Paint the Town Dead Read online

  “It can’t be easy for you seeing that rock on her hand,” Sherry said.

  “It is ostentatious, isn’t it? I can say that because I wore it. The Boudreaux family ring was so elegant. A large square-cut diamond in a gold art deco–style band. But Ernie insisted it was too old-fashioned, so he had the stone taken out and reset with slightly smaller diamonds flanking it. I never did care for the ring, so I was glad to give it back.” Doralee shook her head. “Kim is spoiled and single-minded and self-absorbed, but she’s not an evil person. In fact, I should probably warn her about Georgine’s peccadillos, but Kim’s former in-laws make Georgine look like a saint. Besides, I have the sense not to get in the middle of that dynamic.”

  I wanted to ask, “The middle of what,” but bit my tongue so Sherry and the ladies wouldn’t accuse me of being a nosy parker.

  Instead, I steered the conversation more or less back on track. “Ernie aside, the class was amazing, Doralee. You have a gift for teaching as well as art.”

  “Nixy’s right,” Sherry said, beaming. “You made a wonderful impression on everyone.”

  Aster nodded. “We heard nothing but compliments as the students came out front. Oh, and Dab prepared your check. Here you go.”

  “Thank you. All of you. It was fun, and I look forward to doing the etching demonstration tomorrow afternoon while Sherry demonstrates vine weaving.”

  “Then you’ll be showing how to attach the vines, right?” I asked. The demonstration programs all week were free, partly to get people in the door, but I wanted them to be every bit as professionally presented as they’d be for a paid class.

  “Sherry and I will talk about that together, but yes. And here’s to Ernie not showing up again.”

  I’m sure we all seconded that, but Fred clanked-clomped his way inside about then. Time to get the bins to Doralee’s SUV. She and her gentleman had a long, romantic weekend to start, and I wanted to put my feet up.

  * * *

  The feet-up thing didn’t happen because there were still students and customers in the emporium. The wind chime Aster had insisted we use in lieu of a shopkeeper’s bell tinkled merrily as people came and went. The chime hung from the ceiling on a long S hook. The plan was to remove it when we expected heavy traffic, or during the demonstrations that would be held in the store, but we’d forgotten to take it down this evening. It was fine, though. The cheerful sound spelled shoppers spending money. No complaints about that.

  At nine fifteen, I showed the last person out. At nine thirty, I sent Jasmine home and locked the door behind her. At nine thirty-five, Detective Eric Shoar of the Lilyvale Police Department knocked on the door. Eric Shoar. The man who had semi-strong-armed me into coming to Lilyvale just weeks ago in April, insisting that I ensure that Aunt Sherry and her gang weren’t in danger of blowing up or burning down their farmhouse. They were not, of course, but Detective Shoar and I subsequently forged a budding relationship while solving a murder. Would the bud blossom? Too early to tell, because the man alternately miffed me and made me melt.

  Which was saying a heck of a mouthful since I’d had dated a lot of men. Okay, a lot of first and second dates followed by a parting of ways entirely or becoming just friends. Still, Eric tripped my trigger in a way no guy had in a long time. We had a dance of attraction going, but I didn’t seem to know the steps. I swung from feeling comfortable with him to a state of awkward hyperawareness. Of course, it didn’t help that he made his usual “uniform” of jeans, collared shirts, and boots sexier than all get-out.

  The wind chime sang as I let Eric inside and murmured hello. The Silver Six stood shoulder to shoulder behind the long glass-topped and fronted pine counter that had been original to the Stanton General Store. We displayed our most delicate items, or those that were most expensive, in the antique case, but no one gave a hoot about the goods at the moment. The Six avidly watched us, hanging on our every word.

  I don’t know why. They already knew we were friends and sort of dating. Okay, one real date.

  “No more trouble tonight, Nixy?” Eric asked.

  “How did you hear about that?”

  “I called him when Ernie pushed his way into class,” Eleanor said. I swear she had him on speed dial.

  “Once he got here, the situation had changed,” Dab added.

  “But he said he’d check back,” Aster offered.

  “And here I am.” Eric gave me one of those melting smiles, and my surroundings almost faded away.

  Almost. I cleared my throat. “That’s kind of you, Eric. The man who pushed his way in—Ernie—struck me as an egotistical jerk, but our gourd artist put him in his place. Doralee is his ex.”

  “Glad the situation resolved itself. Do you still want help hanging your grand opening banner tomorrow morning?”

  Oh, geez, I’d forgotten I asked him that a week ago when we were on the dinner date. One of those recent times I hadn’t managed to apply mascara to both sets of eyelashes. Aster had pointed it out before I’d gotten out of the store, but she hadn’t caught the very stylish streak of white paint in my brown hair that shampooing had missed. Blame it on my embarrassment. His offer to hang the sign had slipped my mind.

  But hey, I bluffed. “If you’re available, that would be great.”

  “Eight o’clock?”

  “Sure.”

  “Should I bring a ladder?”

  “No, we’ve got a ten-footer in the workroom.”

  Eric glanced at the emporium’s displays of art on the polished pine shelves and tables, and the hanging baskets. “We don’t want to break anything, so I’ll meet you at the back door, and we’ll carry the ladder around the building.”

  “Of course. I should’ve thought of that. We can take it out the service door.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Neither of us spoke for a moment. For my part, I was lost in his warm brown eyes. Sue me.

  A throat cleared.

  “This ain’t the most rivetin’ conversation, missy,” Fred barked. “Walk the man out, kiss him, and get back here so we can firm up tomorrow’s schedule.”

  “Fred!” Sherry swatted his arm.

  “What? I’m ready for bed.”

  “We all are,” I said, then blushed when Eric slowly grinned. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Come on, Eric.”

  He chuckled. “No need to see me out. Just be sure to lock up tight. I’ll see you at eight.”

  Eric strolled into the sultry night. I flipped the deadbolt on the door and turned to Fred. “Happy now?”

  “Dang near delirious.”

  Maise clapped her hands for attention. “All right, you and Eric put the sign up early, but we open at ten, correct?”

  “I do believe we decided to come in about nine,” Eleanor said.

  “Yes, but there’s no need for all of you to be here the whole day.”

  “On the first day of our grand opening?” Sherry gasped. “There certainly is. We want to be here.”

  “Especially if the Lilyvale Legend sends a photographer,” Aster chimed in.

  “I hope the newspaper will run a photo,” Sherry said wistfully. Our modestly sized daily newspaper was great about running all sorts of local items, so I figured at least one picture would make the cut. “I’m so proud of what we’ve accomplished.”

  Dab patted her arm. “We all are, Sherry. Now Fred’s right. Time to go on home so we’ll be fresh for the big day.”

  Dab’s dark gray Caddy, Fred’s old red pickup truck that he was now driving again, and Sherry’s blue Corolla were parked in the lot behind the store. Because of the macular degeneration, Sherry didn’t drive much anymore, and never at night. She shared her ride with the other women, all of whom had their own sets of car keys. Heck, Dab and Fred likely had keys, too. The women, though, pooled funds to pay for insurance, gas, and maintenance. The arrangement worked out perfectly for
them all.

  I hugged each of the Six as I ushered them through the workroom and out the back door. Deadbolt thrown, service door secure, I returned to the front room to turn off all but the security light. After double-checking that the front door was locked tight, I headed upstairs, flipping off the workroom lights as I went.

  Upstairs, I toed off my shoes in the foyer, plodded to my spacious bedroom that overlooked the square, and face-planted on my queen bed. The plain white, fluffy comforter puffed up to cover my nose, a smothering sensation that made me roll on my back. My thoughts drifted.

  The ceiling looked good, and I was proud to have fixed it. I’d once dated a construction guy—Drywall Danny—who had shown me how to patch holes and cracks. With that knowledge, plus advice and supplies from Big George Heath at Heath’s Hardware, the ceiling was pristine smooth and painted a bright white. Not blind-you bright, but a clean, crisp color. The same color we’d painted the emporium and workroom. White walls, too, except for the wall of Victorian-esque paneling in the dining room with its rich, dark patina. That woodwork was art, and far too exquisite to paint. Part of the paneling concealed storage and the other part hid a lift between the two floors. My Aunt Sissy from generations back had the woodwork crafted when she’d lived in this apartment and ran Sissy’s Five & Dime downstairs.

  I’d never thought much about my decorating style. When I’d shared an apartment with my Houston roomie Vicki, we had the post-college, hand-me-down, not-entirely-adults-yet vibe happening. I appreciated antique and vintage pieces, but my true taste ran to modern, monochromatic, and minimalistic. The minimalist part may have been a knee-jerk reaction to the happy chaos of the emporium. Of course, I might also be both boring and too lazy to want to dust intricate pieces of furniture and shelves of bric-a-brac, but I found peace in my uncluttered almost barren apartment.

  Huff’s Fine Furniture on the town square had run a big sale over Memorial Day, and I’d scored good deals on my bedroom and living room sets—or suites as store owner and city councilman B.G. Huff called them. The bedroom style was called “panel,” and I love it for its matte white finish, clean lines, and no fussiness. The living room love seat and two overstuffed chairs upholstered in white twill were just as plain as the bedroom pieces, though I’d added graphic throw pillows in blues and greens. The additions did make the space less cavernous and more cozy. I hadn’t bought any rugs yet. The pine floors had been sanded and restained a dark walnut color, and were too amazing to cover. Of course, by winter I’d want a couple of rugs to warm my feet.

  Right now, the ceiling fan spun slowly, barely making a sound, yet the gentle breeze tempted me to fall asleep where I was. But no. I had to hang the grand opening banner with Eric at eight. If I showered tonight, I could sleep a little later tomorrow.

  The only bathroom in the loft apartment was large, also mostly white, and had two doors. One door allowed access from the living area, and the other connected to the bedroom. There were no windows, but when Sherry had updated the bathroom for the previous tenants, they’d installed a powerful exhaust fan and great lighting. The previous renters, who’d also owned the antique store below, had put a refinished claw-footed tub in the room. They’d left the tub behind when they shut down their business and moved to Texas to be close to their daughter. The old-style tub didn’t feed my modern taste, but it was great for a long soak when I took time for one.

  My blah-brown hair was still in a ponytail, but I fixed it higher on my head and snapped on a shower cap. Hot water washed away the stress of the day’s last-minute store and class preparations—and of the scene Ernie had made. I sure hoped he wasn’t sticking around with the fiancée and the sister. Kim and Georgine. The Silver Six and I had enough going on without being referees, although Doralee hadn’t really needed my intervention this evening. It still amazed me that she’d been so calm and cool. I’d have just slapped Ernie upside the head.

  Then again, I’d been told my personality was much like my Aunt Sissy’s. Technically my triple great-aunt, if I had the genealogy right. She’d been a mover and shaker in Lilyvale. A get-’er-done, get-out-of-my-way kind of woman. I wasn’t sure about the mover-shaker aspect, and if I tried to shove anyone out of my way, Aunt Sherry would knock me upside the head.

  My mother used to say when we see something that needs doing, we do it, and I’d heard Sherry say the same thing. I must’ve absorbed that attitude because, admittedly, I got things done. Most of all, I tended to go full bore after my goals, and I considered that a good thing.

  Right now, my main goal was to make the emporium not only survive, but thrive. I’d do everything within my power to make that happen.

  Chapter Three

  Eric knocked at the alley door that led to Fred’s workroom at eight sharp, just as I was flipping the deadbolt.

  “Good morning,” he said with a bright smile and an odd twinkle in his brown eyes.

  “Good morning. Let me open the service door.”

  “Okay. Do you know you have visitors?”

  “Besides you?”

  He pointed down and to the side of the doorway. I stepped out and stopped short.

  A dog and cat sat on their haunches, gazing at me with soulful eyes. The dog reminded me a bit of a Doberman a friend had owned except this one was much smaller. Not a miniature, but more the size of a beagle our neighbor in Tyler had when I was a kid. This dog was black with tan markings, and its coat gleamed with apparent health. Floppy ears framed its face as it blinked at me with intelligent golden eyes.

  Uh-oh.

  The cat made a sound between a meow and a chirp, its mesmerizing green eyes steady on my face. Its short-haired coat was tiger striped in browns and golds, and it had a white chin. They were both adorable, but—

  “How did they get here?”

  “Walked would be my guess.”

  His sarcasm untied my tongue. “I mean why are they here here? You think someone dumped them?”

  “I doubt it.” He hunkered down to pet them, first the dog, then the cat, who leaned in for a scratch under its chin. “They both seem to be in good shape. Their coats aren’t matted, no cuts or skin abrasions except on their paws, and no sign of fleas.”

  “Gee, thanks for mentioning fleas.”

  “All part of the service.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “So they can leave anytime they want?”

  He slanted me a look. “You don’t like animals?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, I like animals. I played with my friends’ dogs and cats when I was a kid. We just never had animals because my dad was allergic. After he died, well, I was in college, and I guess my mom never felt the urge to get a pet.”

  “These two are small, but they’re out of the young puppy and kitten stage. They may have been the runts of their litters.”

  “Maybe they belong to one of the shop owners.”

  Eric shook his head as he stood. “I’ve never seen them, but I can ask around. The thing is, our county animal control will pick them up if they’re running loose.”

  “You don’t have a rescue shelter? I could take them there if they don’t leave on their own.”

  “We have a small one, but last I heard, it was full. Tell you what. Let’s get the banner up. Now that these two have had some attention, they may go on home.”

  “Except they don’t have collars or tags.” I murmured the comment more to myself than Eric. They could’ve slipped out of their collars, but chances were just as good they were strays. With super soulful eyes.

  With a sigh, I caved and stooped to offer the back of my hand for each of them to smell, first the dog, then the cat. The dog sniffed my knuckles and gave them a shy lick. The cat sniffed, then rubbed its cheek against my fingers. Okay, I was charmed, and I scratched them behind their ears. Cute and sweet as they were, though, I did not—repeat not—have time for pets right now. Besides, the dog probably wouldn
’t be happy in my apartment. My apartment with its freshly stained floors and white furniture . . .

  I went inside with Eric and helped him take down the ladder from the hooks Fred and Dab had installed to store it, then I grabbed the folded banner and tucked it under my arm. When I opened the four-foot-wide service door, I had a moment’s concern that the animals would dart inside and make themselves at home in the workroom. Or worse, make a mess. I needn’t have worried.

  The dog and cat stood as we came outside, Eric holding one end of the ladder, me the other. Then they pranced ahead as we carted the ladder into the alley. Since the emporium occupied the last space on the west side of the square, it didn’t take long to round the corner, pass the catty-corner-facing shop door, and arrive where we’d hang the banner.

  The critters parked themselves on the edge of the sidewalk beside a concrete planter overflowing with lilies and ivy. Not in our way, not in the street, the dog and cat watched intently as we strung the banner. We looped the ropes tied in the corner grommets through eye bolts in the façade that must have been there for years but still held. When the banner was tied off at the four corners, we stood back to admire it flapping in the gentle morning breeze.

  I glanced around the quaint, picturesque square in the town I now called home. Bizarrely enough, Lilyvale didn’t have a Main Street. Nope. Magnolia Road was our north-south two-lane highway that cut through town. It split to flow around the limestone courthouse and a small white gazebo that sat elevated in the center of the square. Magnolia trees dotted the property, and lilies flourished in the flowerbeds.

  On the south end of the square, Lee Street carried traffic east and west. On the north end, Stanton Drive, named for my ancestor and Lilyvale’s founder, ran along the emporium’s side wall. Every building on the square dated from the late 1800s to the 1960s, and each one was occupied, though most businesses didn’t open until nine or ten Monday through Saturday.