She knew what Gary was trying to do, so she took a bite of asparagus and chewed slowly. Reaching over to pick up her glass, the fringe on her wrap dragged across her plate. She tried to wipe it off with her napkin without seeming too obvious. At last she continued. “Leon, what was your purpose in meeting with us tonight? Obviously, you are not going to share details about your book.”
“Excellent question, Mrs. Sharpe. My purpose is simply to let you know that you needn’t worry yourself about your uncle’s death any longer. I have all the information you need, and you can read about it in a matter of months. In fact, I will personally send you an autograph copy.”
Gary jumped in. “An autograph copy. That would be great. Wouldn’t it, dear?” He hoped she would keep from losing her temper.
“If you were so sure of your information, then why did you talk to Deputy Simms and Gene Collins?” she asked.
“Fact-checking is an important part of any writer’s research. I’m sure you know that. I was just checking to see if Mr. Collins had additional information I might be able to use.”
“So how did you find Mr. Collins? And how did you happen to see him on the same day as I did?”
Galt cleared his throat.
“Were you following me?” Deena voice got higher and louder.
“Following you? Mrs. Sharpe, you are sounding a little paranoid now.”
This time Gary spoke up. “Leon, I am afraid that the information you have provided us only raises more questions rather than answers them. I am sure you can understand our concern. I would hate to have to get our attorneys involved in this matter.”
“Attorneys? No, that will not be necessary. You seem like a reasonable man, Gary. I cannot give you any details, but I will give you a general idea of the focus of my work.” He looked over his shoulder and then back at them. Leaning forward as though he were revealing the U.S. nuclear codes, he whispered, “My book addresses new details about the events occurring on and around November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas.” He sat back up in his chair.
“The Kennedy assassination?” Deena asked a little too loudly.
“Shhhh. Yes.”
“You think my uncle had something to do with that?” She could not hide her astonishment. “May I remind you that Matthew was killed in October of 1963.”
“Not killed, disappeared. There is no evidence to prove he was killed on the day he disappeared.”
Deena was shocked. It had never occurred to her that Matthew may not have been shot on that same day. “Are you suggesting he was kidnapped or something?”
“I’m not suggesting anything in particular. I am simply telling you that I have evidence to support my conclusions. This manuscript is very detailed and includes much more information than your uncle’s involvement.”
“Is that so,” she said.
“I had not anticipated that Matthew Meade would be found and identified just prior to the publication date. It put a wrench in my plans, I must admit. I have spent the past week making sure there are no loose ends that might cause the publisher to delay the launch date. I have found none and plan to return to New York next week after fulfilling my obligations here.”
“Have you tracked down Donna Morrison?” Deena asked, ignoring Galt’s attempt at closure.
“Mrs. Sharpe, I have already said more than I should. As I told you before, you should just return home and get back to doing whatever it is you do, and you will be one of the first ones to get to read all about it.”
“Galt,” Gary said, ready for the conversation to end. “Wasn’t there a ‘Galt’ who played for the White Sox back in the day?”
“I don’t recall, but I know there was a Bud Sharpe who played for the Pittsburg Pirates in the early nineteen hundreds. Died young. Of a heart attack. Poor fellow.”
Chapter Eight
Sandra Davis loved animals so much that she chose keeping her old dog over her first husband. Good thing, too, since it turned out her Pekingese was more loyal than that no good cheatin’ man. Three years later after falling for and marrying Ian, she turned her love of animals into a business. She opened up the Second Chance Thrift Shop to support the local no-kill animal shelter.
Deena loved to stop in the store every chance she got to search for vintage items for her antique booth as well as to visit with her friend. Although Sandra was ten years younger, she and Deena had a lot in common and had become good friends. After the frustrating evening she had the night before, this was the perfect place for Deena to kill an hour.
“Whatcha got for me today?” Sandra asked Deena when she entered the shop carrying a bag of goodies.
“Shoes. I went through my closet today and pulled out all my heels to donate. I also have a pair of red pumps that are just too young for me.” Deena set the bag on the counter and walked over to a chair Sandra kept at the front of the shop for visitors.
“Are you limping?”
“Yes. I hit my ankle on the dresser when Gary was pushing me around.” She saw the wide-eyed look on her friend’s face.
“Not like that,” she said. “Gary thought it would be fun to ballroom dance in the bedroom.”
“You worried me there for a second,” she said and walked back to the storeroom to set down Deena’s bag. She sat behind the counter on her padded stool. “Speaking of dancing, we missed you two at the Pets & Patriots Ball. We brought in quite of bit of money for the shelter, though.”
“Things have just been a little crazy with this family stuff. We’ll go to the fall event, I promise.”
The shop door opened, jingling the bell Sandra kept tied to the handle. A man and woman, obviously tourists, walked in. Sandra greeted them, and then leaned over and whispered, “If you’re shopping today, you might want to check out the glass aisle. There’s some new pottery over there.”
Deena got up and went straight to her favorite section. She immediately spotted two pieces she knew were of good quality. The first was an orange Blenko glass decanter. She had sold similar ones in her booth before. The other was an aqua vase with a matte finish. She picked it up and turned it over, hoping to see the name of one of her favorite Colorado potteries. Bingo! Van Briggle. She carried the pieces to the front counter and winked at her friend.
One of the things Deena liked about shopping at thrift stores and antique malls was the chance it gave her to stroll down memory lane. She would see an old cross-stitch picture or a set of china and think, “My mother used to have that.” Occasionally, she bought something simply because she had once owned it as a child. Gary would look at the tattered lunch box or Ponytail vinyl 45-record holder and know she was trying to capturing that feeling—the one you get when suddenly thrust into another time or place by a memory. After a few months, the items would find their way into the booth or back to the thrift shop. Deena referred to re-donating items as “renting memories.”
Scanning the housewares, she spotted a vintage avocado-green crockpot like the one she got years ago as a wedding gift. It made her smile even though she knew it was not something that would sell in her booth. She picked up a teak-covered ice bucket from the sixties but put it back when she saw the inside liner was cracked. Deena had several pieces of vintage art in her booth and saw the tourist couple looking through the stack of pictures. When they walked away, she went over and picked up a vintage framed paint-by-numbers picture of a circus scene. She knew it was kitschy, but those pictures always sold in her booth.
“You know you have these pieces underpriced,” Deena said and set her final item on the counter.
“I know, but that’s how I get people like you to keep coming in to find the treasures. And sometimes they buy the junk, like that ugly clown picture.” They both laughed.
Deena set her purse on the counter. Pulling out her billfold, the picture of Matthew and the girl fell out. Sandra picked it up.
“I love these black-and-white pictures from the Sixties,” she said. “I wish those dresses were back in style. Do you think I would look good w
ith a bouffant?” She held picture next to her face.
“Absolutely. I’m sure Kristy could fix you right up.” She handed her credit card to Sandra and put the picture back in her purse.
“I’ll remember that if I ever take a third engagement picture.”
“Why did you say engagement picture?”
“That’s what I thought the picture was. I’m just guessing.”
Deena pulled it back out and Sandra pointed to the girl’s hand. “See how she has her hand posed to show off her ring?”
“I hadn’t noticed that,” Deena said. She looked at the picture more closely. “Hmm. That changes things.”
*
“Have you tracked down Donna Morrison yet?” Leon Galt asked. He was not a patient man. “Well, keep trying.” He slammed down the receiver causing the telephone in his motel room to sound like a bell ringing on a child’s bicycle. He stood up and paced back and forth for a few minutes.
Finally, he pulled out his wallet and sat down. Searching through the slotted pockets, he found the right slip of paper. He dialed the number. After three rings, a man answered.
“This is Galt. I thought you were going to take care of Deena Sharpe for me. That’s what I’m paying you for.” He sat on the side of the bed with its tacky floral coverlet and gold fringe. “Trust me. I met with her last night and she is definitely not planning to back off.” He waited for the man on the other end to finish his list of excuses.
“I think you know how important this is to me. I am not going to let some retired teacher from Texas ruin it all. Now take care of it!”
Chapter Nine
Working out of his office was rare for Trey Simms these days. The Perry County Sheriff’s Department had a big drug case with the ATF and most of the deputies were in the field. Simms stopped by to fill out some paperwork before heading home for the day. He went by the front desk to pick up his messages from Renee.
“Please call Henry Wilcox. He has called at least five times in the last two days,” she said.
“Who is he? What does he want?”
“I don’t know, but he says he can only talk to you.”
He headed to his office and unlocked the door. Something made a shuffling noise on his desk, so he put his hand on his pistol. Turning on the light, he glimpsed a mouse leaping off the desk and escaping behind a file cabinet. He threw away a half-eaten bag of crackers he had left there since Monday. He sat down and dialed the number on the message. The man on the other end answered on the first ring.
“This is Deputy Simms. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling about that murder case. Matthew Meade. In the paper it said to call you if anybody had information. Well, I got some information.”
Simms was surprised. He didn’t expect to hear anything about the case, especially after a month had gone by since the news was released. “What information do you have, sir?”
“It’s about some of the goings on at his place of business. Some illegal stuff you know. And there’s more.”
“I’m all ears.” Trey leaned back in his chair waiting for some wild story about inter-office politics.
“This ain’t the sort of thing I can talk about over the phone. I think you need to hear it in person.”
Simms tapped his pen on the notepad in front of him. His in-laws were coming for dinner and his wife would kill him if he got home late. At least half an hour of paperwork was staring him in the face. “Just a minute,” he said. He put the line on hold and called the sheriff’s secretary. “Is he in?”
“Yes. I’ll connect you.”
Simms explained the situation to his boss.
Sheriff Long was clear. “Look Simms, we don’t have time to chase rabbits right now. Tell this guy to come in and make a statement. If there is anything there, we can follow up. Hey, ask him if he wants you to put him in touch with the family. That might keep out of our hair for a while.”
Simms switched back over to the other line. “Mr. Wilcox. I am not going to be able to meet with you for a week or so. You are welcome to come down to the office and submit a statement. The other thing I can do is put you in touch with the Meade family if both of you are willing. They are very anxious to learn any new information.” He held his breath.
“Well, they might not like what I have to say, but they probably need to hear it.”
“Fine. Fine,” Simms said. “I’ll get in touch with them and give them your number. If they are interested, they will give you a call.” He hung up and thought, that won’t be the only murder case around here if I don’t get home soon.
*
Russell was more than happy to go with Deena to meet Henry Wilcox. Gary insisted that she not go alone even though they were meeting in a public place. Frankly, she did not want to go alone either.
“This is real Woodward and Bernstein stuff,” Russell said, getting in Deena’s car. “It’s like we’re going to meet Deep Throat.”
She recognized the Tommy Bahama shirt he had on as one she gave him for Christmas. “Yes, except that we are meeting him in a restaurant and not a parking garage. Oh, and we are in Dallas and not D.C.”
“Kill joy. It’s still pretty exciting.”
Deena turned to look back over her shoulder before pulling onto the highway. Russell reached into his pocket and slipped something into the glove compartment. He adjusted the air vents on the dash and pointed them right on his face. “When are we going to get some rain? It’s not even noon and it’s already boiling outside.”
The Texas heat was brutal. Stepping out in the midday sun was like standing too close to the fireplace, the heat cooking your skin in minutes, the beads of sweat drying up almost as soon as they sprang from your pores. Rain would bring more than relief; it would bring salvation.
Deena reached into the center compartment between the seats and pulled out her sunglasses. She wore capri pants and a sleeveless cotton shirt. Looking at herself in the visor mirror, she asked, “Do I look like Audrey Hepburn in Charade?”
“Only if you think I look like Cary Grant.” They laughed and Russell asked, “Now what did this guy say he wants to tell you?”
“I’ve told you all I know. He says he has information about the medical supply company where Uncle Matthew worked. He also has dirt on people who worked there. Thinks it may be connected to the murder.” She took off her sunglasses and laid them up on the dash. “You will know as much as I do as soon as we get there.”
Russell was like a kid on his way to Disneyland. Deena half expected him to ask, Are we there yet? Inside she was just as excited as he was, but she was trying to play it cool. After their dinner with Leon Galt, she was anxious to find out as much as she could about her uncle’s history. Galt seemed so sure of his information and equally anxious for her to stop nosing around, which just added more kindling to the cook stove. She decided not to say anything to Lucy and Richard about the accusations until her next visit. You don’t exactly call someone up and say, Oh by the way, your nephew may have been involved in one of the most notorious crimes of the twentieth century. Have a nice day.
“Where is this place?” Russell asked, as they got closer to downtown.
“It’s in Oak Cliff. Not too much farther. By the way, let me do the talking. We don’t want to reveal too much in case this guy is just a screwball.”
“Hey. Screwballs are people, too.”
After several turns and a few turn-arounds, they parked in front of a barbeque joint that looked older than dirt and just about as clean. These were usually the best places to find great barbeque. The sweet, smoky smell permeated the air, even in the car.
They went in to find a few tables filled with men in jeans and t-shirts licking the thick red sauce off their fingers and guzzling large glasses of iced tea. One older man sat alone in the corner and motioned for them to join him.
“I’m Henry,” he said, wiping his hands on his napkin. A handshake was out of the question.
“I’m Deena and this is my broth
er, Russell.”
“Glad to meet you. Why don’t you order your lunch then come back and we’ll have a talk. I recommend the pork ribs. Best you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
Deena headed to the counter to order. “Seems normal enough,” she whispered to Russell. She ordered a barbeque beef sandwich with dill pickles. Russell chose the pork ribs and barbequed beans. They picked up their cups of tea and went over to join their host.
“It’s another scorcher out there.” Russell took several napkins out of the metal holder and wiped his forehead.
“You bet it is, but I don’t think any of us are here to talk about the weather.” Henry scooped out the last bite of potato salad from the paper cup. He wiped his mouth and hands and pushed his empty plate away from him. “What I have to say may not make you happy, but it’s the honest truth. I’ve waited forty years to tell someone this story. I don’t care if you believe it or not, but it’s the truth.”
“Why haven’t you told anyone before now?” Deena asked.
“Let me just start at the beginning and then you’ll see.” A waitress brought over the order and set it on the table. Deena and her brother began eating as they listened to the old man’s story.
“I started working at Barnes Medical Supply in 1963. I was just 24 and worked in the accounts department. Meade was a manager. He had a friend by the name of Gene Collins who worked in the warehouse. I had only been there a couple of months, but I started noticing some discrepancies with the books. Seems like there was more merchandise going out than there was money coming in. Being new, I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I told my supervisor who told me to mind my own business, or I’d be out of a job.” He drank the end of his iced tea and set the cup on the table.
“I began to suspect there was some funny business going on, and it was happening in the warehouse. Collins was the head honcho back there, so I figured he was the ring leader. What I didn’t know was that he and Meade were army buddies and that Meade had gotten him that job. I was young and green and thought I was doing the right thing. Everyone thought highly of your uncle and said he was a good guy. I decided to tell him about my suspicions. He said he would check into it. That was about a week before he disappeared.”
Sharpe Shooter (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series Book 1) Page 8