Free Kill 'Em with Cayenne by Gail Oust Page A

In all the years I lived in this town, I’ve never known the Chamber to be closed in the middle of the week.”
    â€œDo you mind if we come in for a minute?” I asked. “I promise we won’t overstay our welcome.”
    Much too genteel to slam the door in our faces, Maybelle stood aside grudgingly and allowed us to enter. Her neat-as-a-pin living room with its green-and-gold plaid sofa, matching love seat, and walnut end tables was as plain and simple as the woman herself. I recognized the smiling faces of Rachael Ray and Bobby Flay on the covers of cooking magazines fanned across the polished surface of a coffee table.
    Reba Mae and I plunked ourselves down on the sofa, leaving the love seat to Maybelle. She lowered herself primly, lapping the robe more securely around her thin frame. Picking up the remote, she clicked off the television. “It’s nice of you girls to worry about me, but as you can see, I’m fit as a fiddle.”
    Maybelle didn’t meet my criteria of looking “fit as a fiddle.” Her complexion was the color of bread dough, her eyes bloodshot. “You sure you’re okay? You’re awfully pale.”
    â€œIs there anything we can get you?” Reba Mae asked. “Chicken soup, ginger ale, aspirin, cold pills?”
    Maybelle managed a wan smile. “That’s sweet of you, Reba Mae, but as you can see, I’m fine. No need to fret. Probably just allergies kicking up. You can tell your son it’ll be business as usual tomorrow at the Chamber.”
    â€œThat’s not why we’re here. We’re your friends and thought you might be sick.”
    â€œOr hurt,” I added for good measure.
    â€œWell, it was a wasted trip,” Maybelle snapped. “I’m neither.”
    Reba Mae and I gaped at hearing the sharp rebuke. It wasn’t like Maybelle to be irritable and out of sorts. And it certainly was out of character for her to bite our heads off. I couldn’t help but wonder if Becca’s death had a more profound impact on Maybelle than she cared to admit.
    â€œSorry for how that must’ve sounded,” Maybelle apologized, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. “It’s been a … difficult … day.”
    â€œNo apology necessary, hon.” Reba Mae popped off the sofa. “I gotta pee. Pushin’ out two future football players three minutes apart wrecked my bladder somethin’ fierce. Mind if I use your bathroom?”
    â€œGo right ahead. Down the hall, first room on the left.”
    As we had exhausted the subject of Maybelle’s health, it was time to tackle a different subject. “I caught a glimpse of you at the square this morning,” I ventured. “Learning Becca had been killed must have come as a quite a shock.”
    Maybelle wrapped her arms around her waist and shivered. “Yes, quite a shock.”
    Following her admission, she lapsed into silence. I could hear the tick-tock of a clock from another room of the house. I was relieved when Reba Mae finally returned. She smiled and, when she was certain Maybelle wasn’t watching, gave me a thumbs-up.
    Puzzled, I returned my attention to Maybelle. “Who do you suppose killed Becca?” I asked, trying to keep my tone conversational rather than confrontational.
    â€œHow should I know?” Maybelle moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “A lot of folks disliked Becca.”
    â€œDo you know anyone who ‘disliked’ her enough to want her dead?”
    Maybelle stood abruptly and began pacing back and forth. “Don’t think I don’t know what people are going to be thinking? Everyone will be looking at me sideways and wondering if I’d finally had enough of Becca’s thieving ways.”
    â€œYou know how folks are, Maybelle,” I said, soothingly. “Once you prove you have an alibi, they’ll turn their attention elsewhere. You do have an alibi for