Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (22 page)

She went from the store to the vet's office to get Daisy some of her pills.

Her last stop before heading home to put away the groceries was Doreen's gift shop. She had to admit she'd hadn't been running around town much recently, but she was shocked to find the gift store undergoing a major remodel. Nobody had told her it was happening. It looked like a new wall was under construction about twenty feet away from the existing wall.

If the shop was going out that far, its floor space might be doubled. Easing into the shop, because there was so much merchandise and the aisles were very narrow, Theo hoped Doreen would not feel compelled to buy more, but intended to spread out her current inventory.

Queen Doreen herself stood behind the counter, giving instructions to Bernice Osborne. From what Theo had gathered, Doreen had recovered from a recent embarrassment, followed by a long period of rest and restoration, including a bit of plastic surgery, in Hawaii. It was too early to know if her attitude had received a bit of adjusting along with her jaw line.

Theo liked to shop locally when she could, and Doreen's prices were fair and the quality was usually good. Referring to her employees as “peasants” was unnecessary, but she always had consistent employees, not a big turnover—including the loyal Bernice and Rex's niece Chandra. Maybe it was just the public Doreen didn't care for.

Theo chatted briefly with a couple of women she knew, both of whom were disappointed she didn't have the twins with her. “Even if I wanted to bring them . . .” Theo waved at the narrow aisles and fragile merchandise. “I'm not sure we could squeeze through safely. Our stroller is
huge
.”

Waiting for Doreen to become available, Theo studied the bath salts and skin scrubs, looking for a present for a “secret sister” gift, when she overheard snatches of a conversation. At the sound of Hairy Rags's name being mentioned, she paid more attention.

“Who do you think will inherit?” said one woman.

“I understand he has a brother and a sister, plus there's always charities.” The second voice was more nasal than the first. “I didn't like the man, but I wouldn't turn down some of his money.”

Voice number one mumbled something Theo couldn't understand, then clearly: “What about the wife he had at the barbeque we went to. You know, the one a long time ago up at the Lodge, you know when we went to hear the world's most boring politician speak?”

“Goodness, that was so many years ago, I still had all my teeth. I do remember there wasn't enough free food to make the trip up there worth our time.”

“Do you need help, Theo?” Doreen's voice came from behind her, drowning out the conversation upon which she'd been eavesdropping.

Theo turned to face Doreen, hoping she'd remember to ask Tony about Hairy Rags having a wife. Theo smiled at Doreen, more from habit than friendship. “Ada Walker's memorial lunch and yard sale are going to be in front of the funeral home, in the parking lot, day after tomorrow. I'll try to keep people from blocking your parking area, but I'll bet there will be some overflow.” She saw Doreen's lips press together. “For the luncheon, I will need ten small buckets of flowers to decorate the tables, maybe something in blues and whites? I don't have an unlimited budget.” Theo pointed to a steel bucket about the size of a large coffee mug. “About this size.”

Doreen's expression softened. First and foremost, she was a business woman. “Something like daisies and cornflowers?” Doreen scribbled a price on a scrap of paper.

“Exactly.” Theo mentally calculated the cost against the money Ada had designated for her farewell party. She still had some left to spend. “She loved the combination of blue, white, and yellow. Is there an inexpensive yellow flower we could add, or yellow bows?”

“I think we can find something.” Doreen led Theo to the back of the store where the large glass doored coolers filled with flowers hummed quietly. She pointed to some bright yellow flowers Theo didn't know by name. “Those would fit in your budget or,” Doreen reached to the side and pulled a length of wide yellow ribbon with tiny white polka dots. “Would you rather have this tied around your buckets?”

“Let's do the flowers.” Theo knew Ada had loved flowers and hadn't been the ribbon and bow type.

“We'll bring them over when the tables are set up. Just let me know.” Doreen wrote out the order. “Anything else?”

Theo checked her list. “The caterer is bringing the tables, chairs, and food. Food? Oh-oh, my groceries are in the car. I'd better hustle.”

Doreen smiled at her then, a real smile. “What do you do in your spare time, Theo?”

Theo rolled her eyes. “If I ever get some, I'll let you know.”

The lab report comparing the fingernail samples to the minute specks found in the gouges on Ragsdale's neck proved negative. There was no proof the scratches had been made by any of the people they'd checked. The technician was careful to explain the results didn't mean much. The gouges had contained almost no evidence, and he wouldn't rule any of the possibilities out.

“Very helpful, indeed.” Tony frowned. “We chase all over the county looking at hands and have zero facts.”

“Well, if nothing else, we almost eliminated a few people from the scratches.” Wade flipped through his notepad. He looked up. “I'm really interested in the wooden stake.”

“Is there a size minimum on stakes?” Tony didn't know. “The thing didn't look much different than the handle on a wooden spoon, except sharper.”

“A lot sharper.” Wade handed Tony his notepad. “I made this sketch of the thing. It's got a point on it as sharp as if it was done with one of those old pencil sharpeners with a crank handle.”

Tony studied the drawing. Sure enough, with the diameter of the shaft and the neat point, it resembled an arrow stripped of its feathers more than his idea of a stake. “Maybe that's how it was done—with a pencil sharpener. Do you know anyone who makes their own arrows, by any chance? This thing almost looks like it could be launched.”

Wade took back his notebook. “Maybe one of the weapons enthusiasts uses an antique crossbow.”

“Now you're getting a bit far from our facts.” Tony leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. “It had no feathers and no notch. It is made from the wood of an extinct, or more precisely, an almost-extinct tree. I understand some chestnuts still sprout, but don't make it to huge. We think it might have been sharpened with a pencil sharpener, but how was the shaft made? Was it made so smooth by man or machine?”

“Before the old chestnuts died”—Wade's eyes sparkled like he'd won a prize—“were they used for arrows? Maybe this is an antique.”

The idea of another link with his family's museum made Tony sit forward with a jerk. “Please don't let this have been one of Mom's museum displays. There's already been too much death associated with the place.”

Wade mimicked him. “It has no feathers and no notch.”

Somewhat appeased, Tony took a deep breath. “We need more information.” He dialed the museum office number. Thankfully, it was his aunt and not his mother who answered. “Are you missing anything from one of your displays?”

“Does this have anything to do with your harassment of Orlando?”

“I did not harass Mr. Espinoza.” Tony sighed and rested his forehead on his fist. “The item in question might resemble the shaft of an arrow.” Silence followed his question. Tony wondered if Martha was still on the line.

“No, Tony.” Martha finally spoke. “I just checked the computer inventory our slave Celeste created. We never had anything like that in our museum.”

Tony thanked her and disconnected. He stared at the mess on his desk. The investigation just hit another dead end.

Tony and Wade were headed to Ruby's Café when they encountered Orvan Lundy again. Orvan was smiling and beckoning them to his side of the street. Tony considered the old guy's good mood an omen of bad things to come. Although Tony had come to almost enjoy the little man's confessions, they only occurred when Orvan was feeling a bit guilty or, more likely, lonely. A happy Orvan spelled disaster in the making.

“Howdy, Sheriff.” Orvan laughed at his own imitation of a cowboy in a bad western movie.

Tony watched as Orvan tried to hook his thumbs into his imaginary gun belt but ended up catching them in the sides of his overall bib. His shoe-polished hair gleamed in the sunlight. Oxblood instead of black. Very becoming. “You seem to be enjoying the day, Orvan.” Tony was not about to ask the old sinner why he was so happy.

“Yep.” Orvan cackled and slapped his hands against his thighs. “Betcha wonder why, don't ya?”

“I am intrigued.” And he was. To date, Orvan had avoided confessing to any of his own crimes.

“I kin solve your mystery.” Orvan's faded blue eyes sparkled through the haze of cataracts. “I seed who done it.”

Unwilling to be the only victim of Orvan's good humor, Tony waved Wade closer. “Orvan says he saw the killer do the deed.”

Wade appeared properly impressed. “Let me get my notebook.” He pulled it from his pocket and opened it with a flourish.

Orvan scampered around in a small circle, almost like he was pretending to be a clock. “Done?”

“Just tell us what you saw.” Tony smelled fumes as Orvan danced past. “I hope no one waves a match around you. You'd go up in smoke like—” He broke off, suddenly reminded of the fire. Moonshine and gasoline could both be used as fire accelerants. “Let's start with where this happened.”

Lower lip sticking out in a pout worthy of a three-year-old, Orvan sulked. “It were at the ramp party. Us'n older folk know a thing from Hades when we see it. Have to kill 'em with a wood stake just like them vampires. Only difference is they is happy in sunshine.”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. It kept him from wrapping his hands around Orvan's scrawny neck.

“I ought not tell you 'cause he was doin' us all a kindness.” Hearing Tony sigh, he talked faster. “It were old Nem. I seed it with my own two eyes. They was walkin' past each other, and Nem pulled out his special stick and jabbed it in.”

“What did Ragsdale do then?” Tony felt like he was sinking in quicksand. Maybe the old guy needed an apology.

“Who's Ragsdale?” Orvan's cloudy eyes blinked, confusion furrowed his brow.

Tony wondered which one of them didn't understand the story. “Who did Nem stab?”

“Why that furriner. The count. You know, the one flying around an' suckin' blood with fangs an' wearing a black suit?”

Wade whispered. “Sounds like Espinoza.”

Orlando Espinoza's name kept popping up and Tony didn't believe in coincidence. Some, yes. But time after time? “Let's go have another little chit-chat with him. Maybe he didn't tell us everything the last time.”

“Like being stabbed?” Wade said, “I'll drive.”

“I can't imagine why Nem would want to stab Espinoza, can you?” Tony rummaged in a pocket for antacids. “Actually, I can't imagine their paths would ever cross except at the festival.”

“Maybe he's hot for your aunt too. I'll bet there is chestnut wood as part of Nem's house though. That building was put up when God was a boy and has been added on to several times, but nothing's ever been torn down.” Wade gestured to the radio. “You want to tell Rex where we're going?”

Trying to push aside the charming image of romance between his aunt and the elderly Nem, Tony no more than began talking when Rex cut in.

“I think you and Wade better postpone your trip. Sheila and Darren are both involved with other calls, and there's a situation.” Rex's calm voice briskly relayed a report of a man with a rifle driving a motorized grocery cart headed toward town. “The sign bandit rides again. This time he's on a stolen vehicle.”

Wade turned his car and headed the other direction. He glanced at Tony. “It would be nice to clear up at least one mystery.”

Tony agreed. For months someone had been destroying signs, all kinds of signs, everything from speed limits to stop signs and road markers. Their shooter preferred a twenty-two. He knew, because he and his staff had measured hundreds of holes.

When they approached the four-way stop at the bottom of the hill and looked to the right, Tony saw a motorized grocery cart. A sign on it clearly identified it as property of their local grocery store. The valuable cart was for customers unable to walk and shop, not for some idiot joyriding and destroying public property. Tony squinted but couldn't recognize the thief from this angle. “Do you suppose he knows stealing the cart is a felony?”

The driver eased to a stop, reached into the front basket, picked up a rifle, and fired. Six shots. All pinged loudly as they smacked into the metal stop sign and punched holes in the red octagon. With a satisfied grin, the driver placed the rifle back into the basket and grabbed the handlebar. He glanced over, still smiling, and waved to Tony, who sat on the passenger seat with the window down, before driving into the intersection.

Sid Lundy, Orvan's cousin, had been described as having a turnip for a brain. Tony thought it seemed wrong to malign an innocent and comparatively intelligent vegetable.

Wade made a sharp turn onto the dirt road. He flipped the light bar on and followed the cart, even as he talked to dispatch. “I'm not making this up, Rex. It's Sid Lundy. He actually waved at the sheriff right after he shot the sign.” Wade honked his horn and grinned. The driver flinched but didn't pull over.

Tony reached for the vehicle's microphone. “Sid Lundy, this is Sheriff Abernathy. Stop the cart.”

The cart stopped in the center of the road. Tony was gratified, if a little surprised, when the driver followed his instructions.

Wade swerved to avoid hitting the cart as he drove past it and stopped, his lights flashing a warning. “You think he'll shoot at us?”

“I doubt it, but I'm not dumb enough to risk it.” Sid was Orvan's equal in cantankerous nature, but not as bright. Tony used the microphone again. “Sid, lay the rifle on the ground and put your hands up.”

There was a long pause while the cart thief sat motionless as if considering his options.

Wade took the microphone. “Sid Lundy, this is Wade Claybough, I'm getting my rifle and I'll fire a round right up the barrel of that twenty-two of yours if you don't place it very gently on the ground. You know me and you know my rifle's not a twenty-two. Do it now.”