by K C Hart
John laid his keys on the kitchen counter and hugged Katy as she walked into the kitchen. “You look tired. Rough day?”
“No, not really. Besides, I just woke up from a nap.” She laid her notebook on the counter and sat on the bar stool. “I went to the music store today.”
“Yeah? What did you buy?”
“Nothing important, just some strings and a book I won’t use, but I did find something out.” She patted the stool beside her and pulled the murder notebook close so they could look at it together. “Have a seat and look at this.”
John sat down beside her and looked at her notes as she talked. She explained about Floyd Perkins and Donnie Gibson arguing. “Rob Clay was blackmailing the drama teacher about something, and now Donnie Gibson is picking up his cousin’s slack.”
“Did he say what Floyd was doing?”
“No, but it’s something that would make him lose his job. Apparently, Mr. Clay had some kind of proof about whatever it was.” Katy looked from the notebook to her husband, “Any ideas?”
“Drugs maybe. I can’t really think of anything else off the top of my head.”
“That’s what I thought of, too.” Katy tapped her pen on the murder victim’s name. “I wonder how Rob Clay got dirt on the drama teacher.”
“I have about decided that nothing I learn about Mr. Clay will surprise me. That man was a real piece of work.” He looked down at the drama teacher’s name again. “What did you say Rob and Donnie were getting from the guy? Money?”
Katy looked at the notebook and puckered her lips. “I didn’t write that part down, did I?” She clicked her pen as she thought. “No, they didn’t mention money. It was something about getting back on track and...let’s see.” She tapped the pen against her cheek. “The drama teacher said she would get her spot back.”
“Okay,” John said, as Katy hurriedly scribbled down her notes. “Now all we have to do is figure out who lost their spot that Donnie Gibson and Rob Clay would be interested in and that Floyd Perkins has control over.”
“I think I already know.” Katy leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. “Jennifer Gibson is in Floyd Perkins’s drama class.”
John wrinkled his brow, trying to remember where he had heard the name.
“You know, Donnie Gibson’s daughter that we met at the funeral home. It has to be her.” She wrote down the girl’s name under Floyd Perkin’s notes. “I mean, who else does the high school drama teacher have power over? It has to be somebody at the school, and Jennifer Gibson makes the most sense.”
“Mystery solved,” John said standing up from the counter. “Now, on to the next mystery. What’s for supper?”
“No, wait,” Katy grabbed John’s arm. “I think I even know what they were making ole Floyd do.”
“Okay, what?”
“The other night at church the girls were telling me about the Gibson girl losing the lead in the school play. They said that this was her first year on the drama team since she just moved in with her daddy, but she had gotten the lead part, but had also lost it.” Katy stared over at the cold stove as she thought. “I’ll talk to Heather about this tonight at band practice. Her little sister is a junior, and I think she’s been in the drama club since she was in junior high.”
“Sounds good.” John tilted his head to the side. “Hey, you hear that?”
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
“I thought I heard your stomach growling.” He paused and put his hand over his abdomen. “No, wait, it was mine.”
Katy poked him in the gut as she stood up. “Okay, okay, I can take a hint. What do you want for supper? I let the time get away from me again.”
“I vote gas station chicken and tater logs.” He swiped his keys back off the counter. “Come on. If we hurry, they’ll still have some white meat left.”
“Works for me.” Katy left the murder book on the counter and followed him out the door. She would tell him about following the silver truck later. No need to ruin his supper.
Chapter Ten
“That sounds great; don’t change a thing.” Misty laid down the drumsticks and stood to stretch. “I don’t know which I like better, “Crazy” or “Momma Didn’t Raise No Fool.””
“I have to admit that the fiddle solo in “Mama” really sounds great.” Katy pulled the guitar strap over her head. “I think we’re almost ready for the show.”
The women began to put away their instruments and straighten up their snack plates and cups. “Is your sister still in drama this year?” Katy asked, following Heather out of the den and into the kitchen with her trash.
“Yes ma’am, but she says this is her last year.” Heather took the paper plate and cup from Katy’s hand.
“Why is that? I thought she loved doing the plays?”
“She does,” Heather sighed, “but she said that it’s all so political now. She’s just aggravated with everything, I guess.”
“What do you mean?” Katy picked up a napkin from the bar and wiped her hands.
“Well, you know they tried out for parts at the beginning of the year, and the teacher gave the lead to a junior high kid.”
“Yeah, some girls in my Sunday school class mentioned that.”
“A couple of weeks ago he changed his mind and gave Sadie Clements the part. She’s a senior and was the understudy. You know that normally the seniors get the best parts if they have any kind of talent.”
“Yeah,” Katy nodded, “kind of like a last big performance before sending them on their way.”
“That’s right. Well, Clare came home today and said the teacher had changed everything again and gave the part back to the junior high girl.” Heather took the napkin from Katy’s hand and threw it in the trash. They headed back to the den. “Of course, Sadie was fit to be tied and got in trouble for talking back to the teacher. Clare said she expects some mommas will be trying to meet with the principal about all of this real soon.”
“That does sound like a mess.”
“Clare says she’s just going to make it through this performance and be done with it. I told her to hang in there. Teenage drama doesn’t last forever, and before she knows it, she will be a boring working woman like me.”
Katy put her guitar back in the case as she thought. Floyd Perkins had taken the lead away from the Gibson girl when Rob Clay died, thinking he was free from the blackmail. But when the girl came home and told her daddy, he decided to pick back up where Rob had left off. Floyd Perkins must have made the changes after talking to Donnie Gibson in his store. Whatever the two men had on the teacher really had him scared.
Misty waited for Katy to close her guitar case so they could walk out together. “You really do sound good on that song,” she said, as they walked to their cars.
“Thanks. I hope I don’t blow it for us.”
“You won’t. Besides I don’t think any of us really expect to beat The Babes, anyway. Do you?”
“No, not really.” She hit the unlock button on the key fob and grinned. “But wouldn’t it be great if we did?”
“Oh, yeah,” Misty laughed and propped against the side of Katy’s car. “Even if we don’t beat them, it would be good if somebody else won the thing for a change.”
Katy put the guitar on the back seat then propped next to her friend. “Hey, do you know Floyd Perkins, the drama teacher at the high school?”
“Just a little. His momma is one of Momma’s friends, so mostly I just know about him from what Momma says. Did that any make sense?”
“Yeah, I figured it out.” Katy slapped her arm, squishing the mosquito that had landed on her bicep. “Have you ever heard of him doing drugs, or having a drinking problem or anything like that?”
“No, not that I’m aware of. He’s a bachelor and lives in a trailer in his momma’s yard.” Misty slapped at her cheek, killing another mosquito. “As far as I know, he’s Mrs. Perkins’s pride and joy.” She reached over and swatted a mosquito out of Katy’s hair. �
�Look, we’re going to get eaten alive if we stand around out here.”
“You’re right. I’ll talk to you later.”
Katy hopped in her vehicle and watched as Misty walked over to her car. She scratched at the whelp that was already forming from the bite on her arm. What secret could the drama teacher be hiding that would cause him to be manipulated so easily by Donnie Gibson? And was Rob Clay blackmailing the man just so his niece could get a better spot in the school play? That seemed a little odd considering the girl said her family wasn’t close at all. Katy waved through the window as Misty drove away.
Her small car purred softly as she turned the key and put it in gear. Did Floyd Perkins kill Rob Clay to get out from under his blackmailing? Whoever killed him had to have access to the school stage. He was either already in the auditorium when Rob entered, or he came in the back- stage door.
Katy backed into the street and started toward home, working through what she learned as she drove through the quiet town. The old men at the service station had confirmed that nobody entered the auditorium from the front door other than the band members, Edna Morse, and Rob Clay himself on the day of the murder. It made sense that the drama teacher would have a key to the backstage entrance.
She pulled under the carport and got out of her car as the new facts and theories began to form a scenario in her head. She walked through the kitchen and down the hall to her bedroom, deep in thought. Floyd Perkins could have been parked in the back of the auditorium, waiting for Rob to arrive. He could have let himself in through the back entrance, killed Rob, and let himself back out in the short time between when Rob entered and Edna Morse arrived.
She pulled her murder book from the nightstand drawer and wrote the theory down, still not sold on it. The Smithers guy was also at the top of her list of suspects. The bedside clock’s red numbers showed ten minutes after nine. Where was John? She walked back up the hall to the living room and smiled at the sight she found. John lay in the recliner, feet elevated and eyes closed. The empty carton of rocky road ice cream rested on his belly and rose and fell with every soft breath that blew through his sleeping lips. Poor man, sneaking around eating his ice cream while she was at band practice.
A haze of orange dust hovered above the gravel from the early morning traffic at the Piney Acres Trailer Park. Moms taking kids to soccer or tee-ball games, adult children coming to visit their elderly parents, and teenagers doing whatever they did on Saturday mornings kept the road that circled through the little community of mobile homes pretty busy.
A small cough rose from Katy’s throat as she stepped out of her car and up to Emma and Tubby’s place. Emma had called earlier asking her to come over. Katy felt a little guilty already for not visiting her since the night she was arrested, so she had agreed to come right then.
“Hey, Mrs. Katy, come on in.” Emma opened the front door. Her blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and even though she was in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top, her makeup looked perfect.
Katy followed the young woman into the trailer and took a seat on the dark gray corduroy upholstered couch. She had only stuck her head in the door the last time she was there, when they brought Tubby home from the water tower. She looked around in appreciation at the small but cleverly-decorated living room. Gray throw pillows monogramed with the couple’s initials lay on the gray couch and matching love seat. The cursive R stitched on the pillows was a pale mint green, which was also the color of several of the picture frames hanging on the taupe colored walls. Katy would never have imagined using mint green for decorating, but the room looked bright and clean.
“I love your living room, Emma.” She looked at the pictures on a shelf across from the couch. “Are these pictures of you and Tubby when you were babies?”
“Yes ma’am. If and when we ever have a young’un, I’ll put his picture between ours.”
“What a cute idea.”
“I saw it on Pinterest.” Emma stepped toward the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a half wall that also doubled as a bar. “You want some tea or coffee? I need another cup of coffee.”
“Coffee will be good, thank you.” Katy looked around the room some more while Emma fixed their drinks. Two guitar cases stood in the far corner. “Are both of those guitars Tubby’s?”
Emma handed Katy a coffee mug and sat across from her on the love seat. “Yes ma’am, but I’m trying to learn on one.” She looked at the cases. “Tubby is being so sweet. He said he would give me lessons now.” She lifted her coffee mug to her lips. “I think he is doing it to try to help me forget what’s going on.”
“That is sweet.” Katy set her mug down on a coaster on the coffee table. “Do you mind if I look at the guitar that you use?”
Emma set her mug down beside Katy’s and stepped across the room to retrieve one of the instruments. “No ma’am, not if you think it will help you figure out who is trying to pin this thing on me.” She laid the case on the love seat and opened it up. “Tubby’s had this guitar since he was in high school. He got it for Christmas when he was in the tenth grade.” She gently lifted the Epiphone guitar out and handed it to Katy. “He wanted an electric, but his momma said first he had to learn to play an acoustic.”
Katy laid the guitar flat on her lap and examined its front. The dark wood on the guitar was pretty, but she didn’t notice anything unusual about it. She picked it up and strummed a few chords before handing it back to Emma. “Here, show me what you’ve learned so far.”
Emma took the instrument from Katy and set it across her lap. She carefully placed her fingers of her left hand over the strings near the neck and then strummed with her right. “I can do a G, a D, and I’m learning an A, but my fingers are still real sore.”
“Yeah, until you build up a set of good, thick callouses those strings will make you blister every time you play.”
Emma set the guitar in its case and put it back in the corner. “It’s easier than it was at first. Mr. Rob picked out some lighter gauge strings that he said were for beginners and restrung the guitar on my second lesson. I couldn’t even mash down those thicker strings.”
“The strings were changed recently?” Katy cut her eyes up as she blew the steam from the coffee mug.
“Yes ma’am. He picked out two different gauge strings and said when my fingers toughened up and I learned to press down hard enough to make the chords, he would change the strings out again.” She looked down at her fingertips. “The skin’s peeled off and grown back one time already. Tubby said the heavier strings sound better, but I don’t really know anything about that.”
“Do you have the other pack of strings that Mr. Clay bought for you?”
“They should still be in the guitar case. He put them there the night he changed the strings to the lighter ones, and I honestly haven’t given them a second thought.” Emma got back up and retrieved the instrument one more time. She opened the latches and lifted out the guitar, looking in the belly of the case, then in the small compartment at the neck where most musicians stored their picks and capo. “They’re not here.” She wrinkled her brow. “Here’s the paper that the soft ones came in. I put it and the unopened ones in here the night he changed them so I wouldn’t misplace them in my purse.” She searched the case one more time, agitation showing in her movements.
Katy took a deep breath and watched as Emma finally put the guitar up a second time. “And you’re absolutely sure that Tubby or someone else hasn’t taken them out?”
“Oh, yes ma’am. Tubby never plays this guitar. He only plays that high dollar Taylor he got a couple of years ago. The only time he touches my guitar is to help me tune it before he gives me a lesson, and he just started the lessons this week.”
Katy took a swallow of coffee. “I’m afraid I might know where your missing pack of strings are.”
“Where?” Emma sat back down on the love seat and retrieved her coffee mug. “I can look in my purse, but I know they aren’t there. I cleaned i
t out last night looking for my Pink Passion lipstick.”
“No, I don’t think they’re anywhere around here. I think they’re at the police station locked up as evidence.”
“Oh, shoot.” Coffee splattered on the front of Emma’s silky baby-blue pajama pants as her hand flew to her mouth. “You mean those strings they found at the schoolhouse really are mine?” She set the mug back on the coffee table and stepped into the kitchen to get a towel to wipe up her mess. “I thought that somebody had faked all of that stuff, or the police had got my fingerprints messed up or something.”
“I guess that’s possible,” Katy said slowly, doubt obvious in her voice. “But I have a feeling that whoever really killed Rob Clay did it with your missing guitar strings.”
Emma laid the towel on the coffee table, forgotten. “What do I do now?” she asked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
Katy had been staring at the guitar case while Emma was talking, but the change in the young woman’s voice caused Katy to turn her attention back in her direction. “You don’t do anything at all. Just sit tight. Where’s Tubby?”
“He’s at practice. Why?” Emma picked the kitchen towel back up and blotted the tears from her eyes.
“I need to go see Todd and tell him what we found out. I’m pretty sure he’s going to want to talk to you again.” She paused, trying to figure out how to say what she was thinking. “I just don’t want Tubby to come home and see Todd’s truck here…” Katy’s voice trailed off with the unfinished sentence.
“And strangle Todd,” Emma said swallowing hard.
“Yeah, I guess so. How do you think we should handle this?”
“Okay, let me think a second.” Emma bit her bottom lip. “Tubby should be home by noon. We always eat lunch together on the weekends. I’ll tell him about the missing strings then. Can you wait that long to report this?”
“Sure, honey. That sounds like a good plan.” Katy stood and hugged Emma’s neck. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”