Murder for a Rainy Day (Pecan Bayou Book 6) (7 page)

A search through both the garage and the junk drawer yielded nothing that would work for the changing table, so I decided to drive over to Pecan Bayou Hardware for replacement parts. I went back to the nursery to grab the directions to use for reference. 

As looked at the pieces spread out on the floor, I became more determined to get this job done. The table was a lovely shade of dark cherry wood with three drawers on the left side and a convenient hamper on the right. Once this was put together, the nursery would almost be complete. There were only seven pieces to assemble, and I was ready to immerse myself in the project.

The road was already glistening from the heat as I drove the five blocks to the hardware store. My eyes riveted from the gleam of the street to red and blue flashing lights. A Pecan Bayou cruiser was parked in front of the Cattleman's Call Steakhouse.

Deciding the changing table could wait, I pulled up behind the police car. Elaina was taking notes as she listened to the restaurant owner, Lonnie Carello. As I exited my car, I noticed there was something different about the eating establishment. I couldn’t remember seeing two large poles planted in front of it. Had there been a sign there? That didn’t make sense because there was already a wooden sign with a longhorn painted on it up near the road.

"So when do you think it was stolen?" Elaina asked.

"Had to have been during the night. We've been doing renovations and the workers took off some time after five." Mr. Carello ran his hand through his thick black hair. He was in his mid-forties and slightly heavy for a man his size. He wore a double knit polo shirt that had puddles of perspiration soaking through it.

I looked at the poles again.

"Who the hell steals a plastic cow? That's what I want to know. Who would want the thing? Seriously? There’s something wrong with this two-bit town. When I agreed to help out my partner I had no idea how weird you people were are. This never would have happened in Chicago."

Elaina's lips thinned as she peered up at where the cow formerly grazed mid-air. "It is a strange item to steal."

"We have computers, flat screen TVs and all sorts of things that normal criminals steal. I seriously doubt there’s a black market for plastic cows."

"Maybe somebody else with a restaurant that sells steaks wants one," I said from behind them.

"Oh great, don't tell me this is another member of your so-called law enforcement team."

"Only when we let her," Elaina said. "Mr. Carello, this is Betsy Livingston, the Happy Hinter."

"Hope you got the hint on what made you in the family way."

What a jerk. I scowled and squinted at him. "Yep. Got that one down."

"So what are you going to do?" Mr. Carello asked, turning back to Elaina. "Check Ebay to see if my cow shows up? That is, if your police department even has internet."

Lonnie Carello shook his head in disgust. He had taken over Cattleman’s Call a few months ago after his business partner, Ron Neuwitt, retired.

The first thing Carello did was put up new siding on the old building that used to resemble a log cabin. After that, he gutted most of the inside and put up all new walls. We all hoped he would reopen soon, a restaurant that served T-Bone steaks in Texas was indeed a necessity. The renovations made the restaurant look more like some sort of city sports bar instead of the quaint homey place Ron Neuwitt and his wife had owned and operated for more than thirty years.  

Cattleman's Call had been the place to go for special occasions. I remembered my dad bringing me there for my graduation from high school. But Ron Neuwitt was getting old and it was time for him to retire. Lonnie Carello didn’t appear much younger than Neuwitt, but clearly had a lot of energy. His personality was the exact opposite of his predecessor, the kind restaurateur. Where Mr. Neuwitt had been kind and savored all things Pecan Bayou, Mr. Carello just wanted to change them.

"You know, I thought I was working well with this community. I never thought one of these yocals would steal my plastic cow. I even tried to employ local craftsmen and planned to have a mural of the town painted on the back wall. I hire this guy who comes in and paints this nice meadow with longhorns in it, and I have to say the painting itself wasn't bad. Then, I look in the corner and right when I’m thinking he’s a pretty decent artist, he adds a smiley face. A smiley face in a pasture! It ruined the entire picture. The cows are supposed to be the focal point, not a stupid smiley face. Who does he think he is? Vincent Van Emoticon?"

Before Carello arrived, Cattleman's Call had a bar in the back called the Sheep Dip Lounge, accessed by a separate entrance. Each year, Mr. Neuwitt sponsored a local men’s baseball team, aptly named the Dipsticks, which would gather at the Sheep Dip Lounge after every game to celebrate, whether they won or lost. With all of the construction going on, Carello had closed the lounge and dropped and the Dipsticks, so Bubba's Beer and Bait had inherited all the Sheep Dip regulars.

"Do you have any surveillance cameras on the parking lot?" I asked.

"Are you kidding me? In this place? Why would I?" He turned away from me and back to Elaina. "Just find my cow."

"We'll do our best." Elaina snapped her notebook closed. Lonnie Carello threw his hands up and stomped back into his restaurant.

"There goes one unhappy man," I said.

"Pissed off, more like."

"You said it, not me."

"Two ugly fake animals stolen in two days. What are the odds?" Elaina asked.

"You know, I can't be totally sure, but it sounds like to me we have a serial thief with bad taste on our hands."

"Yeah. Maybe it's really the chamber of commerce trying to beautify the place, low-key like."

I shrugged. "I kind of liked the cow. I always thought those tacky pink plastic udders screamed Pecan Bayou."

"Well, someone else liked it too."

Pecan Bayou Hardware was one of the oldest stores in town. The foot-worn floors were constructed from the original oaks that had been in the area over a hundred years ago, and the displays were all handmade. It was in stark contrast to the Superwally with wall-to-wall metal shelving and disturbing fluorescent lights that gave you a headache within fifteen minutes. This place had a history, and with a distinctive smell that made a person think of generations shopping here buying hammers and handsaws. As I picked up the bolts I needed, I had a thought.

"Hey, Bob. What kind of tools would someone need to take down the cow in front of Cattleman's Call?"

Bob put his hand to his chin, extending his lower lip as he thought about my question.

"Hmmm. With enough effort you could probably do it with a hacksaw."

I nodded and felt the baby kick. I was getting pretty close to pie time.

"Has anyone been in here buying a hacksaw in the last week?"

"Nobody lately, but I think everybody around here already has a hacksaw."

"Can you think of anyone who might want to steal the cow from Cattleman’s Call?"

"If I had to put money on it, I would say somebody with a restaurant somewhere, or even a guy who wants to mount it over the entrance gate of a big ranch. Maybe Libby Loper stole it to get back at whoever stole her horse. Who knows why people do the things they do. I'm still questioning myself on buying that Smart Car."

Bob had the only Smart Car in town, which was exciting at first. He bragged on how much he saved on gas driving the tiny vehicle, and how it was a wave of the future. That was fine until the high school kids started turning it over as a prank. It was better than cow tipping, one of them had told my father after a night of high school hi-jinx. Now Bob had alarms on the car that went off if you walked within a foot of it and it spent most of its time charging in his garage.

I put my items on the counter. "Is that all for you today?"

"Yes. I'm putting together a changing table for the baby, and it came without bolts."

"Typical." Bob put his finger to his lip and smiled. "Hold on, just one minute." He turned and went into the back room. He returned as promised with a plush toy elephant. It was a promotional item for Blue Elephant Fixative. "For the baby," he said.

"Oh! That reminds me. I need some glue. I accidentally broke a piggy bank that Leo's mother gave us for the baby."

"Well then, I guess it's kismet."

Bob walked over to the shelf that held the Blue Elephant Fixative and grabbed a tube. "Now you be careful with this stuff, young lady. Don't go gluing your fingers together. The only reason you need to be visiting the hospital is to have that young ’un."

"Thanks. I'll do my best."

"Sure, and if you write a handy hint using that stuff, be sure to mention you picked up your tube at Pecan Bayou Hardware."

I'm sure he was thinking of the droves of people that would rush to Pecan Bayou Hardware based on a mention in the Happy Hinter column. Didn’t Bob realize he was already the number one destination of every do-it-yourselfer in this town and the next?

"I'll be sure to do that." I heard my phone ring.

I juggled my purse as I extracted the annoying little piece of technology.

"How are you doing Bets?" It was Leo. "We’re about to go up, and I just wanted to talk to you one more time." I wish he didn’t sound like we’d never see each other again.

"Doing fine. No baby yet." Bob smiled and shook his head.

"Great. Don't overdo it now. You need to save your energy."

"I could say the same of you," I reminded him.

"Yes, you could, but at least I'm not carrying our child."

"Not yet, anyway. Promise me you’ll be careful up there. I'm just about to head over…"

Leo finished my sentence. "And get a piece of pie?"

"Why, yes. You must be psychic, Mr. Fitzpatrick."

"I'm a meteorologist. I'm good at predicting patterns."

A half hour later I was driving home and juggling a fresh baked buttery biscuit Benny had thrown in with my pie. Everything was getting greasy and I reached in the bag for a napkin. While waiting at a stoplight, as I wiped butter off the steering wheel, I looked across the intersection at the Super Stay Motel. Baxter Digby's car sat in the parking lot once again. Right next to it was a smaller car, a blue Subaru. It was pretty beat up and looked like someone had tried to scrape off something yellow that had been on the back bumper. Could it belong to the person he was meeting? If Digby were having an affair, it could crush his chances in the city council race. I wondered what that sweet looking woman in the picture in his office would think of her husband’s lunch dates? The smaller car didn’t look familiar to me, but it was a pretty common make and model. 

Once home, I put my bag of bolts and the glue on the kitchen counter. I pulled out the broken pig and after mixing the epoxy, started reassembling the pieces. It came together much better than before, although I could still see a slight crack where the pieces had been joined. I set it on the counter to dry overnight. Pouring myself a glass of milk, I pulled the pie out, grabbed a fork and made my way up to the nursery, Butch bounding on my heels.

After taking only a couple of bites of the pie, I found the biscuit had filled me up. I settled into the rocker and put my feet up on the ottoman. I would put together the changing table in a little bit. Maybe I could do it later this afternoon when I wasn't feeling so tired. I rocked slowly, feeling my whole body sinking down into the soft tan cushions.

"Betsy?"

Vanessa Markham stood in front of me, arms crossed. The fingers of her left hand, adorned with shiny gold fingernails, tapped impatiently on her right arm.

"Really? Sleeping during the day? How very decadent." Vanessa’s eyes scanned my rounded shape. "Oh my. You'll never get into a size four now." Not that I had ever been in a size four, except in seventh grade before puberty hit.

Vanessa had been a chick-lit writer who wrote under the pen name Vanessa Scarlet. She and I had never been friends and made the tongues of Pecan Bayou wag once when we had a shouting match in the mall. I remember the day I found her body in the children’s section of our local public library. She now stood as Martha Hoffman had, also scowling at me. Even in the afterlife, she didn't like me.

Vanessa wore a white closely fitted pant suit that was probably a size 0, along with a pair of white stiletto heels. Her blond hair was pulled back into a chignon with a few strands flowing around her face. She looked beautiful, and I envied her tiny waist. One good thing about Heaven—no calories. As mean as she was to me, I was a little surprised she was in white at all.

"Why are you here?"

"So, yeah. You figured out who my killer was. I guess I should thank you for that." She gave me a perfunctory smile, as if she’d just put money in the poor box at church.

"Okay."

"You never know about things that are hidden. Everyone has little cracks in them somewhere…just waiting to be discovered."