A Seamless Murder (19 page)

As he drove away, another chill slithered through me. I didn’t know whom to trust, was no closer to figuring out the truth, and the pastor had just put the fear of God squarely in my chest.

When the evening started, Will’s prediction that I could have the murder solved by the end of the night had seemed possible. But now, having a light tomato basil soup and a small spinach salad at Cynthia Homer’s house, the next stop of the progressive dinner, it seemed entirely unrealistic. I needed some sudden new insight into Delta’s character, or her relationships with the people around me, to lead me to the answer.

Instead I had too much information, and no real direction for my sleuthing. It was like the piles of fabric Randi had selected at the fabric store. Alone each bolt was fine, but together it was a hot mess.

“What d’ya learn?” Will asked me on the way to Cynthia’s house.

I thought about how to answer him. “I feel like I learned something, only I’m not sure what,” I finally said.

He gave me a sly grin. “Well, darlin’, fear not. I got some good information.”

My heart surged, and I grabbed his arm. “What did you find out?”

“Did you know that Delta went to college with Jeremy Lisle? Aggies, both of them,” he said, a hint of competitive disdain in his voice. Will was a Longhorn through and through.

“Wait,” I said, realizing what he’d just said. Radcliffe had said something about Delta questioning where Jeremy had gone to college. “Did they
know
they were both Aggies?”

Will lowered his chin, giving me a look that said, “You’re kidding, right?”

Your college alma mater in Texas was a very big deal, especially the rivalry between the Longhorns from UT and the Aggies from Texas A&M.

I let this sink in. If Delta knew perfectly well that Jeremy Lisle had gone to A&M, then what had Mayor Radcliffe been talking about? Had he gotten it wrong? Was there someone else she suspected was lying about their college degree, and why did it even matter?

My head spun, my thoughts more jumbled and confused than ever. Delta was just as much a mystery to me today as she’d been before she died, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of what had been on her mind before her death. I’d never even thought of her as having a soft side. But I was being proved wrong. She’d been looking out for someone. The question was still who.

Cynthia was the perfect hostess. The gathered front panel of the apron I’d made for her and the wide waistband complimented her figure beautifully. She had to admit that she loved it, even if she hadn’t wanted it at first.

Cynthia and her husband whisked away the bowls as soon
as the last spoonfuls of soup were gone, and the salad plates before the last lettuce leaves were speared. “This isn’t turning out like it was supposed to,” she said to the room, not speaking to anyone in particular. “I thought it might offer some comfort to talk about Delta. To still come together, but I think that was a mistake.”

“We were right to hold the dinner,” Randi said quietly.

But Cynthia shook her head. “Not like this. What Sherri said—”

“Sherri was wrong,” Bennie said. “We’re all thinking something horrible must have happened, but why does it have to be that way? Megan said it earlier. Delta was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

It was a good thought, but too simplistic. Sure, random crimes happened, but more often than not murderers killed for a specific reason. As the Red Hat ladies had already talked about, most people were killed by someone they knew. Hoss McClaine believed in that statistic, too.

“Come on, y’all. We haven’t even had the main course yet. Let’s go to Bennie’s house and continue with the dinner.”

The husbands looked at one another with expressions that said they’d each rather wrestle a passel of cottonmouths than hash out whatever had happened to Delta Mobley. But, almost like synchronized swimmers, the women made eye contact with their husbands and the men straightened up, pulled out keys, and led their wives to their respective trucks. Will and I met each other’s gazes, our own smiles playing on our lips. Would we be that way one day? I tucked that thought away for another time and followed the group back outside, and just like before, we caravanned to the next house on the progressive dinner route.

As we drove, I considered the husbands. Could one of them be behind Delta’s death? But just as quickly, I dismissed the idea. Not one of them seemed to have any connection with her beyond the friendships she’d had with their wives.

The trip was a quick five minutes, and, as it turned out, Bennie Cranford lived just three blocks away from me in a house nearly as old as mine. It was a restored Victorian, a painted lady done up in blue with red and pink trims. Gables and gingerbread trim gave it a dollhouse effect, and walking inside felt like stepping back in time. Every visible wall was papered in a classic Victorian pattern of some sort. The entryway was a blue geometric pattern with metallic ink running throughout. The parlor and dining room, on the other hand, were burgundy with three feet of horizontal borders running round the ceilings.

Heavy burgundy drapes hung from the windows under ornate valances, a deep gold trim along the edges making it feel just a bit like what I imagined a turn-of-the-century bordello might have been like. A heavy, ornate crystal chandelier hung above the dining table. The dining table itself was set with cream-colored china and crystal goblets and wineglasses. Gold-bordered cream cards sat at each place setting, telling us where to sit. Bennie had gone outside the down-home theme with her table décor. Her vintage ruffled apron added a little bit of whimsy, but still fit the period house, looking like it came from the same era as the wallpaper and drapery. The only difference was that the apron I’d made had a modern, contemporary touch to it that the house didn’t.

“It looks beautiful,” Georgia said, a slight hint of envy in
her voice. “Like walking straight out of the present day and into the past.”

There was a murmuring of agreement as we all found our places. Personally, I found the decorations stifling. Owning a Victorian house didn’t mean every bit of it had to be historically rendered. It wasn’t a setting I’d want to live in. I loved my own historical house, and I especially loved the vintage features that gave it so much character, but I liked having my own sensibility throughout, with modern touches and conveniences.

Bennie had intermixed the couples, separating the husbands and the wives, and me and Will. I ended up sandwiched between Jeremy Lisle and Jessie Pearl.

Bennie stood behind me, elaborating on the details of her house. “We had an architectural historian help us. She knows everything there is to know about the era. All the window coverings are custom, the wallpaper Bradbury and Bradbury. The floors are the original pine. I did the kitchen myself. It’s redone with a custom island kit. Of course Delta never did like it,” she said under her breath, “but that’s not a surprise.”

I turned to glance through the door, inwardly cringing at the blue Formica and traditional oak cabinets. The architectural historian couldn’t have had a hand in those design elements. The style looked straight out of the 1980s, rather than 1900, and was completely at odds with the rest of the house. In a set of drawings asking which room didn’t belong, there’d be no doubt that the kitchen was the sore thumb.

But everyone murmured politely. No one would burst Bennie’s bubble by saying the kitchen was an eyesore. We were all too politely Southern for that. Only Delta would
have been the unimpeded voice of opposition about the kitchen, but of course she wasn’t here to say anything.

The question of whether Bennie could have killed Delta over some decorating slight crossed my mind, but I nixed it just as fast. Sure, murder happened for less rational reasons than that, but I couldn’t see Bennie bashing a rock into Delta’s head over a criticism of her kitchen.

Then again, at this point, I couldn’t discount anyone. I needed a lead. Delta had rubbed too many people wrong and had made too many people angry along the way.

Bennie served the main course: pot roast with carrots and onions served on a bed of mashed Yukon gold potatoes. Next to me, Jessie Pearl moved the strands of beef around her plate, mixing it into the potatoes, but not eating. I also noticed Megan taking birdlike bites. The other women picked at their food as well, but the men . . . the men dug in and ate with gusto. Delta Mobley’s demise hadn’t interfered with their appetites.

Jessie Pearl’s left hand curled into a loose fist next to her plate. It trembled, the thin skin and veins making her look more fragile with each passing glance. She’d been tough as nails just a week ago, but her drawn face, her unsteady hands, and her sad eyes gave away her sorrow. Her daughter was dead, and she was showing the signs of the trauma. I rested my hand on hers. “Do you need anything?” I said, my good Southern breeding front and center. I may have grown up Texan, a breed in and of itself, but Southernness ran through my blood and always would.

“Besides Delta back from the dead, I guess you mean?” she said, not looking up from her plate.

My hand wavered from the bite in her tone, but I tried not to let it show. “Yes, ma’am, besides that.”

She turned, looking at me head-on. “I need to know what happened.” She lowered her voice, and it turned hoarse. “What did she do that made someone kill her?”

Jeremy Lisle leaned my way, talking over me. “Ms. Lea, Delta thought a great deal of you. The way I see it, you need to focus on the good memories, ma’am. There ain’t no use in anything else. Nothing’s gonna bring her back.”

Jessie Pearl raised her eyes to him. They were blazing with fire. “There’s plenty of use for the truth, Mr. Lisle.”

He gawked at the force of her words but recovered quickly. Jeremy was a politician, and I suspected the truth was more of a vague idea to him rather than something set in stone. “There is, you’re right, ma’am. That was thoughtless of me.”

“My daughter didn’t support you for mayor. You’ll see the sign for Radcliffe in our yard. But did you ever wonder why, exactly? Don’t you want to know why she turned away from you and toward the mayor?”

Jeremy drew back, but again, his expression turned sour only for a split second before it was placid again. The consummate politician, well versed at masking his true emotions. I already knew that Jeremy was bitter over Delta’s decision not to support his campaign. She was well known and respected as an institution in town. Not having her endorsement could have had a negative effect on his campaign. I’d already pondered whether this was enough of a reason for Jeremy to eliminate Delta from the political equation. Suddenly Sherri was being pushed to the side and I was leaning
toward yes as the answer to that question. “She didn’t respect the Historic District,” he said, “or believe in preserving the past. Or at least not to the degree that the Historic Council does.”

“That’s right. She cared more about tearing down the old and putting up new. Pretense and perception,” Jessie Pearl said, taking her hand back. And then her eyes brightened, as if she’d just realized something. “I’ve come to know my daughter better in death than I did in life. She didn’t do anything without a reason.” She turned back to Jeremy. “She either wanted something from the mayor, or she wanted to thwart you for some reason.”

Jeremy’s face clouded, but before he could respond, we were distracted by a brouhaha from across the room. Pastor Kyle was back, and he had Sherri with him. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice low and desperate.

Coco was on her feet, ushering her sister to a vacant seat. “It’ll all be okay, Sher. I’m glad you’re here.”

“It won’t bring her back,” Sherri said, not bothering to mask her despair.

But was it guilt rather than grief that spawned the tears? Family rivalry wasn’t a strong motive in and of itself, but who knew what skeletons were in the Lea sisters’ closet? But one look at her face told me that her anguish was real. Palpable. Family was family, no matter the depth of the complexities or the scars that remained from days gone by.

I shook my head. It sounded perfect for a Lifetime movie, but too melodramatic for real life, and I was muddying the waters by putting my own thoughts about family onto the Trapper/Mobley group.

Bennie stood, nodding her thanks to Pastor Kyle. I watched him closely, searching for the reason behind his reappearance. “I found her at the church,” he said, answering my unasked question. “She said she wanted to find peace with all of you, so I convinced her to come back.”

“Sit down and have some pot roast,” Bennie said. She pulled out the chair next to her where the gold-rimmed card with Sherri’s name marked her spot and ushered her into it, then brought the pastor to his seat.

Sherri hesitated, but finally plunked down, her body slack and dejected. Any suspicions that she could be the killer deflated. I knew that Sherri was distraught, but it didn’t seem like it was from guilt.

Which left me nowhere.

The dessert course was the final stop of the progressive dinner. One last chance to figure out what actually happened to Delta by the end of the night. I hoped it was still possible, but at this point, I wasn’t convinced I could spin the mass of tangled threads into a tapestry that made any sense.

Todd and Megan left Bennie’s house early to prepare the coffee and tea, and Will and I had offered to bring Jessie Pearl with us. “If it wasn’t for these blasted crutches, I could walk,” she said, as Will took her hand to lead her to the truck.

The air was crisp, and it was only three blocks, but in her current state, those three blocks might as well be all of Big Bend National Park. I tried to catch Will’s eye, but he kept his focus squarely on Jessie Pearl. “It’s a nice night,” he said. “You’ll be walking again soon enough.”

She made a sound, but I couldn’t tell whether it was to agree or disagree. More and more, I saw bits of Delta in her mother. “I’m not an invalid,” she snapped, tucking her crutches more firmly under her arms, but they wobbled as she tried to make them move together. Her good foot tangled underneath her. She stumbled, her hold on the crutches giving way.

Will caught her, supporting her with one arm, holding on
to the wayward crutches with the other. “I’m happy to walk with you, if you want to try,” he said, and I saw what he was doing. Giving her the power to choose, so she could save face.

“Bah.” She waved away the offer with one hand, all the while holding on to him with her other. “Why waste a good truck?”

I took the crutches from him and laid them in the bed of the truck, then climbed into the extended cab, careful not to catch my heel in the hem of my dress. Once I was settled, Will lifted Jessie Pearl into the passenger seat, and we started the quick trip to Mockingbird Lane. “It’s a shame,” Jessie Pearl said, one block into the drive.

“What is, Mrs. Trapper?” Will asked.

“That we’ll probably never know what really happened in the cemetery with Delta, or what she was up in arms about before the end.”

Will took the next right, an indirect route. I knew he was trying to stretch the trip, but I didn’t think anything new would be revealed. “My daughter Gracie’s sixteen now, and I’ve learned that she just is who she is. I’ve done all the influencing I can. I’m still her compass, but she’s fully wired, and now it’s up to her as to the kind of life she’s going to live. I can’t live it for her, just like you couldn’t live Delta’s.”

“I suppose, but do you ever stop tryin’?” She turned to look at him, allowing me to see her profile. Her iron gray hair
was done up in short, tight curls. There was a frailty to the way her skin was mapped with lines, the combination of them telling the story of her life. They seemed deeper and more ingrained than they had even a day ago. More evidence of how this ordeal was wearing on her.

“No,” Will said, “I don’t guess you ever do.”

“I believe Delta was trying to help someone. She felt betrayed, somehow. You have no ideas, Miss Jessie Pearl?”

She turned her upper body, looking startled and like she’d forgotten for a moment that I was in the truck. Her voice rose, and for a moment she seemed even older than her eighty-three years. “She was poking around into someone’s business. If she talked to that investigator and knew Anson wasn’t cheatin’ on her, then who was she talkin’ about that day in the kitchen? She stood right there and said he couldn’t be trusted, and that she would find out the truth if it killed her. What truth?”

Will pulled up in front of Jessie Pearl’s house, but none of us moved to leave the truck. “Ma’am, you never mentioned that she said that the other day when I was over.”

“I didn’t think of it the other day. The problem with growing old, you see, is that the mind comes and goes.”

Her mind seemed to come and go about as quick as her mood changed. She was steady and calm right now, but a short while ago, she’d been agitated and angry. I wondered how much of what she said could be trusted. “But you didn’t think she was talking about her husband?”

“Oh no, I
did
think she was talkin’ about Anson. Absolutely. At least at the time. But you’re tellin’ us now that Anson
wasn’t
the lout we were thinkin’ he was, and if that’s the case and she knew it, then she
had
to have been talkin’
about someone else. And if she was tryin’ to get the truth of somethin’, then it means someone wasn’t bein’ honest with her. That’s what’s ironic. God says an eye for an eye, right? That’s what happened with my girl. Whatever good she might have been tryin’ to do there at the end . . . finding whatever truth she was after . . . well, that was her downfall.”

I felt like she’d just talked in a giant circle, and yet it made sense in a way. Karma. An eye for an eye.

“Do you think it could have been Jeremy Lisle?” I asked.

“He’s as good a suspect as any of them, I reckon.”

“What about Mayor Radcliffe? Could she have found out something about him?”

“Well, now, I have no earthly idea. I’d say anythin’s possible, wouldn’t you say?
Someone
killed her.”

That was the truest statement of the night. Jeremy Lisle and Mayor Radcliffe each had the strength to have overpowered Delta and wielded a rock against her. But which one had the bigger secrets? Did the mayor have any, in fact?

The passenger door of the truck wrenched open suddenly, a face appearing in the dark.

Jessie Pearl and I both jumped in our seats.

“Granny, it’s just me!”

“Megan Mobley, you gave me a fright!” Jessie Pearl snapped. “What in heaven’s name were you thinkin’, scarin’ me like that?”

Megan had taken a step back, the color draining from her face. “I’m so sorry, Granny. We were all just wondering where you were, and Pastor Kyle’s kind of upset, so I said I’d come find you.”

“Why’s the pastor upset?” Will asked. He’d been listening to the conversation between Jessie Pearl and me, but when
she whipped around at the sound of his voice now, I got the feeling she’d forgotten he was there.

“He’s saying some of the things in the house belong to the church,” Megan said. “He wants to know why they’re there.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know what to tell him!”

“What in tarnation are you talkin’ about?” Jessie Pearl demanded. “What’s he sayin’ belongs to the church? Hogwash, pure and simple.”

“Right? I bought everything, just like I bought the sideboard.”

I remembered the sideboard Cynthia had seen, and her thinking Delta had stolen it. The pastor had defended that, but now it sounded like there were more items that needed to be accounted for.

Megan started to help her grandmother from the truck. Will hurried to her side, lifting her down and helping Megan prop her up while he grabbed the crutches from the back of the truck. I joined them, and together we walked slowly up the walkway to the Mobley/Trapper house.

Todd’s strings of twinkle lights made the front yard look fun and festive. If Delta had been a different kind of person, this whole evening might have been a celebration of her life. Instead, it felt like a disconnected moment. The entire night, in fact, had felt off-kilter, as if it had missed its mark with its intention. The Red Hat ladies had wanted to hold the progressive dinner, as planned, but the pall hanging over the group from her death was too much to overcome. It felt more like a funeral procession, and the twinkling lights didn’t quite fit.

Todd met us at the door, holding it open and helping Jessie Pearl over the stoop. “The pastor’s throwing a wall-eyed
fit,” Todd said under his breath, just loud enough for us to hear.

Jessie Pearl straightened her hunched spine as much as she could and hobbled forward on her crutches. “Where is he?”

Todd led the way through the maze of antiques to the dining room. It looked lovely. The twinkling lights continued inside, too, draped over the freestanding hutch and along the ceiling. With the interior lighting turned down low, they cast flickering shadows on the walls and pine floor.

The Red Hat ladies had gathered around the table, a few already holding dainty dessert plates. In their aprons, all lined up, they looked like a particularly fashionable group. Each apron seemed to say so much about the woman who wore it. Randi’s spoke to her free spirit. Georgia’s was romantic, while Cynthia’s was tailored and classic. Bennie’s was vintage flirty and Coco’s Texas denim, with a twist, fit her to a tee. Megan and Jessie Pearl wore theirs, too, but while I was sure I’d captured the personalities, the aprons hadn’t helped either one accept what had happened to Delta. Megan had still lost her mother, and Jessie Pearl had still lost her daughter, and no magical Cassidy charm could take away the pain that went along with that.

Georgia picked at her slice of sopapilla cheesecake, a Texas classic. Randi nibbled on a sugar cookie. Coco stood over the banana pudding with Nilla Wafers, but hadn’t taken any dessert. They were all down-home desserts, but it seemed none of the ladies were in the mood for sweets.

Their husbands, once again, were their opposites. They stood at the perimeter of the room, plates piled high with the different selections Todd and Megan had prepared, and
watched as if the room were a theater and the people were actors in a play. Megan manned the sidebar, pouring coffee from a large carafe, and offering ice water and sweet tea.

From what I could see, Todd had exaggerated the pastor’s state of mind. Either that, or he’d calmed down in the time it took us to get inside. There was no temper tantrum, but he was expressing a healthy dose of anger with a dollop of disbelief. He ran his hand through his sandy-colored hair, shaking his head. “How could this happen? I just don’t understand.”

He looked at each of the Red Hat ladies in turn, and in response, they each shook their heads. “You said all this was in the basement, Pastor,” Coco said. “We come to church and sit in the sanctuary. We don’t ever venture into the basement, do we, Sherri?”

“Why would we?” She looked at Coco, then at the pastor, but to me her eyes seemed vacant, and I wondered if she saw them at all.

“Exactly,” Georgia said. “Cyn, you work there. Did you ever go in the basement?”

Cynthia had put her dessert plate down and was fiddling with the apron ties knotted at her waist. Her gaze darted about nervously. “Well, of course,” she said. “Every once in a while, but—”

Pastor Kyle swept his arms wide. “Who took these things?”

Cynthia’s eyes turned glassy from the accusatory stares. She took a hurried step backward. “I don’t know.”

Pastor Kyle looked around. “How could you not know?” He pointed first to an antique chair, then to an old trunk. “All of these are from the church basement.”

“Delta didn’t invite me over here.”

The Red Hat ladies murmured their agreement. “Me, either,” Randi said.

“Me, either,” Georgia echoed.

I looked at Cynthia, recalling the conversation we’d had a few days ago. She’d told me the same thing about not being invited into Delta’s house, and about discovering the stolen church items when she’d peeked through the window. Had that been the truth, or had she had enough foresight to plant that seed in my head so I could corroborate her story?

But even if it
was
a story she’d made up, that still didn’t explain the murder. Unless Cynthia had turned to blackmail. But blackmail and murder over a few church antiques was a stretch. If Delta had even been behind it. Megan and Rebecca were the ones who sold antiques, after all. Could one—or both—of them have stolen the goods?

I pulled out my cell phone and quickly texted Sheriff McClaine, asking him if Delta’s bank account activity might indicate she was paying a blackmailer.

He responded right way.
Why?

For the next minute, our texts flew back and forth.

Just a thought,
I said.

Feel free to share that thought,
he responded.

Hoss McClaine, dagnabbit,
I typed with my thumbs, my frustration sky-high.

Hang on,
he finally responded, and then thirty seconds later, he replied with,
There are regular deposits, but no regular outgoings. If anything, she was blackmailing someone, not the other way around.

“Huh.”

“What?” Will asked, raising one eyebrow.

I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. I quickly glanced around, but no one was paying attention to me. I handed my phone to Will, and a second later he was leading me out of the dining room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “Which one of them would she have been blackmailing?” he asked when we were sure no one could overhear us.

“Pastor Kyle? Maybe there’s something shady in his past that we don’t know about?”

But Will shook his head. “If Pastor Kyle’s lying, he deserves an Oscar. Plus he drives a beat-up old car. He doesn’t appear to have extra money lying around.”

“I thought he drove an SUV,” I said, puzzled. I’d seen him in it plenty of times, not to mention just this evening.

“That belongs to the church, but he basically
is
the church, so . . .”

That made perfect sense. “So he drives that around town when it’s available.”

“Right.”

We moved on. “Jeremy Lisle?”

Will looked around to be sure we were still alone, then said, “If Delta had something on him, then I could see it. Ambition is a powerful motivator.”

Once again, I thought back through everything I had discovered, trying to summon up something that would equate to dirt Delta might have had on Jeremy. He’d known she’d tried to block the Historic Council from giving a designation to Jessie Pearl’s house. He’d also known she’d donated money to the Radcliffe campaign. From what Radcliffe had said, money had been donated by each one of Delta’s family members. Surely there wasn’t anything unethical there. They were all over the age of eighteen. I didn’t know whether it
looked better to have a whole family donate, each person individually, or to have a large donation come from one person. I also didn’t know if it really mattered.

“Maybe he was trying to get her back on his side of the election. Delta was influential in town.”