Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (23 page)

There I found a group shot of students standing on a homecoming float. Whitman was pictured waving at the crowd. And eureka! Bryan Hardy stood next to her. I enlarged the photo on my tablet, even used Sherry’s magnifying glass to be certain.

Which didn’t mean they actually knew each other, but it documented them being at the same place at the same time at least once.

Hmm. Would the student newspaper have run an article about Whitman’s death? I jumped ahead to a spring issue published after her death. The short piece proved skimpy on facts other than listing Whitman’s activities and praising her as an outstanding student. It did state that authorities believed she had been the victim of a prank, but others involved had not come forward, and the homeowner who shot her was not being charged.

Something niggled at me, so I went back to Whitman’s sorority photo. I studied the page, the entire page, and saw it. I sprinted to the kitchen, fished the piece of paper I wanted out of the trash, and brought it back to compare.

The finial appeared at the bottom right corner of the online yearbook page. Whitman’s photo was near it, complete with the scarf draped over her arm, and the birthmark at the bend of her elbow. Same-sized mark. Same shape.

The torn paper in my hand had been part of the yearbook page in Hellspawn’s binder. A solid piece of evidence.

I sank against the sofa back and strove to order my thoughts. Okay, so what did this mean?

As Patricia could attest, Hellspawn was a known blackmailer.

Did she blackmail the killer into being her accomplice by showing him the yearbook page?

If so, did that mean Hellspawn’s killer was the prankster, or one of a group of them, responsible for Whitman’s death?

Following that line of reasoning, the killer had taken the yearbook page and ripped it to pieces to break the connections among him, Whitman, and Hellspawn herself.

Logical, although I’d have buried or burned the pieces.

The only person I knew of who currently lived in Lilyvale and had attended Fairlaine with both women was Bryan Hardy. He had a reputation to protect. A law career to protect, for heaven’s sake. True, I’d not heard he was ever seen with Hellspawn, but if they were conspirators, they wouldn’t want to look too cozy, now would they?

Memories flashed of my conversations with Hardy. All but accusing Sherry of the murder. Warning me off snooping. Fishing for information about the evidence. Heck, fishing for information about Clark’s condition. Afraid his buddy would forget how to play golf? Lame.

I looked at the time on my tablet, shocked that it was almost eleven. Call my detective friend tonight or not? I sighed and called, left a message, and plugged in my tablet and phone to charge for the road trip.

And hoped Shoar would have the case solved tomorrow.

•   •   •

SUNDAY MORNING DAWNED CLOUDLESS AND
pleasantly cool, and the Six and I were dressed, fed, and ready to get on the road at ten.

Then I remembered Trudy’s basket. I phoned to let her know I’d bring it by, but she didn’t answer. Which I found odd, but after all she’d been through, I figured she’d slept in.

“Y’all don’t need to wait for me,” I told the Six.

“You bring Sherry,” Dab said, “I’ll drive the rest of us, and Eleanor can call your cell to let you know where to meet us.”

“Great. We shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes behind you.”

Dab and his group took off. As Sherry remembered something else she needed upstairs my phone rang, and I was startled to see my roommate’s photo pop up.

“What’s up, Vicki?”

“Nixy, you’re going to kill me, but Greg and I eloped this weekend. We’re in Vegas.”

I fell into a kitchen chair. “What happened?”

“My mother, his mother, and the guest list from hell. We couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Vicki, I’m not upset. Congratulations.”

“The elopement isn’t the issue. It’s our new apartment. We can get into it early—the fifteenth of May—but that leaves you with our place, and I know you can’t swing the rent by yourself.”

I bit my lip. “We’re renting month to month now, right?”

“Yes, and I can call the manager tomorrow to give our notice. The thing is, can you find a new apartment that fast?”

“I’ll have to. Or I’ll find another roommate.”

“Greg and I will put out the word. Nixy, I’m really sorry to put you in this bind. By the way, when are you coming back?”

“As soon as I wrap things up here, I’ll call you.”

Sherry was eyeing me when I disconnected and dropped the phone into my hobo bag. “Problem in Houston?”

I didn’t know how much she’d heard, but I shook my head.

“Just my roommate, Vicki. She and her fiancé eloped to Vegas to escape the wedding pressures. I’ll go get Trudy’s basket now.”

I didn’t turn on the basement fixture because light poured in through the windows. From the top of the stairwell door, Sherry tsked at me, then hovered there in case I needed help finding her stash.

I was on the bottom step when we heard the doorbell peal.

“You go on. I’ll get the door.”

I found the baskets were right where she’d left them last Saturday. I carried one of the last two by itshemp-and-blue-gingham handle, but stopped cold on the top step at the sound of a muffled voice coming from the front entry.

I’D HEARD THAT VOICE BEFORE, AND I KNEW WHEN
and where.

Monday night when I’d taken Trudy back to the inn. The voice had argued with Hellspawn in her room at the inn. Same cadence. Same energy.

The voice got louder then, and I nearly dropped the basket.

Bryan Hardy.

What the devil was he doing here? He was supposed to be where Shoar could arrest him.

Then another voice. Trudy, and she sounded frightened.

Last, Aunt Sherry said clearly, “Bryan Hardy, what on earth are you doing with that gun?”

A gun?

Acting on instinct, I quickly pulled the door between the kitchen and basement nearly closed. Just a crack remained, enough to hear Bryan herd Sherry and Trudy toward the kitchen. I looked for a weapon.

Fred, bless him, had installed two wooden racks on the walls on either side of the stairs. Low enough to reach, but high enough that one didn’t bump into whatever was stored there. Several hooks on the lower rack were empty and just wide enough to hang Sherry’s baskets.

Another hook held the strap of a long, heavy-duty flashlight, almost a ringer for the kind cops carried. Better than bashing Bryan with a basket, and bash him I would. I just needed a chance.

A soft thud on the table. Papers rustled. I peeked through the slit in the door but caught only a glimpse of the creep.

“Where is that nosy niece of yours?”

“Tending to the cemetery,” Sherry answered without missing a beat. “She’ll be out there awhile.”

“Call her.”

I heard Sherry move to the wall phone by the back door. Then my cell rang in my purse.

“Damn it!” I heard what sounded like my bag, phone, tablet, and all hitting the floor. “All right. I’ll deal with her when I finish with you two. Sit down. Right there at the table. Backs to the window. Face me.”

Chair legs scraped on the wood floor, and I pictured where Sherry and Trudy sat. Bryan would face them from the other side of the pedestal table.

Paper rustled again. “Here, Trudy. Sign your suicide note.”

“Jeanette will never believe I committed suicide.”

“I said sign it. Now.”

“It’s all right, honey,” Sherry Mae said. “Tell me what’s in the note.”

“He made me write that I killed Jill and attacked Mr. Tyler because he found out. Then that you and Nixy found me out, so you had to die, too.”

“What’s the last line?” Bryan barked.

“‘I’m so sorry,’” Trudy recited.

“It’s not a perfect plan, but a murder charge against you won’t stick, Mrs. Cutler. I get that now. That’s why you and Trudy are about to tragically die. And if you don’t drink the lemonade spiked with antifreeze, I’ll use the gun. You’re dying today, one way or the other.”

I shivered at the surety, the finality in his tone, and tightened my grip on the flashlight.

“But why kill us?” Sherry asked. “Jill Elsman’s death could have been an unsolved crime.”

Bryan laughed, and it sounded insane. “I couldn’t chance that. I wouldn’t care if you’d gone to prison, Mrs. Cutler. My aunt would love it, too, the old witch. But your nosy niece wouldn’t leave this alone. I know she looked at old Fairlaine yearbooks online yesterday. If she hasn’t put it together yet, she will.”

“Put what together?” Sherry asked, calmly and reasonably. “Why did you murder Ms. Elsman? What did she do to you?”

“Do you know where I met that piranha? At Fairlaine. She was a freshman, I was a senior, and I thought she’d be easy to snow. She wasn’t.”

“Snow over what?” Trudy asked.

“I pulled a prank with some other guys. It went bad; the girl died. Jill had followed us. She offered to keep quiet and even to give me an alibi if I needed one. For a price. She knew my political aspirations and said she’d call in the favor someday. I thought she was blowing smoke, because I never heard from her. Not all through law school. Not after I moved back here. Not until a few weeks ago, when she showed up in town. Sneaked into my damned office in a disguise.”

“You helped Jill vandalize Mrs. Cutler’s property, didn’t you? Everyone thought I did it, but it was you all along.” Trudy sounded more indignant than scared now, and that was good.

“She didn’t know I kept some of the crap from the barn.” He chuckled and it sent another chill down my spine. “When Jill wanted me to send poisoned candy to Sherry, I hired the same guy who blew up the mailbox to go buy two boxes. It pays to have friends in low places. A little doctoring, and I had candy for two. I couldn’t believe that went wrong. Hell, Jill never shared a thing with you, but she gave you the cursed candy. That time I underestimated her. I didn’t do it again.”

“What about Clark Tyler?” Sherry asked. “Why did you beat him?”

“That fool. He told me Lorna confronted him about Jill and his gambling, and then he hinted that he’d seen me in Jill’s room late Monday night. He wanted money from me. Me.” I heard a sound of disgust. “I’ll have to finish him later. After I kill your niece.”

By now I had gripped the heavy flashlight so tightly for so long, my fingers were getting numb. I switched the light to my left hand and shook the right to restore feeling. I was going to need it, and soon.

Something slapped the table. “Sign the damn suicide note. I won’t ask again.”

I heard a rasp, something lightweight being slid across the table. Then a click. I pictured Trudy picking up his pen to sign. Sadly, he’d probably be smart enough to take the pen with him.

“Good. Now we come to the main event. Where are the glasses, Mrs. Cutler? The sooner you tell me, the sooner this will be over. And don’t tell me I won’t get away with this. I know how to disappear. I’m gone when I’m done here.”

“Why don’t you simply leave now?” Sherry asked.

“That’s right,” Trudy said. “Killing us is just slowing you down.”

“Yeah, but it’s payback for pissing me off. The glasses?”

“The cabinet to the left of the sink.”

“See, that wasn’t hard.”

Hardy finally moved into my line of sight, his back to me. He tucked a pistol in the back waist of his pants, and I saw he wore blue medical gloves. And golf pants, a detail that oddly made my chills more intense.

His hands would be full with two glasses in seconds. Should I rush him now? I gathered myself to push the door open, hoping Fred had been as diligent in oiling these hinges as he had every other one in the house.

Suddenly, Bryan turned back to Sherry and Trudy. “Don’t whisper. Don’t even look at each other.”

I shrank back, my heart rate still pounding, and strove to breathe quietly. I’d get another chance to rush him. I
had
to get that chance.

The cupboard door banged shut, glasses thunk-thunked on the table. Then I heard a short bursts of a screech or scrape. A cap being unscrewed?

Liquid made a glunking sound as he poured the antifreeze-lemonade cocktail. Sherry couldn’t drink that. She’d been poisoned a week ago, and who knew what that had done to her kidneys or liver or whatever. Another poisoning, even if she got to the ER within five minutes, could be crippling to her health if not fatal.

Then I heard a ratchet sound that chilled me all over again. Pete the PI’s assistant had shown me how to work the slide on his semiautomatic, and it was the same sound.

“Drink,” Bryan commanded.

Odds were his back was to me. If nothing else, I could divert his attention from Sherry and Trudy to me. Sherry could run. Trudy just might be able to tackle the slimeball.

I eased the door open, and it didn’t so much as whisper a sound. I peered around the corner of the door to see Sherry slowly stand. What the heck?

She clutched at her chest. “My heart. Oh dear, my heart.”

Sherry met my gaze right before she folded to the floor. I knew she was faking the heart attack, except she hit her head on a wood chair seat with a wicked crack.

Trudy saw me, too, and heaved the table at the distracted Bryan, then hit the floor.

The thermos and glasses of poisoned lemonade flew at Bryan, and he fired. I rushed him, whacked his elbow, and he dropped the gun with a howl of pain and rage. He charged me, but I sidestepped and kicked the back of his knee. When he fell, I angled the flashlight at his head and swung.

Before I connected with Bryan’s skull, strong arms grabbed me from behind. I fought the hold until yelling penetrated my adrenaline rush.

“Stop, Nixy, stop. The cavalry is here.”

“Eric?”

City police and county deputies swarmed the kitchen around us. Hardy lay facedown on the floor, handcuffed but thrashing and cussing a blue streak.

I stilled in Shoar’s arms, panting for breath. Then I remembered.

“Sherry. She hit her head when she fell.”

I pulled away and rushed to check on my aunt. Paramedics knelt on each side of her, and the rest of the Six hovered nearby.

“When did y’all get here?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Long story, missy, but we’re part of the rescue team.”

“Okay.” Was I still dazed?

Could be, because my hero detective took my elbow and steered me into the back hall, where Trudy leaned against Officer Bryant. I sagged against the wall.

“He confessed to everything,” Trudy was saying. “He killed Jill, beat up Mr. Tyler, and poisoned the candy Mrs. Cutler and I ate.” She ended on a sob.

“We’ll get your statement. Just calm yourself,” Bryant said.

I looked up at Shoar. “How did you know what was happening? That we were in trouble? Did you get the message I left last night?”

“Not until this morning. By then I’d followed the lead you and Trudy gave, made some calls to Texarkana, then had Hardy watched. When Trudy came outside this morning, he was seen forcing her into his car.”

“I was going to breakfast,” Trudy said. “He made me curl on the floorboard and drove around for a while before he parked.”

“I followed them in a borrowed car. He parked a street over, and when Dab drove off with Fred and the ladies, he waited another ten minutes, then drove to Sherry’s.”

“How did Sherry’s housemates get back here so fast?”

“They saw me heading toward the house and turned around. We had a convoy going.”

“Bryan would’ve recognized Dab’s car.”

“Exactly. When I noticed them, I called Eleanor’s cell and asked them to back off.”

I gave him a wan smile. “Which they didn’t do.”

“Not as I wanted, but it worked out.”

Just then, two officers escorted the now tight-lipped Hardy out the back door. But not before he shot me a glance of pure hatred.

I shivered, then straightened. “I want to go check on Sherry now.”

Eric nodded and let me go, but followed.

“Stop fussing, Eleanor,” I overheard as I stepped into the kitchen. “It’s a small cut and it’s on the other side.”

Sherry’s voice trembled and her face looked as white as the gauze bandage on the right side of her forehead. She wore a determined expression, though, from the set of her mouth to the steel in her eyes.

Eleanor was pale, too, as were the other housemates, but Eleanor jutted her chin at Sherry.

“I will not stop fussing. What if you’ve caused more damage to your vision?”

My heart seized all over again. “Aunt Sherry, what’s wrong with your vision?”