No, she decided firmly. I am not going to start hiding behind my curtains. She smiled wanly, picturing herself peeking furtively from behind lace drapes. That would be as good as saying I did whatever the police suspect me of doing.
By the time she had gathered some asters and wild grasses and had dragged a couple of potted plants from the rock garden into the mudroom, she was damp and cold. Wavering again in her resolve, she trudged around the downstairs halfheartedly, wishing that she had not invited the class to her home. At the time, knowing Albert would be away, it seemed a good idea--and fun. Now, it was a task that weighed her shoulders down and stuffed her head with cotton. She sneezed.
I might be catching a cold, she thought. Maybe I’ll phone Liz and call it off. After all, it was supposed to have been an outdoor event, sketching the gardens or the house or whatever inspired the students. I’d have put refreshments out on the patio table and people could come and go as they pleased. Now, inside, everyone will be closer together, crowded in, much less casual. They’ll all be watching me.
Sitting at her desk and staring at the phone, she sneezed again, then shook herself mentally. What was the matter with her? She would not behave as if she were guilty. At that precise moment, the phone rang, causing her to jump. She grabbed it before it rang again. “Hello.” Even to her own ears, she sounded defensive.
“Good morning, Edna.”
Liz! Maybe she was calling to cancel the class.
“Hi, Liz.” Edna tried to sound more cheerful.
“I'm calling to find out what you want to do about this afternoon.” The art instructor went on, as if she’d read Edna’s mind. “I know when you offered to host this event, we counted on good weather, but it looks like our beautiful Indian summer days are over.”
Oddly, when Liz offered her a way out, Edna’s determination returned. She reminded herself that to cancel now would probably be worse than going through with it. Had the visit by the police made her overly paranoid? Was she making a mountain out of a molehill? She thought back to her teens when she’d worn a blouse with a ripped seam beneath one arm. She knew it was there, and although she had been wearing a sweater over the blouse, she had a strong feeling everyone around her was aware of the tear.
Was that what she was doing now? Because she felt unreasonably guilty, was she supposing that everyone in town was whispering and pointing at her behind her back?
“Edna?” Liz's voice broke into her thoughts.
“We can still have the class here, if everyone's willing. If the rain doesn't stop, we can set up in the living room.” Edna went on to explain to her friend and instructor what she had planned and ended by saying, “We might be a bit crowded, but I think there'll be room for everyone.”
“Wonderful. It’s settled then.” Liz sounded relieved. “I'll tell the others.”
Edna hung up and was pushing herself out of the chair when the phone rang again. This time it was Starling, her youngest child.
“Hi, Mom. Dad home?”
Although she was thirty years old and part owner of a successful studio, Starling still seemed like a teenager to Edna.
“No, honey. He's in Chicago this weekend.”
“Oh, that's right. He's speaking at some sort of conference, isn't he?” After a slight pause, she said, almost as if to herself. “Darn. I wanted him to look at my car.”
“What's wrong with it?” Edna asked, rising and heading for the kitchen as she spoke into the cordless instrument.
Starling snorted. “If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask Dad to look at it.”
“You're right. Forget I asked.” Edna was annoyed that Starling had made her feel foolish. Whenever this child of hers was snappish, she knew it was because Starling either had too much on her mind or was deeply worried about something. Usually, Edna would jolly Starling out of a bad mood, but today was different. She was the one who needed a good dose of sympathy and understanding.
Obviously picking up on Edna’s tone, Starling said, “Hey, Mom. What's the matter? You sound down.”
If self-pity hadn’t interfered, Edna would have smiled. It was also typical of Starling to put aside her own feelings whenever she sensed someone else was troubled. Edna sat at the kitchen table and told her daughter about Tom's death, carefully leaving out the part about being questioned by the police.
“I’m so sorry, Mother,” Starling commiserated. "I know you really liked him. Isn’t he the one who brought his grandson over sometimes?"
“Yes, that was Tom.” Edna answered almost absently as an idea formed in her head. “Were you planning on coming down here for the weekend?”
“Well, I was, but if Dad's not around …” This time, Starling paused, probably before saying something else that would hurt her mother’s feelings. “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to come see you, Mom, but my car’s been acting up. I have a big photo shoot Monday morning, and it would be disaster if I got stuck in Rhode Island.”
Disappointed, Edna considered an alternative. “What if I drive up to Boston? I'll take you to dinner tonight. Your choice, my treat.” She knew then a change of scene was what she needed. Or was she running away?
“Cool.” Starling’s enthusiasm warmed Edna. “There's a new French restaurant not far from here. I've been dying to try it.” Her eagerness increased, making Edna smile. “Can you stay Sunday night, too? I'll get tickets to the cabaret … and we can have brunch at the Ritz. Why didn't we think of this before? We haven’t had a mother-daughter weekend in ages. When can you get here?”
Catching some of her daughter’s eagerness, Edna said, “I’m hosting my art class this afternoon, but I can probably leave by four. If the traffic isn't too bad, I should be at your apartment around five-thirty.”
“Terrific. I'll make reservations for seven-ish,” Starling said. “We can have a drink here before we go. Oh, Mom, what a great idea. Oops, I’d better get this place cleaned up.”
Edna was laughing as she hung up the phone. She felt better as she started to prepare herb and cheese spreads for the afternoon's refreshments. As she was taking a jar of mustard out of the refrigerator, Benjamin strolled into the room and sauntered over to his water bowl. Although she knew he’d be fine in the house for two nights, on impulse she reached for the phone and dialed Mary's number.
“I was wondering if you could take care of Benjamin this weekend.” Edna said after the preliminary greetings were over.
“Sure. Want me to pick him up now?”
“Oh, you don’t have to bring him to your house. He needs to be fed in the morning and let out. Put him in at night and feed him again. He’ll be fine. You know where his food is—cupboard in the mudroom, middle shelf—and there’s a spare key behind the wooden bench at the side of the house. It’s in one of those holders that looks like a rock.”
But Mary was at the back door within ten minutes to get detailed instructions on the care and feeding of Benjamin. The cat followed the two women around as if he understood what was going on and needed to supervise. Mary then helped move some of the living room furniture. When she was ready to leave, Edna gave her the spare key that was usually left outside in the rock garden. Albert insisted on the hiding place when they first moved in, since Edna had once locked herself out of their house years ago.
After Mary left, Edna set her easel up in the living room, slipping the picture of Tom to the back of her sketch pad. Several people in the class, including Liz, had known him. If the occasion arose, Edna would show the portrait to the instructor and get her opinion. Depending on if Liz thought it was good enough, maybe Edna would give the picture to Danny one day. Thinking of the boy and the events of last night made her cheeks burn again. She forced the images out of her head and went upstairs to pack an overnight bag, wanting to leave as soon as possible after class.
At twelve forty-five, Edna slipped her freshly laundered, off-white painting smock over a blue print blouse and navy wool slacks and was ready for her guests to arrive. She took a last look around the
living room, pleased with her preparations, then went to the kitchen where several plates of tea sandwiches and toasted bread squares were prepared with homemade spreads. The triangles of herb bread with cream cheese and nasturtium petals were her particular favorite. Beside the food platters, cups and glasses were arranged on a tray that she carried into the dining room and set on the highly polished mahogany table next to a colorful fan of paper plates and napkins.
Class members were usually prompt, always eager to begin on time. At ten minutes past one, when nobody had arrived yet, Edna was pacing the kitchen floor. Occasionally, she’d stand at the sink and look out the wide window at the driveway to see if any cars were coming. Finally, at quarter past the hour, Liz’s green minivan turned in from the road.
Edna tried to look cheerful as she hurried to the door and opened it before the bell rang, but her smile froze when she saw only two women on the stoop. Tall and slender with long hair the color of corn silk, Liz Franken usually chauffeured at least two students when the class was held somewhere other than her own studio. Today, only Carol Lancell, not one of Liz’s usual passengers but a long-time friend, accompanied her. Standing slightly behind and a little to Liz’s right, Carol was short and tanned with a mass of close-cropped dark curls beneath a floppy, yellow foul-weather hat.
“Where is everyone else?” Edna asked the question to which she feared she knew the answer.
Obviously uncomfortable, Liz looked down at the easel and paint box she was carrying. “Nobody else could make it.” She added faintly, “Weather, I guess.”
“Bitsy the bitch. Pardon my French,” Carol mumbled, pushing past Liz and Edna. She apparently had been getting wet, standing behind Liz in the drizzling rain.
Edna knew who Carol meant. Bitsy Babcock poked her nose into everything. If she were a dog, she’d be a Border Collie, herding people and nipping at their heels until they obeyed her every command.
After Liz followed Carol into the front hall, giving Edna a feeble smile as she passed, Edna closed the door and turned to face them, not wanting to hear but afraid not to. Carol stared at Liz expectantly. When Liz refused to meet either woman’s eyes, Carol turned to Edna.
“If Liz won’t tell you, I will,” she said, removing her damp raincoat and throwing an icy glance at her friend. “Apparently, Bitsy was on the phone to everyone this morning. She called me at seven. She knows darn well I never get out of bed before ten on the weekends. She said the police were here yesterday questioning you about Tom Greene, and they think you might have poisoned him. She’s spreading it around that Nancy chased you away from the house last night after you tried to hurt Danny.” Tossing her head, Carol glared at Liz as if to say, “Someone had to tell her.”
The young art instructor looked apologetically at Edna. “It’s true. She called me first and told me—told me, mind you—to cancel the class. When I refused, she said she was going to call the other members and warn them away. I’m so sorry, Edna. I tried to talk sense into her, but you know Bitsy.”
Edna didn’t know the woman well, just by reputation that she was the biggest gossip in town. People listened to Bitsy, and most dared not rebuke her because of her wealth and social position in the community. Rumor had it that her husband worked long hours and weekends only to escape his wife’s tongue.
Liz and Carol, both in their late twenties, were of a younger generation and refused to encourage Bitsy’s chatter. Edna had heard Liz diplomatically change the subject on more than one occasion when Bitsy started spouting off in class. Carol, given half a chance, always challenged the old gossip.
“If you’d rather we didn’t stay …“ Liz began.
“No, no.” Edna, wanting to run upstairs and hide beneath her quilt, spread her arms instead and ushered the two young women into the living room. “Let’s not have Mrs. Babcock spoil our afternoon.”
Eleven
Liz and Carol set up their easels, and class began. When Liz wasn’t giving instruction, the women chattered away about inconsequential things. Carol was excited that her secondhand clothing store, Pleats ‘n’ Pearls, was attracting more customers. Liz entertained them with anecdotes of her two preschool children, and Edna spoke about her plans to spend the rest of the weekend with her daughter in Boston. By unspoken agreement, they avoided any mention of Bitsy or Tom.
At the end of the two-hour session, when Edna saw Liz begin to clean her brushes, she asked, “Would you like tea and something to nibble on?”
“No, thank you.” Carol said with a self-conscious laugh. “I’m on a strict diet. Trying to lose a few pounds before I gain it back twice over at Thanksgiving.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble for me either, Edna,” Liz said, sliding her eyes toward the plates, napkins and glasses spread out on the dining room table. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to rush off. The kids are at my mother’s, and I promised her I’d pick them up by three-thirty at the latest.”
Edna’s smile felt strained as she nodded her understanding. This was what she had feared. She had never known Carol to pass up an offering of food or Liz to refuse at least a couple of her toasted herb squares, even if she took them with her. Friends they might be, and they certainly had proved that today, but eating Edna’s homemade cooking was apparently taboo.
“You probably want to get going yourself,” Carol said, closing her paint box and beginning to collapse her wooden easel.
When the women were gone, Edna went to the kitchen and looked at the dishes of tiny sandwich triangles and herb squares she’d prepared so carefully. Close to tears, she grabbed two of the plates and threw the contents into the sink, scooping and stuffing the debris down the garbage disposal as hot tears burned her eyelids. She turned the cold water on full blast and swiped at her tears with the back of a hand before reaching for the switch that would grind the source of her embarrassment and shame into oblivion. Before she could turn on the motor, however, she heard a noise in the driveway and looked up to see Dee’s red convertible pull to a stop before the house.
“Drat!” she said aloud, grabbing a towel and dabbing at her eyes. “Just what I didn’t need.”
She left the kitchen and was about to turn toward the front door when she remembered her easel and the sketch of the aloe. Competing with Dee for the one opening in Greenthumbs was going to be stiff enough with Dee’s superior knowledge of poisons and potions. Edna’s only edge might be the artwork she’d use in her presentation, and she didn’t want Dee to see it beforehand.
Hurrying to the living room, she had just enough time to pull a few blank sheets from behind the pad and place them on top of the aloe drawing before the doorbell rang. She took several deep breaths to calm herself, looked in the mirror, and used the kitchen towel to clean up her tear-stained makeup before opening the front door.
“I heard what happened to Tom Greene,” Dee said without preamble, slipping past Edna into the hallway. “I came by to offer my condolences. He seemed to be a good friend of yours.” She hesitated, a small smile stretching her mouth but not reaching her eyes. “I mean, besides being your handyman.” She wore a black leather miniskirt and white blouse with billowy sleeves beneath a red leather jerkin, black net stockings, and three-inch stiletto heels. A number of bracelets jingled on her wrists, and multiple gold loops dangled from her ears. The scent of jasmine pervaded the air around her.
Following her unwanted guest into the house, Edna tried to think of something to say. Indignation over the rudeness of this intrusion left her momentarily speechless, but before Edna could catch up with her, Dee quickened her pace and entered the living room. “Why, look what you’ve done.”
They stopped in front of the easel at the same moment and with a start, Edna realized what had happened. In her haste to pull paper from behind the sketch pad, she had grabbed Tom’s portrait as well. The blank sheet on top had fallen to the floor, exposing his picture. At least the Greenthumbs drawings were still hidden, she thought after her initial shock.
When Dee r
eached for the paper, Edna put a restraining hand on her arm. “It’s not finished. Please don’t touch it.”
“It’s a stunning likeness.” Dee clasped her hands together and raised them to her chin. She glanced at Edna, her eyes filled with amusement. “Doesn’t your husband object to your portraying the other men in your life?”
“What are you talking about?” Edna felt her temper rise, wanting to slap the smirk from Dee’s face. “I have studied faces for years and have painted any number of portraits. Albert admires my work.” Does she know the police were here to question me? Edna wondered. I bet she thinks the Greenthumbs membership is hers for the asking now. A mixture of guilt and resentment dissolved what little was left of Edna’s patience. “I’m sorry, Dee, but you’ve come at a bad time. I was just getting ready to leave.”
“Oh. Are you going shopping? Maybe I can tag along, help you pick out something a little sexier.” She glanced at Edna’s Pendleton slacks and silk blouse as if they had come from a bargain basement. “We can talk about what to do with your hair.”
Edna was nearly apoplectic at the woman’s insensitivity. “I’m not going shopping. I’m driving to Boston to see my daughter.” She took Dee’s arm and gently but firmly turned her around.
“Perhaps tomorrow …” Dee began, trying to wrench out of Edna’s grasp.
“I’ll be away the entire weekend,” Edna interrupted. The more Dee struggled, the tighter Edna clasped her upper arm. As she opened the front door and almost propelled Dee out onto the step, she said. “It would be best if you call next time.”
Edna was shaking as she slammed the door. She was not used to treating another person so rudely, but when she recalled Dee’s remarks and insolent manner, she almost laughed thinking about the look of utter surprise on the woman’s face.
Rid of her unwanted company, Edna marched back to the kitchen to finish disposing of the food. In the living room, she picked up the fallen sheet of paper and propped it in front of Tom’s portrait again. Since Dee’s arrival had made her late, Edna decided to leave the rest of the cleanup until her return. She grabbed her overnight case and hurried to the car. Only when she was on the road did she remember that she had intended to call Albert and let him know she’d be with Starling for the weekend. Oh, well, she thought, I’ll call him from Boston.
Murder by Yew [Edna Davies 01] Page 9
