Nobody's Sorry You're Dead: A Hadley Pell Cozy Mystery

by Jeri Green

  Hadley rinsed the chicken and put in a large stock pot. Grabbing an onion, she chopped it into several chunks. She added a couple of chopped carrots into the pot.

  Onus slinked into the kitchen to see what Hadley was doing.

  “The smell of chicken get your mouth watering, Onus?” Hadley asked.

  She went to the refrigerator and grabbed her celery.

  Essie Macy immediately jumped into her mind. Essie had lived next to Hadley’s family when she was a child. Even back then Essie was known for her frugality. That was just a nice way of saying Essie Macy was a tightwad. How many times had Hadley’s mother complained about her neighbor’s frequent trips to borrow ingredients.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “It’s just me,” Essie Macy would say through the screen door. “You wouldn’t have a couple of stalks of celery I could borrow, would you?”

  Hadley’s mother would get out two stalks and hand them to Essie.

  “Thanks a bunch. I d’clare if this stuff ain’t high as a kite at Pixies. It’s flat out robbery what they charge for celery. I ain’t gonna pay that for it. I ain’t. Much obliged till you’re better paid.”

  Essie Macy waddled back across the well-trodden path and disappeared into her house.

  Hadley wondered if Essie thought her mother stole the celery from the vegetable bin at the grocery store or if Pixies just gave it away for free to certain special customers like the green stamps that accompanied your cash register receipt.

  Essie Macy had to be pushing a hundred. She had seemed ancient when Hadley was a youngster. Essie stayed at home with her memories. She had outlived all of her family and childhood friends. Another name on the list of shut-ins.

  Three chopped celery stalks, some peppercorns, and a garlic clove. Hmmm, Hadley wondered, did Astrid Larue still grow that wonderful elephant garlic. Astrid had taken a tumble and was recovering from a broken hip. She was able to get around her house with the help of a walker, but she wasn’t getting out yet, except for checkups with her doctor. Another person on the list.

  “Need to send her a get well card,” Hadley muttered, covering the chicken with water. A dash of Kosher salt. Pop the lid on. Just simmer for about an hour and a half and the chicken was good to go.

  While the chicken was cooling, Hadley added about a dozen small peeled onions, a couple of thinly sliced carrots, a quarter cup of chopped parsley, and a clove of crushed garlic in a pan with some reserved chicken broth to cook.

  Lavon Kelly, she thought.

  My old gardening mentor.

  Lavon Kelly knew everything there was to know about growing fresh herbs in a garden or container. Hadley had often thought Lavon could pick up a dried stick from the yard and plant it in her garden, wave her green thumb over it, and watch it sprout and grow.

  Lavon had recurring episodes of bronchitis and had been forced to stay inside her home to regain her strength. Lavon had been on the list for several months now.

  And two other names on Maury’s list: Clovis Barton and Elden Vincent. Clovis and Elden had begun their gardening careers following the backend of a mule. Back then, it was ‘gee and haw’ until the rows were plowed. Hadley always thought that the gardens of Clovis and Elden must have rivaled Eden. No weeds dared infest the beautiful rows of vegetables. Elden accessorized his garden with a fashionably dressed scarecrow. The two were getting on up in age. Both were hard of hearing and their eyesight was poor. Both had given up driving and were homebound. Two more names on the list.

  Hadley melted three tablespoons of butter in a saucepan and chuckled.

  “I wonder if Finley Worth ever got all those butter globs off the ceiling from that time she tried to churn her own butter.”

  Finley thought churning butter would help pass the time while she was pregnant. Her doctor had advised her to stay off her feet as much as possible. With her feet propped up on two small stools and the churn in between her legs, Finley got down to business.

  “Make a note. Never try to remove the top of the churn while churning to check if the cream is turning into butter chunks. Not unless you want a yellow dappled ceiling,” Hadley muttered.

  Finley was still carrying her baby, and she was forced to spend much of her day in bed. Hadley bet she would be glad to pop that child out. She sent good thoughts to both mother and baby.

  As Hadley blended a couple of tablespoons of flour into the melted butter with a cup of heavy cream, she reminisced about the old mill that once ground the grain into flour and meal.

  Hadley could still see the old wheel on the side of their mill building make its slow turn and dip into the burbling river. The wheel would turn, and the silver water would cascade off the paddles and return to the river with a splash. Round and round the wheel spun as a giant wheel ground the wheat into flour and channeled it to a chute for packaging.

  Berdie Wadell and Florene Farris had operated the mill when Hadley was growing up. Berdie and Florene’s grandfather built the mill at the turn of the century, and it served the community for decades. Berdie and Florene would be covered in white dust, bagging the flour for the customers and chattering like magpies.

  Now both lived in the cottage behind the mill. They rarely got out anymore since their nephew had taken over the mill. Pixies sold the stone ground products from the old mill in a special locally-grown-and-made section of the store.

  Two more names on the list.

  Hadley gradually stirred in a cup of chicken broth until the mixture thickened. She set it aside to cool slightly, then added a cup of heavy cream seasoned with salt, pepper, and some hot sauce.

  Merl Duke, another shut-in popped into Hadley’s mind.

  Merl loved spicy foods. She remembered the time Merl and his friend, Tiny, had tried to see who could eat the most pickled jalapeno peppers while on a camping trip in the woods. Merl won the bet but that was not much consolation. Merl’s face wore a pained look, and he took off for the woods. When he returned to the camp, Tiny was waiting.

  “Felt the burn of a thousand butane torches, Tiny.”

  Merle had developed heart trouble year before last and had been forced to retire on disability. He was sorely missed down at Brinkley’s gas station where men gathered to play checkers and shoot the bull every evening before heading home to supper.

  Merl Duke, another name on the list.

  Hadley was ready to make the crust for her pot pie.

  Unfortunately, her crusts would never match Cleta Sinclair’s. Hadley sighed. Cleta’s pies had won awards at the Hope Rock County fairs for decade. Lately, her arthritis made it impossible for her to knead dough and bake her scrumptious creations.

  Cleta had had such lovely hands before they were ravaged by the crippling disease. Her fingers had been long and graceful. She always kept her nails sparkling white. Her skin was unblemished and silky soft. Slowly, those hands, like all the joints in her body, had become twisted and painful.

  Another name on the list, Hadley thought as she combined a cup and a quarter of all-purpose flour, a half teaspoon of salt, and a teaspoon of sugar into her food processor, pulsing to combine the mixture.

  Adding 10 tablespoons of chunked butter, she pulsed until crumbly. One egg yolk was added and processed with the aid of a little water.

  Removing the dough from the processor, she formed a ball and pressed it into a disk. This would go in the refrigerator for about an hour.

  While waiting for the dough to chill, Hadley cut the poached chicken into bite sized pieces and placed them in a baking dish. Arranging the onions and carrots over the chicken, she added the sauce and allowed it to cool as well.

  With the pastry dough rolled out into a size that would allow a slight overlap, she placed it on top of the dish. Rolling up the overlapped edges and crimping them with a fork completed the task. She added a vent to allow steam to escape and brushed the pastry with an egg yolk and cream mixture.

  She placed the baking dish into the preheated 450 degree oven for 15 minutes before lowering
the heat to 350 degrees. After about 35 minutes of smelling that deliciousness baking in the oven, Hadley was ready dig into her golden brown delight.

  Just what the doctor ordered, she thought. Looking out her kitchen window, she noticed the darkening clouds rising on the horizon.

  “I hope the rains move through tonight, Onus,” she said to the tabby who was watching her from the doorway.

  A deep rumble of thunder rattled off in the distance.

  Hadley sat down to enjoy her handiwork.

  “Might as well enjoy this while it’s hot,” she said.

  Onus walked over to his bowl.

  “No, old bird,” Hadley said, “it’s not what’s in mine. Sorry, Onus. Cat food for kitties.”

  Onus looked at her like he wanted pounce on top of her head. Maybe he’d change his mind eat his dinner, later. He really was missing out on some really good eats.

  Chapter Nine

  It was grocery shopping day. With list in hand, Hadley set out to refill her depleted pantry shelves. She parked her car in the municipal lot adjacent to a small park on Main Street. She noticed Beanie sitting on the concrete bench under the shade of a gigantic oak tree. He seemed lost in a state of deep concentration. His brow was furrowed, and he was sitting very still.

  “Beanie.”

  “Yeah.”

  Beanie was staring intently at something.

  “What are you looking at?” Hadley asked.

  “Bunker.”

  “What’s a Bunker, Beanie?” Hadley asked.

  “Hadley, you’ve got so many pets at the rescue shelter. It got me to thinking,” said Beanie.

  “Those aren’t pets, Bean,” Hadley said. “They’re wild animals. Sometimes the babies get separated from their parents and have no one to look after them. Or sometimes, something happens to them. When they get sick or hurt, Ruth lets them stay at the shelter, and she cares for them. Kind of like a motel, you see?”

  “Ruth sure has a lot of visitors at her motel,” said Beanie.

  “Yes, she does. Now, what’s a Bunker?” Hadley asked.

  “Well,” Beanie said, “I guess a Bunker is like Onus.”

  “What’s my cat got to do with this, Bean?”

  “See,” Beanie said, “I been thinking. You got a pet cat.”

  “Yes,”Hadley said, “Onus is my pet cat.”

  “Well, Onus is nice to have around,” Beanie said. “He’s good comp’ny. I think I might want a pet. For my very own.”

  “Now, Bean,” Hadley said, “you got to really think long and hard about owning a pet. It’s a lot of responsibility. There’s feeding and watering. Every day. Not just when you remember.

  “If your pet gets sick, you have to take it to the vet. You’ve got to think about things like that. Remember, there are too many dogs and cats in the world. Beanie, if you don’t want to add to the problem, you’ve got to have your pet fixed so it won’t have babies. That’s an operation, Beanie, and it costs money.

  “There’s a lot to consider with pet ownership. Pets are nice, but they are like children. They are an investment of time and money if you’re going to treat your pet right.”

  “I hadn’t thought about all that, Hadley,” Beanie said. “But I don’t think Bunker will be too much trouble. And I don’t believe he will eat all that much. Just a few crumbs of anything I have left over.”

  “Bean, you can’t feed your pet crumbs. You’ll have to go to the store and buy cat or dog food.”

  “But Hadley, I don’t think Bunker can eat all that before it goes bad. I’m sorry, but I just don’t.”

  “Beanie,” Hadley said, “what is Bunker? Let me see him. I’ll tell you how much he can eat.”

  Beanie showed Hadley his hand.

  “Where’s the cat? Where’s the dog?” Hadley said. “I don’t see one, Bean.”

  “No, Hadley,” Beanie said. “Right here.”

  Beanie pointed to a black speck on his hand.

  “Bunker’s an ant.”

  “An ant! You named an ant after a great battle. I’m really impressed, Bean.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Beanie.

  “The Battle of Bunker Hill,” said Hadley.

  “No, silly,” Beanie said. “I didn’t name him after a great battle. I named him after chili.”

  “Chili,” said Hadley.

  “Yeah,” said Beanie. “That stuff’s so good. I eat it right out of the can.”

  “Cold chili,” said Hadley. “Straight out of the can.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That sounds about as appetizing as cleaning the toe jam from between your toes and spreading it on a peanut butter sandwich.”

  “You eat toe jam!” said Beanie.

  “No,” Hadley said. “Of course not. That’s a figure of speech, Bean. Figure of speech.”

  “Good,” said Beanie. “You had me worried for a minute.”

  “Don’t worry, Bean,” said Hadley. “My toe jam’s snug as a bug in a rug in my shoes.”

  “If I spread bread crumbs all over my house,” said Beanie, “I think Bunker will have enough to eat, don’t you?”

  “Bean, if you sprinkle bread crumbs all over your house, you’ll have so many Bunkers, you won’t be able to shake a stick at them.”

  “A Bunker family reunion,” said Beanie.

  “Exactly,” said Hadley. “Tell you what. You leave Bunker on this nice blade of grass. Right here. See? He needs to build himself his very own ant home right here among his ant friends.”

  “He’d be lonely if I took him to live with me?” Beanie asked.

  “Yes,” said Hadley. “You leave Chili, ah, I mean Bunker here, and I’ll give you half of Onus.”

  “Really, Hadley?”

  “Really. But we’ll let him stay at my house,” she said. “He’s already used to it there. You can come and visit any time you like. Okay?”

  Beanie’s brow furrowed deeply. He frowned.

  “What is it, Bean?” Hadley asked.

  “Which half.”

  “Beg pardon,” Hadley said.

  “Which half,” Beanie said. “Do I get the part that’s got sharp teeth or the end that makes a stink?”

  Hadley thought for a second.

  “With Onus, either end can be deadly. You take the fur on his back, Bean,” Hadley said. “The part of his back that runs from between his ears to the tip of his tail will be yours. It’s soft and fluffy. When you rub him there, he purrs.”

  “That’s a nice half, Hadley,” Beanie said. “Onus sounds like a motor when he does that.”

  “The motor’s yours, too. We’ll throw that in for free,” said Hadley.

  “You’re a good friend, Hadley.”

  “Thanks, Bean. So are you.”

  “The best, Hadley?”

  “The best, Bean.”

  Chapter Ten

  Hadley took off her dress for the third time. She stood in her silk half-slip, shaking her head. She shrugged her shoulders and put on her blue skirt and pink blouse. Empty coat hangers lay in a tangled heap at her feet. She had been choosing and discarding clothes from her closet for half an hour.

  Why she went through this every Sunday was beyond her. The Man upstairs did not care what you wore to His house of worship, but Holly Stintson and Dixie Rue surely did.

  “Onus,” Hadley said to the aloof tabby, “I have a closet full of dresses I might as well give away. Nothing fits or feels as good as a skirt and blouse. My eye is healing well, though. Light yellow bruise. Hardly see it at all, no thanks to you.”

  Hadley turned and glanced at her view from the rear.

  “If I don’t lay off those homemade goodies, my friend, I’m gonna have to tape a sign back there that says ‘wide load.’

  “You’d probably love that, wouldn’t you, Onus. Give you something to chase besides the feathers you tear out of my sofa pillows. Hmm,” she said. “I gotta start exercising.

  “Where was I?

  “Oh, the signage.

&nb
sp; “Yes, that would be quite a fashion statement. Totally true, mind you, but some folks around these parts might be offended that I’d labeled ‘these parts’ like that,” Hadley said, pointing to her backside, for emphasis. “Not that I’d mind, mind you, but Maury would lay an egg!”

  Hadley took a couple of steps backwards.

  “Beep. Beep,” she said, mimicking the sound of a large industrial truck backing up.

  “Get it? Wide load. Beep. Beep.”

  Onus stared silently back. He yawned.

  “Onus, I waste my best stuff on you. Did you know that?”

  Onus yawned again. It was no use.

  Some felines never developed a sense of humor.

  Slipping on a comfortable pair of sensibly low-heeled shoes, she walked over to her dresser and rummaged around in her jewelry box. More choices. She finally settled on a simple gold chain and put on her Sunday gold watch. Good enough.

  Hadley grabbed a comb, raked it through her unruly gray locks. She grabbed her purse and made for the door. At this rate, she was bound to be late. That never boded well.

  Hadley knew any ladies’ business was taken care of the first ten minutes before the lesson started. That meant any tardy soul was bound to be “volunteered” to head whatever “event” was on the coming week’s calendar.

  She barreled up to the church and half-ran, half-waddled up to the door.

  “Hadley, so good to see you. We’ve just concluded the meeting,” Madison Grumm said.

  “Shoot,” Hadley said, under her breath.

  The broad grin on the other ladies’ faces told Hadley what she feared most.

  “You’ve been elected to chair the Ladies’ Auxiliary Bazaar and Charity Bake Sale this year,” said Madison.

  Whoopee, thought Hadley.

  Her luck had run out. She had gotten out of the whole deal last year by coming down with a horrible case of gall stones.

  No such luck, this year, Hadley thought.

  She looked down at the palms of her hands. No chapping or redness anywhere. If there had been, she was going to plead an oncoming case of hoof and mouth.

  “Well,” said Hadley, scrambling for something to say that would not offend every woman sitting there. She looked straight at Maury, who sat there smiling at her as proudly as a peacock. “I am honored, but perhaps, someone better qualified than I am should serve as chairman.”