Murder by Yew by Suzanne Young

about what you said, about getting a pet and all.” She rubbed her cheek against the top of Benjamin’s head. “Benjy is great company, isn’t he?”
    “ Benjamin,” Edna corrected automatically, as she reached for the whistling kettle. “Yes, he’s a sweetheart. If you’d like, you can give him some special snacks from the cupboard in the mudroom. They’re on your right, just inside the door on a shelf about waist high.”
    Mary went for the cat treats and returned as Edna was setting the teapot on a hot plate.
    “ When did you do this?” she said, holding up the sketch of Tom.
    Edna had forgotten she’d left the drawing in the mudroom when the detectives had helped her bring the easel in out of the rain.
    “ Today. Do you like it?”
    “ It’s good.” Mary sighed as she sat down again and wiped a fresh tear off her cheek. She laid the portrait on the table beside her, looking at it as she reached for her cup. “I wish I could draw. I’d like to be able to capture someone’s face like this.”
    “ It’s not hard,” Edna said. “You could take a class.”
    Mary shook her head. “I couldn’t. Even in school, I could never draw people.”
    “ Well …” Edna paused to think how she might encourage Mary. “I’d be glad to show you a few pointers sometime. You could start by studying faces. Watch the people around you, the shape of their eyes and nose. Look particularly at ears. Ears are important.”
    Mary seemed interested. “Do you really think I could do it?” She looked down again at the portrait.
    “ I think you can do whatever you put your mind to.” Edna poured more tea into her cup. “Did you ever take an art class in school?”
    Over their drinks, Edna asked Mary about her school days. Mary answered halfheartedly, speaking quietly while she stroked Benjamin’s back and scratched his ears as he lay curled up and purring in her lap. Eventually, she gave a heavy sigh and said, “Thanks. I’m feeling better now. I should go home.”
    Once she was alone, Edna paced around the kitchen, considering her situation. Obviously, the police think Tom was poisoned, she thought. I’m not stupid. They’re concentrating on what he had to eat and drink yesterday, and because I experiment with herbs, they think I might have given him something toxic. Her breath caught in her throat. If the police suspect me, then others will too. She thought of the For Sale sign in the yard across the street and felt a burning sensation grow in her chest.
    Remembering Detective Rogers’ insinuation that she and Tom were more than friends made her face flush. Where would he have gotten such an idea? The notion that anyone would believe she could be unfaithful to Albert made her angry. That they would believe she could poison someone made her afraid.
    Edna stopped pacing as her imagination took over, and she pictured herself standing in a courtroom, listening to the judge pronounce her guilty of murder. Her mind transported her into a prison cell where she heard the clang of metal on metal, exactly like on television, as the barred door slammed in her face.
    Perspiration broke out on her forehead, and her hands felt clammy. “Get hold of yourself,” she muttered, realizing she must stop these paralyzing thoughts. Why had Detective Rogers asked if Danny called her Davy? The thought of Tom’s grandson sent a wave of sadness through her and made her start to wonder about the boy.
    “ I bet the police didn’t understand what Danny was saying.” The sound of her own voice startled her, and she looked around guiltily. Benjamin lifted his head and looked at her sleepily from the seat Mary had recently vacated. She reached over and ruffled his ears. “What difference does it make if I talk to myself or to you, Benjamin? I know they think I killed Tom.”
    Whether she felt comfort from the warm softness of her cat or from the sound of her own voice or both, Edna continued to speak aloud as she sat down at the table.