1 In For A Penny

by Maggie Toussaint

  Jonette ran a yellow light. She held one hand on the steering wheel, the other waved feverishly in front of me. “How hard can it be to follow? If I don’t show up for my shift at the Tavern, I get sacked. Dean has to have reliable help.”

  “Calm down,” I said, thinking of our precarious safety in this tin can. “Dean’s not gonna fire you. He’s got the hots for you and you’re the best worker he’s ever had. We’ll tell Dean what happened and everything with your job will be fine.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Jonette grumbled. “You don’t have a gay man living in your house, taxes you can’t pay, and a crummy car that will kill us both if I wreck it.”

  “Speaking of which, slow down. Where are we going?”

  “We’re going home,” Jonette said. “I need some TLC and by damn I’m gonna get it. This is my hour of need, I tell you.”

  My work could wait. Jonette needed me. “I could use a cup of tea,” I said as she rocketed into my driveway and slammed on the brakes.

  Jonette must need TLC desperately if she was willing to let Mama see her distress. I hoped Mama took her time at the grocery store so that Jonette and I had time to talk this out.

  Of all days for me to sustain an injury, this had to be the worst. I had house guests coming in tonight, a funeral to attend, a temporary dog that needed walking, and two daughters to watch over until the murderer was caught.

  I hobbled determinedly towards the house thinking “ouch, ouch, ouch” with every step I took. When I was halfway there, Ed Monday emerged from his shuttered house, stooped down to get his newspaper, then waved his pudgy hand. I couldn’t help staring at him.

  Now that we had a murderer on the loose, Ed Monday’s antisocial tendencies stood out like a flashing red light. I hurried inside.

  “That man creeps me out.” Jonette shuddered. “What is he doing in that dark bat cave? Isn’t he over the weight limit for vampires?”

  I couldn’t quite get the image of Ed Monday flying through the night sky to come into focus. Some things were better left as a mystery. “I dunno and I don’t want to think about Ed Monday right now. We’ve got enough to deal with as it is.”

  Jonette set me up on the sofa with an ice bag and a cup of tea. She sat down in the overstuffed chair and slipped off her shoes, sitting on her feet in the rose-covered chair. She was quiet and I respected her need to gather her thoughts.

  Until Madonna woke up and came down the stairs to greet us, it felt like old times again, with me on the sofa and Jonette in Grandmother’s chair. It made me wonder how many times life circled back in on itself. We’d sat here in this room and worked our way through our problems more times than I wanted to count.

  Jonette cooed over the dog. Madonna wagged her tail vigorously and licked Jonette’s face. “How’d you end up with Dudley’s dog?” she asked.

  “Long story,” I said. I was glad to see her respond to the dog. She’d been quiet for a long time. “The short of it is that it’s temporary. Bitsy and her boys will be here tonight so we’re trying not to become too attached. Lexy and Charla had hissy fits last night. You know how they’ve always wanted a dog.”

  “I do.” Jonette scratched under Madonna’s chin. “I understand completely. Madonna is such a cutie.”

  Cute was definitely in the eye of the beholder. Mounds of runny dog poop were not cute. Slime trails of doggie drool were not cute. “She’s not so cute at midnight when she is determined to sleep in my bed.”

  “Your bed?” Jonette stopped in mid-stroke. “What’s wrong with her dog bed?”

  I shrugged. “I’m guessing Dudley allowed her to sleep with him. I gave in because I didn’t want to traumatize her further.”

  “You’re a softie.”

  Since Jonette was talking again, I figured it was safe to get to the heart of this new problem. “Tell me about the police station. Why do they think you killed Dudley?”

  “Because they’ve all got their heads up their butts,” Jonette said. “It’s no secret I didn’t like Dudley. The man screwed me over, literally and figuratively, but I didn’t kill him.”

  My instincts might be fouled up, but there was nothing wrong with my loyalty. Jonette was my best friend and she wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. “I know you didn’t,” I said. “What I don’t know is why the police think you did. What’s the deal here?”

  “I was the last person seen with Dudley.” Jonette’s hands fluttered in front of her face. “Don’t yell at me. I was in his car and we were looking at properties that the bank was foreclosing on. We stopped for dinner at Bobo Burgers and the cashier remembers seeing us both there. When I drove home, I found out that my roommate was entertaining. I couldn’t face two gay males, so I went out for another long drive. I just drove, and when it got dark, I headed home. My roommate was occupied, so he can’t verify when I returned.”

  Jonette had always wanted a little farmette on the edge of nowhere with lots of furry animals romping around. Whenever she had spare time, she rode around looking for someone down on their luck that might want to give their place away. I’d ridden the back roads with her plenty of times, and I didn’t doubt her story for a second.

  Personally, I hoped she never scraped together enough money to pull it off because I figured the furry little animals would be cute for about ten minutes and then all hell would break loose and I’d get stuck with a dozen goats and llamas. “Surely someone saw you? Didn’t you stop at any traffic lights? What about bathrooms? I know you had to pee if you were out for a long time.”

  “I stopped at the burger place near Sharpsburg, but I don’t recall seeing anyone,” Jonette said. “The parking lot was empty.”

  “Didn’t you order anything? How could you walk in there and not get French fries?”

  Jonette pointed to her hips. “I didn’t get anything because I already ate with Dudley. Besides, I’m having trouble stuffing everything in my little tavern girl outfit. Big bellies and thunder thighs may be all right for the average thirty-something, but those of us in the public eye have to be aware of our appearance.”

  Jonette weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. She’d never had a problem with her weight. “Shoot. You’re no more in the public eye than I am.”

  “But you look nice,” Jonette said. “That Rafe Golden is noticing how nice you look. And so are a lot of other men if you’d just lift your head out of the sand.”

  “I’m not a way station for hapless males.” My growing desire to jump the golf pro wasn’t something I wanted to hash over right now. It was too new, too dangerous.

  I sipped my tea. The color seemed to be coming back to Jonette’s face. She was sitting back in the chair instead of perched on the edge of it like she wanted to attack. “So, what are we going to do?” I asked.

  We were good enough friends that I didn’t have to explain. Jonette knew I was talking about Dudley’s murder even though we’d talked around that subject.

  “I’d like to string Britt Radcliff up by his heels,” Jonette said. “I thought I was under arrest, but they were holding me while they searched everything I owned to see if I had any of Dudley’s stuff. If Britt hadn’t been our Sunday School teacher, I would have walked out of there last night.”

  “Did you ask for a lawyer?”

  “Hell no.” Jonette pounded on the upholstered chair arm. “I don’t need one snake to fight another. I’ve had enough of lawyers to last me a lifetime.”

  This was no time for Jonette to indulge in her hatred of the legal profession. “But Jonette, you’re not divorcing Britt. You should’ve asked for an attorney. They’d have gotten you out of there immediately.”

  Jonette sprung to her feet and paced my living room floor. Madonna’s tail thumped on the hardwood floor as she followed Jonette with her big brown eyes.

  “Don’t you think I know that now?” Jonette asked. “Britt kept being so nice, even though he locked me in an interrogation room. He brought me fried chicken when I complained of being hungry. It was only
when they brought in another officer and made me tell the whole story again that I got worried.”

  I shivered and the ice bag fell off. Pain shot up my leg from my twisted ankle. I reached down and replaced the ice bag. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Anger flashed in Jonette’s eyes as she made another pass around the room. “I thought I could handle it. The thing was, just as I got used to the idea of one thing, the next thing came along and I said to myself, “This isn’t too bad. I can handle this,” and before you know it, I was ass deep in alligators. The mayor was down there.”

  “Darnell? What does he have to do with this?”

  “When Britt brought me dinner, I heard the mayor yelling at him that having a murderer in town was bad for business. He told Britt to stick me in a cell and throw away the key.”

  “The only reason Darnell Reynolds got to be mayor is that no one else wanted the job,” I said.

  “How can you stand being around him?”

  “You know how. I don’t have to like all my accounting clients same as you don’t have to like all your tavern patrons. Darnell Reynolds is a bug and we’ll fix him.”

  Poor Jonette. She’d had men trouble all her life. She didn’t need Darnell breathing down her neck. “Listen, Jonette. You have rights. Darnell and Britt can’t take them from you, but you can give them away if you’re not careful. If you get hauled down there again, don’t just sit there and take it. Call me or Mama and we’ll get you out of there.”

  “Thanks.” Jonette’s brown eyes glassed over. She blinked furiously to keep the tears in. She wouldn’t cry in front of me. She never had. Not even when her mom had kicked her out of the house. She paused in front of the window and took a few deep breaths.

  I wanted to go to her and hold her like one of my daughters, but Jonette would knock me down if I offered her physical comfort. Emotional support was all she ever allowed.

  “We grew up here and between the two of us, we know everyone in town,” I said. “No way will the cops or the mayor know the kind of stuff we know. We’ll figure out who really killed Dudley and show those stupid men up. All they have is circumstantial evidence. Speaking of which, what circumstantial evidence do they have?”

  Jonette’s shoulders slumped and she sat again. “Go ahead and fuss at me. I yelled at Dudley in his bank office. When the cops questioned folks down there, someone remembered me screaming that I was going to kill Dudley.”

  “See? You should have called me.” I managed a thin smile. “I would have told the cops you’ve threatened to kill Dudley routinely ever since sixth grade when he called you a girl.”

  Jonette snorted and her eyes twinkled. This was just what she needed. “That’s right. You make sure Detective Dumb as Dirt hears that. Dudley didn’t think anything of my recent threat because I’ve been yelling at him for years.”

  No kidding. The cops were stupid if they thought Jonette’s threat to kill Dudley meant anything. No way was I going to sit back and let them railroad my best friend. But it troubled me that she’d had dinner with him. I didn’t know how to deal with that.

  “What else do they have?”

  Jonette rubbed her eyes. “They took my fingerprints. They are going to match up to the prints in his car and his house because I was in both places. They took the clothes I wore Tuesday. There’s nothing on them but dog hair.”

  Jonette held out her hand to me. “They trimmed my nails to see if I had fought with Dudley. I didn’t, so that should help to clear me. Thank God I don’t own a gun.”

  “Britt seems convinced you are guilty of murdering Dudley. You and I better figure this out and quick,” I said. “What do you know of Jasper Kingsland and his mom? Jasper claims Dudley was responsible for the schoolteacher’s pension fund theft. Jasper’s mom had her life savings in that fund and now Jasper loathes Dudley. I thought he was going to blow a gasket when I asked Jasper if he had a gun.”

  Jonette leaped to her feet again. Did she put Mexican jumping beans in her tea? “Don’t you know who Jasper’s mom is?”

  “No.” I scowled up at her animated face. “But you seem to know. Tell me.”

  Jonette’s face glowed. “Violet Cooper is Jasper’s mom. Do you get it now?”

  Violet Cooper. Now why did that name sound familiar? I thrummed my fingers on the back of the sofa. I remembered she moved here about ten years ago, but I couldn’t come up with anything else. “I’m drawing a blank.”

  “Violet Cooper won every shooting award there is,” Jonette crowed. “She’s Hogan County’s answer to Annie Oakley. I bet her house has more guns in it than a gun shop. I’m going over there right now to find out if she shot Dudley.”

  I couldn’t let her charge off alone into such a dangerous situation. I stood up on one foot and grabbed her arm. “You’ll do no such thing. If she’s a murderer, you’ll end up just like Dudley. We need a plan. How about this? Daddy did her taxes for a couple of years, but someone else did them this year. I’ll pay her a visit under the guise of checking up on former Sampson Accounting clients.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. Right after Dudley’s funeral,” I said. “I’ve got a million things to do before then. You still remember how to tape up an ankle?”

  “Clee, I could tape your ankle with one hand tied behind my back.” Jonette strode towards the kitchen cabinet where the first aid supplies were kept. She returned with a roll of athletic tape and a pair of scissors.

  I sat back down and propped my foot on the coffee table. “Tape this bad boy up and then sack out in my room for a bit. I’d offer you your old room, but I haven’t seen the floor in there since Charla took occupancy.”

  “No thanks,” Jonette said. “I’ll go to my place. I can’t face doggie drool sheets just now.” Jonette yawned. “I feel like I could sleep for the next hundred years.”

  “Don’t do that,” I said. “It’s my turn to have an hour of need again. I’m sure to require your special attention.”

  That brought a faint smile to Jonette’s bow-shaped lips. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter 10

  After Jonette left, I realized my keys to the office were in my purse which was five miles away at the golf club. With this bum ankle, five miles was as unobtainable as the moon, even with Jonette’s superb tape job.

  I rooted through the kitchen junk drawer until I found a spare set of keys. Shoes were out of the question, so I wore my fuzzy pink slippers. I hobbled through the backyard to the detached garage which served as the offices of Sampson Accounting.

  The décor of our three-room suite was early do-it-yourself. Daddy had framed and paneled the walls, hiring a plumber and an electrician to put in the utilities. Over the years, Mama had added indoor/outdoor carpet, plants, and curtains. File cabinets lined three entire walls. Computers and telephones topped the two desks.

  The folders for the various Homeowners Association audits were stacked in the center of my desk. Mama might be a pain in the butt about some things, but she was a machine when it came to work. Everything had a place and you better get with the program or else. Daddy had been content with this arrangement, and so was I.

  It had often occurred to me that if Mama understood accounting, I would be out of a job. There were times when I thought she understood tax law, balance sheets, and government forms just fine, but she avoided the intensive detail work of accounting, sticking to the glory jobs of answering telephones, filing claims, and billing clients.

  I pulled up a chair, rested my ankle on it, then got to work. Within minutes I was deep into homeowner dues and association expenses. Numbers flowed in comfortable, satisfying sequences. Unlike the messiness of human relationships, accounting was a very straightforward process.

  Mathematical computations required no interpretation of hidden subtext or reading between the lines. And, in the unlikely event of a numerical error, a mistake was easily corrected. Why couldn’t emotions be as logical and orderly as numbers?

  I’d finished up
one of the smaller audits and started on the Shady Hills audit when Mama burst into the office like a cyclone. “Baby Girl, you’re hurt?” she asked, hurrying to my side.

  I appreciated her concern, but I was in the groove here in my safe world of numbers. “I twisted my ankle. No big deal. I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

  Mama wasn’t deterred. “What about ice? Aren’t you supposed to ice an injury for the first twenty-four hours?”

  “I already iced it.” I handed her the completed audit report. “This is done and can be invoiced. I’m working on Shady Hill right now.”

  To my dismay, Mama tossed the report on her desk. Heck. I could’ve done that. I braced myself for Mama in her nurse-martyr role. I could already see the wheels of possibilities spinning in her head.

  “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of everything,” Mama said. “Did you eat lunch?”

  I brushed my hair back behind my ears. Couldn’t she see I wanted to be left alone? “I’m not hungry, Mama. I have work to do.”

  “Don’t leave me hanging. What happened to your ankle?”

  Mama bustled about in the little mini-kitchen in the rear closet. I heard her crack ice out of the ice-cube tray.

  The best way to get Mama out of my hair was to let her think she was helping, so I’d better cooperate with whatever she had in mind.

  As I explained about the golf club display and twisting my ankle and Jonette’s ordeal, Mama covered my ankle with a towel-wrapped bag of ice. “You’ve had a rough day,” she said, her voice dripping with sympathy. “Let me pop over to the house and get you a bowl of chicken soup.”

  Mama wasn’t Jewish, but she viewed homemade chicken soup as human duct tape. It was one thing she never modified the recipe for. She kept a supply of it in the freezer for emergencies.

  “I’m fine, Mama,” I said.

  “Nonsense. Chicken soup can fix anything. I’ll be right back.” Mama departed in a flurry of footsteps.

  I had to admit that the ice eased the throbbing in my ankle. It wasn’t so bad having Mama fuss over me, and my plan had worked like a charm. Mama felt like she was helping and I was alone in my office. What could be better? I picked up the Shady Hills folder and oriented myself to the expense invoices and deposit slips.