by Gail Oust
Polly arrived just then to take my place at the table. “That man’s as grouchy as a bear with a sore paw, but I have to hand it to him, he’s got one strong pitching arm. Too bad Valley View Manor doesn’t have a softball team. You should have seen him fastball that can of Ensure. Good thing Kate’s got good reflexes.”
“Just stay away from the man,” Janine advised as she selected a cashew from a dish on the table. “According to the staff, Bud Sanders has always been volatile, but even more so since his wife passed away.”
At table three, I found myself across from Monica. From the scowl on her face, I guessed she was unhappy. “Diane had to roll a bunco before I even had a chance to score.”
“Relax,” I said, trying to inject a positive note. “At least now you’ll have a chance to win two dollars for low score.”
“Hmph!” she huffed then turned to Gloria, who was also at the losers’ table. “Gloria, I hope we can count on your help this week. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us if we want to have Eula’s house ready for the tour.”
“I’ve cleared my schedule.” At the sound of the bell, Gloria picked up the dice, but when she failed to roll any twos, slid them to me.
“Monica,” I said as I passed the dice—my luck was no better than Gloria’s—“do you have women lined up to act as hostesses during the actual tour?”
Pam promptly tossed a baby bunco for five points, then racked up another before pushing the dice to Monica. “Diane said she has that task under control. Megan agreed to help, too, since her exam will be over.”
The set finally ended. I retained my seat at table three for two more sets. The losers’ table was beginning to feel like my home away from home.
“Ladies!” Rita clapped her hands to get our attention, no easy feat with twelve talkative women chattering away. “Time to cast your vote for the winner of the ugliest Christmas sweater. First let’s take a good look at all the contenders. Tammy Lynn, since you’re not wearing a sweater, you’re elected as our impartial judge.”
Connie Sue, the Babes’ very own former beauty queen, pretended she was a pageant contestant modeling her navy blue sweater embroidered with a bright red Santa. Not to be outdone, the Babes paraded up and down the family room to show off their finds. Mickey Mouse, Snoopy, Frosty, Rudolph, and an elf were all represented in a vibrant and gaudy display.
“Gee, y’all,” Tammy Lynn said, looking perplexed. “This is really hard, but I think Polly’s the winner. Kate came in a close second except only half the lights on her antlers are working.”
Polly pirouetted to cheers and handclapping.
Janine stifled a yawn. “Why don’t we sample a cookie or two before calling it a night?”
The rest of us didn’t need any coaxing as we made a beeline for the kitchen, where Polly immediately snatched one of Diane’s no-bake cookies. The rest of us had favorites, too. Claudia took a big bite out of a cinnamon-sugar cookie that had been Tammy Lynn’s contribution via her grandmother. I watched Claudia’s eyes widen in shock. Dropping the cookie on the counter, she reached for the nearby box of tissues and dabbed her watery eyes. “Woo-ee!” she said, fanning her hand in front of her face. “These should come with a warning label.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned after watching her reaction.
Janine hurried to the sink and poured Claudia a glass of water. “Do you have any allergies?”
“No allergies,” Claudia managed. She gratefully accepted the water from Janine and gulped it down.
I broke off a small piece of the cookie for a tentative taste. Immediately, my mouth and lips burned like fire. It wasn’t cinnamon I tasted in Eula’s cookies, but chili powder.
“Kate? Claudia?” Tammy Lynn ceased talking to Megan about her breakup with Eric. “Is somethin’ wrong with Meemaw’s cookies? They’re my favorite. She’s been makin’ them for me since I was little.”
“Honey,” I said as gently as I could, “I’m afraid your grandmother used chili powder in her recipe instead of cinnamon.”
Tammy Lynn’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no . . .” she wailed.
“It’s a simple mistake, sweetie,” Connie Sue tried to sooth the girl’s obvious distress. “At a glance, chili powder and cinnamon look identical.”
“Maybe your grandmother wasn’t wearing her glasses while she was baking,” I said. “It would be easy to mistake one for the other.”
Janine nodded. “Considering all the stress she’s under, I’m surprised she’s functioning as well as she is.”
Refusing to be placated, Tammy Lynn scooped up the bags containing her grandmother’s cookies and dumped them in the wastebasket under the sink. “If Daddy learns about this, he’ll have even more reason to side with Aunt Cora that Meemaw needs someone to look after her.”
Valley View Manor, here she comes, I thought.
Chapter 30
“Gracious!” Eula stood on the threshold of her living room and surveyed the transformation taking place. “You ladies are amazing. You’re turning this old house into a showplace.”
I paused to rub the ache in my lower back. “And we’re only half finished. Wait till you see what it’ll look like on Saturday.”
We’d been hard at work since nine o’clock with time out only for a quick lunch break. The entire day, Monica had been acting like a five-star general directing a troop of lowly privates. She’d planted herself front and center, clipboard in hand, telling us what to do and how to do it. Every task, no matter how big or how small, had been painstakingly orchestrated on a spreadsheet. A spreadsheet! Sheesh!
“According to my inventory, there’s still a bin missing,” Monica said, scowling at her list. “Kate, check to see if it was put in one of the bedrooms by mistake. It’s plainly labeled Living Room.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I quelled the urge to give Monica a jaunty salute and went in search of a bin that had gone AWOL.
Gloria was in the guest room smoothing a wrinkle from the pristine white quilt she’d spread over a twin bed. She looked up with a tired smile when I entered. “I suggest you find an out-of-the-way corner to hide if you need a rest.”
I plopped down on the freshly made bed. “Monica is driving me crazy with her bossiness.”
“Join the club,” Gloria said as she stuffed a pillow into a quilted sham. “That’s why I sent Mother to run errands. I was afraid she’d say something to Monica and start World War Three.”
I sighed. “Polly doesn’t have any filters.”
“Amen.” Gloria plumped the pillow and propped it against the headboard. “Were you looking for something in particular or just a place to hide?”
“Monica wants me to locate a missing bin,” I said, getting to my feet.
“Only bins here are those for the guest room. You might check with Pam in the master bedroom.”
I found Pam arranging an embroidered white dresser scarf across Eula’s old-fashioned pine dresser. “Hey,” she said after double-checking to make sure it was centered. “Monica keeping you busy?”
“I don’t suppose you swiped a bin meant for the living room, have you?”
“With the mood Monica is in, I wouldn’t dare. Connie Sue is wisely allowing her to be the supreme commander while she keeps out of harm’s way fussing with the details.”
“Kate,” Monica yelled from the other room, “we found it. Someone shoved it under the kitchen table.”
“Guess my furlough is over. Time for deployment.”
“Give me your opinion, Kate,” Connie Sue said when she spotted me. “Should I move this arrangement a little more to the left?”
I studied the rustic crate filled with pine boughs and holly and the old kerosene lantern Gloria had unearthed at a flea market. Connie Sue had added a giant red and white gingham bow to give it a pop of color. “I think it looks fine where it is,” I concluded.
Monica tilted her head first one way, then the other. “No, I don’t think so. It needs to be moved about two inches to the right.”
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I fought the temptation to roll my eyes. The entire day had been a battle of wills. Monica and Connie Sue seemed to have opposite views on every subject. It was a mystery to me how this project—with the home tour mere days away—would ever be finished on time.
“What if I exchange the bow for several of those large pinecones we spray-painted to look snow-covered?” Connie Sue asked, stepping back to examine the overall effect from a different angle.
“Keep the bow and add the pinecones,” Monica decided.
The sound of car doors slamming had us turning our heads toward the window in time to see Bill and Gloria’s husband, Stan, remove an evergreen tree from the bed of Bill’s pickup. I hurried over to open the front door as the men carried in the nearly ten-foot tree.
“Where do you want it?” Bill asked, almost invisible behind the branches.
Gloria must have seen the men coming up the walk, too, and hurried out of the guest room to find a tree stand.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Pam said, drawn into the living room by the men’s arrival.
“Center the tree in front of the window so people can see it as they come up the walk,” Connie Sue instructed. “We can all help decorate it tomorrow morning.”
After pruning a couple of low branches, the tree fit into the stand perfectly, where it stood tall and proud in the spot Connie Sue had indicated. We formed a loose semicircle around the tree to admire it.
“Perfect,” I decreed. “We had an artificial tree for so many years that I almost forgot how much nicer real trees were.”
“This is a Fraser fir,” Bill said, dusting his hands. “Most of them are shipped out of North Carolina.”
Stan nodded. “You gals got yourself a choice tree. Nice shape, good needle retention, and a great scent.”
“All the air fresheners in the world can’t compete with the aroma of a freshly cut Christmas tree,” Connie Sue said.
I took a deep breath. “I love the smell of pine. It reminds me of the times my family would all pile into the station wagon and go to a Christmas tree farm, where we’d cut our own tree.”
“My folks would take us to the lot on the corner and we’d buy the biggest spruce we could find,” Pam reminisced.
Gloria’s expression took on a faraway look. “Somehow my sister and I always managed to pick the tree with the crookedest trunk, then listen to my dad cuss a blue streak when it toppled over in the middle of the night and broke half the ornaments.”
“Smells ring bells, or so they say.” Monica set aside her clipboard and spreadsheets. “Let’s call it a day. We’ll meet bright and early tomorrow morning to decorate the tree.”
One by one the women gathered their belongings and everyone filed out until only Bill and I remained. Bill kept looking around as if he’d misplaced his car keys. “Eula,” he finally said, “I swear Kate told me you had a dog, but I don’t see him anywhere. Did his owners show up to claim him?”
Eula shook her head vigorously. “Heavens, no! I left Ralph at my son’s so he wouldn’t be underfoot. My granddaughter promised she’d go over at lunchtime to let him out.”
“Too bad. Maybe I’ll get to meet him next time,” Bill said before turning to me. “Are you coming, Kate? After working all day, you shouldn’t have to cook. I’ll pick up a pizza and meet you at your place.”
“What a guy.” I kissed the man, not caring who watched, right then and there in the middle of Eula’s living room. “Give me an hour,” I told him, then watched him drive off.
“I’m exhausted, and I didn’t lift a finger to help you girls.” Eula yawned and sank down on the sofa. “About this time every day, Cora usually fixes me my favorite smoothie. She claims it’s designed to boost energy. She always adds some cocoa powder because she knows how much I love chocolate.”
“Where is Cora, by the way? I expected her to pop in and see what we’re doing.”
“She had a dentist appointment in Augusta, then was getting a manicure at the mall.” Eula yawned again. “I sure could use an energy boost about now. Cora said cocoa protects folks against nasty heads colds and viruses.”
How hard could it be to concoct a smoothie? I’m sure Eula needed all the protection she could get during flu season. “Sit right here and take one of your catnaps. I’ll make one for you.”
“You’d do that for me?” Eula gave me a sweet smile that reminded me of my own dear, departed grandmother. “My sister keeps the cocoa powder in a small bottle in the cupboard above the sink.”
Eula’s eyelids fluttered shut as I went into the kitchen to see what I could find. Tomorrow the room would be declared off-limits until after the tour, but right now it was all mine. The blender was still in its usual place on the counter. Opening the fridge, I took out a carton of plain yogurt and almond milk. In the crisper, I found a partial container of raspberries. The berries plus the ripe banana on the kitchen table seemed a preordained combination. These all went into the blender, along with a few ice cubes, before I remembered the cocoa powder.
Standing on tiptoe, I stretched to reach a small bottle nearly hidden behind Tylenol in the cupboard over the sink. I managed to catch hold of it with my fingertips. Once I held it firmly in my hand, I recognized it as the one I’d seen Cora holding the other day. In fact, I was certain of it. On closer examination, however, it wasn’t really a small bottle after all but a pill container, the fat round kind from the pharmacy with the snap-on childproof tops that often stymie adults.
The original prescription had been issued not to Eula but to Cora Prentiss. After only two tries I pried off the lid. The white powder inside was identical to the one I’d seen Cora add to Eula’s smoothie. She’d stated it was a probiotic that she ordered online to promote bone health. I sniffed, but the powder had no discernible odor. Nor did it look like cocoa. Cocoa powder, I knew from my experience baking, was brown—not white—and had a distinct chocolaty smell.
Odd, I thought, replacing the cap and returning the bottle to the shelf. I wasn’t about to add a mystery ingredient to Eula’s afternoon smoothie. Instead I did a thorough search of the kitchen cabinets and finally came across a small tin of Hershey’s cocoa wedged between various baking supplies in the pantry.
Using a pencil and scrap of paper from a junk drawer, I scribbled down the name of the drug on the prescription bottle while it was still fresh in my memory. I’d Google it later to satisfy my curiosity if nothing else.
There was a loud knock on the door just then so I shoved the slip of paper into a pocket of my jeans and hurried to answer it. But I was too late. Eula held the door open wide to admit Sheriff Wiggins, who was accompanied by Deputy Eric Olsen. Their drab brown service uniforms seemed to leach the Christmas spirit from the room as effectively as bleach on a berry stain.
Eula shoved at her eyeglasses, which perpetually slipped down her nose. “Sheriff, did you come to see how pretty my house looks after the ladies worked so hard all day?”
I stepped forward and received my customary scowl from the sheriff. Eric acknowledged my presence with an almost indiscernible bob of his head. “Well, don’t just stand there with the door open,” I snapped. “Heating bills are high enough this time of year.”
“Um,” Sheriff Wiggins cleared his throat. “Miz Snow, is there someplace we can speak in private? There’s a matter we need to discuss.”
“Goodness, anything you have to say can be said in front of Kate.” Eula clutched her hands together, her eyes enormous behind her bifocals. “I don’t keep secrets from my friends.”
The sheriff’s expression darkened at hearing this. “Very well,” he growled. “Deputy Olsen, kindly show Ms. Snow the object in question.”
Eric dutifully produced an evidence bag with the brown crusted meat pounder. The same meat pounder Ralph the dog had found in the woods behind Eula’s home.
“Can you positively identify this as once belonging to you?” Sheriff Wiggins asked.
Squinting, Eula leaned forward for a better look. “I can’t
say for certain, but it looks like one I used to have.”
“The report from the crime lab just came back. The blood found on this item matches the DNA of your late husband, Waylon Snow.”
Eula’s hand flew to her mouth, but no sound came out. For a moment I thought she was going to collapse, but she drew a quivering breath and straightened her spine.
There was no longer a question if the blood on the meat pounder was human or animal. The lab report, though not totally unexpected, further implicated Eula in her husband’s death. But I couldn’t remain silent. “Didn’t she just tell you, Sheriff, that she couldn’t say for certain? Mrs. Snow has been advised not to speak to you without an attorney present. I’ve got BJ Davenport’s number on speed dial. He can be here in fifteen minutes. Should I make the call?”
Eyes dark as coal, Sheriff Wiggins stared at me, daring me to back down, but I stared right back while the seconds ticked past.
“Unless you have a warrant for Mrs. Snow’s arrest,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you and your deputy to leave the premises.”
I had no idea whether my order to vacate would work, but I’ve heard that dialog used time and again on TV shows to good effect. After a lengthy pause, Sheriff Wiggins turned and left. Eric shot me an apologetic smile, then followed.
I put my arm around Eula’s shoulders and led her toward the sofa. “I’ll stay with you until Tammy Lynn comes by to take you to your son’s.”
The smoothie was all but forgotten in light of a bloody meat pounder with Waylon’s DNA. How much longer would it take the sheriff to build his airtight case? What was he waiting for? Next time would he come with an arrest warrant?
Chapter 31
“But don’t you think it’s weird, Bill?” I helped myself to another slice of pizza. “Why would Cora tell me she was adding maca powder, a probiotic, to Eula’s smoothie, but tell Eula it was cocoa? And why keep it in a prescription bottle on a high shelf out of reach?”
