“I get the business and the house, and David gets Daddy’s insurance,” he said tersely, “which comes out about even.”
“Are you going to keep the business going?”
Jake looked me in the eye, as if trying to decide how much I knew about his business. “I expect I will. I don’t know anything else. Just making chairs.”
I mentally ran through our other suspects, but I couldn’t think of anybody Jake would be able to tell us about. Apparently, Junior couldn’t either.
“I guess that’s it, then,” she said. “Thank you for talking to us.”
He didn’t answer—just went back to his painting. I wanted to say something comforting to him, but there wasn’t anything I could say.
Junior and I came out from backstage and found ourselves in the middle of a three-way argument involving Vasti, Aunt Maggie, and Carlelle.
“Why haven’t you been keeping up with it?” Vasti was asking.
“I only volunteered to be in charge of props, and it’s not a prop,” Aunt Maggie said. “Scrooge’s cane is part of his costume.”
Vasti turned to Carlelle. “Then you should be keeping up with it.”
“Maybe I should be, but I haven’t been,” she retorted. “I didn’t make it, so I didn’t store it.”
“Don’t tell me somebody booby-trapped Scrooge’s cane, too,” I said.
“How would I know?” Vasti snapped. “We don’t even know where the foolish thing is.”
“When was the last time anybody saw it?” Junior asked sharply.
“Big Bill says he never saw it, so Seth must have—I mean, it must have gotten misplaced in all the confusion. I could ask Jake to make another one, but …” Even Vasti must have realized how awkward that would be.
Aunt Maggie said, “I think I’ve got one Big Bill can borrow for the show. It won’t be authentic, but—”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Vasti said. “Just make sure this one doesn’t get lost.”
The three of them went in separate directions, and I noticed Junior was looking speculative.
“Junior?” I said. “What did I miss?”
“I was just wondering about that cane.”
“It sounds like the practical joker struck again.”
“Maybe. But don’t you remember Seth carrying that thing around all the time, practicing with it?” Then she answered herself. “No, of course not. You and Richard weren’t here when Jake made it for him.”
“What’s your point?”
“I’m just wondering if Seth had it in his hand when he went for that last cigarette break. Because now that I think of it, that cane was just about the right thickness to make that dent in his skull.”
“Lord, I bet you’re right.” I thought about it. “Then the murder must have been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Otherwise the killer would have brought something along to do the job.”
“Not necessarily. The killer might have had something else in mind, but when he saw the cane, he decided to use it instead.” Before I could object, she said, “But I think you’re right. I’ve thought all along that this killing felt unplanned, and the cane as murder weapon just reinforces that. I just wish we could find the thing so we’d know for sure.”
Junior wanted to talk to David after that, but there was no chance of that. Since all three Murdstones were going to be missing rehearsal the next day to get ready for Seth’s visitation and funeral, Richard was making the most of Florence’s and David’s time by working on their scenes. Even when David wasn’t onstage, he was staying close by Florence, obviously making sure she came to no harm.
With opening night just two days away, everybody else was working at a fevered pitch, too, so we decided to call it quits for the day. Junior did lurk some more, both to defuse any other practical jokes and to search for Scrooge’s cane, but I spent the evening hemming a black robe for the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Be.
It was far too late when Richard finally shut things down for the night. I tried to bounce our ideas off him, which might have worked had he not been trying to bounce ideas for blocking off me. We finally decided that we both needed distraction, and went to bed to provide the best distraction we knew. We fell asleep immediately afterward.
Chapter 21
At least the next morning started out well. I think the Murdstones’ absence improved the mood. I always feel kind of guilty having a good time when there are people in mourning nearby, and maybe others felt the same, because up until mid-morning, people were more enthusiastic than they’d been since we got into town.
Then Vasti showed up and things went downhill quickly. She started out griping because the program page proofs weren’t ready yet, and she was sure Sally Hendon was behind the delay. Since she couldn’t do anything about that, she laid into the triplets for not having the costumes ready, refusing to remember that rearranging the cast had slowed them down. Then she went after Aunt Maggie, because we still needed a coal scuttle and an artificial turkey, but Aunt Maggie gave her a look that shut her up pretty quickly.
Before she could find another target, Vasti’s in-laws showed up. They were supposed to be watching Bitsy, but she was coming down with a cold and was refusing to take a bottle. So Vasti had to take her, and though I felt sorry for both mother and daughter, their combined whining started to get on everybody’s nerves.
“She’s got good lungs, hasn’t she?” Junior said, talking loudly to be heard over the caterwauling.
“Do you mean Bitsy or Vasti?”
“Both, now that you mention it,” she said.
If all that weren’t enough, Sally Hendon picked that moment to sail in, immaculately clad in pink as always. Bitsy had spit up on Vasti twice, had thoroughly wrinkled her blouse by hanging on to her and crying into her shoulder, and had yanked on Vasti’s hair so much that every bit of curl had fallen out. It was not Vasti’s proudest moment; Sally smiled broadly when she saw her.
“Oh, bless your heart,” she cooed. “Is the baby not feeling well?”
Vasti glared at her. “What do you want?”
“Vasti, don’t you think you should take that little darling home? She needs her rest, and it looks like you could use a little down time yourself.”
Bitsy picked that moment to sneeze, messily, on Sally, which improved Vasti’s spirits. “Actually, Bitsy loves being around people,” she said with a smile. “Don’t you want to hold her?”
Bitsy sneezed again and Sally hastily stepped back.
“I better not,” she said. “I was wondering if you’d received any more packages from Morris Costumes.”
“Why would we?” Vasti asked suspiciously. “We already got what we ordered. In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that—”
“Shoot!” Sally said, cutting Vasti off. “I was hoping they’d delivered them here by mistake. Let me call my stage manager again.” She pulled a cell phone—pink, of course—out of her pocketbook, and dialed a number. “Lil? This is Sally.”
Vasti glowered, both because Sally had ignored her question and because Lil was another Junior League member who could have helped vote Vasti in.
Sally said, “Has that box shown up? The one with the musicians’ costumes? … It has? All of them? … Are you sure they’re going to fit? You know what a big man Roger Bailey is… . Wonderful. I’ll be back over there in two shakes. Bye, now.” She put the phone back in her purse and said, “Silly me. The costumes were there all along. I’m so sorry to have interrupted you when I know how far behind y’all must be.”
“Why do you have costumes for the Ramblers?” Vasti asked.
“Haven’t you heard? They’re going to be playing in the Follies.”
Vasti’s face turned bright red. Roger’s Ramblers was Byerly’s only group of professional musicians, and they were a big draw at any local event. Roger was also our uncle, so for him to be playing in Sally’s show was adding insult to injury.
“Aunt Ruby Lee said they were booked all month!” Vasti said.
&n
bsp; “I guess they had a cancelation,” said Sally, smiling so much like the cat who ate the canary that I was surprised there weren’t feathers between her teeth. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Vasti. What kind of music are you having for your show?”
“It’s a play, not a musical,” Vasti snapped. “We don’t need music.”
“That’s funny. The version of the script I looked at said there was supposed to be music before and after the show.”
“What?” Vasti shot a look at Richard onstage.
Richard said, “Traditionally, there is music while the audience is seated, and sometimes Scrooge leads the audience in a carol at the end, but it’s not necessary.”
“I suppose you can use a tape,” Sally said sweetly. “That would be almost as good as real music.”
“We’re having live music, too,” Vasti declared.
“Really? If you like, maybe I can help you find somebody.”
“I can find somebody myself. In fact, I’ve already got somebody in mind.”
“Who?” Sally wanted to know.
Vasti assumed an air of mystery. “It’s a surprise.”
Sally hesitated, probably trying to decide if Vasti was bluffing, but finally said, “I can’t wait to hear who you get.”
“Buy a ticket,” Vasti said ungraciously, “and you can find out.”
“Oh, I’ll be here, ready to help out with any last-minute problems you have come opening night.”
“There won’t be—” But I guess Vasti realized that she might be tempting fate. “You go tend to your own show.” Then she looked around for a handy victim. “Odelle, would you walk Sally to her car? I don’t want any more practical jokes.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Sally said, but Vasti grabbed her cell phone and started dialing. Realizing she’d lost her audience, Sally let Odelle accompany her to her car.
As soon as she was gone, Vasti put down the phone and said, “All right, who around here can sing or play an instrument?”
“Vasti,” Richard said, “the play really doesn’t need music. Or maybe we can use a Victrola—that’s what one version of the play calls for.”
“I said we’re having live music,” Vasti said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“If that’s what you want,” Richard said, sounding exasperated, “but you’ll have to handle that part yourself. I’ve got my hands full already.”
“Fine,” Vasti snapped. With Bitsy on one shoulder, she got out her address book and started thumbing through it furiously while Richard went back to his scene.
Junior came over, looking alarmed. “We better get out of here.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Your cousin is on a rampage. Five will get you ten that in a few minutes she’ll be dragging people together to make them sing. I’m a terrible singer, Laurie Anne.”
“You can’t be that bad,” I said.
“Have you ever heard someone run their nails down a blackboard?”
I nodded.
“I’m worse.”
“Then don’t worry. Vasti won’t try to force you.”
“Are you sure about that? She’s got that same look Daddy gets on Christmas Eve when he hasn’t found a present for Mama.”
I looked at my cousin, and sure enough, she was already asking Mrs. Gamp if she knew the words to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere but here.”
I grabbed my pocketbook and coat, waved to get Richard’s attention, and mouthed the words we’re going out. Vasti called my name as we headed for the door, but I pretended I hadn’t heard. We didn’t stop until we were out of the parking lot.
“We weren’t doing any good in there, anyway,” I said. “The one we really need to talk to is David.”
“He’s probably at home,” Junior pointed out. “We could go pay him a visit.”
“We can’t just barge in and start questioning him. Especially not today. They’re burying his father tomorrow.”
“In this line of work, I can’t always afford to be sensitive.”
“You’re a cop. Nobody expects you to be sensitive.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry. What I mean is that people will forgive you if you bypass the niceties. If I do, I’ll get grief for the next umpteen years.” Five years earlier, I’d worn black to a wedding, and even though people did it all the time in Boston, it wasn’t done in Byerly, and I still heard about it every time anybody planned a wedding. “Of course, it is acceptable to go calling if we bring food.”
Junior looked at me sideways. “We don’t have to cook it ourselves, do we? My cooking is as bad as my singing.”
“I think we could get away with buying something.” I wasn’t a bad cook, but I wasn’t interested in spending a lot of time in the kitchen. “They’ve always got nice fruit baskets at the grocery store this time of year. Let’s go get one of them.”
It was still early in the day, so the store wasn’t crowded, and it didn’t take us but a few minutes to find what we wanted.
As we walked back to the car, I saw a familiar face. “Looks like your deputy is on foot patrol,” I said to Junior.
She looked over to where Mark Pope was leaned up against a car, drinking a cup of coffee. “The criminals of Byerly must be shaking in their boots,” she said in disgust. “Not that we’ve done a whole lot of good ourselves.”
“The day is young,” I said, determined to be cheerful. “Come to think of it,” I said, “the day’s a bit young to go to David’s house, don’t you think?”
She checked her watch. “You’re right. I don’t think it would be polite to go over there until ten, eleven o’clock. Any suggestions?”
“Nothing to do with the case,” I admitted, “but how would you like to go to the mall in Hickory?”
“Laurie Anne, please don’t make me go to the mall during Christmas season.”
“Come on, Junior, it’ll be fun. How crowded can it be on a Wednesday morning?”
At least, that was what I thought. As we circled the parking lot at the Valley Hills Mall, trying to find a reasonably close spot, I admitted that I might have been overly optimistic. But I still needed to get some stocking stuffers for Richard, and unlike Junior, I enjoy Christmas shopping. So I sweet-talked her into continuing to look for a space, with promises of a treat from Charleston Cookie Company.
On the third or fourth circuit, I said, “Junior, look!”
“Is somebody pulling out?”
“No, but look over there. Isn’t that Mark again? In that green Saturn.”
She peered through parked cars. “Yes, it is. What’s he doing here?”
“Shopping?”
She shook her head. “Trey has a dentist appointment today and won’t be on duty until six. Mark’s on his own, which means he shouldn’t be outside the city limits, let alone in Hickory—and he’s not even in the squad car.”
It suddenly dawned on me. “Junior, he’s following us.”
“I think you’re right.”
“He’s sure going to be disappointed when he figures out we’re just shopping. Unless you want to borrow a camcorder so we can videotape him neglecting his duty and show it to the city council.”
“It’s tempting, but he’d come up with some excuse or another.” Then she grinned. “Want to have some fun?”
“I’d love to.”
The parking place gods must have approved, because just that second, a station wagon pulled out in front of us. Junior parked, but we stayed in the car long enough to plan, and to give Mark a chance to find a place to leave his car.
Then, with much ostentatious looking around and whispers, we headed inside the mall. Mark walked down the next row, hunched over as if that would keep us from seeing him over the roofs of the parked cars. The funny thing was, if he’d just walked normally, we probably wouldn’t have noticed him, but walking like that made him painfully obvious.
Once inside, Junior and I led the poor fellow
on the wildest goose chase we could manage. We synchronized our watches, shared significant looks, and exchanged hand signals. We’d stop suddenly at window displays, and just as suddenly take off again. I made a point of asking half a dozen people for the time, trying to make it seem as if something more meaningful were being said. Junior made two or three cell phone calls, then switched to pay phones, as if she were trying to avoid being traced. Then we split up, just to see which one he’d follow.
Mark looked terribly confused, but he finally decided to take off after Junior. That gave me time to do what I’d wanted to do in the first place, which was shop.
I quite enjoyed myself despite the crowds. The mall was festooned with garlands and lights, with a very credible Santa Claus holding court in the middle of the mall. I imagined Richard and me in another year, taking our baby to get a picture taken on Santa’s lap, and had a hard time resisting the impulse to buy something made of velvet and ruffles to put on a baby that hadn’t even been born yet.
It was also a relief to get my thoughts away from Seth’s murder. What with the last-minute trip and the play, Richard and I hadn’t had much time to savor the holiday season, and it did me good to remember the message the three Spirits had brought to Scrooge.
An hour and a half later, I went to meet Junior and found her in the food court, sipping a Coke and looking mighty satisfied.
“Didn’t you buy anything?” I asked her.
“Just this Coke and a bottle of water for you. It looks like you bought enough for both of us.” She took my shopping bags so I could sit down. “Is all of this for Richard?”
“Most of it,” I said sheepishly.
She looked into one bag, pulled out my new pocketbook, and raised one eyebrow. “I didn’t realize that the men in Boston were carrying pocketbooks.”
“That’s for me. Belk had a sale on them—it’s a D’Arcy Designs. It cost less than half what it would in Boston.”
“And this?” she said, pulling out a music CD.
“It’s Christmas music,” I said defensively. “Richard likes Kathé Ward’s songs, too.”
“I’m sure he does.” She reached for the bag from Tamsin’s Toy Chest, but I took it from her before she could open it. “That’s a surprise. So where’s our tail? Or did he give up?”
Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 07 - Mad as the Dickens Page 15