Hark! The Herald Angel Screamed: An Augusta Goodnight Mystery (with Heavenly Recipes) (15 page)

Kemper frowned. “And the docent? What did she do then?”

“Several people came into the room just then and she went over to speak to them.” Nettie shook her head. “Oh, I wish I’d stayed around longer, but I had to go and give Jo Nell a break!”

Zee patted her arm. “How could you have known?” She turned to Kemper. “What’s in this stuff that was in the punch? Where did it come from?”

“From what I understand it was a prescription drug for insomnia,” Kemper said. “Dr. Smiley thinks it was probably dissolved in some kind of harmless liquid before being added to the punch.”

“And the punch was hot, so that would probably make it even less noticeable,” Nettie pointed out.

“But why Idonia?” I said. “And why would somebody want her to sleep?”

Ellis spoke out with the voice of reason. “So they could steal her locket.”

“Her locket! Of course. I’d almost forgotten about that,” Jo Nell said, shaking her head. “Why would anybody want Idonia’s locket?”

“It might be a good idea if somebody would tell me about this locket,” Kemper said.

“It was an early Christmas gift from Melrose,” Jo Nell said. “It belonged to his grandmother, and Idonia’s going to hit the ceiling when she finds out it’s gone.”

“Melrose is Idonia’s gentleman friend,” Zee explained, seeing the expression on Kemper’s face.

We took time about describing the locket, and then, of course, Kemper wanted to know when we first discovered it missing.

“When was the last time any of you saw Idonia before the drug took effect?” he asked.

“I guess I saw her last,” Zee said, “since I was hostess in the upstairs hall and she had that room up there in the back. She spoke to me as she came upstairs that last time.”

“Can you remember what she said?” Kemper asked.

“She said I should go downstairs and listen to Andy Collins—he plays the dulcimer, you know—and … “

Kemper frowned. “And what? Anything else?”

Zee flushed. “Just that whoever made the shortbread cookies stinted on the shortening. Idonia’s shortbread is always a bestseller at bake sales, you know. It’s her grandmother’s recipe.”

Kemper tried to cover a smile. “Did you see anybody upstairs who might have had an opportunity to put the drug in Idonia’s punch?”

“I went down a little while after that to listen to the dulcimer music,” Zee said, “and I guess two—maybe three—people passed me on the stairs. Later, when it was time to leave, I couldn’t wake her up.”

“Can you remember who these people were?” he asked.

“Two of them were our minister and his wife, Pete and Ann Whittaker, and the other person was one of the docents, I think. She was wearing a sunbonnet and a long dress.”

“Sunbonnet? Is that the usual dress for a thing like this?” Kemper scribbled something on a notepad.

“There were a few of them around,” I told him. “They left it up to us about what we wore as long as it suited the period.”

Kemper sighed and sneaked a look at his watch. “Tell me about this … what’s his name … Melrose? Has Idonia known him long? Does anybody know where he came from?”

Nettie explained that Melrose was staying at the Spring Lamb and worked part time for Al Evans. “He seems harmless enough,” she added. “Idonia brought him to our caroling party last night and he sings a pretty good tenor.”

“And by the way,” I added, “Idonia seemed to think someone was following her last night.”

Zee frowned. “You mean while we were caroling? Wouldn’t we have seen them?”

“Has anyone else mentioned this?” Kemper asked.

I shook my head. “Not to me. Of course we were all bundled to the nines and it was dark as pitch out there.”

Kemper made a note of this, shaking his head. “Any of the rest of you notice an extra person?”

Nobody answered.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, covering a yawn.

“You don’t think Melrose had anything to do with what happened to Idonia tonight, do you?” I said. “If he was working over at Evans and Son like Idonia said, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity.”

“If
can be a big word,” Kemper said.

“If Melrose DuBois was at Bellawood tonight, one of us would’ve seen him,” I said after Kemper left.

“I’m sure Kemper will check with Al over at the funeral home to make sure he was where he said he’d be,” Nettie said.

“And
who
he said he is,” Jo Nell added. “He might not be kin to Al at all.”

Zee’s once-elaborate hairdo was tumbling over one eye and she shoved it back carelessly as she buttoned her coat. “Now that we know Idonia’s going to be all right, I’m going home and sleep for a week!”

“I’m with you,” Jo Nell said. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“Not me.” Ellis stood and stretched, earning sleepy-eyed glances from stragglers in the waiting area. “I was so tired just a while ago I thought I’d drop, but now I’ve gotten a second wind.” She looked around. “Anybody else for coffee?”

“Ellis Saxon! Do you realize what time it is?” Nettie pointed to the clock. “It’s time to take me home—that’s what time it is, and then you two can stay up all night if it suits you.”

“I’ll bet I know who has a pot going,” I said to Ellis after we dropped Nettie off next door. And then I remembered:
Augusta!
I had meant to go back to the hospital snack room and apologize for being such a miserable creature, but Jennifer had been called to the inner sanctums of the ER and I had forgotten all about it.

“If I were Augusta, I’d tell us to brew our own coffee after the grief we gave her tonight,” Ellis reminded me.

And that’s what I was afraid of. A light shone from the kitchen window as we hurried up the steps and across the back porch, but I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob.
What if Augusta wasn’t there?
The very thought of it made my insides turn to slush. I had lived for fifty-five years before Augusta Goodnight entered my life, and I could manage without her again, but it would be like saying good-bye to a part of me. A part that was
sometimes direct to the point of being blunt, but was also warm and kind and endearingly funny.

“What’s wrong with you? It’s cold out here! Move it, will you, Lucy Nan?” Ellis stomped her feet.

The kitchen was empty except for Clementine, who looked up from her sleeping place on the rug and reluctantly came to greet us. The coffeepot stared at us with a cold eye.

I stooped and took the dog’s big, shaggy head in my arms. I wanted to cry. “Hey, girl,” I said, stroking the soft fur on her neck. “Where’s Augusta?” But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“In here.” She stood in the doorway of the sitting room wrapped in a ratty old throw I keep on the back of the sofa, only on Augusta it looked almost elegant. From the television behind her came familiar voices from one of those old movies she loves to watch. Augusta adores Cary Grant. She glanced at the kitchen clock and then at us with something akin to relief on her face. It was almost three
A.M.
“Idonia?” Augusta spoke softly.

“She’s going to be all right,” I said. “There was something in the punch she drank that made her sleep and they had to pump her stomach … Augusta, I meant—”

The angel nodded. “I stayed to hear what the physician said about your friend’s condition, but didn’t find it necessary to linger. Do they know how something like that happened to be in her drink?”

Ellis, with a yearning look at the coffeepot, told her about our conversation with Kemper. “It must have been put in Idonia’s cup when she set it down for a few minutes in the parlor. I think Kemper believes it was Melrose.

“Lucy Nan and I are sorry we were rude and obnoxious to you back at the hospital,” she added, “but does this mean you aren’t going to make us any coffee?”

When Augusta Goodnight laughs, as she did now, it clears the air like an April breeze and makes you forget, at least for a little
while, your nagging little doubts and fears. “Cinnamon or vanilla? Or how about a dash of chocolate?” she asked, adding coffee to the pot. Augusta never measures and it always tastes just right.

We all agreed on chocolate and I got out mugs and plates for the apple cake Augusta had made earlier.

“I hope Bennett won’t wake up and look at the time,” Ellis said, helping herself to the coffee. “I phoned from the hospital and told him I’d be late, but not this late.”

Augusta sat at the table across from us turning her coffee mug in her hands. “Why Melrose?” she asked.

I swallowed a forkful of apple cake. It was warm, moist, and spicy. “Why Melrose what?”

“Why does your policeman friend suspect Melrose?”

“I don’t know that he
suspects
him,” I said. “It’s just that we really don’t know much about him. Melrose was supposed to be working at the funeral home, but I guess he could’ve mixed in with the rest of the crowd. Maybe he wore a beard or something.”

“And Idonia’s locket was missing,” Ellis added. “Looks to me like whoever drugged her punch did it so they could steal the locket.”

“It’s beginning to look that way,” I said. “She’s worn it all over town since she got it, and last night she seemed to think somebody was following her while we were caroling.”

“Do you think we should’ve told Kemper about the locket in that photograph at the Tanseys?” Ellis asked.

“I thought about that, too,” I said. “But we’re not really sure it’s the same one, and Idonia would never forgive us if we got Melrose in trouble over nothing.”

Augusta fingered the stones in her necklace. “Why not ask your friend Idonia if there might be something significant
inside
the locket—something the thief might consider important? I can’t imagine why Melrose DuBois would give Idonia a special piece of jewelry like that if he was going to take it back.”

Ellis shrugged. “Beats me, but I suppose anyone could have done it. Idonia made a big fuss over that hot spiced cider, said she’d be back for another cup later. Several people came in after that because Idonia told them how good it was.”

She stood to take her plate to the sink. “And I didn’t mention this earlier because I didn’t want to get him in trouble, but there was somebody else there tonight who might want Idonia’s locket.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ellis, just tell us who!” I demanded. It was too late and I was too tired for my friend’s theatrics.

“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him, Lucy Nan. He was the one who showed us where to park the car. He was all wrapped up, of course, but I’m almost sure it was Preacher Dave.”

“Dave Tansey? How could you tell? It was dark and that man wore a hat pulled down over part of his face.”
But if the locket really had belonged to his daughter, Dave Tansey would naturally want it back
, I thought. Louella had said it was a family keepsake.

“I recognized his voice,” Ellis said. “Besides, I’ve seen Preacher Dave do that kind of thing before. Remember when we went to that big wedding last summer when Claudia’s cousin married and they had the reception at somebody’s estate? He was helping to park cars then. Guess it earns him a little extra money.”

Augusta hadn’t spoken during this time and now she seemed to be regarding her empty cup as if she expected to find an answer there.

“So, what are you thinking, Augusta?” I asked, preparing for her quiet words of wisdom.

“It seems to me,” she said with a whisper of a smile, “that both Melrose and this Preacher Dave have got a lot of ‘splainin’ to do.”

Augusta has been watching entirely too many
I Love Lucy
reruns.