Free Thyme of Death by Susan Wittig Albert Page B

pen. I wondered
what she would write about Jo’s memorial service and how she would fit Rosalind
Kotner into the story. But whatever her angle on Roz, there wasn’t much of it.
After a thirty-second conversation, Constance tucked away her pad and pen,
extended a fat hand, and said good-bye.
    A moment or two later, Violett Hall came over to Roz. She was
wearing a serviceable black skirt and neat gray blouse and jacket, and her
Mamie Eisenhower bangs were sprayed flat against her forehead. Her face was
flushed and her smile was eager. Roz seemed less eager to see Violett, but
Violett planted herself in front of Roz, still smiling, and began to talk. I
couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the more animated she became, the more
strained and uncomfortable Roz seemed. After a few minutes of this odd
exchange, Roz nodded nervously, as if agreeing to something she wasn’t exactly
pleased about, and Violett walked away with the air of someone who has
accomplished her Mission.
    I was distracted by several members of the garden club wanting to
reminisce about Jo, and when I spotted Violett again she was talking to Jane
Dorman. I was surprised to see Jane. I had supposed that, PO’d as she’d been
over Roz’s refusal to renew the contract, she’d head straight for the airport.
But maybe a four-million-dollar deal was too sweet to lose without a fight. Or
maybe she’d stayed especially for the memorial service. After all, she’d once
been Jo’s guest. I was also surprised to see Jane actually bending over to
listen to Violett. I wondered what Violett Hall could have to say that would
command Jane Dorman’s attention for more than thirty seconds.
    Roz also seemed surprised to see the
conversation. Her jaw tightened and she watched with a nervous frown. A few
minutes later, she brushed off the last few autograph seekers and made her way
over to Jane and Violett, who stopped talking when they saw Roz coming. The
three stood together in an uncomfortable tableau, then Violett detached herself
and walked away. Roz went in a different direction, and Jane came toward me.
    “China,” she said brusquely, without
preamble, “I’m in a jam. The Chrysler I rented at the airport has some sort of
ignition problem, and the tow truck is coming to get it. I have to make a
five-thirty flight back to New York. Could I impose on you—?”
    “I’d be glad to,” I said, “but
Lucille, Jo’s sister, is headed back to the airport.” I pointed her out,
standing next to the mayor. “I’m sure you can ride with her.”
    Jane nodded her thanks and went
toward Lucille, her gray heels digging little round holes in the turf. I was
about to go over and speak to Meredith when I saw Ruby talking to Bubba. It
looked as if she were in her confrontational mode. I stepped closer, wanting to
listen but definitely not wanting to be involved.
    “You have to look deeper” Ruby
was insisting. “You can’t be content with the way things seem on the surface.
This is obviously a very complicated case.”
    Bubba’s mouth twitched as if he
sorely missed his cigar. “There ain’t anything deeper to look into,” he said.
He gave her a shrewd, narrow-eyed look. “A’course, Miz Wilcox, if you’re holdin’
onto information—”
    Ruby sniffed. “I’ve already told you
what I know— that Jo Gilbert didn’t commit suicide. What about the person who
was with her the day she died?”
    Bubba shrugged and hooked his thumbs
in his belt. “Not enough,” he said, shaking his head. “Not near enough. So the
daughter smells perfume. So what? Why, the mayor wears perfume, and half the
City Council.” He grinned. “Hell, mebbe the whole City Council, for all
I know.”
    Ruby glared at him. “I just want you
to be aware that as far as I’m concerned, this case isn’t closed, not by a long
shot. Jo Gilbert was beating the pants off Arnold Seidensticker and his
developers. If she’d had another month to get the greenies and the no-growthers
together,