HELEN PLUCKED OFF her bifocals and put aside the crossword from that morning’s paper.
She couldn’t seem to concentrate on the puzzle, no matter how hard she tried. Her mind kept going back to what had happened to Zelma Burdine.
Sighing deeply, she stared out through the porch screens. Though she gazed upon trees and bluffs, on the bridge that spanned the nearby creek, Helen didn’t see the beauty in her surroundings. She could only think of one thing: Zelma had poisoned Eleanora.
Helen couldn’t help feeling sorry for Zelma despite everything. How it must have hurt to realize she was prized far less than a four-legged pet.
“Helen?”
She glanced at the door to see a woman standing beyond the mesh. She squinted and quickly realized who it was. “Come on in, Jean,” she said, forcing a smile and waving a hand. “The door’s open.”
Jean Duncan stepped inside, dropping the door closed with a clatter.
Her silver hair was tied back in a brilliant red scarf, and she looked peaceful in a way Helen hadn’t seen since before Eleanora’s murder. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Nonsense.” Helen cleared away a half-read book and the newspaper so she could make room for Jean on the wicker sofa.
Her friend sat down beside her.
“It’s good to see you,” Helen said and reached over to give Jean’s hand a squeeze.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Jean told her, and she suddenly looked anything but serene. Her hazel eyes seemed on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you this past week. If it hadn’t been for you, Biddle would’ve had me locked up in the Jersey County jail.”
Helen felt her skin warm. She squirmed and picked some of Amber’s pale fur off her sweatpants. “I knew you were innocent,” she said, “and the sheriff surely would have figured it out before long, even if I hadn’t poked my nose where it didn’t belong.”
Jean fiddled with the gold chains at her throat. “Well, just the same, I’m glad I had you on my side. If I’d depended on Sheriff Biddle to get to the truth, it might’ve been a long wait.”
“Now, Jean, he was just doing his job,” Helen said, repeating words told to her not so long ago, in fact. And she hadn’t liked them then any more than Jean appeared to now.
Her friend let out a slow breath. “I’m awfully happy to be off the hook, but it’s terrible the way it all turned out, isn’t it? Poor Zelma,” Jean added in a whisper, and her eyes filled with tears. “It might be a good thing that she didn’t have to live with the guilt of accidentally killing someone she loved. It’s heart-breaking.”
“Oh, Jean, what happened with Jim was an accident,” Helen said and took her friend’s hand. “If only Eleanora had been kinder to you and Zelma both. Sometimes grief just gets the best of us.”
Jean shook her head. “I just wish it had all turned out differently.”
“Well, what’s done is done.” Helen tried to cheer her friend up. “You need to look ahead now and put the past behind you.”
Jean glanced down at her lap. “If only I could,” she said. “But I have a feeling my catering business is over before it’s begun.”
Helen smiled. “I talked to Verna Mabry myself, and she’s willing to hire you to cater the annual luncheon. So I’d imagine you’ll need to get started on the menu. You do know how picky the LCIL ladies are.”
Jean looked up, and this time the tears in her eyes were anything but sad. “Yes,” she said, “I guess I do.”
“Just stay away from goose liver pâté, all right?”
“Oh, I will,” Jean laughed. “I definitely will.”
AT NOONTIME, HELEN headed for the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. She nearly tripped over Amber en route.
He flew ahead as if determined to beat her in a foot race. Then he promptly sat down at his empty saucer. While Helen opened up a fresh can of cat food, she eyed the floor around her hungry feline, noting that all the ants had completely disappeared.
She found herself thinking that Splat really did the job—maybe too well in some cases.
Leaving Amber in the kitchen devouring Ocean Whitefish ‘n’ Shrimp, Helen took her sandwich to the porch. She heard the crunch of tires on gravel and looked up to see Frank Biddle’s black-and-white pulling up just before she could take a bite of grilled cheese.
He slammed the car door and hiked up his trousers as he walked up her stone path. The porch steps creaked when he climbed them. He doffed his hat, smoothing his palm over his head before he raised a fist to knock.
“Mrs. Evans? Is that you?”
“If it’s not,” she said, “will you go away?”
He grunted and opened the door despite the lack of invitation.
“Ma’am,” he murmured and took a seat opposite her at the table, the wicker crackling as he settled in and plunked down his hat. His eyes seemed to jump from one end of the porch to the other, touching upon everything but her.
“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked him.
“Well, Mrs. Evans, it’s like this,” he started, though she had a feeling she was going to have to drag whatever it was out of him. “I have a couple things I need to tell you.”
She settled back in her chair and waited.
He shifted in his seat. “First off, Jemima Winthrop took in old Mrs. Duncan’s cat. Though I guess she’s a Duncan now, too, isn’t she?”
Helen stared at him. “Jemima has Lady Godiva? How does that affect the will?”
“I don’t know exactly,” he told her and openly eyed the gooey sandwich on her plate. “My guess is they’ll try to get something out of caring for the critter.”
Helen sniffed. “Well, if they don’t come out of this a few dollars richer, it won’t be for lack of trying.”
“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see where the dust settles, won’t we? That is, once the estate goes through probate.”
Helen picked up half of the grilled cheese, only to put it back down. She pushed the plate away, not having much of an appetite.
“You gonna eat that?” Biddle asked.
Helen smiled. “Are you hungry, Sheriff?”
“A little,” he said and reached across the table. He picked up half the sandwich and took a big bite, muttering with his mouth full, “They’re settling down here, by the way.”
Helen blinked. “Jemima and Stanley?”
“Yep,” he got out as he swallowed. “She said they’ll live in the old Winthrop place. Stanley claims he’s gonna fix her up.”
“It could surely use some fixing.”
Biddle took another bite, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded. “Oh, and you were right about something else.”
Helen’s ears pricked up at that, and she noticed the sheriff’s ears turn red as did his cheeks.
“It appears Miss Burdine was planning on running away. The garage wasn’t too badly damaged, and we recovered her bags from the Ford. She took a few things that weren’t hers though.” He licked grease from his fingers before ticking off on them, “A sapphire necklace, a pair of diamond earrings, an ivory brooch, and a couple of platinum rings.”
“Oh, dear,” Helen said and thought again how much she hated unhappy endings.
She heard the pitter-patter of paws on linoleum and glanced over as Amber made his grand entrance. His yellow eyes first fixed on her and then on Sheriff Biddle. Not at all impressed by the company, he turned his tail and sashayed over to a sunny spot at the opposite end of the porch.
“It’s sad,” she remarked, “how blind we are sometimes to what’s right in front of us.” As Eleanora had overlooked Zelma, she was thinking, but Biddle obviously took her words to mean something else.
He wiped his hands on his pants and got to his feet, hooking his thumbs in his gun belt. “Uh, ma’am, I wanted to . . . well, I figured that maybe I owed you . . . “ His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat.
Helen looked up at him, waiting.
“I realize I gave you a hard time about interfering in the investigation,” he said and shifted on his feet. His face flushed upward from his collar. “But I really, um, figure I should offer you—“
“My grilled cheese,” she cut him off with a smile, holding out her plate. “If you want the rest, it’s yours.”