Murder by Yew by Suzanne Young Page B

“McDonald’s? Did you get something to eat?”
    His eyes grew wide. He ran past her up three steps before turning around and coming back to grab at her arm. He waved his other hand toward the house. “Davy,” he said.
    Excited by the boy’s response—she was almost certain he wanted to show her something or someone inside—Edna stood up and took his hand. He tugged at her, seeming impatient for her to follow him. “Davy.” He shouted the name this time. Then again, “Davy!” He began to cry as he tried to pull her up the stairs.
    Edna slipped her free arm through the handles of her tote bag and was stooping to pick up the casserole dish when the front door opened, and Nancy appeared on the porch. Danny was facing the door, halfway up the wide, wooden steps, pulling Edna’s hand.
    “ What are you doing?” Nancy shouted as she bounded down the top four steps and grabbed Danny’s shoulders. She slapped at Edna’s hand. “Let him go!”
    A man and woman, both about Tom’s age, came out of the house just then. “What’s the matter, Nan?” the woman asked.
    “ This is Davy. He was calling her Davy. She’s the one who made Daddy sick. Now she’s trying to take my baby!” Nancy yelled, not taking her eyes off Edna. “Get out of here!” She hugged Danny to her as she shouted at Edna. “Leave him alone!”
    “ You don’t understand …” Edna stammered, shocked at Nancy’s behavior.
    The man, medium height with a stocky build and receding hairline, came down the steps. As he passed Nancy, she shouted, “Call the police.”
    “ I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said, patting her shoulder as he continued down the stairs. He took Edna’s arm and turned her toward the street. “I think it would be best if you leave.”
    “ But …”
    “ You can see you’re upsetting her. It will be worse if the police have to come. Please leave.” His tone turned harsh and his eyes narrowed.
    Edna jerked her arm from his grasp. Clutching her tote bag, she raced toward her car. She was mortified.

 
     
     
     
     
    Ten
     
    For the second night in a row, Edna slept badly. Tossing and turning, she couldn’t shake the feelings of frustration and humiliation. Danny had wanted to show her something, she knew it; but when she pictured the scene as objectively as she could, she could see why his mother might have believed that Edna was trying to pull Danny down the stairs. How could she convince anyone that she wasn’t Davy if she couldn’t get near Tom’s grandson?
    By morning, her face still felt flushed, and her body burned hot and cold at the same time. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and stay there until Albert came home, but she couldn’t.
    Saturday. Her art class would arrive after lunch to spend the afternoon sketching in her yard. She lowered the covers and turned to the window. Thick, black clouds covered the sky. Oh, no. “Not today,” she moaned aloud.
    Reaching over to the bedside table, she turned on the radio to hear the weather forecast. As she listened to her favorite classical station, she slipped into a drowsy half sleep and missed most of the news but came fully awake in time to hear the bleak weather report. Rain and drizzle most of the day. Not expected to clear before evening.
    She groaned and threw back the covers. The furniture will have to be moved to fit nine easels into the living room, ten if Liz is going to paint, she thought. I’ll need some things for the class to work with—a basket of flowers or fruit and maybe one of my Phoenix glass vases. I’ll bring in a pot of aloe to sketch for my garden club presentation. That final thought cheered her only slightly.
    As she showered and dressed, Edna’s mind reeled with all she had yet to do that morning. She would have to get fresh fruit from the grocery store and and scour her gardens for blooms and grasses to fill at least one large urn. The class should have a variety of still lifes from which to choose, and