A Short Story (Part 2 of 3)
Linda Carroll-Bradd
One More Time
Part 1 of 3
PART 2
The crowd parted, and a thin man leaning on a cane shuffled forward.“No, Clyde!” Martha sat forward and thrust out a hand.
The man scooted from her grasp. “Don’t shush me, Martha Jane. You might act like the queen of this clan, but Annie was my blood kin.” Clyde raised his cane and pointed across the park. “Annie was fit as a fiddle an hour ago, smiling and chatting with us over here. Ten minutes with that Kansas group, and she’s laid out flat.”
Jake studied the man’s face. Narrowed gaze, white lines bracketing the edges of his mouth, and rigid stance—all hard-to-fake signs of anger. “Are you implying her death might be food related?”
Martha moved to Clyde’s side. “Wouldn’t put the devious act past them Fensters. Netta May never did learn how to throw together potato salad or cook a decent ham.”
“Well,” Ruth spoke up, “if bad cooking was the culprit, look no farther than Clarice Greenley. That woman has gone through three husbands.”
Jake’s pen hovered over his pad. “This woman’s three husbands have died?”
“Nah.” Martha crimped her mouth. “She starves them, empties their bank accounts, and leaves.”
What sounded like grudges did not interest him. Clearing his throat, Jake focused on Clyde. “Sir, in relation to Miss Annie Finster, do you have any reason to believe she was the target of foul play?”
“Eh?” Clyde cupped a hand around his ear. “Foul play? No one was playing baseball. Are you even paying attention, son?”
Martha nudged his ribs. “Clyde, turn up your hearing aid.”
“You know…” A thin woman with brown page boy stepped into the circle. “Her niece, Lila Jane, always hankered after Annie’s silver spoon collection. Her former students mailed her souvenir spoons from wherever they ended up after high school.” She poured a glass of lemonade and offered it to Jake. “The temperature’s awfully warm today. My name’s Dorothy.”
Jake accepted the drink with a nod and scribbled in his book, speculating if what he learned was anything more than family gossip. “Did Miss Finster live alone? Is there someone I should notify?”
“Annie lived alone. At least”—Martha cupped a hand at the side of her mouth—“until the beginning of the summer, when Darla showed up with this silly genealogy project.”
“What’s Darla’s last name? And she’s what relation?” His list of people to interview expanded. “I’ll need to talk with both women in depth.”
“In depth, you say?” Martha glanced at Dorothy with an upraised eyebrow. “As in take her down to the station house…”
Wide-eyed, Dorothy leaned forward. “And interview her in a little room with bright lights?”
Jake shook his head. These ladies had been watching too many reruns of Dragnet. “I’ll follow up on the information you’ve supplied and get my answers before leaving.”
“She’s not a Finster. Her last name’s Miller.” Martha waved a hand at a buzzing fly. “Great niece or great-grand niece, who remembers? Anyway, Annie welcomed Darla and put her up in a room in that rambling old Victorian. Darla had her reciting stories of the old days into a taping machine. Annie even told me the gal made a list of the house furnishings in her new-fangled computer.” She sucked in a quick breath and her eyebrows rose. “Say, you don’t think she’s got designs on Annie’s house?”
Dorothy gasped. “I can’t imagine a city gal coming for a few weeks and thinking she was entitled.”
“Ever heard of squatter’s rights?” Clyde’s gruff voice drowned out the women.
“That’s how great-granddad lost his first homestead to a cousin in Kansas. Had to start all over in Missouri.”
The conversation raced out of control fast. If Jake didn’t grab the reins, he’d be hearing a revival of a feud that sounded as enduring as the Hatfields and McCoys. “Excuse me, folks. Could you point out these ladies…” He glanced at his notes. “Lila Jane and Darla?”
“Don’t see Lila Jane.” Martha squinted around the park, hand shading her eyes. “You already met Darla. She’s that one with the blonde hair.” She leaned closer. “Can’t vouch it ain’t from a bottle, but don’t hold that against her. She looks healthy enough, don’t you agree, Sheriff?
At the sudden change in tone, he coughed and looked away. Her words held a faint ring of matchmaking that he didn’t acknowledge. “What’s Lila Jane’s last name?”
“Spangler, she’s my cousin’s girl.” As she spoke, Dorothy shook her head. “Married one of those shiftless Spanglers from down in Cowley County. Always thought that girl was headed for bigger things.”
“Our gal Darla”—Martha pressed a hand to her chest—“is a go-getter, and she’s single. Been all the way through college and is still studying.”
“You call her a go-getter?” Dorothy frowned. “She’s thirty years old and hasn’t even used those college brains to hook a husband! Her parents ought to have just flushed her tuition money down the john.”
Recognizing the deteriorating situation for what it was, Jake stood and pocketed his notebook. “Thanks for your help. And again, folks, my condolences.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed toward the blonde standing alone at the edge of the park. As the distance shortened, he noticed Darla’s trim figure and shiny blonde hair. Her attractiveness wouldn’t dissuade him from investigating her intentions.
To be continued...
Part 3 of One More Time in Still Moments Magazine’s May/June 2020 issue.
©2020 Linda Carroll-Bradd. All Rights Reserved.
As a young girl, I spent lots of time lying on my bed reading about fascinating characters having exciting adventures in places far away and in other time periods. In later years, I discovered and devoured romances. At a certain point, I grew cocky enough to think I could write one of these stories. Twelve years later, my first fiction sale was achieved–a confession story. Since then I’ve gone on to publish more than 35 short stories, novellas and novels. Married with 4 adult children and 2 granddaughters, I now write heartwarming contemporary and historical stories with a touch of humor and a bit of sass from my home in the southern California mountains. http://blog.lindacarroll-bradd.com/
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