“He can’t be that specific, and you know the routine.”
“Yeah, yeah. The body and evidence all go to Little Rock, and it could be weeks before you have answers, but what about that grant the county got to improve the forensics lab?”
“It’s more for training than equipment, Nixy.”
“But you have that fingerprint analysis program, don’t you?”
“We do, and Maise’s and Aster’s prints are sure to be on the shower cap thing.”
“I know that. So what? The snickerdoodles could have nothing to do with Cornell’s death. They aren’t made with peanuts.”
“I understand that, but if they were a factor in any way, Charlene Vogelman will follow every scrap of evidence she has, circumstantial or not.”
“In other words, this could get ugly for Maise and Aster?”
“I’m afraid so.”
This time I said something colorful.
• • •
Dex Hamlin was my prime suspect, and I told Eric so before I left. Maybe Hamlin rubbed peanuts on Cornell’s face. Hamlin was mean enough to do something like that. Eric assured me he’d discuss Hamlin with Charlene, and I felt marginally better.
Still, I jogged the critters back home, and I never jog. That’s how pressed I felt to talk to Aster and Maise.
As expected, the Six hadn’t waited until ten o’clock to come in. Fred’s red truck, Dab’s dark-gray Caddy, and Sherry’s blue Corolla sat parked in the lot behind the emporium. I didn’t want Amber and T.C. underfoot, but they might provide some comfort. Or be a nice distraction. I could always put them in the workroom if they caused a problem.
“Nixy, child, are you all right?” Sherry said as I ushered the animals into the store.
I tilted my head at her worried tone. “I’m fine, Aunt Sherry. Why?”
“You’ve never been so long when you walk these two, and then we heard sirens.”
“We also heard that Dex Hamlin got out of jail last night,” Dab said.
I blinked. “I’m the one dating a cop, and y’all know more than I do.”
“So you didn’t know that Hamlin character was free?” Aster asked.
“Not until about an hour ago.”
“Debrief us, Nixy,” Maise ordered. “I can tell by looking that you know why the police and ambulance tore past the square.”
“I do, but you might want to have a seat.”
“To the workroom,” Maise said, and it sounded like, “To the Batcave.”
“Aster and I will bring the coffee and biscuits in,” Eleanor added.
We had gathered a variety of bar stools to use at Fred’s solid wood worktables when we held crafting classes. Now we pulled them to the nearest, most scarred table and took seats. This was our customary planning place, or as Maise called it, the war room. Since I was the focus of the meeting, I sat at the end with Sherry on my left. Aster showered me with lavender water mist before she took the chair on my right.
With coffee and one of Maise’s to-die-for buttermilk biscuits at each place, I launched into my report. Except for the occasional exclamations of dismay, they let me finish without interruption.
Aster sighed, and I put my hand over hers. “I’m sorry, but you and Maise needed to know about y’all’s snickerdoodles being in the car, and about Cornell’s peanut allergy.”
She flipped her braid over her shoulder. “I don’t see what there is to worry about. We don’t use peanuts in our snickerdoodles recipe.”
“I don’t know of anyone who does,” Maise added. “I know Herkimer Jones, though, and if he thinks Cornell had a severe allergic reaction to something, he did. Let’s hope it was a wasp sting.”
“Nixy, child,” Sherry began, “didn’t you tell us once that the autopsy is done in Little Rock?”
“I did. Dr. Jones just gave Charlene and Eric his opinion based on observations and experience. The local crime scene technicians will pull fingerprints, but all the evidence goes to the state crime lab and the body goes to the state medical examiner.”
“So it could be weeks before any reports come back,” Dab said.
“Depending on how backed up the workload is,” Eleanor added.
Maise nodded. “Meantime, Vogelman is obligated to investigate the incident as an unattended and possible suspicious death. I went through this with two private patients I saw years ago. We’ll probably be questioned because of the snickerdoodles. I’d question us if I were in charge.”
“You’re right, Maise,” I said, “but not liking the man one little bit isn’t much of a motive. Not for you or Aster, and not for Eleanor or Kathy.”
“What if something about the cookies did kill him?” Sherry asked.
“Half the county and most of the festival shoppers bought bake sale goods, Sherry. As for opportunity, I’m betting once y’all got home last night, every one of you stayed there. And you got to the emporium within minutes of each other this morning, right?”
Six heads bobbed in agreement.
“But we need to be prepared if Detective Vogelman decides to zero in on me or Aster or Eleanor, or any of us for that matter,” Maise declared.
Sherry clapped her hands. “Which means the Silver Six just may have another case to solve.”
I glanced at each senior and stifled a groan. This was déjà vu all over again, but I would be right there with them. They were family.
• • •
We worked steadily through the morning. Absolutely everything came off the shelves, and once we wiped them down with damp cloths, we dusted each item before putting it back. That alone took two hours, even with all hands on deck, as Maise said. Yes, I watched the clock we’d hung above the door and listened for a knock at the front door. When it didn’t come I finally lost myself in the task at hand.
Since the Six were part owners, I’d insisted they have first choice in where and how to display their wares. After our thorough cleaning, they got busy consolidating, rearranging, and tweaking their goods, while I dealt with the boxes left by our consignment artists after the festival.
In spite of my fine art degree, I couldn’t draw worth spit. However, I did have an eye for spatial design. At the Gates Gallery, where I’d worked in Houston, I’d aimed for an uncluttered serenity in the space no matter what kind of exhibition we were hosting.
Uncluttered didn’t exist in the emporium. Sherry’s baskets hung from the ceiling. Textiles were draped on dress forms and on a decorative ladder leaning against the back wall. Stained-glass art lined the bay window at the store front, and paintings and mosaics were either propped on newly acquired easels or hung on the walls. Every last shelf in the floor-to-ceiling wall unit opposite the antique counter was filled. Painted and primped-out gourds lay on shelves and on our display tables, and we even put them on the two lipped benches outside along with fancy throw pillows.
I worked to create as much space as possible between displays by putting out a good representation of each artist’s work and a sign instructing shoppers to ask to see more. I’d also insisted that we separate similar crafts so they wouldn’t be lost in the visual shuffle. So we had different types of items sprinkled throughout the store, and it seemed to work just fine. The Handcraft Emporium was still colorful chaos, but it didn’t feel as claustrophobic to me as it once had.
The least-crowded shelves were those in the glass-top-and-front antique counter. We just didn’t carry that many delicate or expensive items, but we dusted them, of course.
I stepped back from hanging fabric tote bags on an antique coat rack, stretched, and looked at the clock. Twelve thirty in the afternoon. Five hours since the police responded to my call, and no word from Eric, or from Vogelman. Was that a good thing, or not?
Maise clapped her hands behind me.
“Okay, troops, time for lunch. We have tuna salad, chicken salad, and cold meat loaf sandwiches with a
veggie tray. Nixy, I put everything in your fridge, so we’ll help you carry the food while the men put out paper plates, cups, and napkins.”
Again, I wanted to salute, but instead I climbed the stairs to my apartment with the four senior women. Soon we had lunch fixin’s spread out on the same worktable where we’d noshed during the morning meeting. I did step back upstairs to get T.C. and Amber a few treats, but my real mission was to phone Eric.
He didn’t answer his cell, so I left the message that the Six and I would be in the back room for an hour. If he or Vogelman needed to reach us, they could come to the back.
We finished our meal in peace, chatting only about the success of the festival and community news. The subject of leaf-peeping in northeast Arkansas came up, and I almost mentioned Eric’s proposed trip. Talk about a diverting topic! In the end, I let the moment pass. While the ladies and Dab might be fine with it, Fred would give me grief about knowing my worth and making sure Eric knew it. Yes, I knew he was teasing. Mostly. I just wasn’t in the mood.
Truth be known, I felt a bit raw from having discovered another body, and saddened that I’d never know if Cornell Lewis had changed his ways for good. I liked to think he had. He’d been kind to my animals and a child. In my book, that earned him the benefit of the doubt.
Then I wondered if anyone would mourn him, and the thought made my heart ache a little.
• • •
By four that afternoon, we had emptied almost half of the boxes but had yet to finish arranging all the merchandise. And, in spite of lunch and other breaks, I began to drag, and I could tell the Six were wearing out, too. Dab looked particularly tired, so I waylaid my aunt in the workroom as we returned from throwing flattened boxes in the Dumpster.
“Is Dab okay, Sherry?”
She tilted her head, and the lock of hair fell over her left eye. “Why do you ask, child?”
I shrugged. “He looks like he’s lost weight, and his eyes seem dull.”
She nodded. “He hasn’t seemed as hale and hearty as usual, but, honey, his wife died in October not quite four years ago. He goes through a rough patch as the anniversary gets closer.”
“Ah. I understand.”
“You’ve been thinking about Sue Anne’s death?” she asked.
“It’ll be two years since we lost Mom.”
“It’s nearly five since my Bill died,” she said, folding me in a hug.
Both my mother and Sherry’s husband had died after having strokes, but Bill lived another few years. My mother had passed quickly, and Sherry had come to Tyler to help me sort things out. That was when I’d first come to know my aunt beyond a few childhood visits and greeting cards for birthdays and holidays. I’d done the right thing moving here to be with her.
When we pulled apart, she captured my hand and squeezed. “We’ll keep an eye on Dab, Nixy. Not to worry. Now, in all the craziness this morning, I forgot to ask how your date went.”
I blushed a little. “Dinner was fantastic.”
A sly grin spread across her face. “And afterward? Did it get hot and heavy?”
“Sherry Mae Cutler, how you talk!” I exclaimed, mimicking a phrase of hers. I paused, then decided to take the leap. “Aunt Sherry, how would you feel about me taking a trip with Eric?”
She arched a brow. “I don’t think that’s any of my business.”
“In the normal course of things, it isn’t, I guess, but this is a small town with a giant gossip mill. I don’t want you to be the target of any maliciousness. Besides, I’d need to coordinate the work schedule to be off for a few days and arrange to board Amber and T.C.”
“There will be no boarding of those dears,” she declared. “We’ll look after them at the house, but we do need to arrange the schedule. When did he have in mind?”
“About a month from now. In early November. He talked about seeing the fall color up in Eureka Springs.”
“I’ve been there for leaf-peeping. It is spectacular. There are wonderful historic hotels there, and a number of bed-and-breakfast inns, of course.”
“So, you don’t have a problem with me going?”
“No, and no one else will either.” She paused and grinned. “Except Fred. He’ll tease you something fierce about getting married, but he does it because he cares.”
“I may have to tease him back about Ida Bollings, then.” I pictured the tiny woman in her big blue boat of a car driving through town like a bat out of hell. “I swear, I thought I’d see them sporting matching walkers by now.”
“Honey, you still might. Now come along. We need to help tidy up so we can go home.”
We had taken two steps toward the door leading to the shop when it banged open and Fred clank-clunked over the threshold.
“There you are. You two best get in here pronto. That new cop is here and she ain’t being respectful.”
Chapter Nine
Sherry and I rushed past Fred. I feared that Aster or Maise or both would be in handcuffs or zip ties or whatever, but that wasn’t the case. They stood at the counter next to Charlene Vogelman, who held a manila file folder. Eleanor and Dab stood guard behind the counter. I didn’t look around to check, but the door banged and Fred’s walker clunked, letting me know the gang was all here.
The detective turned as I stomped closer, Sherry behind me. Eric was conspicuously absent, and that niggled at me, but I stayed focused.
Vogelman narrowed her eyes at me. “Detective Shoar said you knew how to keep your mouth shut, but you told these people about the crime scene, didn’t you? They know some of the details.”
I shrugged. “In the first place, ‘these people’ are my family. Second, half the neighborhood people were gawking, and gossip spreads fast here. Last, when I’m asked to keep quiet, I do. You didn’t ask.”
“I won’t make that mistake again.”
I snorted. “And I sincerely hope there won’t be an again.”
She turned back to Aster and Maise.
“I had these photos blown up. Is this the plate of snickerdoodles you made for the bake sale?”
Neither Aster nor Maise wore readers often, but Eleanor passed one green-framed pair and one brown-framed over the counter from the stash of cheaters in various strengths we kept in the store. Each woman leaned over to peer at the 8 × 10 photo, and then Maise picked it up and angled it toward the overhead light. I stood behind her, so I had a clear view, too. Vogelman waited. I wondered if she’d heard the disrespectful dig from Fred. I also wondered what she’d done to earn his anger. Besides questioning Maise and Aster at all, that is.
“I can’t attest to those being the snickerdoodles we made,” Maise said, “but that’s the kind of plate and bowl cover we use.”
From beside her sister, Aster pointed at the photo. “That’s my Aster’s Garden product sticker. I figured it couldn’t hurt to advertise a little.”
“Wouldn’t you say it’s a logical assumption those are your cookies?” Vogelman asked.
“I suppose it would be,” Maise said calmly. “Would you like the recipe?”
The detective pursed her lips. “How many other people made snickerdoodles for the bake sale?”
Aster waved a hand. “You’d have to ask the ladies in charge. They keep a list of donors and the items donated. We dropped off our cookies and Sherry and Eleanor’s brownies Friday morning, and came right to the store. We had artists’ items to box up for the festival.”
The detective frowned at the photos. “How many plates of cookies did you donate?”
“Just one each. A dozen cookies, a dozen brownies.”
“Does your snickerdoodle recipe call for nuts?”
“No, why?” Maise asked, all innocence.
“Then there were no peanuts in the cookies?”
“Peanuts?” Aster exclaimed. “Heavens, no.”
Sherry cleared her thr
oat. “The cake brownies Eleanor and I made had pecan halves on top, and the churches insisted that donors label anything with nuts to avoid allergic reactions.”
“Are you sure Cornell didn’t react to an insect sting?” Maise asked.
“I can’t discuss that,” Vogelman answered, her tone neutral but her weighty gaze on Maise.
I nodded. “You’ll have to look into his medical records, I suppose.”
She ignored me, gazing in turn at Eleanor, Aster, and Maise. “At one time or another, you all lived in the apartment complex that Mr. Lewis managed until he was fired approximately fourteen months ago. Were any of you aware of his nut allergy?”
Maise snorted. “Like we ever broke bread with that man.”
“And we certainly didn’t offer him our baked goods,” Aster added.
Eleanor held her hands palms up. “My stove and oven were broken half the time I lived there. In addition, I don’t believe I ever saw him eat. Just drink beer.”
“I should think that if the man had a severe allergy,” Maise said, “he would’ve carried an epinephrine injector. Although those are expensive.”
The detective smiled like a cat about to pounce until I spoke up and said, “Maise was a nurse, in case you didn’t know.”
The detective huffed a breath, gathered her photos, and crammed them in the folder. “That’s all for now. Please stay available for more questions later.”
With that, she left the store. The wind chimes we used in place of a customer bell sounded discordant as the door closed behind her.
The Six and I exchanged solemn glances.
“I do believe she has gone without a civil good-bye,” Eleanor said.
“I believe she told us not to leave town,” Aster added with a rueful smile.
“And it’s a bad sign that Eric wasn’t here, isn’t it?” Sherry asked.
“T’ain’t good. Nixy, call the man and find out what’s goin’ on.”
“It’s obvious, Fred,” Maise snipped. “If Cornell Lewis in fact died from an allergic reaction to peanuts, those cookies make Aster and me persons of interest. Eleanor, too, I suppose, since she lived at Ozark Arms longer and had more dealings with Cornell. We may all be under the microscope because of our close association.”
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