“If I would what?”
“Go with me to the gentlemen’s club to talk to Ms. Greene.”
“Why?” He looked embarrassed. “Trixie’s not going to bite you, T.J. She’s looking forward to meeting you, actually.”
He looked surprised. “How do you know that?”
“She just told me so.”
He looked at the café. “You mean she’s in there right now?” I nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, standing up. “I would feel more comfortable talking to her in there than at the club.”
I grabbed his hand. “Hold on a minute. The town’s worst gossips are in there. It would be all over town before you even made it back to the station.”
He sat back down, looking defeated. “Great.”
I felt sorry for him. “Would you like me to arrange a meeting at my house?”
“Could you?”
“I can try,” I said. “No guarantees.” I pulled out my phone and called Trixie. After a few minutes of cajoling and a promise of my fudge brownies with walnuts, she agreed to the meeting. “She’ll be there at 10 a.m. But I don’t plan to stay around for the interrogation.”
“But it’s your house.”
“Your investigation,” I reminded him. “I’m just giving you a neutral place to meet. I don’t think Owen would really appreciate me being there, even if it is my house.”
T.J. grudgingly agreed and we went our separate ways. I had a very good reason for not wanting to be at the house. I wanted to talk to Earline. I wanted to know where she was Friday morning, because I knew something about her that Owen didn’t.
She was a crack shot with a rifle. Shooting Amos between the eyes would have been child’s play for her.
Chapter 13
When I returned home, there was a message on the answering machine from Mother. Apparently, Gladys called to tell her of Amos’ death; however, she was not aware of the incident at Earline’s house last night. She asked me if I was okay and to please call her as soon as possible. Sighing, I erased the message. I wasn’t ready to talk to her, not yet anyway. I went out back to feed Babe and give her fresh water. She seemed quite content under the shade trees.
Going back inside, I quickly whipped up a batch of brownies and put them in the oven. Turning on the computer, I checked my emails. One from Dale, complaining that there wasn’t enough information in my article to satisfy an ant. Owen specifically told me that he didn’t want many details released, especially things he felt only the killer would know. If Dale wanted more information, he knew where he could get it.
There was also an email from a fellow writer, who was reading over part of a manuscript I had sent her. She had sent back some suggestions and said she couldn’t wait to see more. Too bad I hadn’t written more. I was struggling with the story, not sure what direction to go with it. Perhaps her suggestions would give me the nudge I needed.
The thought that Trixie was right about sparks flying between T.J. and I flittered around in my head for a minute. Ridiculous. I had never been prone to writing romantic things in any of my stories, and I wasn’t about to start now. Besides, I had just met T.J.. I didn’t remember any sparks flying between us.
The timer went off and I pulled the brownies out of the oven, putting the pan on a cooling rack. Sure, T.J. was handsome, funny, and knew how to cook a good steak on the grill, but I was comfortable with my life right now. Wasn’t I?
“What are you thinking about?” T.J. said from behind me. I jumped, accidentally touching the hot brownie pan and burning the palm of my right hand. Cursing, I turned on the cold water and stuck the burn under the stream. “I’m sorry, I thought you heard me come in.” He grabbed a kitchen towel and got some ice. “Let me see.” There was a visible red line across my palm as he put the ice in my hand.
I sucked in some air as the cold touched my skin. “No, I didn’t hear you come in. I didn’t even hear you knock. Lost in my own thoughts, I guess.”
“What were you thinking about so intently?”
“Nothing important,” I muttered, not wanting to admit that I had been thinking about him.
“I don’t think the burn is too bad, but you might want to put some ointment on it just to take some of the sting out,” he said, removing the ice to look.
“I’ve got some stuff in the bathroom. I’m a bit of a klutz, so I keep a little bit of everything around. Really, it’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.”
“But you don’t want it to get infected. Besides, it was my fault. At least let me help.”
I told him where to find the first aid kit and he brought it out. He was wrapping my hand in gauze when Trixie showed up. “What in the world happened here?” she said. “Did you two get into a fight already?”
“Oh, ha ha, very funny,” I said. “I burned my hand on your brownies, so I expect some sympathy here.”
“Looks to me like you are getting plenty of sympathy already,” she said, tilting her head a little and wiggling her eyebrows. I was so glad T.J. wasn’t looking at her. “So this is Owen’s new deputy.”
“T.J. Reynolds, meet Trixie Greene, Owen’s little sister.”
He stood up and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Greene.”
“Oh, please, call me Trixie. Everyone around here does, except for Owen.”
“What does he call you?”
“Nothing that I am allowed to repeat outside the family home,” she laughed. I took some ibuprofen to help dull the pain as Trixie sat down. “So, what is it exactly you want to know, Deputy Reynolds? Do I need to provide an alibi for the last twenty-four hours?”
“That would be a good place to start,” he agreed.
“Hold on, let me clear out of here,” I said, reaching for my keys.
“Oh, sit down, Lizzie,” Trixie said. “I don’t plan to tell him anything you don’t already know.”
I looked questioningly at T.J., who shrugged. I took that to mean it was okay to stay and sat back down. “So, about your alibi,” T.J. said, turning his attention back to Trixie. “I just need to know where you were from 5 a.m. to 7:15 a.m. yesterday morning, and last night between 6 – 9.”
“Last night is easy. I was at the club, and there are plenty of witnesses to verify that.”
“Do you work at the club every night?”
“Why Deputy,” Trixie grinned, “are you planning to ask me out on a date?”
T.J. looked embarrassed. “No ma’am, it’s just a routine question.”
“Oh, how disappointing,” Trixie said, although she didn’t look disappointed. “Does this mean there is a significant other in your life? I don’t see a wedding ring on your finger.” I glared at her, but she ignored me.
“No ma’am, I’m not married. Could you please just answer the question?”
“No, I don’t work late every night. My night manager called in sick last night, so I went in to cover for her.”
T.J. pulled out his notebook and wrote something down. “Who is your night manager?”
“That would be Debra Cosgrove.”
“How long has she worked for you?”
“Two years.”
“What time does your club close?”
“Weeknights we close at midnight, Friday and Saturday nights we’re open until 2 a.m.”
“What about Friday morning? Where were you?”
“In bed, Deputy, asleep.”
“Alone?”
“My goodness, Deputy Reynolds, you are fresh! Yes, alone. I don’t take my work home with me. I don’t run that kind of club, regardless of what you may think.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have to ask. It’s just a routine question.”
“Stop calling me ma’am. You’re making me feel like an old woman, and I’m only in my early 30s.” I coughed to keep from laughing. No one would ever mistake Trixie for an old woman.
“Can you tell me if Crandall Martin was at your establishment on Thursday night?”
Trixie thought for a moment. “I didn’t leave that night until 8, but I don
’t remember seeing Mr. Martin’s car in the parking lot.”
“Do you know if he came in later?”
She shook her head. “You would have to ask the girls who worked that night. Why are you asking about him?”
“Because I overheard Crandall mention that he was at the club that night when I was at the hardware store yesterday morning,” I said.
“He might have been there, I really couldn’t say.”
“Does he go out there a lot?” T.J. said.
“Two or three times a week, sometimes more if his wife is on a tear. Again, you would have to ask the girls if he was there on Thursday night.”
“Was he there last night?” I asked her.
Again, she shook her head. “No, and that is surprising. Usually he is there with four other men to play poker.”
“Who else comes with him?” T.J. said.
“Roger Tinsdall, Walter Simmons, Albert Garcia and Bob Walker.”
“Those were the five men who were in the hardware store yesterday,” I replied. “I just couldn’t remember Bob’s name. He hasn’t lived here as long as the rest of us.”
T.J. made a few more notes. “Will your night manager be working tonight?”
“As far as I know, although I wouldn’t be surprised if she calls in sick. She sounded awful last night. Wheezing and coughing pretty bad when she called me.”
“Maybe she caught that bug that has been going around,” I said.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Deputy Reynolds?” Trixie said, looking at her watch. “I’ve got a lunch date with my mother at 11:30.”
“No, I think that’s all for now,” T.J. replied, closing his notebook. “Thank you for being so helpful.”
“Oh, any time, Deputy,” she said, shaking his hand before standing up. “I understand your evening with Lizzie was interrupted by business last night. What a shame. You two should try again sometime. You make a cute couple.”
“Why don’t you take your brownies and go, Trixie?” I said, wrapping some foil over the now cooled pan. “You don’t want to be late for lunch with your mother.”
She took the pan. “Oh no, definitely not,” she agreed as she left. “Have fun, you two.”
“I apologize for my friend. She minored in directness in college.”
T.J. laughed. “Well, she does have a point. Our evening was cut short last night. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
“Um…” I hesitated.
“If you’d rather not, I understand,” he said, standing up to leave.
“No, no, I do. I mean, yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. Would you care to use the grill again? You did a great job last night.”
He grinned. “Sounds great. I’ll come by around five, if that’s okay.”
“Fine.”
“Great. I’ll see you then. Be careful with that hand,” he said before leaving.
I didn’t know whether to kill Trixie or thank her. Either way, I was going to have an official date with the hunky deputy.
Oh, boy.
Chapter 14
After dropping off an updated article for Dale, I walked over to the Eat it or Starve cafe for a quick lunch. Judging by the unusually large crowd, I was going to be lucky to get out of there in under an hour.
Gladys and her friends had apparently been sitting there all morning, because they were at the same table in the center of the cafe when I walked in. They were still talking about last night’s events.
“You could have knocked me over with a feather when Olga told me it wasn’t Earline in the car!” Gladys said to Iris and Charlene “So if Earline wasn’t in the car, who was?” Iris asked.
Gladys shook her head. “They don’t know. Earline would never let anyone drive her precious car. Probably some little thief trying to take advantage of the poor woman’s grief.”
“HA!” Harold, Gladys’ husband, said. “That ‘poor’ woman ain’t grievin’. She’s plannin’ a huge party, accordin’ to Joe. Delia told him Earline came in yesterday afternoon, asking for a huge cake and appetizers. Sam the butcher said she put in a large order of steak and ribs.”
Charlene and Iris gasped while Gladys glared at Harold. “You didn’t mention any of this to me.”
“You didn’t ask me,” he said smugly. He had a right to gloat. It was a rare thing when someone knew something that Gladys didn’t.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Earline killed Amos,” Roscoe Danforth said from a nearby table. “Especially after that big fight they had in Trixie’s parking lot last week.”
T.J. walked in and everyone stopped talking. He walked over and sat next to me at the counter. “What’s going on?” he said.
“Conspiracy theories.”
The chatter around the room started again. “Have they solved the murder yet?”
“Depends on what side you’re on. The men are voting for Earline. The women believe it was some desperate criminal.”
The waitress, a high school girl named Cherry, put a glass of water and a menu in front of T.J. “I’m with the men,” he said, taking a drink.
“Why?”
“From what I’ve learned, he gave her plenty of reason, she knows how to shoot, and she doesn’t have an alibi.”
“You mean she didn’t give you one?”
“No, I didn’t say that. She was home in bed alone.”
“Ah,” I replied. “And the only one who can verify that is at the morgue.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
The discussion behind us was getting louder. “I don’t care what you think, Gladys,” Roscoe yelled. “Earline is a crack shot. She’s the one who shot your turkey every year, not Amos! Amos couldn’t hit a bull’s eye even if it was five feet in front of him. She can shoot better than my daddy, and he was the county sharp shooting champion for twenty years!”
“Don’t yell at me, Roscoe Danforth,” Gladys huffed. “No self-respecting woman would shoot her husband, even if he was a no-good snake in the grass.”
“No grieving widow would dance around her husband’s dead body like a wild woman at Mardi Gras,” Roscoe retorted. “My Ethel and I don’t always get along, but you can dang well bet she’ll be crying over my grave, not dancing.”
“Gladys will probably poke me with a pitchfork to make sure I’m dead,” Harold said. Everyone laughed but Gladys, who grabbed her purse and stormed out.
“Roscoe, do you know what the argument was about?” I said.
“What argument?”
I sighed. “The one you said Earline and Amos had last week in the parking lot at Trixie’s.”
T.J. turned in his chair to look at Roscoe, who looked rather uncomfortable. “Well, um, it wasn’t anything really,” he stammered.
“It must have been something for you to mention it,” I replied.
He rubbed his chin. “Earline found out that Amos was spending a lot of time at Trixie’s, more than usual, that is. She wasn’t too happy about it. He told her that what he did wasn’t any of her business and to go on home. She got right up in his face and accused him of cheating, which he denied. Earline said that she wouldn’t let him do to her what Amos did to your grandma.” He paused for a moment before adding, “She said she would see him dead first.”
“That certainly adds to her motive,” T.J. said.
“I don’t think she would really do it, Deputy,” Roscoe said. “Earline is all talk.”
“I’ve learned more about Earline in the last two days than I have in years,” I said as Roscoe paid his bill and left. “Every time I saw her, she was always meek and quiet. Everyone else paints her as a heartless big mouth.”
“Being married to Amos had a negative effect on her,” Harold said. “When she wasn’t around him, she could be as nice as you please. The minute he showed up, she would scowl, and clam up. If she did do it, can’t say as I’d blame her. Wonder what took her so long to do it?”
I turned around in time to see Cherry put our plates down. “She sounds li
ke a real Jekyll and Hyde,” T.J. said. “Is it true that Earline is a crack shot?”
I saw my reason for going to see Earline fly out the door. “Yes, she is.”
“So it’s possible for her to have shot Amos between the eyes? She’s that good?”
I nodded. “But just because she could doesn’t mean she did. Earline has never struck me as the killer type.”
“People kill for all kinds of reasons, Lizzie. Even those who are meek and quiet can snap if the right button is pushed.”
“Are you going to arrest her?”
“That depends on whether Owen searched the house before the fire last night. If he didn’t, then we won’t be able to test the guns.”
I took a bite of my sandwich. “Unless she moved the guns first.”
T.J. looked at me. “Where would she move them to?”
I shrugged. “Any number of places. Amos owned buildings all over town. On the other hand, if Earline did kill him, do you really think she would move the guns?”
“She wouldn’t move the guns if she planned to burn down the house, thereby destroying the evidence.” He stood up, pulled some money out and threw it on the counter. “You’re a genius,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
I watched him leave. Did he really believe Earline was a murderer?
Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries) Page 5