Prologue

No matter how much time Gypsy Hill gave herself in the mornings, she struggled to leave the house on time. It took her exactly twenty-two minutes to drive to the Dinner Bucket Diner, where she worked as a waitress, and she rarely left the house with more than a minute to spare. Luckily, her early morning start time allowed her to avoid most of the school traffic. And even on days when she was a little late, the owner of the Dinner Bucket, as it was known to locals, merely shook his head when she hurried into the restaurant.

Gypsy had worked at the diner for more than a decade, and everyone joked about her tardiness. Still, she didn’t want to take advantage of Bill, her boss. He had always treated her well. Of course, he hadn’t heeded her suggestion to keep the diner open past lunch to accommodate the dinner crowd, but she didn’t intend to take his initial no as a final answer. She didn’t plan to waitress for the rest of her life, either. From the way she looked at it, convincing him to serve dinner would be the first step in her plan to ultimately manage the diner or another restaurant or some other type of business. She just needed to think of a way to show him how beneficial her idea could be.

She buttoned her blue and white gingham uniform, clutched a tumbler of sweet lemon tea, and headed for the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she stopped as if she had heard a noise. She stood frozen there for a few seconds before turning and making her way back to the kitchen. Opening the top door of the refrigerator, she took a package of ground beef from the freezer and placed it in the fridge to thaw. Sure, the extra ninety seconds would guarantee her tardiness, but it would be worth it. Her husband loved her lasagna and referred to it as his comfort food. It would be just what he needed to help him shake his summer cold. She’d stop at the store on the way home and pick up some cheesy breadsticks to complete the meal. She might make a salad.

But Gypsy wouldn’t make a salad or her comforting lasagna or anything ever again.

Chapter One

Although she had been present for the entire meeting, Maggie Morgan, lifestyle editor for the Jasper Sentinel, couldn’t connect the dots from the newspaper’s upcoming high school football supplement, the first subject of conversation, to the best method for washing windows, the current subject of conversation. As was usually the case, the Monday morning meeting had quickly veered from the stated agenda into a collective stream of consciousness, but this detour had meandered more than most. She had given up trying to figure it out when Barbara, the new reporter, brought the banter to an end by asking, “Can we get back to work?”

It’s not what she said. Someone uttered a variation of that suggestion every week. But they usually did so after inadvertently sharing an embarrassing anecdote or becoming the butt of a joke. The statement was always said in good humor and accompanied by an eye roll on behalf of the speaker.

That was not the case with Barbara.

Barbara, who had first worked for the Sentinel some twenty years earlier, was three months into her second stint with the newspaper. When Tyler, an eager yet abrasive young reporter, left the paper, the area, and the industry the prior spring, the paper’s longtime bookkeeper had mentioned to Joe, the editor, that now that Barbara’s children were in college, she wanted to get back to work. Joe couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the other applicants, all of whom he considered unqualified, so he reached out to Barbara, who he had worked alongside in the newsroom all those years ago, eventually offering her the job.

Although their desks touched, Maggie knew no more about Barbara than she had on Barbara’s first day at work. She knew Barbara’s age, forty-eight, that she was married with two sons, and that she went to church with the bookkeeper. Yet she didn’t know the names of Barbara’s sons or husband. She didn’t know if she had pets or hobbies. Barbara never took personal calls at her desk and she didn’t display mementoes in her workspace or take her lunch at the office. Maggie didn’t know if Barbara lived nearby and consequently returned home for lunch every day or if she consumed her lunch in her car. Or in the park. Or in a restaurant by herself. Or with others. Or if she ate lunch. For all Maggie knew, Barbara could engage in assignations during her lunch break or spend the hour walking around Jasper. Or reading. Or shopping. Anything was possible.

Except for exchanging pleasantries, Barbara didn’t even engage the bookkeeper in conversation. In an effort to learn more about Barbara, Maggie had casually – or so she hoped – worked her name into a discussion with the bookkeeper. After she had asked where Barbara’s sons went to college, the bookkeeper had replied that she didn’t know. She had told Maggie that she wouldn’t describe herself and Barbara as friends. They simply went to church together. Undeterred, Maggie had then asked the bookkeeper how she had learned Barbara was looking for work. After taking a few seconds to think over the matter, the bookkeeper had replied, “Our pastor told me. No. That’s not right. It was the pastor’s wife. Or maybe the pastor’s wife told my husband. I honestly can’t remember.” Maggie had wanted to know if that meant Barbara was close to the pastor and/or his wife, but she didn’t want to push her luck and make her growing obsession with Barbara public. So she had made a mental note to pursue that line of questioning at a later time.

Although Barbara had never joined in the newsroom’s frequent joviality, Maggie was still jolted by her “Can we get back to work?” comment, which resulted in everyone doing exactly that. All talk of window washing ceased and they moved on to pressing matters like story assignments, deadlines, and the paper’s editorial stance on soaring property taxes.

After the meeting concluded, Maggie made the hour-long trek to the other end of Geneva County to interview a school bus driver who was beginning her fortieth year on the job. Maggie enjoyed her drive on the beautiful, early August day. To her, the sky always appeared especially vivid near summer’s end. By contrast, the heat and humidity had caused the leaves clinging to the Appalachian Mountains’ abundant trees to droop from the branches.

When Maggie returned from her interview, she discovered that Barbara was at the courthouse. Taking advantage of her absence, she stuck her head inside Joe’s office and asked, “Miss Tyler yet?”

Maggie and Joe had worked together since she was a reporter fresh out of college and he was the paper’s newly-promoted editor. A transplant to the area, Joe had lived in Jasper, the seat of Geneva County, for more than thirty years. He had married a local and together they had raised a family. Joe thought of himself as an eastern Kentuckian and he had not appreciated Tyler’s condescending attitude or him referring to the area as “hillbilly hell.”

Not taking his eyes from the story on his monitor, Joe asked, “What on earth would cause me to miss him?”

“In a word – Barbara.”

“Eh, she’s not that bad. She’s a good reporter. A little rusty, but she knows what questions to ask. And you’ve read her stuff. She can write.”

Maggie, who had experienced an up-and-down relationship with Tyler, said, “Tyler was a good reporter and writer, too.”

“He was also an insufferable jerk. So, to answer your question, I don’t miss him. Not one bit. And she was right. We needed to get back on track.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

Finally taking his attention from his monitor, Joe eyed Maggie over the bifocals he was struggling to adapt to. “Since when is Tyler your best friend? Have you forgotten all those times he belittled your feature stories or how he blamed you for mistakes in his stories?”

“No one is perfect.”

“No, and it would do him a world of good if he could admit that about himself. But what about him tricking you into investigating Jennifer Wagner’s murder?”

Tucking her short brown hair behind her ears, Maggie said, “He apologized.”

“Tyler apologized? He actually said the words ‘I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me?’”

“I can’t recall if he used those exact words, but his apology seemed heartfelt, so I forgave him. Besides, not to sound boastful, but if he hadn’t tricked me, then Jennifer’s murder might have remained unsolved.”

“So, are you saying the end justified his means?”

“No, but like I said earlier, nobody is perfect. And sometimes, back when I was investigating a case, I had trouble with the truth …”

“I remember that all too well. What does that have to do with Tyler?”

“It’s just that people, such as yourself, forgave me. So, I did the same for Tyler.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. So, have you talked to him? Has he started nursing school?”

“We’re not in constant contact or anything like that. But, last time he messaged me, he said he was supposed to start around mid-month.” She chose not to share that he had also expressed his delight at once again living where people did not pronounce the word heard as hear-ed.

Leaning back in his chair, Joe said. “I still can’t see Tyler as a nurse. Can you imagine him giving someone bad news? Or giving a shot? I wouldn’t let him anywhere near me with a needle or even a blood pressure cuff. What convinced him to make such a drastic career change?”

“He told me that, if nothing else, living in this area had taught him that the country needed more healthcare workers. You know he was always talking about how fat we all are.”

Patting his rotund stomach, Joe said, “At least in my case, that’s true. And I’m not even a native. You, on the other hand, defy Tyler’s observations.” Squinting his eyes shut, he said, “Oh, God, that sounded dreadful. I swear, I’m not checking you out.”

Holding up both hands, Maggie said, “I’ve known you for, what, fifteen years? You’re like the older brother I never had. So, if somebody has to say I’m not fat, it should be you.” She was secretly pleased he had noticed. Although Maggie had never been overweight, she tended to stray from her exercise and healthyish eating routines during investigations, and the Jennifer Wagner murder case had not been an exception. But four months without snooping had been kind to her waistline.

“Regardless,” Joe said, “I don’t want to cross a boundary or make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You know what would make me feel less uncomfortable?” When Joe shrugged, she said, “If you could remember something – anything – about Barbara from when she worked here before. Did she ever share any personal stories? Or smile? Or frown?”

“We’ve been over this a million times –”

 “A million, Joe? More like once.” Joe cocked his head and sent her a skeptical look. “Okay, maybe twice. Three times, tops.”

“Then it’s only felt like a million times. As I’ve told you before, she didn’t talk about her private life. We didn’t know she was pregnant until she started showing. And then everybody was afraid to say anything in case she had simply gained weight.”

“That’s the good thing about Tyler. I bet he would have said something. Whenever I put on weight, he would shoot judging looks my way when he saw me snacking on candy or eating fried food. One day, he asked if I had ever heard of baked chips.”

“Remind me why I should miss this guy? Remind me why you miss him?”

“I would rather remind you that we were talking about Barbara.”

“How could I forget?” Rolling his eyes, he said, “After she had the baby, she didn’t come back from maternity leave. I never saw her again until she came in a few months ago for her interview.”

“Huh. You’d think that, at the very least, you all would have run into each other at Walmart or during Moonshiner Days. Or maybe she’s one of those people who avoid Moonshiner Days. And maybe she does her shopping at one of the local grocery stores. Of course, she would still need to buy cleaning supplies and stuff like deodorant and toothpaste, but there’s always Big Lots and the dollar stores. And nowadays she could shop online, but that wasn’t the case twenty years ago. Has she ever mentioned the fun of tracking orders or if the delivery guy ever leaves her packages in the rain?”

“As much as I would love to sit here and continue speculating on where Barbara buys shampoo, as your boss, I feel I should ask if you have some work to do. Weren’t you planning to go to the Dinner Bucket during lunch rush so you could talk to the owner and the customers? After all, today is their first day back since Gypsy Hill died.”

“Yeah, I guess I better scoot on over there, but this is one story I am not looking forward to covering.”

“I only knew Gypsy from the diner, but she was always friendly. And she always remembered that I liked my ham with extra pineapple.”

“It’s just so sad. And scary,” Maggie shivered. “According to her obit, she was just thirty-one. To think that she woke up healthy that morning, but died before she finished her shift. As much as I love my job, I don’t want to die at work.”

Chapter Two

In spite of Maggie’s misgivings, the mood at the crowded Dinner Bucket was, if not cheerful, then at least not gloomy. She had called that morning before the staff meeting to make sure the diner’s owner was agreeable to having interviews conducted on the premises. He had given his blessing, but she thought it best to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. She waited on him beside a glass counter that displayed a dusty, black lunch bucket that had once belonged to the father, a coal miner, of the diner’s original owner. Although her own father hadn’t worked in a coal mine in years, Maggie could still smell the coal dust that had covered his black lunch bucket.

“I think that dinner bucket is more popular than our potato salad.”

Turning, Maggie saw Bill, the diner’s owner, approaching her.

“I’ve been coming here for as long as I can remember,” she said. “I’m from Caldonia Road, over on Sugar Creek. When we would come to Jasper, my parents would bring my brother and me here to eat. It was such a treat.”

“I hear that a lot, but I can’t take the credit for that. I didn’t own the Dinner Bucket back then.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just that I realized this morning that you and I had never had a conversation. And I wanted you to know how much I appreciate that you haven’t changed much about the restaurant.”

Bill smiled. “I believe that you don’t fix what ain’t broke.”

Although Maggie could have discussed the history of the Dinner Bucket all day, she noticed the lunch rush was quickly dispersing. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to talk to some of your customers now.”

“If it’s okay with them, it’s okay with me.”

“Great. And when I’m finished, I’d like to interview you, too.”

Nodding, he said, “Just come and get me.”

Maggie chatted with three diners, all of whom remembered Gypsy Hill as a fine young woman and a wonderful waitress.

“Me and my husband came here to eat every Wednesday for the spaghetti and meatballs,” one older lady told Maggie. “He loved my cooking, but he never cared for my spaghetti. He said my sauce was too weak and my meatballs were too spicy, so we came here for it every week. When he died, Gypsy came to the services one night. That meant the world to me.”

At another table, a man Maggie recognized as a local attorney said, “At some places, you have to flag the waiters down just to get a refill.” Gesturing to his dining companion, he added, “We joked that Gypsy refilled our drinks as soon as we took a sip.”

His friend said, “We were in here that morning for breakfast. She seemed fine. I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.”

Maggie didn’t want to ask them flat out if they felt uneasy about dining in a restaurant where someone had recently collapsed, later dying, but luckily one of the men bailed her out.

“Somebody – I’m not going to say who – told me I was crazy for coming back here. Especially on the first day they’ve been open since she died. They said I should give it a few days to see if anybody else gets sick. But it’s not like she had typhoid or E. coli. It was the stomach flu. I’m no doctor or scientist, but I don’t think germs will remain in the air for days. Besides, Bill brought in a crew and cleaned this place from floor to ceiling. I don’t have any concerns with eating here, and you make sure you put that in your article.”

Maggie talked to them for a few more minutes and, after completing her interviews, she found a seat at the counter and was promptly joined by Bill.

“It looks like you’ve been busy today,” she said.

“Our customers have been real good to us. I thought they would be, but you never know how people are going to act. I was afraid they might be a little skittish, what with Gypsy getting sick here in the diner. You know,” Bill pointed over Maggie’s shoulder, “she fell right there. She was carrying a pot of coffee and two plates of apple pie. When I heard the crash, I thought she had slipped. I was in the back, mixing up some hamburger –”

“You do the cooking?”

“Some of it, but only what I like to do. I really like working on the grill. I guess you could call that my specialty. That’s why I bought the diner. It had always been my dream to own one. In my mind, I could see myself flipping burgers at my own diner. That’s what got me through all those boring meetings I had to go to at work. I worked in an office for more than thirty-five years. The job provided for my family, but I hated every minute of it. I always swore to myself that once the kids were raised, I’d buy a diner.” Bill chuckled. “You’ve let me get off track. I was telling you about when Gypsy fell. When I heard it, I cussed under my breath and walked out here to check on her. There’s no need to lie, I also came out here to find out what had caused her to fall. I figured someone, maybe even Gypsy, hadn’t cleaned up a spill. I was already going over in my mind what I was going to say to them, how I was going to have to remind them, again, to clean up spills. At first, I didn’t know any better. She was moaning something awful, though, and was laying on the floor, so I thought she had broken a bone or something.”

“When did you realize she was sick?”

“My wife was here that day. She helps out sometimes on the cash register and, when we get in a pinch, she’s been known to wait tables. She was down on her knees, leaning over Gypsy. When I got to them, my wife looked up at me and said, ‘She says it’s her stomach.’ About that time, Gypsy vomited all over herself. Come to find out, she had already been sick and had the diarrhea earlier that day. It come on her all of a sudden. I wished she had told me, but she probably knew I would have sent her home and she wouldn’t have wanted us to be shorthanded at lunch. Anyway, she couldn’t even sit up. There was no getting her to a car, so we called an ambulance.” With a sad shrug of his shoulders, Bill said, “By the next morning, she was gone.”

While Maggie was allowing a suitable amount of time to pass before asking a follow-up question, Bill added, “You know I’m exactly twice Gypsy’s age. She had a hard time when she turned thirty. She said she had wasted her life, that she hadn’t accomplished anything. I was thinking about that this morning. Me and my wife told her she was just a baby, that she would have plenty of time. I told her to look at me. I had started a new career in my fifties. It turns out that she was right, though. At least about not having enough time. But then again, do any of us ever have enough time? She wasn’t right about being old, though. My wife told her to just wait until she was on the other side of fifty and then she’d know old. She’ll never get there now. It tears me up when I think of all the things she’ll never get to do. All the mistakes she’ll never get to fix.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t put this in your story, but Gypsy didn’t have much in the way of family. Well, she had family, but both her parents were only children, and that meant no aunts, uncles, or first cousins. And she lost her mom, well, I guess it was about five years ago.” Bill stopped speaking and seemed to study on the matter for a second. “That sounds right. I’ve owned the diner for six years, and I guess her mom died around a year after that. Not long after – and I do mean not long, just a matter of months, actually – her dad remarried. Gypsy never got over that. I tried to talk to her, to explain that her dad was lonely. That he needed a companion. I’ll never forget what she said. She told me he could get a dog if he wanted a companion. I don’t know what hurt her more, losing her mom or losing her dad.”

“But she didn’t lose him.”

“Oh, yes, she did. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other in more than four years.”

Maggie lived beside her parents in the house her dad had grown up in. She saw her parents every day. She couldn’t imagine going four days, let alone four years, without speaking to either of them.

“I saw that she had a sister. How was their relationship?”

“Eh. Touch and go. Her sister was close to their dad. She probably felt like she was in the middle of his and Gypsy’s trouble.”

“Gypsy had her husband, though.”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy. He seemed shell-shocked and not sure of what was going on, but I’d say that’s true for most of us. This did come as a shock.”

“You hear about it happening, but never to people you know,” Maggie said.

“What’s that?” Bill asked.

“An otherwise healthy person contracting the flu or a virus and suddenly dying.”

“That’s just the thing,” Bill said. “Gypsy didn’t have the flu or any kind of virus or that hepatitis they talk about on the news or any other kind of infection. At least not one they could find.”

“Then what killed her?”

With a slight nod of his head, he said, “You tell me.”

Chapter Three

Although Maggie and her boyfriend Seth had dated years earlier and had even been engaged, she had forgotten they shared a particular personality trait – neither was a morning person. And as she sipped her orange juice, she felt no small amount of gratitude for not having to deal with chatter and cheer first thing in the morning.

She could also have done without the smell of coffee in the morning, or any time of the day for that matter, but she conceded she couldn’t have everything. Besides, the bitter smell of coffee was a small price to pay to have Seth back in her life. In the years they were apart, she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge how much she had missed him. In the three months since their reconciliation, she had waited for the renewed blush of romance to fade. So far, it hadn’t. Sometimes, like earlier that morning, she watched him sleep and wondered if today would be the day they began to find each other’s endearing habits annoying or if they would run out of things to talk about.

She was in mid-yawn when Seth lumbered into the kitchen and headed for the coffeepot. Pouring his second cup of the day, he grumbled, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Maggie responded. Noticing his green tie, she said, “Is that a new tie?”

“No, Maggie, you bought it for me years ago.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. You said it matched my eyes.”

“Huh.” Maggie looked from the tie to his eyes. “I was right. It does.” She smiled into her glass. It’s not that she had expected Seth to toss everything she had bought him into a bonfire after their breakup. After all, she had kept all the books, movies, and CDs, as well as the dog, he had given her. Still, it pleased her that he had held onto the tie and she wondered if he had thought about her every time he had worn it. It was too early to broach such a heavy matter, so she decided against asking him. They stood there in silence, each standing with their back to the countertop, until she said, “Did you know that green eyes are extremely rare?”

Tasting his coffee, Seth said, “Is that so?”

“It came up in the story I wrote about that three-legged dog who hangs out in the nursing home.”

Seth briefly turned his head toward her and cocked his eyebrows. “I didn’t know dogs had green eyes. Are you sure it wasn’t a three-legged cat?”

“No, but that reminds me. Don’t let me forget to fill up Barnaby’s pool before I leave for work.”

“Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but most people would love to have your dog’s life.” Taking another sip of coffee, he said, “You were saying something, though, about a green-eyed, three-legged dog.”

“No, I wasn’t, and, actually, the dog has nothing to do with the green eyes. But one of the ladies who works at the nursing home is set to receive a cornea transplant. I’m going to do a story on her, too, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I did some research on cornea transplants and, before I knew what was happening, I had fallen into an eye-themed rabbit hole. That’s where I read about green eyes. And then I started thinking about all the books I’ve read that have characters with green eyes. That shouldn’t be the case, with the eye color being so rare.”

“Writers probably bring it up because it is rare. They might not point out that someone has brown eyes. Unless they have soulful brown eyes like yours.”

“Soulful? More like bovine.”

Seth shook his head so furiously Maggie feared it might roll off his spine. “No, just, no. Your eyes do not look like a cow’s.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if they did,” she said. “Cows are kind of cute.”

“They’re not as cute as you are.”

With Seth in an increasingly pleasant mood, Maggie wondered if it was a good time to bring up what she had learned the day before about Gypsy Hill’s death. If Bill was right and Gypsy hadn’t died of a virus or infection, then Seth, a detective with the Jasper Police Department, might have information about the actual cause of death. She had planned to mention it the evening before, but had never found the right moment. After enjoying a light garden supper of fresh corn on the cob from Maggie’s dad’s garden, stuffed peppers from her mom’s kitchen, and cornbread from her oven, they had taken Maggie’s chocolate lab, Barnaby, for a walk. They had then visited with Maggie’s parents, sitting on their porch until the gnats drove them inside. They had spent the remainder of the evening playing cards and eating milk and bread as a movie played out on TV.

Last night she hadn’t wanted to ruin the mood by mentioning work. This morning she knew her opportunity was slipping away. Due to his schedule, she wouldn’t see Seth for a couple days. If she didn’t ask him now, the curiosity would constantly be on the edge of her awareness, like a sore thumb or a stubbed toe.

“Did I tell you I interviewed some customers at the Dinner Bucket? I also talked to Bill, the owner. We had never really talked before. He’s such a nice man.”

“Yeah. Bill’s a good guy. We were going to go there for lunch yesterday, but everybody had something else to do.”

“So, uh, Bill was telling me that Gypsy didn’t die from the flu.”

Seth scratched at the edge of his receding hairline. “Is that right?”

Maggie had known him long enough to detect a hidden meaning behind his movements and in the inflection of his words. “You already knew that, didn’t you? So, what killed her?”

“The last I heard, the official cause of death had not been determined.”

“Is there an investigation?”

“Nope.”

“How will you know what killed her if you’re not investigating her death?”

“They took hair, blood, and tissue samples. We’re waiting on results from the lab in Frankfort.”

“How long will that take?”

“I can’t say for sure, but due to budget cuts and a backlog at the state’s lab, it could take a couple months.”

“Does that mean you all can’t do anything until the results come back?”

“It doesn’t mean we can’t, but it means we’re not.”

Frowning, Maggie said, “I haven’t had enough orange juice this morning to solve riddles. But I do know that if you wait a couple months to investigate her death, the trail could go cold. Evidence could be destroyed.”

“Destroyed makes it sound like we’re throwing blood samples down the drain or shredding incriminating photos.”

“I wasn’t referring to the police. I meant that the killer, if she was indeed killed, could be burning bloody clothes at this very minute.”

Seth scrunched up his freckled face. “There were no wounds to her body and she fell ill at the diner, so how would the potential killer’s clothes have gotten bloody?” When Maggie responded with a stare, he continued, “You do have a point about the trail going cold. But it’s not impossible to solve a chilled or even a cold case. You solved Jay Harris’ disappearance what, eight or nine months after he went missing? And Jennifer Wagner had been dead for a year when you solved her murder. So, time is not always the enemy. But Mac Honaker and Hazel Baker had been dead for only days when you got on those cases. And you solved them in no time. Statistics do show us that the longer a murder goes unsolved, the harder it is to figure out what happened, not to mention finding the supporting evidence.”

At first, Maggie couldn’t grasp why Seth had mentioned the crimes she had solved. After all, he hadn’t always been supportive of her snooping. As the realization slowly dawned on her, she asked, “What are you saying?”

“Nothing. I’m just agreeing with you and pointing out that we,” he emphasized the word, “by order of the chief, will not open an official investigation until we receive the results of those tests. We’re short-staffed and, as the chief pointed out, even if we weren’t, we can’t base investigations on hunches.”

“Hunches? Do you have a hunch? What is it? What’s your hunch?” When he didn’t answer, when he simply washed his coffee cup and turned to reach for her empty glass, Maggie asked, “Seth, are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you suggesting I investigate her death?”

Displaying his crooked smile, which still caused Maggie’s heart to flutter, he said, “Now Maggie, you know I would never advise a private citizen to launch an investigation.”

“Would you ever share your hunch with a private citizen?”

“Nah. I wouldn’t want to poison anyone’s mind.”

Gasping, Maggie exclaimed, “Poison? You think Gypsy was poisoned?”

Chapter Four

Maggie agonized over approaching Bill with her – well, Seth’s – theory that foul play had contributed to Gypsy’s death. She expected him to express disbelief or fear. But when she went to the diner to talk to him, he laughed.

“I figured that’s the reason you called me the other day.” Referencing the other cases Maggie had solved, he said, “I guess you could say your reputation precedes you. What makes you think Gypsy didn’t die of natural causes?”

Careful not to reveal Seth’s hunch, she said, “When you said she didn’t have the flu or any other virus, you piqued my curiosity. What do you think caused her death?”

“I don’t know, but I think somebody needs to find out. Her husband told me they had sent off some blood or something to be tested. But that’s all they’re doing and I know that for a fact. A couple Jasper police officers come in here just about every day and I asked them what they were doing. They told me they were doing nothing.”

“Well, to their defense –”

Holding up one hand, Bill said, “Now, I know you date Seth Heyward.” When Maggie furrowed her brows, he added, “Like I said, your reputation precedes you. I like Seth. I like all those guys. But it’s not normal for a healthy young woman to, well, basically just drop dead like she did. When the doctors couldn’t give her family answers, that’s when the police should have stepped up. I like the chief, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s in over his head. After all, he’s not been on the job too long.” Before Maggie could answer, he added, “Besides, from what I hear, you’re just as good as the police. If not better.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’ll do my best.”

“And I’ll do my best to help you.”

True to his word, Bill reached out to Gypsy’s husband, Zack, and offered Maggie the use of a booth at the Dinner Bucket to conduct her interview with him. Two days later, she sat across from Zack.

“Bill said you’re some sort of private investigator,” he said.

“Uh, something like that. But I don’t have a license or anything. This is sort of,” she didn’t want to say hobby, so, she said, “an interest of mine.”

“He vouches for you, so I guess you’re okay. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with you and Gypsy. How long had you been together? How did you meet?”

Smiling for the first time since he had sat down, Zack said, “We met here. I was working and taking classes at the community college. It was the end of the semester, so me and my buddies came here to celebrate.” He paused and used a napkin to rub his eyes. “Actually, it was a week before graduation. Not that it matters. Anyways, we came here to eat and she waited on us. I paid in cash that day, but I forgot to leave a tip. I was halfway to my truck when I remembered. When I came back in here, she said, ‘It’s a good thing you remembered. You’d hate to see what I do to people who stiff me.’ I don’t know. I couldn’t get that out of my mind. Not just what she said, but the way she teased me. She was really sassy, and I liked it. So I came back the next day and asked her out. We got married a couple months later.”

“Wow. You didn’t waste time. When was this?”

“Seven years ago. You know, she was older than me. Just a couple years, but I joked that she was robbing the cradle.”

“How did she take that?”

“Pretty good, until she turned thirty.” Widening his red, watery eyes, Zack said, “She didn’t take turning thirty good. She’d talk about how she was wasting her life working in a diner and how she needed to make a change before it was too late. I’d ask her what she meant by ‘too late’ and she’d tell me it was something I either understood or didn’t. Well, I didn’t understand, so I dropped it. She also talked a lot about wanting to have a baby. I wanted kids, too, but it seemed like something always got in our way. Things seem to be picking back up around here, at least I hope they are, but for a while the economy was really bad and it was hard to find steady work.”

“What do you do?”

“HVAC. I’ve had a really good job for a couple years, but I wanted to make sure we were, you know, really settled before we had a baby.” Rubbing his eyes again, he said, “I mean, it’s a big step and I wanted to make sure we were ready.”

“It’s not something you should rush into. Kids aren’t returnable. So, uh, how did you find out she was sick?”

“Bill’s wife called me at work. At first, I didn’t think much about it. When I got to the hospital, she was already unconscious, but nobody thought she was going to die. We thought they’d give her some medicine and she’d get better. But she kept getting worse and worse and then, before I could really even understand what was going on, she was dead. I still can’t really believe it.”

“What did the doctors tell you about her illness?”

“Nothing. They ran all sorts of tests, but couldn’t figure out what was wrong.”

Just as she had been with Bill, Maggie was careful not to reveal too much to Zack. “Do you think it could have been something she ate?”

“Like food poisoning? Somebody at the hospital, it could of been a nurse or even one of our family members, I can’t remember now, said something about that. But I don’t know.”

“Had she said anything about food not agreeing with her? Or eating something that tasted off?”

“They asked me that, but I can’t remember.”

“What had you had to eat in the days leading up to her death?”

Gesturing to himself, Zack asked, “Me? What had I had to eat?”

“I meant the plural form of you, as in you and Gypsy.”

“Oh.” Zack took some time before saying, “I don’t know what Gypsy ate, but I had a cold that week, so I didn’t eat much. I mean, you know how it is when you have a cold. Nothing tastes good. I’m still not feeling my best. I guess I haven’t been getting enough rest.”

“Summer colds do seem to be the worst, but are you sure it’s just a cold?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have – still don’t have – any other symptoms. We went through all that at the hospital.”

“What about the food left in the house?”

“It’s long gone. My mom and sister cleaned out the house for me.”

The conversation she’d had with Seth about destroying evidence went through her mind and she made a note so she wouldn’t forget to gloat about that to him. “What about Gypsy’s family? Did they get to see her before she passed away?”

“Yeah, I called her sister and she told their dad. They were there when it happened. I mean, you know, when she died.” Zack paused before adding, “I knew she wouldn’t like that her dad was there. And she would of hated that he brought his wife, but I don’t regret that. If she had to die, I’m glad they got to be there with her.”

“I understand she was estranged from her dad and not particularly close with her sister.”

“I don’t think she and her sister were ever super close, but they got along okay. It was better when we were first together, but everything changed when her dad remarried. She wanted her sister to choose, and she wouldn’t. And I don’t blame her. Gypsy was, well, she was, uh, unreasonable when it came to her dad remarrying. She couldn’t understand why we all didn’t hate his new wife and why we didn’t turn on him like she did. Not that I was crazy about his wife. To be honest, she’s a little too much for me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Do you plan to talk to her?” When Maggie nodded, he said, “You’ll know when you meet her. But I’ve always liked Gypsy’s dad. I couldn’t of asked for a better father-in-law. I told Gypsy she couldn’t expect everyone to have the same opinion she had and she told me I didn’t understand cause he wasn’t my dad. That was true, but he was her dad. It’s not like he had cheated on her mom or anything. He didn’t even know her stepmom until after Gypsy’s mom died.” Zack momentarily covered his mouth with his hand. “I can’t believe I said that. If Gypsy was here, she’d get all over me for using the s-word. Stepmom. She insisted that she was not her stepmom. She was just some woman he had married. If I heard that once, I heard it a hundred times. Gypsy said he was disrespecting her mom’s memory. He did get married really quick after Gypsy’s mom died, and he didn’t help himself by getting rid of all that can food, either.”

“Can food? Like Treet? Or potted meat?”

“No. Like green beans and beets. Food that came from the garden. Her mom canned it. After she died, her dad threw it all away.”

Maggie sat staring at Zack until she heard a little voice in her head, which sounded like her mom’s, admonishing her that she could catch flies with an opened mouth. “How could somebody waste all that good garden food?”

“I don’t know. At first, I didn’t really believe her. I thought she might of been blowing it out of proportion.”

“Did she have a habit of doing that?” Maggie asked.

“I guess you could say that. But she was so upset that I drove over to his house to talk to him. The can house was cleared out. There wasn’t any can food left and the floor was so clean you could of eat off it.”

“Did you ask him what had happened?”

“Nah. I didn’t know what to say. I turned around and went home. I don’t blame Gypsy for being upset about that, but he was still her dad. But after a while, we didn’t talk about it. And I never told her that I dropped by to see her dad from time-to-time and that he and her sister kept in touch with me to find out how she was. She would of divorced me then and there.”

“But she and her sister eventually reconciled?”

“Yeah. They still weren’t close. Not like me and my sister are. But they would talk and text, and buy each other birthday and Christmas presents. She didn’t come to our place much, but every once and a while she would come over. And ever so often, me and Gypsy and sometimes just Gypsy by herself, would stop by her house to see her and the kids.”

“Kids have a way of bringing people together,” Maggie noted. “Besides her dad and stepmom, I mean her dad’s wife –”

Smiling, Zack said, “It’s okay, you can say stepmom. She’s not here to correct you.”

“Well, was there anybody else she didn’t get along with?”

“If you knew Gypsy, odds are that at some point or another, she wasn’t getting along with you.” Zack chuckled. “Gypsy was kind of dramatic. I mean, she’d get fired up about nothing at all, about things nobody else cared about. Like, if she thought somebody was tailgating her, even if they weren’t, or if she thought the neighbors mowed their grass too soon after I mowed ours, she’d lose her mind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I, but she’d post about it on Facebook, saying things like, ‘To the person tailgating me up the holler, I hope you know I deliberately drove slower.’ And ‘To the people who think cutting grass is a competition, get a life!’ Or something like that. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but you get the point. And she would look really angry when she was posting this stuff and then she’d bring me the phone and say, ‘Read what I wrote, Babe. I really told them.’”

“So, she was high-strung?”

“You could say that. Living with Gypsy was never boring.”

“But was there anyone in particular she had a serious problem with? Like somebody who might have wanted to hurt her?”

Zack placed his elbows on the table, bringing his hands to his chest and resting his chin on his hands. “You might want to ask Bill, but Gypsy did tell me about a customer here who was harassing her. I didn’t think much of it, but she said it had gotten so bad that she was considering getting a restraining order against him.”

Chapter Five

Maggie was surprised to learn that neither Bill nor his wife Ann were aware that Gypsy had been harassed. It surprised her almost as much as Zack’s lackadaisical attitude about the situation. If someone were harassing Seth, Maggie knew she wouldn’t stop until she learned the harasser’s name, age, address, birthdate, and favorite color. Then again, she acknowledged to herself that maybe she was just nosy.

“You should ask Charlie about that,” Bill suggested. “Sometimes the girls kept stuff from us.”

Envisioning that the two women shared deadly secrets, Maggie asked, “Could any of this stuff had led to Gypsy’s death?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure they didn’t tell us every little thing that happened to them, even at work. But I meant they didn’t tell us about rude customers. They didn’t want to upset us.”

“They knew Bill would have had a word or more with the customer,” Ann explained, “and they didn’t want him to lose business.”

“That’s understandable, but are you sure Gypsy wouldn’t have kept something from you that led to her death?” Maggie asked the couple.

“I can’t imagine what that could have been, but I can’t imagine why anyone would have wanted to hurt Gypsy,” Ann said. “No one is perfect, but she wasn’t cruel.” Wincing, Ann added, “Sure, I guess some people could say she was cruel to her dad. For what it’s worth, I didn’t approve of how she treated him and I told her she would live to regret it. Even so, I don’t know, maybe I’m naive, but I don’t think she did anything in her life to deserve such an early, tragic ending.”

Ann’s heartfelt answer left Maggie more confused. “So, do you agree with Bill? Do you think Gypsy was a victim of foul play?”

As Ann slowly nodded her head, Maggie wondered why people who couldn’t come up with suspects were so quick to assume Gypsy had been killed. If no one wanted to kill her, how had she ended up killed? Ann ended Maggie’s reverie by asking, “Did you know that Seth Heyward was one of my students?”

“No.” Maggie immediately smiled at the mention of Seth’s name. “But I didn’t know you were a teacher.”

“I taught second and third grades for almost forty years. I still substitute.”

Over the years, Maggie had quizzed Seth’s parents, sisters, and buddies on their memories of Seth at various stages of his life. But she had never before had the chance to garner the opinion of someone outside his circle of close friends and family. She couldn’t allow the opportunity to pass her by. “What was Seth like? Was he a good student? Was he well behaved? Did he ever get into trouble?”

“Oh, no, he was such a sweet and helpful little boy. I’m not surprised he became a police officer.”

Remembering that Seth and her best friend Edie had attended the same school, yet a couple years apart, Maggie asked Ann if she knew her. “Yes, and I’ll be honest with you, I worried about her. She was always so concerned that she had hurt someone’s feelings. If she thought she had upset someone, be it another student or a teacher, her lower lip would tremble and she’d cry. I was afraid she’d be too sensitive for this world.”

Maggie didn’t know how to respond. She decided that Ann must have confused Edie with another little girl. Maggie couldn’t reconcile in her mind how the sensitive child from Ann’s class had grown into the woman who recently changed checkout lanes at the store because the first cashier had too many moles on her neck. Granted, Edie had whispered to Maggie why she was switching lanes and had not announced the reason to the cashier. What’s more, Maggie wasn’t sure the cashier even noticed. So, maybe Edie wasn’t as insensitive as Maggie assumed. As Maggie searched her memory for examples of Edie’s sensitivity, Dave, the diner’s cook, appeared at the table.

“We’ll let you talk to Dave,” Bill said, rising. “And then I’ll send Charlie over. Let us know if you need anything.”

Although three chairs at the table sat empty, Dave remained standing beside the table, staring silently at Maggie. She attempted to break the ice, telling him she was a fan of his pork chops and potato salad, but he only nodded while blinking his eyes repeatedly.

“How well did you know Gypsy?” she asked.

“We worked together.”

“Did she ever say anything about having trouble with anybody?”

“Not to me.”

“Does that mean you heard her say to other people that she was having trouble with somebody?”

Blinking several more times, he said, “She gave me orders and I made the food.”

“So, are you saying you talked only about work?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Was there anything about your work conversations that would make you think she was having trouble with somebody?”

“I don’t know what that would be.”

“Like maybe having trouble with a customer?”

“I don’t know nothing about that.”

The countless interviews she had conducted for her job and, later, for investigations had taught Maggie that you’ll never get some people to talk. No matter what you ask them, no matter how you re-phrase your questions, they’re never going to offer anything of substance. With that in mind, she said, “Okay. It was nice meeting you. If you think of anything, Bill knows how to get in touch with me.”

Charlie, the diner’s other waitress, did not share Dave’s curtness. Maggie had noticed her standing nearby as she talked to Dave, and as soon as Maggie dismissed him, Charlie hurried to the table and sat down beside Maggie. Before Maggie could ask a question, Charlie said, “You and Detective Heyward are so cute together. Me and Gypsy talked about you two all the time.”

Although she wanted to question Charlie on what she meant by “all the time,” Maggie instead thanked her and expressed her condolences regarding Gypsy’s death. But Charlie would not be deterred.

“We thought you two were so romantic.”

Recalling the day they had recently spent pickling and freezing corn for Seth’s dad, who had undergone emergency surgery at the height of garden season, she said, “Me? And Seth? Romantic?”

“Uh-huh,” replied an animated Charlie. “The way you all dated before but called off your wedding at literally the last minute –”

“It wasn’t literally the last minute. It was twenty-seven days before we were supposed to get married.”

“– and then how he got married on the rebound. You know,” Charlie leaned closer to Maggie and whispered, “she comes in here sometimes. I didn’t know who she was until Gypsy told me. Gosh,” Charlie fell back into the chair, “she pointed her out to me just a couple days before she died.”

“About Gypsy –”

“Do you ever see her?”

Confused, Maggie asked, “Gypsy?”

“No, silly. Gypsy is dead. Detective Heyward’s ex-wife.”

Once Maggie thought about it, she realized she hadn’t laid eyes on Seth’s ex, Jamie, in years. “Uh, could we talk about Gypsy?”

“Sure. She told me you didn’t have anything to do with his marriage breaking up. You didn’t seem like a homewrecker, so that made me happy. I don’t like homewreckers.”

Maggie didn’t understand how her relationship with Seth had achieved the status usually afforded only to celebrities and chronicled in the gossip websites Edie followed. But at least Charlie didn’t consider her a homewrecker and that was better than nothing. “How long had you worked here with Gypsy?”

“Two years. I had my anniversary last month.”

“Were you friends as well as co-workers?”

“We sure were.” Folding her hands over her chest, she said, “I was taking the order for table five when she fell. It’s funny what you remember. One of the women, neither one of them was a regular, had just ordered a club sandwich without bacon. I thought bacon is what made it a club.”

“I thought turkey made it a club.”

“And all this time, I thought it was the bacon.”

“You could be right. I’m no sandwich expert.”

“Neither am I. I just serve them. You know, we went ahead and served the customers who waited. We didn’t think she was that sick. It was such a shock. And then the rumors started.”

Thinking Charlie was about to share sensational tales of Gypsy’s death, Maggie asked, “What rumors?”

“That she had caught a case of food poisoning or something worse here. That’s just the most ridiculous thing ever. Gypsy hadn’t even eaten anything here. She never ate until around lunch. I couldn’t work around all this food on an empty stomach, but she never ate breakfast. But around lunch, she’d decide something somebody ordered sounded good and she’d ask Bill or Dave to fix a plate for her, too.” Charlie pulled at her long, black ponytail. “I think that’s why she had trouble losing weight. Not that she was fat, but she was always saying she wanted to lose eight pounds so she could get to some number that she wouldn’t share with anybody. Don’t even ask her cause she won’t tell you. I mean, she wouldn’t tell you. I told her she needed to eat breakfast. Everybody knows it’s the most important meal of the day. If you don’t breakfast, you’ll eat three times as much the rest of the day just to make up for it.”

I’m not sure about the scientific accuracy of that, Maggie thought to herself. “So, to your knowledge, she hadn’t eaten anything the whole day?”

Shaking her head, Charlie said, “Just like every morning, she sipped on that tea, but she didn’t eat anything here. And I would bet you a dollar that she didn’t eat anything before she got here, either. But she always had her tea.”

“The diner’s tea?”

Still clutching her hair, Charlie threw back her head and laughed. “No. Gypsy bought those canisters of lemon tea mix and made her own. I was at her house one day when she made it. She put so much powder in her pitcher that the tea sort of poofed up like dust. It took my breath, but Gypsy didn’t even notice. She liked it strong.” Puckering her lips, she added, “She liked her lemonade strong, too. It was too sour for my taste, but she said she liked for it to bite back. It sure did.”

As she made a note to ask Seth about the tea, Maggie switched subjects. “I met her husband. Zack.”

“I saw you over there with him.” Shaking her head, Charlie said, “That’s just the saddest thing. It’s one thing when an old person’s husband or wife dies. But young people expect to be married forever. And now Zack is all alone.”

Maggie wondered how older widowers like Seth’s dad would react to a young woman like Charlie, who Maggie estimated to be in her mid- to early-twenties, dismissing their grief. The way Maggie saw it, loss was loss at any age. “How was Gypsy’s relationship with Zack?”

“It was good. It bothered her that he never, ever picked up his towels, you know, after he showered. Once, she didn’t pick them up for a week, and he didn’t even notice. But that was about it.”

“That’s all she complained about? Towels?”

Nodding, Charlie said, “And believe you me, Gypsy wasn’t shy about letting you know how she felt. But she seemed to really like him. With some married people, they complain about the other one so much that you’re not sure why they’re still together.”

Although Maggie didn’t say so to Charlie, she had wondered the same thing about some married couples she knew. Everyone had bad days and even the person you most loved – and liked – could get on your nerves, but she knew couples who seemed to actively dislike each other. “Well, it’s good that they got along. Was she in a good place mentally?”

“I guess so. Sometimes, she’d call herself old cause she was over thirty, but I think she just said that for attention. I think that’s why she carried on about losing weight, too. She wanted everybody to tell her she wasn’t fat.”

“What about her family? How did she feel about her sister and her dad?”

“She didn’t talk much about her dad. Sometimes, though, she would let loose on him and his gold-digging wife. That’s what she called his wife, a gold digger, but it wasn’t every day or anything like that. And sometimes she would mention that she was having dinner with her sister. She talked about her mom a lot. She worshiped her.”

“Why did she call her dad’s wife a gold digger?”

“Why do you think, silly? Ain’t it obvious?”

“No.”

“Well, because she was a gold digger. Why else do you think that woman would have married her dad? You know, if it wasn’t for money?”

“Did her dad have a lot of money?”

Shrugging, Charlie said. “I guess so. Why else would Gyspy have called that woman a gold digger if she didn’t marry him for money?”

At that moment, as Charlie answered her questions with more questions, Maggie would have preferred another conversation with the laconic Dave. “Other than her family, had Gypsy been having any problems with anybody?”

“Like an enemy?”

“Well … yeah. Zack said there was trouble with a customer.”

As Charlie studied on Maggie’s question, she began to braid her ponytail. “Gypsy was always mad at somebody over something, so it’s hard to say. Hmm. Wait. There was somebody who, well, he wasn’t an enemy, but he did threaten her. And he was a customer. I guess it could have been him Zack was talking about.”

“Did you say threaten?”

“Yeah, you know, like, ‘You mess with me and I’ll make you pay.’ That’s what Goat said to her.”

Maggie took a deep breath and decided to start with the obvious. “A goat threatened her?”

Charlie giggled. “No, silly. How would that work? Animals can’t talk. Besides, we don’t let animals in here. Goat threatened her.” When Maggie continued to stare at her, Charlie continued, “That’s his name. Goat.”

So many questions, Maggie thought to herself, and where do I start? “His name is actually Goat?”

“Well, that’s what me and Gypsy called him.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, silly? Cause he looks like a goat.”

I should have seen that one coming, Maggie thought. “Who is he? What is his real name?”

“Umm, I don’t know much about him. He used to come in here for breakfast every once in a while. He wasn’t a regular, but we remembered him cause when he came in, it was always between ten-thirty and eleven, and he always ordered pancakes and waffles. That’s just weird.”

Maggie decided that Charlie had a point. People pretty much fell on one side of the pancake versus waffle debate. It was the same with weedeating and lawn mowing. Most people had a preference. “I can eat waffles, but they’re too crispy and I don’t like the way the syrup stands in those little squares. I prefer pancakes, but Seth loves waffles.”

“Oh, I don’t think you understand what I mean. He ordered pancakes and waffles at the same time.”

To Maggie, this topped Zack lackadaisically mentioning that someone might have harassed his dead wife and Bill and Ann having no knowledge of this harassment. “Pancakes and waffles together?” When Charlie nodded, Maggie continued, “Did he order anything with them?”

“Just milk.”

“No bacon or sausage?”

“Nope.”

“How did he eat them? Did he finish one before starting the other?”

“Nope. He’d take a big ole bite of the waffles and then a big ole bite of the pancakes.”

“Did he use much syrup?”

“Eh. About average. I told you it was weird. It’s even weirder than waiting that late to eat breakfast. Gypsy joked with him once about that. He told her that Mackdonald’s would serve him breakfast all day long if he asked them to. She was just joking, but some people can’t take a joke. After that, he was always sort of rude to her. And then one day, he accused her of not giving him the right change. He’s lucky Bill wasn’t here that day. Or that one of those police offers like Detective Heyward wasn’t in here. He wouldn’t have let Goat yell at Gypsy.”

Wanting to avoid going down that path again, Maggie said, “What happened?”

“Gypsy kept telling him he had given her a ten, but he insisted it was a twenty. That was just ridiculous. He always gave us a ten. Gypsy wasn’t one to back down, but he kept getting madder and madder and that’s when he knocked over a chair and told her that if she messed with him, he would make her pay.”

“Was she scared?”

“A little bit.”

“Did they have any future encounters?”

“Not here. He hasn’t been back. But she told me she thought he was following her. To be honest, I thought she was exaggerating. Gypsy was good to do that. She would make a big deal out of the littlest thing. But one time about a month ago, we were hanging out.” Charlie seemed to consider the matter, “I think we were going yard saling. Do you like yard sales?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, I love them. You can find real expensive clothes for next to nothing. Sometimes, they even have the tags on them. Shew. I can’t believe people buy clothes they pay good money for and never wear them. Then they sell the clothes for next to nothing.”

“So, did something of note happen that day?”

“Oh, yeah. We stopped at the Zippy Mart, the one out on the four-lane, to buy some pizza rolls and I got a couple lottery tickets, too, cause I felt lucky that day. When we came out, Goat was parked right beside us. He was just sitting there in his car, staring out his windshield.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No. But you could see it bothered Gypsy. It took everything in me not to look at him, but she told me to just get in the car. And you know what?”

“What?”

“When we pulled out of the parking lot, he followed us. He followed us all the way to the next red light. He pulled up beside us and looked over at us. He must have turned somewhere cause we didn’t see him after that. Ohh. Just thinking about it made a cold chill run over me. You know, the way you feel when a possum runs over your grave.”

Chapter Six

Maggie believed that everyone in her life preferred Seth to her. She felt this was especially true of Barnaby. Seth had given Barnaby to her as a present when the dog was just a pup. Barnaby had never forgotten Seth and had shown an unbridled enthusiasm upon Seth’s return to their lives. Months later, it was as if he still couldn’t believe his good luck. Whereas Maggie always had to drag Barnaby to his small kiddie swimming pool at bath time, Seth simply commanded him to come and the dog bounded through the back yard, jumped into the pool, and sat there panting in delight as Seth lathered his fur and then rinsed and repeated.

It was a similar situation with Maggie’s parents. Although they had never expressed disappointment in her post-Seth boyfriends, Maggie had always suspected they compared and contrasted them with Seth. When they had dated before, Maggie and Seth had been more discreet with their overnight stays. But due to all the time that had passed, as well as Seth’s marriage and divorce, they didn’t see the point in pretending. Yet Maggie’s old-fashioned parents, who didn’t believe in cohabitating pre-marriage, had not commented on the fact that Seth had practically moved in next door with her and Barnaby. Maggie kept expecting her mom Lena to offer up a warning about not paying for milk when you can get the cow for free, but thus far, no 1950s’-era lecture had been forthcoming.

Instead, Lena made Seth’s favorite foods, even if it meant adding to her repertoire.

“How’s that chocolate gravy?” she asked Seth.

After washing down yet another generous bite of chocolate gravy and biscuits, he said, “It’s as good as my mom ever made.”

As Lena thanked Seth while modestly doubting that her first attempt had lived up to the standard set by Seth’s late mother, Maggie made a note to ask Seth if he would request raspberry jam, her favorite, for next Saturday’s breakfast.

Maggie also couldn’t help but notice that her parents behaved in Seth’s presence. Only two days earlier, they had engaged in a heated argument over whether a winged pest in their kitchen was a fruit fly or a gnat. Although Maggie appreciated Seth’s calming influence on her parents, she felt pangs of jealousy intruding into her happiness. After all, even her young nephews, who lived in Indianapolis with Maggie’s brother and sister-in-law and hardly knew Seth, ran to him with outstretched arms during visits.

“This is pretty,” Seth said as he picked up a dish towel that featured pale green and pink flowers, “and it looks like the ones in your house, Maggie. Did you make this, Lena?”

“I made them out of feed sacks,” Lena answered.

Recognizing the confusion that covered Seth’s face, Maggie said, “Not those hard, woven plastic feed sacks. Back in the day, feed sacks were made out of cotton. The material for this dish towel and the ones in my house came from Mom’s mom’s collection.”

“I would hardly call it a collection, Maggie. It’s not like she had a room full of dolls.” Placing her coffee cup on the table with a flourish, Lena added, “Or a closet full of shoes.”

Gritting her teeth to keep from smiling, Maggie thought to herself, here it comes.

Maggie’s dad Robert grimaced and said, “Lena, I told you I wear every pair of shoes in that closet.”

“It doesn’t count if you only put them on once a year to prove to me that you can still wear them. No man needs twenty pairs of shoes.”

“There ain’t that many.”

“I know how to count, Robert. And I counted two pairs of house slippers, four pairs of boots, five pairs of dress shoes, seven pairs of tennis shoes –”

Needing to know why a retired senior citizen needed that many pairs of sneakers, Maggie asked, “Daddy, why do you have a pair of tennis shoes for every day of the week? Is it like day-of-the-week underwear?”

Shrugging his shoulders and turning up his hands, Robert said, “No, it’s in case a pair gets dirty. This way, I’ll always have a clean pair of shoes if I want to go walking.”

With one quick movement, Lena picked up the dish towel Seth had complimented and threw it over her shoulder. “I doubt I’ve had that many shoes in my life.”

“Now, Lena,” Robert said, “You’re sixty-some years old –”

“Sixty-some? You mean to tell me you don’t know how old I am?”

“I don’t even know how old I am.”

And so it continued. Although Maggie couldn’t help but enjoy the spectacle of her parents bickering over Robert’s shoe fetish – and in front of Seth – she soon grew tired of the spat and tried to inject less serious topics into the conversation. Nothing worked until she asked no one in particular, “What makes a club sandwich a club? Is it the turkey? Or the bacon?”

“I think it’s the layers of bread,” Seth said.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Maggie said. “That doesn’t make sense. That’s like saying it’s the toothpicks they use to hold the bread together.”

“Well, it has to get its name from something,” he said.

“Yeah, and it’s probably either the bacon or the turkey.”

“Why not the ham?”

“The ham?” Maggie exclaimed. “That makes even less sense than it being about bread.”

Maggie and Seth’s debate served the dual purpose of distracting her parents from their squabble and uniting them against her. “Seth is right,” Lena said. “One makes about as much sense as the other.”

“I don’t care what it’s called, but it sure tastes good,” Robert said.

With her universe restored, Maggie started clearing the table and Seth began washing the dishes. When they finished cleaning the kitchen, they headed to Seth’s dad’s house. While Seth mowed grass, Maggie tidied up the house and made lunch. As they ate, Seth’s dad turned melancholy. Expressing gratitude to Seth and Maggie, he also speculated that maybe it would be better for everyone if he sold his property and moved to a housing complex in town that served as a home to elderly and disabled residents and was known as the high rise. Speculating that his dad would be unhappy in an apartment, Seth downplayed his concerns. Later, when they were settled on Maggie’s couch, she asked him, “Do you really think it would be so bad if your dad moved to the high rise?”

“Yes, he would be miserable. He loves his property. He’s lived there his whole life. He loves taking walks up and down the road and sitting on the porch and waving as his neighbors pass by.”

“But maybe he feels like he’s a burden on you and your sisters.”

“He’s not. After everything he’s done for me, I’d mow his grass and work in his garden every day if he needed me to.”

“I know you would, and I don’t mind helping out, either. You would do the same for my parents.”

“Yes, I would.”

“But think about how he must feel. Besides, maybe the house reminds him too much of your mom.”

Seth rested his head on the back of the couch. “You think I’m being a selfish jerk? You think I’m thinking about what I want and not what he needs?”

Maggie leaned closer and put her hand on his shoulder. “No. I would feel the same way. If my parents suggested moving, I would chain them to the tree in the front yard. But I’ve been thinking about Gypsy Hill. Did you know she hadn’t spoken to her dad in four years?”

“No. What was their problem?”

“Their trouble started when he remarried after her mom’s death.”

“Gosh, I don’t even want to think about that happening with my dad. I want him to be happy, though. So, if he found a humble, little old lady at church, I guess I would learn to live with it. I certainly wouldn’t quit speaking to him. What is it about grown children losing their minds when their surviving parent remarries? First it was Scootie and now Gypsy.”

Maggie shook her head at the mention of Scootie, a woman with a nervous stomach, a penchant for stealing, and an unhealthy attachment to her mother. Both mother and daughter had played a role in Maggie’s investigation into Jennifer Wagner’s death. “I hadn’t thought of Scootie in months. To her credit, though, she wouldn’t have gone four years without talking to her mommy.”

“Her mom would probably be better off if she did.” Seth clasped Maggie’s hand and put it to his lips. “How’s your current investigation going? Have you come up with a cause of death yet? Or a potential killer?”

“No, but I’ve only talked to a few people. I’m going to meet Gypsy’s estranged father and gold-digging stepmom, I mean her dad and that woman he married, on Monday.”

“A gold digger? Is Gypsy’s dad wealthy?”

“If he’s not, then his wife isn’t much of a gold digger.” Pleased that she had made Seth smile, she added, “That’s how Gypsy’s co-worker, Charlie, characterized her. The only interesting thing I’ve learned so far is that people are not giving Gypsy the Dateline treatment.”

“Maggie, honey, I know you love those true-crime shows, but you know I avoid them, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dateline, well, all those shows, depict murder victims as if they’re always perfect. Every woman was beautiful and lit up the room with her smile and every man would have given you the shirt off his back.”

“Ahh. I see. Some people think that if a victim wasn’t perfect, then they somehow got what they deserved.”

“No one has made Gypsy out to be evil, but they freely admit that she was prone to exaggeration. Get this. Her husband matter-of-factly told me somebody might have been harassing her.”

Still holding Maggie’s hand, Seth set up straight. “He didn’t mention that to us.”

“It probably slipped his mind. It was like an afterthought to him. It was like he was telling me her favorite movie. By the way, did you all by any chance test the food in her house? Or perhaps the tea she drank that day?”

“No, because we’re not investigating her death.”

“Well, the family has cleaned out the food, so I hope there was nothing important in the house. Who looks foolish now for suggesting evidence could have been destroyed?”

“I never called you foolish. But let’s get back to the husband. Did he know who was harassing her?”

“No, but Charlie the waitress, who might be obsessed with you and me,” waving off Seth’s befuddled look, she added, “said they called the guy Goat because, well, he looks like a goat.”

“A goat?”

“Yeah, a goat. Any ideas who that might be?”

“No, I can’t say that I’ve encountered anyone who looks like a goat. But let me see what I can find out. There can’t be many men who look like goats walking the streets of Jasper.”

Chapter Seven

Maggie was disappointed in Gypsy’s dad’s house. Oh, she deemed it a lovely home, a ranch brick surrounded by knockout roses of various colors. But given Charlie’s characterization of Gypsy’s stepmom as a gold digger, it was much more modest than Maggie had anticipated. Although she wasn’t schooled in the science of property evaluation, she estimated that the house measured thirteen hundred square feet, give or take, including the garage. Two vehicles, a pickup truck and a compact sedan, sat in the driveway. The truck was the same make and model as her dad’s, but looked a little older. The car looked newer, but hardly a luxury edition. From outward appearances, the couple was not living lavishly. If Maggie’s previous investigations had taught her nothing else, however, it was that looks were always deceiving.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said to Gypsy’s dad, Culvert, as they sat on his front porch. “I only knew Gypsy from the Dinner Bucket, but she was always nice to me.”

“Well, if you’ve been in the diner the past four years and five months, you’ve seen more of her than I did.”

Maggie hadn’t been sure how to navigate the subject of the estrangement, but since he introduced it into conversation, she asked, “You hadn’t talked to her at all?”

“For the first year or so after she last tore out of here and swore she’d never speak to me again, I’d drop in at the diner or show up at my other daughter’s when I knew Gypsy would be there. Or sometimes Zack would ask me over to the house. But Gypsy didn’t like that none. She flat out wouldn’t talk to me at the diner and she’d get mad at her sister and Zack for conspiring with me.” Setting his mouth in a smirk, Culvert said, “Conspiring. Like we was on Law & Order. I just wanted to see my daughter.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“I last laid eyes on her back in June. I passed her on the road. I threw up my hand,” demonstrating for Maggie, he said, “but it’s like she didn’t see me.”

Although she knew the answer, Maggie asked, “What was your and Gypsy’s problem?”

“I can answer that one for you.” Maggie looked up to see a woman coming around the side of the house. “It was because of me.” Pulling off a pair of gardening gloves, the woman extended her hand and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Rose Mary Stiltner, Culvert’s wife.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rosemary. I’m Maggie.”

“No, no. It’s Rose Mary.”

Puzzled, Maggie asked, “Isn’t that what I said?”

With a beaming smile, she explained, “No. It’s two names. Rose is my first name and Mary is my second name.”

“Oh, that’s … different.”

“I just call her Ro,” Culvert said.

Stepping up onto the porch, Rose Mary tugged on the University of Kentucky cap that rested atop her husband’s head. “I told him he can call me whatever he wants, as long as he keeps calling me.”

Culvert adjusted his cap and Rose Mary joined him in a cushioned wicker loveseat while Maggie sat on the matching patio chair. She considered the furniture attractive and comfortable, but hardly flashy or extravagant. As Rose Mary bragged about the relative health of her flowers this late in the season, Maggie sneaked a peak at her hands. A thin silver band encircled the ring finger of her left hand. Otherwise, she wore no jewelry.

They were seated on a covered porch, but the hot August sun had caused sweat beads to appear on Maggie’s forehead. As she chugged a bottle of water, she hoped the couple, who did not appear to be feeling the heat at all, would invite her inside the house so she could appraise the furnishings and be cooled by air conditioning. On the other hand, she didn’t welcome the prospect of disappearing into the house with Culvert and Rose Mary. For all she knew, one or both of them could have contributed to Gypsy’s death. No invitation was forthcoming, though, so she didn’t have to worry about how she would respond. Rose Mary did ask if she wanted something to eat. Due to the possibility of Gypsy being poisoned, Maggie had decided to decline offers of food or drink from any of Gypsy’s family and friends. She planned to make an exception for the diner, though. She reasoned that, even if the owners or staff at the Dinner Bucket had been involved in Gypsy’s death, they wouldn’t invite the scrutiny that would accompany a second mysterious death being associated with their establishment. Or maybe, she thought to herself, she just wanted a Dinner Bucket pork chop.

“Thanks,” she replied to Rose Mary’s offer, “but I’m afraid I ate too much at lunch. I might not eat for the rest of the week.” That wasn’t a lie. Ever since she had started looking into Gypsy’s death, Maggie had been enjoying a second or third fun-size candy bar or one or two extra servings of chips. But she had outdone herself at lunch, finishing off a plate of grilled chicken smothered in cheese as well as a side of rice and a sundae. The heat, compounded by her gluttony, only made her more miserable. “So, Culvert had you had any trouble with Gypsy prior to –”

“Me coming along?” Rose Mary asked.

Seeming to ignore his wife, Culvert said, “Nah. Gypsy never was much trouble at all. She was always a little high strung, but I learned to just let her carry on. She’d wear herself out after a while and everything would be okay again.”

“I’m not one to give other people advice on parenting,” Rose Mary said, “but she seemed a little spoiled.”

“Me and my wife, their mother, spoiled both of the girls. We both worked hard –”

“What did you do for a living?” Maggie asked.

“I retired from the gas company and my wife worked as an aide at the school. Well, that’s what she did once both girls were in school. She didn’t work before that.”

“Culvert Stiltner, you know that’s not true,” Rose Mary said. “If she didn’t work, how did you meet her at the Dinner Bucket?”

Before Maggie could put two and two together, Culvert said, “That was before we was married. After she had Gypsy, she didn’t go back to work until Ginger was in school.”

“What does the Dinner Bucket have to do with this?” Maggie asked.

“That’s where she worked. That’s where we met.”

“Just like Gypsy and Zack,” Maggie said.

“Yeah. Gypsy said she and Zack were meant to be. Just like me and her mother. You know, I didn’t meet her until I was thirty years old. She was twenty-six. Back in those days, everybody got married so young. They was hardly out of high school before they was married.”

“I wasn’t out of high school the first time I got married,” Rose Mary offered.

“But not me. Not us,” Culvert continued. “I dated here and there, but I wasn’t really that interested in any of those girls. I sure didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with any of them. And then I met her. I went in there every day for a week before I got up the nerve to ask her out. I ate so much fried chicken that it turned me off of it for years. But I finally did get up the nerve and we got married six weeks later. That was in nineteen eighty-two. Except for when she had the girls, we didn’t spend a night apart until she took sick.” Snapping his fingers, he said, “Then, it was over as fast as it started all those years before.”

Rubbing Culvert’s shoulder, Rose Mary said, “She was the love of his life. And that’s okay, because he’s the love of mine. I know it sounds selfish, but that’s why I never left him. Even though I knew that if I let him go, Gypsy might come back to him.” Quickly turning to Maggie, she said, “Do you think that makes me a bad person?”

“Uh, well, I don’t know.”

“It’s just that I think a person deserves happiness. Especially a woman who’s buried three husbands.”

Maggie was sure she had heard the words, but she wasn’t sure of their meaning. “You’ve been widowed three times?”

“Uh-huh. My first husband, the one I married when I was just sixteen, fell out of a tree. Our little boy hadn’t been in school long when his daddy fell out of that tree and broke his neck. And my second husband was trampled to death by a horse. We made it ten years. I had my second son with him. I had a divorce somewhere in there and then I met my fourth husband. A riding lawnmower turned over and killed him. I was alone for a few years, but then I came to Geneva County to visit my youngest son, he had moved here years before, and that’s when I met Culvert.”

Maggie was trying to make sense of the marriages, not to mention the accidental deaths of three of the four husbands, when Culvert said, “That song ‘Gypsy’ was out when we got married. I told her that if we ever had a little girl, that’s the name we’d give her. Gypsy. Well, we waited five years to have a baby. I think people should wait until they’re settled before they have children. That’s what Gypsy and Zack were doing. I love my little grandbabies, but my other daughter, Ginger, should have waited until she and her husband were, well, I guess until they were more established, until they had children.”

“It’s none of my business,” Rose Mary said, “but, if you ask me, Ginger should have shopped around until she found a better husband. I guess he’s a good person, but he doesn’t help out around the house. At all. Culvert goes over there and keeps their grass cut or she’d have to do that. And when she does get him to spend a little time with those boys, he calls it babysitting. Lord, if my husbands had said that about their kids, they wouldn’t have lasted as long as they did.”

Culvert, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to Rose Mary, resumed his monologue. “Ginger no more got married until she had her first boy. I love them, though. They’re the best part of my life. Now that my wife and Gypsy are gone, my life wouldn’t have no meaning without Ginger and those boys. And I wanted more grandchildren. I expected that once she had children of her own, Gypsy would realize she wasn’t giving me a fair shake. Like I was saying, when she was born, I stayed true to my word and called her Gypsy.”

“Lord, Culvert, it’s been so long since you mentioned that song that I forgot all about it.”

Maggie wished Rose Mary would suddenly remember a rose bush she had forgotten to trim. She wanted to sit there and chat with Culvert about Fleetwood Mac and regrets without Rose Mary interrupting his stream of consciousness with random observations and opinions. As it was, Maggie could only sit and listen as Rose Mary chronicled her favorite songs from the eighties. When she took a break, Maggie took the opportunity to ask Culvert if he had any idea what might have made Gypsy sick.

“It’s all I think about. I don’t have any answers. Just questions. Like why I didn’t learn my lesson when my wife took sick and died.”

“Your lesson?”

“That it don’t last forever. That you don’t get all this time you think you’re going to have. Time to sit on the porch with your little girl and tell her that you’re sorry. That if you had your life to live over, you would have done it differently.” Sighing, he added, “Not that it would have made one lick of difference.”

Chapter Eight

Maggie chastised herself for once again building up something in her mind only for real life to disappoint her. She had done it earlier with Culvert’s house. From Charlie’s description of Rose Mary as a gold digger, Maggie had designed for the couple a tacky McMansion in her mind, complete with pilasters, mismatched windows, and multiple chimneys. They instead lived in a modest ranch. She wished she could say she had learned her lesson. But when Culvert referred to his other daughter, Ginger, Maggie immediately conjured up an auburn-haired beauty who resembled the character from Gilligan’s Island.

Of course, Maggie should have known better. She should have acknowledged that no one she had ever encountered could have realistically played the role of a bombshell fictional movie star turned castaway. It was an impossible ideal to foist upon anybody, let alone a stranger. However, the letdown she felt when the real-life Ginger, a heavyset woman with a charcoal bob, opened the door was immediately replaced by overwhelming guilt.

“Sorry about the mess,” Ginger apologized as she gestured to toy cars, plastic dinosaurs, building blocks, an aluminum pan, a wooden spoon, DVD boxes, stuffed animals, a magazine with a ripped cover, an empty cereal bowl, a blanket, a remote control, a cell phone, a baby’s bottle, and a sippy cup strewn over the floor. Sitting on the couch beside Maggie, she added, “I used to keep such a tidy house. But that was before I had kids. They’re worth any mess, though.” Ginger smiled, revealing a dimple on her left cheek.

Maggie chatted with Ginger about her sons, learning her dad had taken the boys, aged one and four, to the park so she could talk to Maggie without distractions.

Explaining that she had talked to the staff of the diner as well as with Zack, Culvert, and Rose Mary, Maggie told Ginger she wouldn’t take much of her time.

“Take all the time you need and more. I’m thankful for the peace and quiet. This is the first chance I’ve had to sit down all day.”

Opening a notepad, Maggie asked, “So, what can you tell me about Gypsy?”

“Where do I start?” Ginger pulled a stuffed football from between the couch cushions. “You know, the day of her funeral, the church had a dinner for the family. After I made sure my kids and dad had something to eat, I went and sat with Zack. As you can expect, he was still a mess. His mom was sitting beside him, eating mashed potatoes. All of a sudden she started laughing. It was weird at first, for her to bust out laughing with Zack sitting there looking like he was on the verge of breaking down. But she told us that she had made mashed potatoes the first time Zack brought Gypsy home. She said Gypsy took one look at them, saw that she mashed up the peelings in them, snarled her nose – that’s the word she used, snarled – and proceeded to tell her she didn’t like peelings in her mashed potatoes. That was my sister. You knew where you stood with her.”

“Where did you stand with her?”

“That depended on what day you asked her. I guess you’ve heard about our family drama?” When Maggie nodded, Ginger said, “When Dad first married Rose Mary, I was just as upset as Gypsy. We didn’t even know he was seeing anybody. And then, wham,” Ginger slapped her hands together so quickly and so loudly that Maggie jumped, “we had a stepmommy.”

“But you came to accept her?”

“Eh. I came to tolerate her. You’ve met Rose Mary, so you know she’s an acquired taste. Besides, I think Dad came to the realization that he had married her too quickly. And I think he’s stayed with her because he doesn’t want to admit he made a mistake. And now that Gypsy is gone, he will never get rid of her.”

Before she could stop the words from coming out of her mouth, Maggie said, “Wow. I thought Gypsy was the blunt sister?”

Smiling again, Ginger said, “I think Dad feels guilty that his marriage to Rose Mary pushed Gypsy away, especially since he knows it was a mistake. Well, I think he knows it was a mistake. At least I hope he does. But he was too stubborn to back down when Gypsy was alive and he’s sure not going to do it now.”

“Why do you think he considers his marriage to have been a mistake?”

“Because of the way he acts around her. He doesn’t even listen to her as she clatters on and on about nothing. And it’s not just Dad. Did you know she moved here to be close to one of her sons? Well, he hightailed it out of here not long after she settled in. I think all her dead husbands faked their deaths to get away from her.”

Chuckling, Maggie said, “Does it worry you that she’s had so many husbands?”

“Yes. My husband told Dad he would sleep with one eye open if he was him. What he does with his money is none of my business, but I asked him about their finances. He swore to me that he had everything fixed so she can’t come in on the property and they keep their money separate, so she has no financial motive to do him harm. Besides, it’s not like she tries to hide her past marriages. Then again, she didn’t tell Dad he was husband number five – that we know of – until after they had gotten married. He thought she had only been married twice before and that both of those husbands had died. Of course, she swears she told him the whole story, but who knows? He was still grieving Mom, so his judgment wasn’t the best. Maybe his hearing was off, too.”

“Learning about all those husbands must have been a surprise.”

“Yeah, we had to deal with a lot of surprises all at once. In less than a year, we lost Mom, gained Rose Mary, and then, in a way, lost Gypsy, too.”

“Did Gypsy ever talk about forgiving your dad?”

“Nope. And whenever I would mention it, she would quit talking to me. I’d try to tell her that he was the only parent we had left and he loved us. We couldn’t have asked for better parents. If the worst thing he would ever do is getting remarried, we had it pretty good. But she would argue that he was disrespecting Mom’s memory.” Ginger shrugged. “Mom would have been furious with Gypsy, but make no mistake about it, Mom would not have been happy about Dad getting married again so soon. And maybe not at all. She used to joke about it. When other women would say that if they died, they’d want their husbands to find somebody, Mom would say, ‘Not me. I want Culvert to miss me. And I sure don’t want another woman sleeping in my bed.’” Pausing for a moment before continuing, Ginger said, “She wouldn’t have to worry about that. Dad and Rose Mary sleep in separate beds in different rooms.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But she referred to your dad as the love of her life.”

Rolling her dark eyes, Ginger said, “I’ve heard that, too. I’ll bet she said the same things about her three dead husbands, too. Oh, and the one who had the sense to divorce her.”

Wanting to get the conversation back to the subject of Gypsy, Maggie asked, “So, do you think the issue with your dad’s marriage was just a case of Gypsy trying to respect your mom’s wishes?”

“No. Listen, I know how this will sound, but Gypsy was upset that she couldn’t be in charge. She basically took over after Mom died. My husband says Dad married Rose Mary to get away from Gypsy. I hate to say it, but I can sorta see that. Gypsy could just be so … overbearing. And she always had to have her way. You were either with her or against her, and she was like that with everything. It really was a miracle that she so much as spoke to me. You know, since I didn’t turn against Dad. But she was even like that over little things. She got so mad at me, actually it wasn’t that long ago, because I agreed with Zack and disagreed with her over whether some guy in a commercial looked like Zack’s uncle. She yelled at us, ‘Why do you always have to go against me? Why can’t you ever be on my side?’ Poor Zack. I don’t know how he put up with her. Gypsy was high maintenance. Not in terms of money, but in terms of drama.”

“How did they get along? Zack and Gypsy.”

“Okay. As far as I know. But Zack is like Dad. I think he learned to tune her out. Of course, she nearly drove him crazy over their neighbor.” When Maggie answered with a shake of her head, Ginger said, “Oh, I guess Zack didn’t tell you, but she was convinced their neighbor was trying to poison them.”

Maggie’s pen fell to the floor.

Chapter Nine

Maggie was careful not to let her imagination run wild when she learned Gypsy’s neighbor was a professor of science at the local college. Whenever an image of a frizzy-haired, frazzled older lady wearing huge glasses and carrying a steaming beaker stole its way into her mind, Maggie would banish it by focusing on the banana pudding she planned to make that evening for dessert.

So, Maggie wasn’t disappointed when Rebecca Sullivan looked nothing like her idea of a slightly mad scientist. With her shoulder length blonde hair pulled back in a headband, Rebecca reminded Maggie of a perky tennis player or gymnast. She also reckoned that if she had passed Rebecca on campus, she would have mistaken the diminutive woman for a student. Yet, as she took a seat in the office, she sneaked a peek at her diplomas hanging on the wall and realized Rebecca Sullivan, Ph.D., was thirty-seven, one year older than herself.

“Thanks for taking time out of your schedule to talk to me, Dr. Sullivan.”

“You’re not one of my students, so you can drop the formalities. Just call me Rebecca.”

Maggie was grateful for that request. Addressing individuals with doctorates as Dr. So-and-so always reminded her of an embarrassing blunder she had committed during her freshmen year of college. While meeting with her advisor, she had congratulated the professor on being so multi-faceted. “Most people don’t even go to medical school,” she had said. “But you managed to do that, and you know so much about English that you can teach it at college. Do you still see patients, too?”

Maggie should have suspected something was amiss from the way the wrinkles appeared on her professor’s forehead. “Why do you think I went to med school?”

“Because you’re a doctor.”

Although the lecture that followed was delivered with kindness, Maggie had felt her cheeks reddening with embarrassment. She felt sure the professor regarded her as an ignorant hick and she spent the next four years endeavoring to convince her otherwise.

“How long have you been neighbors with Zack and Gypsy Hill?” she asked Rebecca.

 “I moved to the area a couple years ago. I wanted something closer to the college, but I couldn’t believe how expensive real estate is around here.”

“It’s because land, well, flat land, is at a premium.”

“That makes sense, but renting is expensive, too.”

“I don’t have an explanation for that,” Maggie said.

“I looked around,” Rebecca continued, “but I knew I had found my house when I drove up that holler. It was love at first sight. It’s nothing grand. Just a little yellow cottage on a hill, but it was so cheery. I had to have it. And I’ve enjoyed living there. For the most part, the neighbors have been wonderful.”

“What about Gypsy?”

“Honestly, my interactions with her weren’t encouraging. She took an immediate dislike to me.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“Her husband, he tried to be the peacekeeper, told me she didn’t trust me.”

“Trust you in what aspect? Does that mean she didn’t leave tools lying around because she didn’t trust you not to steal them? Or that she didn’t share her intimate thoughts with you because she didn’t trust you not to blab to the other neighbors?” Another thought popped into Maggie’s mind. “Or that she didn’t trust you around her husband?”

“Zack is a cutie, but she didn’t have anything to worry about. That wasn’t it. He said she didn’t understand why I chose to live here. I guess she didn’t trust my motivations. According to Zack, she actually said, ‘If she’s so smart, of all the places in the world, why did she move here?’ Did she not realize she was putting herself down? Don’t we all, from transplants like me to natives like Gypsy, choose to live here?”

“I appreciate your philosophy. And while I don’t agree with Gypsy’s viewpoint, I understand what she meant. Some people who are from here don’t appreciate the area. They say they have pride in it, but they don’t. They think anyone of substance either moves away or doesn’t come here in the first place.”

“Well, I’m from rural Pennsylvania, so I love it here. It’s like home but without the relatives.”

So far, Maggie liked Rebecca. Nonetheless, she steeled herself and asked, “I’ve heard that Gypsy suspected you of poisoning her.”

A wry grin settled on Rebecca’s face. “Yeah, she accused me of poisoning liters of pop she had stacked on her back porch. Before you ask, no, I did not poison her pop or anything else.”

“I’m not saying you did poison her, but she had to have a reason for suspecting you.”

“Oh, she had a reason. A ridiculous reason. She saw a story on one of those true-crime programs about a man who poisoned his neighbors because he didn’t like them.”

Excitedly, Maggie said, “I know the one you’re talking about. He put the poison in bottles of pop, or maybe it was Gatorade, and put them inside the house, or maybe it was on the porch. Thinking somebody in the family had bought the drinks, members of the family drank them. Or maybe they had bought them and left them on the porch and that’s how he gained access to them. Anyway, somebody in the family got sick and died. At least I think the family member died. I watch a lot of those shows and, after a while, they all run together.”

“That’s okay. I get the idea. And that’s what Gypsy said I did to her. She told Zack that after she thought about it, she realized the pop didn’t fizz when she turned the lid. It was flat and just didn’t taste right. She came out to my mailbox one day when I stopped at the bottom of my hill to get my mail. She wanted me to know that she was on to me and that her loved ones knew I had tried to kill her and Zack. You know, she was warning me in case I was thinking about trying again. I saw Zack a few days later and he was so embarrassed.”

“When did this happen?”

“This summer. Well, maybe it was late spring. But it was recently.”

“Did she give a motive? I mean, why would she think you would want to kill her?”

“It was like that show she watched. If she’s to be believed – and she’s not – I disliked her so much – for no reason, I might add – that I poisoned pop that, as far as I knew, Zack might drink.”

“Did she get sick?”

“Zack said she convinced herself she had a headache and a stomachache. Oh, and that she had a rash. He said she might have had a headache and a stomachache, but he saw no evidence of a rash.”

“This all just seems a little –”

“Nuts? It gets better. She accused me of mixing up this poison myself. She told me it would be easy for me to do in my lab. She thought I was a chemist, like in Breaking Bad. Come on. I teach physics.”

Maggie wasn’t even sure she understood what physics was, but she decided not to share that with Rebecca. “Did anything else happen?”

“Nope. I didn’t talk to her after that. I wouldn’t even look toward the house. One day when I was out walking, the neighbor on the other side of Zack and Gypsy’s stopped me and asked if I had seen any strangers around. He said Gypsy had told him she thought someone had been in their house. I rolled my eyes so hard on that one that I had to pick them up off the ground. She was such a drama queen.”

“And this break-in was after the alleged poisoning?”

“Yeah. Actually, it was a couple days before she died.”

Chapter Ten

When Maggie pulled into her driveway, she spotted her mom’s friend and fellow seamstress Sylvie Johnson leaving her parents’ house. Sylvie, who seemingly knew everyone in Geneva County, had played a role in Maggie’s previous investigations. Thinking that Sylvie’s presence might be a sign, Maggie hopped out of her car and walked the short distance to her parents’ house just as Sylvie was reaching her old pickup truck.

“Hey, Sylvie. What are you doing here?”

“I brought your mommy some apples. She aims to make some apple butter.”

Noticing the Cool Whip bowl in Sylvie’s hands, Maggie assumed that Lena had cooked that day. Eager for a home-cooked meal she wouldn’t have to make, she nodded toward the bowl, asking, “What do you have there?”

“Your mommy give me some mustard greens she made today. She wanted to put them in one of them fancy containers, but I told her to give me something I wouldn’t need to bring back. I don’t have the time to keep track of people’s Tupperware.”

“I like the way you think, Sylvie.” Maggie liked apple butter, too, and she hoped she was present on the apple butter-making day so she could assist her mom and enjoy the smell and taste of fresh, warm apple butter. That hope was dwarfed by her goal to avoid entering her parents’ house for the next three days. That’s the amount of time she estimated it would take for the stifling odor of mustard greens, which she thought smelled like canine flatulence, to at least become bearable. But if she had to choose, she’d pick mustard greens-canning day over lard-rendering days. Although her nostrils still remembered smelly mustard greens and lard themed days of her youth, at least the former had occurred during the summer, when she could open a window or escape outdoors. She had always believed her parents chose the coldest day of winter to render lard. Thus, there was no relief from the smell, which seemed to cling to the carpets and the curtains and remain in the heavy winter air for days on end.

“What’s come over you?” Sylvie’s question brought Maggie back to reality. “You look like you just took a whiff of some bad kraut.”

“Or something like that,” Maggie answered. “I thought Mom was buying the apples from the produce store. If I had known she was getting them from you, I would have offered to come pick them up. How have you been? We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Well, I’ve been down with them ole shingles. I’m feeling good enough now to get around, but, let me tell you something, them shingles is painful. I didn’t do much of nothing for going on two weeks. And I ain’t used to just sitting around doing nothing. But I didn’t even feel like picking up some mending or running the sewing machine. I never knew what being bored meant before these last couple weeks. Thankfully, my niece, my sister’s girl, and her family kept me company most evenings and on the weekend days. And your mommy and some of my other friends called to check on me every day. But I got so bored. Between that and the pain, I dern-near run away. It’s getting better, though, and I felt fairly good this morning. I aimed to call your mommy and tell her to come on over and we’d pick up the apples. But that shaggy boy who gins around the neighborhood picked them up fore I could call her. I offered him five dollars, but he said it would be his good deed for the day.”

“That was nice of him, but did I hear you right? Did you call him a shaggy boy?”

“Yeah, he puts me in mind of that dummy Shaggy from that ole Scooby-Doo. Lord, my niece used to watch that show til I was sick of it. Huh. Let me tell you this one. I used to like to listen to that Top 40 program on the radio. It come on Saturday afternoons. A man would come on between songs and tell little stories about them as he counted them on down. I really liked those long-distance dedications he would play for people. I’d sit and quilt or knit or crochet or work on my mending and listen to that program. On warm days, I’d have me a glass of lemonade. On colder days, I’d drink a cup of cocoa. And I’d wonder if the people who had wrote in about those dedications was listening, too, and how they felt to hear their stories on the radio. Then one Saturday I realized the man on the program sounded just like that ole dummy Shaggy. Well, that almost ruined the program for me, but I kept listening and didn’t give it up until they replaced the man who sounded like Shaggy with some other feller. I reckon that goes to show that it can always get worse.”

Familiar with the program Sylvie described, Maggie was taken aback to learn that Sylvie enjoyed pop music. Sylvie had once expressed an admiration for Conway Twitty’s looks, so Maggie had figured her for more of a country music fan. As Sylvie opened the door to her truck, Maggie said, “Did Mom tell you I’ve been looking into Gypsy Hill’s death?” When Sylvie responded with a blank stare, Maggie added, “You know, the Dinner Bucket waitress. She died a couple weeks ago.”

“Well, if it’s happened during these past two weeks, I don’t know nothing about it. No, I take that back. The woman who runs that fancy dress shop I do alterations for mentioned something about that girl dying. So, you’re snooping again? Huh.”

Maggie debated quizzing her on the nature of the “huh,” but decided she didn’t want to risk receiving a lecture from the sharp-tongued Sylvie. “Did you know Gypsy?” When Sylvie shook her head, Maggie said, “Or her family? Her dad’s name is Culvert. Her mom was a waitress at the diner decades ago. Maybe you knew her.”

“I don’t expect I did. I can count the times I’ve been to the Dinner Bucket Diner on one hand and still have fingers left over.”

“Gosh, Sylvie, I thought you would be a fan of the kind of home cooking they serve.”

“Home cooking is what you eat at home. I don’t pay somebody to make something I can cook in my own kitchen.”

Between hearing that Sylvie had enjoyed listening to a pop music program and learning that she didn’t like the Dinner Bucket’s food, Maggie began to wonder if she knew her at all. “So, what kind of food do you like when you eat out?”

“Lord, I could eat my weight in Chinese. I get my money’s worth at that Chinese buffet in Jasper. And I’ll eat at one of the Mexican restaurants in town but not the one that serves that tomato salsa that tastes like dishwashing detergent. Not that I ever eat dishwashing detergent, but you get my drift. I tried to make some of those Mexican dishes, but I just can’t get them ole fajitas and burritos to taste as good as that restaurant makes them.”

“Well, I like Chinese and Mexican food, too, Sylvie. Let me know the next time you get the hankering for some and we’ll grab lunch.”

Hefting herself into her truck, Sylvie said, “That sounds good to me. Good luck with your snooping.”

Between bites of banana pudding, Seth said, “You know, this is the thing I missed most about you when we were apart. Your homemade banana pudding.”

“That’s what you missed most about me?”

“Yep. Nothing you have ever done or will ever do will come close to matching the homemade vanilla pudding you put in this. Nothing.”

Maggie wanted to feign outrage, but found it impossible to even pretend to be mad at him. She hadn’t seen him in days and had barely had a chance to talk to him during that time. What’s more, he had endured a bleak work day that had included giving testimony in a child abuse case, making an arrest in an elder abuse case, and investigating an animal abuse case. When he had finally arrived at her house at nearly ten o’clock, he had told her that knowing he would get to see her and be treated to banana pudding were the only things that had gotten him through his day.

“I wish I had remembered that you don’t like meringue,” she said.

“Yeah, but you like meringue.”

“I know, but if I had remembered, I would have only made half. That way, you wouldn’t have had to scrap the meringue off your side of the pudding.”

Rising from the kitchen table, Seth said, “If I get half, I guess I’ll have some more.” First removing the meringue, he spooned another serving of pudding into his dish and warmed it in the microwave.

“You know something I didn’t miss about you?” she asked.

“Just one thing?”

“Well, one thing in particular. I didn’t miss watching you eat warmed-over bananas. That’s disgusting.”

“You say disgusting, I say delicious.” Returning to the table, he went to work on his second helping. “So, how’s your investigation going, Maggie, P.I.?”

“Let’s see, since we last discussed the case, I’ve met with Gypsy’s dad and stepmom, who’s on her fifth marriage, by the way.”

“Fifth? One divorce almost did me in. I can’t imagine going through four.”

“Oh, no. She’s only been divorced once. She’s been widowed thrice.”

Seth looked up from the pudding, giving Maggie his full attention. “That’s –”

“Suspicious?” Maggie asked. “Here’s something more suspicious. They all died in freak accidents.” After bringing Seth up to speed on the bad luck encountered by Rose Mary’s husbands, she said, “But Gypsy’s sister said her dad had everything fixed so Rose Mary couldn’t come in on his property, and they have separate bank accounts and separate rooms.”

“As for the two rooms, maybe one of them snores or uses one of those sleep apnea machines. Or maybe they can’t agree on how many blankets to have on the bed.”

“You don’t have a problem coming up with reasons for couples not to sleep together.”

Not commenting on her observation, Seth continued, “And as for the separate accounts, she’s his wife so she might have a claim to at least some of his money. I’d be more worried about a life insurance policy.”

“Darn, I didn’t think to ask about that. But in case you’re wondering, Rose Mary is two words and Gypsy’s sister, Ginger, does not have red hair.”

Pushing the now empty dish away, he said, “That is good to know.”

“I also met with a physics professor who Gypsy accused of poisoning her.”

“Oh, that’s even better to know. Tell me more.” When Maggie finished, Seth said, “So, she wasn’t poisoned?”

“It doesn’t look like it, but I’m going to have another chat with Zack to get his side of the story. I don’t understand why somebody would lie about being poisoned.”

“I know. It’s not like lying to get out of a speeding ticket. It’s a serious accusation that could ruin the professor’s reputation.”

“I’d also like to find out more about all those conversations he and Rebecca had. I can understand Gypsy not wanting him hanging out with another woman. Of course, Rebecca said Gypsy had nothing to worry about, but maybe Gypsy didn’t see it that way. But I’m not sure pretending to be poisoned is the best way to convince your husband to quit visiting the neighbor.”

“Didn’t you say Gypsy confronted the neighbor at the mailbox?” When Maggie nodded, he said, “Maybe that’s where the husband and neighbor met. Maybe it was nothing more than two neighbors chatting while going through their junk mail.”

“That’s an awful lot of trips to the mailbox. Nobody has that much mail.”

Although the tiredness showed on Seth’s face, he managed a smile. “So, where do you think this is going?”

“I have no idea. I ran into Sylvie Johnson. She’s provided me with information before, but she doesn’t know anything about Gypsy.”

“Where did you see Sylvie?”

“She brought Mom some apples, which means Mom will be making apple butter soon. By the way, Mom canned mustard greens today.” Seth wrinkled his nose. “Sylvie’s had the shingles,” Maggie continued, “and from what she said, it’s been pretty bad. I told her that if I had known the apples were coming from her, I would have gone over there and picked them up. Luckily, a guy who looks like Shaggy –”

Seth, whose eyes had almost closed, was suddenly wide awake. “What is it? Why did you gasp?”

“I might have found Goat.”

Chapter Eleven

Seth’s efforts to convince Maggie that she should contain her enthusiasm and not assume that Goat was the same person as Sylvie’s shaggy handyman did not diminish her determination that they were one and the same. A shaggy goat? It made sense to her and fit into her theory that if Sylvie didn’t know someone, then she knew someone who did. She called Sylvie first thing the next morning to learn more about Shaggy. Unfortunately, Sylvie didn’t have much to share. She didn’t know his name or where he lived. She told Maggie she’d ask around and get back to her.

In the meantime, Maggie made plans to meet Zack again at the Dinner Bucket. She showed up a few minutes early so she could talk to Charlie about Goat. Although she would have preferred to ask her straight-up if he looked like Shaggy, she didn’t want to pose leading questions.

Instead, she asked, “Could you describe what Goat looks like?”

Giggling, Charlie said, “Like a goat.”

Sighing, Maggie said, “I know, but how exactly? Does he have horns?”

“No, silly. People don’t have horns.” Charlie pulled her braided hair onto her shoulder and turned her head to the side as if deep in concentration. After a few seconds, she said, “Well, he has light hair that sort of hangs over his head, and a pointy chin and a beard that’s kind of, well, it’s not exactly bushy. It looks like he doesn’t spend a lot of time trimming it.”

Unable to contain herself, Maggie asked, “Is it sort of shaggy?”

“Yeah. I suppose it is.”

“Do you remember what kind of car he was driving the day you and Gypsy saw him?”

“It was red, but not bright red. More like brick red.”

“Do you know what kind of car it was?”

Frowning and shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know a Ford from a Dodge.”

“Did it have four doors? Or two?”

“I didn’t notice. The whole thing freaked me out and I was scared. Did I make a mistake by not paying more attention? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. But did you ever see him talking to anyone? Did anyone ever join him for pancakes and waffles?”

“Not that I can remember. Why are you so interested in Goat? Do you think he did something to Gypsy?”

“I don’t know, but if he was stalking her, then I’ll need to talk to him.”

Charlie agreed to let Maggie know if Goat showed up again at the diner and then she shared her disappointment that Seth wasn’t among the group of Jasper police officers who had lunched at the diner the previous day.

“Life is full of disappointments,” Maggie said. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from getting back to work.”

“Yeah, I guess I’d better see if Bill and Dave need any help cleaning the kitchen.”

As Charlie walked away, Maggie thought of something else, “Hey, did she ever say anything about having trouble with a neighbor?”

“Not that I can remember, but, hey, here’s Zack. Hi, Zack. Maybe you can ask him.”

After exchanging pleasantries with Charlie, Zack joined Maggie. His eyes didn’t look as watery as they had during their first meeting, and she was glad that his cold finally seemed to be getting better. He did, however, seem as laid back as he had been before.

“First of all, I wanted to let you know that Charlie described the man who might have been harassing Gypsy.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“She said he looks like a goat. Do you know anybody who fits that description?”

Zack laughed. “No, and I’m sure I would have remembered if Gypsy had told me that some dude who looked like a goat was giving her trouble. That’s not something you forget.”

I was afraid of that, Maggie thought to herself. “Charlie doesn’t know his name, but I might have a lead on him. Second of all, I spoke to your neighbor, Rebecca.”

Zack, who had been lightly running a pack of sugar across the table, stopped and asked, “About what?”

“The trouble between her and Gypsy.”

“Oh, that.” Shrugging, Zack said, “Gypsy accused her of trying to poison her.”

Maggie recorded Zack’s shrug in her notes. “What did you make of this accusation?”

“It was ridiculous. Why would,” he ran his hands through his hair before returning them to the pack of sugar. “It’s just ridiculous. She had no reason to want to hurt Gypsy. Or me. I could have easily drank the pop that Gypsy thought she poisoned. I am the one who bought it.”

“Did Gypsy get checked out by a doctor?”

“No. She told me she felt dizzy and thought she might faint. Then she said her head and stomach started hurting. And she said she had a rash. If she had a rash, it’s the lightest rash I’ve ever seen.” By this point, Zack had paid so much attention to the pack of sugar that the ends were torn. “Even though I really wasn’t sure there was something wrong with her, I offered to run her to the clinic or the ER, but she said it would take too long.” As Zack continued to push the pack of sugar over the table, the paper cracked, spilling the contents onto the table. “I mean, if you’re feeling sick and you think you’ve been poisoned, wouldn’t you go to the hospital?”

Maggie considered the answer so obvious that she chose not to respond. “It seems like you got along better with Rebecca than Gypsy did.”

Zack answered her non-question by saying, “Look at all this sugar. I’ve made a mess.”

“So, you don’t think there’s any chance that Gypsy was poisoned?”

“By Rebecca? No.”

“Does that mean you think there’s a chance she was poisoned by someone else?”

“That’s not what I meant. To be really honest with you, in my opinion, there was nothing wrong with Gypsy. At least not when she was carrying on about Rebecca and the pop. So, no, I don’t think she was poisoned. By anybody.”

“Why would she lie about being poisoned?”

“I gave up trying to figure Gypsy out a long time ago.”

“Was Rebecca the neighbor who mowed her grass too soon after you did?”

“What? Oh, that. No. That was the neighbor on the other side.”

“Speaking of him, Rebecca said he told her a couple days before Gypsy died that Gypsy thought someone had broken into your house. Why did she think that? Did you notice things missing? Was a window or door broken?”

“I’m not sure about any of that.”

“How can you not be sure? Did you have to fix a door or replace a window?”

Staring at the sugar, he said, “No, I didn’t have to do anything like that.”

“Did you report the break-in to the police?”

“I didn’t and I don’t think she did. It wasn’t that big of a deal. She called me at work that day and told me she thought somebody had been in the house. But the only thing she noticed that had been moved was the watermelon. Nothing was missing, and I told her that people don’t break into your house to rearrange the food in your fridge.”

Although Maggie thought he made an excellent point, she also wondered how significant a matter would have to be before Zack would consider it a big deal. “How did she know the watermelon had been moved?”

“Gypsy liked things a certain way. I mean, she had to have things a certain way. It’s funny because Rose Mary is the same way. They’re more alike than Gypsy would ever admit. Anyway, I learned really quick that she liked things a certain way. If we had company and they put something, like the ketchup or mayo, on the wrong shelf in the fridge, Gypsy moved them back immediately. She was the same way with towels. If I left a bath towel on the floor for longer than five seconds, she’d start in on me about how she wasn’t my mom or my maid and she wasn’t going to pick up after me.

“Most of the time, I just let it roll off my back. I mean, it was easier to go along with her and just pick up the towel. But one day, I didn’t pick up my bath towel. But neither did she. So, I didn’t pick up the towel the next day, either. Neither did she. It went on for a week. She finally picked them up when we run out of towels.”

“What happened after that?”

“I started picking them up again.”

“Back to the watermelon … why did she think an intruder would have had to move it? Couldn’t you have moved it?”

“That’s how she was. She was always looking for something to get upset about.”

“Why do you think you got along better with Rebecca than Gypsy did?”

“Didn’t you already ask that?”

“Not exactly, but you didn’t offer a comment on that, either.”

“I guess it’s as simple as me giving her a chance.” Using one hand, Zack scraped the sugar off the table and into his other hand. “I love Gypsy. She was my wife. But she didn’t get along with, well, anybody for too long. She would make a new friend who would be the best thing in the world. And the next thing I knew, they had quit talking and Gypsy hated her.” Looking around the diner, he said in a low voice. “Like Charlie.”

“What do you mean? Are you saying Gypsy and Charlie had a falling out? What happened?”

“All I remember is that she said Charlie betrayed her.”

“Betrayed? Wow. That’s intense.”

“Not really. Not for Gypsy. She was always accusing somebody or another of betraying her.”

“Did she offer specifics on this betrayal? Charlie’s betrayal.”

“No. I mean, she probably told me. But after a while, I’d tune her out. I know how that sounds, but there’s only so much I can take.”

Maggie couldn’t help but notice the similarity between the way Culvert and Zack dealt with their wives. She also couldn’t help but speculate as to why Charlie had failed to mention this falling out to her.

Chapter Twelve

Charlie was gone by the time Maggie finished her conversation with Zack, so she didn’t have a chance to talk to her about her alleged betrayal of Gypsy. In the ensuing days, however, Maggie continued to ponder that subject. When she considered the word betrayal, her mind invoked melodramatic scenes from soap operas. To her knowledge, none of her friends or co-workers had ever betrayed her. Sure, Tyler had deceived her and generally annoyed her, but even his behavior didn’t approach the level of betrayal. She also debated whether she should again contact Sylvie, who had not gotten back to her on the whereabouts or identity on the man Maggie had taken to calling Shaggy Goat. But as she sat finishing a turkey sandwich in the Sentinel’s break room, her thoughts turned to Barbara. Specifically, the fact that Barbara had eaten an orange at her desk.

So starved was Maggie for insight into her new co-worker that she had immediately ascribed meaning to the snack. After Barbara departed for lunch, Maggie had scurried into Joe’s office to share the news with him.

He had seemed less than impressed.

“An orange? Maggie, if that’s your idea of breaking news, it’s a good thing you focus on features instead of hard news.”

“Maybe she has a vitamin C deficiency. Or maybe she’s trying to ward off a cold.”

“Or maybe she was hungry.”

“How can you not see the significance of this, Joe? Before today, the only thing she’d ever consumed at her desk was water.”

“That’s not so. I’ve seen her eating those little packs of crackers and cheese.” Snapping his fingers, Joe had said, “Oh, what are they called?”

“Nabs,” Maggie had exclaimed. “She ate Nabs at her desk, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I guess I didn’t see the significance of that, either. Nabs? Is that really what they’re called?”

“That’s what my family has always called them. I think they were originally made by Nabisco. Hence, the name Nabs. My mom and dad eat a different brand, but it doesn’t matter. They’re still Nabs. It’s like how some people call all pop Coke. But don’t try to change the subject. I need to know when Barbara acts out of character. And by out of character, I mean I need to know when she shows personality.”

Maggie was still chastising herself a half hour later for not asking Joe what flavor Nabs Barbara had been eating. Was it the kind with peanut butter? Or the ones with cream cheese and chives? As she returned her now-empty sandwich container to her lunch bag, she made a mental note to ask him when he returned from lunch.

It was a nice day, so she decided to spend the rest of her lunch strolling through the park. She had finished her second lap when she recognized a familiar face – Seth’s ex-wife, Jamie. Maggie contemplated turning around and leaving before Jamie, who was pushing a toddler in a swing, could see her. Reminding herself that she had no reason to avoid Jamie, she continued on her way. As she passed the playset, Jamie called out her name. Turning, Maggie widened her eyes and lifted her brows in an effort to make Jamie believe she was surprised to see her.

“Oh, hi,” Maggie said. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” Gesturing to the blue-clad child in the swing, she added, “But Peyton here is wearing me out.”

They chatted about the indefatigable nature of children and then Jamie asked, “How’s Seth?”

“He’s uh, he’s, um, good. Busy. Really busy.”

“I saw him on the news last week, rescuing those animals. I hadn’t seen him since his mom died. I was wondering how he’s doing.”

“Oh, he’s doing good. He’s busy, really busy.” Maggie willed herself to quit talking. She wished she knew how you were supposed to act when you ran into your boyfriend’s ex-wife. A woman he had met and married shortly after you and he had broken off your engagement. An engagement you had broken only after reaching a painful impasse on whether your upcoming marriage should include children. She also wondered how Jamie knew she would be equipped to answer questions about Seth’s well-being. How did she know they were back together? And how did she feel about that? Sensing she should comment on the child, Maggie said, “He’s cute.”

“He looks just like my husband. That’s totally not fair. I’m the one who gained thirty-two pounds and then delivered an eight-pound bowling ball after twenty hours of agonizingly painful labor.”

All the more reason not to have kids, Maggie thought to herself.

“Maybe the next one will look like me,” Jamie said.

Maggie finally noticed a perfectly-round bump around Jamie’s mid-section. “Congratulations. When are you due?”

“January.”

“A new baby for the new year. That’s just great. Well, I’d better get back to work. Those obits aren’t going to write themselves.”

Maggie concentrated on the food in front of her, trying to figure out the theme of the meal Edie had prepared.

“I’ve stumped you, haven’t I?” Edie asked.

Maggie was about to admit defeat when Seth asked, “What kind of ham is this?”

“Black Forest,” Edie answered.

“Place names.” Seth knocked on the table and sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face. “Black Forest ham, Brussels sprouts, quiche Lorraine, Hawaiian bread, and Boston cream pie.”

Giving Seth a high-five, Edie’s husband, Ben, said, “Good job. I told her one of you great detectives would figure it out.”

“Wait a minute,” Maggie said to Seth. “Since when do you know what quiche Lorraine is?”

“What are you suggesting, Maggie?” he asked. “That real men don’t eat quiche?”

“I’m not questioning your manhood, or Ben’s, for eating quiche. I’m questioning how you know this particular cheesy bacon dish with a crust is quiche Lorraine.”

“It’s simple deductive reasoning,” Seth said. “As soon as I saw the dish, I deduced it was quiche. Then, when I realized it contained bacon, I deduced it was quiche Lorraine because everybody knows quiche Lorraine contains bacon.”

“No, no, they do not. I had never heard of quiche Lorraine until you said the words.”

“Don’t hate me for being a man of culture,” Seth said. “Or a fan of bacon.”

“It was a lucky guess,” Maggie said. “You had seen the words quiche Lorraine somewhere, so once you figured out the others, you made a guess.”

“The other day you questioned my definition of a club sandwich. Today, it’s quiche Lorraine. What am I going to be ignorant about next? Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Toast?”

Maggie was prepared to prolong the dispute, but then she caught sight of Ben’s and Edie’s bemused faces.

“You think this is funny?” she asked.

“I think it’s adorable,” Edie said. “I’ve missed the spectacle of you two bickering over absolutely nothing.”

“I’m glad we could amuse you. Consider it payment for this delicious meal,” Maggie said.

“Thanks, but most of it came out of a box. The ham is the only thing I made. I don’t have the time to do the things I did before I became a mom. And now that I’ve gone back to work, I’ll never get anything done.”

“You didn’t have to cook for us, Edie,” Seth said. “We could have ordered in. Or Maggie and I could have brought something.”

“That’s right,” Edie narrowed her eyes at Ben, “Seth cooks.”

“I cook,” Ben said.

“Grilling is not cooking,” Edie said.

“Hey, that reminds me, Seth. I just bought a new grill. It has a built-in thermometer. Let’s go look at it.”

When the men left to go check out the grill, Maggie started clearing the table. “Leave that,” Edie said, “Ben can do it when he comes in from showing off his new baby.”

Maggie knew not to protest when Edie spoke in a certain tone, so she settled back into her chair. “How’s work?”

“Miserable. I miss Cicely so much,” Edie looked over at the three-month-old baby, who lay sleeping in a bassinet. “I call and check on her every hour.”

“Well, you’ve only been back at work a week. It will probably get better.”

“No, it won’t. I’ll just get used to it.” Edie emitted a sigh so deep that it caused the baby to momentarily stir. “Enough about me and my problems. How are you? You seem distracted this evening. Are you thinking about the Gypsy Hill case? By the way, how does Seth feel about that? It was different when you two were apart, but now that you’re back together, does he have a problem with your sleuthing?”

Maggie couldn’t very well tell anyone – not even Edie – that Seth had encouraged her to look into a death that the police department wasn’t investigating. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Seth knows this is important to me and that I’m good at it. Besides, if he has a problem with it, he hasn’t said anything.”

“So, if that’s not bothering you, what is?”

Maggie listened to make sure the men hadn’t returned to the house. “Nothing is bothering me. It’s just that I saw Jamie today.”

“So?”

“She was with her little boy in the park. And she’s pregnant.”

“I repeat, so?”

“I started thinking about how much Seth wanted, wants, kids and how those should be his kids.”

“Have you suffered a blow to the head?”

“Shh. You’re going to wake up Cicely.” Instinctively, the women turned their heads toward the baby, who remained in a sound slumber that Maggie envied.

“What are you thinking?” Edie said. “Those should not be his kids. He can’t have kids.”

“Exactly. But if he could have kids, he would have had them with Jamie and they would still be together. Or if she had been agreeable to adopting, they would have, well, not those kids. But kids.”

“Oh, well, if we’re living in hypothetical parallel universes, then how about this? If my first husband hadn’t been a lying, cheating slimeball, I would still be with him. There would be no Ben and Edie. No Cicely. That’s how life works. What might have beens will drive us crazy.”

“But you saw how Seth was with Cicely earlier. He held her like he’s been holding babies all his life. He’s so natural with kids. And I’m not. I’ll appreciate her more when she’s older, just like I do my nephews, but I’m not natural with babies or even kids. I had to remind myself to comment on Jamie’s son’s cuteness. To be honest with you, I’m not even sure he was cute. It just seemed like the thing to say.”

Taking one of Maggie’s hands in hers, Edie said, “Listen, Pumpkin, it doesn’t matter how natural you and Seth are around children. What matters is how natural you are around each other. And you looked very natural earlier fussing about food. For the record, I think you’re right. He made a lucky guess. But don’t tell him I said so.”

“I won’t. It’s enough knowing you agree with me. It’s not just Jamie’s kid, though. Almost everyone I’ve talked to about this case either has babies or talks about babies. They’re everywhere.”

“Yes, they are. But you’re not everywhere. There’s only one of you and you’re what Seth wants.”

Chapter Thirteen

“You know, this is the first time I’ve eaten at the Dinner Bucket since they re-opened,” Seth said as he and Maggie waited for their lunch. “I meant to come sooner, but one thing after another has kept me from it. I’ve eaten lunch – and sometimes dinner – on the run the past couple weeks.”

“I hate that you’re so over-worked,” Maggie said. “The criminal element in Jasper should cut back on their criminal activity until the department gets back to full capacity. It’s only fair.”

“You should write an editorial to that effect for the Sentinel.”

“I’ll mention it to Joe.”

Charlie came to their table, carrying a plate of pork chops and green beans for Maggie and a chicken sandwich and fries for Seth. “Gosh, if you two ain’t just the cutest. I could stand and stare at you all day.”

She attempted to prove that assertion true, which made Maggie so uncomfortable that she couldn’t eat. The same couldn’t be said for Seth, who quickly started in on his sandwich. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, though, he took a break from eating and said, “We’re good, Charlie. We’ll let you know if we need anything else. Thanks.”

When Charlie walked out of earshot, Maggie said, “She thinks our story is romantic. Her vast knowledge of our history and her interest in us kind of freaks me out.”

“It must be strange to be on the receiving end of that. You should ask her if she knows Barbara.”

Maggie, who had apprised Seth of her ongoing efforts to learn more about her mysterious new co-worker, said, “I’m going to ignore that and, instead, praise you for ordering grilled chicken and for not drowning your fries with ketchup. Before we walk, we must crawl.”

“And right now I want to crawl to the nearest bottle of ketchup. But if you can give up potato salad in your quest, eh, I guess it’s our quest, to eat healthier, then I can survive without ketchup and burgers and club sandwiches.”

Clicking her tongue, she said, “No good can come from us talking about club sandwiches.” Indeed, the mention of the sandwich took Maggie back to their dinner at Edie’s, which reminded her that she hadn’t yet mentioned to Seth that she had run into Jamie. She knew that soon it would be too weird to say anything. With a casualness she hoped rivaled Zack’s, she said, “I saw Jamie yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah. How’s she doing?”

“She seemed fine. She and her little boy were in the park. She’s expecting another baby in January.”

“Good for her.”

Maggie didn’t know what possessed her to add, “Seeing her made me feel uncomfortable. Not as uncomfortable as being stared at by Charlie, but uncomfortable nonetheless.”

Seth immediately put down what was left of his sandwich. “Why? You had nothing to do with us getting a divorce. We should have never gotten married. We both came to realize we rushed into the marriage, but that’s not on you.”

“I know.” Maggie saw Charlie approaching their table and fell silent. As Charlie refilled their glasses with water – Maggie had also talked Seth into forgoing his usual soda – she chattered continuously. Luckily, the needs of a diner full of other patrons prevented her from dawdling or staring. After she walked away, Maggie said, “I can’t help but put myself in Jamie’s shoes and imagine how she felt when we got back together. And she knows we’re back together because she asked about you. And, to think, I was feeling so pleased with myself because you had kept that tie.”

“What tie?”

“The green one I bought you years ago because it matched your eyes. I wondered if you had thought of me every time you wore it when we were apart. But now I feel guilty because I shouldn’t want you to have been thinking of me when you were married to somebody else.”

Seth finished his sandwich and picked at his fries. “Jamie bought me the tie I’m wearing today. How does that make you feel?”

Maggie studied the beige tie with blue diamonds as if she had never seen it before. “It complements your coloring. Not that you’re blue. Or shaped like a diamond. But you’re tanned, which isn’t the same thing as beige –”

Wadding up his napkin and tossing it on top of the remaining fries, he said, “Listen, I’m not in the habit of getting rid of good clothes. But I don’t consciously think of Jamie when I wear this tie and I can’t say for sure that I thought of you every time I wore that green tie.”

Maggie tried to hold his gaze, but she lowered her eyes. In spite of the guilt she felt over the tie and Jamie, Seth’s admission disappointed her.

“But I probably did think of you. I thought of you a lot because I never got over you. I couldn’t admit that to myself for a long time. Jamie probably knows that. On some level, she probably came to that realization when we were married. From what I hear, though, Jamie is really happy. Getting rid of me seems to be the best thing to happen to her. And I’m not just saying that to make myself feel better.”

“How do you feel about her having kids?”

“I’m happy for her.”

“Do you ever think that it could have been your life? That her kids could have been your kids?”

A crease appeared between Seth’s eyebrows, but before he could answer, his phone rang. Answering, he said, “Yeah. Okay. I’ll meet you there in ten.” To Maggie, he said, “I’ve got to go, but we’ll finish this later.”

He reached for his wallet, but Maggie waved and said, “I’ve got this.”

Nodding, he said, “I would kiss you goodbye, but I don’t think Charlie could handle it.”

As Maggie finished her lunch, she tried not to think about the conversation yet to come. When Charlie dropped by to see if she needed anything else, Maggie welcomed the distraction.

“Where did that cutie Detective Heyward go in such a hurry? I hope you didn’t have a fight.”

“No worries there. It was something to do with work.”

“Really? What’s going on? Did he rush out to make an arrest? Will he be on TV tonight?”

“I didn’t ask.” With the lunch rush over, she did ask Charlie if she could spare a minute. She was agreeable, so Maggie said, “How were you and Gypsy getting along when she died?”

“Like we always did. She was my best work friend.” Charlie paused, seemingly to consider her answer. “Actually, she was one of my best friends. Period.”

“You hadn’t had a falling out?”

Shaking her head slowly, Charlie said, “No. Why would you ask something like that?”

“Well, as you know, I’ve been talking to the people who knew Gypsy best. In the course of these interviews, I’ve learned that Gypsy said you had betrayed her.”

Clutching her chest, Charlie said, “Gypsy thought I had betrayed her? Who would say something like that?” And with that, tears started streaking down her young face.

Maggie tried to soften the blow, suggesting that perhaps she had misinterpreted the information. But it was too late. A sobbing Charlie ran across the diner and disappeared into the kitchen.

Chastising herself, Maggie grabbed the check and headed toward the counter. “What on earth is wrong with that girl?” Bill asked her. “She acted the same way a couple days before Gypsy died. She was talking to that boy she goes out with and then she ran into the kitchen crying.”

“I’m afraid this time it’s my fault. I asked her about her friendship with Gypsy. How were they getting along when Gypsy died?”

Ringing up Maggie and Seth’s meal, Bill said, “They seemed to get along fine, but I let my employees know I don’t cotton to them carrying tales to me or causing trouble. Now, Gypsy was a little dramatic. But we just let her carry on. Most of the time, we didn’t even pay attention to her. And, Charlie, well, she loves to gossip. But it’s usually just about who’s dating who or who changed jobs. I guess you could say she just likes to know what’s going on.”

Handing Bill her payment, Maggie said, “So, you don’t know of any trouble between them?”

“No. They were laughing and joking the morning Gypsy got sick. And poor little Charlie cried her eyes out when Gypsy died.”

“Well, I’d like to say it didn’t hurt to ask, but it looks like it’s hurt Charlie.”

As Bill gave Maggie her change, he said, “Culvert came in here the other day. He wanted to thank me and Ann personally for always being there for Gypsy. I told him no thanks were necessary. I also told him I always thought he and Gypsy would eventually reconcile. Especially after what he said to me shortly before she died.”

“What was that?”

“That he was tired of the way she was treating him. He said he planned to put an end to her nonsense.”

Chapter Fourteen

After talking to Bill, Maggie felt she needed to speak with Culvert again. But that presented her with a problem. Each of her investigations had required her to interview suspects at their homes, but she didn’t like to make a habit of doing so. And when she did, she always let someone know her whereabouts, a fact she shared with the suspects. But until her interaction with the Stiltners, she had never interviewed two suspects at their home simultaneously. Of course, even now, she had trouble imaging that Culvert had done harm to his daughter. But it was a possibility and she didn’t want to keep pushing her luck by meeting with Culvert and Rose Mary on her own. So, she asked her dad to accompany her to their house. He agreed, but questioned her edict not to eat or drink anything they offered.

“Why? Are they nasty?” Robert asked before sharing an anecdote about a time he had accepted the offer of coffee from someone with whom he was trading livestock. He had watched in horror as the man’s adult daughter retrieved a cup from a pile of dirty dishes stacked in the sink, poured fresh coffee into it, and then handed it to him.

Pretending she had never before heard the story, Maggie asked, “What did you do, Daddy? Did you drink it?”

“No. I rubbed my chest and told them those hot wieners I had at the house had given me the heartburn. I didn’t even touch that cup.”

Giggling, Maggie said, “I don’t think the people we’ll be seeing are like that.”

“Well, then, why can’t I eat after them?”

“It’s a long story.”

That seemed to satisfy Robert, and he and Maggie began discussing the family activities planned for the upcoming Labor Day weekend. Maggie could hear the excitement in his voice as he listed the pursuits he wanted to share with his grandsons, who would be visiting with Maggie’s brother and sister-in-law. But just as he was sharing his plans to take the boys on a hike up the hill behind the house, Robert asked, “What if these people offer me a cup of coffee? Or a piece of cake? It would be rude not to take them up on their offer, especially if the cake looks good.”

“Tell them you had hot wieners that gave you the heartburn.”

“That would be lying.”

“Then tell them I’ve promised to buy you something. And that won’t be a lie, because I’ll stop and buy you a cup of coffee and one of those snack cakes you like. But, please, don’t accept anything to eat from them and don’t ask me why.”

“All right,” Robert said.

As they pulled into the driveway, Maggie saw Culvert sitting on the porch. “Here’s a bottle of water, Daddy. Remember –”

“I know. I know.”

When they reached the porch, Maggie made the introductions and inquired after Rose Mary.

“She run to the store to get us one of those, what do you call them, rotisserie chickens. Ro keeps a clean house, but she don’t cook much. My wife sure was a good cook. She never sent me off to work or the girls off to school without breakfast, and supper was waiting for us every evening, too.”

“My wife was the same,” Robert said. “With the children out of the house, she don’t cook as much as she did, but I ain’t missed any meals.”

The two men fell into a quick conversation about home cooking, the changing times, and their respective careers working for the gas company and the coal mines. Although she felt sure she could sneak away without them noticing, Maggie asked Culvert if she could use his bathroom.

“Sure. When you go in, you’ll see a hallway. The bathroom is on the right.”

Maggie did have to use the bathroom, but she also wanted an excuse to see the inside of the house. She followed Culvert’s directions and did her business in a bathroom that was twice the size of hers and decorated in pink. The frayed, beige wallpaper featured tiny pink roses and the linoleum rug had a repeating pattern of pink and white squares. Even the toilet and bathtub were pink. A small table held various bottles of perfume, makeup, and brushes. A chair with a cracked, pink plastic cushion sat in front of the table.

“Hmm,” Maggie said to the otherwise empty room. “Either Rose Mary brought the chair and table into the marriage or it belonged to Culvert’s first wife. And what are the chances that Rose Mary had a pink chair to match this bathroom? Either way, it’s spacey and nice enough if you like pink, but it’s not what I would describe as fancy.”

Maggie returned to the living room. Although a plastic bag of books sat on an ottoman, nothing looked out of place. There were no stains on the sectional couch, no smudges on the glass coffee table and end tables, and no dust bunnies hugging the baseboards. Even the TV was dust-free. Maggie struggled to keep her glass surfaces clean, and her TV collected dust like it was a cherished possession. So she took the time to admire Rose Mary’s housekeeping skills before sneaking a peek out the window to make sure Robert and Culvert were still engaged in conversation. She then moved on to the kitchen, which contained newish-looking stainless steel appliances. She couldn’t be sure they were less than five years old, though. Then again, she was distracted by the plants that dominated the room. At Maggie’s count, eighteen plants hung from the wall, sat in window sills, or, in the case of some sort of ivy, grew over the window. Much to her parents’ chagrin, Maggie had never learned to identify plants, flowers, trees, or leaves, so she couldn’t name one plant in the room. Fearing Culvert would soon question why she was spending so much time inside the house, she hurried to the French doors that led outdoors.

“Wow,” Maggie said to herself when she saw that the back yard resembled an arboretum. “It’s like a forest and a flower shop had a baby. A big baby. No wonder she doesn’t cook. Between cleaning and taking care of all these plants and flowers, she doesn’t have time.”

Maggie’s tour of the house satisfied her curiosity, but left her undecided as to whether the gold digging allegation against Rose Mary was justified. She couldn’t snoop inside the house all day, though. Needing to talk to Culvert before Rose Mary’s return, she tore herself away from the flora and fauna and joined the men on the porch. As she had suspected would happen, they were discussing their grandchildren.

“You know, my wife never laid eyes on Ginger’s boys.”

“Is that right?” Robert asked.

“They would have been more ruined than they already are, if that’s possible, if she had got to spoil them. Ro says the boys make her nervous, but I told her she would just have to take a nerve pill. Those young’uns have the run of the place. I’ve never got after them and I don’t plan to.”

“That’s the way it should be,” Robert said. “If I ever got after one of Mark’s boys, they would laugh at me.”

“Ro goes to her room and reads when they’re here. As soon as they leave, she comes busting out and starts cleaning. She uses so much Windex on those tables that I told her she should buy some of those stocks in the company.”

“I couldn’t help but notice the glass tables,” Maggie said. “I don’t have children running around my house and I wouldn’t be able to keep glass tables that clean.”

“Ro knew the boys spent a lot of time here when she bought those tables. She’s always complaining about the boys getting them dirty, but I told her Ginger was here first. She complains about them getting the stove and fridge dirty, too. But I like seeing their little fingerprints on everything. You know, me and my wife re-did the kitchen the year before she died. And she never got to enjoy it.”

“Does Rose Mary have any grandchildren?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t know,” Culvert said.

That was not the response Maggie had expected. Although Ginger had told her Rose Mary’s son had moved, she asked, “Doesn’t one of her sons live around here?”

“He did. But he moved.”

“Oh, where did he go?”

“Somewhere down south.”

“Does he ever visit?”

“He came here once, but Ro usually visits him. That’s where she’s from. Down south. She says that if we think the humidity is bad here, then we should be down there in the summer. You can’t find nowhere with perfect weather, though. If you go north, you have to deal with the snow. If you go to the beach, you have to deal with them hurricanes.”

“Did you take her up on her offer to visit her son?” Maggie asked.

“Nah. I like to stay near the house.”

“What about the other son? Where does he live?”

“Somewhere out west.”

“Does she ever visit him?”

“I can’t say. I think she did once, but maybe it was the other one she visited. The one that lives down south. They ain’t close like most families around here are. Like my family used to be.”

“I can’t imagine not seeing my young’uns,” Robert said. “Maggie lives next door, but Mark and his family are in Indiana. I guess that’s not too far away, but it’s too far for me. But we drive up there to see them pretty regular and they come down here sometimes. They’re coming in for Labor Day.”

“That’s just a few days away,” Culvert said.

“Yep. They’re leaving Friday afternoon, so they should be here by dark. One of my sows delivered. I can’t wait for the boys to see the pigs.”

Turning his upper body toward Robert, Culvert asked with a scowl, “You won’t let them near the sow, will you?”

“I know better than to let young’uns around a mother sow. The boys can step up on the boards and look over. The sow and the pigs will be on the other side of the pen.”

Maggie listened a few minutes longer to the men discuss a bygone time when nearly everybody in the county kept hogs, chickens, and cattle before she blurted, “Culvert, did you ever give Gypsy an ultimatum?”

“A what?”

“You know, like tell her she’d better straighten up and start talking to you. Or else.”

“Nah. I thought about it, but there wasn’t much I could do. I couldn’t send her to her room or take the car away from her.”

“So, you didn’t tell Bill that you were going to put an end to the way she was treating you?”

Culvert, who had been staring blankly at the roses in front of him, suddenly looked at her. “I might have said something like that. People say a lot of things they don’t mean.”

That was also not quite the response Maggie had expected. But before she could ask a follow-up question, a car pulled into the driveway. “That will be Ro,” Culvert said.

Carrying two plastic bags, Rose Mary got out of her car, bounded up the driveway, and onto the porch. “Culvert, why didn’t you offer our guests something to eat?”

“I offered, but they weren’t taking. Did you get the chicken?”

“I sure did. And I got that macaroni and cheese you like. And one of those Reese Cup cakes.”

Slapping his knee, Culvert said, “Well, let’s eat.”

Looking from Maggie to Robert, Rose Mary said, “You all are staying for dinner. Right?”

“No, we have to head back to Sugar Creek.” Rising, Robert added, “Maggie promised her mother we’d be back for supper.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Rose Mary said. “We don’t get a lot of company. Well, except for Ginger and those rambunctious boys. I was hoping we’d have dinner guests who didn’t run around knocking over plants.”

They said their goodbyes, Culvert and Rose Mary went inside the house, and Maggie and Robert got into her car. As he pulled his seatbelt around his waist, he said, “Call your mother on that cellar phone of yours and tell her we’ll bring chicken for supper.”

Maggie did as instructed and then asked Robert for his impression of Culvert and Rose Mary.

“They were friendly enough. But I didn’t much like that he didn’t think I have more sense than to let little boys around a mother sow and her pigs.”

“What about her?”

“She was kinda loud. Does she live there with him?”

“Well, yeah. She’s his wife.”

“His wife? I thought his wife was dead?”

“His first wife is dead. Rose Mary is his second wife.”

“I didn’t know that. From the way he talked about her, I figured she was his sister.” As they approached a convenience store, Robert said, “Don’t forget to stop and get me some coffee and a snack cake.”

“But we’ll be eating in a little while. You’ll spoil your dinner.”

“No, I won’t. I have room. Besides, if I don’t eat much chicken, that will leave more leftovers for tomorrow.”

Maggie appreciated his logic so much that when she went into the store, she bought him a snack cake and a cup of coffee and a Reese’s Cup for herself.

Chapter Fifteen

Due to his work schedule, Maggie didn’t see Seth in the days following their Dinner Bucket lunch. But he ended every phone conversation they had with a reminder that they would finish their discussion about Jamie the next time they saw each other.

But the next time they saw each other, they were surrounded by her parents, her brother and his family, and members of her extended family at a cookout on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. The occasion didn’t allow for private conversations or alone time. Then they stayed up late that night talking to Mark and his wife, who spent the night at Maggie’s house. After breakfast the next morning, Seth left to spend the day with his dad. Later that day, Maggie and her parents saw Mark and his family off.

“The house seems so quiet after the children have gone.” The words had no more left Lena’s mouth than the ringing phone interrupted the silence.

Looking at the ID, Robert said, “It’s Sylvie,” before saying into the receiver, “Yellow. Yeah, she’s here. I guess I’ll let you talk to her.”

Lena reached for the phone, but Robert handed it to Maggie. “She wants to talk to me?” Maggie asked.

“Well, yeah, I wouldn’t be giving you the phone if she didn’t.”

Taking the phone, Maggie said, “Hey, Sylvie. How are you feeling?”

“I’m much better. Thank you for asking. Do you still want to see Shaggy?”

“Yes. Have you found out his name or where he lives?”

“No, but I don’t need to. I’m setting on my porch looking at him. He’s across the way helping my neighbor clear a tree that fell.”

“Don’t let him leave. I’ll be right there.”

Maggie wasn’t merely pleased to finally meet Shaggy Goat. She was happy that someone’s appearance finally lived up to her imagination. Shaggy Goat’s shoulder-length dirty blond hair fell over his face and looked like it had been cut in the dark with a kitchen knife, and his scruffy goatee covered a jaw that jutted out from a gaunt face. She didn’t know how someone who enjoyed pancakes and waffles could be so skinny. But after remembering that Charlie said he wasn’t a regular, she surmised that he must treat himself to the starchy breakfasts on special occasions. She found him sitting on Sylvie’s porch, drinking a glass of lemonade and discussing quilts.

“My granny made quilts that had threads sticking up in them,” he told Sylvie.

“That’s called tacking,” Sylvie explained. “She put the thread in them to keep the quilts together. I never cared for tacking myself, but you know what they say about different strokes.”

“Do you fix quilts for people? I have a couple of her quilts, but they’re coming apart. I’d like to have them fixed.”

“Yes, I repair quilts. You bring them by next time you come around, and I’ll take a look at them.”

Maggie stood on the porch, wondering how long the conversation would continue and how long it would take them to acknowledge her existence. After telling him that they could discuss a price later, Sylvie nodded to Maggie and said, “Here he is.”

Walking across the porch, she extended her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Sylvie’s friend, Maggie.”

Standing up, he shook her hand and said, “I’m Grant. Did you have some work you wanted me to do?”

“Oh, no. Here, let’s sit down.” After they were seated in a double rocker, Maggie said, “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Gypsy Hill.”

“Who?”

“She was a waitress at the Dinner Bucket Diner.” His face showed no recognition. “She died a few weeks ago.” Still, nothing registered on his face. “You two had an altercation over payment for a breakfast of pancakes and waffles.”

Finally, he seemed to remember. “She died? What happened to her?”

“They’re not really sure. She died suddenly. They’ve ruled out a virus or infection.”

“Where do you come in? Were you kin to her?”

Before Maggie could answer, Sylvie said, “No. Maggie just likes to snoop around. She is fairly good at it. She helped my friend, Gentry, find out what happened to his missing grandson. By the way, Maggie, Gentry come by to check on me when I had them ole shingles. He told me to say howdy for him. I forgot to tell you that day at your mommy’s or all the times you called here checking to see if ole Grant had come back around.”

“Why did you want to talk to me so bad?” he asked.

“For the record, I only called twice.”

“Huh,” Sylvie said. “I reckon I can count.”

Smiling at Grant, Maggie said, “Gypsy’s husband told me a customer at the diner had been harassing her. Actually, she had teased you about ordering late breakfasts. Do you remember that? Do you remember getting hateful with a waitress about something like that?”

“Not hateful. Maybe defensive. I don’t know why they should care what time I eat breakfast. Besides, isn’t the customer always right?”

“That’s what I’ve always been told,” Sylvie said.

“So, you didn’t get angry with her?”

“I don’t think so,” Grant answered.

“Uh, so this other waitress …” Maggie intended to mention the harassment to him, but instead said, “… she told me you ordered pancakes and waffles at the diner.”

“A paying customer has the right to order what he wants,” Sylvie said. “Is that supposed to be a crime? Or a clue?”

“No, it’s just,” Maggie trailed off, “it just seems a little carb heavy. Why not pancakes or waffles? But not both.”

“I like both of them. And that’s how I’m used to eating them. My mom likes pancakes and my dad likes waffles. We always had both of them for breakfast and I’d take a bite of the pancakes and then a bite of the waffles. It’s what I’m used to.”

“I guess that’s having the best of both worlds,” Maggie said. “So, this other waitress also said you stalked Gypsy.”

“Stalked?” Sylvie asked. “I thought you said harass. Them’s two different things.”

Still looking at Grant, Maggie said, “According to Gypsy’s husband, Gypsy said you had started stalking her. And the other waitress said she was with her once when you followed her in your car.”

“What do you mean by followed?” Sylvie asked. “Do you mean he happened to be behind her or that he followed her up a holler and parked outside her house?”

“I know what you’re talking about.” Stretching his long legs out in front of him, Grant said, “I used to go in there every now and then for breakfast. But I’ve not been back in a while. I had forgotten about that happening.”

“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

“Back around the fourth –”

“The fourth?” Maggie asked.

“Of July. I ran into the waitress, the one who died. What did you say her name was?”

“Gypsy. Where did you run into her?”

“Uh, I think it was the dollar store. Anyway, I don’t go to the diner all that often and she was in real clothes when I saw her, so I didn’t recognize her. She told me who she was and asked me if I would help her. I thought that maybe her car wouldn’t start and she needed me to boost it off, but she said no. She told me she’d give me twenty dollars if I would come into the diner the next day and argue with her.”

“She paid you to argue with her?” Sylvie exclaimed. “Huh. I’ve been arguing with people for over seventy years and nobody’s never give me a dime for it.”

“What did you say to her?” Maggie asked.

“At first, I thought it was a joke, but she let me know it wasn’t a joke. She told me she’d overheard me talking to somebody at, yeah, I’m pretty sure it was the dollar store, about how hard it was to pick up work. She told me it would be the easiest twenty bucks I ever made. All I had to do was come in the diner, order my usual, and then argue with her about the change. I thought she was crazy. Either that or it was like that show that used to be on TV. You know, the one where something crazy would happen and then that dude would show up and they’d find out it was all a big joke.”

“Candid Camera?” Sylvie offered.

“No, that wasn’t it.” Grant tilted his head to a nearly ninety degree angle. “It was called punk or something like that. Anyway, I thought about it for a couple minutes and told her I’d do it, but it had to be two days after that because I had something to do the next day. And she had to spring for breakfast, too. She told me she’d pay for breakfast but it had to be the next day because the owner and his wife wouldn’t be there. She said if we waited one more day, he would be back. She said that if I started in on her with him there, he would get in my face and kick me out of the diner for good. That scared me a little bit. I thought she might be setting me up. But I thought about it some more and decided I’d go to the diner and get a feel for it. If everything felt right, I’d do what she wanted. And that’s what I did.”

“If this don’t beat a hen a-rootin’,” Sylvie said.

“What about the stalking?” Maggie asked.

“When we met to settle up –”

“Where did you meet?”

“The dollar store parking lot. When we met up, she told me she’d give me thirty more dollars to follow her out of the Zippy Mart parking lot and up the four-lane. She told me what kind of car she drove and that I should park beside her and then pull up beside her at the red light. I figured there are harder ways to pocket money, so I did it.”

“And you forgot about all this until just now?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah. It was a couple months ago.”

“But how could you forget someone paying you to yell at them and follow their car?”

“I don’t know. I just did. Maybe I would have remembered earlier if I’d heard about her dying.” A puzzled look crossed his face. “Wait. You don’t think I had anything to do with her dying, do you?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Maggie said.

“I haven’t seen her since the day in the dollar store parking lot when she paid me for following her. She asked me to steer clear of the diner, so I haven’t been back there, either.”

“I ain’t calling you a liar,” Sylvie said, “but why on earth would she throw away good money on something as stupid as this?”

“Did she give you an explanation?” Maggie asked.

“Not much of one. She just said that they never believed her. But this time they would.”

Chapter Sixteen

Seth sat with his head in his hands for so long after Maggie apprised him of the Shaggy Goat/Grant drama that she became concerned about him.

“Are you okay? Have you fallen asleep? Or had a stroke?”

Seth slowly pulled his hands down his face and dropped them into his lap. “No, I’m just trying to process what you told me. It sounds crazy enough to be true.”

“I know. I thought the same thing. Of course, there’s no way to verify what he’s saying. We either believe him or we don’t.”

“You talked to him. Do you think he’s believable?”

“At first, I didn’t know what to expect from a man who people described as looking like a goat –”

“Does he? Look like a goat?”

“Yeah, he does. But I wouldn’t describe him as bad looking. He needs to do something with that choppy hair, like find a barber.” Maggie paused. “Or, if he has a barber, get another one. He’s well-spoken, though, and respectful. He and Sylvie act like old friends. I don’t think he came clean with me about where he ran into Gypsy. It was just two months ago. If he can remember where they met up for the payment, why isn’t he more positive about where they initially ran into each other? Otherwise, I think he was being honest.”

“I trust your judgement, but I’m trying to reconcile what you’re saying with the fact that he went along with Gypsy’s ludicrous plan. If he’s that hard up for money, what else will he do for a little cash? And why doesn’t he have a regular job?”

“Hey, people need handymen. Sylvie’s not able to clear brush. Somebody’s got to do it for her. There’s nothing wrong with earning an honest day’s living.”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

As soon as she said, “I’m not yelling,” Maggie realized she was doing exactly that. “I’m sorry for raising my voice, but I don’t understand what his employment, or lack thereof, has to do with his character.”

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a snob and I’m not looking down at him. I’m looking at this from the perspective of a detective. Like it or not, we, as a society, automatically make assumptions about people who don’t have regular, steady jobs. We assume they can’t be trusted or are avoiding something.”

“Oh, I can answer that for you. He’s avoiding conforming to society. At least that’s what he told Sylvie when she advised him that he needs to find dependable work. Of course, I pointed out that she’s made a career out of picking up work as a seamstress wherever she can find it. She conceded that I had a point, but also noted that she had worked at a laundromat for years when she was much younger. At least she did until it shut down. That prompted Grant to say, ‘See, there’s no such thing as dependable work. No job is permanent.’ And Sylvie told him that while that may be true, he needs to plan for the future. That’s when he mentioned not wanting to conform to society. But he did promise Sylvie he would reconsider her advice when he turns thirty in a couple years. For now, he’ll continue to make his way outside the restrictive confines of mainstream employment. Or so he said.”

“I feel like I know him – and Sylvie – intimately now. But at least he has a plan, of sorts, and an explanation for why he doesn’t have a steady job. That still doesn’t explain why he went along with Gypsy.”

“That’s easy. He did that for some quick cash,” Maggie said. “I might have done the same if I were in his shoes.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. You would have imagined a hundred ways it could have gone sideways.”

“Maybe.” When Seth shot her a disbelieving look, she said, “Probably. But you know what I think is the most interesting part of his story?”

Without hesitating, Seth said, “What Gypsy said about no one ever believing her?”

Maggie squealed and pulled Seth into her arms. “You know me so well.” They shared a kiss and then Maggie said, “I’ve thought about it. She obviously wanted Charlie to think she was being harassed and/or stalked. As Sylvie pointed out, there is a difference.”

Shaking his head, Seth said, “Well, yeah, why would Sylvie need to state the obvious?”

“When it comes to Sylvie, it’s best not to ask too many questions.”

Shrugging, Seth said, “It’s also obvious that Gypsy didn’t want Bill and Ann around when her orchestrated drama took place.”

“Nope. She wanted a witness who wouldn’t question her or call the police.”

“Or get physical with Goat. I mean Grant.”

“The question remains,” Maggie said, “why did she want Charlie to think she was in danger?”

“You said more than one person has described her as dramatic. Maybe she just wanted attention. She also accused her neighbor of poisoning her.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too, and I’ve come up with a theory that’s almost as ridiculous as the Goat-stalking-Gypsy scheme.”

“Lay it on me.”

“From what everyone is saying, Gypsy was a tad emotional on a good day.”

“Just a tad?”

“When you combine that with her mother’s death, her dad’s remarriage, and her turning thirty, she seems to have been struggling. What if she poisoned herself for attention and it went too far?”

“That’s a possibility. There’s also the possibility that you and I have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Maybe she was never poisoned. Maybe she died of natural causes that have yet to be determined.”

“I thought of that, too. And I also thought that maybe I should put the investigation on hold. It’s not going anywhere anyway.”

“I’ll support whatever decision you make.” This time, Seth pulled Maggie into his arms. “Now, what’s this about you thinking I wish Jamie’s kid was mine?”

“That’s not exactly what I said.”

“It’s close enough.”

 “I know how badly you want to be a father.”

“How badly I wanted to be a father. I also once wanted to be a professional baseball player, but my lack of athleticism put an end to that dream decades ago.”

“But that was different. You could still theoretically become a father. I don’t want to be the reason that dream doesn’t become a reality for you.”

“Maggie, we’ve had this conversation before. Do you think I’ve not been honest with you?”

“No, yeah, no. Wait. I mean that I think you are being honest with me.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“It’s just that I saw Jamie’s little boy and her pregnant stomach and then how good you are with Cicely and my nephews. And Culvert and Dad talked about their grandsons and how children are a blessing. So, yeah, there was a little voice inside my head telling me that I’m ruining your life.”

“Children are blessings and we have several in our lives. And my nieces and nephews will be getting married soon and having babies.” Nuzzling his head in her neck, he said, “But you are not ruining my life. And you can tell that little voice to shut up because you’re the greatest blessing I’ve ever received.”

Chapter Seventeen

The following day, Maggie returned to the office after lunch with Edie to find a fruit basket in her chair. “Where did this come from?” she asked. Except for Barbara, the entire newsroom was lost in a world provided by their personal earbuds or headphones, so no one answered. She picked up an envelope that bore her name in cursive handwriting. The envelope was affixed with a red bow to a banana. The note simply read, “Thanks for the story. You did a great job.” She had recently featured a new tattoo shop, a wedding photographer, and a woman who had visited all fifty states, and thought the fruit could have come from any of them. Wanting to know for sure, she asked the receptionist for a description of the person who had dropped off the basket.

“I don’t know,” the receptionist said. “It was here when I got back from the bathroom.”

“Well, would you like some fruit?”

“I’m still full from my lunch, but I’ll take some grapes for later.”

Maggie didn’t want to interrupt her industrious newsroom pals or Joe, who sat hunched over his computer reading copy, with the offer of fruit. Remembering that Barbara had shown a fondness for oranges, she thought the fruit basket might provide her an opening with her brusque co-worker. She offered her one of the navel oranges and, to her surprise, Barbara said yes.

As she handed Barbara the orange, Maggie said, “Thanks.” With Barbara thanking her simultaneously, Maggie realized her faux pas. She murmured “you’re welcome,” took a photo of the basket, set it on her desk where everyone could see it, and returned to adding entries to the community calendar. Although no further comment was forthcoming from Barbara, Maggie felt sure the orange would represent a turning point in their relationship. In coming days, whenever the subject of fruit wound its way into conversation, Maggie knew Barbara would describe the orange as the best she’d ever eaten and shower Maggie with excessive praise for her generosity.

As the afternoon progressed, however, Maggie became engrossed in her work and forgot about the orange. She didn’t think to offer fruit to Joe when he called her into his office for advice on a particularly bothersome style issue. After debating the matter for a few minutes, they had decided to use their best judgment when they heard a thud followed by a shriek.

“What’s happening out there?” Joe wondered aloud as he rose from his chair. When he and Maggie turned the corner of his office, they found the sports editor and the publisher standing by Barbara’s desk.

To no one in particular, the publisher said, “Barbara passed out. Call 9-1-1.”

                                                               Chapter Eighteen

When Barbara came to, she complained about dizziness and nausea, so she was taken by ambulance to the hospital. The commotion drew advertising reps, graphic artists, and the press crew to the newsroom where they lingered before eventually wandering back to their respective departments to finish the next day’s edition. Maggie couldn’t remember ever being so distracted at work and she sensed her co-workers felt the same way. Still, their readers expected to find papers in their mailboxes or inboxes the next day, so everyone completed their stories and sections. She had texted Seth the news, and when Joe dismissed her for the day, she drove herself and the fruit basket straight to the police station.

“It’s the orange. I know it’s the orange,” Maggie said as soon as they reached his office. “You all have to test the rest of the fruit. I was able to retrieve all but four grapes that the receptionist took. She said the ones she ate tasted fine, but I think she should be tested, too. It’s no coincidence that this happened after my second set of interviews. I’ll have to review my notes. Did you call the hospital? How is Barbara? Are you all treating this as suspicious? You should. She passed out at work, just like Gypsy did, and she was nauseated, just like Gypsy.”

Taking her hands into his, Seth looked directly into Maggie’s eyes. “You need to take a few deep breaths and try to calm down.”

“Calm down? How can I calm down? This is my fault. Barbara is sick because of me.”

“You don’t know that. Even if harm did come to Barbara, you are not to blame.”

“The fruit was meant for me. I’m lucky I forgot about it,” Maggie shuddered, “or I would be in the hospital, too.”

Seth pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“Find out what’s going on with Barbara.”

“Maggie, honey, we don’t usually investigate when somebody simply passes out.”

Pulling herself away, she said, “Simply? It didn’t look so simple for Barbara.”

“I didn’t mean that the way it came out. It’s obviously not simple for the person who passes out. But when something like that comes over the scanner, we don’t jump in our cars and rush out to investigate unless it involves obvious foul play or weapons.”

“What about Gypsy?”

“We’re not investigating that, either.”

“But at least you had the conversation. Are you telling me you’re not going to do anything about Barbara?”

Seth sighed. “We only found out about Gypsy because one of the officers ran into Bill at the hospital. We went over there and asked a few questions and then sent some stuff to the lab, but that was the extent of the investigation. I can’t even see us doing that much for this thing with Barbara.” When Maggie slumped forward, he hung his head and said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, though. I’ll talk to the chief. But this means I’ll have to tell him that you’ve been investigating Gypsy’s death. He’s not going to like that.”

“He’s not the boss of me.”

“But he is the boss of me.”

Tugging on Seth’s sleeve, she said, “You don’t control me. Tell him that. And if he won’t listen to you, I’ll talk to him.”

“Oh, trust me, he’ll want to talk to you.”

Seth was right. A few minutes later, Maggie sat in the chief’s office, briefing him on the course of her investigation and her suspicion that the fruit had been poisoned.

“What made you think Gypsy Hill’s death was the result of foul play?” he asked.

Not wanting to admit the truth – that Seth had suggested this to her – Maggie said, “I guess it’s just how my suspicious mind works.”

“I know you’ve had success with solving murders in the past, but you should really leave it to the professionals. Didn’t Seth tell you that?”

“Seth and I don’t talk much about our jobs.”

“This isn’t your job.”

Maggie couldn’t argue with that. “Are you going to investigate Gypsy’s death and Barbara’s …”

“Barbara’s what?” he asked. “Maggie, if we opened an investigation every time somebody fainted, we wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”

“Seth said something similar.”

“You should listen to him because he’s right. We’re still waiting on the state crime lab to get back to us on Gypsy Hill’s death. As for your friend –”

“Oh, Barbara’s not my friend. We’ve barely spoken. We just work together.”

“Okay. As for your co-worker, we’re not about to bust into her hospital room based on your suspicions.”

“But she ate an orange, and she passed out. Just like Gypsy. Well, I guess it’s not just like Gypsy, because as far as I know, Gypsy didn’t eat an orange. And Barbara didn’t throw up, but she complained of nausea, so you know what I mean.”

Sighing, the chief said, “Maggie, go on home. And remember what I said. Let the professionals handle this.”

Chapter Nineteen

Maggie was still awake when Seth arrived at her house after midnight. As he crawled into bed with her, she started peppering him with questions.

“Is there any news on Barbara? I called the hospital, but they won’t even tell me if she’s a patient. Do you think that means she’s been transferred? Maybe they flew her to Lexington.”

“Or maybe they didn’t tell you because it would violate her privacy. Patients have to give their permission before the hospital will release information about them.”

“Even if they’re a victim of a crime? Even if the police are asking the questions?”

“We don’t know if she’s the victim of a crime. Besides, the police weren’t asking the questions. You were asking the questions.”

“Well, what about you? Why don’t you ask the questions?”

“Because the chief told us to hang tight and wait and see what happens tomorrow.”

“Barbara could be dead by tomorrow.”

“Maggie, lie back down.” When she complied, he said, “Let’s go to sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Maggie snuggled in his arms, but did not go to sleep. “What about the fruit?”

“It’s locked up in my office.”

A few minutes later, she said, “I’ve been thinking –”

“Shh, shh. Let’s not think tonight. Let’s just lie here together. We can think tomorrow.”

Maggie didn’t get much sleep that night and she dragged into work the next morning. After checking on the receptionist, who reported no ill effects from eating the grapes, she found Joe in his office, reviewing the day’s paper for mistakes missed and areas of improvement.

Dropping into a chair across from his desk, she said, “Have you heard from Barbara this morning?”

Joe told her he had spoken to the bookkeeper who had, in turn, spoken to the pastor from the church she and Barbara attended. Although he hadn’t shared many details, he had imparted the news that Barbara was going to be okay.

Maggie didn’t know how badly she had wanted to hear those words until Joe spoke them.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You look like you’re going to cry. At least I think that’s what you look like. I’ve never seen you cry.”

Maggie waved off his concern, but took a few moments to compose herself. “Having a co-worker collapse at her desk would be disconcerting no matter the circumstances. But that orange made her sick. I’m glad the fruit basket slipped my mind or I would have handed out fruit like candy. The newsroom would have been littered with bodies.”

“I know you mentioned your theory yesterday, but have the police confirmed this?”

“No, but they will.” Pausing, she continued, “I worked a few hours extra the other night to attend that play. So, would it be okay if I took a couple hours today?”

“Yes,” Joe drew out the word into four syllables. “Although I make it a rule not to ask employees what they do while away from work, I feel I should make an exception in the case.”

“I just have some errands to run.”

“Be careful, Maggie. I don’t want to lose another reporter.”

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie stood in a local grocery store, waiting to speak to the associate in charge of fruit baskets. When the lady finished ringing up a purchase, she asked Maggie how she could help.

Calling up the photo she had taken of the fruit basket, Maggie asked her if she had sold the basket recently.

Shaking her head, the lady said, “I can say for sure that I didn’t make that basket and I’ve worked the past three days.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve only made five fruit baskets this week. Three were much bigger, and the other two were in metal baskets, not a wicker basket.”

“I’ve seen fruit baskets sold on the floor –”

The lady resumed shaking her head before Maggie could ask her the question. “We only make them ahead and sell them on the floor like that during the holidays. During the rest of the year, they’re made-to-order.”

Dejected, Maggie thanked her for her time and turned to leave, only to find Seth leaning against a counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

Chapter Twenty

“I guess we had the same idea,” Maggie said to him. “To track down the fruit basket.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the store, so let’s go outside.”

When they reached the parking lot, Seth said, “Joe called me.”

“Why? Has Barbara taken a turn for the worse?”

“He called because he was worried about you.”

“And you figured I’d start with the fruit basket. You do know me.”

“I also wanted to give you an update on Barbara. Maggie, she wasn’t poisoned. She passed out due to low blood pressure.”

“How do you know this?”

“Her husband came by this morning. They had heard there were some questions about Barbara’s illness and he wanted to reassure us there had been no foul play. He said she has a history of low blood pressure and a history of not taking care of herself.”

“But two things can be true. She can have low blood pressure and have been poisoned.”

“Maggie.”

Maggie tried to rotate her head from side to side, but the stress in her neck prevented her from doing so. Once Seth had reassured her two more times that Barbara hadn’t been poisoned, she asked, “So, what’s he like?”

“Who? The husband? Five-eight or five-nine. Approximately fifty years old. Bald. I think he shaves his head.”

“I didn’t ask what he looked like. I asked what he was like.”

“I don’t know. We only spoke for a couple minutes. Just long enough for him to tell me this has happened before. They didn’t admit her to the hospital, but she has to go to her family doctor today and she’ll probably have to undergo some testing.”

“But why didn’t they say something yesterday?”

“Because they’re private people. He only came by this morning because your theory got back to them. They didn’t want us to waste our time with an investigation and they didn’t want any unnecessary attention.”

“We’re not doctors. And her husband isn’t a doctor.” Reconsidering, she said, “He’s not a doctor, is he?” When Seth shook his head, she said, “Okay, so how can he, how can we, know for sure that low blood pressure isn’t a sign of poisoning?”

“You have to let this go, Maggie.”

She didn’t make a habit of engaging in public displays of affection, but she took one step toward Seth and buried her head in his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Running his fingers through her hair, he said, “Don’t beat yourself up too bad. Everybody makes mistakes.”

“But I involved you. And the chief.” Lifting up her head, she said, “Oh, God, he must think I’m an idiot.”

“No, he doesn’t think you’re an idiot. Actually, this improves your standing with him. He won’t admit it, but he’s envious of your success. Heck, the whole department is jealous. The chief was probably beginning to think you were infallible. This just proves you’re human, like the rest of us.”

“I’ll never be able to look him in the face again. Or Barbara.” Maggie buried her head in his chest again. “She’ll never speak to me now.”

Patting her on the back, he said. “You could give her a sincere apology and a fruit basket.”

“Stop it.” Maggie straightened up. “I do need to find out who sent that fruit basket. I need to thank them for causing me so much trouble.”

“I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. But, except for seeing you in pain, my day started off pretty good. The chief told me they’ve hired a new detective. That should, note the use of the word should, lessen everybody’s workload.”

“That’s cause for celebration. I’ll make you a banana pudding. Scratch that. I don’t want to eat anything with fruit in it for a while.” Sighing, she added, “I also don’t want to have anything to do with this investigation. I’m done with it.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Maggie kept her word about the fruit and the investigation. But a couple days later, while joining Ben and Edie for lunch, she ordered a berry salad. As she enjoyed the sweet salad and listened to the new parents brag on Cicely for sleeping most of the previous night, she spotted Rose Mary waving at her from across the restaurant. 

“Who’s that?” Edie asked as Maggie waved back at her.

“She’s married to Gypsy Hill’s dad,” Maggie said. “I guess she’s picking up an order.”

They proceeded with their meal and when Edie went to the restroom, Ben said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Edie. You know how she gets when she thinks I’m sharing confidential bank information.” Rolling his eyes, Ben said, “It’s not like I’m giving you somebody’s account number or telling you how much they owe on their mortgage. The bank is a public place. If you were standing in the lobby, you could see the customers for yourself.”

“Ben, did you have something to tell me?”

“Yeah. I recognized the woman from earlier. The one who waved at you.”

Although her vow to swear off investigating Gypsy’s death – for the second time – echoed in her head, Maggie asked Ben, “Was she – or is she – a customer at the bank?”

“No.”

“You’re killing me, Ben.” Checking over her shoulder to see if Edie had emerged from the restroom, she added, “What does she have to do with the bank?”

“She came in to close her son’s account, but there were some issues, so the teller called me to come down and talk to her.”

“What were the issues?”

“She wasn’t authorized to make changes. She couldn’t close the account. All she had was an account number.”

Maggie noticed Edie walking out of the bathroom door, so she quickly asked. “Why was she trying to close his account?”

Ben managed to blurt out his answer just before Edie reached the table. “Because he was dead.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maggie sat at her desk, pretending to edit a press release. Thoughts crowded her mind, though, and she couldn’t find room in her mental hard drive for a rubber duck race planned to benefit a charity. Instead, she kept returning to Ben’s bombshell about Rose Mary’s son. She had reviewed her notes from her meetings with Rose Mary and Culvert, and had found no reference to either of Rose Mary’s sons having died. In fact, Culvert had said he believed one son lived in the South while the other lived in the West. What’s more, Ginger had joked that the son Rose Mary followed to the area left to avoid his mom. She hadn’t said a word about him or his brother dying. Hoping to find a link or reference to the sons, Maggie had searched for Rose Mary on social media, only to discover that she had no social media presence.

If that wasn’t enough to distract her, Barbara had returned to work that morning. Maggie had greeted her with a smile and warm wishes. Barbara had responded with a stare. Convinced that the stare was a consequence of Maggie trying to get the police involved in Barbara’s bout with low blood pressure, Maggie felt the need to explain her actions.

“I’m really sorry about overreacting and turning your health scare into a crime. It’s just that I’m investigating this suspicious death that might be a poisoning and the woman who died collapsed at work. And then you collapsed at work, so my imagination took over and I convinced myself that you had eaten an orange that had been poisoned and given to me because I was getting too close to the truth. As it turns out, the fruit basket was a gift from a tattoo artist I featured last week. When she called to make sure I had gotten it, I didn’t tell her about all the trouble it had caused.”

Before Maggie could continue rambling, Barbara had interrupted her, saying, “I need to get to work.”

Feeling her face flush with embarrassment, Maggie had said, “Oh,” and started her workday. But she had replayed her monologue all day, wondering if Barbara’s coldness stemmed from the orange incident or if it was a case of Barbara being Barbara.

Of course, when she wasn’t questioning Barbara’s motivations, she was questioning Rose Mary’s. Although Maggie wasn’t in the habit of making secret calls to her best friend’s husband, she had contacted Ben for more information about Rose Mary’s son.

 “Gosh, Maggie,” Ben had said, “I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I remember. I remembered her face. I never forget a face. I’ve told Seth that I would be a perfect witness, that I could pick anybody out of a lineup. But I’m not so good with names. I don’t remember her name or her son’s name.”

“Well, do you have a general idea of when this occurred?”

“Four, maybe five, years ago.”

That would have been around the time that Culvert and Rose Mary married, thought Maggie, so why hadn’t she told her new groom that she was a mother in mourning? And even if she had carried that secret for years, to Maggie’s way of thinking, Gypsy’s death would have given Rose Mary a sorrowful opportunity to bond with her husband.

Needing to know more about Rose Mary’s son, Maggie had spent her entire lunch break searching through obituaries from that timeframe. She maintained a spreadsheet of obituaries, but not knowing Rose Mary’s son’s name made that database useless. So, she was restricted to opening every obituary document for every edition, pressing Control+F, and searching for Rose Mary’s name.

Her search proved futile. She considered contacting Ginger and asking if she knew the sons’ names, but she didn’t want to draw attention to the matter. Besides, that would answer only part of the question. She didn’t even know Rose Mary’s maiden name, let alone her other married names. Although she had devoted every extra moment of the day to the subject, she couldn’t find a solution to her quandary. Discouraged, she returned to the ducks. She was reviewing the final paragraph when she gasped and said, “That’s it. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go to the courthouse.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Maggie was still smiling as she strolled into the courthouse to search for Culvert and Rose Mary’s marriage license. Not only was she pleased with herself for thinking to look for the license, which she hoped would contain at least one of Rose Mary’s prior last names, she was also pretty pleased with herself for drawing Barbara’s attention. Indeed, when Maggie had suddenly and loudly began talking to herself about going to the courthouse, she had noticed from the corner of her eye that Barbara had raised her head and stared at her for a few seconds. She had ignored Barbara, though, concentrating instead on finishing her task so she could scurry to the courthouse.

Maggie knew Culvert and Rose Mary had been married around five years, so she opened the cabinet drawer containing that year’s records and started her search. Luckily for her, the licenses were filed in the cabinets alphabetically, so she flipped to the esses. “Scalf, Short, a lot of Simpsons got married that year, Skelton, you don’t see that name around here much, Smart, Snodgrass, Spencer, Stacey, Stiltler, ahh, here it is.” Sporting an even wider grin than before, she scanned the document, took a photo of it, and returned it to the cabinet.

Although she intended to continue her investigation back at the office, she had no sooner walked into the newsroom when Joe and the sports editor descended on her with proofreading requests. Finally, at half past five, she had time to open the photo. The only real bombshell was that Rose Mary recorded her place of birth as a town in eastern Tennessee that Maggie recognized from her trips to the Smoky Mountains. From the way Culvert had characterized Rose Mary’s hometown as being “down south,” Maggie had figured she had grown up on the outskirts of a decaying Alabama plantation.

Fortunately for her, the document contained two of Rose Mary’s previous surnames, including her maiden name. She typed Rose Mary and the surnames into the search bar. There were a few hits, but nothing connected to the Rose Mary she was actually searching for. Next, she looked for Rose Mary’s parents. Her mother’s name also yielded nothing of interest and, at first, she thought the same would be said for her father. But on the second page of search returns, she found a link to an obituary in a Tennessee newspaper.

“Great,” she said aloud. Just as quickly, she chastised herself for feeling joyful over having found an obituary. “But it’s not like you killed him. And, according to this obit, he’s been dead for sixteen years.”

Once again, her self-chatting caused Barbara to look up from her work. And, once again, Maggie didn’t acknowledge her, but she did smile to herself.

The obit provided a treasure of information including yet another last name for Rose Mary as well as her son’s names – Andrew Pierce and Edward Buchanan. Maggie couldn’t decide if their names reminded her more of British princes or of lesser known American presidents. She opened her spreadsheet of obits, pressed Control+F and typed the first son’s name, finding nothing. She then tried the second son’s name and also found nothing.

She stared at the computer screen in disbelief. She was aware that some people chose not to publicize the deaths of loved ones, but in her experience, that was a rare occurrence. It would be my luck, she thought to herself, that Rose Mary’s son would be one of those cases. Sighing, she said, “I guess I’ll have to go back to the courthouse.”

This time when she talked to herself, Barbara didn’t look up.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The following day, Maggie was headed into the courthouse when she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

Turning on her heels, she said, “Hello, Detective Heyward. Fancy meeting you here.”

“I was going to say the same thing to you. Has Joe reassigned you to the courthouse beat?”

Maggie had been so startled to see Seth that she had momentarily forgotten she had failed to bring him up to speed on the latest development with Ben and Rose Mary’s son. As far as he knew, she had dropped the investigation. Panicking, she ran a hand over her head and said, “No, I’m, well, I’m just doing some research on a story. That I’m writing. For the paper.”

“What’s the story you’re writing for the paper about?”

“Researching public records. You’d be surprised by how little people know about the wealth of information that’s just sitting in there,” to make her point, she dramatically swept her arm in the direction of the courthouse, “waiting for them.”

“Like what? Give me an example.”

“Oh, like death certificates.”

“Wow. I would have never guessed that the readers of the Sentinel were dying,” leaning forward, Seth said, “pun intended, for advice on searching death certificates. But I guess that’s why you’re the writer and I’m just a cop who spends his days talking to people who lie to him.”

“Well, I guess I’d better let you get back to that. Can I expect you for dinner?”

“Absolutely.” As Maggie headed into the courthouse, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t be late.”

The death certificates were filed in much the same way as the marriage licenses – primarily by year and secondarily by name. Starting in the cabinet that held the certificates from five years earlier, Maggie searched for both of Rose Mary’s sons. Nothing. So she moved to the next year. Nothing. And then the next and the next until she had caught up with the current year. Thinking Ben could have underestimated the amount of time that had passed since Rose Mary had visited the bank, Maggie searched through ten years of death certificates, only giving up because she knew Ben had recently celebrated a decade with the bank.

With her shoulders drooping, she dragged herself out of the courthouse. She was passing by the alley that led to the back of the Dinner Bucket when she saw Dave tossing trash into the garbage bin. She threw up her hand, which must have thrown Dave off guard because he stopped with his hand still clutching a bag. He nodded toward her and Maggie continued on her walk. So involved was she in trying to solve the death notice mystery that she had forgotten about Dave until he appeared before her on the street, at the end of the alley.

“I mind my own business,” he said.

“I guess that’s a good policy to live by,” she agreed.

Blinking, he said, “But I think there’s something I should tell you.”

That’s an even better policy, Maggie thought.

“It’s about Gypsy,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“And Charlie.”

“Okay.”

“Gypsy was mad at Charlie right before she died.”

“About what?”

“The girls come to the kitchen and talk. They talk an awful lot. At least they do when Bill ain’t there.”

Maggie did not pick up the conversation when Dave fell silent. Instead, she remained silently staring at him. Finally, after several seconds and even more blinks, Dave continued, “And one day, right before she died, Gypsy was back there sorta cutting up with Charlie, but not really. You know what I mean?”

“No.”

“Well, it was like Charlie was doing all the talking and joking and Gypsy was just saying stuff like ‘yeah’ and ‘is that so?’ I wasn’t even paying much attention. I didn’t know what was going on, but when Charlie’s order come up and she left the kitchen, Gypsy said Charlie didn’t have the sense to figure out she was mad at her. But she’d know after she, meaning Gypsy, she was talking about herself, got her revenge.” Dave ended his monologue with four consecutive blinks.

Maggie felt this exchange probably represented the most Dave had spoken consecutively in years and she was grateful for that. Her investigation had yielded reports that Gypsy had accused Charlie of betrayal and, now, that she had vowed revenge against her. Just as had been the case with the betrayal, Maggie couldn’t remember ever vowing revenge on anyone. “Did she elaborate?”

“I didn’t ask no questions. I mind my own business. But she, meaning Gypsy, she was talking about herself again, said Charlie had talked Bill out of keeping the restaurant open past lunch.”

“I didn’t know Bill was considering that.”

“He wasn’t. Not really. It was Gypsy’s idea. He told her he’d think about it, but I heard him tell Ann he wasn’t interested. I mind my business, though, so I didn’t ask no questions.”

“How does Charlie fit into this?” Maggie asked.

“As far as I know, and I don’t know for sure because I mind my own business, Charlie agreed with him when he told Gypsy he wasn’t going to do it.”

“That’s all it took?”

“She said Charlie should have supported her.”

“Did Gypsy get her revenge on Charlie?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know what she had planned?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to share it with me?”

“She was going to tell Charlie’s boyfriend that Charlie flirted with some of the guys who come to the diner. She said she was going to make a video with her phone. That’s all I know.”

Bill had told her about Charlie crying after a conversation with her boyfriend, so Maggie assumed Gypsy’s plan had worked. With Dave offering no additional insights, Maggie returned to the office and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich in the breakroom. As she ate her lunch, she reflected on Gypsy’s attitude toward Charlie. Initially, she thought it seemed out of character for Gypsy not to have shared her true feelings with Charlie. It would have been more like her to loudly and dramatically have accused Charlie of betrayal to her face. After she studied on the matter a bit longer, she decided Gypsy probably hadn’t wanted to take the chance of causing the kind of trouble that would have attracted the attention of Bill. But if Charlie’s boyfriend had received a video, Maggie wondered if he knew who had sent it and if he had shared that information with her.

When she got home later that day, she was greeted by the sight of Seth’s car in the driveway and, when she reached the house, by Barnaby at the front door.

“Hey, boy,” she said as she rubbed her hands on each side of Barnaby’s ears. “Is that meatloaf I smell? I must have been a good girl.”

“You must have been a real good girl because I also made homemade macaroni and cheese.”

She looked up to see Seth leaning against the wall, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “Well, unless you brought it from a restaurant, it’s always homemade,” she said.

“You know what I mean. Unlike that boxed stuff you eat, my mac and cheese contains real cheese grated over hot macaroni.”

Patting Barnaby on the head, Maggie walked to Seth, “I don’t know how anybody from eastern Kentucky got fancy enough to turn his nose up at boxed mac and cheese.”

“It’s because I’m from the big city of Jasper and not a holler. I also opened a can of green beans, but instead of cornbread, you’ll have to settle for brown-and-serve rolls.”

“That might be a deal-breaker.”

“It gets worse.”

“I don’t think it can get worse.”

“Oh, yeah? I didn’t have time to make dessert.”

“I don’t need dessert anyway, but there should still be some of those snack cakes in your junk food cabinet.”

Smiling, Seth said, “Once again, Little Debbie saves the day.”

After supper, as Seth enjoyed a Nutty Bar, or in their words, a buddy bar, he said, “I should probably head back toward town. Or at least stop at a Zippy Mart.”

“Why? There’s no way you could be hungry. Do you need to get some gas? There should be some in one of those plastic red containers we use to fill the lawn mower.”

“No, I was thinking about buying a lottery ticket.”

“When did you start playing the lottery?”

“Today. It’s my lucky day.”

“It’s just mac and cheese.”

“That was not just mac and cheese. And don’t forget the meatloaf.”

Brushing an errant piece of chocolate from his mouth, Maggie said, “You’re so low maintenance. It’s one of your most endearing qualities.”

“Well, as delicious as supper was, it’s not the only good thing that happened to me today.”

“Oh, yeah? What can possibly be better than brown-and-serve rolls?”

“As you know, we’ve been down a couple detectives due to one of them moving and another one retiring.”

“Yes, and you told me they’re hiring a new detective.”

“They’re also hiring a new patrol officer, so they’ll be promoting a current officer to detective.”

“Great. That means they’ll have two new detectives.”

“Wait, there’s more. They’re also promoting a detective to sergeant.”

“Good. That should take some of the load off you. I don’t know how you do it. I covered a play one evening last week and worked late the next day because that’s the only time the guy could do the interview. And I was exhausted. I can’t imagine putting in the hours you do.” When Seth continued looking at her without responding, she said, “What? Do I have ketchup or cheese on my face?”

“No. Your face is as flawless as usual.”

Blushing, Maggie said, “Then what is it?”

“Follow the clues, Maggie, P.I.”

“The clues? Ugh. You’ve had a good day. You had a scrumptious meal enhanced by impeccable company. You learned that your workload will probably lessen because they’re adding two detectives. And promoting a detective to sergeant, but I don’t see how that affects you.” When Seth’s façade broke and he revealed his crooked grin, Maggie threw her arms around his neck. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as I came in the door? Why didn’t you yell the news at me while I was petting Barnaby? You could have said, ‘Hey, Maggie, smell that delicious meatloaf? By the way, I’ve been promoted.’”

“This was more fun. Besides, nothing is official. The captain told me, but until I hear it from the chief, I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, let alone be telling you. I don’t want either one of us to get our hopes up.”

“Don’t worry about that, because it will be official.” Hugging him again, she kissed the side of his face and said, “I wish I had known. I would have come home earlier than you and made supper for you. I’m eating fruit again, so I would have even made a banana pudding.”

“That sounds good, but Little Debbie hit the spot, too. In fact, I think I’ll keep celebrating. On a night like tonight, a man can have two desserts.”

As he reached for the snack cake, Maggie pushed it out of the way. “This supper and the buddy bar represent a cheat day on our endeavor to eat healthier, but let’s not get too crazy.”

Frowning, Seth said, “How was your day? Did you finish that story you’re writing for the paper about death certificates?”

Maggie disengaged herself from him and returned to her chair. “About that … I was looking through death certificates for information about Rose Mary’s son.”

“I’m intrigued. Please tell me more.”

She sighed and told him about Ben’s recollection of Rose Mary as well as her pursuit of obituaries and marriage and death certificates. “I went through ten years of death certificates and six pages of online obituary search results. But I can’t find anything relating to the death of either of her sons.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this today? Why did you make up that ridiculous cover story about doing a story on public records?”

“That actually might not be a bad story. If I had to guess, I’d say that at least half of our readers have no idea how to access the treasures that are just sitting in the courthouse, waiting for someone to pull a file out of a cabinet or a book off a shelf.”

“Maggie.”

Sagging her shoulders, she said, “I didn’t want to go into it on a sidewalk and, well, I hadn’t told you I had resumed the investigation, so I wasn’t sure how you would take the news.”

“Why would you think I’d be anything but supportive?”

“Uh, remember the orange panic I started because Barbara had low blood pressure? She’s still not talking to me, but she has shown interest when I’ve talked to myself. Anyway, I think the orange incident has caused me to second-guess myself. I’m not sure I can trust my own suspicions and judgment.”

“I’m sure you can trust your own judgment. Yeah, you might have been a little overzealous with the orange, but who’s to say I wouldn’t have made the same assumption. It made sense at the time.”

“You’re just trying to cheer me up.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. And I don’t want you to think you have to tell me every little thing you’re doing, but I also don’t want you to deliberately keep things from me. If we’re in public, you can always say that you’ll tell me later. Now, would you like to hear my take on why you can’t find the death notices?”

“Of course. Unless I state otherwise, I always welcome your advice.”

“Maybe Ben was wrong. Maybe he’s mixed up Rose Mary with another woman. By his own account, the communication occurred several years ago.”

“But he never forgets a face. He tells us that all the time.”

“Eye witness accounts are notoriously unreliable. Maybe he did talk to Rose Mary once. He could still be confusing her with a customer whose son had died.”

“Okay, you have a point. But if he’s right and that was Rose Mary who told him about her son, then don’t you think it’s weird that Culvert referred to her sons as if they were alive? Unless she hasn’t told him about one being dead, which raises a different set of issues. You would think that, oh I don’t know, the death of his daughter would have prompted her to say, ‘Culvert, honey, I know exactly what you’re going through because I lost one of my sons.’”

“I agree wholeheartedly with you. If Ben is right, it makes me wonder what Rose Mary is hiding.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Maggie didn’t have the nerve to contact Rose Mary and directly ask her about her sons, but she did visit Ginger.

“Oh, what’s all this?” Maggie asked upon seeing boxes of dishes and whatnots covering Ginger’s living room floor. “Are you having a yard sale or returning from one?”

Picking up a blue-and-white dinner plate sitting atop a box, Ginger said, “This plate – all this stuff – was my mom’s and, before that, my mammaw’s.”

Maggie examined the dish, which depicted a horse pulling a sled in front of a snow-covered cabin. “My mom has a bowl similar to this. Hers is chipped and the scene has faded, but she still uses it nearly every Saturday to serve gravy. She said it’s part of a set that belonged to her mom.”

A smiling Ginger said, “Mammaw didn’t have the complete set. But Mom didn’t use them once they were passed down to her. She put them in a curio cabinet. That’s why they’re fairly well preserved. Some look better than others. This one is pretty good. Gypsy got them and the pie pans and Mammaw’s other dishes after Mom died. Zack called me the other day and told me I could have them.” Returning the dish to the box, Ginger said, “He also gave me these.” Opening another box, she pulled out an item covered in bubble wrap, ultimately revealing a pink-colored chicken and then an accompanying nest of the same color. Placing the hen on the base and both parts of the set on a box, she said, “It’s called hen on nest.”

“Oh my, God,” Maggie said. “Both of my mommaws had dishes like this, but we just called them chickens. One of my mommaws used them as candy dishes. One time, my brother and I were arguing over who got the last piece of butterscotch candy. I was holding the top of the dish in my hand.” Picking up the hen and demonstrating, Maggie said, “I was holding it by the hen’s neck, just like this. And he shoved me, causing the hen to slip from my hand and crash onto the floor. And, of course, since I was the oldest, I got in trouble. Mark got to eat the last piece of candy and help Poppaw feed the hogs. I had to sit on the couch and think about what I had done. Well, at least I did until Mommaw told my mom that she was overreacting. I can still see Mommaw sweeping the broken blue glass into her dust pan and then emptying another bag of candy into the bottom half of the dish, saying, ‘A candy dish don’t need a lid no how.’”

Gently taking the hen from Maggie’s hand, Ginger said, “Hmm, which box did we pack the blue one in?” She placed the pink hen on top of her coffee table and moved on to another box, which produced a frosted green version of the hen on nest.

“I’ve never seen one like that,” Maggie said. “It’s beautiful. How many did she have?”

“Nineteen. She collected them. Well, actually, my pappaw collected them for her. She had a few from back in the day, and then Pappaw started seeing them at yard sales or, as he called them, junk sales. So, he started buying them for her.” Returning her attention to the box, Ginger said, “Ha. Is this what you remember?”

Maggie instinctively reached for the blue dish, but Ginger held onto it. Acknowledging her history, Maggie didn’t blame her. “Yeah, that looks just like it.” Considering the boxes at her feet, she asked, “What are you going to do with all this? Won’t your children break them?”

“I’ll put them in cabinets. And I’ll show them to my boys and explain that they belonged to their grandma and great-grandma.”

“Where are they? Your boys?”

“Dad offered to watch them so I could unpack this stuff and put it away.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve got a lot of unpacking to do, so I won’t take up much of your time. Like I said on the phone, I knew I’d be in the neighborhood for an interview, so I thought I’d check in and see how you and your dad are doing.” Maggie chastised herself for fibbing. She was only in the neighborhood if one considered eleven miles away as being in the neighborhood, but she was genuinely interested in their well-being.

“We’re doing okay. We took him out to dinner last night. Rose Mary had a book club meeting, so she didn’t go. Which was fine with me.”

Although she knew she should remain focused on the task at hand, Maggie heard herself asking, “What kind of book club is she in?”

“I have no idea, but she has a closet full of books. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against reading. I read to my boys every day. But my mom was always doing something. She never had time to sit down and read. Rose Mary never has time to cook, but she sure has time to read and water all those plants and flowers.”

As a fellow reader, Maggie felt she should defend Rose Mary. “I’ve seen the house, though. It’s immaculate, so she must find time to clean.”

“She’s a neat freak, that’s for sure. She freaks out when the boys visit. You should see the way she tenses up when they so much as move anything. One of them knocked over one of those stupid plants of hers and you would have thought he had killed somebody.”

“Her flower garden is impressive, and I don’t know how she manages to keep all those plants in the kitchen alive,” Maggie said. “I couldn’t even keep a cactus alive.”

“Well, if nursing for that cactus was all you did, I guess it would still be living. That woman’s life revolves around books and plants. That’s all she cares about.”

“What about her sons? Didn’t you say she moved here to be near her son? Do you know where he went?”

“I have no idea. I don’t know anything about her family. All I know is that she has two sons and neither of them ever visits her.”

I have a good inkling why one of them doesn’t visit, Maggie thought. “Do they ever call her?”

“Dad doesn’t get cell service, so they still have a landline, but he says she never gets calls. She makes calls every now and then, but Dad says it’s usually to make appointments or order food. She has a cell phone, so I imagine she keeps up with them with calls and texts. She’s fairly tech savvy, especially for her age, and she has a computer. I’d say she emails them, too, but do not ever get that woman started on social media.” Rolling her eyes, Ginger said, “To hear her, if you’re on Facebook, you might as well be watching porn. She actually had the nerve to call it a time waster. As if she has room to talk.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. What about friends? I can’t imagine moving somewhere and then the only person I knew there leaving. She has to have friends, right?”

“She has her book club. She’s been doing that for a few years. But I don’t know if they’re her friends. Wait a second. The last time I saw her, she was talking about her friends at the library. Yes, she goes there so often that she knows the people who work at the library.”

While Ginger’s information filled in details about Rose Mary’s life, it didn’t answer any questions about her sons. Maggie didn’t think she would elicit further useful information from Ginger, so she said, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your unpacking.” Once again regarding the boxes that covered the floor, she said, “I hope you had some help bringing the boxes from Gypsy’s house.”

“Oh, God, you won’t believe that drama. I arranged a time with Zack for today so my husband could go over there with me and help. Well, the first thing that happened is that my husband had to go into work. So, I drove over there by myself and Zack helped me pack up everything. We had started carrying the boxes to the truck when Zack fell and twisted his ankle.”

“Did he drop any of the boxes?” Realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine and, luckily, he fell on the way back to the house when his arms were empty. Anyway, I could have handled it myself, but thankfully, that nice man showed up and he helped me.”

“You should send him a card or something.”

“That’s just it, I didn’t get his name. And Zack didn’t get a good look at him, so he couldn’t identify him. All I know about him is that he looks like a goat.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Although Maggie was enjoying the pineapple upside down cake and cup of milk Sylvie had given her, she wasn’t enjoying the older woman’s lecture.

“Does your mommy know you tell lies?” Sylvie asked her.

Sylvie had been dressing her down since soon after Maggie’s arrival, when she had asked Sylvie to contact Grant on the pretext of needing him to do some work for her.

“But I don’t have no work for him to do,” Sylvie had countered.

“That’s okay. We’ll explain everything to him when he gets here.”

“Now, you wait just a minute,” a wild-eyed Sylvie had demanded. “In the first place, I don’t aim to ask that boy to come over here on false pretenses. He ain’t got a steady job and I expect finding gas money don’t come easy for him. In the second place, I ain’t a liar. The only thing I hate more than a liar is a thief.”

“I’m sorry, Sylvie,” Maggie had said. “I shouldn’t have asked you to lie.”

With a huff, Sylvie had called Grant and Maggie had listened as she laid out the truth to him. When the phone call had ended, Sylvie had informed her that Grant was on his way. Maggie had then endured an endless lecture. The scrumptious cake, however, had almost made it worthwhile.

“That was excellent,” Maggie said as she picked a crumb off the dish.

“Do you really mean that or is it another one of your derned-ole lies?”

“Sylvie, I told you that I was afraid Grant wouldn’t agree to come here if he knew I wanted to talk to him.” Checking her watch, Maggie added, “It’s been twenty minutes, and he’s still not here.”

“He said he would come, and I expect him to keep his word. Huh. But I thought the same thing about you.”

“You know, the police lie to suspects all the time.”

“Well, you ain’t the police and I ain’t a suspect.”

A rapping at the front door saved Maggie from attempting to construct a response. Sylvie shuffled to the door to let in Grant. He had barely made it into the house before Sylvie asked him what he wanted to drink with his cake.

“I’ll take coffee if you’ve got some made.”

“You sit down and talk to Pinocchio and I’ll make you a cup of instant.”

Grant eyed Maggie with suspicion, but shrugged and joined her on the sofa. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Self-conscious of every word she uttered, Maggie said, “I was at Gypsy Hill’s sister’s house today. To make a long story short, she told me that a man fitting your description helped her carry boxes from Gypsy’s house to her truck.”

Nodding, he said, “Yeah, I saw the man with her fall, so I thought she might need some help.”

“Did you know who the man was?” When Grant shook his head, Maggie said, “It was Gypsy’s husband.”

“Well,” Grant responded as he accepted the cake and coffee from Sylvie, who returned to her chair and picked up the shawl she was knitting.

“So, uh, Grant, I have to wonder why you happened to be at the house of a recently-deceased woman who accused you of stalking her.”

“Now, Maggie, he done told you last time he was here that he didn’t stalk that girl. She paid him to follow her.”

“Is that still your story of record?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah,” Grant said. “This cake is really good.”

“Do you want another piece?” Sylvie asked him.

“Sure, but I can get it.”

While Grant was gone to get his cake, Maggie considered asking Sylvie if she could have a second piece as well. After deciding that Sylvie might be sending her a message by not offering seconds, she tempered her gluttony. When Grant returned, Maggie asked, “To clarify, are you standing by your earlier claim that you didn’t stalk Gypsy?”

“That’s right.”

“So, I guess it was a coincidence that you were at her house today?”

Stealing a glance at Sylvie, Grant said, “No, I had business in the neighborhood.”

“I reckon he was working for one of the neighbors,” Sylvie suggested.

His shaggy hair covered his ears, but Maggie noticed Grant’s neck and face reddening. Sylvie must have noticed, too, because she said, “Why’s your face so red? It ain’t that hot in here.”

Grant placed the empty saucer on the table so gently that it didn’t make a sound. “I saw that guy fall when I was coming down the hill from Rebecca’s.”

“Oh. Oh,” Maggie said.

“You were there to see your girl?” Sylvie said. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

When Grant didn’t bring his eyes up to meet Sylvie’s, Maggie said, “Because he’s lying.”

“Why would he lie about something like that? Is she married?”

“No, she’s not married,” he said. “And she’s not exactly my girlfriend.”

“Well,” Sylvie said, “I get your drift. And I reckon that’s your business.”

Before Maggie could reconcile the news that Grant and Rebecca were a couple, of sorts, and try to deduce what else he could be concealing, he surprised her with another bit of information. “We smoke weed together, too.”

“Weed? You mean, like that ole dope?” Sylvie bellowed.

Grant ran his long fingers through his scraggy, dirty blond hair. “I know this probably changes the way you think of me, Sylvie, and I’ll understand if you don’t want me to work for you anymore.”

“It does change the way I think about you,” Sylvie said. “You without a stable job and you getting by with just ginning around and then you spending the money you do make on that ole dope. And me worrying about you having enough gas money. That’s what I get for worrying about people. I find out that one of them lies and the other one burns his money up on that ole dope.”

Maggie was honest with herself, so she took pleasure in hearing one of Sylvie’s lectures directed at someone else. After a few minutes, though, she took pity on Grant and interrupted. “Uh, Grant, isn’t it a coincidence that you use drugs –”

“Not drugs, just drug. Just weed. And it’s actually a natural herb, so I don’t consider it a drug.”

“I’d allow that the law would disagree with you,” Sylvie said.

“Regardless of whether it’s legal or illegal or a drug or an herb, isn’t it a coincidence that you smoke pot with Gypsy’s neighbor?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” At times like this, Maggie wished she could mimic TV and movie heroines by arching only one eyebrow. As it was, she settled for raising both brows.

“Yeah.”

“So, your pot-smoking pal happened to live next door to the woman who happened to proposition you in the dollar store parking lot –”

“Okay. Maybe that didn’t happen exactly like I said before.”

“Oh,” Maggie said in mock surprise, “does that mean you lied?”

“Well …”

“What?” Sylvie exploded. “Not you, too?”

“I didn’t lie about the whole thing, just about the way it came about. Gypsy did offer to give me money to follow her around. And she did hear me talking about how hard it was to find work. But that was to some guy at the diner.”

“Where were you when she offered you the money?”

“At the mailbox.”

Maggie immediately knew what he was talking about and again pondered how one person could get that much mail, especially in an age where folks paid bills online. But Sylvie, who hadn’t been privy to previous mentions of mail, asked, “Whose mailbox?”

“Rebecca’s.”

“Oh, the girl you smoke that ole drug, I mean, that ole herb with? The one that ain’t exactly your girlfriend.”

“Yeah. One day when I was there, Rebecca asked me to run down the hill and check her mail. The waitress, Gypsy, was at her mailbox getting her mail – the mailboxes are right beside each other – and she said, ‘I know you.’ She grinned when she figured out I had been at Rebecca’s, like she thought it was real funny that a professor was seeing me.”

“That was rude,” Maggie said.

“It didn’t hurt my feelings. She had a point. Besides, I didn’t want to tell her that me and Rebecca weren’t really together and that weed was the reason we had started hanging out in the first place. It was none of her business, and I didn’t want to get Rebecca in trouble. I didn’t want to get in trouble, either. Anyway, she mentioned overhearing me talking about needing work and, well, you know the rest.”

As Maggie contemplated what she had learned, Sylvie launched into another lecture, admonishing Grant for being so hard up for work that he pretended to stalk someone and yet wasting money on that ole dope. Grant didn’t protest. He simply sat there and took his medicine.

“Where did you get your pot? Did you take turns buying it?”

“No, Rebecca grows her own stash.”

“Did Gypsy know?”

“I don’t think so, but Rebecca did tell me that Gypsy spread the rumor that she had tried to poison her. She said Gypsy was kind of crazy, but she liked her husband. You know, the guy who fell. I knew it was Gypsy’s house, but had never seen her husband, so I didn’t know the man who fell was Gypsy’s husband until you told me. Which is kind of weird, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“That he smokes weed with Rebecca, too.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Maggie momentarily considered asking Sylvie if she would keep Grant distracted long enough for her to scramble back to town to interview Rebecca. She didn’t want to give him the chance to let Rebecca know she knew about the marijuana. But that fear was dwarfed by her fear of asking Sylvie to act in a manner that she might consider dishonest. She was too tired to suffer through another lecture. Besides, even if Sylvie went along with such a plan, short of her knocking Grant out with a well-placed quilting hoop, they couldn’t keep him from using his phone. In fact, Maggie noticed him texting as she said her goodbyes to him and Sylvie.

When Maggie knocked on Rebecca’s office door the next day, Rebecca greeted her with a sigh and a shrug. “So,” Maggie said, “I guess you’ve talked to Grant.”

“Yeah, he texted me yesterday evening.” Motioning to a chair, Rebecca said, “Take a load off.”

“Listen, I want to make one thing clear,” Maggie said. “I’m not here to get you into trouble.”

“Good. We’re all adults here at work and most of us don’t pretend to be perfect. Everybody does their own thing, and some of those things are on the outskirts of the law. But as long as those things don’t get out, as long as they’re not acknowledged, as long as nobody gets hurt, nobody cares. This is a small town, though, and you work at the newspaper and I’ve heard you date a cop. If this does gets out and if people start talking, my bosses won’t be able to ignore my extracurricular activities, and I could lose my job.”

“Well, there’s no reason for your extracurricular activities to make their way to the paper or to Seth’s ears. Besides, he works for the Jasper Police Department. I can’t imagine why he would concern himself with someone who grows a little marijuana outside the department’s jurisdiction.” Maggie reconsidered her words. “It is just a little bit, right?” When Rebecca nodded, she said, “Good. I just want to know if it’s connected to Gypsy’s death.”

“It had nothing to do with Gypsy while she was alive and it had nothing to do with her death. She didn’t even know about it.”

“What did she think Zack was doing at your house all the time? And didn’t she ever smell anything?”

“It’s not like we were in the front yard, blowing smoke down the hill, and he usually came up when she wasn’t around.”

“That sounds convenient. And it looks like she wasn’t too far off with her Breaking Bad conspiracy.”

“Oh, yes she was off,” Rebecca loudly countered. “I didn’t poison her and I don’t make meth.”

Holding up her hands, Maggie said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I know there’s a big difference between marijuana and meth.”

Agitated, Rebecca continued, “Trust me, if Gypsy had known Zack was hanging out with me, she would have raised such a stink that people on the moon would have seen it.”

Wanting to lighten the mood, Maggie asked, “Do people live on the moon?”

“You get my point. If you’ve talked to people who know her, then you should know that she was petty and prone to outbursts. Do you really think she wouldn’t have made mine and Zack’s lives miserable?”

“Well –”

“And if she had known about the weed, she would have called the cops and waved at me as the police hauled me away.”

“Well –”

“Take me out of the equation, though. She had no idea that Zack smoked weed, let alone smoked it with me.”

Maggie thought back to suspects in other cases who had kept their affairs hidden from spouses, so it wasn’t a stretch to accept that Zack had kept his marijuana use from Gypsy. “Rebecca, if you don’t want your bosses to find out about your gardening skills, why are you sharing your harvest with so many people?”

“Grant and Zack aren’t many people.”

“They’re two people who could get you into trouble. You just said that if Gypsy had known, she would have called the cops.”

“In retrospect, I should have been smarter. But I don’t like to smoke alone and I thought they seemed like guys who could keep their mouths shut. Zack has and Grant would have if it hadn’t been for Gypsy dying.”

Although she wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the case, Maggie’s inquisitive spirit compelled her to ask Rebecca to explain her process for selecting Grant and Zack as her smoking partners.

“Grant worked for a contractor who did some work here at the college. He pretty much spent an entire week either in here or around the office. We got to know each other and I hired him to do some work for me. He seemed cool, so, well, you know. We have fun together. He’s really smart and interested in science and he has such a good outlook on life. He lives his life for himself and not others. It’s refreshing to spend time with somebody who’s not always stressing about a job or tenure or money or status.”

Maggie believed Rebecca would continue listing Grant’s positive attributes all day if she didn’t interrupt. “Did you tell Grant that your neighbor had died?”

“Probably not.”

“Really? Your young neighbor, who accused you of poisoning her, who’s husband smoked weed with you, and who had paid your buddy, Grant, to stalk her –”

“What?” Rebecca’s mouth fell open. “What’s this about Grant stalking Gypsy?”

“He didn’t tell you about that?” When Rebecca shook her head, Maggie asked, “And you didn’t tell him that Gypsy died?” When Rebecca again shook her head, Maggie said, “What do you two talk about?”

“We discuss our personal philosophies, what we view as our purpose in life, the meaning of life. You know, the big questions. What do you and your guy talk about?”

“Macaroni and cheese. Club sandwiches. Quiche Lorraine. You know, the big issues. So, what about Zack? How did he fit into the picture?”

“One day he brought a package to my house. The mailman had left it on top of my mailbox and it was raining and he didn’t want it to get damaged. I wasn’t expecting company and he smelled the weed. He always seemed so stressed, I guess because of Gypsy, so I was neighborly and shared.”

“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. “Something doesn’t seem right. First of all, why do you get so much mail?”

“I do a lot of online shopping. Grant could be one of those minimalists who lives out of a backpack. I want to get there, but I still buy CDs and books and DVDs and socks. I really have a problem with socks.” Pulling up her pants leg, Rebecca revealed a sock that featured a planet – or was that the sun? – and the image of a man Maggie thought she should recognize. “But how can I be expected to pass up Isaac Newton socks?”

“That sounds like one of those big questions you and Grant should debate. So, uh, there’s something else I don’t understand. You’re just a year older than me and I don’t hang out with random younger guys. Then again, I don’t grow marijuana in my back yard.”

“Yeah, and I don’t investigate deaths in my spare time. To each her own.”

“Point made and point taken.”

“Besides, Zack and Grant aren’t that much younger than I am, and I prefer the company of men. And I don’t enjoy spending time away from work with my colleagues. No matter how cool they are, no matter how much fun we’re having, the subject always goes back to work. That’s no way to live.”

“Your story seems legitimate, but you could just as easily have poisoned Gypsy because she suspected you of growing marijuana. And, for all I know, you could be a dealer.”

“Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous. So now I’m a murderer and a drug dealer?”

“Somebody killed Gypsy.” Remembering that the police were still waiting on the lab results, she added, “Well, somebody probably killed her. It might as well have been you.”

“I barely knew the crazy lady.”

“According to you.”

“And Zack. You’ve talked to him, too.”

“Maybe you’re co-conspirators. Maybe you’re secret lovers.”

“I am not a perfect person and I might dabble in some illegal substances, but I am not the reason Zack left his wife. Oh, no.” Rebecca immediately lowered her head and covered it with her hands.

“Oh, no, indeed.” Smiling, Maggie leaned forward and said, “Tell me more.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Zack agreed to meet Maggie at the Sentinel that afternoon. As soon as he walked into the break room, he said, “Rebecca told me she slipped up and mentioned that I had moved out of the house.”

“Yeah. I just have to wonder, though, why didn’t you tell me?”

Taking a seat, he said, “I knew you would suspect me of killing her.”

Waving her hands, Maggie said, “Wait a minute. When Gypsy died, nearly everybody assumed it was due to a virus or some other illness. The police didn’t even open an investigation. So, why would anybody suspect you?”

“Somebody had to suspect something or they wouldn’t have sent that stuff to the lab. And you wouldn’t have been asking questions if you didn’t think somebody killed her. Besides, you asked why I didn’t tell you. You didn’t ask why I didn’t tell anybody else. They weren’t the ones asking questions.”

Tilting her head, Maggie narrowed her eyes at Zack. “So, why didn’t you tell anybody else? With the exception of Rebecca, nobody has said a word about you and Gypsy separating.”

“That’s because they didn’t know. I didn’t tell anybody. Not even my mom or sister.”

“How about Rebecca?”

“I didn’t tell her. She figured it out when she didn’t see my truck at the house no more. Well, she figured out something was going on. I still kept stuff at the house and, a couple days before Gypsy died, I stopped by to get some things. Rebecca passed my car and asked me what was going on.”

“When did you leave?”

“Two, three weeks before she died.”

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?”

“Because it was embarrassing. And cause I didn’t really want to talk about it. And cause, well, you never know, what if we got back together? I wouldn’t have wanted everybody watching us to see if there were problems.” Zack shook his head. “I didn’t really think we’d get back together, though. Not in that way that people get a feeling something bad is going to happen. I mean, it was more like I just couldn’t see us being together.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t in love with her anymore. I still loved her, though. You know how it is.”

No, Maggie did not know how it was. Although she had cared for other men, Seth was the only one she had ever loved and she had remained in love with him despite a breakup and years apart. But she didn’t dismiss other people’s experiences simply because they weren’t hers. “Where did you stay?”

“In my buddy’s basement. So, I guess you could say I did tell somebody.”

“Why did you leave her?”

“Because I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Couldn’t take what?”

“Her. I know how it sounds, but it’s true. I never knew what was going to get her started. I mean, I really don’t know how to explain it, but here’s an example. One night at dinner, I told her that the chicken fried steak tasted really good. Better than it usually did. I thought that was a compliment, you know, that I was telling her she had gotten better at making it. I even said that. But the next thing I knew, she was ranting and raving about how that meant I had never really liked her chicken fried steak. That I had lied to her all those other times I said I liked it. I tried to tell her that’s not at all what I meant. She got quiet and I thought it was okay, but then she started carrying on about a time two or three years earlier when a waitress had brought me chicken fried chicken instead of chicken fried steak. She said that if it hadn’t been for her, I would have set there and eaten something I hadn’t ordered, something I hadn’t wanted. I couldn’t even remember the time she was talking about, but I knew better than to tell her to let it go, so I sat there until she cooled off.”

“What was the point of her mentioning that?”

“You tell me. That’s how it always was.” Zack picked up the plastic salt and pepper shakers sitting on the table. As he tapped them against each other, he said, “But that’s not why I left. I mean, I didn’t leave because we had a fight or nothing. I didn’t storm out of the house. I just didn’t go home one night. I was on my way home and I dreaded it so much. I had been feeling that way for a while, but on this evening, it was so bad that I could barely move. I spent the night in my truck, thinking that I would feel better the next day. I didn’t. I went home after work the next day and packed some clothes in a duffel bag. I expected her to throw a fit, but she nodded at me and said, ‘Okay.’

“Like I said, I would drive over to get more stuff. I dreaded that, too, but I needed my things and I wanted to check on her. But, gosh, I dreaded those visits. Gypsy ranted and raved about crazy stuff like chicken, but not about important stuff. And, really, I got by easier. Shew. I had seen her yell at her parents – ”

“Even her mom?”

“Yeah. Her mom, her dad, her sister, anybody. If she didn’t get her way, she let you pay for it, so I let her have her way. That’s why, when I went home to get my stuff, I practically tiptoed around her, expecting her to start yelling at me. But she didn’t do that. She did start carrying on about a guy from the diner who was following her around. And then she started carrying on about how somebody had broken into the house.” In almost a whisper, Zack added, “And then she died.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Uh, four or five days before she died. Actually, I was supposed to go over the day she got sick, but then I got the call. After that, there was no way I could tell anybody I had left. I mean, everybody was feeling so bad for me and that made me feel really guilty, but I couldn’t tell them the truth. Especially not her dad. He came over and kinda shook my hand, but it was also like, you know, he was patting me on the arm with his other hand. And he thanked me for taking care of her. He said he had missed her, but he hadn’t worried about her because he knew she was with me. He knew I’d take care of her.”

Maggie had to admit to herself that Zack’s story seemed plausible. After all, if he were going to kill Gypsy, it didn’t make sense to move out first. Still, she had questions. “Zack, I told you that Gypsy’s stalker looked like a goat, so why didn’t you call me the other day when a man who looked like a goat stopped by to help Ginger?”

“That was him? That was the guy who stalked Gypsy?”

“Well, yeah, but as it turns out, she paid him to do that.”

“Really? Why would she do that?”

“I was hoping you could answer that question for me.”

Zack stared at the shakers as if he expected them to provide an answer. “I guess she did that for attention. That’s the only thing I can think of. Or maybe to get me back. I mean, she might have thought I would come back if she was in danger. But about that guy, I didn’t see his face the other day. Just the back of his head. I hopped into the house and went to the bathroom to check on my ankle. I had just twisted it, but it hurt like fire for a little while. I was still in the bathroom when Ginger came to tell me she was leaving. I told her to thank him for me.”

“And you never saw him all those times he visited Rebecca?”

“Nope. I guess he passed by the house dozens of times, but I’m not nosy.”

Too bad about that, Maggie thought. Switching topics, she asked, “Did you and Gypsy have life insurance policies on each other?”

“No, but Culvert had a policy on Gypsy. That’s how I afforded to pay for the funeral.”

“Do you know how much the policy paid out?”

“It was something like fifteen thousand dollars. He called and offered me the difference, you know, between what the funeral costed and what was left. But I ain’t picked it up yet. We weren’t together when she died, so I don’t feel like that should be my money. Besides, Culvert paid on it for all those years. The money is his.”

“So, uh, what about Rebecca?”

“I’ve told you before. There was nothing going on between us.” Leaning over the table and whispering, he said, “And Gypsy didn’t know about the weed.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because, if she had known, I would have never heard the end of it. Never. And Rebecca would be in jail or at least out on bail.”

“But don’t you think that’s a motive for Rebecca? Maybe Gypsy found out –”

Shaking his head, Zack said, “Believe me, she would have said something to me.”

Thinking back to the way Gypsy had handled Charlie’s betrayal, Maggie thought to herself, maybe, maybe not. “So, I know about the alleged stalker, but what about the person who broke into the house. What’s that about?”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“But she told your neighbor.”

“I know. He asked me about it one day when I stopped by the house. But Gypsy knew I always went by his house to talk to him. It’s the same thing with the goat-looking guy. I mean, she probably told him hoping he would tell me about it. She probably thought it would get me to come back.”

Suddenly feeling let down, Maggie closed her notepad. “I guess Gypsy never said anything about Rose Mary’s sons?”

“Are you kidding me? That was one of her favorite topics. She thought there was something suspicious going on there.”

Perking up, Maggie said, “Really? What did she say? Specifically.”

“She didn’t think they existed.”

Falling back into her chair, Maggie said, “Oh.”

“She was wrong, though. The sons exist. Well, at least one does. And they were talking about the other one, so I’d say he exists, too.”

“Wait, wait, wait. When did you see one of Rose Mary’s sons? And who were the ‘they’ who were talking about them?”

“I don’t know exactly when it happened. Maybe a few months or a year after Rose Mary and Culvert got married. Gypsy had quit going around him, but I still stopped by.”

“I remember you mentioning that.”

“One day when I stopped by, there was a strange car in the driveway. I didn’t see Culvert’s truck, but I got out anyway. And when I did, I heard voices coming from behind the house. The man was talking really loud, but I didn’t realize he was yelling til I got closer.”

“Did you hear what he was saying?”

“Yeah. He was saying that he wasn’t gonna be like Ward.”

“Ward?”

“Yeah. Ward. Like the dad from Leave It to Beaver.”

“You watch Leave It to Beaver?”

“I did when I was a kid.” Laughing, Zack said, “That Eddie Haskell. Man, he was hilarious. Anyway, that’s why I remember the name. I’ve never known anybody else named Ward.”

Neither have I, Maggie thought. She also had never heard of anyone named Edward who went by Ward. “Did you hear anything else?”

“Oh, yeah. He said, well, he yelled, that Ward had given up everything, that he couldn’t even see his kid anymore. And for what? A few thousand dollars. And that’s when Rose Mary said it was for more than a few thousand and that it had solved Ward’s problems. So, then this guy said something like, ‘Don’t act so innocent, Mom. You got something out of it, too. And now you want something out of me. That’s why you went to the bank.’ Those might not have been the exact words, but it was close.”

When Zack stopped speaking, Maggie asked, “What else was said?”

“I don’t know. I turned around and hauled it out of there. Things were getting heated and I didn’t want to be in the middle of something.” As Maggie continued to contemplate just what this meant, as well as the nature of Ward’s name, Zack added, “I knew Gypsy would lose her mind – in a good way – when I told her. But on the way home, I realized I could never tell her. She’d want to know why I was there and,” he sighed, “it wasn’t worth the drama.”

Zack paused before adding, “It might sound weird, but that’s one of the things that bothered me most. You know, after she died. God, she would have loved that I got to see Rose Mary’s son.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

When Maggie arrived home, she found Seth sleeping on the couch and Barnaby standing guard – or rather lying guard – in front of the couch. She held one finger to her lips, patted Barnaby on the head, and attempted to snuggle against Seth without waking him. She was in the process of placing both hands on the couch and leaning the top of her body over him when his green eyes snapped open.

“Hey, Maggie,” Seth said. “You wouldn’t happen to be holding a knife, would you? Because it’s not creepy at all to wake up and find you inches from my face, staring at me like you’re a cat and I’m the mouse you just trapped for dinner.”

Maggie abandoned her plan to snuggle and, instead, settled for sitting beside him on the couch. “I was trying to be romantic.”

“We have different opinions on the definition of romance, but they say opposites attract.” He pulled her closer to him. “Where have you been?”

“With Zack Hill.”

“Did he tell you anything helpful?”

Although Maggie had vowed not to keep anything from Seth, she also didn’t consider herself a tattletale and saw no reason to share Zack and Grant’s herb-related activities or Rebecca’s botanical pursuits with him. “I don’t think he poisoned Gypsy. Of course, I’ve been wrong before.” Rubbing the stubble on Seth’s face, she asked, “Did you shave this morning?”

“You sound like the chief. I worked late last night. That’s why I fell asleep on your couch, by the way. And I was running late this morning, so, no, I didn’t shave.”

“I’m sorry you’re tired, but I’m not sorry you didn’t shave.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m not scheduled to work tomorrow, so maybe I’ll forget to shave again.”

“Just don’t let it go too many days. I don’t want you turning into Grizzly Adams.”

“I’m not manly enough to grow a full beard in two days, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Maggie smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Seth asked.

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“Because I know.”

“Zack told me something I don’t understand. And not just that somebody named Edward apparently goes by the name Ward.”

“That is a mystery for the ages. Then again, I’ve never understood why people named Richard are called Dick. Or calling Harold Hal or Margaret Peggy.”

“You’re beginning to sound like me, but it’s more confusing than that.” Maggie mentally went over everything Zack had told her about the conversation he had overheard. She couldn’t make sense of how Rose Mary would have benefited from her son giving up “everything,” including his child. She was so focused that she didn’t notice that Seth’s breathing had slowed and that he had fallen back to sleep. So, he didn’t see the smile that suddenly appeared on her face as she turned to tell him she thought she had her answer. Seeing his sleeping face, she decided to keep her assumption to herself. Instead, she snuggled against him and quickly joined him in slumber.

Chapter Thirty

Maggie lingered at the front of the library, thumbing through a biography of Dolly Parton and keeping an eye on Rose Mary. Seated with her back to Maggie, she was engaged in an animated conversation with a small group of people Maggie assumed comprised her book club. Indeed, Maggie had come to the library after learning from Culvert that Rose Mary was there with the book club. Maggie had been at the library for twelve minutes and although she had learned fascinating facts about Dolly, she wished the group would disperse so she could talk to Rose Mary. She got her wish two minutes later. Closing the biography, she advanced toward the book club, hoping she did so nonchalantly.

“Rose Mary?” she said when she was within arm’s length of her.

Rose Mary quickly turned her head toward Maggie, but it took a couple seconds before she seemed to recognize her. Waving goodbye to her fellow book club members, she said, “Oh, hi, Maggie. What are you reading?”

“A bio about Dolly Parton.” Remembering that Rose Mary hailed from the same part of east Tennessee as Dolly, she said, “Did you know she’s from the Smoky Mountains? Have you ever been there?”

“Yes, I have. It’s a beautiful place.”

When Rose Mary was not more forthcoming, when she didn’t volunteer that she was from that beautiful place, Maggie asked, “Am I keeping you from your friends?”

“No. That was my book club, but we were finished.”

“Oh, a book club. That’s interesting. What book were you discussing?”

Rose Mary answered her question and then launched into a history of her life as an avid reader. “When I was a little girl, we didn’t have a lot of books in the house, but I would read anything I could find – newspapers, magazines, the encyclopedia, the backs of boxes of detergent. You know, I wish people still had encyclopedias. When I was in school, now that was back in the Stone Age, I had to do a report on Belgium. Well, I just pulled the B encyclopedia out and found everything I needed. Nowadays, school children can find everything on the Internet. Of course, I’m one to talk.” Holding up a tablet, she said, “I still have books. Culvert says I have too many books, but I don’t think that’s possible. But I read a lot of books on this thing now. It’s just so convenient. I can carry hundreds of books around on this little thing. When I was a little girl lugging those encyclopedias around, I wouldn’t have believed you if you had tried to tell me something like this would be possible in my lifetime.”

Maggie agreed with her and then asked if she had instilled a love of reading to her sons.

“Yeah, but we don’t have the same tastes. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll read almost anything. Almost. But I don’t like horror or science fiction. Real life is too horrific and out there for me, if you know what I mean. That’s all my oldest son wants to read. My younger one prefers nonfiction, but he’ll read thrillers and he can’t get enough of historical fiction. That gets boring after a while, but at least he reads.”

Noting that she referred to her sons in the present tense, Maggie asked, “And where do they live?”

“My youngest one lives in Arkansas, and the older one lives in Tennessee, not far from where Miss Parton is from.”

Although Maggie didn’t consider Arkansas “out West,” at least it was west of Kentucky. “So, is Edward the youngest or oldest son? Does he live in Arkansas or Tennessee?”

The smile did not leave Rose Mary’s face as she asked, “How do you know my son’s name?”

Maggie dreaded what she planned to say. If she was wrong, she would be casually and insensitively referencing a mother’s deceased child. If she was right, she would be accusing Rose Mary of fraud. “The same way I know that you’d like for some people to think he’s dead.”

Still smiling, Rose Mary said, “I think we should sit down.”

Rose Mary led the way past the bank of computers populated by library patrons engrossed in games, message boards, or social media and to a table in the corner of the room. As they were seated, Rose Mary said, “I don’t know what you think you know.”

“I know Culvert thinks your sons are alive. So, I have to wonder, why are you letting him think that about Edward?” That wasn’t an exaggeration. Maggie couldn’t understand Rose Mary’s motive where that was concerned. “Unless he is still alive.”

“How did you figure this out?”

Bluffing, Maggie said, “It’s what I do.”

“Who else knows?”

“At least two other people always know what I’m working on,” Maggie lied. “So, why don’t you quit worrying about that and tell me why your son faked his death.”

“Oh, when you say it that way, you make it sound like we planned it. We didn’t. But Ward was in dire straits. His ex-wife was bleeding him dry with child support and alimony. She had already taken most everything he had. When she moved out, she took everything with her, including the sheets from the bed and his clothes.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Why would she have claim to his clothes?”

“Well, I just know what he told me,” Rose Mary snapped. “I’m not a lawyer and maybe she just took some of his clothes. Or maybe he was exaggerating. But she didn’t leave him with much. When I went to visit him, there was hardly anything left in that house. He didn’t even have sheets to put on his bed and I know that for myself. And this was before the flood.”

“The flood?”

“While I was there visiting, they had a terrible flood. We weren’t at the house when it happened. When we made it back and he saw the damage, he collapsed to the floor of the kitchen in that muddy, moldy-smelling house. I let him cry for a little while before telling him that there was always a solution. And from the way I saw it, the solution was for me to report him missing. Nobody had seen us since the flood. For all they knew, we were both dead. I had an insurance policy on him. I’d cash that and split the money with him. That way, he could make a clean start. He didn’t have any money in the bank. His ex-wife had seen to that. Since the insurance policy was in my name, she couldn’t come in on that.” Smiling, she added, “I was proud of myself as his mother for coming up with the solution to his problems.”

“But don’t you have to wait so many years before declaring somebody dead?”

“Oh, that’s not always the case if you’re a victim of a natural disaster.”

“But who knows that?”

“I knew it.”

“How?”

“I read it somewhere.”

“I guess reading does make a person smarter,” Maggie said. “And your son went along with this? What about his –? Is it a daughter or a son?”

“A daughter. Don’t worry about her. She’s not hurting for anything. Her mom remarried and, thanks to Ward’s hard work, she draws Social Security benefits for her.”

“But she lost her dad.”

Shrugging, Rose Mary said, “Ward lost his, too, and he turned out just fine.”

“But, she thinks her dad is dead. If she ever learns the truth, that’s going to be a major problem for her to deal with. She’ll have trust issues with men. If losing her dad hasn’t already ruined her life, the truth will.”

Rolling her eyes, Rose Mary said, “You’re blowing this out of proportion. But if you’re so concerned about ruining her life, you’ll have to make sure she never learns the truth.”

“How did this become my responsibility?”

“You’re the one bringing it up.”

Maggie closed her eyes and counted to ten. “How is Ward getting by? The insurance money won’t last forever.”

“He changed his name and got himself a new Social Security number. You know, they’re easier to get and not as expensive as you would imagine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need to get a new identity.” Letting out a deep sigh, Maggie asked, “Was he ‘dead’ when you moved here? Was he ‘dead’ when you met Culvert?”

“Yes and yes.”

“So, why didn’t you tell him your son was dead?”

“Habit, I guess. Most of my family is gone, so I don’t have to pretend around many people. And, to be honest, it’s something I don’t like to think about.”

“I can see why,” Maggie said. “What about Andrew?”

“What about him?”

“Does he know the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Is he the son who lived here?”

“Yes.”

“Why did he move?”

“Oh,” Rose Mary traced her finger over the cover of her tablet, “he left town after our misunderstanding.”

“Did he misunderstand your intention to fake his death? Did he misunderstand your intention to try to close his bank account?”

Rose Mary stopped her imaginary drawing. “You are good.”

“This is just … I don’t even know what to say. Do you ever see your granddaughter?”

“No, but I’m not a fan of children. Culvert’s spoiled little grandsons cause me so much anxiety the doctor had to put me on medication. They run around like feral cats and make a mess of everything. I went with Culvert to Ginger’s once and I told him once was enough for me. Have you seen her house? My goodness. Would it kill her and her husband to pick up after those boys? I never saw Gypsy’s house. As you know, she hated me. But Culvert and Zack said she kept a tidy house. At least I can say that for her.”

“Let’s back up for a minute. If you don’t like kids, why did you have them?”

“Drew wasn’t planned. What can I say? I was young. That was the only child I intended to have. In fact, his dad, my first husband, had a vasectomy to make sure it didn’t happen again. But then he died, and I remarried. My second husband wanted a child and I gave in. That’s how I ended up with Ward.”

“I get the name Drew, but how did you decide to call Edward Ward?”

“My husband’s name was Edward and we didn’t want to call the baby Ed or Eddie. So, we went with the second half of the name. And my husband had always loved that show Leave It to Beaver.”

“So, uh, about all your dead husbands …?”

“What about them?”

“You either have to be the unluckiest bride in the world or a –”

“Murderess? I wasn’t even around when my husbands died. My first husband worked for a landscaper and had climbed a tree to cut the top branches. When he fell, he fell wrong. My second husband was helping out at his dad’s farm. Well, it wasn’t much of a farm. They had a few head of cattle and some horses. One of the horses got spooked and ran right over him. My fourth husband had the bad sense to take a riding lawn mower over a hill one day after he had been drinking. I was at work when that happened. You may think I sound cold, but if I dwelt on all that death and sadness, it would take my mind from me. I won’t let that happen. I’ve worked hard to keep that from happening. I’ve survived all this, and the only thing I’ve ever wanted from life is to spend my days reading, surrounded by my plants. Did you know that when I moved in, the only book in Culvert’s house was the Bible? And there was not one flower or plant inside that house and only a couple dying azalea bushes outside. At least I’ve brought some color and words to his life. You know, I haven’t asked the world for much and I haven’t taken much, either. In fact, I think I’ve given more than I’ve got.”

“But you faked your son’s death.”

“The key word is faked. I did not kill him. I did not kill anybody.”

“You benefited from his death, though.”

“I had paid the premiums on that policy. It was only fair that I get part of the money. Besides, I’m not getting any younger. I needed that money for my nest egg.”

“What you did is illegal. It’s fraud.”

“We didn’t hurt anybody.”

“I think the insurance company might disagree with you.”

Rose Mary’s hands fluttered in front of her and her eyes rolled to the top of her head. “They cheat people every day. It’s about time somebody got one over on them.”

“What about Gypsy?”

“Gypsy? She never met Ward. What does she have to do with this?”

“Nothing, as far as I know, but maybe you did more than fake a death to add to your nest egg.”

“What? That makes no sense. Why would I have hurt her?”

“For the same reason you faked Edward’s death.” Maggie refused to refer to him as Ward. “For insurance.”

“The only person who benefited financially from her death is Culvert. And he and I keep our finances separate. I do know about that insurance check, though. He left it on the table. It was for fifty thousand dollars. And the funeral didn’t even cost ten grand.”

“But didn’t he offer Zack the balance?”

“If you say so.”

“Rose Mary, are you suggesting that Culvert had something to do with Gypsy’s death?”

“No, unlike you, I don’t accuse people of murder. I just know that I overheard him saying something had to give with her around the same time he bought some poison to kill rats. The only thing is, I never saw any rats.” With a small shrug, she said, “And then she died.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Maggie once again cajoled her dad into accompanying her to Culvert’s. But, once again, it came at a price.

“If I can’t eat or drink anything at his house, then you have to stop and get me a cup of coffee,” Robert informed Maggie. When she agreed to his demands, he added to the tab. “And one of them candy bars with carnival, but not the one with nuts.”

Giggling, Maggie said, “A candy bar with caramel but not nuts. Do you want a Twix?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“A 100 Grand?”

“No. It’s like a Snickers, but without the nuts and with more carnival.”

“Oh, you want a Milky Way?”

“That’s it. Get me a cup of coffee and a Milky Way. And you should get something for that Culvert feller, too. I can’t eat in front of him without offering him something.”

As Maggie pulled into the convenience store parking lot, she said, “Okay. I’ll get him a Snickers.”

“You make sure they’re regular size,” Robert called as she exited the car. “I don’t want one of those little ones that only give you one bite.”

Maggie purchased coffee and candy bars for the men, as well as a bottle of water and a 3 Musketeers for her, and she and her dad continued on their way to Culvert’s. They found him sitting on his front porch. “Shew, don’t that man do anything but sit on the porch?” Robert asked.

Maggie had called ahead, so Culvert was expecting them, but he wasn’t expecting the coffee and candy. Maggie felt his expression of gratitude was disproportionate to the gesture, and the resulting guilt caused her to delay their discussion. Finally, after she listened as Robert and Culvert exhausted the subject of candy bars, she said to Culvert, “Did Rose Mary tell you I talked to her at the library?”

“No, but I figured that’s what you were going to do when you called.”

“So, uh, she was telling me about the life insurance policy you had on Gypsy.”

Before Culvert could respond, Robert said, “You had life insurance on your young’un?”

“Me and my wife took small policies on the girls when they were little. We didn’t like to think of anything happening to them, but if it did, we wanted to be able to afford to pay for the funerals. When they got older, our agent at the insurance company told us we could increase our premiums for just a little bit and get more of a payout. We weren’t thinking of ourselves. We thought the girls would have children of their own someday. We were thinking of them. Of course, that didn’t turn out to be the case for Gypsy.”

“Well, I guess that makes some sense,” Robert said.

“Rose Mary said it was for fifty thousand dollars.”

“It was. I offered to share what was left over after the funeral expenses with Zack, but he doesn’t seem to want it.”

“Zack told me it was for fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Fifteen?” Culvert asked in a raised voice. “No, it was for fifty. He must have misunderstood me.” Culvert cocked his head. “Do you think I lied to Zack? Do you think I killed my own daughter for a few thousand dollars?”

Culvert’s mood had quickly descended from grateful to angry. Wanting to calm him down, Maggie said, “Well, that’s why I’m here, to find out the truth. Besides, I have heard that you were fed up with her behavior.”

“I guess you’re not going to let that go, are you?” he asked. “I was tired. I was tired of missing my girl, so I decided to do something about it. But I wouldn’t have hurt her. I couldn’t even bring myself to whip those girls. Not even when they did something wrong. I always stood by them and I always will.”

“So, what were you going to do?”

“I had decided to divorce Ro.”

“Oh,” Maggie said, “why were you so secretive about that?”

“Because it’s ’til death do you part, not ’til you get tired of each other. I wasn’t too pleased when I heard that Ro had divorced one of her husbands, but we was already married by the time she mentioned him. Or maybe she did tell me and I assumed he had died like the rest of them. Anyway, I don’t believe in divorce.”

“Me, either,” Robert agreed. “Young’uns today want to walk away when the going gets tough.”

Maggie wondered if her dad felt Seth had walked away when the going got tough with his ex-wife. “If you were going to leave her, why are you still together?” she asked Culvert.

“Because she’s my wife. And, with Gypsy gone, there’s no reason to leave her now.”

Although Maggie suspected there was no affection between Rose Mary and Culvert, she still felt sorry for her. She would hate to think that a man remained with her just because she was there. “Rose Mary said you bought rat poison for rats she never saw. What was that about?”

Culvert, who had eased back into a calm demeanor, said, “I don’t know anything about that. I’d say Ro is as wrong about that as Zack was about the life insurance.”

Maggie had run out of questions, so the men started talking about basketball. After an adequate amount of time passed, Maggie suggested she and Robert leave. On the ride home, Seth called. With the revelation of Rose Mary faking her son’s death fresh in her mind, she thought to herself, wait until he hears what I’ve got to tell him. But after they said their hellos, he shocked her into silence. “The lab finally sent us the results of the tests of Gypsy’s blood, hair, and tissue,” he said. “It was poison. She was murdered.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Maggie expected Seth to take the lead on the official investigation into Gypsy’s murder. But he surprised her with the news that the Jasper Police Department was handing the investigation over to the state police. As he explained, the chief felt that since they didn’t know if Gypsy was poisoned within Jasper city limits, the state police should investigate her death. What’s more, although the new officers had been hired, they had yet to start working, so the department was still understaffed.

It sounded to Maggie like the chief had manufactured excuses, but she didn’t say so to Seth. When she arrived home, she decided the lab results meant she should take her leave from the case. After all, she had made no headway and felt no closer to the truth than she had been the day Bill had told her Gypsy didn’t die from the flu. Thinking her notes might prove helpful to the state police, she opened her laptop and began transcribing them into a more orderly report. She was reviewing her seventh interview when she stopped and asked herself, “How did I miss that?”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Maggie admitted to herself that she probably wouldn’t have been sitting in Ginger’s cluttered living room if Seth had gotten the case. If he were investigating Gypsy’s murder, she felt she would have shared her suspicions with him and kept her distance from the official investigation.

At least that’s what she told herself. But Edie was right, she didn’t live in a hypothetical world. So she didn’t know for sure what she would have done. As it were, she tried to control her nerves and sound conversational as she quizzed Ginger about an aluminum pie pan.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about those candy dishes,” Maggie said. “What do you call them? Hen on something?”

“Hen on nest.”

“Yeah. I’ve also been thinking about those old pie pans with the fluted sides. My mom has some that belonged to my mommaw. I think I saw one here before. I remember because you don’t see them much anymore.”

Standing, Ginger said, “I’ll be right back.” She returned carrying a stack of the pie pans. “These were my mammaw’s. My oldest son had gotten a hold of one of them the day you were here. He also got a hold of a wooden spoon and had made himself a drum set.”

Maggie looked at the scratched old pans. “Those look like the ones my mom uses to make apple pies.” Looking Ginger directly in the eyes, she asked, “Did you get these when your mom died?”

Ginger tilted her head. “Umm. No. Gypsy got them.”

“Oh, so Zack gave them to you after Gypsy died?”

“Yeah.”

“So, how did it get here before my first visit? Unless you swiped one from Gypsy’s house when you poisoned her tea?”

Ginger’s face didn’t betray her thoughts. She didn’t wince or blink or frown. She simply said, “That’s ridiculous and I’d like for you to leave my house.”

Pulling her phone from her purse, Maggie said, “Okay. I’ll make sure I call my boyfriend the police sergeant and let him know my hunch is right.”

“If you told him you think I poisoned Gypsy, then why isn’t he here?”

She has me there, Maggie thought. “In case you’re thinking about harming me, someone always knows where I am. And my mom is actually sitting in your driveway waiting for me.”

Ginger moved toward the window. “What is she doing?”

“Cutting out quilt pieces.” At first, Lena had refused Maggie’s request to accompany her to Ginger’s, explaining that she had too much work to do. When Maggie characterized the situation as life or death, Lena had suggested she call the police. Maggie had countered that she was operating only on a hunch, adding that her last hunch had left her red-faced and caused her to temporarily avoid fruit. Once Lena had agreed to accompany her, Maggie had warned her to be on her guard because Ginger could be a killer. Lena had told her that in the event Ginger came after her, she would run her over with the car or stab her with her scissors. Maggie had been alarmed by how quickly her mom turned two everyday objects into potential weapons, but she had also felt certain that if need be, Lena would protect her. “Ginger, why don’t you sit down and tell me how the pie pan ended up here.”

As Ginger lowered herself onto the cluttered couch, Maggie said, “I should have known a woman killed her because poisoning is a woman’s crime. Considering how close I am with my brother, I guess I wouldn’t let myself think that a sister would kill her sibling.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“What is it then? I know your dad bought the poison. Did he give it to you? Did he know what you were going to do with it?”

“No, Dad had no idea. Don’t bring him into it. And he bought the poison for me because we had some mice around the house. I stayed onto my husband for weeks, but he wouldn’t do anything about it. I hate depending on Dad for so much, but I can’t have mice around the house, around the kids. Dad came over and set the poison out for me, and left some just in case. I kept it in the trunk of my car.”

“Why did you poison her?”

“It wasn’t planned, okay.” Ginger put her hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. “Gypsy and I were never close. We got along okay, well, we did sometimes. But something would eventually upset her or she wouldn’t get her way and she’d throw a tantrum and quit speaking to me. That’s how she always was. Always. And Mom and Dad tiptoed around her. It’s like they were afraid of her, of her moods. I don’t think I realized how much I resented that until after Mom died.”

Ginger’s hand dropped and she opened her eyes. “What’s so weird is that Gypsy and I grew closer when Mom was sick. But after she died, Gypsy acted like she was the only one suffering. She actually told me once that her grief was worse because she was older and had been with Mom longer. She thought she was the favorite, and maybe she was, but she never let me forget she was special. Do you know the story of her name?”

“Yeah, your dad told me.”

“She would tease me about that. Or taunt me, depending on the way you looked at it. She would tell me that her name was special because she was special to them. And that they could have named me after another song, but they chose Ginger because it started with a G, just like her name. Like I was an afterthought.”

“I’ve met your dad. I didn’t get the impression that he favored one of you over the other.”

“He probably doesn’t. Mom probably didn’t either, but Gypsy got in my head. She was always in my head. It’s like the way she would complain about her weight. She wasn’t skinny, but look at me,” turning both hands in toward her body, Ginger continued, “she would say, ‘If I could only lose eight or nine more pounds, I’d be right where I need to be.’ She’d say things like that to get people to tell her she didn’t need to lose weight and to rub it in that I need to lose a lot more than eight or nine pounds to get where I need to be.”

With Ginger’s face reddening, Maggie said, “Maybe you should take a moment to collect yourself.”

Ginger took several moments as well as a few deep breaths. “Anyway, after Mom died, Dad married Rose Mary. You know about that. Only this time, Gypsy’s tantrums didn’t get her what she wanted. Do you know about the time she smashed all of Mom’s can food?”

“Gypsy did that?”

“Yeah. She said she’d see it all gone before she’d let that woman eat a bite of it. I pointed out the obvious, that she had vandalized Dad’s property and taken food out of his mouth, too, but there was no talking to her. Poor Dad. He didn’t deserve any of this. He’s always been so good to both of us. Even after all she had done to hurt him, she was still in his will.”

“So, that’s why you killed her?”

“No, I told you, I didn’t plan any of it. But that wasn’t fair. She abandoned him. It wasn’t fair that when he eventually dies that she’ll get half of everything. She went through Mom’s stuff, the pie pans and the hens, and took what she wanted. When I found out, Dad told me to let it go. And I did.” By this time, Ginger was crying, “A few months ago I found out she was still in the will and that he was thinking about divorcing Rose Mary.”

“How did you find out?”

“He told me. He was joking one day about not wanting to clean out the house. He said he’d leave the mess for me and Gypsy. ‘Gypsy?’ I said. He said, ‘Yeah, everything goes to the two of you. Did you think I aim to leave anything to Ro?’ Then he added, ‘That’s if we’re still together.’

“It was like a slap to my face. It was like the time when we were still at home and she taped reruns of Saved by the Bell over my soap operas. I hadn’t had a chance to watch them in a few days because I’d been sick and she taped reruns of shows she had seen a gazzlion times. Reruns. And just like always, they told me to let it go. They said she didn’t realize what she was doing. She knew what she was doing, but I let it go. And like always, I was going to let it go that she was still in his will.” Ginger paused. “I was at Gypsy’s house that day because I took her some rhubarb pie I made. She never locked her doors, so I went over there to put it in her fridge. And that’s when I saw that she was using one of those pie pans to hold slices of watermelon. Watermelon. Can you believe that? I yanked it out of the fridge. Gypsy didn’t even make pies. She only wanted them to keep me from having them. I thought of all those times I had let things go and decided I was tired of letting things go. I put the watermelon on a plate and went outside to get the poison.”

“Weren’t you worried about Zack?”

“He wouldn’t drink that tea. He said she made it too sweet.”

“What about how this would affect Zack? And your dad? He brought you the poison.”

“I told you, he didn’t know about any of this.”

“Well, he’s probably figured it out or at least been suspicious. What is this going to do to him?”

Ginger began shaking. Burying her face in her hands, she said in a muffled voice, “I wasn’t thinking about any of that. I was just thinking about all those things I let go and how she always wins. She wasn’t going to win this time.”

“No one wins this way, Ginger. Not Gypsy, not you, not Zack, and especially not your kids.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Maggie thought Seth seemed distracted, but he did show interest when she mentioned her morning exchange with Barbara.

“Barbara acknowledged your existence?” Seth asked.

After Maggie finished off her pork chop, she said, “It’s better than that. She complimented me on solving Gypsy’s murder. Her exact words were, ‘I imagined you’d be too ditzy to solve a crossword puzzle, let alone a murder.’”

Seth laughed so much he became choked on his water. Charlie appeared at his side, however, asking if he needed anything. After he gave her a thumbs up, she said, “You two are so cute,” and walked away.

After Maggie had figured out that Ginger killed Gypsy, she didn’t see the point in questioning Charlie on whether Gypsy had shown her boyfriend videos of her flirting with other men. As far as she knew, Gypsy might not have made good on that threat. And even if she had, Charlie could be ignorant of the fact. Either way, Maggie didn’t think bringing it up at this point would do anybody any good. “Are you okay?” she asked Seth.

“Yeah, I just got choked up.”

“No, I mean, are you okay in general. You seem a little off.”

Grinning, Seth said, “I’ll do my best to get back on.”

“Well, Barbara also told us that the prosecutors are charging Ginger with first-degree murder. I’ve been thinking about that. She poisoned the tea in the heat of passion, so that wouldn’t be premeditated murder. It would be more like second-degree murder or manslaughter. Right?”

“That’s what a good defense attorney could argue, but the prosecutors could rightly counter that she had plenty of time to cool down from that heat of passion and alert her sister that her tea was poisoned.”

“I know, but what about Culvert? This means he’ll lose both daughters. And those boys have lost their mom. It’s a tragedy.”

“You’re a good person, Maggie Morgan.” Seth stood up, leaned over the table, and kissed her on the head. “Be right back.”

Maggie felt terrible for Culvert and Ginger’s sons, but she couldn’t help but feel happy for herself on this sunny, early autumn day. If nothing else, this investigation had introduced her to Rose Mary, a mother of two who Maggie felt should had never had children. While she didn’t want to compare herself to a woman who had faked one son’s death and schemed to fake the other son’s death, it had made her understand once and for all that, in spite of what so many people believed, procreating wasn’t for everyone.

Bill wandered over to the table and interrupted her thoughts. “You did it again. You know, I’m glad we found out what happened to Gypsy, but I’m not happy at all about the way things turned out. I wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that her sister would have done that to her. Poor Culvert. His heartaches keep on coming.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Me and Ann went over there last night. That sorry son-in-law of his has already dropped those boys on him. Not that Culvert minds. Taking care of them will give him something to do.”

“I’m sure Rose Mary loves that.”

A strange expression crossed Bill’s face. “She has troubles of her own. You should know about that.” When Maggie responded by shaking her head, he said, “As old as I am, you’d think I’d learn when to shut my mouth.”

“Don’t shut it now. What did you mean?”

“When the state troopers showed up to talk to Culvert, you know, to tell him they knew who killed Gypsy, his wife thought they were there for her. She started telling them all sorts of things about how she and her son had faked his death. She said she told you all about it.”

Oh, no, Maggie thought to herself. She had finally remembered to tell Seth about that, but only after Gypsy’s murderer had been identified.

“Well, the troopers told the chief and he blamed Seth.”

“Blamed him for what? He didn’t fake Edward’s death.”

“No, but he blamed him for you knowing and keeping quiet about it. And that’s why he passed Seth over for the promotion. But I’m glad to see it didn’t cause any bad feelings between you and Seth.”