Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Page 13

  Hellspawn. Very dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  I DIDN’T SCREAM. I COULDN’T. I DON’T THINK I breathed until spots dotted my vision.

  What had Hellspawn been doing in Sherry’s cemetery? Well, vandalizing the gravestones, obviously, so I was wrong about her farming out all her dirty work. Had she slipped on the wet grass and hit her head on Sam Stanton’s three-foot-high grave marker? Had someone been with her? Killed her? Geez, surely Duke and company hadn’t found her sneaking around and done this. No, I couldn’t see that. But why kill her, and why kill her here? She must’ve fallen. Which didn’t change the fact that she was dead and staring at my shoes.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw other things that didn’t seem to belong there, but I couldn’t look away from those eyes for a long time. Too long.

  I backed up a step, but then paused and took rapid-fire photos of the scene. Stupid, I knew. I needed to call Detective Shoar. Right now. I also had to go tell Sherry and her friends.

  At least I had some visual evidence. Just in case someone came along and . . . What? Moved the body?

  The body. A fly crawled from the bloody hair just behind her temple across her forehead, and that galvanized me to move. Fast. I sprinted out of the cemetery and around the barn, toward the house, where Eleanor stood at the edge of the deck.

  “I was just coming to find—what’s the matter?”

  I hooked my arm through hers, going for casual in case anyone watched from the kitchen windows.

  “You have Detective Shoar’s private phone number, don’t you?” I asked softly.

  She lifted a brow. “Why?”

  “We have another situation. Hellspawn is dead.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  I gulped. “I saw it. In the family graveyard. I’ll call nine-one-one, and you call Shoar’s direct line. Please.”

  “But we have to tell the others.”

  “We will as soon as we make the calls. She’s dead on Sherry’s property, Eleanor. It’ll look suspicious if we put this off any longer.”

  “Nixy, child, come eat,” Sherry called through the open kitchen window.

  “Just a minute,” I said with a jerky wave. “I need to call, uh, work.”

  I met Eleanor’s eyes, then strode off toward my parked car near the barn. Eleanor followed, her phone in her hand. Guess she’d had it in the pocket of her linen pants.

  I spoke as calmly as I could to the emergency operator. After a few questions—including where I was in relation to the injured person—the woman told me to stay put and stay on the line. Injured person? Lady, she’s dead, I wanted to say, but one doesn’t snap at the dispatcher.

  Eleanor stood some ten feet away making her. She grimaced as she talked. I figured she was answering questions, too, and when she ended the call, she nodded.

  “He’s on the way. I’ll go break the news to everyone.”

  “Thanks. I hate to say this, but tell them not to come outside. I didn’t pay attention to footprints, but if there are any besides mine . . .” I swallowed.

  “We don’t want to compromise evidence.” I must’ve looked surprised because she gave me a ghost of a grin. “I watch my share of cop shows.”

  • • •

  CASTLE. BONES. NCIS. IT DIDN’T MATTER HOW MANY crime shows I had watched. The reality of having the authorities descend was chaotic, physically and emotionally. More so than Monday’s swarm of emergency and police people when Sherry had been poisoned.

  I watched the action from where I leaned against my Camry. A patrol car arrived first, then Detective Shoar in his truck and more patrol cars, then the EMTs and yet more marked and unmarked cars. County deputies came, too, including the woman who’d seen to Trudy on Monday night. I overheard Shoar call her Paulson while he consulted with her and the rest of the officials milling around. The name rang a bell beyond the hospital encounter, but I couldn’t place it.

  The EMTs didn’t stay long. Nothing for them to do besides ask me if I was in shock. I was, but not the kind they treated.

  Within thirty minutes, the barrel-chested police chief and the lanky coroner showed up. I didn’t know them on sight but asked a passing officer to give me a who’s who rundown. With Shoar escorting them, Chief Randall and Coroner Terry Long clomped off behind the barn. An eon later, the chief returned with Detective Shoar.

  “You want to call in the state police, do it,” I overheard him say, “but I’d like to keep this a local investigation. I want this solved quickly, no matter who is implicated. You understand, Shoar?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He watched the chief walk away, then crossed to me.

  “Are you standing here to catch all the action?”

  “I was told not to move.”

  His eyes narrowed. “By dispatch?”

  “And the first officer who got here. He said you wouldn’t want to have to hunt me down.”

  “Nixy, you didn’t have to take that literally.”

  “No, but I’d already been in back,” I said, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder. “I didn’t pay attention to footprints then, and I didn’t want to be accused of messing up any others you find.”

  “You watch crime shows, don’t you?”

  “Some, but that doesn’t prepare a person to be on the fringes of a real crime scene investigation. Or is it a crime scene? She might have slipped and fallen, right?”

  “Nixy, breathe.”

  I sucked in a breath of spring-morning scent. Exhaled. Inhaled again for good measure.

  “You never dated a cop who talked about his work?”

  At that, I huffed a breath. “I’ve never dated a cop, period.”

  “You should put that on your to-do list.”

  I blinked at him, saw his slow smile. “There’s a dead woman in the family graveyard. Why are you teasing me at a time like this?”

  “Because you look ready to jump out of your skin. Come on. You can sit on the deck.”

  He put a hand at the small of my back and gently urged me forward. When I stumbled, he grasped my elbow.

  “You do need to eat.”

  My head whipped up. “Who said that?”

  “Eleanor. I talked with her on the front porch. I imagine she’s back in the kitchen with your aunt and her friends.”

  “The Silver Six.”

  “The what?”

  “Silver Six. That’s what Sherry calls them. I guess they all call themselves that. I’m babbling, aren’t I? I never babble.”

  “First time I saw a body, I did worse.”

  I couldn’t imagine that, but his deep voice, guiding hand, and trivial conversation steadied me. Once on the deck, I sat in one of the two white Adirondack chairs. Well, “fell into it” would be more accurate. Just call me Grace.

  As I righted myself in the seat, Shoar crossed to the back door. I’m not sure a half second passed before Sherry answered it.

  “Is Nixy hurt?”

  “Just a little shaken. You can bring her some food, but don’t question her. Go right back inside until I can organize officers to interview each of you.”

  “You can count on us. Oh, and you and your people search wherever you need to.”

  The detective stilled. “You don’t want me to get a warrant, Miz Sherry Mae?”

  “No, we’ve discussed it. Do your duty, but do ask your people to be as tidy as they can.”

  “You’re willing to sign a consent to search the buildings?”

  “Absolutely. Do you want me to write up something?”

  “We have a form. I’ll have someone bring it to the front door.”

  He headed off, and before he was out of sight, Sherry came out bearing a plate with a steaming omelet, bacon, and crisp buttered toast. Eleanor trailed her with a large mug of coffee in one hand, a TV tray in the other, and
a floppy straw hat tucked under her arm.

  “Nixy, child, I’m so sorry this has happened.” Sherry fussed as she handed me the plate, utensils, and a napkin, then took the TV tray from Eleanor and set it up.

  “It’s not your fault, Aunt Sherry.” I placed the meal paraphernalia on the tray and then hugged her. “How are you?”

  “I’m shocked, naturally. I can’t imagine what Ms. Elsman was doing in the cemetery unless she was bent on mischief.” She stopped, looking stricken. “Oh Lord, did she vandalize the gravestones? Did she smash any?”

  “She knocked over some small markers,” I said, taking Sherry’s hand, “but the only major damage is to the children’s angel. We can get another one.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and sighed, then squared her shoulders. “Yes, we can. We’d best go back in. We’re baking cookies to pass the time.”

  I nodded. “That’s good. Keeping busy, I mean.”

  Eleanor had put the coffee mug on the tray and now passed the hat to me. “Aster says her gardening hat will keep you from getting sunburned, and Fred says he’ll put a fan out here if it gets too hot.”

  My throat tightened. “Tell them both thanks.”

  “Holler if you need something,” Sherry said. “And don’t worry. Eric will get this all sorted out, and we’ll put the markers back up. They were beginning to sink and shift in places anyway.”

  I hadn’t noticed sinking and shifting, but if that made Sherry feel better, I was on board.

  She and Eleanor hustled back inside, and I dug into my belated breakfast. The aromas and tastes were amazing, but after three bites, I was done. I couldn’t get the image of Hellspawn’s unseeing eyes and that fly on her forehead out of my mind. My stomach cramped, so I knocked on the door to return the plate but kept the coffee.

  Paulson appeared from behind the barn and headed toward me. She carried a black boxy bag and wore a friendly smile.

  “I know you told the first officer you didn’t touch anything except the gate and latch, but I need to get your fingerprints.”

  “Sure, but they’re on file in Texas. The art gallery required all employees to be printed.”

  “Now you’ll be on file in Arkansas,” she said cheerfully.

  Her name badge read M. PAULSON, and as she worked, curiosity got the best of me. And nerves.

  “I think I met someone else named Paulson at the folk art festival. Do you have relatives here?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Everybody has kin here. You probably met my uncle, Mayor Paulson.”

  “That’s it. He bought one of Sherry’s baskets.”

  “Uh-huh, for my mother. I was working that day, so Uncle Pat came to the festival. I’m Megan, by the way.”

  “Nixy. Nice to meet you.”

  “Under these circumstances?”

  “No, but I won’t hold that against you. Uh, about the circumstances. Did Hel—Elsman fall and hit her head?”

  “We don’t know yet, but nice try,” she said on a chuckle, and handed me some wipes. “Think Miz Sherry Mae and company are ready for me?”

  “Just be ready to duck questions and eat cookies.”

  She went in the back door, and I stared at the black screen on my cell phone. Wait. I hadn’t looked at the photos of the cemetery. Could my stomach handle them? More, shouldn’t I take a peek before I showed them to Eric? I didn’t want to show him a bunch of blurs, now, did I?

  I angled the screen away from the sun as much as I could, shading it with Aster’s hat. In spite of some glare, the pictures weren’t blurry. They were all too clear. I enlarged each one, avoiding a too-up-close of Hellspawn’s face, and saw those objects my peripheral vision had registered but not recognized.

  A black rod with a hooked end appeared wedged against old Sam’s marker, and the dirt at the marker’s base was disturbed. Looked like a crowbar. By Hellspawn’s arm, a smidgen of something off-white showed from under her sleeve. Paper? A sock? I didn’t get a good angle on the object, but the last one, near her feet, was clear. A checked scrap of cloth that looked an awful lot like the blue gingham Sherry used in her basket handles. Uh-oh.

  Blue gingham wasn’t uncommon, but it was Sherry’s signature fabric. Who else had easy access to the material?

  My thoughts leapt to Trudy skipping out of the antiques store. She’d held a basket with a blue gingham handle. But no. Surely Trudy’s basket was still in her room and intact. I hadn’t seen it, but if she’d hidden it from Hellspawn, I wouldn’t have, would I?

  Did Trudy know about her boss yet? I groaned. Who was I kidding? All of Lilyvale likely knew by now. The whole of Hendrix County.

  Before my mental leaps bounded completely out of control, boots smacked the deck steps. I hit the home button on my phone, then lifted the hat to shade my eyes to find Shoar standing over me.

  “Checking e-mail?”

  I shrugged. I had every intention of sharing the shots with the detective. But a little voice told me not now.

  He pulled the second Adirondack chair closer to mine. “Tell me what happened this morning and start with why you went to the cemetery.”

  I took a calming breath and launched into my story. The blow-by-blow truth without mentioning I’d taken photos. Or mentioning the items I’d seen in the photos but not really seen at the scene.

  “So you thought she’d hit her head and fallen?” he asked when I finished.

  “Didn’t she?”

  “Where were the Silver Six when you got up?”

  I turned my body to face him more fully. “You can’t think that any of them killed Hellspawn.”

  He arched a brow. “Under the circumstances, I’d rethink calling the deceased by that name.”

  I ground my teeth in frustration. “What circumstances? Was she killed?”

  “It’s a suspicious death. The coroner is conducting his part of the investigation, and the body will go to the state medical examiner for autopsy. He will determine cause of death. Now, back to the Silver Six. Where were they this morning? You know they’ll tell me the truth later, so you can do it now.”

  I inhaled deeply again. “Maise and Aster were in the kitchen. The others were in the barn.”

  “Why?”

  “Aster said they were looking at Dab’s still. Not a moonshine still,” I added in a rush. “Dab distills Aster’s herbs, and it’s not even put back together yet. Eleanor and Fred are redesigning it.”

  He heaved a put-out sigh. “The still hasn’t been in the barn all along, has it? It was in the basement. The complainants said they thought the explosions were coming from underground.”

  “Booms, not explosions, and there were two stills. Faulty valves sort of blew when the old furnace kicked on or off. Something like that. Dab can explain it better. He and Eleanor dismantled them both on Sunday.”

  “The kitchen fires weren’t from cooking either, right?”

  “Smoke bombs Maise set off on the windowsill.”

  He shook his head. “She should know better.”

  “I’m sure she does, but these people are close. They protect each other.”

  “Enough to kill?”

  “You’re saying He—Elsman was murdered?”

  “I’m not confirming anything.” He ran a hand over his short hair. “Listen, we’ll have to search the barn, but I’ll let the officers know about the still. Was Miz Sherry Mae, or were her friends, anywhere else on the property aside from the house and the barn?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Tell me again what you did when you saw Elsman.”

  I went through my movements again, but still held back the photos. I knew I should tell him. I’m a law-abiding person, except for driving faster than the speed limit. In Houston, you drive fast or get run over. And, hey, I could e-mail the pictures to him later. Gosh, in my shock I forgot that I’d taken ph
otos. Lame, but I really wanted to examine the shots. Something about those three objects teased a memory I couldn’t quite grab. Besides, Paulson and other techs were certain to have much better pictures of the entire crime scene, including the items I’d captured on my phone camera.

  The good detective reminded me that evidence would go to the state lab and it would be weeks before he had official reports. I wondered about unofficial reports but didn’t ask.

  “Will you be notifying Trudy?”

  “Another officer is doing that, and we’ll check with her about next of kin.” He stood and subtly stretched his back. “If I have more questions later, will you be around?”

  “I’m staying until all this is resolved.”

  He gave me a cop look. “Good. I have a feeling your aunt is going to need you.”

  “You saw the gravestones knocked over, right?”

  “I did. It appears that Elsman was in the act of vandalizing the cemetery.”

  I nodded. “That’s what I told Aunt Sherry, but I’d like to get the stones reset before she sees the mess. How long before I can do that?”

  “Two days or less. Until the investigators collect all the evidence they need and take all the photos, the cemetery and the woods behind the house will be off-limits.”

  “Complete with yellow tape?”

  “And an officer standing guard, so don’t give him trouble.”

  • • •

  PEOPLE FEED PEOPLE THE WORLD OVER, I GUESS, but I think it’s especially true in the South. They don’t waste any time either. They hadn’t two days ago when Sherry had been poisoned, and they didn’t today.

  Only hours after the Six had been individually interviewed—even before Hellspawn’s body was moved—neighbors began bringing food. Casseroles, cold cut trays, fruit trays, veggie trays, desserts, biscuits, and rolls.

  A nonfood aroma permeated the house, too. Aster had set out fresh mounds of lavender flowers, and probably sprayed every room with diluted oil, as well, but the scent failed to calm Sherry. She quickly grew tired and fretful, her trembling hands fussing with her bangs until I insisted she rest. I couldn’t get her to go upstairs, so she camped on the parlor sofa and seemed to calm.