Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (7 page)

He finally looked up at me. “How do you know?”

“A guy I dated. Matt the mechanic.”

“He taught you about lug nuts, huh?”

“How to change a tire, check my fluids. All kinds of car things.” Not that I put most of Matt’s lessons into practice, but Shoar didn’t need to know that.

“Good for you,” he grunted as he finished with the front passenger tire. When he rose to inspect the other three tires, I followed. He only tightened four more lugs, and that seemed more for my benefit, not because they were dangerously loose.

“So,” I began when he returned the wrench and closed the trunk, “do we need to file an official criminal mischief report, Detective?”

“I’ll start the paperwork myself and bring it out for you to sign, Dab.”

“Are you sure filing a report is necessary?” Aunt Sherry asked, her eyes huge and concerned.

“Absolutely,” I said just as Shoar answered with an emphatic, “Yes.”

“Well,” Dab said as he opened the passenger door for Sherry, “I hate to take you out of your way. Let me know if you want me to come to the station.”

“Will do.”

Dab headed for the driver’s side. I gave Shoar a last glance and half turned away when I felt his hand brush my shoulder. “That was an excellent catch, Ms. Nix. If that tire had come off, it could’ve caused a bad accident.”

“I know.”

He arched a brow. “More lessons from your boyfriend Mitch the mechanic?”

I gazed into those chocolate-brown eyes of his, saw the corner of his mouth tilt, and had to smother an answering smile. “It was Matt. And he was just a friend.”

“Well, I promise you, I will investigate this, just as thoroughly as I’m investigating the vandalism and theft at Miz Sherry’s. This is another piece of a pattern, Ms. Nix, and I don’t like it.”

“It’s Nixy, and thank you, Detective.”

“Eric,” he said with a slow, full smile.

SOON AS WE ARRIVED HOME, I DOVE IN TO HELP GET
Maise’s big Sunday dinner on the table.

No surprise that the car incident trumped the church reconnaissance report. Sherry’s friends were aghast over the news and discussed it all the way through the meal of pot roast, veggies, rolls, and apple pie. I could see that Dab and Sherry were still a little shaken, and each of their friends was rightfully incensed at Dab’s car being targeted.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Aster said. She’d sprinkled lavender down the center of the table before we sat to eat. Now she forked up a last bite of pie. “If Elsman is responsible for any of the vandalism here, why would she risk tampering with the car in broad daylight and in a public place in view of anyone passing by?”

“I do believe she’s becoming desperate,” Eleanor offered as she stood and began clearing dishes.

“Dab, are you sure you didn’t feel a difference in the way the Caddy drove this morning?” Maise asked. “The lugs might’ve been loosened last night and become looser on the way to church.”

“Nope,” Fred said. “If them nuts were loose, Dab woulda noticed. ’Sides, I checked out the Caddy bumper to bumper on Wednesday. Wasn’t a thing wrong with it, ’cept needin’ more wiper fluid. Tell you this, though: we all need to be extra alert.”

“High alert and combat ready,” Maise added. “First order is KP duty, then we can get comfortable and reconvene for the church report. We need to stop this harassment before someone is injured.”

I shuddered remembering that Hellspawn’s minion Trudy had made a similar statement. And wondered how far her employer would go to get what she wanted.

“I’ll tell you this,” Aster said as she dried a dinner plate, “that woman’s a karmic nightmare. Her bad juju will come back a hundredfold.”

“I thought the saying was tenfold,” Maise ventured.

“I thought it was threefold,” Sherry said.

Aster waved a hand. “Three, ten, a hundred. When you’re that nasty, you’re sure to get walloped. Mark my words.”

Judging by the silent nods, we all dutifully marked.

Dishes done and kitchen cleaned, we scattered to change out of our church clothes. Well, everyone but Eleanor came back to the kitchen dressed casually. In black slacks and a silky geometric-print shirt, she still looked like a fashion plate. Maybe this was as casual as she got.

Armed with my computer tablet, I joined the Six, who crowded around the kitchen table. Dab had a copy of the list he’d given me this morning, and to that he added the names of the neighbors Eleanor, Aster, and Maise had questioned. Sherry had yet another list but in a dark, large-sized font, and kept track of how many total neighbors were accounted for with big, bold tick marks. Did she have eye trouble? I hadn’t seen her wearing glasses, had I?

I checked off my own list, but when my head swam with all the names being called out, I interrupted.

“Wait, y’all, I’m confused. Can you sketch the neighborhood and fill in who lives where?”

“Why do their locations matter?” Eleanor asked.

“Because I’m betting we’ll see a pattern in where these people live. If we do, it’ll tell us more.”

“A battlefield overview,” Maise said with a nod. “I like it.”

Eleanor began sketching the areas where the target neighbors lived and filled in property owner names. With Aster and Maise kibitzing over Eleanor’s shoulder, I opted to pull up Google Earth on my tablet.

Fred eyed the drawing. “I’ll be dadgummed. There is a pattern.”

“I see the residential blocks and the three farm parcels at the far end,” Sherry said, “but I don’t know what it means. Nixy, does it tell you anything?”

“I’m not sure.” I eyed Eleanor’s sketch on the lined pad, then the aerial image, then pointed at the drawing. “Are those rectangles the farms?”

Sherry nodded. “They’re right outside Lilyvale proper. Once you cross the road at the end of our block, you’re on county land.”

“How many acres are the farms?”

“Twenty each, I should think, except a bit of Stanton Lake cuts through the end of each parcel, so not a full twenty acres.”

“Stanton Lake?”

“Named after our ancestors. Samuel Allan Stanton owned all the land here on Eleanor’s sketch and much more. Granddaddy W. R. Junior sold off parcels in the 1920s and late 1930s when oil was found hereabouts. Those were Lilyvale’s boom eras back when the oil workers moved in for a spell.”

“Are there houses on Lake Stanton?”

“There could be a cabin here or there. It’s not a recreational lake with boating and fishing for the public. Lake Stanton is more of an extra-large pond.”

Nixy looked at Eleanor. “Did these farmers sell property options?”

“Elsman talked to them all, but just one sold. He didn’t figure the county zoning folks would approve whatever she planned, so he saw it as free money.”

“Same with two ladies a block over,” Maise supplied. “But three couples in the same block turned Elsman down flat.”

“Some property owners are absentee,” Aster chimed in, pointing at the map. “In this block far catty-corner from Sherry are duplexes and an apartment building. Eleanor and I talked to a renter, but he pays a management firm. Oh, but Elsman approached Ida Bollings. She rents out a house up the street.”

“Miss Ida?” I asked. “Does she drive a big blue Buick?”

Sherry smiled. “How do you know Ida, child?”

“She sent me into the pharmacy for her medicine yesterday morning.”

“She does that from time to time,” Sherry said. “I’ll bet she gave Elsman the sharp edge of her tongue, too.”

Aster smiled. “She sure did. Elsman threatened to steal Ida’s rental house out from under her by paying the back taxes. Of course, Ida is sure she paid the property taxes, so she’ll be raising a ruckus at city hall tomorrow.”

“Good for her.” I typed on my tablet. “All right, a city block is a little over six acres, so that’s thirty-six acres plus close to sixty acres in the farms. Nearly one hundred acres in all, and around forty landowners. That’s a lot of cash layout, but the big question is, why would she want so much land?”

“What about a big-box store?” Dab asked. “We hear rumors about that from time to time.”

“We hear about Magnolia getting one,” Maise drawled. “Not us.”

“It’s worth a look,” I said, already typing a search on the tablet. I felt all eyes watching as I went through several possibilities, then looked up. “Most stores like Walmart only need thirty acres for a typical store site.”

“Maybe Elsman is planning to build a factory,” Eleanor mused.

“To make what?” Dab said. “We have some light industry here, but most of the forestry and manufacturing concerns are over at Magnolia.”

“One of them could be expandin’,” Fred offered.

“From what I see,” I said, “between the options, actually buying the properties, and then permits and building costs, a developer would have to be pretty darn sure the project would return a small fortune.”

Sherry snorted. “Lilyvale is a nice little town, with light industry adding to our tax base, but it’s no place to make a fortune.”

The kitchen again fell silent for a moment.

“Do we need a plan of action?” Dab asked. “Sherry, you mentioned having a meeting of the neighbors.”

“We could do that, just so everyone knows where everyone else stands.”

“How about holding the meeting Tuesday afternoon?” Aster said. “We need to clean the parlor tomorrow anyway.”

“I’ll make snacks,” Maise declared.

“Sherry and I can make the calls,” Eleanor added.

“But Nixy has to leave on Tuesday,” Sherry put in.

“So what?” Fred barked. “She won’t be here to see this through anyhow.”

“Now, Fred, you know Nixy has a job she needs to get home for.”

“She has vacation time, doesn’t she?” he groused.

“Not enough, and not right now, but I can leave after the meeting, Aunt Sherry. And”—I paused to give Fred the stink eye—“I’ll call every day next week to check on you.”

“That’s somethin’ more than you have done,” Fred said with an
I won
look while Sherry patted my hand.

“Well, then,” Maise said as she rose, “there’s nothing more to do other than be sure we’re locked up tight at night and leave the yard lights on. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to read my Navy Seal book.”

“Which one are you reading?” I asked, as any book lover would.

“One with a very handsome model on the cover, Miss Nosy.”

The men harrumphed, I snorted a laugh, and Maise sailed off.

Sherry grinned at me. “Your laugh reminds me of Sue Anne’s, Nixy. It’s good to hear it.”

Emotion blindsided me again. While I blinked away the second teary lump in my throat of the day, the rest of Sherry’s friends began drifting away.

Aster strode off to her garden, and a minute later a Jimi Hendrix song blasted from the south side of the house.

“What on earth?”

Sherry giggled. “That’s Aster. I’ll bet you thought she’d play classical music to her plants.”

“I didn’t think about her playing any music to them, but acid rock is, uh, a bold choice.”

“She says it gives her herbs extra oomph.”

“Uh-huh.” If I hadn’t seen her garden, I’d wonder what kinds of herbs Aster grew.

Dab came through the kitchen with a handful of tools, declaring himself ready to break down the stills as promised. Eleanor offered to help, and with only a slight hesitation, Dab accepted.

Fred clomped his walker to the back door. “I’m gonna mow old lady Gilroy’s yard.”

“Old lady Gilroy?” I echoed as Fred and his walker clanked out the back door and onto the deck.

“I guess we shouldn’t call her that, but she’s ninety if she’s a day.” Sherry carried her tea glass to the sink. “She lives in the small house next door. Irascible woman. We take meals to her every few days. Not that we see her in person, but the food disappears off her porch right enough.”

“I’m guessing that’s one neighbor Hellspawn never talked to.”

“It’s Elsman, dear.”

“Not in my book. How does Fred get the riding mower over there?”

“There’s a gate in the chain-link fence. You can’t hardly see it if you aren’t standing there, but the barn is set a good ten feet from the fence. The gate is there, so Fred has plenty of room to maneuver the tractor.”

“I noticed her yard goes back to the next street like yours, except she doesn’t have all the trees. I suppose that was part of your homestead once.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Um-hmm.”

I felt like I was missing something, but plunged ahead. “So, what do you usually do on Sunday afternoons?”

“This and that,” Sherry said. “Today I want to spend time with you. What would you like to do?”

I smiled as an idea occurred. “Will you show me the family cemetery? I’d forgotten about it until Mr. Lambert mentioned it this morning.”

Sherry’s breath caught and she blinked rapidly. “You’re a Stanton, child. Naturally you should meet your ancestors.”

•   •   •

WHEN I’D CAUGHT TRUDY BEHIND THE BARN
yesterday, I’d only glimpsed a sea of pink azaleas. Now I saw the azalea bushes surrounded a three-sided whitewashed picket fence, which in turn enclosed the cemetery. The south edge of the cemetery reached almost to the edge of the barn, and the chain-link fence, bare of bushes, sealed the north boundary of the graveyard.

Chain-link fences, in fact, outlined the back and side yards of each home all the way down the block. I counted six houses, three facing west as Sherry’s did, and three facing east. One fat cat lounged on a round wicker table in the nearest yard, but I didn’t see or hear a single dog. Perhaps they were all too old to be bothered to bark at us.

“Sherry, which house is the Lamberts’?”

“The last one on the right. It’s blue with white shutters on all the windows. Jane’s a bit of a nut about shutters, and John indulged her.”

I had to smile because I imagined Sherry’s husband, Bill, had indulged her, too.

We continued strolling past the south side of the cemetery to the gate on the east side, not far from the woods between Sherry’s land and the street behind her house. The azalea bushes at the gate were trimmed back to allow access, and the cemetery was so well maintained, the hinges didn’t even squeak as we entered. An oak tree outside the fence spread its limbs over the upright, mostly modestly sized markers. Tombstones were engraved with names and dates and short epitaphs that Sherry didn’t need to read.

“I’ve known each grave by heart since I was a tyke,” she told me. “In fact, I taught your momma about the Stanton ancestors.”

With that, Sherry reeled off names and family history. Samuel, his family torn apart by the Civil War, had survived the battles to move his wife, Yvonne, and their children to southwest Arkansas. Samuel had bought a huge tract of land from a widow named Hendrix, then he and Yvonne founded Lilyvale, named after Yvonne’s favorite flower. Sherry made the past come alive as she shared more stories of Stanton descendants, both those who had lived long lives on the land and those who had died young. Two American flags represented Stanton boys who’d died in World War I but had been buried overseas.

I absorbed her enthusiasm as much as the stories. It didn’t even bother me when she expressed her hope that I’d want to keep the property. Much. And, okay, I diverted her attention with questions.