Cups and Killers

by Tess Rothery

  “But if they'd had a major break in the case, it would have been in the news.”

  “What news? That pathetic shadow of what was once a great newspaper? Or the radio that can't be bothered to give more than a traffic update?”

  Taylor had to acknowledge the pathetic nature of the major sources of news, not just in Comfort, but in all of Oregon. She had a lingering sense of guilt about it as she had never paid for subscription to any newspaper and rarely listened to the local radio. She got all of her news on those rare occasions she listened to NPR or from headlines that popped up on her phone.

  The front desk at Bible Creek Care Home was closed, as it was evening. This was just as well as far as Taylor was concerned. She and Sissy signed the visitor book and made their way to Marva Love’s apartment.

  “What do we do if she won't let us in?” Taylor asked.

  “That's when we finally get to call the sheriff. According to my email, they’ve stationed a deputy here with the security guards.”

  “So...it’s not completely safe after all.” Taylor didn’t like it. Why were they pretending all was well but keeping a deputy on hand?

  “Exactly.”

  Sissy marched down the long west wing like she was under orders.

  Marva’s TV was still audible in the hallway. Taylor recognized the screeching voice of a competitive cooking show host. A funny thing for an older lady to watch, but it was popular with Belle. Taylor's heart pattered with excitement. If Belle liked the show, surely Dayton did too.

  Sissy knocked and got no response. She called with the same result. The neighbor next door, a real thin man with a bald head and suspiciously black mustache, came out. “Asleep at the TV again.” He patted the top of his bald head. “You did good work today.”

  Sissy grinned.

  The old man had a thin edge of hair just around his head that was trimmed to a clean line of white. “Marva keeps a key in her pot.” With two pale, thin fingers he lifted a house key out of the plant that, Taylor realized with surprise, really was marijuana.

  “When it's in bud, we make her put it in the bathroom and run the fan.” He handed the key to Sissy.

  She knocked again and then let herself in, calling out a greeting as she did.

  A pungent rotten smell hit them like a wall. Taylor reeled. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand and grabbed the sleeve of Sissy’s coat like a child. Something had died here, and it had happened a long time before lunch.

  Taylor braced herself against the smell, feet slightly apart, one in front of the other. She bobbed like a boxer, putting both of her fists up. Though the heady odor of decay meant whoever had died had done it quite a while ago, everything in her sensed someone living was still in the apartment.

  The recliner faced the TV, and over the top of it, Taylor could see the curly white hair of the elderly woman who had missed her appointment. How long had she been there? Should Taylor call 911 or check her for signs of life first?

  Sissy leaned against the wall, eyes closed. This strong presence, this woman who seemed to carry the world on her shoulders, had collapsed.

  Taylor took a deep breath, regretted it, and exhaled slowly. She reached for Sissy again and led her towards the body of Marva, towards the small sofa opposite the lady, and helped her sit.

  The springs of the far-from-new leather-like sofa let out a grown as Sissy sat.

  “Who dat?” The recliner popped up.

  Taylor fell back.

  Sissy screamed.

  Marva leaned forward in her chair, eyes squinting. “Sissy? Is that you? Where are my glasses?”

  Sissy was breathing hard.

  Taylor pressed her hand to her forehead. She must keep Sissy from hyperventilating.

  No, Sissy wasn’t hyperventilating. She was laughing.

  “Marva Love, you scared me senseless. What died in here? Where’s your cat?”

  Marva scrambled in a dish of pens and crochet hooks and remote controls that sat on the small table by her chair. Finding her glasses, she slipped them on. “What do you mean, ‘what died?’ What are you talking about?”

  “Marva, the smell. Can’t you smell that? Like something has rotted.”

  “Ahh.” She nodded, lowered the footrest of her recliner. “I haven’t been able to smell anything since I had that procedure for my bloody noses when I was in my forties.”

  “Do you have a mouse problem?” Sissy stood and looked behind the sofa.

  “No, no. It’s that….” She paused. “A friend of mine wanted to try something she saw on one of these goofy cooking shows. A weird fruit, what’s it called? Darren?”

  “Durian?” Taylor offered, remembering the fruit that’s supposed to smell like rotten flesh.

  “Yes, that’s the one. It’s supposed to make great vegetarian barbeque, though what’s the point in that?”

  “I think that’s supposed to be jackfruit, isn’t it?” Taylor was finding it hard to think straight with the smell. “Is your friend making it right now?” She looked around the generously-sized apartment. Marva lived in one of the units with multiple bedrooms and even two baths. Taylor was surprised it didn’t have an open kitchen.

  “Yes, hold on.” Marva turned the TV off. The clattering sounds of cooking came from behind a wall. She didn’t offer to introduce them to her friend.

  “Marva….” Sissy raised an eyebrow. “Are you allowed to have overnight guests here?”

  “Why else would I have an apartment with a guest bedroom? What do you think I am, an invalid?”

  “How big is this place?” Taylor asked.

  “I’ve got eight hundred square feet here, and I pay a pretty penny for it.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Why, thank you.” Marva’s smile was forced, and her eyes kept bouncing over to the kitchen behind the wall.

  “You missed your hair appointment.” Sissy seemed to remember the reason they had come. “I was worried about you.”

  “I forgot.” Marva patted her hair. “Maybe I can come by the salon…later?”

  “Please do. Just been busy with your company?” Taylor raised her voice, hoping to be heard by the person she suspected was Dayton.

  The clattering stopped.

  “Yes. She’s been kind enough to entertain me during this dreary lock-in. I’m glad for all the room I have. Don’t know what those folks with the studio apartments do at times like this.”

  “Can I have a tour?” Taylor stood up.

  “Oh, um….”

  Taylor popped her phone out of her pocket and called a number she’d been trying to reach for days.

  She was annoyed that it didn’t ring somewhere in the house, but then, whoever has their ringer turned on?

  “I’m rather tired, ladies. I’m sorry. Do you mind if I let you go so I can get a little shuteye?” Marva batted her eyes at them sweetly.

  Taylor knew failure when she saw it, so decided to shoot her last shot. She leaned in close, as though to give a quick hug and said, “Just keep her safe, okay? We’re all worried about Dayton.”

  Marva froze.

  Then she batted her eyelids again and yawned. “Must rest. Tomorrow is a big day.” She wrenched the footrest back up and reclined her chair.

  “Oh?” Sissy sat back down.

  “We’re taking a memorial trip to Spirit Mountain in honor of Pastor Leon’s memory. There was a man who knew how to have a good time.” She smiled sadly.

  “And Cricket, too,” Sissy spoke softly—for her.

  “Ah, yes. Leon took a real a shine to her.”

  “I’d heard that Cricket and Leon were engaged.” Taylor sat down next to Sissy and got comfortable.

  “Oh, I’d heard that, too, but I never saw a ring on her finger. Though…I often thought he hadn’t gotten over his wife. Sweet Annie.”

  “Divorce is so sad,” Taylor murmured.

  “Indeed, it is, but I sympathize with Annie. A man like Leon can’t be easy to be married to.”

  “What
caused the rift in their relationship?” Taylor found the complete silence in the kitchen as disquieting as the stench of the durian.

  “Annie was a good, religious girl. You’d have to be to be married to a pastor, but he wasn’t that kind of pastor, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t,” Sissy said.

  “He was a flirt, always teasing the ladies. And he did love his casinos. He had a mind for money, actually, investments and the like. I think it was all too much, too flashy, for her.”

  “She’s a very talented artist,” Taylor offered. She hadn’t gotten the sense the woman was religious, but she supposed you’d have to be to want to marry a chaplain or a pastor or whatever.

  “Yes, a real gift from God.” Marva pointed at a wicker shelf by the window. “That vase is one of hers. It’s my favorite.” A ceramic vase with the same luminous glaze as the mug Taylor had used at Annie’s house sat on the shelf. It was filled with dusty silk flowers, faded with time, but with a lovely, expensive look. The kind you had to look twice at to make sure they weren’t real.

  “Who do you think would want him dead? Him and Cricket?” Sissy said it with a deep sigh, not like an interrogation at all.

  “Oh, I just can’t imagine. We all loved him, and he did so much for us. Cricket was a nice lady. It was such a shock she had been killed. You’d think murder was something that happened to folks who drew much stronger reactions from people than Cricket did.”

  “Maybe someone was jealous of her relationship with Leon?” Taylor suggested.

  “I wonder, but though Leon flirted with all the ladies, I don’t know anyone but Cricket who took him seriously. And his wife, bless her soul, she wouldn’t have wanted the father of her children to die.”

  “No? Not even if he had been having an affair or something like that?” Sissy asked.

  “I don’t think so. The killer would have to be someone vicious and cold to do it in front of all of us like that. Not a sad, hurt wife, or a jealous girl. Someone who could stab a man in the back while he was talking on a microphone to a crowd of people has nerves of steel and no conscience, don’t you think? This was a real killer.”

  “Maybe Cricket knew who it was?” Taylor chewed her bottom lip. She didn’t want to be scared, but Marva was right. This was no crime of passion. Not in front of a crowd. And Dayton had every reason to seek shelter where she couldn’t be found.

  “That’s what I thought. I hadn’t seen her all day, so I don’t know what she was doing before the tea party. I can only guess she had a run-in with the killer, and that was that.

  Sissy stood. “Give me a call when you want me to set your hair.”

  “I will love, and now I’ll have a bit of a sleep.”

  “Light some candles to get rid of this smell, will you? You don’t want the neighbors calling that awful Karina over to see if you’re still alive.”

  Marva laughed. “Karina’s all right, I suppose. She’s entertaining, anyway. Watch out for her though, Taylor,” Marva said. “She’s been in love with Hudson for an awful long time. So have a lot of girls.” Marva shook her head, then closed her eyes. “You’re one lucky girl for winning his heart.”

  Taylor cleared her throat awkwardly. “Um, thanks.” They left quickly and took deep breaths of the stale, but at least not rotten, air of the hallway.

  “What do you think, was Annie nothing but a good religious girl or could she have been a cold-blooded killer?” Sissy led the way down the long hall as quick and firm as she had earlier.

  “Neither. I think she’s a perfectly normal woman who had been stuck in a bad marriage. But I wonder about Karina. Maybe her over-the-top declarations of love for Hudson are a cover for the crime. Maybe she really loved Leon. Loved him enough to kill.”

  “She strikes me as the kind of woman to kill in a screaming fit. Not the kind who would sneak up behind him and then saunter away like nothing happened.”

  “People can surprise.”

  Taylor pondered it for the rest of the evening. People could surprise. Like Dayton sneaking away to stay with a great aunt at the old folk’s home.

  Later that night, the rustle of the trees outside Taylor’s window sent shivers of panic through her core. She pulled her dresser in front of her door and double checked the lock on the window. In bed, she wrapped her Dove-in-the-Window quilt around her tightly, despite the heat of a summer night in an un-air-conditioned, second-story bedroom. A cold-blooded killer was out there and had killed two.

  Maybe there was always a cold-blooded killer running loose?

  The statistics of murder indicated it was so.

  Maybe she’d panic like this every night for the rest of her life?

  She took a deep breath and tried to think of something nice. Hudson came to mind, but then so did all the other women who seemed to love him. Clay was in the background, grinning at her and waiting, but then she remembered he wasn’t really waiting anymore. Not with that cute little chef on the scene.

  It was a happy, bright moment when she remembered her date with John Hancock. Good, uncomplicated John who liked to go to fancy restaurants and symphonies and things like that. He knew where he stood and didn’t mind. And so did she. She sunk down into her pillows and let herself imagine the upcoming evening—she’d need something new to wear. Even though they lived in casual-country, John Hancock dressed for things. Tomorrow she’d go to Salem and find something new and fancy, but not try-hard. A dress and some shoes, maybe.

  Even the imagined ritual of finding something and trying it on and ringing it up seemed to calm her nerves. God bless John Hancock, being just the friend she needed right now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturday morning Taylor rose bright and early. She shoved her dresser out of the way and opened her window for some fresh air. Her sister had survived what was really just an accident. It was good that Clay was showing interest in some other women, and she needed to get something sexy, casual but fancy for the Alan Thicke Theme Song Symphony thingy tonight.

  She skipped out without a “good morning” for her sister or Grandpa Ernie. She didn’t owe them any explanation of where she was going or why. Salem was less than an hour away, and she could get some breakfast at the first Starbucks she found when she drove into town. She knew just where it was.

  She didn’t let the surprise of gray skies get her down as she parked a nice long way from her favorite discount store. Fresh air and exercise and new clothes. All of these things would work together to shake the gloom, the megrims, and woe-is-mes. She stared at the mall for a moment before she went in.

  It had been remodeled years ago.

  It wasn’t the same place she and her mom had snuck off to when they needed to escape the suffocating sympathy of their friends and relations in those early days after her father’s death, but it was at the same time. It was the same physical spot on the earth, and it had worked its magic many times before in her life.

  In the store she was drawn to the small selection of little black dresses, but each time she slid one off the metal rack, it had some sort of glitter or sequins or plastic sparkle attached. Such a pity. One of them looked like it might be easy to de-sparkle, if it fit right. She was holding it up in front of the mirror trying to decide if it was for her or not when she spotted a newly familiar face behind her. “Annie!” Taylor lowered the dress and turned to Leon’s sort of widow. “How are you doing?”

  Annie held up her own little black dress. “I’m trying to find something suitable for the joint funeral of my legally separated spouse and his girlfriend.” She shook her head, a look of mixed humor and despair in her eyes. “I never thought I’d be shopping for this particular outfit.”

  “I’m finding their selection is heavy on the sparkle.”

  “Indeed.” Annie tapped the large clear plastic squares that framed the neck of the dress she was holding. “But what can we do?”

  “We could go get brunch.”

  Annie’s smile was warm and apprec
iative. “I’d love to, but my kids are around here somewhere finding something nice to wear to their father’s funeral.” She rolled her eyes then froze. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

  Taylor shrugged. “This will be really hard for them. But I can kind of get how you’re feeling.”

  “You know, you’re a really nice person. I’ve heard so much about you, not just since your mom died, but before, too, that I was ready to hate you.”

  “Yikes.” Taylor stepped back and tried to get the “working at the store” smile to stick on her face.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t nice. I’m not in a nice mood, and I’m having a hard time reacting appropriately to basically everything.”

  “It’s the grief.” Taylor slipped the dress back on the rack. She had little black dresses at home. Some she hadn’t even worn yet.

  “Small town gossip. The good and the bad. And, boy, every time you do anything, it spreads through Comfort like wildfire. You’d have thought when you moved home you were going to be sainted.”

  Taylor lifted a shoulder. What could she say to this? The woman in front of her was probably in shock still. She was dressed in skinny jeans with artfully torn holes but covered in clay. Her flannel was baggy and clearly of the “wears this to do my pottery” collection, but her hair and makeup were perfect, as though at least part of this morning she had been aware of what she was doing.

  Taylor sighed.

  Annie was a mess.

  “Do you have anyone to talk to? Like a counselor?” Taylor wondered if she had asked this already. She ought to have, but she too sometimes didn’t react appropriately. Especially when talking about dead parents. It was like the grief would jump out and surprise attack her. She’d be going along taking care of her responsibilities, doing her best to live that good life her folks would have wanted for her, and wham. There it was. The misery and loneliness and fear, out of the blue, and she would say or do something that hurt someone or didn’t help them or just didn’t make sense.

  It happened a lot.