Paint the Town Dead (4 page)

I'd just set up the slide show and set my tablet by the cash register when Doralee and Sherry, Aster, and Maise came in laughing. Zach trailed behind with a rolling bin of Doralee's supplies. He greeted me with a soft-spoken, “Good afternoon, Nixy,” and then began unloading what Doralee needed for the demonstration on the table near the workshop door.

I tingled with anticipation when people began trickling in. Some cruised the displays, others claimed a seat. Cindy
Price, the peppy forty-something reporter-photographer from the
Lilyvale Legend
, began taking pictures as soon as she entered the store. Sherry as our official emporium spokeswoman gave Cindy an informal interview as they toured the space. Eleanor had volunteered to take photos for our website today, so I circulated. I also checked to be sure Aster had bowls of loose lavender and lavender sachets strategically stashed on the shelves. In April I'd learned firsthand that the herb really did have a calming effect. Not that I expected trouble, but hey, liberal use of the lavender couldn't hurt.

With ten minutes until demo time, a group from the technical college where the Six volunteered came in the store. The students were noisy but not unruly, and the affection the students held for the seniors was obvious and touching. The photographer even snapped a few shots of the two generations posing together.

Not so touching was seeing Ernie saunter through the front door, Kim gripping his arm and Georgine trailing behind. Ernie looked comfortable in faded black jeans and a green polo shirt and tennis shoes while Kim wore a short black skirt, a figure-hugging blue blouse, chunky-heeled sandals, and almost as much jewelry as she'd been draped in the night before. In contrast, Georgine was dressed rather like her brother in plain blue jeans, a collared shirt open at her throat, and loafers.

Ernie's gaze swept the gathering and he scowled when he spotted Sherry, Doralee, and Zach chatting with a group of students near the door to the workshop. When Ernie moved toward the group, Kim still clinging to his arm, I moved to forestall another scene. I intercepted the couple before they reached the demonstration table.

“Mr. Boudreaux, you might want to find a seat before they're all taken.”

He drew himself up, looked down his nose at me. “I don't
intend to cause a problem—Nixy, isn't it? I just want to see the tools Doralee intends to use.”

He edged past me, not quite pushing me out of the way, but nearly so. I caught up at the demo table.

“Hmm. I wonder why she's not using a rotary tool. It would be faster. Personally, I'd use a wood burner.”

“Then you'd set off our smoke alarms, Mr. Boudreaux. And the power tool creates too much dust,” I said, arms folded.

“Ah, then I understand her choice of hand tools. Looks like a new set, too.” He peered at the tool kit, each tool nestled in a thin plastic molded space that fit its shape. He poked at a few, making the plastic crackle, then faced me. “Of course, one can do more with power tools. I'd be happy to demonstrate carving and burning methods outside. Give these people more gourd art ideas. “

I bit off what I was tempted to say and forced a smile. “Our craft demo schedule is full, Mr. Boudreaux. For the entire week. Now, please take your seats.”

“Some people would jump at that offer,” Kim huffed. “Come on, Ernie. Let's go shopping.”

They moved off, and I followed about five feet behind, blending with the crowd, but staying close enough to eavesdrop. Rude? The Six would say so, but I wanted to know if Ernie was plotting trouble.

“You go on if you want,” Ernie said. “Find Georgine and shop with her. I'm staying.”

Kim heaved a sigh. “This was supposed to be a romantic weekend. First, you let your sister tag along with us, and now you want to be around Doralee.”

Ernie stopped at Aster's display of balms and soaps. “I told you. I need to know if she's stealing my designs.”

“I don't see how she could be if you haven't seen her for months and months. Not even at an art fair.” Kim gave Ernie the stink eye. “Besides, you're supposed to ask her about the opal. You promised.”

“I will, I will. After she finishes.”

“For cripes sake, Ernie, her room is next to ours. You could knock on the door anytime.”

I nearly choked. They were all staying at Inn on the Square? Awkward.

“She's with Zach. Would you appreciate her knocking on our door?”

She heaved an exaggerated you're-right-but-I-won't-admit-it sigh. “Fine, we'll stay, but you ask her about the opal, and then we do what I want.”

Ernie didn't respond but escorted Kim to the only empty seats in the middle row. I pivoted away and came face to scowling face with Georgine.

“So sorry. I didn't know you were behind me.”

“You should watch where you're going,” she snapped and brushed past me. I had to wonder if she'd heard Ernie's and Kim's exchange. Double awkward.

At the demo table, I checked to be sure Doralee and Sherry had all they needed at hand. They did, and our gourd artist donned her smock, while my aunt wore an emporium apron. After I made the introduction, I stood at the far side of the sales floor, halfway to the front windows near Eleanor's display of carved figurines. Georgine, I saw, had found a chair near the front but not that far from where Ernie and Kim sat.

Doralee began by describing the various tools used both in wood and gourd carving, throwing out terms like veiners, gouges, and skews or chisels. She held each up in turn, and the audience was quiet enough that I could hear the flimsy plastic crackle as she removed each item. I didn't notice that much difference in most of the implements, but I was also distracted by watching Georgine. She alternately ran her fingers around her rope necklace, and hooked her arm over the back of the folding chair to turn and glare at Ernie and Kim. They either didn't notice or flat ignored her. Hard to do since I could almost see cartoon steam come out her ears.

I idly wondered what Georgine would do if I spritzed her with Aster's lavender water. For that matter, how would Kim react? I almost chuckled aloud imagining their outrage even as I noted latecomers quietly slip in the door. Two middle-aged women hovered behind the rows of chairs and watched the demonstration. A guy in his thirties wearing a royal blue scrubs shirt with jeans and a black and gold New Orleans Saints ball cap stood near the ladies, but didn't appear to be with them. He wore dark sunglasses, and tugged the cap bill low as if shielding his eyes. Hmm. If the scrubs meant this guy worked in health care, I sure didn't recognize him as a local nurse or lab tech. At least not from any of the medical offices I'd been in for Sherry's checkups. Maybe he worked in Magnolia, not Lilyvale.

The door opened again to admit two teens, a man, and a woman, but I sensed they weren't all together. For one thing, the teens sat on the floor up by Doralee and Sherry without a backward glance. In contrast, the adults darn near hugged the wall by the door. The woman was a platinum blonde with perfectly coifed hair dressed in a pale green linen skirt suit, ecru pumps, and oversized retro round cat eye sunglasses. She linked arms with a man who looked a good bit younger, maybe in his thirties. He wore mirrored shades, navy slacks, and high-end burgundy slip-on shoes. Not penny loafers, thank you very much. No tassels either. Those were costly shoes.

With their noses in the air, I wondered why they'd come into the store in the first place. Did they have a similar business and were checking out the competition? If so, I'd not heard the emporium had a rival. Or they could be art snobs slumming in our pedestrian shop. I'd met their type in Houston. Thankfully, most folk artists and crafters were down to earth almost as much as Doralee.

I turned my attention back to her demonstration.

“You can see I've sketched feathers on the gourd and I've begun carving them,” she said as she raised it above her
head to show the audience. “Instead of using clamps or vises, I'm securing my gourd in this box. It has a partially open front and a nonslip pad inside to hold the gourd steady while I work. My friend Zach”—she gestured to where he sat in the front—“designed and constructed this for me, and he's working on an adjustable box to accommodate the different sizes and shapes of gourds.”

Zach merely smiled. I liked that he didn't make a show of modesty. The idea really was ingenious. With or without an adjustable model.

“I'm an advocate of using masks when cutting, carving, or burning gourds, but I don't want to wear a mask for the program. And I certainly don't want to expose anyone to dust. So I'll be carving just enough for you to see the process.”

She launched into the next part of her presentation to a rapt audience, mentioning the various tools to make cuts deep or shallow, wide or narrow, as she went along.

“While I finish,” she said, “Sherry Mae will show you how to weave the grapevine we'll use to top off the gourd.”

Sherry wore her bangs over her bad eye again. I hoped she'd be able to see well enough to weave.

“I presoaked these vines,” she said, “and began the initial weaving to get the size right, and to save time. You can use single strands of vine, or you can twist or braid them. As you see, I've braided some for more visual interest.”

I let out a breath I hadn't been aware of holding as Sherry wove the vine in a circle maybe two inches in diameter. Each layer of vine added to the height of the piece until it was as tall as wide, and all the while, she described her technique without a stumble or even a pause. She finished with a flourish, and held the vine top high for all to see.

“See the tendrils hanging here?” She pointed to five hanging bits of vine. “I curved them to more or less conform to the inside of the gourd and worked them in as I wove.
These tendrils will hold the woven vine in place, so long as you don't jerk on it. Or you can secure your vine topper by drilling holes along the rim and tying off your vine with twine. Doralee?”

“If you want more decoration, embellish with beads, charms, or whatever you fancy. Use raffia to tie your decoration to the vine.”

She picked up a silver-colored sun charm tied to raffia, attached it to Sherry's vine work, then she and Sherry both gently squeezed the tendrils to fit them inside the gourd.

“I still need to do some finish work. A few strokes with my tools, and a little sanding, but this is a fair example of the finished product.”

Doralee again held the gourd high with one hand. With the other, she took Sherry's hand and they stood together to take a bow. Not every artist would be willing to share the spotlight, and I was grateful Doralee had given my aunt's talent time to shine.

A rousing applause, a few questions, and the audience rose. Some crowded around Doralee and Sherry while others shopped, meandering from display to display. I spotted Ernie and Georgine on Doralee's side of the demo table, then lost sight of them and Kim. Which was more than fine by me. We'd made it through the demo without any ugly outbursts, and I sure didn't want a commotion disturbing shoppers.

The only hitch came when Doralee and Zach were packing her supplies and she discovered a missing tool.

“It's a scratch awl.” At my apparently blank look, she added, “It looks like an ice pick.”

“The handle is wood and round,” Zach added. “Someone talking to Doralee probably jostled the table and it rolled off.”

“But Zach,” she protested, “each tool was in its mold in the kit.”

“Honey, you held up the tools to show the class, and you may not have seated the awl securely when you put it back.
Besides, that plastic isn't the least bit sturdy. We've popped tools out just by hitting the kit wrong. The awl is here somewhere.”

“You're probably right,” Doralee said as she unsnapped her smock and dropped it in the bin. “I'd stay and look for my tool, but we have massages scheduled in fifteen minutes.”

“We'll search,” I assured her. “With so many people in here, it could've been kicked under a display.”

“Or even a shelf,” my aunt added.

Doralee cast a dubious glance around the store. “Your shelves are floor to ceiling, Sherry.”

My aunt patted Doralee's arm. “You'd be surprised what we found hiding under these old shelves and that glass counter.”

“Don't worry about your tool,” I told Doralee. “If we don't find it, we'll get you a new one.”

She waved that offer away. “It's not that valuable. I just hate to think there was a petty thief in the audience.”

Right there with you
, I thought as they left. I also thought of the three oddballs who'd come to the demo—the snooty duo and Ball Cap Guy. I didn't recall seeing any of them after the presentation, much less seeing them near Doralee.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. The Six and I took turns helping customers, ringing up sales, and rearranging shelves. When Jasmine came in at four, she rehung the wind chime over the door, then helped me search in earnest for Doralee's tool. We struck out, and I dreaded breaking the news to Doralee.

Fred spent most of his afternoon in his workroom repairing a toaster.

And, I imagined, checking on the animals. Which made me smile.

Unfortunately, though our patrons looked at the slide show of the dog and cat, no one recognized them. And no one offered to take them off my hands.

*   *   *

The Silver Six headed home at five. Just before closing at six, Jasmine was straightening displays and I was cleaning the kitchenette and bathroom when the wind chime signaled someone entering or leaving the shop. I didn't hear Jasmine greet anyone, so figured she'd gone to check for any stock still outside.

A few minutes later, I heard the chime again. And giggling.

“Good evening, Detective Shoar,” Jasmine sang in greeting.

I smiled as I dried my hands. Eric had stopped by after all. Okay, I did have it kind of bad for him.