Arsenic and Old Cake by Jacklyn Brady

smile and made a beeline for the sideboard.
    Hyacinth had at least forty years and as many pounds on me, but she still managed to beat me to the platter. I pulled up just in time to hear Monroe ask, “Any chance you’ll let me borrow your van to run an errand tomorrow?”
    Hyacinth snatched up the platter and reached for a stack of napkins. “It’s not running.”
    The smile on Monroe’s face slipped into confusion. “Oh. I thought you drove it to the market this afternoon.”
    “It broke down after that,” Hyacinth snapped. And then, as she noticed me standing there, she softened her tone a little and added, “I’m sorry, Monroe. I would let you borrow it if I could.”
    Insincerity rang from every word, but either Monroe was truly unaware or an extremely talented actor. “What’s wrong with it?”
    “How would I know?” Hyacinth said. “I’m not a mechanic.”
    “What happens when you try to start it? Does it grind or click?”
    “It clicks. I’ll have someone look at it tomorrow.”
    Monroe frowned thoughtfully and glanced toward the door. “Do you want me to take a look at it? I’m pretty good with an engine, you know.”
    “Absolutely not.” She shook her head so hard, her chins wobbled. “You’re a guest here. I wouldn’t think of it.”
    Monroe laughed and nudged her with a shoulder. “Aw, come on, Hy. It’s been awhile, I know, but you can’t really think of me as just a guest.”
    I’d been right to suspect a history with these people, but it didn’t seem like a friendly connection. I felt a protective surge at the thought of any of these people taking advantage of Old Dog Leg.
    I couldn’t just stand there, obviously eavesdropping, so I looked around for something to do. Hyacinth and Primrose had already cleared up most of the mess, so my options were severely limited. I decided to plump the couch cushions—which I figured could use a little tender loving care after holding Dontae up for the past hour.
    I gave the first cushion an enthusiastic whack.
    Hyacinth slid a glance at me, which I pretended not to notice. When she spoke again, her voice was so low I had a little trouble hearing her. “You’ve paid for your room, Monroe, and I’ve agreed for Sister’s sake to let you stay. But don’t push me or you’ll be sorry.”
    My heart jumped inside my chest as I whacked the cushion for a second time.
    “I’m not trying to push, Hyacinth. You know why I’m here. I’m not going to hurt anybody, I swear. If you’re having trouble with the van, let me help. There might be snow on the roof”—he pointed to his head—“but I still know how to do a few things. Give me the key and let me see what I can do.”
    Pastor Rod excused himself from his conversation with Gabriel and edged into Hyacinth’s conversation with Monroe before either of them saw him coming. “I think that sounds like a fine idea, Monroe. You can get the van back on the road and save the ladies a few dollars in the process.”
    Hyacinth’s head whipped toward the preacher so quickly I thought her hair would shift to one side. Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared, but to my surprise she said only, “That’s really not necessary, Pastor.”
    “Sometimes we’re called to serve,” Pastor Rod said gently, “and sometimes we’re called to be served. You just might be blessing Monroe by letting him offer you a helping hand.”
    Hyacinth looked unconvinced, but she grudgingly conceded the argument. “If you say so, Pastor. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you look at it,” she said with an unhappy scowl for Monroe, and then she waved a hand toward a couple of chairs against the far wall. “If you’re so het up about serving Sister and me, why don’t you start by carrying those extra chairs back to the dining room?”
    Monroe trailed her across the room, and since I couldn’t race him for the chairs without raising eyebrows, my chance to talk with him walked off with him. I whacked the couch cushion