by Lea Chan
Audrey sat on one of the sofas, picked up a magazine, and idly flipped the pages. Her sardonic mood had dissipated and, she hated to admit it to herself, but part of what Penny had said was right. Life wasn’t quite the same without Agnes to ridicule but what was done was done and she had hated her sister.
Outside Bernie toweled herself off. “I’m going in and get dressed. It’s almost time for drinks, even though I don’t know why we have to have a special time for them. You coming in?”
“Naw, you know this is the time I like to lie in the sun. Can’t burn this time of day.” After he watched Bernie go inside, he floated on his back a while then got out of the pool and lay on a reclining chair, relaxing as the late afternoon heat penetrated his body.
Audrey and Penny were still reading when Lester and Bernie walked in. Lester bounced cheerfully to the bar.
“Up, you two lazy biddies! I’m going to propose a toast. And I got champagne for it!”
“We’re drinking champagne before dinner?” asked Audrey.
“And why not?” he retorted gleefully. “What’s the difference between that and your usual vodka martini?”
“There’s a lot of difference. But you’re right. Who the hell cares? We can do what we want.”
“Damn right we can!” He opened the small refrigerator beneath the wet bar and pulled out a bottle of fine French champagne. He popped the cork and poured the bubbly liquid into crystal glasses and passed them around.
“Now, ladies, to whoever put those greens in Agnes’ salad, whether it was me,” he said with eyes twinkling and gleaming, “or one of you, it was a damn clever job!”
They clinked glasses but Penny sputtered, “Lester, it’s supposed to have been an accident. Like Agnes did it to herself.”
“Good show, Penny! Keep it up! All of you!”
“It might have been an accident, Lester,” argued Audrey.
“Might a been, might a been, but damned unlikely coming so soon after we drew to kill her. Nope, I honestly believe whoever drew that X was one smart dame-uh-person.” He reveled in observing their expressions, which ranged from bewilderment to shock to fright. Even Bernie was being unusually quiet, although she was downing the champagne with enthusiasm.
“Now,” he continued, “I got a call a few minutes ago from one of the Bobbsey Twins, that damn Donovan. They’re going to have an inquest, dammit, and it’s going to be day after tomorrow, which is Friday. We could have the funeral tomorrow but I’d rather wait until the inquest is over. If all goes well, we’ll have the funeral Saturday morning and the reading of the will that afternoon. Then we’ll be home free!” He almost let out a childish yippee he was that excited.
“But if it doesn’t go well?” whined Penny.
“Dammit, Penny, and the rest of you. Abbott and Costello ain’t got spit on nobody. We stick to our stories. Why even Kevin and Mark have fallen into the plan. Of course, they don’t know it but that’s what makes this so believable. Lordy, whoever thought of them greens was a damn genius. Another toast!”
The Henley householders praised Mark that evening for a delicious meal. Nonetheless, they were unusually subdued.
Mark figured they were still acting that way in deference to Kevin who seemed to have gotten a grip on himself and was dealing quite well with his grief. Mark was puzzled by the behavior of the others, such as respectful in front of Kevin but snickering in his absence, especially Lester. Bernie’s behavior was strange. True, she and Agnes had not cared for each other but Bernie had a dazed look as if she were in some kind of dreamland. What was she up to, he wondered, or had she already done something? At least Kevin didn’t seem to notice anything different. Mark concluded that his imagination was getting away from him.
Penny couldn’t go to sleep. The upcoming inquest terrified her. She prayed for the result to be accidental death, or perhaps, suicide. But no, that idea would be preposterous. Donovan was a smart man in spite of his bad grammar and hayseed ways. Of course he wouldn’t conduct the inquest but he did seem to be conducting some sort of investigation. From what she had read in mystery novels, she assumed the coroner would be in charge of the inquest. If she understood correctly, the verdict could just read causes and/or perpetrator unknown. But the cause was known. Would Donovan or the medical examiner convince the coroner that there was a perpetrator? Donovan was hard to read. Was he suspicious or just doing his job? But what if he did convince the coroner that foul play was suspected? What happened then?
Paranoia continued to sweep over Penny. “What if each of us has to take a polygraph test?” The horror of that thought sent shivers of fear ricocheting through her body. By the way the others looked at her, she knew that they knew she had drawn the X. “They’re always snapping at me to shut up, especially Audrey. But could any of the four of us pass a polygraph test? What if, say, Bernie revealed the X plot? Then the focus would turn on me. How could I deny having drawn that dratted X on a polygraph?”
Penny tossed and turned worrying herself into a frenzy.
Audrey couldn’t sleep either with thoughts of the inquest running through her mind.
“Lester is so sure of himself, the smarmy bastard! He knows he didn’t draw that X. But does he suspect me? If he points a finger at me, I’ll deny ever having drawn that blasted thing. And I’ll damn sure inform that fat Donovan that it was all Lester’s idea. Wouldn’t that make him an accomplice or something? If I have to go down, then we’re all going down. But we’re not going to. We must stick to our stories and our alibis. That little dimwit Penny better not crack either. Why the hell she acts the way she does, I’ll never know. With her scared rabbit guilty act you’d think she’d drawn the X. If she or Bernie ever lets out what we did, I’ll kill either one, I swear, and Lester, too. But what’s the matter with me? It’s beneficial to all of us to keep the plot a secret. But are the others smart enough to realize that?”
Bernie lay beside a peacefully sleeping Kevin. Unlike Penny and Audrey, her mind was far removed from the inquest. She wasn’t sure what an inquest was and didn’t know that it might be a cause for worry. As far as she was concerned, the X business was over. The deed was done. Agnes was dead and no one would talk. Besides, they all alibied each other. No, her main interest now was her life and position at Henley House and how she was going to adapt to the change.
Unknowingly, Mark had gauged her demeanor perfectly. She was indeed in dreamland!
But Lester was suddenly worried. His earlier glee had evaporated. True, the plant-poisoning scheme had been a stroke of genius.
“But those women have to keep quiet. If anyone of them breaks down then the spotlight turns on me. But why would they? The inquest should go okay if all of them stick to their alibis. Bless Kevin and Mark for their comments. That fool Donovan can’t possibly suspect me, the grieving husband of the town’s leading benefactress. How could anybody outside of this house think someone would want to harm his dearly beloved Agnes Henley? Just as long as Donovan and the coroner don’t think about motives and my inheritance. Naw, everybody’s got to keep calm and cool. They just got to. Those whiny women better keep quiet. Ah, what’s the matter with me? Ain’t nobody in this town going to think a murder took place here.”
He slept fitfully.
Donovan propped himself in bed beside May Belle who was reading a new history textbook. He had read the sports section of the newspaper several times trying not to think about Agnes Henley.
“What you reading, hon?” he asked not really caring. He just needed to discuss something, anything, to forget that plant-poisoning problem.
“They’ve assigned us a new text book and I’m familiarizing myself with it.”
“Now, that’s damn crazy. History is history. Why would anyone have to write a new text book?”
“Because,” said his patient wife, “they, whoever they are, have to keep world events as current as possible. Just think how much more kids have to learn today than when we were young.”
“Yeah, I guess you
’re right,” he said morosely.
“You seem rather down. I don’t mean to pry but is it that Agnes Henley business?”
“Uh-huh. Say, you went to that garden party of hers. Did you notice her mixing up plants or something like that?”
May Belle stifled a guffaw. “Oh, my goodness, don’t tell me that’s what she did? Poisoned herself with her own plants!”
“Well, you know I shouldn’t say nothing until the inquest and the case is officially closed but that’s what it looks like.”
“My, my.” May Belle turned off the bedside lamp and, turning her back to Donovan, almost laughed herself to sleep. Poor, poor Agnes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friday, June 7th and Saturday, June 8th
The inquest began Friday afternoon in a straightforward manner. Each member of the Henley household answered his or her questions simply and succinctly. Alibis were corroborated. Not only did the Henley entourage explain Agnes’ proclivity for mispronunciation, so did her coworkers. In fact, the testimony of Shirley Gates and Annie Pilston seemed to be what clinched the verdict.
If anything was out of the ordinary, it was the testimony of the two girls who appeared in outlandish costumes of baggy pants, low-cut tank tops, dangling earrings, and army boots. Their hair was spiked and multi-colored in an out-of-style “punk-do” with no indication what their original hair color might have been.
Mark whispered to Audrey, “You mean to tell me that Miz Agnes hired girls who looked like that?”
“No, no. They dressed decently in little uniforms. But remember, they didn’t last long,” she whispered back, “and this is their summertime attire.”
Although her appearance was unorthodox, Chenequel spoke quietly, uttering a polite “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” in response to the questions put to her. Shetekia, however, responded differently.
“She never pronounced my name right. At first she called me Senekia. Then later on she’d say, ‘Oh, Sneaky-O, come here, darling.’ Made me want to puke, I can tell you. Once she kept talking about someone, called Chinkwell. I thought she meant some boy, then I realized she was talking about Chenequel. I don’t mean to talk bad about no dead person but that lady was crazy, especially if she mixed me and Chenequel up with plants.”
Lester was on the verge of exploding with laughter. Little giggles kept burbling through his nose as he fought to restrain himself. People around him thought he was crying and patted him on the back, saying “There, there now.” He had to keep his face down, buried in his hands while his body shook and convulsed.
The verdict was read. Accidental death. Mrs. Agnes Henley had accidentally substituted poisonous plants for edible greens.
Lester was impatient to get home so he could release the hilarity that had overtaken him. But getting out of the courthouse was going to be a problem. He had to produce a somber façade for the public as he made his way with Kevin and Bernie to their car. He didn’t realize that his face had turned red from his repressed convulsions and, in trying not to smile, he looked veritably pathetic.
Even Donovan was impressed.
“You know, Daryl,” he said to Metson as they got into their patrol car, “I kind of feel sorry for ole Lester. If he’s acting then he’s damn good.”
“How do you feel about the verdict?”
“Nothing. I knew that’s what it was going to be.”
“Then you agree with it?”
“Damned if I know what to think. The hairs are still bristling on the back of my neck. Ole Lester’s the only one that would’ve had any kind of motive to harm Miz Agnes, as far as I can see, and he seems to be gen-u-inely upset at losing her. If he had had anything to do with her eating those plants, then he’d be jumping for joy at the verdict. Besides, he had the best alibi of any of them. He was nowhere near that house during the time of death.”
“Yeah, but you know what they say about ironclad alibis. The person that’s got one is usually the guilty party.”
“Only in mystery novels, Daryl, or on TV.”
“I suppose so. So what do you think happened?”
“What I think ain’t important. I just find it hard to believe that Miz Agnes Henley didn’t know the difference between them plants but the case is closed. Let’s hope it was an accident and that no lucky murderer is going scot-free.”
Metson was silent for a while then said, “You know, she sure is cute.”
“Who?” Donovan hoped he wasn’t referring to Miz Bernadette.
“That Miss Pilston who worked for Miz Agnes and Miss Gates.”
“Oh,” signed Donovan with relief. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings none, Daryl, but don’t you think she’s a little too classy for you?”
“I like classy. Besides, most folks in town think Mrs. Donovan is a pretty classy lady. I think it shows we both got good taste.”
“Damn right, son, damn right. So, you going to pursue this Miss Pilston?”
“I’m thinking on it.”
Shirley and Annie rode together to and from the inquest in Shirley’s car.
“So, do you think the inquest was right?” asked Annie.
“What? That it was an accident? Of course. Nobody could have picked out a more perfect scenario for Agnes than for her to die from a salad made from poisonous weeds growing in her precious garden. However, I wouldn’t have wished a death like that on anyone. The Henleys are nice people and besides, what other verdict could there have been? Poor Agnes. What a shame that she never really knew anything about the things she claimed to know best.”
Annie wondered just how sincere Shirley was. Agnes had irritated everyone at school. Shirley had wanted to get rid of her and the method that she was going to use had seemed lame to Annie. But she knew that Shirley had not had the opportunity to do anything to Agnes on that fateful day and that she ought to be ashamed of herself for thinking such a thing. She admired Shirley and hoped to work for her for a long time.
Changing the subject, she asked, “What do you think about Officer Metson?”
“Huh? Officer Metson? Well, I’ve never thought anything about him. I guess he’s kind of a younger version of Donovan.”
“Oh no, I don’t think so. I think he’s smarter than Donovan. And cuter,” she added shyly.
“Sheesh, Annie, don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on him. Look at the way he talks, all that bad grammar.”
“Maybe so, but look at May Belle. She uses perfect grammar and Donovan doesn’t.”
Shirley laughed. “May Belle has kept old Donovan in line for years. I think this town owes her a lot.”
Annie fell silent, deciding that it was best not to talk about Metson anymore. He was cute and in spite of his grammar, she was sure he was intelligent.
The funeral was held Saturday morning in the First Baptist Church. Donovan thought that was rather strange since he had always believed Agnes was Catholic. He didn’t want to question the family, so he asked Shirley Gates who had seemed to know Agnes as well as anyone.
“Oh,” she said in response to his query, “Agnes once told me she believed in all the religions, even the spirits of the wind and trees and the flowers. She took turns visiting different churches. She loved making an entrance but the Catholic was her favorite because of all the ritual. I don’t think she had a clue what it all meant. But Lester, Kevin, and Audrey are die-hard-uh-devout Baptists. They wouldn’t dream of having a funeral anyplace else. It’s kind of sad, though, because I think Agnes would have loved a Catholic funeral.”
“Damn,” said Donovan, himself a devout Baptist, to Metson as they drove away from the cemetery, “maybe Miz Agnes was a little nuts. But how could such a prominent citizen hide all that craziness from the entire community?”
“Well,” replied Metson, “I think you have to live or work with someone to really know them. Whether she was crazy or not, Miz Agnes Henley did a lot of good in Magnolia Creek.”
“Yeah, and I can’t believe that Shirley Gates, another fine lady could be in cahoots
with that Henley bunch. Why just look at how she got that new TV show. Or how could them two girls paint a false picture of Miz Agnes. Sounds more and more like she was a real ditsy lady, capable of mixing up her own salad greens. But a good, kind soul, nonetheless,” he added. “Even May Belle wasn’t surprised when I told her what killed her.”
“You’re kidding. Miz Donovan said that? So, no more thoughts of murderers going scot-free?”
“Naw,” Donovan didn’t mention the hairs on his neck were still bristling.
The reading of the will was to be held that afternoon. Lester couldn’t wait to get it over with. The church ceremony, the ride to the cemetery, the ritual there, and the ride back to the house all seemed interminable. Then he had to endure condolences from friends, neighbors, and acquaintances who also partook of the lavish buffet that Mark, aided by his father, had set out. Would they ever leave, he worried. He was grateful that Kevin seemed to be holding up so well. And the women were behaving appropriately.
No sooner had the last guest left and the Henley group had collapsed in the library than the doorbell rang. The family lawyer, Jefferson Parkins, had arrived. Mark escorted him into the library where he seated himself at Agnes’ desk and asked the others to seat themselves comfortably around him. Mark remained, discreetly sitting behind the others, curious to hear the proceedings.
The lawyer, a serious, bespectacled, thin man of sixty, glanced around at the assembled group. “I’m not going to go through all the technical, legal mumbo-jumbo. I know you don’t want to hear it. So, Agnes Briar Henley, in sound mind and body,” he began.
