Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (17 page)

If looks could kill . . . But he was right.
I cupped my hands and accepted his foot, boosting him high and locking my elbows.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. I was afraid to ask.

Finally, he motioned for me to lower him, but when I opened my mouth to ask what he saw, he put a finger to his lips and led the way back to the front of the store and across the road. He didn’t speak until we got to Gold Street.

“They
was
together, all right.”

“What were they doing?”

“They were in his office, looking at something that looked like a map of sorts.
Couldn’t see it clear-like.
Dana didn’t appear too happy with Payton, and Payton looked way nervous.”

“That boy always looks nervous.”

“Yeah, this time he looked really nervous.”

I spent the trip home melting my brain trying to figure out what it all meant. I needed to find the connection between Dana and Payton.
How I would go about it, though, remained a mystery.

I stroked Hardy’s head where he had fallen asleep against my shoulder, thinking on the day.
On Dana and Payton.
On
Shayna
.
Moonlight filtered into our bedroom and reminded me of the song I had sung that evening.
The words.

Before sleep claimed him, Hardy had made sure to tell me something that shamed me deeply. “
Shayna
told me to tell you she loves you.”

When I couldn’t stand to stay on the line with my daughter another minute because
Shayna’s
decisions didn’t fit into my mold, my daughter blessed my name anyway. Rhys would be my son, not my son-in-law. He would be family. Problems would come and go between them, their love, tested, but I vowed to offer encouragement when possible.

And the simple truth, the bottom line,
Shayna’s
life was her own.

Lord, it’s taking me so long to learn to let go. My babies aren’t my babies anymore. They never really were mine anyway, were they? I smiled into the darkness. Here Tyrone’s been gone for almost fourteen years, I should be used to the idea of them leaving. The leaving I can deal with, it’s the not coming back that hurts. A sob brewed deep in my heart and I slipped out from under Hardy, not wanting to wake him by crying, I sat on the side of the bed and tried to put a plug in my emotions.

“
Tisha
?”

His hand tickled over my back. I never could resist his sympathy, or his touch and, thank the Lord, I didn’t need to.

“
Spillin
’ tears again.”
I sniffed. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Listen, babe, I know you. You always come around. You’ve got a beautiful heart. But it’s like I told you the other night, this is what you raised them to do.”

“I know,” my voice came out flat and emotionless. “God’s showing me real good.”

He pulled me back down beside him, cradling my head against his chest. Deep from his heart, straight to
mine,
came the words of “Amazing Grace,” this time in the raspy tenor I knew so well. He was a piano man, after all, not a singer. But the song flowed sweetness over my soul and rocked me to sleep in the snug security of pure love.

Chapter Sixteen

Breakfast on Friday morning turned out to be a solemn occasion. Hardy, pouting about having to go to Sasha’s, said little. He’d even worn a pair of decent navy blue pants, as if to prove he knew how to dress.

As I set his plate in front of him, complete with the
chitlins
I allowed him to have on occasion, his eyes pleaded with me. “You still
makin
’ me go?”

“Yup.”
I fixed my own plate and sat down to join him. “After I’ve scandalized you by going into Sasha’s, you can sit in Regina’s while I get my hair done.”

The whites of his eyes flashed.

“I’m getting a new style.
Twist-outs.”

“You already so twisted, I can’t straighten you out.”

He shoveled his food in fast. I picked at mine. “I’ve got to log on for my Friday morning class, shower and then I’ll be ready to go. Probably two hours. You can clean up for me.”

“Need to work on staking my tomatoes and planting the rest of the garden. You
gonna
help me this year?”

I grunted. “Don’t I always help? Who you think stands here and chops up those vegetables and makes that salsa and cans that corn and okra and—”

“With the planting.”

“So long as you don’t plant so much this year.
I had so much corn last year I thought I’d have to donate to the needy beaks of every chicken in the county.”

“Hard to know how much to plant for two.
Done so much planting for a big gang every year.”
Hardy scraped the remains of his grits, slid the rest of the biscuit across his plate, and popped it into his mouth.

Something more than the size of his garden was wrong with him. “What’s up your sleeve?”

He took his time chewing. “Been thinking about dogs.”

“Dogs?”

“
Chasin
’ their tails.”
He dabbed his mouth, the cloth napkin rasping against his whiskers. “They go ‘round and ‘round, and for no good reason. We’re doing that.”

“How you
meanin
’?”

“Maybe we’re missing something in this thing with Marion. Do you think everyone you’ve questioned is a person of interest? Chief said your alibi was air tight. Was Payton’s?
Or Dana’s?
Or Mark’s or Regina’s?”

“You think Regina had something to do with Marion?”

Hardy raked his fingers over his face and rubbed his eyes. “Think on it,
LaTisha
. Even back when the scandal broke loose, didn’t half the
town suspect
that Regina’s resignation had something to do with the money being gone? Only when Betsy’s interview appeared in the paper, declaring Regina quit because of her mother, did things blow over.”

My mind rolled over the conversation in Regina’s shop. The woman’s reaction when I mentioned Chief Conrad’s interest in the envelope and Betsy
Taser’s
reaction . . . “You think Regina took the money and that Betsy covered for her?”

“It’s something to think on.” Hardy stabbed at the
chitlins
. “
Them’s
good
eatin
’.”

His words barely registered.
Didn’t take a genius to know that Hardy’s theory barked up the wrong tree, to mix my metaphors.
No way would Betsy
Taser
ever defend Regina. Especially over money meant for her husband. “Their relationship isn’t a good one. Why would Betsy defend Regina?”

“
Dunno
.”

My brain did
backflips
trying to recall the newspaper articles of that time.

Hardy’s arm stretched toward the bowl of
chitlins
again. I batted it away. “They’re not good for you.”

“Then another helping of grits?”

As I fetched the grits for him and plopped them on his plate, a memory surfaced. “Who all was on that committee?”

“Not sure. Be a good thing for you to find out.” Hardy’s eyes squinted almost shut.

I picked up my dishcloth and ran it over the table as I thought it over. “I could ask Regina. Just come right out and drop the question.”

“That’s the way to do it.” He
skidded
his chair back. “You sure you won’t let me stay home this
mornin
’?”

Olivia
Blightman’s
mother’s store smelled like incense. Slender and blond, her figure ripe with youth, I also knew Olivia, or Livy as she preferred to be called, to be the kind of woman that tripped up a good man.

For a while, when Mark first came to town, he and Livy had been an item, their relationship heating toward critical. Rumors of marriage began to spread. I imagine Maple Gap women breathed a collective sigh of relief that Livy would no longer be on the prowl. Then she showed up at a community picnic solo, her eyes red from crying. Some speculated that the age difference had caused the split; Mark being forty-two to Livy’s twenty-eight. She must have cared for him though, because, to my knowledge, she hadn’t dated anyone else since, though Tom Spencer, owner of Grab-N-Go Gas, sure had tried.

Livy came toward us, sashaying through the racks of women’s clothing like a runway model. Hardy started a melodramatic coughing fit as soon as he saw her. Maybe it was the incense. I opened the door, fanned it, and gave Hardy a good whack on the back with my other hand. “You get! Duck your head outside for a minute.”

He slipped out the door and sucked in air, nostrils flaring with each breath.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Barnhart.” Livy’s expression tightened with concern. “The air freshener my mother uses is a little heavy. After being here for so long, I got used to it.”

 
I scanned her from tip to toe. “Smells like something illegal.”

“I assure you it isn’t.”

I stopped fanning the door and checked on Hardy who was bent over, but not coughing anymore.

 
I looked back at Livy. “We came to look at men’s clothes. It
stink
back there, too?”

Livy looked unsure. “Probably not, since it’s in a separate section.”

“We’ll go ‘round back, then, and through that door.”

“But it’s locked.”

 
I rolled my eyes. “Then I guess you’d best be unlocking it for us.”

Not giving her a chance to protest, I stepped outside, slipped my arm around Hardy’s shoulders and guided him to the back of the store.

His thin shoulders still
spasmed
with light coughs, his eyes a little bloodshot from all the pressure.
My hand traced light circles on his shoulder as I waited for the door to open completely.

“I’ll be fine,” he finally gasped.

“It was pretty thick in there. Wonder what that girl’s
burnin
’. I can tell you Sasha wouldn’t like it none to know her store is so full of smelly stuff that her customers almost choke to death.”

“Do I have to go in?”

I patted his shoulder. “You sure do.” The door cracked open, Livy’s smile greeting us.

As if all the fetid air stopped at the doorway separating the men’s shop from the women’s, only a touch of the odor could be detected in the men’s department.
Mostly, the men’s section smelled of leather and new carpet. Because Sasha received so few male customers, her selection was slim, but that didn’t worry me none. Hardy wore common sizes.
Had to laugh when I glimpsed his expression.
His eyes trawled the room as if some terrible monster of the deep might pop up to eat him at any second.

Livy sashayed up to Hardy looking like a cat on the prowl with a dislocated hip. “I’m sure I can help you find something to make you look real nice, Mr. Barnhart. Style is my specialty and with your unique physique, it shouldn’t be too hard to—”

I stopped her forward progress with a loud whistle and a hard look. “His unique physique is my business, so how ‘bout we just call you when we’re done in here?”

Livy flinched. “That would be fine. I’ll wait here while you all browse.”

Ushering Hardy ahead of me, I went directly to a rack of short-sleeved shirts in bright colors.

“I
ain’t
wearing purple,
LaTisha
.”

“Nope, but a nice green and this here melon color would be right smart.
Might even fill out your shoulders a bit.”

He swelled up.
“
Nothin
’ wrong with my shoulders.”

“Oh, baby.” I scanned him with my eyes. “You are so right. You tuck underneath my arm perfectly.”

I gathered three more shirts—passion blue, fire red and lemon yellow.

“I
ain’t
wearing yellow either.”

“You’ll wear what I say you’ll wear because otherwise that little girl over there with the broken hip is going to dress you up in a suit and tie.” I shoved the pile of shirts at him and turned him toward the dressing room. “Now get in that dressing room and try on those shirts while I look for some leather pants for you.”

His eyes rolled, whites gleaming.
“Leather!”

I patted his bum. “It’ll all be over in about fifteen minutes. Be brave.” Hardy gave me one more terrified glance before shutting the door to the dressing room.

Sasha breezed in about fifteen minutes later, looking spiffy and cool in a light pink sweater set and sea green
capris
with polka dots of the same color as the sweater. Another scarf, this one tied around her head, finished the outfit. I couldn’t look that good if I had a whole closet full of cute clothes.
Disgusting.

“How are you doing this bright, beautiful day,
LaTisha
?”

“Doing great.
Got any leather?”