Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (12 page)

“It’s possible, but Elsman could have overheard one of the vendors mention the tradition. She cruised the festival before she confronted Sherry Mae.”

“How do you know that?”

“I spoke briefly with Harold Woods when we first arrived at the festival. You recall that?”

“Vaguely. I was more interested in seeing Aunt Sherry.”

“Harold told me Elsman had talked to vendors, and not in a friendly way. So yes, she’s on my suspect list, but she didn’t buy the candy. Be Sweet had a big sale Monday, and the ladies who work there don’t remember who bought what. They only know Elsman wasn’t there. No one reported Clark Tyler being there either.”

“What do you do now?”

“I have a list of customers the ladies remember being in the store, and I’m tracking down credit card buyers. If it was a cash transaction, I have no way to trace the buyer.”

“I guess you checked to see if the store has security cameras.”

He gave me a
duh
look.

“How about the inn? If Lorna or Clark—”

“I’ve checked with them. Neither of them saw the candy delivered, and they don’t have working surveillance cameras.”

“They should fix that. I’ll bet whoever left the box used the back stairs.” I sighed. “Did Hellspawn find the candy box in her room?”

“Outside the door, and I think she’s telling the truth, but I’m not taking anything at face value.” He laid a hand on my arm, gently squeezed, and then let go. “Nixy, listen, please. I’m on this. I can’t stop you from snooping, but don’t interfere in my investigation. The deputy prosecuting attorney, Bryan Hardy, is hell-bent on finding and frying whoever is behind our crime wave. If you do anything that puts the case in jeopardy, I’ll have to arrest you.”

“Huh. Then I suppose I shouldn’t get a room at the inn.” He made a choking sound, so I cut him a break. “Chill, Detective. It was a thought, not a plan. I made Sherry move back to her room, and depending on how long I’m here, the sofa might get uncomfortable.”

“I’ll recommend a massage therapist in town. Stay away from the inn.”

I don’t take ultimatums well, and really, who does? But I agreed. And when he thanked me so sincerely, I resolved to keep my word. Unless I came up with a good reason not to.

•   •   •

BY A QUARTER TO FIVE THAT AFTERNOON, THE
house smelled of brownies, and plates and bowls of cookies, pimento cheese finger sandwiches, and chips—much of it food from friends—crowded the folding tables I helped set up. Pitchers of sweet tea and water, paper plates, cups, napkins. Refreshments were ready and then some. The parlor was crammed full with the extra chairs from the dining room and kitchen. Even then, some people attending the meeting would have to stand, and I’d be one of them.

Sherry was ensconced in a corner of the sofa on the far side of the room when the neighbors arrived. With word about her poisoning having spread, a few people brought her flowers, which Aster put on the table with the food.

Every single person exclaimed over the poisoning incident, and threats flew, too. The people I’d seen at the church breakfast led the pack.

Duke Richards pounded a fist on his knee, barely missed hitting the plate he balanced there. “Bog, Big George, and I are of a mind to take Barker and a couple of two-by-fours and go run that woman out of town.”

Yikes, the shotgun guy Duke, bald Bog Turner, and Big George the bear nodded as if the plan was a done deal, and so did John Lambert. His wife, Jane, gave him a stern look.

“Too bad the police can’t get rid of her for us,” said Pauletta Williamson, of the squash blossom jewelry.

“Or they won’t,” petite Marie Dunn snipped. “I ran into Ida Bollings this morning, and she thinks our city and county officials are up to no good.”

“Do tell,” Jane Lambert said, leaning so far forward, I thought her bosom would squash the finger sandwiches on her paper plate.

“As you likely know, this Elsman woman threatened to take Ida’s rental house land for the unpaid back taxes.”

Murmurs of disgust rippled through the room.

“Well, she found her tax receipts and checking account records, and marched down to the courthouse to straighten things out. She talked to that head clerk, Patricia Ledbetter. The one whose child is so sick all the time.”

“Bless her heart,” Jane Lambert said.

“Yes, and things must be bad with that tyke, because Ida said when she showed Patricia that her property taxes had indeed been paid, and early to boot, Patricia became completely flustered.”

“How so?” Sherry asked, her voice a hair too weak for my liking.

“According to Ida, she got real defensive, then angry, and then cried.”

Pauletta shook her head. “Ida didn’t let it drop, did she?”

“No, but Patricia’s boss—y’all know the tax collector, Mac Donel?”

Heads nodded.

“He came charging out of his office, sent Patricia off to compose herself, and told Ida he was looking into the irregularities. Irregularit
ies
, plural. So Ida doesn’t think she’s the only taxpayer with screwy records, and she thought Mac looked more guilty than concerned about the problem. Why, Ida was so upset, she had to go home and take her medicine.”

Every person in the room reflected silently on that flood of information for a moment. I kept an eye on Sherry, who seemed to be wilting. Did I butt in to get the meeting moving?

I caught Maise’s gaze and nod. Right, butt in.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, “I know you all want to get home, so if we could refocus on the purpose of the meeting?”

“Getting rid of the wicked witch,” Big George’s voice boomed.

“Without violence,” Sherry added.

“Sherry, you’re entirely too good,” Pauletta said. “Why, that woman tried to kill you!”

“In fairness, we don’t know that,” I said. “Her assistant was poisoned, too, and Elsman claimed the candy had been sent to her.”

“I still think she needs escorting out of town,” Duke growled.

“Y’all, please, we are better than that,” Sherry said. “If we all pledge not to sell options to her, she’ll have to give up sooner or later.”

“Needs to be sooner,” Bog rumbled darkly. “Before she does kill someone.”

I suppressed a shudder that snaked up my spine. “Okay, then, all of you refusing to sell land options is one positive step. Dab and Sherry have filed destruction-of-property complaints against Elsman, and Detective Shoar is investigating those and the poisoning incident. I’m wondering if each of you might be willing to file harassment complaints. Or get an attorney to send cease and desist letters. There’s no guarantee those measures would get Elsman to leave town, but it’s another proactive step.”

“I’m all for it,” John said.

“Which choice?” Jane asked her husband.

“Either. Both.”

Maise cleared her throat and stepped forward. “We have an attorney who’d be happy to help us with a letter, and I think he’d charge only a modest fee.”

“In the meantime,” Pauletta said, “I suggest that none of us so much as talks to Elsman. If she comes around again, we slam the door in her face.”

No one shouted
Hear, hear
, but that was the consensus. The departing neighbors vowed to contact those who hadn’t made the meeting and tell them the plan. Duke, Bog, and George offered to patrol Sherry’s property, but Fred and Dab nixed that idea right away.

“If I’m in my workshop at night, I don’t want you wallopin’ me,” Fred told them. They didn’t argue with him.

I joined the Six in the kitchen to nibble on leftover finger sandwiches and the slaw Maise hadn’t put out for the guests. We rehashed the meeting as we ate, and the point they glommed on was the tax payments glitch.

“Mac Donel is such a straight arrow,” Sherry said, “I can’t believe he’d falsify property tax records.”

“Or pick Ida’s to mess with,” Dab said. “She was a court clerk herself. Everyone knows she keeps her papers in meticulous order.”

“But I do believe where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Eleanor mused.

“Yep, somethin’s up with somebody at the courthouse. I just hope it gets straightened out in a hurry.”

I carried the folding tables back out to the storage room in the barn, Dab along to open doors for me. I got a look at the still that was being reconstructed in the far corner.

“I need to get supplies to finish it to Eleanor’s new design, but we’ll have it running in no time. And don’t worry,” he added. “We’ve set up well away from the gas and the oil products we keep for our machinery. Fred moved those to his workshop.”

“Does he really come out alone to work at night?”

“Not since the trouble with Elsman started, I don’t think, but he’s been known to burn the midnight oil. We seniors sometimes don’t sleep as well or as long as you younger folks.”

“My mother said the same thing.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad you’re staying a spell longer.”

“Me, too,” I answered with a smile.

•   •   •

SHERRY TURNED ME DOWN WHEN I OFFERED TO SEE
her up to bed, but when Eleanor said she believed she was tuckered out, Sherry allowed it was time for her to go upstairs, too. Maise and Aster followed not long after that, and though Fred and Dab played cards for a while in the kitchen, they retired before ten.

I made up the long sofa and snuggled in. After ten minutes, I realized I was too wired to sleep. Attempting to read the Stanton patriarch’s papers with that faded ink sounded like the perfect way to come down. Or at least tire my eyes enough to sleep.

I began reviewing handwritten notes about Samuel Allan Stanton. Born in 1830 in southwest Missouri, he was already married to Yvonne Ritter and had children before the Civil War began. Sam, one of his brothers, and his wife’s brother sided with the South, and Sam moved Yvonne and their five children to Fort Smith. He fought in an infantry unit until wounded and sent home. Several moves later, Sam bought land from a Civil War widow, and they settled down for good. They farmed, had some livestock, and opened a general store in what was barely a crossroad. Eventually the crossroad grew to be Lilyvale.

I peered at Sam Stanton’s death date. Was that 1903 or 1905? I rubbed my itchy eyes. Shoot, I couldn’t see straight. I’d go check the grave marker tomorrow. Not only were my eyelids drooping, but I didn’t entirely trust that Duke wasn’t roaming around with his shotgun.

Reading the old papers, the neighbor meeting, and the poisonings fueled my dreams. I woke once to what I thought was a scream or a screeching and a buzz saw. It turned out to be Fred wheezing and snoring. When he didn’t quiet down, I crept off the sofa long enough grab my phone and earbuds, and fell back asleep to a nature sounds relaxation MP3.

Next time I awoke, it was to the aroma of bacon cooking. Was Sherry awake yet? How did she feel this morning? I thought about going up to peek in on her, but I needed to change first. And take care of other business.

Neither Fred nor Dab was in the bathroom, so I dashed in and got ready for the day in record time. I wore my cargo shorts again, so I dropped my phone in a leg pocket, then I straightened my belongings and the family papers I’d left out last night. As I finished, Aster came in.

“I thought I heard you up. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.”

“Is Aunt Sherry awake?”

“Yes, and she seems to feel fine, but Maise says she will tire easily. Keep that in mind when you plan your day with her.”

“We’ll work on the historical documents. Which reminds me, I need to check a date in the cemetery.”

“Then call the others in, will you? They’re in the barn.”

“At this hour? Why?”

“Looking at Dab’s still. Scoot now. Some of us have volunteer jobs to be at by nine today.”

As I trooped through the dewy grass, Eleanor, Sherry, Fred, and Dab emerged from the barn door, Fred pausing to secure the padlock. All but Sherry were dressed in senior business casual, Eleanor’s outfit elegant as always. Eleanor and Sherry walked with their arms tucked into Dapper Dab’s.

“Is breakfast ready?” Sherry asked.

“Aster says just about,” I answered as I hugged her and greeted Dab, Eleanor, and Fred. “How are you feeling, Sherry?”

“Hungry,” she said.

“So am I, but I’ll catch up. I have a quick date with a gravestone.”

“I’m not saving food for you, missy,” Fred said as he clacked past me.

“You won’t have to,” I called. Dab escorted the women on toward the house, and I quick-stepped behind the barn.

The huge azalea bushes still bloomed bright pink, and a squirrel chittered at me from one of the oak tree branches spreading over the graveyard. I pulled out my phone to take pictures, something I’d forgotten to do when I came out with Sherry. It wouldn’t take long.

I hurried, phone in hand, pausing only long enough to steady the images as I snapped photos even as I reached to open the gate. One step in, and I stumbled in shock.

The small marble tombstones just inside the gate stood drunkenly, or lay on the ground, and the three-foot angel in the children’s section of graves was missing a wing.

Fury boiled as I snapped photos of the damage on autopilot. I didn’t see more obvious damage but kept taking pictures as I walked toward the center of the cemetery.

Then I froze, shocked immobile.

A woman lay sprawled on her side across Sam Stanton’s grave. Black jeans, black long-sleeved T-shirt, black asymmetrically cut hair matted with blood. Open eyes stared straight at my sneakers.

Hellspawn. Very dead.

I DIDN’T SCREAM. I COULDN’T. I DON’T THINK I
breathed until spots dotted my vision.

What had Hellspawn been doing in Sherry’s cemetery? Well, vandalizing the gravestones, obviously, so I was wrong about her farming out all her dirty work. Had she slipped on the wet grass and hit her head on Sam Stanton’s three-foot-high grave marker? Had someone been with her? Killed her? Geez, surely Duke and company hadn’t found her sneaking around and done this. No, I couldn’t see that. But why kill her, and why kill her here? She must’ve fallen. Which didn’t change the fact that she was dead and staring at my shoes.

In my peripheral vision, I saw other things that didn’t seem to belong there, but I couldn’t look away from those eyes for a long time. Too long.

I backed up a step, but then paused and took rapid-fire photos of the scene. Stupid, I knew. I needed to call Detective Shoar. Right now. I also had to go tell Sherry and her friends.

At least I had some visual evidence. Just in case someone came along and . . . What? Moved the body?

The body. A fly crawled from the bloody hair just behind her temple across her forehead, and that galvanized me to move. Fast. I sprinted out of the cemetery and around the barn, toward the house, where Eleanor stood at the edge of the deck.

“I was just coming to find—what’s the matter?”

I hooked my arm through hers, going for casual in case anyone watched from the kitchen windows.

“You have Detective Shoar’s private phone number, don’t you?” I asked softly.

She lifted a brow. “Why?”

“We have another situation. Hellspawn is dead.”

“Where did you hear that?”

I gulped. “I saw it. In the family graveyard. I’ll call nine-one-one, and you call Shoar’s direct line. Please.”

“But we have to tell the others.”

“We will as soon as we make the calls. She’s dead on Sherry’s property, Eleanor. It’ll look suspicious if we put this off any longer.”

“Nixy, child, come eat,” Sherry called through the open kitchen window.

“Just a minute,” I said with a jerky wave. “I need to call, uh, work.”

I met Eleanor’s eyes, then strode off toward my parked car near the barn. Eleanor followed, her phone in her hand. Guess she’d had it in the pocket of her linen pants.

I spoke as calmly as I could to the emergency operator. After a few questions—including where I was in relation to the injured person—the woman told me to stay put and stay on the line.
Injured person? Lady, she’s dead
, I wanted to say, but one doesn’t snap at the dispatcher.

Eleanor stood some ten feet away making her. She grimaced as she talked. I figured she was answering questions, too, and when she ended the call, she nodded.

“He’s on the way. I’ll go break the news to everyone.”

“Thanks. I hate to say this, but tell them not to come outside. I didn’t pay attention to footprints, but if there are any besides mine . . .” I swallowed.

“We don’t want to compromise evidence.” I must’ve looked surprised because she gave me a ghost of a grin. “I watch my share of cop shows.”

•   •   •

CASTLE. BONES. NCIS.
IT DIDN’T MATTER HOW MANY
crime shows I had watched. The reality of having the authorities descend was chaotic, physically and emotionally. More so than Monday’s swarm of emergency and police people when Sherry had been poisoned.

I watched the action from where I leaned against my Camry. A patrol car arrived first, then Detective Shoar in his truck and more patrol cars, then the EMTs and yet more marked and unmarked cars. County deputies came, too, including the woman who’d seen to Trudy on Monday night. I overheard Shoar call her Paulson while he consulted with her and the rest of the officials milling around. The name rang a bell beyond the hospital encounter, but I couldn’t place it.

The EMTs didn’t stay long. Nothing for them to do besides ask me if I was in shock. I was, but not the kind they treated.

Within thirty minutes, the barrel-chested police chief and the lanky coroner showed up. I didn’t know them on sight but asked a passing officer to give me a who’s who rundown. With Shoar escorting them, Chief Randall and Coroner Terry Long clomped off behind the barn. An eon later, the chief returned with Detective Shoar.

“You want to call in the state police, do it,” I overheard him say, “but I’d like to keep this a local investigation. I want this solved quickly, no matter who is implicated. You understand, Shoar?”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched the chief walk away, then crossed to me.

“Are you standing here to catch all the action?”

“I was told not to move.”

His eyes narrowed. “By dispatch?”

“And the first officer who got here. He said you wouldn’t want to have to hunt me down.”

“Nixy, you didn’t have to take that literally.”

“No, but I’d already been in back,” I said, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder. “I didn’t pay attention to footprints then, and I didn’t want to be accused of messing up any others you find.”

“You watch crime shows, don’t you?”

“Some, but that doesn’t prepare a person to be on the fringes of a real crime scene investigation. Or is it a crime scene? She might have slipped and fallen, right?”

“Nixy, breathe.”

I sucked in a breath of spring-morning scent. Exhaled. Inhaled again for good measure.

“You never dated a cop who talked about his work?”

At that, I huffed a breath. “I’ve never dated a cop, period.”

“You should put that on your to-do list.”

I blinked at him, saw his slow smile. “There’s a dead woman in the family graveyard. Why are you teasing me at a time like this?”

“Because you look ready to jump out of your skin. Come on. You can sit on the deck.”

He put a hand at the small of my back and gently urged me forward. When I stumbled, he grasped my elbow.

“You
do
need to eat.”

My head whipped up. “Who said that?”

“Eleanor. I talked with her on the front porch. I imagine she’s back in the kitchen with your aunt and her friends.”

“The Silver Six.”

“The what?”

“Silver Six. That’s what Sherry calls them. I guess they all call themselves that. I’m babbling, aren’t I? I never babble.”

“First time I saw a body, I did worse.”

I couldn’t imagine that, but his deep voice, guiding hand, and trivial conversation steadied me. Once on the deck, I sat in one of the two white Adirondack chairs. Well, “fell into it” would be more accurate. Just call me Grace.

As I righted myself in the seat, Shoar crossed to the back door. I’m not sure a half second passed before Sherry answered it.

“Is Nixy hurt?”

“Just a little shaken. You can bring her some food, but don’t question her. Go right back inside until I can organize officers to interview each of you.”

“You can count on us. Oh, and you and your people search wherever you need to.”

The detective stilled. “You don’t want me to get a warrant, Miz Sherry Mae?”

“No, we’ve discussed it. Do your duty, but do ask your people to be as tidy as they can.”

“You’re willing to sign a consent to search the buildings?”

“Absolutely. Do you want me to write up something?”

“We have a form. I’ll have someone bring it to the front door.”

He headed off, and before he was out of sight, Sherry came out bearing a plate with a steaming omelet, bacon, and crisp buttered toast. Eleanor trailed her with a large mug of coffee in one hand, a TV tray in the other, and a floppy straw hat tucked under her arm.

“Nixy, child, I’m so sorry this has happened.” Sherry fussed as she handed me the plate, utensils, and a napkin, then took the TV tray from Eleanor and set it up.

“It’s not your fault, Aunt Sherry.” I placed the meal paraphernalia on the tray and then hugged her. “How are you?”

“I’m shocked, naturally. I can’t imagine what Ms. Elsman was doing in the cemetery unless she was bent on mischief.” She stopped, looking stricken. “Oh Lord, did she vandalize the gravestones? Did she smash any?”

“She knocked over some small markers,” I said, taking Sherry’s hand, “but the only major damage is to the children’s angel. We can get another one.”

She closed her eyes briefly and sighed, then squared her shoulders. “Yes, we can. We’d best go back in. We’re baking cookies to pass the time.”

I nodded. “That’s good. Keeping busy, I mean.”

Eleanor had put the coffee mug on the tray and now passed the hat to me. “Aster says her gardening hat will keep you from getting sunburned, and Fred says he’ll put a fan out here if it gets too hot.”

My throat tightened. “Tell them both thanks.”

“Holler if you need something,” Sherry said. “And don’t worry. Eric will get this all sorted out, and we’ll put the markers back up. They were beginning to sink and shift in places anyway.”

I hadn’t noticed sinking and shifting, but if that made Sherry feel better, I was on board.

She and Eleanor hustled back inside, and I dug into my belated breakfast. The aromas and tastes were amazing, but after three bites, I was done. I couldn’t get the image of Hellspawn’s unseeing eyes and that fly on her forehead out of my mind. My stomach cramped, so I knocked on the door to return the plate but kept the coffee.

Paulson appeared from behind the barn and headed toward me. She carried a black boxy bag and wore a friendly smile.

“I know you told the first officer you didn’t touch anything except the gate and latch, but I need to get your fingerprints.”

“Sure, but they’re on file in Texas. The art gallery required all employees to be printed.”

“Now you’ll be on file in Arkansas,” she said cheerfully.

Her name badge read
M. PAULSON
, and as she worked, curiosity got the best of me. And nerves.

“I think I met someone else named Paulson at the folk art festival. Do you have relatives here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Everybody has kin here. You probably met my uncle, Mayor Paulson.”

“That’s it. He bought one of Sherry’s baskets.”

“Uh-huh, for my mother. I was working that day, so Uncle Pat came to the festival. I’m Megan, by the way.”

“Nixy. Nice to meet you.”

“Under these circumstances?”

“No, but I won’t hold that against you. Uh, about the circumstances. Did Hel—Elsman fall and hit her head?”

“We don’t know yet, but nice try,” she said on a chuckle, and handed me some wipes. “Think Miz Sherry Mae and company are ready for me?”

“Just be ready to duck questions and eat cookies.”

She went in the back door, and I stared at the black screen on my cell phone. Wait. I hadn’t looked at the photos of the cemetery. Could my stomach handle them? More, shouldn’t I take a peek before I showed them to Eric? I didn’t want to show him a bunch of blurs, now, did I?

I angled the screen away from the sun as much as I could, shading it with Aster’s hat. In spite of some glare, the pictures weren’t blurry. They were all too clear. I enlarged each one, avoiding a too-up-close of Hellspawn’s face, and saw those objects my peripheral vision had registered but not recognized.

A black rod with a hooked end appeared wedged against old Sam’s marker, and the dirt at the marker’s base was disturbed. Looked like a crowbar. By Hellspawn’s arm, a smidgen of something off-white showed from under her sleeve. Paper? A sock? I didn’t get a good angle on the object, but the last one, near her feet, was clear. A checked scrap of cloth that looked an awful lot like the blue gingham Sherry used in her basket handles. Uh-oh.

Blue gingham wasn’t uncommon, but it was Sherry’s signature fabric. Who else had easy access to the material?

My thoughts leapt to Trudy skipping out of the antiques store. She’d held a basket with a blue gingham handle. But no. Surely Trudy’s basket was still in her room and intact. I hadn’t seen it, but if she’d hidden it from Hellspawn, I wouldn’t have, would I?

Did Trudy know about her boss yet? I groaned. Who was I kidding? All of Lilyvale likely knew by now. The whole of Hendrix County.

Before my mental leaps bounded completely out of control, boots smacked the deck steps. I hit the home button on my phone, then lifted the hat to shade my eyes to find Shoar standing over me.

“Checking e-mail?”

I shrugged. I had every intention of sharing the shots with the detective. But a little voice told me not now.

He pulled the second Adirondack chair closer to mine. “Tell me what happened this morning and start with why you went to the cemetery.”

I took a calming breath and launched into my story. The blow-by-blow truth without mentioning I’d taken photos. Or mentioning the items I’d seen in the photos but not really seen at the scene.

“So you thought she’d hit her head and fallen?” he asked when I finished.

“Didn’t she?”

“Where were the Silver Six when you got up?”

I turned my body to face him more fully. “You can’t think that any of them killed Hellspawn.”

He arched a brow. “Under the circumstances, I’d rethink calling the deceased by that name.”

I ground my teeth in frustration. “
What
circumstances? Was she killed?”