Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Page 15

  “The point,” Aster added, “is that if you want to talk about it, we’re here.”

  My thoughts flashed back to Elsman’s body. Staring eyes. The fly.

  I met concerned gazes, grasped my tea mug tight. When I spoke, my voice came out rough. “How do I get the image of her out of my head?”

  Maise gave me a small smile. “You try not to dwell on it, and let time fade the image. Talking about it can help, too.”

  “Not with us, necessarily,” Aster hurried to add, “but as I said, we’re here for you if you need us. You’re family now.”

  My throat swelled, and tears prickled my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Maise said and rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a busy few days, and I volunteer tomorrow. I’m hitting the rack.”

  Aster took her mug and Maise’s to the sink. “I’m going up, too. Oh, and I put a bottle of lavender water by the sofa. Spray it on your pillow and it will help you sleep.”

  Whether it was due to Aster’s lavender spray or plain old exhaustion, I did sleep, and better than I’d thought I could. Especially given that I looked closely and carefully at the photos again before bed.

  The white scrap was easier to see without sun glare, and it certainly could be part of a glove. But why did Elsman have them with her if she only meant to vandalize tombstones? To wear while she wielded the crowbar? Why not plain old gardening gloves? And the gingham? Why bring that along? To tie her hair back? Wipe sweat from her forehead? No and no.

  I shivered at my next train of thought but followed it anyway. If Bernice Gilroy was right about a second voice, possibly a male voice, and that person killed Elsman, the killer had brought one or more items to the cemetery for a reason. To leave the “clues” to specifically implicate Sherry.

  But talk about overkill. I knew about staging, about arranging art for maximum effect. Leaving the stolen objects at the scene smacked of pure staging, and I had to trust that the detective would see that, too.

  • • •

  AT EIGHT THIRTY THE NEXT MORNING, THE SENIORS were up and having breakfast, all but Sherry dressed for a day of volunteering. Eleanor wore another elegantly tailored pantsuit, this one royal blue. Dab looked dapper as ever in a blue polo shirt, his black slacks barely staying on his hips, and Fred had cleaned up again in a white button-down shirt under his tool-stuffed overalls. Aster sported a broomstick skirt and loose tie-dyed cotton blouse, and Maise wore blue jeans and a print blouse under another blinding white apron.

  Good to know some things were still predictable, if only the seniors and their fashion choices.

  Sherry and I, both in slacks and blouses, did the breakfast dishes, and I called Detective Shoar to report what Mrs. Gilroy had told me. He didn’t answer so I left a short message. I still had his card with his e-mail address, but held off on sending yesterday’s photos.

  By ten thirty, Sherry and I were once more ankle deep into the historical designation paperwork, this time with a freshly printed form.

  She unclipped her bangs, letting them hang over her left eye as she attacked the form. “I hate to say it, but there is no pressing need to protect the property now that Ms. Elsman is dead.”

  “No, but it can’t hurt. Elsman could’ve been the first wave of property speculators.” I grinned. “Why, Lilyvale could be on the verge of booming.”

  She chuckled. “With what industry, do you think?”

  “Gambling? Lilyvale as the Las Vegas of Arkansas.”

  “Arkansas doesn’t have any casinos.”

  “But there’s horse racing in Hot Springs. Lilyvale needs to add ‘springs’ to its name to pull in the tourists and the big bucks.” Sherry rolled her eyes at me. “Okay, maybe not. I’d still like to know what had Elsman frothing to option so much land.”

  “Trudy might tell us, and we owe the girl a sympathy visit.”

  I grinned. “It is the Southern thing to do. Why, we can have lunch with her at the café.”

  “About one, you think?”

  “It’s as good a time as any. I don’t have a number to call her, though.”

  “I’ll leave a message with Lorna.”

  “Okay, and then let’s knock out this application.”

  We worked diligently until twelve thirty, finished the form, and gathered the records we’d need photocopied in a file folder. The office supply store on the square could do the job while we ate and tracked down Trudy.

  When Sherry went upstairs to freshen her makeup, the crunch of tires on the gravel drive drew me to the front door. Detective Shoar got out of his truck looking troubled.

  Uneasiness fluttered in my stomach, but I put on a happy face and met him on the porch. “Did you get my phone message?”

  “Yes, but I can’t follow up on that right now. Miz Sherry Mae at home?”

  This time my stomach flipped. “Upstairs. What’s wrong? Did you get the coroner’s report?”

  He grimaced. “May I come in?”

  My stomach full-on clenched as I opened the door. We both stepped into the foyer as Sherry came down the lower staircase.

  “I thought I saw your truck from the landing. What can we do for you today, Eric?”

  “Miz Sherry Mae,” he said slowly, “it pains me to do this, but I need to take you to the station for questioning.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “YOU WHAT?” I EXPLODED.

  “Nixy, child, there is no need to shout. Detective Shoar is doing his job and we will support him in doing it.” She peered up at him from under her bangs. “Although I don’t know what more I can tell you.”

  “Is this because of that crow . . .” I checked myself. “Because of what you found in the graveyard with Elsman’s body?”

  Sherry turned a bewildered gaze on me. “There was a crow in the cemetery? Huh. Well, that’s not unusual. There are crows all over Arkansas.”

  Shoar turned to me. “You didn’t tell her what you saw?”

  “I didn’t tell her or anyone else anything. You asked me to keep quiet.”

  “What did you see, Nixy?” Sherry asked, suddenly looking pale. “The crow. Please tell me it wasn’t, ah, picking at Ms. Elsman’s remains.”

  “No, Aunt Sherry, nothing like that.” I patted her shoulder and worked to erase that mental image. Ick. “The critical question is if you are a suspect. Is she, Detective Shoar?”

  “Miz Sherry Mae, due to some physical evidence found at the scene, you are a person of interest. I need you to come with me now.”

  I snorted. “‘Person of interest’ and ‘suspect’ are the same thing. And I happen to know that if you’re taking her into custody, you have to read her the Miranda warning. And if you do that, she needs a lawyer.”

  He sighed. “This information is courtesy of those three lawyers you dated?”

  “Darn straight. If you want her to voluntarily come to the station for an interview, I’ll drive her. She’s still recovering from the poisoning, you know.”

  “Will you two stop talking over me? I’m right here.”

  His eyes closed briefly, and I could almost hear him counting to ten. When he opened them again, his gaze rested on Sherry. “Miz Sherry Mae, I’m not arresting you, but I would appreciate it if you’d allow me to drive you to the station. I promise to take good care of you.”

  “I trust you, Eric.” She squared her shoulders. “Nixy, I’ll be fine. Just let the others know what’s happening. Our cell numbers are taped inside the upper left cabinet by the sink. Start with Eleanor, and she’ll notify everyone else.”

  Shoar and Sherry were barely out the door when I flew to the kitchen in search of Eleanor’s phone number. I found it and the other housemates’ numbers, along with those for plumbers, electricians, and other tradesmen, although those were faded. Probably because Fred fixed everything now. Everything but the old fu
rnace.

  When Eleanor answered my call, I gave her the bare facts, then asked about an attorney.

  “We know all the lawyers in town to nod to, but have only worked with Bob Holloway in civil law matters. I’ll see who he can recommend.”

  I thanked her, jumped in my car, and took off. Not speeding, but pushing it. Eleanor called back as I pulled into the police station parking lot.

  “Bob referred us to Dinah Souse.”

  “Souse? Uh, Eleanor—”

  “Don’t let the last name fool you, Nixy. She’s sober as they come, and one tough criminal attorney. She’ll meet you at the station.”

  “Got it. I’m here now.”

  I didn’t dally waiting for Ms. Souse. I marched inside, up to the reception window, and asked to see Detective Shoar.

  “He’s busy with an interview,” the young black officer said. I remembered T. Benton from my first meeting with Shoar.

  “Well, please tell him my aunt’s attorney is on her way.”

  “No need. I’m here.”

  I spun to see the woman who went with the contralto voice. Her skin was the color of a Starbucks white chocolate latte, and she couldn’t have been older than her midthirties. Definitely one of the youngest women I’d met in Lilyvale, Dinah Souse looked the epitome of professional. A navy skirted suit paired with a shimmery gray blouse encased her willowy figure. Stylish black medium-heel pumps and a soft-sided briefcase completed her outfit. Dark brown hair was done in a French twist, her eyes were an arresting color of green, and her nails, I noticed when she extended her hand to me, were short and unpolished.

  “Dinah Souse, defense attorney,” she introduced herself. “You’re Sherry Mae Cutler’s niece?”

  “Nixy,” I said with a nod. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  She waved away my thanks. “I’ll want to talk with you later, but first, do you have a dollar?”

  “Uh, sure.” I dug for my wallet and found a five. “Will this do?”

  “Perfect. I’m officially retained, and now I need to see my client. Officer Benton,” she said as she turned toward the reception window.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get Detective Shoar straight away.”

  “I want to go in with you,” I said even though I knew the probable answer. “Sherry is recovering from—”

  “The poisoning incident. I’m aware.” She smiled, really smiled then, and squeezed my arm. “Don’t worry, I’ve got her back. We’ll be out shortly.”

  • • •

  “SHORTLY” IN LAWYER-SPEAK MEANT SOMETHING more like forever. Waiting for Sherry to come out of the station was only marginally less excruciating than the hospital wait had been. At least I knew Sherry was in good health. I trusted Shoar not to make my aunt ill, but I also knew Dinah Souse would protect her health as well as her legal rights. I considered popping over to the Lilies Café to tell Trudy lunch was off, and even paced to the entry door. What I saw outside derailed all other thoughts.

  A group of ten or twelve men and women milled in the miniscule parking lot—neighbors and friends of the Six that I’d met at church and at the house when they’d brought food. Pauletta Williamson of the squash blossom necklace, Jane Lambert in a yellow blouse that matched her husband John’s shirt, petite Marie Dunn, and even Ida Bollings with her walker were there, along with Bog, Duke, Big George. Several more women who’d been at the neighborhood meeting brought up the rear. The women shook their fingers, the men shook their fists, and a moment later, the entire horde stormed through the front door, voices raised. No one so much as acknowledged me as the tide pushed me against the wall next to the reception window, making a sardine can of the small room.

  Poor Officer Benton looked like he would stroke out as Ida Bollings pushed her walker to the front of the crowd.

  “See here, Taylor Benton,” Ida said. “We understand Sherry Mae Cutler has been arrested. Ridiculous, I tell you. Ludicrous.”

  “M-Miss Bollings, I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,” the officer stuttered.

  “Is that right, young man? Does your mother know you sass your elders?

  “M-ma’am, I’m not sassing. I’m merely telling you what I can.”

  “Which is less than nothing,” Pauletta said. “Well, sir, we’re staging a sit-in until we get answers.”

  “Pardon my language, ladies, but sit-in, hell no,” Big George’s voice boomed. “We’re holding a confession marathon. Better get someone out here to take our statements.”

  Benton bolted from his seat and out an interior door, likely into a hall from the footsteps I heard.

  Bog began chanting, “Free Sherry Mae,” the battle cry echoed by the crowd. In a flash, three uniformed officers rushed from the bowels of the station to confront the crowd.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, let’s settle down. What’s going on?”

  John and Jane Lambert in their matching yellow stepped forward. “You’re holding Sherry Mae Cutler for killing that awful Elsman woman, and we want her released.”

  “Mrs. Cutler is not formally in custody,” the tallest, oldest officer said. “Now please disburse before we have to charge you with disturbing the peace.”

  “You are disturbing our peace, Dougie Bryant,” Ida said to the man.

  “Not to mention Sherry Mae’s,” a voice from the back rang out.

  “We all hated that Elsman woman,” Bog shouted.

  “And we all wanted her gone,” another voice rang out as I saw the top of the door to the innards of the station open again.

  “So we’re all going to confess to killing her,” John declared.

  “Ah geez.”

  I snapped my gaze up and found Detective Shoar at the door staring at me with, well, murder in his eyes.

  “Are you behind this, Nixy?” he asked over the suddenly quiet crowd.

  I drew myself up. “I am not. These formidable citizens are here of their own volition.”

  “Pardon again, ladies, but damn straight we are, Shoar,” Big George said, then patted my head. “Hello, Nixy. I didn’t see you there.”

  I flashed a smile as the detective cleared his throat. “Would it help y’all to know that Miz Sherry Mae is merely being questioned?”

  People exchanged glances, much like the Six did, then Ida sang out, “Heck no, we won’t go.”

  Voices echoed the new chant until Eric’s piercing whistle broke it up.

  “Fine. You want to confess? Go outside, organize into groups, and we’ll be out to take your statements. Benton,” Eric barked at the young officer back behind the reception desk, “call in a couple of patrol units to help out.”

  The horde turned toward the outer door, exiting with a lot more order than they’d entered with. As I followed them out, overhearing the discussion of who should be in the first batch of confessors, Dab’s Caddy pulled into the lot across the street next to the fire station—a lot half-filled with cars belonging to the protestors, I surmised. Sherry’s seniors piled out, and I hustled to meet them as they crossed the side street.

  “What’s going on?” Maise demanded.

  “Your friends showed up to confess to Elsman’s murder.”

  “You’re kidding,” Dab said, eyeing the crowd.

  “They’re deciding which group will give their statements first.”

  “Is Sherry still in with Detective Shoar?” Aster asked just as Eleanor said, “Did the lawyer come over?”

  “Yes on both counts. Ms. Souse wouldn’t let me go in with Sherry, but she said they’d be out shortly.”

  “Humph, bet that was a while ago,” Fred said.

  “Thirty or forty minutes,” I admitted as patrol cars pulled up. They didn’t screech to a stop, but the officers did park at angles in the street to surround those of us standing in the parking lot, like a small SWAT team springing into action. They didn’t, tha
nkfully, whip out any weapons.

  Several officers from inside the station briefed the patrol officers, and Ida clomped her walker to the officers to inform them which group was to be questioned first. For a woman who didn’t want to get out of her car to pick up a prescription, she certainly got around just fine today. Perhaps she’d had a nip or three before she came to town?

  Eleanor waved at someone behind me, and I turned to see Pauletta hurry toward us.

  “I knew you’d be here as soon as you could shake free from your volunteer jobs,” she said. “We’ve got things under control now. Ida, Marie, and the men are confessing first. The men need to get back to their jobs, and Ida should rest after all this excitement.”

  “That’s lovely, Pauletta,” Aster said, “but why are y’all doing this?”

  Pauletta blinked. “For Sherry.”

  “But,” Dab said kindly, “the police surely won’t take you seriously.”

  “We don’t expect them to. We’re making the point that Jill Elsman was thoroughly disliked and that any of us could’ve done her in.”

  “That’s a brilliant strategy,” Maise said.

  “Thank you. If the police even thought about pinning this on Sherry just because Elsman was killed on her land, then they’ll by golly have to revise their thinking and look for other suspects. Look! Here come reinforcements.”

  We all turned, watching Pauletta bustle to meet more townspeople. I spotted Vonnie from the antiques store and Lorna from the café and inn.

  Lorna, just the woman I wanted to see.

  I turned back to the seniors. “I need to talk to Lorna about Trudy, but I’ll be right back.”

  “No need to hurry,” Maise said. “We’ll do our own recon. See if anyone here knows anything about Elsman’s movements the night of her death.”

  I grinned and headed to intercept my target. “Lorna, thank you for coming over.”

  “Think nothing of it. I can’t believe our police department is arresting Sherry. It makes no sense.”

  “Fortunately, she isn’t under arrest. Just being interviewed. Obviously we missed having lunch with Trudy. How is she taking her boss’s death?”