“Really? How do you know?” She chomped on a few potato chips while she waited.
He laid down the sandwich and took a drink. “Because, I saw them together. I could just tell. Also, I’ve known Georgia a long time. She’s the type to get in a man’s pockets.”
“Do you think he killed Mrs. Wilde?”
“Hard to say. He certainly has a temper. He basically threw me out of the place when he didn’t like my questions.”
That sounded like the Marty Fisk she had seen at previous city council meetings. “Are you going to tell the police?”
“Not yet. I don’t have enough to go on.”
Deena reached in her purse for her billfold. She didn’t want Dan to pay for her lunch. “I appreciate your telling me all this. You could have just called me though. You didn’t have to go to this much trouble to fill me in.”
“Actually, that’s not the only reason we’re here. I need your help.”
“Help with what?”
“With the investigation.”
Before Deena could protest, Clara walked up with a Styrofoam box for Deena’s leftovers and topped off Dan’s coffee.
What on earth did he need her for? He was a seasoned reporter who had won several awards for their small newspaper.
Dan grabbed the check and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “Put your money away.”
He said it with such conviction that Deena did as instructed.
“Look, if you help me out with this story, I’m gonna owe you a lot of dinners.”
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” She sat back and folded her arms. “Pryor banned me from the stories—about Fisk and the murder. Not to mention Gary and my lawyer. Why do you need me anyway?”
He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Fisk is doing something wrong, and I want to catch him. It’s one thing to build a business. It’s another thing to lie and cheat in the process. We don’t need people like that running our town.”
He made a good point. Outside the window, several semi-trucks flew by on the highway. She turned back to Dan. “You really care about Maycroft, don’t you? You could get a job at a major newspaper, but you’re still here after all these years chasing down stories.”
He put his arm over the back of the booth and smiled. “That’s ‘cuz I’m too lazy to leave.”
Deena shook her head. “You’re not lazy. I’ve seen your work. I used to think you were. Every time I’d drive by Grady’s, your Cadillac would be parked out front. But now I know.” She shook her head again. “You’re not lazy.”
He rubbed his hand against his face, seeming uncomfortable with the compliment. “No, I’m not. But, what I am is old-school. I like to work a story from the back door. When I try to go through the front, half the time they slam it in my face. Sure, I can get answers that way. But I ain’t looking for just answers. I’m looking for the true story.”
She smiled, knowing just what he meant. This was the kind of reporter she had hoped to be. Rough around the edges and not afraid to get her boots muddy.
He pointed to her. “You’re better coming through the front door than I am. They’re not smart enough to be afraid of you. Me, on the other hand, they know I’m working an angle. I like to surprise people. Catch ‘em off guard. Before they know what I’m doing, I’m done and gone. Got all the story I need.” He slapped his hand on the table.
Deena was in awe. This was the longest conversation she’d ever had with the man, yet she felt like she’d known him forever.
Dan took a gulp of coffee and waved his mug at her. “You know, you and I might make a pretty good team if I could stand being around you.”
“Around me?” Her back stiffened.” What’s wrong with me?”
“Look at yourself. Your hair is all smooth and straight. Looks like you have at least three colors going on in there.”
“They’re called highlights.” He was obviously teasing with her. She was more amused than annoyed.
“See, that’s another thing. You use big words when you write.”
“Such as...?”
“You wrote last week that the town’s Easter Egg Hunt would support philanthropic endeavors.”
Deena waved off Clara’s coffee pot. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Honey, this town has one foot in the church pew and the other in a pile of manure. You can’t swing a dead chicken in this place without hittin’ a red-neck.” He took another drag from his cup. “There’s a lot of people trying to make Maycroft uppity, advertising boutique shops and fine dining. You know as well as I do that most of those waiters at those fancy restaurants chickened out of going into the military and are living in their mommas’ attics. Now, they’re wearing monkey suits to cover up their painted lady tattoos. They can’t pronounce the names of most of the food they’re servin’ and probably couldn’t keep it down if they were forced to eat it.”
Deena chuckled at his long-winded diatribe. “You should really write a column—or run for mayor.”
He got out of the booth and picked up his jacket. “Nah. Then I wouldn’t have anything to crank about.”
Coffee sloshed in her stomach as she slid out of the booth. “Let me talk to Gary. I’ll call you later.” She headed to the door.
Dan stopped at the cash register. “You better not wait too long. We got us some criminals to catch.”
IT WAS A LOT HARDER than Deena thought it would be to convince Gary that doing a couple of interviews for Dan would be harmless. She had to play up to his civic-loving nature, citing freedom of the press, It Takes a Village, and a couple of George Strait lyrics. Finally, he agreed, saying he hadn’t seen her that excited about work since she got a new overhead projector screen in her school classroom. That was back in the ‘90s.
She down-played the possible connection between Fisk and the murder, knowing it might be too much for her husband to stomach.
Her assignment from Dan was to talk to Georgia and see what she could find out about Fisk and his plan—his real plan, that is. She had already worked out a way to distance herself from Dan and the newspaper. Her strategy was to flatter Georgia into opening up. Women loved to be admired by other women.
But as she pulled into the pawn shop parking lot late that afternoon, Georgia was pulling out in her yellow Mini Cooper. Deena turned her car around and debated what she should do. She still hadn’t made it to the antique mall, and glass items were clinking around inside their boxes.
At the last second, Deena decided to follow Georgia. She knew the woman lived in a townhouse on the north side of Maycroft. That’s probably where she was going. Out of the corner of her eye, Deena noticed something. Parked at the Palm Parks motel was a white van just like the one she had noticed the other day. Could it be the same one? She didn’t have time to stop and find out.
Georgia stopped at a streetlight, leaving Deena no choice but to pull up behind her. She grabbed her sunglasses and cell phone, lowering her head as though she were deep in conversation.
A few blocks later, Georgia parked and went inside Gail’s Nails.
Deena pulled into a space near the side of the building and waited as two minutes clicked off her watch. She got out of the car and went inside. Georgia wasn’t at any of the nail stations. On the sign-in book, she had written “pedicure” next to her name. Looked like Deena would be getting her toes done.
As the nail girl led her to the back, Deena motioned toward the empty chair next to Georgia’s.
Luckily, Georgia had her nose buried in a magazine and didn’t look up until Deena nearly turned over the large tub of hot wax.
Deena sat down and reached for the chair’s remote control. Smiling, she looked toward Georgia. “I just love these massage chairs, don’t you?”
Without looking up, Georgia gave a quick nod of her head.
Deena thought she sounded like one of those antsy passengers you get stuck next to on an airplane. She turned on the massage action, and a giant ball began rolling up and
down her back. When she hit another button, the chair began to vibrate. She set down the remote before she could do any more damage. The roller on her back caused her to sway a little to the front and back. She slid her feet into the hot, soapy water. It was her first pedicure of the season. Her last one had been in late fall when sandal weather blew out of Texas.
She needed to get Georgia’s attention. Start up a conversation. “Come here often?” The words came out like gunfire as Deena’s teeth chattered from the chair’s vibration.
Georgia looked up from her magazine and then over at Deena as if she had two heads.
That was stupid. This wasn’t a bar. She reached back and randomly started mashing buttons on the remote. The vibrating stopped, although the rolling seemed to intensify. She tried again. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Great. Another pick-up line.
Georgia twisted around to look at Deena straight on. “I don’t think so.” She flipped the pages of her magazine loudly.
Deena tried to calm herself by taking a few cleansing breaths. The girl working on her toenails seemed intent on digging out her cuticles with an ice pick. At least that’s how it felt. All the back and forth motion was making her dizzy.
“Didn’t I meet you at the pawn shop the other day? I remember that beautiful red hair of yours.”
Then Georgia smiled as she looked back at Deena. “Are you that reporter?”
“Yes. I’m Deena Sharpe. I’m not really much of a reporter, though. I just got bumped down to features.”
Georgia took the bait. “Too bad. Dan Carson came by yesterday. He’s a first-class jerk. I can’t believe I ever dated him.”
“Tell me about it. I mean...about him being a jerk. You’d have to be crazy to go out with him.” Oops. Wrong thing to say.
Georgia turned back to her magazine.
Deena lowered her eyes. The foot warrior had pulled out the extra-large cheese grater and was determined to extract a pound of flesh from Deena’s feet. What does she do, work out before coming here? Lighten up, lady. She clenched her teeth, wondering if that was a drop of blood she saw floating in the water.
Finally, it was time for the lotion massage. Deena snickered at the girl. Too bad for you I haven’t shaved my legs since a Bush was president. Serves you right.
As if the magazine were trash, Georgia tossed it on the floor and leaned back with her eyes closed.
Deena thought a minute, and then tried again. “I can’t believe you dated Dan. He’s looks to be twice your age.”
Georgia opened her eyes and cocked her head. “We all make mistakes.”
Deena started to ask if she were seeing anyone now, but realized she might end up engaged to the woman if she weren’t careful. She took a different approach. “I was really looking forward to talking to your boss, Councilman Fisk, about his re-zoning plan. I think it sounds like a terrific idea.”
“Really? It’ll make a fortune, you know.”
She was back on the hook. Now all Deena had to do was reel her in and throw her in the boat. Just then, a wave of nausea came over her. Between the boat rocking motion and the girl banging her fists up and down Deena’s calves, she felt seasick. It was all she could do not to lose her lunch right there in the footbath. She must have turned green because the nail girl reached up and turned off the massage chair.
“What color?” the girl asked.
Deena realized she had forgotten to choose a polish before she sat down. That was a big no-no when it came to pedi-etiquette. “Just use whatever you have in your drawer.” She turned back to Georgia who was admiring the lime green polish being applied to her toes.
“Bold color choice,” Deena said.
Georgia tossed her red hair off her shoulder. “I’m a bold woman.”
“What do you think they will build on that property if the city re-zones? I’d love to see an outlet mall there.”
“Build? Nothing is being built. He’s—” Georgia clamped her mouth shut, and her neck turned the color of her hair.
Her toenails were finished and the girl sprayed them with a fast-drying aerosol.
Georgia quickly slipped on her sandals, seeming to use the interruption as an excuse to end their conversation. “Sorry. I have to get back to work.”
It was Deena’s turn to stare with her mouth gaped open. What had Georgia meant? What was she hiding? Wasn’t Fisk planning to build on the property? The woman had been close to spilling the beans. Deena needed to get out of there and call Dan.
Looking down at her feet, she did a double-take. Staring back were ten little piggies dressed in fluorescent purple party clothes. Deena glared at the girl. To add insult to injury, she’d have to leave the shop wearing yellow foam thongs since she’d left the house wearing loafers. She couldn’t go to her booth wearing those.
As she waddled to the front door, she grimaced at her predicament. How on earth did Miss Marple manage to solve all those crimes without humiliating herself?
Chapter 14
As usual, Roscoe was right. The buzzer rang non-stop on Saturday as women lined up and down the street in front of the house waiting to have their fortunes told by Sister Natasha.
After just a few hours, she had a booming headache. Roscoe had bought scented candles by mistake, and the smell was overpowering. Still, it was worth it. At forty bucks a pop per customer, they were making a fortune.
At around two o’clock, Tonya ate a ham sandwich and washed it down with a beer. To get the alcohol smell out of her mouth, she went in the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her make-up still looked good.
“Are you ready?” Roscoe asked just as she was spitting out the toothpaste.
“Sure.” She wiped her mouth and applied a quick swath of lipstick. As she walked into the kitchen to stand in her place behind the curtain, she heard Roscoe talking to the latest customer.
His usual short responses seemed longer.
Wondering if something was wrong, Tonya peeked through the slit in the curtain to see who was on the other side. Far from the frumpy women who usually came to see her, this girl wore tight jeans with rhinestones on the pockets and a pearl-snap shirt. She had dark, wavy hair that fell past her shoulders.
Was Roscoe actually smiling at her? Tonya rankled when she saw him offer his arm and escort her to the table. What a jerk! Her first thought was to bust through the curtain and smack him in the head. When he called her name and headed her way, she stopped.
“Who is that?” Tonya whispered as he came around the corner.
“Why are you standing here? That was your cue!”
“Were you flirting with her?” Tonya’s eyes sparked as she glared at him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied, pushing her into the room.
Instead of her usual sweep, she walked slowly, eyeing the young girl who seemed lost in her own thoughts. When Tonya sat down, she noticed tears winding their way down the girl’s cheeks.
She spoke her scripted line. “You come see Sister Natasha. Why?”
The girl sniffed and dabbed her clear blue eyes with a tissue.
Tonya couldn’t believe those were her real lashes. Nothing moved and nothing smeared.
“I’m here about my grandmother. She was...murdered a few days ago.” The word stuck in her throat. “I want to know if you can tell me who killed her.”
Tonya hesitated. This was not the kind of question she was expecting. Murder? In this po-dunk town?
“What name?” Tonya heard a soft gasp from the other side of the curtain. She knew Roscoe would be mad, but she didn’t care.
The girl wrung her hands in her lap. “My name or my grandmother’s?”
“Both.”
“My name is Katy Wilde. My grandmother is—was—Barbara Wilde.”
Tonya used her thickest accent. “You have boyfriend?”
Katy’s eyes widened. “Yes. Why? Are you saying he killed my grandmother?” Her hands began to shake and her words came out in short gasps.
“No. Maybe.” Tonya realize
d she had the perfect chance to scare Roscoe away from this girl. “He mad at grandmother?”
Katy caught her breath. “How did you know? He wasn’t mad, but he was upset.” She leaned in closer as though sharing a secret with her best girlfriend. “He’s married, you see. And my family is Catholic. My grandmother was super Catholic, if you know what I mean. She would never approve of me marrying a divorced man. That’s why we had to keep our relationship a secret. That, and he didn’t want to tell his wife until I was free to be with him.”
There were so many things Tonya wanted to ask her, but she couldn’t. Like, why would someone as gorgeous as you waste your time with a married man? Or, why hasn’t he just left his wife if he really loves you? And, especially, are you sure he didn’t kill off granny so he could marry you?
Tonya considered her options. She had no idea who killed Katy’s grandmother, but she might as well put the girl on the right track just in case it was the no-good cheater. She placed the deck of playing cards in the middle of the table. “Mix.”
Tonya could feel Katy watching her intently as she went through her mumbling routine. When she revealed Katy’s two cards, she caught her breath and shook her head. “Natasha see man. No face. Natasha see...” She realized she forgot to ask Katy how her grandmother died. She’d have to wing it. “Natasha see evil man. Run! Run away from evil man!” She blew out the candles and covered her face with her hands.
The tears began to flow. “What else? Do you see anything else? Who is this man?” Katy grasped the sides of the table and rocked its wobbly legs.
“Natasha sees no more. Go. Go!”
Katy got up and headed to the front door. She stopped and turned back to Tonya. “Thank you, Sister Natasha. Bless you.”
Like a shot in the dark, Roscoe was around the curtain and into the room, eyes blazing. “What was that about?”
Tonya stuck out her chin defiantly. “I heard you talking to her. I saw the way you looked at her.”
“You’re crazy. I was just doing my job.” The buzzer rang at the door.
Tonya stood up and brushed past him back to the kitchen. “So was I.”
Sharpe Mind, Hanging by a Thread Page 8