Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (20 page)

The much taller woman gave her a little hug. “You've seen my brood of kids. I know what you're going through. It's a wonder any of us survive the early months. So far, I haven't cut my arm off when they wear me down, but I've had some near misses.” She fastened a protective drape around Theo's neck and led her to the sink. Prudence kept up a steady stream of chatter as she washed Theo's hair.

Theo had to leave her glasses off while Prudence combed and clipped and filled her in on some of the events in town she hadn't heard about.

“Maybe you can tell me if you think I should tell Tony about it.” Prudence clipped the hair over Theo's left eye.

“I'm sorry, what?” Theo hadn't quite understood what Prudence had been saying, and she really didn't want to distract Prudence while she was waving the scissors around.

“You know I do some part time, and very informal, fortune consulting.”

Theo did know. Had Prudence seen something disturbing in Theo's life? “Is everything okay?” She couldn't control the tiny tremor in her voice.

Prudence shook her head. “Not you, honey. Harrison Ragsdale.”

Theo exhaled in relief. “Did you consult with him?”

“I did.” Prudence sighed. “I don't feel right talking about what I saw, but on the other hand, I'm not exactly a doctor or a priest.” She clipped some more. “He had a very short lifeline. When he left, he said something about making a will right away.”

“So you weren't surprised when he died?” Theo wasn't sure if she was a believer in Prudence's predictions or not.

“On the contrary, I was absolutely shocked. I've never had someone go like that and it totally unnerved me.” Prudence squirted some foam on the palm of one hand, rubbed it against the other one and then worked the foam into Theo's hair with both hands. For the next couple of minutes, she was totally silent, concentrating on what she was doing to Theo's hair with her fingers. At last she handed Theo her glasses and turned the chair so she faced the mirror. “Ta-da.”

Theo stared at her reflection. Instead of her customary curls, she had very short—short enough it looked almost straight—hair clipped and combed into a shining golden cap. It gave her an elfin look and drew flattering attention to her eyes.

Prudence interpreted her silence as disapproval. “You don't like it.”

“Are you kidding?” Theo gave a little gasp, jumped out of the chair, and hugged Prudence. “I love it! I can't wait to show everyone my new do!”

“I won't tell anyone why it's so short if you don't.” Prudence laughed. “But I'd advise you to get some sleep before you slice off your nose.”

Theo nodded vigorously. “I need to buy some of that foam.”

Tony felt certain only a relative of Angus Farquhar could come this close to inciting him to premeditated murder. The nephews made Angus seem like a gentleman farmer who lived to do good deeds and might eventually be nominated for some great humanitarian award.

Jocko, the nephew in the chair opposite him, had the refined features of a water rodent. The grease in his hair slicked it back from his forehead and held it firm. Small, dirt-brown eyes, set slightly too close together, gleamed under shaggy eyebrows. His nose was huge. Tony had seen a lot of noses, but because Jocko had no chin to speak of, this one appeared even larger.

“Where are your brothers?” Tony had requested the pack of them come in at the same time. That way he'd not have to spend the entire day with the Farquhar brood.

The rodent shrugged. “Busy.”

“Too busy to help you out?” Tony couldn't believe it. The trio operated as one. He couldn't recall ever seeing one of the Farquhar boys by himself. Cutting him out of the herd eliminated some of Jocko's bravado.

Surprise flashed in the beady eyes. “How are they going to help me? I'm golden.”

“Really? Golden?” Tony knew he was missing some detail he needed to connect the dots between what he knew and what he suspected. Could Jocko's attitude be related to the death of Harrison Ragsdale? “I'd say you were more like dirt brown.”

Jocko glowered. “You think you're special. Your little wife likes me.” He tried for a suggestive look, but it failed.

Tony had been treated to enough disparaging comments by Theo in the past about the Farquhar men so that he was pretty sure none of them would invite even a humanitarian interest from her, much less something more personal. In fact, he remembered one time when she'd made him promise to be her alibi if one of them turned up dead. He carefully laced his fingers together to keep them away from the man's scrawny neck. “Wade?”

His deputy stepped forward, holding a sheaf of papers. “I have a warrant for your arrest on several counts of burglary, selling stolen goods, and a search warrant for your home, all vehicles and property. You left your fingerprints all over the cash register at the Thomas Brothers Garage.”

Jocko spat at Wade.

Wade had him up on his feet in a heartbeat, slipped handcuffs on him, and placed him back on his chair. Seconds later, an empty steel trash can covered his head and face.

“I'll sue you all.” Although somewhat muffled, Jocko's whine was easy to hear.

“Try.” Tony tapped gently on the can with his pen. “I can't have you spreading your germs around. Someone could catch something.”

A steady stream of expletives came from under the trash can.

Carl Lee Cashdollar, Jocko's court-appointed and clearly reluctant attorney, arrived at the doorway and paused. He listened briefly to Jocko's tirade, then he pounded on the top of the trashcan with one of his large, boney hands. “I'm your lawyer. Shut up.”

Tony knew the squalling of twin infants couldn't come close to the annoying and loud caterwauling coming from Jocko's trashcan. Tony made a mental note to apologize to his baby girls. They were delightful and quiet and demure, even when hungry. “Would you like to be alone with your client?”

Carl Lee began with a shake of the head, then paused. “I suppose I must.”

Tony left the two men in the greenhouse, their version of an interview room, together and wandered back to his office, leaving Wade to watch the door. Tony was curious about whether or not Carl Lee would remove the trash can, and seriously doubted Jocko was likely to be a cooperative client.

Maybe twenty minutes passed before Carl Lee pounded on the greenhouse door and Wade released the attorney into the fresher air beyond the door. Seconds later, he sat in Tony's office, leaving his client guarded by the deputy. “I've got a problem.”

Tony hadn't seen Carl Lee like this before. He was shaking and kept knitting his fingers together one way and then switching them, compulsively. Tony doubted he was even aware he was doing it. The man had talked to some seriously bad guys in the past and let what he'd learned slide off. Carl Lee gulped, sucking in a great draft of air.

“Take your time.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “Tell me when you're ready.”

“But that's the problem. I can't.” Carl Lee surged to his feet and began pacing, his long legs covering the floor space in two strides. “He even reminded me of attorney-client privilege, can you imagine? By now he's out on bail, and I've got a scum bucket weasel reminding
me
about ethics?”

Tony rubbed his chin. “I'm assuming that what he told you was not only incriminating, but I'm guessing it involved a crime I'm unaware of. Are you allowed to nod?”

Carl Lee nodded, agreeing with at least part of Tony's statement.

“All right.” Tony thought hard. “Did it have anything to do with the recent burglaries?” There hadn't been many fingerprints left behind during the crime spree, and they were Jocko's. He assumed the other brothers wore gloves.

Carl Lee's expression was noncommittal.

Tony grinned. The lawyer hadn't shaken his head. “Okay. I'll try another question. By any chance was he near the Smith house when it burned?”

Carl Lee examined his fingernails.

Tony did notice the hands still shaking. “Were his brothers with him?”

Carl Lee froze.

Tony felt acid pour into his stomach, making him queasy. “The body in the garage? Is it one of the brothers?”

Carl Lee didn't blink.

“So I'm guessing Jocko and maybe the third brother hit whoever and knocked him out or killed one of his own brothers. I don't suppose you can tell me which one.” Tony was just thinking out loud now. “It still doesn't make sense. Why was one of them on the roof of a burning garage? Where is the remaining brother?”

Carl Lee shrugged.

Tony received a call from the arson investigator, Scorch Single-tarry. “Why don't y'all drop by this burnt-out house and I'll give you a preliminary report.”

Tony knew the lackadaisical attitude of the Alabama native was a cover. Scorch had another first name; he just kept it secret, just like he pretended to be laid back. He was a detail-driven type A personality. The casual “drop by” meant Tony should get to the house as quickly as he could. So Tony and Wade dropped the report on Harrison Ragsdale and headed out.

Scorch led them on a tour of the exterior, pointing out various burn patterns and discolorations. In the light of day with all the smoke dissipated, the house looked even worse than it had. No roof. Shards of shattered glass everywhere. Huge areas of the stone walls were stained black. “I'm thinking your fire began on the garage roof, just below this little balcony.” He tapped a finger on a photograph he carried, of the unburned house. “We found some shattered glass on the garage floor beneath the body and there was an empty gasoline can and some jars near the lawnmower.”

“Someone poured gas on the body?”

“Maybe poured, maybe tossed flaming jars.” Scorch shook his head, the sunlight reflecting from his gunmetal gray hair. “This is a new house and until we have all the information from the builder, I'm guessing some of the burning gasoline ran under the shingles and burnt the barrier fabric and then the chemicals in the particle board took off.”

“It burned awful fast,” said Wade. “Is that normal?”

“Yep.” Scorch pointed at the burn pattern. “Old houses burn slower than these new ones because they don't have all the glue and chemicals.”

Tony wasn't sorry his wife's house was the oldest brick one in town. He hated fire.

Theo wondered how long it would take before one of her customers noticed her new hair style. She also considered the likelihood of her being able to pretend to have planned to change it. The odds were against her.

The first question was answered in less than a minute after she arrived at the shop somewhat later than usual. Elderly Caro stood in the classroom doorway and shrieked. “Theo what have you done to yourself?”

Theo thought the tone of the exclamation might have been better suited to, “Eek, a mouse!” Every head swiveled in her direction. Shoppers bending low to examine the fabric on the lower shelves straightened quickly. Heads, like those belonging to meerkats, popped up over the racks filled with bolts of fabric, all eyes focused on her. Theo wasn't sure whether to stick her head in a paper bag or take a bow. Trying to act casual, she patted the back of her newly cropped hair, still surprised by the smooth texture. “What do you think?”

Gretchen recovered first. “On you, it's charming. It fits your tininess.” She poked at one of the braids wrapped around the top of her own head, forming a blond coronet. “Not good for us Wagnerian types.”

Theo thought Gretchen was right. Her operatic assistant had glorious long, thick hair to go with her robust stature.

After the initial impact, Theo's customers examined her new do. Theo was gratified by the compliments of Prudence's skill with the scissors and continued to pretend to have been planning the change.

She was happy to see a small crowd of regulars in her shop and several unfamiliar faces. Business hadn't been good for a couple of months but now the tourists were starting to return. Thank goodness, because she had lots of bills to pay.

She struggled up the stairs carrying the twins. It was almost nap time.

Theo crept downstairs and paused in the classroom doorway checking on the group gathered there.

“The insurance claim is almost the worst part of this whole thing.” Susan Smith wiped her eyes. She sat in the classroom of Theo's shop surrounded by her quilting friends. Her preschool children played on the floor next to her. “I have to list everything in the house. From the beds to the brand of refrigerator. They want a list of the kids' toys. It's impossible.”

“What about in your sewing room? How does that work?” Gretchen handed her a cup of hot tea. “Will you get anything for your stuff?”

“They want to know how many spools of what kind of thread I lost. Like I keep an inventory of my thread.” Susan made a choking sound. “I'm supposed to list each ruler by brand and size. The patterns, the books, the fabrics. I just don't know.”

Theo joined them at the table. “Why don't you just start with the easy stuff? Your sewing machine is probably the most expensive item. What brand was it? What model? Write it down then mentally walk around your space. What else was in there?”

“I had a computer and television.” Susan tried a smile before writing them on the notepad in front of her. “I was very lucky to have such a beautiful sewing area and so many nice things. And I know it's just stuff, and I can deal with those things being gone—but the baby's quilts, and the grandmother's flower garden quilt my own grandmother made for me. Those things can't be replaced.”

“I can't imagine how awful this is for you.” Theo meant every word. Poor Susan's life had suffered a disaster. Not knowing how or why their house was burnt to the foundation couldn't be an easy thing to deal with.

By noon there had been so many telephone calls from the Thursday Night Bowlers asking how they could help, Theo suggested an impromptu gathering in the late afternoon. It would start after those members with day jobs could arrive. This bit of socialization might give Susan some distraction and some comfort. Nothing would bring her life back to normal as fast as having handwork to help pass the hours in their motel home.

Each bowler brought an anonymous gift—a pattern or tool or white elephant for her, wrapped in fabric. Among the donated items were an appliqué pattern of a basket of flowers, paper hexagons to help her create her own grandmother's flower garden quilt, and someone donated a half pieced double wedding ring quilt with its scrappy arcs. When Susan unwrapped the arcs, she began to laugh. A real laugh and said, “Nina, I remember seeing you work on this at our last retreat and, as I recall, you spent as much time unsewing it and swearing as you did sewing.” She tossed the bag across the table. “Take it back.”