Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(22)

“Hope I didn’t startle you,” he said.

“Well, you did.” Feeling unreasonably nervous, she could feel her face turning red.

“I rang the bell, but I guess you didn’t hear it.” He didn’t bother to explain why he had come so quietly around to the back of the house. Instead, he extended a hand, palm up, toward the young woman. “This is Detective Peggy King.”

“Oh, yes. You’re the daughter of Helen Tucker’s friend. How do you do?” Edna looked from one to the other, still waiting for someone to explain their presence. A thought caused her hand to fly involuntarily to her mouth. “Is it Tuck? Is she worse?”

“No, ma’am,” Charlie said. He hesitated before nodding at the portrait she’d been working on. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about Tom Greene.”

Edna felt the flush return to her face as she realized she wasn’t supposed to know about Tom’s death. Would she get that nice receptionist into trouble? Only a patient’s physician was authorized to give out information. Hospital staff members could be fired for disobeying rules, especially those policies concerning privacy rights.

Just then, a gust of wind blew across the patio. Edna spun around to catch her easel as the gardening book toppled off the table. Looking up, she saw a mass of dark clouds moving in swiftly from the northeast.

With the officers’ help, she picked up her painting gear and hurried for the house. They hadn’t quite reached the back door when fat drops of rain began to fall. Benjamin was the first to scoot into the mudroom as the sound of thunder rolled across the sky.

Eight

In the kitchen, the two police detectives declined Edna’s offer of tea or coffee and asked that she sit down. Peggy took the chair beside her at the rectangular pine table, and Charlie sat opposite.

During the brief respite caused by the storm and the activity involved in getting her equipment in from the patio, Edna had been trying to figure out how she could get the police to tell her Tom was dead. She didn’t want to let slip—and she knew she would, sooner or later—that she knew about his death. She desperately wanted to stand, put a kettle on to boil and fill the teapot with a soothing herbal mint blend. Sitting here with nothing to do with her hands, she felt her nerves begin to fray. She must say something, but she didn’t want to betray Peppa’s friend.

Finally, she broke the uncomfortable stillness. “How is Tom?” She looked first at Charlie, then at Peggy with what she hoped was an innocent expression. If she thought of him as still alive, maybe she could pull this off. Willing herself to sit quietly, she studied Peggy’s lovely blue eyes and hoped she appeared calm while her insides roiled and her nerves tingled. She waited for one of the detectives to answer. From her television shows, she knew that the police used silence as a means to goad suspects into babbling. Well, she was too smart for that ploy.

After several interminable moments, during which Edna’s resolve began to weaken, Charlie cleared his throat, drawing her attention from Peggy. “That’s a good picture you’ve done of him. Perfect likeness.”

Edna felt heat rise from her neck to her face. What was she supposed to say to this? She thought of the many portraits she’d done over the years to give to friends and family. Why not? “It’s a present,” she said, then added, “a present for his grandson.” Gaining confidence with this decision, she continued. “I’ve grown very fond of Danny, and I thought he might like a painting of his grandfather. They’re very close, you know.” She’d almost given herself away with that one, almost said, “They were very close.” Emotion created a lump in her throat as the last words threatened to overwhelm her. She stopped talking, afraid to say more.

Again the silence grew, and Edna turned her head slightly to look at Peggy. Something made her glance back at Charlie in time to see him give his partner a barely perceptible nod.

“You asked how Tom is,” Peggy said. She paused briefly. “I’m afraid the news is bad, Mrs. Davies.” The detective looked across at Charlie for a few seconds before returning her eyes to Edna’s again, her expression grim. “Tom Greene died last night.”

Edna widened her eyes, hoping she looked surprised, then lowered her head before she overplayed her hand. As she brought the image of Tom’s face to her mind, her earlier sadness returned, and she wasn’t acting anymore when she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Mrs. Davies?” Charlie said in a firm tone. She lifted her head, opening her eyes. “Tell me about your visit with Tom. I understand he was here yesterday?”

Wondering vaguely who the police had learned this information from, Edna told him about Tom’s unexpected visit the day before.

“What kind of mood was he in?” Charlie asked when Edna finished.

She thought of the myriad subjects they had talked about and Tom’s behavior during each—playful and teasing with Mary and her, worried and concerned about his daughter and grandson, bowled over by Dee. She focused her mind on the handyman’s face. “Nothing unusual. He’s … he was worried about his daughter’s leaving her husband and concerned about his grandson’s acceptance at a new school, but on the other hand, he was happy over the prospect of finding an old high school friend.”

“Did he have anything to eat or drink while he was here?” Charlie sounded casual, but she felt he was studying her intently.