Palatino for the Painter

by Jessa Archer

  “What time was that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Fireworks ended at nine. I think the party ended at ten. Maybe another forty-five minutes for cleanup. The manager offered to give me a ride when he locked up, but I still hadn’t decided whether I was turning left at the end of the drive to go to the party at Jolly’s or right to go home, so I told him I’d just walk. By the time I reached the willow at the end of that long driveway, my feet had made the decision for me. I was already bone-tired, and it was nearly a mile back to Gran’s house, and no guarantee I’d be able to get a ride back from the party if Wren wasn’t there. Last thing I remember seeing was that tree, like I told Gran when I got back to the house. Something whacked me hard upside the head. Guess they dumped me on the porch, because I don’t remember how I got there.”

  “When did Bud leave?” I asked.

  “Not sure. He didn’t stick around for cleanup, so probably around ten. Maybe ten fifteen. Wren said he’s still there in town, though. Why not ask him?”

  “Bud Blackburn is missing,” Wren said. “The sheriff seems to think he killed his mother. Ruth isn’t convinced on that point, but she thinks he could be behind the paintings.”

  “If he’d just snapped and killed her, I might believe it. But…I don’t think he’s capable of engineering her overdose. Do you think it was Bud that attacked you?”

  “To be honest, I never suspected Bud. When I was bullied at school, he never really joined in. He was on the periphery sometimes, but not one of the ringleaders.”

  “Probably because he knew Tanya would kick his butt,” Wren said.

  “Could be. The problem with Bud was more that he wasn’t willing to take a stand that might make someone not like him. Even if that someone was a jerk. Maybe especially if that someone was a jerk. He was always a follower, not a leader. If his friend in the Rats jacket started throwing punches at me that night, I can’t guarantee he didn’t join in, but I’m almost certain he wouldn’t have had the guts to stop him.”

  “His friend?”

  “I can’t remember his name. Had just gotten himself bounced out of the military, though. Seemed kind of proud of it, which gives you a hint about his intelligence. He was older than Bud, obviously. Twenty, maybe? Not from Thistlewood, but spent most summers here. His grandmother ran a campground a few miles out of town—”

  “Kenneth mentioned him when Cassie and I stopped by to ask about the paintings. Do you know his name?”

  “No. One reason I said I thought Bud might be that second lump on the ground, though, was that he said he and this guy had a bit of a falling out. They’d been at the diner earlier that day, and whatever the guy said to Tanya, it made Bud mad. Although, like I said, Bud didn’t really make waves, so this guy—” He stopped. “Frank. His name was Frank. I don’t know the last name. That might even have been his last name. But anyway, Bud was probably just talking big. Probably never even told Frank he was mad at him.”

  “So, you think this Frank guy was in love with Tanya?” Wren asked.

  James laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no. There was nothing romantic about it. He definitely thought she was hot, though.”

  I turned to Wren. “Can you remember anything Tanya said that night at the park?”

  “Not really,” she said. “Buying those earrings. Her needing to get back to the diner, and that she’d see us later. Maybe…maybe Patsy might remember something?”

  She looked hesitant to even suggest that, and I understood precisely why. Yes, Patsy might remember something. But asking Patsy questions about it would probably result in at least one other person finding out. I didn’t know if she and Jesse Yarnell had progressed to the point of actual pillow talk yet, but I had my suspicions. And if Jesse Yarnell got hold of a secret, you might as well buy a billboard and plaster it in giant letters, because the entire town would know by the end of the day.

  “Maybe if you explained why we need to keep it quiet?” Wren said.

  “But that’s really all I can remember,” James said. “What they didn’t beat out of me, time has taken away. I’m sorry.”

  I squared my shoulders. “It’s okay. You’ve definitely given me something to go on.”

  And he had.

  Like James, I wasn’t sure whether Bud was one of the figures fighting or one of the two on the ground. But I was certain that he’d been there that night, and certain that it was somehow linked to Tanya’s disappearance. To Tanya’s death.

  Looking at the images Bud had painted, it occurred to me that he’d also given me a pretty clear idea of something else—where he was hiding.

  ✰ Chapter Sixteen ✰

  It was after five by the time I left Wren’s place. I’d sent Ed a text and asked him to meet me in Thistlewood Park after his walk instead of at the office. It was a nice evening, and I was kind of hoping that being there, in the very same park, might trigger some memories about my last conversation with Tanya. The place was almost as crowded as it had been that Fourth of July. The diner was packed, so a lot of people had opted to grab a bite from one of the food trucks in the square. Experts say that the sense of smell is the one most likely to trigger memories, so I looked around to see if there was a funnel cake truck. Nope. Just tacos, hot dogs, and barbecue.

  No memories were surfacing, but the food trucks had definitely triggered hunger. My entire consumption for the day had been a brownie, a cup of tea, and several quarts of coffee. So I wandered over to the barbecue truck and ordered two pulled pork sandwiches, with coleslaw and their jalapeño mac and cheese on the side. The girl working the truck was a friend of Ed’s niece. She asked if I wanted to go ahead and add banana pudding for Ed, because this wasn’t our first picnic in the park, and she knew he’d eventually come over to order one if I didn’t.

  “Sure,” I told her. “Actually, make it two. And two bottles of water.”

  Once I paid for our dinner, I made my way back to the fountain in the center of the park. My stomach rumbled, but I told it to hush. We could wait until Ed got here. And since I could see his familiar figure about a block away, coming down the sidewalk toward me, my stomach didn’t press the point, although I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to allow me to nibble at my sandwich like a lady once we were finally allowed to dig in.

  Hunger aside, I had two ulterior motives for plying Ed with food. First, I hoped he’d be able to call in a favor to find information on Frank, last name (or possibly, first name) unspecified, whose grandmother ran a campground back in the 1980s and who had a most-likely dishonorable discharge from the military. Second, I needed to let him know that I was going out looking for Bud Blackburn tonight. That I was going alone, but I would call him if something came up.

  Ed waved when he spotted me and headed for the wooden bench where I was waiting. Those benches, which are positioned around the perimeter of the fountain, have been here as long as I can remember. The wooden planks are weathered by years of sun, rain, and snow, and scarred by the countless etchings of teenagers over the years. Avril was here 07. Bev and Trey 4-eva. Thistlewood Thunderbirds Rule.

  “Dinner is served,” I said as Ed approached, nodding to the bag on the bench. He gave me a quick kiss and then peeked inside.

  “If I ever doubted that you are a keeper,” he said, “which I haven’t by the way, this would settle the matter. You even bought me two banana puddings.” He grinned, because he knew from past experience that even though I love it, I rarely have room for more than a few bites.

  “Dream on, mister. I never got around to lunch.”

  “How did your visit with the good sheriff go?” Ed asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

  “About as you’d expect, although we never actually got around to talking about Mrs. Blackburn. He came in just as I was finishing talking to the boy who found Tanya.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “Bet he was tickled pink to find you talking to one of his witnesses. What did the kid say?”

  He had to wait for the answer, because I was already diggin
g into my mac and cheese. Between bites, I filled him in on my afternoon—the conversation Cassie and I had with Kenneth, Jack’s revelation about the man they’d seen at the marina and the treasure map, and the discussion Wren and I had with James.

  “You have had a busy couple of hours,” he said.

  “Oh, and that’s not all,” I told him. “I should have stashed those paintings back in the box, because Blevins saw them when he came in. That’s actually why he never got around to asking me about Mrs. Blackburn. He recognized Lover’s Leap and even spotted the car beneath the river.”

  “You’re kidding!” Ed said. “That may actually be a first. Blevins is about as observant as a blind cat. Did he ask about the other paintings?”

  “He asked about the one with the guys fighting, but I told him I didn’t have a clue. Which wasn’t entirely true then, and is even less true now. Do you think there’s any chance you can search for information on the guy that Kenneth and James mentioned? This Frank guy.”

  “Don’t need to search,” Ed said. “Pretty sure they’re talking about Frank Daniels. Grandmother was Nellie Daniels. Ran the Tip Top Campground about a mile past the turnoff for Jolly’s Marina.”

  “Is she still alive?” I asked.

  “Nope. Campground was closed for a while after she died. Reopened a few years back, but I don’t think it’s anyone kin to her. The only kin she had that ever came around Thistlewood was Frankie, and he was a real piece of work.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Arrested him once. Threatened to on several other occasions when he came through with that biker group from up in Knoxville—”

  “The River Rats,” I said. “Patsy mentioned a biker group was in town this weekend. Is it the same one?”

  Ed nodded. “Same group. They come down this way most holiday weekends. Might even have some of the same members, but they’re old, and fat, and not nearly as much trouble these days.”

  “Is Frank Daniels—” I began, but stopped because Ed was shaking his head.

  “I haven’t seen Frankie in…” There was a long pause, and I could tell that he was trying to figure out exactly when he’d last seen him. “Probably the summer of 1987.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a long, slow chug from my bottle of water while that information sank in. “So…he’s the body in the car.”

  “I think that’s a pretty safe bet, and I’m feeling kind of dense for not putting that together earlier, when you mentioned the belt buckle. Not that it was really distinctive. All those guys wear that kind of stuff. And Frankie was just one of the many lowlife rabble-rousers I dealt with as a law enforcement officer. The last time I thought of him was probably when his grandma died back around 2000. Someone—probably Blevins, thinking back—said he was an ingrate. Stayed with his grandma all those summers and didn’t even show up for her funeral. I told him that the guy was most likely in prison, which he had to admit was immensely possible. And that’s the last time Frank Daniels even crossed my mind. You think Tanya was seeing him?”

  “Nope.” I repeated what James had told me about the incident at the diner. “I’m going to have to see if Patsy remembers anything. Highly unlikely after this long, but…”

  Ed looked at me for a moment over the top of his pudding. “You still don’t believe Bud killed anyone, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. At the very least, I don’t think he killed Tanya. Why would he leave these clues if he did it?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes people have a guilty conscience. Sometimes they want to get caught. The theory that Blevins—and yeah, Billy, too—are going on is that his mom knew, but she didn’t turn him in. And then when the car was found, he made her a killer cocktail.”

  I shook my head. “Not buying it. And exactly how does Frank Daniels fit into that theory? Why was Tanya in the trunk? And what about James Lawson? There’s something else going on, Ed.”

  We sat there for a few minutes, finishing our dinner as we watched the water shooting like a small geyser from the center of the fountain. I could tell that Ed didn’t entirely agree with me. He was going for the most obvious answer, and to be fair, I didn’t blame him. Even though we didn’t have all of the pieces, Bud was the most logical suspect.

  “Let’s talk about something happy,” I said. “Okay?”

  “Sure.” He smiled. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “How’s the book going?”

  He grimaced. “I thought you said you wanted to talk about something happy.”

  “When do I get to read it?” I asked.

  “You know the deal.”

  “Yes, yes. As soon as it’s finished.”

  He leaned in and gave me a kiss. “You’ll be the first. I promise. And I was actually teasing you. I’m almost done, which is a minor miracle considering everything that’s been going on. And I still have an entire day left before my deadline, so I might even make it.”

  I stared at him. “A day? Your deadline is—”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have been bothering you all day. Heck, I’d have delivered your dinner.”

  “You’re not bothering me. Anyway, I needed to see you to test out the dedication. I’m thinking: To Ruth—the sleuth who stole my heart.”

  I laughed.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, still grinning. “Too corny?”

  “Maybe. But I love it anyway. And now, you need to go home. Do not even think about calling me until you’ve emailed that manuscript. I mean it.”

  He gave me a fake pout. “Yes, ma’am. As long as you promise to stay out of trouble.”

  “I actually can’t promise that.”

  “I’m serious, Ruth. I know you’ve been wondering about Tanya for all these years, and you really want to know exactly what happened. I get it. I’ve had cases that just ate at me until they were solved. But there’s nothing urgent here. Give me until tomorrow…and maybe a little of the next day to catch up on my sleep. Then we’ll figure all of this out.”

  I held his gaze for a long moment and then said, “You may change your mind about the dedication by the time I finish, but…we need to talk. This is my job, Ed. It’s the same job I did in Nashville. I investigated drug dealers. Quite a few murderers, too. In most cases, I didn’t work with a partner. My pepper spray is in my purse. I will have a phone with me, the new one that doesn’t constantly lose a charge, and I have a panic button app connected to your number. If I need backup, or if I even think it’s possible that I might need backup, I will press the button. I really don’t want to worry you or Cassie, and I don’t want either of you angry at me, but I’m going to go out looking for Bud tonight. If anyone else is there, I’m not sure he’ll talk. I owe it to Tanya to find out what happened, and you know Blevins. If he can make the case stick, he will. Even if Bud didn’t really do it. And last but not least…it’s my job.”

  Ed was silent for a very long time at the end of my little speech. Then he gave a slow, rueful laugh. “Well, I guess the shoe is firmly on the other foot now, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t have to ask what he meant. Ed and I had shared divorce stories not long after we met. His marriage hadn’t lasted nearly as long as mine, and they’d parted amicably, even though it wasn’t really what he wanted. He’d married Lori when they were both in their mid-twenties, not too long after he became a deputy. She worried every time he walked out the door. Became stressed every time she heard sirens. Even bought a police scanner so that she’d know anything that happened when he was on duty.

  About four years into the marriage, he’d come home to an empty house and a note. Lori said she wouldn’t ask him to choose between her and his work, because she didn’t want him to be unhappy. But she’d realized she just wasn’t cut out to be a policeman’s wife. He’d tracked her down and offered to quit, to find some other line of work. And he said he would have, even though they both knew he’d have been miserable. She told him no and moved down near Atlanta, where her sis
ter lived. A few years later, she’d married a guy who managed a K-Mart, They had a couple of kids. She and Ed still exchanged letters at Christmastime, and Lori sent him a sweet note of congratulations when he published his first book. She’s pretty and seems really nice. And yes, I am a little bit jealous.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No,” he told me. “I’m the one who should apologize. You’re not helpless, and you’ve got a darn good head on your shoulders. I’ll help anytime you ask me to, but I need to stop acting like a caveman.”

  I grinned and opened my banana pudding. “You weren’t acting like a caveman.”

  “Yeah, well, you can’t read my mind. Because the whole time you were making your case, I wanted to fling you over my shoulder and carry you home so you’d be safe. Wrap you in bubble wrap. But I also want you to be happy, so… fine. Go do your job. Trust your instincts. Just make sure you call me when you get in. Because I am going to worry.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “Comes with the territory when you lose your heart to a sleuth. But…a bit of advice from someone who knows Blevins?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m always happy to take insider advice.”

  “It’s poker night. Back before my accident, we all played together. Afterward, we sort of had an unspoken agreement that Blevins would go one Sunday and I would go the next. Kind of like the divorced couple you can’t invite to the same party. Anyway, it’s his week. Billy will be there, too. Even the new deputy will likely stop in to play a hand or two. Personally, if I was planning to rob a bank or…you know, go in search of a guy who may or may not have murdered his mom, I’d do it between nine and midnight.”