Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (19 page)

“I have another errand to run. Do y’all need me to bring anything home?”

“Are you planning,” Sherry asked, “to visit a certain detective? Tell him what you found out today?”

“I’m going over there, but I don’t know how much I’m going to tell him. I feel sorry for Patricia, and I don’t want to get her fired.”

“Do what you think best, child. We’ll see you later.”

•   •   •

I WALKED TO THE STATION, AND SHOAR EXITED THE
building just as my feet hit the little parking lot.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself. You off for the day?”

“Not yet. You need something?”

“To talk, but, um, we might want to do that here.”

“Why?”

“There’s a rumor circulating about us.”

He grinned. “I know, but I need real coffee. Want to hit the Dairy Queen?”

“I’ll buy this time.”

He assisted me into his truck, wheeled out of the side lot, and then gave me the arched-brow glance that made a few butterflies wake up and happy-dance in my stomach. Dang, he really was handsome. And decent. And—

“You wanted to talk?” he prompted.

“Uh, yes. What happened with the Hummer?”

“I heard Jeanette drove it home.”

“Does that mean the techs found evidence in it?”

“It means we finished processing it. Why?”

“Elsman was such a control freak. I can’t see her leaving her own wheels behind when she vandalized the cemetery. So I figured you might have found signs of her accomplice in the car. Something that points away from Sherry.”

“No comment,” he said as he pulled into the drive-through. “Latte?”

“Banana milk shake,” I said, as I dug out my wallet. Bananas were a comfort food for me from way back, and I needed comfort about now because I knew he wouldn’t share any details with me, but I had to ask questions. I couldn’t let up until Sherry was cleared.

When we had our orders, he drove again to the tech college campus. By then I’d sucked down enough banana comfort to calm down.

“What about your search of Elsman’s room?”

“What about it?”

“The man I heard in her room. You know, the night I brought Trudy back from the hospital. Didn’t you find anything that couldn’t be matched?”

“The evidence is at the state crime lab, but hotel rooms are a nightmare for matching samples. Too many people leave traces of their stays, even when the level of housekeeping is excellent.”

“Shoot.”

“Hey, I know you’re worried about Miz Sherry Mae, but don’t be. I’m doing my job.”

“I know. I just want this over with.”

“So you can go back to life in Houston?”

I opened my mouth to answer a resounding “yes,” then shut it. I sure didn’t miss taking orders from Barbra. Or miss the often temperamental, egotistical artists. Or miss the pretentious art snobs. And the Houston traffic? No. In fact, I didn’t even miss my apartment. My own bed was more comfy, but Sherry’s couch wasn’t so bad.

“Nixy?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you go to the courthouse today?”

I BLINKED AND REORDERED MY THOUGHTS IN
A hurry.

“I’ve been gathering family history information, and I wanted to research Sherry’s property. The history of Stanton ownership.”

“Come on, Nixy. You got Patricia to admit Elsman bribed her.”

I snorted. “Elsman threatened to have her son taken away. Wait. How do you know what she told me? Please tell me we weren’t overheard!”

“Patricia came by to see me on her break and confessed.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. She didn’t kill Elsman. She corrected the tax records. She’s welcome to keep whatever Elsman paid her, far as I’m concerned. I call it pain-and-suffering restitution.”

“That’s it? She keeps her job?”

“She was good at it before. She’ll be even more conscientious now.”

“That’s great, Eric.” I bit my lip. “You know, though, if Elsman bribed and bullied Patricia, she probably did the same to others. Like Clark Tyler. The Tylers seem to be having money problems, did you know that?”

“Nixy, I’m going to say this once. Whether it was someone Elsman bribed or bullied or not, someone hated or feared her enough to kill her. You think you’re asking innocent questions, but if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person, then I’ll have another death on my hands.”

“But—”

“I don’t want it to be your death.”

“But—”

“Or Sherry’s. You’d never forgive yourself, and what would Sherry’s housemates do without her?”

Mouth open for another “but,” I froze. No, I wouldn’t forgive myself if Sherry was killed. As for her housemates, after seeing the women giggling together today, I had an even deeper sense of how close they were. Dab and Fred? Well, the ladies treated them like brothers, and the men obviously adored the women as family.

“Nixy,” Eric said with a touch of impatience. “You shouldn’t have to think twice about putting yourself or the Six in danger.”

“I’m not. I’ve got it. It’s just that I hope you’re asking Clark Tyler some pointed questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like if he has a gambling problem.”

“I’ve heard that rumor,” he said, nodding. “What else?”

“If Elsman was bribing or blackmailing him, of course.”

“Of course, but if she was, it doesn’t mean Clark killed her.”

I arched a brow at him. “If you were gambling away family or business money, or both, would you want to face a wife with lethal utensils all over her kitchen?”

He grinned. “Lorna’s never struck me as having violent tendencies.”

“Funny man, aren’t you?”

“Have I made myself clear about staying out of this investigation?”

“You have.” Although as long as Sherry was at risk, I’d ignore him.

“Hey,” he said, and reached to cover my hand with his. “I’ll figure this out. Everything will be fine.”

He gave me a slow, sexy smile that about knocked me to the floorboard. Probably to disarm me after he’d chewed me out. It didn’t work, and I brought out my own ammunition. I gave him a sugar-high-sweet smile.

“We’d better get back before more rumors fly.”

•   •   •

SHOAR DROPPED ME AT MY CAR. I BEEPED MY
Camry open, threw my bag on the passenger seat, and paced to the driver’s side when I noticed Bryan Hardy waving from the courthouse lawn and trotting toward me. Great. What now?

“Ms. Nix,” he said when he neared. “Are you well?”

“I’m good, Mr. Hardy. Why?”

“Call me Bryan. I saw Detective Shoar drop you off. Was he interrogating you?”

“Interviewing,” I corrected.

His baby face took on a hangdog expression. “I have to tell you how sorry I am about Ms. Sherry Mae. She’s always been such a good woman. I know people can snap, but I never thought she had it in her to kill someone.”

“Snap?” I echoed, ready to snap him. “You have to be kidding. It’s ridiculous to think that my aunt would kill anyone for any reason.”

He shook his head. “But the evidence—”

“What do you know about the evidence?” I asked slowly. Dinah had said the prosecution didn’t have that information any more than she did.

“It’s a small town. People talk.”

I narrowed my eyes and stepped into his space. He backed up. “Who talked?”

He stood taller. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Well, hear this, Mr. Hardy. Anything Detective Shoar has in terms of evidence is circumstantial. If it were solid, he’d make an arrest.”

“We’ll see.”

“Yes, you will see, Counselor.” I moved forward again, and he fell back again. If I advanced on him one more time, he’d be in the street. “Sherry Mae is innocent, and I’m going to prove it.”

That startled him. His sandy brows flew to his hairline, and something shifted in his hazel eyes.

“I’d be careful about asking questions, Ms. Nix. Obstruction of justice is a serious charge.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a friendly reminder,” he countered, then turned from me when a querulous voice called his name.

“Bryan! Stop talking to that rude Stanton girl and take me home.”

He turned back to me just long enough to give me a nod. Good thing he didn’t say another disparaging word about Sherry. I’d had it with both members of the Hardy family.

I got in the car, locked the door, and pulled my suspect list pad from under the driver’s seat. I’d talked with Patricia and Kate Byrd, and believed neither of them killed Elsman or knew who did. Pauletta gave me some insights about Clark Tyler, and he was the only original name left high on my list.

Although after the confrontation with Bryan Hardy, I added his name under Clark’s. Bryan had been fishing for information from me, but why?

Mindful that Dab and Fred would be leaving the house early for the concert, I checked the time on my phone and saw I’d missed a call from Trudy. I took the cell off mute and listened to my voice mail.

“Uh, Nixy, hi. I thought of something that might be important, but I don’t want to talk to Detective Shoar until I talk to you. Call me.”

As I saved the message, a knock on my window made me jump. It was Vonnie from the antiques store, an apologetic smile on her face.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” she said when I put the window down.

“No problem,” I said over the sound of my pounding heart. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine. I’ve started our cleaning out and found some things I want to make sure Sherry gets. Do you mind taking them now?”

Much as I wanted to call Trudy back right away, I gave Vonnie a bright smile. “Not at all.”

The interior of the antiques shop didn’t seem as jammed with clutter as it had on Monday. In fact, the orange love seat and turquoise plastic chairs were the first things I noticed that were gone. Looked like Vonnie had sold some big items, too, and I hoped she got big money for the pieces. When I commented, she nodded happily.

“Several designers heard I was closing and came in. I sold a breakfront, a Hoosier-style cabinet, some metal lockers, and an entire 1920s bedroom set. I rather hated to let that go. One lady took about half of my mid-century modern things. I loved those, too.”

“My mother and I used to go antiquing. I remember a shop owner telling Mom that loving your stock was an occupational hazard.”

“She was right. You can’t keep it all, but it’s hard to see it leave. Except,” she added with a twinkle in her eyes, “when you know the right person is getting the right thing. Come on. Let me show you what I want Sherry to have.”

I followed her through a thick wooden door set next to an extra-wide metal roll-up door. Which made sense to have if you moved large pieces of furniture in and out of the shop. The back area, what Vonnie had called the workroom, was the size of a three-car garage with duct work and vents running overhead. Part of the heating and air-conditioning system, I guessed, and they made the space look a little like an industrial loft. Workbenches lined two walls, and a huge worktable sat in the center of the room. Another wall was covered with tools hanging on pegboards. Fred would love this place.

A metal door toward the left rear of the building opened onto a flight of steps that led to the apartment, where we walked into a space that functioned as much as a mudroom as a foyer. An antique hall tree with a golden oak patina held umbrellas, coats, and hats. From there, the open-concept living area extended the entire depth of the store downstairs. The living room furniture was traditional-comfy, and the kitchen had been updated in this decade. A fabulous crystal chandelier hung over a Queen Anne–style dining set. A reproduction, I guessed, but the mahogany finish was lovely, and the antiques blended seamlessly with the rest of the décor.

Except for the paneled back wall of the dining room. Not 1970s paneling. This panel job was a work of art, like something out of a mansion. The rich, dark wood looked out of place, and at the same time perfectly at home.

“Home sweet home,” Vonnie said beside me. “I’m going to miss this place and this town.”

“You’ve made it cozy, but how on earth did you get this furniture up that narrow staircase?”

She grinned. “We have an old-style lift. See that paneled wall in the dining area? Your relative Sissy had that built to hide the lift and to add storage up here. Clever, huh?”

I did a double take. “Sissy lived here in the loft?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Mrs. Gilroy told me about Sissy owning the dime store, but I had no idea she had lived up here.”

“She and her husband did until he died. Sissy stayed on for a good while after that. There’s just the one bedroom and bath,” she said with a wave at two doors across the living room, “but they are quite spacious. What was her husband’s name?”

“Josiah Aiken,” I supplied, remembering his and Sissy’s “in memory of” stones in the cemetery.

“Josiah, yes. Well, come look what I have.” Vonnie hurried to the two boxes resting on the dining table. “I hardly believed my eyes when I found this.”

She reached for a flattened box about four feet long and two feet wide that had obviously been spliced together and held with brown packing tape. She lifted the top flap with a flair, proudly pointing at a metal sign that read,
SISSY’S FIVE & DIME
.

“Are you kidding?” With a sense of awe, I touched the cool metal, rusted in places, but not as corroded with time or the elements as I would have expected. “Wow, Vonnie. This is amazing.”

“There’s a manila envelope under this with pictures of Sissy and Josiah with the sign. Now, the things in here”—she indicated an old hatbox large enough and tall enough to house a ten-gallon hat wrapped all around with twine—“aren’t family items, but I thought of Sherry when I saw them.”

“I’m sure she’ll love your gifts, Vonnie. And this sign is priceless. Sherry will have to hide it from me.”

“Von, you up there?” a man called from the top of the staircase.

“I’m here, S.T.”

“There’s a dealer on the phone. You want to talk to her?”

“I’ll be right there. Nixy, I hate to rush you off—”

“It’s fine. I need to get home with these treasures.”

“Let’s take the lift down.” She secured the sign box with three lengths of twine that I hadn’t seen underneath it. Then she carried her box while I took the hatbox. At the center of the dining area wall, she pushed on a barely there slit in the wood paneling, and two doors swung out to reveal a surprisingly ornate metal grate. Vonnie pulled a handle on one side and the grate opened accordion-style. I admit, I was fascinated, especially when we rode down without undue jerking or clunking.

Back in the shop proper, I told Vonnie to leave the sign box and take her phone call. I’d come back for the second box.

“You’re a dear, Nixy. Thanks, and tell Sherry Mae hi for us.”

With Sherry’s gifts in the trunk a few minutes later, I noticed that the square had all but emptied of cars in the short time I’d been with Vonnie. It was cooler, too, and the wind had risen. Felt like Lilyvale would get an April shower soon. I hoped the rain held off until after the concert.

And, if I wanted to hear Dab’s and Fred’s reports, I needed to get home. I’d call Trudy from there.

•   •   •

“I CAN’T BELIEVE VONNIE FOUND THESE RELICS OF
the five and dime,” Sherry exclaimed, tears in her eyes.

Sherry reverently traced her fingers over the letters of the metal sign where it lay on the kitchen table, then picked up the sepia photos of Sissy and Josiah. One showed them in front of the store, holding the metal sign. The other captured them standing under the sign mounted on the building wearing proud, wide smiles.

“Did she say where she stumbled onto these?”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“I will when I find her tonight and thank her.”

The hatbox Vonnie had sent contained four items, and each one Sherry unwrapped was exceptional. A corncob basket, handwoven with real corncobs, willow, and wicker. Another smaller basket of willow, dark with age, held a tin bird inside it that Fred said was a windup toy from the 1930s. The vibrant blues, greens, yellows, and pinks had faded, but the bird was sweet.

The last surprise had been wrapped in tissue paper and set inside a smaller, well-padded box. When Sherry eased the tissue away, she held a piece of Belleek Irish porcelain in the form of a woven basket. I thought it dated from the 1970s, but the age didn’t matter. The soft-ivory-colored basket was exquisite.