Death in a Turkey Town: A Chloe Boston Mystery by Melanie Jackson Page A

Mitzi eat in the limo.” She had wedding on the brain. Better that than death, I supposed, but if I were in her shoes I would be giving the matter of Silly’s murder at least a little thought.
    “That’s sad. Was he ill?” I tried to look concerned.
    “No.” Althea’s voice grew harsh. “He drank. He also smoked in bed. One night he did both together and paid for it.”
    “Oh dear. Mitzi was lucky not to have been hurt.”
    Althea didn’t look like she agreed with this statement, but she had had advanced training as a hypocrite and I saw it kick in. This is a family trait and allowed her to—barely—refrain from saying what she really thought.
    “She was playing bingo that night,” was all Althea said.
    “I guess a dead husband would explain why she is so close to her son. Were there other children?”
    “No.” This was becoming Althea’s favorite word. This time, the nuance was bleak. Unable to help herself she added: “She’ll be with us for every damn holiday between now and the day she dies. And it will be worse when we have kids. Dale and I are going to start a family right away, you know.”
    This was scary. The lardhead and the narcissist were going to have children. I couldn’t think why, but I guess even black widow spiders have offspring.
    I made myself pat her shoulder. Althea had annoyed me from birth and I had always wanted some payback for her torment, but not her unhappiness until the end of days (or at least the end of Mitzi Gordon’s days).
    “Maybe Mom and Aunt Dot can get her interested in some clubs and things,” I said. “Doesn’t your mom still belong to that shooting club?”
    “They’re trying, but she never gets asked back to a second meeting. How she could offend anyone at the rifle range with all those guns going off, I will never know—but she did it. Even when people wear earplugs, she annoys them. The gun club would have been perfect for her too.”
    So Mitzi knew how to shoot a gun.
    “Did your mom loan her the twenty-two?” I asked point-blank. There was no point in being subtle. “It seems to be missing.”
    “Yes, and she managed to drop it in the lake.”
    “The lake? But how? Why?” I asked with what I think is pardonable exasperation. “Althea, this is really not good. We need that gun.”
    Althea shrugged.
    “She decided to try some practice shooting on her own. So she borrowed Gordon’s canoe and paddled out to Gazebo Island.” The gazebo that had once graced this unpopulated little up-thrust of wooded rock in Hope Falls Lake was long gone, but the name remained. “On the way, she somehow managed to drop the rifle over the side.”
    “Huh.” This was a very suspect story and I think Althea knew it, but angry as she was at her mother-in-law to-be, she wouldn’t say anything else.
    “Let’s have some tea,” she suggested. “And I can put a slug of something in mine. My ankle is killing me.”
    I trailed my limping cousin into the kitchen, wondering if we should drag the lake. I couldn’t blame Althea for being annoyed since I also found Mitzi trying. But it probably wouldn’t hurt her to do a little more suffering in silence, and loyalty isn’t a bad thing in marriage, I thought. Though it was making my job harder.
    “Has Mitzi been here?” I asked, studying the way the canister sparkled.
    “Not that I know of. I don’t encourage her to come.” Althea sniffed.
    Maybe Dale had been by and that was how the gold glitter had gotten in her kitchen and all over her tea canister.
    Only Dale didn’t like tea. He had, in fact, many times expressed his view about the kind of girlie men who drank tea.
    And he had been reading a book about poisonous plants.
    “Don’t!” I said as Althea reached for the canister. The words were out before I thought.
    “What?”
    “Don’t touch the canister. Do you have any cooking tongs? I want to look inside.” Althea has always been bitchy to me, but she didn’t doubt that my ‘intuition’ was almost