Paint the Town Dead

by Nancy Haddock

  “I noticed the mess, of course, but I didn’t touch a thing. I was too stunned.”

  He made another note in his spiral. “Assuming it was Ms. Thomason who searched, do you know what she was looking for?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Doralee answered him without hesitation, and it was all I could do not to either gape like a fish or contradict her.

  Truly, did Doralee not have a clue why Kim was in her room, or was she simply not thinking about the opal? Not connecting it to Kim’s search?

  Or was she holding back that information for a reason. Perhaps to protect Ernie?

  I glanced at Zach. He watched Doralee with loving concern, but made no attempt to butt in. He’d said that Ernie wanted Doralee back. I’d seen Doralee kiss Ernie this afternoon. Sure, it was nothing but a chaste peck on the cheek, but would she have kissed Ernie with Zach looking on?

  Not unless she was out of her gourd.

  * * *

  Nearly three hours after we’d gone to the inn and found Kim dead, Detective Shoar finished questioning Doralee and Zach and cut them loose. Well, for the evening and with restrictions. They were to go to the station the next day to sign their statements, and they were not to leave town.

  The couple politely argued that they lived only about an hour and a half away, Zach in Texarkana, Doralee on a little acreage outside of the city, and they’d gladly return to Lilyvale if needed. That didn’t fly, although Shoar conceded that Zach could leave town for his job as a security alarm technician. Apparently Zach had a healthy security clearance, and Shoar decided he was trustworthy.

  I thought about asking Zach to look at the emporium’s security measures. Then again, no. I didn’t want to make waves with the security consultant and installation guy we already had. Greg Masters was, after all, a buddy of the Silver Six—Dab and Aster in particular. And he’d done a good job, thankfully. In a small town, it had to be a touchy thing to fire a friend—or a friend’s company—without igniting a feud.

  I made a quick call to Sherry to confirm that Doralee and Zach were welcome and flat out expected at the farmhouse. If they wanted a full meal, it was minutes from the table. If they wanted a snack, that’d be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

  Rain pelted the couple as they dashed for Doralee’s SUV. I’d given Doralee an umbrella, one of several spares we kept in Fred’s workshop space. I’d also brought the critters downstairs with us to see if they wanted to go out. They showed zip interest in getting soaked, so the three of us watched Zach and Doralee drive away.

  Detective Shoar had stayed upstairs to make a call, and now I heard his footsteps descending the staircase.

  “Do you know how Kim died?” I asked as he joined me.

  “I have to hand it to you, Nixy,” he said on a tired chuckle. “You don’t soft-peddle your curiosity.”

  “Hey, no law against asking.”

  “But you know I can’t tell you.”

  “I know, I know. The state medical examiner in Little Rock does the autopsy to determine cause of death, all the evidence goes to the state lab in Little Rock. You won’t have any reports or results for at least several days if not several weeks.”

  “You’ve got it. Listen, I need to get back to talk with the Tylers. They’re fit to be tied that someone died at their inn.”

  “I can only imagine,” I said, feeling sorrier for Lorna Tyler than I did for her husband, Clark. Mr. Personality he was not. “I hope this mess convinces them to install security cameras.”

  “We can hope. Before I go, I need a couple of things from you. Can we sit?”

  “Sure.” I led him to a workbench with the mismatched barstools from Doralee’s class, and plopped on one. “Shoot.”

  Moving in his usual unhurried gait, he sat facing me, one boot heel hooked on a rung. Then he opened his spiral again, laid it on the worktable, uncapped his pen. I couldn’t read what he’d written, but noticed double question marks here and there.

  “First, can you confirm what Ms. Gordon told me? You both went into the guest room, but only you touched Ms. Thomason?”

  “On her neck, in three places.”

  He did a double take. “Three?”

  “I had my eyes closed when I felt for her pulse.” I shrugged at his disbelieving expression. “I didn’t want to see any more than I already had.”

  “And then you both went to the hallway and stayed there?”

  “We did. Scout’s honor.”

  He arched a brow. “Were you ever a Scout?”

  “No, but I dated one. Scott the Scout.”

  “Naturally.” He grinned. My past dating life had been active yet painfully platonic, and had become a source of his teasing me. “Now, what about that room key? I tend to believe Ms. Gordon is telling the truth, but if it was secure in her purse, how did it turn up missing?”

  I flashed on that afternoon. Thinking I’d heard the front door close when I entered the farmhouse with Doralee and Zach. Finding the front door ajar when it should’ve been dead-bolted.

  I relayed that to Shoar, and added, “I know it’s thin, but you know how security conscious Sherry and the gang have been since April. And before you say it, no, they didn’t have the back door locked most of the day. One of them was supposed to be in the kitchen or on the deck at all times to keep guests out of the house.”

  “You’re thinking someone slipped in? Ms. Thomason?”

  “Unless she swiped the key at some other point and made a copy, how did she get into Doralee’s room?”

  “How indeed?” He tapped his pen on the paper. “Okay, did you see anyone else in the alley before you went inside?”

  I started to say no, but then remembered. “Oh, my gosh, yes, Eric. In the drama, I forgot. I almost hit a dark pickup with oversized tires when it sped out of the alley right in front of me. Not monster truck huge, but big enough. I think they’re called mudders. For off-roading, you know?”

  “I do, but how did you conclude that?”

  “Matt the Mechanic, a guy I dated, loved the things. And I’m pretty sure the truck from the alley was splattered with mud, too.”

  “You see the driver?”

  “Not the truck’s driver. I didn’t have a good angle, and the storm closing in made it pretty dark by then. But when I turned into the lot behind the inn, a woman driving a silver Audi nearly clipped me. A man was in the passenger seat. My headlights picked them out.”

  “Can you give me descriptions? License plates?”

  “Sorry, both near-misses happened too fast.”

  He dragged his free hand through his dark brown hair, his frustration obvious. “One last thing for now. Do you know anything about these people that can help me? Are the ex-spouses enemies? Are the parties jealous of each other? Did you notice anyone harboring hard feelings?”

  I drew a circle on the pockmarked surface of the table, debating what to say for a moment. When I looked up, his steady brown eyes bored into me.

  “First, you need to understand I don’t know any of them well. What I tell you I’ve drawn from observation, and what Doralee has said in conversation.” I shrugged. “She talks a lot.”

  “In other words, you got an earful tonight while you were waiting for me.”

  I nodded. He didn’t seem upset, but I launched into speech before he could lecture me. “To start with, Doralee and Ernie are more or less cordial to each other. Ernie and Zach pretty much ignored each other the only time I saw them together. I believe Kim—Ms. Thomason—was jealous of Doralee, but not necessarily in the way you would assume.”

  “Explain.”

  “Kim wasn’t jealous of Doralee’s previous relationship with Ernie or anything. She wanted an opal that Doralee has. Ernie was impatient with Kim nagging him about it, but in a put-his-foot-down kind of way.”

  “Is this an opal Mr. Boudreaux
gave his ex?”

  “Actually, no. Doralee bought it, had planned to put it in a ring or something, and then give it to Ernie. They divorced before that happened. Technically it never belonged to Ernie, but from what I overheard, Kim thought it should, and she wanted the stone.”

  “Assuming Ms. Thomason was the one who ransacked the guest room, do you think she was searching for this opal?”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  “Then why didn’t Ms. Gordon tell me about the opal?”

  “I have no idea, but the stone isn’t the big deal to her that it was to Kim. The idea that Kim was searching for that one thing might not have occurred to Doralee.”

  He flipped a few pages in the spiral, frowned at his notes. “All right, let me recap. Ms. Gordon and Mr. Boudreaux are divorced.”

  “And Zach Dalton is Doralee’s current gentleman friend.”

  “Kim Thomason was engaged to Mr. Boudreaux, and Georgine is his sister.”

  “Right.”

  “None of them live around here, yet they converged in Lilyvale and now the fiancée is dead. I know Ms. Gordon came for your grand opening events, and I understand why Mr. Dalton would accompany her, but why did the ex-husband show up? To make his own fiancée jealous? To get his ex-wife back? To get this opal Ms. Thomason wanted?”

  I shrugged. “I honestly can’t say. Maybe a little of all three. You’ll have to ask the players, and you might want to ask Doralee about Kim’s former in-laws, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Doralee indicated that at least one of them hated Kim.”

  “Enough to kill her?”

  “Enough to run her down with a golf cart. To kill her up close? That’s for you to discover. I’m on the sidelines.”

  He stared at me, one corner of his mouth quirked. “You stumbled across another body, but you’re not playing Nixy Drew this time? You’re staying out of my investigation?”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “I’ll only get repeated lectures if I snoop, right?”

  “Somehow I don’t think my lectures will deter you. They didn’t last time.”

  “Last time was different. Last time Aunt Sherry’s neck was on the line. This time I have no vested interest in your case. Besides, Detective,” I said with a bright smile, “once burned, twice smart. I’m limiting my adventures to running a new business.”

  “I hope so.” He bent to give Amber and T.C. quick scratches under their chins, then eyed me again. “I certainly hope so.”

  * * *

  Amber and T.C. did a morning stretch routine that reminded me of the yoga my old roommate had practiced, and the position called downward dog. My personal yoga experience was limited to exactly two classes, but watching the critters made me follow along with them. More or less. Arms over my head, then touch my toes, then arms over head again and reach for the sky. Obviously I wasn’t ready to run out and join a gym. I didn’t think there was one in Lilyvale. Whatever. The stretch felt great, and I hit the ground running that gorgeous Monday morning.

  Okay, walking. Specifically, walking the critters. We hoofed it—pawed it?—past the businesses on and just off the square, and then meandered through several blocks in the adjoining neighborhood. Amber sniffed at everything, occasionally pawing at the ground hard enough to pull up grass. Then she’d sniff again and give me a triumphant look with those golden eyes. I felt the need to be impressed, so I praised her each time with a “Good girl.” T.C. did her share of sniffing, then batted at bugs she’d dislodged. When a grasshopper suddenly leaped high in front of her, she launched herself to catch it, but was thwarted by my hold on her leash. She shot me a disgusted look, but didn’t try to Houdini out of her harness.

  I’d had an ulterior motive to the long stroll. I’d hoped to see Louie out with Harley. Louie might be able to describe the truck and Audi drivers from last night. They might not be relevant to Kim’s murder, but more information couldn’t hurt. I didn’t run into the boy and his dog, but I’d ask him another day.

  Back at home, I breakfasted somewhat resentfully on my last PowerBar and promised myself a trip to the grocery store. Today. Without fail. The critters weren’t low on food, treats, or litter, but it couldn’t hurt to stock up.

  Yes, I still hoped their owner would turn up. I’d simply hand over all the extra supplies, or donate them to the shelter. Although I had to admit I’d miss seeing their sweet faces and the comfort of stroking their sleek fur baby bodies.

  The Silver Six convoy of the Corolla, the Caddy, and Fred’s truck rolled into the parking lot behind the emporium before nine. From the collective gleam in their eyes as I greeted them, I figured they wanted to pump me for information, but before we confabbed, Dab helped me put the grand opening sign back up out front. He carried one end of the ladder, then steadied it for me as I climbed up and down to tie off the banner’s four corners. Fred, Amber, and T.C. supervised, Fred and Amber voicing and woofing advice from the sidewalk, and T.C. chirping from the concrete planter, where she had jumped for a better view. I feared she’d dig up the lilies or ivy, but she didn’t even nibble a leaf. Good thing. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that I had no clue which plants were harmful to animals.

  Then again, Amber and T.C. had trekked who knows how far away from their home. They had to be smart enough to steer clear of poisonous flora.

  With the stools we’d used for Doralee’s gourd class pulled up to a worktable, the seven of us sat down to share cups of coffee Eleanor and Sherry had brewed, and the exquisitely sticky cinnamon buns Maise had baked that morning.

  “So tell us,” Aster said, “what is your take on Kim’s death?”

  I choked on an overambitious bite of bun and grabbed my coffee cup. “I don’t have a take, Aster,” I said as I swallowed.

  “Well for heaven’s sake, child,” my aunt huffed, “you must have some opinion. You were right there, and you’ve talked to our Detective Shoar. What did he have to say?”

  “Eric didn’t confide a single detail,” I reported honestly. “He asked me some questions, but I couldn’t tell him much. I mean, that was the last thing Doralee or I expected to see yesterday. I’m still stunned.”

  “I do believe Doralee feels the same,” Eleanor offered.

  Aster nodded her agreement. “I doubt she slept at all well. Poor thing had dark circles under her eyes when she and Zach left the farmhouse this morning.”

  “They were going to the police station after they reconnoitered another place to stay,” Maise added.

  I blinked at that news. “There’s another hotel in town?”

  “Motel on the road goin’ east, but it ain’t much.” Fred pinched two pieces of bread from his bun and casually dropped them on the floor. Amber and T.C. skittered over and quickly slurped up the people food. “Heck, I ain’t sure it’s open no more.”

  “It is,” Dab put in. “Rather it might be. Some people from Florida bought it long about February, remember? I heard from Big George that the owners have been sprucing it up.”

  Since Big George Heath owned the hardware store, he’d definitely have the scoop on who was repairing, renovating, and refurbishing properties.

  “Have we met these people?” Maise asked. “If not, we should.”

  I fought a smile at this new reminder I was now living the small town life. If everyone didn’t know absolutely everyone else, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I could almost see Maise flipping through her mental recipe files looking for the perfect Welcome Wagon offering.

  And since they’d veered away from talking about the murder, I jumped in to get us on our business track.

  “Let’s review this week’s schedule before we go open the store.”

  * * *

  Accomplished knitter Shirley Hines, who created her own designs and who’d independently published a book of her patterns, presented the morning’s featured craft worksh
op. A legion of ladies showed up to support her, and with the addition of a Girl Scout troop on a field trip and run-of-the-mill shoppers, we stayed slammed for the first three hours of the day. Even Fred had visitors—aside from his loyal assistants, Amber and T.C., hanging out with him. A few students from the technical college learning auto repair came in to pick his brain.

  As I watched Fred answer questions, I had an idea: He could do a workshop on the care and maintenance of small household appliances. The topic should draw a decently wide audience. Couldn’t hurt to ask him.

  And no, I didn’t think for a minute teaching such a class would hurt his fix-it business. Gadgets would still break, and Fred had a way with them. I swore he could lay hands on a machine and know what ailed it.

  Jasmine arrived at one that afternoon to begin her shift. We briefed her on the morning’s events, and on the crafts for the Fourth of July demo happening at three o’clock. The Silver Six ladies were about to pop home for lunch, and then bring Fred and Dab their sandwiches, when Zach ushered a sniffling, red-eyed Doralee through the emporium door.

  “Gracious, Doralee!” Sherry exclaimed. “What on earth is wrong?”

  “Your detective thinks I killed Kim,” she said baldly. “I need an attorney fast.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jaws dropped, including Jasmine’s. The poor girl didn’t expect her work-study program would include having a murder suspect stroll into the store. Never mind that the suspect was innocent.

  She had to be, didn’t she?

  As Maise hustled Doralee, Zach, and the Silver Six to Fred’s workshop space, I gave thanks no customers had been in the store. I reassured Jasmine that we’d go on with business as usual, and to holler if she needed us. Then I dashed to the back to hear what had happened at the police station with Detective Shoar.

  As we had this morning, we sat around one of Fred’s large workbenches, Zach and Doralee side by side at one end.

  “He separated us and then questioned us for hours,” she said, her voice breaking. “I must’ve told him the same thing dozens of times. I didn’t kill Kim. I didn’t care about her enough to kill her.”