Sharpe Mind, Hanging by a Thread

by Lisa B. Thomas

  They headed to the back storeroom. Nothing.

  Tonya’s stomach began to churn, and she felt nauseous.

  Sandra opened a door leading out the back of the store. They walked down four steps to the muddy grass behind the building.

  A banging noise caught their attention. They heard a small cry like a cat’s wail. On the far side of the building was another door. Sandra bounded up the steps and yanked it open. There, in a ball on the floor of an old mudroom, was little Brandon Coleman.

  Sandra scooped him up, tears flowing down her cheeks as she carried him outside.

  Tonya stood in stunned silence. She blinked her eyes. She couldn’t believe it.

  “He’s here!” Sandra yelled.

  It didn’t take long for a tearful crowd to gather around them.

  Pushing her way through was a woman who could only be Brandon’s mother. She sat in the wet sod, rocking her son and crying. The little boy squirmed, but she held him tight.

  Tonya suddenly felt very exposed. Her long heavy skirt and shawl made her stand out like Rudolph’s red nose. She lowered her head and inched through the crowd toward Sandra’s car. Word of her involvement spread quickly. Just as she got into the backseat and shut the door, a wave of people came splashing toward her. She covered her face with her shawl.

  Onlookers were taking her picture with their cell phones. A police officer stretched out his arms to hold back the throng. A photographer’s rapid-fire flash was like lightning striking right in her face. Deena was talking to a man taking notes. Sandra was talking to another police officer. The squeal of the sirens seemed deafening now.

  Tonya lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She was used to being gawked at on the stages of Las Vegas, but this was different. She felt like a sideshow freak. All she wanted was to get back to the safety of her little house.

  Sandra and Deena got in the car, and they drove away slowly. No one spoke. They must have sensed her anxiety. When they pulled up in front of Tonya’s house, she was relieved to see Roscoe’s car parked in front.

  He came out of the house and rushed up to retrieve her. “Where have you been?” He was dressed in his street clothes and spoke without an accent.

  Sandra stood by her car door. “Be gentle with her. She’s had a big day.”

  As they hurried to the house, Roscoe looked back over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a hero.”

  “SPILL IT,” ROSCOE DEMANDED. “What did you do?”

  Tonya was emotionally spent. Her head hurt and her stomach churned. Was Roscoe going to be mad at her? It’s not like she had a choice. They practically dragged her out of the house. Slowly, methodically, she relayed the morning’s events.

  Roscoe found the whole thing amusing. “A hero? That’s a laugh. If you’re a hero, I’m the Pope!”

  Relief washed over her as she realized he wasn’t angry.

  In fact, he was practically giddy. “I don’t know how you did it, but this might be the greatest con of all! Imagine the publicity we’ll get. The money we’ll make. You’re a genius.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  Tonya shook her head. “But that’s just it. It wasn’t a con. It really happened.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “No, I’m serious. I think I might be psychic. For real.”

  Roscoe snickered. “Get out of here. Don’t be stupid.”

  “Well, how else would you explain it?”

  “A lucky guess. It’s not that far-fetched to think a kid might go to a candy store. Now stop this nonsense. We have to start making plans for the customers who are going to come knocking down our door.”

  The sound of cars pulling up outside drew him to the window. “Bingo. Here they come. Get in there and fix yourself up. Don’t forget your turban.” He raced to the kitchen to get the new candles to set out in the parlor.

  “I can’t!” she cried and sniffed back her tears. “Not yet, at least.”

  Roscoe’s eyes blazed, but then a smile crept across on his face. “You’re right. Good thinking. Always leave them asking for more. He grabbed his jacket from the hall tree and pulled the mustache out of his pocket. Patting down his hair, he turned to her. “Go to the back of the house. I’ll take care of this.”

  Relieved, she slipped behind the curtain and listened as Roscoe performed his magic.

  He opened the door and began speaking like the town crier, but with a foreign accent. “Good people of Maycroft. Sister Natasha wishes to be alone. Today, no visitors. Come back tomorrow.”

  He closed the door. His sinister laughter filled the room.

  She hurried to the bedroom and began to un-Natasha herself. A hot bath might make her feel better. For the first time, she locked the door behind her. A generous amount of bubble bath turned into an ocean of fluffy clouds. She immersed herself in the hot foam, her eyes closed, cheeks flushed.

  The sweet smell of jasmine filled her nostrils and took her back in time. Back to her childhood and that small Arkansas town. All she could think about was her stepbrother’s disappearance. Always in the back of her mind, today’s ordeal had moved it front and center.

  She was supposed to be watching him, but she was too busy talking to a friend on the phone. She was fifteen; Michael was seven. She hadn’t heard the car. Or the door open. Or Michael cry out to her. One minute he was there; the next minute he was gone.

  The police investigation turned up few leads. They concluded that her stepfather probably took him to Mexico.

  She slipped down beneath the bath water until she was completely submerged. If only she could disappear.

  AS THEY DROVE BACK to the shop, Deena was at a loss for words. Several times she started to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. Had she just witnessed magic or a miracle? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

  She felt the same way two years ago when she and Gary had gone to Las Vegas and watched a performance by the great magician David Copperfield. She knew what she was seeing was a trick, but she just couldn’t figure out how it worked. Maybe this “Sister Natasha” was the real deal. A woman with a God-given gift to see what others couldn’t. To know things others didn’t know.

  Sandra pulled up next to Deena’s car at the thrift shop and turned to her non-believing friend. “So, what do you think now?” Her Cheshire cat grin taunted Deena.

  “I guess you were right.” Deena opened the car door and got out. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t been there myself.”

  Sandra shook her head. She walked over and gave Deena a big hug. “Go home. It’s been a crazy day.”

  The boxes of inventory piled on the seats and in the cargo area of her SUV suddenly seemed insignificant. She’d wait and take them to her booth tomorrow. “I think I will.”

  She got in her car and waved to Sandra as she started for home. She couldn’t wait to tell Gary what had happened. As she approached Butterfly Gardens, one thought kept circulating through her mind. This was gonna make one heck of a feature story.

  Chapter 12

  When a person is found murdered with no obvious motive, the first place police go looking is into the victim’s family. In this case, that meant Barbara Wilde’s grandchildren—Katy and Travis. Their parents had died in a car accident ten years earlier. They had moved in with their grandmother who took care of them until they could fend for themselves.

  The coroner determined that Mrs. Wilde took her last breath sometime between eight o’clock and midnight on Tuesday evening.

  Katy Wilde had a rock solid alibi. She was working her shift at the Hitchin’ Post Saloon until two in the morning. Witnesses verified her story. The other bartender had called in sick. She barely had time for a pee break, much less for sneaking out, strangling grandma, and sneaking back in without being missed.

  Witnesses also described Katy as wholly devoted to her grandmother who had helped support her emotionally and financially. With Katy having no opportunity and no clear motive, the police moved on
to her brother Travis. The problem was that he seemed to have disappeared.

  These were the facts as Dan Carson knew them when he entered the Lucky Strike Pawn Shop late Friday afternoon. He had already filed his story about the rescue of the missing boy. As it turned out, there wasn’t much to write. Someone else would have to follow up with a feature story on the psychic.

  But now, he was following his reporter’s nose for news.

  The place was busy with customers who had brought in anything they could get their hands on to pawn for a little extra weekend spending money. Marty Fisk was behind the counter brokering a deal on a set of golf clubs.

  Dan recognized several of the employees, including Georgia Parks, a woman he had known since high school.

  Georgia stood behind the counter, smoothing back her fiery red hair and crossing her arms. “Well, Dan Carson. As I live and breathe. I never expected to see you here in our fine establishment.”

  Dan reached in his pocket and offered her his handkerchief. “Here. Use this to wipe that sarcasm dripping out of your mouth.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked up to a man who was looking at gold watches in the glass case. Without turning her head, she asked, “What are you doing here anyway? Shopping, I hope.”

  “No chance. I’m here to talk to your boss.” He pulled out his notepad.

  She looked up. “About what?”

  Dan snickered. “You’ll find out when you read it in the paper. You do read, don’t you?”

  Georgia mouthed something obscene.

  The man looking at watches turned around and glared at Dan like a would-be assassin.

  Dan put his hands up in the air and took a few steps back. Last thing he needed was a scuffle. “Whoa, buddy. We’re old friends, she and I. Save your chivalry for someone who deserves it.”

  When Dan turned around, he walked smack into a guy imitating a brick wall.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked. He stood between Dan and the front door.

  “I’m here to talk to Councilman Fisk.”

  The hulk turned his head and whistled. “Hey Marty, this weasel needs to talk to you.”

  Fisk nodded and walked toward the office.

  “Thank you for your help. And keep your eye on her,” Dan said, pointing to Georgia. “She can’t be trusted.”

  As Dan headed toward the office where Fisk was waiting, he tried to recall the root of the animosity between himself and Georgia. As best he remembered, it had something to do with a high school football game and his getting caught kissing her younger sister behind the bleachers.

  “Dan Carson,” he said when he entered the office, sticking out his hand congenially.

  “Yes. I know who you are.” Fisk returned the handshake. “Sit down. Are you here to ask about my re-zoning proposal? What happened to that other woman who was here the other day? He moved around the papers covering his desk, and then yelled into the store. “Hey Georgia? What did you do with that reporter’s card?”

  She walked in and pulled open his top desk drawer.

  He reached in and got it. “Oh, here it is. Deena Sharpe.”

  Georgia slammed the drawer shut and walked over to the doorway. She leaned on it like a character out of a Tennessee Williams play, looking sultry and foreboding.

  Dan snickered then turned back to Fisk. “Deena’s not on the story anymore. I am.”

  “That’s fine. So what do you want to know? I have a report here...somewhere...” He shuffled more papers. “...detailing benefits to the city.”

  Dan waved his hand. “Don’t bother. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  Fisk leaned back in his chair. “Okay, then. Shoot.”

  “So, you were pretty heated when you left Tuesday’s Council meeting, from what I hear.”

  “Yes sir. That bunch down there is dumber than a blond girl in beauty school. Ain’t none of them have any idea how to make money—for the city, that is.”

  Dan nodded his head. “Politics. Am I right? Whatcha gonna do.”

  “If they would just re-zone that neighborhood on the south side—”

  “The one where Mrs. Wilde was found murdered on Wednesday.”

  Fisk raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that one...then they could tear down those shacks and build an office complex or a factory or a shopping mall.”

  Georgia was still standing in the doorway. She winked at Marty.

  Dan tapped the notepad on his knee. “Those ‘shacks’ as you so kindly refer to them, are people’s homes. What’s going to happen to them?”

  “Maybe you’ve heard of a little thing called ‘eminent domain.’ Sacrifice a few for the good of the rest.”

  “And by the ‘rest,’ do you mean yourself? Are you planning on buying up that property for yourself?”

  Fisk sat up straight in his chair. “Is that any of your business?”

  “It’s the city’s business if a councilman has a conflict of interest.” The tension in the room was thicker than quicksand.

  Marty took a deep breath, his eyes blazed. “If you’re implying—”

  “I’m not implying anything, Marty. Calm down.” Dan shuffled in his chair. “Let’s get back to Tuesday’s meeting. You left mad that they wouldn’t approve your proposal, is that right?”

  Marty unclenched his teeth. “Yes.” He glanced at Georgia.

  “So where were you around ten o’clock on Tuesday night?”

  Fisk slammed his fist on the desk. “What are you, a reporter or a cop?”

  “I’m just asking questions. Don’t get excited. I assume you were in bed sleeping.” Dan nodded toward the picture on the wall of Fisk with his wife and two kids.

  “That’s right.” He practically growled the response.

  Dan tossed a glance at Georgia, and then asked, “With whom?”

  Fisk jumped from his chair. “Get out! Get out of here! I’m calling your boss! Somebody get me that man on the phone!”

  Dan didn’t hesitate as he hurried to the front door. He turned around to wave a salute to Georgia just as the hulk came charging toward him. He was out the door and into his Cadillac faster than a jackrabbit on speed. “You may be fast, but us weasels are faster,” he called out.

  As he drove away, he felt a mixture of elation and regret. He needed more information before he went to the cops. Fisk and Georgia would never agree to talk to him again after what just happened. Right now, all he had was his gut. But if his instincts were right, he may have just found a killer.

  Chapter 13

  “C’mon, Dan,” Deena said as she checked her watch. Any more coffee and she was going to turn brown. She stared out the window of the Highway Café. It was Saturday, and she needed to get her merchandise on the shelves of her antique booth.

  An elderly couple sat next to each other in a booth across the way. The woman cut her husband’s biscuit in half and smeared it with strawberry jam. Deena smiled, thinking how that could be her and Gary someday.

  The waitress leaned against the counter with her hand on the coffee pitcher, ready to swoop in with a refill. She chatted pleasantly with a cook.

  Deena picked up the spoon and rubbed it clean with her napkin. She tried to see her face, but it was upside down. She picked up the knife.

  The door swung open, and Dan trudged in, stopping to wipe his feet. “Clara, fix me up with some coffee, would you, cutie?”

  She patted the side of her silver body-wave and had his cup filled even before he sat down. “What’ll you have today, handsome?”

  “Just coffee, for now. Check back in couple of minutes.” He waited for Clara to walk away before apologizing to Deena. “Sorry I’m late.” He laid his jacket over the back of the booth. “I was at the police station.”

  She was all ears. “So, what’s up? And why did you want to meet outside of town?”

  “Because...I didn’t know if you wanted to be seen with me.”

  Deena’s squinted her eyes. “Umm, is there something I’m missing?”

  He t
ossed back his head. “Nah. Nothing like that. It’s about Fisk and the dead woman.”

  “That’s what I assumed. Have you found out anything new?” She leaned in as though they were sharing confidential military secrets.

  “The cops cleared the granddaughter, Katy. Now they’re looking for her brother. Word is there might be a fairly sizable insurance policy out there.” He motioned to Clara. “Can I get a club sandwich here please?” He turned back to Deena. “You want anything?”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  Clara nodded and headed into the kitchen.

  Deena pulled paper napkins out of the metal holder on the table. “Have Gary and I been cleared?” She handed a stack to Dan.

  “No one has come out and said it, but it’s pretty obvious you two weren’t involved. Did Gary get his car back?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “My guy down there did say that your husband’s car was the cleanest one they’d ever seen. Almost too clean.”

  “That’s Gary. He loves his little baby.”

  Dan gulped down his coffee. “Like me and my Caddy. But mine’s a pig sty.”

  She lowered her voice again. “So has anybody mentioned Marty Fisk?”

  “Not a word.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Clara brought the sandwiches and refilled their cups.

  Dan gave her a wink and waited until she returned to the kitchen. “I paid a visit to the pawn shop yesterday. I wanted to feel him out. Came away with two thoughts.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and reached for a napkin to wipe mayonnaise off his chin.

  His words hung in the air like yesterday’s laundry. She couldn’t stand it. “What? Tell me.”

  He glanced to the side. “Marty Fisk is up to something. He wants that property for himself. I don’t know what he’s planning to do with it, but it sure isn’t about helping the city.”

  That confirmed Deena’s suspicions as well. “What else? You said you had two thoughts.”

  “He’s having an affair with Georgia Parks?”