Game of Scones

by Mary Lee Ashford

  Divide and conquer.

  I parked Big Blue on the street in front of Elsie’s house. It was a large well cared for turn of the century Victorian a few blocks from the town square. I climbed the steps to the veranda on the front and knocked. A profusion of flowers in colorful pots stood out against the bright white of the house. I took a deep cleansing breath and inhaled the smell of the blossoms. The light scent of lavender from beside the steps mixed with the bright notes of hyacinth and pinks.

  I smoothed my skirt and rehearsed my pitch in my head. I’d put on a sleeveless classic red dress, a leftover from my corporate days. A power color. I’d start with the initial offering of assurance that her wonderful scone recipe would definitely be included. Hopefully that would head off the fight. But if the rivalry was as longstanding as Dixie described, it might not be enough to include Elsie’s. She might insist that Bertie’s not be included.

  I knocked again. Where on earth was the woman? I’d phoned to make sure it was okay to drop by and she’d grudgingly agreed. I think in the end the idea of skewering the new girl in town and watching her squirm proved irresistible. I also think she would have preferred a public skewering.

  Knocking again, this time even louder, I glanced around. Big windows faced the veranda. It felt a little improper but I peered inside.

  “Mrs. Farmer?” I tapped on the glass and waited. Nothing. No Elsie.

  Now what?

  I had been specific about when I’d be there, but maybe she was in the back. I went down the porch steps and walked around the side of the house. There was a detached garage in the backyard and the garage door stood open. Elsie’s car, a white Cadillac, was parked inside. So she was home.

  “Hello,” I called. “Is anyone back here?” As beautiful as the flowers had been out front, the backyard garden was even prettier. One section surrounded by a miniature picket fence seemed to be devoted to different colored roses. Roses are my favorite.

  I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned just in time to see a figure slip between the tall bushes at the back. “Hello,” I tried again, but whoever it had been was gone. Stepping into the backyard I noticed a brightly colored pile of clothing on the ground. Maybe Elsie had been hanging out laundry and that’s why she hadn’t heard my knock. You’d be surprised how many people in St. Ignatius still hung their laundry out on a clothesline. My house (Greer’s house) had one and I loved it. There was nothing like the smell of fresh line-dried sheets.

  I wandered further into the garden. Once I was close enough to the pile of clothing, I realized my terrible mistake.

  A scream rose in my throat but no sound came out.

  What I’d mistaken for a pile of clothing was Elsie, her body prone, her glasses askew, her eyes open but sightless, a scone clutched in her outstretched hand.

  * * * *

  I have to be honest, it’s a bit of a blur to me what happened next. I remember checking Elsie’s pulse but it was clear she wasn’t just taking a nap there on the ground in her backyard. I do remember I fished in my purse for my cell phone and called 911. Then I stood there flash-frozen in place until the police arrived. It seemed like forever but I’m sure it was only a few minutes before Sheriff Griffin and two uniformed deputies showed up.

  The sheriff is handsome in an all-American boy sort of way. I’d met him before but I couldn’t recall exactly where it had been.

  The sheriff leaned over the body and then turned to speak to his deputy. “Cancel the ambulance and call the coroner.”

  “Ms. Calloway, if you could move back please.” He touched my arm.

  I guess I must have been standing there like my feet were glued to the ground. I guess I also must have given him my name at some point. I moved off to the side.

  The other deputy stood at the garden gate, holding back onlookers. I’d heard the sirens when the sheriff arrived. A welcome sound, but I imagined one that also brought out neighbors up and down the street to see what was going on.

  Suddenly Dixie careened around the corner of the house and slammed into the deputy who held his arm out to stop her. She ignored him, ducked under his arm and headed my way.

  The sheriff moved to intercept her but she gave him a look I’d seen her use on her twelve-year-old nephew and trust me it had don’t-mess-with-me superpowers. Sheriff Griffin stopped in his tracks.

  Dixie wrapped me in a hug. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I repeated what I’d told the sheriff. “I just found her back here.”

  “She can go now, right?” Dixie addressed her question to the sheriff.

  “We have more questions—” he began.

  “Come on, Terry,” Dixie shot back before he could finish. “She’s just found a dead woman. You can ask your questions later. Come on, Sugar.”

  I guess they knew each other. Not unusual, Dixie knew everyone, but there was definitely something between the two of them. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but there was something odd. I tried to think if I’d ever heard Dixie mention Sheriff Griffin before and couldn’t bring an instance to mind. They were about the same age so maybe they’d gone to school together.

  Two deputies were stringing that yellow crime scene tape you see on TV from the veranda to the picket fence and shooing people behind it. The front yard was crawling with more people as others joined the assembled crowd.

  Luckily we went pretty much unnoticed as we made our way down the street to Dixie’s pickup. Big oak trees that lined the street shaded the sidewalk protecting us from the heat of the sun as the day came awake.

  “What do they think happened?” Dixie fell into step beside me. “A heart attack or stroke?”

  “I don’t know. No one said. The sheriff cancelled the ambulance and had them send for the coroner. I guess, there wasn’t any hope.” I swallowed threatening tears. “She was already gone when I f-found her.” My voice quivered and I felt my insides do the same.

  “Let’s get you home.” She clicked open the locks on her truck and I climbed in. “We’ll worry about getting your car later. There’s no way you’d be able to get through that crowd right now.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to go on to the office.” I settled into the seat. “I don’t think I can stand to do nothing right now. It would be better to be busy.”

  “I understand.” Dixie started the truck and carefully pulled out. Several people waved as we drove away.

  The town square was only a few blocks away. It was quiet in sharp contrast to the neighborhood we’d just left. A few shoppers wandered along the sidewalk, and the parking surrounding the courthouse was full as usual with people paying traffic fines and renewing car titles. St. Ignatius was the typical midwestern small county seat with a town square of quaint shops arranged around a historic courthouse. The St. Ignatius version was a late 1800s Italianate revival style complete with clock tower that gave it an almost castle-like feel.

  I inhaled a deep breath and filled my eyes with the idyllic square, the brilliant green grass, the park benches, the bright red pansies, hoping it would block out the picture in my head of poor Elsie Farmer lying dead in her backyard.

  Dixie pulled into the alley behind the section of shops where our office was located and parked in the back. We trudged inside and dropped into the chairs where yesterday we’d sat talking about Elsie and Bertie and scone recipes. After a few minutes of silence, Dixie got up, filled the electric kettle with water and pulled out a couple of mugs. She reached into the nearest cupboard and dropped a couple of Tetley tea bags into the cups.

  I wished for something stronger.

  The small bell over the front door of the shop signaled someone out front. Dixie and I both jumped. Our business wasn’t exactly a walk-in type of production so we didn’t get many visitors. We did unlock the front when we were working, just in case, but it was usually one of the other merch
ants on the square.

  “I unlocked it when I got here and then forgot to lock up when I heard about Elsie,” Dixie noted. She poured hot water into one of the mugs and handed it to me and then went to investigate.

  “Oh, it’s you,” I could hear her say.

  “Yep, me.” I recognized Sheriff Griffin’s voice. “Is your partner here?”

  “Sugar,” Dixie called out. “would you come out here for a sec?”

  I was already out of my seat and headed to check out what the sheriff wanted. He probably had lots of questions and I had a few of my own.

  “Hello again.” He directed his serious brown gaze in my direction. “I failed to get a phone number so we could contact you with additional questions.”

  I rattled off my cell number, the only number I had, and he jotted it in his notebook. “Did Elsie have a heart attack?”

  “Why would you have ‘additional questions’ for Sugar?” Dixie made quote marks in the air with her fingers and her tone of voice clearly tacked on, “Are you an idiot?” to the query.

  He leveled her a look and then turned toward me. “We don’t know. It will be a while before we have cause of death.”

  Death. The word shattered the calm I’d thought I had. A picture of Elsie flashed into my mind. Prone, sprawled in the grass, lifeless.

  “Wh-what if,” I stuttered, my voice shaking, “I’d gotten there sooner?” The question had been haunting me ever since we’d left Elsie’s. What if I’d arrived sooner? I’d stopped to pick up a coffee. Maybe if I’d been a few minutes earlier I could have gotten help. I’d read that minutes mattered with heart attacks and if I hadn’t waited so long before looking in the back for Elsie, I might have made a difference.

  His expression said he’d like to be reassuring but couldn’t bring himself to lie. “I’m sorry, Ms. Calloway, we just don’t know.” He flipped shut his little notebook.

  “Call me Sugar,” I gulped.

  “Sugar, you told me before you had called to say you were coming over, right?”

  “That’s right. She was reluctant, but she agreed. Which is why I was so surprised when she didn’t answer the door. I mean she knew I was coming.”

  “What time did you call?” he asked. There were side glances at Dixie when he thought she wasn’t looking but I didn’t know how to take them.

  “Around eight.” I answered.

  He made a note. “And what was the nature of your business with her?”

  I hesitated and looked toward Dixie for help. In light of this morning’s events it seemed trivial. “Well, we’re working on this cookbook for the St. Ignatius Founders’ Day and there’d been a little disagreement of which scone recipe was to be included. I was stopping by to see if I could convince her to be okay with the committee’s decision to have more than one scone recipe in the book.”

  “I understand from talking with several people things got a little heated yesterday at the committee’s meeting.”

  “They did.” I sighed. “Recipes don’t seem very important right now.”

  “They are to some people.” He turned to look at Dixie directly. “My next stop is to talk to your Aunt Bertie.”

  “What are you saying?” Dixie’s face flamed red, as red as her hair. “Is this a murder investigation? You think my aunt had something to do with Elsie Farmer’s death?”

  “We have to—” he started.

  “For crying out loud. That’s a new low, even for someone like you, Terrance Griffin,” Dixie interrupted and then turned on her heel and walked out, headed to the backroom.

  Whoa. If I’d thought there had been an undercurrent before, this one had boiled to the surface.

  “We have to treat every death as a suspicious death until we know more,” Sherriff Griffin finished. “I’ll be in touch.” And with a curt nod, he left.

  No sooner had the sheriff slipped out than the bell over the door jangled again.

  “Hey, Sugar.” It was Disco, the guy who owned Flashback, the records and memorabilia store a few shops down from us.

  “Hey there, Disco.” His real name was Dick Fusco but everybody called him Disco and it seemed appropriate because the guy was stuck in the 70s. At least his fashion sense was.

  “What’s going on?” His loud pink and orange paisley shirt had puffy sleeves and wide cuffs and a big gold chain shifted on his thin wrist as he removed his sunglasses. As Disco stepped through the doorway and came farther into the shop, his eyes scanned the counter top. I figured he was looking to see if Dixie had any test dishes left over. We were pretty sure business wasn’t booming at Flashback and I feared Disco was having some problems making ends meet. We were happy to share sample dishes after they’d passed muster, but I worried things must be really bad if Disco was cruising for leftovers this early in the day.

  Dixie came out from the kitchen and offered our visitor some cheese puff appetizers she’d been in the middle of making when she’d heard about Elsie and rushed out. He munched a few and then happily headed out the door with the to-go bag Dixie had put together for him. He’d been gone only a few minutes when the bell jangled again. Then it became a steady stream of people who stopped by to see us with one excuse or another but who really wanted to know about Elsie Farmer. By the time the place cleared out, I’d told the story so many times I felt like I was on continuous play loop. Hello. Yes, I found her. Yes, she was dead. Clearly dead. Police came. No, I don’t know any more.

  There was a break in the visitors and Dixie flipped the lock on the front door and motioned me to the back room.

  We heard a tap on the front window but we both ignored it, gathered up our things, and headed for the back entrance.

  “Come on,” Dixie held the door open. “You’ve had quite a day. Let’s get your car picked up so you can get home and see if you can catch a break from answering questions about finding Elsie.”

  “I don’t think I’ll answer my phone.” I ducked out and headed toward Dixie’s truck.

  Chapter Five

  The street was thankfully deserted and I was able to pick up my Jeep without having to chat with anyone.

  Bright yellow crime scene tape fluttered on the posts of the veranda and a length stretched from there to the garden gate. How awful for Mr. Farmer to face not only his wife’s death, but then to top it off to have to look at crime scene tape strung all over his home. I hadn’t seen him at the house earlier. I assumed they’d called him at work and broken the news about Elsie.

  Did Sheriff Griffin really believe that Dixie’s Aunt Bertie had something to do with Elsie’s death? Like maybe the stress caused her heart attack? Poor Bertie, her harsh words to Elsie had to be haunting her. Though Elsie had gone on the attack first and had certainly given as good as she got, I’m sure that didn’t make Bertie feel any better about it right now. I had no doubt Sheriff Griffin was kind when he talked with her, but still it had to be upsetting to be questioned by the police.

  I drove home quickly and parked in the drive hoping Mrs. Pickett was inside. I didn’t think I could take one of her petty complaints today.

  As I entered the house, the frog statue I’d dug out of the storage box for Greer greeted me. It had taken me a while to find him because he was tightly wrapped in a soft bath towel, probably to prevent breakage. Bright green-glazed ceramic, he was less than a foot tall and stood upright with one leg bent at the knee in a jaunty pose.

  I’d placed him on a book shelf near the front entry so I wouldn’t forget to drop him off. That would be a good task for this afternoon. I’d brought home editing work for the Founders’ Day Cookbook, but suddenly the thought of being alone didn’t seem very attractive. I’d work for a while and then a visit with Greer would make for a nice break.

  Ernest sauntered into the room and greeted me. He sniffed at my tote and peered around it as if to note, “What? No cat treats again?”

  An
d he was right I still needed to make a trip to the store both for cat treats for Ernest and food for myself. Yet another reason to get out of the house. An hour or so of editing and then I’d make a list, gather up the frog statue, and check those two things off my list. It was a plan.

  “This afternoon, I promise.” I bent and rubbed his head. Big trusting green eyes looked up at me and I knew I’d better remember this time. “I promise.”

  I changed my clothes, tossing my red dress on the bed. I was glad to opt for comfort over fashion. One of the perks of no longer working in a corporate environment. I pulled on jeans and a deep purple cotton sweater which reminded me of Tina and her Plum Passion eye shadow recommendation. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold her off on a Looking Pretty party. I’d begged off before because as I explained, being new in town I simply didn’t know enough people to invite. The cosmetics were sold via home parties. You know the drill, don’t you? You have a get-together in your home, serve food and drinks, and the consultant demonstrates: food items, jewelry, plastic containers, or in this case, cosmetics.

  First things first. Once changed, I brewed a cup of tea and settled down with my first draft of the introduction to the book and my trusty red pen. If I could get the stories nailed down for each of the sections, I’d tackle the stack of pages about the town’s history and see what I could pull out to add a little flavor of St. Ignatius’s past to include in each part of the book.

  After a couple of hours of work, I was ready for a break both mentally and physically. I stacked up the papers I’d been working with and took my pen and paper to the kitchen and in short order had a grocery list. But first a stop to take a ceramic frog to my landlady.

  The Good Life senior living complex where Greer lived was on the edge of town, actually almost at the city limits. From what I understood, it was fairly new but had filled up quickly with seniors in the community who either couldn’t handle taking care of a house or simply didn’t want to anymore.