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THEY GOT INTO THE CAR and drove to June Bug’s for the bread. A few minutes later, they were in front of Mae’s house, the setting sun casting a pinkish hue on the yard. But they weren’t the only ones. Ramsay’s police cruiser was in the driveway and he was getting out of the car.
Ramsay raised his eyebrows as they walked up. “Evening, folks. Everything okay?”
Wyatt said quietly, “That’s what we’re here to find out. Beatrice was a little worried about Mae after something that Barton had said.”
Beatrice asked, “Why are you here, Ramsay?”
“I’d imagine because I’ve heard the same rumors that you have,” said Ramsay with a small smile. “That’s what small towns are all about. This was the first chance I’ve had to talk with Mae.”
Wyatt turned to Beatrice, “Should we just let Ramsay check on her? We could bring Mae the banana bread another time ... or eat it ourselves.”
Before Beatrice could answer, Ramsay was already heading up to the front door and ringing the bell. They could hear her little dog, Bizzy, explode into barking. A minute later, they could see Mae peering out the window next to her door. Her face was grim as she spotted Ramsay.
Mae held up her finger and said, “Just a moment. I’ll put Bizzy up first. She gets too excited when I have company.” She left the window.
Ramsay grunted. “I can’t for the life of me imagine what kind of trouble an excited Bizzy could cause. That’s a tiny little dog.”
“Well, I guess she’d be loud, anyway,” said Beatrice.
She and Wyatt turned to leave and Ramsay said with a shrug, “You might as well just stay. You’ve got the bread and everything. Mae would tell you if she didn’t want you here.”
Wyatt looked uneasily at Beatrice but at that moment the door opened and Mae woodenly motioned them in.
They walked into her living room and hesitantly took seats, since Mae didn’t invite them to sit down. Mae sank down into an armchair and propped her head on her hand.
Ramsay opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again as if not entirely sure what direction to go in.
Beatrice said in an apologetic tone, “Wyatt and I wanted to check on you, Mae. We happened to run into Ramsay in your driveway. I spoke with Barton this evening at the church.”
“Of course you did,” said Mae in a rather bitter voice.
Beatrice continued, “He told me that he was worried about you. He wondered if someone should stop by and check on you.”
Mae snorted. “That’s rich. That must be the first time he’s ever worried about me. I decided that he really didn’t care for anybody but himself.”
“He did sound concerned,” said Beatrice. “And honestly, after speaking with him, I became concerned. I talked Wyatt into coming by here to make sure that you were all right. I understand that your relationship didn’t go exactly the way that you thought it would.”
Mae shook her head, giving a short laugh. “My relationship? No, it didn’t. Actually, according to Barton, we didn’t even have a relationship. It was all in my head, apparently. I was the one who thought that we had a future together. I believe that he was going to leave his wife and marry me. Isn’t that funny? Now that I think about it, I really do want to laugh. Me as a political wife!”
Her words slurred just the faintest bit and Beatrice wondered if maybe she had been drinking.
Mae turned to look at Ramsay. “I know why you’re here. You’re here because of Pearl.”
Ramsay’s eyebrows drew down in a thicket over his eyes. “Well, naturally. I’m trying to figure out what happened to her and who’s responsible. Not just for Pearl, but for your aunt, too. It’s my job.”
But Beatrice was studying Mae more closely. “You think Ramsay is here to arrest you, don’t you? For Pearl’s death.”
Ramsay and Wyatt stared at Beatrice with wide eyes. But Mae just looked levelly back at her.
“That’s because you’re responsible for Pearl’s death,” said Beatrice, drawing a deep breath. “You wanted to build a future with Barton, but Pearl stood in the way of that. At first, you thought that Barton was going to leave her. Maybe he even hinted that he was planning to, just to ease your mind about the affair.”
“Naturally he did,” agreed Mae, nodding in that somewhat intoxicated way. She slumped farther into the padded depths of the soft armchair. “He said that they were good partners in a business sense, but that they’d stopped feeling love in a romantic sense for a long time. He made it sound as though he wouldn’t hurt Pearl in any way by having an affair.”
“But then you started pressing him, didn’t you?” asked Beatrice. “You weren’t content to leave things the way they were. Although Barton may have been content to leave them that way. It worked out well for him because he never planned on leaving Pearl. So you felt as if you had to do something. If you got Pearl out of the way, then Barton would marry you.”
Mae now was listening to Beatrice avidly, nodding along as she spoke.
Beatrice continued, “You were out the morning of the murders. Maybe when you were out running your errand you even heard about the spat that Pearl and your Aunt Ophelia had at the wedding. It’s a small town and news travels fast. You never cared for Ophelia—in fact, she drove you crazy by popping by your house for unwanted visits and giving unsolicited advice. You decided that that morning would be the perfect time to get Pearl out of the way once and for all. Maybe Ophelia would be blamed since half the town had seen them argue.”
Mae tilted her head to one side as if listening to a story. “Go on.”
Beatrice said, “And maybe your intention at first was never to harm Pearl, at least not physically. Maybe your intention was simply to fill her in on the fact that her husband was having an affair with you. You thought that Pearl’s pride wouldn’t allow her to remain married to a man who was cheating on her. If you told her about your affair with Barton, maybe she’d solve your problem for you and divorce him, leaving Barton free to marry you.”
“Sounds rational enough,” drawled Mae.
“You drove to Pearl’s house, parking the car next door at the park. You were well-familiar with the area, since you were there every afternoon to take Bizzy for a walk. No one would pay any attention to your car with all the others and it was a nice day—it was fairly busy there on a pretty Sunday morning. You walked over to Pearl’s house and started talking to her,” said Beatrice. “I’m thinking she was aware of Barton’s affair because she stayed seated, didn’t she?”
Mae languidly nodded. “She was tending to her flowerbed.”
“You thought she didn’t know about you and Barton and that your announcement that the two of you were in love would shock her. But it wasn’t like that, was it?”
“Pearl knew about us. Apparently, Barton had strayed before,” said Mae, a hard edge to her voice. “She sounded almost smug when she said that our relationship was merely another affair to Barton and that he always returned to her. That he needed her and that she was essential in his life. That they were a successful partnership and he relied on her.”
Beatrice said, “So it was actually you who was shocked. You were stunned that Pearl already knew about the affair. You were shocked that Barton had embarked on other affairs because you thought what the two of you shared was special. And you were still reeling from the fact that Barton had ended the relationship. I’m guessing that, on the back end of this surprise, was a lot of fury. You’d been wronged. And it was all because Barton cared for Pearl. He cheated on Pearl, yes. But ultimately, he always returned to her because he loved her.”
Wyatt had been staring at the two women. He said slowly, “Mae, it sounds as though you never planned on harming Pearl. Was it something completely spontaneous?”
Mae turned her cold eyes on him. “No, it wasn’t spontaneous. I’d planned on talking to Pearl ... at first.” Her words slurred again and she started speaking again, appearing to make a conscious effort to focus on her speech. “The plan was that I’d reveal that Barton and I were having an affair and also were very much in love.” There was scorn in her tone that seemed to be directed at herself. “Wasn’t that a brilliant plan? As Beatrice said, I felt that Pearl would be shocked and hurt, perhaps humiliated, and would seek a divorce. Barton would come running back to my arms and we’d live happily ever after.” She snorted.
Beatrice said, “But when Plan A didn’t work, you moved to Plan B.”
“Not exactly. Plan B, technically, was to shoot Pearl. I carried a small handgun in my purse. But I realized that the report from the gun would be loud and that we were very close to the park on a busy morning. On the other hand, there was this lovely, large flowerpot nearby. It wouldn’t make a sound at all. And, considering the fact that Pearl didn’t even think my presence important enough to turn around for, she’d never know what hit her,” said Mae.
Ramsay said, “That was a risky approach. You couldn’t have been sure that the pot would kill her. And then she’d have told the police about your visit.”
Mae raised her eyebrows, eyes droopy. “Oh, I was sure the pot would kill her. I hit her very hard with it because I was very angry. And it was a very large and heavy pot.” She settled herself more deeply into her armchair and curled her legs under as if preparing to take a little nap.
Beatrice glanced around the room, taking in the furniture and everything on the tables. She said suddenly, “I’m going to get a glass of water. Is that all right, Mae?”
Mae smiled acidly at her. “Oh please, help yourself. Do make yourself at home.”
Bizzy was still barking frantically from the back of the house as if determined to make her presence known and whatever message she was trying desperately to impart.
Beatrice strode into the kitchen and swiftly looked around. She heard Ramsay talking to Mae.
“What happened then?” asked Ramsay. “Did Ophelia come over? I bet she came to apologize, didn’t she? Because she had made a scene with Pearl over at my son’s wedding. Maybe Ophelia rang the front bell and then walked around the house to the backyard when she heard voices talking. She’d have seen you kill Pearl which would have sealed her own fate.”
“I had nothing to do with my Aunt Ophelia’s death,” said Mae firmly, but still in that oddly slurring voice. “I may not have liked her much, but I didn’t kill her.”
Beatrice’s gaze moved from the kitchen counters to the sink. She opened up the fridge and the pantry. Then she walked out of the kitchen and down a short hall to the bathroom.
Beatrice pushed open the door to the bathroom and turned on the light. There she saw what she was fearfully looking for: four empty bottles of sleeping pills.
Beatrice jogged back to the living room and frantically interrupted Ramsay. “Call 911. Mae has taken a ton of sleeping pills.”