Paint the Town Dead (10 page)

“Makes sense to me.”

“Then why didn't Ms. Gordon tell me about the opal?”

“I have no idea, but the stone isn't the big deal to her that it was to Kim. The idea that Kim was searching for that one thing might not have occurred to Doralee.”

He flipped a few pages in the spiral, frowned at his notes. “All right, let me recap. Ms. Gordon and Mr. Boudreaux are divorced.”

“And Zach Dalton is Doralee's current gentleman friend.”

“Kim Thomason was engaged to Mr. Boudreaux, and Georgine is his sister.”

“Right.”

“None of them live around here, yet they converged in Lilyvale and now the fiancée is dead. I know Ms. Gordon came for your grand opening events, and I understand why Mr. Dalton would accompany her, but why did the ex-husband show up? To make his own fiancée jealous? To get his ex-wife back? To get this opal Ms. Thomason wanted?”

I shrugged. “I honestly can't say. Maybe a little of all three. You'll have to ask the players, and you might want to ask Doralee about Kim's former in-laws, too.”

“Why?”

“Because Doralee indicated that at least one of them hated Kim.”

“Enough to kill her?”

“Enough to run her down with a golf cart. To kill her up close? That's for you to discover. I'm on the sidelines.”

He stared at me, one corner of his mouth quirked. “You stumbled across another body, but you're not playing Nixy Drew this time? You're staying out of my investigation?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “I'll only get repeated lectures if I snoop, right?”

“Somehow I don't think my lectures will deter you. They didn't last time.”

“Last time was different. Last time Aunt Sherry's neck was on the line. This time I have no vested interest in your case. Besides, Detective,” I said with a bright smile, “once burned, twice smart. I'm limiting my adventures to running a new business.”

“I hope so.” He bent to give Amber and T.C. quick scratches under their chins, then eyed me again. “I certainly hope so.”

*   *   *

Amber and T.C. did a morning stretch routine that reminded me of the yoga my old roommate had practiced, and the position called downward dog. My personal
yoga experience was limited to exactly two classes, but watching the critters made me follow along with them. More or less. Arms over my head, then touch my toes, then arms over head again and reach for the sky. Obviously I wasn't ready to run out and join a gym. I didn't think there
was
one in Lilyvale. Whatever. The stretch felt great, and I hit the ground running that gorgeous Monday morning.

Okay, walking. Specifically, walking the critters. We hoofed it—pawed it?—past the businesses on and just off the square, and then meandered through several blocks in the adjoining neighborhood. Amber sniffed at everything, occasionally pawing at the ground hard enough to pull up grass. Then she'd sniff again and give me a triumphant look with those golden eyes. I felt the need to be impressed, so I praised her each time with a “Good girl.” T.C. did her share of sniffing, then batted at bugs she'd dislodged. When a grasshopper suddenly leaped high in front of her, she launched herself to catch it, but was thwarted by my hold on her leash. She shot me a disgusted look, but didn't try to Houdini out of her harness.

I'd had an ulterior motive to the long stroll. I'd hoped to see Louie out with Harley. Louie might be able to describe the truck and Audi drivers from last night. They might not be relevant to Kim's murder, but more information couldn't hurt. I didn't run into the boy and his dog, but I'd ask him another day.

Back at home, I breakfasted somewhat resentfully on my last PowerBar and promised myself a trip to the grocery store. Today. Without fail. The critters weren't low on food, treats, or litter, but it couldn't hurt to stock up.

Yes, I still hoped their owner would turn up. I'd simply hand over all the extra supplies, or donate them to the shelter. Although I had to admit I'd miss seeing their sweet faces and the comfort of stroking their sleek fur baby bodies.

The Silver Six convoy of the Corolla, the Caddy, and Fred's truck rolled into the parking lot behind the emporium
before nine. From the collective gleam in their eyes as I greeted them, I figured they wanted to pump me for information, but before we confabbed, Dab helped me put the grand opening sign back up out front. He carried one end of the ladder, then steadied it for me as I climbed up and down to tie off the banner's four corners. Fred, Amber, and T.C. supervised, Fred and Amber voicing and woofing advice from the sidewalk, and T.C. chirping from the concrete planter, where she had jumped for a better view. I feared she'd dig up the lilies or ivy, but she didn't even nibble a leaf. Good thing. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment that I had no clue which plants were harmful to animals.

Then again, Amber and T.C. had trekked who knows how far away from their home. They had to be smart enough to steer clear of poisonous flora.

With the stools we'd used for Doralee's gourd class pulled up to a worktable, the seven of us sat down to share cups of coffee Eleanor and Sherry had brewed, and the exquisitely sticky cinnamon buns Maise had baked that morning.

“So tell us,” Aster said, “what is your take on Kim's death?”

I choked on an overambitious bite of bun and grabbed my coffee cup. “I don't have a take, Aster,” I said as I swallowed.

“Well for heaven's sake, child,” my aunt huffed, “you must have some opinion. You were right there, and you've talked to our Detective Shoar. What did he have to say?”

“Eric didn't confide a single detail,” I reported honestly. “He asked me some questions, but I couldn't tell him much. I mean, that was the last thing Doralee or I expected to see yesterday. I'm still stunned.”

“I do believe Doralee feels the same,” Eleanor offered.

Aster nodded her agreement. “I doubt she slept at all well. Poor thing had dark circles under her eyes when she and Zach left the farmhouse this morning.”

“They were going to the police station after they reconnoitered another place to stay,” Maise added.

I blinked at that news. “There's another hotel in town?”

“Motel on the road goin' east, but it ain't much.” Fred pinched two pieces of bread from his bun and casually dropped them on the floor. Amber and T.C. skittered over and quickly slurped up the people food. “Heck, I ain't sure it's open no more.”

“It is,” Dab put in. “Rather it might be. Some people from Florida bought it long about February, remember? I heard from Big George that the owners have been sprucing it up.”

Since Big George Heath owned the hardware store, he'd definitely have the scoop on who was repairing, renovating, and refurbishing properties.

“Have we met these people?” Maise asked. “If not, we should.”

I fought a smile at this new reminder I was now living the small town life. If everyone didn't know absolutely everyone else, it wasn't for lack of trying. I could almost see Maise flipping through her mental recipe files looking for the perfect Welcome Wagon offering.

And since they'd veered away from talking about the murder, I jumped in to get us on our business track.

“Let's review this week's schedule before we go open the store.”

*   *   *

Accomplished knitter Shirley Hines, who created her own designs and who'd independently published a book of her patterns, presented the morning's featured craft workshop. A legion of ladies showed up to support her, and with the addition of a Girl Scout troop on a field trip and run-of-the-mill shoppers, we stayed slammed for the first three hours of the day. Even Fred had visitors—aside from his loyal assistants, Amber and T.C., hanging out with him. A few students from the technical college learning auto repair came in to pick his brain.

As I watched Fred answer questions, I had an idea: He
could do a workshop on the care and maintenance of small household appliances. The topic should draw a decently wide audience. Couldn't hurt to ask him.

And no, I didn't think for a minute teaching such a class would hurt his fix-it business. Gadgets would still break, and Fred had a way with them. I swore he could lay hands on a machine and know what ailed it.

Jasmine arrived at one that afternoon to begin her shift. We briefed her on the morning's events, and on the crafts for the Fourth of July demo happening at three o'clock. The Silver Six ladies were about to pop home for lunch, and then bring Fred and Dab their sandwiches, when Zach ushered a sniffling, red-eyed Doralee through the emporium door.

“Gracious, Doralee!” Sherry exclaimed. “What on earth is wrong?”

“Your detective thinks I killed Kim,” she said baldly. “I need an attorney fast.”

Jaws dropped, including Jasmine's. The poor girl didn't expect her work-study program would include having a murder suspect stroll into the store. Never mind that the suspect was innocent.

She had to be, didn't she?

As Maise hustled Doralee, Zach, and the Silver Six to Fred's workshop space, I gave thanks no customers had been in the store. I reassured Jasmine that we'd go on with business as usual, and to holler if she needed us. Then I dashed to the back to hear what had happened at the police station with Detective Shoar.

As we had this morning, we sat around one of Fred's large workbenches, Zach and Doralee side by side at one end.

“He separated us and then questioned us for hours,” she said, her voice breaking. “I must've told him the same thing dozens of times. I didn't kill Kim. I didn't care about her enough to kill her.”

Now
that
didn't sound like a statement you'd want a cop to hear.

Aster, bless her, had her trusty bottle of water-diluted lavender oil in hand. “Doralee, now stop and breathe. You, too, Zach. This is my special essential oil and water. I'm spritzing it over your heads, and it will calm you. Then we can talk.”

Aster sprayed them, then the room at large. Amber and T.C. sneezed, and retreated to the beds Fred and Dab had set out for them. They exchanged a look that I could only interpret as, “Humans are weird.”

“There now. We know a crackerjack attorney, Dinah Souse, but tell us why you think you need her.”

“I told you. Detective Shoar believes I killed Kim.”

“Did he say why?” I asked. “I mean, did he give you a motive?”

“First he mentioned me being jealous of her, but then”—she shot me a scorching stare—“he started pelting me with questions about the opal. I guess you told him about it?”

“I mentioned it last night when he asked if I knew why Kim would be in your room. It was the only reason I could imagine.”

Doralee's glare melted. “You're right, of course. The problem is I didn't think about the stupid stone last night when Detective Shoar questioned me. For heaven's sake, it's in my safe-deposit box. It wasn't on my mind. Now the detective thinks I was holding back information if not outright lying.”

“Shoar is paid to be suspicious,” I said soothingly. “I promise you he's a fair, thorough investigator.”

“I hope so because he also asked me about my presentations here, and if I'd had any problems.”

Maise frowned. “What sort of problems?”

“If I'd lost anything or had something stolen. I told him that my awl went missing on Friday afternoon, and that all of you knew about it. He showed me about a dozen photos of various tools and asked me to identify my awl.”

My heart sank even as the senior ladies murmured a chorus of “Oh dear.”

“The thing was, I could point out the picture of the kind of awl I had, but I couldn't say that particular one was mine. I told him my awl was in a new set of gourd-crafting tools, and that I hadn't put my initials or any markings on them yet.” She vise-gripped my hand. “You know I'm telling the truth, Nixy. Will you talk to the detective?”

Before I could answer, Sherry pinned me with her blue-eyed teacher gaze. “Do you think the awl was the murder weapon, Nixy?”

“I do believe it must be,” Eleanor said. “Otherwise, why would he query Doralee about it so closely?”

“Ladies, ladies, hold it. You know Detective Shoar doesn't show his hand. All I get out of him is that the evidence goes to the state crime lab. However,” I added, turning to Doralee, “I will confirm with him that your awl disappeared just as you told him.” I paused. “Did Shoar say anything more about the room key?”

“Only that Kim likely didn't have a copy made—at least not in the two places in town with a key-cutting machine.”

“So he believes Kim used your key.”

“Or he thinks I let Kim in and then killed her.”

“When does he think you managed that? You were at Sherry's.”

She cut her gaze to Zach then looked back at me. “Shoar says he has a witness who saw me on the square, but I didn't come back to town until I came with you.”

Huh. Why had she evaded my eyes when I mentioned her being at the party? Why the glance at Zach that seemed a touch guilty? She was lying about something, and that bugged me.

Still, I again promised to talk with Shoar.

“And I'll get you that attorney's number,” Maise said. “It's after one, so Ms. Souse should be in the office if she isn't in court.”

“Thank you,” Zach said quietly. “Doralee, you didn't tell them about the missing item.”

“It's a tiny detail compared to everything else,” she began. “But the detective also had me look at the inventory of my clothes, jewelry, and toiletries to see if my belongings were all there. Everything was there but my smock.”

“The one you wore during your class?” I asked.

“And the program with Sherry. I took it and some paint to our room so I could put some finishing touches on your gift—a gourd pencil holder for your office. I'd left it on the sweet little vintage desk in the guest room.”

I didn't have an office except for the box of files I'd amassed and kept in the apartment, but I appreciated the thought.

“Where did you last see your smock?” my aunt asked.

“On the chair back where I'd tossed it. Why someone would take that one item, I can't imagine.”

I could. The killer had likely wiped off his bloody hands with the smock, but then I'd watched more crime shows than were probably good for me. Then I had another thought.

“What about all your other crafting tools? Were they on the inventory?”

“No, but they wouldn't be. We left them locked in the car all weekend along with my other supplies. That's why I think the detective found my missing awl at the crime scene. Why else would the subject come up?”

“Good point.” Even though all of us except perhaps Fred could corroborate her account of the vanished awl, that the presumed murder weapon belonged to Doralee was damning.

“Will you be able to get your personal things back?” Sherry asked.

“The police are holding them for now,” Zach said. “However, we found a place to stay until the detective allows us to go home. The Pines Motor Court.”

“It's not as spacious as the Inn on the Square,” Doralee put in, “but it's a cute little retro sort of place, and it'll do fine for a few days. We can't impose on you all anymore,” she said, nodding at the Six.

Zach nodded, too. “I thought I'd take Doralee to buy a few necessities, then go back there to rest.”

“An excellent idea,” Aster said. “I'll send along some lavender to help you relax.”

“And we'll have you out for dinner tonight,” Maise offered. “That is, if you feel like being in company.”

Doralee exchanged a small smile with Zach. “That's very sweet, but we got permission from the detective to go to Magnolia for dinner.”

“The Backyard Bar-B-Q?” Eleanor asked. I couldn't imagine pristine and proper Eleanor chowing down on ribs but, I realized, there was so much I still didn't know about each of the Six.

“The same, but we appreciate your invitation.” She caught Aster's hand, and her gaze touched each of us. “Truly, thank you. All of you. I don't know what I'd do without your help.”

“We'll get this sorted out,” Aster assured her.

“We certainly will,” Aunt Sherry vowed with a gleam in her eye that told me this was not the end of this conversation. I wondered absently if it would be rude to invite myself along to the barbeque joint. I'd heard the pie alone was worth the trip, and it would delay having to deal with whatever amateur sleuthing my dear aunt was certain to propose.

*   *   *

There are times that being right sucks, and this was shaping up to be one of those times.

Sherry and Aster, Maise, and Eleanor had been home, eaten, and brought lunch back for the rest of us. They dropped off snacks for Jasmine, too, then joined me, Dab, and Fred at the worktable, where we'd talked with Doralee and Zach.

But the ladies had brought back more than sandwiches and sweet tea. As I feared, they'd cooked up the cockeyed idea that we should investigate Kim Thomason's death. I was having none of it, even though I was likely partly to blame for their wheedling ways. When I arrived a few
months back, they thought snooping was rude and now I was going to have to rein them in.

“No, and no again, Aunt Sherry. Absolutely not.”

“But we must investigate. You know the Stanton family dictum: When we see something that needs doing, we do it.”

“But that's the point. Investigating a murder is not something we can do.”

“Of course we can. Now let's start with a description of the crime scene. Doralee wouldn't tell us a single detail. Did you take photos with your cell phone?”

“No cell pictures, and I am
not
describing the crime scene,” I said, but the image of Kim on her side, arm outstretched, her ring looking so odd on her limp finger, made me shudder. I shook off the mental picture. “Let the police investigate, Sherry. We have to stay out of Eric's way.”

“Poo. We know Doralee is innocent. We'll solve this case just like we solved the last murder.”

I choked on my tea and carefully set the glass on Fred's worktable. “Aunt Sherry, we did not solve that murder. We blundered into the killer, and you were put in mortal danger.”

“We came out of it fine and dandy.”

“You were injured, and the whole episode took years off my life.”

“It also got you to move here,” Fred put in.

“Yes it did. So?”

“Just sayin'. It weren't all bad.”

“And we'll help, just like we did before,” Aster said.

“Right. We'll mobilize to ask questions around town,” Maise declared. “See who could have had it in for Kim.”

“I do believe we ought to discover if anyone saw Kim and Ernie bickering,” Eleanor said. “He's my top suspect.”

“Of course,” Dab offered thoughtfully, “it could be someone else entirely. By all accounts, Ms. Thomason was not the most pleasant of women. She could have had a number of enemies.”

“Enemies who followed Kim to Lilyvale?” I challenged.
“An enemy Kim would let into the inn? An enemy who'd wait while Kim searched the room, and then whack her?”

Admittedly, the snooty sister-in-law Doralee had mentioned, Margot, sprang to mind as I ranted, but would a society maven like that stab Kim? Risk ruining her manicure? Actually, she might with a strong enough motive.

“Here now, Nixy. You got no call to be sarcastic,” Fred scolded. “No call whatsomever.”

I refocused and blew out a breath. “You're right, Fred. Dab, I'm sorry for snapping. But truly, I think sticking our noses in this is a really bad idea. If you'll recall, the only reason we snooped around in April was because Aunt Sherry was the prime suspect, and we were on the list right after her.”

“What's your point?” Maise demanded.

“The last time was personal. This time it isn't.”

“I beg to disagree,” Aster huffed.

“As do I,” Sherry snipped. “Doralee is a friend. She wouldn't have been here had we not invited her to teach the gourd-painting class and stay for the demonstration. I feel somewhat responsible for the fix she's in here.”

“Exactly,” Aster said. “And you of all people know we don't abandon our friends. Besides, you told Shoar about that opal. Whether you realize it or not, you're already on the case.”

I dropped my head in my hands with a groan. “The superstitions are true. Opals
are
bad luck.”

Fred chuckled. “Might as well give in, missy. If you don't agree, we'll just do it on our own.”

“And perhaps ask some of our other friends for help,” Eleanor added.

“Like Big George at the hardware store, and Bog Turner at the barbershop, and Duke Richards at the Dairy Queen,” Dab said with mock solemnity.

I gave Dab a wary look. I knew they were manipulating me six ways from Sunday, but invite Duke Richards and his shotgun into the middle of this situation? Not on my watch.

The thought of any of the Silver Six being in harm's way made me queasy, but I had to pick my battles. If I went along with them investigating the murder, I'd get their reports and more or less be able ride herd on their snooping. That in turn would hopefully keep them out of too much trouble, especially with Detective Shoar.

“Okay, tell you what. I'll let Shoar know about Doralee's awl, and Eleanor's missing whittling tool, too.”

“Excellent, child,” Sherry said. “We'll check with downtown merchants and clerks. If Kim visited any shops, I'm sure she made an impression.”

“If she ate at the Lilies Café,” Maise added, “Lorna will know how she and Ernie behaved together.”