“She must make more money from that than from stuffed geese.”
“Vivian said she barely meets expenses. She does it in remembrance of her son.”
“How did Vivian get involved?”
“There are several vets in her support group who rely on pot when their dreams get bad, so she keeps some around for them. You can see why she swore me to secrecy. If Junior were to find out—”
“Junior would understand,” I said, but then I wasn’t sure. Though Junior turns a blind eye on some things, there’s a line she won’t cross. I didn’t know which side of that line China’s and Vivian’s activities would fall on. “Did Carney find out?”
“Vivian doesn’t know. She knew him, but only as someone not to buy knives from.”
Then I remembered something Aunt Maggie had said. “Potpourri,” I said, mispronouncing the first syllable to rhyme with spot. “That’s what Carney called China’s sachets. He knew all right!”
“That means she had a motive to kill him.”
I nodded. As soon as possible we were going to have to have a talk with China Upton to find out if she could handle a knife as well as she did sewing scissors.
Chapter 36
Aunt Maggie wanted to go to an auction the next day, which meant that Richard and I needed a car and somebody to watch Aunt Maggie. A call to Aunt Nora took care of both problems. She sent Augustus over with her car, and Augustus casually mentioned that he didn’t have plans. When Aunt Maggie said he could come with her as long as he helped out, he winked at me behind her back.
China Upton was listed in the Rocky Shoals section of the phone book under Stanley Upton, which reminded me that she was a widow and did wonders for my morale. Then I thought of the man who killed his parents and asked for leniency because he was an orphan. If China had stabbed Carney, widow or not, she deserved to be caught.
China’s house was a cute little place, with brightly painted shutters and petunias growing in the yard. I felt like we were about to interrogate the Easter Bunny.
“I’m out here,” China called out when we rang the bell, and we followed her voice around to the backyard. The yard was surrounded by a white picket fence, freshly painted, of course, and when we opened the gate, we saw China kneeling by a flower bed. The place looked like something out of a home gardening magazine. There were rows of gorgeous flowers and plants I supposed were herbs, and even I could tell they were healthy and well-tended. In the back corner was a greenhouse, filled with more color. There was even a scarecrow wearing a gingham dress, a straw bonnet, and plenty of ribbons that blew in the breeze.
“What a nice surprise,” China said as she stood up. “Did y’all come by to get those seed catalogs?”
I said, “Actually, we wanted to talk to you, if you’ve got a few minutes.”
“Why don’t y’all come inside and have a glass of lemonade. That sun’s getting awfully hot.” She pulled off her gloves and led us through the back door. “Of course, I can’t complain about the weather. It’s been one of the best growing seasons I’ve ever had.”
The kitchen wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. There were plenty of ruffles and ribbon, but the room was cozy without being overpowering. China kept on talking about the weather and her garden as she sat us down in the breakfast nook and poured tall glasses of cold lemonade.
“I made the lemonade this morning,” she said. “Is it sweet enough? I was just about out of sugar, and I was afraid it would be too sour to drink.”
Richard and I took sips. “It’s wonderful,” I said, wishing it had been sour. Anything to make me feel less guilty.
“What can I do for y’all?” she asked. “If it’s gardening advice you want, I can give you more than you’d ever need.”
“Actually, it does kind of have to do with gardening.” I looked out the window. I’d seen marijuana growing once or twice, but there was nothing like that in her yard. “That’s a nice greenhouse,” I said.
“Stan Senior built it for me. I hated waiting for spring to grow things. This way I can plant in the winter, too.”
“Is that where you grow marijuana?”
She didn’t answer, and when I looked at her, she hadn’t lost her smile, but she was very still, like she was afraid moving would bring down disaster. Finally, she said, “That’s where I grow it. I don’t care if it is illegal. Stan Junior needed it to help him through his bad spells, and him using it didn’t hurt a soul. I don’t imagine my neighbors would know marijuana if they saw it, but I thought it best to be careful.” She hesitated. “Are you going to tell the police?”
I wanted to tell her that we wouldn’t, but I couldn’t yet. “Did Carney know about your special sachets?”
“Yes, he knew. You see, I put the pot in sachets to make it easier to give to people. Nobody thinks twice if they see me selling sachets, but they might wonder if they saw me slipping people plastic bags under the table. Of course, I don’t sew them all that well, not when the boys are going to rip them open as soon as they get home. I just use a basting stitch, which usually holds, but one got caught on a nail one day, and out came the pot. I tried to sweep it all up before anybody could see, but Carney picked that moment to come over, and he knew what it was right away.”
“Did he blackmail you?”
She nodded. “He insisted I come over to his apartment that night. I went, and tried to explain about Stan Junior and the other boys, but Carney didn’t care. He threatened to call the police if I didn’t start … start seeing him.”
She blushed, and I knew just what “seeing him” meant. “Did you?”
“Of course not! I’d rather have gone to jail.”
“But he didn’t turn you in.”
“When he realized he couldn’t get what he wanted, he came up with another idea. He wanted free sachets, one every weekend. And he wasn’t even sick!”
China was so indignant it was almost funny. “Then what?”
She looked surprised that I was asking. “I gave him the sachets. He’d flirted with me before, so nobody was surprised when he came by every weekend. I hated having to do it, especially when he teased me with that silly mispronunciation of potpourri, but so many boys depend on those sachets. Stan Junior would have wanted me to help them, just like I did him. After a while, I knew Carney wouldn’t turn me in because he was breaking the law, too. I thought about telling him that to make him leave me alone, but it was easier to keep giving him the sachets. With him gone, it’s not a problem anymore.” She stopped, then cocked her head. “Y’all don’t think I had anything to do with his death, do you?”
Richard and I looked at each other; then we both looked down at our hands. “Not really,” I said.
Darned if she didn’t start laughing. “You did! You two thought I was a murderess.”
“They say that anybody is capable of murder given the right circumstances,” I said hurriedly. “Aunt Maggie has told us how Carney pestered you, and we know how he liked his little power trips. It seemed like he could have pushed you too far.”
She was still laughing, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.
“We’re sorry if we’ve upset you,” Richard said.
“Upset me?” she said. “I’m flattered. Most people don’t take me very seriously, but here you thought I could stab a man to death. I shouldn’t laugh, not when Carney is dead, but you’ve tickled my funny bone. Me, a murder suspect. Neither Mark Pope or Belva Tucker gave me a moment’s thought.”
“But they don’t know you’re a drug pusher,” Richard pointed out.
“That’s right,” she said, dissolving into giggles. “We pushers are dangerous. I may have to rub y’all out for knowing too much.”
After that, we didn’t bother to ask any more questions about Carney. We finished our lemonade, shared China’s giggles, and told her how much we admired what she was doing for AIDS sufferers.
China insisted that we take a big bouquet of fresh flowers with us, which made her the first person who’d
ever thanked us for suspecting her of murder.
Chapter 37
“Now what?” I asked Richard as I drove away from China’s house.
“Lunch?”
“Why not?”
As we lingered over the remains of two large barbeque platters at Pigwick’s, I said, “We’ve eliminated China from the running, so that still leaves us Tattoo Bob, Evan, and Obed. I don’t want to hear anything else about Rusty.”
“Agreed. No more shaggy dog stories.”
I ignored him. “Unfortunately, Bob’s motive is weak, we don’t have any motive for Evan, and I still have problems picturing Obed killing Carney the way he was killed.”
“We could go talk to one of them.”
“Maybe,” I said, but I wasn’t at all sure of the reception we’d get. Either they’d still be mad at us because they thought we were helping Annabelle Lamar, or, if they’d talked to J.B., they’d know we were investigating Carney’s murder. “I wish we could find whatever it is that the murderer was looking for, but it could be anywhere.” I looked around the restaurant, thinking of how many places there were to hide things in just one room.
“Wait a minute,” Richard said. “If Carney was agoraphobic, there aren’t that many places he could have hidden something.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Aunt Maggie said he almost never went anywhere but the flea market and his apartment.”
“We know the killer searched the flea market, Carney’s van, and probably his apartment. Do you think his sister would suggest any other places?”
“She might with official encouragement.”
We paid our bill, which took a while because the owner of Pigwick’s was still trying to repay us for a favor we’d done him a while back. We compromised by letting him give us a discount, then headed for the police station.
We were lucky. Trey was on duty, not Mark. I told him what we wanted, and he cheerfully called Carney’s sister Sadie on our behalf.
I’d been expecting to have to go see her at work, but Trey said, “You can go over to her house right now. She works at the post office, but she’s off today.”
Sadie Alexander’s house and yard were neat, but businesslike, not at all like China’s place. I figured that Sadie either took care of the lawn herself or paid somebody to do it. Surely Carney wouldn’t have been able to help.
When we rang the bell, a middle-aged woman in slacks opened the front door, but kept the screen door securely fastened as she looked us up and down. “Yes?”
“Miz Alexander? My name’s Laura Fleming and this is my husband Richard. Deputy Norton called and asked if it was all right for us to stop by.”
“He said somebody was coming, but that’s not the name he gave me.”
“Trey probably called me Laurie Anne.”
She nodded and opened the screen door. “Come on in.”
Just from looking around as Sadie lead us into the living room, I knew one reason she and her brother hadn’t gotten along. Aunt Maggie had said Carney kept his booth messy, while Sadie’s house was pristine, almost shrink-wrapped. There were plastic runners on the carpet, plastic covers on the couch and chairs, and plastic wrappers on the lamp shades. Even the coffee table had a sheet of lucite on top to make sure nobody ever touched the wood.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Sadie said, and Richard and I did the best we could. “Deputy Norton said that y’all were helping the police investigate my brother’s death.”
That wasn’t strictly true, but since Trey had said it, I wasn’t about to contradict him. “We’re sorry to intrude at a time like this.”
“I’m getting used to the idea of Carney being gone.” She picked up a framed picture from the coffee table and looked at it critically. “I remember Mama telling him not to play with knives when he was a little boy, but he never listened.”
“May I?” I asked, and took it from her. It was the first time I’d seen a picture of Carney, and it seemed odd that I knew so much about him without knowing what he looked like. The picture was a snapshot of a man around forty years old with thinning hair and pale skin who was trying to smile at the camera. Maybe it was because of what I knew about him, but Carney didn’t look very happy to me. For the first time, I felt real sympathy for him, not just curiosity about who had killed him.
“Nice-looking man,” I said politely.
“He looked a lot like Daddy,” Sadie said, and put the picture back exactly where it had been. How she could do that without a dust outline to mark the spot, I didn’t know. “What can I do for you?”
“We have a theory we’re working with. It’s a little unusual, but it seems to fit the facts. We think the person who killed your brother was looking for something. The killer had your brother’s van long enough to search it, and his booth out at the flea market could have been searched the day he was killed or during the break-in this past weekend. There was also an incident out there yesterday.”
“Belva told me about the break-in, but she said it was a gang of kids, and that they probably killed Carney, too. Today I heard something about a serial killer.”
“Deputy Tucker is investigating those theories,” I said, trying to sound polite, “but we want to investigate all possibilities.”
Sadie nodded, so what I said must have made some sense. “What do you think the killer was looking for?” she asked.
“To tell you the truth, we don’t know, but after what happened yesterday, we’re fairly sure he hasn’t found it yet. I was told that when the police examined your brother’s apartment, it was messy even though you’d just cleaned it. Do you think that it could have been searched on Sunday? The killer took Mr. Alexander’s keys.”
Sadie put one hand to her mouth. “I just thought Carney had made a mess. It never occurred to me that it could have been anything else; but I was out of town until Sunday afternoon, so anybody could have gone up there while I was gone. The killer could even have come in here!” She looked around in alarm as if expecting to see traces of an intruder. I didn’t think anybody could have set foot in that room without her being able to tell immediately, but I understood how the idea of somebody being in her house would upset her.
“Did Carney have a key to the house?” Richard asked.
She nodded.
“Then, if I were you,” he said, “I’d get the locks changed.”
“I already did. Deputy Norton suggested it.”
Good for Trey. I bet Mark never would have thought of it. “Anyway, we still don’t know what the killer was looking for or where it is. Other than his van, the flea market, and his apartment, where would Carney have been likely to hide something?”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Carney didn’t go out much.”
“We know about the agoraphobia,” Richard said.
“Then you understand that there’s no place else he could have hidden anything because there’s nowhere else he could have gone,” she said. “He used to try to go outside or into a store or over to a friend’s house, but it was like he couldn’t breathe. Of course, he wasn’t always like this or he’d never have been able to finish school. It came on after his wife left him, right after he was laid off. Or maybe it was when Mama and Daddy died. It all happened in there together, which may be the problem. I’ve read that stress can bring on agoraphobia.
“Once he got it, he never could shake it. I imagine it’s been three years or more since he even tried to go out. The last place he added was Tight as a Tick, and if his booth hadn’t been inside, he’d never have been able to do it. Are you sure it’s not somewhere out there?”
“Pretty sure,” I said. “The killer searched, and then Thatcher looked at everything when he bought Carney’s stock. There’s nowhere in the booth itself to hide anything—the floor is concrete, and the walls are made of cinder blocks.”
“Then I don’t know where else to look. You could check his apartment, but it sounds like the killer looked there. I’ve cleaned in there many times, and I never saw any
thing unusual.”
“Tell me, how does someone survive with agoraphobia that severe?” Richard said. “Mr. Alexander couldn’t get a job, could he?”
“No, but he had money from our parents. They had a big insurance policy because our cousin sold insurance, so we both inherited a good amount. I used mine to buy this house, and Carney put his away and lived on the interest and what he made with his knives.”
“How did he eat, buy clothes, get his van serviced?”
“I did what I could, and anything I couldn’t do, Carney paid somebody else to do or did it by mail. You’d be surprised at how many catalogs there are. He bought knives and most of his clothes and just about anything you can think of by mail. Since I work at the post office, he didn’t even have to go out to buy stamps.”
“By mail?” I said slowly, thinking. “Could he have hidden something in the mail? He could have mailed it to himself, or mailed it to somebody else to mail back to him.”
“He did ask me to mail a bunch of envelopes the Friday before he was killed,” she said.
“Has he gotten any mail since he died?”
“Lots of it. He was always getting packages and catalogs and such. I haven’t even had a chance to look at it yet.”
“Would you mind taking a look at it now?” I asked.
“Of course not. Come on into the kitchen.”
The kitchen wasn’t quite so perfect as the living room. I even saw a stain on the counter.
“I’ve got it all right here,” Sadie said, putting a plastic post office bin on the counter. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Sadie’s time at the post office had paid off. She sorted that mail much faster than I could have, and in just a few minutes got it down to three manila envelopes. “This one is from a knife collector friend of Carney’s in Wilmington, this one is from a cousin, and I don’t know this return address.”
She opened the envelope from the address she didn’t recognize, pulled out a magazine, and blushed. “So that’s where he got those things,” she muttered, and shoved it back into the envelope.
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