Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 07 - Mad as the Dickens

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  I nodded, resolving never to leave my child alone or own a space heater. Then, eager to change the subject, I said, “Jake and Seth must have gotten along well to have worked together and lived in the same house.”

  “They seemed to,” Carlelle said.

  But Idelle added, “Most of the time, anyway. I saw them going at it one time last week.”

  “What were they arguing about?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t close enough to hear much of it,” she said, sounding regretful, “but I think it was something to do with business. Seth said something about local competition, and Jake said they couldn’t afford to just give everything up. It didn’t last long, and they seemed all right the next day, so it must not have been all that serious.”

  “What would Jake have done if Seth had retired?” I said. “For that matter, what will he do now that Seth is gone?”

  Carlelle said, “I would think he’d keep the business going, since that’s the only job he’s got, but I don’t really know.”

  Though killing one’s father to gain ownership of a chair company didn’t seem like a compelling motive to me, it might look different from Jake’s perspective. Or had they been arguing about moonshine and not chairs? “Seth didn’t seem bothered by anything from what I saw of him. Did he say anything to y’all about being worried, or being in danger?”

  The two sisters looked at one another, then shook their heads.

  “What about David and Seth?” I asked. “Did they get along?”

  “I guess,” Carlelle said hesitantly.

  “But?” I prompted.

  “It’s not like I saw them fighting, but they were awfully different. David being in business and being married to Florence Easterly and all. He’s so serious, and Seth was so funny. Listening to the two of them together was like listening to two acquaintances talking, not a father and son. They didn’t seem to have much in common.”

  “Same planet, different worlds,” I said. Sometimes I felt that way myself. Goodness knows I’d led a very different life from the rest of my family. Not only was I the first Burnette to go to college; I was the first to move up North and the first to marry a Yankee. There’d been a time when I wasn’t close to any of my relatives, and it had taken work on all of our parts to get over that. It was a shame that Seth and David weren’t going to have that chance.

  I looked at Junior to see if she had any other questions, but she shook her head. So I thanked Ideile and Carlelle for their help and left them to their costumes.

  Chapter 12

  “I don’t get it, Junior,” I said. “Killing Seth was like killing Santa Claus.”

  “Seth wasn’t a saint, Laurie Anne, and Santa Claus doesn’t run a still.”

  “I know, but it still seems nuts to me.”

  I was trying to decide who to talk to next when the door opened and a woman came in. Her hair was platinum blond and permed, and though the coat slung over one arm was navy blue, everything else she had on was the same shade of pink: skirt, blouse, purse, even her boots. It had been a while since I’d seen Sally Hendon, but a color scheme like that was impossible to forget.

  “It’s true!” she exclaimed in a voice loud enough to draw the attention of everybody in the room. “I didn’t believe it, but it’s true.”

  Vasti dropped whatever project she’d been supervising and rushed over to stand in front of Sally, her hands on her hips. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “Vasti, aren’t you looking well? How’s that baby of yours? How can you stand to leave her alone? I’d have thought you’d want to spend as much of her first Christmas season with her as you could.”

  Vasti refused to rise to the bait. “What are you doing here, Sally? I thought you had a show to put on.”

  Sally waved a hand in the air. “We’ve got everything under control over at the high school. I swear, my people are so organized, we could go on tonight.” She looked pointedly at the chaos that reigned around us. “I heard that you hadn’t given up on your little play after all, and thought I’d come over to see if I could help.”

  “We don’t need any help from you!” Vasti said. “We’re doing just fine.”

  “Oh, Vasti, we’re family. You don’t have to put on a brave face in front of me. I know things must be falling completely apart.”

  I could see the steam starting to shoot from Vasti’s ears, and I wondered how long it would be before she threw a tantrum that would completely erase the memory of Richard’s outbursts. I didn’t think she’d get physical, but just in case, I moved closer to the two of them. Junior came, too, but I suspect she just didn’t want to miss anything.

  Vasti must have realized that others were watching—particularly Florence. So instead of the verbal attack I was expecting, she adopted a syrupy tone to match Sally’s. “That’s so sweet, but I just can’t imagine what help you could be here. You better head right back to your own rehearsal before things get out of hand. You know what they say: while the cat’s away, the mice will play.”

  Other than a slight emphasis on the word cat, I thought Vasti had done a fine job of insulting Sally sweetly—just the kind of performance that the Junior League expected of its members. But Sally wasn’t giving up.

  “Vasti, everybody knows that you can’t put on a show without a leading man. The loss of poor Mr. Murdstone is tragic in so many ways.” She pulled a sad face for a few seconds, then snapped her fingers as if something had just occurred to her. “I know! Why don’t we combine shows? We’ll add a skit to my show, something short so your people won’t have any trouble learning their lines. And you’ll be able to go back home and tend to that darling daughter of yours.”

  Junior League or not, Vasti was about to lose it, so I thought I’d better step in. “That’s kind of you to offer,” I said, “but we’ve found a replacement for Seth.”

  “Who?” Sally snapped. Then she forced a smile. “I mean, I understood that all the town’s capable actors were already busy.”

  “Hadn’t you heard?” Vasti said, knowing that even Byerly’s rumor mill couldn’t have spread the word yet. “Big Bill Walters is going to play Scrooge.”

  Sally’s mouth opened, but nothing came out for a good thirty seconds. Finally she visibly pulled herself together and said, “Is that right? How wonderful.” There wasn’t anything else Sally could say without implying criticism of the leading family in town, and as a dedicated social climber, she knew better than to do that. “Are you sure there isn’t something I can do to help? You must be worn out. I can tell your little girl isn’t sleeping through the night.”

  Ouch. Vasti was so good with makeup, I hadn’t really noticed the bags under her eyes until then. After all her years selling Mary Kay, Sally must have learned how to spot the signs.

  “I’m just fine,” Vasti said through gritted teeth.

  “But surely—”

  Before Sally could repeat herself, I heard Aunt Maggie bellow, “Sally, if you really want something to do, come help me unload these boxes of props. And bring a rag with you—the dust on some of this stuff must be an inch thick.”

  Sally froze, then reached into her purse. “Oh, darn, there goes my pager.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Vasti said suspiciously.

  Sally made a show of looking at the display of her beeper, though I noticed she held it so that nobody else could see it. “I’ve got to run. Vasti, you be sure and call when you need my help.”

  She hurried out the door, but not before Vasti muttered under her breath, “When pigs fly.” I knew Sally must have heard it, because the color that rushed to her face didn’t come from Mary Kay.

  People got back to work after that, but even though I’d had a good dinner, I was hungry again. So I excused myself from Junior and went to find the package of snacks I’d left in the kitchen. I ate the fruit and drank water for the baby, then had a cookie for myself. I was coming back into the auditorium, wiping crumbs from my shirt, when Sid Honeywell came in the front door and called
out, “Did anybody ask for something to get delivered here?”

  “Like what?” Vasti asked.

  Sid said, “There are some big old boxes out here that I don’t think were here before.”

  Looking mystified, Vasti followed him outside. Junior and I went along, too.

  Sure enough, three large cardboard boxes were stuck in an alcove outside, not too far from the nook the play’s cigarette smokers had taken over since Seth’s murder.

  “I could have missed them,” Sid said, “but I swear I think I’d have noticed something this big.”

  “What in the Sam Hill is this?” Vasti said, and reached out to grab one.

  “Hold it,” Junior said. “Why don’t you let me take a look first?”

  Vasti jumped back. “You don’t think it’s a bomb, do you?”

  Junior said, “Bombs aren’t usually this big,” but I noticed that she didn’t touch anything right away. Instead she pulled a tiny pocket flashlight and let the light shine onto the ground around the boxes. “The ground’s too hard to hold prints, but it looks like somebody dragged them over from the parking lot.”

  Once she pointed it out, I could see the bent grass and scuff marks on the hard red clay that covered most of the area.

  Junior moved closer, still not touching anything, and looked at the side opposite us. “According to this label, these boxes were supposed to be delivered to the Byerly Auditorium.”

  There was no Byerly Auditorium; the high school auditorium and the recreation center itself were the closest we had to such a thing. “Does it say who sent them?” I asked.

  “Morris Costumes in Charlotte.”

  “Morris Costumes!” said a voice behind us. I hadn’t realized it, but a crowd had gathered behind us. Idelle burst out and, if Junior hadn’t stopped her, would have opened the boxes right then and there. “These are the costumes we ordered!”

  “Where did they come from?” Odelle wanted to know. “They were supposed to have been delivered a week and a half ago.”

  “There’s no way they’ve been here all this time,” Carlelle declared. “We’d have seen them.”

  “Besides which,” Junior added, “it rained late last week, and these boxes are bone dry.”

  “It’s safe to open them, isn’t it, Junior?” Ideile asked.

  “Give me a minute first.” She walked around all three boxes, looking closely at them. “They should be all right. It doesn’t look like the tape’s been messed with since they left Charlotte.”

  The triplets gleefully ripped open the boxes and, after making sure they’d finally gotten what they’d ordered, drafted a couple of helpers and gleefully carted off their prize.

  Vasti just stood there with her arms folded tightly across her chest, tapping her foot. “It was that Sally Hendon. I bet they got delivered to her show by mistake, and she didn’t bother to tell anybody. She must have dumped them off when she was here.”

  “Why do you say that?” said a voice.

  I jumped as Mark Pope stepped out. The way the man appeared from nowhere was getting on my nerves.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Vasti said. “She shows up without being invited, and as soon as she’s gone, we find these boxes. Do you know how much time’s been wasted making new costumes?” She sounded as indignant as if it had been her own time that had been wasted. “Not having costumes could have ruined the show, which is what Sally wants. She thought the play was canceled, so she must have figured it wouldn’t hurt to give them back now.” She wagged a finger at Mark. “You ought to arrest her.”

  Aunt Maggie, who’d come out with the others, said, “Maybe it wasn’t Sally. It could have been our practical joker.” She turned to Mark, too. “It seems to me that you ought to be able to do something about this troublemaker before somebody gets hurt.”

  “In case y’all have forgotten, I’ve got a murder investigation to tend to. I don’t have time for playing games with …” He paused. “On second thought, tell me more about these jokes.”

  Between them, Vasti and Aunt Maggie gave him a rundown on all the pranks I’d heard about, plus a few others, and Mark actually took notes. I looked at Junior, but she looked as confused as I was that Mark would take it so seriously.

  “It seems to me that we’ve got a pattern here,” Mark finally said. “What kind of pattern?” Junior asked.

  “The way these pranks have been escalating. You’ve been worried that somebody might get hurt. Maybe somebody already did. Maybe what happened to Seth Murdstone wasn’t a murder after all.”

  “You think he died because of a practical joke?” Junior said, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “The man wasn’t hit over the head with a whoopee cushion.”

  Mark shot her a look. “Even an innocent bucket of water propped on a door can cause harm if it falls the wrong way.”

  “I didn’t see any bucket near Seth’s body.”

  “I didn’t say it was a bucket, only that it could have been. There are all kinds of ways it could have been rigged. Obviously the prankster found Seth first, and removed the evidence.”

  “Maybe it’s obvious to you—” Junior started to say. Then she stopped herself. “Never mind me. You go ahead and handle this however you want.”

  Mark looked as if he wasn’t sure he could take her at her word, but he turned back to Vasti. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “I’ve already told you who it is,” Vasti said. “Sally Hendon must be behind all the pranks. I want you to arrest her!”

  “I can’t do that,” Mark said slowly.

  “Why not?” Vasti said.

  “Because Mrs. Hendon didn’t leave these boxes here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It just so happens that I was examining the grounds when she arrived, and I was still here when she left. At no time did she unload any boxes.”

  “Are you sure?” Vasti said, clearly deflated. “Maybe she left them earlier. It was nearly dark when we got here; maybe we missed them.”

  “Possibly,” Mark allowed, “but there are other possibilities. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go inside and see what I can find out about these so-called practical jokes.”

  Most of the others followed him inside, with Vasti speculating loudly that everything from a broken nail to low air in her tires could have been sabotage.

  I waited with Junior until they were gone, then said, “What do you think? Could Seth have died by accident?”

  “It’s possible,” Junior said, “but it doesn’t seem to fit. All of the other practical jokes were pretty easily fixed. It was a pain untying those ropes, but it’s not like any of them were cut. In fact, none of the other practical jokes have been dangerous. Missing thread and toilet paper isn’t the kind of thing to get anybody hurt. Offhand, I can’t think of any practical joke that would have killed Seth without leaving some sign of it.”

  “What about what Mark said? The prankster could have found Seth first and then removed the evidence.”

  “That’s mighty cold-blooded for a practical joker.”

  “True,” I said, “and come to think of it, this new prank kind of blows the idea, anyway.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Suppose I was a practical joker, and even though one of my stunts had gone so badly wrong as to kill somebody, I’d managed to get away with it. The last thing I’d want to do is to play another joke. I’d swear off them for life!”

  “Then again, you might develop a taste for killing, the way serial killers do.”

  “In that case, I’d set up something else that could kill somebody. I wouldn’t bother messing with costumes.”

  “That makes sense to me. So what do you say we leave the practical jokes to Mark? He probably won’t catch the killer, but maybe the joker will get nervous and find somebody else to bother.”

  Chapter 13

  Junior and I had intended to corner somebody else when we got back inside, but Richard had all of the cast onstage to give them comments on t
heir performances, and most of the crew was helping the triplets unpack the newly delivered costumes. Besides which, Mark was poking around, and the way he kept looking our way made me nervous.

  “Do you suppose he’s going to be hanging around like that tomorrow?” I asked Junior.

  “There’s no telling.”

  “Maybe we could go someplace where we won’t have him around.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “We could go visit Aunt Nora. She might have gossip about Seth. Or we could go to Aunt Daphine’s beauty parlor. A lot of good stuff gets told there.”

  “That might be interesting,” Junior said, but she didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  “You think it would be a waste of time, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

  “What would you say?”

  “I’d say that I’m tired, and kind of discouraged.”

  “I’m doing my best, Junior.”

  “It’s not you, Laurie Anne. It’s me. I’m used to doing things a certain way; that’s all.”

  “And I’m used to doing things my way,” I said, feeling a bit discouraged myself. “Maybe I’m the wrong person for this murder, what with Seth being a moonshiner. I don’t know the first thing about moonshine.”

  “Officially, moonshine is any corn whiskey that hasn’t been aged, but generally speaking, it’s the illegal kind that gets people’s attention,” Junior said with a grin.

  “Ha, ha. I know what it is, but I don’t know anything about the business.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Laurie Anne.” She was still grinning.

  “All right, laugh it up. But since you obviously know all about it, wouldn’t you like to enlighten poor ignorant me?”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t know a whole lot about the nuts and bolts of bootlegging myself, but there is somebody who might help us.”

  “Your daddy?”

  “No, I’m talking about somebody in the business. When does rehearsal start tomorrow?”