Murder in a Basket (An India Hayes Mystery) (5 page)

Doc was Dr.
Frank Maynor, the county medical examiner. He was a member of my mother’s church.

Doc panted hard.
“I came as quick as I could.” He glanced at Carmen and me. “Girls, is your mother here?”

We shook our heads.

He smiled and looked relieved.

“
Let me show you the scene,” Mains said. He walked around the booth, and together the cop and medical examiner knelt beside Tess’s body. Doc slid a penlight out of his jacket pocket and shone its light on Tess’s wound. I looked away. Mains glanced up at Carmen and me, who were still standing there like gap-mouthed statues. He shot me an exasperated look. “Give your statement to Officer Habash and go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

At home
, my phone rang a few minutes after I walked through the door. It was Mains. “Tell your sister the festival can start at ten as planned.”

“
It can?” I was surprised.

“
Yes, the college president thinks it will draw more attention to the murder if the festival was to be canceled.” He didn’t sound very happy with the decision.

I thought the crime scene tape around Tess’s booth would do the trick, but who was I to know
?

“
The crafters will have to move to the other side of the field as you suggested.”

“
What about the corn hole game?”

“
Not my problem.”

“
Why don’t you call Carmen yourself?”

There was silence, then he sighed.
“Can you just tell her?”

“
Sure,” I agreed.

“
We have a lot to talk about tomorrow, India, so get some rest.” He hung up.

I held the phone in my hand, wondering if he meant there was more to talk about than just the murder.

The next morning, I parked in the practice field lot a little before eight. Carmen wanted me there early to help the other crafters move their booths.

As I approached my sister, Carmen looked at me in dismay.
“Where’s your pioneer dress?”

I wore jeans, the polo shirt Tess had given me, a warm hoodie, and a scarf. I opened my jacket to show her the polo.
“See, I’m in uniform.”

Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re lucky I don’t have time for this.”

I smiled.
“Where do we start?”

Most of the crafters were gathered at the edge of the parking lot. Knute hovered close by to make sure the crafters didn’t bother the crime scene. Carmen clapped her hands for their attention.
“As I told you all on the phone, there was an accident in the crafter area last evening. We need to move all the crafter booths to this side of the field before we can open.”

“
What kind of accident?” someone called. “Was anybody hurt?” asked another, and everyone started talking at once.

The fifteen or so crafters formed a makeshift circle around Carmen and me. Knute, who was supposed to be controllin
g them, watched us with just a hint of a smile on his face. Carmen put two fingers in her mouth and whistled at painfully close range. When everyone quieted down, her teacher persona was firmly in place. “Listen up!”

I wondered if I
’d ever be able to hear out my right ear again.

“
One of our fellow crafters was attacked,” Carmen said. Her announcement silenced them.

I inwardly groaned.

Knute awakened from his comatose state. “Ma’am, the detective didn’t say you could tell the public.”

Carmen looked down at Knute as if she was inspecting the expiration date on a gallon of milk.
“Nor did he say I couldn’t tell them. These people here are crafters and vendors who paid good money to be a part of this festival.”

“
But ma’am—”

“
What happened? Tell us,” Lynette said with a crochet hook clenched in her small fist.

The crowd agreed.

“I’m sorry to report that Tess Ross is dead.”

There was collective intake of horrified breath.

One woman with red-blond hair standing away from the crowd burst into tears. She covered her mouth, and before I could ask who she was she ran off. I wondered if she was going to be sick.

A beader interrupted my thoughts. She was a small woman wearing a white puff
-sleeved blouse and brown sprig-patterned skirt that fell all the way to her shoes, which I assumed were twins of my wretched granny boots. She gasped. “Dead?”

“
She died here at the festival?” someone called out.

“
How could that happen?” the weaver asked.

Carmen clapped her hands.
“We don’t know anything yet. The police are just beginning their investigation. But”—she paused—“It looks like she was murdered.”

Knute moaned softly and shot me a look of loathing. Like it was my fault, I thought. Please, I never claimed any semblance of control over any of my family members.

“Murdered!” the crowd responded aghast.

“
I know this is a shock, but the festival must go on. Detective Mains promised the festival will open on time. The scheduled activities will continue as planned. Being a crafter and annual participant of the Stripling Founders’ Festival, I believe that Tess would have wanted us to keep the festival going.

“
The food vendors are free to set up their booths and stations at their present locations. However, the crafters and artists will have to move their booths to this side of the field. I suggest you all get to work now. We don’t have much time. I’m sure if you have any questions, Officer Knute will be happy to assist you.”

Knute glared at my sister. I think she just overthrew my throne on his loathsome list.

“Now if you will excuse me, I have some calls to make.” Carmen walked away. I hurried after her, but not before I saw the crowd gathered around Knute. I didn’t feel a bit sorry for him.

I caught up with Carmen at the concessions area. Still walking at a fast pace, she plucked her cell phone from her purse pocket and speed-dialed.
“Chip. Call a babysitter. I need all hands at the festival to move everything on time.”

Knowing my brother-in-law would be there soon, I left my sister to her damage control.

The food booths were already cooking. I inhaled the artery-clogging but simply delicious smells of fair food, and I realized that I was hungry. Unfortunately, most of the concession booths were empty as their owners tried to sneak a peek at the crime scene.

While I knew I should move my booth, the subtle growling in my stomach distracted me enough that I took a detour toward the parking lot. I might have a granola bar somewhere in my car. The age of the granola bar was debatable, but my quest for breakfast gave me an excuse to avoid the scene of the crime.

In the parking lot, Jerry was unloading his truck. My appetite left me.

What was he doing here? Didn’t he know of Tess’s murder? Wasn’t it Mains’
s job to tell family members these things? Where was Mains?

“
Good morning,” he said in a cheerful voice. He didn’t know yet, that much was obvious. He shut the pickup’s door and walked toward the practice field. I hurried over to him.

“
Jerry, wait.”

He stopped.
“Need help with something?”

“
Can you wait here for a few minutes?”

His forehead wrinkled.
“Why? I need to set up.”

I bit my lip.

“Is something wrong?”

“
Well . . . Tess . . . I . . .”

“
Tess? This has to do with Tess? Is she here?”

“
What time did Tess leave last night?” I glanced behind me, looking for Mains, for any cop, even Knute.

“
I don’t know. I left around seven and headed over to my forge. She was still here then . . .” He trailed off. “What’s this about?”

“
You mean you haven’t seen your wife since yesterday?”

Jerry’s eyes flashed in annoyance.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m in the middle of working on a huge custom gate order. That means long hours and lots of noise.” His face softened. “I called the house around midnight to tell her I’d sleep on my cot over there, but she must already have gone to bed. She didn’t answer the phone. Why? Are you looking for her?”

I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Jerry, I’m so sorry . . .”

He froze.
“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“
Uh—”

“
I’ll take it from here, India.” Mains’s voice came from behind me, and I jumped.

Jerry looked from Mains to me and back again.
“Who are you?”

“
I’m Detective Richmond Mains of the Stripling Police Department. Mr. Ross, I need to speak with you for a minute.”

Despite the chill in the air, beads of sweat appeared on Jerry’s brow.
“Wh-what’s this about?”

I didn’t move.

Mains touched my arm. “You need to give us some privacy.”

I jogged back to the practice field, the granola bar forgotten.

In my haste to get away, I ran directly into Derek. His eyes were bloodshot. He knew.

“
Derek, I’m so sorry.” It was the best I could do, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

He blinked at me.

Officer Habash stood a foot away and cocked her eyebrow at me.

I smiled at her.
“I know him. He’s one of my students. Derek, let’s go over to that picnic table.”

We sat on the bench.
“Are you okay?”

“
No.”

I smiled sadly at the honest answer. Most people were too polite
to tell you how they really feel, but not Derek.

My shoulder began to ache as it always did when I tensed up.
“Who told you?”

“
Detective Mains. Last night. He found me at the dorm.”

“
I don’t know if you should be here.”

“
I had to come. I had to see where it happened. Not that I actually saw anything. The police wouldn’t let me get close.”

“
That’s good. You don’t need to see that.”

“
I brought these for you.” For the first time, I noticed the white bakery bag in his hand. I took the bag. Two fresh jelly donuts sat at the bottom. “I know they’re your favorite. I brought them to apologize about yesterday.”

“
That was very thoughtful,” I stammered. How could he think of bringing me donuts the morning after he learned his mother was murdered? Under the circumstances, it seemed rude not to take the bakery bag, so I decided to forgive the no-gifts rule this once. I doubted I’d be able to eat them.

“
I just don’t understand. The detective said she was murdered. That doesn’t make any sense. No one had anything against my mom. Everyone loved her. She was so easygoing.” A tear slid out of the corner of his eye, and he gruffly wiped it away.

“
It doesn’t look like she left last night. Her cart wasn’t even packed. When did you last see her?”

“
Six-thirty,” he said firmly. “I offered to help her pack up, and she said I didn’t have to. She was meeting someone, and it would give her something to do while she waited. I didn’t argue with her. You don’t know how many times I’ve packed her booth after a craft fair. I was happy for the excuse to leave. I should have insisted. That’s what a good son would’ve done.” He blinked at the ground.

I put what I hoped was a reassuring hand on his arm.

He looked up. “You have to find out who did this.”

I removed my hand as if burned
. “What?”

“
Everyone knows you solved that murder last summer.”

“
That was different,” I said quickly, panic racing through me as my mind listed all the reasons I shouldn’t get involved. Lepcheck was the victim’s brother. Martin College would hate it. Mains would hate it. And the list went on.

“
Please?” His voice broke.

I’ve heard people say it’s hard to lose a parent at any age. I don’t doubt that to be true, but I also believed the younger the child was the harder it must be. The child didn’t have a chance to prove himself before his parent was snatched away.
The child didn’t have a chance to become whomever he was going to be.

I looked in
to Derek’s bloodshot eyes. At eighteen, he was on the cusp of proving himself to Tess, and he had lost his chance. Someone stole his opportunity, someone selfish who didn’t consider or care about the ramifications of his or her actions. It would be a selfish person in the end who would commit murder, wouldn’t it? Wasn’t that what all killing amounted to? Putting one’s own goals, desires, and agendas above another’s?

I thought of myself at eighteen, attending art school in
Chicago. When I was Derek’s age, my father made a foolhardy attempt to trim a sycamore tree solo on church grounds. He fell from the tree, and we almost lost him. Dad survived, even if his ability to walk did not, but the nearness of losing him almost broke my heart in two. There was no almost for Derek. Tess was gone, at least from this earth, and Derek would never have the chance to show Tess the man he would be. He had yet to even choose his major.

“
Okay,” I said.

His eyes widened.
“Okay?”

“
Okay.” My jaw was set.