to write anything about it yet.”
“Surely we can say something.”
“You’ll have to check with Owen or T.J.”
“Why can’t you ask them?”
“Because I have to ruin someone else’s day before I go home for some dog therapy.”
Jake grabbed my arm to stop me. “Are you seriously not going to write this story?”
“Look,” I said, shoving his hand off my arm, “Gladys has been through enough today, don’t you think? She saw her husband die right before her eyes. I think we can afford to give her one day’s peace and
quiet, don’t you?”
“Not really,” Jake said. “You know every major news station in the area is going to descend on this town like a flock of buzzards looking for fresh meat. This is our story, and with all due respect to Gladys, we need to be the first ones to get the story out.”
I silently called him every name in the book. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Then you need to stop bugging the crap out of me, go find Owen or T.J., get your information, and write your story, you bloodsucking jerk.” I walked away, leaving him standing there with his mouth hanging open in surprise.
Faye Robison was at the Methodist church’s booth. I let her know about the tent being unavailable for the next day, but apparently she already knew about it, and had made other arrangements. As I walked toward the parking lot, I checked my watch. It was almost five p.m. I had been up for twelve hours, taking care of the last minute details. The stress of the day was getting to me, I could tell, because I felt tense all over. But then I felt selfish for thinking about myself when Gladys was going through her own nightmare.
When I got home, I dropped my stuff on the couch, poured myself a Dr Pepper, and went outside with Babe and Mittens. Babe plopped down under the big shade tree, while Mittens ran around, barking at the leaves as a light breeze blew them around. I sat down in a blue and white striped lawn chair and stretched my legs out in front of me. I wondered where Mother and her new husband were on their honeymoon cruise. I thought about advertising and stories that I needed from Ellen and Bruce for next week’s editions. I made myself think about anything but Gladys and Harold, but it didn’t work. The look on Harold’s face right before he went face first into the pie kept playing over and over in my mind. Mittens walked under the chair, curled up and went to sleep.
“Hiding out back here?” someone said. I jumped out of the chair, spilling my Dr Pepper all over my jeans. I looked up to see T.J. trying not to laugh. “Sorry about that.”
Babe growled at him, and Mittens came out from under the chair, sniffed T.J.’s pants leg, and bit him. Apparently, my babies knew that he was in the doghouse with me, and felt the need to let him know he wasn’t welcome. “It’s alright,” I replied, bending over to pick up my cup. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be babysitting Gladys?”
6 Death Takes The Blue Ribbon Page 3
