Chapter Six

 

The next morning, James was finishing up the hold and transfer requests when he had a powerful craving for Dolly’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes. He reminded himself of how he’d already blown his diet the day before. Maybe one of Dolly’s Western omelets with tomatoes, onions, and diced ham might come closer to what he was supposed to be eating on the Mediterranean diet. That is, if he could get past the crowds and into the diner.

He looked at his watch: 11:10. If he left the library now, maybe he could beat the line. Saying a hurried goodbye to Francis and Scott, James got in the Bronco and drove the short distance to Dolly’s. He groaned when he saw a half dozen people standing outside the door.

Figuring he’d put his name down on the wait list, James hurried through the freezing cold, opened the door to the diner, and immediately felt the warmth envelope him. The midday sun glinted off the exotic souvenirs Dolly and Clint had brought home from their travels around the world and decorated their diner with.

Then he realized that the diner seemed louder than usual. People were talking and gesturing animatedly. Dolly saw him and came out from behind the long counter, tucking stray strands of her white hair back into her bun.

“Sakes alive, James, can you believe it?”

“Believe what?” James asked.

“I know she’s not very well liked, but this! Oh, I suppose you’re here for lunch. Well, you can see there’s not a single space available. Lucy called, though, and asked me to hold a booth for her. After all she’s been through this morning, I thought I’d better.”

“Is Lucy okay?” James asked, alarmed. “What’s happened?”

“I know,” Dolly said, surveying her domain. “You can sit at Lucy’s booth. You’ll want to hear all about the murder. It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

Dolly moved forward, but James stood rooted to the spot. “Murder!” he exclaimed, drawing the interested glances of several patrons.

James hurried after Dolly.

“Here you are,” she said, giving the already clean table a quick swipe with a cloth. “I must have subconsciously known you were coming. It’s your favorite booth. Sit down and tell me what you want to eat.”

James sat, barely glancing at the colorful leis, small Tiki torches, and the poster of a cobalt sea bordering a strip of gleaming sand in the travel-themed booth before holding Dolly’s gaze. “What murder are you talking about? And who is not very well liked?”

“Murphy, hon, who else?”

“Murphy’s dead?” James gasped.

The bell over the diner door chimed. Dolly looked up. “Here comes Lucy now. She’ll tell you all about it. What do you want for lunch?”

“I think I’d better have a minute,” James said faintly. At the moment, he felt as if his heart had sunk into his stomach. Murphy had done some offensive things, but he certainly didn’t wish her dead!

Dressed in her sheriff’s deputy uniform, Lucy slid into the booth across from him. “James.”

James grabbed her hand. “How did Murphy die?”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “What on earth are you talking about, James? Murphy’s not dead. When I left her, she was safely behind bars in jail.”

James felt a flood of relief. He let go of Lucy’s hand. “I thought . . . I mean, from what Dolly said . . . never mind. Why is Murphy in jail? Was there a murder? Dolly said there was.”

“Come on, James. This is me. I know you. When I walked through the door and saw you sitting here, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I figured you wouldn’t be able to resist hearing all the details.”

“Lucy, I came here for something to eat! I don’t know what’s going on! Please tell me!”

Lucy cocked her head, then seemed to come to a decision. “Ray Edwards was bludgeoned to death. Murphy says she found his body when she woke up this morning. We’re holding her on suspicion of murder.”

James’s head felt like it was spinning. Murphy was alive, thank goodness. But Ray Edwards wasn’t. James remembered the argument he’d witnessed—that everyone had witnessed—between the two the night before at the Red Bird B&B.

Dolly appeared at the booth, catching Lucy’s words. “Holding Murphy at the jail, Lucy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy said in her guarded, sheriff’s deputy voice. Everyone knew Dolly was the biggest gossip in town.

“Think she killed that fella who was going to ruin our town, huh?”

“Murphy found Mr. Edwards’s body this morning. We’re questioning her,” Lucy replied. “May I have a cheeseburger and fries, Dolly? I haven’t eaten all day. And coffee, please.”

“Sure, hon. What about you, James?” Dolly asked. Although she carried a pencil and pad, Dolly never wrote down orders. She simply remembered them.

“Um, a Western omelet with tomatoes, no green peppers, and some coffee for me too, Dolly.”

When she’d gone, James leaned forward. “Lucy, Edwards and Murphy went upstairs together last night. You saw.”

“Yes, I sure did.”

“They were sleeping together.”

“That’s right.”

“You said that Murphy found Edwards’s body this morning. Do you mean in their room?”

Lucy pursed her lips. “I shouldn’t be giving details of an ongoing investigation. Even if it does appear to be an open-and-shut case.”

James felt a moment’s annoyance. “Surely you can at least fill me in on what everyone else here seems to know,” he said, gesturing at the other diners.

Lucy sat stubbornly silent.

Dolly returned with two thick white coffee mugs and a pot of steaming hot coffee. She placed a cup in front of each of them, poured and said, “Sullie came by about half an hour ago for coffee and a couple of sausage biscuits to go. Said he was on his way over to Charlottesville.”

“Sheriff’s business, Dolly,” Lucy said, adding sugar and cream to her coffee.

Dolly put a hand on her hip. “Y’all usually get your forensic work done over there, right?”

“Yes, we don’t have the resources here. I think Sheriff Huckabee will be making an official statement later today. Should be the top story on the five o’clock news.” Having dropped that tidbit, Lucy took a sip of the hot liquid.

“I’ll be back with your orders shortly.” Dolly rushed away, no doubt to pass along this latest piece of news.

James drank some coffee, then said, “Sullie taking the murder weapon over to Charlottesville?”

“Good guess.”

“Fingerprints?”

Lucy nodded. “A rush job.”

“What was the murder weapon?”

Lucy sighed and pushed her coffee cup to one side. She folded her arms across her chest, then said, “You’ll keep this between us, at least until Sheriff Huckabee makes his statement?”

“Cross my heart.”

Lucy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Edwards was killed by a hard, sharp blow to his head. The murder weapon was one of those heavy glass cardinals that were on all the mantelpieces at the Red Bird B and B, where he and Murphy, along with the cast members of Hearth and Home, are staying.”

“Male or female cardinal?”

“What difference—okay, it was the male bird, the red one.”

“Where did Murphy find the body?”

Lucy looked away for a moment, then met his gaze. “In the king-sized bed they were sleeping in.”

“Oh, no!” James exclaimed.

Lucy looked around. “Sshh. It was a mess.”

James held up a hand. “Okay. I get the picture.”

“So you see how there’s no possibility that anyone other than Murphy could have killed him. No one else was in the room with them, James.”

James huffed out a breath.

Dolly returned with their orders. Lucy tucked into her cheeseburger. James put the image of the crime out of his head and focused on Murphy’s condition before she went upstairs with Edwards.

“Murphy and Edwards had been drinking heavily. You were there, Lucy.” He took a big bite of his omelet and let the melted cheese linger on his tongue before swallowing.

“Yeah, I saw them argue, too, and that strengthens the case against Murphy.”

“But they were so drunk. They’d been through two bottles of champagne. I can’t imagine Murphy doing anything other than passing out the minute she got in bed.”

“That’s what she says happened. Doc put the time of death between midnight and two in the morning. Murphy and Edwards could have gone to bed and fallen into a deep sleep, but in certain amounts alcohol is a stimulant. It disrupts sleep patterns. Murphy likely woke up half sober, picked the cardinal off the mantel, hit Edwards with it—”

“And gotten back in bed with the corpse?”

“Don’t be morbid. They had the largest room at the inn with an office attached. She could have done some work, or fallen asleep in a chair, anything. Then, a little after seven, she screams the house down and pretends she has no idea what happened to Edwards.”

“But why? What did Murphy say when you questioned her about the argument she had with Edwards last night?”

Lucy popped a French fry in her mouth. “She didn’t. The minute she realized we thought she’d murdered Edwards, she clammed up. The only person she’s talked to since we took her into custody is her lawyer.”

James shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. You heard their plans the other night when we were all at Mamma Mia’s. Edwards and Murphy stood to make a fortune with their development corporation. Why would she kill the golden goose?”

Lucy shrugged. “Lovers’ quarrel, probably. The reason will come out. Once they get the fingerprints off the bird, we’ll be able to formally charge Murphy with murder.”

“Surely those cardinals had been handled by many people, guests at the inn. Can forensics even get a clear print?”

“Mrs. Anderson, the innkeeper, said that she spent the last few days cleaning ahead of the Hearth and Home reunion. She dusted and polished everything, including the cardinals. Sheriff Huckabee thinks we’ll get the killer’s fingerprints.”

“I can’t picture Murphy as a murderer. Someone else must have gotten into that room.”

“They were on the third floor. No one could have come in through the window without a very tall ladder. Someone would have heard or noticed that.”

“What about the bedroom door?”

Lucy shook her head. “Murphy admitted she locked the door before getting in bed for the night after Edwards came up to the room. James, why are you defending Murphy? She’s not a nice person. Look at what she had planned for Quincy’s Gap. Look at how badly she’s treated the supper club members in her books. Murphy lets nothing stand in the way of what she wants. She’s ruthless.”

“What about Buford Lydell? You heard him threaten Edwards. Not that I want to think the farmer capable of carrying out his threats.”

Lucy wiped her hands on her napkin and dropped it on her empty plate. “Buford Lydell wasn’t in a locked bedroom with Edwards. No, James, this was a crime of passion. Whether Murphy killed Edwards over another woman, something about their business together, or the way he parted his hair. She’s the only one who could have murdered him.”

After Lucy left, James finished his cold omelet. He then ordered and absentmindedly ate a huge piece of Dolly’s special buttermilk pie. He decided he’d like to see the crime scene, talk to some of the other guests, those TV actors. Sheriff Huckabee probably had a deputy on guard, maybe even the nasty Keith Donovan. He’d have to wait.

Pulling his wallet out, James thought he’d like nothing more than to call a meeting of the supper club members. He couldn’t, though, before Sheriff Huckabee’s statement or Lucy would find out right away. She’d consider it a betrayal. But maybe they could gather and watch the five o’clock news together in the library break room. Lucy couldn’t object to that.

He dropped bills on the table and headed back out into the cold. The Bronco started up with minimal encouragement. James pointed it in the direction of Buford Lydell’s peach farm.