Murder in a Basket (An India Hayes Mystery) (3 page)

Finally, it was six o’clock and time for the festival to close for the day. My left wrist felt cramped from all the tiny face-painting strokes it had made. Before the clock tower finished marking the hour, I was packed up and ready to head home. I unsnapped my fanny pack and tossed it into the blue rolling crate under my table.

Tess noted my frenzied activity.
“In a rush to get home?” She scratched Zach behind ears. The dog closed his eyes in ecstasy.

“
Is it that obvious?” I folded one of the plastic cloths and slapped it on top of the crate. As I straightened, I realized she wasn’t alone.

She had her arm around a pudgy Asian undergrad with spiky black hair. He wore baggy jeans and a Martin Otters sweatshirt.

“I’m glad you haven’t left yet,” Tess said. “I would like you to meet my son, Derek.”

Oh, I knew Derek. He was a freshman library worker who had latched on to me the first day of the semester. He was the student I’d been trying to avoid and had used the library service elevator to escape.

Derek’s face was beet red, which was quite a feat considering his complexion.

“
Your son?” I asked.

Tess smiled.
“He’s adopted.”

Now it was my turn to blush with embarrassment.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that—it’s just I already know him. He works at Ryan Library. I’m one of the librarians here on campus.”

“
I thought Sammy said you were faculty.”

“
The librarians are faculty.” I paused. “Technically, anyway.”

Tess’s face brightened.
“You’re
the
India.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.
“The India?”

“
Derek tells me you are his special friend.”

Derek looked at the ground with a pleading expression, as if asking the earth to open up and swallow him. He was going to wish it had after I was finished with him.

“Really,” I said in a deadly tone that Tess, probably because her excellent chi alignment, missed. “Tess, do you care if I talk to your son a minute? Library business. It’s nothing major.”

“
Sure, go ahead. I’ll start helping Jerry pack up his booth.”

I crooked a finger at Derek.
“Let’s go.”

We walked to the end of the concession row behind the apple dumpling booth. The vendor had already left and locked up for the day, but the scent of baked dough and cinnamon still hung heavy in the air.

Derek took in my appearance. “I like your outfit. It suits you.”

“
Okay, that comment illustrates our problem.”

“
Problem? What problem?”

“
I work for the college, and you’re a student.”

“
So?”

I cut to the chase because he certainly wasn’t following the bread crumbs I dropped in front of him.
“Are you out of your mind? Are you telling people I’m your special friend?”

His voice was small.
“But you are my friend, aren’t you?”

“
Do you have any idea how much trouble I could get in if there is a rumor I’m having an unprofessional or inappropriate relationship with a student? Even though I’m completely innocent, I could lose my job. It could ruin my entire career.”

Derek looked as if he might cry.
“I just told my mom. She was worried I wasn’t making any friends, so I told her you were a special friend.”

Some of my anger dissipated. I sighed.
“I’m glad you’ve only said it to your mom, but don’t say it again to anyone. Ever. I don’t think you realize how it can be interpreted.”

Derek face was back to beet red.
“I didn’t mean anything like
that
.”

“
It doesn’t matter what you meant.” I straightened my spine. This was a discussion I had needed to have with Derek for several weeks. “Also, the little gifts you leave for me at the reference desk have to stop.”

“
What gifts?”

“
The anonymous notes about having a nice day, the flowers plucked from the flowerbeds outside the library, and the candy.”

His eyes widened a little.
“How did you know they were from me?”

“
People saw you placing those items on the desk and told me.”

He turned bright purple-red.
I instantly felt badly for scolding him, but it simply had to be done.

“
I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” Derek murmured.

“
Good. Let’s go back.” I had taken a step in the direction of the crafter booths when I realized something. I froze. “Tess is your mom.”

Derek pulled on one of his hair spikes.
“I’m adopted.”

“
I know that. But if Tess is your mom, that makes Provost Lepcheck your uncle.”

Derek made a face.
“I didn’t tell him you were my friend.”

Thank goodness for small favors, I thought. I would have to watch what I said about Lepcheck with Derek around.

I smiled at him, hoping to put him at ease.

When we returned to the crafter area, Tess stood behind her booth pouring a green liquid from a battery
-operated teapot into her hand-thrown mug. Derek saw Jerry, struggling with a rolling cart full of his wares, and hurried over.

“
Everything okay in the library?” Tess asked.

“
Huh?” I looked under my table to make sure I had everything. I knew the Martin students well; anything left behind was free game and would undoubtedly end up in the college’s fountain.

“
The library. You said you needed to talk to Derek about something to do with the library.”

“
Oh, right. Yes, everything’s fine.”

She smiled serenely.
“Thanks for being so nice to my son. He doesn’t have the easiest time making friends. He’s terribly shy. When he was a little boy one of his teachers told me he had stranger anxiety.” She frowned and just as quickly her face cleared. “He likes you though. He might even have a crush on you.”

Terrific.

Looking for some way to change the subject, I noted Tess hadn’t started packing up her booth. “You’re not eager to get home?”

Tess looked out over the green lawn.
“I’ll start packing when Jerry’s done. It takes him much longer to close up shop.” She nodded in his direction, where Jerry and Derek fought with the iron contents of a wheelbarrow. “I should go over and help some more. It was really nice sharing space with you, India. I can tell your chi is well-centered.” Tess rose.

I smiled.
“Uh, thanks,” I said, although I had doubts about the centeredness of my energy flow. I could’ve used a nap and maybe a piece of chocolate cake.

“
Oh, I almost forgot,” Tess said. “I have something for you.” She bent down and reached into a large tote bag at her feet.

“
You do?” I asked warily, hoping it wasn’t something to realign my aura.

She pulled a blue festival polo shirt out of her tote bag.
“It might be a little big on you, but I had an extra. You looked so miserable today in that get-up.”

I caught the polo in the air.
“Be still my heart! I love you.”

Tess grinned.

“I was debating on spilling paint down my front earlier today, but this solution is so much cleaner. Plus Carmen would freak.” To put it mildly, I mentally added.

“
Anything I can do to help another artist in need.” She smiled again with that faraway sweet smile. She definitely had her chi in the right spot.

I thanked Tess profusely for the shirt as I tipped the rolling crate back on its wheels, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and grabbed my painting portfolio.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tess waved.
“Tomorrow.” She joined Jerry at his booth, Zach trailing in her wake.

As it turned out, we were both wrong about that.

I lived in one half of a duplex a mile east of campus, close enough to walk, if I ever was so inclined, but too far away from campus for students to frequent my neighborhood.

As I pulled into the driveway, Ina Carroll, my landlady and next door neighbor, squared off with a police officer in our front yard. Ina gestured wildly as she spoke. The cop, whose back was to me, had his arms crossed in front of his chest. I wondered if this was to exude authority or provide protection. Theodore, an obese Maine
coon cat and Ina’s charge, sat at her feet, munching on fallen leaves. Theodore was my brother’s cat, but when Mark hit the road, I turned the cat over to Ina. My feline roommate, Templeton, had a personality disagreement with Theo, and I didn’t want to referee a feline version of professional wrestling until my wanderlust sibling found himself.

I approached the pair cautiously. Ina waved me over.
“India, thank goodness you’re home. Tell this boy playing cops and robbers I’m not a crazy old woman.”

Isn’t lying to a police officer a crime? I wondered.

“What’s going on?” I asked. As I did, the officer turned to face me. Oh great, it was Officer Knute. Knute was one of the cops I’d had trouble with last summer when my brother was in a legal mess. He was a sun-bleached blond, tan-skinned fit guy, who looked better suited for the beaches of California than the mild streets of Stripling, Ohio.

Knute grimaced.
“Mrs. Carroll here is trying to report a
crime
,” he said as if that was in question.

Ina sniffed.
“That’s Ms. Carroll to you. I never got married, thank you very much. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’ve ever been hitched.”

Knute looked heavenward.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. I can tell you don’t believe me. It’s true. A crime has been committed.”

I collected my mail from the box next to my front door. I flipped through it quickly. Bill, bill, junk, bill, junk, postcard. The postcard’s picture was of Delicate Arch in
Utah. I flipped it over even though I already knew who sent it. It was from my brother Mark, who was off seeking himself in the wild, wild West. It read, “India, I saw a moose today up in the mountains near Park City, Utah. Did you know there were moose in Utah? I sure didn’t. Having a great time. Hope Theodore is doing well.”

I looked down at Theodore, who was polishing off the fallen oak leaf that had drifted onto Ina’s half of the porch. His girth spread around him like a deflated balloon. He looked fine to me.

“What’s that?” Knute asked in alarm as he stared at Theodore.

“
It’s a cat,” Ina said.

“
It’s huge. I thought it was a rug.”

Theo squinted at Knute as if sizing him up for dessert.

“Are you all right, Ina? What kind of crime was it?” I asked.

“
Of course, I’m all right,” she replied.

Knute gave me a sideways glance.
“The crime is jaywalking.”

“
Jaywalking?” I tried to keep the disbelief out of my voice with little success.

Ina put her hands on her narrow hips.
“I could’ve been killed this morning walking downtown. This crazy man almost ran me over as I was making my way down the sidewalk in front of the Lutheran church, then he ran across the street onto the square, nearly getting hit by a car. You don’t even want to know what the driver of the car called him.”

She was right, I didn’t. All I wanted to do was get a bite to eat and sit down on the couch to watch mind-numbing reality TV. Was that too much to ask after the day I’d had?

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask Juliet Burla. She was few steps behind me and saw the whole thing.”

Ina didn’t mention that Juliet, her best friend and co-conspirator, as sweet as she was, was just shy of blind and verging on senile. Juliet’s
eyewitness account of anything would never hold up in the court of law.

“
I called that detective of yours to tell him, and he sent this kid over in his place.”

I knew who
m she was referring to—Detective Richmond Mains, who assisted me last year with my brother’s case. Knute knew, too, since Mains was the
only
detective on the Stripling police force. I felt myself blush. “He’s not my detective.”

Knute’s eyes narrowed.

“I thought because of my friendship with you he would care enough to do something himself.”

I didn’t like where this was going at all. In truth, I hadn’t even spoken to Mains in three months. Mentally, I counted to ten backward in French.
“Officer Knute, do you have everything you need for now?”

Knute nodded.
“Yep. I’d better be off so I can hunt down some jaywalkers.”

“
I don’t like your lip, young man,” Ina said.

Knute walked to his car but got in one final parting shot.
“Nice dress.”

I looked down at the pink nightmare I wore.

Ina watched Knute drive away with contempt. “I bet that Mains character didn’t come because he’s English. You know how the English feel about our people. I can just tell he plans to treat this like the potato famine and let the defenseless fend for themselves.”

Not this again. Ina was on a genealogy kick, following her family’s lineage all the way back to
Ireland. During that research, she discovered her great grandfather immigrated to the United States during the potato famine of 1845. Obsessed with the horrors of that time, she talked about it nonstop, enjoying one gruesome detail after another. I thought the topic was sobering and interesting—at first. However, there came a point when the death and starvation of thousands of people lost its appeal. At least for me. Ina was another story.

“
Detective Mains had nothing to do with the potato famine, Ina,” I said, even though I knew it was useless to argue.

“
That’s what he wants you to think.” She threw open her front door. “I’m going inside. I have work to do. I need to find the police chief’s phone number and file a complaint. Do you think your parents have his number?”

She nudged Theodore to go inside with her. Slowly he lifted his body from the porch and lumbered into her apartment.

“Most likely.” On that note, I excused myself and went into my apartment.

*

Thirty minutes later, Templeton and I sat on the couch watching a deliciously stupid episode of reality television and eating ice cream. It was just what the doctor ordered after a long day of painting faces under my sister’s thumb. I sat Indian style on the couch in my
I Love My Cat
pajamas with the ice cream pint in my lap so Templeton could get to the container more easily. I knew some people would be disturbed that I ate after my cat, but he’s a finicky neat-nick and much cleaner than most people I know. More practically, he’d claw my eyes out if he didn’t get his share.

In the past, I’d tried to give him his own bowl, but it never worked. He always polished it off before I could get my second bite in and then came after my serving.

On the TV, one of the women complained about the untidiness of the camp they were living in.

“
You’re in the jungle. What do you expect?” I said.

Templeton meowed and I interpreted his meow to say,
“These people are morons.” He twitched his tail for emphasis.

After swallowing a large spoonful of ice cream, I told him,
“You’re right.”

I glanced at the cart of face paints and brushes sitting by my front door. I wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow and round two. The fact I was both neighbors with Derek’s mom and Lepcheck’s sister didn’t make it any easier, no matter how much I liked Tess. At that moment, my brain registered the cart was black. Not blue as it should be, but black.

“Oh crap! Templeton, I’m the one who’s a moron.” I jumped out my seat, sending cat and ice cream container flying. “I grabbed the wrong cart.”

Templeton hissed and swatted at his right ear, trying to get off the bit of ice cream that somehow had landed there.

It was true. There had been two rolling carts under my table. The black one held the face-painting equipment, and the blue one held my paintings and, I realized, my fanny pack with all the money.

I had to go back for it. The paintings would be ruined if they got damp. Not to mention, my sister would have a conniption fit if I lost the face
-painting money.

I grabbed my red trench coat and pulled dog
-printed puddle boots onto my feet.

Templeton jumped on the kitchen table and started licking his long black tail, which was coated with strawberry swirl ice cream. He watched me between licks with disapproval in his eyes.

“It was an accident.” I plucked the ice cream container off of the floor and tossed it into the kitchen wastebasket. I’d deal with the stain the spilt ice cream left on the rug later.

He bore his fangs, and I grabbed my keys and cell before leaving the apartment. The drive to campus took less than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten something as important as my paintings and the fanny pack of money. I groaned. I’d been too eager to escape Derek, my alleged special friend. I prayed the money and paintings were still there.

The tacky Halloween decorations emitted an eerie orange glow as I drove by fraternity row. I pulled into the parking lot by the practice football field in my new-to-me small SUV. The parking lot had light posts, but the practice field was pitch black. The team sometimes practiced at night. Four giant dark floodlights loomed over the field, not that I knew where the switch was to turn them on. Instead, I reached into the backseat of my car for a flashlight.

My puddle boots skidded across the slick leaves that had blown across the field, and I stumbled over my own two feet. All the booths were closed up. The food vendors had padlocks on their carts. This was a good move; I could
envision some of the male underclassmen breaking in and stealing all their frozen French fries. I neared the crafter booths and saw those booths were closed up tight as well. Apparently, the crafters trusted the Martin students as much the food people did. I hoped the underclassmen hadn’t been to my booth, and if they had, that they took the money and not my paintings.

The weak light of the flash finally fell on the cheap blue awning of my so-called booth. I trained the light under the table and saw the wheels of the blue cart. I hurried over, relieved to find all the paintings and money present and accounted for. I snapped the fanny pack around my waist.

I swung the flashlight left and right before heading back to the car, and as I did, the light fell on Tess’s booth. My light wobbled. Her display was still up. All the baskets were there as if waiting for morning. Tess seemed ditzy, but I couldn’t believe she’d leave her precious baskets out all night. With my rudimentary knowledge of the effects of water on wood and wood’s ability to expand and contract, I didn’t think it could be good for the baskets to be exposed to the elements like that. Tess would have known this better than anyone.

Immediately, a knot developed in the pit of stomach. I inched toward the booth. The closer I got to the booth the more my stomach tightened.

The baskets hanging from the coat tree looked like withered pieces of fruit. I gave myself a mental headshake. I blamed my edginess on darkness and the closeness of Halloween. But deep down I knew it was more than that, much more. I stepped closer, although a part of me, a big part, wanted to get the heck out of there and fast.

Despite the cold night, sweat trickled down my neck and inside the collar of my pajamas. I looked over the edge of Tess’s booth and made my gruesome discovery. My hand flew to my mouth.

Tess, still in the jeans, sweatshirt, and festival polo, lay sprawled face down in the grass. A huge sycamore leaf clung to her cheek. After a second, I realized it was held there with blood. A large dent dominated the back of her head, covered with blood-matted hair. If Tess had darker hair, perhaps the sight of the blood wouldn’t be so dramatic, but up against her pale ash-blond mop, the blood was impossible to ignore. Dark cranberry red, a hue I doubted any pulverized beetle could duplicate.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. I shone my light around the scene. A few feet away from Tess’
s body, the cat’s head basket mold sat in a patch of blood-spattered grass.

Instinctively I stumbled back, knocking my hip into the side of the booth. Several baskets fell off the cart and bounced softly onto the field. Taking a deep breath, I dialed 911.