Paint the Town Dead (12 page)

“True.”

“We moved on,” Sherry said, “to Kim and uncovered a bit of information about her first marriages, and her stepfamilies.”

Fred snorted. “Information with a liberal sprinklin' of gossip.”

I speared several chunks of my rapidly cooling okra. “Tell me all.”

I got to eat while the Six—Dab and Fred included—took
turns regaling me with what they'd gleaned about Kimberly Rebecca Collier Franks Thomason. As Doralee had told me, Kim had humble beginnings in a rural area north of Minden, Louisiana. Other highlights were Kim's local beauty pageant wins as a teen, and her wedding announcements, first to Craig W. Franks, and later to D.B. Thomason.

“Franks was a fifty-year-old widower, a successful businessman from Alexandria,” Eleanor said. “She was twenty-three. We saw photos of them attending charity functions.”

“They appeared happy enough,” Aster added, “and they were married for almost eight years before Craig Franks died.”

“Granted she waited a few years after Craig Franks's death to remarry again,” Maise said, “but it's interesting that she hooked another wealthy man who left her a chunk of change and a passel of slot machines.”

I cocked my head at Maise. “Come again?”

“D.B. Thomason and his family own a resort hotel and casino in Shreveport.”

“Have for years,” Dab piped in, “and had oil money before that. They're upper-crust folks in the Shreveport area.”

“And the family must be riled somethin' fierce about what she inherited 'cause they were suin' Kim,” Fred put in.

“Don't tell me she got the casino.”

“Only some minor interest in it,” Eleanor said, “but Kim got the family mansion and more money than the rest of them thought she should have. We found a notice of the suit in the public records.”

“There are a few photos of Kim and D.B. Thomason online at yet more charity events,” Aster said. “They were married for just over nine years.”

“Great work! You found much more information than I thought you might.”

“I do believe the Internet can be a glorious place,” Eleanor quipped.

Sherry nodded. “Except that we didn't find much on the two sets of in-laws. The younger Franks relatives have Facebook pages, but they didn't tell us anything interesting. The Thomason son, Dennis, also has a page, and the posts indicate he's engaged to someone from Dallas.”

“I don't suppose he put any rants about Kim on Facebook.”

“No, but he posted about his plans to live with his bride in his childhood home. He says maybe it will happen sooner than later.”

“Hmm. What about Margot Thomason?”

“One listing and it's from the woman's debutante days,” Maise said. “The photo online was scanned from an old newspaper article. It's so grainy, I'm not sure I could identify the person pictured if it was my own sister.”

“She's right,” Aster confirmed. “And we couldn't find a record of Margot's married name.”

“We can ask Doralee, or I'll bug Eric about getting it.” I paused, drummed my fingers on the table. “You know, Doralee told me that when Kim died, her part of the Thomason estate goes back to her in-laws. It's a rumor, of course, but if it's true, it sounds like a motive for murder. Were Kim's first set of in-laws—who were they again?”

“The Franks family. Craig was Kim's husband.”

“Was that family okay with whatever Kim inherited?”

“Personal details are sketchy,” Sherry jumped in. “However, the Franks heirs—a son and twin daughters—didn't seem to actively hate Kim. They didn't file any lawsuits that we could find.”

“How about prenuptial agreements? Did she have one with either husband?”

“Nothing firm on that score, but we can dig more. Jasmine's boyfriend has access to some sites we can't get to.”

Eeks, I thought. “No hacking, y'all,” I said. “Promise me.”

From the halfhearted agreement, I figured I'd be bailing one or more of them out of jail in the near future.

“You thinkin' we should follow the money, missy?”

“Fred, I really don't know. Killing someone for money is a time-honored motive.”

“We're certain that Doralee didn't have motive,” Sherry said firmly.

“I tend to agree. She didn't want Ernie back, and that's all she could gain from Kim's death.” Although I wanted to hear from her lips why she was near the square on foot Sunday afternoon. “As for Ernie,” I continued, “I can't see what he'd gain by killing Kim. If he'd changed his mind about marrying her, he'd have just broken it off.”

“That's logical,” Eleanor said.

“So we've cleared Doralee and Ernie,” Maise said.

I didn't so much as twitch at that statement.

“And Zach,” Sherry added. “He has no motive whatsoever.”

“So who did?” Aster asked.

“I don't have a clue,” I said. “If the Thomason clan was suing Kim, why bother to kill her?”

“Afraid they'll lose the lawsuit?” Dab suggested.

“Possibly, but it takes us back to Fred's question. Who inherits Kim's money and property now? Is the brother her only relative? What if the Thomason family doesn't get a thing? And what if her murder has nothing to do with inheriting?”

We'd finished supper by then, and mulled that question over our empty plates and full stomachs.

“You know,” I said slowly, “Doralee also told me that Georgine broke up her marriage.”

After I related the gist of that conversation, Maise tapped her chin. “Even assuming Georgine was as jealous of Kim as she was of Doralee, would Georgine kill Kim?”

“If she did, she'd get her brother back,” Aster offered. “There was no love lost between the two women.”

“True, but would she kill Kim to keep her from marrying
Ernie?” Sherry asked. “If so, why not kill Doralee before
she
married Ernie?”

“I don't know,” I said, shaking my head. “Doralee said Georgine's modus operandi was subversion. She didn't confront Doralee about anything. She was a passive-aggressive underminer. Besides, she looked drugged to her eyeballs on migraine meds yesterday.”

“Nevertheless,” Sherry said, “we'll see what we can learn about Georgine, and keep asking questions about Ernie.”

“I still say follow the money,” Fred declared as he rose and grabbed his tool-belt-laden walker. “You help with the dishes, missy. I'll take the critters out.”

*   *   *

Before I left the farmhouse, I teased Fred about adopting T.C. and Amber himself. He said he'd be happy as a pig in slop to help me with them, but refused to take them permanently.

“'Cause they didn't come to the farmhouse for me to find, missy. They come to the store for you. A'sides, you're still lookin' for their proper owner, ain't you?”

I murmured my agreement. Naturally I wanted to reunite the pets with their owner. Just the ticket to make everyone happy, right? For now, the critters were relatively undemanding company, and they had done a wonderful job of calming Doralee. I admitted I loved stroking their soft fur, and watching them play together. They had even begun vocalizing more, perhaps because I'd found myself talking to them. And the more we got to know each other, the more their little personalities shone through. Okay, I had avoided playing with them too much, or looking too deeply into their precious faces and huge, trusting eyes. Some instinct told me if I did that, I'd be a goner.

And it would be rotten if, just when I well and truly fell for Amber and T.C., their rightful owner showed up.

On the way home, they sat side by side in the passenger seat, heads swiveled toward me, ears perked and expressions expectant. They looked like that a lot, and I figured the consistent expectation was to eat. Tonight I countered their “what's next” looks with brainstorming. Specifically, I bounced investigation ideas off them. Yes, I still felt odd talking to animals, but it was a step up from talking to myself.

“I didn't want to remind the Six of this, but I'm pretty sure Detective Shoar will be all over the inheritance question, and he has the resources to get answers.”

T.C. curled her tail around her paws and
murped
, a sound I took as agreement. Amber thumped her tail on the seat, cocked her head, and emitted a short, sharp whine that sounded like, “
Uh.
”

“Not that it can hurt for Sherry and company to poke around on the computer or ask questions around town.” I worried my lip. “Can it get them into trouble? I don't want a repeat of April.”

Amber sneezed and shook her head. T.C. almost toppled over from the force of the unexpected blast, looking aghast at her companion.

“No, you're right. I won't worry. I'll be happy they're occupied with the mystery and not fretting about the business. I'm doing that enough for all of us.”

A few blocks from home I came to a stop sign. The crossroad ran east toward the Pines Motor Court, where Doralee and Zach were staying. I didn't have Doralee's cell number, but I could pop in on her. The summer sun had set, and the temperature had cooled enough that it wouldn't sound too odd to ask her to take a walk with me. I'd be able to question her about Sunday's private encounter with Ernie without risking that Zach would overhear. No point in making trouble for the couple.

On the other hand, I was tired, and had another long day tomorrow. And critters to walk first thing. Cute as they were,
caring for Amber and T.C. demanded time. However, as Fred had pointed out, they had come to the emporium to find me. They were mine to deal with until I found their owner.

I felt something wet and looked down to see T.C. delicately sniffing my elbow. I sighed.

*   *   *

I remembered I hadn't been to the grocery store when I opened the bare cupboard on Tuesday morning. Great. Time to give in and jog down the block to the Great Buns Bakery—a pleasure I'd indulged in several times a week since moving to Lilyvale. Until lately.

Grant and Judy Armistead owned Great Buns and were in their early thirties. I didn't know if he was a descendant of the Confederate general named Armistead, but Grant ran the place with military precision. Maise, with her Navy background, loved Grant. I didn't know him well enough to have much of an opinion, but I was becoming friends with the five-foot fireball Judy.

She had a cordless phone wedged between her ear and shoulder when I entered the shop, but gave me a wave and the universal just-a-minute sign.

I approached the old-fashioned lunch counter with the grill behind it, and a glass case down on the right for breads and pastries. Tall bistro chairs lined the length of the counter rather than stools. The dark espresso wood stain matched the seat and back cushions. Both tall and normal-height bistro tables and chairs dotted the floor space, and the wall art was a mixed bag of blown-up photos showcasing moments in Lilyvale's history and vintage signs.

I took a seat at the counter just as Judy ended her call.

“Hey, girl. About time you came to see me.”

“Sorry, but I've been busy, and I'm rationing my visits to watch the waistline.”

“
Pfht
. You do
not
need to sweat gaining weight yet. Now,
give me your order, then tell me about finding that dead woman.”

“Way to ruin my appetite.”

She snorted. “Impossible. I've seen you snarf down my biscuit sandwiches. Is that what you want today?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Judy was the most masterful of multitaskers I'd ever seen. She unwrapped and slapped a sausage patty on the grill, made and set my usual vanilla latte in front of me, then whirled again to flip the sausage. All in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

“Okay, I know the victim's name was Kim from the gossip flying around town. Now spill the rest. Curiosity is about to wear me thin.”

I talked while she made my favorite hard-poached egg, sausage, and American cheese on one of her fabulous buttermilk biscuits. I glossed over the more disturbing details, of course, but Judy uttered commiserating noises now and then. When she plunked my plate on the counter, she gave me a measuring stare.

“What?”

“Are you snooping into this the way you did with that other murder?”

I choked on a bite of biscuit. “No.”

She held my gaze.

“Okay, I'm asking a few questions here and there, but only because Aunt Sherry insisted we help Doralee. If I'm not involved—”

“The Silver Six will run amok. I figured as much. I'll say this. I don't think y'all's friend Doralee did the deed.”

“Why is that?” I asked after a swallow of my latte.

“She was in here once with that handsome guy, and they were both nice as could be. That Kim woman, on the other hand—”

“Wait. Kim was in here?”

“That's what I'm telling you. She was in here with a
woman whose hair was more platinum blonde than mine is. The blonde was dressed to the nines, and she and Kim were
not
having a friendly visit.”

I put down my sandwich. “What happened? And when was this?”

“It was Saturday late morning after the early rush. I overheard the women arguing. In low voices, but there was no mistaking the tone and body language.”

“Did you overhear anything in particular? Did Kim call the other woman by name?”

“No, but the blonde told Kim she wanted the ring, and Kim told her she'd have it over Kim's dead body.” Judy paused and shuddered. “I know that's something people say but don't necessarily mean in a literal sense, but still.”

“Yeah, it sounds more ominous now than it probably did then.”

“Exactly.”

“How did the blonde woman respond?”

“She said, ‘If that's what it takes.' It clearly sounds like a threat now, but it didn't at the time.”