Except for the paneled back wall of the dining room. Not 1970s paneling. This panel job was a work of art, like something out of a mansion. The rich, dark wood looked out of place, and at the same time perfectly at home.
“Home sweet home,” Vonnie said beside me. “I’m going to miss this place and this town.”
“You’ve made it cozy, but how on earth did you get this furniture up that narrow staircase?”
She grinned. “We have an old-style lift. See that paneled wall in the dining area? Your relative Sissy had that built to hide the lift and to add storage up here. Clever, huh?”
I did a double take. “Sissy lived here in the loft?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Mrs. Gilroy told me about Sissy owning the dime store, but I had no idea she had lived up here.”
“She and her husband did until he died. Sissy stayed on for a good while after that. There’s just the one bedroom and bath,” she said with a wave at two doors across the living room, “but they are quite spacious. What was her husband’s name?”
“Josiah Aiken,” I supplied, remembering his and Sissy’s “in memory of” stones in the cemetery.
“Josiah, yes. Well, come look what I have.” Vonnie hurried to the two boxes resting on the dining table. “I hardly believed my eyes when I found this.”
She reached for a flattened box about four feet long and two feet wide that had obviously been spliced together and held with brown packing tape. She lifted the top flap with a flair, proudly pointing at a metal sign that read, SISSY’S FIVE & DIME.
“Are you kidding?” With a sense of awe, I touched the cool metal, rusted in places, but not as corroded with time or the elements as I would have expected. “Wow, Vonnie. This is amazing.”
“There’s a manila envelope under this with pictures of Sissy and Josiah with the sign. Now, the things in here”—she indicated an old hatbox large enough and tall enough to house a ten-gallon hat wrapped all around with twine—“aren’t family items, but I thought of Sherry when I saw them.”
“I’m sure she’ll love your gifts, Vonnie. And this sign is priceless. Sherry will have to hide it from me.”
“Von, you up there?” a man called from the top of the staircase.
“I’m here, S.T.”
“There’s a dealer on the phone. You want to talk to her?”
“I’ll be right there. Nixy, I hate to rush you off—”
“It’s fine. I need to get home with these treasures.”
“Let’s take the lift down.” She secured the sign box with three lengths of twine that I hadn’t seen underneath it. Then she carried her box while I took the hatbox. At the center of the dining area wall, she pushed on a barely there slit in the wood paneling, and two doors swung out to reveal a surprisingly ornate metal grate. Vonnie pulled a handle on one side and the grate opened accordion-style. I admit, I was fascinated, especially when we rode down without undue jerking or clunking.
Back in the shop proper, I told Vonnie to leave the sign box and take her phone call. I’d come back for the second box.
“You’re a dear, Nixy. Thanks, and tell Sherry Mae hi for us.”
With Sherry’s gifts in the trunk a few minutes later, I noticed that the square had all but emptied of cars in the short time I’d been with Vonnie. It was cooler, too, and the wind had risen. Felt like Lilyvale would get an April shower soon. I hoped the rain held off until after the concert.
And, if I wanted to hear Dab’s and Fred’s reports, I needed to get home. I’d call Trudy from there.
• • •
“I CAN’T BELIEVE VONNIE FOUND THESE RELICS OF the five and dime,” Sherry exclaimed, tears in her eyes.
Sherry reverently traced her fingers over the letters of the metal sign where it lay on the kitchen table, then picked up the sepia photos of Sissy and Josiah. One showed them in front of the store, holding the metal sign. The other captured them standing under the sign mounted on the building wearing proud, wide smiles.
“Did she say where she stumbled onto these?”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask.”
“I will when I find her tonight and thank her.”
The hatbox Vonnie had sent contained four items, and each one Sherry unwrapped was exceptional. A corncob basket, handwoven with real corncobs, willow, and wicker. Another smaller basket of willow, dark with age, held a tin bird inside it that Fred said was a windup toy from the 1930s. The vibrant blues, greens, yellows, and pinks had faded, but the bird was sweet.
The last surprise had been wrapped in tissue paper and set inside a smaller, well-padded box. When Sherry eased the tissue away, she held a piece of Belleek Irish porcelain in the form of a woven basket. I thought it dated from the 1970s, but the age didn’t matter. The soft-ivory-colored basket was exquisite.
“This is too much. I can’t accept the Belleek.”
“Sherry Mae Cutler, you hush,” Maise scolded. “You keep this and you treasure it.”
“I do believe Maise is right. Vonnie certainly didn’t pack the Belleek basket by mistake. She wants you to have it.”
“That would be lovely in your bedroom,” Aster offered.
Sherry shook her head, her eyes still brimming with emotion. Dab patted her shoulder. Fred said, “Those are nice things and you deserve ’em, but when are we eatin’?”
“Hold fast, Fred. We’ll eat when the casseroles are good and warm.” Behind Maise, the oven timer dinged. “Now they’re good and warm. You men get to the table. Nixy, Sherry, put those nice things in the parlor so we won’t knock into them when we police the kitchen.”
We followed orders, and though I’d eaten dessert not two hours earlier, the first bite of chicken artichoke casserole had me nearly swooning.
“It’s my recipe,” Sherry told me with a proud smile.
“I thought Maise said this was the last of the food the neighbors brought over.” Food for troubled times, as Mrs. Gilroy had called it. Trouble food.
“It is, but I’ve shared the recipe over the years. Jackie Comstock made this dish.”
“It’s a mite drier than yours, Sherry,” Dab observed.
“Well, it could be I didn’t share every detail of the recipe with everyone who asked for it.” She flashed me a grin. “But I’ll give all the secrets to you.”
I mumbled a “Yes, please” around the bite in my mouth. Not that I cooked, but I’d consider learning to eat this dish again.
After we’d shoveled food for a few minutes, Eleanor cleared her throat. “I do believe the gentlemen need to make their report. Did you learn anything on your rounds today?”
“Bog, Duke, and Big George were in bed when Elsman was killed, not patrollin’ the neighborhood. They never saw a soul but Trudy ridin’ along in that Hummer, neither.”
“We missed B.G.,” Dab said. “He was delivering furniture, but we did hear that Clark goes to Hot Springs once or twice a season with some golf buddies. He doesn’t seem to win or lose big, and no one’s heard a word about him going to casinos in Shreveport or over in Oklahoma.”
“But Duke said Clark and his pals play at them racinos,” Fred added.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A sort of casino at the Oaklawn Park Race Track,” Eleanor said. Then, “What? I heard about the place from the church group that goes in March.”
“Except,” Dab said, “there is no live betting. There’s electronic blackjack and poker.”
I frowned. “I thought there wasn’t any gambling in Arkansas except the horse and dog races.”
Fred snorted. “The powers that be call it ‘games of skill,’ but I reckon because the players use a computer thing, it passes as a computer game.”
I stared at Fred, not really seeing him, but mulling. His comment and Dab’s about computer gambling triggered a memory. I had read an article a
bout online gambling, probably on the Internet via one of my news site feeds. I didn’t know squat about how online gambling worked, but the gist of the article was that players can get into deep debt, as much as or more than in person at a casino.
If Clark Tyler was in gambling trouble, what did that really mean in relation to Hellspawn?
“What are you thinkin’, missy?” Fred barked.
“Let’s say Clark gambles, has sizeable losses, and Elsman knows about it but Lorna doesn’t. Elsman could’ve either blackmailed him to smooth the way for the project, or bribed him to do it, or both.”
“That doesn’t mean he’d kill her.” Dab said. “And I’ll tell you straight up, I don’t see it.”
“Then who else was she blackmailing, bribing, and bullying?”
Six blank faces looked back at me.
“Yeah, I don’t know either.”
“Talk to that Trudy girl. I still think she’s suspicious.” Fred pushed his chair back and reached for his walker parked along the wall. “Come on, Dab. We need to tune up with the boys.”
• • •
I DID NEED TO TALK WITH TRUDY, BUT SHE DIDN’T answer when I called. I’d try again later or maybe run up to her room. I didn’t have a code to get in the back way, but I could use the interior stairs if the café was open. First, though, I had to get the ladies settled at the concert.
The entire square had been blocked to traffic, but I found a space on the street behind the Lilies Café. The ladies and I schlepped our folding lawn chairs to a spot just down from the café. Other concertgoers sat in their folding chairs in the streets and on the sidewalks. The evening was cool with a light breeze, and many people wore jackets or wrapped themselves in blankets. A few uniformed policemen wandered through the crowd. I recognized the lean, middle-aged Officer Bryant and the young Officer Benton.
“The boys” turned out to be the Pickin’ N Grinnin’ Boys, each aged fifty and up. I recognized some of them from their having played at the folk art festival on Saturday, and others were new to me. The band was set up on the courthouse lawn, the side facing the café, but a sound system carried the music throughout downtown and beyond.
Aster had told me that Dab played the banjo and Fred played the washboard and some fiddle. “Some” turned out to be an understatement. Dab and Fred were excellent, even as they simply warmed up.
Sherry went off in search of Vonnie. I noticed that the café’s CLOSED sign wasn’t up, and Clark was inside. He wielded a broom and looked up when I knocked on the door. He scowled but let me in.
“Sorry to bother you, but I can’t get Trudy on the phone. Do you know if she’s here?”
“Haven’t seen her,” Clark said. I figured he’d tell me to get lost, but he motioned toward the staircase instead. “Go on up if you can make it quick. I need to lock up.”
I raced upstairs and through the door to the guest rooms, but Trudy didn’t answer my knock. The bathroom off the hall was empty, too.
“Not up there?” Clark asked when I came down.
“No, but thanks for letting me check.” I started for the door, then stopped and turned back to him. “I’m surprised y’all aren’t open on concert night. Seems like you’d have a lot of business.”
“Lorna baked all day. She’s tired.”
“That’s right. I had her desserts today. Well, I’ll bet you’re happy Elsman is gone.”
He threw me a sharp glance. “Why?”
“She was bugging you about her project, wasn’t she? Lorna said she was driving you crazy.”
“I wouldn’t kill a body just for annoying me,” he said with a level look.
I was taking a chance, but I dove in. “How about for blackmailing you?”
He took a step closer, the hand holding the broom showing white knuckles. “You listen here. I don’t care who you’re related to, you repeat that and I will sue you for slander. Got me?”
“Got you.” I took a breath. “But did you kill Elsman?”
“Hell no.”
“Do you know who did?”
He darted a look past me, and I thought he was simply avoiding my gaze until he stiffened. I pivoted but didn’t see anyone outside.
“You need to leave.”
He headed toward me, broom in hand, and I scampered out the door. He threw the lock behind me.
I stood there on the sidewalk, adrenaline pumping, but proud that I’d seized the opportunity to question Clark point-blank. Did I believe that he didn’t kill Elsman? Yes, but I had a strong gut feeling that he knew who did. Trouble was, I couldn’t prove a thing.
I called Trudy again, and again got voice mail. Was she all right, or had the killer gone after her, too?
If I didn’t reach her in another hour or so, I’d consider alerting Shoar. I wouldn’t, however, tell him I’d confronted Clark. No point in getting yelled at twice in one day.
Sherry called me to join her and the ladies as the band launched into their first song. Gradually, I even relaxed enough to enjoy the toe-tapping music. Spending the April evening in Small Town, USA, with Sherry and her housemates, friends, and neighbors was a novel experience. Refreshing. Renewing.
Or it was right up until the band took a break and a scream ripped through the night.
Chapter Twenty
THE SCREAM STOPPED THEN STARTED IN SHORT blasts and mingled with cries for help. I wasn’t positive it came from behind the café, but I ran that way. Down the half block, around to the alley, and I stopped short. A light-colored sedan partly blocked the way. Trudy stood at the front of the car on the driver’s side, arms wrapped around her middle, keening.
“Trudy,” I yelled as I edged around the sedan. “Trudy, what’s wrong?”
She swung toward me, eyes wide and wild. “I didn’t hit him. I promise I didn’t. He was in the shadows between the buildings, but I saw him in time. I braked. I know I didn’t run over him.”
I reached her and caught only a glimpse of a man’s body sprawled on the cracked pavement before she threw her big-boned body into my arms, sobbing. But I’d seen the bearded face. Clark Tyler.
Other people had come to see what was happening. I heard murmuring around me. No one came close, but the crowd at the far end of the alley parted for Officer Bryant.
“What’s going on?” he called as he trotted toward us.
“I don’t have the whole story, but this is Clark Tyler and he’s hurt.”
Bryant bent to check Clark’s neck for a pulse.
“He’s alive.”
Trudy stood up straight and took a step away from me. “Thank God!”
Bryant called for backup and an ambulance, both of which were already en route. I saw Officer Benton headed our way, and heard sirens. Several someones had undoubtedly called 911 within seconds of Trudy’s first scream.
Soon controlled chaos reigned around us. I steered Trudy to the edge of the parking lot, where we’d be out of the way, and that’s where Detective Shoar talked to us.
“You two okay?”
“Trudy’s shaken but not injured.” I glanced to where Clark was being assessed by the paramedics. “Who’s contacting Lorna?”
“We have it covered. Just stay here until I come back.”
The Pickin’ N Grinnin’ Boys began playing again, and I hoped the audience had stayed to listen. I really hoped it would deflect some attention from what had happened to Clark, whatever that was. Trudy continued to cry in little hiccups, so I couldn’t eavesdrop on the EMTs about Clark’s condition. When Sherry hailed me from the street behind the lot where my car was parked, Trudy tagged along.
I filled Sherry in on what little I knew, which was only that Clark was unconscious. She gave me a decisive nod and handed me my purse.
“We’ll head on over to the hospital to be there for Lorna. She doesn’t have family, you know. How long will you be tied up
here?”
“No idea, but take my car,” I said as I fished the keys from my bag. “I’ll walk to the hospital when I’m free. What about Fred and Dab?”
“They’ll be playing for another hour, then packing up. We’ll text to let them know where we are.”
It was a typically generous and compassionate gesture for Sherry and her housemates, and reminded me what Shoar had said about Lilyvale taking care of its own.
When Clark had been loaded into the ambulance, the detective strode our way, his little cop notebook in one hand, a pen in the other.
“Is Clark going to live?” I asked him.
“The EMTs need to work on him more before they transport. They have better light and a more sterile environment in the truck.”
Which didn’t answer my question, but he probably didn’t have one yet.
“Ms. Henry,” he said formally but with kindness. “Are you feeling better now? Can you tell me what happened?”
She grasped my hand in a death grip, swallowed. “I pulled into the alley and saw a big bundle in my headlights. I hit the brakes and got out to see what was there. That’s when I realized it was Mr. Tyler.”
He made a note. “Did you touch him? Check for a pulse?”
She hung her head. “No. I freaked and screamed.”
“It’s understandable. So you were coming back to the inn?” She nodded. “Where had you been?”
She looked at the detective, then me, then heaved a sigh. “I went to Magnolia. I know I wasn’t supposed to leave town, but I’ve been here for three weeks, and with Jill dead and Jeanette gone back to Little Rock, well, I don’t have any friends here, and I was bored. I just wanted to go somewhere different.”
“Magnolia isn’t much like Lilyvale, is it?”
Trudy released my hand and gaped. “Are you kidding? The town square is nearly identical, except the buildings there are more brick than limestone.”
Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Page 21