Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (16 page)

“That’s true,” Maise said. “I say we investigate full speed ahead!”

I MADE NOTES ON A PAD AS WE BRAINSTORMED—THE
same pad Eleanor had used to draw the layout of the neighborhood on Sunday afternoon. That seemed like forever ago.

We began with things we wanted to know about Jill Elsman. How to word the questions proved iffier. Sherry and the other women didn’t want to sound nosy—or worse, pushy. Not in a time of mourning, they insisted. Dab didn’t weigh in on the issue, but Fred scoffed, “Trudy ain’t in mournin’.”

As we moved on, never-still-for-long fix-it Fred clanked in and out of the entry, front hall, and parlor spraying white lithium on door hinges that didn’t squeak as it was. I hadn’t really noticed before how restless Fred was, but it was hard to ignore when his every clunk punctuated a point.

I steered the conversation to listing suspects and ran into a wall.

“I can’t think of a soul we know who would kill Jill Elsman, no matter how annoying she was,” Sherry declared.

“I don’t know of anyone either,” I said, treading lightly, “but Duke did threaten her with his shotgun.”

“Barker?” Fred snorted from the parlor-to-bathroom doorway. “Duke’d blow himself up if he fired that weapon. It ain’t worked right in years.”

“How about bashing her on the head with it?” I held up my hand when Maise and Aster made protests. “I’m playing devil’s advocate here. Duke offered to patrol the property during the meeting on Tuesday. Remember? Y’all said no, but what if he did it anyway, caught Elsman, and conked her?”

“Is that how she was killed?” Dab asked. “Head injury?”

I realized my error and grimaced. “From what little I saw, it was.”

“Don’t worry about the slip, Nixy,” Maise said. “We figured it had to be that or a stabbing. Something quiet. But if Duke had done it, he would’ve called the police himself.”

“Or come to us,” Sherry added.

“I didn’t say he was a good suspect, but we can ask if he was out late Tuesday night. Ask if he saw anyone sneaking around.”

“I suppose we could ask,” Sherry said.

“What about that Trudy?” Fred asked, putting his can of lithium and a faded red rag into the tool belt on his walker. “Cousin or no, she could’ve done it.”

“I agree, and she’s next on the list. Then there’s Clark Tyler.”

“I still say he isn’t having an affair,” Aster said.

“Not with Elsman,” Dab said. “Whatever Clark’s faults, I don’t see him romancing a woman like that.”

I cocked my head. “‘Whatever Clark’s faults’? What does that mean?”

Dab’s glance danced from roommate to roommate, then he shrugged. “Story was he had a wild reputation for drinking and gambling in Shreveport before he married Lorna.”

“Then Lorna inherited,” Maise said, taking up the tale, “they moved here, and Clark supposedly settled down. No more Shreveport gambling.”

Could that be the reason for the fear I’d seen in Lorna’s eyes today? And her mention of needing money? Did she worry that her husband was gambling again?

Sherry tapped my hand. “Nixy, you can’t think Clark killed Elsman.”

“I’m looking at potentials. He’s not exactly the ‘Welcome to Lilyvale’ poster boy, plus Lorna told me again today that Elsman cornered Clark more than once.”

“That’s right. When we ate at the café Monday, she complained about that to us, too.”

“Y’all told me you thought Elsman was greasing palms at city hall, and Clark Tyler is on the council. Right?”

“So you think she could’ve been bribing him?” Eleanor asked.

“Or blackmailing him.” That idea met with silence.

“Or manipulating other council members. Detective Shoar told me Elsman had lunch with several of them.” Again, silence.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to think badly of any of your neighbors or friends or anyone you do business with in town. But we have to think like the police.”

“Motive, means, opportunity,” Aster said. “Which all of us had, too.”

“Correct. Our problem is that Shoar specifically mentioned physical evidence that leads to Sherry first, and to one of us second. Sherry is innocent, and we have to prove it before the detective is forced to arrest her.”

“And just how,” Fred growled, “are we supposed to pull this off?”

“We start by noting every odd thing that’s happened since Elsman came to town, and then we list every person with any power that she could theoretically have bribed or blackmailed or coerced to get what she wanted.” I took a breath. “And then we ask questions. They may be hard questions to ask, but the threat to Sherry is urgent.”

No one spoke until Maise smacked her fist in her palm. “Damn the torpedoes, Nixy’s right. This is a mission to clear Sherry—and all of us.”

That
fired up the troops. While names and observations flew, I scribbled madly. By the time our confab broke up an hour later, we had an impressive list of incidences and a shorter one of people to question.

Maise, Aster, and Sherry went to the kitchen to fix supper and a little something for Mrs. Gilroy. Fred headed to the barn with Dab on his heels.

Eleanor gave them a wistful look before Sherry shooed her out, too.

“Nixy will set the table, Eleanor. You run on and ride herd on those two. No telling what they’ll come up with if you don’t rein them in.”

I set the table for the seven of us, remembering to bring in the extra chair for Dab, then asked about a plate for Mrs. Gilroy.

“Right there,” Maise said, waving a spatula at the kitchen table. “It’s only cold cuts and sandwich bread with potato salad, but it should do. I added two slices of apple pie to clear more space in the fridge.”

“Take the food on over to her now,” Sherry urged. “I’m eager to see if she’ll let you in again.”

I was more focused on getting permission to peer out her bedroom window tonight, so I lifted the double-layered and plastic-wrapped paper plates and trooped to Mrs. Gilroy’s. As soon as I stepped foot on her porch, I heard Charlie Sheen’s voice blaring from inside. I listened a moment. Yep, Mrs. Gilroy had an old episode of
Two and a Half Men
playing.
Mrs. G has a naughty side.
I chuckled to myself, then gasped when the door flew open.

“You already brought me enough food for a week,” she snapped. “This must be a bribe.”

“It’s a foot in your door,” I said.

She looked pointedly at the threshold. “Not yet, it isn’t. Is that apple cider pie I smell?”

I narrowed my eyes at the elderly elf I was liking more and more. “You can smell pie through plastic wrap?”

She winked. “I can smell the apples, and I saw Connie Jeeter bring food t’other day. She always makes apple cider pie for folks in troubled times.”

“Has she ever made it for you?”

“I don’t have trouble. Or didn’t till I let you in. What do you want?”

I smiled. “Will you listen before you say no?”

She peered up at me. “Must be something I won’t want to do if you have to ask me that first.”

“I know you value your privacy, and I don’t want to impose, but I need your help.”

“Because that handsome policeman went off with Sherry Mae today?”

“That’s right. I told him what you said about seeing and hearing people in the cemetery, but he needs more proof.”

“Thinks I’m blind and deaf, does he? So he wants to look out my bedroom window himself?”

“Uh, no, ma’am, he wants me to look out the window while he moves around in the cemetery.”

She pursed her wrinkled lips. “I’d rather have that young, virile policeman in my bedroom, but I’ll do this for Sissy.”

“You mean Sherry?”

“No, Sissy. The Stanton you remind me of. The one who used to live here. Don’t you remember me telling you that?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“Did you ever tell me your name?”

“It’s Leslee, but I go by Nixy.”

“Nixy, huh? Sissy would’ve liked that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gilroy,” I sputtered as she whipped the paper plates out of my hands.

“Be here at eight sharp. I’ll give you twenty minutes, then I want you out so I can watch my shows.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“By the by, are you tossing your cap at that fine policeman?”

“Uh, no. I’ll be going home when I’m sure Aunt Sherry Mae is safe.”

“None of us is safe all the time, but that manly body warming a woman’s bed would sure enough be a comfort.”

She shut the door in my face, but not before she winked.

I shook my head as I walked back to Sherry’s. Bernice Gilroy giving me dating advice? What a hoot.

I wedged my cell phone from my slacks pocket to call the detective. I would need to do laundry again, and shop, too, if I stayed much longer.

“Mrs. Gilroy is a go,” I said when he answered on the third ring. “She’ll give us from eight to eight twenty.”

“I underestimated your powers of persuasion with her.”

That deep, dreamy drawl of his suddenly sounded sexier. Dang Mrs. Gilroy’s power of suggestion about his manly body. I cleared my throat.

“Can you come do your end of the experiment or not?”

“Sure. I’ll come an hour early. We can reset the grave markers before dark.”

•   •   •

GOOD AS HIS WORD, HE PULLED INTO THE DRIVE AT
seven on the dot and climbed out of his truck wearing what I’d come to think of as his uniform—jeans, a navy blue T-shirt, and boots. Maise offered him dessert, and Aster offered sweet tea.

“Not now, ladies, thank you. Nixy? You ready?”

“I’ve got bags of pea gravel and soil in the wheelbarrow,” Dab said as he strode beside us toward the barn.

“And I got tools ready, if you need ’em,” Fred added, clanking along with the rest of the gang.

“Sherry,” I said over my shoulder, “why don’t y’all sit on the deck and enjoy the evening while we do this.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Detective Shoar, is the cemetery still a crime scene?”

“Matter of fact, I released it.”

“Then I’d rather supervise if it’s all the same to you both.”

Eric shrugged. “Sure, and Fred and Dab can help take down the crime scene tape if they like.”

With that, the older men hotfooted it behind the barn, Fred’s walker clanking up a storm. Eleanor, Maise, and Aster each grabbed a tool from where they rested against the barn wall—a rigid-tined garden rake, a shovel, a hoe. Eric hefted the wheelbarrow handles, rocked the front wheel to start the momentum, and rolled the bags of topsoil and pea gravel as if he were pushing a load of feathers. And, my, my, I did enjoy the play of muscles bunching under his navy blue T-shirt. Mrs. Gilroy would have vapors at the sight.

“Thanks for including them,” I said, walking beside him.

“They need a sense of control.”

Which was partly why I wanted them to help me snoop, but I didn’t mention that. “Still, you recognized their need, and I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said as we rounded the corner of the barn and headed straight on for the cemetery. “I still can’t believe you got Miz Gilroy to agree to the plan.”

“I think she only did it because I remind her of Sissy Stanton. One of my ancestors,” I added when he gave me a puzzled look.

“Yeah, I’ve heard stories about her. Miz Gilroy knew her?”

I lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t worked out the math on how old Mrs. Gilroy would’ve been when Sissy was alive, but I understand Sissy was a legend here.”

Eric tossed me a grin. “I have a feeling you’d be, too, if you stuck around.”

I wouldn’t touch that comment with a hazmat suit. “Come on, let’s get this done so I’m not late to Mrs. Gilroy’s.”

Sherry wore her bangs fastened in a clip again, and she looked paler than I liked as she surveyed the damage. She gently stroked the angel’s one undamaged wing, lips pursed as I approached.

“If I’d known what that woman was up to out here,” she said, fire in her eyes, “I’d have found Fred’s .45 and given her what for.”

“And I’d have helped you.”

She blinked at me in the gathering dusk. “Thank you, child. Now, let’s get to work.”

Maise called for all hands on deck, and it took less than forty minutes to reset and stabilize the markers. The angel was a lost cause, but Eric carried it and the broken wing to his truck. The man was as strong as he was kind. I scooted in the house to wash up while he helped return the tools and materials to the barn.

I had the detective standing by on his cell when Mrs. Gilroy let me in her home. Tonight, though, the lamp by the sofa and the television screen—sound muted—shed light on the minimally furnished living room.

“Come along,” she said, grabbing me by the wrist.

Whereas her kitchen was to the right, she led me into a short hallway that extended behind the living area. A small bathroom was at the end of the hall, the master bedroom to the right.

“There.” She gestured across the room, which was nearly as Spartan as the other rooms I’d seen. “I opened the window for you, just like it was that night.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Gilroy.” I went to the single window, hunched down to approximate her height, and peered through the screen before I put my phone on speaker. “I’m in position.”

“Good deal. Start taking pictures.”

“Not of my home, you won’t,” Mrs. Gilroy snapped.

“No, ma’am,” I soothed. “I’m just going to snap the view from your window. Nothing inside. I promise. I’m not even using the flash. See?”