Murder by Mushroom by Virginia Smith

change the subject so abruptly? But Esther’s anger when she mentioned her son’s first church assignment had been patently obvious. Now, how to turn the discussion to Mrs. Farmer and see what kind of reaction she got?
    Their food arrived, momentarily sidetracking the conversation as the women exclaimed over their lunches. Jackie’s porcupines—rounded mounds of hamburger and rice covered in tomato sauce—tasted almost exactly like Aunt Betty’s meat loaf. She should have ordered the catfish.
    “So,” she said as the women chewed, “that’s awful news about Mrs. Farmer, isn’t it?”
    Laura put her fork down on her plate. “Must we talk about that terrible business?”
    “And over food, too,” put in Julie.
    Esther gave a loud snort. “At least it’s not potluck food.”
    Jackie’s lips tightened, which Esther must have seen. She reached across the table toward Jackie. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean anything personal. Everyone knows it wasn’t your fault someone picked your casserole to plant the poison in.”
    “Of course it wasn’t,” agreed Margaret, and all the heads around the table nodded.
    Mollified, Jackie dipped her forehead in acknowledgment. “I still can’t imagine who would want to hurt a nice old lady like Mrs. Farmer.”
    An uncomfortable silence descended upon the table. No one met her eyes. Laura picked up her fork again and became absorbed in her catfish. Sylvia grabbed for her glass and gulped tea. Beside her, Julie bit into a dainty glazed carrot, her eyes fixed on the far wall.
    Esther’s lips pursed. “Well, she wasn’t a nice old lady by any standard I ever heard. I can think of several reasons someone might want to get rid of her.”
    “Esther,” whispered Margaret, her voice heavy with warning.
    “It’s true,” Esther insisted. “Everybody here knows that. I’m just stating a fact.”
    Sylvia leaned forward to speak around Julie. “She’s right, you know. Alice wouldn’t have won any popularity contests. Since Margaret and Jackie are new, they haven’t had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of her tongue. Let me tell you, it wasn’t a pleasant experience.”
    “Her tongue,” added Esther, “or her poison pen.”
    Margaret closed her eyes, and Jackie wondered if she was praying. And if so, what for? For the truth to come out? Or for her friends to shut up?
    “What do you mean?” Jackie asked.
    “Alice was famous for writing letters, letting people know what she thought. She wrote a letter once to our former pastor, telling him his wife’s skirts were too short and that she was purposefully tempting the men in the congregation to have sinful thoughts.”
    “I remember that,” said Laura. “It really hurt Marcia’s feelings.”
    Esther bit her lip, her face flushed with anger. “And she wrote a letter to my Joshua’s first church, telling them he was a troublemaker and shouldn’t be around young people. That one got him fired.”
    “That’s terrible,” exclaimed Julie. “What a cruel thing to do.”
    Esther nodded. “So you see what I mean. That woman was just nasty, that’s what she was.”
    “Even so,” said Margaret, “she was a child of God and didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
    “Of course not,” agreed Sylvia.
    Esther toyed with her food, pushing it around on her plate without taking a bite. “Yeah. Of course not.”
    “I wonder if we’ll all be questioned by the police,” said Julie. Her gaze slid to Jackie. “I dished up those leftovers.”
    “Oh, surely not,” said Laura, looking disturbed at the idea.
    “What if we are?” Sylvia shrugged. “We just tell them where we were from Sunday afternoon until Tuesday night, when Alice was found. I’m sure none of us paid Alice a visit during that time. No big deal.”
    “Not if you have an alibi,” said Esther. “Jim was out of town on a business trip, as usual. There’s nobody’s to vouch for me.”
    Jackie cast a triumphant look at Margaret. Esther