Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries)

by Teresa Watson

There wasn’t much more to say after that. The crowd dispersed as T.J. came back with some yellow crepe paper and started marking off the perimeter around the merry-go-round. I tried not to watch as he wrapped it around the nearest trees, but he caught me looking and smiled. I blushed and turned away, focusing on Babe instead.

  “Are you really going to take her?” Owen asked.

  “What other choice do I have? I can’t let Earline take her to the pound.”

  Owen patted Babe’s head. “You’re right. Will she fit into your car?”

  I looked over at my Mini Cooper. “What do you think?”

  “Well, I’d let you take the truck, but it is part of a crime scene. Tell you what, I’ll have T.J. drive her out to your place in the patrol car.”

  My heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing T.J. later. “Um, sure, that would be just fine. I have to go to the hardware store for some paint, but I should be home in an hour.”

  Owen nodded and turned to look at Amos. “Poor old bastard.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed with his opinion of Amos, but I didn’t say so aloud. Instead, I said goodbye to Babe and went to the hardware store.

  Five men stood by the register, talking about Amos. The consensus was that his death was bound to happen eventually. “Hell, I’ve been tempted to put a bullet in his butt a time or two myself,” Roger Tinsdall, the store owner declared. “He always came in here acting like he was entitled to anything he wanted.”

  “He did the same thing everywhere. Just because his ancestors established this town, he thought he could tell everyone what to do,” Walter Simmons added.

  “Owen’s not going to stop until he finds out who killed Amos,” Crandall Martin said.

  “Maybe we should make sure he doesn’t find out,” Roger said as I walked toward the paint.

  “Are you crazy?” Walter replied. “It’s against the law to interfere with an official police investigation!”

  “I didn’t say to interfere,” Roger said. “But we don’t have to tell him everything, either. If he asks, we will tell him that we were playing poker last night. We’re fine, upstanding citizens. He won’t have any reason to doubt us.

  “I have an alibi for last night,” Crandall said.

  “You’re going to use Trixie as your alibi?” Walter said. “What would Andrea say about that?”

  “It isn’t any of her damn business,” Crandall growled.

  “I’m pretty sure Andrea would disagree with that,” Roger laughed.

  Crandall noticed me for the first time. “Hey, Lizzie, how ya doing?”

  The other men turned to look at me. “What can I get you, Lizzie?” Roger said as he came around the counter.

  For some reason, I felt uncomfortable. “I…I need some paint. I’m redoing the shed in my backyard.”

  “Well, sure,” he replied. “What color do you want? You aren’t going to paint it pink again, are you? Did your momma pick out the color?”

  I laughed. “No, I’m not about to let her choose again. I was thinking blue or brown this time.”

  “I seem to remember your shed has a couple of windows with shutters. Why don’t you paint it beige and the shutters blue?” I nodded in agreement, and he began mixing the paint. “So, I understand that you found Amos.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Roger shook his head. “Damn shame. Amos was a jerk, but no one deserves to be killed.”

  “Not everyone seems to agree with your point of view, Roger,” Crandall said behind me. “Otherwise, Amos would still be alive.”

  He was right about that, but I didn’t want to say that aloud. However, their comment about interfering in Owen’s investigation made me wonder if one of them had something to do with the murder.

  Roger carried the two paint cans to the front counter and rang it up. “That’ll be $52.85, Lizzie.” I handed him the money, grabbed the cans and left. Walking away, I couldn’t decide if I should tell Owen what I had heard. As I put the cans in the car, I looked over at the park, where Owen and T.J. were working. My conscience told me that I needed to do the right thing. Sighing, I started toward the park, but someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me backwards. I turned around and came face to face with Albert Garcia, one of the other men that had been in the hardware store.

  “You need to stay out of this, Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “There is more to this than you will ever understand. Just let Owen do his job. He won’t find anything, and it will all go away. But only if you don’t tell him what you overheard inside.”

  I looked at him, wondering what he thought I knew. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows that Crandall goes down to Trixie’s place once a week, Albert. It’s not that earth shattering. Owen will find out, anyway. He doesn’t need to hear it from me.”

  “Keep it that way,” he said as he walked away. I watched him go back into the hardware store and say something to the others. They turned to look at me. I felt a cold chill go up my spine. They knew something about Amos’ murder.

  Chapter 5

  I decided to go home instead of talking to Owen. The five men watched me through the window until I got in my car. Since Brookdale is a small town (population 2,343, located south of Dallas), it only took five minutes to get home.

  My little house sat on a half acre, with old oak trees surrounding it. They certainly helped keep the cooling costs down during the hot summer months, and I loved sitting in my fenced backyard in the evenings. It wasn’t a big house, but for a single woman, it was just the right size.

  I got out of the Cooper, grabbed the paint, and walked around to the side gate leading to the backyard. In the left corner of the yard sat my hideously pink shed. It was my workshop of sorts – on one side, I kept potting soil, plant food, trowels and spades for when I felt like growing plants. One the other side, I had a workbench, where my woodcarving tools and vice sat. It was too hot to spend much of the summer months in there, though. Even with a window air conditioner and a fan, I usually felt like I was melting within 30 minutes.

  Unlocking the door, I put the paint cans on the workbench and walked back to the front door of the house. As I turned the knob, the phone started ringing. I grabbed it on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Crenshaw? This is Deputy Reynolds. I wanted to make sure you were home before I brought the dog.”

  My heart skipped a couple of beats at the sound of his voice. Get a grip, Lizzie. Geez! “I just walked in the door.”

  “Great. I’ll bring her by in a few minutes, then.” He hung up before I could say anything else. Damn, I had forgotten to buy any pet supplies while I was at the square. I’m not a blonde, but sometimes I sure act like one.

  I quickly picked up the mess in the living room and put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. My living room/kitchen area was one big open space, with the dining room acting like a divider between the two. A hallway to the left led to the master bedroom, with another small hallway leading to the bathroom and guest room. Like I said, it was small, but I didn’t need a lot of space. I just hoped the house was big enough to accommodate a bloodhound, too.

  I saw a police car pull into the driveway. I opened the front door as the deputy coaxed Babe out. “Nice little house,” he commented as they came up the sidewalk.

  “Thank you,” I said. I bent down in front of Babe. “How are you, girl?” She responded by giving me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

  “I didn’t know if you had any dog food or bowls, so I bought some before I called you. I hope that’s alright.”

  “Oh, sure, that’s fine.” I watched him go back to his car, where he pulled three bags and a huge sack of dog food out of the trunk. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “I’m happy to help.”

  “But I can’t let you do that. I know this stuff isn’t cheap. Surely you don’t make a lot of money as a sheriff’s deputy.”

  “I’m sure I make more as a deputy than you do as a writer,” he smiled.

  “How did you
know I was a writer?”

  “The sheriff.” How odd. Owen was usually rather tightlipped about his friends. “Where do you want me to put this stuff?”

  “Let’s put the bags in the kitchen and the dog food in the shed until I can figure something else out,” I said, taking the bags from him. Putting them on the table, I unlocked the sliding glass door and led him out to the shed. Babe followed us, looked around the yard, and plopped down under a shade tree.

  “If you don’t mind me saying this, that is one ugly looking shed,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t be the first one to say so, Deputy Reynolds.”

  “Just T.J., please.” He dropped the dog food near the potting soil.

  “I’m Lizzie.”

  “Sheriff said you were planning to paint it.”

  “I had planned to get an early start this morning, but for obvious reasons, I didn’t.”

  “I’m pretty good with a paintbrush, if you’d like some help.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that. You have a murder to investigate, don’t you?”

  “Well, the sheriff is more familiar with the people in this town, and they are probably going to be more inclined to talk to him than to me. The state crime boys are going over the park with a fine tooth comb right now, so Sheriff Greene told me to take the rest of the day off.”

  “In other words, Owen sent you over here to pump me for information about my alibi last night.”

  T.J. blushed. “Maybe.”

  “I see.” I looked at his clothes. “Are you planning to paint in your uniform?”

  He looked down at himself. “Um, no. I’ll go home, change clothes and be right back.”

  “Why don’t you stop by the store and pick up something to throw on the grill? The least I can do is cook for you.”

  “Deal. And when I get back, you can tell me what the man from the hardware store said to before you left.” He walked off.

  T.J. had seen my encounter with Albert Garcia. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? A better question: did Albert know someone had seen him talking to me?

  Was it too late to call a mulligan on the whole morning?

  Chapter 6

  When I went back out to the shed, I realized that the pink would show through the beige paint, which meant I needed primer. Going back to the hardware store did not seem like a good idea, so painting would have to wait for another day.

  I grabbed the dog bowls from the bags on the table, went back outside and filled one with dog food, the other with water. I placed them near Babe under the tree. She didn’t look too interested in getting up to check them out, so I sat down next to her, my back against the trunk. She put her head in my lap and sighed.

  We were still sitting that way when T.J. came back an hour later. “Why haven’t you started painting yet?” he asked as he stopped in front of us.

  “Because I forgot the primer, I didn’t know when you were coming back, and I didn’t feel like going to the hardware store again.”

  “You mean this stuff?” He held up a can of white primer. “I noticed you didn’t have any when I put the dog food by the shed.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I protested.

  “I didn’t mind. I brought some steaks and corn on the cob for the grill.”

  I stood up and brushed off the back of my overalls. “I’ll start marinating the steaks. There are brushes and trays in the shed.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were busy priming over the pink paint. Since it was early October, the temperature wasn’t too bad, making for pleasant working conditions. Babe supervised from her place under the tree. “So what made you decide to take her in?” T.J. asked.

  “You heard Earline. Babe was doomed to the pound. I can’t blame her, though. Amos doted on that dog. There is enough room here for Babe, I think.”

  “You’re a sucker for those sad eyes,” T.J. laughed.

  I laughed with him. “Yes, I am. I’ve been thinking about getting a pet, although I was aiming for something a bit smaller. I wasn’t planning on a dog as tall as my trash can.”

  “What happened at the hardware store?”

  I hesitated for a moment before answering. “What makes you think anything happened?”

  “I saw you come out of the store, and you looked concerned. Your eyes scanned the park before you located the sheriff, and you started to head in his direction before that man pulled you back. After you two finished talking, you looked scared.”

  “Really?” I looked at him. “Are you investigating the murder or me?”

  “The murder.”

  “So, you really don’t need to be prying into my personal life. I’m the one who found the body, remember?”

  “That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill him.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am. It’s happened before. A person reporting a murder is sometimes the one who perpetrated the crime.”

  “Get out,” I said, dropping the paintbrush in the tray. “Tell Sheriff Greene if he wants to ask me questions, he can come do it himself. Don’t send some flunky out here to do his dirty work.” I stormed into the house, shut the patio door and locked it.

  He knocked on the glass. “Come on, Lizzie, open up.”

  “That’s Ms. Crenshaw to you, Deputy Reynolds.”

  “Look, I’m sorry for what I said. It didn’t come out right.”

  “I have nothing else to say to you, Deputy. If you persist with this line of questioning, I will be forced to call Sheriff Greene and report that you are harassing me.”

  “Oh good grief,” he said, exasperated. “The sheriff was right. You are a stubborn woman.”

  “He said what?”

  “Stubborn, along with a few other adjectives. He also said he knew you didn’t kill Amos Gardner.”

  I snorted. “And just how does he know that?”

  “Because you took in Babe. He said when you were in high school, you wouldn’t dissect a frog in biology because you were squeamish.”

  “Then why did you accuse me of killing Amos?”

  “I didn’t mean to. I have the tendency to say things without thinking them through. I truly am sorry.”

  I unlocked the door and opened it. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

  “Understood.”

  “Maybe we should just paint and not talk.”

  “Agreed.”

  We finished priming the shed thirty minutes later, neither one of us saying anything. I grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and sat next to him near Babe. “Since we aren’t painting now,” he said, “you want to tell me what happened at the hardware store?”

  I still hadn’t decided what to tell him. I had lived here all my life. These men were family friends. It felt like betraying a confidence, in a way. On the other hand, they were talking about interfering with a police investigation, and while I didn’t like Amos, his murderer should be arrested. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. However, my strong sense of fair play kicked in, and I told him what I had overheard. “That doesn’t mean they are actually going to do anything to impede the investigation,” I added quickly. “But something is going on that they don’t want you to know about.”

  “Who is Trixie?” T.J. wanted to know.

  “You haven’t heard about Trixie?” I said. “How long have you been here?”

  “Three months.”

  I laughed. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a call about her yet.”

  “So who is she?”

  “Well, Trixie, um…she runs a business on the outskirts of town, just outside city limits, actually.”

  “You mean she owns the Grab ‘n Go?”

  “No, that’s on the other side of town.” I tried to think of a nice way to tell him. “Trixie runs a gentleman’s club.”

  T.J. looked surprised. “You’re joking.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not.”

  “Why doesn’t the sheriff shut her down or arrest her?”

 
; “Because he could get into serious trouble if he did.”

  “How is he going to get into trouble for shutting down an escort service?”

  “It’s not an escort service, it’s a gentleman’s club.”

  “Same thing, just a different name for it. Don’t change the subject. How is he going to get in trouble?”

  “His mother would drop kick him into the next county. Trixie is his sister.”

  Chapter 7

  “You’re kidding?” T.J. said incredulously. I shook my head. “He doesn’t shut her down? I mean, isn’t there a city ordinance against running a …”

  “It’s a gentleman’s club,” I interrupted. “Trixie doesn’t allow any…extracurricular activities, namely the ones you are thinking about.”

  “How do you know what I am thinking?”

  “The look on your face says it all. Look, the main purpose of the club is to give the men in town a place to go where they won’t be nagged to death by the women in their lives. Your mind automatically went to the gutter because I said it was a gentleman’s club. I’m pretty sure you can’t get arrested for playing pool or cards, having a few drinks, and spending time with your friends.”