Paint the Town Dead

by Nancy Haddock

Chapter Seventeen

  Wham! Nailed. I hadn’t seen that coming, and neither had Caleb from his reaction. He jerked and slapped his Saints cap on the table. For a long moment I thought he’d ask for an attorney. Instead, his shoulders sagged, and for the first time he looked haunted.

  “You went back to see your sister, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he admitted raggedly, “but not to kill her. I didn’t even go inside. I called her cell, but she didn’t answer. There was an Audi in the parking lot, and I thought maybe her fiancé had come back. I got out of there as fast as I could and drove until I got to Antlers.”

  “Antlers, Oklahoma.”

  “I stayed overnight in a little motel. The receipt is in my glove box.”

  Now Eric gave the suspect his laser cop-stare. “If you’re lying again, I’ll arrest you.”

  “But I didn’t kill her!”

  “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, but by lying you’re impeding a murder investigation.”

  “I’m not lying. I hardly knew Kim anymore, and I didn’t trust her, but she was still my sister.” He paused, then said softly, “My sister, Detective. That means something to me.”

  He dashed the back of his hand over his eyes, and I felt the surge of his grief. I also noticed he said “means” instead of “meant.” He wasn’t used to the idea of her being dead.

  Eric tapped the open folder with his pen. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Mr. Collier. The Inn on the Square is a few blocks from here. I’m going to let you get your overnight gear from your truck. I want that receipt, too, and your keys. I won’t impound the truck, but it stays here until I get more answers.”

  “You need a warrant to search my truck.”

  Eric arched a brow. “Something you’re hiding? Clothes spattered with your sister’s blood?”

  Caleb blanched. “I’m not hiding anything, but I keep a pistol in the truck. I have a permit.”

  “Why are you carrying a weapon?”

  “Rattlesnakes.”

  “They hang around oil well pumps?”

  “When I do the maintenance, sometimes I can get close to the pump driving the truck. Other times I have to park and walk through high grass.”

  Eric gave him the silent stare again.

  He threw up his hands. “All right fine, never mind the warrant. I’ll give you permission to search the damn truck.”

  “Thank you. I’ll walk you to the inn now, and show you to your room.”

  “I can settle in myself,” Caleb said mulishly.

  “Ernie Boudreaux and his sister are staying at the inn. I want to head off any problems, but if that doesn’t suit you, I can put you in a holding cell at the Hendrix County Sheriff’s Office. Your choice.”

  Caleb picked up his Saints ball cap and crammed it on his head. “Fine.”

  Kim’s brother left the interview room looking defeated, but I didn’t think he’d killed her. In spite of his former thieving ways, his story had a ring of truth.

  How interesting that he’d seen the Audi in the parking lot when he’d come back to the inn. Maybe Margot had killed Kim. Maybe that’s why she’d driven out of the parking lot like a woman possessed.

  * * *

  I’d been instructed to stay put, and I complied, but I plopped into the chair to wait. I pulled out my cell, but left the volume off just in case some of Lilyvale’s finest came back before Eric did. To combat the sleepiness brought on by let-down and being in the dark room, I played solitaire on my phone. That helped my drooping eyelids until the door cracked open and my tardy detective stuck his head in.

  “Hey, sorry that took so long. Ready to go?”

  We exited through the back door, where a picnic table and benches sat in the glow of the security light. I hadn’t noticed them when I talked to Eric back here days ago.

  “You look exhausted, so I’m not going to read you the riot act about jumping in front of a moving vehicle.”

  “Thanks,” I said dryly.

  “What I am doing is driving you home and seeing you upstairs.”

  “I’m fine,” I protested as he grasped my elbow.

  “I’m not. When I heard what you’d done tonight, it took years off my life.”

  “You probably heard an exaggerated version.”

  “I don’t think it was too far off. Keys?” he added, palm open.

  I dropped the set that had my apartment and store keys on same ring as my car fob. At ten thirty on a Thursday night, the ride took all of two minutes from door to door, and we didn’t speak until I let him in the apartment.

  Amber woofed and wagged her whole body as she bounded to greet us. T.C. wound herself through my legs, then moved on to Eric’s.

  “Good girls,” I praised when I glanced around the space and didn’t spot any wreckage. “How about a treat?”

  The critters took the nibbles I offered, but were far more interested in attention. Getting it, and giving it. They hopped onto the couch when Eric sat. He patted the cushion beside him.

  I sank down slowly, gauging his mood. “I guess you still have to write a report.”

  “I should go back to the station long enough to make some notes, but I don’t think I can type coherent sentences tonight.”

  “You want something to drink?”

  I started to move Amber, but Eric shook his head so I kept her close. Not that I had much in the way of food or drinks in the house, but I felt had to offer. That Southern training. Plus, let’s face it, I felt guilty that he had worried about me.

  “So what do you think about Caleb’s story?” I asked.

  “Overall, it’s believable. He didn’t do himself any favors ducking me for so long, but I think he’s genuinely grieving.”

  “Did he stay away to give himself an alibi?”

  Eric snorted. “If he did, it was an epic failure. He doesn’t have receipts for the lodging, or food, or gas while he’s been in the area. He says he paid in cash for all of that. He only has a receipt for his Sunday night stay over in Antlers.”

  “Where did he stay while he was watching Kim?”

  “A chain hotel in Magnolia. I can follow up, see who remembers him. Before tonight, I leaned toward him being the killer. After talking to him, he just doesn’t feel right.”

  “Have you eliminated Margot Vail? Caleb saw the Audi in the parking lot.”

  “He saw Mr. Boudreaux’s car, too. He didn’t know it was Ernie’s, but he saw it.”

  “Yes, but he saw the Honda when he left Kim alone and alive. He didn’t mention it later.”

  Eric frowned. “I didn’t ask him about that, did I? Damn. That’s why I need to go over my notes.”

  “You can question him about it tomorrow. Heck, you can walk him through what he did and what or who he saw.”

  “I’d planned to do that anyway.”

  “Well, you have his truck locked up. He won’t be going anywhere tonight.”

  He scrubbed at his face, then set T.C. aside and rose. “I’ve got to go.”

  Amber jumped down and followed Eric. “You’ll have more answers tomorrow. You might even hear back from Kim’s attorney.”

  He gave me an odd look.

  “You know, about who inherits her estate.”

  “If it’s Caleb, he doesn’t act like he knows about it. Oh, by the way, I looked over the inventory. Two diamond rings are listed.”

  “So if Margot killed Kim, she didn’t stick around to search Kim’s room for the heirloom.” I tilted my head. “Or was that room searched?”

  “I’m not commenting.”

  “Horse hockey.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You just allowed me to observe your interview. What’s the big deal about telling me if Kim and Ernie’s room had been searched?”

  “Horse hockey, huh?” He gave me a slow, wide g
rin. “You’re sound more and more like the seniors. Is that a Fred phrase?”

  I shook my head. “Go home, Detective Shoar.”

  He opened the door, but stopped and turned. “When this case and your grand opening are over, you and I are having dinner. And not at the Dairy Queen.”

  I cocked my hip at him. “You’re on, big guy.”

  He ran a finger down my jaw. “Just stay out of trouble, okay?”

  * * *

  I’d always been a fan of comfort food when I needed it. I was fast becoming sold on comfort cuddling. Amber and T.C. sprang into bed with me, but wouldn’t settle at the foot of the bed as they had been doing. They burrowed under my summer-weight comforter and snuggled, one on each side, each resting chins and one paw on my stomach.

  Okay, I’d have pet hair on my sheets as well as the bed cover. I had a passing thought that I would have to put a stop to them sleeping with me at all, but quickly forgot it as I soaked up their warmth.

  * * *

  I slept late the next morning. The Silver Six had not. They were in the workroom when I came down at eight forty to walk the critters, who exploded out the door and down the stairs the second I touched the doorknob. Both animals greeted each senior, but positively danced around Fred and Dab.

  “Were we supposed to do something this early?” I asked, and then noticed the murder board open to our last page of notes.

  “We want a full report of last night’s bust,” Maise barked.

  “It wasn’t a bust. I flagged down the guy Ruth Kreider told us about.”

  “Rusty, yes,” Sherry said.

  “And it turned out that he is Kim’s brother.”

  “Caleb Collier, we know,” Aster supplied.

  “Tell you what, let me walk the pets and I’ll fill you in on what I can.”

  “I do believe we have a better idea,” Eleanor said. “We’ll go to the café for breakfast.”

  “But you always have breakfast at home.”

  “We can’t get the latest scoop from Lorna at home.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I agreed, thinking I was off the hook.

  “Don’t think you’re home free, child,” Sherry intoned in her stern teacher voice. “If the café isn’t filled with diners, we’ll grill you right there. Otherwise, we’ll get to your story when we get back.”

  Fred chortled. “Wouldn’t wanna be in your shoes, missy. Come on, fur buddies, let’s go.”

  Fred began clomp-clacking his loaded walker to the back door while Dab took the leash from my limp grip, then patted my shoulder. “Later.”

  The four ladies and I left the men behind, and they all but frog-marched me to the Lilies Café. As soon as I stepped inside, my appetite kicked in and the ambiance took me to another time.

  Just like the emporium did. Just like this whole town did.

  Then I noticed the silence and the eyes of two dozen people trained on me. Whatever news the grapevine was spreading, apparently these people had heard it.

  “There’s a table in the back,” a harried Lorna said, waving us to a round table by the staircase that ascended to the second-floor inn.

  Since the café was packed, I was off the hook for now. We didn’t want to be overheard. Plus, if Ernie or Caleb came down to eat while we were here, we couldn’t miss seeing them.

  Today green cloth napkins with sparkling flatware and green mugs sat on pristine white tablecloths. The single-sheet menus listing breakfast items were wedged between the white sugar packet holder and the salt and pepper shakers.

  I was right. The Silver Six had eaten at home. Still they ordered a fruit plate to share. I went for the two-egg cheese omelet because I was going to need the protein fix, and we had coffee all around.

  Bushy-beard Clark came out of the kitchen swinging doors, and snatched a coffee carafe from the warmer. He grunted what I assumed was “Good morning,” filled our mugs, then did a refill round at the other tables before striding back to the kitchen.

  “Don’t say a word about him, child,” Sherry advised. “He and Lorna seem to be working things out, and we support her.”

  I doctored my coffee and sipped as the conversation flowed to the upcoming events of the day. We’d scheduled two presentations, one at eleven, and one at two. The first would feature Colleen Watson, who’d be demonstrating the art of wineglass painting. Fran Givens would do a program on collages with a twist. Then, from four to seven, the big finale to the grand opening with fruit and veggie trays, Ida’s pear bread, and of course, cookies and sweet tea. I’d insisted we buy the food trays from the grocery store, and had been happily surprised that the ladies of the Silver Six didn’t fight me on the decision.

  We did ask Lorna to cater first, but she was swamped with club luncheons.

  “I have news,” the woman herself said sotto voce as she delivered our meals. “Let me refresh your coffees, and I’ll sit with you a minute.”

  Lorna didn’t do gossip. She imparted news.

  I’d just put a bite of omelet in my mouth when she pulled up another chair, dropped into her seat, and leaned toward me.

  “You need to know,” she said in hushed tones so as not to be overheard, “that it’s all over town that you stopped a murderer at gun point.”

  I nearly choked. Sherry handed me a water, and Maise smacked my back hard enough to make my eyes bulge.

  “I did no such thing, Lorna,” I whispered back. “I don’t have a gun, and Caleb Collier isn’t a murderer.”

  “You know that for a fact?”

  “Well, no, but he’s innocent until proven guilty.”

  “He certainly must be a person of interest.” She paused to sweep the seniors with her glance. “Detective Shoar escorted him here last night, and came to collect him first thing this morning. Barely gave the man a chance to finish his coffee, never mind his breakfast.”

  “So he’s gone,” Aster said. “We were hoping to get a look at him.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have a chance. Unless he’s arrested, he’ll be back here later.”

  “Um, Lorna, does Ernie come down for breakfast?”

  “He hasn’t today. He was with his sister when I took up her tray this morning.”

  “Did you hear what they said?”

  Lorna sniffed. “I don’t eavesdrop on my guests.”

  Sherry patted her friend’s hand. “Overhearing isn’t the same as eavesdropping.”

  “And I do believe you have a right to know what’s going on in your inn. Especially in light of that woman’s death.”

  Lorna gave a decisive nod. “It isn’t like they were scheming. Mr. Boudreaux was all but begging his sister to go to the hospital. He’d asked me about the level of services and care we have here. Well, our facility isn’t large, but the doctors can handle a middle-aged woman with a migraine headache.”

  “I take it Georgine refused?”

  “She did, and then he raised his voice to her. He said she was as stubborn as Kim, and he was tired of it.”

  “That sounds like an oblique threat,” Sherry said.

  Lorna shrugged. “I’ll tell you this. If she gets any weaker, he’ll either have to carry her out of here or I’ll call the paramedics. As it is, I don’t know how the stigma of having a death here will affect business.” She paused. “Though I haven’t had a single cancellation yet. And the income from their extended stay helps. We have got to come up with events to get more tourists.”

  “The fall folk art festival will be held in town instead of at the farmhouse,” Sherry said.

  “That’s been approved for sure?”

  I opened my mouth, closed it. “Hmm. I don’t think we have the official letter yet, but I’ll follow up.”

  “So are you still investigating on Doralee’s behalf?”

  “I do believe she’s in the clear.”

  “But we’re workin
g on the case anyway,” Maise said.

  “We even created a murder board,” Aster boasted.

  I groaned. “Ladies, we need to open soon. Lorna, do you have the check?”

  “Right here.” She pulled it from her apron.

  I reached in the back pocket of my jeans for the twenty I’d remembered to stash there this morning. I’d meant to use it for a pastry at Great Buns, but plans changed.

  I hoped I could get through the day without being ambushed again.

  * * *

  I’d filled the Silver Six in on the highlights of stopping Caleb, but did not mention the foolhardy flagging down of his truck. I knew they’d piece together the majority of the real story from gossip, and for once that suited me fine.

  The wineglass-painting program drew seventeen patrons. I doubted they all drank wine, but we’d mentioned the technique worked on nearly any glassware. Colleen Watson was a woman in her late thirties or early forties, model tall and slim. She wasn’t as lively or dramatic as some of our artists. Instead, her voice was calm, her information clear and concise.

  She thanked everyone for coming, relayed a bit about her arts and crafts experience, and moved right into instructions for prepping the glass.

  “After your glass is squeaky clean, use rubbing alcohol to get off any last oils from your hands, and be sure it dries thoroughly.

  “Now then, you can free-hand paint, or you can use a design on paper. Curl the paper, and let it unfurl in the glass, design side out, and there’s your template,” she said, demonstrating as she talked. “Leave enough space at the bottom of your paper so your design doesn’t sit too low in the glass’s bowl. Unless that’s where you want it.”

  The audience laughed, and next she emphasized how to wield the paint marker with the warning not to smash the tip of the glass paint markers into the surface.

  “You jab, and this is what happens,” she said, spearing a marker onto a glass she obviously used to illustrate technique. It was splotched with paint in a rainbow of colors.

  “Do you have to paint glass with a marker?” A young mother asked the question. Her sleeping infant nestled against her chest in a sling.

  “No, you can use brushes and acrylic paint, but I think markers are easier to control.” She flashed a radiant smile. “And I’ve been doing this awhile. Remember, you can decorate the foot of your glass, too.”