When Bobbie Sang the Blues (21 page)

“Don’t know. Don’t really care.” He yawned. “When are you gonna come see me?”

“When are you ever home?”

“Well, your aunt wants me to come into town and help her with her shop. She wants my expert opinion before the moving van hauls in her valuables. So that’s where I’ll be in about an hour, if you wanna drop by.”

She had been sipping the juice as he spoke, and now she sank back down on the barstool and smiled, pleased with the way he had handled everything. “Okay. And Jack…I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, little gal. And I swear never to lie to you again.”

She laughed. “Be careful! Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Then you’d better be careful what you ask.”

They were both laughing now as they said their good-byes and hung up. Jack’s evening had been accounted for, as he had left: Bobbie between eleven fifteen and eleven thirty.

What had Bobbie done from eleven thirty until one o’clock? Or had her mother been mistaken about the time? She took a deep breath and again considered the words she had overheard when she stood on the porch, listening to the sisters argue. Was her mom referring to the time she heard her in the hall or the time she came through the door? The gap in time haunted her, a question she generally managed to push to the back of her mind until something popped up to drag it front and center again. Her mother wasn’t likely to get her times mixed up after watching the clock for so many late nights when her children did or did not keep curfew.

Christy sighed. She wasn’t ready to deal with that just yet. Right now, she was just glad she could put to rest any suspicions about Jack. She reached for her pen, grateful she had a praise report for her journal.

She gasped. The phone call to the printing company! Tony Panada would be after her for sure if she didn’t follow through. He would not take being lied to without retaliation.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, forcing herself back into yesterday’s no-brain Jennifer Witherspoon. She reached in the drawer, withdrew the phone book, and wrote the number for the printing company on the front of the book. She dialed the code to block her number, then dialed the printing company. A split second before the receptionist answered, she remembered to ask for Isabella.

“Yes, may I help you?” Isabella sounded all business.

“Hi, my name is Jennifer Witherspoon, and I was told by Mr. Panada that you’re great with party invitations.”

“Yes, he told me to expect your call.”

So he was checking to see whether she would call. “Well, I meant to call first thing, but I overslept. Anyway, my parents are throwing an engagement party for me at the club next weekend, and I need about two hundred invitations fast.”

“I see,” Isabella replied, rustling pages. “As I explained to Mr. Panada, this would depend on the type of invitation you want.” She launched into a long speech about card stock, type style, and so on, until Christy was ready to scream. “And, of course, with so little time, we may have a problem with engraving addresses on the envelopes.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I’m not fussy, but Momma says I should be. Maybe I should have her call you later on. She would understand all this better than I do. Oh, could you please hold on, Miss Isabella?” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and counted to ten. She knew businesslady Isabella had written her off as a complete airhead, but she didn’t care.

“Momma says she’s flying to Atlanta today and thinks she can get it done there. Truth is, I think she just wants to be in charge. She’s a very controlling person,” Christy said. “I’m sorry, but I do appreciate your help. And Daddy says he’ll use your company for something else.”

“Well, we hope so. Have a good day.”

After she hung up, Christy sighed and shook her head. She hated to lie, but she had promised her dad she’d finish this charade and then stay out of other people’s lives. Remembering the obscene phone call from last night, she shuddered. She’d learned her lesson.

The phone rang again. Christy looked at the caller ID and shook her head. “Guess who,” she answered, using her cutesy voice.

Bobbie laughed. “Yes, it’s me, your worrisome aunt. Oh, honey, I’m so excited I don’t know what to do. I’m down at my new shop. I have a painter-slash-artist designing ‘I Saw It First’ in just the right twirl. Can you come down in a little while?”

“Be right there,” Christy trilled back, matching Bobbie’s breathless tone.

“Thanks, hon.” The phone clicked, and Christy imagined Bobbie line dancing down the center of her shop, thrilled to have found
a home for her treasures. Come to think of it, she might be line dancing with Jack.

Tony Panada looked up from his desk as Isabella entered his office.

He had always thought her unattractive. Her severe haircut was spiked and cut shorter than his, and her dull pantsuits did nothing to flatter her figure. If she had one. Looking at her face, void of makeup, Tony wondered if she was really a woman.

“I’m afraid that young lady who pestered you yesterday just wasted your time.”

“Oh?” He laid down his pen and appraised her coolly. He really should replace Isabella with someone more appealing to the public.

“After I took the time to give her details on party invitations and prices and even committed to getting the job done in a hurry, she checked with her mother, who said she’d get it done in Atlanta today. Frankly, she sounded like a total airhead.”

He nodded slowly, not at all surprised by this news.

“She’s not as dumb as she appears,” he said, picking up his pen and focusing on the letter before him. “Thank you, Isabella.”

When the door closed, he lifted his eyes from the letter and swiveled his chair around to stare out at the busy traffic along the beach highway. Bombshell, Hornsby had called her. She was a looker, all right, but she was no airhead. She was in for an unpleasant surprise, though, if she thought for one moment she had fooled him.

He had known from the minute she stepped into his house exactly who she was. He had only gone along with her silly game to try to figure out what she wanted from him. Or how much she knew.

It hadn’t taken long. She was there to check him out, and he was pretty sure she’d seen his scrapbook before he managed to hide it. He was still cursing himself for forgetting he’d left it there the night before.

His thoughts drifted back to Monday night when he and one of his little friends had been making a movie. It was after eleven when he left his storage unit, but he hadn’t missed the real show. He sneered at the memory of that little guy stuffed in the barrel.

On top of everything else, Roseann Cole was still a loose canon rolling around out there somewhere.

He steepled his hands before him, then thought of something and glanced at the phone. He lifted the receiver and dialed a number.

“Let me to speak to Joe,” he said.

C
hristy drove through Summer Breeze and found a parking space several doors down from Bobbies new shop. She thought being a partner in the shop would be an interesting adventure. Maybe she’d take a course in antiques at the college in Panama City. She needed to expand her horizons. She pulled over to the curb, got out, and fed the meter.

From behind her, she heard a man and woman talking.

“It’s a disgrace letting a murderer open a shop three doors down.”

“What will it do to our business?”

Irma and Stanley Lee were opening their ice cream shop for the day and had paused in the door, their eyes focused on Bobbie’s red truck parked at the curb. Christy frowned as she dropped her keys in her purse and prepared a response. Why hadn’t it occurred to her sooner that the neighboring merchants would consider the new shop an ugly reminder of the dead man in the pickle barrel?

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lee,” she said, stepping onto the sidewalk. The middle-aged couple exchanged quick glances, each wondering
how much Christy had heard. “Still have some of that good praline ice cream?” she asked.

“Er, yes. We do.” Irma Lee looked dumbstruck, as though ice cream, their livelihood, was the last thing on her mind.

“Great. Nobody makes ice cream like you do.” Christy looked at Mr. Lee, who shoved his hands in the pockets of his chambray pants and followed them through the doorway. “It is homemade, isn’t it?” she asked, giving him a friendly smile.

“Why, yes. We make all of our ice cream,” he replied.

They walked past the empty tables and chairs to the ice cream container, where Irma loaded up a sugar cone.

“Just one scoop,” Christy said, fishing in her pocket for a couple of bills. “But I’ll be coming back for more.”

Irma handed her the cone and took the money.

“I’ll need a couple of those as soon as I find out what flavors Bobbie and Jack want,” Christy continued. “Did you know I’m opening a shop just three doors down?”

“You are?” Irma’s countenance changed from reserve to total confusion.

“Well, my aunt, Bobbie Bodine, is a partner. She’s famous for her designs. She’s been written about in magazines and has done workshops all over the country. She can restore antiques, take family heirlooms that have been trashed and make them lovely again, and…well, she can do anything. Except murder someone,” Christy said, looking from Irma to Stanley. “In case anyone in Summer Breeze is interested, some very bad guys who take care of people who don’t pay gambling debts tracked Eddie Bodine to a
storage unit here, which happened to be Bobbies. This will be proven in a court of law. Until that time, don’t you agree that a person is innocent until proven guilty?”

The ice cream dripped down her cone, across her hand, and onto her blue jeans, but Christy was scarcely aware of it. She was too busy watching the faces of two people guilty of convicting her aunt without just cause.

Stanley came around the front of the counter. “You’re right, Christy. I’ve seen that little woman come and go, and from what I’ve heard about the…er…incident, she isn’t big enough or strong enough to…do what was done.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lee.” Christy looked at his wife. “I told Bobbie that folks in Summer Breeze were good, understanding people, and that we have no room for Mafia types who want to come into town, pull off a gruesome murder, and lay the blame on an innocent woman.”

Irma slowly shook her head, convinced now. “That’s right, Christy. And if there’s any way we can help with your shop—”

“There is. Just keep repeating what I’ve told you. And by the way, the church youth will be returning from Camp Honeywood late Wednesday afternoon. We’d like to have treats for them. Could you handle an ice cream order for, say, fifty people?”

Pleasure spread over both faces like melting cream. The Palace of Sweets thrived while the spring breakers and summer tourists were in town, but the business suffered after Labor Day.

“Yes, we’ll be happy to supply ice cream for the church youth,” Stanley said. “Just let us know what flavors.”

“To keep it simple, why don’t you do chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla,” Christy suggested. “More chocolate, perhaps. I’ll pick the order up around five o’clock tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine.” The couple nodded, grinning.

Christy smiled. They looked like a different couple from the one she had first seen, all deep frowns and angry eyes as they stared at the new shop down the street.

“And if you’ll let us know what kind of ice cream your…aunt and Jack want…,” Irma said.

“Yes, I’ll let you know right away.”

Christy hurried out of the shop, wondering if she had told the truth. Actually, she had repeated a universal truth. A person was innocent until proven guilty. Her aunt might take advantage of people here and there, and she had faults like everyone else. But she was not a murderer.

“Christy!”

Christy stopped and looked across the street. Donna Whit-ford, owner of the Blues Club, hurried out of the dry cleaners, a red linen jacket showing through the plastic flapping against her arm.

“Could you wait up a minute?” Donna called.

“Sure,” Christy said. She watched Donna cross the street, her blond head lowered to gauge her steps. The morning sun touched the highlights in her hair, adding to her sophistication. She wore a smart blue pantsuit with matching sandals. Again, Christy conceded she was an attractive woman. Maybe she had a few years on
Christy and even Dan, but who noticed when she looked up and smiled, showing off her dimpled cheeks?

“Christy, I’d like to talk with you if you’re not in a hurry,” Donna said once she’d reached Christy.

Christy shrugged. “I’m not, but if it’s about my aunt, she’s in the shop on the corner. We’re opening I Saw It First. Found treasures restored, that type of thing.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Donna said, “but it’s you I need to speak with, and it concerns Dan.”

Christy stared at her for a moment. “Oh?”

Donna indicated the bench in front of the Palace of Sweets. “Could we sit down for a minute?”

“Sure.” Christy suddenly became very aware of her appearance: no makeup, maybe a smear of lip gloss. And she had dressed for remodeling a dusty shop.

“Dan and I went out after you two broke up,” Donna said, “but he was never interested in me. I could tell. And then when I met you, I saw why.”

“Donna, you don’t have to say anything,” Christy said, uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Yes, I do. I know he started seeing you again, but he had already obligated himself to escort me to a Chamber of Commerce dinner Sunday night. I invited him, by the way.”

Christy had been avoiding eye contact, but now she turned and looked directly into Donna’s pale blue eyes.

“He was gentleman enough not to break the date, but he told
me Sunday night that he was hoping the two of you could get back together again.” Donna looked down. “He said he probably wouldn’t be seeing me again. But he wished me ‘all the luck in the world,’ to quote him.”

A spark of hope ignited in Christy’s heart, but she tried not to feel it.

“I want to explain about the compact,” Donna continued. “On that first date, I’d put my purse on the floor, and when Dan braked suddenly, several things fell out. I thought I had picked up everything, but I guess the compact rolled under the seat. It must have slid through to the back when he bounced over the rough roads at his building site. In any case, he didn’t even know it was in his vehicle. When he asked about it, I told him it was mine.”

Christy smiled. “I appreciate you telling me this. I saw the compact. I knew he had been seeing someone, and he even started to explain, but at that point, I didn’t want to hear it. We’d both decided to give each other plenty of space.”

“Yeah, well,” Donna sighed, studying her rose-colored acrylic nails, “I don’t think he wants that space. He’s quite a guy.” She looked up at Christy. “If he weren’t so honest, and if you weren’t so nice, I might work a little harder to hang on to him. I don’t know how you feel, but there’s no room in his heart for anyone but you.” She stood up. “I gotta go. I just wanted to say this to you, and now I feel better.”

“Thanks, Donna,” Christy said. “I really appreciate it. Maybe I can do something for you sometime.”

“Just get your aunt through this nightmare, and send her back to the club. Nobody sings the blues like her. Oh, and another thing. Dan told me about Wiley and asked about that night when the pills were spilled. After we closed up, I turned the lights on bright and walked around. I didn’t see any little white pills anywhere. And when Wiley swept around that table and a few tables back, I watched him closely. There were papers, bits and pieces of stuff, but he didn’t sweep up any pills. I’m sorry. I don’t have anything against Wiley, but I’d sure like to have seen something that would help Bobbie. I hope the police find the real killer.”

Christy nodded. “I feel the same way. We appreciate your support, Donna.”

She watched Donna hurry back across the street and get into her sports car, then tossed the melted glob of ice cream into a street bin. While she walked toward Bobbie’s shop, she thought about what Donna had told her.

Wiley could be ruled out as a suspect. Even if he had killed Eddie, he wouldn’t have been foolish enough to admit he knew him. He certainly wouldn’t have divulged his belief that the world was a better place without Eddie Bodine. Why hadn’t she and Dan considered that? Maybe because they were desperate to find someone to blame.

Another ray of hope brightened her dark mood. The more she thought about what Donna had told her about Dan, the better she felt. She smiled, allowing her hopes to build just a bit. He’d left a message saying they needed to talk. Maybe she’d call him tonight.

Bobbie stepped out of the shop and stood, hands on hips, to study the painter’s work. At Christy’s approach, she turned with a wide smile.

“Honey, come look at this! Right now we just have a plain old building, but I’m going to paint it yellow with red accents. Doesn’t that sound unique?”

“Yes, it does.” Christy looked at the two large windows on either side of the door. “You have a nice display area too.” Her gaze returned to the red calligraphy swirled across the glass: I Saw It First.

“Perfect,” Christy said.

“Yes, hasn’t he done a nice job? Now come inside so you can get a feel for what the shop will look like.”

As they crossed the threshold and entered the large front room, Christy suspected her aunt was keeping busy to avoid thoughts of the murder. She seemed to be totally focused on her shop, and Christy thought this was a good thing.

She looked around. “Those cream-colored walls are in good shape and go nicely with the hardwood floors. Doesn’t look like you’ll have to worry about painting or floor covering.”

“Thank God,” Bobbie replied. “And my wreaths and baskets will look great displayed on those walls.”

“What kind of wreaths?”

“All kinds—dried flowers, fresh flowers, vines. The room is spacious enough to accommodate large items, and I have quite a few. I do a lot with doors and windows—” A splintering sound from the back room interrupted her. “Come on, I’ll give you an idea.”

In the back room, Jack sat in a folding chair, an old window on his lap, a garbage can beneath the window. “Stand back,” he warned.

Christy backed up as the hammer hit the glass in one of the panes and shards fell into the garbage can. Jack seemed to be enjoying pounding on the glass, and she wondered if he was venting frustration and worries concerning Bodine.

“Jack had that old window out in his shed, and I insisted on bringing it in and reworking it into something lovely.”

“What do you plan to do?” Christy asked.

“Remove the glass, chisel out the glazing compound, and special order mirrors to replace the panes.” She tilted her head to the side as though visualizing the finished product. “I’ll do something interesting with the original wood. Then I’ll have a lovely object to hang on the wall.” She turned to Christy and sighed. “All of this keeps my mind off Eddie’s murder.”

Christy nodded. “Good idea. You’re going to have something special here, so just hold that thought.” She glanced at her watch. “Gotta run. Jack, be careful with that glass,” she called. Then she gave Bobbie a hug and headed out the door, pleased that her project was going well.

When she reached her car, she remembered the ice cream. Jack liked maple walnut, and she guessed her aunt would go for chocolate. She headed back down the street.