Morning Cup of Murder (5 page)

“Lacy Steele.”

He tipped his head to the side, regarding her, but before he could ask the inevitable question, she cut him off.

“No, that’s not a penname.”

He smiled for the first time and she noticed his teeth overlapped each other in the front. “The deadline is three o’clock. Good luck, Steele.”

With an upward nod, she turned and left the office. Now what? Recalling Journalism 101, she tried to think like a reporter.
Who, what, when, where, and why always must be answered.
Her professor’s words rang in her head, providing her with a starting point. Who was Barbara Blake? That seemed like the easiest and most expedient question to answer right now.

Heading toward the library on the edge of town, she began to expand on the list of questions that needed to be answered. In addition to answering who the woman was, Lacy needed to determine how she had been murdered, when, where, and why. Without a doubt, the why would be the hardest part. If she could answer that, she could provide a motive for the murderer, essentially clearing her grandmother.

She checked her watch. It was eight. Visiting hours for the jail were in two hours. She had a ton of work to do before then.

Unfortunately when she reached the library, she realized it didn’t open until nine. Sitting on the front steps, she took out her laptop and Googled Barbara Blake. When a few million hits popped up, she added the name of their town to the search. To her delight an old article from the newspaper popped up.

“Barbara Blake, pictured center, was recently crowned our school’s new homecoming queen. Surrounding her from the left are her court, Rose Greenly, Janice Harpest, Maya Grant, and Gladys Harwell.”

Lacy checked the date on the article. The
 
accompanying black and white picture was from Barbara’s senior year, making her two years younger than Lacy’s grandmother. It was improbable, though not impossible, that the two had been friends in high school. The other names, though, struck a chord with Lacy. Rose, Janice, Maya, and Gladys were some of her grandmother’s best friends from her church. Together they formed the church’s social committee. Since the church was comprised of so many elderly people, their main task as a group was usually arranging funeral dinners.

Since she had time to kill, she began Googling her grandmother’s friends. As she had suspected, all their maiden names matched up with the girls in the picture.

Lacy stared into space, considering. What were the chances that her grandmother’s friends had all been on the homecoming court with the dead woman but that her grandmother hadn’t known her? Not good. There was a strong likelihood that her grandmother had known the dead woman. If they knew each other, that made proving her grandmother’s innocence more difficult. It also meant Lacy would need to learn as much as she could about any possible connection between her grandmother and the dead woman.

There was one easy way to do that. She picked up her phone and pressed a button. Her mother’s chipper voice cut through her anxiety, causing her to smile in spite of herself. “Hey, hon, you’re up early. Is something wrong?”

Lacy thought of her grandmother’s directive not to tell the rest of the family about her predicament. For now, she would honor that request. “No, Mom. I just had a question for you.”

“Fire away,” her mother commanded.

“Have you ever heard grandma mention a woman named Barbara Blake?”

“Barbara Blake,” her mother repeated a few times. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Why don’t you ask her?”

“It’s sort of a sticky situation.”

“Are you planning a surprise?” Her mother was a tender-hearted optimist who always assumed the best.

“Not really, Mom. I was just wondering.”

“Have you talked to Riley?”

Lacy’s smile faltered. “No.”

“Lacy, she’s your sister.”

Her mother would have said more, but Lacy cut her off. “I should probably go, Mom. I have a few things I need to do.”

Her mother’s sigh was loud and expressive. “All right. Give my love to Grandma.”

“I will. Love you, Mom.” Lacy’s voice broke on the last word.

“Lacy, are you…”

“Gotta go, Mom.” She closed the phone and took a steadying breath.
Keep it together,
she warned herself. There was too much to do to let herself fall apart now.

The large clock on the front of the library told her she still had half an hour before opening time, plenty of time for her to call on one of her grandmother’s friends. She thought of the list from the picture and quickly decided on the one who lived in town--Gladys Smith, nee Harwell.

As she had expected, Gladys was wide awake when Lacy knocked on her door.

“Why, Lacy, honey, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

Was it possible that she hadn’t yet heard the news? Lacy was under the impression that the gossip in this town ran faster than the speed of light. “Not really, Mrs. Smith. I don’t know how to tell you this, but Grandma has been arrested.”

Gladys paled, gasped, and pressed her hand to her heart. “What on earth for?”

“For murder,” Lacy said.

Gladys blinked at her. Lacy watched as the astonishment turned to understanding. “Well that’s just not possible,” she said unconvincingly.

“That’s what I think. Is it possible to come in for a few minutes and talk? I have some questions.”

“Oh, well, I…” Gladys broke off and looked behind her. “I have a lot going on right now.”

“Please,” Lacy pled. “It will just take a moment.”

“Okay,” Gladys agreed. If Lacy hadn’t been so intent on her purpose, she would have winced at the resignation in Gladys’s tone. She followed the older woman down the hallway to her frilly, lace-inspired living room. Plastic lined all the furniture and lampshades, causing a squeaking sound as Lacy sat. She was glad she had arrived early. The day was supposed to be a scorcher; it wouldn’t do to get stuck to the plastic. Absently she wondered if Gladys had ever had to call the fire department to have someone peeled off her couch.

“I was wondering what you could tell me about Barbara Blake.”

“Who?” Gladys’s eyes darted frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at Lacy.

“The woman Grandma is accused of murdering.”

“I don’t think I know her,” Gladys said, staring blankly at the unlit television.

“You were on the homecoming court with her your senior year of high school. I just saw the picture.”

Gladys’s cheeks flushed a dark shade of red at having been caught in her lie. “Oh, that Barbara Blake. I was thinking of someone else. Um, yes, we were schoolmates, but I haven’t seen her in years.” Suddenly she looked from the television to Lacy. “Did you just say Barbara is dead? Murdered?” All previous color was now gone from her face. In fact, she looked in danger of swooning.

Lacy nodded. “Yes, and they think Grandma did it. Obviously you know that’s not possible. Please, Gladys, anything you can tell me will be helpful.”

“There’s really nothing to tell, Lacy.” Gladys pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her forehead. “Barbara moved away soon after high school. We lost contact. I know nothing about her. Nothing.”

“Were she and my grandmother friends?”

“No. Barbara was our age, and we didn’t become friends with your grandmother until we were older and out of school. Barbara was long gone by then.”

Lacy almost smiled at this news. If her grandmother hadn’t known Barbara, then proving her innocence would be a cinch. “Can you think of any reason my grandmother would be implicated in this murder?”

“No,” Gladys said, dabbing at her forehead once more.

Lacy stood to go, but instinct made her ask one more question. “Gladys, is there anything else you can tell me about Barbara?”

“Like what?” Gladys asked, her voice faint.

“What was she like?”

“I haven’t known her for years, dear.”

“What was she like in high school?”

For a moment, Gladys’s features closed up and became hard. “She was the worst, most selfish, calculating and conniving person I’ve ever met,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and began fanning herself with her handkerchief. “Now I really do have to get back to what I was doing.” Contrary to her statement, she remained seated, staring at the television.

“Okay,” Lacy said. “Thank you. And if you think of anything else, please call me.”

Gladys nodded. “Don’t worry about Lucinda,” she said. “There’s no way your grandmother killed Barbara. She had no motive.”

Lacy turned toward the door with a frown.
What an odd thing to say,
she thought before she let herself out. But at least she had added two vital pieces of information to the puzzle: her grandmother didn’t know Barbara, and Barbara hadn’t lived here her whole life. Unfortunately, there were now more questions to answer. Why had Barbara moved? Where did she go? Why and when did she return? And why did she retain her maiden name? Hadn’t she ever married?

And, most importantly, why had Gladys looked so nervous at the mention of the dead woman? Lacy made a mental note to contact all the other women in the picture. Maybe one of them would be more forthcoming. If not, then maybe she would have to apply a little more pressure. After all, her grandmother’s life depended on it.

Chapter 5

Just as Lacy reached the library again, her phone rang. Almost before she could say hello she heard the now-familiar voice of Ed McNeil.

“Miss Steele, I wondered if you’ve had time to consider my offer to represent your grandmother. Lawyers like me don’t stay available for long. Any minute now I expect to get another case, and then I won’t be available for your grandmother. It’s now or never.”

“I’m going to go with never,” Lacy said. She hung up and turned off her phone before he could argue. She was livid with rage. The nerve of that man! Did he have no shame? No wonder there were so many lawyer jokes. Counting the messages she knew about, he had tried to contact her six times in the past two hours. Maybe some people respected his persistence, but Lacy didn’t; she found his unwavering attitude obnoxious.

Entering the library worked to cool some of her frustration. The quiet, peaceful atmosphere always had a calming effect on her. In order to expedite her research, she enlisted the help of the reference librarian who showed her where to search for the town’s vital records.

Barbara Blake was seventy years old--exactly two years younger than Lacy’s grandmother. She had been born in town. Sadly, her parents both died when she was in high school, leaving their house to their only daughter. The house on
Chestnut Street
had remained in Barbara’s possession for almost the last fifty years.

Why would she keep a house she didn’t live in?
Lacy wondered. Was it because she still had ties to the community? If so, what were they? What had brought the woman back after so long an absence?

After having found everything she could at the library, Lacy closed her bag and exited the building. Turning right on
Main Street
, she headed toward Chestnut. She was suddenly insatiably curious about the house this woman had held onto for so long. Had it also been the place of her demise?

That question was answered as soon as Lacy came within sight of the building. Yellow police tape outlined the perimeter of the house, denoting it as a crime scene. Lacy ducked under a piece of tape, lightly darted up the porch steps, and peered in a window. The house was dark and the outside sunlight was bright; she couldn’t see a thing.

She itched to go inside, but the sound of a weed trimmer alerted her to the presence of neighbors. No doubt if she let herself in someone would call the police. Just in case there was someone inside, she knocked on the door and rang the doorbell. No one answered. With a sly glance at the horizon, Lacy reached out and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. The temptation to slip inside was almost too much, but she refrained. If she decided to search the house, she would come back after dark when no one was watching. Undoubtedly breaking and entering was a crime, but desperate times and all that.

Her watch alarm beeped, startling her. She had set it to go off in time for visiting hours at the jail. Tossing her bag onto her back, she began to jog down the street toward her house, noting as she ran how long it took.

Ten minutes later, she arrived on her grandmother’s doorstep. She would have to drive to the jail; eight miles of country road was too far to walk in this heat. As she let herself in the front door and walked to the garage, she passed by the answering machine in the kitchen. Ten messages blinked at her. She paused, deciding to play them in case there was some news about her grandmother, but then quickly lost patience. Every message was from Ed McNeil or one of his flunky employees. There was even a young-sounding guy who suggested they go for a date to talk about Ed’s talents as a lawyer.

“Disgusting jerk,” Lacy muttered. She stabbed the erase button repeatedly until the machine was clear. When the phone immediately rang again, she growled, grabbed the keys by the door, and ran out without waiting to hear who the message was from. If she heard one more message from the obnoxious Mr. McNeil, she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions.