The Angel and the Jabberwocky Murders by Mignon F. Ballard Page B

all right,” she whispered to the other woman. “It’s all right now, Pearl…it’s all right.”
    It didn’t look all right to me.
    Pearl, I learned, had discovered the grisly apron at the bottom of a hamper of soiled towels and aprons used by the kitchen staff while gathering items for the laundry.
    Joy Ellen had the presence of mind to summon the police and attempted to shoo away the curious onlookers, but it didn’t do much good. I was relieved to see that one of them was Leslie. The rest of us waited in the cafeteria while Pearl sat with her feet propped on a chair and sipped water. The cooks had been preparing chicken pot pie, and the smell of it made me feel queasy.
    â€œWhat makes you think it’s human blood?” I asked Willene, taking her aside. “Couldn’t it be beef or chicken—something like that?”
    She turned a shade paler and looked away. “Look at it, Lucy—the way it’s spattered…it wouldn’t be like…that.”
    I didn’t want to look at the ghastly thing, but it was hard to look anywhere else. The stain dotted the apron from top to bottom like a big question mark.
    â€œLucy.” Willene spoke softly as we watched the local police winding through the gathering outside. “I’m not feeling well at all. Would you mind staying here with Pearl?”
    Before I could answer, she had scurried out the back way.
    I recognized Captain Hardy, who was accompanied by Weigelia’s cousin Kemper Mungo and Sheila Eastwood, two of Stone’s Throw’s finest. Pearl, more composed now, was able to show them where she had found the apron in the narrow room behind the kitchen where soiled laundry was collected.
    â€œWhen I seen what was on there, I dropped it like it’d been a snake!” she told them. “Willene—she brought it out here so she could look at it in the light.” Pearl mopped her eyes and braced herself on Kemper’s sturdy arm. “Do-law! I wouldn’t touch that thing again for a million dollars!”
    Wearing gloves, Sheila Eastwood carefully placed the apron in a large plastic bag. When she lifted it from where it had been spread on the floor, something fell out of a pocket and landed with a clank, while another, smaller object rolled against my foot.
    Not thinking, I reached down to pick it up, and I would have it Kemper hadn’t stopped me.
    â€œDon’t touch it!” Using a pen, he held the thimble up for us to see. It was hand-painted with tiny blue violets, and on the floor near where it had fallen was a pair of embroidery scissors.
    Joy Ellen sank into a chair and looked up at me with shock-glazed eyes. We both knew the thimble and scissors belonged to Blythe Cornelius.

Chapter Nine
    The phone was ringing when I finally got home that afternoon. “Thank goodness I caught you!” My daughter-in-law Jessica sounded as if she’d been in one of her marathons—she runs at least three mornings a week and weighs about fifteen pounds soaking wet.
    My heart jumped into a reggae beat. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to—”
    â€œNo, no! Nothing like that. It’s just that Roger and I were planning to take in dinner and a concert at the college tonight, and our sitter just canceled on us. I wondered if you’d mind keeping Teddy for a while?”
    â€œWell, of course not! And you might as well plan to let him spend the night, since you’re bound to be late getting home.”
    â€œI suppose you’re right,” Jessica said. “It is a school night, though, so he’ll need to get to bed early—and if you would, he’ll probably need some encouragement to finish his homework.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ll encourage,” I told her.
    â€œI hope it won’t be an inconvenience…” Jessica hesitated. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to have to cook anything special.”