The Feed Store Floozy (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

“So Mary Lynn said when Brice got upstairs, he found four rooms, two on either side of a parlor, all fully furnished and obviously not a hotel or a boarding house.” Penelope dished the potatoes and carrots into a bowl and set them on the table where Jake and Sam sat waited expectantly.

“How could he tell?” Sam asked.

Jake stopped unfolding his napkin and gave Sam a look of pure disgust. “You’re asking how he could tell it wasn’t a nice family-friendly boarding house?”

Sam laug
hed. “I’m sure it wasn’t, but what I meant was, what kind of furnishings made it so obvious?”

“Oh.” Jake spread his napkin in his lap. “I was beginning to get a little worried about a man of the world not knowing these things.”

“How do
you
know these things, Daddy?” Penelope plopped the pot roast, so tender it was falling apart, onto a platter and brought it to the table. She glanced around. “Veggies, roast, hot rolls, butter—anything else anybody needs before I sit down?”

“Sit,” Sam said. “I can wait table if I have to.”

Jake and Penelope bowed their heads and made the sign of the Cross. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord,” Jake intoned, then crossed himself again. Penelope followed suit, noticing Sam had bowed his head but that was all.
What made you lapse, Sam? Were you committed to begin with? I can’t imagine anything bad enough to make me lose my faith. When things get bad, that’s when I need it most.

“Help yourself,” Penelope said. “Daddy, what was in that building when you were growing up here?”

“A general store, as far as I remember.”

“A grocery store?” Sam asked.

“Not like you think about grocery stores these days. Not a supermarket by any means. There were groceries, staples and such, hardware, dry goods, a little of everything. I think I remember some produce bins out front, but before you ask, no, I never swiped an apple from one of them. My mamma would’ve taken a strap to me. She was little, but she was tough.”

“I can’t believe nobody ever went upstairs before now,” Penelope said, reaching for a roll.

“Oh, I expect they did, Nellie.”

“Who owned it?”

Jake frowned. “I don’t really know. The people with the general store were named Maris. Or Ferris. It’s been a long time.”

“When did it close up?” Penelope persisted.

“Before you were born. Maybe right after the war. That’s about the time the Garden Market bunch came in here.”

“And then it was a feed store?”

“Not for long. I remember a big Feed and Seed sign out front for a while. A lot of the small farms sold out in the 50s, so there just weren’t enough customers.”

“I still can’t believe nobody said anything about the upstairs before now.”

“It’s only been in the last twenty or thirty years people talked openly about such things,” Sam said. “This is an old town. I’d be willing to bet somebody built that place as a saloon before it was a general store or a feed store. And every saloon had its girls.”

“Miss Kitty would never have put up with that sort of goings on at the Long Branch,” Jake said. He grinned. “’Course
, I’m sure she and the marshal…”

“Daddy.”

“We’re all big boys and girls, Nellie.” He peered across the table. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, you are.”

“Stop it, both of you.”

Jake and Sam exchanged glances. “Good dinner, Nellie. Mighty good dinner.”

****

Sam helped Penelope load the dishwasher. “Let’s take a walk,” he suggested as he wiped the table and stacked the placemats.

“Where?”

“Downtown.”

“You want to see that you-know-what, don’t you?”

“Aw, Nell, I’m a man.”

“Believe me, I blessed know that.”

“Not as well as I’d like for you to.”

“Don’t start.” She switched off the light over the sink. “Mary Lynn is mortified.”

“I’ll bet she’s not.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Who are you if I run into anybody I know, and I probably will.”

“Just Sam. Your friend from the Bronx.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “That’ll raise some eyebrows in a little southern town.”

He held the screen door for her. “Don’t worry about it.”

****

“They sure roll up the sidewalks around here, don’t they?” Sam asked as he surveyed the deserted square.

“Everybody goes home at night—where they belong.”

“I’m not criticizing the town. I sort of like it.”

“I love it. It’s my home.”

He squeezed her hand. “It’s solid. Like you, Nell.”

“That’s it over there,” she said, pointing to the dark shape barely visible in the gathering dusk. “It’s been empty for as long as I can remember.”

“Who is this Brice Dolan who bought it?”

“He owns the Daisy Café and some other property around here, but he lives in Little Rock.”

“Not a hometown boy then.”

“Yes and no. He’s around my age. I think he graduated a year before I did, but he went off to college and never lived here after that. He inherit
ed his parents’ house, sold it, and bought the café when Harry was trying to keep the town afloat, but it’s paid for itself.”

“What does he do in Little Rock?”

“He’s an antique dealer. A nice guy, as far as I know.  Married and has a couple of kids a little younger than Bradley.”

They mounted the four wooden steps to the porch, where Sam tried to peer through the lone window. “Sure is dark in there.”

“What do you expect? I’m sure the power has been turned off for years.”

“I’d
like to get a look inside.”

“I’ll just bet you would, and I’m sure you will, but you’ll do it without me.”

“That’s no fun.” He hugged her against him. “Sorry. On the bright side, maybe Harry can take the furnishings out of here and add them to the museum.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’s part of the town’s history, too.”

“Can’t you just see it now—the Main Street Brothel display. Every minister in this town, including Fr. Loeffler, would rally against it. I wouldn’t like it much either.”

“It’s the oldest profession, you know.”

“Maybe so, but the idea of it flourishing here in Amaryllis goes against the grain.”

“It’s still flourishing,” Sam said, his voice changing from teasing to terse. “It’s everywhere, and you wouldn’t believe…” He stopped. “Well, it’s not important. Let’s walk over to the park. I’ll push you in the swing.”

CHAPTER FOUR

After lunch the next day, Penelope left Sam and Jake watching
Gilligan’s Island
and drove to the library. “Did you hear about the feed store?” Shana greeted her from behind the desk.

“Mary Lynn died all over my kitchen table telling me about it.”

“I’ll bet. This town’s secrets just get juicier and juicier. If Mayor Hargrove doesn’t let me write its history, I’m going to be really mad. Maybe I’ll be mad enough to ask for a raise.”

“The Town Council would love that.”

“So I’ll use it as a bribe to put pressure on Mr. Mayor.”

“Have you looked in the card catalogue to see if there are any books on Arkansas history that might mention Amaryllis?”

“The card catalogue went out with the twentieth century,” Shana said. “I have everything on computer now. Actually, Abigail Talbot picked up the database where I left off.”

“She knew her business,” Penelope said, “but I didn’t want her marrying my son. I’m glad you’re back—for a variety of reasons.”

“Rosabel came in yesterday. She says the house is coming along, but they’re still planning a Christmas wedding.”

“The future mother-in-law is the last to know.”

“Oh, come off it, Penelope.”

“I’m joking. So how about it? Any books?”

“Nope. And you’re the second person to ask me that today.”

“Oh? Who was the first?”

“A man named Brice Dolan. He’s the one who…”

“Bought the feed store and discovered the second floor sin parlor,” Penelope finished.

“I sent him to the archives in Little Rock.”

“I didn’t find anything about it when I was digging into the town’s history.”

“You weren’t looking for that sort of thing. Anyway, he was looking specifically for microfilmed newspapers. He said Hal Green at the
Bugle
told him the paper had been around almost as long as the town, and when he took over, he sent the bound volumes of back issues over to the historical commission. Brice says they probably microfilmed them to save storage space.”

“Interesting.”

“I had another thought after he left.”

“What’s that?” Penelope settled herself in a chair behind the desk, knowing her visit would be a long one.

“Old police records.”

“I remember when Bradley was looking for something on Vincent Ives, he said all the old records were in cartons downstairs in the basement of the police department, probably moldering away.”

“They’re so old they shouldn’t be confidential anymore. Maybe they need to be sent to Little Rock.”

“They were never confidential, not really. That sort of thing is a matter of public record.”

“Then…” Shana hesitated, leaving the unasked question hanging in the air.

“Read my lips—I am not plowing through one more box of papers as long as I live.”

Shana stuck out her bottom lip. “Be that way then. I’ll mention it to Rosabel.”

“Who has other things on her mind besides digging up information on the local bawdy house.”

“You never know.”

“I know.  I’m going over to Mary Lynn’s now.”

“She’s not home.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she’s in the back room looking at the inventory lists of those papers you got from the county clerk last spring. The ones Mrs. Taylor bribed you with.”

“Don’t remind me. And it wasn’t a bribe—it was a threat. Get the boxes out of her way if we wanted any more information. So why is M
ary Lynn going through them now for blessed Pete’s sake?”

“She says her husband’s great-grandfather owned the building when it was new, and she thinks she can find some information in all those old Town Council minutes and deeds that never got recorded.”

Penelope threw up her hands and started around the desk. “It’s days like this that make me wonder why I ever got out of bed.”

“You had to feed the Gray Ghost.” Shana didn’t meet Penelope’s eyes.

“How did—oh, never mind.” Penelope opened the door to the back room. “Mary Lynn, you’re insane if you think you’re going to find anything in those old papers.”

Mary Lynn Hargrove looked up from where she sat sprawled in the floor with a folder of papers in her lap.
“Hush up, Pen. I already found it. Harry’s mother’s grandfather put up that building. A saloon. The Main Street Saloon, proprietor one Malachi Sanborn.”

“So what?”

Mary Lynn tossed the folder back in the box beside her. “According to the Town Council minutes for September, 1883, Jeremiah Bowden raised Cain about a saloon in ‘his’ town.”

“But the C
ouncil allowed it anyway.”

“They sure did.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mary Lynn. Jeremiah Bowden’s busy haunting the basement at the old school, and Malachi Sanborn is six feet under in the city cemetery. They’re not going to be at each other’s throats again.”

Mary Lynn unfolded herself and got to her feet. “Harry says the family story was that Malachi got himself
shot in the saloon, and his widow closed it and sold the building almost before he was cold.”

“I guess I can’t blame her.”

“So take another guess at who shot him.”

“No clue. Jeremiah?”

“No. Harry says it was Daniel Dolan, one of the Town Council members back then.”

“As in Brice Dolan?”

“Same family.”

“So did he hang for murder?”

“Harry doesn’t know. If it was a fair fight, he didn’t.”

“And Harry’s family didn’t know what was upstairs?”

“He says they didn’t.”

“And at this late date, nobody cares. Let’s go get some iced tea at The Garden Spot.”

“Somebody cares. Oh, yeah, somebody cares.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“Harry said he ran into Hal Green this morning. Hal told him about advising Brice to check out the microfilmed newspapers in the archives. And Brice promised him an exclusive story.”

“You know Hal won’t play up anything that could hurt Amaryllis.”

“He was practically drooling over what he’s going to write—a whole series of articles. Says it’ll bring in more people, and he hopes Brice will give tours.”

“So what’s the harm in that?”

Mary Lynn scowled. “If you don’t know, then I can’t explain it.”

“You’re being silly. Who cares what somebody’s ancestor did over a hundred years ago?”

“Harry cares, so I do, too.” She swept past Penelope without saying goodbye.