A Crime of Poison Page 4

With that, the subject of Cornell Lewis seemed to be closed. That suited me. I’d had enough drama for the day.

  I pitched in to rearrange the art and craft items so that the store didn’t look quite so bare. The emporium was crowded with goods more often than not, and I tended to feel a little claustrophobic in the store. In my former job at the Gates Art Gallery, I’d arranged shows with ample negative space. White space between the pieces let the eye settle on each one. I can deal with the crammed store now, partly because I do all I can to space out the displays, and partly because my uncluttered apartment is a respite.

  We sent Kathy and Jasmine home at six. I was having dinner with Sherry and the gang, but I wanted to do a walk-through of the square first, just to make sure all was as ready as possible for tomorrow. With Amber and T.C. on their leashes, I locked the door and stepped out front.

  The temperature had dropped, but the humidity seemed higher. Maybe because the breeze had all but died. Hopefully we wouldn’t have gusty winds to play havoc with the tents.

  Only a few vendors remained at their booths, and they had everything under control. The festival would run from nine to five tomorrow, and nine to four on Sunday. We’d thought about opening later on Sunday in deference to church services, but shoppers would gather early whether we were technically open or not, and every hour of sales time counted.

  I reached Dex’s Gone to the Dogs food stand and paused. It was closed tight, so I’d check on him in the morning. Unobtrusively check on him. I didn’t want to rub his nose in my victory, but I needed to be absolutely certain that he followed the rules. I’d never suffered fools gladly, and I wasn’t about to let one jerk ruin our event.

  A sharp bark took me out of my head, and I focused on Amber and T.C., who sat at my feet.

  “Bet you’re bored just sitting there, huh?”

  Amber got to her feet first, then T.C.

  “Ready to go eat at the farmhouse?”

  I didn’t know if they understood “farmhouse” as well as “eat,” but Amber barked and T.C. loudly rrreowed, and both pulled at their leashes. Time to mobilize, as Maise would say.

  Chapter Four

  We dined simply that night on lean hamburgers grilled courtesy of Dab and Aster, and all the fixin’s courtesy of Sherry and Eleanor. Maise had prepared southern-style potato salad, too, and conversation at the table revolved around our readiness for the festival. Make that my readiness.

  “I saw the stack of paperwork on the clipboard,” Sherry said, “but are you certain everyone has signed release forms?”

  “I’m sure, Aunt Sherry. I got the last of them this afternoon, and checked off artists as they arrived.”

  “And the police are patrolling the square tonight?” Aster asked.

  “And deputies, too. The artists have their stuff locked up tight.”

  Maise gave a curt nod. “Sounds like everything’s shipshape.”

  “It will stay that way so long as Dex Hamlin doesn’t give me more trouble.” I paused, then decided to ask the question that had been burning in the back of my brain. “Maise, when did you and Aster live in Eleanor’s apartment complex?”

  “After our house burned to the ground. Kids shooting off fireworks on New Year’s Eve.”

  Aster picked up the story. “We were away for the holiday visiting friends, so we had some clothes, toiletries, and whatnot.”

  “And that clunker of a car,” Fred put in.

  “We knew Eleanor from church functions,” Maise continued. “She mentioned an empty apartment in her complex.”

  “We thought we’d have to sign a yearlong lease, but we only needed a place for a few months.”

  “I do believe Cornell pocketed their rent without formally leasing the apartment,” Eleanor said. “Once they moved in, I feared I’d lose their friendship for suggesting the complex.”

  “He was truly rotten to the core, but it was the perfect, inexpensive, temporary place to stay until the insurance company finished investigating our claim and paid us,” Maise said.

  “When did you come to live with Sherry?” I asked.

  “In early March,” Aster said. “We’d met her volunteering at community events. When she learned Cornell had a long-term tenant lined up, and we had to move, she offered her home.”

  “It was supposed to be temporary,” Maise added.

  “But we got along so well, and I was tired of rattling around this big house without Bill. I asked them to stay—”

  “And we took her up on it,” Aster said, beaming. “The three of us organized the very first folk art festival.”

  I had heard them talk about the first few festivals, and knew the inaugural one had been held three and a half years ago.

  “When did the rest of you come? I’ve heard bits and pieces, but never heard the real stories. I’m interested.”

  “Curious and nosy is what you are,” Fred said on a chuckle, “but I don’t mind tellin’ you. Sherry took me in next. Broke my fool hip, and wouldn’t you know I lived in an upstairs apartment.”

  “Bill and I had known Fred forever,” Sherry said.

  “Knew my missus, too.”

  “Ester, yes,” Sherry said with a warm smile. “When I heard about Fred’s predicament, I offered him the room I’d had converted for Bill after his stroke. That was three years ago this past summer.”

  Dab nodded. “I lived across the road in that newer development.” He meant the one dating from the 1970s, but that was new around Lilyvale.

  “We all knew Dab’s wife, Melba,” Sherry put in.

  “She’d been gone a year, and I needed a change.”

  “He also came to our fall festival that year, and we got to talking about distilling flowers and herbs,” Aster said.

  “We invited him to join the gang,” Sherry said, “and he moved here in October, wasn’t it?”

  “First of November,” Dab corrected, “and Eleanor joined us after Christmas, didn’t you?”

  “As soon as my lease was up,” Eleanor said. “Cornell didn’t push Kathy’s mother down the stairs, but he was yelling and crowding her. She stepped back and fell. I lived in one of the other upstairs apartments and saw Connie fall.”

  “She took Kathy in,” Aster said, “while Connie was in the hospital.”

  “That was the last straw for me with Cornell.”

  “I’m glad he was fired before his bullying killed anyone,” I said.

  “I heard tell it nearly did,” Maise said, “but I don’t recall the details.”

  An odd look crossed Eleanor’s face, but Maise distracted me.

  “Nixy, you run those extra burgers and potato salad over to Old Lady Gilroy before you go. We’ll take care of KP.”

  Though I enjoyed doing dishes a lot more than I did cooking, I hadn’t seen Bernice Gilroy for a week. I always looked forward to visiting with the elfin woman, for however long she let me stay. Which usually wasn’t more than ten minutes.

  As usual, she opened the front door of her tiny two-bedroom house, grabbed my arm, and jerked me inside. I’d taken to packing her meals in a large basket with handles instead of carrying containers in a box, or worse, food on paper plates. Less chance of dumping food all over her wood floors.

  “Get on in here, Sissy,” she said, leading the way to the kitchen that had been out of date since the 1970s.

  At least she still called me “Sissy.” She’d known my many-times great-aunt and likened me to the woman. At first I worried for her memory. Mrs. Gilroy had celebrated her ninety-fourth birthday on August seventeenth—same month as mine but mine’s on the second. I soon realized Bernice used the name Sissy to tease me, or get my attention if it wandered. Now I worried if she called me Nixy.

  Wearing one of her signature housedresses that buttoned up the front, and anklets with moccasins—today’s anklets the same shade of yellow as her dress�
��she didn’t look as frail as the last time I’d seen her. Her grip on my arm was far from frail, too. She towed me through the small living room with its two faded plaid wingback chairs, a scarred wood coffee table, and a massive flat-screen TV. Sherry actually owned the property, but Bernice wouldn’t hear of allowing us to freshen the house and décor for her. At least she now routinely opened the brown kitchen curtains. The windows faced south and east, so she got a good amount of sunlight. The south window looked out to the farmhouse, and this was where Bernice sat, her binoculars resting on the 1950s table. The solitary chair at the table always made tears prick the back of my eyes.

  “I suppose the art festival is all ready to go in its new location,” she said as I put the basket on the table and began unloading the food. “You know I’m still peeved with you about that. How am I going to keep up with news if I can’t see what’s happening yonder through my own windows?”

  I grinned at her. “I thought you had your spies reporting.”

  “I prefer to call them sources,” she sniffed, “but I’d rather see it live in color than hear about it secondhand.”

  “You could always come to town.”

  She looked at me like I’d suggested she strip and dance on the roof.

  “Ruin my image as an eccentric recluse? I’d have people knocking at my door day and night if I went jaunting off to town. You know I don’t like company. Except for you. And then only if you don’t disturb my shows.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She still wouldn’t let a single one of the Six in the house, even though they’d been setting food on her porch for years.

  “Of course,” she added, a sly gleam in her gray eyes, “I’m still willing to meet that hunky boyfriend of yours.”

  “He’s been busy with the new detective the department hired.”

  “A woman, I hear. She pretty?”

  “She is, and very nice, too.”

  Bernice snorted. “Pretty is as pretty does. I don’t condone chasing a man, but when are you going to kick things up a notch?”

  “Excuse me?” I said. Bernice must’ve been watching Emeril Lagasse on TV as well as NCIS. She loved Mark Harmon.

  “I mean get engaged,” the little gnome said tartly, “though there’s nothing wrong these days with testing out your physical compatibility. If you know what I mean.”

  “Uh, yes, I know,” I stammered, sure I was blushing. “I’ll see about bringing Eric around to meet you. I know he’s wanted to.”

  “Humph. He may feel different when I set him straight about putting a ring on that.”

  “‘Put a ring on that?’” I echoed on a laugh. “Bernice, do you listen to Beyoncé?”

  “I’m not just any old lady, you know. Now let’s see what you brought over for me.”

  She peered at the sealed containers—cooked burger patties, the potato salad and a bit of leftover slaw, sliced tomato, red onions, and bread-and-butter pickles, and buns in a zippered plastic bag.

  Then she shook her head.

  “I hope Maise is making heartier meals next week. I haven’t had a slice of pie in a while either, and I wouldn’t turn down a piece of cake.”

  “How can you not weigh more feeding that sweet tooth the way you do?”

  “Clean living, Sissy. Now scoot. I have a late show coming on.”

  I left with my delivery basket and a smile. Even though Bernice could seemingly conjure some things she wanted, sweets were apparently not on that list. I made a mental note to get her some goodies from Great Buns. Now if only I could get her to tell me how she bought her flat-screen TV and her smart phone, and how she got them set up without leaving her house. My money was still on faeries.

  • • •

  I bounded out of bed early the next morning to feed and walk the critters. Amber pranced around my feet as I poured her kibble, and T.C. rubbed her cheek against my leg.

  For someone who’d never had one pet, much less two, I’d adjusted quite quickly and quite well to my critters since they’d come to me in June. I didn’t even mind the shedding. Much. I simply cleaned my white overstuffed sofa, chairs, and comforter every few days with a special pet hair removal tool that actually worked. Okay, it got most of the stray fur.

  Amber and T.C. had lived with an elderly woman in Minden, Louisiana, who’d passed on a few months before they appeared at my alley door. I’d gleaned that small bit of their history from their owner’s neighbor when she’d learned they were with me and came to visit. She didn’t know where they’d gone to or who might’ve taken them after their mistress died, but imagined they’d had a Disney-worthy adventure on their way to me. I could easily see that, because from the state their paws had been in, the vet thought they had walked long and far.

  The fur babies had tended to be very quiet, and creepily well behaved at first. As if they were waiting for me to accept them before they showed their more playful sides. They were still inseparable, but their individual personalities had emerged in full force.

  Now, as I sat at the kitchen peninsula eating cereal, T.C. swiped at Amber’s near-empty food dish, then sprinted off in a blur. Amber gave chase, her paws slipping on the original pine hardwood floor that I’d refinished.

  I washed my bowl and went to get dressed. The day was supposed to be beautiful, so I donned cropped jeans, another Handcraft Emporium tee, and sports socks with my navy-and-white tennis shoes. The critters parked themselves behind me in the bathroom, where I added eye shadow and mascara and put my brown hair in its usual ponytail.

  The animals knew the second I’d finished. Amber’s golden eyes looked more eager than T.C.’s green ones, but when does a cat ever look eager?

  “Ready to go, girls?”

  Amber gave a short bark, trotted to the basket of pet paraphernalia by the apartment door, and carried both her leash and T.C.’s to me. Amber wore her collar all the time, but T.C. stepped into her harness only for walks. She’d seemed to know how to get into it from the start, so she was just as cooperative for Fred and Dab when they walked her as she was for me.

  Of course the collar, harness, and leashes matched. Eric had seen to that when he’d gone shopping for them. He’d insisted when we found the critters that he couldn’t keep them, but he played with them plenty. We’d even taken them to the dog park, and yes, I had the okay to include T.C. We usually went at dinnertime when the park was empty. Which reminded me I needed to take them back after the festival.

  We took one of our usual routes along residential streets off the square that offered grassy areas between the sidewalks and curbs for them to do their business. T.C. had a cat box and used it, but if Amber was doing her thing, T.C. had to make her mark, too.

  By the time we got to the emporium, the Silver Six were there and raring to go, judging by the chatter coming from the store space. As usual, I left Amber and T.C. in the workroom along with their leashes. T.C. had a litter box there, both animals had toys, and Fred liked for them to keep him company.

  Although Fred wasn’t in the back at the moment. Must be out front.

  “Nixy, good, you’re back,” Sherry sang when I entered the front of the store to see the Six lined up by the counter.

  Surprise, surprise. They all wore the Handcraft Emporium aprons. I must’ve looked as astonished as I felt, because Sherry grinned.

  “Yes, child, we’re all dressed in our official store uniform and ready to rock. Are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Good. The vendors are arriving, so why don’t you go check that they have everything they need?”

  All the artists should need were their wares and lots of shoppers to show up, but I headed out the front door with blank sheets of paper fastened to my clipboard for note taking—just in case.

  • • •

  We were all systems go by nine o’clock. The tents were open, the booths in each parking lot facing the other to fo
rm comfortably wide, easy-to-shop aisles. The city works department had placed large trash cans at either end of the corridors and one each in the middle, too. The better to keep the streets clean, we hoped.

  I’d helped several artisans tweak their displays for maximum buyer appeal, and people streamed into the square from the side streets where they’d parked. Most businesses on the square that normally didn’t open until ten o’clock had decided to open early, and I noticed that both the Lilies Café and Great Buns Bakery had people flowing in and out, some likely having come for breakfast.

  Gone to the Dogs wasn’t open yet, and I hadn’t expected it to be. Not a lot of call for hot dogs or corn dogs this early, and vendors had brought their own water. However, the ecumenical bake sale tables were loaded with every kind of cookies, brownies, cakes, pies, and tarts imaginable, and I imagined there were yet more goodies in reserve. I spotted Ida Bollings’s pear bread, and the lemon bars from Judy’s bakery. The cake brownies with a single pecan half on top that Sherry and Eleanor had made were out and ready to sell, and so were the snickerdoodles Maise and Aster had baked. Each paper or plastic plate was wrapped with plastic wrap because the churches required it, but the Silver Six ladies used fitted bowl covers over the wrap. They looked like clear shower caps but were made for food storage. All the goodies carried a label naming the kind of item, whether it contained nuts, and the name of the donors. In addition to the plain white label, Aster had stuck one of her Aster’s Garden labels on the elasticized cover.

  I thought about scoring a pie or cake for Bernice Gilroy but decided she’d be better off with slices rather than the whole enchilada. So to speak. Ida’s pear bread tempted me, too, but she and Fred had been keeping company, so the Six were well stocked and shared generous slices with me.

  The event was running even more smoothly when I checked at ten thirty and again at noon. The bake sale was still going strong, though Ida’s pear bread, Judy’s lemon bars, Aster and Maise’s snickerdoodles, and Sherry and Eleanor’s brownies had been snapped up between my rounds. The hot dog stand had opened just before eleven and was doing almost as much business as everyone else.