“Well,” I said, “when a woman dies, the first suspect is usually the husband, but I don’t see the point in this case. No money, so no motive. In fact, Nolan is worse off now than before.”
Gertie nodded. “Not to mention that unless he developed wings and flew upstairs and through that window, he couldn’t have managed it physically.”
“So we have this notoriously nice woman,” I said, “who helps the disabled and homeless and marries a man in a wheelchair, and yet someone killed her.”
“It doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Gertie asked.
“Not at the moment,” I agreed, “but clearly there’s a reason, because she’s dead. When I went jogging this morning, I ran into Peaches Dugas at the park. I assume you know her?”
“Of course,” Gertie said. “Peaches was such a pleasant baby, and she turned into such a nice young woman.”
“She was in the General Store yesterday when Nolan tripped Celia,” I said.
“So of course she wanted to talk about Gail,” Ida Belle said.
I nodded. “She said the same thing you did—that Gail was super nice and she had no idea why someone would want to kill her. But I could tell there was something she wasn’t saying.”
Gertie stopped eating and leaned forward. “Did you get it out of her?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m trained to get information out of people.”
“Ha,” Ida Belle said. “Well, military methods…”
“I could hardly torture her on the playground,” I said. “Besides, you get much better information if people offer it up themselves.”
“So what was the offering?” Gertie asked.
“She said she’d heard Gail was having an affair.”
Ida Belle and Gertie both stared, neither one saying a word. Finally, Gertie shook her head. “I don’t think so,” Gertie said.
“But you can’t be sure,” I pointed out.
“No one can be sure,” Gertie said, “unless they’re speaking of themselves, but it doesn’t fit her at all. Who told Peaches that story?”
“A friend of hers who cleans house for Florence Thompson. I didn’t get the friend’s name. Peaches said Florence told her friend.”
“The friend is Valerie Guidry,” Ida Belle said. “She cleans for several widowed women.”
“Is she reliable?” I asked.
“Oh, I wouldn’t let her organize my closet or trust her to remember too many things without writing them down,” Gertie said, “but I’d say she’s reliable as far as repeating simple gossip, and I’ve never known her to make things up.”
“What about Florence?” I asked.
“Florence is an old gasbag,” Ida Belle said.
Gertie frowned. “That’s not polite. Florence has had a rough time of it since her husband died.”
“Not as rough as her husband had while he was alive,” Ida Belle said. “Admit it. The woman is an old sourpuss and quite happy being that way.”
“She does tend to dwell on the negative side of things,” Gertie said.
“I could have guessed that based on that slightly annoyed and consummately bored expression she’s always wearing,” I said. “But is she reliable when it comes to gossip?”
“Oh, I should think so,” Ida Belle said, “especially the negative kind. That would be right up her alley.”
“So you don’t think any of the three people I mentioned would make up that story and all of them have probably relayed it correctly, but neither of you buys it.”
“I wonder where Florence heard it,” Gertie said.
“Probably at that knitting group she has,” Ida Belle said. “Five impossibly depressing old biddies, knitting the most horrible baby blankets and always shoving them at some young mother, expecting them to fawn over cheap, scratchy yarn in whatever color was on clearance.”
“I’m afraid that’s true,” Gertie said. “I always use the finest yarn for babies. Their skin is so sensitive, but the pretty colors aren’t cheap.”
“Well, it’s not much to go on, and will probably amount to nothing,” I said, “but it’s the only thing we’ve got to pursue right now. Unless you guys have heard anything else?”
“Not yet,” Ida Belle said. “Myrtle is still trying to get her hands on some paperwork but Carter hasn’t put anything down. And Marie is still over at the Bishops’ house with Nolan. She’ll likely be there all day.”
Gertie nodded. “Marie won’t leave until she’s certain Nolan is in decent shape.”
“Does he have any family?” I asked.
“I’ve never heard him mention any,” Gertie said. “Of course, I assume Gail’s parents have been notified and are on their way, but given that their only child was murdered, I don’t know that they’ll be much help to anyone.”
“I imagine not,” I said. “So…we finish lunch, then try to convince Florence to give up her source?”
Ida Belle reached for the whiskey bottle. “I think we’ll all have that double now.”
*
Half a bottle of whiskey and two-thirds of a casserole later, we were all in the living room, stretched out like cats sunning, except there was no sun, and none of us had the flexibility of a cat.
“I shouldn’t have had that third helping,” I said.