Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Read online

  “The thing is,” John said, “if there were plans afoot to build anything new in Lilyvale, it’d be all over town.”

  While voices raised in general agreement, a bell sounded in the hall, the signal that services would begin in ten minutes. The exodus began.

  “We did good, didn’t we, Nixy?” Sherry said quietly.

  “You did great, Aunt Sherry, and you didn’t have to be nosy.”

  She beamed. “You’re right. I hope the others had as much success.”

  “Whether they did or not,” Dab said, “we have a good start on the resistance movement. I think Elsman’s days here are numbered.”

  • • •

  I HOPED WE’D BE ABLE TO LEAVE RIGHT AFTER THE service. That plan pretty well tanked with the last “Amen” when one person after another stopped to say hello. Sherry introduced me, and while I understood the small-town social convention, what touched me was hearing the pride in Sherry’s tone. Pride in me. Shoot. I had been a bad niece. I’d make it a priority to come back soon to spend a weekend.

  I spotted several people who looked familiar from the folk art festival and one man I absolutely recognized from yesterday. Bryan Hardy, the county’s baby-faced deputy prosecuting attorney, escorted a middle-aged lady across the church lawn—a lady who seemed to be talking Bryan’s ear off. The sum total of his responses? Nodding like a bobblehead doll. Was the woman his mother?

  “That’s his aunt.”

  I startled at Dab’s voice beside me.

  “Was I staring?” I asked.

  He grinned. “I don’t think anyone else noticed. Most people avoid Corina Hardy because she talks nonstop.”

  “Mostly about herself and her exalted pedigree,” Sherry added.

  “She’s hot stuff around here?”

  Dab snorted. “More a legend in her own mind.”

  “Sherry Mae,” a new voice called. “I need a word with you!”

  Dab, Sherry, and I turned in sync. A lady in her early fifties wearing a pretty sky-blue shirtwaist dress hustled to my aunt’s side.

  “Nixy, this is Lorna Tyler. She and her husband, Clark, own the Lilies Café and Inn on the Square.”

  I’d met a lot of people in the last day, had a lot of names tossed at me, but Detective Shoar had mentioned the café and inn.

  “Where that horrible Elsman woman is staying, God help me,” Lorna said, not bothering to lower her voice. “Nice to meet you, Nixy. Hello, Dab. Clark’s playing golf later, so I made him take the early shift at the café, but I heard about the to-do y’all had here during the church breakfast.”

  “To-do?” Dab echoed when Lorna ran out of breath.

  “You know. The discussion about the trouble all y’all are having with Jill Elsman,” Lorna clarified. “She can’t get our property even if she wanted it, but I’m right sorry about the problems she’s causing. I’d kick her out if it weren’t that she and her assistant are our only paying guests since your festival is over.”

  Sherry patted Lorna’s arm. “It’s not your fault, dear.”

  “No, but I can’t wait to see the back of her,” Lorna fumed. “She’s buttering up Clark like he’s hot toast about getting approval for this project of hers when the time comes. I swear, we’re going to come to blows if she doesn’t leave Clark alone.”

  “Has she told your husband about her project?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of, but, Sherry Mae, you know him. He’s tight-lipped about city business when he needs to be.”

  “Which is an admirable trait,” Sherry said. “We don’t need unfounded rumors flying around town.”

  “So true, especially when any news at all flies through town like lightning.” She paused and smiled. “Well, at least you know you have my support. Now, you bring Nixy by for lunch when you have time.”

  Lorna departed, and Dab offered Sherry his arm. We started toward the all-but-empty parking lot when my steps faltered.

  “Dab, isn’t that Detective Shoar hunkered under the back end of your Caddy?”

  “Looks like him, but why’s he holding a paper bag?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  I led the charge, ready to nail him about those vandalism incidents he’d failed to mention.

  I made no attempt to be stealthy, but stopped short when Shoar suddenly stood. “Did you pull litter patrol this morning, Detective?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” he replied, all cop-faced.

  “Then nothing has happened at the house?” Sherry asked as she and Dab came up behind me. “Fred is okay?”

  “Everyone is fine so far as I know, Miz Sherry Mae. I’m here for another reason.” He opened the bag and tilted it toward us—well, mostly toward Dab, but I got a quick look at the partly black, partly rust-colored metal rod inside.

  “Mr. Baxter, is this your tire iron?”

  “Nope, and I don’t remember the last time I even saw a tire iron like that, though Fred had one for prying off bicycle wheels,” Dab answered. “There’s a four-way wrench in the trunk with my spare. You want to see it?”

  “I’d appreciate your permission to look in the trunk,” Eric said.

  I bristled. “What’s going on, Detective?”

  “About an hour ago, Jill Elsman reported vandalism to her Hummer,” he said, his tone flat. “From the dents in the car, looks like a tire iron could’ve done the damage. The one I bagged has flecks of blue paint on it. I found it under Mr. Baxter’s back bumper.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I said, hands on my hips, temper suddenly on high simmer. “Hellspawn is accusing us of wailing on her Hummer, and then leaving the evidence in plain sight? Seriously?”

  He didn’t answer me. He simply stepped around me to look into Dab’s trunk. “Thank you, Mr. Baxter. How long have you been at church?”

  “We arrived for breakfast,” Sherry answered. “We’ve been here since about eight this morning.”

  “And we got an earful from Sherry’s neighbors,” I said as I stepped into his space. “Hellspawn has lied left, right, and sideways about who’s sold property options to her. I wouldn’t put it past her to lie about this and have done the damage herself.”

  “That’s a theory, and I’ll investigate every angle.”

  “Like you’re investigating the dead bird, barn break-in, and mailbox bomb at Aunt Sherry’s? You could’ve told me about those incidents yesterday. Or, gee, you could’ve called anytime last week to give me a heads-up before I got here. So what’s that about, buster?”

  “I told you that you needed to talk with Miz Sherry to get answers.”

  “Which I obviously did, but you still could’ve prepared me, and I resent that you’d think even for a minute that Sherry would vandalize someone’s property.”

  “Now, Nixy,” Sherry said, patting my arm when I ran out of breath. “We’ve wondered if Ms. Elsman is behind the vandalism at my house. It’s not a stretch for her to believe the same of us.”

  “I disagree,” I shot back. “It’s a stretch from here to Houston that you’d bash on her car, but it’s a devious way to divert suspicion if she’s the one who . . .” A thought hit me. “Uh-oh.”

  I rushed to the front passenger side of Dab’s Caddy, ran my hand over the smooth fender while peering at the hubcap.

  “What are you doing?” Shoar testily asked.

  “Looking for damage.”

  “I did that,” he said with exaggerated patience. “There’s not a ding or scratch on the Caddy.”

  “This wheel cover is scratched.”

  “Where?”

  I hunkered down by the tire as he moved nearer. Reached to touch the lug nuts. The loose lug nuts.

  “Where is the damage?” he asked.

  I pointed. “There. And look at the nuts. Somebody’s messed with them.”

  Sherry made a sound of d
istress, but I stayed focused on Eric as he looked, really looked at where I’d pointed. In a few heartbeats, he let out a low whistle as he pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures. “Dab, you ever have trouble with these lugs coming loose?”

  “Never, and the car drove fine this morning. Just like always.”

  Shoar stood and faced Dab. “If you’ll get your four-way wrench out of the trunk, I’ll get these tightened so you can be on your way.”

  Dab hurried to the trunk while I glared at the not-so-eagle-eyed detective. He merely took more photos until Dab handed him the X-shaped tool. Then he knelt by the tire and I stood right over him.

  “You know that tire iron wasn’t used on those lugs,” I said conversationally. “You’d use it to pop off a hubcap but not to loosen the nuts. You tested the wrench end against Dab’s lugs, didn’t you?”

  “I did against one of them,” he said without looking up.

  “And they didn’t fit.”

  “Nope.” Still no eye contact.

  “That type of lug wrench is old and probably came with a particular make and model of car. They aren’t all interchangeable.”

  He finally looked up at me. “How do you know?”

  “A guy I dated. Matt the mechanic.”

  “He taught you about lug nuts, huh?”

  “How to change a tire, check my fluids. All kinds of car things.” Not that I put most of Matt’s lessons into practice, but Shoar didn’t need to know that.

  “Good for you,” he grunted as he finished with the front passenger tire. When he rose to inspect the other three tires, I followed. He only tightened four more lugs, and that seemed more for my benefit, not because they were dangerously loose.

  “So,” I began when he returned the wrench and closed the trunk, “do we need to file an official criminal mischief report, Detective?”

  “I’ll start the paperwork myself and bring it out for you to sign, Dab.”

  “Are you sure filing a report is necessary?” Aunt Sherry asked, her eyes huge and concerned.

  “Absolutely,” I said just as Shoar answered with an emphatic, “Yes.”

  “Well,” Dab said as he opened the passenger door for Sherry, “I hate to take you out of your way. Let me know if you want me to come to the station.”

  “Will do.”

  Dab headed for the driver’s side. I gave Shoar a last glance and half turned away when I felt his hand brush my shoulder. “That was an excellent catch, Ms. Nix. If that tire had come off, it could’ve caused a bad accident.”

  “I know.”

  He arched a brow. “More lessons from your boyfriend Mitch the mechanic?”

  I gazed into those chocolate-brown eyes of his, saw the corner of his mouth tilt, and had to smother an answering smile. “It was Matt. And he was just a friend.”

  “Well, I promise you, I will investigate this, just as thoroughly as I’m investigating the vandalism and theft at Miz Sherry’s. This is another piece of a pattern, Ms. Nix, and I don’t like it.”

  “It’s Nixy, and thank you, Detective.”

  “Eric,” he said with a slow, full smile.

  Chapter Seven

  SOON AS WE ARRIVED HOME, I DOVE IN TO HELP GET Maise’s big Sunday dinner on the table.

  No surprise that the car incident trumped the church reconnaissance report. Sherry’s friends were aghast over the news and discussed it all the way through the meal of pot roast, veggies, rolls, and apple pie. I could see that Dab and Sherry were still a little shaken, and each of their friends was rightfully incensed at Dab’s car being targeted.

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” Aster said. She’d sprinkled lavender down the center of the table before we sat to eat. Now she forked up a last bite of pie. “If Elsman is responsible for any of the vandalism here, why would she risk tampering with the car in broad daylight and in a public place in view of anyone passing by?”

  “I do believe she’s becoming desperate,” Eleanor offered as she stood and began clearing dishes.

  “Dab, are you sure you didn’t feel a difference in the way the Caddy drove this morning?” Maise asked. “The lugs might’ve been loosened last night and become looser on the way to church.”

  “Nope,” Fred said. “If them nuts were loose, Dab woulda noticed. ’Sides, I checked out the Caddy bumper to bumper on Wednesday. Wasn’t a thing wrong with it, ’cept needin’ more wiper fluid. Tell you this, though: we all need to be extra alert.”

  “High alert and combat ready,” Maise added. “First order is KP duty, then we can get comfortable and reconvene for the church report. We need to stop this harassment before someone is injured.”

  I shuddered remembering that Hellspawn’s minion Trudy had made a similar statement. And wondered how far her employer would go to get what she wanted.

  “I’ll tell you this,” Aster said as she dried a dinner plate, “that woman’s a karmic nightmare. Her bad juju will come back a hundredfold.”

  “I thought the saying was tenfold,” Maise ventured.

  “I thought it was threefold,” Sherry said.

  Aster waved a hand. “Three, ten, a hundred. When you’re that nasty, you’re sure to get walloped. Mark my words.”

  Judging by the silent nods, we all dutifully marked.

  Dishes done and kitchen cleaned, we scattered to change out of our church clothes. Well, everyone but Eleanor came back to the kitchen dressed casually. In black slacks and a silky geometric-print shirt, she still looked like a fashion plate. Maybe this was as casual as she got.

  Armed with my computer tablet, I joined the Six, who crowded around the kitchen table. Dab had a copy of the list he’d given me this morning, and to that he added the names of the neighbors Eleanor, Aster, and Maise had questioned. Sherry had yet another list but in a dark, large-sized font, and kept track of how many total neighbors were accounted for with big, bold tick marks. Did she have eye trouble? I hadn’t seen her wearing glasses, had I?

  I checked off my own list, but when my head swam with all the names being called out, I interrupted.

  “Wait, y’all, I’m confused. Can you sketch the neighborhood and fill in who lives where?”

  “Why do their locations matter?” Eleanor asked.

  “Because I’m betting we’ll see a pattern in where these people live. If we do, it’ll tell us more.”

  “A battlefield overview,” Maise said with a nod. “I like it.”

  Eleanor began sketching the areas where the target neighbors lived and filled in property owner names. With Aster and Maise kibitzing over Eleanor’s shoulder, I opted to pull up Google Earth on my tablet.

  Fred eyed the drawing. “I’ll be dadgummed. There is a pattern.”

  “I see the residential blocks and the three farm parcels at the far end,” Sherry said, “but I don’t know what it means. Nixy, does it tell you anything?”

  “I’m not sure.” I eyed Eleanor’s sketch on the lined pad, then the aerial image, then pointed at the drawing. “Are those rectangles the farms?”

  Sherry nodded. “They’re right outside Lilyvale proper. Once you cross the road at the end of our block, you’re on county land.”

  “How many acres are the farms?”

  “Twenty each, I should think, except a bit of Stanton Lake cuts through the end of each parcel, so not a full twenty acres.”

  “Stanton Lake?”

  “Named after our ancestors. Samuel Allan Stanton owned all the land here on Eleanor’s sketch and much more. Granddaddy W. R. Junior sold off parcels in the 1920s and late 1930s when oil was found hereabouts. Those were Lilyvale’s boom eras back when the oil workers moved in for a spell.”

  “Are there houses on Lake Stanton?”

  “There could be a cabin here or there. It’s not a recreational lake with boating and fishing for the public. Lake Stanton is more of an
extra-large pond.”

  Nixy looked at Eleanor. “Did these farmers sell property options?”

  “Elsman talked to them all, but just one sold. He didn’t figure the county zoning folks would approve whatever she planned, so he saw it as free money.”

  “Same with two ladies a block over,” Maise supplied. “But three couples in the same block turned Elsman down flat.”

  “Some property owners are absentee,” Aster chimed in, pointing at the map. “In this block far catty-corner from Sherry are duplexes and an apartment building. Eleanor and I talked to a renter, but he pays a management firm. Oh, but Elsman approached Ida Bollings. She rents out a house up the street.”

  “Miss Ida?” I asked. “Does she drive a big blue Buick?”

  Sherry smiled. “How do you know Ida, child?”

  “She sent me into the pharmacy for her medicine yesterday morning.”

  “She does that from time to time,” Sherry said. “I’ll bet she gave Elsman the sharp edge of her tongue, too.”

  Aster smiled. “She sure did. Elsman threatened to steal Ida’s rental house out from under her by paying the back taxes. Of course, Ida is sure she paid the property taxes, so she’ll be raising a ruckus at city hall tomorrow.”

  “Good for her.” I typed on my tablet. “All right, a city block is a little over six acres, so that’s thirty-six acres plus close to sixty acres in the farms. Nearly one hundred acres in all, and around forty landowners. That’s a lot of cash layout, but the big question is, why would she want so much land?”

  “What about a big-box store?” Dab asked. “We hear rumors about that from time to time.”

  “We hear about Magnolia getting one,” Maise drawled. “Not us.”

  “It’s worth a look,” I said, already typing a search on the tablet. I felt all eyes watching as I went through several possibilities, then looked up. “Most stores like Walmart only need thirty acres for a typical store site.”

  “Maybe Elsman is planning to build a factory,” Eleanor mused.

  “To make what?” Dab said. “We have some light industry here, but most of the forestry and manufacturing concerns are over at Magnolia.”