Paint the Town Dead (21 page)

“Unless it needs to come out, I won't.”

“Fair enough.”

*   *   *

Here's a fun fact for future reference. The pages of a flip chart don't flip if the chart is hanging on a wall. Duh!

I learned this in short order because the Silver Six insisted that we skip a few pages before starting our official murder board. Turn the blank pages back over to cover our work, and voilà! Our notes and charts would remain our secret if anyone wandered into the workroom.

I would've bought an easel, but Sherry talked Carter Gaskin at the business center into loaning her one. With Jasmine minding the store, I placed the easel at the end of a workbench, set the flip chart on the easel, and we gathered around it. Except for Fred, who continued working, this time on an old electric can opener.

“So where do we start, child? With motive, means, or opportunity?”

“Means,” I answered Sherry. “Since our favorite detective questioned Doralee about an awl, we can presume that was the murder weapon.” I saw the protests forming and held up my hand. “Whether the awl in question belonged to Doralee, or someone else.”

Heads nodded.

“Okay, I think Kim was stabbed in the stomach.”

“Why?” Dab asked.

“Um, because of what I witnessed at the crime scene.”

“Was there spatter?” Maise asked, her tone matter of fact as I'd expect of a former nurse.

“Not that I saw.”

“If the killer didn't pull the weapon out right away, the wound would seep, not gush.”

“Maise,” Fred barked, “could you be less graphic? You're like to ruin my appetite for the whole dang day.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm just stating medical facts for the case.”

“And we confirmed the scenario with Doc Thorson,” Sherry said. “You remember my family doctor, don't you, Nixy? He came by the see the emporium this morning.”

I did remember the darling man who was older than Sherry, still spry and sharp, and practicing medicine. “Didn't he think it was weird for you to ask about stabbing someone?”

“Oh, no. He's known me for donkey's years.”

“Back to the subject,” Maise said. “Remember that once the heart stops beating, blood stops pumping. And while the killer might not have pulled out the weapon, Kim could have done it if she was conscious.”

“Maise, dear, I do believe Fred is turning a bit green. Perhaps we could move on.”

“You're right, Eleanor,” Aster said. “Let's consider motive.”

“We've already eliminated Doralee and Zach,” Sherry said.

I glanced at each team member. “Do you all agree to keep those two off the list?”

They looked at each other, exchanged nods.

“Okay, moving on. Ernie was getting fed up with Kim's harping about the opal. Georgine didn't like her, and didn't want Ernie to marry her. So sibling jealousy as a motive?”

“And to heed Fred's follow-the-money advice,” Maise put in, “Georgine is Ernie's only relative. She's the logical choice to inherit everything if he never remarries.”

“Good thinking,” Aster said, beaming at her sister.

Eleanor cleared her throat. “I do believe Kim's former sister-in-law hated her.”

“Margot Vail, yes, and Margot wants that heirloom solitaire ring back.”

“Not to mention the family mansion and them shares in the casino,” Fred chimed in.

“The money aspects give her a strong motive for sure. She could hire someone to steal the ring or force Kim to turn it over. Maybe she would even order a full-on hit, but she wouldn't do the deed herself.”

“She could get D.B.'s son to do the dirty work,” Sherry said.

“I don't know about that,” Maise mused aloud. “From seeing the posts on his Facebook page, Dennis Thomason comes off as too self-absorbed to do much of anything for anyone else. I'm still surprised he bestirred himself to propose to a woman. I've never seen so many selfies.”

Aster snorted. “From seeing him in the surveillance video, he does seem to have less personality than the snails in my garden, and I wouldn't trust him to buy bread at the market, much less kill someone.”

“Nice image,” Dab said with a grin. “So who's left to suspect?”

“Kim's brother. If he's been in town all along, he could've done it.”

“His reason?”

“Maybe he's in Kim's will, and killed her for the money.”

Fred grunted. “S'what I'm sayin'.”

“Are there any other possible killers other than person or persons unknown?”

“What cop shows have you been watching, Maise?” Sherry asked.

“The same ones you've watched.”

I glanced at the workroom clock. “Y'all, we have twenty more minutes until Lexie gets here to teach her class. You want to talk about our suspects' opportunity? I've narrowed the time frame to between three thirty when Ernie says he dropped Kim at the alley door and maybe five fifteen. We found her at five thirty, give or take a few minutes.”

“That's a narrow window,” Dab said. “Who had access to the inn during that time?”

“The five people staying there. Ernie, Kim, Georgine, Doralee, and Zach.”

“And remember the truck and the Audi that came tearing out of the parking lot as Doralee and I got to the inn. The truck might be Caleb's and I'm sure Margot was driving the
Audi. She sidestepped the accusation, but didn't deny it. That puts three more people in the immediate area near Kim's time of death.”

“Georgine was in her room knocked out on migraine meds,” Maise said. “To be thorough, we have to include her as having access.”

“True, but Ernie has the most nonexistent alibi,” Aster pointed out. “He parked and locked his car, then wandered around Lilyvale for over an hour? Please.”

“What if,” Sherry mused, “Ernie is the one who hired a killer. If Kim was already nagging him about that stone, he could have hired a hit before he and Kim ever showed up here.”

“I don't see it,” Dab said. “A hired gun would use, well, a gun. A pistol, a rifle. A weapon that would kill from a distance.”

“Agreed, and I do believe there's one matter that throws a different light on this,” Eleanor declared. “Doralee's smock was found out in the country. The killer had to take it there, which means the killer needed transportation.”

“You're absolutely right, Eleanor. Have y'all heard any scoop about who found the smock?”

“Lorna said it was in the Greens' garbage. They live, oh, about five miles out of town.”

“Out of town proper, or from the square?”

“Reckon it's from the square,” Fred piped up. “I went to Herb's place a while back to fix his tractor.”

“Wait a moment,” Dab protested. “The killer didn't have to drive away from the scene of the crime. He could've been on foot.”

“Yes, but an average person walks a mile in fifteen to twenty minutes,” Maise said. “Even with the smock hidden in a sack or such, you'd have to be awfully bold to hike that far into the county to dispose of evidence.”

“Talk about being caught holding the bag,” Sherry quipped.

Moans greeted that pun, and we broke up to greet Lexie
and those patrons who'd be attending her jewelry-craft program.

But brainstorming with the Silver Six drove home to me how critical time had been. If Ernie didn't kill Kim, and hadn't chosen to avoid her that afternoon, he might've found her much sooner. That would've narrowed the window of opportunity even more. Of course, his presence at the right time could've saved Kim, too.

Whether he had squat to do with her death or not, he did seem to feel remorse now. Or he was a darned good actor.

*   *   *

Lexie Gibson had one of the most infectious laughs I'd ever heard, and she proved to be another excellent choice in artists for our grand opening. She'd come so prepared that she quickly crafted a half-dozen pairs of earrings from beads of pearl and semiprecious gems. At the end of her hour-plus program, she held on-the-spot giveaways for three pairs, and donated the other two to the emporium for our big end-of-the-week drawings.

And yikes, the end of the week was Friday. Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours from now. We planned to stay open until seven to host a thank-you reception for everyone who supported us during our grand opening week, and we expected the party to spill out onto the sidewalk. Attendees at the various programs had left their names and phone numbers on slips of paper. We'd been stashing those in a large hatbox Aster had bought at a craft store in Texarkana. No one had to be present to win, but most had said they wouldn't miss it.

Which reminded me I needed to call Melissa about the tray she was donating. The tray she'd painted during her demonstration. A trip to the grocery store for reception supplies was in order, too, unless Maise had already rallied the troops. Which she very likely had done.

Still, keeping up with these tasks was part of my job as
the manager. And again, I'd been doing far more investigating than investing time in the store. That had to change.

*   *   *

I didn't have to call Melissa because she waltzed into the emporium shortly after Lexie had departed. We all exclaimed over the tray, and then firmed up plans for next week's painting class.

I didn't need to make a supply run either. Sherry and the ladies had indeed already taken care of it, but the goods were still in the trunk of Sherry's car.

“Who's got the Corolla keys?” I asked.

Sherry was the first to find hers, but held them out of reach. “Don't give me that disapproving look, child. I can still drive, you know. Especially in the daylight.”

I put up both hands. “I didn't say one word.”

“You made a face.”

“It's my regular face, Aunt Sherry. Really. Drive all you like. After all, I'm not paying your insurance.”

Aster giggled, and Sherry tossed me the set of keys. “Go on with you.”

I unloaded everything from the trunk in short order. What I could stash in the kitchenette, I did. The rest—mostly paper products like napkins and paper plates—I stored in the workroom.

Jasmine left as I finished hauling supplies. Dab, who had a full, thick head of hair, had gone to Bog's Barber Shop across the square for a trim. Sherry and the ladies busily tweaked the displays, replacing stock as needed. Since Sherry's baskets, Eleanor's carvings, and Aster's line of aromatherapy lotions and potions had sold briskly during the week, there was a good bit of replenishing to do.

Fred had taken T.C. and Amber out and wasn't back yet. I found myself in the workroom alone, staring at our notes on the flip chart. Half-formed thoughts and fuzzy images
flitted through my brain. I knew I was missing pieces of the puzzle, but what were they?

The awl was a weapon to wield up close. Was the killing premeditated or a spur-of-the-moment act? Perhaps a striking out in rage or fear or jealousy?

I remembered hearing that murders were committed for a handful of reasons. Passion was one. Kim had been hell-bent on having Doralee's opal. Margot was equally determined to get the family diamond ring back. Dennis? I had to agree with Aster about him. He hadn't demonstrated a nanosecond of emotion, and even assassins and serial killers smiled now and then.

Shifting suspects, Georgine didn't hide her dislike of Kim, but then no woman on earth would be good enough for her brother. And Ernie? The man was long on ego, and he never for a second behaved like a man in love. He'd been a man annoyed with his demanding fiancée. In a moment frustration and anger, could he have stabbed her?

I liked the possibility of Kim's brother being the killer. I easily pictured a scenario wherein he needed money, he asked her for a loan, and she said get lost. He still hadn't arrived in town. I'd know if he had because Lorna would've told the Silver Six about her new guest.

On the other hand, if Caleb and Rusty were the same man, then he'd demonstrated kindness to animals by telling his friend about Amber and T.C. so the news would get to Ruth. And Ruth had mentioned his kindness to her and to her deceased friend, Doris. Did a man like that kill his own sister for money?

And what about the disposing of the smock? Did the killer drive out of town and cram it in the first convenient place he found? Did he know the highways and byways around Lilyvale, and deliberately stuff the garment in the Greens' garbage can? Heck, I didn't know if the Greens lived on the highway or off it.

“Off it,” Fred said behind me.

I jumped a foot and spun around in midair. An amazingly catlike move. T.C. looked downright impressed. Amber looked confused.

“I didn't hear you come in, Fred.”

“I could tell. You were mutterin' to yourself about the Greens' property.”

“And it's off the highway?”

“'Long 'bout a quarter of a mile back from the main road and around a bend. Hidden by trees.”

“Got it.”

“Why you want to know where Herb and Sarah live?”

“I was wondering if the murderer had dumped the smock in the first out-of-the-way place, or knew where to go.”

“Or just drove a spell and stumbled on a house that looked like nobody was there. Storm was a'blowin' in that day. The Greens don't leave on lights when they ain't home. Waste of electricity.”

I blinked. “Do the Greens have close neighbors? Are there nearby houses?”

“Ain't a one. Mark me, wouldn't take more'n about twenty, thirty minutes to get to the Greens, dump that smock, and get back to town. That is, if the killer was comin' back a'tall. Coulda been leaving town.”

“Leaving town? Fred, you're kind of brilliant.”

“A'course I am. Now skedaddle. I got me another toaster to fix.”

I'd had a productive day. I'd extracted the final details of what happened between Doralee and Ernie regarding the opal. I'd brainstormed the murder with the Silver Six. I'd finalized plans for Melissa's painting class next week, and completed a few store duties. However, I still hadn't heard from Eric, and the waiting, to borrow a Judy-ism, was about to wear me thin.

Time to track him down.

I told Sherry where I was headed, promising to be back before five. After last night's video review, the Six had been up late. I wanted them to get home early for an evening of rest and relaxation.

T.C. and Amber looked up as I crossed the workroom on my way out, so I stopped to give their ears a scratch. They really were sweethearts.

“I'll spend more time with you soon,” I said. “We'll go to the dog park when it officially opens, okay?”

Amber woofed, and T.C. chirped. I smiled and headed out the back to power walk to the police station.

Officer Benton was on front desk duty when I went in, and shook his head before I could ask for Eric.

“Detective Shoar is on a call,” he said. “I'm not sure how long he'll be.”

“Is it related to the murder?”

“I can't comment, ma'am, but I'll tell him you came by.”

Uh-oh. Being called “ma'am” before I had my thirtieth birthday? I needed to give Aster's special skin cream a try.

I thanked Officer Benton, and stepped into the afternoon sunshine. Go back to the emporium, or go by the Lilies Café? Lorna wasn't usually open for dinner, but she might be there waiting on Caleb Collier to show up.

I wondered how she'd solved the dilemma of which room to give him.

Lorna was still at the café, but outside digging in the concrete planter near the front door. She'd pull a weed or three, and drop them in a plastic bucket. I started to ask why, then remembered. Each store owner took turns weeding and generally tidying the planters. My turn was coming up in July. Hmm. I'd shoved that to the back of my mind.

She waved the forked weeding tool she held when she saw me. I'd have to ask Aster if she had extra garden diggers I could borrow.

“That woman's brother hasn't come yet,” Lorna said when I'd barely said hello. “Eric's called twice to check. I don't know why he's so all fired to see this guy.”

She paused and shot me an inquiring glance. “Unless the autopsy's done, and the body's ready to be claimed up in Little Rock.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, I haven't heard anything about that. I was wondering: how did you decide on which room to give your new guest?”

She stabbed at another weed. “I talked Mr. Boudreaux into taking the suite where his fiancée died once we got everything cleaned up, and moved the sister to his.”

“I'm surprised he went for that.”

She shrugged. “He didn't turn cartwheels, but the arrangement gives the both of them private baths. The sister needs it. She's been flat on her back for two days.”

I suspected I knew, but asked anyway. “What's wrong with her?”

“Mr. Boudreaux says it's the migraine medications. He's been paying extra for me to take food trays up to her, but she barely makes a dent in them.”

“She's that ill?” I asked. “Have you seen her?”

“She looks worse every day, and acts loopy. She buttons her PJs all the way to her neck, which looks horribly uncomfortable, especially being sick. I tell you, I just hope I never have those kinds of headaches.”

“Where are you putting Caleb Collier when he comes?”

“He'll have the room nearest the shared bath. No one has stayed there in several weeks.”

“I hope he doesn't postpone on you again.”

“So do I. I'm determined to wait for him to arrive.”

“Why? You usually have guests let themselves in with their codes.”

She dropped the gardening tool in the plastic bucket, and the weeds inside it muffled the
thunk
. “Let's just say I'm curious why a man wouldn't come running when his sister is murdered. Something is just not right about that.”

I wholeheartedly agreed.

*   *   *

Eric hadn't called by the time the Silver Six went home for the night. T.C. and Amber raced me up to my apartment (T.C won easily) where I fed them their kibble, and then fixed myself a stir-fry dinner. I even sat at the counter to relax while I ate. Taking my time, practicing patience.

No call.
Grrr.

I washed, dried, and put away my pan, stirring spoon, bowl, fork, and glass by hand. I didn't rush.

Still no call.
Argh!

Okay, time for me to call him. My mother had always said girls shouldn't call boys. Let the guys come to you, Mom had advised. But this wasn't about a date. This was about a murder, and I'd asked questions Eric had promised to answer.

He didn't answer his cell. Shoot. What kind of crime wave in little Lilyvale could possibly be monopolizing his time? With all the people the Silver Six knew, someone would've spread the word if there had been another murder. Or serious accident. Or huge brawl. Or any other situation that would keep my detective out of touch.

Was he ducking my calls? Could be. If Caleb hadn't made it to town, Eric wouldn't have any more information on that score. However, I still wanted to know how many rings were in Kim's personal effects, and who benefitted from her death. Scanning the inventory list shouldn't have taken Eric five minutes, but lawyers could be incredibly slow. An attorney in a different state, and one representing several interests? News from that quarter could be delayed a good while longer.

I hadn't bought a television yet, so to keep myself busily distracted, I tackled mundane chores. Having a washing machine in the bathroom was more a European than an American home thing, but I loved my stackable unit right where it was. Easy to toss my clothes right into the washer tub when I undressed, and it would be wonderful to wrap myself in warm towels straight from the dryer come the winter.

Yes, Fred would call towel warming a waste of electricity. Fluffing clothes I'd forgotten to take out of the dryer fell into the same wasteful category, but I did it anyway. My bills were so low, I barely supported my local energy company. Correction, Sissy's trust barely supported the company since the trust paid the utilities. I'd take over those and pay Sherry rent one of these days. If I could ever get her to agree.

While the dryer ran, I gave the bathroom a quick once-over. Just in case a certain detective happened to come by with news about the case. Even with Amber on my heels with a what-are-you-doing tilt of her head and T.C. batting a wadded paper towel I'd dropped on the floor, the bath spiff-up took all of fifteen minutes. Next task, cleaning up for a certain feline.

I snagged the plastic bag I used as a trash can liner and went to scoop the litter box. Amber had jumped to the couch and parked herself on the armrest, as perfectly balanced as a cat. T.C. sat patiently waiting for me to finish with her box, then promptly sniffed, scratched, and used the facilities.

I considered emptying one of the moving boxes still in the dining room area, but quickly rejected that idea. I'd already unpacked the essentials. What was left were items to consider letting go of. Right now I had too much on my mind to make those decisions.

Geez, I really needed to get a TV to watch at times like these.

Hands on my hips, I looked down at the critters. “Reruns would be better than twiddling my thumbs, right, girls?”

Amber barked, leaped off the couch, and ran to the basket by the door, where I'd begun dropping her leash. She nosed around, fished it out, and sat, first eyeing the door, then me.

“That's a new trick. Did Fred and Dab teach you that?”

She sniffed and shook her head so hard her ears flopped.

“You taught yourself, huh? All right, I'm in. Let's go, girls.”

*   *   *

We saw my teen friend Louie with Harley, his beagle, a few blocks from the emporium.

“Hey, Ms. Nix, I heard you got to take Amber and T.C. to the dog park. It's not open yet, is it? It's not supposed to be open until July.”

“Early in the month, yes, but how'd you know I was there?”

“I got accepted into some summer classes at the tech
school, and my welding teacher is Mr. Hawthorne. We've all been helping with things like installing the chain-link fences, and he mentioned a cat that went everywhere with her dog friend.” He paused and scratched the side of his neck. “Not many of those around.”

“Probably not. You've all done an amazing job with the park. You'll be taking Harley over, won't you?”

He nodded, rubbed his neck again. “Harley may spend more time sniffing for squirrels than playing on the equipment, but he'll love the freedom to run.”

“Maybe Harley and Amber can play there together,” I said, then got distracted by the teen's continued scraping at his skin. “Louie, do you have allergies?”

He gave me a puzzled look.

“You're scratching your neck.”

“Sorry, my mom's using a new detergent, I guess. I usually wear T-shirts, but she made me put this one on to help her at church after we had dinner.” He heaved a put-upon sigh. “I know I'll have to get used to wearing these when I'm a man, but I really don't like collared shirts.”

I stared at Louie, but I suddenly wasn't seeing him. I was remembering Ruth Kreider tell me Rusty's last name reminded her of a man's shirt.

Men's shirts. Collar. Collier.

Was it a stretch from “collar” to Collier? I didn't think so. Sure, Ruth forgot Caleb's last name anyway, but she said her memory wasn't sharp for some things. Names could become notoriously challenging to remember as people aged. I'd read that in a magazine in Sherry's eye doctor's office.

Now I
really
wanted to talk to Eric.

I said good-bye to Louie just as Amber began madly barking and pulling on the leash. What the heck?

A dark truck rolled down the street toward us. A dark blue truck fitted with monstrous tires. The elusive Rusty Caleb Collier. I had to do something!

Acting on pure instinct, I quickly looped both of the leashes around the leg of a bench and flew from the sidewalk into the street waving my arms. The driver's brakes screeched, and the truck rocked to a stop.

In the next moment, T.C. wriggled out of her harness and leaped to the hood of the truck, and Amber began baying like she'd treed a raccoon, tugging on her leash.

The driver cursed a blue streak as he jumped down from the cab.

“What the hell, lady? Why did you run out in front of me? You could be dead right now.”

At easily six feet, with a chiseled chest visible under his white tee, and muscled arms, the guy who stormed at me wasn't wrestler-brawny, but he could snap me in half if he wanted. With adrenaline flooding my body, I wasn't backing down.

“Lady, did you hear me? I could've killed you.”

I held my ground and raised my chin at the red-haired man. “Like you could've killed your sister?”

His mouth hung open. “What?”

“Caleb Rusty Collier,” I said, channeling Eleanor, “I do believe the dog you knew as Blackie is trying to get your attention.”

*   *   *

Some of Caleb's hostility subsided with a last muttered cuss word. I untied Amber and brought her over to the truck. Caleb bent to greet her, then turned to pet T.C., who still stood on the hood of his truck. Both critters lapped up his attention, and that seemed to calm him more. Whew! Having an angry murder suspect yelling in my face wasn't my idea of a good time.

Within minutes, middle-aged Officer Doug Bryant parked his patrol car behind Caleb's truck, blocking him in from that direction. Officer Bryant had responded because
Louie had called 911. After I explained why I'd flagged down the truck in the first place, Officer Bryant called Detective Shoar. The look Bryant gave me said, “You're in trouble now.”

I didn't care. Yes, the brakes could've failed and I'd be road kill at this moment. Or the driver might've run me down on purpose. I'd taken a risk. I got that. But sometimes you have to listen to your gut.

When Eric pulled up, I went on the offensive.

“Detective Shoar,” I said, clamping a hand on his arm, “meet Rusty Collier. Mr. Collier, this is Detective Eric Shoar of the Lilyvale Police Department. He's handling your sister's murder case.”

Caleb shot me an irritated look. “I know who he is. I've talked to him on the phone.”

Eric scanned the sidewalks where citizens had come outside to see what was happening. “Let's go have this chat at the station.”

“Am I under arrest?” Caleb asked.

“As of now, no.”

“Have you been to the Inn on the Square yet?” I asked.

Eric gave me an inquiring glance, and I shrugged. “Lorna was planning to wait for him at the café.”