Paint the Town Dead (23 page)

“I did no such thing, Lorna,” I whispered back. “I don't have a gun, and Caleb Collier isn't a murderer.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Well, no, but he's innocent until proven guilty.”

“He certainly must be a person of interest.” She paused
to sweep the seniors with her glance. “Detective Shoar escorted him here last night, and came to collect him first thing this morning. Barely gave the man a chance to finish his coffee, never mind his breakfast.”

“So he's gone,” Aster said. “We were hoping to get a look at him.”

“I'm sure you'll have a chance. Unless he's arrested, he'll be back here later.”

“Um, Lorna, does Ernie come down for breakfast?”

“He hasn't today. He was with his sister when I took up her tray this morning.”

“Did you hear what they said?”

Lorna sniffed. “I don't eavesdrop on my guests.”

Sherry patted her friend's hand. “Overhearing isn't the same as eavesdropping.”

“And I do believe you have a right to know what's going on in your inn. Especially in light of that woman's death.”

Lorna gave a decisive nod. “It isn't like they were scheming. Mr. Boudreaux was all but begging his sister to go to the hospital. He'd asked me about the level of services and care we have here. Well, our facility isn't large, but the doctors can handle a middle-aged woman with a migraine headache.”

“I take it Georgine refused?”

“She did, and then he raised his voice to her. He said she was as stubborn as Kim, and he was tired of it.”

“That sounds like an oblique threat,” Sherry said.

Lorna shrugged. “I'll tell you this. If she gets any weaker, he'll either have to carry her out of here or I'll call the paramedics. As it is, I don't know how the stigma of having a death here will affect business.” She paused. “Though I haven't had a single cancellation yet. And the income from their extended stay helps. We have got to come up with events to get more tourists.”

“The fall folk art festival will be held in town instead of at the farmhouse,” Sherry said.

“That's been approved for sure?”

I opened my mouth, closed it. “Hmm. I don't think we have the official letter yet, but I'll follow up.”

“So are you still investigating on Doralee's behalf?”

“I do believe she's in the clear.”

“But we're working on the case anyway,” Maise said.

“We even created a murder board,” Aster boasted.

I groaned. “Ladies, we need to open soon. Lorna, do you have the check?”

“Right here.” She pulled it from her apron.

I reached in the back pocket of my jeans for the twenty I'd remembered to stash there this morning. I'd meant to use it for a pastry at Great Buns, but plans changed.

I hoped I could get through the day without being ambushed again.

*   *   *

I'd filled the Silver Six in on the highlights of stopping Caleb, but did not mention the foolhardy flagging down of his truck. I knew they'd piece together the majority of the real story from gossip, and for once that suited me fine.

The wineglass-painting program drew seventeen patrons. I doubted they all drank wine, but we'd mentioned the technique worked on nearly any glassware. Colleen Watson was a woman in her late thirties or early forties, model tall and slim. She wasn't as lively or dramatic as some of our artists. Instead, her voice was calm, her information clear and concise.

She thanked everyone for coming, relayed a bit about her arts and crafts experience, and moved right into instructions for prepping the glass.

“After your glass is squeaky clean, use rubbing alcohol to get off any last oils from your hands, and be sure it dries thoroughly.

“Now then, you can free-hand paint, or you can use a design on paper. Curl the paper, and let it unfurl in the glass,
design side out, and there's your template,” she said, demonstrating as she talked. “Leave enough space at the bottom of your paper so your design doesn't sit too low in the glass's bowl. Unless that's where you want it.”

The audience laughed, and next she emphasized how to wield the paint marker with the warning not to smash the tip of the glass paint markers into the surface.

“You jab, and this is what happens,” she said, spearing a marker onto a glass she obviously used to illustrate technique. It was splotched with paint in a rainbow of colors.

“Do you have to paint glass with a marker?” A young mother asked the question. Her sleeping infant nestled against her chest in a sling.

“No, you can use brushes and acrylic paint, but I think markers are easier to control.” She flashed a radiant smile. “And I've been doing this awhile. Remember, you can decorate the foot of your glass, too.”

As she spoke, she painted, and an adorable lily design in lines and dots emerged. The paint needed to dry for a day, and she usually heat-set her glasses, too, she explained. So instead of donating the one she'd just completed, Colleen gave us a set of four wonderfully different tree-themed wineglasses. Sherry protested she was too generous, but Colleen said she'd bought the glasses at a thrift store. I could see another full class in wineglass painting in our future.

At twelve thirty, we'd finished resetting the chairs for Fran Givens and her collage program. Maise and Aster went home with Dab to take cookies out of the freezer. They'd snag the food trays from the grocery store on the way back and store them in my near-empty fridge.

Shortly after they left on their errands, Ida Bollings came into the store with the aid of her walker.

“I brought the bread early so I can nap before the big doings this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Ida,” I said even as Fred clomped in from his workroom.

I'd swear he must've been listening for her because he immediately asked her to lunch. He'd removed the tool belt from his own walker, I noticed. He'd even taken some of the tools out of his overall pockets. That was about as dressed up as I'd ever seen Fred.

“I'll drive,” she said.

I suppressed a shudder. I'd seen the woman drive. She could qualify for the Indy 500 without much trouble.

“Go get the pear bread, Nixy. There are five loaves in the backseat.”

“Goodness,” Sherry exclaimed. “That's far too much. You shouldn't have gone to all that trouble.”

Ida waved a hand. “Nonsense. If there are leftovers, take them home.”

I retrieved the loaves while Ida and Fred wrestled their respective walkers into the cavernous truck of Ida's boat of a blue Buick. Yes, I started to offer my help, but Fred scowled at me before I'd taken two steps toward them.

Doralee and Zach came by just after one. They'd lunched at Lorna's and heard about my single-handed capture.

“Oh, we figured the story was exaggerated,” Doralee said with a laugh. “But it's true that Kim's brother has finally made an appearance, right? Does that help your detective's investigation?”

I smiled and gave her the answer I'd mentally rehearsed. “I don't really know, but it can't hurt. Did Lorna mention Georgine to you?”

Doralee gave me a double take. “She didn't say a word. Why?”

“Georgine's apparently suffering from one migraine after another. Lorna's been taking light meals up to her, but says the trays are barely touched.”

“Goodness, she was always out of it with one or two doses of her meds. She must be a zombie if she's taking much more, never mind taking it for days on end.”

“Lorna did tell me Georgine acted loopy.”

“Why on earth doesn't Ernie take her to the hospital?” Doralee fretted.

“I don't believe,” Eleanor said, “she wants to go.”

“Stubborn woman.” Doralee glanced at Zach. “I wonder if I should see her. Maybe she'll listen to me.”

Zach shrugged. “From all you've told me about her, she'll shut you out, but it's your call, honey. I'll go over with you if you want.”

I tuned out their debate because I spotted Eric striding toward the emporium. Was he coming here, or merely coming this way? A few minutes later I had my answer.

“Hey, Nixy. Ladies. Zach. I saw the article in the paper about your big reception this afternoon. Are you ready for it?”

“We're getting there,” Sherry said. “I hear Kim's brother finally made it to town.”

“He did. Nixy, may I borrow you for a while?”

I glanced at Sherry and Eleanor. “Can you handle things here?”

“Of course we can, and Jasmine will be here soon.”

“Detective,” Zach said. “Do you know when Doralee and I will be free to leave? We both have commitments next week.”

“I appreciate your continued cooperation, Mr. Dalton. You should be able to leave by Sunday morning.”

Doralee released her breath in a rush, and Zach nodded his thanks even as he hugged her to his side. Sherry and Eleanor beamed.

*   *   *

“You want me to what?”

I trotted beside Eric because he was a man focused and
forgot to slow his pace for my shorter stride. We'd crossed the street to the sidewalk that ran around the courthouse before he answered.

“I want you to reenact Sunday evening when you brought Doralee to the inn. I don't need you to drive though the sequence, just walk part of it with me.”

“But why do you—oh, I get it. This is to compare my account with Caleb's.”

“And Mr. Boudreaux's.”

“You talked to Ernie again?”

“I did.”

“His sister has been laid out flat with migraines for several days.”

“He mentioned that when I insisted he come with me this morning.”

We'd reached the opposite side of the square. The Lilies Café sat a few doors down, the pharmacy on its far side, the Hendrix County annex building on the corner where we stood. The annex provided extra office space for the various county departments, and a Lilyvale city annex sat behind the county building, just on the other side of the alley.

“All right, Nixy, run me through this with as much detail as you remember.”

I closed my eyes to focus in a moment.

“I came out of our alley, down Stanton, took the right to circle around the courthouse.” I said, pointing at the route. One couldn't drive straight through on Stanton Drive, not from the direction of the store. “The sky was getting darker and darker, and the wind was gusting some but not any more than when you helped me with the banner.”

“Now concentrate on what came next.”

“I turned right back onto this side of Stanton. I'd just cleared the stop sign when the truck shot out of the alley. I slammed hard on the brakes. Hard enough to throw Doralee and I against our seatbelts. The animals fell from the backseat to the floorboard.”

He asked me to describe the truck again, and I did, sketchy as it was. We continued walking until we reached the stop sign at the next corner.

“The truck blew through this sign and turned left. I was shaking all over from the near T-bone. By the time I drove this half a block, the truck was gone.”

We turned right and approached the back entrance of the parking lot. The sidewalk was cracked here and there, weeds growing in the gaps.

“Here I was maybe halfway into the right turn when the Audi's lights flashed in my windshield.”

“How did you know the make of the car?”

“The rings on the front. My headlights picked out a blonde driving and a male passenger, but didn't know who they were then. The driver jerked the wheel, missed hitting me, and bumped over the curb as she took off to the right.”

“What then?”

“I made sure there weren't any other cars speeding my way,” I quipped as we walked into the lot, “and then, I eased up to park next to Ernie's Honda.”

“How did you know that was his car?”

“Doralee said it was. It was parked right here where we're standing.”

“Is that all?”

“I made sure Amber and T.C. weren't injured, cracked the windows for the animals, and went inside with Doralee.”

“Excellent. Okay, you told me when I first questioned you, but remind me what time all this happened.”

I sighed. “All I can say with any degree of certainty is that it was right around five thirty. Give or take ten minutes.”

“Did you see anyone in the parking lot, or on the streets back here?”

I closed my eyes again and thought back. “No one on foot, and I don't remember any other cars passing before we went inside.”

“Good. Now think about when you circled around the
square. Did you notice anything the least bit out of the ordinary? Anything at all? Even a movement from the corner of your eye.”

Instinct told me Eric wanted to know if I'd seen any sign of Ernie. I pictured the turn, then passing the gazebo, and driving the short block before swinging into the left turn to double back. I shook my head.

“There were a few pieces of litter blowing in the street, but I've got nothing beyond that.”

He shrugged. “If you'd seen anyone, or so much as thought you had, you'd have told me right away. I know that. I trust you.”

“So what now? I mean, can you tell me if my account jibes with the others you have?”

“Other than coming from different viewpoints, yes. Although I had a heck of a time getting Mrs. Vail to even admit to being in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, she ducked me about the near head-on crash.” I strolled at his side, then asked the burning question.

“So are you any closer to an arrest?”

“Close only counts in horseshoes.”

“What happened to trusting me?”

“I didn't exactly follow protocol last night when I let you observe, but there's still only so much I can say.”

“Point taken. I'll be at the emporium if you need anything else.”

*   *   *

I didn't flounce away. That would've been childish. However, having Eric share so much with me, seek my input, then shut me down was annoying.

Then again, with any luck whatsoever, I'd never be in a position like this again. Be remotely involved in a crime, that is. Eric and I might have a chance to see if our attraction could grow into something more if our every waking minute wasn't consumed with a case.

I slipped more or less quietly in the emporium's front door. Jasmine had remembered to take down the chimes, so our presenter didn't miss a beat.

I eased over behind the counter to stand with the teens and watch Fran Givens. She was in her early sixties with hair in a page boy cut that looked more platinum than gray. As in 1950s bombshell platinum blonde, and she was a ball of energy in a frame as small as Sherry's five-foot-nothing. She held a weathered piece of wood, about 8 x 10 inches, and had an array of fabric scraps, buttons, metal washers, and a large bottle of glue on the demonstration table.

“Remember, much as you want your weathered scrap wood to look old, you need to smooth the edges to avoid getting splinters. Wear your mask whether you're sanding by hand or using a power tool.”

She went on to explain that she didn't generally follow a pattern.

“I have an image in my head, and I dry-place pieces until I have the overall effect I want. Naturally, I lay the wood flat. I've been called a witch, but I sure 'nough can't levitate. If I could . . .” She glanced pointedly at her chest. “Let's just say I'd use that power to unsag certain body parts.”

The audience burst into laughter, even the women in their forties who I presumed didn't have that particular aging problem yet.

Fran went on to glue bits and pieces to the wood until she'd created what I called a mixed-media wall hanging. The design was a highly stylized lily. Had our artists decided together to make lily-themed items, or was it happenstance? Whatever the case, the result was amazing. Another item donated to our big round of drawings this afternoon.

After Fran answered questions for nearly twenty minutes, Sherry gently eased her out. We hustled to fold the chairs and one demo table, move everything to the workroom, and get them securely stacked against a wall. Jasmine and I did lift-and-carry duty while Sherry and Aster, Eleanor, and
Maise took turns dressing the remaining long table with a tablecloth, napkins, and such, and waiting on shoppers who trickled in. Since some were waiting for the reception to start, we held off putting out the food and drinks until right at four.

And then the fun started.

*   *   *

“Louella Heinz,” Sherry called out. “Louella, are you here?”

A slender woman with brunette curls waved her hand and bounced forward to claim her prize. And with that, we gave away the last of the items donated for the drawing.

A few good-natured groans met that announcement, but instead of that being a signal to leave, the crowd lingered. Which was fine since the majority of them were purchasing everything from Lexie Gibson's jewelry, to Sherry's baskets, to Aster's Aromatics products. The small animal statues and some napkin rings Eleanor had whittled were snapped up, and so were the gourds Doralee had placed with us. The work of a dozen more of our artists sold in those three hours. Many who'd agreed to sell with us on consignment were in attendance, and I hoped they were pleased to see their work appreciated. I also hoped they'd be pleased when I sent their checks at the first of the month.

Which wasn't far away.

We'd had an amazing turnout for the reception. In addition to Carter and Kay Gaskin, Grant and Judy Armistead, and Miss Anna, the pharmacist whose last name I'd yet to learn, most of the business owners on the square stopped by. Big George Heath of the hardware store, and the barber, Bog Turner, shot the bull with Fred and Dab, although Duke Richards didn't come. He owned the Dairy Queen, though, and likely couldn't get away.

The Silver Six had enfolded me in their family in April, and I'd been taken into their fold of friends, too. Pauletta
Williamson, who wore squash blossom necklaces, was there along with Marie Dunn. John and Jane Lambert lived near Aunt Sherry and always wore clothes in matching colors. Tonight they were in leaf green. Lorna Tyler came by, and defense attorney Dinah Souse. I'd retained her to defend Sherry in the spring. Luckily, we hadn't needed her services for long.

One surprise was seeing Patricia Ledbetter and Mac Donel together. He was the county tax assessor, and she worked in city hall, but I hadn't heard they were dating. Patricia had her son, Davy, with her. The child was chronically ill, but he seemed healthy and happy enough tonight. Especially cramming a cookie in his mouth.

“Hello, Nixy.”

I whirled to find our Hendrix County Library Director standing behind me. Debbie Nicole Samp was a very pretty blonde a few years older than me. Her hair was cut in a breezy style, and she was always wearing low-heeled pumps, denim or light cotton skirts, and scoop neck blouses when I saw her. Which actually wasn't often. Not face to face anyway. We'd had a rough start to our acquaintanceship, and that was putting it nicely.

“Uh, hi, Debbie Nicole,” I stammered, shocked that she was here, much less that she'd spoken to me. “How are you?”

“I'm good.” Pause. “I haven't seen you since you came in to get your library card.”

“Oh, yes. Well, we've been swamped sprucing up the building and getting the emporium ready to open.”

She glanced around the store. “It looks wonderful.”

“Thank you. Have you had something to eat yet? If you've never had Ida Bollings's pear bread, I recommend it.”

“Thanks, I'll look for it.” Another pause. “Good to see you, Nixy. Don't be a stranger at the library.”

Don't be a stranger? I stared after her as she mingled with our other guests. She'd seemed sincere. Awkward, but sincere. Sherry and the ladies harped about me
making friends my age. Maybe Debbie Nicole and I could manage that.

*   *   *

When everyone had left except Doralee and Zach, we sent Jasmine off to get ready for her Friday night date, assuring her we could handle the cleaning up and putting away. While Fred took Amber and T.C. for a walk, the rest of us set the store to rights. In short order, we were finished and ready to open the next day. We'd even swept the floor and run a mop over it to get up any sticky residue. We didn't have food to pack up because the refreshment table had been decimated. Ida's pear bread was one of the first treats to disappear, which made me wish I'd held a few slices back for myself. The stuff was really divine.

We turned off all but the security lights in the store, and retreated to the workroom to perch on the stools we'd used for Doralee's class. T.C. had leaped onto a worktable and was trolling for attention. I bent to scratch Amber's ears, and my hip bumped into the easel. Our flip chart went flying, the pages turning so our notes were exposed.

“What's this?” Doralee asked as she bent to pick up the chart. She eyed it a moment, then turned to us. “Is this part of what you were doing to help clear me?”

“It is,” Aster said proudly. “It's our murder board.” She said it such relish, I was beginning to worry about her.