Beads of Doubt (7 page)

“Kitzi, I’m sorry, but I can’t. Cordy has a sinus infection, and I just ran into town to drop off the necklace and pick up her prescription. I can’t stay.” I’d have argued, but I want him to be the kind of man who takes care of his sister. Who knows, I might need him to take care of me sometime. “But, I could stay long enough to get your cell number. And you could walk me to my car.”

“Absolutely. I’ll add it to my new exercise program.”

We went out through the kitchen door, and I was surprised to see that there was a security guard sitting at the opening to the tent. “Good evening,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand and introduce myself. “I didn’t know we’d have protection on the premises.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Charles Jones. I’ll be here until 2 a.m., and then someone’ll take over for me. It’s just to make sure that everything in the booths is safe.”

I hadn’t thought much about that either way, but at least I didn’t have to be responsible for all the jewelry inside the tent. “It’s nice to know you’re here,” I said. “If you need anything to eat or drink, just ring the bell on the back door and I’ll let you in. Or better still, I’ll put a key under the mat for you.”

“Thank you.”

I waved good-bye as we started toward the parking area. When Nate slipped an arm around me I noted again what an amazing effect he had on me. An hour ago I was tired and cranky, and now every part of me, including my hair, felt animated.

“I’ll be coming back in town tomorrow evening,” Nate said. “Would you like to have dinner?”

“With you?” I stopped. “Are you ever amazed at what comes out of your own mouth?”

By this time we’d reached his car. In the darkness I wasn’t sure of the color, but I thought it was between bronze and sand. A Lincoln Navigator. The man traveled in style, much better style than when I’d first ridden with him. That day he’d been in an old beat-up Camp Green Clover van, but it had still been pretty wonderful, if I remember correctly.

“So, dinner tomorrow?” he asked again. “How about if I pick you up around seven? We could listen to some jazz afterward.”

He leaned against his car and slid both arms around me, pulling me to him. Then, his arms tightened and I could feel the muscles as he brought me even closer. I don’t think I was breathing. Then his mouth came down on mine. I’ve had some hot flashes in my days but nothing to equal the heat of that moment.

The first kiss was soft. The second was longer and harder. I kissed him back, and for a minute thought I was going to melt right down through his arms and become part of the parking lot.

“Hey, you two cut that out!”

I jumped. It was that darn Bruce, coming up the walk behind us. He was with his wife, and she was shaking her head at him. He was grinning and even his beard couldn’t hide it. “Did I scare you? I didn’t want you to get carried away.”

Nate said, “You mean like this?” He bent me over backward and kissed me dramatically.

Once I could stand again, I said to him, “Let me guess, you wanted to grow up to be the sheik.”

“And you are my blonde heroine.”

“That’s hellcat to you,” I said.

Nate was smiling. “So, my blonde hellcat, seven tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be ready.”

Once Nate had closed the door, Bruce and Delphine walked by. Bruce said, “New boyfriend? You look like you’re about three feet off the ground. Just don’t fall off your cloud.”

“I’m not a bit worried,” I said. Nate drove away with a last wave, and I saw Bruce and Delphine go toward their pickup, which was in the neighbor’s driveway behind a Dumpster.

I let out a sigh. Maybe I was three feet above the ground. What’s more, I intended to stay there.

Just the thought was smug and seemed to tempt the fates. No one stays on a cloud all that long; seems there’s always something sooner or later to knock you off. In my case it was sooner.

I was off my cloud first thing in the morning.

The sky was the sort of deep turquoise-cobalt
blue mix that Austin is famous for. The grass was sharp emerald green, and the tent was still teal and white stripes. It would have been a nice mix to look at from my bedroom. With me still in bed.

“Why don’t we do about forty minutes?” Beth said. “Then we’ll be back and still have time to change before the tea officially opens.”

It was too early in the morning; we were wearing shorts and T-shirts ready to go for the gusto, or whatever it is that you get as a result of a forty-minute walk.

“We could drive down to Sweetish Hill and get some croissants first,” I suggested.

“We had whey shakes and that’s plenty. Think of them as milkshakes,” she said as we passed the tent. I didn’t see anyone outside, and it was closed off, so apparently the guard was asleep inside.

“Why don’t we set a route,” I said, “and if we get done before the time is up, then great. And maybe it will take us longer than forty minutes.”

“You’re conniving.”

“I’m back-timing. It’s now eight fifteen. If we walk forty minutes, that’s nine.”

“Five of.”

“Close enough. The volunteers will be arriving, so we won’t have time to shower and get dressed.”

“They aren’t coming until nine thirty because they got everything ready last night. Nothing officially starts until ten. We have plenty of time.”

I growled, but I didn’t say anything. Who can argue with that kind of logic?

We cut through the bushes to the parking lot, and I heard voices coming from over the fence where the house was being renovated. “Sounds like a party.”

Beth, slightly ahead of me, picked up her pace. “A bad one. The cops are there.”

I caught up with her and saw that not only were there police, there was also a special crimes unit SUV and a coroner’s van. That’s when I started running. Bruce might have broken up my good-night kissing with Nate, but he was still one great guy, and he’d been my closest
neighbor
for over a year—the whole time he was renovating the house. He and his wife had been at the Manse several times, and when I had a problem with the garage door, he was the one who’d fixed it. That was on a Saturday and he’d never let me pay him. When his wife made tamales or
posole
, guess who got some?

I was almost out of breath when I rounded the corner and saw the big Dumpster with a ladder leaning against it.

There were people everywhere, including a few in uniforms, and several more in plain clothes. I went up to the man who seemed to be in charge. He appeared about fifty, dark straight hair, cut in a style you’d call clean-cut or all-American. He had a bit of a belly hanging over his belt, and he was taking some notes on a handheld computer.

“Good morning,” I said, still breathing hard. “I’m Kitzi Camden from next door.”

“Yes, Ms. Camden, nice to meet you. I’m Senior Sergeant Dwayne Granger.” He put away the stylus he’d been using on his Dell Axim and shook hands with me. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

I hate when people over twenty call me “ma’am.” “It appears that something terrible happened here. I knew the contractor and several of the workmen. Are they okay?”

He stared at me, saying nothing, until finally a voice from behind me said, “I’m okay, and so are all my crew.” It was Bruce.

I turned around and saw that he looked worn. “Oh, Bruce, I’m glad.” I took a huge breath. “You seem tired.”

“I am.”

The cop said, “Ms. Camden, I understand that you had a party at your house last night.”

“What? Oh, yes, but it wasn’t actually my party. It was the opening reception for the Bead Tea that’s being held. It starts today. It’s sponsored by the Ovarian Cancer Organization and the Bead Society.”

“Do you have a list of the guests?”

I shook my head.

Beth said, “I’m sure we can get you one. Judy would have it. I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Beth Fairfield. I have a booth in the tent this weekend. The big teal and white striped tent? There will be vendors and I’m one of them.”

He seemed interested. “Doing what?”

“Selling jewelry.”

“Ah.” He nodded. I was relieved to be out out of the conversation. “And who is Judy?” Granger asked.

Beth explained that she was the president of the Ovarian Cancer Organization. “I have her number someplace. I’m sure Kitzi has it, too.”

“Any chance you can get it for me?”

I shivered in the morning sunlight. Judging from the coroner’s van and the ladder against the Dumpster, I could only conclude that someone had been killed and their body left in the Dumpster. And this sergeant thought that the people who had been in my home last night might have something to do with it. Maybe one of those people was dead, lying not twenty feet away, hidden by the steel walls of the Dumpster.

The sight of all the police vehicles had surprised and frightened me. Once I had known that Bruce and his crew were safe, I hadn’t thought much more about who had died, or why they were here. The nonchalance of the sergeant had lulled me into a false calm. I wasn’t feeling calm now, and the ease of the conversation between Beth and him wasn’t helping.

“Not a problem,” Beth said to Sergeant Granger. “We can get Judy’s phone number to you in less than an hour. Unless you need it sooner. We were just going for a walk.”

“That will be fine,” he agreed and handed her a card. They had a conversation about which number she was to call.

I was staring at the Dumpster. What kind of a person killed someone and then just threw the body in a trash receptacle?

“Excuse me,” I said. “Can you tell me who is dead? I assume someone is dead.” I gestured to the coroner’s van.

Sergeant Granger’s expression held surprise as he turned to me. “I’m sorry, but we aren’t ready to release any names yet.” He turned back to Beth. “If you’d give me your phone number, I’d appreciate it. I’d like to set up an interview.”

Bruce had stepped a few feet away, and I followed him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked. His coloring was normally ruddy from all the time spent outdoors, but this morning his skin was a dreary ash.

“I’m fine.” He continued walking and I stayed with him.

“You want to talk about it?” I asked.

“Are you going to give me a choice?”

And then I realized the source of his drained appearance. “You found the body, didn’t you?”

“And the blood. And what killed him.”

I glanced over my shoulder, but Sergeant Granger was deep in conversation with Beth and paying no attention to us. “Him?” I said. “It was a man?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. But why? I mean, what were you doing? You can’t see into the Dumpster unless you’re seven feet tall, and you aren’t. And there—wasn’t anything in there—well, it was supposed to be empty, wasn’t it? How did you happen to find him?”

“You writing an article?”

“Inquiring minds,” I said. “I just want to know how you happened to find him. Do you mind telling me?”

He thought about it for a second. “When I came up the drive I saw a trail of,“—he swallowed—”of something dark coming out of the Dumpster. At first I thought it was oil, and I was pissed because it was staining the driveway. As you know, the owners aren’t going to stand for that. Then I ran my boot through it and there was red. I needed to figure out what it was so I could get the stain off.” He rubbed his face with his hand. “I could see through a seam of the Dumpster, but I couldn’t see enough, so I climbed up the side. He was on his stomach, and the back of his head was . . . wasn’t there.”

“My Lord.” I held back a gag and took in some air. “Did he fall into the Dumpster? An accident, maybe? I mean, what did you do?” I hoped I was sounding clinical, and I hoped my stomach believed that I wasn’t upset by this.

“I climbed in and checked his pulse, but there wasn’t one. And no, it wasn’t an accident. The bottom of the Dumpster is flat, and he couldn’t have fallen from the top and done that kind of damage. Besides, I’m pretty sure I found what did it.” A shudder ran through his body. “Anyway, I turned him over.”

“Did you recognize him?” I lowered my voice. “Was it someone you knew?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that.”

“But you’re pretty sure this was murder? You can’t possibly think that I killed him. Come on, Bruce. That’s ridiculous.” We had continued walking and now we were nearing the corner, out of earshot and sight, and I hoped, out of mind of the sergeant. “Well? Are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?” His lips turned white, and for a second I thought he was going to vomit. “I’m sorry. Damn. I didn’t mean that.” But now I was pretty sure of the murder method, and it gave me chill bumps on my arms.

Bruce leaned over and picked up some nails that were scattered in the dirt. Then he looked back to see if we were being watched, and when he realized that no one was paying any attention, he stood and said, “I knew the guy who was murdered. He probably deserved killing, but I didn’t do it.”

“I believe you. Who was it?”

“Andrew Lynch.”

I could feel my eyes strain outward. “Houston’s . . . protégé . . . assistant, whatever he was? That Andrew Lynch?”

“That’s the one.”

I leaned back against a telephone pole. This was a shocker. Andrew Lynch was dead. I looked up at Bruce. “You said the back of his . . . uh, you said that you found what you think killed him. What was it?”

“A big brass candlestick.”

“A brass—” I had to take in air. “About this big?” I held my hands about two feet apart, and Bruce nodded. “And the base had brass leaves? And two more sections on up the candlestick?”

Again he nodded. “How’d you know?”

“And really heavy?”

“Yes. Now tell me how you know?”

I had to stop the whirling of my brain. “I think,” I said, “I think that Andrew was killed with my candlestick from the conservatory.”