Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case Page 8

  I started down the steps, but the driver backed up the sedan, angled into Sherry’s driveway, and parked. Before I reached the yard, two men got out. I recognized the driver. Bryan Hardy.

  “Was that the crazy Elsman woman?” the older man with the full beard asked as he crossed the lawn, his gaze more on the Six than on me. I pegged him being in his early fifties. Tall and physically fit, he wore brown pants and a yellow cotton shirt with a scorecard and several golf tees sticking out the top of his breast pocket. He also sported one of the bushiest full beards I’d ever seen.

  “It was,” Sherry said shakily as she descended two steps. “Clark Tyler, this is my niece. Nixy, this is Lorna’s husband. We spoke with her at church today.”

  “I remember. Nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler. How was your golf game?”

  When he looked blank, I added, “Lorna mentioned you were playing golf today.”

  “We were,” he said, and turned back to Sherry. I was dismissed. “Did Elsman hurt anyone?” he demanded.

  “Just my crepe myrtle.”

  “But she made more threats,” Maise said as she joined Sherry. “It’s an outright declaration of war.”

  “Now, Ms. Holcomb, let’s be calm.” That was Bryan. He’d joined the group so unobtrusively, I hadn’t noticed him. He wore navy pants, a white polo shirt, sneakers, and those nerdy black-framed glasses. “You don’t want to do anything to escalate the problem.”

  Maise shook a finger at him. “Then the law in this city and county better do something about that harridan.”

  “We will.” He spoke firmly enough, but for a prosecutor, he still struck me as atypical. “You file a complaint and I’ll personally call the city PA.”

  Clark gave Bryan a sideways glance I couldn’t interpret, then focused on Sherry. “We’ll get rid of the harpy, don’t you worry. She has to leave sooner or later.”

  “I’m counting on sooner,” Maise said. “We’re organizing a meeting of all the neighbors she’s harassing. If we stand firm, she’ll run out of steam.”

  “That’s a good plan, Ms. Holcomb,” Bryan said with a nod. “We’ll let you get to it. Clark?”

  Clark opened his mouth as if to say something else, but just waved and walked back to the car. As he stepped around the sapling, I noticed that the treetop canted off to one side like a broken neck. Which reminded me of the dead bird left on Sherry’s steps, its neck broken.

  I shuddered and pivoted back to the porch.

  Maise clapped her hands for attention. “All right, troops, let’s move. Fred, Dab, see if you can save the crepe myrtle. Ladies, we’ll make those calls to set up the Stop Hellspawn meeting. Nixy, you wait for Shoar to show up.” She cocked a brow at Eleanor. “Or is he coming?”

  “Should be here any minute,” Eleanor said. “But I do believe he’ll want to talk with all of us, won’t he?”

  Maise waved a hand. “Nixy can take point filling him in.”

  And I did, more or less. Shoar wheeled into Sherry’s drive eight minutes later. I timed him. He drove a late-model extended-cab truck, dark gray and dusty, but with nary a scratch or dent that I could spot. He looked a little dusty, too, in wash-worn jeans, a faded short-sleeved shirt, and boots. I wondered what he’d been doing in what was apparently his off time.

  We met at the sapling where Fred solemnly gazed at the cracked top of the tree. Dab joined us with a shovel.

  “I take it this is the hit-and-run victim,” Shoar said.

  “Not funny, Detective,” I snipped.

  He held up his hands. “You’re right. Eleanor was whispering when she called, so I’m not sure I heard everything right. Did Elsman really run over the tree with the Hummer?”

  “Twice,” Fred told him. “Mowed it down roarin’ in here, snapped the top when she roared off.”

  “She also,” Dab added, “nearly T-boned Bryan Hardy’s car as she left.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  I waved a hand. “He and Clark Tyler were driving home after a golf game. They only stopped after Hellspawn nearly creamed them. The point is, if Hellspawn spins you a story about us damaging her bumper—”

  “She’s lying,” he interrupted. “Got it. Here, Dab, let me do the digging while you and Nixy push the tree upright.”

  “We didn’t call you out here to garden,” Dab protested. “You take Nixy’s statement so we can get on with filing the complaint.”

  Shoar hesitated and I could see his wheels spinning. Insist on helping the seniors, one of them using a walker, or give them their dignity? The latter won.

  He turned to me and motioned toward the porch. “Mind if we sit?”

  I shrugged and led the way. I plopped down in a bent willow rocker, and he, small spiral notebook in hand, took the wicker chair next to me.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I turned to watch his expressions as I recounted Hellspawn’s hissy fit in detail, including the semiveiled threat.

  “And why were you all sitting on the porch when she drove up?”

  “Hellspawn apparently drives by every evening, Maise thinks to intimidate them. So Sherry and her friends smile and wave at her.”

  “Why?”

  “Maise calls it psychological warfare.”

  “Maise would.” The corners of his mouth quirked as he scribbled in his spiral again. “Did Elsman drive by last night?”

  “No, and that seemed to be the first evening she’s missed.” I exhaled hard enough to flutter the pages of Eric’s notebook. “This woman is a danger, and I’m worried about leaving Sherry to deal with her.”

  He frowned. “You’re going home already?”

  “Tuesday morning. I have to get back to my job. Can’t you do something about Hellspawn before then?”

  “City’s fresh out of tar and feathers, I’m afraid,” he deadpanned.

  “Again, not funny. You want to talk to everyone else?”

  “Will they have anything different to report?”

  “Overall, I doubt it, but Sherry will be the one filing the complaint. I’ll go get her.”

  I sat in on Sherry’s interview, and I managed to keep quiet. In fact, I tuned them in and out, but kept my eyes on Sherry. Her hands trembled a little. Probably still stunned as well as upset about her tree. She’d let her hair fall over an eye again. I thought the style made her look younger, but she kept brushing it back. Did she need a trim? Is that why she wore barrettes off and on? I’d see about taking her to a beauty shop tomorrow.

  It wasn’t long before Shoar closed his spiral and stood.

  “Thank you, Miz Sherry Mae. I’ll write this up and the car-tampering report, too. Will you be home tomorrow? I’ll need you to sign the complaint.”

  Sherry put her hand on his sleeve. “I’ll come to the station. I want to show Nixy around downtown, and I have some business there anyway.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Is that all? Aren’t you going to go talk to Hellspawn? Follow up right now? I mean, that’s how one investigates, isn’t it?”

  “You learn your police procedure from TV?”

  “No, another guy I dated.”

  “Let me guess. Carl the Cop.”

  I flushed. “Pete the PI’s assistant.”

  He shook his head but I caught the small smile. “Miz Sherry Mae, if I’m not in when you come by tomorrow, I’ll leave the paperwork at the front desk. Tell Dab I’ll have his car vandalism complaint ready to sign, too.”

  “That’s fine, Eric. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome and get some rest.”

  He stopped to speak to Fred and Dab, who had the mulch scraped away from the hole and the sapling more or less upright. Again I saw him hesitate, but Dab waved him off. I understood the seniors wanting to keep their dignity.

  However, while the detective resisted his urge to help out, I didn’t resi
st mine. I pitched in to assist, and after another half an hour, the crepe myrtle was properly replanted. The men hadn’t objected to my aid, but then dignity didn’t do much to ease sore muscles. At any rate, I felt that I made a few points with Fred.

  The Sunday evening meal consisted of leftovers from both Saturday’s and Sunday’s lunch. Maise encouraged me to hog the fried okra, saying, “We can have my okra anytime, but you’re leaving. Eat up.”

  The dinner table mood was more subdued than I expected, and I didn’t think it was due to the lavender oil Aster had sprayed in every corner of the dining room. The Six didn’t chatter about Hellspawn’s visit, though Aster and Eleanor did confirm that the neighborhood confab was scheduled on Tuesday at five in the afternoon. That way, they said, those who still worked would be able to attend.

  I had hoped for an earlier meeting time so I could be there. How late could I leave Lilyvale and still be awake enough to work on Wednesday? By seven or eight at the latest. Make a motel stop, sleep a few hours, then go straight to the gallery. Not ideal but doable.

  Except I didn’t feel good about leaving as long as Hellspawn was at large.

  “That gives us two days to clean the parlor,” Eleanor said.

  “And for me to prepare refreshments,” Maise added.

  “I’ll cut fresh flowers and put out my lavender and other calming oils,” Aster offered.

  “What a wonderful idea, Aster.” Sherry smiled. “Angry as I am with Ms. Elsman, we’ll need cool heads to plan.”

  “I’ll type up a short agenda and print copies at the vo-tech tomorrow.”

  I turned to Eleanor. “Are you teaching classes?”

  “I volunteer teach,” she said. “Three days a week at the technical college.”

  “We all volunteer at the vo-tech.” Fred waved his fork to encompass the Six. “Even me.”

  “It’s a mentor program,” Dab explained. “Students get lectures and demonstrations from professionals. In our case, former professionals.”

  “And from those with particular expertise,” Aster said.

  “Aster is a master gardener and certified herbalist,” Maise declared with obvious pride. “I work with the culinary arts students.”

  “That’s awesome. Those students are lucky to have you. Sherry, are you a reading skills coach at the junior high or high school?”

  Her fork clattered on the plate. Eyes widened. Her friends shifted in their chairs. What had I said wrong?

  “Reading and history, and I help out wherever I’m needed. But I’m skipping tomorrow so we can go to the square. Well, you heard me tell my favorite detective we’d be in town tomorrow morning. I want to spend time with you, and I need to go sign that complaint, too. Don’t let me forget, Nixy.’”

  Forget? Was Sherry worried about her memory? She had recited chapter and verse about the family history all afternoon, but that was long-term memory, right? Did Sherry fear she had a short-term memory problem?

  And what was with the babbling? Sherry wasn’t the least bit taciturn, but she didn’t babble. Or she hadn’t when we’d spent time together after my mom’s death.

  I was a rank amateur on senior issues, but it didn’t take a specialist to see that something about Sherry was off. Way off. Should I chalk it up to Hellspawn stress syndrome, or should I dig deeper?

  Sherry didn’t seem open to confiding in me, and her friends were obviously protective of her. They wouldn’t readily share her secrets either.

  I heaved a silent sigh and stiffened my resolve. I’d get to the bottom of as many issues as I could in the time I had left. And hope that none of them other than dealing with Hellspawn were critical.

  Chapter Nine

  SHERRY WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE SUN STREAMING into her room. I was awake by seven, did my morning routine, and Googled both Jill Elsman and OJE Development in Little Rock. I found it beyond weird that Hellspawn didn’t have a single entry in the search results, not even a Facebook page. OJE seemed equally cloaked in mystery. No website, only a physical address and phone number.

  I called the company at eight on the dot, but was stonewalled as soon as I asked if Jill Elsman worked there. The gatekeeper said she was unable to answer my questions, but I could call after Wednesday to talk with Jeanette Anders.

  After their breakfast, the seniors set off in two cars. Dab took Fred—whose overall pockets still brimmed with tools. Eleanor took Sherry’s Corolla to drive Aster and Maise. Dab’s Caddy seated five, and I idly wondered who had to squish in the back or drive another car when they all went the same place at the same time. Or maybe that never happened.

  “I told Eleanor you’d drive to town today,” Sherry told me, though why she felt she needed to explain, I didn’t know. “You don’t mind, do you? I thought we’d stop at the police station so I can sign the complaint, and then have breakfast at the Lilies Café. It’s one of Lilyvale’s historic spots.”

  “I don’t mind, but isn’t the café attached to the inn where Hellspawn is staying? You want to risk running into her?”

  Sherry’s eyes twinkled. “It’s Elsman, child, and I’m hoping to be there when my favorite detective comes in to arrest her.”

  “She’ll froth at the mouth.”

  “We’ll simply cover our food with Lorna’s lovely, large napkins.”

  “You have an evil streak, Sherry.”

  “Well, I did teach junior high and high school. I learned from the best.”

  I snorted and led the way to my Camry. Sherry and I almost matched today, she wearing black jeans and a white cotton blouse, me in black capris and the white T-shirt from my thrown-together church outfit. We both wore white tennis shoes, too, though Sherry’s looked much cleaner than mine. She wore her bangs loose today. I still wondered if I should offer to take her to the hair salon, if I could suggest it without offending her.

  The sun shone brightly and the temperature was mild again. Purse. Check. Sunglasses. On. Directions. Sherry, my navigator. We were off.

  I powered down the windows as Sherry pointed me back to the square, which was almost deserted at this hour of the morning. She explained that most businesses didn’t open until between nine and ten, though city and county offices opened at eight. Lilies Café opened at seven to catch the early bird workforce and vo-tech college students.

  Once in town, we stopped by the police station, but Shoar was out. He had, as promised, left the paperwork for Sherry to sign.

  I could tell she was disappointed that he wouldn’t be tearing over to arrest Hellspawn, but we stuck to our plan. I slid into a parking space smack in front of the Lilies Café, which sat next to the pharmacy. I hadn’t noticed the café on Saturday morning, but then I’d had other things on my mind.

  “Come make yourselves comfortable,” Lorna Tyler greeted as soon as we entered the café.

  She ushered us through the empty dining room to a round table for two at the front window. She was dressed in a blue flowered apron over black slacks and a black polo shirt, and her black waitress shoes hardly made a sound on the wide-plank pine floors.

  “Morning rush is over, so you get the best seats in the house.”

  We thanked her and settled in. The white tablecloth was pristine, and the mismatched bentwood chairs added charm. Not original Michael Thonet bentwood pieces, but the style fit the café perfectly.

  Lorna handed us each a single-sheet menu listing the breakfast selections, and Sherry told me what she liked while Lorna went off to get our coffee and water. I’m more of a breakfast-protein-bar person, so I opted for an English muffin and mixed fruit. Sherry asked for a half order of eggs Benedict.

  Lorna disappeared into the kitchen behind an oak bar right out of the set of a Western movie. I gawked at the former saloon with its historic pictures of old Lilyvale lining the walls, a staircase at the back of the room. I didn’t know how much of an old West sort of flavor Lilyvale had
back in the day, but I could almost see cowboys clomping their way up that staircase to the rooms they let for the night. Accompanied by a saloon girl perhaps.

  “You can almost smell the boot leather, trail dust, and whiskey, can’t you?” Sherry said with a faraway smile. “Lorna’s great-great-grandfather was an original owner of the saloon and took over when his partner died.”

  “A gun fight?”

  “A mule kick. The Stanton family’s general store was across the square where the antiques store is now. We’ll go over there later.”

  “Great. So, Sherry, who turned the saloon into a diner?”

  “Lorna’s grandparents did that, and modified the rooms upstairs. Lorna helped her parents modernize more, and got interested in hotel management, or whatever the term is now. She studied at Oklahoma State, got a job in Shreveport, and came back here when her parents died.”

  We held a respectful silence for a moment, then Sherry said, “The guest rooms are very nice. Two are suites with their own bathrooms, and two share a bath. Some of our folk art festival patrons stay here.”

  “How many rooms did the saloon originally have?”

  “At least seven, as I recall. They were much smaller rooms, but then the baths and the outhouses were out back. Some say outlaws came through here, though there were never any reliable records about that.”

  I grinned. “So Lilyvale wasn’t always a sleepy little town?”

  “My, no, child; we had our rough and tumble times. The upstanding and the scoundrels, and both groups created a few scandals in their time.”

  “Too bad Lorna has to put up with a scoundrel now.”

  “At least there’s no sign of her this morning. I’d hate to be put off of Lorna’s excellent food.”

  There isn’t much you can do to ruin English muffins and sliced fruit. Still, Sherry’s eggs Benedict looked tantalizing, and the homemade cherry marmalade Lorna served with my muffin had me vowing to come back next time I visited.

  That train of thought reminded me again that the clock was ticking to help solve the Hellspawn problem.