The front door was unlocked, just as Etta had mentioned. Lacey and I walked through the magnificent entry toward the first hall on the right. Lacey stopped just a few steps after we turned down the hallway.
Her nose twitched side to side. "Patchouli incense. It's faint but I can smell it." We continued on toward the smell of laundry soap. Etta's laundry room was bigger than most people's kitchens. Two somewhat old fashioned looking machines, a washer and dryer, sat against one wall. The opposite side held wire racks for air drying and a set of shelves that contained all the products one might need in a laundry room. A basket of still to be laundered clothes sat on a table at the entrance. It seemed to contain mostly blouses and sweaters. At the flea market, Etta was dressed in outdated ladies' wear, a skirt and blouse, the clothes women in the fifties wore every day, even during chores.
Grace hadn't heard our footsteps. She was pouring a scoop of detergent into the washer.
I cleared my throat and knocked lightly on the doorway. Grace spun around, sending a few flakes of soap onto the laundry room floor. "You startled me. What are you doing here?"
"So sorry. We didn't mean to sneak up on you." I stepped into the room. Lacey followed behind but she stopped near the basket of laundry.
"Does Mrs. Derricot know you are in the house?" She pulled the metal washer door down with a clang.
"Yes, we saw her out front," I said. "She's planting pansies. I guess she's feeling better."
Grace put the box of soap on the shelf above the washer. "I don't know what you're talking about. She hasn't been sick."
"I just meant, you know, the arthritis."
Grace's face snapped toward me with an aggravated scowl. "As you can see, I'm quite busy. What is it that you need from me?"
I pulled out my notebook to back up my story. "We are just looking for a few more comments from people who knew Minnie Smithers so we can put the finishing touches on our story. After we left you at the flea market, we realized we missed an opportunity to get some fun comments about Minnie."
She made a dismissive sound with her mouth. "I hardly knew Etta's sister. They were still talking when I started working for Mrs. Derricot and she came to visit occasionally. But we barely spoke. She was a pleasant enough woman with a good sense of humor."
I wrote her comment down. "But what about when you visited her at the magic shop?"
My question could have come with a giant explosion considering her reaction. She braced a hand on the washer as if she'd been knocked temporarily off balance. Her nostrils widened and she took a deep breath, then seemed to gain her composure. "What on earth would I be doing in a Wiccan shop? I assure you, I've never visited Minnie's shop."
I nodded. "My mistake. We thought we smelled some incense in the hallway and figured it came from her shop."
This comment rattled her but not nearly as badly as my question. She recovered much faster. "Mrs. Derricot likes to burn incense. Not for any magic purposes or any of that mumbo jumbo, but this big old house can smell like mildew from time to time."
"Yes, I can see that." I flicked my gaze back toward Lacey. She was leaning close to the basket of laundry.
"What's this interesting smell?" Lacey straightened. "Reminds of me of moth balls or camphor."
This time I was the one to react as if someone had just lobbed a lit stick of dynamite my way.
"Oh, that." Grace took a second to scrutinize Lacey from head to toe as if she had just noticed her standing there. "You have quite the sense of smell. That is camphor. As you apparently already know," she said with a huff, "Mrs. Derricot suffers from arthritis. I formulated a salve with camphor and lavender. It doesn't take away the pain completely but it helps. Unfortunately, as you pointed out, camphor has an intrusive odor. I usually wash everything twice to get rid of the scent."
Lacey nodded. "That's great you've managed to come up with something that eases her pain. I suppose she was feeling extra well today since I didn't smell any of the salve when we spoke to Mrs. Derricot just now." She tapped her nose. "As you pointed out, I have quite the sense of smell."
I had a new idol in the world and her name was Lacey Pinkerton. She once again threw Grace off balance with her comment. I marveled at how she did it with such sneaky ease.
Grace walked swiftly to the table and took hold of the basket of clothes. A sparkle on her wrist caught my attention. It was a glittering diamond tennis bracelet. I was no jewelry expert but it didn't look cheap or like quartz crystals. Lacey noticed it too. It was hard not to since it wasn't the kind of bauble one normally wore to do laundry.
"I need to get to work. As I said, I hardly knew Minnie Smithers, so I don't have anything to add to your story."
"Of course, we'll let you get back to your laundry. Beautiful tennis bracelet, by the way," I added.
She didn't respond to the compliment.
"We'll see ourselves out," I said. "Thank you."
Etta had moved to the other side of the porch steps with her flats of pansies. She moved with all the alacrity of a strong, young woman not like an older woman plagued by arthritis.
She sat back on her knees. Her hat brim lifted at the sound of our footsteps. "That was fast. I told you Grace wouldn't have much to add."
"Yes, sorry to have bothered you with it," I said.
"When can we expect the article?" she asked. "I'm looking forward to reading the nice tribute to my sister."
"It should be in next Monday's edition." Naturally, the story would focus mostly on the murder of Minnie Smithers with a few nuggets about her contribution to the community thrown in. "Speaking of tribute," I said, "I know you mentioned cremation but will there be a memorial? I could put an announcement in the paper."
Etta pushed her trowel into the soft dirt and continued working as she spoke. "Minnie did not go for all that traditional stuff. No memorial. The funeral home is picking up her body today for cremation."
"I see. So no memorial or gathering." I put away my notebook. It seemed Etta wanted this whole thing behind her as quickly as possible.
"Was there a reason you avoided yellow roses?" Lacey asked.
Etta's head popped up from her task. "Yellow?"
Lacey waved her arm along the border of red and pink roses. "I just noticed that while there is a variety of red and pink roses in your garden, there is not one yellow bloom."
Etta scanned her gaze along the roses as if she hadn't realized there were no yellow flowers. She shrugged lightly. "I just prefer the red and pink. You two girls have a nice day." The top of her hat faced us as she pulled her flat of pansies closer and pried one free of its container. It was our cue to be on our way.
The silence in the jeep as we both tucked deep into our thoughts was nearly deafening. I had no doubt Lacey was coming to the same conclusion as me, only that conclusion seemed so wild and inconceivable it was hard to keep it solid.
"Are you formulating as many wacky theories as I am right now?" Lacey's question broke the intensely cerebral silence.
"I think so." I turned the jeep down Etta's driveway. Without giving it any more thought, I turned right to head past Weston Fielding's house. Just as I hoped, he was sitting on his porch with his binoculars and a large glass of tea. "I wonder how Etta's walks to the park have been."
Lacey peered through the passenger window and waved at Weston. "Guess there's only one way to find out."
I parked and the two of us meandered up his walkway. Weston put his tea on a wicker side table and stood from his chair ."Howdy, you two are back, I see. Been watching a lovely pair of cardinals all morning."
"That's wonderful," Lacey replied.
"What brings you two back here? Are you still working on the newspaper article?"
"Yes, just finishing up a few details," I said. "I take it things are back to normal. I know you were worried about Mrs. Derricot missing her walk to the park last Friday. Everything back on schedule?"
He nodded. "Yes, yes. Yesterday, she walked right past here at four o'clock."
"That's good to hear. She does seem to be feeling energetic these days," I added.
He chuckled. "I'll say. I can't remember the last time I saw Etta Derricot tending to her own garden. She's friendlier too, waves and says hello when she sees me." He came down a few steps so he could lower his voice. "I'm afraid she might be having a little loss of memory though," he said. "First, she couldn't remember my name, and yesterday, when she walked past to feed the birds, she forgot the bird seed. Carried a book with her instead."
Lacey and I exchanged knowing looks. "That is odd. Maybe she ran out of bird seed but didn't want to miss her time at the park," I suggested.
"Maybe. The birds didn't seem to notice anyhow. Normally, they flock toward her when she arrives. Although, she usually arrives with bird seed so that might explain their lack of interest in seeing their friend."
"I'm sure that's it," Lacey said. "You have a nice rest of the day, Mr. Fielding, and I hope the cardinals stick around for awhile."
"Thanks."
We turned around and headed back to the jeep. "I've got a plan," I said. "How about we go back to where this started, the park where the coven was holding their ceremony? Maybe it will help us gel everything together into a plausible explanation. We can go over everything we know and lay out some of our theories."
"That sounds like a great plan. Then we can pick up Lola and stop by that marvelous restaurant. I'm going in with my mind made up this time," she stated with confidence.
"Oh? Which sandwich are you going to order?"
"Not sure," she said, "I haven't made up my mind."