by K. P. Hilton
He stepped aside, allowing them to make a straight path through the automatic double doors. Martin trailed behind, knowing Betty was waiting up there with her friend.
Chapter 7
Martin hated hospitals. Everything always smelled of nose-stinging high-grade disinfectant. Even in the elevators. As the doors closed ahead of him, he heard the strangled cries of a family member being informed of a deceased loved one. It was as if the woman had been standing there the entire time waiting for him to arrive.
Betty stared at him as he stepped out of the elevator. Her red-rimmed eyes told Martin she'd been crying for a long time. He wasn’t able to get a word out edgewise before she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, her muttered words barely audible. “They’re saying he’s having trouble breathing.”
“Where’s his room?” Martin asked.
Betty wiped her eyes with her sleeve and pointed. “Over there.”
After a hard right, Martin walked down the long white hallway bustling with nurses rushing in one direction or the other. Betty followed closely behind him. Why would anyone want to hurt Tom Nelson? Martin wondered. His persona didn’t exactly read hardcore troublemaker.
After a pause, Martin entered Tom’s room. They did a number on him all right. Tom’s face looked like a sack of potatoes smashed open by an 18-wheeler on a six lane highway. Somebody wanted to send him a message. Someone had succeeded. Betty raised her hand to her mouth. She trembled like a leaf and buried her tear stained face into Martin's shoulder again.
“I don’t want him to die,” she cried, grabbing at Martin's shirt.
“No one’s going to die,” he said. Hoped. “How long have you been here? Why don't you step away for a bit. Go to the cafeteria and grab a bite of something.”
“Everything's falling apart all around me. Part of me wants to tell everyone to go away and just leave me alone.”
“The devil's prayer,” Martin said.
Betty brushed away more tears. Her eyes were still red and inflamed. “What?”
“Something I heard years ago from a friend. He said that when people say just leave me alone, they wind up isolating themselves from others. Nothing good ever comes from that. Supposedly, the devil is happy since it keeps people weak and confused and helpless.”
Betty stared at Martin.
Martin shrugged. “Sometimes life happens and there's not anything anyone can do about it. You only need to know that the best you can do is stay calm for your loved ones.”
After giving his words some thought, Betty gripped him tightly, then slipped out of his arms and quietly left the room.
If he didn’t know better Martin would think that Tom was dead. It took a moment to see his chest rising and falling, clinging to life. Clearly, Tom had crossed the wrong people. And someone decided to light a fire underneath him.
A short while later, Martin heard a knock at the door. There was a click and the door slowly swung open as Betty walked in.
“He’s okay, right?” she asked.
Her eyes were less red and more pinkish now. The bright rose flush disappeared from her cheeks.
“I’ve been in the room the entire time. Not much has changed. He’ll make a steady recovery. You’ll see.”
“Don’t you know what this feels like?” she asked, moving in front of Martin. “Didn’t you get tired of the world seeing you in a certain way? Is that why you got out of the newspaper business?”
When people talked about Martin's life like they knew anything about his past it always pricked a nerve, even when innocently said by friends. Instead of reacting, he paced Tom’s room.
“Seems I hit something you had buried,” Betty said, lowering her voice as she realized she'd said much more than intended.
“It's okay. You've been through a lot,” Martin replied. “I’ve been hurt worse. Words only hurt you if you let them.”
Betty gave a breathy laugh. “You're wrong. Words matter. They can be the hardest to heal from. Especially the cruel ones. You start blaming yourself for everything. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“No need to explain,” Martin said.
“Do you think someone he knows did this? When he was found by the lawn maintenance crew sprawled out behind his house, the cops had the whole street blocked off,” Betty said. “On top of everything else, no one knows where Boone, his son, is.”
Martin walked over to Tom’s bed side, staring at the IV drip snaking against his arm. After a moment, Betty sat down in the chair next to her friend’s bed and rested her head on his arm. Martin would tell her later what he'd overheard the police talking about earlier, that Boone had gone missing. Betty was dealing with enough at the moment. He quietly reached over, opened the door and exited the room.
Chapter 8
After several more hours at the hospital, Betty returned home. Though it was late in the afternoon, she made herself some coffee and sat at the kitchen table as she gathered her thoughts. A friend of hers, Julie, sprang to mind. Julie was a hair dresser and had connections all over town. Betty wondered if she could help her figure out who, besides possibly Ned, might have been so upset with Marge that they wanted her dead. After checking for the shop's number in the directory, she got her cell phone and dialed the number.
The phone rang for some time before anyone picked up. Finally, one of the shop's employees answered and said they were closing up but that Julie would be with her in a moment. After several more moments had passed, Julie got on the line.
“Hey, Julie. Betty Hitchens. How are you?” Betty cleared her throat. “Sorry for calling you at work, but I'm trying to figure out a few things. I know you're getting ready to close up there, but do you have a minute?”
“Just spill it, Betty. You know I’m always eager to help.” Julie paused for a second as she yelled to someone inside the shop. “Say, Betty, did you hear about the new fireman the city hired? I got some great background on him from – ”
“Another time, Julie. Right now I'm checking to see what the word is on Marge Nelson.” Betty didn't want to be rude, especially since she was the one asking for information. But she knew Julie had a tendency to go off on tangents and it was hard to reel her in sometimes.
“Marge Nelson. Of course. Everyone's talking about that. Some are even saying what a tragedy it was.”
Betty frowned. “That's not very nice. The woman may not have been popular due to the type of job she held, but she was a human being, after all.”
“I'm sorry, I know,” Julie said. “I'm only repeating what I've heard, including some of the sentiments.”
Betty sighed, then trudged onward. “What are people saying? Anything about who might have done it, or why?”
“Well, there are all kinds of theories and speculation. I did hear one thing, though, that sounded like it had a ring of truth about it.”
Betty waited for Julie to continue. The woman had a flair for the dramatic, and Betty knew she was pausing for effect.
“Carla was in here earlier today. You know Carla, right? Her mama was homecoming queen our freshman year in high school. She was able to parlay her looks and certain oral skills into a marriage with that contractor who later ran away with his personal assistant. Well, anyway, she was in here getting her hair done and I heard her talking to Sheila, the new girl here from Dallas. She's going through a divorce herself, poor thing.”
Marge sipped more of her coffee and held her tongue as Julie rambled on.
“Well, Sheila tells her that Marge used to hang around at Bacchus Jaden's place a lot. That was around the time she and her husband weren't getting along too well. According to Sheila, Marge wasn't exactly as strict on his businesses appraisals as she was with everyone else, if you know what I mean.”
“She was undervaluing his properties?”
“That's what Sheila insinuated. She also said that Marge eventually told him that she wasn't going to see him anymore and that the appraisal district was putt
ing in new software that compared like-kind businesses from other counties or some such. Anyhow, the gist of it was that even in a small county like Magnum, the 21st century way of doing things was creeping in and she didn't plan on getting caught.”
“What happened then?” Betty asked.
“Not much. Bacchus didn't take the news well, but life went on. Well, until Monday when Marge died.”
“Did Sheila, or anyone else, report any of this to the police?”
“My guess is not, since it's only town gossip. But who knows?” Julie sneezed. “Excuse me, allergies are acting up. Hey, sorry to cut you short. But we're closing up. Gotta run.”
Betty could barely hear Julie from the tornado of thoughts going through her mind. She knew that she had to dig deeper, but at least this was a start.
“Yo, Betty, you still there?” Julie asked.
“What? Oh, yes. Thanks so much for your help,” Betty said, distracted by the scenario that was unfolding in front of her. “I’m good. Have a good evening,”
“No sweat. Let me know if you need anything else.” With that, the line went dead. Betty put her phone away, got her things and headed out the door.
Chapter 9
That evening, Betty was checking inventory and straightening up at the shop shortly after George had closed out the register and left for the evening.
Her ruminations were interrupted by the opening of the door at the front. Though the CLOSED sign hung prominently in the window, she sometimes left the front door unlocked since it was a small town and people generally respected everyone's sense of time and space. After the incident which followed, that policy would change.
Looking up from her work behind the counter she saw the faces of two men she didn’t recognize. The first one looked to be in his early fifties and was balding with a stomach that pushed against a T-shirt featuring an ’80s hair band currently on tour in Dallas. The second one looked a few years younger, was thinner, and sported a light gray jacket that overlapped the top of a pair of well-worn jeans.
“Howdy, gents,” Betty said, her Texas accent on full display. “I’m not open again until tomorrow. Feel free to stop by anytime after nine o'clock.”
The first man casually scanned the room. “We’re here to find out why you’re looking into the death of Marge Nelson,” he said in a raspy voice.
Betty's heart pounded hard in her chest. “Do tell,” she said, trying her best to keep her expression neutral.
“The police are investigating. There's no need for busybodies like yourself to interfere and muddy the waters, so to speak.”
“The Yellow Rose police are good,” Betty replied. “But they always appreciate the help of citizens. Encourage it, in fact.”
“Not this time,” the second man said.
Betty gave the men some thought. “Peaches and Cream,” she said with a nod.
“What’d you say?” said the first man, his brow furrowed.
“No wait,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Peaches and Herb is what I meant. American vocalist duo from the ’70s. You,” she said pointing to the first man, “remind me of Herb.”
“I don’t believe this,” the man said.
“Your friend reminds me of Peaches. Not sure why, since Peaches was a woman. Think it may have to do with the way he sauntered in. No offense, by the way.” If Peaches was offended, his expression didn’t reflect it.
“I’m Betty Hitchens, though I’m guessing you knew that already. Feel free to tell me who you are at any point.”
“You think you’re so smart,” said Herb, “Why don’t you figure it out?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m working on it as we speak. The miniature drone buzzing around outside is uploading your photos to a face-analyzing program. I should know all in just a moment.”
Herb stepped over to the window and peered out.
“Made you look,” Betty said.
Herb reddened as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Neither he nor Peaches appeared to have a weapon hidden beneath their shirts, but Betty wasn’t so sure as to bet her life on it. She thought about dashing out through the back to escape, yet wasn't sure she'd make it out of the alley if they followed. She fought hard on an alternate plan.
“Bet you didn’t know the word ‘gullible’ isn’t in the dictionary,” she said getting the conversation going again.
“What?”
“Don’t worry. Peaches will explain it to you on the way out.”
“Boss ain't gonna be happy about this,” Herb said with a sneer.
“And who might that be?” Betty said.
Herb gave a tight smile.
Betty tried a different approach. “Anything you can tell me about Marge Nelson you think wasn’t covered in the news?”
“Rumor has it she had problems at home.”
“We’ve all got problems at home. My problems involve a cat who brings in live rodents plus grown children with life issues.”
“Yeah, but Marge Nelson tried solving her problems by making promises she couldn't keep.”
“That so?” Betty said.
Herb gave a satisfied nod, then turned and walked out. Peaches immediately fell in behind.
“Don’t be a stranger!” Betty called out, then immediately rushed to the front door and locked it as quickly as she could before collapsing into a nearby chair.
I probably shouldn’t have been so flippant, she thought. You seldom learn things from people by being a smart aleck. But like a burrito after a long night of drinking, she had a feeling the pair would soon return unless she immediately took some initiative.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Betty was at The Shop. Her friend Ojudh was with a customer so she sat in one of the available chairs and feigned interest in one of the many tattoo magazines that were spread out on a nearby table.
When he was done, he came over and sat near Betty. Since she looked like she had something important on her mind, he waited for her to speak first.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Remember awhile back when you first got to town, and you needed help finding a place to settle into?” Betty said.
“That I do,” Ojudh said, recalling the memory.
“And do you remember saying that if I ever needed a favor, regardless of how big or how small, that you'd help me out?” Betty asked.
“Like it was yesterday,” the man said with a nod.
“Well, I'm calling in that favor,” she said.
Chapter 10
The next day Betty worked in the bakery till noon, then took a break to run some errands. As she drove through the supermarket parking lot where she'd picked up a few items, she looked out of her right side mirror. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw Ned Robinson posting a sign that read Town Meeting in large red letters along the side of a nearby building.
Betty's instincts turned up to ten. She whipped her Explorer around, waited till Ned had moved on, then eased up and read the sign. It stated that there was going to be a gathering at his store after closing that night for people who felt their property taxes were too high and wanted to collectively protest their assessed value.
Betty decided now was as good a time as any to confront Ned. She hadn't talked to him since before Marge's death. She eased across the parking lot where he was taping up another sign. Shortly after he saw her pulling up, he froze, then dusted off his hands and walked hurriedly toward his car.
Forget it, Ned, I see you.
Without letting go of the wheel, Betty swerved behind the bumper of his car. Ned turned, exhaling hard. Betty walked toward his window and tapped lightly on the glass. She backed up a step as Ned exited his vehicle.
Betty smiled. “Could have simply said ‘hi’. What’s with the meeting at your store tonight?”
Ned scowled. “Look, you’re not a cop. And I’m not committing a crime. You wanna get out of my way?” Before Betty could answer, he got in his car and jammed the key into the ignition.
Betty kept the
focus on him, looking at him through the driver's side window. Ned shook his head, glaring at Betty from his seat. He started his car and drove off, leaving Betty wondering what was going on and thinking she might need to work on her people skills.
* * *
That evening, Betty had gone online and found a blog dedicated to people who wanted to discuss the way Texas taxed its business owners. She found out that Ned had put out the word days before Marge's death about the meeting being held tonight. Her curiosity got the best of her. She drove over to the hardware store, parked, then quietly walked in and slipped into the back row several minutes after everything had gotten underway.