Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (22 page)

Lorna’s lips tightened and she swallowed. “Lilyvale is a town of generous-hearted people. Even when the detective had to question me about who could have it in for Clark, he was kind. He put a guard on Clark’s hospital door.”

My gaze met Sherry’s. “Why is that?” she asked.

“He’s afraid Clark knows something about Jill Elsman’s murder. Something he doesn’t know he knows. Eric wants to protect him. And me.”

Her voice went raw, and more tears threatened. I handed her a napkin, and she blotted her face.

“I want to thank you, thank you all, for taking over the café today.”

“We’re happy to help,” Dab said with a pat on her hand.

“Reminded me of the time we nurses had to take over the shipboard mess hall,” Maise declared.

“We’ve already discussed it, and we’ll run things tomorrow, too,” Aster added. “I’m sure the after-church crowd will come in.”

Lorna smiled, shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I’ve decided to close tomorrow. I’ll probably close for the week.”

“But, Lorna—”

“No, Sherry Mae, I need the time away to focus on Clark. Besides, I’ve been closed only for holidays for years now. I want a break.”

“Then take the time. Your customers will be here when you’re ready to reopen. Now, have you eaten? Maise has chicken and dumplings, and there are a dozen lemon bars and turnovers.”

“I do believe there are chocolate croissants, too,” Eleanor added.

“I need to get back, but I’ll take some servings with me. If Clark can have more than liquids for dinner, he’ll love the chicken and dumplings.”

I stayed at the table with Fred, Dab, Eleanor, and Trudy while the other women trooped to the kitchen. When Lorna came out with a large glass bowl with a lid and a flat rectangular plastic container, Dab rose.

“Let me help you with those, Lorna.”

“Appreciate it, Dab. My car is just outside.” At the door she turned. “Thank you all again. I’ll figure out a way to repay you.”

Fred snorted. “Let us know next time you make them turnovers so I can be first in line.”

Lorna flashed a grateful smile. “It’s a deal, Fred.”

“What now?” Trudy asked. “Do we stay open Lorna’s regular hours?”

“She told us just now in the kitchen,” Sherry said, “to close about four. She asked us to take leftovers home or pack them up along with any other perishables and drop them at the food bank.”

“Good, then I’m goin’ upstairs to check for squeaky doors. You know of anything else up there that needs fixin’?” Fred directed the question to Trudy.

“Uh, yes, sir. One of the sinks leaks.”

“Then you come help me.”

“Sure, Mr. Fishner,” she said, beaming.

That struck me as odd until I realized she’d been a cheerful ball of energy today. And her comment about being bored and having no friends. I didn’t think she’d be counting Fred as a friend, precisely, but she was occupied.

Sherry and the ladies went to the kitchen to begin packing perishables, but I knew they’d hold back desserts for Fred. Okay, for all of us.

Dab had come back, and we set to work looking for the flattened boxes that were in the storage room. We found the tape, too, and as we securely taped the flaps, Dab took them to the kitchen to be loaded with food.

I’d just dragged out two last medium-sized boxes when the bell over the door jangled, and Bryan Hardy strode into the café.

“If you’re here to eat, there isn’t much left.” No, I did not use my polite voice, and he didn’t seem to notice.

His glance darted around the room. “I’d hoped to catch Lorna here.”

“Why?” I put the box flats on the table with the tape and started assembling them. He moved marginally closer as if to help me, but he didn’t lift a finger.

“I went to the hospital to see how Clark is, but the guard wouldn’t let me in. Which,” he said, spreading his hands, “I guess I understand. The officer is following orders as he should, but I am also an officer of the court.”

Huh. Did he sound nervous or just perturbed that the guard hadn’t bowed to his position as a prosecutor? I mentally shrugged. Probably the latter. Pinched pride.

“Well?” he demanded. “Have you seen Lorna?”

I ground my teeth at his tone. Had I thought of him as shy? How wrong could I be? He had the arrogant attitude his aunt did. I ripped off a length of tape and applied it to the bottom flaps.

“Lorna was here a while ago. She said Clark is doing well except he doesn’t remember anything.”

Bryan looked startled and took a step closer. “He doesn’t remember being ambushed?”

“Who said he was ambushed?”

He seemed startled, then gave me a pitying look. “It stands to reason,” he said slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “Clark would fight back if he saw an attack coming. Does the doctor think he’ll get his memory back?”

“It’s a head injury. Who knows?” I put a second strip of tape on the box.

He frowned, shook his head. “I hope he’ll remember how to play golf.”

“Golf?”

“That’s how we got to be friends. Playing every Sunday in a foursome. This is the first time he’ll miss a round. Guess it’ll be a threesome for a while.” He gave me a hard stare. “I hope you took my advice to stop asking questions about Elsman’s murder.”

I stared back. “I’ll stop when my aunt is cleared and not a second before.”

“Then it’s your problem if you end up like Clark.”

I opened my mouth to peel a strip off his hide, but Dab came out of the kitchen.

“Nixy, do you have another box ready? Hello, Bryan.”

“Dab,” Bryan returned.

I handed Dab the assembled box, and Hardy backed up a step.

“Well, I’ll be off. Tell Lorna to call me if she needs anything.”

I nodded and watched him stroll out, the door banging behind him.

“What was that about?”

“He’s ticked that he couldn’t get in to see his good buddy, Clark,” I said as I quickly taped the second box’s flaps down.

“I’m surprised. Other than playing golf, I’ve never seen them socialize.”

“He didn’t seem happy with the foursome being a threesome. He acted like he wanted to drag Clark out of the hospital to play.”

Dab grinned. “I imagine there’s money on the line.”

“What?”

“It’s not a lot, just a friendly wager. Put ten bucks in the pot and the winner gets the money and buys drinks for the losers.”

“Sounds like you golfed. Do you still play?”

“Nah. I was in a couples’ league with my wife. It wouldn’t be the same.”

My heart lurched, and I kicked myself for being flip, although Dab didn’t appear to mind. He carried the boxes to the kitchen, and I checked the wall clock. Three forty-eight.

I didn’t want to wait any longer to follow up on the yearbook page. If researching the Whitman girl could clear Sherry, I was on board. But Trudy was right about wireless being iffy here at the café, and I didn’t want to stand outside in the drizzle. I could do the search at Sherry’s farmhouse or—

“Dab, what time does the library close?”

“At five on Saturdays.”

“If we’re about finished here, do y’all mind if I take off?”

He gave me an appraising look. “You following a clue?”

“It may be a goose chase, but I have to give it a shot.”

“Go. We’ve got this covered.”

THE LIBRARIAN’S NAME BADGE READ DEBBIE NICOLE
Samp, and she was in her early thirties, much younger than I’d expected. Her blonde hair cut in a breezy style, she wore a denim skirt with an embroidered tee and low-heeled pumps.

“Hi, Ms. Samp. I don’t have a library card, but—”

“You’re Sherry Mae Cutler’s niece, right? What do you need?”

Had to love the grapevine. “To research a name, and maybe look at yearbooks from Fairlaine University if you have any.”

She brightened. “Fairlaine in Texarkana? I went there, but I doubt we carry any annuals. Most of ours are from Lilyvale High School. Oh, but some old yearbooks are online. How far back are you looking?”

I gave her a range of six years to be inclusive. Good thing I’d remembered to ask Trudy for a few more details—such as where and when Elsman had attended college and what she’d majored in—before I’d rushed over here. Yes, she’d wanted to come with me, but I told her to keep helping Fred with his fix-it jobs. I needed to do this without her.

The library had access to online newspapers, even those that required a subscription to read the actual news. Debbie Nicole set me up at one of their three computer stations. I checked the clock behind the circulation desk. Four fifteen. I had under an hour to discover why Elsman might’ve kept the yearbook page with Trudy Whitman’s photo circled.

Given the “RIP” notation, I began my search with obituaries in Texarkana. Sure enough, I found Trudy Faith Whitman of Texarkana, Texas. With dark hair and a bright smile, she’d been just a day past her twenty-first birthday when she died. The obit didn’t give a cause of death, but it wouldn’t. I knew that from having written my mother’s obituary with Aunt Sherry. The piece, however, did mention that Trudy Whitman had been a dean’s list junior at Fairlaine University, studying business.

Hellspawn had not only attended the university in the same time frame as Whitman, she was also in the business program. Score one for the home team. However, Trudy’s cousin had been a freshman when Whitman died. Had they known each other personally? I supposed Hellspawn could simply have known
of
Whitman. Had they taken classes together? I’d known a few upperclassmen, especially via the art lab. For all I knew the two women could’ve roomed together, but my speculation was burning library time.

Next I looked for the university’s online yearbooks and struck gold. Well, silver. There was no search feature within the yearbooks, so it took a while to locate Whitman’s photo in multiple years of annuals, in sorority pages first. I had a hard time believing a sorority would take Hellspawn, and sure enough her picture wasn’t in any Greek group. I tried an “Activities” heading and found a page depicting the business club selling T-shirts to benefit a local homeless shelter. Whitman’s bright smile beamed front and center of the photo, and then I did a double take at the younger and—stop the presses—smiling Hellspawn standing beside her.

Okay, so they’d gone to college together, for at least part of a year. I couldn’t imagine Hellspawn making actual friends, not from what Trudy and Jeanette said about her, but Whitman was listed as a club officer. Sucking up to her? That I could see.

I had confirmed a connection, but now what? Why circle the young woman’s photo? Why keep the yearbook page in that Lilyvale binder? Did it have something to do with how Whitman died?

I went back to the newspaper home page and typed in her name again. Several results came up just as the library lights blinked twice and Debbie Nicole made the rounds to announce she’d be closing in five minutes. I quickly scanned the headlines and partial paragraphs.

Apparent prank turns deadly. Tragic shooting in early hours Thursday. Illegal entry through open window. Honor Student wore a costume helmet. Carried a fake sword. Ms. Whitman. Dead on arrival.

•   •   •

I LEFT THE LIBRARY REELING AND DIDN’T SEE TRUDY
until she was right in front of me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” she said, nearly hopping from foot to foot. “I helped your aunt and her friends deliver the food, and then drove over here and saw your car in the lot. I was afraid I’d miss you if you called.”

“Why didn’t you come inside?”

“I would’ve interrupted you. So, did you learn anything? Did Jill go to school with the Whitman girl?”

“She did, and I think it’s time to tell Detective Shoar about that yearbook page.”

“And if he already knows?”

“Then my conscience is clear.”

“It’s that bad?”

“It isn’t good, but I don’t know what it all means. I need to call Sherry and let her know I’ll be a while longer.”

•   •   •

SHOAR MET US AT THE DAIRY QUEEN THIRTY
minutes later. I’d been around food all day and wasn’t hungry, but a banana shake made a start in calming my nerves.

Trudy, on the other hand, had a double cheeseburger, fries, and a diet cola.

Eric got a black coffee before he joined us in a back booth I’d chosen so we could be the most private. Not that there were many diners at the moment, but I was being cautious.

“You two look guilty,” he said. “How did you get into trouble working at the café all day?”

I gave Trudy a go-ahead nod.

“Um, Detective, first, I need to tell you about what I overheard Jill say on the phone about Mr. Tyler a few weeks ago.”

Good for Trudy. She was laying it all on the line, just like I’d encouraged her to do.

He didn’t look happy when she ended the tale, but he didn’t yell. “I’m glad you told me. Is there something else?”

“It’s about that binder of Jill’s. Have you looked all the way through it?”

“I have. All I saw was lists of property owners, addresses, approximate values, and notes. Why?”

“Were any of the plastic sleeves empty?”

“What’s going on?”

“Well, again I didn’t think of this until Friday night, after Mr. Tyler was hurt. Jill had a yearbook page in the back of the book.”

“You told me you never saw the contents.”

“Just once,” she said, and described to him what she had to me.

He frowned. “Why are you just coming to me with this?”

She waved a hand. “If you already knew about the page, you’d think I was an idiot. So I asked Nixy to look up the Whitman girl.”

He leveled those brown eyes on me. “Did you tell Trudy to keep quiet?”

I shook my head, but Trudy answered, “No, she did not. She told me I should do what I felt was right.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I take it you did the research, Nixy?”

“Late this afternoon, but the library closed before I could finish.”

I filled him in on the Whitman girl and her apparent connection to Elsman. His posture grew rigid as I talked, but his expression went almost blank. When I related the little I’d read about Whitman’s death, what I’d pieced together, he looked strung tight enough to snap. I soldiered on with my part of the story. Maise would be proud.

“So, of course, we had to tell you,” I finished. “I don’t know whether this coed’s death over a decade ago has anything to do with Elsman’s death now, but you have the resources to take it from here.”

“Not to mention that you’re locked out of the online newspaper until the library opens Monday.”

His tone made me cringe, but he didn’t look like he’d have a coronary over my latest round of snooping.

“There is that.”

He held my gaze with his laser cop stare, then seemed to lighten up.

“All right, ladies, thank you for your information. I’ll follow up this evening,”

He tossed back the rest of his coffee and stood.

“Um, Detective Shoar,” Trudy ventured, “what should I do now?”

“You go to the inn and stay put. Nixy goes home and stays put.”

“I meant is it okay for me to leave Lilyvale? Like tomorrow? I promise you, I don’t know anything else.”

“And I promise you I’ll let you go home as soon as I can. Monday, if everything works out.”

With that, he strode from the restaurant with purpose.

Trudy’s wide eyes met mine. “Do you think he knows who killed Jill?”

•   •   •

I DROVE TO SHERRY’S WONDERING THE SAME THING
but didn’t have time to ponder long.

The Silver Six sat at the kitchen table waiting for me.

“Nixy, child, what took you so long?”

I took a deep breath, and it didn’t hurt that I inhaled a lungful of Aster’s lavender scent. I answered with partial truths.

“I saw Trudy and took her to the DQ.”

“That gal can put away the food, can’t she?” Fred said on a chuckle. “Must have a hollow leg, just like my mama used to say about teenaged boys.”

“Did your library trip turn up anything new?” Dab asked.

“Brief us, Nixy. What did you research?”

I didn’t want to share all the down-and-dirty facts, so I skimmed the surface. “You know how we’ve been looking for who Elsman could’ve known here in town? Well, Trudy said she attended Fairlaine University, so I looked up old yearbooks online.”

“Fairlaine?” Sherry said. “Why, Bryan Hardy went there before he went out west for law school. Who else, Eleanor? Do you remember?”

My ears perked hearing that Hardy went to Fairlaine. Did his years there overlap with Elsman’s and Whitman’s? I’d look him up later.

“I do believe Debbie Nicole Samp, the librarian, attended all four years, although that was more recently. Is she still seeing Bryan, I wonder?

I about choked. Debbie Nicole was dating Bryan? Would she mention my library visit? What I’d researched? Or was there a librarian-patron confidentiality rule?

“I know there are others your age, Nixy,” Sherry chimed back in, “and some four or five years older who were educated at Fairlaine. You met the older set of residents this trip. Maybe you’ll meet the younger ones next time.”

“What I want to know,” Fred said, “is did your researchin’ get you any closer to clearin’ Sherry’s name?”

I spread my hands. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“I’m sure Shoar will solve the case soon,” Dab soothed.

“Are you hungry?” Sherry asked. “Oh, but I guess you ate with Trudy.”

“Actually, I didn’t. After being around food all day, I wasn’t hungry.”

“I do believe we saved a chocolate croissant for you if you want it.”

“With a cup of chamomile tea, it hits the spot,” Aster declared.

“That sounds great, but I need to shower first. That is, gentlemen, if you don’t need the bathroom for a few minutes.”

“Go ahead, missy. Dab and I want to watch a little basketball, then we’re for bed.”

With that, he snagged his parked walker and preceded Dab to his room.

Sherry looked after them with obvious fondness. “We’ll all turn in early, I’m sure, but we’re making tentative plans for tomorrow.”

“Other than church?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Actually, we’re skipping church and going to the flea market in Texarkana.”

“We get inspiration for our own projects seeing what’s for sale there,” Aster said.

“And it’s not a far drive,” Maise added.

“Fred and Dab like to go to the flea market, too?” I asked doubtfully.

“They do, plus it’ll get us away from town for the day.”

Eleanor’s reasoning sealed it for me.

“Then I’m in.”

•   •   •

AS I SHOWERED AND WASHED MY HAIR, I MULLED. IF
Bryan Hardy had gone to Fairlaine when Whitman and Hellspawn were there, had he known one or both of them? I itched to get out my tablet and look up the yearbooks again, but I visited with the ladies while I ate the croissant and sipped tea. Both did wonders to restore my energy, and I had fun listening to the ladies chat about their day.

When they turned in, I wanted to run for my tablet but needed to blow-dry my hair first. Otherwise, I feared disturbing Fred. My arms were so weak from lugging trays of dishes and drinks all day, holding the lightweight dryer felt like wielding a load of bricks.

I reached in my bag to snag my tablet and felt something sticky. A candy wrapper, I saw. Shoot. It was some of the trash Dab and I had picked up Wednesday night. I’d taken out the big wads of paper but forgotten about the smaller pieces. Now they were mixed in with the receipts I’d thrown in my purse for more than a week.

I dumped the contents on the coffee table, flattened them, and sorted the keepers from the trash. When I came to a scrap of glossy paper a little bigger than my palm, I paused. The ragged piece looked like a page torn from a high-end magazine or coffee table book, but the pictures on the swatch were black and white. The image in the bottom right corner was a finial. The photo above and to the left showed part of a woman’s lower arm draped with a scarf. She had a small birthmark at the bend of her elbow. I turned the paper over but found only half of a circle. Curious, but time was wasting. I gathered the photo page and other bits, tossed them in the kitchen trash can, and curled up on the couch with my tablet.

First I pulled up the Fairlaine annuals and searched pages for Bryan Hardy. I found him in a fraternity during the same time period Whitman attended the university. Hardy was a class ahead of her, a senior to her junior status. I clicked onto the “Activities” section, but didn’t find a photo of Whitman and Hardy together. Not until I stumbled onto issues of the university newspaper that had been included in the yearbooks.