But as I spooned sugar and creamer into my coffee, I thought better of callin’ Jim this morning. I’d wait until after I got home from lunch.
I put on my Jackie-O outfit to attend the luncheon shindig. You know the one—beige poly-blend suit, black pillbox hat, pumps, gloves and the pocketbook Marcia called “a clutch.” I chose that particular pocketbook on the off chance that one of Jim’s friends would notice it and say, “Hey, Jim Adams’ wife Flora used to carry around a pocketbook just exactly like that one.” I’ll admit it was a long shot—them bein’ men and all—but you never know; one of them might be in touch with his feminine side, as they say on television, and we could have us a long chat about Flora.
Since I’m not a party-crasher, I got to Carol’s Café at about a quarter past twelve and acted surprised to see the VFW bunch come in and take the two reserved tables next to where I was sitting. I recognized one of them—a little bald man with liver spots on his head—from the “melon” party, and I waved to him as he was coming in. He wore a brown suit that, oddly, matched the liver spots.
He stopped by my table. “Hello! How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I said, figuring by the look on his face that he didn’t remember me. “We met a short time ago at something called a “melon dance.”
The light went on. “Ah, yes! I don’t think I had the pleasure of dancing with you, though.”
“No, I spent most of my time that evening with my dear friend Jim Adams.”
“Jim’s a good man,” he said, bobbing his head.
“Terrible thing about his wife, wasn’t it?”
“Terrible, terrible.” He was still bobbing his head.
“Did you ever meet Flora?”
“Who?”
“Flora. Jim’s wife.”
“Nope, never met her.”
“Hmm. What do you think happened though?”
“Happened?” he asked. “Did something happen?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know?”
“Maybe. When did it happen?”
By now it was clear to me that I’d singled out the very bird that was a couple sandwiches short a picnic. So I said, “The other day. Jim fell and broke his ankle. That’s why he won’t be joining you today.”
The head resumed its bobbing, making me wonder if he’d arrived here in the back of a car looking out the back window. “That’s terrible, all right.”
“It’s been nice chatting with you.” There was a lie I’d have to ask the Lord to forgive. “I see the waitress arriving with my food.”
Head still a-bobbin’, he tottered over to his group and loudly proclaimed, “Jim won’t be here. His wife broke her foot.”
Wendell Wallace wondered up to him and asked, “Did I ever tell you about that battle I was in up north—up above Canada?”
They wondered off while I tried to remember if there was anything other than the North Pole up above Canada. Did Wendell invade Santa’s workshop? Maybe he was trying to avenge Rudolph because the other reindeer made fun of him and wouldn’t let him play reindeer games.
I was finishing up my chicken salad sandwich when another member of the veterans’ group wondered over.
“Howdy,” he said. “Overheard you talkin’ with Harold a few minutes ago about Jim Adams and his wife.”
“Yes?” I prompted.
He was wearing a navy suit, white shirt, and a light blue tie that matched his eyes. His hair was snowy white, but he had a full head of it; and he was powerfully built. He reminded me a little bit of the daddy on “Bonanza;” you know, Ben Cartwright.
I always liked Ben.
The man reached in his pocket and took out a business card. “I’m sheriff of Wells County,” he said, handing me the card. He lowered his voice. “I’m investigating Mrs. Adams’ disappearance. Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”
I looked at the card. The man’s name was Cooper Norville, and the card confirmed he was who he said he was. “After I leave here, I’m planning on going home,” I said, “though I don’t fancy having a police car in my driveway.”
“I’m driving my personal vehicle today. I’ll go call my office while you finish. Meet you up front?”
“That’ll be fine.” I took a long swig of iced tea and tried to swallow the knot that had formed in my throat. I sure hoped Sheriff Norville didn’t think I was Jim’s coconspirator.
Cooper Norville followed me to my house in a great big white pickup truck—one of them that had a back seat and everything. So while it wasn’t a police car, it was no less conspicuous. Still, I’d take a big pickup truck over a police car any day. Plus, it was in keeping with the Ben Cartwright image, don’t you think? If Ben hadn’t had that tan horse with the black mane, he’d have probably rode around in a big white pickup truck.
I’ll have you know that every nosy eye in the neighborhood bored into my back as me and Sheriff Norville walked up my sidewalk and onto my porch. I called out to Matlock as I opened the door, but he’d heard the key in the lock and was already sitting there waiting for us. He gave Sheriff Norville the once over and decided the guy was okay. I still hadn’t made my mind up yet. I was afraid he might arrest me.
I tried to get Matlock to go outside, but he wanted to stay with us.
“Good lookin’ dog,” Sheriff Norville said.
“Thank you. Can I get you some coffee or anything?”
“No, thanks.” He took a small notepad and pen out of his pocket.
“Do I need to get my Bible so you can swear me in?”
He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. This is just an informal conversation.” He cleared his throat. “How long have you known Jim Adams?”
“Ah, goin’ on a couple weeks. How ‘bout you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How long have you known Jim?”
“I met Mr. Adams when his wife disappeared.”
“You know,” I said, leaning forward, “I read about that. How long had Flora been missing when Jim called you?”
“That’s just it—he didn’t. One of our officers found an abandoned car with Mrs. Adams’ purse inside. It looked suspicious, so we began to investigate.”
“What did Jim say when you told him you’d found Flora’s car?”
Sheriff Norville frowned. “Who’s asking the questions here?”
I lifted one shoulder. “You tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what I know. Maybe together we can solve this thing.”
“Mrs. Crumb, I’m not about to compromise my investigation.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I just asked how Jim acted when you told him you’d found the car. What’s the harm in that?”
“How do you think he acted?”
“I don’t know.” I rolled my eyes. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked you. I do know they must’ve been a strange couple.”
“Why do you say that?”
“For one thing, Jim’s neighbor told me she’d never seen the two of them together . . . not even outside in the yard.”
“What else?”
“How did he act when you told him?” I asked again.
Sheriff Norville clamped his lips together, and I thought for a second he wasn’t gonna tell me. Then he said, “He didn’t seem too surprised. Now, what else did you find odd about Flora and Jim Adams?”
“Look around.” I pointed to a photograph that sat atop my television set. “That’s my granddaughter in her school picture from last year—isn’t she beautiful?” I pointed to other pictures around the room. “That’s my daughter; that one there is my late husband and me; that’s me, Faye and Sunny at a wedding reception summer before last.”
“Yes, ma’am, they’re all very nice. What’s your point?”
“Do you have photos of your loved ones in your home, Sheriff?”
“Of course, I do, but—”
“Jim Adams doesn’t. I’ve been in his home and have never seen any photographs. Somehow that just seems sad to me.”
“You sai
d you’d only known Mr. Adams for a couple of weeks. Where did you meet?”
“At a dance at the Senior Center.”
“Was it that ‘melon’ dance?”
I looked down at my folded hands. “Yes.”
“I meant to go to that, but I had to work that evening.”
I looked back up at him, and he laughed at my expression.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “I know how to have fun.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” I frowned. “How is it that you’re a veteran but you hadn’t met Jim until Flora disappeared?”
“There are a lot of veterans, Ms. Crumb. I don’t know them all.” He looked at his notes. “So you never met Flora Adams?”
“No, but I’ve been doing a little investigating myself, and she seemed to have been a wonderful person. Jim’s nice, too, you know, so I don’t see why they would’ve had such a strange relationship.”
“Did you say you’ve been investigating?”
“Solely on an informal basis.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Ms. Crumb, please leave the investigating to the professionals. That said, if you learn anything else that may be of interest, please give me a call.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And be careful,” he said. “We have every reason to believe Jim Adams killed his wife.”
Sheriff Norville had no more than got out of sight of the house when Tansie came rushing over in her jeans, oversized sweatshirt and canvas shoes.
“Hello, Myrtle, dear.” She looked at Matlock. “That beast doesn’t bite, does he?”
“He hasn’t bit anybody yet,” I told her.
“I started over here earlier and saw that you had company.”
I nodded.
“Um . . . he was a very attractive gentleman.”
I nodded again. I was beginning to feel like Harold the head-bobbing veteran, but I wasn’t about to volunteer any information to Tansie. If she wanted to know something, then she’d have to come right out and ask. Which she did.
“What’s his name?”
“Cooper Norville.”
“So you got tired of taking care of Jim while he’s bedridden?”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed taking care of someone who’s bedridden,” I said. “If that was my calling, I’d have been a nurse. Still, I plan to go over to Jim’s tomorrow to see if there’s anything he needs and to pick up his tablecloth from the dry cleaners. You know the one—the one you made me spill spaghetti sauce on.”
Tansie wrinkled up her eyes. “Don’t blame your clumsiness on me, Myrtle.”
I shrugged. “What did you come to see me about?”
“I just wanted to chat a little bit.” As she answered me, her eyes darted all over the room—a dead giveaway that she was lying.
I sat down on the couch, kicked off my pumps and put my feet up. Tansie sat down in the recliner by the window.
“Have you talked to Bettie?” I asked. “Is it almost time for us to have another melon meeting?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she’s scheduled another meeting yet.”
“Well, we need to get on with it and plan ourselves another to-do; don’t you reckon?”
“I guess.” She sat there a second looking out the window. Then she turned to me and asked, “Why are you all dressed up and who was that man?”
“I’m dressed up because I went out to lunch, and I told you the man’s name is Cooper Norville.”
“The two of you had a lunch date?” she asked.
“No. I met the man at the diner, and he asked to speak with me privately.”
“So you brought him to your home? A stranger? Do you think that was wise?”
I sighed. “Under the circumstances, yes.”
“What circumstances?”
I didn’t answer her right away so she plowed on with her next question. “Does Jim know about this fellow?”
“I dare say Jim knows more about the man than I do.”
“What do you mean Jim knows more about him than you do? You’re the one having him over.”
“Maybe so, but Sheriff Norville is investigating the disappearance of Jim’s wife.”
“That’s ridiculous! Jim’s not married.”
“Right. He’s a widower.”
“He is not a widower. He’s a lifelong bachelor.”
“Says who?”
“Says Jim.”
I had to think about all this for a minute. Why would he tell me one thing and tell Tansie something else? Maybe because he’s trying to date us both? Or maybe because he killed his wife and can’t keep all his stories straight.
“How about his granddaughter?” I asked. “Remember the story he told you about the ‘me-go-round’?”
“Myrtle, that child isn’t a blood relative. Her family just sort of adopted him, from what I can gather.”
Okay, that much was true. I’d confirmed that with C.C. But I was surprised Jim had been so forthcoming with Tansie after telling her he’d never been married. Maybe Jim really was crazy as a bed bug. Maybe he didn’t know whether he’d ever been married or not. Maybe he was the one with Alzheimer’s.
I rubbed my hand over my face. “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. Jim told you he was a bachelor? That he’d never been married?”
“Yeah,” Tansie said. “And he told you he was a widower?”
“Uh-huh. And Sheriff Norville told me that he thinks Jim killed his wife.”
Boy, was this little love triangle getting muddier by the minute.
“I can’t believe you’d say such a hateful thing,” Tansie said. “That poor man has been a bachelor his whole life, and now that he’s trying to find a loving companion to share the rest of his life with, you’re telling lies on him because you’re afraid he’ll pick me over you.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” I handed her Sheriff Norville’s card. “Here. Call this man yourself if you don’t think I’m telling you the truth.”
Her hand shook as she took the card. “I’ll do that. As soon as I get home, I’m calling this Sheriff Norville and seeing what he says about all this. And if you’re lying—” She let the words hang there as she studied the card. Then she looked at me. “If you think Jim might be a killer, why do you want him?”
“I don’t . . . at least, I don’t think I do. I started seeing him in the first place so I could find out what happened to Flora, his wife.” All of a sudden, I felt like crying. This situation had started out as an adventure. Then I got to know Jim and I learned things about Flora, and then they became real people to me—not a possible killer and a possible victim. They were people I had started to care about. Yet, I’d be hanged before I’d cry in front of Tansie Miller.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and went on. “I’ve come to like Jim, but I need to keep a clear head about myself until I find out whether or not he killed his wife. I mean, Ted Bundy was charming, too, right?”
“You’ve got a point,” Tansie said. “And he’s telling you he’s a widower while he’s telling me he’s never been married. He’s lying to one of us.”
I nodded. “There’s just so many things that don’t make sense. Jim seems like a great person, but everyone I’ve talked to who knew her thought Flora was pretty special, too.”
“Then you’ve spoken with people who knew this woman?” Tansie asked, frowning.
“Yes, she worked part-time at the Wells County library. Jim told me that; I followed up on it, and it was true.”
“Wells County, you say? Huh. That’s interesting.” She looked at her watch. “I’d better be going. Ada and Bill are coming over for dinner this evening and I need to get started cooking.” She rose from the chair. “I’ll talk with you later.” With that, she skedaddled out of the house faster than Snyder’s hound. Since I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck this morning, I knew something more important to Tansie than fixing dinner for her daughter had popped into that big blue head of hers. What, I didn�
��t know . . . and that worried me.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, I got up bright and early to make cinnamon rolls because I knew Tansie had her regular hair appointment at ten o’clock every Thursday morning. Sure enough, she backed her black Cadillac out of the yard at nine-thirty sharp.
I kissed Matlock on the head, grabbed a pan of buns and headed to Melvia’s. Melvia came to the door in her housecoat rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. I had on a lime pantsuit and felt a lot like Betty Crocker—the new, modern one, not the old frumpy one.
Gayle Trent Page 8
