Guess Who's Coming to Die?

by Patricia Sprinkle

  Slade grinned. “Where does he come up with any of them?”

  “What about you? You got any suspects?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it.” He considered his fingernails, buffed them against his slacks, and asked without looking up, “Do you have any idea where Cindy might be? I understand the chief is looking for her, and I thought I’d like to get her story from the other night.”

  I didn’t like his juxtaposition of I’m working on it and Cindy’s name.

  “She could be anywhere,” I said truthfully. “As busy as folks are these days, we don’t try to keep up with our kids during the week. Weekends are mostly when we see them.”

  He nodded. “Well, if you hear from her, tell her I’d like to talk with her.”

  “I’ll do that.” I figured my chances of hearing from Cindy anytime soon were about the same as my chances of turning twenty-one my next birthday.

  As soon as I got back to my office, I called Wilma. She ought to know if Willena had heart problems.

  “Miss Kenan is not at home,” Linette informed me formally.

  “Is not at home, or is not talking to people?” I asked, adding, “It’s Judge Yarbrough.”

  “She isn’t with you? She hasn’t come back yet since she left with you this morning.”

  “She asked me to drop her off at Willena’s — something about taking an inventory with Jed DuBose. But that was right after two.”

  “She did mention something about goin’ over there this afternoon to look around, and she hadn’t come back yet.”

  I wondered whether Linette knew that Wilma didn’t trust Willena’s servants, and how Linette felt about that. It would make me mad enough to spit, if I were her. However, that wasn’t why I’d called. It occurred to me that if I asked the right questions, I might not need Wilma after all. “Speaking of Willena, did you ever hear that she had a bad heart?”

  “No’m, but it’s funny, you asking that. Not two weeks ago Miss Wilma was after her to go get it checked. She was supposed to be leavin’ next month for a cruise up the Amazon or some such, looking at rainy forests — seemed like a funny way to spend a vacation to me, but Miss Willena was always crazy about stuff like that, like her daddy.”

  “And Wilma was telling her to get her heart checked before she went? Her heart, specifically?”

  “Yes’m. Miss Wilma was worried because her daddy—Miss Willena’s, I mean, not Miss Wilma’s, hers was strong as a horse — but Miss Willena’s daddy dropped dead on one of them picture-taking trips he took to Africa. Miss Wilma didn’t want the same thing happening to Miss Willena. Mr. Kenan wasn’t but thirty-six at the time.”

  I had forgotten how Willena’s daddy died. Now I remembered that he’d had a heart attack during a photo safari that coincided with one of the African coups. At first people thought he had been murdered. Even after they knew the real cause of death, the family had had a difficult time getting his body released and shipped back home. I suppressed the question of whether Wilma had been more worried about Willena’s heart or the trouble of shipping her body.

  Linette was still talking. “. . . laughed and said her daddy’s heart problems came from rheumatic fever he had as a boy, and she ain’t never had rheumatic fever, so her heart was fine. Miss Wilma got real upset with her and called to mind that Miss Willena’s mama wasn’t real strong, neither — she died before she made sixty, if you remember. But you know what Miss Willena was like — as soon as you told her to go right, she’d go left. She told Miss Wilma to mind her own business, she was in perfect health.”

  “I didn’t know her real well . . .” I let my voice trail off.

  As I’d hoped, Linette was bored with being home and out of the excitement, so she was eager to talk. “She could be real ornery when she wanted to. Miss Wilma likes things done right, you know?”

  For right I substituted her way and kept listening.

  “But no matter how much Miss Wilma told her the right way to do things, Miss Willena did the opposite. As a girl she’d come over here strewing her things every which away. Miss Wilma told her and told her to hang her sweater in the closet, but Miss Willena would laugh and drape it over the sofa. If Miss Wilma told her to put her schoolbooks on the table in the back room, she’d leave them on the floor for folks to trip over. No matter how many times Miss Wilma told her not to eat in the living room, I had to vacuum after every time she was here. Crumbs all over the place. And she was the same way after she grew up. If they had something to do for one of their clubs, Miss Willena would rush through her part so slapdash and sloppy that Miss Wilma had to do it over, to be sure it got done right. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Miss Willena was spoiled by her parents, so she could be real headstrong at times. It doesn’t surprise me that somebody finally killed her.”

  In Linette’s book, apparently, leaving books and crumbs on the floor were capital offenses.

  I hung up and thought about what I’d learned. If Wilma had been concerned about Willena’s heart, and bad hearts ran in her genes — but Willena hadn’t simply had a heart attack and died. Whatever had killed her had given somebody time to twist a corkscrew through her throat before she actually died, because she’d been clutching it and the wound had bled. Chief Muggins wasn’t going to be able to ignore that for long. Then, Cindy would be his favorite suspect again.

  What could I do?

  22

  I slept better Friday night, which was a good thing. Saturday would turn out to be one of the longest days of my life.

  I woke at seven, because we allow ourselves an extra hour’s sleep on Saturdays and don’t open until nine. My first thought was, I still haven’t interviewed Gusta or Meriwether. They had gotten back from the beach the night before. I hadn’t talked to Rachel or Sadie Lowe, either. Running into Sadie Lowe with Grover didn’t count.

  At breakfast I told Joe Riddley, “I’ll be late getting to the store.”

  “So what’s new?” He slathered so much butter on his toast that we’d be smart to buy a cow. “You haven’t done enough work this week to justify your salary.”

  “Not to worry. Not to worry,” Bo told him, mincing around his own place mat picking up bits of grain and fruit in his beak. Beneath the table Lulu lay curled at my feet, hoping somebody would drop something.

  “I’m recovering from my vacation,” I informed him, moving the butter dish to the other side of the table, out of his reach. “Jet lag and all that. Takes some getting used to at my age.” I pushed down a guilty thought that he was right. We both work hard at the business, so we don’t generally mind if one or the other slacks off a little, but if I didn’t spend more hours in the office pretty soon, our employees would be welcoming me at the door like a stranger: “Can we help you, ma’am?”

  He got up, walked around the table, picked up the butter, returned to his chair, and added another layer to his toast, simply to prove that he could. Then he munched a few bites while he considered me thoughtfully.

  I expected great wisdom after all that, but what he said was, “You never mention your age unless you are about to do something you shouldn’t. Got any plans to go drinking in Pleasantville again, or will you be sitting down in another creek?”

  I was so startled, my jaw dropped. He waved away a question I hadn’t gotten around to formulating. “You know good and well you can’t have any secrets in this town. You might as well tell me what you’re up to and get it over with. Otherwise, I might have to lock you down in the cellar and throw away the key.”

  “Sic ’em, sic ’em,” Bo advised. I wasn’t sure which one of us he was addressing.

  “We don’t have a cellar,” I reminded Joe Riddley. “That was in the old house.”

  “I know a man who can dig me one mighty quick, if I need it. And it looks like I might. You’ve been investigating Willena’s murder, haven’t you? In spite of Isaac warning you, Buster warning you, and me warning you. Probably poor Charlie, too.”

  “Poor Charlie? Pooh! He’
s the problem. He’s got me so worried about Cindy and Walker that yes, I have been asking a few questions. But that’s all. Actually there wasn’t a murder. Haven’t you heard? Willena died of a heart attack. So that means that what I’ve been doing is mostly what you told me to — getting to know the movers and shakers in the investment club. If I’m going to hang out with the hoitytoity set, I need to get better acquainted.”

  He lifted his cup and drained his last inch of coffee, then got up and refilled both our mugs. “I understand you were down at the jail getting better acquainted with Nancy. Did you know she’s already out?”

  I was so astonished, I spilled my coffee.

  “How?” I asked as I went to fetch a dish cloth to wipe up the coffee. Clarinda would have a fit at having to bleach that cloth again, but I keep telling her that coffee in our house has unreliable habits.

  As I sat back down, I added, “She can’t be. The charge was attempted murder.”

  Joe Riddley shook his head. “Not anymore. She hired Jed, he talked to Horace, and with Buster’s support they talked to Judge Stedley and got the charge reduced to disturbing the peace. Buster gave you most of the credit. He told Judge Stedley you had reminded him that Nancy is one of the Three-Ds, so if she’d really wanted to shoot Horace or Sadie Lowe, she’d have made a better job of it.”

  “Darn tooting. But poor Nancy. Imagine that . . . that pig of a husband running around with Sadie Lowe. I hope Nancy didn’t go home to him after she got out.” I reached for the strawberry jam. “Tell me this: Why would anybody with Sadie Lowe’s various assets bother with somebody who looks like Horace?” I spread jam on my toast and thought how much it looked like blood. I’d buy grape next time.

  Joe Riddley placed one hand on his heart. “High school sweethearts, honey chile. Just like us.” He leaned over to give me a kiss, but I backed away. He had jam on his chin.

  “Back off,” Bo warned. “Give me space.”

  Joe Riddley laughed and fed him some peach. Then he looked over Bo’s flaming head at me. “Don’t you remember why we sent Sadie Lowe away?”

  “She kept fooling around with boys down by the water tank.”

  “Not boys, one boy. Horace Jensen.”

  I was so surprised, I dropped my toast. Lulu gulped it up. “No joke?”

  “Nope. Apparently they’d been at it since they were thirteen. And you know who kept turning them in? Willena Kenan. She must have sat down there every night waiting for them.”

  “Do!” I added Sadie Lowe to my list of Members with a Motive to Murder. Then I frowned. “Back then she probably saw Horace as her ticket out of the mobile home park. But why on earth would she look twice at him now? She’s got all the money she’ll ever need.”

  “That kind never has enough money,” said Mr. Know-it-all.

  “How many of that kind have you ever known?”

  He gave me a wide, smug smile. “Ask me no secrets, I’ll tell you no lies.”

  Joe Riddley headed to work, Bo on his shoulder. He often took the bird if he didn’t have meetings during the day. As soon as I’d done the dishes, I called to see if I could visit Meriwether. I figured that with an infant, she might have the baby back down for his morning nap by nine.

  Instead, Meriwether was already gone. Jed answered the phone and I could hear Little Zachary gurgling in the background. “She’s over at Gusta’s having a cup of coffee,” Jed told me. “We men are having a bonding session.”

  “Have fun,” I told him. “But listen, while I’ve got you, I have a question. If you can’t tell me, don’t, but I am presuming that Willena left everything to Wilma, right?”

  He chuckled. “Why do I suspect you are looking for surprise bequests that might have led somebody to do her in?”

  “Nobody did her in. Haven’t you heard? She died of heart failure, the medical examiner says.”

  “What about the corkscrew?”

  “It was a nasty touch while she lay dying, apparently. Which is still a punishable offense, especially since whoever it was didn’t call for help. They might have saved her.”

  “Yuck!” I could almost see him shudder. “That’s horrible. Is that why you are still asking questions?”

  I had to think fast to come up with an answer. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m nosy. Or maybe I don’t like loose ends. I wondered, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t spread it around, but Willena didn’t write a will. It’s going to be one hell of a mess before I get things straightened out.”

  “What?” I tried to imagine how a woman could have even a little bit of money and not want to decide what happened to it after she died. And when a woman had as much as Willena Kenan . . .

  “When I took over her business, I suggested that we go over her will to be sure it was up-to-date. She told me she hadn’t gotten around to writing one, that it gave her the creeps to think about wills. And you know Willena — she was never one to bother herself with things she didn’t want to do.”

  “No, she sure wasn’t. I’ve always said that Willena was so laid-back, she practically lived lying down.”

  Jed chuckled, then grew serious again. “I kept pestering her, and she had finally agreed to come in to draft a will, but she never made it.” He heaved a sigh. “I keep telling my clients that wills are like fire extinguishers—if you wait until you need one, it’s too late. But do they listen?”

  “Apparently not. But you’re preaching to the choir, hon. Mine is up-to-date.” I thought over the ramifications of what he’d said. “Still, I presume that Wilma will get what the state doesn’t. I guess it’s been proven that there are no other heirs?” I found the thought of all that money going to a woman who already had more than she knew what to do with too depressing to dwell on. Without even thinking hard I could name ten charities that would put it to better use.

  “Like who? You thinking of trying to establish kinship?”

  “No, but Robison, Willena’s grandfather, had a sister. She got married to an unsuitable husband, then died young, according to Wilma, who told me she should have stayed in Hopemore. But it’s conceivable she has a child or even children.”

  “Are you trying to complicate my life, Mac?”

  “Always glad to oblige.”

  He turned away from the phone to say something to Zachary. Zachary laughed, and I listened with delight. Jed grew up without a dad and with two old reprobate uncles in the house, so I was astonished at what a good dad he was turning out to be.

  When he got back to me, I asked, “Speaking of Wilma, how did your inventory go yesterday? She told me you and she were going through the house to make one.”

  “At Wilma’s pace, it took all afternoon. She kept calling out instructions to Hetty to polish some of the silver or clean a mirror, and she made a list of each item. She literally had me count the teaspoons.”

  “Wilma doesn’t want Willena’s servants walking off with any of the silver.”

  “Hetty and Baker? They wouldn’t!”

  “You know that and I know that, but Wilma thinks they might.” All of a sudden little Zachary let out the kind of wail that said he was ready for some full attention, so I hurried to wind up our conversation. “I guess I’d better go over and see if Gusta has any coffee left in her pot. Happy bonding.” I hung up before he could suggest I come over and do something about the wail. I’d helped raise my two sons’ children. I had no desire to be at the beck and call of another crying infant.

  When I called to see if it was all right for me to come to Gusta’s at once, Florine said in a superior tone, “Of course. Miss Gusta is always up and dressed by six. She’s with Meriwether out on the porch, having coffee.”

  “Tell them to save me some.” As I hung up, I wondered why some folks think it’s virtuous to get up early. Personally, I’ve seen enough dawns to last me a lifetime. If I live to Gusta’s age, I plan to sleep late every morning and enjoy my fill of the midnight sky.

  I found Gusta with Meriwether on the front porch of Pooh’s enormous
yellow Victorian house, rocking, sipping coffee, and watching a few cars amble down Oglethorpe Street. Technically, the house was now Jed’s, but since he and Meriwether preferred their one-story gingerbread house over on Liberty Street, I figured Gusta could live in Pooh’s house as long as she liked.

  I have failed to tell you that Meriwether is one of the few truly beautiful women I have ever known. She has a cloud of golden hair, lovely blue-green eyes in a heart-shaped face, and long, slender limbs. At one point she used to be far too thin, but since she had gotten married and had little Zach, she had filled out enough to be stunning. Today she looked a lot fresher and lovelier than the mother of an infant usually does, wearing a pink floral skirt with little white buttons all the way down the front and a pink cotton sweater.