Paint the Town Dead

by Nancy Haddock

  “So you didn’t mention your thoughts to him during the ride back to Sherry’s?”

  Her gaze turned flinty. “I almost did, but no.”

  “You weren’t sealing a deal when I caught you kissing him?”

  “A peck on the cheek, Nixy,” she said with a chill in her voice. “That’s all it was. I didn’t kill Kim, and for the record, I don’t believe Ernie did it either.”

  “Who do you think did do it?”

  She sighed. “I wish I knew.”

  The door chimes sang, and the Silver Six ladies spilled outside. Sherry hooked her arm through Doralee’s and they headed across the square to the Lilies Café chattering a mile a minute.

  I felt good about my talk with Doralee, but did I believe she’d come completely clean? No. For one thing, why not simply call his cell phone to offer him the opal? Maybe she wasn’t as over Ernie as she thought.

  * * *

  I needed to get to the grocery store before our afternoon got busy, and my chance came after the ladies headed out for lunch and Jasmine arrived for her shift. I ducked to the workroom to gather the animals for a walk, but Fred and Dab already had them outside. When I told them I was headed for Mac’s Fresh Market, the grocery closest to downtown, they gave me a short list of supplies to buy for the emporium. Coffee, tea, and fancy crackers because Dab had eaten the last of them this morning.

  As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I hadn’t been food shopping above three times in the five weeks I’d been in town. The Six had fed me nearly nightly, and sent me home with leftovers. Embarrassing to think I’d mooched off of them that long. Well, not exactly mooched. I had been invited to dinners at the farmhouse after all.

  At least I knew where Mac’s and the other grocery stores were located. Bold red letters spelled out the store name on an older building that had housed another chain in the past. Inside, though, the space was spotless, the aisles clear, and the goods well organized so I could zip in and out without getting sidetracked too much.

  I grabbed a red plastic hand basket, counting on the smaller container to help keep me from impulse buying, and dashed through the aisles. Coffee and tea for the emporium. Two boxes of protein bars, a jar of almond butter, couple of frozen ready-to-stir-fry dinners, two plums, an apple, and three peaches. I avoided the deli with divine-smelling fried chicken. Maise would have a fit if I bought so much as a drumstick. The bread aisle, though, was safe enough.

  Until I spotted Eric Shoar in the aisle with a shopping cart.

  I might have made a noise because just as he lifted a loaf of whole wheat, he looked up and our gazes locked.

  “Hey, Nixy, how are you?”

  I smiled at him, moved nearer. It would be rude not to, right? Besides, his deep, dreamy voice always drew me. He looked fine in what I thought of as his uniform, too. Boots, blue jeans, and a collared short-sleeve khaki shirt that set off his early-summer tan.

  I gestured at his cart, and yes, inhaled the aroma of fried chicken rising from it. “Is this for lunch?”

  “Maybe a snack, but I’ll save most of it for dinner. I expect to work late again tonight.”

  “Is there anything new on the case?”

  “Nice try, but nothing I can share.”

  “It was worth a shot,” I said with a grin, then peered up and down the aisle where we stood. We were alone, so I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “I might have something of interest to you. Did Judy Armistead call you yet?”

  “Great Buns Judy?”

  My lips twitched. “That’s the one, but I wouldn’t call her that around Grant.”

  Now he grinned. “I haven’t heard from her. What’s up?”

  “Kim Thomason was arguing with a blonde woman in the bakery on Saturday morning.”

  He frowned. “Did she get this blonde’s name?”

  “No, but I think we have at least one photo of the woman, and video, too.”

  His eyebrows shot higher as I explained taking pictures of our grand opening events for the website. I reminded him, too, that we’d reviewed the security footage after Eleanor’s whittling tool had vanished on Saturday.

  “And you think the blonde arguing with Ms. Thomason is the same woman who was in your store?”

  “I think it’s possible. I sure didn’t recognize her, or the man she was with, and none of the Six did either. Do you know who she is?”

  “I just may.” He glanced at his watch. “Can you get Eleanor’s camera and meet me at Great Buns?”

  “I can after our afternoon artist’s presentation.”

  “What time will that end?”

  “About three fifteen. Maybe three thirty.”

  “I’ll phone Judy to see if she can spare us some time then. You can show her the photo.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Don’t mention this to the Silver Six, Nixy. I don’t want idle speculation turning into full-fledged gossip.”

  * * *

  I didn’t know if the ladies still had Doralee out for lunch, but Fred wasn’t in the workroom when I returned from the grocery store. Neither was Dab, and Amber and T.C. were MIA, too. Maybe they were all minding the store.

  I sprinted up the stairs, tossed the frozen dinners in the freezer, and the rest of my food into cabinets, then raced back down to get ready for Melissa Osborne’s folk painting demonstration. We’d arranged to have her teach a full-fledged class like Doralee had done, but not until next week. I had to admit, I was looking forward to having fewer events after the grand opening wound down.

  I remembered to grab the coffee, tea, and fancy crackers for the emporium and take them downstairs. Should I have picked up extra cookies, too? Head slap. No way. Nothing but homemade passed muster with Maise, and Sherry, Eleanor, and Aster would be insulted, too. Plus, they always made more than enough.

  Fred was manning the checkout counter when I entered the emporium through the workshop door. I spotted Dab through the front windows talking with Bog Turner. Bog owned the barbershop just off the town square proper, and though he and Dapper Dab had similar taste in clothes, Bog was bald to Dab’s full head of thick white hair.

  “I see you remembered the supplies,” Fred observed. “Put ’em back in the kitchenette, and then take over for me.”

  I hustled to do as Fred asked even as he clack-clomped his walker toward his workshop.

  “Are the ladies still out with Doralee?” I asked.

  “Yep, and Dab’s got your critters with him, if you’re wonderin’ where they are, though I ain’t thinkin’ he’s walked ’em yet. Been jawin’ with Bog upward of ten minutes. Heat prob’ly ain’t good for either of ’em.”

  “Dab and Bog, you mean?

  “The heat ain’t doin’ Dab and Bog no favors, but I meant T.C. and Amber. You’re still puttin’ that salve on their paws, ain’t you?”

  “Faithfully.”

  “That’s good, but those animals shouldn’t ought to be standin’ on the hot concrete for long.”

  Fred was right. I hadn’t given the sidewalk the barefoot test Dr. Sally the vet had mentioned, but if a surface burned human feet, she’d said, it could easily burn paws.

  “Thanks, Fred. I’ll send Dab inside and then go walk the critters.”

  “Take ’em walkin’ by the café, find the women, and tell ’em to hurry up with our food.”

  I smiled at Fred’s grumbling as I opened the front door. Dab and Bog turned at the sound. T.C. and Amber looked up from under a display bench where they rested in the shade.

  “Hey, Nixy,” Bog said. “Dab here says your grand opening is going great.”

  I grinned. “We’re pleased with the response we’ve had. You need to come by for refreshments.”

  “Is Maise baking old-fashioned peanut butter cookies with the crosshatches and powdered sugar on top?”

  “Is there any othe
r kind?” Dab said on a laugh. “Maise and the other gals made sugar cookies, too.”

  “For people who don’t like peanut butter?” Bog asked.

  “For those who have nut allergies,” I corrected. “In fact, they made and wrapped the sugar cookies first so nothing peanutty would contaminate them. We don’t want any health emergencies if we can help it.”

  “Ah, of course. Well, save me a few of those peanut butter cookies. I’ll see about stopping by after I close.”

  Dab and I watched a moment as Bog walked off toward his shop, then I took both leashes.

  “Why don’t you go inside and cool off. I’ll wander over to the café and see if the ladies and Doralee are about ready to come back.”

  Dab patted his belly. “Good deal. I’m hungry.”

  The wind chimes sang again as he entered the store. I reminded myself to take them down before Melissa’s presentation and headed straight to the courthouse grounds, where Amber and T.C. could cool their paws on grass. In fact, I could tie off the leashes on the old stone hitching post. The critters would be fine under the shade of one of the numerous magnolia trees on the courthouse grounds long enough for me to pop into the Lilies Café. I’d just begun to tie the leashes when I heard Sherry’s laughter ring in the square.

  All five of the friends—Doralee, Sherry, Eleanor, Aster, and Maise—looked to be bursting with news as they crossed the street to meet me. Amber’s floppy ears lifted, and T.C.’s swiveled as if they, too, were eager to hear what kept the ladies so long. I’m sure they also smelled the food in the take-out bags Doralee and Aster carried for Fred and Dab. My stomach growled as well.

  “These two are so cute,” Doralee said, avoiding eye contact with me as she bent to scratch each animal under the chin. Embarrassed that I’d called her on her lie? Maybe.

  “Are you on your way back to the emporium?” Sherry asked me.

  “Not yet.” When she frowned, I said, “Why? What’s up?”

  “We got some interesting intel at lunch,” Maise said.

  “And I do believe,” Eleanor added mischievously, “we have clues to follow.”

  “Great,” I said with more caution than enthusiasm. “Let me finish walking these two, and I’ll be all ears.”

  “Fine,” Aster said with a decisive nod. “We’ll get the store ready for Melissa’s painting presentation so we’ll have time to fill you in later.”

  The ladies hurried off toward the store, and I hustled the critters on their walk, heading to the neighborhood behind the café and Inn on the Square. The June heat and lack of rain had already taken a toll on the lawns, but Amber sniffed each bush and tree along the sidewalks. T.C. seemed more interested in batting at unsuspecting insects that crossed her path.

  When Amber had done her business, we cut across the parking lot behind the Inn on the Square to take advantage of the bit of shade cast by the building. Yes, I felt the weight of having discovered Kim’s body upstairs, but shoved the discomfort aside.

  I’d just dropped the poop bag in the Dumpster when I noticed Georgine standing at the inn’s back door. The woman looked right at me, probably because the Dumpster lid had banged shut. No point in hiding, so I nodded at Georgine, and started walking toward the end of the alley with the critters.

  “Ms. Nix, wait,” Georgine called.

  I debated about being rude and ignoring her, but my mama had raised me better. I straightened my shoulders and turned. Georgine approached me cautiously, eyes on the pets and especially on Amber. Both animals sat quietly at my feet, but Georgine kept her distance. Perhaps she’d been bitten by a dog at some time in her life.

  “They won’t hurt you,” I assured her. Her capris and the three-quarter sleeve blouse buttoned to cover her neck weren’t the least rumpled, but the woman herself gave off a disordered vibe. She looked thinner to me, her salt and pepper hair seemed lank and dull, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

  “I’m not afraid. I’m allergic,” Georgine said, sticking out her sharp chin. “I need to speak with you. Please, will you hear me out?”

  Wow, a please from her? “Speak with me about what?”

  “Ernie, of course.” She paused, and grasped her hands at her waist until her knuckles whitened. “Did you talk with your detective friend on Ernie’s behalf?”

  “I haven’t had the opportunity yet,” I said with only a twinge of guilt. We could’ve discussed Ernie at the grocery store, but I’d flat forgotten to mention him.

  Her lips thinned. “Will you arrange time to do so? We’d consider it a kindness.”

  Not another please, but I was being asked not ordered. “Has Detective Shoar talked with Ernie again?”

  “Yes, and all this stress is taking a toll on both of us, but especially on Ernie. We’re not allowed to go home, you know.”

  Yes, and staying in the room next to the one where Kim was killed had to be stressful on steroids. Although, bad as Ernie had it, could he look more haggard than Georgine did? And, okay, her tone of voice and body language swung between demanding and pleading, but she was making the effort to be civil. I cut her some slack. After all, I knew the anxiety of having a relative be a murder suspect.

  “I’m positive Ernie is innocent, Ms. Nix, but Kim’s brother Caleb is telling the police that Ernie and Kim fought. Which is ridiculous. For one thing, Kim herself told us she and her brother weren’t close. We certainly never met the man.”

  I frowned. “How do you know what Kim’s brother is saying?”

  “By the questions that detective asked Ernie.”

  “You sat in on your brother’s interview?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Of course not. I wasn’t allowed to accompany him.” She massaged her temples. “Will you please stay on the subject?”

  “The subject being how could Kim’s brother know if she and Ernie squabbled?”

  “Exactly. He could not. He’s lying. Ms. Nix, Ernie wouldn’t have killed Kim. He loved her.”

  Georgine looked away and visibly swallowed, as if she were choked up. Maybe she was, and maybe she wasn’t.

  “But you didn’t.”

  Georgine looked up, surprised. “I didn’t what, Ms. Nix?”

  “You didn’t like Kim one bit.”

  Georgine glared at me, her hands fisted. “You’re right, I didn’t care for her. I’m not even particularly sorry she’s dead, except for Ernie’s sake. She was his choice.”

  “If Ernie knows Kim’s brother is lying, why doesn’t he call Caleb on it?”

  “My brother,” she said with dignity, “is a gentleman. He will not call the man out on his lies. Besides that, this Caleb person isn’t here.”

  “But you’d confront him if you had the chance, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would, and whether you talk to the detective on Ernie’s behalf or not, I’ll stand up for my brother at any cost.”

  I gave her a long look, then shrugged. “I’ll talk to Shoar, but I can’t promise you it will do a lick of good.”

  Spine stiff, shoulders back, Georgine gave me a regal nod. “Thank you, Ms. Nix.”

  She’d already turned on her heel when I thought to ask about the money. “Georgine,” I called, “one question.”

  “Yes?” she said, giving me narrowed eyes.

  I forged on. “Did Kim have a will?”

  Georgine’s brow furrowed in thought. “The deaths of two wealthy husbands left her with a large amount of money, and possibly property. So, yes, I think she had a will. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you know who inherits her money and property?”

  Her mouth twisted. “She never mentioned it in my hearing, but if you think Ernie stands to get it, you’re wrong. First, Ernie is quite comfortable. He didn’t need her money. Second, he wouldn’t have allowed her to make him an heir until after they married.”

  “What about the Thomason fami
ly. Do they get back any of the estate Kim inherited?”

  “I’ve no idea, Ms. Nix. And I doubt Ernie does either.”

  She turned on her heel as sharply as she’d snapped her reply to my question.

  “Thanks,” I called after her, just to see if she’d acknowledge me. She didn’t.

  As I headed back to the emporium, I ran the conversation through my head. Georgine was definitely protective of Ernie. If push came to shove, I could see her killing for him.

  What she wouldn’t do was let Ernie take the fall for murder.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time I returned with the critters and put them in the workroom with Fred, Doralee had gone on back to the Pines Motor Court with Zach’s food. Which was fine. As Maise said, they didn’t need Doralee present to fill me, Dab, and Fred in on the scuttlebutt. They also didn’t have the time to talk with me before our folk painting artist, Melissa Osborne, swept into the emporium like a diva taking the stage. I swear, if it had been the 1940s, she’d have waved a sterling silver cigarette holder in one hand.

  Melissa had been an actress in various local theatre companies, including in Atlanta, Dallas, Kansas City, and Little Rock. For all her flamboyance, she wasn’t haughty or diva-difficult. She brought a fun sense of the dramatic with her simply by entering a room, never mind by donning the bright colors she favored. Today she sported a hot pink sleeveless blouse, dark blue jeans, and banana yellow flats. Her fire-red hair was piled atop her head in a loose bun. Over her clothes she wore an apron so huge it swallowed her, and so paint-splotched, you could barely see that it was once a solid light blue.

  “Hello, hello,” she sang and moved to embrace each of us—Dab included. She’d have nailed Fred, too, but he’d hidden in his workroom.

  “So good to see you, Melissa,” Maise said.

  “It’s good to be seen! I have all the supplies in my car.” She paused and gazed at the arrangements of the demo table and chairs. “Oh, but this won’t do.”

  “Fifteen chairs aren’t enough?” I asked.