The Mezzo Wore Mink (25 page)

“
All right, then,” said Chad, “I might have said something to her. The Upper Womb is a legitimate non-profit organization. She told me the week before she died that she’d changed her will to include Upper Womb ministries.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath from Lacie Ravencroft.

“
Did you know how much she left you?” I asked. “I mean before the will was read.”

“
Of course not,” said Chad petulantly.

“
Yes, we did, honey,” said Lacie. “Remember? She told us that she was leaving us five thousand dollars.”

Lacie was obviously the brains of this operation and I mentally kicked myself for not seeing it sooner.

“
Five thousand dollars is hardly enough money to kill someone over,” said Lacie. “We do five thousand dollars a week.”

Chad was still looking confused. “Kill who?” he asked. “Thelma?”

“
Yes, honey,” said Lacie, sweetly. “Chief Konig is trying to discover if we had a motive to kill Thelma.”

“
Of course we didn’t!” said Chad.

“
I guess not,” I said. “By the way, you didn’t happen to see Davis Boothe the week or so before he committed suicide, did you?”

Lacie huffed. “I wasn’t here. I was still in New York.” She looked over at Chad. I did, too.

“
Sure,” he said. “I saw him on that Saturday afternoon. I remember because after our session, he cancelled his next appointment.”

“
Did he happen to say anything?”

“
He was very agitated when he came in, but he calmed down considerably during his massage. He didn’t say why, but he was very tense.”

“
He didn’t happen to leave the Upper Womb anything in his will, did he?”

“
No!” said Lacie.

“
Maybe a life insurance policy?”

Lacie turned on her heel and left the porch with a stomp and a bang of the door.

“
How did you know about the life insurance?” asked Chad.

Chapter 16

I was in my office, studying the computer screen, when Meg and Ruby walked in. Nancy had taken off at about five o’clock. I hadn’t seen Dave since earlier in the afternoon.

“
How about some supper?” Ruby called from the counter. “My treat. I’m a very wealthy crematorium owner.”

“
Sounds great,” I said. “You two c’mere a minute.”

Meg and Ruby made their way around the counter and wandered carefully through the stacks of papers Dave had piled neatly on the floor. Dave was in charge of filing reports with the state and however he wanted to do them was fine with Nancy and me.

“
Did you know,” I said, “that during World War I, the British government advised people to eat rhubarb leaves? Like they were collard greens or something.”

“
The internet is a wonderful thing,” said Meg. “So?”

“
So,” I continued. “The thing is, they’re poisonous. Quite a number of people were poisoned until the British government reversed their recommendation.”

“
Really? They’ll kill you?” Ruby asked.

“
No. They won’t kill you. At least they’re listed here as ‘generally not toxic.’ The leaves contain oxalic acid in the form of oxalate crystals. They cause swelling of the mouth and throat and paralyze the vocal cords.”

“
Sort of like Thelma?” asked Meg.

“
Uh-huh.”

“
So where did you see rhubarb leaves?”

“
In the kitchen at the spa. The day we found Thelma. It was in the sink.”

“
A lot of people have rhubarb this time of year,” said Ruby. “I have some myself. Maybe they were cooking something up.”

“
Maybe they were.”

•••

The Ginger Cat was doing a brisk business. Just inside the door of the restaurant, was a small gift shop that catered to out-of-towners. It carried local foodstuffs—jams, jellies and relishes—cookbooks, a couple of Ardine’s quilts, some pottery, knick-knacks and a few paintings by area artists. It was a nice browse while waiting for your table. Cynthia Johnsson greeted us and put us on the table list.

“
Didn’t I just see you over at the coffee bar?” I kidded.

“
They close at four and a girl’s got to make a living,” she said with a smile. “I’m on at the Ginger Cat Monday and Thursday nights. Pauli Girl’s here, too. She’ll be over at the Bear and Brew tomorrow. I’m off until Thursday unless someone calls me in, which they probably will. October’s busy.”

“
I don’t know how you two keep up,” said Ruby.

“
I only have the two jobs, plus belly dancing,” said Cynthia. “When I’m the mayor, I’ll have to cut back.”

“
Speaking of politics,” I said, “did you
really
belly dance for Bill Clinton?”

“
I really did,” Cynthia said proudly. “He even tipped me a twenty. Tucked it right here.” She pointed to her chest. “I was going to keep it and frame it, but I needed cab fare.”

“
I’m going to need a belly dancer for
The Living Gobbler
,” I said. “Do you think you could work it into your schedule?”

“
Oh, absolutely!”

“
Actually, come to think of it, I’m going to need a
couple
of belly dancers. Maybe you could give Meg a few lessons?”

“
Why, sure!” said Cynthia. “I’d love to.”

Meg was smiling, but only on the outside.

•••

“
I was just kidding. I only need one belly dancer.”

We’d been seated at our table and our drinks were on the way.

“
You don’t need
any
belly dancers,” said Meg. “I’m fairly certain that belly dancing isn’t part nor parcel of any Thanksgiving celebration either here or abroad.”

“
Au contraire,” I said. “It’s an old English tradition dating back to the sixth century, started by Abercrombie the Thankful after his victory at the battle of Pumpkin Hill. His Celtic belly dancers so hypnotized the Viking invaders that they threw down their Horns of Plenty and headed for America.”

“
Abraham Lincoln started Thanksgiving in 1863,” said Meg.

“
Well,” I said, “if you’re going to muck up this conversation by quoting actual facts, the original Thanksgiving feast was in 1621. In fact, there were a number of states that celebrated Thanksgiving even before Honest Abe declared it a National Holiday. I looked it up.”

“
What has that got to do with belly dancing?” asked Ruby.

“
Probably about as much as having twelve kids dressed up like elves and riding in on a four-wheeler singing
Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer
has to do with Christmas.”

“
You have a point,” conceded Ruby, “but that doesn’t make it right. How’s your
Gobbler
show coming along? Is it finished?”

“
Luckily, the Lemmings have taken the reins on this one. It seems that Fiona Tidball-Lemming is a bit of a poetess and playwright, and of course, Adrian is an ex-Baptist minister of music. She’s acquiesced to provide the script and he’s helping as needed. I just need to drop in a few tunes. No problem.”

“
And Fiona included a belly dancer?” said Meg.

“
Well, that’s my own touch. A bit of local flavor, if you will. Cynthia will be belly-dancing to
Over the River and Through the Woods.”

Meg lay her head down on the table.

“
Cheer up,” I said. “At least you don’t have to be one of the singing Brussels sprouts. I put you down as a beautiful Indian squaw.”

Meg said something, but, with her face still resting on her arms, all I could hear was a whimper.

“
If you’d like a speaking role or a solo, the try-outs are tomorrow and Wednesday,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that Muffy and Varmit are auditioning.”

“
Hey,” said Ruby, “I think the nudists will be in town. Maybe you can work them into the show somehow.”

“
They’ll be confined to Camp Possumtickle, I believe.”

“
You mean ‘Camp Daystar,’” corrected Ruby. “Chad Parker told me they’ve renamed it ‘Camp Daystar.’”

“
When did you talk to Chad?” asked Meg.

“
Why, when I went over for my massage, dear.”

“
You went over for a massage?” Meg was incredulous.

“
Sure. All the ladies in our prayer group are going. He’s a licensed Christian Massage Therapist.”

“
Did you?…You know?…” Meg mimed unbuttoning her blouse.

“
Of course. You can’t get a massage with your clothes on.” Ruby gave Meg a matter-of-fact look. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, dear. It’s nothing really. You have a sheet covering you. Well…partially. It’s all very discreet and very relaxing. Chad has very strong hands.”

“
Mother!
” said Meg. “Well, I
never
…”

“
Oh, I’ll bet you did,” laughed Ruby. “Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh, yes. Camp Daystar. They’re going to have a retreat on Thanksgiving weekend.”

“
Is this a national organization?” asked Meg. “Or local?”

“
National, I think,” I answered. “The Daystar Naturists of God and Love. A Christian nudist association.”

“
You’re not going to join, are you?” Meg asked her mother.

“
Of course not,” Ruby replied. “I have no intention of becoming a member of DANGL.”

•••

Ruby, good as her word, happily paid for our supper, then bid us good night and headed for home. She and Meg lived just a few blocks from the downtown square and it was still early evening. Standing in front of the Ginger Cat, and looking east down Oak Street, we could just make out the fourth street light, the one that marked their house, now glowing yellow in the dusk. Up and down the street children were playing tag, a few dogs were running loose, some families were out walking, others just sitting on their front porch. We saw a couple of bike riders and watched a game of catch start up. Ruby walked briskly in their direction, stopping here and there to chat with her neighbors.

We held hands and watched for what seemed to be a long time, neither of us saying anything. Then we crossed Main Street and wandered into Sterling Park, joining a growing number of people who were intent on enjoying the autumn evening. The breeze picked up and carried with it the scent of pine and fir along with the smell of the wood smoke emanating from chimneys all over town. Meg put her arm in mine and snuggled up against the chill.