"Have a minute to look at those paintings?"
"I can spare a few," I said, thinking the odds of making it to the knitting group just kept getting slimmer.
"Come on down to my office," she said, waving me toward the small building that housed Buttercup's main political operation. I followed her, waiting while she sorted through a heavy ring of keys until she found the right one.
"Here we go," she said as she opened the door and stepped inside.
Mayor Niederberger was a practical person, and her office felt right in keeping with that aspect of her personality. Although the little house was quaint, everything inside it was no-nonsense, from the massive 1950s' era metal desk to the inexpensive metal filing cabinets that lined the wainscoted walls. The only nod to decor was a purple African violet blooming on the corner of her desk next to the window.
"Here they are," she said, opening a closet door and pulling out the paintings.
They were large oil paintings in a Renaissance style, featuring Mary and baby Jesus and what I was guessing were a couple of saints. I was raised Protestant, so I never learned to tell the saints apart, but it was obvious the paintings were done by a master.
"They're beautiful," I said, admiring the deep blue of Mary's dress and the gold-leaf halo around the baby's chubby head. "I can't believe they look so good after being shut up in the courthouse for so long. Heat, humidity, cold..."
"That's the thing," the mayor said. "We don't know how long they've been there."
"When were they stolen?"
"Thirteen, fourteen years ago," she told me. "It was a traveling exhibition; someone broke into the museum. The police showed up, but by the time they got there, these paintings were missing."
"Anything else?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of, or that the museum knows of. They're happy to have them back, but I'm a bit disappointed. The renovation is costing me an arm and a leg. These old houses always do," she said, grimacing at the ceiling. "Just put a new roof on this place five years ago, and already it's leaking."
Well, that was encouraging, I thought, thinking of the little house on the knoll at Dewberry Farm I'd taken on. I hoped, for about the three-thousandth time, that I hadn't made a mistake.
"How are you getting them back to the museum?"
"They're comin' to pick 'em up this week," she said. "I figured out what happened, though."
"What do you mean?"
"How they ended up hidden," she said.
"Tell me?"
"Last time they renovated the courthouse was right around the time these paintings went missing. They were closing in a closet that was too shallow to really be a closet, reclaiming some of the space for another room. These were hidden behind a loose panel."
"A closet? I didn't know they had closets back then." My house certainly didn't.
"Well, maybe a storage room or somethin'," she said. "At any rate, when they opened it up, these were shoved in between the studs. Looks like someone walled them up to keep 'em safe, and was plannin' to come back and find 'em later."
"Why didn't they?" I asked.
"Good question," she answered. "And it still doesn't explain why there are bones under the floorboards."
"Is that where they were?"
"They were in the dirt," she said. "It was a shallow grave right under the courthouse. Although why anyone would want to bury someone in a courthouse is beyond me."
"Maybe because it was under renovation, it was convenient," I said. "If the murder was committed in the courthouse, it would be an easy way to hide a body."
"Maybe," she said, sounding unconvinced. "All I know is, some days I think we should just tear the whole dadgum thing down and start over. There's always some kind of trouble involving the courthouse and the green."
"On the plus side, you won the statue debate."
She shivered. "Thank heaven for that," she said. "If I had to look at that sausage nose every time I walked to work, I might consider runnin' for office in La Grange." She fell silent, and together our eyes drifted to the paintings. They were like a window into a different time, and I tried to imagine who had painted them, and under what circumstance. I imagined whoever created them never would have guessed that his or her work would end up hidden between the studs in a courthouse in a small Texas town. Life was full of mysteries, I mused.
"Shame about Isabella," the mayor said out of the blue. "Do you think she's the guilty party?"
"I don't know," I told her. "What do you know about the Stones?"
"I know they've got bad luck as far as sons go," she told me. "They'd better be good to Jenna; she's all they've got left."
"Is there bad blood there?"
"Oh, everyone in town knows she was mad as a wet hen when her brother came back into town to 'help out' at the ranch."
"Did he have a good relationship with his parents?"
"I think on some level his daddy knew he was a bad egg," she said, "but his mother thought he walked on water. She's taken it real hard. Never wanted him to marry Isabella in the first place."
"Why?"
The mayor rolled her eyes. "She was still upset that Rhonda and Randy never got back together. Rhonda was Homecoming Queen back in her day, and I figger she thought a beauty queen of sorts would be just the right kind of mother to her grandchildren."
"She is an attractive young woman," I said. "But isn't there more to being a parent than looking good?"
"She's a nice young woman," the mayor said, "but still kind of lost, if you ask me. I'm glad she went to cosmetology school a few years back, but things seem to be going south for her. Then again, she was always the type to cause trouble."
"What do you mean?"
"She liked to stir up the boys," the mayor said. "Never happier than when she had two suitors arguin' over who'd get to take her to the dance."
"She had two boys lined up just recently," I said. "Think it was an accident she left that phone out for her husband to see?"
"Maybe," she mused. "Or maybe not. He's got a bad temper, Keith does."
"How did they meet?"
"In high school," she said. "He was on the football team. Always had a crush on Rhonda. Looked like the cat that ate the canary the day he finally got her to walk down the aisle with him. It must have just about killed him when he found out she was still seein' Randy Stone on the side."
"Well, somebody killed Randy," I pointed out. "Think it could be Keith Gehring?"
"He did have a temper," she said. "And it sure did look like a crime of passion. I might mention that to the deputy next time I see her."
"Is she taking over the case?"
"Rooster's convinced the case is closed," the mayor said. "No surprise. He likes things nice and easy. But things haven't been so easy for him lately."
"I know," I said, thinking it kind of served him right.
"It's kind of ironic, to my mind. All these years he's been shootin' himself in the foot figuratively, and he finally goes off and does it. I wouldn't be shocked if he ended up in the ER next time for trying to shove his foot down his throat." She grimaced. "Problem is, he doesn't know he's puttin' his foot in his mouth every time he talks. I wish we had someone else in that office, to be frank, but you know how traditions are."
"There's always been a Kocurek in the sheriff's office, hasn't there?"
"There has," she said. "But how many times do you have to mess up before someone shows you the door?" She shook her head.
"Well, I'm glad you won the last election," I said.
"So am I. Not for me... for Buttercup's sake," she said. "Can you imagine a freeway smack-dab through the middle of town?"
I could, but I didn't want to.
"Anyhow," she said, "I just wanted to show these to you. I guess I'd better put 'em back up."
"Let me help you," I said, reaching for the closest one. As I lifted it, something fluttered to the floor. I set down the painting and picked it up.
"What's that?" the mayor asked.
"A ticket, I think," I said, examining the scrap of card stock in my hand.
"What kind of ticket?"
"A movie ticket," I said. "Look; there's a date," I said, showing it to her.
"That's the day before the paintings were stolen. Is there a name?"
"Unfortunately, no," I said. "But it might be a lead. I doubt they'll have records of who bought tickets all those years ago, but you never know."
"Let's make a couple of copies of it," the mayor said. I handed it to her; a few minutes later, she returned and handed me one of the copies. "I'll hold on to the original and give it to whoever's still investigating the theft—or maybe to Deputy Shames—but in the meantime..."
"I'll see what I can find out," I promised. "Why Deputy Shames?"
She gave me a look. "Somebody's got to find out who was buried under the courthouse. Somethin' tells me Rooster's not the person to talk to about that."
"You think they're related?" I asked.
"I have no idea," she said. "That's for the police to figure out. It might lead them to the thief, the killer, the dead body... but it's not my department," she said.
I did a quick survey of the paintings to see if there was anything else wedged into the frames or the backings, but found nothing. "At least there aren't bloodstains!" I said cheerily.
"Thank heavens for small mercies," she said.
By the time I got home, it would have been time to turn around and head over to Opal's for the Buttercup Knitting Brigade. Unfortunately, there was no time to go if I wanted to get ready for the Christmas Market. As I started gathering merchandise for the Market, I called Opal to let her know.
"No worries," she said. "I'll stop by your booth with some cookies tonight."
"Thank you so much," I told her. "I also need some ideas for Tobias. I don't think I'm going to get this scarf done in time."
"I'll think on it," she said, and then in a lower voice, "Lord almighty. Flora just walked in looking like Glinda the Good Witch."
"You'll be able to talk her down," I said, grinning.
"Hope Gus likes middle-aged princesses," she said.
"He seems to so far," I said. "Check in with her, will you? Make sure she's not in over her head?"
"I will," she said. "See you tonight, and I'll think on what you can get Tobias!"
Speaking of Tobias, I thought as I hung up the phone, I still hadn't seen him since I got my hair cut. My hand reached up to touch my new hair again, and I resisted the urge to go look at my cut in the mirror again. Would he like it?
I'd find out soon enough, I told myself, forcing myself to focus on what needed to be done... and trying to come up with an idea for Tobias's Christmas present.
13
The Market was in full swing by the time I got there, with one of the local church choirs singing carols, the scent of spices from the mulled mead and cider, and a hint of woodsmoke in the air. Even though the Market wasn't officially open yet, a throng of laughing, happy shoppers were swirling through the Square, dressed in jackets and brightly colored scarves and hats and checking out the locals' wares. It was a good thing it was only a couple more days until Christmas, I thought as I laid out my merchandise; although I'd been preparing for at least a month, I was starting to run low on stock.
I had just finished setting out the soaps when Flora floated up to the booth, wearing an enormous pink skirt and a blouse that looked like it had had an angry run-in with a BeDazzler. She was wearing the pink lipstick Opal had given her the other day; I guess she'd decided she should match her lips.
"Hey there," I said. "You're all gussied up. Where are you headed tonight?"
"Gus’s taking me dancing," she said, her eyes sparkling. "I don't know how to dance—Mama didn't ever let me—but he says he'll teach me!"
I thought of Gus’s stolid, slow-moving form. I'd never pegged him for a dancer, but people surprise me all the time. "That sounds like fun," I told her.
"Opal sent these for you," Flora said, digging a small box out of her purse. I opened it; it was filled with powdered-sugar-coated cookies. I took one and popped it into my mouth, where it promptly melted. So of course I had to grab another.
"What does Tobias think of your hair?" she asked.
I finished swallowing my second cookie before answering. "He hasn't seen it yet," I told her. As I answered, Jenna and her husband drifted by. I brushed off my fingers and put away the box of cookies. "Hi!" I said, overbrightly. Jenna looked up at me, and her face turned wary. "We met at your ranch the other day. How's the cow doing?"
"Better, thanks," she said tightly.
"Are these beeswax candles?" Simon asked, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort.
"They are," I said. "We met the other day at the ranch. I’m Lucy Resnick."
"I remember! Simon Flagg," he said in response. The name tickled something in my brain, but I couldn't place it; his name had probably been in the news at some point while I was working at the Houston Chronicle. A smile crossed his face; he was a handsome man, and seemed to be easy-going relative to the uptight vibe I got from Jenna. Then again, if he was a successful developer, he could just be good with people. "Did you make these yourself?" he asked, sniffing a candle.
"I did," I confirmed.
"Wow. I'd love a couple of these," he said. "I like candles, but the fake scents make me sneeze."
"I'd be happy to wrap them up for you," I said, and turned to Jenna. "I'm sorry about your brother, by the way. That's got to be rough on the family."
Jenna said nothing, but nodded shortly.
"Randy wasn't the best guy in the world, but he didn't deserve that," Simon answered for her. "It’s ironic; Jenna was trying to convince me to move to Buttercup because it was safer. I'll be glad to get back to Houston!"
"You're not staying?" I asked.
"We'll be here through the holidays," he said, "try to help Jenna’s parents get through, but after that, we're headed back home."
"Is that where you're from originally?"
He nodded. "I'm a city boy. Jenna here just loves being out in the country, though."
"I can relate to that," I said. "I left Houston myself."
"What brought you here?"
"The paper downsized and my grandmother's farm came up for sale. It was like it was meant to be," I said.
He frowned almost imperceptibly. "You were with the Houston paper?"
"I was," I said. "I was an investigative reporter."
"We have to hurry," Jenna said, touching his sleeve. "I promised to meet mother and daddy.
"Right," Simon said. "Anyway, what do I owe you?"
I told him, and he quickly shelled out a twenty from the thick wad in his billfold. "Keep the change," he said, and as I handed him the wrapped candles, he nodded and put a protective arm around Jenna, steering her away.
"He's handsome," Flora said as the trim couple disappeared into the crowd.
"He is," I agreed, running his name through my memory. I knew I'd encountered it before. But where?
"Not as handsome as Gus, though," Flora said. "I like beefy men." I smiled. It was a good thing; Gus definitely was a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. "I just can't figure out what I should get him for Christmas. I want it to be special, but not too special."
"That's a tough one," I agreed. "It's hard when you start dating someone just before Christmas, or Valentine's Day. Maybe you could make him some cookies, or fudge, or something."
"That's an idea," she said, but didn't sound convinced. "How's your gift for Tobias coming?"
I groaned. "There's no way I'm going to get that scarf finished. Any other ideas for Christmas?"
She thought about it for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. "Ooh, I know!"
"What?" I asked, resisting the urge to reach for the cookies again.
"I saw an antique veterinary kit at Fannie’s Antiques the other day," she said. "I actually talked about it with Fannie. It would be perfect for Tobias!"
It would; I kn
ew he collected vintage veterinary equipment. "How much?" I asked.
She grimaced. "It wasn't cheap," she said. "But maybe she'd barter with you, or work out a deal."
I glanced over at Fannie's store. "Think she's still got it?"
"Go look," Flora urged me. "I'll get the rest of the booth set up."
"Thanks," I said, grabbing my purse and slinging it over my shoulder. "I'll be right back!"
Fannie's Antiques was in one of the long buildings that lined the Square. Fannie had decorated the front with vintage Christmas ornaments, Spode platters and cups, and a lovely live garland decorated with twinkling lights. The Market had drawn lots of potential shoppers; the store was lively, and I felt a twinge of nervousness in my stomach. What if someone had already bought it?
Fannie was busy wrapping up a vintage tree skirt for the woman at the register, but she waved to me when she spotted me. I scanned the festive, somewhat cluttered shop as she completed the transaction, feeling mounting anxiety. I didn't see anything even vaguely medical; there were hutches and pitchers and furniture, but no antique vet kits. "Have a wonderful holiday!" Fannie told the woman as she slid the tree skirt into a bag and handed it to her, then turned to me. "I'm so glad you made it in... I got the most amazing thing the other day, and I think Tobias would love it!"
"Flora told me," I said. "Do you still have it?"
"I do," she said. "Follow me." She squeezed out from behind the counter and led me to the back of the shop. She was wearing one of her vintage dresses, and her hair was pulled up into a loose bun; for a moment, I felt I had stepped back in time.
The feeling increased when she pulled a well-used black case from the shelf and opened it. The case was filled with metal instruments, including an enormous syringe, some kind of pink tubing, and even a green instruction booklet labeled "Easy-to-Use Cattle Instruments." "What is this?" I asked, touching the tubing.
"I have no idea, but I'll bet Tobias would know," she said. "He collects this stuff. Normally, I'd call him first thing, but with Christmas coming, I thought you might want to have first dibs."
"Oh, thank you so much. He'd love it," I said. "How much?"
"It's in such good shape I could probably get a pretty penny for it, but I picked it up for only fifty dollars. I normally ask double, but since you're local, how about seventy-five?"
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