THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) (22 page)

“George was barking at something last night,” I said when I got downstairs the next morning. “How’d he act when you let him out?”

Patsy, the only one there, frowned. “I didn’t really notice, one way or another.” She doesn’t like to miss things. “Could have been a bear, I suppose.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Even George might react to a bear intrusion into his territory. “Did you notice if Fleur was all right?” The skunk often waited for George in the morning before trundling off to sleep the day away. We liked to think it was devotion to the dog, but it was probably in hopes of a little spilled dog food. We fed them on the porch in the warmer times of the year.

“Happy as a skunk in a garbage can when I threw him a treat,” she laughed. “But I do worry about what amounts to being a less than wild skunk out there. We’re really going to have to think about keeping him inside.”

Once again I refused. I had my reasons, lots of them, but the main one was my belief that wild animals should be allowed as much freedom as possible. Fleur was pretty well
-protected in the yard, and from the rate he dug up my lawn and flower bed, he didn’t have time to get too far away from home. He’d sleep most of the winter months. Besides, Binky loved to hassle him and Alexander always eyed him as though he had evil plans in mind.

“Maybe I should take in the bird feeders at night,” I fussed. “I hear they attract bears. The idea of George trying to make friends with a bear is frightening.”

“Oh, Aunt Rachael,” she protested. “You make the poor dog sound stupid.” She paused and thought about it. “He’s not stupid, of course, but maybe he’s a little overly friendly.”

I agreed.

She switched subjects, more or less. “Do you think he was barking at a human?”

“I don’t have a clue,” I admitted. “Who knows how his mind works. A bear isn’t a bad guess, though, except that he probably smells them in the woods all the time and ignores them. Maybe the idea of one in his yard upset him.”

“I can’t for the life of me think of anything we know that would bring a human prowling around,” she sighed. “I wish I could tell Joe that I’ve heard the tapes.”

“He’d
have
to tell,” I said quickly. She’d better not be thinking she could persuade him otherwise. It wasn’t just her tail on the line.

“I know,” she assured me. “Just wishful thinking.”

“If anybody’s worried about my talks with people, they must know that I’m not keeping the knowledge to myself, and it’s not going to just be Nicholas I’m talking to.”

I gulped and raced to the front window.
What if it had been Dora’s house someone was prowling around. Maybe I was counting a little too much on the ability of an old man to protect his sister. He wouldn’t be that difficult to overcome, and he almost certainly would be asleep.

But the truck was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief. A killer might think he could move the old vehicle after he committed murder, but even Dora, who loved cars, admitted that she couldn’t coax the thing to start. Yet cold and snow
didn’t seem to affect it at all. So it would appear that they’d been fine in the morning, and Mac had gone home. Actually, what he’d probably done was go in search of what he considered to be a proper breakfast. I smothered an incipient belch just thinking of it. Sausage and eggs and muffin and all the condiments were starters, along with plenty of coffee. Then he’d move on to pie. Mac ate pie twenty-four hours a day by choice. No, not twenty-four. He had to make room for his pizza. Beer, once noon had come and gone, was the beverage of choice, although I wouldn’t bet too heavily on his waiting for noon.

I returned to the kitchen. The more I thought about his probable meal, the hungrier I got. Of course I wouldn’t be so foolish as to have the pie. That would be gluttonous. “Patsy,” I asked, as I gathered materials for an omelet from the refrigerator. “Have you given any thought to what’s going on with Moondance?”

“Joe says Jimbo is absolutely up in arms about her having been there when the murder was done. It seems the idea of poison bothers him more than gunshot wounds or stabbings. He says she is finished hanging around with the other two…forever.”

“He sounds like the parent of a wayward child that’s scared him silly by almost getting herself killed.”

“Yes, but as far as we know, she was never in any danger, no more than any of the others. The tea was in the single cup, not in the rest, so there’s no doubt it was meant for Mrs. B-H. And there is an upside. Not even Aunt Myrtle can expect us to ever drink that tea again, even if she manages to get the remainder back after this is cleared up.”

I laughed, despite myself. “That certainly is a point in favor of the killer.”

“Who’s next on your little list?” she asked as I sat down to eat my over-abundant meal.

“I haven’t any idea. I’m not even sure if I should bother trying to get the sisters here separately or not. I think it would be a waste of time. Nicholas has been calling by noon every day, but he might not be aware that both sisters showed up at once.”

“I wish we could draw up a time table,” she said. “I don’t suppose you can get them to try and write down who did what, where and when?”

“I could ask, but it sounds as though they were milling around quite freely the whole time. Besides, I’m sure the sheriff has handled that end of the case. How does Joe seem about it? Is he acting as though he thinks they have it solved and just need proof?” I asked because she was pretty good at telling what her man was thinking at all times. He, of course, didn’t realize that, and if she was smart, she’d never let on.

“I don’t think they have any idea at this point,” she mused. “He’s acting kind of grumpy when I mention it. I did get it out of him that Aunt Myrtle and company aren’t really under suspicion. Once they were sure the tea itself wasn’t poisonous, even Sheriff Alberts couldn’t convince himself that they had anything to do with it.”

“Notice that nobody, not one of us, would have been horribly shocked if they had added some last minute ingredient
, a poison of some kind, but nobody in his right mind could see them doing it with intent to harm anybody. It says something about them, but I’m not sure if it’s good or bad.”

“A little of both,” she laughed.

David knocked before entering. “Anything new?”

“George was barking last night, but Aunt Rachael didn’t see anybody and he stopped after a few minutes,” Patsy poured coffee for him as she spoke. “We’re thinking it might have been a bear snooping around.”

“That wouldn’t be good,” he looked startled. “Would a bear come that close? Wouldn’t it be afraid of people and dogs?”

“They get pretty brazen every once in a while,” I told him. “But George’s bark would most likely scare one away. His bark might
not be worse than his bite, but it’s an awfully big bark.”

We settled on the bear idea. It seemed easiest.

Nicholas was quite put out to hear that the sisters had arrived in tandem the night before. “I should have known they’d pull something like that. Frances kept them pretty much in line, but I’m afraid I’m just an old softie in most peoples’ eyes.”

I didn’t see him that way, but I forced a chuckle. “It might have worked out better this way,” I said. “They can really get wound up and I preferred neither spent the whole session worrying about what the other one said about her.”

“Have you found out anything?” He finally remembered that he should be interested, that he supposedly expected me to find out who killed his wife.

“A lot of gossip,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to put any of it together yet. Maybe tonight since you don’t have anybody lined up.” It would be nic
e to have an evening to myself—and if I got lucky, David.

He wasn’t too happy. “I suppose it hardly matters. The sheriff doesn’t seem to be coming up with any answers either. I’ll send either Rita Jasper or one of the
Mandrells next. Listen, don’t let the Mandrells come together. He won’t let her talk at all and she’s a weak link. Probably doesn’t know anything, but who knows. Oh how I wish you could solve this for me.”

That was a little dramatic and he’d obviously tacked it on as an afterthought, perhaps sensing that I wasn’t as impressed by his innocence as he’d wish. I was beginning to have a lot more respect for the power of not just hearing, but of really listening. I admittedly was a little snide when I responded. “Maybe it would be a good idea to hire a private investigator to look into some of these people.”

I thought I caught a tiny gasp. “No, no, I don’t like doing that,” he told me. “It might interfere with your work. If nothing comes of this in a few weeks, I’ll think about it seriously.” He must have realized how weak that sounded. “I’ve never liked PIs, not even in books. It’s one of those untraceable dislikes. I have no idea where it came from. Silly of me, no doubt, but until it’s absolutely necessary I would prefer not to use one.”

“All right,” I said, agreeably. I was afraid that if he hired a PI he’d drop me. As usua
l, I’d spoken before I thought things through. “We’ll muddle on ahead as best we can.” There. I can be dramatic, too.

Between customers I told David and Patsy what he’d said.

“Sounds fishy to me,” David clearly didn’t like the man. “He in all probability has something in his own past that doesn’t bear looking into.”

“I agree,” Patsy narrowed her eyes thinking about it. “There has to be more behind his dislike than some vague mental allergy. It bears some looking into.”

“I’m sure the sheriff has done all that,” I tried to cut her off at the pass.

“You know how busy they are at this time of year,” she reminded us. “They get a few extra part time deputies to handle twenty times the population. And tourists are always getting into stupid messes that they have to take care of. The other day a guy was feeding a squirrel and decided to try and pick it up. They still aren’t sure if he had a heart attack or a stress attack when it bit him. Either way, he’s still in the hospital being tested. There should be a tax on stupid.”

“Might pay off the national debt,” David agreed with the idea. “But we’d never get the politicians to include themselves and they’re the biggest offenders.”

We chortled wickedly at the mental picture.

I didn’t know until Helen Mandrell showed up at seven whether or not Nicholas had decided to let me have an evening off. David sighed when we heard the car pull into the driveway. We’d just been sitting talking quietly about our respective pets, but I, at least, was hoping the evening would be free and we could advance from talking to action. For the greater part of my life I’d felt that intimacy was vastly over-rated. I am delighted to admit that I was wrong.

I peeked out and saw Helen trudging toward the door. I whispered who it was to David and he went back to his post on the stairs. I opened the door and invited her in.

“Oh, I hope this isn’t going to take too long,” she said immediately. “I really should be home. There’s so much for my poor husband to get organized. He handles virtually everything for the company. He’s trying to get information carefully set up so Nicholas can understand how things stand. I don’t like to sound unkind, but that man made a better husband than he’ll make a business leader.”

I could almost hear the echo of her husband’s voice. “Well, come in and relax for a while. If he’s working on books, he probably won’t mind being alone at all. Accountants get lost in their numbers sometimes, don’t they?”

“You must have been married to one,” she laughed shakily. “Sometimes you do get to wondering if they even notice you’re alive. I always feel that my job is to keep the household peaceful and smoothly running for him, so when he gets home, he can just relax. We have a little routine. I fix him a drink and he tells me about his day. Then we eat a leisurely dinner. I took a cordon bleu course years ago, so the meals we share are not just by candle light, they’re delicious, even if I have to say so myself.

“I suppose you don’t think of a housewife as really having a job, but we do. I put in more hours than my husband if you counted them. A lot of countries acknowledge homemakers and even provide paid vacations. I think that’s fair, don’t you? Of course you’re a business owner, so you probably don’t feel that way.”

I broke in finally. “I had to work,” I explained, although why I felt obliged to explain myself I didn’t know. Well, yes, I did know. Her tone was full of accusation, as though I’d personally attacked her and her values. “My husband died. I was left with three children and no money. I didn’t choose to live on welfare. And the work I did was cleaning, not running my own business until the last years.” Take that!

“Oh, well, yes, of course, I understand,” she said quickly. “I never meant to imply that you worked by choice.”

“I do work by choice, now,” I backed off. “I enjoy the shop. I love to cook, too, but I never aspired to a gourmet level. Maybe there are some night classes to begin with. I think it’s wonderful that you carried a full time job, and I do agree that that’s what it is, and still took the time to learn cordon bleu. You’ve prepared yourself to support yourself if the need ever arises, and you can do it with a vocation you love.”

“Oh, I’d never go out to work,” she gasped. “That would be ridiculous.
Brandon takes care of me. He’s always said that all I have to do is take care of his wants at home.” She blushed deeply. “I mean keeping up the house and cooking and such.”