• • •
I EASED MY CAMRY INTO THE DIAGONAL PARKING slot halfway between the antiques shop and Gaskin’s. The bell over the door sounded cheerful, and finding Pauletta behind yet another glass-front dark wood counter was a stroke of luck. So was the store being empty except for the two of us.
“Surprised to see me?” she asked with a warm smile.
“I didn’t realize you worked here.”
“I come in part-time now and then. Carter Gaskin owns the place,” she said as she patted her squash blossom necklace, this one with heavily veined light blue stones. “I’m filling in while he takes his wife—that’s Kay—to the foot doctor in Texarkana. She has terrible pain, bless her heart. Probably from standing on these concrete floors in high heels for years. What do you need today, Nixy?”
As my brain caught up to the torrent of words, I thought about the three-inch heels I often wore at the art gallery and winced in sympathy with the absent Kay.
“I need some photocopying done,” I told Pauletta and set the red pocket folder with its half inch of paperwork on the counter. “Two sets should do it.”
“Sure thing.” She flipped the folder open, read the top page. “Wonderful! Sherry Mae is finally going to apply for historical landmark recognition. The traveling judges held court in her house, you know. For several years before our courthouse was completed.”
“We found a letter about that, but it isn’t official.”
“Well”—she drawled the single syllable into three as she leaned across the counter—“I think you’ll find more information at the library. Sherry’s great-whatever-aunt Sissy gathered records to get the house landmarked. I saw them when I helped the library reorganize their historical papers collection, but I don’t think she went through with the application.”
“Why not?”
“World War II, dear. And then Sissy died a few years after the war.” She tapped the stack of papers. “You want to investigate those library documents before you photocopy this application?”
“I’ll just add anything if I find it.” Now I leaned in over the counter. “I’m really more focused on investigating the murder.”
Pauletta’s hand flew to her chest. “You’re actually investigating? Like Jessica Fletcher?”
“Not as efficiently, but yes. Have you heard any rumors about who Elsman was friendly with?”
Pauletta arched a brow. “Friendly? Elsman?”
I grinned. “Point taken.”
Pauletta tapped her chin with a manicured finger. “I saw her at the courthouse a good deal when she first came here, and Lorna is still put out with Clark over the woman. That’s no secret.”
I am not a rumormonger, so I grappled with my conscience two seconds before I said, “You can’t mean they were having an affair.”
Green eyes rounded. “Nooo. At least . . . No, definitely not. Clark has his faults, but catting around isn’t one of them. Besides, I saw them together in passing once at the café, and he sure wasn’t starry-eyed.”
“Then why is Lorna upset about Clark and Elsman?”
“She thinks Elsman was trying to influence Clark because he’s a councilman. That she wanted him to approve whatever scheme she had going and swing other votes when the time came. Clark can be opinionated and surly, but he’s shown he has the city’s good at heart.”
The bell signaled a new customer and Pauletta closed my folder as she called out, “Hello, Mrs. Hardy. I have your order ready. Nixy, I’ll have this done in a few hours.”
“No rush. I can stop by tomorrow.”
I turned from the counter to find Mrs. Corina Hardy staring at me. Deputy prosecuting attorney Bryan Hardy’s aunt—I remembered seeing her at church. Her swollen feet crammed into navy shoes with clunky heels, she was two inches taller than I. A wide white belt circled the waist of her navy blue dress, her makeup was troweled on, and she held her nose in the air.
What really got my attention was the bow in her gray hair.
The blue gingham bow.
I didn’t believe for a second that Mrs. Hardy had killed Hellspawn or stolen a thing from Sherry’s barn. But as accessories go, it struck me as odd.
“You,” Mrs. Hardy snapped, her tone haughty. “You’re Sherry Mae Cutler’s niece.”
I straightened. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Bad business at her place,” she pronounced. “Having a graveyard on one’s property is tasteless, and look what’s happened. A murder. Scandalous. Sherry Mae should move those graves to a proper cemetery immediately.”
I seethed at the insult to Sherry but pasted a smile on my face. I guess it was a scary smile because Mrs. Hardy took a small step back.
“The graves,” I said calmly but firmly, “are precisely where they should be. In fact, I’m thinking we’ll rededicate the cemetery. Invite the city and county dignitaries, and have a lawn party.” I turned away, then back. “By the way, that’s an interesting bow you’re wearing. Blue gingham is my aunt’s trademark fabric, you know.”
Mrs. Hardy’s mouth fell open, and I heard sputtering sounds as I walked out to the tinkling music of the bell over the door. I hoped I hadn’t put Pauletta in an uncomfortable position, but from the twitch I’d seen on her lips, she’d weather Mrs. Hardy just fine.
I tried not to dwell on that stupid hair bow. I’d already confirmed via my tablet connection to the Internet that blue gingham fabric was available in different hues, various sizes of checks, and from outlets like Amazon to fabric stores to hobby and craft stores. Mrs. Hardy might’ve purchased hers ready-made at a drugstore or the beauty salon. The bow didn’t have ominous meaning other than to remind me to stay focused.
Downtown traffic was heavier today than it had been on Monday when Sherry and I were in town, but cars stopped for me to cross to the courthouse at the center of the square—likely because I looked like a woman on a mission. I caught myself stomping up the concrete courthouse steps, so I stopped and took a calming breath before I opened the heavy door. Aster would be proud.
Considering all the windows decorating the outside of the building, the courthouse hallway I stepped into was cool and dark. Which made sense when I realized office doors opened from the hall. Sure enough, I opened the door marked TAX COLLECTOR and was nearly blinded by the sunlight streaming in.
Though it was almost two in the afternoon, only one person was in the office, and I was betting it was Patricia Ledbetter. I didn’t think she was much older than early thirties, but everything about her spoke of being careworn to a frazzle. Her slumped posture, the clothes sagging on her thin body, her dull pale blue eyes when she stood to greet me, all spoke of heavy burdens.
I felt so sorry for her, I had to steel myself to follow my plan.
“May I help you?” She tried for an inquiring smile and failed.
“I hope you’re Patricia Ledbetter,” I said cheerfully.
Her expression grew wary. “I am.”
“Great. I’m Nixy, and I was told you could help me with research for a genealogy project.”
She relaxed. “Who are you researching?”
“The Stantons and the land they owned.”
“Mrs. Cutler’s family? You must be the niece I’ve heard about.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said lightly, though I caught Patricia cringe. “Dare I ask how you know about me?”
She flapped a hand, flustered. “Oh, you know. It’s a small town. Word gets around when new people come here.”
“Everyone knows everyone else’s business?”
She ducked her head, turned back to her desk. “What do you need to know?”
I pulled a pad from my bag. Not the one with the entire suspect list, but a smaller one I’d used to jot notes.
“I want to confirm when the first Stanton bought land here.”
She stopped. “That’s easy. It was 1
867, and Lilyvale was founded in 1868. Although we weren’t incorporated as such until later.”
“Wow, you know your local history.”
She shrugged. “It’s sort of my hobby. I wanted to be a history teacher or a historical librarian, but that didn’t work out.”
“This job has historical aspects, though, and I’m sure you’re good it. I was referred to you, after all.”
“By whom? Your aunt?”
I took a chance. “No, by Ida Bollings.”
She looked pained. “Is there anything else can I help you with today?”
I glanced at my notes. “I need to know the legal description of my aunt’s homestead, but I just realized I don’t have the address.”
“I can look it up,” she said, scooting to her computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, and she clicked a few times. “Would you like a printout of this?”
“Sure, thanks.”
She clicked the mouse again, and I heard the printer whir to life. “Now, let me print the other one for you, too.”
“What other one?”
“There’s a second address, and it looks like it’s the house next door.”
Next door? There was no house next door to Sherry except Mrs. Gilroy’s.
“Ah, Patricia, I don’t mean to offend you, but are you sure you don’t have the records mixed up again?”
“You heard about that.”
Her voice was flat, angry but without real heat. When she glanced over at me, her eyes brimmed with tears. “This isn’t a mistake. Your aunt pays the taxes on her house and the one next door, plus on several commercial properties in town and unimproved land, too,” she finished in a rush. “I’ll print them all for you.”
Patricia clicked the mouse rapid-fire, then shot to stand at the printer, her back to me. When it spit out the last sheet, she snatched them up and crossed to slap them on the counter.
“Patricia, Jill Elsman was behind your tax records mess, wasn’t she?”
Panic flooded her expression. “Please, I’ve fixed that. I’m sorry. Don’t get me in trouble. I can’t lose this job.”
Chapter Eighteen
HER WHOLE BODY QUAKED IN FULL-ON TERROR. I took one of her hands in mine and patted it, hoping to calm her.
“Patricia, I don’t want to see you fired or get you in more trouble, but I need information.”
“What kind of information?” Her tone dripped suspicion, but she didn’t pull away.
I took a breath. “You have a chronically ill child, don’t you?”
Her hand twitched. “Davy.”
I gulped but forged ahead. “Jill Elsman got you to falsify the tax payments, didn’t she? She probably put a lot of pressure on you.”
Patricia shuddered. “She was sort of friendly at first, then she was horrible. She offered me a bribe, and she threatened to spread the rumor that I was an unfit mother if I didn’t take the money. People here know me. They know better, but she convinced me they’d believe her.”
My hand tightened on hers in sympathy. “I’m sorry she put you in a no-win situation. It was cruel, and you did what you had to do. I don’t hold that against you, Patricia.”
“You don’t?”
I released her hand, shook my head. “Not at all, and I don’t think you were the only person she was manipulating.”
“No?” she said, eyes wide. “Who else was she threatening?”
“Mr. Donel, perhaps?”
“My boss? No way. He was furious about the property tax records being messed up, but he was kind to me about it. Kinder than I deserved, but he knows how distracted I get when Davy has bad spells.”
I took another tack. “Do you think Elsman targeted you on her own, or did someone suggest she get to you?”
Patricia spread her hands. “That’s puzzled me, too, but she knew about Davy the first time she came in.”
“How? Was he here with you? Could she have overheard you talking on the phone about him?”
“No, no. She asked to see a plat book and studied the land division maps for a while before she inquired about some parcels.” Patricia looked up and into the distance. “Let’s see. When she gave the book back, she said she was staying at the Inn on the Square, and she’d heard about my sick son.”
“Did she start nagging you right away?”
Patricia shook her head. “She told me things would get better for us soon, and she left. I guess I thought she heard about Davy and me from Clark or Lorna. She started badgering me the next day, and the next. Then Davy had a bad time again, and that’s when I broke.”
An outside door shut, and we both jumped.
“Mr. Donel is due back. I—I have to get to work.”
“That’s okay. Thanks for all your help. Oh, and Patricia?”
She turned back to me.
“Did Elsman come through? Did she pay you?”
Patricia’s gaze darted around the office as if someone had materialized to hear us. Satisfied we were still alone, she nodded.
“She gave me cash. I feel guilty spending it, though. I mean, her estate—”
“Her family doesn’t need it. Besides, backhanded as it was, it was likely the kindest thing Elsman ever did for anyone.”
That got a shy smile out of Patricia, and it looked good on her.
I stepped into the sunshine and stuffed the printouts into my bag. Two missions down, one to go before I met the ladies. Sherry and Eleanor had planned to visit all the dress shops for scoop, but they’d told me Clarra’s Closet had a selection of clothes for my age range in petites, so I put that one on my snooping list. The shop was just off the square proper, toward the police station.
I set out in that direction thinking about Patricia’s revelations. Not that it was a shocker that Hellspawn had bribed her. Threatening to start a rumor that could take Patricia’s child away was pure evil, completely believable, and sadly, no surprise.
On the other hand, learning that Sherry owned Mrs. Gilroy’s house, or at least paid the property taxes, was unexpected in the extreme. It certainly explained why Hellspawn hadn’t badgered Mrs. Gilroy. I suppose it also explained why Hellspawn had so coveted Sherry’s land.
• • •
CLARRA’S CLOSET DIDN’T CARRY THE MOST cutting-edge of fashions, but the clothes were well made, classically stylish, and a whole lot less pricey than at similar shops in Houston. In other words, perfect for me. The salesladies didn’t dish any dirt, so I gave my credit card a workout buying capris and jeans in blue, one flirty black skirt, and several mix-and-match blouses. A package of bikini undies and a scarf on clearance, and I was satisfied I had outfits enough to see me through the rest of my visit. However long I needed to be here.
Which reminded me I needed to call Barbra again. I’d told her I would be back Monday, but today was Friday. Unless we found the real killer in record time, I’d be in Lilyvale a little while longer.
As I exited the store, I nearly ran into Kate Byrd on the sidewalk. I seized the moment.
“Mrs. Byrd, hello. I’m Nixy, Sherry Mae’s niece. I met you at the folk art festival.”
“Oh yes. How is your aunt? I heard she was arrested.”
“No, just questioned. I heard you had lunch with Ms. Elsman a while back.”
Instead of getting defensive, Kate Byrd rolled her eyes. “What a pain that woman was. She wanted me to vote in favor of some development, but wouldn’t tell me a thing about the project. I blew her off.”
“And she didn’t harass you or try to manipulate you?”
“Oh, she made noises. She attempted to influence all of us on the council. I know because we compared notes. Informally, not in a meeting. I think the only one of us she regularly cornered was Clark Tyler, and then only because she was staying at the inn. It was much harder for him to avoid her, don’t you know.”
“Yes, Lorna complained about her, too.”
Mrs. Byrd’s cell played the sound of a creaking door. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go. Tell Sherry Mae hi for me.”
I stopped at my car to toss my shopping bags in the backseat before hustling to meet the ladies at the café. They were seated at the largest table in the middle of the room, the surface crowded with a tray of assorted pastries, five place settings of small plates, forks, and napkins, and five tall glasses of iced tea.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask as I took one of two empty seats.
Sherry flashed a wide grin, and it struck me that I hadn’t seen her so happy and relaxed since Sunday’s stroll down Stanton family history lane. Could’ve been the cherry minitart on her plate, but I chalked it up to more.
“Lorna’s been baking up a storm for the book club luncheon here tomorrow. We’re doing our neighborly duty and testing her new desserts.”
“What happened to the early dinner we’re supposed to have?”
Maise cut another portion of her lemon bar. “We’ll have it, but you know that saying. Life is short.”
“Eat dessert first.” Aster finished the quote flourishing a forkful of chocolate croissant.
“And I do believe we deserve it,” Eleanor said, as she stuck a fork in a flaky apple turnover.
They giggled like carefree schoolgirls. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought Lorna had put happy herbs in the goodies. Or the ladies had sniffed too much of Aster’s lavender.
What the heck. I scooped a chocolate croissant onto my plate and nearly swooned at the first bite.
“So, do you want to hear what we learned?” Sherry asked, her bangs swooping over her eye.
“Sure but . . .” I glanced around the room. “Where is Lorna?”
“She’s in the kitchen with Clark. She’ll join us in a few minutes.”
Now I peered at the stairway to the upstairs inn. “Trudy and Jeanette?”
“Lorna said Jeanette took the Hummer on home to Little Rock, and Trudy drove Jeanette’s car to Magnolia.”
“Okay, then. What’ve y’all got?”
Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Page 19