Murder Takes the Cake Text

by Gayle Trent

  “Don’t ask me. I met the woman one time in my entire life, and that was by accident.”

  Tar shook his head. “That’s a shame. Maybe y’all can get to know each other sometime.”

  Joanne scoffed. “There wasn’t room in her life for my dad. I doubt there’s room for me.”

  I turned and made my way back through the crowd as quickly as my spinning head would allow. I saw Ben, took his arm and steered him into the vestibule.

  “I have to leave.” My breath came in labored spurts. “I’ve . . . got to . . . get out . . . of here.”

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  “No. If you want to stay, I’ll call Vi.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll take you home.”

  *

  “Daphne, calm down. You’re hyperventilating.”

  I handed Ben my door key. “Actually, I’m . . . having a full-fledged . . . panic attack.”

  “Do you need to go to the emergency room?”

  I vigorously shook my head and opened the car door. What I needed was to wake up from this lousy nightmare.

  “Wait. Let me help you.” Ben came around to my side of the Jeep and took my hand. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

  If I wasn’t afraid I really might pass out, I’d do a damsel-in-distress number to see if Ben would sweep me into his arms and carry me inside. It would be my luck for him to let me drop onto the porch and split my head open. Just because I finally found out Sally is a dog didn’t mean Ben was ready to be my knight in shining—or even tarnished—armor.

  He unlocked the door and ushered me inside to the sofa. “Be right back.”

  He quickly returned with a bottle of water. “Do you need something stronger? I noticed a diet soda in the fridge. Or I’d be happy to make you some coffee or tea, if you’ll tell me where to find everything.”

  “Water is fine, thanks.”

  Ben opened the water and handed it to me before sitting next to me on the couch. I half expected to hear the creak of armor, or at least the jingle of chain mail, as he sat.

  I took a drink. The cold water soothed my throat and sent icy refreshment through my body. I was able to concentrate on slowing my heart rate and getting my emotions in check.

  “Feeling better?” Ben asked.

  I nodded.

  “Want to tell me what freaked you out?”

  “Yes and no,” I said with a weary smile.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “While I’m reluctant to air my dirty laundry, I’d like your help on getting some answers.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Even if it’s something that winds up being off the record?”

  “Of course. Do you think I’d only help you if there was a story in it for me?”

  “No.” I rested my head against the back of the sofa. “I hope you get a great scoop out of this. I just pray it doesn’t involve anyone in my family.” I went on to explain about Annabelle asking me to get her mother’s journal and my reading about my mother and Vern March.

  “Which is why you were interested in what happened to him.”

  “Exactly. Violet confirmed the affair, and so did Uncle Hal. Uncle Hal even admitted to running Vern out of town in order to save our family.” I took a drink of water. “Then I found out that Joanne Hayden is Vern’s granddaughter. I never even knew Vern had a family.”

  “So Vern was married when he and your mother were . . . together?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s my understanding that he married young and the girl’s parents had the union annulled, even though she was pregnant.”

  “Did the girl raise the baby or give it up for adoption?”

  “Ordinarily, I’d think the girl raised the child; but I’m wondering if maybe Vern did. The child did bear his surname.” I looked down at my clasped hands. “Today at the church, I heard Tar Watson asking Joanne about her grandmother. He said, ‘I haven’t seen Gloria in forty years.’”

  I looked up at Ben to gauge his reaction. At first, there wasn’t one, but then understanding flooded his face.

  “You think the Gloria they were talking about is your mother?”

  “That’s what I need to know. Jonah March could’ve been my half-brother. Joanne might be my niece.”

  “Come on, Daphne. Do you honestly believe your mother could keep something like that a secret?”

  “She kept the affair a secret.”

  “An affair is one thing. A child is an entirely different matter.”

  “I know, but still. Mom didn’t grow up here. She could’ve had the baby and given him to Vern, and no one here would know who the mother was.”

  “If a single man had suddenly showed up with a child, the gossip mill would’ve been running so hot it would’ve caught fire.”

  “I know,” I said, “but what if he refused to reveal the mother’s identity?”

  “It would have made the gossip hounds even hungrier. They’d have eaten poor Vern alive if he didn’t tell them.”

  “Then what if he made something up?”

  “You do realize you’re grasping at straws here, don’t you?”

  “Maybe I am, but what else am I supposed to do? Call my mother and ask her if she and Vern March had a child together before she married Dad?”

  Ben spread his hands.

  I huffed out a breath. “I can’t do that. She doesn’t even know I know about the affair. Plus, I’m trying to protect Dad.”

  “You said Violet knows about the affair. Would she know if there’s more to it?”

  “Maybe. That’s where I’ll start. But wouldn’t she have told me everything she knew?”

  Ben inclined his head. “She didn’t tell you about the affair until you asked her about it.”

  “Good point.”

  “So, provided Violet can’t or won’t provide answers, you want me to help you discover whether you and Jonah March share DNA.”

  “Do you think you can do it?”

  “Probably. Anything else you need my assistance with?”

  “I want you to help me find out who poisoned Yodel Watson.”

  *

  My first order of business after Ben left was to call Violet.

  “Did you go to the funeral?” she asked, without any preliminaries.

  “I went to the church, but I didn’t stay.”

  “Why? Did someone say something?”

  “No one came up and accused me of poisoning the deceased, is that’s what you mean. But I did overhear something that knocked me for a loop.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Is there anything about Mom’s affair with Vern March that you neglected to tell me?”

  “Such as?” There was an edge creeping into Vi’s voice.

  “Did she know him before?”

  “Before what? Before he and Dad started hanging out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not that I know of. Daphne, why can’t you simply leave this alone?”

  “I heard Joanne Hayden and Tar Watson talking about Joanne’s grandmother, Gloria.”

  “So what? Mom’s not the only person with that name. It’s not like ’Jehoshaphat’ or something.”

  “No, but it’s not like Mary or Anne either. What if Mom was the girl Vern married when they were teenagers? What if they had a child together?”

  “And you call me dramatic. Don’t you think we’d have known if we had a half brother, Daph?”

  “Not if Vern and his family raised the baby.”

  “You think Mom would’ve had a baby and never had anything to do with him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, suddenly feeling the emotional and physical effects of the past week settling over me like a damp wool blanket. “I merely wondered if it were possible. Maybe I’m trying to come up with a more compelling reason Mom would have considered leaving us other than the fact that Vern was Mr. Wonderful.”

  Violet was quiet for a couple seconds, and when she spoke again h
er voice was softer. “I know all this has been rough on you. You learned something pretty shocking about Mom, and that was compounded by your other trauma. In a few days, when your judgment isn’t so . . . cloudy . . .maybe you’ll begin to accept what happened and move on.”

  “So you think there’s no way Jonah March was our half brother?”

  “Yes. There’s no way. Hey, why don’t you come over and have dinner with us? We’re having lasagna.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t tonight. I’m really tired.”

  “I understand.”

  “Vi, maybe when my judgment is less cloudy, maybe you, Mom and I could go to a spa for the day, and she could explain the whole Vern March attraction to me.”

  “Maybe we can. You rest up, okay?”

  “All right.”

  I hung up, convinced that if Mom and Vern had been married as impetuous teens, Violet knew nothing about it. Unlike Violet, however, I thought the union—and the child from that union—was a strong possibility.

  I phoned Uncle Hal.

  “Hi,” I said when he answered. “Are you busy with the Christmas tree?”

  “Not at the moment. Your aunt decided she needed another string of lights and headed off to town.”

  “That means we’ve got a few minutes.”

  “A few. When I change the subject, you’ll know we’re done. I take it you haven’t let this matter with your mother rest.”

  “It’s more like it won’t let me rest, Uncle Hal.” I told him what I’d overheard at the church and Violet’s reaction.

  “Honey, once again I’ll have to take your sister’s side on this one. A baby is a lot harder to hide than a fling.”

  “A marriage isn’t.”

  “If the girl was underage and her parents had it annulled, it is.”

  I huffed. “I need to know. Do you think Mom was ever married to Vern March?”

  Uncle Hal was silent.

  “Joanne told Tar that Gloria wasn’t involved in her dad’s life, and that she’d only met the woman one time,” I continued. “Is it possible Joanne’s Gloria is Mom? That Mom’s past with Vern is what made her consider leaving Dad for him?”

  “Well, the main thing is to weatherproof your windows. You lose more warm air around your windows than you realize.”

  “Aunt Nancy’s back.”

  “Sure is, honey.”

  “You never told her?”

  “I don’t see a need for that. You just put some weather stripping around your windows and the bottom of your doors, and that’ll help you save on your heating bill.”

  “Okay, Uncle Hal. Thank you. Give my love to Aunt Nancy.”

  “You bet.”

  I finally got around to my warm, relaxing soak in the tub. Both Violet and Uncle Hal had been a wash—pun intended. Neither could confirm that Mom and Vern March had a past prior to their affair, but neither could deny it. I suppose I could ask Joanne, but I’d like to exhaust all my other avenues first. Myra did say that Peggy March still lived in town. Maybe I could pay her a visit. But on what pretext?

  I got out of the bathtub and was drying off when the phone rang. I hurried to the bedroom to answer it. It was Uncle Hal.

  “Don’t have but a second,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “But I did remember something else. The way I found out about your mother was that a woman called and told me. She said not to let Vern ruin another family.”

  “Another family? Who was she?”

  “I don’t know. She said what she had to say and hung up. Maybe she was Vern’s former wife.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m probably wasting my breath, but leave this alone . . . please. You might uncover something no one wants revealed.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sunday was a wasted day. I wore slouchy old clothes and watched tear-jerker movies. I failed to give my website a much-needed update. In fact, I didn’t log onto the computer at all. I didn’t phone anyone. I simply vegged in front of the television and tried to forget my problems. No such luck. If you’re ever trying to forget your problems, don’t watch TV. The gardening channel did a show on poisonous plants growing in your own backyard. Many of the women’s channels had infidelity-themed movies, and the crime channel did a special on wrongly accused people getting justice after spending years in the penitentiary.

  Even the most inane things made me think of either Yodel Watson or Mom and Vern March. Or both. Take the commercial of the woman serving brownies to a group of friends. My first thought was, “Wonder which of the men she’s seeing behind her husband’s back?” Then, “Wonder if the brownies have been laced with poison? They say cyanide tastes like almonds. That would only complement the flavor of the brownies.”

  All in all, the day was a morbid little pity party.

  I awoke Monday with a new resolve. Today was most certainly not going to be wasted. I even made a list of an impossible number of tasks to complete. If I got as many as half of them done, I’d be ecstatic. With the list in my jeans pocket, I headed out before nine a.m.

  My first stop was Dr. Lancaster’s office. Dr. Lancaster was our town’s only veterinarian, and I hoped he could give me some advice on how to help Sparrow.

  I stepped through the door and saw that a half-grown St. Bernard was taking up the majority of the small waiting area.

  “Hello!” I said to him. I flashed a smile at his owner, a tall, athletic-looking woman with streaked blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.

  The puppy bounded over to reciprocate my greeting. I bent and rubbed his furry head.

  “You’re so precious!” I squealed.

  He truly was adorable, big and ungainly with hair that was still mainly puppy fuzz.

  “What’s his name?” I asked his owner.

  “Linus.” She smiled. “He has a blue blanket he drags around all over the house.”

  I laughed and kissed the top of Linus’ head. “What a sweetheart. He doesn’t have any brothers or sisters who need a home, does he?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I nodded. I really wished he did have. I’d even call the dog Charlie or Lucy. I was lonely. I could use a terrific puppy to cuddle on the sofa with. Suddenly, an image of Ben came to mind, and I straightened up and addressed the receptionist.

  “I have a stray cat at my house. She’s missing her left eye. She’s awfully skittish, but I’d like to help her if I can.”

  “Let me see what Dr. Lancaster thinks,” the receptionist said. “He’s in the back right now, but he should be out here any minute.”

  I noticed a gray parrot sitting in a cage beside her desk. “That looks like Banjo, Mrs. Watson’s parrot.”

  “It is.” She looked at the bird. “Animal Control brought him over because he has a respiratory infection. Don’t you, Banjo? Poor baby.”

  Banjo didn’t reply, merely bobbed up and down on his perch.

  “Mrs. Watson must’ve been crazy about him,” I said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She apparently let him have the run of the house.”

  The receptionist raised her brows. “Where’d you get that impression?”

  “I once saw a yellow stain on Mrs. Watson’s carpet. I thought it was . . .you know . . . parrot pee.”

  She laughed. “I don’t know what you saw on that carpet, but parrot urine is clear. Like water. The fact is, Mrs. Watson wasn’t terribly enamored of poor little Banjo. He had belonged to her husband, and I think she only kept Banjo out of a sense of obligation. I can’t imagine her letting him out of his cage at all, much less to run around the house.”

  “Oh. What will happen to him now?”

  “If no one in Mrs. Watson’s family wants him, he’ll be available for adoption. Are you interested?”

  I cocked my head and considered Banjo for a moment. He stared back at me with what appeared to be thoughtfulness and intelligence.

  “I’ve never had a bird before.”

  “They’re not too hard to take care of.”

&n
bsp; Dr. Lancaster opened the door dividing the waiting area from the exam area. He had white hair that looked as if it had sprouted from his head like an unruly weed and was growing in all directions. Tortoise-shell glasses framed his heavy-lidded brown eyes.

  “Is Linus here for his rabies shot?” Dr. Lancaster asked.

  “He is,” the receptionist replied, “but first this lady has a quick question for you.”

  I explained about Sparrow and her eye. “Could I give her some medicine or vitamins or something in her food?”

  “Does the eye appear to have been recently injured, or is it inflamed?”

  “From what I can tell, the eye socket appears to be empty, but it doesn’t look like an open wound.”

  “Good. Without seeing the cat, I can’t provide any particular suggestions as to her care. If you’ll continue feeding her and perhaps use bits of meat to help you gain her trust, hopefully you can trap her and bring her in.”

  “I’ll try to do that. How about vitamins?”

  “If you’d like to give her some, Dobbs should have some decent ones in stock.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dr. Lancaster turned and nodded at Linus’ owner, and she led him through the door that led to the exam rooms.

  As I turned to leave, the receptionist called to me. “Do you think you’d be interested in adopting Banjo?”

  “Probably not. Having never had a bird before, I just don’t know that I could take care of him properly.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  I opened the door, stepped out into the chilly November air and almost ran headlong into Walt Duncan. I recognized Mr. Duncan because he’s looked exactly the same for the past twenty-five years.

  “Good morning, Mr. Duncan.”

  “Mornin’, young-un.” He squinted. “Why, hey, howdy! You’re Jim’s oldest, aintcha?”

  “I sure am.” I smiled. “I’m Daphne.”

  “Daphne…that’s it. Hal said you’d moved back to town. You doin’ all right?”

  “Just fine. How’d you guys do on your hunting trip?”

  “Fair to middling. Me and my brother bagged a ten-pointer Saturday morning.”