Black and Blueberry Die (A Fresh-Baked Mystery Book 11) (15 page)

“Not that I remember.” Pauline looked at Aurora. “How about you?”

“No, it’s like you said, Pauline. He was with Danny a couple of times. I remember him because...Well, look at him. He’s gorgeous.”

Phyllis wouldn’t have gone that far, but she wasn’t 25 years old anymore, either.

“Did he talk to anybody?” she asked.

“Here at the salon?” Aurora shook her head. “No, he just came in with Danny, and they both waited out here while Roxanne stepped out so Danny could talk to her. I don’t remember what it was about, but I don’t think it was anything important.”

“Did Brian talk to you while he was here? That’s his name, Brian Flynn.”

Aurora made a scoffing sound and said, “Hell, no. He was too busy looking in there.” She nodded toward the glass doors. “Something was sure fascinating to him. He acted like he’d never seen the inside of a beauty shop before.” She grimaced and added hastily, “Beauty salon. Sorry, Pauline.”

“You’re sure about all that?” Phyllis said.

“I just told you, didn’t I? That’s what happened. Now that you’ve reminded me of it, I remember it pretty clearly.”

Aurora picked up the photograph and looked at it again.

“Is he a killer?” she asked.

“Brian? We don’t know yet.”

“It would sure be a shame if he was. Somebody who looks like that, I mean.”

She handed the photograph to Phyllis, who put it back in her purse.

Pauline squinted at them in suspicion and anger and said, “So when you were here before, you came under false pretenses. You were just looking for information for this...this case you’re working on.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Phyllis admitted. “But Courtney and Talia did a really, really good job on my hair and face.”

“I’ll second that,” Sam put in.

Pauline shrugged and said, “A customer’s a customer, I guess, no matter what brings ’em in. I don’t appreciate bein’ lied to, though. You could’ve told us who you really are and asked your questions.”

“No, they couldn’t have!” Aurora exclaimed. “I just figured it out. They thought somebody here at the salon killed Roxanne! Maybe you or me!”

“Good Lord,” Pauline muttered. “Is that true?”

“We hadn’t ruled out anybody at that time,” Phyllis said. In truth, they hadn’t ruled out the possibility now, but it was looking more unlikely all the time.

“None of us would have hurt Roxanne,” Pauline declared flatly. “She was one of the best stylists I ever had here.”

“She nearly got you sued,” Phyllis said.

“Only because Shelley Dawson is a crazy bitch! I know I shouldn’t say that about somebody who’s in a wheelchair, but shoot, bein’ in a wheelchair doesn’t mean you’re all sweetness and light. I was upset with Roxanne for a while, but that would have blown over without any problem.” Pauline hesitated, frowning. “What really bothered me was how Roxanne just didn’t seem to care anymore. The job she did on Shelley Dawson
wasn’t
her best work. The way she was actin’, I expected her to give me her notice any day. She sure changed.”

Pauline wasn’t the only one who had mentioned that change in Roxanne’s attitude. Was it connected with whatever had gotten her killed? Phyllis had to think there was a good chance it was.

“All right,” she said. “We appreciate you talking to us. You didn’t have to.”

“To be honest, I thought about tellin’ you to take a hike,” Pauline said. “But I guess you’re just tryin’ to do your jobs.”

“We don’t want an innocent man going to prison for a murder he didn’t commit.”

“Neither do I. I sure thought it was an open-and-shut case against Roxanne’s husband, though.”

“The killer was probably counting on everybody thinking that,” Phyllis said.

“You figure they were tellin’ the truth?” Sam asked as they drove away a short time later.

“About Brian only being there a couple of times, and only with Danny?” Phyllis thought about it for a second before nodding. “I think so. Aurora seemed genuinely offended by the fact that Brian didn’t pay any attention to her.”

“Well, Roxanne was there.”

“But he wasn’t looking at her,” Phyllis pointed out. “He was looking into the salon, Aurora said. And Roxanne was out in the reception area talking to Danny at the time.”

“Yeah, you’re right. So, what was he so interested in?”

“I don’t know yet,” Phyllis said.

“Had to be one of the other stylists, or maybe a customer,” Sam said. “There’s nothin’ fascinatin’ about a hair dryer or a sink.”

“No, there’s not.”

“Too bad we can’t find out who-all was there that day.”

Phyllis reached into her purse and took out one of the photographs. She looked at it for a few seconds, then said, “Maybe we won’t have to. Let’s head for home. I need to do some more research.”

The nebulous thoughts in her head were starting to form a picture, but there were still some large blank spots in it. She could speculate about what might fit in them, but that was all it would be, pure speculation.

Phyllis was silent for the most part on the drive back to Weatherford. When they got home, it was nearly time for Sam to go pick up Bobby at school. He headed for the backyard to get Buck, so he could take the Dalmatian with him. There were few things Buck liked better than riding in the pickup. He was fairly well behaved about it, too, spending most of his time looking out the window.

After saying a rather distracted hello to Carolyn and Eve, Phyllis went to the computer and began searching for four names: Derek Nelson, Nathan Morgan, D.J. Hutton, and Kirsten Gregory.

She drew a blank on the two girls. They were probably married by now—they could have been married two or three times, the way people discarded spouses these days—and she had no idea what their last names currently were.

She found an obituary for Nathan Morgan, killed in Iraq by an IED. His date of birth, plus the fact that he had gone to Western Hills High School, told Phyllis she had found the tall, lanky, dark-haired football player in the yearbook photo. She had the printed picture lying on the desk, and she couldn’t help but look at his grinning, youthful face and think about how his life had been cut tragically short. But so had Roxanne’s.

The only one she had any luck with was Derek Nelson. She found Facebook and LinkedIn pages for him and discovered that he worked for a financial management firm in Fort Worth. A glance at the time told her it was still business hours, but it was also Friday afternoon, so there was a chance Derek Nelson might have left the office early.

There was only one way to find out, Phyllis thought as she took out her cell phone and called Nelson’s firm.

Nelson answered his own phone, which was a little surprising. Phyllis introduced herself, then said, “If you’ve got a minute, I’d really like to ask you a couple of questions.”

“You don’t have an Indian accent, so I haven’t hung up on you yet, Mrs....Newsom, was it? But I really don’t have time for one those phony surveys—”

“This isn’t a survey, Mr. Nelson, I promise you that. I work for an attorney named Jimmy D’Angelo over in Weatherford, and I’m doing some research on a murder case. I think you can help me.”

For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the connection. Then Nelson said, “Is this for real? Are you pulling some sort of prank, lady?”

“Not at all. You can look up Mr. D’Angelo’s number, call his office, and ask them about me if you’d like. I’d be glad to give you time to do that, then call you back.”

“No, no, you certainly
sound
believable. And you’ve got me curious. Just what is it you want?”

“Do you remember going to high school with a man named Brian Flynn?”

“Brian? Sure. We played ball together.” Nelson’s voice sharpened as he went on, “Something hasn’t happened to him, has it? You said this was about a murder—”

“No, Mr. Flynn’s fine, as far as I know.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. I haven’t seen him or talked to him in...oh, ten years or more. Are you looking for him?”

“No, he has a business in Fort Worth. I’ve spoken with him a couple of times in the past week.”

“Okay. Then I don’t see how me remembering him does you any good, if you already know where he is.”

“What about his girlfriend, Roxanne Macrae?”

Nelson laughed. “You mean one of his girlfriends. Brian was never the sort to confine himself to one girl for very long. Oh, he was faithful enough while he was dating somebody, I guess, but he went through them pretty quick.”

“That must have caused some hard feelings,” Phyllis said.

“Sure, but not toward Brian. He had the knack, you know. Trouble just sort of slid off him. The girls would blame each other, not him. The rest of the guys on the team never could figure out how he did it.” Nelson paused, and when he went on, it was in a reminiscing tone. “I’m trying to remember the girl Brian dated before Roxanne. She wasn’t too happy when Brian dumped her for one of the other cheerleaders.”

Phyllis took a shot. “Was it Kirsten Gregory?”

“What? No. Kirsten was my girlfriend for more than a year. She never dated Brian, that I recall.”

“What about D.J. Hutton?”

“That’s who it was!” Nelson laughed again. “Brian dumped her for Roxanne, and she wound up dating Nate Morgan. That worked out good for Nate. He never was what you’d call suave, so getting a girl like D.J., even if it was because Brian didn’t want her anymore, was a break for him.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

“D.J.? I have no idea. I’ve tried to keep up with the people in my class, you know. It’s, well, it’s good business. But some of them I’ve lost track of, like Brian. D.J.’s another one. And Nate...” Nelson’s voice turned solemn. “Oh, man, Nate, poor guy. Went to Iraq but didn’t make it out alive.”

“I’m sorry,” Phyllis said, even though she already knew that about Nathan Morgan.

“I’d still like to know what this is all about, Mrs. Newsom.”

“It’s a long story, but basically, Roxanne Macrae was murdered, and I’m trying to help find out who killed her.”

A couple of seconds of silence went by, then Nelson said, “Damn. I’m sorry to hear that. I was never really close to Roxanne back in high school, but she was a sweet kid. Got along all right with everybody, as far as I remember. As long as they didn’t cross her.”

Phyllis’s grip on the phone tightened. She asked, “What do you mean by that, Mr. Nelson?”

“Well, like I said, she was sweet, but when she wanted something, she had a tendency to really go after it, you know what I mean? Like being the captain of the cheerleaders. And Brian, too. She wanted him, she went after him, and she got him. Didn’t do her any good in the long run, nobody could ever tie that guy down, not even Roxie. But she tried.”

That matched what Phyllis knew about Roxanne: smart, a hard worker, and ambitious...until suddenly she wasn’t. That was still perplexing.

“Was there anything else?” Nelson asked. The question broke into Phyllis’s thoughts.

“No, that’s all,” she said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“I hope so. And I hope you find out who killed Roxie. Too many of the people I went to school with are gone already, and I’m not even forty yet! It’s enough to make you think about the future. Do you have your future lined up, Mrs. Newsom, especially the financial aspects of it?”

Over the phone like this, he couldn’t tell that he was talking to a woman of fairly advanced age, Phyllis thought. Her voice didn’t really show it. And she didn’t want to listen to his pitch, so she said, “Yes, I do. Thank you again,” and broke the connection before he could go on.

The picture was almost there now, she thought, but it was still missing a few pieces. Her gut told her that when she uncovered them, she would have a pretty good idea of who had really killed Roxanne Jackson, and why.

So for now, all she could do was keep looking.

••●••

Sam came in with Bobby a few minutes later, and with that Phyllis had to put the investigation on hold for the time being. Her grandson needed her attention, and family came first.

Also, Eve had talked to her friend who grew berries, and there were still some blackberries available to be picked. With the next day being Saturday, Phyllis knew Bobby would need something to do, so an expedition to the berry farm might be just the thing.

Besides, she had reached the point where everything she had learned about Roxanne Jackson’s life and death needed to percolate for a while in her brain. Once it did, she believed things would be clearer.

The heat wave of earlier in the week, which had coincided with the air conditioner problems, had broken, and the air was cooler, dryer, and more comfortable the next day as all five of them set out for the farm. Sam had mentioned taking Buck along as well, but Carolyn had quickly and effectively shot down that idea.

“Turn a dog loose in a field full of bushes, and what do you think he’s going to do?” she had asked.

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably right,” Sam said, then shrugged and added, “Well, it was just an idea.”

“Not a very good one.”

They all wore jeans, long-sleeved shirts, and straw hats to protect themselves from the sun. As they walked out into the long, wide field full of plants, Eve said, “I look rustically adorable, don’t I?”

“There aren’t any of your Hollywood producer friends here to see you,” Carolyn said, “so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“A lady should always worry about how she looks,” Eve replied. “I mean, Phyllis is positively glamorous since her trip to that salon.”

Phyllis made a dismissive sound and said, “Let’s not get carried away.”

“That’s right,” Sam said. “You were glamorous before you ever went there.”

“I’ve never seen the appeal of salons and spas and things like that,” Carolyn said. “Having your hair done is fine, but all those other things...getting massages and having goop smeared on your face and waxing…it’s just a waste of time.”

Phyllis was watching Bobby run ahead in the field and didn’t pay much attention to what Carolyn was saying, but she replied, “Paul’s is a salon, not a spa. I don’t think they do massages or waxing. But I didn’t ask, so I don’t know for sure.”

“Well, people are too concerned about appearances, that’s all I’m saying.”

“You can never be too concerned about your appearance,” Eve argued. “If you don’t care anymore, then what’s the point of going on?”

“You care about other things,” Carolyn said.

“You and I are just separated by an unimaginable gulf of opinion, dear.”

“Did we come to pick berries or talk?”

Phyllis hefted the straw bushel basket Eve’s friend had provided. Each of them had one. “We’re here to pick berries,” she said. “I have a pie to make, after all.”

Sam called, “Don’t eat too many of ’em, Bobby. Your stomach won’t thank you later.”

“And those berries haven’t even been washed!” Phyllis exclaimed as she hurried toward her grandson. “There’s no telling what might be on them.”

Bobby looked up at her, his already berry-stained lips stretched in a grin, and she knew she was probably fighting a losing battle.