Not a Chance in Helen by Susan McBride Page A

down. She felt like they’d stopped by to see if she’d really escaped harm. They hoped she was on her deathbed, or that’s how Miss Nora saw it. She as good as called them vultures.”
    “Is that so?” Frank pulled his pad of paper from his pocket, dislodged the pencil, and flipped to a blank page. “Can you recall their names?” he asked. “And perhaps the times they came?”
    “Oh, goodness, let me think.” Zelma looked suddenly befuddled. “Let’s see, I got back from Alton after lunch, and Miss Nora, she was fighting mad at me. She claimed I’d left the front door wide open and the cat had gotten out.”
    “The names of her visitors, ma’am,” the sheriff prodded.
    “Well, there was Miss Jean, of course, bringing that food with her. She was the first of them,” Zelma said, counting on her fingers. “Then I think Miss Jemima was next.”
    “Jemima Winthrop?” Frank asked.
    Zelma nodded. “She said she wanted to talk to Miss Nora about land. She had plans to build a new library.”
    “A new library? Hmm.” The sheriff hadn’t realized they needed one. River Bend already had a perfectly good library as it was.
    “Miss Nora didn’t like the idea either,” Zelma told him. “But Miss Winthrop kept at Miss Nora, demanding back five acres near the harbor that used to belong to her family. She’d been trying to get Miss Nora to deed the land to her. Miss Winthrop wanted to put up a bigger library and name it after her father.” The housekeeper shook her head and sighed. “Miss Nora didn’t want any part of it, and Miss Jemima didn’t like that much.”
    Frank jotted down more notes. He was certainly aware of the friction between the Winthrops and the Duncans. It was as much a part of the town’s folklore as the red-roofed lighthouse near the river, which residents swore up and down had guided Samuel Clemens safely through a storm during his days as a riverboat pilot.
    “Did you ever leave Miss Winthrop alone in the kitchen?” Frank asked.
    Zelma paused. “Well, I guess I did. She waited while I went off to tell Miss Nora she’d come. Only I was ordered to send her packing as well.”
    “I see.” Biddle scribbled again.
    “And then Mr. Baskin came by”—Zelma stopped and cocked her head—“or was it Mr. Duncan? Both of them asked to see Miss Nora. Well, Mr. Duncan demanded it.”
    Biddle glanced up. “You didn’t happen to leave each of them alone in the kitchen, too?”
    “What else could I do?” Zelma looked hurt. “I couldn’t just spring them on Miss Nora without warning her first. She would’ve had my head.”
    “I understand, Miss Burdine,” Biddle told her, sure that facing her angry mistress would have been worse than turning away unwanted guests. “I’m sure you did everything just as you were told.”
    Zelma smiled sadly. “I did my best, that’s true, and it was hard enough, let me tell you. Keeping things shipshape around here isn’t easy. The house is as big as a fortress. You ever dust fourteen rooms, Sheriff, or vacuum fourteen rugs?” Her shoulders stooped as if they bore the weight of the world.
    “No, I can’t say that I have,” he admitted. “I think it’s amazing you’ve done it all on your own.”
    Zelma’s eyes seemed to soften. Or else it was just those damned glasses distorting them.
    Frank cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to Floyd Baskin. Can you give me an idea what he was after?”
    “Why, he wanted money, of course, for his cause,” Zelma said matter-of-factly.
    The sheriff knew Baskin and his cause very well indeed. “So he came by to get a donation for Save the River?”
    “A donation?” Zelma repeated and laughed. “When he was alive, Mr. Duncan practically supported Baskin’s efforts single-handedly. When he died, he left them some kind of annual stipend. Only Miss Nora didn’t like the turn they’d taken.” Zelma let out a noisy tsk-tsk . “All they seemed to do lately was break into buildings, destroy property,