Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(54)

“Oh, no.” Mary looked at her watch. “It’s eight o’clock already. I’m late.”

Edna’s curiosity would have to wait. “You go ahead. I’ll clean up here and take Hank out before I go.”

“Thanks. See you this afternoon. I get off at three-thirty.”

After the sound of Mary’s Jeep had faded down the drive, Edna decided to take advantage of the break in the storm and go for a walk. Once outside, Hank ran circles around her, nose to the ground, as she followed the grassy ruts of a narrow track across the field behind the old house. The morning air was crisp and invigorating, helping to clear her head and renew her usual optimism. As her spirits lifted, Edna knew she was wrong to think Mary might have had anything to do with Tom’s death. Lack of sleep can really make you paranoid, she thought.

Wandering along the wooded edge of the property, she stopped to pick up a stick and toss it to Hank. Benjamin walked behind her, gingerly picking his way though the wet grass. When she turned and headed back to the house, her mind drifted once more to the appointment book, and she wondered where Tom might have gone after he drove away last Thursday.

Maybe Mary was right. If the book had been in Tom’s truck or in his house, the police probably would have found it by now. But, if Nancy didn’t have it, where was it?

Okay, Edna, she scolded herself, forget the book. It might not have an entry for that afternoon. But I bet anything Norm Wilkins knows where Tom was. That man spends more time and energy keeping tabs on his employees than running his business. If anyone knew Tom’s whereabouts, Norm did. She knew as sure as she was standing there that he’d made up the story about Tom working at her place all day, but why would he do that? Was he the killer? No, Edna couldn’t imagine Norm using poisoned tea as his weapon. Was he protecting the killer? What would he gain? Money was the only answer that came to her. Would Norm stoop that low?

She shuddered at the thought of confronting Tom’s cousin, but she had to do it. He was the only solid lead she had, and if she couldn’t get him to tell her what he knew, she was doomed. She might as well give up and wait for the police to come and arrest her, just as they had Aleda Sharp.

Stop it. Edna shook off the self-pity that threatened to overwhelm her. Leaving the two animals in the house, she grabbed her tote bag and hurried next door to get her car.

Nineteen

As she drove the short distance into town, Edna rehashed the possibility that Norm knew where Tom had been on Thursday afternoon. Her mind refused to accept that he would hide his cousin’s murderer. But why had he insisted Tom had been at our house the entire day? she wondered. Norm’s making it look as if I were lying, and therefore guilty of poisoning his cousin. According to Tom, Norm worshipped the almighty dollar. Was Norm sticking to his story simply to collect a day’s worth of labor?

And who is Davy? Apparently, Danny is obsessed with this Davy person. Could Davy be Beverly’s brother David? But they call him Shoes, not Davy. What if Tom met with Shoes about going to work for him? Would that be motive enough for Norm to kill Tom, because he was jumping ship?

According to Beverly, Shoes was planning to start a handyman business in town. Maybe he was scheming to lure Tom away from Honeydew. If Tom had refused to desert his cousin, would Shoes kill Tom to eliminate the competition? Murder would be a pretty drastic measure in either case, she thought, rubbing a temple. Her head ached.

Why couldn’t the police find Shoes? Was he with Beverly and she just wasn’t admitting it to the police? She’d said she’d be out of town for the weekend. Nothing unusual there, unless …Was she coming back?

Now I really am being paranoid, Edna scolded herself. I’m beginning to sound like an amateur detective like Mary, she thought. Edna laughed aloud at the mental image of the two of them dressed in belted London Fog raincoats and holding large, round magnifying glasses in front of their noses.

It was nearly ten o’clock when she reached the office of Honeydew Home Repairs. Norm lived alone in his family’s two-story clapboard house a block off Main Street in the middle of town. The two front rooms on the ground floor were reserved for his business.

The street was crowded, but Edna found a parking space on the next block. She hurried through the rain that had begun again. As she neared the house, she saw a large green utility van pull away from the curb. Drat, she thought, two minutes later and I could have parked right in front.

Cursing her luck and following the instruction on a small sign above the doorbell to “walk in,” she pushed open the unlocked door and found herself in a wide hallway. An old wood and brass coat rack stood on a large rubber mat to her left. She removed her sodden coat and hung it up, not wanting to drip water across the floor.

A closed door to her left had the word Office painted on its frosted glass top, while the room to her right was open to the hall through a wide, square frame that may have held double sliding doors at one time. It looked like a waiting room with a few straight-backed chairs and two old sofas. The bare parquet floor needed waxing. A cluster of toy cars and trucks lay in front of one of the couches, but nobody seemed to be around. She knocked hesitantly on the office door and heard a gruff voice yell, “What is it?”

Clutching her tote bag against her stomach, she turned the knob and poked her head in. No wonder the door was closed. The room was a mess. Piles of magazines and newspapers were stacked on the floor and covered two folding chairs. Boxes of all different sizes, advertising everything from a space heater to screws and nails, were strewn about, the lids open or partially open to reveal that many of them were empty. Piled high with more junk and paper in no discernable order, a desk stood to her right. Above the debris, Norm’s head appeared as if separated from his body and left on top of the heap with his eyes open and the chewed stub of a cigar sticking out of his mouth.