Morning Glory Circle (15 page)

Ed stirred, woke up, and smiled at her.

“What are you doing, just sitting there?” he asked her as he sat up.

“I didn’t want to wake you up. You look too comfy,” she said.

Ed rubbed his face, looked at her fondly, and yawned.

“How was your evening?” he asked her.

“It was fine,” she said, so happy to have someone ask her that simple question.

“That’s good,” he said. “Your son and I played some scrabble and watched TV way too late, and he didn’t get to bed ‘til midnight.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for lookin’ after him.”

“I was glad to do it. With all these strangers in town this weekend, it might be a good idea if I do the same tomorrow night.”

“Thank you,” she said. “That’d make me feel much better.”

“Well,” he said, getting to his feet, “I better mosey on home.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” she said quietly.

“Mandy,” he said, but before he could continue, she pushed him back down into a sitting position on the couch, climbed on top of him, and kissed him.

Ed’s baser instincts were wide-awake now and quickly taking charge. He struggled for control.

“Wait a minute,” Ed said.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Ed,” Mandy said, as she unbuckled his belt. “I know you want me. I can feel you want me.”

“But Tommy’s just down the hall,” Ed protested.

“He’s a sound sleeper,” Mandy said as she popped open the button on his pants.

“I think we should talk about this first,” Ed said weakly, his resistance evaporating.

“We can talk about it after,” Mandy said, as she tugged down his zipper. “I’ll get me a dictionary so I can cipher all those big words you like to use.”

Ed laughed and gave in. He was undone, both literally and figuratively.

Hannah lay awake in bed while her husband worked in his office. Tears ran down both sides of her face onto the pillow beneath her head. She was still emotionally raw from the events of the day, and kept reliving the moments when she discovered the body over and over, like a film in her head she couldn’t stop. Although she knew Sam was exhausted, both physically from maneuvering his wheelchair through the snow and mentally from having to interact with people all day at the festival, still she resented being alone in their bed. He had gone seriously, intensely silent on the ride home, and then seemed to be angry with her the rest of the evening. When Hannah tried to talk to him about it he brushed her off, when she persisted they fought, and as soon as they got home he retreated to his office. Hannah needed him to hold her and be with her, and let her talk about what happened. Instead he had withdrawn, as if he was punishing her.

Hannah thought about the calendar issue, as she was calling it, and wondered if it would make things better or worse between them. Sam could have several good months in a row, but then something would always happen, sometimes just a small thing, and he would completely de-rail. Hannah was always worrying about it, but tried not to shield Sam from anything, or withhold her feelings or opinions, on the advice of his counselor. Sam’s counselor told Hannah she had to live her own life and be herself, and let Sam deal with his own feelings. That was easier said than done.

Hannah went to the office door and spoke through it.

“Samuel,” she said. “Will you please come out and talk to me?”

There was no response, even though the clicking sound of the keyboard stopped, and she knew he heard her.

“Please, Sam,” she said. “I need you.”

The clicking resumed, and she knew he was not going to acknowledge or respond. This angered her so that everything she wanted to say next was mean and hurtful, and likely to solve nothing. Hannah went back to the bedroom and locked the door behind her.

“You can sleep on the couch,” she said to the locked door.

Hannah eventually went to sleep, and watched the body finding film, over and over, in her dreams.

W
hen Maggie arrived at her parents’ house early Saturday morning, she found her father and grandfather enjoying a breakfast casserole her Aunt Delia had prepared for them. Delia hugged her niece as she entered the kitchen.

“I thought you could use a break,” Delia said. “I have a little time before I have to be at Ava’s. The bar and the caravan can’t open until noon, so I’m going to help Ava until then.”

Maggie collapsed into a kitchen chair and gratefully accepted the mug of hot tea her aunt handed to her.

“I woke up, saw the time, and just ran,” Maggie said. “These event weekends are so exhausting.”

The volume of the fishing show Fitz and Grandpa Tim were watching was turned up so loud it was an assault on their ears. Delia shut the door to the front room and took a seat across from Maggie.

“How was the bonfire last night?” Maggie asked her. “I thought about taking Ava’s kids but I fell asleep on their couch.”

“I stayed up at the bar,” Delia said, “but Mandy said the highlight was the crowning of the Snow Queen.”

“Did Stuart really get Gwyneth to do it?”

“He did.”

“Complete with sash and crown?”

“It was said she had a little trouble keeping the tiara on her head.”

“Did she do the queen wave?”

“Like Elizabeth herself.”

“I’m so sorry I missed that. Did she make a speech?”

“Mandy said it was mostly bragging about her family.”

“I guess we have to get used to her,” Maggie sighed. “It seems like she’s here to stay.”

“You would think her brother having been murdered here would put her off Rose Hill.”

“I guess you heard about Margie,” Maggie said.

“Oh yes,” Delia responded. “There’ll be little else talked about in this town for days.”

“Did Ian tell you what Scott found out about Margie?” Maggie asked.

“I’ve known about Margie Estep interfering with the mail for over two decades,” Delia said. “If she hadn’t been Eric’s daughter she’d have been fired from the post office a long time ago. It was kind of Scott to protect Enid by not arresting her daughter; I just hope that doesn’t get him in hot water now Margie’s dead.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” Maggie said. “Wouldn’t Sarah just love to hold that bit of information over his head?”

“That woman has her sites set on your man, darlin’,” Delia said. “You’d be wise not to underestimate her.”

“I’m not worried,” Maggie insisted. “He hates her.”

“Hate is just the flipside of the coin of love,” Delia said. “Or is that the coin of lust? I can never remember. I read that in a romance novel once.”

Delia picked at some breakfast rolls that were on the table, nibbling on small pieces between sips of tea. Maggie felt uncomfortable discussing her feelings for Scott and decided to change the subject.

“At least Enid is safe now,” Maggie said, referring to Margie’s mother.

“I don’t think Margie would have hurt her mother,” Delia said.

“I hope that’s true.”

“I went to see Enid earlier this week, and she seemed really happy at Mountain View,” Delia said. “She said ‘I feel like a lottery winner.’”

“Maybe not so much now her daughter’s been murdered,” Maggie said.

Maggie knew Scott would have been the one to share the sad news with Margie’s mother. She just hadn’t had a moment alone with him to hear how it went.

Maggie started picking at the other side of the plate of breakfast rolls, and when she tasted them found they were sweet and moist, with a buttery cinnamon and pecan filing. They heard Maggie’s father yell he wanted more tea, so Maggie got up and filled the kettle, then put it back on the gas ring to heat.

“I’d like to put that one in Mountain View some days,” Maggie said to her aunt while nodding toward the front room, but Delia wagged a finger at her niece.

“Then you’d just be running the road to Pendleton every day instead of walking two blocks.”

Patrick came downstairs and into the kitchen in his pajamas, and Delia waited on him hand and foot. She heated some of the casserole, made him some tea, and cut some rolls for him, while Maggie watched with disapproval.

“You’re a lovely woman,” Patrick told his aunt, “and there’s some could learn from watching you how to take care of a working man.”

“I work too!” Maggie said. “We all work in this family. It seems like that’s all we ever do.”

“Speaking of work, I’m sure you’re needed at the bakery,” her brother told her. “Mandy will probably be late this morning.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, old Ed was at her trailer last night when she got home…”

“He wouldn’t,” Maggie said.

“Oh, he would, don’t you kid yourself about that,” Patrick said. “And for some reason Mandy’s determined to have him.”

“But what do they have in common?” Maggie demanded. “What will they talk about? He’s really smart, and she’s a sweet girl, but she’s not the brightest bulb.”

“I don’t think it’s intellectual stimulation she’s providing,” Patrick said.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Delia said in Mandy’s defense. “They are two consenting adults.”

“Completely wrong for each other,” Maggie pronounced. “It will never last.”

“They may surprise you,” Delia said. “There’s more to a happy marriage than having all the same opinions.”

“I seriously doubt there will be a marriage,” Maggie said.

“Ed and Mandy sittin’ in a tree,” Patrick sang to his sister. The word he started to spell out next caused his aunt to smack him on the head, hard.

“Ow!” he said.

“I should wash your mouth out with soap,” Delia threatened.

Maggie groaned as she stood up, and her aunt kissed her cheek before she left.

“Don’t run yourself down,” Delia told her. “Let other people help.”

As Maggie passed through the front room, her father stopped her.

“We’re out of rye bread. Tell your mother to bring some home. And tell her I said not to be as late tonight as she was last night.”

Maggie felt a hot flash of anger pass through her at the thought that her mother was working around the clock because their financial welfare depended upon it, and her father wasn’t fit enough to help out. She said nothing, though, because any angry words she said now would only make her feel guilty later. She reminded herself that her dad was in constant pain, and that made him self-centered. She kissed her father’s cheek and said goodbye to Grandpa Tim, who blew her a kiss as she left the house.

Margie went to the bank to get change for the caravan cash box, then to the bookstore to pick up some hot drinks for the bakery crew. There were customers lined up out the door of the bakery when she arrived, and her mother said, “About time.”

Maggie swallowed her retort, sat down the tray of hot drinks, and started loading up boxes of baked goods to take to the festival caravan. Mandy bumped Maggie’s hip and stuck her tongue out at her, and they each giggled, provoking Bonnie even further.

“Dear Lord, why am I the only one awake and willing to work this morning?” Bonnie asked the ceiling.

“And what did you get up to last night, little missy?” Maggie murmured to Mandy.

Mandy blushed a deep pink, grinned like a possum, and waggled her eyebrows.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” she said quietly.

“I guess you don’t mind leaving your cousin Hannah high and dry at the busiest time of the morning,” Bonnie said. “She’s called twice looking for change and stock.”

Mandy said, “I’ll send Tommy to help,” and summoned her son from the kitchen, where he was helping Alice.

“That will leave us shorthanded,” Bonnie complained.

Maggie was saved from further criticism by the appearance of her Aunt Delia.

“You’re an angel,” Maggie told Delia, giving her the change. She gave Tommy the big box, and tucked Hannah’s latte in amongst the wrapped treats.

“I can only stay down there long enough to deliver this lot,” Delia said. “I have to cover the desk at the bed and breakfast this morning, and then help Ian in the bar after noon.”

“Tell Hannah I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Maggie said. “Tommy can stay and help her.”

The long line had dwindled a bit by 10:30, so Maggie put on her coat over her apron, ran-walked down the alley and then down Peony Street to the festival. She had missed the 10:00 parade down Rose Hill Avenue, and most people had already made their way down to the festival site. When she got in the back of the caravan Sam was friendly enough, but Hannah was grouchy and short with her. Maggie just got to work, and let it slide.

“I’m going up to the community center for some breakfast, if there’s anything left,” Hannah said tersely. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Alright,” Maggie said. “Take your time. Tommy and I have this covered.”

Hannah and Maggie helped Sam out of the caravan into his wheelchair, and then Maggie climbed back up inside and closed the door behind her.

“Hannah seems mad,” Tommy observed.

“Hannah’s had a bad shock,” Maggie said.

“Finding that dead lady, you mean.”

“That’s made her short tempered,” Maggie said. “So we have to be patient with her.”

“Like not talk back to her, even though you wanted to.”

“Exactly,” Maggie said. “As you mature you have to learn to be patient and not to let other people’s bad moods or bad manners provoke you.”

Gwyneth Eldridge approached the caravan just then and seemed to recoil at the display of yummy-looking baked goods, as if they had snakes on display instead of cinnamon rolls and croissants. She had on a luxurious looking black cashmere coat and high-heeled leather boots, with her Snow Queen sash draped loosely around her fashionably gaunt frame. Her tiara was perfectly centered in her professionally streaked blonde bob, but her tastefully made up facial features seemed oddly frozen. It took Maggie a few moments to figure out that Gwyneth had had some sort of “facial work” done recently, and she did indeed look ten years younger.

“Do you have anything low carb?” Gwyneth asked Tommy.

Maggie felt all her good intentions being sucked out of her as if by a skinny, tiara-topped vacuum cleaner, and before she could remind herself how mature she’d become, she snapped, “I’m sorry, Gwyneth, but did the word ‘bakery’ on the outside of this caravan not suggest anything to you?”

Gwyneth stormed off in a huff while Tommy laughed behind his hand.

“I obviously still have some work to do,” Maggie conceded, “in the patience and maturity departments.”

Maggie saw Scott in the distance, walking with the petite Sarah, and took a few deep breaths as she reminded herself that it was all about work. Just because she hadn’t been with him since Hannah found Margie’s body didn’t mean he’d suddenly taken up with the woman she and Hannah liked to call “Tiny Trollop, the crime fighting kitten,” or “Tiny Crimefighter” for short.

As she turned back to help a customer, she saw Scott watching her over Sarah’s head, and he smiled and winked at Maggie. She smiled in return, and made the “call me” sign, to which he nodded, but then nodded toward Sarah and shrugged. Only Tommy’s presence nearby kept Maggie’s middle finger firmly clenched in a fist at her side, and not raised in salute at the back of Tiny Crimefighter.

A little later Sarah and Scott took a break in the station office, both to warm up and to compare the notes gathered from interviewing people all over town. Sarah had insisted Scott go with her, and enjoyed treating him like a subordinate in front of the citizens of Rose Hill. Scott was not surprised at how little progress they made, considering how condescending and demeaning Sarah’s questioning technique was. The townspeople’s facial expressions spoke volumes to Scott, but their statements to Sarah were deliberately obtuse.

“So why would somebody want to kill the nice little old lady who ran the post office?” Sarah asked him. “She had no husband, no kids, and no illicit love affairs that we know of, and lived her life solely for her invalid mother. Nobody had an unkind word to say about her.”

“Actually Margie was known to spread vicious gossip,” Scott said. “She was the one who concocted the threat card that arrived in Theo’s mail on the day he was murdered.”

“I don’t remember seeing that in your report,” Sarah said, turning her dark hawk eyes upon him.

“There didn’t seem to be any point with Theo dead and his killer identified. It was just a malicious prank to her, and I remember you weren’t too impressed with the evidence at the time.”

“That’s beside the point, Scott. That prank could be related to why she ended up in the deep freeze with a hole in her heart.”

“I will be glad to write it up now if you want.”

“You have to quit thinking of these people as your friends and neighbors, and start thinking of them all as potential suspects,” Sarah said. “I’ve talked to you about this before.”

“As I said, I will be glad to write it up now if you want.”