Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (7 page)

Tony made a note reminding him to have everyone pay extra attention to the husband's whereabouts and activities.

On his way to the dump, Tony drove past Blossom Flowers' new house. On the surface, the woman looked like an unlikely object of as much male adoration as she had. Large, she claimed openly to be fat. Blossom was sweet but not a beauty. He noticed Blossom sitting on her front stoop with Kenny's little girls while the two men vying for her hand worked together.

Kenny and DuWayne were putting up a brand new white picket fence around her yard, enclosing the house. The men were using one of the newer vinyl products that came in sections and didn't need painting. They already had the posts set and the men seemed quite well suited to working together. Maybe the months of both of them dancing with Blossom at the same time had taught them a valuable lesson in teamwork.

Tony stopped, as always curious to see what people were up to and to visit a bit. Over the time he'd been the sheriff, Tony had probably learned more about the criminal activity around the county from casual conversations than in actual interviews with apprehended crooks.

“Hey, Blossom,” he called to the source of his pie supply. “Kenny. DuWayne.” The men nodded a greeting but kept working.

Blossom waved from the stoop but didn't get up. One of Kenny's little girls had fallen asleep with her face pressed against Blossom's leg, and the other girl ran toward him carrying a picnic basket. “Want to see the pubby?”

“Sure. I love puppies.” Tony dodged the men and their fence panel. “I gather the puppy is the reason for the new fence.”

The little girl nodded, a serious expression on her cherubic face, and she gently set the basket on the ground. She reached inside under a towel and with both hands picked up a very young yellow Labrador retriever puppy. Almost snow white, with chocolate-brown eyes, it displayed the heart-stealing puppy expression used to sell everything from toilet paper to cars. “Her name is Miss Cotton.”

“Nice name. Did you pick it?”

“Me and my sister, an' we helped Daddy pick her out too.” She extended the pup toward him. “She's a present for our Miss Blossom.”

He was thankful neither of his boys was along, because his family needed another dog to go with the hundred-pound dog they already owned and the four children they had like he needed hemorrhoids. Still, he couldn't resist holding the soft, chubby pup with its tiny paws, and admired its teensy toenails. He'd bet in two weeks the paws would grow to be the size of shovels, and those toenails would become big claws capable of digging huge holes in mere seconds.

Tony glanced at the men. Since the little girl belonged to Kenny, it had to be he who was the gambler. The puppy could sway the affections of the fair Blossom in his favor. Or, if Miss Cotton ate something Blossom treasured, DuWayne might win the day.

Blossom placed a hand vertically against her face at the corner of her mouth like she thought it would shield the little girls from what she said. “The fence is 'cause we don't want the game warden running over our Miss Cotton a-purpose. He has a house just down the street and we don't want to take chances.”

“Do you really believe he would?” Tony had heard many unpleasant rumors about the man, but so far, he had not been able to substantiate any of the vile accusations. He saw Blossom's normally cheerful expression turn dark and she nodded. Tony said, “Why do you think so?”

“I'm mostly in the kitchen at Ruby's, but word gets around. You know, good and bad. It ain't been long since that old woman's cat and Nem's dog was both done away with by him. He coulda swerved, but he didn't try to miss them.”

Tony decided he would see what he could learn about the game warden, maybe later.

Tony drove out to the dump. He barely had time to climb out of the SUV when he saw Claude Marmot's head pop up over a rounded piece of scrap metal, the doorless body of a small, rounded compact car. Claude waved his arms over his head like he was signaling someone much farther away than the ten feet separating them.

“Sheriff, you've got to put a stop to it.” Claude's face flushed almost purple. “See the sign—some idiots have been stacking their trash right next to it.”

Tony studied the hand lettered sign. No Littering. He had to agree it was clearly stated. A glance at the mess near the pole holding it made him sympathetic to Claude's outrage. Piles of unbagged garbage, a mixture of recyclable items and some nasty smelling stuff. A few long bones attracted flies.

“It's on my yard!” Tiny droplets sprayed from Claude's lips.

With a sigh, Tony pulled out his notebook. He wished Wade was with him. His deputy was really much better with paperwork. He took several photographs.

Claude dived behind his car-part project but continued to provide commentary on everything Tony saw, smelled, and made notes about.

Feeling like he'd done what he could, Tony sauntered over to watch Claude work. Claude was a wizard at repurposing castoffs. He'd once turned a Crown Vic into a pickup. “What's this going to be?”

“Making a cover for my motorcycle. I'll have shelter from the rain.”

After lunch, Tony headed to the museum. The stage construction looked to be well underway, and he wondered if his brother ever got to go to his own home in nearby Townsend.

He knew there was a plan to the upcoming festival. His mom always had a plan. Some were not bad, others were hideous. He told himself she always meant well. Over the course of the afternoon, this plan included multiple musicians and a few dancers scheduled to perform. Jane had confessed to inviting everyone she could think of who might want to be on a stage and was shocked when everyone accepted. Now she stood in front of a newly erected outdoor table and appeared to be struggling to produce a workable schedule.

Tony offered to help her weed out the rotten performing apples and turned the list on the table so he could read it. He only had time to read a couple of the names and recognized a few moderately pleasant entertainers. He opened his mouth to protest when his mother pulled the list away from him and planted her elbow on it to keep it in place.

“You don't need to be involved,” Jane said. “I appreciate your willingness to help, but I asked them and they all said yes. No matter what you think, if they're on the list they get to perform. I'll just have to limit the amount of time each group is allotted.”

“Well, if they ask you if they can perform, you can allot a mere thirty seconds to the brother and sister singing group called the Elves, and it will still seem like eternity.” Tony gave a shudder and tapped her list. “I hope they're not on this. If you recall, they had a captive audience at the community Christmas program.”

Jane twitched slightly at the hideous memory and pressed her lips tightly together.

Tony stared at her. “I had people offering me money if I would shoot the Elves, and if not the singers, the members of the audience just to put them out of their misery. I claimed I was saving all the bullets for myself, greedy soul that I am.”

“That's not funny, Marc Antony.” Jane tried a reproving glare, but it failed. “They were pretty awful, but I'm sure they've improved.”

“Is that like saying it would take more than one bucket of rocks to fill the Grand Canyon?” Tony suddenly realized what she had told him. “Are you saying what I think you're saying? Did you invite the Elves?”

Jane sidled away from him, her eyes focused on the dirt near her feet. It must have been some incredibly interesting dirt because she wouldn't look up.

“Mom?” Tony leaned closer and bent so his lips were near her right ear. “Tell me you didn't invite them.”

Her expression told the whole story. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, she nodded. “But, I also have Pops Ogle and his little group, and there's a husband and wife bluegrass duo and a couple of small groups to play music for dancing.” Jane ticked groups off on her fingers. “I don't remember all of them, but I promise we have lots more entertainment planned. There's even going to be a juggler.”

Hating the expression of total despair on his mom's face, Tony decided to ease up. “It will be fine,” he lied. “Just set time limits.” He didn't mention that fifteen seconds of caterwauling Elves was much too long for mortals to bear.

Jane folded her entertainers list and shoved it into her purse. “Enough of that, dear.”

Out of sight, out of mind? He hoped not.

Jane gave him a sunny smile. “Tiberius and Calpurnia are coming and bringing the kids. All my grandchildren in once place for the whole weekend. It's going to be splendid. Isn't it?”

“Yes, Mom.” Tony watched Jane as she trotted toward the office building. He hoped she wasn't going to be crushed if the festival wasn't well attended. He wandered over to the stage area where Gus, Quentin, and Kenny Baines were pounding nails as fast as they could. Between his fencing project and work, Tony wondered if Kenny had time to eat.

They hadn't gotten around to building stairs, but had a makeshift cover of a blue tarp nailed to poles casting shade on the back of the stage.

Gus waved a nail gun in his direction. “What do you think?”

Tony gave him two thumbs up. “What's the tarp for?”

“If we have some rain showers, I want my tools, especially the electric variety, to stay dry.” Gus flexed his biceps. “I'm much too puny to drive a nail with a plain old hammer.” He proceeded to laugh at his own joke. Both of them knew Gus could drive a nail into a board with a soup can. Tony had seen him do it, but the story made Jane cranky. Evidently their mom still remembered the living room sprayed with tomato soup concentrate when one of Gus's mighty blows sank the nail point down into the board and drove the nail head up into the can at the same time. Then he proceeded to wave the can around, showing off and at the same time releasing a fairly steady spray of soup. Gus had been thirteen at the time and since then had added a hundred pounds of solid muscle.

“Are you in charge of the sound system too?”

Gus shook his head. “I can wire a house or set up a computer, but I do
not
do sound systems. Is there supposed to be one?”

“I hope not.” Tony mumbled. “One of the singing acts is the Elves.”

The normally healthy color leached from Gus's face. “Tell me it's not so.”

“I have an idea.” Tony moved closer and lowered his voice. “If I can find out when they're due to appear I'll let you know, or vice versa. At minimum, we can put in some ear plugs. We'll be the town heroes if there's a power failure.”

Gus extended a hand.

They shook.

“Has Mom ever heard them perform?” Gus looked as panicky as Tony felt. “Those voices can peel the bark off trees.”

Gus's cell phone rang. He checked the screen and shook his head. “No good deed goes unpunished.” He answered it and moved away from the hubbub around the stage. “I explained all this before.” Seconds later he was holding the phone away from his ear. The sound of a woman's voice poured from the phone. A very angry woman's voice.

“I've a good mind to fire you,” were the only words Tony could understand. The sound of the phone disconnecting was pretty obvious as well. Tony couldn't help himself. “Who?”

“Queen Doreen. I told her when I began her expansion project at the gift shop that I'd be taking some time off in order to do work for the festival. She was fine with it until today.” He rubbed his ear. “She's called five times already just to threaten to fire me. Damn, why not go ahead and get it over with?”

“Sound likes you're between a rock and a hard place.”

“Nope.” Gus grinned. “With Mom and Queen Doreen, it's between dynamite and C-4.”

Tony heard the dispatch radio call for all available members of their volunteer search and rescue group. He presumed Mike and his bloodhound, Dammit, were going to be unavailable to the sheriff's department for the rest of the day. His small force was shrinking.

He dropped by the search and rescue hall to learn more. A hiker had not returned to his car, which remained parked in a turnoff near the boundary of the national park. A note on the dashboard gave his name and his plan to hike for two days. The note was dated three days earlier.

The men and women who were involved with search and rescue, like the Silersville fire department, consisted of volunteers. They trained hard and were willing to risk their own safety and long hours away from jobs and family to help find lost souls. Nothing gave them greater joy than the safe return of a missing man, woman, or especially a child to an anxious family. Sometimes the problem was nothing more than miscommunication and easily solved. Other times, injury made locating and retrieval extremely tricky and dangerous for all involved.

“Who called?” Tony asked Halfpenny, the lead volunteer and fellow can-can dancer.

“His brother. He knew where the car was parked. When his brother didn't call in, he drove out to see if the car was still there. It was. He waited a few hours and no one came, so he left. He considers this our problem now.”

“That's a pretty precise schedule. No other contact information? Cell phone? Satellite phone? Hiking partner?”

“Nope. The brother says he likes to go it alone.” Halfpenny sighed, a look of disgust on his face. “At best, the brother is unconcerned. At worst, he's happy his brother has vanished.”

Tony felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten and thought for the millionth time about taking his family and running away from it all. He knew there was nowhere to go. Life was like a caravan in the desert—following a camel was better than dying on a sand dune. He forced himself to focus.

“Did the brother bring a photograph?”

“No.” Halfpenny's expression grew grim.

“I'll get you a copy of his driver's license photo.” Tony shook his head. “The things people do for fun.” Halfpenny nodded and strode away.

Tony stared out the window at the mountains in the distance. He knew the Smoky Mountains didn't possess anywhere near the height and grandeur of the Rocky Mountains or the Himalayas, but they could be dangerous. The canopy of vegetation provided dense cover, inhibiting aerial searches. Trees, rocks, and vines, along with the rushing waters of spring runoff, added to the danger to a solitary hiker. Within the national park, there were a multitude of trails, some for more advanced hikers than others. Outside the park boundary, which is not an obvious line, are areas as untouched as they were two hundred years ago.