Taking Out the Trash. Tristi Inc. Pinkston

to bring some muslin?”

      “Well, we didn’t really need muslin, and I don’t think there’s a Muslim congregation for miles—oh, you’re teasing me.” Mabel sat up a little straighter. “I don’t know why you take such delight in vexing me.”

      “Well, my name does start with ‘v’. Vera is in charge of vexing.”

      Mabel turned to Estelle, a pointed ‘I’m going to ignore her now’ look on her face. “Estelle, what time will Sam be home tonight? I wanted to ask for his help in getting all the extra quilting frames out of the community center’s closet.”

      Estelle plastered a bright smile on her face. She couldn’t tell Mabel what had happened that morning. Once Mabel caught wind of something, it was spread all over Ruebensville like honey on a biscuit. She considered it her duty to keep everyone informed so they could all watch out for each other, and Estelle appreciated the sentiment, but she didn’t think so much enjoyment should go into the retelling of another person’s woes.

      “I honestly don’t know,” she said. “It is tax season…” There. She hadn’t been entirely forthcoming, but she hadn’t lied.

      “Well, when he gets home, could you ask him if he’ll be available early Saturday morning? He’s the only helpful husband in this guild. You ask the other men to do something, and suddenly they’ve got a golf game with their boss, or they’ve hurt their back, or they’re mowing their lawns.”

      “I’ll tell him when I see him.” It might be tonight, it might be tomorrow, it might be in fifteen to twenty, but I’ll tell him.

      As Mabel ran more plans past them, Estelle found it harder and harder to concentrate. It’s hard to pretend nothing’s wrong when, in fact, there are a great many things wrong. Not only was her husband being questioned for murder, but she had to call an exterminator. Her neighbors had already seen a police car, and now they’d see an extermination truck.

      Wait. A movement caught her eye through the large picture window in the front room, and she tried not to show her surprise on her face. Two uniformed officers were knocking on the door of the house directly across the street. No doubt they were canvassing the neighborhood. She was proud of herself for knowing the word ‘canvassing’. She’d first read it in an L.M. Montgomery book years ago—which one was it? One of the Emily books, she thought. Not that it mattered. But she had been surprised to hear it on an episode of Castle. Such a nice word, one that could be used in so many situations, classic or contemporary…

      “She’s doing it again.” Vera’s voice broke into her reverie. “Earth to Estelle…”

      “What? Oh, I’m sorry. My mind wandered.”

      “See?” Vera turned to Mabel. “I swear it’s early-onset Alzheimer’s. She does that all the time.”

      Mabel launched off into a discussion of every person in town who had recently been diagnosed with a similar ailment, and Estelle glanced at her friend. Vera had a decided ‘see who saved your bacon’ look on her face, and Estelle had to admit, she was grateful for the change of subject. From a flick of Vera’s gaze out the window, Estelle knew she’d seen the officers too.

      Vera kept Mabel talking until the police were no longer in sight, and then between the two of them, they were able to drop enough hints that Mabel finally announced her imminent departure. She hoisted herself out of the deep sofa cushions and gathered up her purse. “You will have Sam call me?”

      “Yes, I certainly will,” Estelle replied.

      As soon as the door closed, both Vera and Estelle let out a sigh of relief.

      “That was too close,” Vera said. “If she’d seen those policemen, she would have barged right out there and demanded to know what they were doing.”

      “Well, I don’t know if she would have done that, but as soon as they left Sally Hunter’s porch, she’d be asking Sally.” Estelle sat down hard as a horrible, terrible thought occurred to her. “But it doesn’t matter. You know why?”

      “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? It took all my strength and energy to look interested the whole time she was here. I’m exhausted. I need a cookie.”

      “In the jar,” Estelle said automatically. “But if the police are questioning all the neighbors…”

      “They did Mabel’s job for her,” Vera finished. “Now I need two cookies.”

      The phone had not rung. Estelle even pulled out her cell phone and called the house to make sure there was nothing wrong with the landline, and then she called her cell phone with the house phone to make sure T-Mobile wasn’t on the fritz.

      Vera had taken a shopping list and Estelle’s debit card and run to the store. Estelle hated that she couldn’t run her own errand, but at the same time, her hands had been shaking so badly off and on since that morning, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted herself behind the wheel of a car. She had written down ‘milk’ and ‘cheese’ on the list, but then her mind had gone blank. Vera, as no-nonsense as ever, had taken the pen and written ‘chocolate’. Bless her heart—she knew what Estelle needed.

      Together they had finished the list, Vera had gone on her way, and Estelle maintained a steady vigil over the two telephones, one clipped to her waist, the other in her hand.

      When Vera returned, she stayed and helped Estelle make a dinner fit for a king. Estelle refused to believe Sam wouldn’t be home to eat it, so she pulled out all the stops—not just lasagna, but homemade garlic bread, a gourmet salad with olives and feta cheese, and a cheesecake. From scratch. To keep herself busy, and so she’d have to put down the telephone—her hand was getting sweaty.

      When she heard the garage door start to open, Estelle jumped and dropped her mixing spoon. “He’s here,” she gasped as she heard the car pull in.

      “I’ll go out the front so you two can be alone,” Vera said.

      “I’ll save you some cheesecake.”

      “You’d better.”

      Estelle threw open the kitchen door that led to the garage and hurried out to meet Sam. He looked tired, like he’d had a long day, but they hadn’t shaved his head or tattooed a cell number on his forehead or anything like that. She gathered him in her arms and held him long and hard. They stood that way for several minutes and she breathed in his faded cologne, wondering if she could somehow inhale him, too, so he could never be taken from her again.

      Finally they walked inside, and she pulled a perfectly bubbly lasagna from the oven.

      “You spoil me,” Sam told her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

      “I had to keep busy.” She placed the pan on the counter to cool, then turned to meet her husband’s eyes. “What happened?”

      “They took me down to the station and questioned me. In the end, they had to let me come home—there was no evidence, except that the body was in our trash and they wanted to know why I hadn’t seen anything when I put the mouse in. I’m still a person of interest, though.” He ran a hand through his dignified silvering hair. “There’s something else, honey. They identified the victim. They didn’t tell me at the station, but it was all over the radio as I drove home.”

      “Who was it?”

      “Senator Caldwell.”

      Episode 3

      “Senator Caldwell?” Estelle stared at her husband. “What was he doing in our neighborhood? I don’t understand.”

      “Neither do I.” Sam took a cookie from the jar, and the ‘I’m about