“Something wrong, Nixy?”
“Nothing, I just wondered when y’all planned to be in tomorrow.”
“You have somewhere else to be?”
“No, but I saw Eric for a while tonight.”
“Ah, then we need a war council?”
“What’s she saying?” I heard Sherry say in the background. “What’s happened?”
“Here, you talk to her,” Maise said to Sherry.
She must’ve put a hand over the receiver because I heard a mumble-mumble before my aunt came on the line.
“What’s going on, child?”
“Nothing yet, but we need to have a meeting of the minds tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Not the crack of dawn,” I said. “How about ten?”
“We’ll be there by nine thirty. Want us to bring breakfast?”
“No, thanks. Not to hurt Maise’s feelings, but I need to see Judy at Great Buns.”
“Fine, fine. If you get there first, take one of the paintings in the store off its easel and get out the murder board.”
She meant the flip chart, and we’d only used it once to list suspects for the murder we looked into in June.
“I’m on it. Are y’all taking it easy tonight?”
“Eleanor might be. She’s up in her room. The rest of us girls are baking cookies, and the menfolk are watching the game.” I heard male cheers erupt and Sherry chuckled. “I think Dallas is winning.”
That I had to see. I signed off with Sherry, toed off my Crocs, and tuned into the football game. Dallas was winning, beating the Redskins by a touchdown. As I settled in to watch awhile, it hit me that Eric was right. I just might think about football more than he did. So sue me. I was a Texan.
• • •
Tuesday morning, I realized I might never get to sleep late again. Not with a pup licking the inside of my elbow, right where it tickled, and a cat parked on my chest.
“Okay, I’m awake, girls. Give me room to move.”
They did, and I jumped in the shower, then threw on another clean but grubby outfit to work in. One that hadn’t been completely destroyed when I’d worn it to help repaint, refinish, and generally refurbish the whole building in May and June. If I ended up going outside the store today to see anyone but Judy, specifically to ask questions about the case, I could run up and change. That was one of the many things to love about living above my workplace. That and buying so much less gas. I think I’d driven more in six days in Houston than I had in six months here.
The sky was streaked with high clouds, and the temperature hovered in the mid-seventies. I inhaled the crisp air as I strolled with the critters, thinking I could smell autumn. I idly wondered if the Ozark Mountains would have their own special scent when Eric and I were in Eureka Springs. Funny, now that I’d committed to go, I knew it was the right decision.
At Judy’s urging, Grant Armistead had installed a teakwood and wrought-iron bench under the Great Buns awning for patrons to sit and enjoy their pastries. Judy had even put out a large bowl of water for those who came to town with their animals. Okay, primarily for Amber and T.C. I made good use of the convenient place to park the critters for a few minutes but didn’t come by with them every single day. Hey, my waistline couldn’t handle all the flaky richness of the goodies Judy and Grant made.
I’d picked up a small dog collar with a sturdy plastic closure, and it worked perfectly to loop through the leash handles and then snap around the bench arm. The animals had shade and water and could watch the morning activity on the square.
I’d only seen Grant a handful of times. He always seemed to be in the back baking or doing the books. He was a burly guy, five foot nine to Judy’s five foot nothing, and he struck me as gruff. I wondered a time or two why the effervescent Judy had married such a quiet man, but when I saw them together, I knew. They were in Love with a capital L.
Today was no different in that Grant was out of sight, and Judy was loading a bag of croissants for Kay Gaskin. She and her husband, Carter, owned Gaskin’s Business Center next door to the emporium. Would she mention me finding Cornell Lewis’s body? I couldn’t make myself invisible, so I’d have to buck up and risk it.
“Hi, Kay.” I greeted the middle-aged woman. How she endured wearing suits or dresses with sky-high heels day in and day out was a mystery. Made my feet ache just thinking about it.
“Why, Nixy, hello. I’ve been meaning to come tell you how much Carter and I enjoyed having the festival in town.”
I smiled. “Did it bring you any business?”
“It did. A few artists came in for labels, and festival shoppers came for boxes and adhesive and packing tape. I’m sure glad we ordered extra stock of those items because we nearly sold out. We even sold some of the Arkansas kitsch items to out-of-staters.”
“That’s great! Do you think you’ll want to support the spring festival?”
“Of course!”
She beamed at me, then at Judy as she took the bag of croissants and handed over her money.
“Don’t be a stranger, and tell Sherry Mae and everyone hello.”
When the door closed behind Kay, Judy planted her fists on her hips.
“Well, you went and found another body.”
I rolled my eyes. “Guess I’m getting good at knowing where to look.”
She snorted. “You joke, but I know it has to bother you.”
“What bothers me more is that the Silver Six might be implicated.”
“What? Why?” Judy’s eyes could not have grown any wider.
Dang, I should’ve kept that to myself, but I needed her help.
“Judy, keep this to yourself, but there was a plate of Aster and Maise’s snickerdoodles in Cornell’s car. Or rather a plate of the same cookies and the shower cap cover thing they use.” I braced my hands on the counter. “Have you heard anyone talking about the death?”
“You’re pale and you need to eat,” she declared.
“Judy, Amber and T.C. are waiting outside. What I need is information.”
“Tell you what. Take these,” she said as she passed me two dog and two cat treats, “and go check on the fur babies. You have one minute.”
I sighed. I wasn’t going to win this one, so I followed her instructions. T.C. and Amber were fine, getting attention from anyone who walked by. I told them I’d hurry and returned to the counter.
“Now, I’ll tell you all I’ve heard while you eat whatever you’re ordering this morning.”
I arched a brow. “Need you ask?”
“One egg and cheese on a fresh biscuit coming up.”
I sat at our customary table and watched, ever fascinated because Judy was a whirlwind behind the counter, a master multitasker. I hadn’t even asked for coffee, but she broke an egg on the griddle, spun to pour a cup of plain coffee—nothing fancy for me this morning—then flipped the egg and snagged a Great Buns biscuit the size of Texas from the warmer. With the cheese and egg added, she plated my breakfast sandwich, put the plate and coffee mug on a tray, and came from behind the counter.
“Here, chow down,” she said.
“And you talk.”
She shrugged. “There isn’t much to say. When Grant and I came here two years ago, we spent so much time getting the bakery ready to open, and then running the place, we didn’t have much of a social life. Customers gossiped now and then, but we didn’t pay too much attention.”
“Do you recall anything involving Cornell Lewis?”
“Not by name. Several people complained about an obnoxious guy who managed an apartment building. That had to have been him, but the customers were talking to each other, not to us. We didn’t know anyone well enough to ask questions.”
“That’s understandable. Is anyone gossiping now?”
“First, I heard all about the fig
ht, and why didn’t you come tell me about it yourself? You’re gonna wear me thin if you don’t keep me up to speed.”
“It was a crazy day, Judy.”
“Fine, you’re forgiven this time. So, here’s the scoop. Not a soul is broken up over Cornell’s death. They think he got what was coming to him. I also overheard that someone Cornell had bullied ended up dead.”
“What?” I choked out. “Who said that?”
“I think it was Debbie Nicole. Or it sounded like her voice. She came in for donuts for the library staff, but I had my back turned when she made that comment. But, Nixy, you know how stories get exaggerated.”
I also knew there was usually a kernel of truth at the core of stories. I made a mental note to ask Eleanor about a death connected to Cornell.
“What about Dexter Hamlin?”
“Nothing but vague rumors about him. Seems he and his wife are connected to a bunch of movers and shakers all over southwest Arkansas, so no one speaks ill of him.” She grinned. “Except you. Horrible Hamlin. That was a good one.”
“Have you heard he’s missing?”
She tilted her head. “Voluntarily or not?”
I chewed and thought about her question, then swallowed and measured my words. “If it turns out that Cornell was murdered, I want Dex to be the guilty party. I’d like to think that’s why he’s dropped out of sight.”
“I hear that.” She tapped a nail on the tabletop. “Nixy, what’s the big deal about Maise and Aster’s cookies being in the car? Half the county was at the bake sale.”
I grimaced. Should I tell her about the peanut connection? Judy wasn’t a blabbermouth, but to quote Maise and misquote World War II propaganda posters, “Loose lips sink ships.” If Vogelman knew that details of her case were common knowledge all over town, she’d be even more put out with me. No, I needed to be on her good side as much as possible.
“Well? I see your wheels turning, so you might as well spill.”
“The thing is,” I began, “Cornell bought those cookies himself. He told me so, and I saw the plate with only four of the original dozen cookies left.”
“When was this?
“Saturday, when he fed my critters a hot dog.”
“Then why would the ladies be implicated?” She snapped her fingers. “You think someone slipped poison into the cookies?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
I called to mind the plate in Cornell’s car. Were there seven cookies including the broken pieces? Eight? Did it matter? It did. Cornell hinted that he didn’t have much money. The bake sale ladies had given him a discount on the plate he did buy. If he hadn’t bought another plate of cookies from the bake sale, then it stood to reason someone had given them to him. Who? Would he accept food from just anyone?
“Nixy, hey,” Judy said, shaking my arm. “You okay?”
“You just crystalized something for me.”
“You’re welcome. So will the Magnificent Seven be investigating again?”
I laughed. “I take it that’s the Silver Six and me?”
“Yup. I like the rugged Old West image.”
I shook my head and brushed the biscuit crumbs off my fingers. “You can call us anything you like if you’ll keep your ears open for me.”
She grinned. “An undercover assignment. I’m all over it.”
• • •
Amber and T.C. were lapping up the oohs and aahs of a couple of preschoolers, their mother watching with an indulgent smile. When she saw me, she asked me to tell her children Amber’s and T.C.’s names. They toddled off trying to one-up each other on which animals liked who best.
“Making friends wherever you go, huh, girls?”
Amber gave me a panting doggie grin, and T.C. simply looked smug.
Considering that I’d been with Judy for nearly half an hour, I was surprised the Six weren’t at the store at nine thirty. I had time to snag an easel, set it up in the workroom, and get the flip chart and markers out. After waiting five minutes, I pulled seven chairs to the worktable, then began on the murder board. Besides tuning into NCIS, I’d caught just enough Castle episodes to have half a clue what I was doing. I wrote TIME OF DEATH and CAUSE OF DEATH on one sheet, then flipped to the next page and wrote SUSPECTS.
I could estimate the time of death as sometime between after dark on Sunday night and early Monday. Cornell had been in the passenger seat, so I envisioned two possible scenarios: One, he’d parked the car, moved to the passenger seat to sleep, ate tainted cookies, and died. Two, he’d eaten the cookies elsewhere, likely with the killer looking on, became ill, and the killer drove Cornell’s car, parked it, and left him. The killer might have said he’d drive Cornell to the ER but let him die instead. If I went to the trouble to poison someone, I’d sure hang around to make sure the deed was done. Either way, I’d do the deed after dark.
I shook my head at the grisly images I’d conjured and got back to work. I listed Sunday night sometime after full dark to Monday morning before dawn for the TOD, and jotted anaphylaxis as the cause of death. Then I added a question mark beside the entry. Much as I had instinctively liked Herkimer Jones and tended to trust his opinion, the state ME had to make the final call. I wrote the name of one suspect: Dex Hamlin.
At nine fifty with the Six still MIA, I began to feel a smidgen of concern. I called Aunt Sherry’s cell, but she didn’t answer. When I texted, though, she replied they were on their way. The tightness in my shoulders loosened, until ten minutes later when the seniors spilled into the workroom all but growling remarks at one another. Not the happy chatter I was used to hearing.
Amber and T.C. blinked at me, then ran for the bed they shared.
“What’s wrong, y’all?” I said as I hurried toward them. No one seemed ill. In fact, every last one of them looked livid.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, missy,” Fred spat. “That highfalutin new detective showed up at the house at seven thirty this mornin’.”
“With a search warrant,” Sherry growled.
“She had officers trampling my garden,” Aster said, dabbing her red-rimmed eyes with a snowy-white lady’s hanky.
“They went through the property from stem to stern.” Maise threw up her hands. “They didn’t mind making a mess while they searched.”
“What on earth was Vogelman looking for?” I asked, already getting a headache from the ping-ponging conversation.
“Peanut products,” Dab spat.
“I do believe she hit the mother lode,” Eleanor said.
“Did the police confiscate anything?”
“An empty jar of peanut butter,” Sherry said. “Good thing we made our peanut butter cookies last night.”
“They took Dab’s sack of peanuts in the shells, too,” Aster added.
“Plus that trail mix with peanuts Fred eats,” Maise huffed. “The stuff is loaded with enough sodium to float a battleship, so he’s better off without it.”
“Give it a rest, woman,” Fred growled. “My health is perfectly fine.”
“I did a spot repair to my garden, but the plants need more attention.”
“It’ll take us half a day to put the house to rights,” Sherry complained.
“And another half in the barn and work sheds,” Dab said.
The barn had been used more for storage than for housing livestock. The sheds were two outbuildings a bit larger than one-car garages, and all three buildings were painted red.
The same color I was seeing right now. My mind reeling at the images of destruction, I held up a hand. “Wait, wait. Are you telling me she marched in with a warrant and had the searchers rip up Aster’s plants and ransack the house?”
“Well, no, it wasn’t quite that bad,” Aster said.
“The detective did ask permission to search first,” Sherry temporized. “You remember we gave Eri
c the okay to search in April when that woman was killed, but Dinah Souse told me never to do that again, so I refused. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when Vogelman pulled out that warrant.”
Maise stuck out her chin. “Still, the officers didn’t put all our things back where they found them.”
“No, they didn’t,” Dab said, “but I could tell Dougie Bryant and that young Taylor Benton were uncomfortable going through our home.”
“And Deputy Paulson, was, too,” Aster admitted.
Ah, so Megan Paulson, the mayor’s niece and an inspector with the sheriff’s office, had been with Officers Bryant and Benton. They all knew the Six and would’ve balked at damaging property. They’d been following orders, I knew, but they were stupid orders.
“Pardon the pun, but this is nuts,” I said. “Have you called Dinah Souse yet?”
Sherry nodded. “We called her from home, and she’s meeting us here.”
“When?”
The door to the alley opened, and the criminal defense attorney stepped inside. Not a huge surprise since her office was on the square.
Eleanor glided across the floor to take Dinah’s hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Ms. Souse.”
The attorney’s white chocolate mocha coloring was marginally lighter than Eleanor’s skin tone, and she had the same kind of quiet beauty. In her mid-thirties, the lawyer oozed professionalism in a muted gold skirt suit with a white blouse. The outfit suited her willowy figure. Brown leather pumps and a matching soft-sided briefcase completed the ensemble. She didn’t appear to wear much makeup, but I’d bet hers didn’t melt off like mine did. She seemed too cool and collected to allow so much as a hair out of place in her elegant French twist.
“Hello, everyone,” she said in her softly accented contralto voice, and shook hands all around.
I stood beside the flip chart, and when she got to me, her startling green eyes held the slightest twinkle. “So you’re involved in another murder, Ms. Nix?”
“Please call me Nixy, Ms. Souse.”
“Dinah,” she said. “We all may as well be on a first-name basis.”
“Thank you, but you need to know I am not involved in this murder, and neither are the Six.”
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