A Crime of Poison Read online

  It would take a while for the artisans to wind down. Heck, it would take me a while, too, because adrenaline continued to pound through my body.

  Amber whined, tired of being tethered so tightly. I loosened my grip and gave Amber and T.C. each a behind-the-ears scratch.

  “Okay, girls, we’ll go in a minute. I need to check on Cornell.”

  Mikki was still with him, steadying him as he stood. His swollen nose looked especially painful, but I couldn’t tell if it was broken. He also had scrapes on his hands and arms, and bruises bloomed all over his face. His white pants and shirt bore dirt smudges, blood droplets, and one ripped seam.

  “Is anything broken?”

  “Just the last of my pride.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “I can’t believe you went after him like you did.”

  I gave him a rueful smile. “Sometimes I act before I think.”

  “It’s your strong sense of justice,” Mikki said. “You’re fair to a fault with your consigners. I don’t know how the emporium makes any money.”

  “Volume,” I said with a grin. “Sheer volume.”

  She chuckled. “I’d best get going. You really should see a doctor, sir.”

  “I will, and thank you for your kindness, ma’am.”

  “Do you need a ride to the hospital?” I felt a bit uncomfortable asking, but the man had been kind to my pets, and that was one of the reasons Hamlin was enraged. “I know you have a car, but—”

  “No, thanks,” he said, wincing and touching his split lip. “The medical center is only two blocks from here. It’ll be faster to walk. If they can’t see me, I’ll see the doctor I know when I go back to Camden tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Uh, Mr. Lewis—”

  “Please call me Cornell.”

  “Right, well, you know that you’ll need to press charges against Dex Hamlin. The officer who arrested him is Doug Bryant.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I remember him from when I lived here before.” He paused, gazed at the blue sky, then back at me. “Ironic, isn’t it? Me being the one bullied. The shoe is on the other foot.”

  “I know the stories of what you were like, but it appears to me that Dex Hamlin is worse.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not.” He shrugged, then winced again.

  “Cornell, go on over to the emergency department. They might not be too busy at this hour, and you can come back to open Gone to the Dogs later. That is, if you want to.”

  “Again, my thanks, Ms. Nix, is it?”

  “Nixy,” I said. “I’ll check in on you later.”

  He limped some as he walked south between the rows of tents, headed toward the hospital. That was when I noticed spectators on the east square sidewalk. Among them were Deb the Soap Lady, Stained Glass Sarah, and Lee Durley—the shopper I’d collided with yesterday. A brunette wearing a big hat that shaded her face stood next to him, and, yikes! So did Pear Bread Lady Ida Bollings, leaning on her walker. Dang. There were likely more gawkers on the west side of the square, too. If the Silver Six hadn’t already heard the scoop, they soon would. Time for round one of damage control.

  • • •

  If I’d thought for a minute that Eleanor, Kathy, Aster, and Maise would do happy dances over Cornell’s beat-down, I’d have been completely off base. The seniors were more concerned about how the unfortunate incident would affect the final day of sales, never mind the artists’ willingness to return for the spring festival. They dissected, discussed, and dissed Hamlin, and ultimately decided that the less said the better.

  Even Kathy seemed unaffected by the news. And Jasmine, who was more outspoken than not, didn’t comment either. If anyone thought Cornell got what he deserved, it wasn’t spoken.

  After the unexpected excitement on their walk, I left T.C. and Amber with Fred in the workroom, then went off to make my first visits of the day to the vendors. I took my trusty clipboard, paper, and pen, and recorded the names of the artists who’d taken pictures or video of the fracas as well as getting phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Yes, I had all the artists’ contact information, but I’d scribbled all over those pages. Better to give the police a clean list, even if it was handwritten instead of typed.

  Over the course of the morning, the number of shoppers went from good to wow to holy cow. Every booth had at least five customers eyeing the wares, and people bought, not just browsed. The artisans would be pleased, which meant the Silver Six would be ecstatic.

  Gone to the Dogs remained closed at noon. I considered calling the hospital to inquire about Cornell but knew they wouldn’t give out patient information. Not to me, but perhaps they’d give Eric an update.

  Call him or go to the station? Was he even working today?

  I whipped out my cell phone and called.

  “Hey.” I heard the smile in his voice.

  “Hi, are you at work? Can you talk?”

  I heard a chair creak. “I’m at the station, but what do you need?”

  “I want to ask about Dex Hamlin’s arrest this morning.”

  “According to Officer Bryant, you were a witness. You know what went down.”

  “Yes, but I have a few questions. First, Hamlin is still there, right?”

  “He’s in holding at the county jail.”

  “So Cornell Lewis came in to press charges?”

  “I don’t know. I talked to Doug, but he went off duty after he processed Hamlin, and Detective Vogelman and I have been using the chief’s office to finish reviewing case files. You want me to go ask if Lewis came in?”

  “No, it’s not critical. I just wondered if he had. He hasn’t returned to the festival to open the hot dog stand.”

  “Returned from where?”

  “I talked with him a minute after Officer Bryant left with Hamlin, and I thought he meant to go to the ER. At least he was walking in that general direction when I last saw him.”

  “You want me to put in a call to see if he went in?”

  “If you don’t mind. I don’t know how to get in touch with him, and Gone to the Dogs has to come down this afternoon at four o’clock. With Hamlin in jail and Lewis MIA, I’m not sure what protocol is.”

  “The city maintenance crew can take it down.”

  “Will they store the tent and the equipment? I don’t want Hamlin on my case if anything is lost or damaged.”

  “It’ll be considered abandoned property, like a car. I’ll alert the department of the situation.”

  “Thanks, Eric. Oh, and I have the list of the vendors who took pictures and videos of the fight. Want me to drop it off, or should I give it to one of the folks patrolling the festival for us?”

  “If you have a chance, bring it by.” He paused. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

  “You bet your nuts and bolts.”

  “Ah, there’s a Fred-ism,” he said on a chuckle. “Later, Nixy.”

  • • •

  A very small issue prevented me from going directly to the station with my handy-dandy witness list. An artist ran out of small bills, so I jogged to the emporium to see if we had enough in the till to make change. We did but had to dip into cash from the day before. Not a huge deal, but Maise wanted to be sure we kept the totals for Saturday’s sales separate from Sunday. Nursing had been her primary career, but she’d taken accounting classes to help her husband in his insurance business. Now we shared bookkeeping duties, and it made sense that she’d want to know if the store sold more on one day than the other.

  By the time I returned to the vendor with her money, then speed-walked the two blocks to the police station, Eric and Charlene had gone to lunch. The reception desk wasn’t usually staffed on the weekends, but Officer Taylor Benton greeted me, and I turned the list over to him. Taylor Benton was in his mid-twenties, I guessed, with unblemished black skin. He was intelligent, eager, and earnest, and I’d felt horrib
le when I spiked a volleyball at the picnic game and gave him a bloody nose. Not broken, though. That was a plus, and we’d laughed about assaulting a police officer while he held a bag of ice on his face.

  Speaking of assault, had Eric phoned the hospital? I didn’t want to ask Officer Benton. But, hmm, I could pop over there myself. Say I was there to pick up an ER patient. Worst case, I wouldn’t learn a thing. Best case? Okay, so given all the circumstances, all the trouble Cornell Lewis had caused my dear Eleanor, Kathy and her mom, and others in the past, I didn’t know what the best case would be. But, hey, nothing ventured.

  I set off at a leisurely pace, past the fire station and the small parking lot adjacent to it. Our trees weren’t showing fall color yet, and Aster explained that the chemical changes hadn’t begun. Leaves were still producing chlorophyll. Since Aster was a master gardener, I believed her. At least the leaves hadn’t all dropped yet. In this older part of town closer to the square, stately trees spread their branches over homes dating from the late 1930s to the 1960s. I loved waving to people sitting on their porches or tidying their gardens, and today at the man repainting a picket fence.

  There were fewer bungalows and more ranch-style homes as I neared Lilyvale Hospital, even though it was only two blocks south of the square. The health center, with its twenty beds, four emergency department treatment rooms, and a surprising variety of surgical services, was affiliated with the University of Arkansas. I’d read that in a pamphlet when Sherry was rushed here in April after eating poisoned chocolate candies. The ambulance entrance was around back, but I hurried through the side entrance.

  The whooshing of the automated door alerted the man who sat at the check-in desk. He was in his sixties, thin with a smart goatee, and wore the hospital’s volunteer uniform. I’d seen him around town but didn’t know his name. And wouldn’t you know, the identification badge that hung from a lanyard was turned backward. Darn it. I’d learned long ago that it helps any quest to greet people by name.

  “Hi, I wonder if you can help me,” I said.

  “I’ll try.” Clear green eyes twinkled. “What do you need?”

  “I’m here to pick up a patient who came to the emergency department this morning. He called a while ago, but I was delayed. Can you find out if he’s ready?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Cornell Lewis.”

  The man’s face turned stormy faster than a blue norther swept through the plains. “That son of a rattlesnake was here?”

  “Um, well, yes, I thought he was.”

  He looked at his desk surface, shuffled some papers, then typed on his keyboard and pinned his narrow-eyed gaze at the screen.

  “He isn’t here,” the man snapped.

  “Was he treated earlier?”

  The man’s mouth thinned even more. “I don’t have a record of him being here at all. I haven’t personally seen him, and I don’t want to.”

  “Okay,” I said as I backed up. “Uh, sorry to have bothered you.”

  “That’s an understatement,” he growled. “If he’s a friend of yours, lady, you’re running in bad company.”

  “Got it, thanks.”

  With that I scooted out with another whoosh and hotfooted it back toward the square and my duties at the festival.

  Obviously, I’d just run into another person Cornell had done wrong. I wondered who he was and what had happened. Eleanor would likely know, but did I want to raise the subject with her? Not unless it came up. Probably wouldn’t.

  I made another sweep of the booths when I returned, checking in with the artists to be sure all was well. I lapped the hot dog cart but didn’t see a sign of Cornell. Maybe he’d gone on back to Camden. Come to think of it, he might not have health insurance, and I didn’t know if our hospital would treat uninsured patients. He might have called Lilyvale a bust and gone to see his doctor friend.

  I spotted Durley at the corner of Lee and Magnolia as I headed back to the emporium. He again wore jeans and work boots, today with a faded brown shirt, and he appeared to be window-shopping at the men’s clothing store. I didn’t see his sister but sure hoped she was spending more money at the festival.

  • • •

  It had amazed me in the spring when I’d witnessed the artists packing up at Sherry’s farmhouse, and it amazed me now. Tables and shelves and tents and signs were stored in trucks and SUVs in record time. The vendors who consigned with us took items to the store, and every last one wore a happy, if tired, smile. Each one also thanked me for organizing the event and confirmed they’d come back in the spring. The morning’s brouhaha had been put aside.

  When they’d all driven off, there wasn’t a gum or candy wrapper or a stray piece of paper in sight. Not even a cigarette butt, though we had designated a smoking area, and most had complied. The city maintenance crew had little to do but dismantle Gone to the Dogs.

  Maise had scheduled a meeting for five o’clock. She called it an operational debriefing. Back at the gallery in Houston, we’d called it a postmortem. The term caught on with us because an employee was fired following our first after-the-art-show discussion. Debriefing sure sounded better.

  Jasmine and Kathy had gone home, so the seniors and I gathered around the antique counter, where the Six had rung up a record number of sales. It hit me again how they worked together like one of Fred’s well-oiled machines. Each did jobs here, and at the farmhouse, according to their strengths. That was one of the first things I’d noticed when I came in April. Their attitude was all for one, one for all, and they lived it each day.

  None of my little family looked worn to the bone after two long days, but I imagined they were riding more on adrenaline than on energy. Fred, Sherry, and Maise looked pleased as they took off their aprons. Aster looked a little frayed, wisps of graying hair escaping from her customary braid. Eleanor didn’t have a speck of dirt on her apron or a single wrinkle in her emerald blouse. Dab didn’t look as dapper as usual, and that stopped me.

  There were circles under his eyes I hadn’t seen before today, and were his pants riding lower on his hips? Had he lost weight? I hadn’t noticed anything off about him when he and Mags flirted on Friday, but I made a mental note to ask Sherry if he was feeling all right.

  Maise announced that not only had the emporium done well, the artisans reported excellent sales on both days, and three more artists had asked to consign their wares with us. That brought us to forty-five, though I wondered where we’d put everything. There were boxes of art pieces stacked over half the floor space.

  “Never fear, child. We’ll make room,” Aunt Sherry sang.

  “I do believe it’s a good thing we decided to close tomorrow and Tuesday,” Eleanor said. “It will take at least a day to rearrange the store.”

  “And another one to tweak it,” Fred chuckled.

  “I thought you were doing your volunteer work tomorrow.”

  “No, Nixy,” Aster corrected. “We’ll be here to help you.”

  “We’ll have things shipshape again in no time,” Maise said.

  Dab smiled and nodded but didn’t comment. Which was not that odd. He didn’t gab, but when he spoke, we listened.

  “Now then, were there any glitches we need to address for the spring festival?” Maise asked as she surveyed our little group.

  I leaned an elbow on the glass top. I’d be cleaning the smudge later, but I didn’t care. I stretched my back while I answered.

  “Aside from Hamlin creating a scene, no. Luckily, most of the vendors seemed more excited than appalled.”

  “You be sure that varmint don’t get into the next event,” Fred growled.

  “When our sponsors find out he was arrested, they’ll ban him.”

  We were silent a moment, maybe contemplating what other events Hamlin might find himself booted from.

  “I hesitate to ask this,” Eleanor said slowly, “bu
t what happened to Cornell Lewis?”

  “Mikki Michaels told him he should go to the ER, but he didn’t. I didn’t see him the rest of the day.”

  “How do you know Cornell wasn’t at the hospital?” Aster asked.

  “I went over there and said I was supposed to pick him up. The man volunteering at the reception desk isn’t a fan.”

  Eleanor leaned over the counter. “Did you get the volunteer’s name?”

  “The badge was backward. He’s thin and has a goatee.”

  “Marshall Gibson,” Eleanor said with a decisive nod. “Has to be him. He had trouble with Cornell, too.”

  “Everyone who so much as visited a resident in the complex had trouble with that man,” Aster said.

  I missed my chance to ask what Cornell had done to Marshall when Dab spoke up.

  “Cornell will need to file charges against Hamlin, won’t he?” We all turned to him. “What? On TV the police can hold someone for twenty-four hours, but can Lilyvale’s finest?”

  “Good question,” I said. “The sleazeball pulled strings to get permission to vend at the festival. He may pull more to get out of jail.”

  “Nixy, child, you carry your pepper spray at all times, you hear me? I don’t want Hamlin coming after you.”

  “Done and done, Aunt Sherry.” I paused and looked at Maise. “I don’t mean to bug out on the meeting, but I have a date with Eric in an hour, and I need to walk the critters.”

  “No, you don’t,” Fred said. “Dab and me walked ’em less than an hour ago. You feed ’em and fuss over ’em a bit, and go have fun.” He narrowed his eyes. “The boy ain’t takin’ you to the Dairy Queen, is he?”

  “Never fear, we’re going to Adam Daniel’s.”

  “Well, still, you be sure to order expensive vittles. You’re worth it.”

  Chapter Seven

  The fur babies watched me get ready, Amber on the bathroom floor with her chin on her paws, and T.C. sprawled on the rim of the claw-foot bathtub. How she didn’t slide off was one of those cat mysteries.