Paint the Town Dead (6 page)

“What does much larger mean, Sally?”

“She should stay medium sized, maybe get to twenty-five pounds, maybe not. I'm not an expert on German pinschers, but I believe they need a fair amount of exercise.”

Since I didn't know “Come here” from “Sic 'em” about dog breeds, I vowed to do some Internet research. Right. Soon as I had the time.

“Your cat is a domestic short-hair,” she said, scratching T.C.'s chin to a rumbling purr. “Some would call her a tiger
stripe. I don't think she'll grow that much more either. Both animals are about a year old.” Sally scratched each animal behind their ears. “They both sure have calm dispositions, don't they? Are you keeping them?”

“I don't know yet.”

“I understand, but they need rabies shots today. If you do keep them, they'll need other vaccinations and tests for conditions like heartworm and feline HIV.”

“Should I get them chipped?”

“It's recommended, but by no means required. Whoever had these two originally may not have been able to afford all the shots, surgeries, and chipping on top of that.”

“Vets don't do pro bono work?”

“Not like you're thinking, Nixy. We'll take vouchers from humane societies, or we might give discounts, but that's it. We can't vaccinate, spay, neuter, or chip animals for free. It's a liability issue.”

I paid the shockingly hefty bill, and got more information about chipping the critters. Then, with Sally's advice about how to advertise the found pets and her promise to stop in at The Handcraft Emporium, Eric and I loaded T.C. and Amber in the extended cab of his pickup to swing by the rescue shelter.

Miranda Huston, the shelter director, came off as caring but frenzied. She confirmed she couldn't take one more animal, much less two, and agreed to let us post photos of my temporary pets on her lost and found board. She also said she'd let me know if places opened in the shelter, but left me with a don't-call-us-we'll-call-you vibe.

Eric dropped the critters and me at the alley door. I'd spotted Sherry's and Dab's cars and Fred's truck in the parking lot. I hadn't realized it was after nine, but was certain the Six had everything under control.

I planned to get Amber and T.C. settled in my apartment, but Fred wouldn't have it.

“Get the cat's litter box—”

“T.C.”

“What?”

“I'm calling the cat T.C. and dog Amber.”

“You named them?” One corner of his mouth tipped upward, then he cleared his throat. “I take it the vet didn't know their owner.”

“No, and they weren't chipped either, so I'm planning to put their pictures around town and on Facebook.”

“Well then, missy, bring the litter box on down. T.C. and Amber can keep me company while I finish a mess of fix-it jobs.”

The day flew by with Fred fixing, and the rest of us setting up the chairs and a six-foot folding table for the craft demonstrations. We'd thought about using Fred's workroom for the free-of-charge grand opening programs as well as the occasional paid evening classes like Doralee's—the workroom was roughly the size of a three-car garage, for heaven's sake—but decided against it in the end. Fred frequently worked on more than one repair project at a time, and the man had a ton of tools that took up space in spades. Besides, although floor space was at a premium in the emporium proper, it boasted a touch more square footage than the workshop. We had room for fifteen to twenty chairs when we moved display tables to the back wall of the store. That was the only wall without floor-to-ceiling shelves. For the time being anyway.

We hosted a local needlepoint artist for the morning demonstration. In the afternoon, Eleanor showed off her whittling skills. Since it was a perfect summer Saturday, I figured people would be busy with outdoor work or play activities, but we had a good crowd for the demos, and decent enough sales to give me encouragement. Oh, we'd have slow times, no doubt about that. However, if we got the emporium website up sooner than later, I hoped Internet sales would take
up the slack. Since Jasmine's boyfriend was designing the website as a class project, aka a freebie for us, I hated to push him. I'd drop a hint instead. Mention the photos we needed to upload to the site. A totally legit hint, because Dab had taken more shots of the needlepointer's and of Eleanor's presentations.

Admittedly I braced for another round of trauma-drama when Ernie, Kim, and Georgine came into the store. Thankfully, the three browsed, then sat together peaceably for Eleanor's demo. I'd have liked to think the calming lavender did its thing, but maybe the trio behaved because Doralee wasn't there to be a target.

Afterward I caught sight of Ernie chatting with Eleanor, with Georgine at his elbow. She fingered her necklace even as her gaze roved the room tracking Kim. I tensed for trouble, but it didn't come. Kim bought earrings, Ernie bought one of Sherry's handwoven egg baskets, and Georgine bought one of Eleanor's less expensive animal carvings. Then they left peacefully.

Only one event marred the day. One of Eleanor's whittling tools went missing.

“It's a chip carving knife with a contoured handle. I don't know how it could've rolled off the table.”

We searched thoroughly—the seniors, Jasmine, and I—but didn't find the knife.

“First Doralee's awl, now Eleanor's knife,” my aunt said with a huff. “Someone must be starting a craft tools collection.”

Or we'd attracted a kleptomaniac to the demos. Dang it, we'd prepared for the possibility of shoplifting by having video cameras installed. Head smack.

“Wait a minute. I should've remembered this yesterday.”

“What?” Aster asked with her usual calm.

“We have security cameras. I'll look at the recordings.”

“We also have photos of the events on Eleanor's digital camera,” Sherry said and waved a hand toward Dab.

“That's right,” he said, holding the camera up. “We've taken turns snapping pictures, and I'll bet we have some dandies.”

“Great,” I said. “Maybe they'll show something none of us saw at the time.”

I sat behind the antique glass-fronted checkout counter with Eleanor, Sherry, Aster, and Maise crowded around me as Dab read the instructions Greg Masters, the security system guy, had left for us. After exiting the T.C.-and-Amber slide show running on my tablet, I pulled up the store surveillance footage. Split screens let me replay video from each camera simultaneously to cut overall viewing time, plus the system let me fast-forward, rewind, and pause. Each screen was small on my tablet but adequate, and I could enlarge a screen if we wanted to more closely examine footage.

My hopes of catching the culprit crumbled, though, when I realized where the cameras were trained. Camera one was aimed at the wall of display shelves, especially those holding the smaller or more fragile crafts. Camera two provided a view of the checkout counter and the front door, and a peek of the sidewalk outside. The third camera caught part of the center of the store, but the area around the demonstration table was a big ole blank. It was close enough to the workroom door that I hadn't seen the need to aim a camera there.

For fifteen minutes, we skimmed the recordings to watch the general movements of the audience members. First I ran the loops at normal speed, then fast-forwarded when I realized I could conclude little to nothing from the footage. No one appeared to behave furtively. No one appeared to have concealed a tool or anything else on his or her person. No one appeared to scream “suspect here.”

I put my tablet aside and pored over the still photos on Eleanor's digital camera. Again, no one struck me or the Six as being obviously “off.” Well, except the man and woman who'd huddled by the front door during the gourd demo on Friday afternoon. We had both video and still shots of them.
I might recognize the woman's helmet of blonde hair if I saw her again, but the oversized dark glasses she wore and the man's mirrored pair obscured more of their features than I remembered.

In a few frames, they appeared to scan the room as if looking for someone. They never gave any indication that they'd spotted who—or what—they were looking for, and they never left the front of the store. They also hadn't attended today's demo. Conclusion: squirrelly for sure, but not necessarily suspicious.

The other oddball from Friday afternoon's gourd presentation, the thirty-something guy in the blue scrubs, dark shades, and New Orleans Saints cap, had his head down in the one photo we had of him. The video camera had caught him drifting among displays, pausing now and then, but never looking at the goods as if he'd buy something. Once the presentation started, he stood behind the last row of chairs, his gaze glued to his cell phone more often than not. The phone was pointed toward the floor, so I doubted he was sneaking photos. He certainly didn't appear to be interested in the demonstration, so why had he come?

Huh. Come to think on it, I had sensitive eyes, and unless the skies were seriously overcast, I put on my shades as soon as I stepped outside. However, I took them off inside buildings. Why hadn't these people? And why hadn't I spotted any of the sunglasses squad in today's video feeds? Was it happenstance that they'd only attended the Doralee and Sherry Show?

I glanced at the ring of seniors. “Do any of you recognize these three people?”

“I don't,” my aunt said as she passed the camera to the others. “Do you think they're important?”

“Not really. None of them appears to have approached the demo table yesterday, and they didn't show up today.”

That's what I said, but then I wondered if those three
people had been together, perhaps casing the store. The likelihood was slim, but I'd be extra careful to lock up and set the alarms. Bottom line was that we'd struck out identifying a possible tool thief.

“I'm sorry, Eleanor. Maybe we'll see something if you upload these pictures to y'all's laptop at the farmhouse. That will blow them up a bit.”

“I do believe that's worth a try,” she said. “I'll e-mail any pictures that merit another look.”

“Done, and I'll call Greg on Monday to order another camera to cover the blind spot. Until he can come, though, one of us should stand guard over artist's supplies.”

“Roger that,” Maise said. “I'll make a duty roster.”

“Put me on it, too,” Jasmine said, leaning on the opposite side of the counter, her braids dancing. “I can take afternoon shifts, and I'll keep guarding even if you get another camera.”

Maise gave her a decisive nod. “We'll be squared away in no time.”

*   *   *

That night playing with the critters took my mind off the puzzle of the missing tools. Dab had gone off to buy toys at some point, and he and Fred proudly announced they'd taught Amber to sit, turn in a circle, and lie down on command. I had to wonder how many dog treats they'd fed her to accomplish all that, yet she dug into her food.

From all I'd heard, you can't train cats; they train you. But T.C. must've hung out with Amber long enough to think she was part dog. She, too, sat on command. Okay, close to it. She lowered her hindquarters halfway to the floor, and then snapped up the cat treats as fast as Amber did hers.

Eric didn't call to check on the animals Saturday night, but he did text that he'd be at the rededication party the next morning. I hoped his job didn't get in the way of his coming. We'd both been busy since I moved to town, me with
refurbishing the building, him with detecting. When all the dust settled, I hoped we'd be able to spend more time together, but at least I'd learned some things about him on our one-and-so-far-only dinner date.

I knew he'd been a military policeman in the U.S. Army, and had been deployed to the Middle East. He'd bought a house a few years back and fixed it up with help from friends. He fished when the mood struck, but didn't hunt. Not animals anyway. He liked football, soccer, and baseball more than basketball. He watched the History Channel and movies when he had the chance, but his job demanded more than a nine-to-five commitment. Especially since the other detective, who'd been out sick in April, had experienced complications and was still out of commission. The police and sheriff's departments fully cooperated with each other, so there was usually someone to take up the slack, but Eric took his work seriously, and it was a part of him I appreciated. When he'd mentioned the department was looking to hire more personnel soon, I'd nearly done backflips. Yes, we'd first been drawn together by a murder case, but I sure didn't want to continue
that
trend.

I sighed and looked at my furry companions, their small warm bodies curled at my side. A relaxing end to a hectic day.

It was not so relaxing to awake to paws on my chest the next morning. Amber licked my cheek, T.C. gave me a gentle head bump. At least they'd let me sleep until nine. Perfect since the cemetery rededication wouldn't start until one.

Should I be going to church? Probably, especially since I now lived in Small Town USA in Aunt Sherry's shadow. Not to mention the rest of the Six. I put that little guilt trip aside and dealt with the morning feeding and exercising of Amber and T.C. Yes, the cat refused to be left behind during Amber's amble. Did the leash law extend to cats? If so, I was covered, but I held hope someone would claim the critters soon.

As I strolled the square with the critters, a leash in each
hand, it hit me that I'd learned the rhythm of Lilyvale. Or at least my corner of it. I'd absorbed the routine sights and sounds of the neighborhood, and become part of its beat. Not that I knew every resident by name, but I recognized people's faces, or simply their voices when they called greetings to one another. Now that I walked T.C, and Amber, I was learning to pair people with their pets, too. This morning I stopped on a street just off the square to chat with teenager Louie while Amber and Louie's beagle, Harley, did their business.