Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 08 - Wed and Buried

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  It was enormous. One whole wall was taken up with a white leather sectional sofa, and the armchair, end tables, and coffee table were all glass and shiny chrome. At first I thought the relatively sparse amount of furniture and accessories was a style, but when I looked more closely, I was convinced that things had been removed here and there. Had Marlyn’s ex-husband gotten the missing items in the settlement, or had Marlyn been selling them off?

  Marlyn came back down the hall with Dorcas Walters.

  “Hey, Laurie Anne,” Dorcas said. “I’m so glad you and Richard could make it. We appreciate your taking a morning to help us out.”

  “Glad to do it,” I said, which was true, if not for the reasons Marlyn thought. “I always loved the Halloween carnival, so it only seems fair to help out. We’re looking forward to taking Alice this year.”

  Marlyn finally got us to the kitchen, which didn’t look quite as bare as the living room. I wondered if that was why she had us working there. She got our drinks just in time for the doorbell to ring again, and the rest of the volunteers arrived over the next few minutes.

  Our job was to make posters to use at the carnival: signs for the booths, price lists for the ticket sellers, directional arrows for the bathrooms, menus for the snack bar. One woman had brought stacks of poster board with glue and markers, and Marlyn had a computer with a laser printer to use.

  All of the volunteers except us were the kinds of ladies who tended to volunteer for these kinds of things, partially because they didn’t work outside the home and partially because they liked volunteer work. I was surprised at first that Vasti wasn’t involved, but then realized that making posters wouldn’t be high-profile enough for her. Since the women were experienced volunteers, they got things organized with a minimum of fuss and went to work with more efficiency than most of the companies I’ve worked with. Richard was the only man present, which amused the ladies no end, but when they discovered he had a flair for painting, they handed him a brush and put him to work. I got the computer and stayed busy entering text and finding clip art on the web.

  It turned out to be a lot of fun, with plenty of chatter, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to delicately bring up the subject of Big Bill. Then somebody asked how he was doing, which got the ball rolling.

  “He came back home from the hospital yesterday, and he’s doing much better,” Dorcas said. A minute or two later, she stepped out to go to the bathroom.

  “Is it true?” one woman asked timidly once she was gone. “Did somebody really try to kill Big Bill?”

  “Oh, yes,” someone answered her. “He was poisoned.”

  There was much shaking of heads, and many tsk-tsk sounds. Then Marlyn said, “I don’t know why everybody is so surprised. Big Bill must have more enemies than I have earrings.” Somebody gasped, but Marlyn went on, “Let’s not be hypocrites. We all know what kind of man Big Bill Walters is. Is there anybody in Byerly he hasn’t cheated?”

  Richard and I kept carefully quiet, hoping nobody would remember our connection with Big Bill.

  A large woman with a determined chin said, “Has Big Bill not made good on your land, Marlyn?”

  “He won’t even return my phone calls!” she said angrily.

  “I didn’t realize you had any business dealings with Big Bill,” the timid woman said.

  “It wasn’t me, it was my idiot ex-husband. Back before we split up, he bought the plot of land where Capital Fuel Company used to be. He said he had it inspected before he signed the papers, but either he was lying or the inspector was in Big Bill’s pocket. All I know is that I ended up with the land after the divorce, and it was supposed to be worth at least what my ex paid for it. Except that when I went to sell it, I was told the land had been used as a dump for used oil, and that it needed an expensive cleanup.”

  This matched what she’d said in her letters, other than the implication that Big Bill had paid off an inspector.

  “I still say you should make your ex-husband pay for it,” the woman with the chin said. “Didn’t he put other businesses on that land? How do you know the dumping wasn’t his doing?”

  “He doesn’t have the money. At least, not on paper, and I don’t think he’s smart enough to hide it from me. He’s got nothing, and he left Katelyn and me with…” She bit her lip to stop herself, and the other ladies managed to look elsewhere. “Anyway, Big Bill should take care of it!”

  “I hope you’re not holding your breath waiting for that to happen,” Dorcas said, coming back into the room.

  Marlyn looked abashed at having been caught. “I’m sorry, Dorcas, I know he’s your father-in-law.”

  “And Laurie Anne’s uncle,” Dorcas reminded her.

  Marlyn shot a look in my direction, and the other women wriggled uncomfortably. They had forgotten about us.

  “I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Marlyn said, “but it’s not a thing I haven’t said before. Dorcas, can’t you talk to Big Bill?”

  But Dorcas shook her head. “I learned a long time ago that I can’t change Big Bill’s mind about anything. I don’t ask him about his business, and he doesn’t ask me how much I spend on my dresses.”

  Marlyn still looked vexed, but the rest of the women used it as an excuse to talk clothes, particularly how much it was costing them to outfit their daughters for the upcoming homecoming dance at Byerly High School.

  I was surprised by how much more expensive the process was compared to my high school days, but then again, I hadn’t been in the running for homecoming queen.

  “I think the whole thing has gotten out of hand,” Marlyn declared. “Have you counted up how many events the homecoming princesses are supposed to attend? Katelyn wants a brand-new outfit for every one of them—she’s at the mall right now, picking out dresses. Well, I’ve put my foot down. I’ll buy her some new things, of course, but there’s no reason she can’t wear outfits she already has, and I’ve got dresses that have barely been worn that will fit her just fine.”

  “I think that’s very practical of you,” Dorcas said, but I could tell from the sidelong glances of the other ladies that they were all thinking something else. I was thinking it, too. Marlyn wasn’t economizing to make a point—she was doing it because she had to.

  Conversation wandered this way and that, but not in any direction I cared about. The only subject of interest to me was when Dorcas broke the news to Marlyn that she wasn’t going to be in charge of the white elephant sale. Now that she’d been reminded of who Richard and I were, she didn’t dare say anything against Aunt Maggie, but I could tell how annoyed she was. The woman definitely had a temper, but whether it was hot enough to make her kill wasn’t a question I could answer.

  I finished the computer end of things before most of the others were done with their assignments, and after I confessed that I had no skill at all with a paintbrush, Marlyn asked if I’d pack up the items she’d collected for the white elephant sale. She managed to resist badmouthing Aunt Maggie, though she did make a point of mentioning how much work she’d done to get it all. I was exiled to the garage with a stack of newspapers, but since I knew Richard would keep his ears open for anything useful, I wasn’t concerned.

  Most of the stuff Marlyn had pulled together was about what you’d expect at a white elephant sale: used copies of Grisham and Koontz paperbacks, cheap vases that had come with flower arrangements, costume jewelry, battered toys, jigsaw puzzles that were probably missing pieces, and miscellaneous knickknacks. I dutifully wrapped them in newspaper, knowing that Aunt Maggie would be able to guilt somebody into buying them.

  Then I got to a Mayflower moving box filled with what: looked like old toys, still in their original boxes. I could have left them alone, of course, but I was far too nosy for that, so I started pulling them out to get a better look. The box was packed tight with GI Joe figures and vehicles. There were four other Mayflower boxes, and each one was stuffed with GI Joe and his militant friends, with all kinds of accessories. There were GI Joe p
laying cards, three different GI Joe board games, and a desert-patrol Jeep that looked brand-new. I blinked several times, not believing that anybody would just give that stuff away.

  I wasn’t the expert Aunt Maggie was, but I had attended plenty of auctions with her. One time, a box of GI Joe stuff came up for sale, and though Richard and a couple of other men admired them as things they remembered from childhood, not one dealer so much as looked in the box. Then, when it came time to bid, those same dealers nearly came to blows over that box. The amount it had eventually gone for was so high that people broke into spontaneous applause afterward as the auctioneer wiped sweat from his forehead.

  These boxes were twice as big as that one had been, and as far as I could tell, the contents were in much better condition.

  Marlyn came into the garage and said, “We’re about finished. Do you need any help out here?”

  “I think I’m done,” I said, “but I was wondering. Do you know who donated the GI Joe stuff?”

  “Those are mine.” She picked up a walkie-talkie and wrinkled her nose at it. “They were my ex-husband’s when he was little. He said he was saving them in case we had a boy, but since he didn’t bother to take them with him, I decided to get rid of it. Are you interested in any of it?”

  For a moment, pure out-and-out greed struggled with my conscience. I knew darned well that if I could keep myself from drooling, I could offer her twenty or thirty bucks for the whole bunch and sell them for who knows how much via Aunt Maggie’s connections. Heck, I tried to argue with myself, I could give her fifty, which would be fifty more than she’d get if she donated them to the white elephant sale.

  Then I thought of the bare spots in Marlyn’s house, and her daughter’s dresses for homecoming festivities. Okay, selling four boxes of toys wasn’t going to solve all of Marlyn’s financial problems, but maybe she’d be able to get her daughter a new dress or two.

  “Marlyn,” I said, “do you know how much these things are worth?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “GI Joe collectibles go for big money these days. I’ve seen people at auctions bid on this stuff like it was gold.”

  “Really?” She looked at the walkie-talkie with more respect.

  “If I were you, I’d keep them and do some research. There’s probably GI Joe collectors’ groups online.”

  “I had no idea.” She smiled a wicked smile. “I’ll have to tell my ex-husband. After I sell it all, of course. Would eBay handle things like this?”

  “I’m sure they would, but if you want to save yourself the trouble of shipping it, you could see if my Aunt Maggie knows anybody local.” I looked her right in the eye. “That is, if you don’t mind working with a battle-ax.”

  She had the good grace to blush. “I actually don’t know your aunt all that well. I’m sure she’s charming.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call her charming,” I said, “but I’m sure she’d be glad to help you out.”

  Richard came out then to tell us the the signs were all finished, and the other ladies were cleaning up our mess. Marlyn carefully took the GI Joe boxes back into the house while Richard and I loaded the white elephant merchandise into the cars of two women who’d volunteered to take it to the carnival. Before we left, Marlyn thanked me profusely for my advice.

  “Isn’t helping a suspect solve her financial problems an unusual strategy?” Richard said once we were in the car and I’d told him what Marlyn had nearly given away.

  “I know, I just felt sorry for her.” Admittedly, Marlyn’s idea of being broke was a long way from going hungry, but I remembered how I’d felt during college, when Paw hadn’t been able to send me nearly as much spending money as my friends had. I’d never gone hungry, either, but I sure had felt poor. “Think of it this way: we want to catch the person trying to kill Big Bill, but it’s a whole lot more important that we keep him alive. Well, if Marlyn is the one, we’ve helped to eliminate her motive.”

  “We could get Big Bill to pay off all the suspects,” Richard said speculatively.

  I stuck my tongue out at him, which was undoubtedly the answer he’d expected.

  Chapter 15

  It was almost noon, so we stopped at Hardee’s for lunch and carried in the copies of Big Bill’s letters to flip through while we ate.

  “We’ve visited all of my leading candidates,” Richard said. “Have you got anyone else?”

  “There’s still Molly Weston in Rocky Shoals,” I said.

  “Her letters are over a year old,” Richard objected, “and there were just two letters, not five or six like some of the others.”

  “I know, but we’re running out of possibilities.”

  “I don’t even think those letters sounded all that threatening,” Richard said, chewing on a french fry. “I bet Big Bill only included them in the file because she used the L word.”

  “The L word?”

  “Lawyer.”

  “I think she should talk to a lawyer. She has a much better case than some of the others.” According to her letter, Molly Weston had worked at Walters Mill for many years and, after retirement, came down with breathing problems that were likely caused by inhaling cotton dust for all that time. But since she retired before she became seriously ill, Big Bill had refused to take any responsibility. “Let’s go see her.”

  “But Laura…”

  “Have you got any better ideas?”

  From the look on his face, I knew that he didn’t.

  Unfortunately, the phone number on the letter was no longer in service, and when I called information, they didn’t have a Molly Weston listed in Rocky Shoals or Byerly.

  “Maybe she passed away,” Richard said, “which would take her out of the competition.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “A vengeful ghost?”

  “I was thinking more of her kids. They might blame Big Bill for their mother’s death.”

  “It’s possible,” Richard conceded. “Who would know about people in Rocky Shoals?”

  “Aunt Nora,” I said promptly.

  “I thought she specialized in Byerly gossip.”

  “She used to, but she ran out of fresh gossip in Byerly a while back and had to diversify to the neighboring towns.” I called her up, and sure enough, Aunt Nora had plenty to tell me about Molly Weston. Molly had no children of her own, but she did have a devoted niece who lived in Byerly. Since the niece had only recently moved to town, she wasn’t in the phone book, but Aunt Nora found her address in the “New Members” section of the church bulletin. After I promised Aunt Nora that she’d get another shift with Alice later in the week, I hung up with her, and Richard and I finished our lunch.

  “So tell me who we’re going to see,” Richard said on our way back to the car.

  “Wynette Weston. Named for Tammy Wynette, in case you didn’t catch that. Apparently, Wynette’s mother was a big country music fan. The other daughter is Lynn, for Loretta Lynn.”

  “Any Hank Williams Weston or George Jones Weston?”

  “Nope. Bill for Bill Haley, and Roy for Roy Orbison. Mr. Weston preferred rock and roll.”

  “Of course. Why are we going to see Wynette and not one of the others?”

  “Because Wynette was the one who took care of Molly when she got sick. And because Bill and Roy moved away, and Aunt Nora thinks Lynn is too busy with her three kids to do anything vengeful. And especially because Wynette only moved to Byerly two months ago.”

  “Leaving her just enough time to research Big Bill’s habits and go after him?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?” I said.

  “What’s our cover story going to be this time?”

  “Why don’t we just use the truth?”

  “You mean, ask her if she’s trying to kill Big Bill?”

  “Not that much truth. How about something along the lines of telling her we want more information about her aunt’s case? I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of trying to remember our cove
r stories.”

  “ ‘The seeming truth which cunning times put on to entrap the wisest,’ ” Richard said. “The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene 2.” I took that as agreement.

  Wynette’s house was small, but the paint was fresh and the yard was neat as a pin. I rang the doorbell, but when Wynette Weston opened the door and I got a good look at her, I was all but ready to cross her off of our list. Wynette was redheaded, freckled, and extremely pregnant, so much so that I wondered if she’d have time to talk to us before going into labor.

  While I was willing to admit that a pregnant woman could turn murderous, especially when a hormone attack hit, I couldn’t see her managing the sneaking around that the attempts on Big Bill had required. Still, we were there, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask her some questions. Maybe the father of that baby she was carrying was involved.

  “Wynette Weston?” I said, just to be sure.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Laura Fleming, and this is my husband, Richard. We’ve been helping Big Bill Walters go through some of his files, and we found some notes from your aunt that we’d like to ask you about.” When she looked confused, I handed her the photocopies of the letters.

  She quickly read them, then nodded. “I’d forgotten all about Aunt Molly writing these. Duke put her up to it, but nothing ever came of it.”

  “Duke?”

  “Why don’t y’all come inside and I’ll explain.” We followed her in, and she lowered herself gingerly onto a big armchair while Richard and I took the couch. “The doctor says I’m supposed to stay off my feet,” she complained, “but I just can’t sit around doing nothing all day long.”

  “My doctor told me the same thing,” I said. “We’ve got a seven-month-old girl.”

  “Is that right? Did you ever imagine how hard it is to be pregnant?”

  “Lord, no. I’d never have gone through with it if I had.” We might have gone on to compare stretch marks and swollen feet if Richard hadn’t cleared his throat. “About these letters…?”

  “Right. Aunt Molly did have problems with her lungs—that’s what killed her—but the doctor didn’t say for sure that it was brown lung. Aunt Molly smoked like a smokestack my whole life, and the doctor said that was more likely to be the problem.”