by Gail Oust
“Mayor Hemmings announced a ten-thousand-dollar reward and a hotline for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the killer.”
“I doubt either of them will turn up anything useful,” Wanda said airily.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, puzzled by her attitude.
“Wait and see. People will be blinded by dollar signs and conjure up useless trivia that will keep the police chasing their tails.” She edged aside the sleeve of her blouse and, for the second time during my brief visit, consulted her wristwatch. “Don’t you have a business to run?”
My cheeks stung at the rebuke. I rose to my feet and started to leave. At the door, I paused and turned. “Since you weren’t at the press conference, you might like to know that Mayor Hemmings announced Steel Magnolias has been canceled.”
“It’s just as well. At least now, everyone is free to spend Thanksgiving with their families. Sandy demanded rehearsals first, family second. Trust me when I say that did not go over well. To put it mildly, everyone involved with the production was extremely irate. I don’t remember the last time I heard so much grumbling.” Wanda reached for the mouse and clicked on a computer file, effectively dismissing me.
I replayed my conversation with Wanda Needmore as I drove back to Spice It Up! My impromptu visit hadn’t been a total bust, I concluded. I’d come away knowing Wanda heartily disliked Sandy. I’d also learned that most of the cast and crew were unhappy at the prospect of spending Thanksgiving weekend at rehearsals. Although that in and of itself didn’t constitute a motive for murder. Interestingly, Wanda had neatly evaded my question about her alibi the night Sandy was killed. Very interesting indeed. The woman was hiding something, I could feel it in my bones. But what?
CHAPTER 11
I’D NO SOONER slipped the sunny yellow apron with its red chili pepper over my head when Melly breezed through the front door. “Piper, are you sick? Have you come down with something? Dottie said the flu is going around. Why, only the other night Dwayne Roberts had Madge rush him to the emergency room.”
I proceeded to tie the apron strings. “I’m fine, Melly. No need for worry.”
“I drove by your place earlier and saw the CLOSED sign in the window. You can imagine my shock. Where have you been all this time?”
“I might ask you the same question,” I replied. “Where have you been?”
I watched, amused, as a delicate pink suffused her cheeks. “Cot invited me for lunch at the country club,” Melly admitted.
Judge Cottrell “Cot” Herman, a widower, had recently stepped down from the bench after a long, distinguished career. As a young man Cot had been “sweet” on Melly—and, in my humble opinion, he still was. It was fun watching a romance blossom between my starchy ex-mother-in-law and the stodgy old judge. “You two are becoming quite an item these days,” I teased.
Melly examined her fresh manicure. “Nothing wrong with two people our age enjoying each other’s company, is there?”
“No, nothing at all,” I said, trying to hide my smile.
“Not to change the subject, dear, but what could be so important that you closed your little shop in the middle of the day?”
“Mayor Hemmings called a special meeting of the town council early this morning. They insisted McBride hold a press conference regarding Sandy’s death.”
Melly set her purse on the counter, a surefire sign she planned to stay awhile. “I hate to be critical, but locking up in the middle of the day is no way to run a business. With the holidays right around the corner, I’d think this would be your busiest time.”
“I doubt any person the least bit inquisitive would choose shopping for cinnamon over attending Brandywine Creek’s first-ever press conference. A conference complete with television vans and news crews,” I added.
“Television?” Melly’s hand automatically flew to her already smooth pageboy.
“CNN and two stations out of Augusta.” I took the feather duster from under the counter and began to make the rounds of the shelves with Melly close at my heels.
“My, my, I had no idea our little town merited so much attention from outsiders. Harvey Hemmings is going to be extremely unhappy if they show Brandywine Creek in a bad light. According to Cot, Harvey’s letting it be known that he regrets hiring Wyatt McBride as the new chief of police. CJ tried to warn him, but he didn’t listen. No, Harvey can be bullheaded.”
I swept the duster over a row of baking spices and made a mental note to order more whole cloves. “CJ and McBride haven’t been on good terms since high school when McBride was chosen over him as captain of the football team.”
“True,” Melly agreed. “Even as a youth, McBride was too big for his britches. He had a certain arrogance about him in spite of his trailer trash background.”
I refrained from comment. Melly had harbored a grudge against McBride ever since a suspicious death in her basement had turned into a homicide and she was a suspect. Nothing I could say would change her mind.
“Harvey reminds everyone who’ll listen that there were never any serious crimes when Joe Johnson was chief.” Melly shook her head. “Not a single murder in all those years.”
“The citizens of Brandywine Creek ought to be happy they found a candidate with McBride’s qualifications,” I pointed out. My supply of ground ginger was dwindling thanks to a rash of baking for the holidays. Note to self: Reorder ginger from my supplier along with whole cloves.
Melly scowled. “Since when did you start championing Wyatt McBride?”
“Good question,” I replied lightly. “Someone must’ve planted a chip in my head while I was sleeping.”
“No need to be flippant, dear. It doesn’t become you.”
Since when? I wondered. I stopped dusting at the sound of the front door opening. Melly and I both turned as Bunny Bowtin entered.
“I’m not going to beat about the bush,” Bunny announced without preamble. “Piper, I’ve just come from lunch with friends. We’re all anxious to learn whether you’ve approached Chief McBride with our idea for a self-defense course.”
“Um, no,” I muttered. “I haven’t had a chance.”
“No one feels safe,” Bunny said. “Everyone’s afraid they’ll be the next victim.”
“Cot wants to buy me a handgun,” Melly confessed. “One small enough to keep in my purse.”
This was said so matter-of-factly that I nearly dropped the feather duster. “I hope you refused.”
“Absolutely,” Melly replied primly, then beamed. “But wasn’t that the sweetest thing? He wants to protect me.”
“You won’t feel very protected, Melly, if you shoot yourself in the foot.” My spate of housekeeping chores postponed, I marched over to the counter and stowed the duster in its usual spot.
Bunny trailed after me. “I’m driving to a sporting-goods store in Augusta first thing tomorrow for pepper spray. I’m taking orders. Would you like me to get you one?”
“You should take Bunny up on her offer, Piper,” Melly said. “Pepper spray would be a good thing to carry while you’re out jogging.”
“Exactly.” Bunny was quick to jump on the pepper spray bandwagon. “You never know when some lunatic is going to leap out of the bushes and attack you.”
“The closest I ever came to being attacked was when Mrs. Pomeroy’s bulldog jumped the fence and tried to get it on with Casey.” At the mention of Mrs. Pomeroy’s bulldog, Casey, who had been asleep in the back room, perked his ears and thumped his tail on the floor.
“The dog was in heat,” Melly explained for Bunny’s benefit. “Myra and her husband wanted to breed the animal one more time before having her spayed. They made enough money from the first litter to pay for a cruise.”
“This is a serious matter!” Bunny slammed her purse on the counter for emphasis. “Piper, on behalf of the women in Brandywine Creek, will you approach Chief McBride and demand he establish a self-defense class? We’re counting on you.”
Demand? Even on his
good days, I doubted McBride would be in any frame of mind to accept a demand—and I’d be willing to bet this wasn’t a good day. “I’m busy,” I said. “Why don’t you go?”
Bunny twisted the strap of her purse. “He makes me nervous,” she confessed. “Did you notice how even the reporter from CNN stopped asking questions?”
“I’d go myself,” Melly chimed, “but McBride doesn’t like me any more than he likes CJ.”
“Oh, all right already. I’ll go, but I’m not making any promises.” As Melly and Bunny watched with satisfaction, I tugged off my apron, grabbed my purse from under the counter, and slipped into my trench coat, which had been on a hook by the back door.
“No hurry, dear,” Melly called after me. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll be happy to watch the shop.”
* * *
As luck would have it—bad luck, that is—the skies opened when I was halfway to my car. Rain came down in torrents, drenching me within seconds. As usual, my umbrella was at home, high and dry in a corner of the closet. Its perfect record of never getting wet was intact.
Water streamed down my face and dripped from my hair by the time I burst through the door of the Brandywine Creek Police Department. Once inside, I shook myself like a wet dog, sending water droplets flying over the institutional gray linoleum. Dorinda Kunkel sat at the front desk but didn’t look up from the stack of papers she was sorting through. “Chief’s busy,” she snarled. “Take a number.”
Dorinda’s scowling countenance reinforced Precious’s opinion about her coworker’s prickly disposition. Well, I’d dealt with bad-tempered people before, so I wasn’t about to let that deter me. “I’m here to talk to Chief McBride. I won’t take much of his time.”
Dorinda grunted. “That’s what they all say.”
I took a seat on one of the wood benches that ringed the small waiting area. Unless you were partial to Field & Stream or Car and Driver—which I’m not—the magazines on the end table looked dated and uninteresting. “Would you please let the chief know I’m here?”
“Soon as he’s off the phone,” Dorinda said. “You here about the reward?”
“Uh, no.”
“Good. Phone’s been ringing nonstop since the mayor announced it. Damn fool idea, if you ask my opinion. All it’s doing is bringing out the crackpots and looney tunes.” The papers now sorted and in a neat stack, Dorinda started banging away on the computer keyboard.
I hoped I’d never get on Dorinda’s bad side. She’d be a force to be reckoned with. Especially after hearing about her episode with a shotgun. And her ability to bench-press. Shotguns plus amazing strength plus bad temper equaled suspicion. “Say, Dorinda”—I casually brushed rain droplets off my trench coat—“are you disappointed Steel Magnolias has been canceled after all the time you invested?”
“Nope!” She sent a document to the printer. “Don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Sandy took all the fun out of being in a play. The woman was a slave driver. I was about to throw in the towel. Matter of fact, Wanda and I talked about a revolt. The whole cast was up in arms after her last edict.”
“It must’ve been pretty bad?”
“It was.” Dorinda applied a stapler to the documents like a carpenter with a nail gun. “Sandy insisted we rehearse over Thanksgiving weekend. Even threatened to schedule a rehearsal on Thanksgiving Day.”
“That couldn’t have made her very popular.”
“It didn’t. I could’ve cheerfully strangled the woman myself. I told her, no way, Jose. Thanksgiving’s family time. Sandy was crazy as a betsy bug if she thought I’d miss my grandbaby’s first Thanksgiving.”
“Hey, Miz Dorinda,” Ned Feeney said as he pushed through the door carrying a large utility table. “Where do you want this?”
“Conference room, down the hall on the left.” Ned hurried off. With the table held in front of him like a shield, he didn’t even notice me sitting there.
“Chief wants to set up a temporary command post.” Dorinda turned away to answer the phone. “Interesting, Alvertie,” I heard her say. “I’m sure Chief McBride would love to hear about your dog barking his head off. His first available appointment is five thirty.” Her call finished, Dorinda saw that the red light on the intercom no longer flashed. “Chief’s done with his call. Better grab a minute while you can. I can guarantee the quiet won’t last.”
I took a deep breath to fortify myself. On the short drive over, I’d rehearsed what I’d say to McBride when the chance presented itself: “The women in town fear for their lives. They want you to arrange a self-defense course.” I repeated these two sentences as a mantra and I approached McBride’s office. All he could do was say no, throw me out of his office, or laugh in my face. If this was multiple-choice, I’d pick all of the above.
I poked my head in the door. “Busy?”
McBride frowned at the sight of me dripping on his threshold. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You’re here about the reward.”
“Is ‘Here About the Reward’ the department’s new slogan?”
His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “No, but it would be appropriate.”
Not waiting for an invite, I plunked myself down in the chair opposite his desk. I felt a drop of water trickle down the back of my neck.
“Is it raining out?” he asked, all innocence, as he took in my hair, which was now a riot of corkscrew curls. “You ought to invest in an umbrella.”
“I have an umbrella,” I replied as haughtily as a person could when looking like a drowned rat. “I actually own two, but I take special care never to subject them to moisture.”
“As much as I’d love to discuss the weather, I’ve got a hotline to set up and a murder to solve.” He drummed his fingers on a manila folder in front of him. “What brings you here?”
Before I could reply, a trio of men dressed in work clothes trooped down the hall. The leader had a coil of black cable looped over his shoulder; the other two carried various and sundry tools and equipment.
“The telephone co-op agreed to install a couple extra lines to handle the load till things quiet down,” McBride explained, his expression grim.
“Do you think a hotline will yield any useful information?”
“Who knows?” McBride shrugged. “There’s always a possibility, but in the meantime, it’s keeping me from launching a thorough investigation of my own. My men will be running around like chickens with their heads cut off tracking down false leads, chasing down rumors, and listening to tales either exaggerated or fabricated. I’d love to see the mayor’s face when he sees the department’s overtime.”
“I know you’re busy, so I’ll make this brief,” I said, and launched into my spiel.
“Great idea,” McBride readily agreed after my pitch. “I’ll put it on my agenda soon as I find a killer.”
Was that sarcasm in his tone? I wondered, but forged ahead. “I don’t think that’ll go over with the ladies. Some want to buy handguns. Bunny Bowtin is shopping for pepper spray. Knowing Bunny, she’ll buy enough to supply the entire garden club. It’s not unreasonable for women to want to feel confident that they can protect themselves.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, Piper,” he said. “I’m just saying it’s bad timing. All my resources need to be focused on finding a murderer. That has to be my number one priority.”
While I’d been hesitant at first to be the spokesperson for a self-defense class, somewhere along the line the idea had taken root. Women had a right to feel safe whether from muggers, rapists, or abusive husbands. Simple techniques taught by a professional could save a life. “Think of this as possibly preventing a murder,” I said with renewed passion.
“I’ll give your proposition serious thought soon as the present situation is resolved. Now,” he said, “I need to work on doing just that.”
I blew out a breath knowing further debate would get me nowhere. But I was by no means finished. I’ll be baaack, I thought silently in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger imp
ression.
“Hey, Chief. Hey, Piper.” I looked up to see Precious Blessing’s generous figure fill the doorway. Precious clutched printed forms in one hand, a fistful of pens in the other. “Just wanted you to know, Chief, I’m reportin’ for duty. Dorinda’s out front tendin’ to your appointments. I’m gonna be workin’ the phones. Gerilee Barker volunteered to help. Said she’ll bring along her niece. They oughta be here right quick.”
“Thanks, Precious,” McBride said. “Tell the men from the phone company where you want ’em installed.”
“Yessir.” Precious saluted and disappeared.
I started to leave, too, but paused. “I have a tip, McBride, that won’t require reward money. When your investigation begins in earnest, pay special attention to the cast and crew of Steel Magnolias. Sandy’s management style won her more enemies than friends.”
“Duly noted,” he replied absently, reaching for a file folder.
“Duly noted” wasn’t good enough, I thought as I tugged the collar of my trench coat around my ears and prepared to battle the elements. Ten thousand dollars notwithstanding, McBride would be wise to heed my advice. If he wasn’t going to investigate the cast, I’d just have to do it myself. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to take matters into my own hands.
CHAPTER 12
CLOSING TIME. FINALLY! I’d looked forward to this moment more than grade-schoolers looked forward to recess. My mood wasn’t helped any by the fact that the sun had failed to make an appearance. An abundance of blue skies and sunny days was what I liked best about living in the South. Today reminded me of a dreary winter day in Detroit.
I’d just stepped back inside Spice It Up! after hauling trash to the Dumpster when my phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket and smiled at seeing my son’s name and image on the screen. “Hey, honey,” I greeted him. “How’s my boy?”