Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Page 17

  “Trudy, do you remember seeing Ms. Elsman with anyone in particular more than a few times?”

  “The landowners.” Trudy tapped her chin. “Clark Tyler, the guy who owns this place with his wife. She kept going to the courthouse when we first got here.”

  “Didn’t you tell me,” I jumped in, “that doing courthouse research was your job?”

  Trudy nodded. “I figured Jill was getting the lay of the land, politically speaking. You know, seeing who she could pump or bully for the lowdown, or who she could bribe.”

  “But you don’t have names?”

  “No, Detective. She didn’t tell me what she had for dinner, much less confide in me. She kept her papers in a white binder, each one in a plastic sleeve, and the sections categorized with tabs. Oh, but you know that. You asked me about it when you took it for evidence.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Jill was extremely protective of that binder. I tried snooping in it once or twice when she stepped out of her room to take a phone call, but she came back for it before I could open the cover.” She paused. “By the way, you asked me about her phone. Did you ever find it?”

  He scowled. “Not yet.”

  Jeanette cocked her head. “Can’t you ping it or something?”

  “We’re working on that. Trudy, one last thing. I understand you bought a basket that is now missing.”

  “Uh, yes,” Trudy said, darting a glance at Jeanette. “I haven’t seen it since Tuesday afternoon, but then I’ve been resting a lot since the poisoning. Mrs. Tyler has been nice enough to fix light meals for me. Frankly, I was avoiding Jill, too, but I told you that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, and you said you last saw her Monday when she took you to the emergency room. Is that right?”

  “I heard her in the hall several times on Tuesday, but I didn’t see her. She never called me, never knocked on my door.”

  “Is that why you were up early Wednesday morning packing to leave?”

  She sighed. “It’s stupid to think Jill would’ve at least checked to see if I was alive, but, yes, I was miffed that she didn’t. And completely fed up. Plus I knew Jeanette would be home from her honeymoon.”

  “Trudy,” Jeanette added, “thought I could rein in Jill before she hurt someone. It’s ironic that she was the one hurt.”

  “All right, thank you both.” Shoar pushed back his chair and stood, but I wasn’t quite ready to leave.

  “Jeanette, will you be staying in town for a while? I know this is awkward, but my aunt will scold me if I don’t ask you both to dinner while you’re here.”

  Trudy’s eyes opened wide. Jeanette simply smiled. “That’s kind, but I’ll be going back tomorrow if Detective Shoar allows it. Jill’s autopsy is being done in Little Rock, and I want be home with my husband. Which reminds me . . .” She looked at Eric. “Trudy doesn’t want to drive the Hummer, and I don’t blame her. I was going to take it back and let her drive my car. But will the Hummer be released by tomorrow about noon?”

  “I’ll need to check.”

  I’d fought not to flinch at the mention of the autopsy. Now I turned to Trudy. “Are you going back, too?”

  She shot a glance at Eric, shook her head. “I don’t think I’m allowed to leave yet.”

  “Then perhaps you can come for dinner. If you’re up to it,” I finished lamely as I rose.

  We said our good-byes and were on the sidewalk outside when I heard thudding footsteps and Trudy’s voice behind me. I turned, and my escort stopped as well.

  “Nixy, I just wanted to, you know, thank you for the invitation to dinner,” she said. “And, uh, the basket I had? That was a gift for Jeanette. Do you think I can get another one?”

  I remembered she’d said as much when Sherry and I had seen her on Monday. “Aunt Sherry has a couple left from the sale. Do you want one or two?”

  “I’ll stick with one.”

  “All right. They’re in the basement, so we can look if you come for dinner, or I can bring one by before you leave. Give me your number.”

  We exchanged contact information, and then Trudy squeezed my wrist, almost a crushing grip. “Thank you.”

  Eric was quiet on the way to Sherry’s, and that was fine for about two minutes. Then I had to probe.

  “So, is Trudy a suspect?”

  “No comment.”

  “I suppose she did have motive, means, and opportunity. Especially if she was in on burglarizing the barn.”

  “No comment.”

  “But the night I took Trudy home from the hospital, someone else was in Elsman’s room.”

  “So you said.”

  “Are you really tracking the missing phone?”

  “We don’t have ready access to those resources.”

  “Did you get any clues from Elsman’s binder?”

  This time I got a sideways look. Hmm, he’d deviated from no comment. Had I hit a particular investigative nerve?

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “No reason. Just that you were a lot chattier before we met Jeanette. I suppose you’ll be checking her story, too?”

  “Like I told you, I’ll look into everyone connected to Ms. Elsman.”

  “Everyone you know about.”

  He threw me a sour look and I let the conversation die. Questions bounced in my brain—so many of them, I needed to make a list. Shoar wouldn’t be disposed to answer a single one, but Sherry’s attorney, Dinah, might dish. If, that is, she knew anything more than I did.

  Before I hopped out of Eric’s truck, he grasped my elbow. “Remember, if Miz Gilroy will let you in her house to survey her line of sight to the cemetery, call me. I’ll come on over if I’m free.”

  • • •

  ELEANOR, ASTER, AND MAISE MOBBED ME THE moment I entered the foyer.

  “Where have you been?” Aster said.

  “I was fixin’ to storm the station,” Maise declared.

  “Sherry has been worried,” Eleanor added.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was making nice with the detective, and I have news. How is Aunt Sherry?”

  “I’m in here with the menfolk,” Sherry called.

  I grinned at the old-fashioned term and trooped to the parlor. With my hobo bag on the desk at the front windows, I joined the others seated around Sherry.

  “Did Shoar grill you?” Dab asked.

  “Not really. In fact, he encouraged me to go ask Mrs. Gilroy about looking out her window. You know, to better gauge what she could’ve seen.”

  “Well, you can’t go over empty-handed,” Maise said. “We’ll whip up something for her while we’re fixing supper. Now tell us the big news.”

  Six pair of eyes pinned me with expectation and, in Fred’s case, impatience. “I saw Trudy, and I met Jill Elsman’s sister.”

  After the exclaiming and the rapid-fire questions died down, I gave them the highlights of seeing Trudy and Jeanette, including the dinner invitation.

  “Poor woman,” Sherry mused, shaking her head. “To be burdened with such a relative, and now to have her murdered.”

  Fred humphed. “But why do we have to feed them?”

  “Because they’ll be more inclined to let information drop in a relaxed setting,” I said.

  Silence, then understanding aahs echoed, even one from Fred.

  Eleanor tapped her chin. “Then I do believe we ought to have a list of questions we can slip into conversation.”

  “We need more than that,” I said. “We need to do our own investigating.”

  “Why do we need to investigate instead of Shoar?” Dab had been quiet, but now pinned me with his gaze. “I thought you trusted him.”

  “I do trust him, but he has to follow rules and procedures. People will tell us things they probably won’t tell him. We’ll pass on information if we get an
y. In fact, we may not have to ask many questions if your friends talk as freely as they did at church.”

  “That’s true,” Maise said. “I say we investigate full speed ahead!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I MADE NOTES ON A PAD AS WE BRAINSTORMED—THE same pad Eleanor had used to draw the layout of the neighborhood on Sunday afternoon. That seemed like forever ago.

  We began with things we wanted to know about Jill Elsman. How to word the questions proved iffier. Sherry and the other women didn’t want to sound nosy—or worse, pushy. Not in a time of mourning, they insisted. Dab didn’t weigh in on the issue, but Fred scoffed, “Trudy ain’t in mournin’.”

  As we moved on, never-still-for-long fix-it Fred clanked in and out of the entry, front hall, and parlor spraying white lithium on door hinges that didn’t squeak as it was. I hadn’t really noticed before how restless Fred was, but it was hard to ignore when his every clunk punctuated a point.

  I steered the conversation to listing suspects and ran into a wall.

  “I can’t think of a soul we know who would kill Jill Elsman, no matter how annoying she was,” Sherry declared.

  “I don’t know of anyone either,” I said, treading lightly, “but Duke did threaten her with his shotgun.”

  “Barker?” Fred snorted from the parlor-to-bathroom doorway. “Duke’d blow himself up if he fired that weapon. It ain’t worked right in years.”

  “How about bashing her on the head with it?” I held up my hand when Maise and Aster made protests. “I’m playing devil’s advocate here. Duke offered to patrol the property during the meeting on Tuesday. Remember? Y’all said no, but what if he did it anyway, caught Elsman, and conked her?”

  “Is that how she was killed?” Dab asked. “Head injury?”

  I realized my error and grimaced. “From what little I saw, it was.”

  “Don’t worry about the slip, Nixy,” Maise said. “We figured it had to be that or a stabbing. Something quiet. But if Duke had done it, he would’ve called the police himself.”

  “Or come to us,” Sherry added.

  “I didn’t say he was a good suspect, but we can ask if he was out late Tuesday night. Ask if he saw anyone sneaking around.”

  “I suppose we could ask,” Sherry said.

  “What about that Trudy?” Fred asked, putting his can of lithium and a faded red rag into the tool belt on his walker. “Cousin or no, she could’ve done it.”

  “I agree, and she’s next on the list. Then there’s Clark Tyler.”

  “I still say he isn’t having an affair,” Aster said.

  “Not with Elsman,” Dab said. “Whatever Clark’s faults, I don’t see him romancing a woman like that.”

  I cocked my head. “‘Whatever Clark’s faults’? What does that mean?”

  Dab’s glance danced from roommate to roommate, then he shrugged. “Story was he had a wild reputation for drinking and gambling in Shreveport before he married Lorna.”

  “Then Lorna inherited,” Maise said, taking up the tale, “they moved here, and Clark supposedly settled down. No more Shreveport gambling.”

  Could that be the reason for the fear I’d seen in Lorna’s eyes today? And her mention of needing money? Did she worry that her husband was gambling again?

  Sherry tapped my hand. “Nixy, you can’t think Clark killed Elsman.”

  “I’m looking at potentials. He’s not exactly the ‘Welcome to Lilyvale’ poster boy, plus Lorna told me again today that Elsman cornered Clark more than once.”

  “That’s right. When we ate at the café Monday, she complained about that to us, too.”

  “Y’all told me you thought Elsman was greasing palms at city hall, and Clark Tyler is on the council. Right?”

  “So you think she could’ve been bribing him?” Eleanor asked.

  “Or blackmailing him.” That idea met with silence.

  “Or manipulating other council members. Detective Shoar told me Elsman had lunch with several of them.” Again, silence.

  “Listen, I know you don’t want to think badly of any of your neighbors or friends or anyone you do business with in town. But we have to think like the police.”

  “Motive, means, opportunity,” Aster said. “Which all of us had, too.”

  “Correct. Our problem is that Shoar specifically mentioned physical evidence that leads to Sherry first, and to one of us second. Sherry is innocent, and we have to prove it before the detective is forced to arrest her.”

  “And just how,” Fred growled, “are we supposed to pull this off?”

  “We start by noting every odd thing that’s happened since Elsman came to town, and then we list every person with any power that she could theoretically have bribed or blackmailed or coerced to get what she wanted.” I took a breath. “And then we ask questions. They may be hard questions to ask, but the threat to Sherry is urgent.”

  No one spoke until Maise smacked her fist in her palm. “Damn the torpedoes, Nixy’s right. This is a mission to clear Sherry—and all of us.”

  That fired up the troops. While names and observations flew, I scribbled madly. By the time our confab broke up an hour later, we had an impressive list of incidences and a shorter one of people to question.

  Maise, Aster, and Sherry went to the kitchen to fix supper and a little something for Mrs. Gilroy. Fred headed to the barn with Dab on his heels.

  Eleanor gave them a wistful look before Sherry shooed her out, too.

  “Nixy will set the table, Eleanor. You run on and ride herd on those two. No telling what they’ll come up with if you don’t rein them in.”

  I set the table for the seven of us, remembering to bring in the extra chair for Dab, then asked about a plate for Mrs. Gilroy.

  “Right there,” Maise said, waving a spatula at the kitchen table. “It’s only cold cuts and sandwich bread with potato salad, but it should do. I added two slices of apple pie to clear more space in the fridge.”

  “Take the food on over to her now,” Sherry urged. “I’m eager to see if she’ll let you in again.”

  I was more focused on getting permission to peer out her bedroom window tonight, so I lifted the double-layered and plastic-wrapped paper plates and trooped to Mrs. Gilroy’s. As soon as I stepped foot on her porch, I heard Charlie Sheen’s voice blaring from inside. I listened a moment. Yep, Mrs. Gilroy had an old episode of Two and a Half Men playing. Mrs. G has a naughty side. I chuckled to myself, then gasped when the door flew open.

  “You already brought me enough food for a week,” she snapped. “This must be a bribe.”

  “It’s a foot in your door,” I said.

  She looked pointedly at the threshold. “Not yet, it isn’t. Is that apple cider pie I smell?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the elderly elf I was liking more and more. “You can smell pie through plastic wrap?”

  She winked. “I can smell the apples, and I saw Connie Jeeter bring food t’other day. She always makes apple cider pie for folks in troubled times.”

  “Has she ever made it for you?”

  “I don’t have trouble. Or didn’t till I let you in. What do you want?”

  I smiled. “Will you listen before you say no?”

  She peered up at me. “Must be something I won’t want to do if you have to ask me that first.”

  “I know you value your privacy, and I don’t want to impose, but I need your help.”

  “Because that handsome policeman went off with Sherry Mae today?”

  “That’s right. I told him what you said about seeing and hearing people in the cemetery, but he needs more proof.”

  “Thinks I’m blind and deaf, does he? So he wants to look out my bedroom window himself?”

  “Uh, no, ma’am, he wants me to look out the window while he moves around in the cemetery.”

  She pursed her wrin
kled lips. “I’d rather have that young, virile policeman in my bedroom, but I’ll do this for Sissy.”

  “You mean Sherry?”

  “No, Sissy. The Stanton you remind me of. The one who used to live here. Don’t you remember me telling you that?”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you ever tell me your name?”

  “It’s Leslee, but I go by Nixy.”

  “Nixy, huh? Sissy would’ve liked that.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gilroy,” I sputtered as she whipped the paper plates out of my hands.

  “Be here at eight sharp. I’ll give you twenty minutes, then I want you out so I can watch my shows.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “By the by, are you tossing your cap at that fine policeman?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll be going home when I’m sure Aunt Sherry Mae is safe.”

  “None of us is safe all the time, but that manly body warming a woman’s bed would sure enough be a comfort.”

  She shut the door in my face, but not before she winked.

  I shook my head as I walked back to Sherry’s. Bernice Gilroy giving me dating advice? What a hoot.

  I wedged my cell phone from my slacks pocket to call the detective. I would need to do laundry again, and shop, too, if I stayed much longer.

  “Mrs. Gilroy is a go,” I said when he answered on the third ring. “She’ll give us from eight to eight twenty.”

  “I underestimated your powers of persuasion with her.”

  That deep, dreamy drawl of his suddenly sounded sexier. Dang Mrs. Gilroy’s power of suggestion about his manly body. I cleared my throat.

  “Can you come do your end of the experiment or not?”

  “Sure. I’ll come an hour early. We can reset the grave markers before dark.”

  • • •

  GOOD AS HIS WORD, HE PULLED INTO THE DRIVE AT seven on the dot and climbed out of his truck wearing what I’d come to think of as his uniform—jeans, a navy blue T-shirt, and boots. Maise offered him dessert, and Aster offered sweet tea.

  “Not now, ladies, thank you. Nixy? You ready?”