Paint the Town Dead (8 page)

“I'm Randa,” she said when I knelt beside her and gave the critters a pat each. “I like your dog and kitty.”

“They must like you, too, Randa.”

“They do,” she replied with blithe confidence. “I bet you think your doggie's markings are tan, but my daddy would call it fawn. Like right here on her head. See?”

She pointed at the broad slashes of fawn on Amber's face that I'd supposed were eyebrows. The dog turned her golden gaze on me, and I swear she waggled those brows.

“So, Randa, is your dad an expert on dogs?”

“Some, but I'm a 'spert on cats. Did you know your kitty's got orange mixed with her gold stripes?”

I leaned in for a closer look as Randa ran her little hand
backward on T.C.'s side. I'd heard cats didn't like that, but T.C. didn't flinch. And sure enough, Randa was right. A few places were pale orange.

“You're very observant, Randa.”

“I know. I want to keep 'serving now, so you can go away.”

Summarily dismissed by a preschooler, I turned my attention to the game. Eric didn't wear a blindfold, just squeezed his eyes closed. The kids jeered him when he peeked, and giggled when they eluded him. I laughed and he swung toward me.

“Look out, lady, he's gonna get ya,” a boy of about seven hollered.

I'd never played with children because I'd never been around them. Growing up, my friends had been the youngest in their families. Instead of babysitting to earn money, I'd done chores for my parents and our neighbors.

But when that boy shouted his warning, I dove into the spirit of the game without a thought.

“He won't get us. Let's confuse him.”

The children and I called to Eric, and then darted away again and again until Eric threw up his hands and dramatically collapsed on the grass. I didn't follow suit, but I was more out of breath than I should have been.

“Hey,” said the boy who'd told me to look out for Eric. “You play good.”

“Thank you, so do you.”

“I know. I'm Brandon.” He said that like his name explained his prowess. I grinned.

A much younger girl tugged my skirt. “What's your name?”

I squatted to be at her eye level. “My name is Nixy. What's yours?”

She flashed a grin. “My name is Wendy Lynette Murphy, and I'm four and a half years old, and I have a loose tooth.”

“Nice to meet you, Wendy Lynette.”

The child nodded, then whirled and ran off.

“Nixy,” Eric said from beside me, “I think the party's wrapping up.”

“Aw, I thought we was playing again,” Brandon said.

“Not today. A storm is building.”

I looked up and saw gray-tinged clouds racing northeastward. Ah, Mrs. Gilroy's brewing storm. I'd been so distracted playing, I hadn't noticed the wind had kicked up considerably.

“Oh, gosh, Eric, the banner at the store.”

“According to the weather service, we have time. Let's start moving things in the house while the Six see their guests off.”

The yard emptied quickly, although several guests, including Doralee, pitched in to help clean.

Amber and T.C. curled up under a chair on the deck, safely out of the way as we ferried food inside, and separated the recycling from the trash. Eric and I folded the small tables we'd used at the emporium and stashed them in the barn. The kitchen was a mess, but the Six assured me they could clean up by themselves. Maise insisted I take food home.

“You don't have two crumbs to rub together at your place,” she scolded. An exaggeration, but not far off. I rather desperately needed to grocery shop.

After hugs all around, Eric hopped in his truck, and Doralee and I carried Amber and T.C. to the car. I stowed the paper bag of food-filled containers on the back floorboard.

“Do you mind a detour to the emporium?” I asked Doralee. “I need to help Eric take down the grand opening banner.”

“I don't mind at all. Do you want to drop off your fur friends?”

I considered that, but shook my head. “I don't know if they freak out in thunderstorms, and what they might tear up in the apartment if they do. I won't be staying long at the inn, so they should be fine in the car with the windows cracked.”

Eric and I parked in the alley and made short work of getting the banner down, and the ladder stowed away again. He gave T.C. and Amber a pat and told Doralee good-bye before he drove off.

The coming storm had sucked more light from the day, and the tinge of greenish-black signaled possible tornados. I drove the short distance to the Inn on the Square with lights on, and hoped Lilyvale had tornado sirens.

As I approached the alley, a dark mud-splatted pickup shot out in front of me, one fitted with huge tires. I slammed on the brakes and earned a warning yip and a ticked-off
yreow
from the critters in the backseat.

“Sorry, girls,” I said over my shoulder, then glanced at Doralee. “You okay?”

“Fine. I hope that fella slows down before he causes an accident.”

“Amen.” I accelerated slowly toward the stop sign at the corner. “People in Lilyvale generally don't drive crazy.”

“Unlike in Houston?” she teased.

“You know it.”

A right turn took me to the concrete parking lot behind the inn, but as I wheeled into the drive, I had to hit the brakes again for a silver Audi barreling toward us. I had a split second to recognize the four rings on the front grill, and another eye blink to see a woman driving the car, a man in the passenger seat, before the car swerved hard to the right, bumped over the curb, and disappeared down a back street.

“Geez,” I breathed, hands shaking. “This storm front must be making people nuts.”

“And it's not even raining yet,” Doralee said. “Well, we're here now, and there's a space next to Ernie's car.”

I pulled alongside the Honda Accord that looked purple but was probably supposed to be blue. Was this an older car? Is that how Doralee knew it belonged to Ernie? Or perhaps she and Zach had seen Ernie driving it. Whatever. I wasn't about to judge Doralee's relationship with Ernie, even after
the quiet moment I had observed between them at the farmhouse.

Thicker clouds roiled overhead, and the June day turned cooler by the minute. Cool enough to make me shiver. If it weren't for the gift Doralee wanted me to have, I'd have watched her get in safely and gone home. But hey, it wasn't raining yet. Surely I could get up to Doralee's room and back before a downpour.

As I set the emergency brake, Amber let out a long, mournful howl. T.C. meowed like she was in distress. I shot a startled glance at Doralee, then unbuckled my seat belt and turned toward the back.

“What on earth is the matter, you two? Did you get hurt when I slammed on the brakes?”

Amber and T.C. paced circles on the fabric seat, first one direction, then the other. Neither of them limped or otherwise appeared physically injured, but both were obviously shaken. Amber finally flopped on her belly, and T.C. licked her friend's head as if to calm her.

“They probably hear thunder we can't hear yet. My animals get restless in storms. Maybe you were right not to leave them alone at your place.”

“I suppose. Okay, girls,” I said, giving them a reassuring pat, then rolling the windows down a good six inches. Not enough to allow them to escape, but enough to keep the car cool for a short time, and give the pets plenty of ventilation. “You're safe, and I'll have you back home in no time. Have a quick nap.”

“Oh, a nap sounds good,” Doralee said, heading for the back door of the inn while I sent a last glance at Amber and T.C., paws on the dashboard, looking out the windshield. “I'm going to take one before Zach comes back tonight.”

By day, guests could get to the inn by going up the staircase inside the Lilies Café. Otherwise, they used the alley entrance. The back stairs didn't have the old character, but they were enclosed and safe from the elements.

Doralee entered her passcode, and I followed her up. I sure hoped Ernie had taken Kim and Georgine to dinner somewhere. I was not in the mood to run into them again.

The hallway upstairs had a high ceiling and was wide enough for three to stand abreast, but there were no windows to provide direct light. Two period fixtures from the 1930s hung on rods like a ceiling fan, but one light had a burned-out bulb, and the working one didn't chase the gloom and shadows from the hall. Lorna and Clark Tyler needed to spring for higher wattage, long-life bulbs.

“I know the key is in here,” Doralee said, digging through her purse as we walked the few steps toward her room.

I took my cell out of my skirt pocket and turned on the flashlight app. “Here. Shed some light on the subject.”

She flashed a grin. “You sound like Sherry.”

“I'm picking up a right lot of phrases from the Silver Six.”

“That you are,” Doralee said on a chuckle.

She balanced her purse on one arm, leaned against the jam as she felt for the key, and the door suddenly swung open.

“Huh, that's weird,” she said. “I'm sure Zach and I locked the door securely.”

It was more than weird. Something was off. The air was so still.

My flashlight beam fell on a form lying on the floor at the foot of the bed just as Doralee flipped the light switch.

“Oh my God,” Doralee cried. “Is that Kim?”

She lunged forward before I could react.

“Doralee, stop!”

Her steps faltered, and she glanced over her shoulder. “What? We have to help her.”

Kim lay on her left side, blessedly facing away from the door. Her head rested on her outstretched left arm. Blood pooled around her torso, and though I was frozen in place some ten feet away, I saw no sign of breathing. No rise and fall of her right arm where it draped over her rib cage. If my gut was right, Kim was beyond help. I didn't say that.

“She doesn't look like she's breathing.”

“She might have a pulse. We have to help her,” Doralee said impatiently, continuing into the room.

“Then be careful where you're stepping.”

She stopped short and looked down at the blood pool near, but not touching, her right shoe. “Oh.” Pause. “Oh!”

She backpedaled until she stood at my side, and I hoped she wasn't going to be sick. I felt queasy enough for both of us.

“Please, Nixy, you check on her. We have to do
some
thing.”

I steeled myself to cross the room, eyes firmly locked on the denim vest Kim still wore. I didn't see an obvious injury, but whatever had happened and when, she hadn't changed clothing.

I hunkered next to her head and, with my eyes closed, pressed my fingers to her neck. In three places, in case I wasn't doing it right. No pulse, and not a whisper of breath. Not even a twitch.

I opened my eyes, stood, and backed away, fumbling the phone that I'd forgotten I held in my hand. The flashlight function was still turned on.

“She's dead,” I confirmed when I met Doralee's shocked stare. “We need to go out to the hall now.”

I cupped her elbow and led her to the hallway, where she sagged against the wall then immediately straightened.

“Nixy, wait. What about Ernie? He has to be here somewhere. His car is in the lot. And Georgine should be here, unless . . .” She paused, her already widened eyes taking on an edge of panic. “Unless they've been attacked, too.”

I gripped her forearms to keep her from flying down the hall. “Doralee, try to be calm. I don't know where Ernie and Georgine are, but we can't look for them now. We need to wait right here for help.”

She darted a glance at Kim again, swallowed, and nodded.

I disabled the flashlight app, and then punched Eric's phone number, breathing a relieved sigh when he answered on the second ring.

“Nixy, you okay?”

“Yes and no. I need you to come to the inn.” I paused. Gulped. “Kim is dead.”

“What? Who's Kim? Never mind. Be there shortly. Call—”

“The emergency number. I know and I will. Hurry, Eric.”

I keyed in 911, stayed on the line while both Doralee and I leaned against the wall opposite her guest room. My knees threatened to buckle, but she seemed to completely wilt before my eyes, shoulders hunching, her expression turned
slack. And though she tried not to stare at Kim's body, her gaze returned to it again and again.

I couldn't blame her. I looked, too.

Maybe it was silly to have shut my eyes when I checked for her pulse, but I hadn't wanted to see her up close. I didn't want to see where all of that blood was coming from. I'd been through that drill in April when I found a murdered woman, and the nightmares had lasted over a month. But now, observing from this distance, I noticed a few strange things.

Kim was barefoot. I could see she had high arches. Her body was sort of curled in on itself, and the blood looked ominously dark as it spread on the aged pine floor. On her left hand, that huge diamond she'd worn all weekend didn't sparkle. I blinked. Was she even wearing it? Hard to tell. Even with the overhead fixture on, the light in the room wasn't exactly bright, and Kim's body lay in the shadow of the bed. I squinted. Thought I did see a band on her finger. Had the ring simply slipped sideways so the diamond wasn't visible? Whatever the reason, the ring looked dull to me. Perhaps it had lost its sparkle when its wearer died. A thought that made my chest hurt.

I glanced at the rest of the messy guest room. A black suitcase with pink polka dots yawned open on the unmade queen bed. Clothing, shoes, and toiletries littered the bedroom and what I could see of the bathroom. Even the pillows had been tossed to the floor. Sure, Zach might be a super slob, but he struck me as the things-in-their-place type. For that matter, so did Doralee.

Conclusion? Kim must've been madly searching for something. Perhaps the black opal? She either hadn't cared about stealth, or she'd been attacked before she could straighten the room.

“Do you think someone mistook her for me?” Doralee whispered. “We do look a bit alike, and she is in my room.”

“You have an enemy vicious enough to kill you?” I countered.

She blinked at my bluntness. “I wouldn't have thought so. Ernie is going to be devastated.”

I had my doubts about that, especially considering Ernie's conspicuous absence. No point in voicing my opinion. For all I knew, the guy could be in his room injured or dead. Georgine could be a victim, too, though a triple homicide of tourists in sleepy Lilyvale was farfetched. Instinct told me Kim was the sole victim.

A crack of thunder punctuated the scream of sirens pulling into the parking lot behind the inn.

Amber and T.C. were in the car. I knew they'd be fine physically, but I hoped they weren't too frightened by the storm. Or maybe the storm hadn't bothered them at all. Maybe their odd behavior when we first parked the car was due to them sensing death, and trying to tell us something was wrong.

Whatever the case, I needed to roll up the windows before the rain hit. Soaked seats in the Camry was a small thing by comparison, but a big deal to me. Maybe I could run and check on the critters. Better yet, run the animals home right quick.

“Ma'am,” the emergency operator said, pulling me back to the moment, “we haven't reached the inn's owners yet.”

“Shoot. I saw Lorna earlier. I hope she and Clark didn't go out of town for dinner.”

“I don't know about that, ma'am, but the responders will need a code to get inside.”

“Oh, right, of course. Just a sec. Doralee?” I jostled her arm. “Doralee, you with me?”

She turned her head slowly, as if it hurt her to move. “What?”

“I need your entry code.”

“Sixteen twenty.”

I repeated the numbers, heard steps on the staircase moments later, and then first responders swarmed the
hallway. I recognized one of the young paramedics as Ben Berryhill, but didn't know the woman who carried a black box, probably filled with equipment. Middle-aged officer Doug Bryant—Dougie to some of the oldsters in town—followed Ben, and female Hendrix County Deputy Megan Paulson had responded to the call, too.

“You okay?” Ben asked, his gaze touching both Doralee and me.

“Shocked, but not hurt,” I said.

He nodded and joined his female partner who knelt beside Kim's body. Officer Bryant watched them until Ben looked up and slightly shook his head.

“Let's move away,” Officer Bryant said. He cupped Doralee's elbow and ushered us a few steps down the hall from both her room and the stairs.

Bryant asked some initial questions and, with her permission, had just finished searching Doralee's purse in hopes of finding the elusive room key, when footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Eric strode into the hall, seeming to take in everything in a glance, including Kim's body in the guest room. He nodded at Officer Bryant, spared Doralee a look, then gave me his cop stare.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, Detective Shoar,” I said, reverting to his title under the official circumstances. “We just gave Officer Bryant the short version of finding Kim.”

“And I let him search my purse,” Doralee added.

“Thank you for your cooperation. Now who is Kim? I don't believe I met her.”

“Remember the disturbance we had on Thursday night at the gourd class?” He nodded. “The man was Ernie Boudreaux. The woman in there is his bride-to-be, Kim Thomason.”

“And where is Mr. Boudreaux?”

I opened my mouth to answer him, but a commotion erupted in the stairwell.

“I'm a guest here, I tell you,” Ernie shouted. “My sister and fiancée are upstairs. Are they okay? What's going on?”

Eric cocked a brow at me. “Mr. Boudreaux?”

“That's him.”

My detective issued a quick, “Stay here,” before the real chaos began.

I'd been on the periphery of the crime scene investigation in April, but hadn't experienced one this up close and in an enclosed space. Voices grew louder, more strident. Ernie's was at the top of that list.

“I wish that policeman would let me calm him,” Doralee fretted beside me as Ernie barreled into the hall proper.

“Detective,” I automatically corrected, as Eric stopped Ernie's charge. I didn't point out to Doralee how odd that might sound. Ernie's fiancée dead in his ex-wife's room, and said ex providing comfort. Suspicious only scratched the surface.

Torn between being antsy to get the critters home and plain old being nosy, I avidly eavesdropped on Shoar's rapid-fire questioning of Ernie. Not hard since they weren't but steps away. Where had he been? Walking, sitting in the courthouse gazebo. How long? An hour or more. What was he doing? Thinking. Checking e-mail on his cell. When had he last seen Kim? About three fifteen when he'd dropped her at the inn. Next of kin?

“She has a brother in Louisiana. Caleb Collier. I've never met him, but the contact information should be in Kim's phone.” He paused to swallow hard, and visibly regrouped. “Now what about my sister? Georgine could've been attacked, too.” He turned to Doralee. “Have you checked on her?”

Eric cut his gaze to me. I shook my head to tell him I hadn't seen or heard her.

“Ernie,” Doralee said soothingly, “she's probably sleeping. You told me Georgine took migraine medicine before you
and—” She broke off, cleared her throat. “Before y'all came over to the party. If I recall, that stuff knocks her flat for hours.”

“Detective Shoar,” I said, “can you check on Ernie's sister right now?”

“Of course.”

He led Ernie to Georgine's guest room door, and after a good minute of knocking, she stepped into the hall, pale and hollow-eyed, wearing yellow pajamas, the top buttoned to her throat.

Her speech slurred a little when she asked, “What is the commotion?”

“I'm Detective Eric Shoar with the Lilyvale Police, ma'am.”

“The name,” she said in all her disheveled dignity, “is Miss Boudreaux.”

“I understand you took headache medicine today, but did you see or hear anything unusual?”

“What are you talking about?” She faced her brother. “Ernie, what's happened?”

“It's Kim,” he said, anguish obvious in his voice. “She's dead, Georgine. Someone killed her.”

“Kim killed?” she whispered before her eyes rolled back and she fainted, collapsing between the two men. They got her back into the room.

Eric called for a paramedic even as he and Ernie supported Georgine back inside her room. When he returned to the hall, he called to Officer Bryant.

“Stand guard over those two,” he said.

Doralee had overheard, judging by her worried expression.

“Detective Shoar,” I said with a little wave. “A moment, please?”

“What's up?” he asked as he closed the scant distance between us.

“Is it all right if I go home? It's getting awfully crowded up here, and I'm just feeling in the way. Besides, I've got T.C. and Amber in the car.”

He frowned as the lanky coroner, Terry Long, stepped into the hall, adding to the number of officials in the space. “Officer Bryant took your initial statement, right?”

“He did.”

“And Ms. Gordon's, too?”

“Yes, why?”

“Nixy, Ms. Nix, would you mind taking Ms. Gordon to your apartment? Just until I can get there to complete your interviews. Officer Benton is guarding the door downstairs. Tell him I okayed you leaving.”

“I don't mind, but do you need anything else from us first?”

“Don't discuss the case, okay?” he said. Then he moved in close enough to whisper in my ear, “No questions. No snooping. I mean it.”

*   *   *

I parked behind the emporium before the storm broke, and with time to spare. While Doralee phoned Zach, who was still in Texarkana, I let Amber do her business on a strip of grass in the parking lot. I led the now-calm critters and the still-shaken Doralee inside just as thunder rattled the door and the first fat raindrops splattered in the alley.

Doralee freshened up when we got upstairs. I fed T.C. and Amber, stashed my care package in the fridge, and made a quick call to Sherry and company.

The Lilyvale grapevine had already spread the news of Kim's death, a fairly accurate version at that.