A Mew to a Kill (12 page)

I pulled into the parking lot and looked for a spot. It wasn’t hard to find one—the lot was large and only about a quarter full. I guess five o’clock was still pretty early. Probably only the regulars and happy hour bargain hunters were here at this time of day.

“Have you ever been here?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t peg Opal for the jazz type, either.”

“Maybe she’s just the happy hour type.”

Pepper laughed. "Probably."

The Embers
was a low-slung building. It was dark with no windows. The only way to see inside was through the glass doors that opened into a small lobby. Once I opened the doors, I realized it was even darker from the inside especially since it was still sunny out and my eyes were used to brighter light. We stood inside the door getting our bearings while our eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and our ears adjusted to the smooth saxophone sounds.

I looked around for a band, but there was none. The music must have been piped in. In the corner, a shiny black baby grand piano sat waiting for someone to come and play it.

Opal sat in a booth in the back, nursing something pink and fizzy-looking.

We made our way over to the booth. Opal looked up, her bloodshot, mascara-rimmed eyes widening when she recognized me.

“What are
you
doing here?” She glanced from me to Pepper. I half-expected Pepper to whip a teabag out of her pocket.

“We came to talk to you about what happened to Paisley.” I felt nervous. I didn’t know how Opal would react. Maybe she would be uncooperative like the last two people we’d visited. She wasn’t. Instead, her eyes misted over.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” She burst out crying and Pepper slipped into the booth beside her, patting her shoulder for comfort. I took the opportunity to slide down the black Naugahyde seat opposite them.

“I know, it’s a terrible thing,” Pepper soothed. Then she glanced up at me slyly. “But you can help her now by helping us find her killer.”

Opal sniffed loudly. She grabbed her drink, the umbrella poking her in the eye as she guzzled down half of it. She hiccoughed, blotted her raccoon eyes with a little square cocktail napkin and looked at me pleadingly. “Do you know who killed her?”

“What makes you think I would know?”

Opal waived her hand. “Everyone knows you solve murders. Plus, your sister is the sheriff and you’re dating that hottie sheriff from Dixford Pass. If anyone would know what the police have found, it would be you.”

I almost laughed out loud. Is that what people thought? Little did they know I was the last person Gus or Striker would give any clues to.

The waitress came over and I ordered a beer. Pepper ordered a Shirley Temple. “Well, I am kind of looking into things but I don’t know who killed her.”

“Why not? Weren’t there any clues at the crime scene?” Opal speech was slurred so the words came out as cluesh and schene.

I shrugged. “There probably were clues, but I’m not privy to that information.” The waitress slid our drinks in front of us and I leaned across the table toward Opal. “That’s why I need your help.”

“My help?” She signaled the bartender for another drink. “How could I possibly help?”

I leaned back and sipped my beer. “You were Paisley’s best friend. Do you know of anyone who would want her dead?”

She wrinkled her face. “Not really. I mean, she knew a few secrets, but nothing worth killing over. I think she might have died by accident in the fire, but why would someone burn her store?”

“Maybe there was something in there that the killer didn’t want anyone else to see.”

Opal squinted at me. “Like what?”

“Incriminating pictures?” Pepper suggested.

“What are you implying?” Opal slurred.

“I think Paisley was a girl that knew how to use what she knew to get what she wanted,” I said.

“Right, that’s smart.” Schmart.

“For sure.” I didn’t really agree, but I wanted to keep on Opal’s good side.
 

Opal slurped the fresh drink the waitress had brought. “I don’t think she had anything in the shop.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I was thinking it might have had something to do with the art show.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“It can’t be a coincidence. It happened that very day.”

“I’m not sure about that. What was going on with Paisley and George?”

Opal made a face and slouched back in her seat. “Yeah. They were kind of friendly. So what?”

I sipped my beer, letting her come to the obvious conclusion.

She bolted upright, her eyes widening. “You don’t think George is the one that did it, do you?”

“I don’t know. I saw George in her shop that night. Is it possible Paisley had some pictures George didn’t want anyone to see?”
 

Opal’s mouth twisted. “She did. But George is so wimpy I can’t picture him killing anybody.”

“Yeah, it
is
kind of hard to picture,” I agreed. “But people do crazy things when they are threatened. George had a lot to lose. And you know what they say about love affairs gone wrong.”

“George wasn’t the only guy that Paisley had on a string.” Opal twirled the purple umbrella that had come in her new drink between her thumb and forefinger.

Pepper and I exchanged a glance. “Really? Who else did she have?”

Opal’s face fell. “Well, that’s the thing. She wouldn’t tell me. She must have been kind of serious about him, though, because otherwise she would have been bragging about how she was using him.”

“How do you know she had another guy?”

Opal snorted. “I know how to recognize the signs. Sometimes, she wouldn’t want to meet me here. Said she had somewhere else to go. When I would ask where, she’d actually blush. That’s how I knew.”

If Paisley had another boyfriend, then I had another suspect to add to the list. Maybe he was married and that’s why she wouldn’t tell Opal his name. And maybe, like George, Paisley had pictures of this married guy. Pictures he didn’t want anyone to see.

“Do you have any idea where they might’ve gone or any clues as to who he is?” I asked. “He could be the killer.”

Opal pulled a cherry out of her drink and popped it into her mouth. “He
could
be, but my money is still on someone from the art show.”

Over in the corner, the melodic tinkling of the piano played an old jazz tune. Now that I’d gotten used to the dark, I realized that it was kind of nice in there. Cozy. Maybe I should bring Striker sometime. He liked jazz. The piano was behind me so I couldn’t see who was playing but, whoever they were, they sounded pretty good.
 

The sounds of the piano had caught Pepper’s attention, too. She squinted over my shoulder in the direction of the piano and then her eyes popped wide and her jaw dropped.

“Oh. My. God. Is that Gus?”
 

I whipped my head around to see what she was talking about. Pepper had yelled it so loud that half the bar was looking in our direction including the person seated at the piano. My eyes locked on the piano player's eyes and I practically fell out of my seat.
 

It
was
Gus … and she was playing the piano.

We stared at each other. Gus fumbled a few keys then recovered, looking down at the keyboard. I noticed she was wearing the black dress I’d seen her wearing at the museum opening. No wonder she’d looked so comfortable in it. How long had she been playing piano here?

The song ended and Gus stood amidst soft clapping. She walked toward us, stopping at the bar to whisper something to the bartender.
 

We were still gawking at her when she made it to the end of our table. She planted her feet shoulder width apart, fisted her hands on her hips and demanded, “What are
you
doing here?”

I picked up my glass, tilting it toward her. “I just came for a drink. What are
you
doing here? The sheriff gig doesn’t pay enough so you have to moonlight?”

She glanced back at the piano then scowled down at me. “No. I’m not moonlighting. This is what I do for fun.”

I stared at her incredulously. Memories of her painfully out-of-tune piano lessons surfaced. Clearly, she’d been practicing while I was down south.

She eyed the three of us suspiciously. “I didn’t know the three of you hung around together.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Opal blabbed. I think she might have been trying to be helpful. But she wasn’t, especially when the next words came out of her mouth. “We were just trying to figure out who killed Paisley.”

“Ahh … yeah.
 
That’s what I was afraid of.” Gus slid her eyes over to me. “I thought I told you to stay out of it.”

“I was just having a friendly drink. By the way, how come you never told anyone you played here?”

She faltered. I knew I’d hit a nerve. She didn’t want anyone to know about her little hobby.

“It’s my business what I do on my time off.”

“Really?” I tilted my head to the side. “I think it would be fun for your coworkers to come down and see you play.”

A look of panic crossed her face. “I don’t think anyone needs to know that I play here.”

Across from me, the corners of Pepper’s lips twitched in an attempt to hide a smile. She knew what I was up to.
 

“Well, maybe they don’t have to know. But you know how it is. If I do you favor, then you have to do me one.”

The notion of exchanging favors hit a chord with Opal. That’s how she operated, so she was quite familiar with the concept. She nodded enthusiastically. “That’s the way to get things done. The exchange of favors … err … I mean information could help solve the case. Like for example, did you know someone threatened Paisley in the judges’ meeting?”

Shoot. I wished she hadn’t said that. Opal was a loose cannon.

A crease formed across Gus’s brow and she snapped her attention toward Opal. “Oh? What do you mean? Nobody told me anything about a threat.”

“Well, I guess you haven't been talking to the right people. Maybe you should have questioned
me
?”

Gus was all business now. “What was the threat and who made it?”

My stomach tightened. I knew what Opal was going to say and I couldn’t do anything to stop her.

“Maisie Beardsley. She said she would let Paisley be in the show over her dead body.”

“That wasn’t really a threat against Paisley,” I cut in. “Maisie said over
her
dead body, not over Paisley’s.”

Opal shrugged. “Well, either way, it sounds threatening to me.”

I could see the gears turning inside Gus’s head. I thought about the charm I'd found. Should I mention it? No. I owed it to Elspeth not to throw Maisie under the bus until I was actually sure she’d done it. I was still holding out for George to be the killer.

“Maisie is an oil painter, right?” Gus asked.

“Yeah.” I didn’t like the look on Gus’s face.

“There was turpentine at Paisley’s. That’s how the fire started. I think the arsonist might have been trying to make it look like it was an accident … like the fire started spontaneously with chemicals Paisley was using to develop photographs or something.”

Opal snorted. “Well, that shows you how dumb the killer is. Paisley didn’t develop anything. She was digital only.”

“I don’t think you use turpentine for that, anyway,” Pepper said.
 

“But you do use it for oil painting,” Gus said.

“So, we’re looking for someone stupid, then.” Opal slurped her drink.

“That means the killer brought the turpentine with them. What kind of turpentine was it? Do you know the brand?” I asked. What kind of turpentine did Maisie use?

“Grumbacher.” The bartender signaled Gus and she nodded at him. “I have to get back to playing.”

“Wait a minute. What about the camera that Paisley had. Did you find any incriminating pictures on it?” I asked.

Gus scowled down at me. “I already gave you one clue. We’re even now.”

“You didn’t find anything,” I said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t still be fishing around.”

Gus took the bait. “We’re not
fishing around
. We’re conducting a thorough investigation. The camera was damaged and we need a specialist to get the data, but even if we had a picture, that wouldn’t necessarily be one of the killer. It would just be one clue and we like to have several pointing to the same person before we take action.”

With that, she tossed her blonde hair and strode off toward the piano. A few seconds later, the tinkling of keys reached my ears. But I wasn’t listening—I was thinking about the fire and what Gus had just said about the clues. They needed multiple clues to the same suspect. I figured dropping a charm at the scene of the crime, using the same flammable liquid that started the fire and threatening the victim might qualify.
 

The beer I’d drank sloshed around in my stomach, which was sinking faster than the Titanic. I had to admit, a lot of clues were pointing toward Maisie. And now, since Opal had blurted out Maisie’s threat, Gus was sure to be adding her to the suspect list.