Murder by Mushroom by Virginia Smith Page A

Hodges was still bitterly angry with Mrs. Farmer over that letter. Maybe even angry enough to kill her. And she had no alibi.

NINE
    A fter a dessert of Shaker lemon pie and a leisurely stroll around the lush grounds, the group split up. Jackie rode in the silence of Margaret’s car, jotting down thoughts from her two interviews of the day. Margaret, staring pensively ahead, refused to be drawn into conversation.
    As the car approached town, they passed the turnoff to the city dump.
    “Hey, look at that.” Jackie pointed toward a police car in the road, a blinker signaling its intention of turning onto Mrs. Farmer’s street. As Margaret’s car whizzed by, Jackie caught sight of the man in the passenger seat. “Wasn’t that Detective Conner?”
    “I think so. I wonder if they’re going back to Alice’s house for something.”
    Jackie twisted in her seat to watch the police car execute the turn and disappear down the street. “Why don’t we follow them and find out?”
    “Sorry, I don’t have time. I have an appointment this afternoon.”
    Jackie studied Margaret’s suddenly closed expression. Did she really have an appointment, or was that just an excuse to get rid of her?
    “You know, Margaret, I know you don’t approve of my investigation—” she tried to keep the hurt out of her voice “—or think I’m capable of handling it.”
    “It’s not that.” Margaret gave her a quick smile before returning her eyes to the road. “I’m sure you can find things out, maybe even some things the police wouldn’t be able to find. I just worry about all the people who might be hurt in the process.”
    “I know, I know. Gossip is terrible. But I think I handled myself pretty well at lunch.”
    “You did, but that’s just what I’m talking about. I don’t believe for a minute that Esther killed Alice. But your questions dredged up some painful memories for her, just like they did for Sharon this morning. Who else will be hurt before this is over?”
    Jackie resolutely ignored the memory of Sharon’s furious expression and the twinge of guilt that accompanied it. She would apologize to Sharon the first chance she got, and from now on she would handle things better. Still, she couldn’t ask questions about Mrs. Farmer without dredging up unpleasant feelings. The old woman seemed to have that effect on people. “You know what they say. You have to break a few eggs—”
    “—to make an omelet. I know.” Margaret smiled wryly. “I hate making omelets. They never turn out like I want them to.”

     
    When Margaret’s Buick pulled out of the parking lot of Jackie’s apartment building, Jackie went straight to her own car. She needed to get some cat food anyway, and since she was going out, she might as well drive by Mrs. Farmer’s house. If the police were looking for new clues, she intended to be there when they found them.
    A police car and a white van filled the narrow driveway. Jackie left her car parked on the street and walked across the yard. The front door opened while she was still several feet away.
    “Miss Hoffner,” said Detective Conner, spearing her with a green gaze. “What brings you here on this fine afternoon?”
    Jackie ignored the arrogance in his tone. “I was going to ask you the same.”
    “We’re here on official business. And you? Come to do some more housecleaning?”
    At that moment, three men came around the side of the house, saving Jackie from trying for an appropriately scathing response. Two wore jeans and button-down shirts, and one of them carried a sophisticated-looking camera. The other held several large plastic zipper bags, the same kind Trooper Walsh had used to cart off the contents of her kitchen. No surprise, the third man was the young state trooper himself.
    Eyeing the bags, Jackie tried to make out their contents. One looked like it held a dirty paper plate. Another had a balled-up wad of something she couldn’t identify—something translucent. And the