Murder Shoots the Bull

by Anne George

  “You tired?” I asked. Silly question.

  “I hate working nights. I don’t complain, though.” She put a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. “When I get to be chief, I can sleep.”

  “You want to be chief of police?”

  “I’m going to be.” Bo bit into a sweet roll and chewed. “Mmm. Good.”

  I sweetened my own coffee. This nice woman as chief of police?

  “I know what you’re thinking, but,” Bo pointed to her head, “the ability’s here, not dangling where most folks think.”

  She was right, of course.

  Joanie came and joined us, helping herself to coffee and sweet rolls. “Nothing on the radio.”

  Bo turned to me. “Tell me about the Sawyer woman who was murdered. I know she was connected to Mr. Phizer in some way. Sort of a first wife, but not really.”

  They ate sweet rolls and drank coffee while I told them about Sophie Sawyer and Arthur’s teenage marriage, how it had been annulled and they had each married other people and had long marriages. When I got to the daughters and mentioned that Sue Batson, Sophie’s daughter, was married to Joseph Batson, Bo gave a little whistle.

  “Money.”

  “He wrote a check for half a million dollars yesterday for Arthur’s bail.”

  “That boggles the mind.”

  “I know.”

  “Someone in my family had money once,” Joanie volunteered. “I don’t remember his name but I’ve heard my mother talk about him.”

  “That’s nice,” Bo said.

  “He raised Hereford cows down around Harpersville. Left all his money to Auburn University for cow research.”

  “I’m sure the family was thrilled about that,” Bo replied.

  But sarcasm seemed lost on Joanie Salk, just as it’s lost on my sister.

  “Not really. They were hoping to inherit some of it.”

  Nope. This was not going to be a Cagney and Lacey duo. But back to business, I said, “There wasn’t any motive for Arthur to have killed Sophie Sawyer. He was very fond of her, maybe still loved her like you do your first love. She was sick, and he was trying to help her.”

  Joanie Salk put down her coffee cup. “Maybe she was going to leave him a lot of money and she decided not to, to change her will and leave it to somebody else and he killed her before she could.”

  “Right,” Bo agreed. “Maybe she decided to leave it to Auburn for cow research.”

  This time, Joanie frowned.

  Bo pushed her chair back. “We’ve got to go.”

  “Well, what about the Phizers?” I asked. “They’re going to need some things out of their house. Can they go in?”

  “Somebody will be over here after while,” Bo said. “Somebody from the department. They’ll go in with them to get their stuff. Soon as everything’s checked out they can get the insurance folks out here and do what they want to. In the meantime, it’s a crime scene.”

  “A crime scene,” Joanie Salk repeated, patting her holster and getting up. “Joe Pepper will probably be here after while.”

  Bo rubbed her forehead as if she were getting a headache. “Probably. Come on, Joanie. We’ve got to go check out. Thanks, Patricia Anne, for the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome. Who’s Joe Pepper?”

  “Arson guy.”

  Joanie smiled sweetly. “Thanks, Mrs. Hollowell. I just graduated from the academy last week, and everybody’s being so nice.”

  “I’ll meet you at the car in a minute, Joanie,” Bo said.

  “Okay.” She gave a little wiggle of her fingers and opened the gate.

  Bo and I wiggled back.

  “Just a couple of things, Patricia Anne. Don’t let the dumb blonde act fool you. She’s mean as hell and twice as smart.”

  I grinned. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “And tell your friend, Arthur Phizer, that if I were him, I wouldn’t bend over. His wife might be safer not sleeping with him, too.”

  “What?”

  “Tell him if he’s smart, he’ll cover his ass.” Bo grabbed another sweet roll and left.

  I could see the yellow crime tape next door. It glowed in the rays of the early morning sun. If the fire had been deliberately set, and the smoke alarms fixed so they wouldn’t go off, then Arthur, had, indeed, better cover his ass.

  But why? It had to have something to do with Sophie Sawyer’s death, but what? I shivered in the warm September air.

  I collected the morning paper from the driveway and went into the kitchen. I had just gotten a pound of turkey bacon out of the freezer when Lisa came in. She had on a tee shirt and shorts with Mickey and Minnie Mouse rollerblading on them and looked as if she hadn’t slept much, either. She sat down at the table and groaned, “Coffee.”

  “The police have been next door,” I said, pouring her a cup. “They put crime scene tape across the back of the Phizers’ house.”

  “They think it’s arson?”

  I nodded. I handed her the cup and sat down at the table with her. “They’re investigating. I expect they’ll be looking at the smoke alarms, too.”

  “But who on God’s earth would want to hurt the Phizers?”

  “Maybe the same person who killed Sophie Sawyer.”

  “I read once,” Lisa said, reaching for the cream, “that ninety-five percent of all murders are committed for money or jealousy.”

  “You and Aunt Sister. Well, Sue and Joseph Batson sure didn’t need Sophie’s money. And Arthur’s not rich, but he wouldn’t stand to inherit anything if Sophie died. At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Which leaves Arabella.” Lisa stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “What do we know about her?”

  “She and Sue don’t get along, and she’s had a couple of failed marriages. I have no idea about her financial status.”

  “Maybe Sue was jealous because Arabella was her mother’s favorite, and she killed her mother.”

  “This is crazy,” I said. “I don’t think any of them killed anybody.” I thought about the Phizers’ house. “Or tried to kill anybody.”

  I got up and put the bacon into the microwave to defrost. Sausage, scrambled eggs, grits, and buttered biscuits were what I wanted, what we had eaten happily for years until someone figured out that cholesterol has a habit of taking up permanent residence in our arteries. One more thing to feel guilty about. I had ruined my children’s blood vessels by feeding them well.

  “Did your mother ever cook turnip greens with fatback?” I asked Lisa.

  “Sure. Only she called it streak of lean. Best turnip greens in the world.” She turned a page of the newspaper. “No telling what my arteries look like.”

  Well, this morning we were going to have scrambled eggs with the turkey bacon, “irregardless” as Mama used to say. We all needed some comfort food. Hell, I might even fry the eggs, sunnyside up and risk salmonella. Live dangerously. Sop the yellows on drop biscuits.

  I was reaching for the flour when the phone rang. I grabbed it, hoping it hadn’t wakened Mitzi and Arthur. It was time for Fred to get up, anyway.

  “I’ll pick you up at a quarter till ten,” Sister said. “And I think I may be engaged.”

  “Why are you picking me up, and to whom are you engaged?’

  “For the investment club. Today’s the day, isn’t it?”

  I glanced at the bulletin board beside the refrigerator.

  “Yes. Who are you marrying?”

  “I didn’t say I was marrying anybody. Lord, Mouse. I just said I was engaged.” There was a pause. “I think.” Another pause. “Anyway, I just put him on the plane to London, so it’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Cedric?”

  “Of course. Did you think it was the blind guy or one of the guys from Bangladesh? I’m on my way home from the airport now. Have you decided which stocks to recommend?”

  “Bellemina Health, for one. Maybe Rubbermaid. And I need to talk to you. You wouldn’t believe what all’s been happening over here.”

  “F
red must have gotten his prescription for Viagra refilled.”

  “Fred doesn’t need Viagra.” I looked up and saw Fred standing in the doorway. “Gotta go,” I said and hung up.

  “Mary Alice?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He sat down at the table across from a grinning Lisa.

  “Morning, Pop,” she said, handing him the sports section of the paper.

  “Good morning, Lisa.”

  I made the drop biscuits to the sound of silence broken only by the occasional rustle of newspapers. Sister would have loved it.

  Arthur came in as we were finishing eating. Mitzi, he said, was still asleep. He ate a biscuit, turning down the offer of an egg, and then he, Fred, and Lisa went next door to see what the damage looked like in the daylight.

  “I can’t believe they’ve put crime tape up,” he said as they went out the door. “What do they think? That somebody tried to burn us down?”

  The answer was so obvious, that none of us voiced it.

  I straightened up the kitchen and sat down in the den to look at the paper. There was a small paragraph in the Metro section that said insurance executive Arthur Phizer, 64, had been arrested for the murder of socialite Sophie Sawyer, 64, the mother-in-law of Dr. Joseph Batson, CEO of Bellemina Health. Phizer had been released on a $500,000 bond.

  Socialite? That seemed like such an old-fashioned word. And what kind of socializing had Sophie done in Birmingham, anyway? She’d been gone for forty years and was sick when she came back. And no mention of husband or children. Just the fact that she had a rich son-in-law.

  The phone rang, and I grabbed it. It was Debbie wanting to know if the Phizers were pleased with Peyton, that it had been a miracle that Peyton had taken the case as busy as she was. She had tried to call them, but their phone was out of order. Maybe I ought to report it.

  I told her about the fire, the smoke alarms that didn’t go off, the police tape.

  “Lord, Aunt Pat.” She sounded as out of breath as I was. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Phizer okay?”

  “Shaken up by everything that’s happened.”

  “Has anybody called Peyton?”

  “Not that I know of. Why would they need a lawyer for a fire?”

  “If the police suspect arson, she needs to know. I’ll call her. Okay?”

  “Sure. By the way, your mother’s engaged again.”

  “Cedric?”

  “Yep. She just put him on a plane to London.”

  Debbie giggled. “That woman. Let’s not order the invitations yet.”

  “I don’t even know Cedric’s last name.”

  “I doubt Mama does.”

  We hung up laughing.

  Thirteen

  “You go on, Mama. I’ll be here when Mrs. Phizer wakes up.”

  I was dressed and waiting for Mary Alice, Fred had gone on to work, and Arthur had gone to talk to the insurance people. He had had no trouble getting his things from next door. The place was swarming with policemen, he said, and please tell Mitzi that the five-legged table was okay, maybe a little water damage, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

  When he left, he was dressed in a gray suit and looked nice. But no one at the insurance company was going to doubt that there had been a fire at his house. He reeked of smoke.

  “I’ll even go next door with her,” Lisa offered. “Everything they own will have to be sent to the cleaners.”

  “I wonder about the upholstered furniture. A lot of it will have to be replaced because of smoke.”

  The back door opened and Mary Alice stuck her head in. “What in the world is going on over at the Phizers’?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way to the meeting.”

  “Morning, Aunt Sister,” Lisa said. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

  “Thanks, honey. But I’m not going to rush into anything.”

  I swear she was serious.

  I found my purse and told Lisa we would be at the Homewood Library if she needed us.

  “Why would she need us?” Sister asked as I closed the back door. “Has she heard from Alan?”

  “Not that I know of. He’s still climbing Fool’s Hill.”

  “Of all our children, I thought he would be the last one to do that.”

  “Me too,” I agreed.

  “You want to clue me in on that?” Sister pointed next door to the police cars and the crime tape. “Are Mitzi and Arthur okay?”

  “Not exactly.”

  We got in the car, and in the fifteen minutes it took us to get to the Homewood Library, I had just hit the high points of everything that had happened. Sister’s side of the conversation consisted of a few “Say what’s?” and “Have mercies!”

  “There’s a lot more,” I said as she pulled into a parking space.

  “Well, wait until after the meeting. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  I should worry. There’s not much that Sister misses.

  The Homewood library is a wonderful example of what can be done with an older building. Originally a church, it has been turned into a perfect library. The sanctuary with its vaulted ceiling and large stained glass window is now the main part of the library housing the reference department and the adult books. The children’s department was once the church offices and the chapel, and the room that served as a church parlor and a place for wedding receptions and church suppers is now a medium-sized auditorium. But one of the best features is the Sunday school rooms downstairs. They are perfect for meetings and are used by the whole community.

  “Don’t you dare recommend condom stocks,” I warned Mary Alice as we walked down the hall toward the noise of women talking.

  “Why not? Shirley Gibbs, my broker, says they’re better than ever since Viagra. I still think she should have come. It’s dumb not to have some expert guidance.”

  “Well, let’s see what the group is like.”

  The group looked as if the Sunday school class that had met there for years had never moved out. About a dozen women ranging in age from mid-forties to, I swear, a hundred sat around drinking tea and talking. One of them sported a yellow crocheted hat.

  “No condoms,” I muttered to Sister. “I mean it.”

  “Patricia Anne and Mary Alice.” Connie Harris, Mitzi’s friend, rose and came to greet us. The youngest woman in the group, a pretty blonde who was giving middle age a run for its money came with her and was introduced as Joy McWain.

  “We’re just so glad you’re joining us,” Joy enthused. “Isn’t this exciting? I told Connie I don’t know when I’ve been so excited about anything. Can I get y’all some tea?”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Well, y’all just find a place to sit down. I’ll bring it to you.” I swear the word perky had been invented for this woman.

  “Unsweetened,” Sister said.

  Two lines appeared between perky Joy’s eyes. “I think it’s all sweet.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, pinching the back of Sister’s arm slightly.

  “Y’all come over here and sit down,” Connie said. “And tell me how Mitzi is. I didn’t figure she would be here this morning. I just can’t believe Arthur was arrested for murder.”

  “Her house burned down last night.” Sister settled into the chair next to the elderly woman in the crocheted hat. “Hey, how are you?” she said to her.

  “Tolerable,” the woman answered.

  Connie clutched her chest and sank down by Sister. “Mitzi’s house burned down? Oh, my Lord!”

  “Just the back part,” I said. Somehow it didn’t sound consoling.

  “Is she all right?” Connie was still clutching her chest.

  “She’s at my house and was still asleep when I left,” I explained. “I hope she’s okay.”

  “But what happened?”

  “Someone tried to kill them,” Sister informed her.

  “What?” Connie clutched tighter.

  “Here you are, ladies.” Joy McWain handed us two large
red plastic cups that were already sweating and a couple of paper napkins. “You all right, Mrs. Harris?”

  Connie nodded.

  “Someone tried to kill me once,” Crocheted Hat said.

  Perky Joy smiled. “Now, Miss Bessie, you know better than that.”

  “Got the scar to prove it. Here, missy, I’ll show you.” The woman started to unbutton her blouse.

  “That’s okay, Miss Bessie,” Joy said. “We believe you.”

  “What happened?” Sister asked. “Did they shoot you or what?”

  “Stuck me in the gut with a knife. Right down on Twentieth Street and me just going in the dentist’s office for a root canal.” She sniffed. “Said, ‘Hand me your purse, old woman.’ I said, ‘Like hell I will,’ and he pulls out this knife.”

  Sister was intrigued. “What did you do?”

  “Shot him. I’d have been all right if he hadn’t fallen frontward. Looks like he’d have gone backwards.”

  “Wow,” Sister said.

  Connie Harris fanned herself with a paper napkin while Crocheted Hat informed us that she hoped we’d invest in condoms, and did we know which company made the best ones? Was it true some were fruit flavored?

  “My God,” Connie muttered, fanning harder.

  Any reply Sister would have made, and I’m sure there would have been one, was cut off by Joy McWain clapping her hands for attention.

  “Welcome, everybody. Let’s go around and introduce ourselves,” she said. “Mr. Alcorn Jones, the president of First Financial Trust, is going to come help us get started today, but he’s going to be a few minutes late.” She pointed to the woman sitting next to the refreshment table who said her name was Mary Beatty and she was a happy wife, the mother of five, the grandmother of twelve, and a good old Southern Baptist.

  Sister leaned around Connie and whispered. “Are we supposed to say all that?”

  I whispered back, “Just say you’re rich and just got engaged.”

  “What about you? You don’t have anything to say.”

  Too bad Connie was in the way. “I’ll say I’m your sister.”

  After everybody had introduced herself (Sister had just given her name as had Crocheted Hat, Bessie McCoy), Joy said we should give our club a name.

  The titles suggested ranged from Serendipity to Stocky Ladies. Joy wrote all the suggestions down on a chalkboard. Connie Harris, who had recovered some, came up with the name Pennies from Heaven, which a lot of the women liked. Bessie McCoy suggested Homewood Heifers. (“We’re hoping for a bull market, but we’re heifers, and we’re meeting at the Homewood Library.”)