A Justified Murder (Medlar Mystery #2)(6)

“But it didn’t end well?” Kate encouraged.

“No. Several people noticed that Sylvia began to look bad. Circles under her eyes, that sort of thing. People asked if she was all right, but she was a very private person and told nothing.”

“Did she tell her problems to Janet?” Kate asked.

“I think so. I remember seeing them in a restaurant over on University. I started to say hello but then I realized that Sylvia was crying. Janet was reaching across the table and holding her hands. I thought, Maybe they are lovers. I left the restaurant. Not long after that...”

“Sylvia killed herself,” Jack said. “I don’t remember that happening.”

“I think you were in New York with Sara then. And it was over and done with so quickly we hardly knew what was going on. It was exactly like her husband. Someone came and got her. The funeral wasn’t here, and later the house was emptied, then quietly sold. What I really remember was that Janet looked miserable after that. Her eyes were sunken and red from crying.”

Heather took a breath. “We didn’t say much about it because we were ashamed of ourselves. Right here in our midst was a woman so unhappy that she took her own life, and none of us had noticed or tried to do something. I kept thinking about how I’d walked out of that restaurant. I should have helped.” Heather was leaning on the counter, her hands clenched firmly.

Kate reached out to put her hand over Heather’s just as Jack did. For a moment they stayed that way, three pairs of hands together.

Heather went back to the stove. “I can’t imagine how lonely Janet must have been after Sylvia died. It was as though two women had left the earth.”

“Is that one of the reasons you asked her to help us when we were trying to find out about the Morrises?” Kate asked.

“Oh yes! Janet is—was—so efficient, so good at everything she did. Even cooking. I asked her for that chocolate cake recipe and she gave it to me. I tried it, but mine didn’t come out nearly as good. In fact, I tossed it.”

“What do you know about Janet’s background?” Jack asked.

“Nothing. Ever since I heard, I’ve tried to remember but I can’t think of anything.”

“She had some money,” Kate said. “In my estimate, her house is worth a million and a quarter.”

“Is it?” Heather turned to look at them. “Why are you asking me all these questions? This goes past some report for the sheriff. And for that matter, why were you guys there? I assume Sara was with you.”

“Sure, she was,” Jack said. “Flynn wanted her to take pictures of...of the body.”

Both Kate and Jack were looking down.

Heather put her hand under her son’s chin and lifted his head to look into his eyes. “Your father could lie so well that no one guessed what he was up to. But you, Jackson, my darling son, aren’t nearly as good. What’s up?”

“We, uh... She...”

“Mrs. Beeson was murdered,” Kate said.

Immediately, Heather’s face drained of color. Jack leaped up, grabbed his mother, and led her to a stool. He got her a glass of water.

“Murder?” Heather managed to whisper. “And you two and Sara are going to...to...?”

“No, we’re not.” Kate’s voice was firm. “We’ve decided that one murder investigation was enough for us. And after last time...” She looked at Jack to help her out.

He had his arm protectively around his mother. “The cleaning woman found her. She—”

“Daffy Dora?” Heather was looking at Kate.

“Yes. Dora found the body, then called the sheriff. He asked Aunt Sara to take pictures. Jack was home, so he sent me a text to meet him there. We saw her, then when the county guys arrived, we sneaked out.”

Heather looked from one to the other, then back. “If Sara was here, you’d be those three monkeys of see, hear and speak no evil. What aren’t you telling me?”

Neither Jack nor Kate spoke.

“Okay. It’ll soon be all over town so I’ll find out.” Heather took a deep breath. “I have no idea who’d want to murder Janet Beeson. She was such a quiet little woman that I can’t imagine anyone noticing her, much less killing her. All I know for sure is that for years she was best friends with an elegant woman named Sylvia Alden, who committed suicide. Since then, as far as I know, Janet has been alone. I don’t think I ever saw her with anyone else. She was so alone that suicide was easy to believe—but not murder. How did—?” She raised her hand. “No, I don’t want to hear that.”

Heather looked at them. “You said she was rich. Could it have been a robbery? Maybe Janet heard someone breaking in, then they hit her over the head with something? An accidental murder?”

“No,” Kate said.

“It was not an accident,” Jack said.

Heather stood up. “I definitely don’t want to know any more details about this.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack said.

She went back to the stove, filled two bowls with her homemade minestrone, and set them on the counter. “How about if we have something to eat, then this afternoon I pay some visits and get people to talk about dear Janet? I’ll ask what they remember about her.”

“That would be great,” Kate said.