Game of Scones

by Mary Lee Ashford

  “I have every right to look through my aunt’s papers.” Bam. She came at him sideways.

  “Not before I do.” He got out between smacks. “I have a search warrant.”

  “Whoa.” I stepped between them and got bashed on the head with the cardboard for my efforts. “What’s going on?”

  Neither acknowledged my presence.

  “Dixie!” I shouted in my best speak-to-a-crowd voice.

  She stopped.

  The sheriff took a step back and crossed his arms.

  Dixie’s face was as red as her hair. “I am not going to give Aunt Bertie’s papers to him until I’ve finished looking at them.”

  “I went by the bed and breakfast.” The sheriff straightened his tie. “I have a search warrant to search Bertie Sparks’s office. Looking for information on where she might have gone,” he explained.

  “Dixie, he’s trying to help find Bertie too.” I knew it would be hard to turn over her aunt’s papers, but I really didn’t think she had any choice.

  “Sure he is. So he can hang her.” She glared at the sheriff.

  I thought that might be a pretty extreme exaggeration. And I didn’t think there’d been any hangings in Iowa for decades. But I got her point. Though I did believe that Sheriff Griffin was trying to help find Bertie.

  “Come on, Dixie.” The sheriff stepped forward and Dixie raised the cardboard weapon again. “You can either give me the papers now or I’ll have to go back and get another search warrant. One for this place. Given the circumstances, I won’t have any problem getting one.”

  “Fine.” She dropped the cardboard on the floor. “Go ahead. Take what you want.”

  She stepped back from the table where she had begun making stacks of the papers.

  I happened to notice the front window. At least a dozen faces peering in. So, that was how Disco had known what was going on. We’d collected a crowd.

  The sheriff followed my line of sight and seeing the crowd at the window shook his head. Striding forward, he pulled open the front door of the shop and motioned for people to move along. Stepping outside to his patrol car, he said something to the deputy who waited there.

  In the short time he was gone, Dixie opened the lid to the metal trash can that sat at the end of the counter and dropped in the Rolodex.

  The sheriff returned with the deputy and the two of them made short work of boxing up the papers. Mostly invoices and correspondence from the look of things, but a few letters. I wondered how many of them Dixie had a chance to get through.

  “That it?” he asked as the deputy carried out the last box.

  Dixie nodded.

  I knew it wasn’t. I knew the receipt for the rat poison was tucked away in her wallet. And I knew the Rolodex was in the trashcan beside Dixie. What to do?

  Wondering what the penalty was for withholding evidence and convincing myself that I was pretty sure it wasn’t hanging, I stayed silent. My love for my friend overrode my judgment and my fear of repercussions.

  “Dixie—” Sheriff Griffin began. Then seeing her set expression, he stopped. “Never mind.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door.

  I stepped forward and flipped the lock on the door. The last thing Dixie needed right now was a bunch of well-meaning snoops. When I turned around Dixie’s eyes were pooled with tears and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

  “Aw, honey.” I put an arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t believe I just did that.” She opened the trash can and fished out the Rolodex.

  I handed her some paper towels to wipe it off. “I can’t either.”

  “I’m going to put it in the cupboard in the back in case the Terminator comes back.” She picked it up.

  I glanced out the window to make sure our onlookers hadn’t returned. No faces at the window, but it looked like we were in for a summer storm. The sky was heavy with dark clouds.

  I went to check on Dixie who I found pacing back and forth in the backroom. “Come on, let me show you these paper samples.” I hoped a discussion about something other than the murder and her missing aunt would serve as a distraction.

  We went through the paper stock samples and I showed her the one I thought would be best. It was a good weight, durable, and wouldn’t break the bank as far as cost. After we’d agreed on the choice, we each moved on to our various projects and the day went quickly.

  It was still looking stormy went I got ready to leave and so I made sure all the windows were closed before I left.

  When I got home I grabbed my mail and hurried inside, hoping to get inside before the downpour. And also not wanting to have to deal with Mrs. Pickett and her complaints.

  Ernest was always happy to see me, unlike my neighbor. I gave the required belly rub and then put on water to boil for a pasta salad. Something quick and easy seemed like the right choice after a long day.

  Chapter Ten

  After cleaning up my dishes and setting up my laptop at the dining room table, I decided to make the trip to the attic before I forgot. Although Greer had said there was no rush, if I found the two cruets, I could take them to her and also take the opportunity to ask her about some other things.

  The attic stairs were steep and creaky and not all that well lit. I stepped through the doorway, always surprised at how clean the place was. After my father died, my mother and I moved a lot, each place fancier than the previous, but none with any sense of history. And definitely none with an attic. And so probably my expectations on what attics looked like came from watching movies where there was always a coat of dust on everything. Always an old trunk crammed with clothing, toys, and sometimes a treasure map. Not Greer’s. There were boxes and boxes of various cast-off household things.

  It took some time moving boxes around, but I finally located the large box labeled Kitchen Items. I tore off the tape and opened the top. Everything in the box seemed to be wrapped in newspapers. The local Journal was mixed with the Des Moines Register, but each of the items had a newsprint wrapper. This was going to take a while: I should have brought a water or some tea up with me.

  I carefully plucked out a few things and set them on the floor. Then I pulled up a small wooden stool and started folding back the paper. The first few things were casserole dishes of varying sizes. I was surprised Greer hadn’t taken some of them with her. There were also some random coffee cups. One was from the St. Ignatius Centennial which had been held a few years back. I rewrapped it and set it aside. It might be worth looking at what the town had done for a centennial celebration as I tried to figure out what to do with Jimmie LeBlanc’s historical tome.

  I unwrapped a few more items but found no white cruet with strawberries on the side. The wind had come up and the old house creaked. As I stood and reached into the box for another round of objects, the rain began. I could hear the hard strike of water on the roof as the rainstorm began. The state was known to have tornadoes this time of year, but the weather forecasters hadn’t predicted any severe weather. Just rain.

  I looked around at the space. No leaks that I could see. That was a good thing as Greer had replaced the roof just a couple of years ago. If I were able to purchase the house, it would be fun to use the attic space as something more than storage.

  I unwrapped the next round of kitchen items. An old coffee maker, some mismatched spoons, a set of measuring cups.

  Suddenly there was a big clap of thunder and the lights went out.

  I felt around to make sure I didn’t step on anything and then slowly made my way in what I believed was the direction of the door. There was a small window at the peak of the ceiling but the street lights must have gone out too. It was absolutely pitch black.

  I crouched down on the floor, berating myself for not bringing my cell phone up with me. I moved slowly trying to be careful. I knew there were candles downstairs. All I
needed to do was get to the foot of the stairs and I could feel my way the rest of the way.

  Thinking I must be close, I stood and reached my arm straight out hoping to touch a wall or the door. Instead I touched what felt like a shelf. I pulled my hand back and reached out in the other direction. Just as I did the lights came back on and I found myself face to face with a glass clown mask. I screamed and slapped it off the shelf.

  Not a dainty scream either. A shriek that probably scared poor Mrs. Pickett right out of her pretty pink bathrobe.

  Once my heart rate returned to normal, I picked up the mask. I hoped I hadn’t broken the scary thing. I took a better look at the mask. It was a decorative glass piece and looked like it was meant to be hung on the wall. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to, but I suppose with the bright primary colors it might have been meant for a child’s room.

  As I turned away, I noticed a white box on the shelf beside it that said “Salad Set.” On the off chance it might be the cruets, I opened it. Sure enough, there they were. White and with strawberries on the side, just as Greer had described. Simply not where she thought she’d packed them. They had also been cushioned by newspapers and I decided I’d just take the whole box downstairs.

  I went back to where I’d been dragging things out of the kitchen box. I had a lot of things to put back.

  “Sorry, Greer.” I said aloud. “I am done for the night. I’ll set things to rights tomorrow.”

  I cautiously made my way down the steep stairs, carrying the white box with the strawberry cruets. I set them on the counter in the kitchen and carefully unpacked them. Placing them in the sink, I thought I’d wash them before taking them to Greer.

  Locating my phone in case the electricity went out again, I also tracked down the flashlight I’d put in a kitchen cupboard and checked to make sure it worked. Candles were in the sideboard in the dining room and I set out a few. Again precautionary, I hoped.

  I flipped on the television which had a scroll about thunderstorms but they seemed to be running their regular programming. The rain continued to come down. I went to the front door and watched it pour. The street lights were all back on and so you could see the sheets of rain.

  * * * *

  The next morning my fright over the clown mask seemed silly. Your mind can play such tricks. After last night, I was better prepared for a power outage.

  As I waited for the coffee, I washed Greer’s cruets and set them on a paper towel to dry.

  At the office, we continued laying out plans for the cookbook. I picked up where I’d left off, plowing through Jimmie LeBlanc’s history of the town. Dixie worked on recipes and made phone calls.

  Disco showed up looking for free food.

  In other words, it passed for what had become our usual day.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elsie’s funeral was planned for Saturday at ten o’clock at the St. Ignatius Lutheran Church. Most of the town was expected to attend so they had brought in two large screen televisions for the overflow crowd which might have to be seated in the church basement. So many flowers had been ordered from Glee’s Flowers and Gifts that the shop had run completely out of carnations.

  The announcement about services had been placed in the Journal. A light luncheon would be served at the church after the service. All the arrangements had been made. There was only one problem. No Elsie.

  The state medical examiner’s office was so backed up they were not going to get to Elsie’s autopsy for at least another week. Maybe two.

  Kenny Farmer had thrown a fit. Or at least that’s what we’d heard. According to Dot at the post office, he’d called his state senator, he’d called the governor’s office, but to no avail. No one was able to move the wheels any faster and so that’s how we found ourselves on our way to a funeral without the guest of honor.

  We were early but the church parking lot was already full.

  “Do you want me to let you out?” Dixie glanced at my high heels.

  “No, I’m fine.” I answered. “We might as well have walked from the office.” I peered down the side street which was already filling up with cars. At least we’d carpooled. It looked like everyone else in attendance had driven their own car.

  Dixie found a spot not too far away and I carefully eased out of the truck. I was out of practice with dresses and high heels. It had been my daily attire when I’d worked in publishing, but since we’d launched the company, I’d gotten used to dressing for comfort, not for style.

  I pulled down the hem of the little black dress hoping I hadn’t flashed the crowd of silver-haired ladies that had just passed. The bevy of flowered dresses hurried past without even glancing our way so my modesty was preserved.

  I’d covered the sleeveless black shift with a deep gray shawl. Textured gray heels and silver jewelry and I was set. I leaned toward the side mirror and checked my teeth for lipstick.

  “You look fabulous.” Dixie motioned for me to catch up. “So, fabulous you make me sick.” She grinned.

  “You clean up pretty good yourself.” I smiled back at her. She’d worn a yellow linen sundress that set off her fabulous red hair and she carried a matching yellow shrug.

  “I think I wore this for my brother’s graduation. That’s how old it is.” The sound of car doors slamming shut as others parked and piled out drew her attention and she grabbed my arm. “Come on, we want a good seat.”

  We hurried to the church and picked up a folded brochure as we entered the sanctuary. The brochure had a picture of Elsie Farmer on the front and the inside listed the details of the services. It didn’t mention her absence.

  The pastor would talk, Kenny Farmer would say a few words, the mayor would also say a few words, Tina Martin would sing “Amazing Grace,” and then the plan had been to take the trip to the cemetery for internment. But I guess that wasn’t happening.

  We settled into a pew about midway. The sanctuary was filling up fast. I assumed the flyer had been printed before the news had come about the autopsy delay.

  I read through the names of the pallbearers. Their duties were not needed today.

  “I imagine you know all of these people.” I pointed to the pallbearers’ names.

  She looked at the listing. “All guys who work for Kenny in some capacity.”

  That’s kind of sad.” I grimaced. “No family friends or relatives?”

  “She wasn’t nice to people.” Dixie waved her hand at the crowd. “Still they’re all here, aren’t they? And I’ll bet half of them have a better reason to kill Elsie than my aunt.”

  I glanced around at the room. The front of the room was filled with floral tributes, from green plants, to colorful mixed arrangements, to vases of deep red roses.

  The roses reminded me of Elsie’s garden and finding her lying there among her rose bushes.

  I probably should have ordered roses instead of the peace lily I’d selected. I’d liked the idea though of a living plant that could be kept by a family member. There were so many flowers across the front that they had also begun to line the outside walls with flowers. My gaze followed the flower arrangements and I turned my head to see how far back they went. A group was just entering and appeared to be filling the last of the available seats. I spotted Greer in the group, attired in a dark burgundy dress and a straw hat with a ribbon that matched. She saw me and waved. Greer had told me earlier in the week that the Good Life was bringing anyone who wanted to attend in their van. It looked like many had wanted to attend.

  I also caught sight of Sheriff Griffin out of the corner of my eye. He leaned against a back wall, arms crossed, watching the doorway. I wondered if he was watching for Dixie’s Aunt Bertie. Wherever she was, she was missing a big event.

  “Good grief,” Dixie muttered under her breath.

  I turned to see what had caused Dixie’s comment. A man in a dark suit, who I assumed was the
funeral director, was setting up an oversized photo of a smiling Elsie Farmer amongst the flowers. I don’t know that outside of a museum I’d ever seen a portrait that large.

  Kenny Farmer was ushered in by the same dark-suited man. He seated Kenny in the first pew at the front of the room. I glanced around at the rapidly filling pews. No one else sat in the front row with Kenny.

  “Did they not have children?” I whispered to Dixie.

  “No. I don’t think by choice,” she whispered back. “One of them couldn’t. I don’t remember which one.”

  The interior of the church was beautiful. A ceiling with wooden beams came to a peak and a simple cross at the front hung over the altar, surrounded by gorgeous stained-glass windows.

  The sanctuary had filled to capacity and it appeared they were now funneling new arrivals to the overflow room in the church basement. It took a while but finally the stream of people was down to just a few stragglers.

  The minister stepped to the podium. “Let us pray.”

  We all bowed our heads.

  After the prayer, Tina Martin entered from the side and took her place at a microphone that had been placed by the church organ. She closed her eyes, smoothed the arms of the choir robe she wore, and proceeded to sing “Amazing Grace.” The woman was not half bad. I was so relieved. Not to be a music snob, but sometimes friends and family singing at weddings or funerals can be iffy.

  When she concluded, the minister introduced Kenny who was to read Elsie’s eulogy. I wondered if that was a good idea. I’d also seen that go badly. He climbed the stairs to the podium.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he began. “We’re here today to remember Elsie Louise Farmer.”

  I’d wondered what Elsie was short for and I guess it wasn’t short for anything. Elsie’s eulogy was brief and to the point. She was born Elsie Banks, met Kenny Farmer at a high school track meet, they’d married, she’d moved to St. Ignatius and lived here ever since. They had no children and she had no Banks family left. She was chair of the local Garden Club, a board member of the St. Ignatius Historical Society, a St. Ignatius Library Foundation board member, a member of the Ladies Auxiliary, a member of the Quilters Guild, and of the St. Ignatius Founders’ Day Committee.