Music, Murder, and Small Town Romance

by K C Hart

  “I used to. His momma goes to my church. He went there, too, up until he got big enough to tell his momma he wasn’t going with her.” The gentle wind blew again, causing the wind chimes to sing. Mrs. Simmons looked out across the empty field that used to be full of pine trees. “The trees used to buffer that wind, but now that they’re gone, I feel the breeze a lot more in the morning.”

  A shiver slipped down Katy’s spine as she followed Mrs. Simmons’s gaze across to the empty field. For just a second, last year’s brush with death flashed through Katy’s mind. She looked back down at the computer screen. “What kind of man would you say Floyd Perkins is?”

  “I guess I really can’t say. His poor old momma had high hopes of him getting married and bringing her a bunch of grandbabies years ago, but she doesn’t talk like that anymore.”

  Katy looked at Mrs. Simmons out of the corner of her eye. “He could still get married. Maybe not bring home the grandbabies unless he married a younger woman, I guess.”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Perkins believes it will ever happen. I was at a baby shower at the church several months ago, and somebody asked her if Floyd had found a nice girl yet. She said that as long as Floyd was fishing in muddy waters, he wasn’t ever going to catch anything but bottom feeders.” Mrs. Simmons stopped rocking and turned to look at Katy. “Why are you asking about Floyd Perkins?”

  “I can’t really say.” She closed the laptop and slid it back into its bag. “I’m just trying to figure some things out.”

  “Now, let’s see.” Mrs. Simmons rubbed her gnarled, arthritic hands together. “Floyd Perkins teaches the drama classes over at the school. Rob Clay was killed on the school stage.” She raised an eyebrow and peered at Katy. “I imagine you’re trying to find out if the man had a reason to kill Mr. Clay.”

  Katy smiled as she listened to the old woman. She had forgotten how shrewd she was. “Actually, I already know that Rob Clay was blackmailing him about something. I just don’t know if it was something big enough to kill him over.”

  “Well, that’s a very interesting question. Just because you and me might think something ain’t worth killing over doesn’t necessarily mean that Floyd Perkins wouldn’t think that. Everybody’s priorities don’t necessarily run along in the same direction as yours or mine.”

  “Yeah,” Katy said slowly, “I see what you mean.” She stood and picked up her bags. “I just need to find out what Rob Clay was holding over the man’s head.”

  “And you need to find out where the man was while Rob Clay was being killed.”

  “Yes ma’am, I guess that may clear a lot of things up, too.”

  Katy loaded her nursing gear back into her car and got behind the wheel. She waved to Mrs. Simmons as she backed out and drove away. The old woman waved back, continuing to rock in her chair and look out across the highway. The gravel crunched under Katy’s tires, bumping the little car along down the trailer park drive and onto the highway that lead back into Skeeterville. Her next scheduled visit was in two hours.

  She had enough time to go back to the music store but really didn’t want to tackle that yet. Donnie Gibson definitely was not an open book. Maybe she could get Misty to go with her. She could probably get the man to talk. She was better at putting people at ease than Katy. The car slowed down to thirty-five as she got closer to the town. What did Floyd Perkin’s mother mean about fishing in muddy waters and bottom feeders? She should have asked Mrs. Simmons what she was talking about. Memories of what happened last year in the field across the road had distracted her.

  She pulled the car into the parking lot of the bank and made a quick U-turn back onto the street, going in the direction she had just come from. Mrs. Simmons would still be on the porch. She would just run back out and ask her. She sped the little car up and set the cruise control on fifty-five as soon as she was out of the thirty-five zone so she wouldn’t speed. Todd would probably enjoy giving her a ticket.

  She pulled back into the trailer park’s gravel drive and made her way down to Mrs. Simmons’s trailer. The woman was right where she left her on the front porch several minutes before. Katy hopped out of the car and hiked up the steps. “What did his mother mean by muddy waters and bottom feeders?” Katy asked without bothering to say hello.

  “I wondered if you were really listening to me a while ago.” Mrs. Simmons chuckled and patted the chair beside her. “Sit down a minute.”

  Katy sat on the edge of the chair and looked at her patient. She tapped the heel of her shoe on the floor, but quickly stopped.

  “You in a hurry?” Mrs. Simmons asked, looking straight ahead.

  Katy sighed and flopped back in the rocker, looking straight ahead also. “No, not really, I’m just anxious to fit all this stuff together in my head.” She turned and looked at Mrs. Simmons. “I seem to be at a dead end.”

  “Floyd Perkins is never home on Saturday nights. He leaves every Saturday evening and doesn’t return home until Sunday morning. This embarrasses the daylights out of his mother, but he’s a grown man, even if he still behaves like a teenage boy.”

  “Does his momma know where he goes?”

  “I think she does, but she won’t admit it. I think he is fishing around with some professional bottom feeders. I don’t know this for sure, but his momma has asked if I knew what The Velvet Slipper was.”

  “What is The Velvet Slipper?”

  “I’m glad you don’t know, child.” Mrs. Simmons patted Katy’s hand and smiled. “I had to ask Tru, cause I didn’t know, either. It’s a house of ill repute somewhere in Jackson.”

  “Oh,” Katy said, leaning her head back again. “That would be muddy waters I guess.”

  “I guess so, honey.”

  Katy checked the time on her cell phone. She had to be at her next patient’s house in about an hour. She turned to see that Mrs. Simmons was watching her. A frown had worked its way in among the everyday wrinkles that the old lady always kept on her forehead.

  “Honey, you know that you don’t have to carry this burden alone. The good Lord will help you with all of this.”

  Katy reached over and patted Mrs. Simmons’s hand. “I know. I’m sorry I look so down in the mouth.” She shook her head and blew out a hard sigh. “I just hate having to dig into other people’s dirty laundry, you know?”

  “You are the exception to the rule, then,” Mrs. Simmons said with a chuckle. “Most people love to get a little dirt and smear it around to anybody that will listen.”

  “Oh, I’m not above that myself, I’m afraid. It’s just...” Katy paused and looked across to the field again, searching for the right words. “Sometimes it’s smothering to find out that people are not who they appear to be. Like popping a bubble but finding out that the bubble was full of stink gas.”

  “Just remember, everybody has their laundry, and everybody can have a dose of grace to wash them stains out when they are ready for it.”

  “Yes ma’am. You’re right.” Katy sat forward in the chair. “I guess I need to get going so I can get to my next patient.”

  “You remember what I said about not having to do this alone.”

  Katy leaned across the arm of the rocker and hugged the old woman. “I pray about this mess every day and ask God to help me.”

  “But are you taking the help He is giving you?”

  “I guess so, but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.” She stood up. “Sometimes I wonder if He is really listening to me about all of this.”

  “Oh, He’s listening baby. That is one thing you can be sure of. I’m also sure that He is sending you folks to help with this, but you can’t push them away when they cross your path.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, I would love to help you figure this thing out, but I can’t do it if you won’t let me. I sit here all day with nothing to do but pray and watch the traffic on the highway. If you would let me in on what’s going on, I might could help put some of the pieces of the puzzle together.”
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br />   “Mrs. Simmons, remember last time you got involved in one of my schemes?” Katy tapped her finger to her lips. “Do you really want to get involved with me again? It might not be safe.”

  “As I recall, that trouble came to my bedroom without any help from you.” She grabbed Katy’s hand and squeezed. “Besides, nobody will know I’m involved unless you tell them. I need something to keep my brain going, or I’m going to roll over and die of boredom.”

  “Alright, if you’re sure you want to do this.” Katy leaned down and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “I’ll bring my notebook by this afternoon and show you everything I’ve got.” She smiled, feeling a level of restfulness wash through her. “I think it will help me just knowing I can talk through this with another person. John is the only other person I really share every single thing with. He’s so concerned about my safety, though, that I don’t like to tell him some of the stuff I need to do to figure things out. I’m scared he’ll make me quit investigating.”

  A light glinted through Mrs. Simmons’s eyes as she looked up at Katy. “Sometimes just another person’s perspective can bring the clarity you’re looking for. I’ll be waiting to hear from you after while.”

  Katy left the front porch again. She pulled onto the highway and smiled as she drove past the trailers and back toward town. Mrs. Simmons had been a huge asset when Katy was looking into the murders last year. Her common-sense way of looking at things had made Katy stop chasing her tail and find the real killer. Maybe Mrs. Simmons would be able to help her again.

  Katy got out of her car and tapped on the front door of her next patient’s home. “Hello, Mrs. Brenda, it’s Katy,” she called, easing open the front door.

  The Chihuahua met her at the door, as usual, with teeth snarling. Of all the dogs she had dealt with over the years, these little fellas were, by far, the most aggressive. He grabbed her pants leg, and she gently dragged him through the hall to where her patient was waiting in the living room.

  “Rufus, what have I told you about biting our nurse?” Mrs. Brenda’s high-pitched, baby-doll voice rose above the lady on TV who was stirring in a pot. “Harold, come put up Rufus,” she barked, in a drill sergeant tone that she reserved strictly for her husband. Harold walked through and plucked the Chihuahua from Katy’s pants leg and exited the room without speaking.

  “I have high hopes that one day he learns to love you.” Mrs. Brenda felt around in her chair, searching for the remote. “Have a seat, sweetie.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been coming for about three months to do your wound care,” Katy laughed, sitting down beside her patient. “I think he’s about as friendly as he’s going to get. Now, let’s look at your wound.”

  Katy finished up her visit then walked to the curb where she had parked her car. Mrs. Brenda’s stasis ulcer was not showing any signs of improvement. Katy had called the wound care clinic and scheduled the lady an appointment with the physician to see if a different treatment was needed. She put her supplies in the back seat of the car without really paying attention to what she was doing. Wound care absorbed her thoughts as she slammed the car’s back door. She reached in her pocket for her keys and glanced around as the sound of Rufus’ yipping began to herald from the house behind her. Mr. Harold must have let the little beast back out of the laundry room.

  She smiled at the little dog’s self-important attitude as she glanced around at the blue Honda Accord parked across the street. She got into her car and turned the ignition, trying to remember where she had seen that car before. She sighed and put her car in gear. There were probably dozens of blue Hondas around. She pulled off of the curb and headed toward town, glancing in her rear-view mirror just in time to see Donnie Gibson stepping out of the house directly across from Mrs. Brenda’s and walking toward the blue Honda.

  Did Donnie Gibson live across the street from Mrs. Brenda, or was he visiting a friend? Mrs. Brenda never mentioned anything about her neighbors. All she ever talked about was how her leg hurt and the cooking shows she loved to watch on cable TV. It wouldn’t be too hard to figure out who lived there, though. She could find out the address then ask Misty or Todd or maybe Google it. She could go to the post office and ask, but that was the very last thing she wanted to do. She still needed to ask Emma for the address where she had taken the weekly guitar lessons.

  Her stomach growled as she drove down the center of town. She pulled into Misty’s flower shop, hoping her friend hadn’t gone to lunch yet. The smell of eucalyptus and roses swept around her as she entered through the glass door. Misty was just hanging up the phone and scribbling something on a pad.

  “You ready to take a lunch break?” she asked, breathing in the fragrance as she stepped up to the counter.

  “I need about an hour. I have to get some roses together for the delivery boy and finish up a couple of things.”

  “Why don’t we meet at The Burger Barn when you’re done?” Katy asked, picking through a bowl of trinkets lying near the cash register. “I’m hungry.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Misty looked over her shoulder toward the back room, where her mother was busily working. She leaned toward Katy and lowered her voice. “I went to the funeral parlor. Emma Morse is one angry woman and is just dying to tell anyone who will listen how she was an innocent victim to Rob Clay’s loose morals.”

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “Tons.” Misty stood back up as her mother walked through the door. “Mother, I’m going to get this order together then break for lunch.”

  Katy left the flower shop. She decided to stop by the bug place and see if Mrs. Smithers was running the counter. Now that the sheriff had talked to her son about his fight with Rob Clay, the cat was probably out of the bag about her affair with the man. Maybe she would be willing to talk about Rob Clay, too, if it would help find his killer.

  She drove the few blocks to the bright yellow building and parked. The distinct smell of bug killer hit her in the face as she walked through the door. How did Johnnie Mae stand to smell that routinely? She stepped up to the counter and dinged a little bell that had a sign by it saying ring for assistance. Johnnie Mae’s head popped through the doorway almost instantaneously.

  “Hello, again,” she said in a cheerful voice. “I was just finishing up my yogurt.” She blotted her lips with a paper towel as she stepped up to the counter. “What can I help you with?”

  Katy stifled a cough and plastered a smile on her face. “I was hoping you could answer some questions for me about Rob Clay.” She watched as Mrs. Smithers’s smiling face melted into a blank mask.

  “You mean that poor man that got killed?” She looked down at the counter, straightening the bell sign and adjusting the display stand holding the bug man pamphlets.

  Katy waited until the woman stopped fidgeting. “Yes ma’am. I think you know that I saw you at the funeral home that night.” Mrs. Smithers looked up at Katy as she continued. “I also know that you were having an affair with the man. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  Bright red streaks began to creep up Mrs. Smither’s neck. “It seems like you have everything figured out already. I don’t know what else you think I can tell you.”

  “Mrs. Smithers, I don’t mean to pry,” Katy said, leaning against the counter, “and I’m certainly not trying to embarrass you, but a lot of people, including your son, are getting sucked into this mess. The sooner everything is cleared up, the sooner all of our lives can get back to normal.”

  “My son was just trying to protect me. That’s why he started that fight.”

  “Yes ma’am, and I think since his girlfriend gave him an alibi for the time of the murder, he’s in the clear. But you might know something, maybe something that you don’t even think is important, that can help solve this thing. Don’t you think that would be best for everybody?”

  Mrs. Smithers patted the side of her head, adjusting a pile of bright red hear. “Alright, if you think I can help.” She cleared her throat. “My husba
nd already knows about everything, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t drag my name through the mud. My husband and my son don’t deserve that.”

  “No ma’am, I have no intention of doing that,” Katy said softly, “I’m just trying to keep a friend of mine from going to prison for something she didn’t do.”

  Mrs. Smithers reached under the counter and pulled out a gone to lunch sign and walked around the counter. She placed the sign in the door and turned to Katy. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know. It’s not much.”

  Katy followed Mrs. Smithers to the small office behind the counter and sat in a metal folding chair facing the woman. They were so close that she had to turn her knees to the side so Mrs. Smithers could sit in her desk chair. “Did Mr. Clay ever talk about anyone who might want to hurt him? Or did you notice that he had any enemies?” Katy was not sure how to ask her questions. She was used to asking about medications, sleep patterns, and appetites, not this kind of stuff.

  “I have already talked to the sheriff about this. He came here right after he talked to Chase.”

  “Yes ma’am, I figured you had. I just want to hear what you have to say myself.”

  “Rob was pretty tight lipped about his life.” Mrs. Simmons pushed on her hair again. “We mostly talked about music and movies and frivolous stuff.” She smiled and looked down at her hands. “We kind of kept real life out of our relationship.”

  Katy sighed. That was no help. “Did you ever see him interact with other people? Like over the phone or at his store?” How could she ask the woman about Floyd Perkins being blackmailed without telling her the details?

  “We always met at a hotel in Jackson. My mother lives in Jackson, so I could drive up there every Saturday to visit her, and my husband didn’t think nothing about it. I don’t guess I’ve ever even been in his store.”

  “Well, how did you meet him?”

  “I won a game on one of his radio quizzes. He brought by my free tickets to the Dwight concert. We talked a little, then he came by the next day, then again the next.” She looked up, her eyes searching Katy’s face for understanding. “He was so attentive. He complimented me on how well I looked for my age and listened to me when I told about my dream of being an interior designer.” She sighed and looked over Katy’s shoulder into the past. “He made me feel like there was more to life than spraying for cockroaches.”