Misalignment and Murder

by Cathy Tully

  “You own a Glock?” Crystal stepped closer. Tilting her head, she eyed Susannah as if trying to decide if she were telling the truth. “Which one?”

  “A 43, and I—”

  “Well, that makes some kinda sense. A girly girl like you would get one of them tiny little pocket pistols.” Crystal leaned toward Susannah and tapped her shoulder bag. “Is it in there?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh.” Crystal grinned, then backed up and nudged Susannah’s ankle with the toe of her hiking boot. “You got an ankle holster, then.”

  “No. I don’t have it with me.”

  “Well, why the heck not?” Crystal’s voice got louder and small lines formed in the corners of her eyes. “Why in the world did you buy a subcompact gun designed for concealed carry if you’re not going to carry it?”

  An employee stepped out from the storeroom behind the display case and gawked at them, then retreated. Susannah opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of a barrage of questions. She was supposed to be asking the questions.

  “I’ve asked her that question myself.” Bitsy appeared holding two purses and a plastic hanger on which hung a neon-pink sports bra. “We’re gonna solve that with these here concealed-carry purses. But we—” She glanced at Crystal’s shoes and stopped. “Oh, I like those hiking boots.”

  Crystal gave Bitsy a sneer. “Well, go buy you a pair.”

  “No thanks.” Bitsy swung the bra hanger on one finger. “But my friend and I were wonderin’ if you could recommend someone that works on Glocks? Like Travis maybe?”

  Crystal slapped her hand on the glass of the gun display case. Susannah and Bitsy flinched. “Travis? He don’t know nothing about foreign-made guns. You see the name of the store? America’s Finest. Not Germany’s Finest.”

  This was not at all what Susannah had envisioned.

  Crystal continued, “I done told him Remington and Smith & Wesson are solid American gun manufacturers. Why do we need to buy from foreign companies?”

  A man wearing a red smock rounded the corner. He wore a tag that read MANAGER.

  “Crystal,” the manager began, “we’ve asked you nicely to leave. I’m giving you one more chance to get gone. I called the police, and if you’re still here when they arrive—”

  “You low-down weasel.” Crystal picked up the cardboard display piece and threw it at him. “This here shop is mine as much as it is Travis’s. We’re still married, and this business is a marital asset.”

  “Well, you all can take that up in court, for all I care,” the manager said, his arm over his head to ward off anything else she might pitch his way. “You’re not an employee of this company, and you need to leave.”

  “Let’s go.” Susannah grasped Bitsy’s hand and headed for the exit, but Bitsy redirected her toward the register.

  “We need this stuff.”

  The concealed-carry handbags were already on the check-out counter and being rung up by the manager when the Peach Grove PD cruiser pulled up. Bitsy gawked at the cruiser through the store’s plate glass window as she dropped the pink sports bra over the purses. Officer Chaffin rushed into the store and headed toward the firearms. Exiting the store, bags in hand, Susannah eyed Chief Laughton as he screeched into the lot. He exited his vehicle at a jog, taking in the women. “Ladies.” He slowed, narrowing his eyes. “What might the two of you be doing here?”

  “We were just leaving.” Susannah glanced at her vehicle.

  “Interesting.” Randy pulled his sunglasses down his nose and peered at Susannah and Bitsy. “A material witness in the death of one citizen found shopping at the store of another citizen who happens to be missing. Susannah, you wouldn’t be poking your nose into our investigation, would you?”

  Bitsy glanced at Randy as she fished in her shoulder bag for her keys. “There ain’t no crime in shopping that I know about.”

  “I was looking for hiking boots. But”—Susannah gave Randy an innocent shrug—“they didn’t have my size.”

  “I think crazy Crystal got the last pair. That girl’s cornbread ain’t done in the middle, if you know what I mean.” Bitsy gestured toward Randy with her keys, the peach fob swinging. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” Bitsy removed one of the purses from the shopping bag and threw it to Susannah. “Happy birthday.” She jumped into her SUV and slammed the door.

  “It’s not my—”

  As the engine engaged, Bitsy brought her hand up to her face, her finger and thumb a mock phone. Call me, she mouthed, then pulled out of the parking space.

  “—birthday,” finished Susannah

  Hands on his gun belt, Randy glared at Susannah. She stared down at her feet, hoping he wouldn’t continue the lecture. A shout from inside the store sent him hustling off, and Susannah sighed.

  Another day in paradise.

  Susannah jumped into her Jeep and drove away.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cutz & Curlz

  Cutz & Curlz, Maggie Hibbard’s salon, was housed in a renovated Queen Anne Victorian similar to Bitsy’s house, which was located further down Peachtree Street. Extra-large ferns hung under the wraparound porch, and Susannah ducked under one as Maggie waved them in and gave Larraine a hug. “What’s all this?”

  “Just a little something for the boys.” Larraine held up the casserole carrier. Her three-cheese macaroni and cheese was famous around town. “How are you holding up?”

  “Oh, Miss Larraine, you didn’t have to. It’s not like someone died.” Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. “I mean, I’m sure Travis is fine. Excuse me a moment.”

  Maggie put the carrier down and crossed into a room lined with professional hairdryers with attached padded chairs. A woman under a dryer read a People magazine. She waved as Maggie lifted the dryer.

  “Isn’t that Miss Shirleen?” Susannah asked Larraine.

  Larraine peered down her glasses. “Shirleen Carter. My, my.” Shirleen, one of Larraine’s best friends and a fellow member of the Peach Grove Baptist Church Welcoming Committee, was never far from juicy gossip. Shirleen grinned at Larraine and returned to her magazine.

  Maggie waved the women into the back room, where she stored the casserole in a refrigerator. Susannah noticed a plate of Miss Shirleen’s pumpkin chocolate chip cookies on a table. Maggie said, “Miss Carter has a few minutes before I have to remove her foils, and I wanted to speak to you in private.”

  Susannah regarded Maggie. Her face was drawn and worried, but her eyes were clear. She hadn’t been crying. Did she know something the police didn’t? Susannah slowly lowered herself into a chair that had been pulled up to a scratched wooden table. A few thick glossy magazines nestled next to a pair of hair-thinning scissors. With one blade shaped like a comb, the instrument looked very odd, angled with the handles splayed open.

  “I appreciate your prayers and thoughts, Miss Larraine.” Maggie closed the door behind her and continued, “But I think Travis is fine.”

  Larraine tugged her sweater. “Didn’t you call him in missing?”

  “Well, yes, I did report him missing.” She inhaled. “But that’s because I was angry.”

  “Angry?” Larraine asked. “About what?”

  Maggie’s bottom lip quivered. “I don’t think he’s missing. I think he left me.” She crumpled into a chair. “I’ve been texting him since we left the campsite Sunday morning. I got one reply.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she wiped them away. “The rat. I wanted to get back at him for leaving me.”

  “There, there.” Larraine stroked her arm.

  Susannah observed Maggie. She appeared genuinely upset. “What did his text say?”

  “He said he had to run an errand.” Maggie’s green eyes flashed, and she clenched her teeth before she blurted, “Ha! Some errand. Probably went sniffin’ after his ex. Crystal’s some piece of work, that one.” She picked up the hair-thinning scissors and waved them around, accentuating her words. Susannah and L
arraine leaned away. Maggie’s hand—the one without the scissors—flew to her mouth again, her eyes wide. “Oh, Miss Larraine, I am so sorry you had to hear that ugliness.”

  “What makes you think that?” Susannah asked.

  “She lives in Tussahaw Junction, not far from the camp.” Maggie sniffed.

  Susannah shot a glance to Larraine. Apparently, Maggie did not know that Travis and Crystal were still married, and Susannah wasn’t going to give her the news. Larraine played with a button on her sweater.

  Maggie said, “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? About the getting back at him part, I mean.” A few tears leaked from her eyes, and she grabbed a box of tissues and blew her nose. “What with Crystal living down that way, I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

  “Don’t fret about it,” Larraine said. “Relationships can be hard.”

  “You’re right.” Maggie dabbed at her face with a clean tissue. “You can imagine what it’s like to be a single mom running a business. I don’t exactly have time to date. When I met Travis, we both agreed that we didn’t want anything serious, but…”

  Larraine patted Maggie. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Maggie went on, “I guess he grew on me. And the kids liked him well enough.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to us, sugar,” Larraine said.

  “I know, it’s just that between his store and his hobbies, and my store and the boys…well, we didn’t have much time together. When he agreed to join the scout troop, I thought he was getting serious. That’s why I nagged him about the smoking.” She picked at the tissue. “I thought if he was going to be around the boys more, you know, it’s bad for their health.”

  “Of course. Secondhand smoke is a real issue.” Susannah could imagine Angie yelling at her for being too blunt, and she began to sweat.

  “Exactly.” Maggie nodded. “I’m glad I didn’t build him up to the boys. Get their hopes up that they were getting a stepdad.”

  Larraine took her by the arm. “It might not be what you think. But either way, we’re here for you. Between Miss Shirleen and me, we have half the congregation on speed dial. If you need anything at all, just let us know.”

  “Thank you, Miss Larraine.” Maggie forced a smile, then looked at Susannah. “I almost forgot. I heard you saw Travis Sunday morning at the camp-out.”

  “Well…” Susannah hesitated. She didn’t want to rub salt into the woman’s wounds. “It looked like him, but he walked away so fast, I couldn’t get a good look.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “He was by himself, smoking.”

  Maggie let out a peal of laughter. “By himself, smoking? That sounds like Travis.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Susannah began, “what brand did he smoke?”

  “Filtered Camels.”

  A buzzer sounded. Maggie tossed her tissues into the trash, nodded at the women, and scurried out of the back room. Giving Miss Shirleen a good-bye wave, Larraine and Susannah saw themselves out. In the Jeep, Larraine donned her bifocals, grabbed her phone, and shared what they had learned with Bitsy. Then she frowned at her screen.

  “Bitsy said to tell you that Crystal’s the boot lady.” Larraine looked at Susannah over her glasses. “What does that mean, boot lady?”

  “It means Maggie may be right about Travis.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Graveyard Glimpses

  The next morning, Susannah stood behind Larraine at the front desk as she typed the last charge into the computer. It had been a busy morning. After dropping Caden off at school, Susannah had been more than glad to get back into the groove of adjusting patients and writing notes. Since getting the phone call telling her that Angie was in jail, her life had been a nonstop whirlwind of caring for Caden, treating patients, and looking into Gus’s murder. Discovering that Travis was still married and that his soon-to-be-ex-wife had met him at the campsite put a whole new spin on Angie’s problem. A ride with Bitsy to Tussahaw Junction might provide some more information.

  As if on cue, Bitsy entered the office, her concealed-carry handbag on her shoulder. “Hey, Miss Larraine.” Sauntering up to the desk, she plopped her elbows on the counter. “Did you get all caught up on what we learned at America’s Craziest gun store?”

  “You mean finding out that Crystal was wearing boots that matched the footprints you two saw at the camp?” Larraine typed a few more strokes. “Good detective work. But I was shocked to hear about how Crystal acted.”

  “The porch light’s on, but no one’s home.” Bitsy leaned in. “Do you think she could have done Travis in to get his share of the business?”

  “I have no earthly idea what Crystal is capable of.” Larraine pushed her bifocals up into her white hair. “I’m not sure we should be gossiping about someone who has mental health challenges.”

  “I think it might be more than that.” Tina came in from the file room and handed Susannah a file. “I heard from my cousins who live in the Junction that Crystal might have substance abuse problems.”

  “I didn’t know you had kin close by,” Larraine commented.

  “Miss Bitsy’s not the only one with cousins scattered around the county. I used to spend a lot of time at their house.” She smiled and tapped Bitsy’s hand. “Remind me to tell you about the time I got lost in the old Civil War cemetery on Halloween.”

  “Oooh.” Bitsy grinned. Even Larraine smiled. “Everyone has a least one good cemetery story.”

  “I don’t,” Susannah said.

  “That’s ’cause you’re a Yankee. You all trudge down city sidewalks trick-or-treating for pizza slices.” Bitsy pointed at Susannah. “Isn’t that why New York City has an overpopulation of squirrels? They follow the kids around and steal pizza slices from their trick-or-treat bags. Didn’t you tell me you once saw a squirrel riding a subway train with a slice of pizza in its paws?”

  Tina burst out laughing. Susannah rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to tell them it was a rat she had seen eating pizza on the subway.

  Larraine logged off the computer. “I have some errands to run.” With a twinkle in her eyes, she retrieved her handbag. “You all have a good lunch and don’t be late coming back.”

  “Bye, Miss Larraine.” Tina turned to Bitsy. “Where are you two going?”

  “To my cousin Shanice’s print shop in Tussahaw Junction,” Bitsy said. “I need some signs for Growl-A-Ween. Why don’t you come along? I’ll buy you lunch, and you can tell me your scary story.”

  “You two go ahead, I have to lock up.” Susannah shelved her file and gave Rusty a quick belly rub before she climbed into the back seat of Bitsy’s Ford Explorer. While Tina and Bitsy planned out their lunch, Susannah checked her phone. Angie’s lawyer was working on a new bail hearing, and she didn’t want to miss his message.

  “Dr. Shine?”

  Susannah stowed her phone. “Sorry?”

  Tina gazed at her in the visor mirror. “I just asked how much you knew about the history of this part of the county.”

  “I remember reading up on Tussahaw Junction when I first moved here. The textile mill was built before the Civil War, wasn’t it?”

  “And so was the cemetery,” Bitsy said, wiggling her hand in Tina’s direction. “Boooooo.”

  “That’s right.” Tina twisted to see Susannah. “My uncle was a history buff, and he made us memorize all kinds of facts.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the oldest homes in Tussahaw Junction were built by workers from the Tussahaw Textile Mill. Like Miss Bitsy said, both the mill and the cemetery have been here since the early 1800s. Everyone calls it the Civil War cemetery, but that’s not completely correct. Some people even think it was built on an ancient Native American burial ground.”

  “I heard that they burnt witches at the stake there. That’s why everyone’s scared of it,” Bitsy commented as they entered the outskirts of Tussahaw Junction. “It’s full of antebellum ghosts and voodoo gho
uls.”

  “No, I don’t think—” Tina began.

  Bitsy slowed as the traffic backed up for a red light.

  Susannah asked, “Is that the cemetery you were talking about?” A large plot of land lay behind a low wrought iron fence. Weathered headstones were set away from the fence. Two figures huddled under a tree next to a large stone memorial. Susannah poked Bitsy. “And is that Travis Keene?”

  Tina craned her neck to see past Bitsy. “Is that Crystal?”

  “Where?” Bitsy stood on the brake.

  “There.” Susannah pointed. “Standing under that tree.”

  “I don’t see anyone.” Bitsy hung her head out the window. A car honked. “I hope it wasn’t their ghostly doppelgangers. Seeing a doppelganger is hella bad luck.”

  After parking outside the print shop, Bitsy opened her glove box; she removed a small rabbit’s foot and began rubbing it along the dashboard and around the steering wheel. She handed it to Susannah. “Here, you carry this for a while to ward off the bad juju.”

  “I’ll stay here.” Tina grinned as Susannah took the rabbit’s foot.

  Inside the shop, a clerk handed Bitsy a box of fliers. “Shanice had to leave, but these are for you.”

  “See, that bad juju is working against us already.” Bitsy snatched the rabbit’s foot from Susannah and rubbed it between her palms. “Shanice was supposed to dig up some dirt on Travis for us.”

  “Maybe there wasn’t anything to dig.”

  Bitsy lifted one brow and pulled an orange sheaf of paper out of the box of fliers and waved it at Susannah. A color picture of a cocker spaniel wearing a jester’s hat and flouncy collar danced before her. “At least these were printed before the change in juju. What do you think?”

  “I think we have a winner,” Susannah said. The cocker spaniel actually seemed to be enjoying the costume.

  “Me too.” Bitsy paused, eyeing a bulletin board. She peered at one of the ads, her brow scrunched. “What’s this? A haunted house?”