Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes (30 page)

Staring into hers, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe my professor had never been up close and personal with a mad woman. As I imagined Harriet’s soul to be, her eyes were dark and barren. And they scared the hell out of me.

I pushed against her. But the dandelion digger inched closer to my chest. My grip was slipping. Blood was pulsing through my ears. And fear and Harriet were kicking me in the gut.

Was this the end? Was I going to be done in by an eighty-something granny-type with a crazy disposition and a rusty dandelion digger?

I was about to feel sorry for myself for all the things I’d never get to do—drive in a demolition derby or visit Ireland or eat all the pie I wanted or have a baby or even a pet—when one of the little voices from inside my head spoke up.

Hey, Emme, get a grip! Take care of business, or you’ll be known as the woman who got taken down by a geriatric nut job. And if that happens, if you aren’t dead already, you’ll wish you were
.

I didn’t think that was true. Nor did I want to follow the advice of my little voices. I still was ticked off at them for not helping me when I was trapped in the garden shed. But this didn’t seem like the best time to be holding a grudge. So I drew in a long breath and, on the exhale, shoved against Harriet as hard as I could.

Her body slammed against the car, and she let out a strange noise. A woosh of some kind. She might have gotten the wind knocked out of her. I didn’t stop to check. Instead, I bent her backwards over the hood, pinning her there, my faced pressed against her cheek, my tears and sweat mixing with hers.

I had no idea where my strength was coming from. I didn’t feel like myself. I was certain I was hovering above the action, while someone who only looked like me fought it out with the hairy old lady. But it was me. Me and my repressed anger. Anger from years of pain and heartache. Anger over this truly sucky day.

I wacked Harriet’s gnarly hand against the hood over and over again, until she cried out in pain. She unclenched her fist, and I seized the dandelion digger. It was the weapon she’d used to kill Samantha Berg, and I wasn’t about to leave it behind while I ran for help.

With the digger secure, I checked on Henrietta. She remained in a ball on the floor, mewling like a battered cat. For her part, Hester was crouched in the far corner, doing some whimpering of her own. And Harriet? Well, she was still slouched over the hood of the car, rubbing her shoulder and sobbing.

The scene was surreal, and for a moment, I stood there, dazed. How did this happen? I only came to Kennedy for hot dish and Jell-O recipes. Nothing more. Definitely not this.

Henrietta pulled me back into the moment with a noise that was part gurgle, part sob. I stared at her, studying the emotions fighting over her face: fear, mistrust, but mostly desperate need.

You have to go
, I told myself.
You have to get help
.

I didn’t think Harriet would take off, but I wasn’t positive. I didn’t think she’d further harm her sisters, although I wasn’t certain about that either. The only thing I knew for sure was that Henrietta and Hester needed medical attention. And since I’d left my phone in the bedroom above the café, not imagining I’d have any use for it, I had no choice but to run for help.

As I turned, wondering where I should go and who I could trust, my legs wobbled beneath me. I inhaled and urged my legs to try again. Another step. More wobbling.

I glanced at my destination—the driveway and, beyond that, the alley. If I took my time, I could do it. I could reach the bar. I could get help. I could …

I blinked several times, unwilling to believe what I saw. It was Buddy and Buford. They were standing at the entrance to the garage. And no mistake about it, this time they saw me. And this time they headed right for me.

I struggled to speak, but my words got strangled in my throat. I fought to set them free, yet I only managed strange and desperate noises.

“Emerald,” Buddy said, palms up, “what’s going on here?”

I backed against the snow blower. “I don’t know.” I forced the words out on a breath filled with fear. “Just stay away!”

Ignoring me, they edged around the car. Closer and closer. Until they spotted Henrietta.

“Holy shit!” Buford shouted. “Did you stab her?”

His face was ripe with confusion. Or was it anger or rage? I couldn’t tell. And his question didn’t register. It made no sense. Stab her? How could I stab her?

The dandelion digger. I saw it then. It was in my hand. And my hand was poised above my head. “Oh, no …” I lowered my arm as new tears stung my eyes. “No, she … um … tried …” My entire body trembled. “She tried …”

I blinked back the tears. I couldn’t cry. I had to watch them. I couldn’t trust the twins. I had to track their every move. At any moment, they could jump me. Two against one. Then what would I do?

I gripped the dandelion digger tighter. I blinked some more. Yes, I saw them. There they were. On the other side of my tears. But no. They weren’t alone. Now Barbie was with them. Right next to them. And someone else too.

“This can’t be real,” I mumbled. It had to be a dream. Why else would Deputy Ryden be here?

I wanted to ask him. I had to find out. But before I could, my world went black.

I don’t remember what happened next. I guess I fainted.

When I came to, I smelled fried rice. And when I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on the garage floor, a jacket draped over me. Barbie was seated on the cement beside me.

“Don’t move,” she said. “You’ve got quite a bump on your noggin.”

My head hurt, but I lifted it anyway. I wanted to shake the cobwebs from my brain. Of course that only made my head hurt worse. But I didn’t lie down again. I couldn’t. I had to make sense out of what had happened.

I turned on my side and leaned up on my elbow. I spotted Margie at the far end of the garage, tending to Henrietta and Hester. Deputy Ryden and a guy I didn’t recognize were huddled outside, in the dark, visiting with the Johnson twins and Harriet.

“I need to talk to someone,” I said, my voice froggy.

“Shush. You passed out and hit your head on the snow blower.” Barbie nodded at the monster machine. “You were unconscious for a while. You’ve been in and out some too. So just rest until the doctor gets here.”

“But I need to tell someone …”

“Hey, Randy,” she hollered.

The sound reverberated in my ears. “No, not him. I can’t trust him.”

“What?” She pursed her lips, her expression suggesting I was daffy. And I probably was. I’d been attacked by a giant snow blower. And I’d been duped by a town full of dangerous nuts.

“Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” Deputy Ryden said as he ambled over.

And to both of us, he added, “The doctor’s on his way.”

“She definitely needs one,” Barbie replied. “She’s not making any sense.”

Randy glanced at the back of the garage. “Why don’t you give Margie a hand? I’ll take over here.”

“Are you sure?” Barbie looked at me, her face lined with worry.

What was that about? Was she afraid I’d say something to the deputy? Hardly. He was as mixed up in all of this as she was.

Barbie hesitated and only moved on after the deputy again urged her to go. He then took her spot on the floor.

“You gave us quite a scare.” He crossed his legs and gently patted my arm, his eyes filled with what appeared to be real concern. But that couldn’t be. He was one of them.

I raised my hand to my head, determined to sit up and then get to my feet. “I’m fine. I don’t need any medical attention.” My fingers brushed against a golf-ball-sized bump, and I winced.

Randy chuckled. “Well, maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Why not let the doctor decide?”

I squinted. For a moment, there were two of him. “No doctor. But I do want to talk to someone. I want to tell them what—”

“There’s plenty of time for that later.” He took my hand. And even though I didn’t want to like it, I did. It was big and warm and comforting. And I desperately wanted to be comforted. I was alone and confused and awfully sore. “Besides,” he added. “Hester and Henrietta are sharing quite a bit with us. And Harriet’s been a wealth of information in her own right. Although with her, we have to parse fantasy from reality.”

What did he mean by that?

“Yeah, between all of them, we’ve developed a pretty clear picture of what happened.”

What? Was he suggesting I had something to do with this mess?

I pulled my hand free of his. “I didn’t hurt Henrietta. It was … her.” I nodded at Harriet.

“We know. We know.” Again he wrapped his fingers around my hand, caressing the back of it with his calloused thumb.

I leaned a little higher on my elbow. “You know?”

He nodded, his eyes expressing kindness and perhaps a bit of sympathy.

“You know she killed Samantha?”

“We do now. We’ve heard the whole sordid story. We even have the dandelion digger.” He bobbed his head toward the Buick. The dandelion digger was in a plastic bag on the roof. “I’m just sorry you got mixed up in it.”

I felt my shoulders relax as I processed what he said and what it meant. Given my cloudy thinking, it was slow going. But after I finally finished, I couldn’t help but smile. Deputy Rydan, it turned out, was a good guy. An honest-to-goodness good guy.

Still, I hesitated, not at all sure how my next statement would be met. Even so, I felt compelled to go with it. “So … um … did they tell you … about … Rosa?”

The deputy barely moved his head in response. And I immediately regretted asking the question. Then I wondered why I had. I didn’t care for any of the possible explanations, jealously being the worst and most likely, with insecurity running a close second.

“She’s being questioned in the café.” His eyes looked terribly sad.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I truly was. Sorry for what he was going through. And sorry for being the jerk who had thrown it in his face.

He shrugged. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Yes, I do. Believe me.”

He raised his hand and repeated more emphatically, “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t cause any of this.”

Maybe not. But I felt bad for him just the same. And, believe it or not, for Rosa too. I guess that while I didn’t want her involved with the deputy, I didn’t really want her mixed up in muder either. So maybe there was hope for me after all. “She was only trying to help her great aunts, you know.”

I took in a quick breath. While those words had apparently been spoken by me, they felt foreign just the same. Remember, I was Ms. Law and Order. My motto: “You Do the Crime, You Do the Time.” I’d never before considered things like “mitigating circumstances.” Yet, I went on to say, “She didn’t set out to do anything terrible, you know.”

The deputy squirmed. “Yeah, well, I guess we’ll have to sort all that out.”

Yes, we will
, I confirmed to myself. And while we were at it, I’d also find out what role Barbie played in all of this. And Margie too. As for Harriet …

She was sitting on a stool just outside the garage. There was an older man with her, the guy who’d been talking with Randy when I came to. I suspected he was a cop. Even dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, he looked the part. He also looked to be questioning Harriet, who appeared more than happy to provide him with answers.

“What will happen to Harriet?” I asked the question of myself, but absently spoke out loud.

The deputy answered, “I’m not sure.”

“She’s sick you know.”

Harriet started to cry. I couldn’t hear her, but I saw her dab her eyes with a tissue, as several others, all wadded up, blew around on the ground.

“She didn’t know what she was doing.” Again I was caught off guard by the turn my thoughts had taken. “The entire time she was here in the garage her eyes were blank.”

The deputy heaved a sigh and shifted his legs. “Emerald, she tried to kill you.”

My gaze held steady on the old lady. She looked vulnerable again, as she did earlier in the day, not at all like when she was trying to … I shooed those images away.

“No, that’s not right, Randy. She didn’t try to kill me. She wanted to kill Elsa Erickson.”

The deputy dropped my hand and ran his own through his hair, unmistakably exasperated. “Elsa Erickson’s been dead for decades.”

“So?”

“So what exactly are you suggesting, Emerald?” He stared at me, his expression a blend of intense emotions. “What are you suggesting?” He repeated. “Because Harriet gets mixed up sometimes, we should send her to bed without any supper and leave it at that?”

“Not necessarily, but …” I let my voice trail off because I wasn’t sure what I meant. This was unchartered territory for me. And while I wanted to believe I was growing up and becoming more compassionate, I couldn’t help but wonder if my benevolence was, in large part, simply the result of getting konked on the head. And tomorrow I’d wake up just as ego-centric as I’d been earlier in the day.

The deputy cupped my chin with his hand and turned my head so my face was only inches from his own. “Harriet’s a murderer.” His voice had turned firm and certain. “And those other two are accomplishes.” He nodded toward Henrietta and little Hester. “Not to mention that one in …” He lowered his hand, unable to say any more. Maybe he wasn’t so sure of himself after all.