Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(28)

“What's wrong with it?” Edna asked, rising and heading for the kitchen as she spoke into the cordless instrument.

Starling snorted. “If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask Dad to look at it.”

“You're right. Forget I asked.” Edna was annoyed that Starling had made her feel foolish. Whenever this child of hers was snappish, she knew it was because Starling either had too much on her mind or was deeply worried about something. Usually, Edna would jolly Starling out of a bad mood, but today was different. She was the one who needed a good dose of sympathy and understanding.

Obviously picking up on Edna’s tone, Starling said, “Hey, Mom. What's the matter? You sound down.”

If self-pity hadn’t interfered, Edna would have smiled. It was also typical of Starling to put aside her own feelings whenever she sensed someone else was troubled. Edna sat at the kitchen table and told her daughter about Tom's death, carefully leaving out the part about being questioned by the police.

“I’m so sorry, Mother,” Starling commiserated. "I know you really liked him. Isn’t he the one who brought his grandson over sometimes?"

“Yes, that was Tom.” Edna answered almost absently as an idea formed in her head. “Were you planning on coming down here for the weekend?”

“Well, I was, but if Dad's not around …” This time, Starling paused, probably before saying something else that would hurt her mother’s feelings. “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to come see you, Mom, but my car’s been acting up. I have a big photo shoot Monday morning, and it would be disaster if I got stuck in Rhode Island.”

Disappointed, Edna considered an alternative. “What if I drive up to Boston? I'll take you to dinner tonight. Your choice, my treat.” She knew then a change of scene was what she needed. Or was she running away?

“Cool.” Starling’s enthusiasm warmed Edna. “There's a new French restaurant not far from here. I've been dying to try it.” Her eagerness increased, making Edna smile. “Can you stay Sunday night, too? I'll get tickets to the cabaret … and we can have brunch at the Ritz. Why didn't we think of this before? We haven’t had a mother-daughter weekend in ages. When can you get here?”

Catching some of her daughter’s eagerness, Edna said, “I’m hosting my art class this afternoon, but I can probably leave by four. If the traffic isn't too bad, I should be at your apartment around five-thirty.”

“Terrific. I'll make reservations for seven-ish,” Starling said. “We can have a drink here before we go. Oh, Mom, what a great idea. Oops, I’d better get this place cleaned up.”

Edna was laughing as she hung up the phone. She felt better as she started to prepare herb and cheese spreads for the afternoon's refreshments. As she was taking a jar of mustard out of the refrigerator, Benjamin strolled into the room and sauntered over to his water bowl. Although she knew he’d be fine in the house for two nights, on impulse she reached for the phone and dialed Mary's number.

“I was wondering if you could take care of Benjamin this weekend.” Edna said after the preliminary greetings were over.

“Sure. Want me to pick him up now?”

“Oh, you don’t have to bring him to your house. He needs to be fed in the morning and let out. Put him in at night and feed him again. He’ll be fine. You know where his food is—cupboard in the mudroom, middle shelf—and there’s a spare key behind the wooden bench at the side of the house. It’s in one of those holders that looks like a rock.”

But Mary was at the back door within ten minutes to get detailed instructions on the care and feeding of Benjamin. The cat followed the two women around as if he understood what was going on and needed to supervise. Mary then helped move some of the living room furniture. When she was ready to leave, Edna gave her the spare key that was usually left outside in the rock garden. Albert insisted on the hiding place when they first moved in, since Edna had once locked herself out of their house years ago.

After Mary left, Edna set her easel up in the living room, slipping the picture of Tom to the back of her sketch pad. Several people in the class, including Liz, had known him. If the occasion arose, Edna would show the portrait to the instructor and get her opinion. Depending on if Liz thought it was good enough, maybe Edna would give the picture to Danny one day. Thinking of the boy and the events of last night made her cheeks burn again. She forced the images out of her head and went upstairs to pack an overnight bag, wanting to leave as soon as possible after class.

At twelve forty-five, Edna slipped her freshly laundered, off-white painting smock over a blue print blouse and navy wool slacks and was ready for her guests to arrive. She took a last look around the living room, pleased with her preparations, then went to the kitchen where several plates of tea sandwiches and toasted bread squares were prepared with homemade spreads. The triangles of herb bread with cream cheese and nasturtium petals were her particular favorite. Beside the food platters, cups and glasses were arranged on a tray that she carried into the dining room and set on the highly polished mahogany table next to a colorful fan of paper plates and napkins.

Class members were usually prompt, always eager to begin on time. At ten minutes past one, when nobody had arrived yet, Edna was pacing the kitchen floor. Occasionally, she’d stand at the sink and look out the wide window at the driveway to see if any cars were coming. Finally, at quarter past the hour, Liz’s green minivan turned in from the road.