Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) by Alter Judy

Author:Alter, Judy [Alter, Judy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Turquoise Morning Press
Published: 2014-02-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

News of Sara Jo’s death caused a buzz in business and conversation at the café next morning. Everyone knew the café was the place to go for the latest gossip, news, whatever. This morning they were all talking about Sara Jo. A few almost openly said she had asked for trouble, while others countered nobody should be murdered, no matter how angry she made townsfolk.

“Well, if the sheriff is going to question everyone she talked to, it’ll take him days. Hope he turns the case back over to Chief Samuels,” one customer said as he paid for his breakfast.

I echoed that sentiment silently and tried to stay above the discussion. When someone asked me about it, I simply said the boys had found the car, alarmed my sister, and she’d called the chief who discovered the body.

Donna called while I was at the cash register. I could hear her voice even before I said hello. Shrill. High. Agitated.

“Hi, Donna.”

“Well, I suppose I’m the prime suspect,” she shouted. “Why does this town always pick on me? I liked Sara Jo, I didn’t kill her.”

Trust Donna to make the tragedy her own, as though she were buying into a crisis to fill the void in her life. “I think I’m the prime suspect,” I said calmly. “I was apparently the last one to see her alive.” After a pause, I added, “Unless you went back to The Tremont House after I left.”

Indignation. “You know I didn’t. You can ask Tom.”

“I don’t need to. I need a way to clear my name.”

“Oh, you won’t be in serious trouble. Rick won’t go after you the way he does me.”

I read all the insinuations in her voice and decided to ignore them. “It’s not up to him,” I said after a pause. “The county sheriff has jurisdiction. And, Donna, you had soured on Sara Jo after she began to push you about being arrested for Irv’s murder.”

That mollified her a bit. “I don’t even know who the sheriff is, so surely he doesn’t know me and won’t be going after me.”

Thanks for the support, Donna. Always think of your own skin first. “He’ll know about the case,” I said, “and he’ll put it all together.” I was through giving Donna an easy out.

Gram chose the moment I hung up to talk to me. “Be patient, child. She doesn’t have the strength you do.”

“Gram, why don’t you talk to her, not me?”

“Because I can help you. She won’t listen to me.”

Gram faded away, but I thought she’d hit it. Donna was so busy listening to herself she wouldn’t listen to anyone else. As I hung the phone up, I could almost see Gram in the kitchen kneading dough, wearing one of her flowered dresses and a white cotton apron. The vision made me teary for a minute, but I had to get back to business.

My other phone call of the early morning came from David Clinkscales. “The Wheeler murder was the headline in the Dallas paper this morning.

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