“I’ve had some experience in criminal investigation, and I may be able to help in determining the identity of her Uncle Hiram’s killer.”
Stella’s blue eyes rounded, and I felt a little guilty. I had indeed helped uncover some killers, but I was no Jessica Fletcher of Murder, She Wrote expertise. And Skinny Scarecrow was not impressed.
“There’s little doubt about the identity of the killer,” she said loftily. “It’s just a matter of the authorities gathering the proper evidence, which I’m sure they’ll have before long.”
“In the meantime,” I said, “innocent until proven guilty.”
Victoria frowned, but she could hardly deny that axiom. “Of course,” she agreed stiffly.
“So, let’s have a look at that computer,” I said as if I knew exactly what I was doing and could whip the computer into shape with a few keystrokes.
I circled the desk, removed my heavy jacket, and hung it on the back of the chair. I resisted the urge to flex my fingers, as if I were about to give a command performance at the piano, and gave the computer the standard ctrl-alt-delete key combination. No response. It was froze up solid. Grandniece Sandy had said the best thing to do in a situation such as this was turn everything off and start over. So, still pretending I knew more than I did, I briskly shut everything down, waited a few seconds, and turned it on again. The screen disapprovingly informed me that the computer hadn’t been shut down properly, but after a brief scan to check its internal condition, it revved up nicely. Not only was the computer old, I realized, so was the program they were using. Windows 98. Stella hadn’t saved anything before the computer froze up, but she had a hand-scribbled copy of what the letter should say. I briskly typed it out and printed two copies on a noisy old inkjet printer. It was a letter to a company complaining that the new coffeemaker had died only two days after the warranty expired, and the Society, as a worthy nonprofit organization, hoped it could be replaced. An “important” letter indeed. The Society must not be without its coffee.
Stella pressed her hands together when she read the printed letter. I’d fixed up a couple of problems with punctuation and grammar. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”
Even Victoria seemed mildly impressed. “Indeed, this is very helpful.”
“Perhaps I could fill out an application for the position?” I briefly ran through my qualifications.
“I say we hire her,” Stella declared.
“I’m not sure we can do it without calling a membership meeting and voting on it,” Skinny Scarecrow (no, no, I must think of her as Victoria) demurred.
“Oh, cabbages. That will take too long. Ivy is perfect for the job, and she might have something else by then and not be available.”
Stella looked at me, and I nodded, liking her. (How not to like someone who indulges a potbellied pig in chocolate treats, substitutes cabbages for some unacceptable word, and even says you’re perfect?) “Yes, that’s possible,” I agreed. Although privately I suspected there was about as much chance of my instantly finding another job in Hello as there was of the president tapping me for a position on the Supreme Court.
“Here comes Charlotte!” Stella exclaimed as the front door opened. “We can make a committee of three with her and do it.”
A tall woman, mid-fiftyish, which put her somewhat younger than Victoria and Stella, smartly dressed in narrow taupe skirt, slim-heeled boots, and fur-collared jacket, walked briskly toward us. I doubted her long blond hair was natural, but the coloring and highlights were expertly done, and it had a bouncy swing as she walked. She set her oversized leather purse on the desk. It had a prominent metal initial on it, which I supposed meant something expensive, although I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to know what.
“Stella, hon, do we have anything about the history of the old Randolph place over on
Stella’s blue eyes rounded, and I felt a little guilty. I had indeed helped uncover some killers, but I was no Jessica Fletcher of Murder, She Wrote expertise. And Skinny Scarecrow was not impressed.
“There’s little doubt about the identity of the killer,” she said loftily. “It’s just a matter of the authorities gathering the proper evidence, which I’m sure they’ll have before long.”
“In the meantime,” I said, “innocent until proven guilty.”
Victoria frowned, but she could hardly deny that axiom. “Of course,” she agreed stiffly.
“So, let’s have a look at that computer,” I said as if I knew exactly what I was doing and could whip the computer into shape with a few keystrokes.
I circled the desk, removed my heavy jacket, and hung it on the back of the chair. I resisted the urge to flex my fingers, as if I were about to give a command performance at the piano, and gave the computer the standard ctrl-alt-delete key combination. No response. It was froze up solid. Grandniece Sandy had said the best thing to do in a situation such as this was turn everything off and start over. So, still pretending I knew more than I did, I briskly shut everything down, waited a few seconds, and turned it on again. The screen disapprovingly informed me that the computer hadn’t been shut down properly, but after a brief scan to check its internal condition, it revved up nicely. Not only was the computer old, I realized, so was the program they were using. Windows 98. Stella hadn’t saved anything before the computer froze up, but she had a hand-scribbled copy of what the letter should say. I briskly typed it out and printed two copies on a noisy old inkjet printer. It was a letter to a company complaining that the new coffeemaker had died only two days after the warranty expired, and the Society, as a worthy nonprofit organization, hoped it could be replaced. An “important” letter indeed. The Society must not be without its coffee.
Stella pressed her hands together when she read the printed letter. I’d fixed up a couple of problems with punctuation and grammar. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”
Even Victoria seemed mildly impressed. “Indeed, this is very helpful.”
“Perhaps I could fill out an application for the position?” I briefly ran through my qualifications.
“I say we hire her,” Stella declared.
“I’m not sure we can do it without calling a membership meeting and voting on it,” Skinny Scarecrow (no, no, I must think of her as Victoria) demurred.
“Oh, cabbages. That will take too long. Ivy is perfect for the job, and she might have something else by then and not be available.”
Stella looked at me, and I nodded, liking her. (How not to like someone who indulges a potbellied pig in chocolate treats, substitutes cabbages for some unacceptable word, and even says you’re perfect?) “Yes, that’s possible,” I agreed. Although privately I suspected there was about as much chance of my instantly finding another job in Hello as there was of the president tapping me for a position on the Supreme Court.
“Here comes Charlotte!” Stella exclaimed as the front door opened. “We can make a committee of three with her and do it.”
A tall woman, mid-fiftyish, which put her somewhat younger than Victoria and Stella, smartly dressed in narrow taupe skirt, slim-heeled boots, and fur-collared jacket, walked briskly toward us. I doubted her long blond hair was natural, but the coloring and highlights were expertly done, and it had a bouncy swing as she walked. She set her oversized leather purse on the desk. It had a prominent metal initial on it, which I supposed meant something expensive, although I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to know what.
“Stella, hon, do we have anything about the history of the old Randolph place over on
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