Not a Chance in Helen by Susan McBride

mind coming into the kitchen? I was about to feed the cat. She’s supposed to eat at precisely twelve o’clock, and I’m late as it is.”
    “That’ll be just fine, ma’am.” He followed after her, walking slowly behind her shuffling gait.
    Frank settled into a chair at the kitchen table and couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering to the spot on the floor where he’d found Eleanora Duncan lying the night before. His stomach did a little flip-flop and he swallowed, trying to wash down the bad taste in his mouth. How he wished old Mrs. Duncan had died of natural causes. It would have made his life so much easier.
    Zelma hobbled about in her unhurried manner. She took a can from the pantry and stuck it under an automatic opener. At its gentle whir, the cat appeared, pushing through the swinging door that led in from the dining room.
    “Nice kitty, pretty kitty,” Biddle said to the copper-hued critter as it swished past his legs. But the pug-nosed feline ignored him entirely.
    Zelma drained the can then dumped its contents into a saucer. She turned and hesitated, her Coke-bottle gaze on Lady Godiva. “Well, here it is,” she announced, plunking the dish to the floor with a clatter. “It’s tuna fish and no complaining ’cause that’s all there is for now.”
    Biddle half expected the cat to respond.
    Instead, Lady Godiva picked her way across the floor to sniff at the offering. Then she lifted her flat face to Zelma and let out an unfriendly hiss. With a flick of her tail, she left as she’d come.
    Biddle chuckled. “She’s a finicky one.”
    “She’ll be back, believe me,” Zelma told him, hands on ill-defined hips. “Miss Nora spoiled her rotten, buying her gourmet cat food like she was royalty.” The wrinkled face fell further. “But the men last night took all the fancy slop when they emptied the fridge, and I don’t aim to drive all the way back to Alton to get any more, not when I’m in the state I am. There’s plenty of tuna besides.”
    Biddle knew the price of a can of StarKist, and he figured that if tuna was coming down in the world, the cat was doing pretty well.
    Zelma wiped off her hands before taking a seat across the table. “So,” she said and fixed her eyes on him, “you wanted to ask me some questions about Miss Nora?”
    “If you wouldn’t mind,” he murmured. The old girl did look rather pale.
    “I’ll do anything to help, Sheriff.” Zelma stared down at her hands. “Miss Nora meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”
    “You were close?”
    “As close as they come.” Zelma let out a tearful sniff. “I’ve worked here for most of my life. I was here when she and Mr. Duncan first married and when Jim came along. I could never imagine leaving.”
    Biddle waited for the waterfall, but Zelma brushed at her cheeks and went on.
    “She was like family, Sheriff. ‘What would we do without each other, Zelma?’ she always said.” The faded eyes clouded. “But now I’ll have to do without her, won’t I? She’s gone forever. She’s not coming back.” Zelma sobbed and reached her hand across the table. “What’ll I do without her?” she whispered. “What’ll I do?”
    The sheriff stared at the outstretched fingers, thick at the knuckles and as wrinkled as the rest of her. He wondered what there was for him to say. How was he supposed to comfort the grieving? Sometimes words only seemed to make things worse.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he got out.
    Zelma sighed and withdrew her hand, setting it down in her lap.
    Frank shifted in his seat. “Um, ma’am, could you tell me more about yesterday afternoon? Was Mrs. Duncan the only one who was here?”
    “Oh, no,” the housekeeper said, “hardly the only one. She was trying to nap, and they all showed up one after the other. Miss Nora was quite irritated.”
    Frank leaned forward. “So who else dropped in?”
    Zelma fiddled with her lace collar. “Miss Nora figured so many came because of her nearly being run