Morning Glory Circle

by Pamela Grandstaff

  “I just sedated her,” Doc said.

  “Are there any other suspects or witnesses you’ve put safely to sleep somewhere?” Sarah asked Scott.

  Scott felt himself flush with embarrassment.

  “She was hysterical and making herself ill.”

  “Maybe because she killed him,” Sarah said.

  “Well, at least she can’t get away now,” Doc Machalvie told her. “You can handcuff her to the wicker settee and put armed guards all around her.”

  Sarah didn’t see the humor in the situation. She took out her cell phone, called the county dispatcher, and asked to have her team assembled.

  Doc Machalvie excused himself and Scott helped him up off the floor from where he knelt.

  “Good luck,” he whispered to Scott as he left. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

  Scott sat with Lily Crawford on the back steps of the inn, out of Sarah’s hearing.

  “Could Connie and Newton have been having an affair?” Scott asked her.

  “I guess it’s possible,” Lily said. “Connie is very high strung, and her cat just passed away, so she was already very fragile, emotionally. Newton didn’t really seem the type, but I guess you never know.”

  “Hannah said she overheard Connie and him arguing last week.”

  “Connie and I are friends, but she’s very guarded. She doesn’t share really personal things with me.”

  “What did she do before she ran the inn?”

  “She was a nurse. She took care of Mrs. Eldridge for several years before her death.”

  “Theo’s mother?”

  “Yes. After Mrs. Eldridge died, her husband put Connie in charge of the inn as a kind of retirement arrangement. She’s guaranteed the job for her lifetime.”

  “Someone told me Gwyneth treated Connie like a maid while she lived at the inn. I can’t remember who that was.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Gwyneth has an oversized sense of entitlement, and would have been used to seeing Connie as a servant in her parents’ house.”

  “And it was Gwyneth who kicked the president and his wife out of their house when Theo died and she inherited it.”

  “I believe his wife is in Florida with their daughter.”

  “That reminds me, I need to contact her.”

  “I don’t envy you that part of your job.”

  Scott stood up and helped Lily to her feet.

  “You always turn up when people need you,” Scott said.

  “I could say the same for you,” she said.

  “Yeah, but that’s my job.”

  “I somehow think you’d turn up just the same,” Lily said, and gave his hand a squeeze before letting go.

  After Scott made the call to the deceased’s widow, he went back outside to take some deep breaths of cold air. He didn’t have to do that sort of thing much and it never got easier. He said a silent prayer for Newton, his wife Delores, and their daughter. When he went back inside, he looked around the spacious and elegantly appointed front room and foyer, and then walked through the dining room and sitting room of the grand mansion. There was a wall of bookcases on each side of the fireplace in the sitting room, and the shelves were packed with romance novels and murder mysteries. He thought of Malcolm Behr and what he’d said about the suicide being staged to cover up for murder.

  Sarah found him there.

  “Find out anything from the widow?” she asked.

  “She was very upset,” Scott said. “She’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “The doctor said Connie will be unconscious until morning, so I’m leaving someone with her.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “The other guests who are staying here will need to be interviewed, but my team will take care of that. You could go to the college and snoop around his office. Do you know his secretary?”

  “I do. Her name’s Darlene and she goes to my church.”

  “We need to get in there before Darlene cleans up any evidence, and she’s more likely to let you in.”

  “I’m glad to be of service.”

  “That’s good to hear. I was planning to go to Margie’s funeral tomorrow. Do you want to go with me? We could get a beer afterwards.”

  “I’m on night shift tomorrow night,” Scott said. “I’ll be at the funeral, but I need to get back to work after.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said. “Oh and by the way, congratulations on finding all that loot in Margie’s attic. Can’t think how we missed that.”

  “There are some pictures in the station safe a lot like those in Newton’s room.”

  “Even better,” she said. “I’ll have to watch out, or pretty soon you’ll be gunning for my job.”

  “Don’t worry,” Scott said. “I’m happy where I am, doing all those jobs that are beneath you.”

  “I’d love to have you working beneath me,” she said, moving into his personal space so that her breast rubbed his arm.

  Scott jumped away and she laughed at him.

  “You’re getting awfully jumpy,” she said. “It’s not good to stay so frustrated. Why don’t you let me take care of that for you?”

  Scott’s face flushed and he had to make a concerted effort to control his temper.

  “See you at the funeral,” he said, and walked away, conscious of her checking out his backside as he did so.

  Maggie and Hannah went to the Mountain View Retirement Home in Pendleton to see Enid. She was sleeping, but they got to talk with their friend Ruthie.

  “She’s upset about Margie’s death,” Ruthie said. “As much as you imagine she would be. But she’s also confused, maybe because so much has happened in such a short time. She keeps asking everyone when Eric is coming.”

  “Her dead husband.”

  “She thinks he’s coming to take her to the funeral.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “I’ve been spending a lot of time with her, because she knows me and she’s calmer with a familiar face around. Last night she said something very telling. She said, ‘Mary Margaret did some very bad things.’ I asked her what kind of things. She said, ‘I told her someday all her bad chickens would come home to roost.’”

  “What do you think she meant by that?”

  “She wouldn’t say anymore.”

  “We don’t want to wake her,” Hannah said, but clearly she was asking if they could.

  “She needs her sleep if she’s going to be fit to go to a funeral tomorrow,” Ruthie said. “I’m worried about her blood pressure.”

  “Who’s been to visit her?” Maggie asked.

  “Let’s take a look at the book,” Ruthie said. “Everyone has to sign in and put down who they’re visiting.”

  Out in the lobby, Ruthie spun the registration book around and looked back over the previous seven days.

  “You and Hannah, Lily and Connie, both of your mothers and your Aunt Delia, Father Stephen and Sister Mary Margrethe, and of course, Scott.”

  “I wonder if she told any of them anything interesting.”

  “Well, you’ll never get anything out of Father Stephen, but maybe the others got something.”

  Maggie and Hannah took Margie’s nicest outfit (which wasn’t saying much) to the funeral home, and when they rang the bell at the back door, Peg opened it almost immediately.

  Peg had on a bright red pantsuit accessorized by black jet jewelry that matched her severely arched eyebrows, spidery lashes, and bell-shaped hairdo. Her makeup was dark and dramatic as always, but her lips looked newly plumped up and sore around the edges.

  She stood in the doorway amidst a choking cloud of perfume, and asked, “How can I help you?” in a most unwelcoming tone.

  “Nosferatu,” Hannah said under her breath from where she stood behind Maggie.

  “Pardon me?” Peg said impatiently, although her puffy lips gave the “p” an extra pop.

  “We brought Margie Estep’s burial clothes,” Maggie said.

  Peg brusquely thanked t
hem as she jerked the hanger out of Maggie’s hand and slammed the door in their faces.

  “What in the hell happened to our friendly neighborhood creature of the night?” Hannah asked Maggie. “It looks like she kissed the business end of a bee.”

  “Some sort of lip implants?” Maggie said.

  “The better to kiss Gwyneth’s bony butt with, I guess.”

  Mayor Machalvie was intent on wooing Gwyneth Eldridge now that she controlled the majority of the Eldridge family’s wealth, and Peg had been spending a lot of time making sure that any wooing that was done was strictly businesslike and unromantic. To that end, she had assigned herself the role of Gwyneth’s new best friend, and kept looking for ways to get close to her.

  Maggie and Hannah stopped in at the bakery next, to ask their mothers about anything Enid might have said that was interesting, and found out about the college president killing himself.

  “I heard he confessed to killing Margie in his suicide note,” Hannah’s mother Alice said. “There were some awful photos and a blackmail note directing him to leave money in the burn barrel, right up the hill from where Margie was, well, where Hannah found her.”

  “Well, that takes care of that,” Maggie said to Hannah. She was sorry to hear about the suicide, but was also relieved her brother Brian wasn’t involved.

  Bonnie was still mad at her daughter for not telling her about Timmy’s “pirate,” and for accusing Brian of stealing money, so she was pretending her daughter wasn’t in the room. Maggie went back to the kitchen, where Delia and Mandy were baking.

  “I guess you heard about Newton Moseby,” Maggie said and both women nodded.

  Delia hugged her and whispered in her ear, “Your mother hasn’t mentioned the cookie jar money yet.”

  Maggie just shook her head, and then looked more closely at Mandy.

  “You look different,” she said. “What have you done?”

  Mandy giggled and Delia laughed out loud.

  “She’s in love,” Delia said, and Mandy flung a handful of flour at her, even though she was still smiling.

  “Well whatever it is, it suits you,” Maggie said.

  Ed Harrison abandoned his web site work once again and drove out to the Roadhouse to talk to Phyllis Davis. He found her seated at the bar having coffee and smoking a cigarette. She looked thinner and older than the last time he saw her, just a few weeks previously. It looked like the deaths of Theo and her son had taken a toll on her.

  “Will you look at what the cat dragged in?” she asked the bartender, a heavily tattooed biker named Ray whom Ed knew from the summer softball league.

  The Roadhouse had a softball team that was just as rowdy and prone to get into fistfights as you would expect a team sponsored by a biker bar to be. They also, however, procured more toys for the annual Holiday Season toy drive than any other sponsor, and hosted a summer Harley riding event called the “Tats for Ta Ta’s Fun Run” that raised money for breast cancer research. Ed nodded at Ray, the man returned the gesture, and poured Ed some coffee as he took a seat next to Phyllis.

  “What brings you all the way out to sin city?” Phyllis asked him, striking what she no doubt thought was a seductive pose. The smeared makeup left over from the previous night, the deep lines on her face, and her rat’s nest of dark hair with its thick stripe of gray roots made the pose more pitiful than sexy.

  “I had to come out this way, and I thought I’d drop by to see how you’re doing.”

  “That’s a load of crap and we both know it. Cut to the chase, Eddie boy. What do you really want?”

  “Who’s renting your trailer?”

  “Ha!” Phyllis said. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Is it Brian Fitzpatrick?” he asked her, and she couldn’t cover up her initial reaction, which was surprise.

  Ed also noted Ray’s reaction, which was a brief, pointed look.

  “Nah, some old granny and a kid,” Phyllis said. “I thought Brian Fitzpatrick was dead.”

  “Well, then his red-headed ghost is roaming the streets of Rose Hill,” Ed said.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Phyllis said. “Him and Theo are probably having a blast, haunting all those holier than thou church cats. You can’t have any fun in Rose Hill anymore, Ray. It’s against the law.”

  “Well, take care of yourself,” Ed said, and covertly gave Ray a $20 bill for the coffee, and told him to keep the change.

  Ed waited outside for a few minutes and Ray eventually followed him out, as he hoped he would.

  “You really think Brian’s back?” Ray asked him.

  “I have reasons to believe so, yes,” Ed said.

  “Well, if he is, he hasn’t been out here, and if he’s smart, he’ll stay hid.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “When someone takes off with half a million of someone else’s money, he would be wise to stay gone.”

  “Whose money was it?”

  “I’m not going to say, ‘cause I like you, and I don’t wanna hear you were found floating down the Little Bear with your throat cut.”

  “I thought maybe it had something to do with Theo Eldridge.”

  Ray snorted.

  “Theo Eldridge was small beans,” he said. “The fat cat Brian ripped off eats guys like Theo for breakfast.”

  “If you see Brian, or hear anything, will you let me know?”

  “There’s a price on his head,” Ray said, “and I don’t have a retirement account. I tell you what, I’ll call you second.”

  Scott found Maggie at work, and told her what was happening with Newton.

  “Doc seems to think someone may have helped him along,” Scott said. “That makes me think it might have been Connie.”

  Maggie told Scott about finding the letter in Connie’s purse and Scott wrote down the date in his notebook.

  “I know I shouldn’t have looked at it, but I couldn’t resist,” Maggie said. “It had to be one of the letters Margie sent.”

  “Connie refused to show it to me or tell me what it said. You’re sure about the date?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “I swear I have more leads than I can follow up on. I need a dozen deputies. Thanks for telling me about the letter.”

  “I’m just relieved you aren’t throwing me in jail for snooping in Connie’s purse.”

  “Here’s a crazy idea. Do you think Newton and Connie could have been having an affair?”

  “You think Connie killed him because he wouldn’t leave his wife?”

  “I don’t know. She was hysterical when I got to the inn, but she’s kind of kooky anyway, and she did find his body.”

  “But why else would she have drugged him and smothered him?”

  “That’s what I want to know. I’m going over to his office next, to see what I can find out there.”

  After Scott left Maggie found she couldn’t concentrate on paperwork. She had a store full of staff, so she went over to work in the bakery kitchen with Delia so Mandy could have some time off.

  “You know,” Maggie told her aunt while they worked side by side in the hot kitchen. “Hannah and Drew walked in on an argument between Newton and Connie last week. You think he could have been having an affair with her?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me if you did know,” Maggie said. “You are one secret-keeping high security vault when it comes to your friends, you are.”

  “I’m no friend of Connie Fenton’s,” Delia said, and Maggie was surprised by the sharpness of her aunt’s tone.

  “Tell that story,” Maggie demanded. “Tell it right now.”

  “No, I won’t,” Delia said. “Because nothing was ever proved, and even if I don’t like the woman, I won’t have vicious gossip about her on my conscience.”

  Maggie was like a bird dog on a turkey’s trail now, but no amount of badgering would pull the story out of her aunt.

  “Did this take place in March of 1984?” Maggie prodded.

&nbs
p; “Not another word,” Delia said, and turned a stern look on Maggie. “I mean it.”

  “Who else knows this story?”

  “You are persistent, I’ll give you that,” Delia said. “But no. Change the subject.”

  Maggie knew there was more than one way to crack a nut. She tackled her Aunt Alice, who, although she was Hannah’s mother, was not too bright and never knew when to keep her mouth shut.

  The first opportunity she got, she cornered Alice behind the register.

  “Did Delia and Connie have some kind of falling out?” she asked her.

  “No,” Alice shook her head, “not that I know of.”

  “Did they ever work together, back when they were both nurses?”

  “Delia worked at the old folk’s home in Fleurmania for awhile after Liam died, to help pay the medical bills. Connie worked there too.”

  When Ian and Delia’s son Liam died of leukemia at nine years of age, it had devastated the whole Fitzpatrick family. To compound their grief, his parents were stuck with a mountain of medical bills afterward. Small business owners in Rose Hill couldn’t often afford the luxury of good health insurance. Liam had died just before Christmas in 1983.

  When Maggie left the bakery that afternoon, she went back to the bookstore to get her VW bug, intending to drive out to Fleurmania. Instead, she got caught up in some work related responsibilities and the opportunity passed.

  When Scott passed under the stone archway that separated the grounds of Eldridge College from Rose Hill, he felt as if he had entered another world. A generous endowment from the Eldridge family paid for the manicured grounds and meticulous upkeep of the century old red brick buildings, built in the Gothic architectural style. The college was an expensive private school, known to accept wealthy progeny both kept out of or kicked out of other expensive schools.

  Scott stopped to have a word with the security guard on duty, a local man he knew well. Lots of Rose Hill citizens were employed by the school, and with good benefits and decent wages being the norm, there was very little job turnover.

  Everyone already knew about the president’s death. His secretary Darlene, with red eyes and nose, started crying again as soon as Scott entered the office.