Murder by Mushroom by Virginia Smith Page B

“NBT?”
    Conner’s lips twisted. “Nothing But Trouble.”

SIX
    “L ook what I got.” Standing in the doorway of the parsonage on Monday morning, Jackie reached into her purse and extracted a silver box the size of her palm. She held it out for Margaret’s inspection. “What is it?”
    “It’s a digital voice recorder. I went to the mall in Lexington yesterday and bought it. Look how small it is. It’ll fit into my purse and no one will even know it’s there.”
    Margaret shook her head. “Don’t you think it’s impolite to record conversations? Is it even legal?”
    Jackie had spent a long time considering those questions yesterday as she stood in the aisle of the department store, examining the display of recorders. She didn’t want to do anything wrong, but she was afraid people would clam up the minute she started to scribble on a pad of paper, the way Walsh had done in her apartment. It would inhibit their conversations. And if she tried to make notes after she left, she was sure to miss some important clues.
    “They do it all the time on TV. And don’t worry, I’ll be discreet,” she assured Margaret.
    Heaving a resigned sigh, Margaret stepped back and gestured for her to come inside the house. “Go on into the kitchen. Earl’s just finishing his breakfast.”
    Jackie walked through the living room, fiddling with the device. “I got this one because it has an external microphone. The recorder can be hidden in my purse, but the mic clips onto the strap. See?”
    She plugged a thin cord into the recorder and demonstrated. The microphone at the end was practically unnoticeable, if you didn’t look too closely.
    “I can’t imagine what you think you’re going to discover talking to old people in a nursing home.”
    They arrived in the kitchen to find Pastor Palmer sitting at a round breakfast table, sipping coffee. He looked up from his newspaper, eyeing Jackie’s recorder with interest as she slipped into an empty chair.
    “Actually,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching, “you never know what Mr. Sheppard might come out with. He’s a colorful old guy at times.”
    Margaret held the coffeepot toward Jackie, a question on her face. Jackie shook her head. She didn’t want to be rude, but she hoped Margaret didn’t intend to hang around the house too much longer. The sooner they got started, the sooner they would discover something to help her identify the killer.
    To her relief, Pastor Palmer refused a refill and began folding his newspaper. Margaret turned the coffee warmer off and leaned against the kitchen counter. She eyed Jackie with obvious hesitation. “Just remember one thing, please. We’re visiting church members, not interrogating criminals.”
    Jackie bit back a sharp response. Did Margaret think her completely incapable of finesse? Did she expect her to go in there with a bright spotlight and a rubber hose to bully a bunch of old people into a confession?
    She was trying to come up with an appropriate response when Pastor Palmer said, “You never know. They might be one and the same.”
    “Oh, Earl!” Margaret’s hand rose to her throat. “Do you really think someone in our church is a murderer?”
    “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. We’ve known these people less than a year.”
    “Well, I don’t believe it.”
    Jackie leaned forward, her elbows planted on the table. “Maybe it isn’t anyone in our church. I hope not. But Mrs. Farmer has been a member for a long time. Those people know her better than anyone, and someone is bound to know something that will help us identify her killer.”
    Uncertainty tinged Margaret’s features, but she gave a single nod. “I suppose you’re right. Let me get my things and we’ll leave.”
    Pastor Palmer stood and took his coffee mug to the sink. Jackie left the table and trailed after Margaret down a short hallway and into an office.
    “Your boss was okay with you taking off work?”