Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(52)

“Okay. Maybe I’ll call and ask her if she knows something about it.” Mary paused briefly before hurrying on. “But I’m not going to push her. If she doesn’t know anything, then that’s the end of it. Okay?”

Edna nodded, relieved that Mary was at least going to try. She picked up her cup and was taking a sip when Mary said, “Dee Tolkheim seems like a nice person.”

Edna nearly choked on the hot coffee but managed to swallow before embarrassing herself. “She’s a pest, showing up unannounced and unexpected whenever she pleases. I’m beginning to wonder what she wants with me.”

“Maybe she’s lonely.” Mary’s eyes were downcast as she scooped a small piece of apple tart onto her fork. “Didn’t her husband die only a few months ago?” When Edna nodded, Mary continued. “Maybe she just wants someone to talk to.”

The insightfulness of the remark surprised Edna and brought to mind comments that Albert had made to her over the years to the effect that people were drawn to her. “You have a trusting face and a gentle manner,” he’d said. “People like to talk to you because you listen. That’s quite a comforting trait to someone looking for a kind word.”

Edna watched as Mary gazed around the room, seemingly preoccupied. When she finally turned back, Mary’s eyes were wet, and she blurted out, “Tom promised me …”

At that same moment, their waiter materialized beside the table. “Was everything satisfactory?” Leaning slightly toward Edna, he held a slim black portfolio against his chest. Mary turned her head away.

“Yes, fine.” Edna said, pulling her eyes from Mary’s face. What had she been about to say? What had Tom promised her?

Having to deal with the waiter distracted Edna, as he murmured softly, “I’ll take that whenever you’re ready.”

She held up a hand, signaling for him to stay, and dug the checkbook out of her tote bag. Mentally calculating an adequate but not overly generous tip, she wrote a check and placed it in the black folder. As soon as the waiter departed, after a pleasant “Have a good evening, ladies,” Mary pushed up from her chair and headed toward the front entrance as if she couldn’t wait to leave the place. Edna hurried to catch up.

Rain fell steadily as they raced to Mary’s Jeep in the nearby parking lot. The ground was saturated, and on the blacktop, puddles reflected light from the restaurant and street lamps. The wind had picked up, chilling Edna to the bone as she hoisted herself into the passenger’s seat and pulled on her seat belt. She didn’t know if it was the wine or the spaghetti she’d had, but as the car warmed up, she found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. She’d been up since the wee hours of the morning, been frightened nearly to death by intruders, been questioned by the police and banished from her home. All she could think about was getting into a nice, warm bed and sleeping for hours.

Having said nothing since leaving the restaurant, Mary didn’t seem to mind when Edna excused herself from staying up any longer. With feet that felt like they’d been encased in lead, she climbed the back stairs behind Mary and said good night at the door to the guest room, pausing long enough to watch Hank follow her hostess down the hallway while Benjamin scooted into the room between Edna’s feet. The last thing she remembered after changing into her warm flannel nightgown was slipping between the sheets under a mound of blankets and a hand-sewn quilt.

Edna didn’t think she’d slept more than a few minutes when she became at once alert and aware of her surroundings. Something had awakened her, she was certain. The room was dark, but the lighted display on the clock beside her bed showed her it was three-forty-two in the morning. What had disturbed her?

As she strained her ears, listening to the creaks and groans of a strange house, she heard a soft, metallic squeak. Someone was turning the knob on the door to her room. She remained quiet, pulling the covers up to her chin as she stared at the door and the slowly widening crack. A tall figure became silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway. Edna tried to sound more angry than frightened when she demanded, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Edna.” Mary’s voice was low, barely above a whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just checking the house. Go back to sleep.” After she’d backed out and closed the door, the only sound to reach Edna’s ears was Hank’s nails on the wooden floorboards, moving down the hall.

She was furious at Mary for waking her. Turning on her side, Edna punched the pillow and wiggled into a more comfortable position, hoping it wouldn’t take long for her heart rate to slow and sleep to return. Why would Mary be checking the house at this hour of the morning, and why come into her room?

At that thought, Edna’s eyes shot open, and all thoughts of sleep disappeared. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling. Is that really what Mary had been doing, or was she after something else? What would she have done if I hadn’t awakened?

Edna’s mind whirred as she thought back to Mary’s words earlier that evening, “Tom promised me.” Wasn’t that what she’d said? Edna had meant to ask Mary when they left the restaurant, but what with their dash through the rain and her tiredness, she had forgotten. What had Tom promised Mary? To marry her?

She thought of Starling’s question, “Is Mary the woman scorned?” Is she? Edna wondered. And what if she is? Why kill me? Am I getting close to the truth? Tom’s murderer has nothing to worry about from me, she thought. I don’t have any more answers than I had three days ago, only more questions.