by K C Hart
“I don’t know,” John said, “but it shouldn’t be any trouble finding out. Let’s get home.”
It wasn’t nine o’clock yet, but John was yawning about every five minutes as they drove back across town. She looked at him and smiled softly. Some husbands bought their wives flowers and candy. Her man helped her chase down strange women who sneaked around funeral homes in black shapeless dresses and atrocious veiled hats.
When they got home, Katy sat on the bed with her notebook while John changed and brushed his teeth. So, Donnie Gibson was not the outgoing man that his cousin had been. He might be going through a divorce. She jotted down these notes under his name.
She started a new page for “strange funeral home woman.” Tomorrow she would look up the address and see who it was. That wouldn’t be hard.
She also made an entry for the young tattooed couple. Tomorrow she had to see a couple of patients, but after that she was going to find out who they were. She had a hunch that the girl was the hairdresser Barbara Nelson had told her about on Monday. She shuddered, remembering her trip to the post office. If, however, the tattooed girl from the beauty shop was Rob Clay’s girlfriend, then it could have been her brother who had beaten him up in the parking lot for cheating on his sister.
She couldn’t be positive that the tattooed couple were brother and sister, but they looked enough alike to be twins. If the blue-haired woman was Rob Clay’s mistress, and the man was the guy from the parking lot fight, then Donnie Gibson might have left the funeral home tonight when he saw them come in to avoid another confrontation.
John came out of the bathroom and sat on the side of the bed. “Have you got it all figured out?” he asked, looking down at her notes.
“Not really, but I do have a few theories now. That’s a start.” She tossed the notebook toward her husband. “Here. Read over everything while I get ready for bed. Maybe you can figure it out.”
Katy left John propped up against the headboard with a couple of pillows behind his head, looking over her notes. She brushed her teeth, washed her face and changed into her pajamas. “You have any answers?” she asked stepping back into the bedroom.
John’s chin was resting on his chest and his reading glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose. His eyes were closed, and a soft blowing of air came through his lips with every breath. Katy slipped the notebook from under his hand that was draped across his lap and removed his glasses. She turned the light off and tiptoed around the bed.
As she climbed in on her side John rolled over and slid down onto his pillow. “Goodnight, Columbo,” he said softly.
“Goodnight, Sherlock.”
The next morning Katy drank her coffee while she did an internet search of the address that the veiled woman had led them to last night. The house belonged to Clarence Smithers, the bug man. Barbara Nelson was probably right about his wife having an affair with Rob Clay. As much as she disliked the woman’s gloating, suspicious personality, she had to admit that Barbara was good at gathering information on people.
So, the veiled woman was Johnnie Mae Smithers, the bug man’s wife. Katy rolled her eyes upward, trying to remember, but the woman’s face just would not come to her mind. She had seen the bug man occasionally in some of her patients’ homes. He looked to be in his sixties, short, bald, and he loved to talk. She couldn’t imagine this man picking a fight with anybody. Besides, he really didn’t fit the description of the guy that the old men from the gas station had given her. Apparently, according to what the Rough Edge twins had said last Saturday, Johnnie Mae worked at the library.
She looked up the bug man’s website and got the address of his business. She might drop by there today and get a brochure of the services he provided. If she was lucky, his wife would be around. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she found the woman. At least she could see if the bug man’s wife was the same size as the woman in black from last night. If she didn’t see her there, she would try the library next.
Katy grabbed her coffee cup and went to the kitchen. John had already left for work. She glanced at the wall clock. The computer search had taken longer than expected. She quickly gathered her cell phone and home health supplies and dashed out the door.
The home health visits went as scheduled, which was always a nice surprise. With that done, it was time to check out the bug man’s wife. The Smithers’ Extermination Service, with its bright yellow bricks and black trim, was easy to find. The cartoon character of a bug man smiling down at the street from the roof with the slogan Let us fix what bugs you, written in bold black letters across the top, made the place hard to miss. Katy took off her name badge and walked into the small building. A gust of arctic air hit her in the face and she shivered as goose bumps popped up on her arms. The room was darkly paneled with a couple of uncomfortable looking chairs on one wall. A counter separated the entrance from a workspace along the back. The place obviously was not designed to accommodate waiting customers.
A tall, thin woman with bright red hair piled high above her head stepped through a side door behind the counter. “You need to pay your bill, honey?” The woman looked at Katy over the top of her rectangular framed glasses.
“No ma’am,” Katy smiled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Katy Cross. I just wanted to get a price list or brochure about your services if you have one.”
The woman reached across the counter and shook Katy’s hand. Her arm had at least half a dozen shiny, primary-colored plastic bangles on it that clacked together noisily as she lifted her arm. “I’m Johnnie Mae. Nice to meet you.” She paused as she glanced around behind the counter. She twisted her hot pink lips from side to side as she searched for a brochure. “I know Clarence keeps stuff like that somewhere.” She stuck a manicured finger up in the air as she looked back up. “I remember where those things are. I’ll be right back.” She glanced over her shoulder at Katy. “Just take a seat, honey. I won’t be but a second.”
Katy sat down in one of the vinyl chairs and waited for Johnnie Mae’s return. She supposed Mrs. Smithers could have been the woman they saw last night. She was dressed so brightly today in the turquoise pants and multi-colored top that it was hard to picture her wearing the shapeless black dress. Katy understood why she would need to disguise herself, though. With hair such a bright shade of red, she was sure to be noticed if she didn’t cover it up.
“You’re having a little bug problem, are you?” The woman returned through the door with a pamphlet in the same color scheme as the outside of the building. “It took me a minute to find these. I just quit the library and started helping out here full-time, so I’m having to figure out where my husband keeps everything.” She handed the pamphlet across the counter.
Katy took the pamphlet and opened it up. She hadn’t planned on having to explain why she needed the information. “Well, my husband usually handles this stuff, but I thought it would be good to have a backup plan. He sometimes forgets to spray.”
The woman let out a laugh that reminded Katy of a bleating goat. “Believe it or not, I know what you mean. My husband does this for a living, but sometimes our house goes half a year without getting sprayed.” She looked at Katy as she touched a long fingernail to her cheek. “Now what did you say your name was? You look familiar.”
“I’m Katy Cross. I play for The Moonlighters. You don’t play with The Bluegrass Babes, do you? You might have seen me last Saturday at the auditorium when Mr. Clay got killed.” Katy knew the woman was not in the band and knew it was cruel to bring up the death like that, but she needed to see how the woman reacted when she talked about Rob Clay.
“No, I don’t play for any kind of group.” The color drained from Johnnie Mae’s face causing the hot pink lipstick to look rather clownish.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Katy said, truly meaning it. She did not want the woman to pass out behind the counter. “Do you need to sit down or get a sip of water or something? You look pale.”
The woman bleated a rather sad little bleat th
is time. “No, I’m fine.” She leaned on the counter for support and looked down at her hands. “That was, uhh, just terrible what happened to that poor man.” She slowly lifted her eyes back toward Katy. “Did you see his body, I mean, where he was strangled?”
Katy reached over and patted the cool wrinkled hand. The woman obviously had feelings for Mr. Clay, more than just neighborly feelings. “Yes, I’m afraid I did.”
“I wonder if that’s why they closed the coffin, because he was messed up some kind of way.” Johnnie Mae searched Katy’s face for answers.
“I don’t know why they did that,” Katy answered softly, “but his face was not disfigured on the day he died.”
Johnnie Mae seemed to remember herself again and stood back up straight. “I never have liked death.” Her lips spread tightly across her perfect white teeth in a forced smile. “It upsets me.” She paused, looking Katy in the eye, “even when I hear about total strangers dying.”
Katy’s eyes met the woman’s and held them. The message was clear that Johnnie Mae did not want to talk about Rob Clay anymore.
Johnnie Mae reached under the counter and pretended to be rearranging some papers. “Well, if you decide you need our services just give us a call. Our number is on the back there.”
“Thank you, ma’am, for the information.” Katy tucked the brochure in her bag and started toward the door.
“Mrs. Cross,” the woman softly called from behind the counter. Katy turned and looked over her shoulder. “Thank you for the telling me…that.” Johnnie Mae turned and went back through the side door before Katy could respond.
Well that clears that up, Katy thought. She returned to her car and texted John with the message that meant all was well. Johnnie Mae Smithers must have been the woman in black. Now she needed to find out where that hairdresser’s shop was. Her phone buzzed while she was thinking.
“Hey, girl,” Misty’s voice came over the speaker phone. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”
“No.” Katy looked in her rear-view mirror as she backed out of her parking spot. “You want to get together at the Burger Barn?”
“Sure do. How soon can you be there? I’m hungry.”
“I’m already on this side of town. I’ll meet you in five minutes.” Katy hung up her cell and pulled onto the street. If anybody could help her find out where a hair salon or beauty shop was, it was Misty.
Chapter Eight
“Rob Clay was fooling around with Mrs. Smithers and the tattooed hairdresser at the same time? Why, that dirty old geezer!” Misty spat each word out like a nasty tasting bullet. “I knew he had a reputation for being a womanizer, but really.” She spread her napkin out in her lap with more force than the task required.
“And I think there was somebody else, but ole Barbara wouldn’t tell me.” Katy ran her finger down the laminated menu at the Burger Barn.
“Who?” Misty’s eyes shot up from her napkin. “If you say my mamma, I’m gonna just die.” She pounded her fist lightly on the table, then looked around quickly to make sure no one was listening.
“Calm down, girl,” Katy said, raising her eyebrows. “It ain’t your momma.” She watched as Misty breathed a deep sigh of relief. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting kind of strange.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Misty said, slowly shaking her head. “After listening to Emma tell me about how Tubby thought she was cheating, and now you tell me about crazy ole Mrs. Smithers and the gothic girl both having an affair with the same man, I just figured I couldn’t be too sure about anything.” She laughed softly and looked at Katy. “It sounds kind of ridiculous when I really think about it.” Creases formed around her eyes as her laugh grew stronger. “My germ-a-phobic mother would make a man take a blood test and sign an affidavit nowadays before she would even consider going on a date.”
Katy covered her mouth to keep from spewing tea across the table as her own mirth bubbled out. “Can’t we find a better subject to talk about than your mother’s love life...or lack thereof?”
“Yes, like who is this third woman.” Misty bit her bottom lip as the waitress walked up to take their orders.
“Look,” Katy leaned across the table as the waitress left, “I haven’t figured out who the third woman is yet. Barbara just said it was somebody so prim and proper that I would never believe it.” She paused and held up her hand, as if to ward off any comments from across the table. “But it’s not your mother, so don’t be ridiculous again. This woman is married to a man who likes to play dominos every Thursday at the domino house.”
“Well, that lets Momma and all the other widows in town off of the hook.” Misty paused as she stared across the table at Katy, her brows pulling together in concentration. “Let’s see, we should be able to narrow it down if we make a list of the usual Thursday night players.”
“Okay, that makes sense. But how are we going to figure out who they are?”
Misty grinned and pulled her cell phone out of her designer snakeskin handbag. “That’s easy. Those old men actually have a Facebook page. One of their grandkids made it for them. The ladies in Momma’s circle group showed it to me the other night. They plan on getting one, too.” She tapped the screen of her phone then leaned across the table with the picture. “Look. One of these men has a cheating wife.”
Katy pulled an ink pen out of her scrub top pocket and started writing down the names of all the men she recognized on one side of a paper napkin and their wives on the other. “There,” she said as she completed the list. “I know all of these men but three.” She counted the names on the list and turned it around for Misty to see. “Six men and four women. One man is a widower, and one is a backelor. Here, see if you know the other three men.”
Misty read the list out loud. She turned the napkin back toward Katy and gave her the names of the other men and their wives.
Katy jotted them down and smiled. “Now we can figure this out pretty quickly,” she said, looking up from the napkin.
Misty stared straight ahead, her expression blank.
“Did you hear me?” Katy asked, staring back at her friend. “Misty?” She snapped her fingers in front of her friend’s face.
Misty’s eyes slowly zoned back in on Katy. She blinked a few times without speaking then looked down again at the list. Katy could tell something was bothering her.
“What is it?” Katy asked. “Have you figured it out?”
“No…yeah…maybe,” Misty replied, finally answering. “I just thought about something.”
“What is it?” Katy took a bite out of her bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich.
“Well, you know that note you found on the floor by Rob Clay?” Misty dragged the sentence out slowly as her thoughts became clear.
“Yeah,” Katy mumbled, her mouth still full of sandwich.
“It wasn’t handwritten, was it?” She didn’t give Katy time to answer. “It was typed.”
“Yeah,” Katy swallowed and patted her napkin to her lips. “That’s right. Why?”
“What if EM isn’t a name. What if E and M are initials?”
Katy’s mouth slowly formed an O as what Misty was saying began to come together in her mind. She quickly looked down the list to see who had the initials EM. She looked back at Misty in disbelief. “No, it couldn’t be,” she whispered.
“What if Edna Morse wrote that note because she was part of some kind of love triangle, or square or hexagon or something? A smile slowly crept across Misty’s face. “Didn’t you say the paper was kind of a dusty pinkish color?”
“Yeah, it looked like some kind of nice stationary.” Katy bit her bottom lip. “Why? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we need to finish our lunch and head back to my shop.” Misty waved the waitress down and asked for a to-go box.
“What’s at your shop?” Katy looked longingly at the rest of her lunch.
“Invoices and event notices from the funeral home.” Misty paused and looked at Katy wi
th a glint in her eye. “Things written on the funeral home stationary.”
They boxed their lunches and headed out the door. Katy didn’t even take time to finish her tea. She followed Misty over to the flower shop in her car.
“That was a quick lunch,” Misty’s mother said as they entered the shop.
Katy followed Misty around the counter and into the back room where they did the flower arrangements and all the paperwork. “I’m still at lunch, Momma. I’ll be out in a bit,” Misty called over her shoulder, shutting the work room door behind them.
A large plate glass window with “Deep South Florist” written across the front covered one wall. Different flower arrangements sat on a table in front of this window for decoration to entice the customers who walked by.
On the adjoining wall, out of view of the window, were several tables littered with vases, artificial flowers, moss, green flower foam, and other tools of Misty’s trade. A door on the back wall led to a walk-in cooler that stored the fresh-cut flowers and greenery. Beside that door was a desk with a computer and several small baskets containing different types of orders, bills, and work forms associated with the business. They walked over to the desk, and Misty started rummaging through the papers in one basket while Katy did likewise in another.
“I have a picture of the note saved on my phone for us to compare your invoice to,” Katy said, picking up different pieces of paper and then laying them to the side.
Misty glanced over her arm at the phone then up at her friend. “You don’t have a picture of the dead guy on your phone, do you? Cause I have to tell you that that would just be weird.”
“No,” Katy didn’t even look up as she spoke. “I’m not that strange yet.”
“Hey, quit looking,” Misty said. “I found it.” She held up a cloudy pink piece of stationary and smiled. “This is a letter from Morse Funeral Home we received a few weeks ago announcing that they are going to start cremating people when they get some kind of legal thing worked out.”