Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (9 page)

“We all volunteer at the vo-tech.” Fred waved his fork to encompass the Six. “Even me.”

“It’s a mentor program,” Dab explained. “Students get lectures and demonstrations from professionals. In our case, former professionals.”

“And from those with particular expertise,” Aster said.

“Aster is a master gardener and certified herbalist,” Maise declared with obvious pride. “I work with the culinary arts students.”

“That’s awesome. Those students are lucky to have you. Sherry, are you a reading skills coach at the junior high or high school?”

Her fork clattered on the plate. Eyes widened. Her friends shifted in their chairs. What had I said wrong?

“Reading and history, and I help out wherever I’m needed. But I’m skipping tomorrow so we can go to the square. Well, you heard me tell my favorite detective we’d be in town tomorrow morning. I want to spend time with you, and I need to go sign that complaint, too. Don’t let me forget, Nixy.’”

Forget? Was Sherry worried about her memory? She had recited chapter and verse about the family history all afternoon, but that was long-term memory, right? Did Sherry fear she had a short-term memory problem?

And what was with the babbling? Sherry wasn’t the least bit taciturn, but she didn’t babble. Or she hadn’t when we’d spent time together after my mom’s death.

I was a rank amateur on senior issues, but it didn’t take a specialist to see that something about Sherry was off. Way off. Should I chalk it up to Hellspawn stress syndrome, or should I dig deeper?

Sherry didn’t seem open to confiding in me, and her friends were obviously protective of her. They wouldn’t readily share her secrets either.

I heaved a silent sigh and stiffened my resolve. I’d get to the bottom of as many issues as I could in the time I had left. And hope that none of them other than dealing with Hellspawn were critical.

SHERRY WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE SUN STREAMING
into her room. I was awake by seven, did my morning routine, and Googled both Jill Elsman and OJE Development in Little Rock. I found it beyond weird that Hellspawn didn’t have a single entry in the search results, not even a Facebook page. OJE seemed equally cloaked in mystery. No website, only a physical address and phone number.

I called the company at eight on the dot, but was stonewalled as soon as I asked if Jill Elsman worked there. The gatekeeper said she was unable to answer my questions, but I could call after Wednesday to talk with Jeanette Anders.

After their breakfast, the seniors set off in two cars. Dab took Fred—whose overall pockets still brimmed with tools. Eleanor took Sherry’s Corolla to drive Aster and Maise. Dab’s Caddy seated five, and I idly wondered who had to squish in the back or drive another car when they all went the same place at the same time. Or maybe that never happened.

“I told Eleanor you’d drive to town today,” Sherry told me, though why she felt she needed to explain, I didn’t know. “You don’t mind, do you? I thought we’d stop at the police station so I can sign the complaint, and then have breakfast at the Lilies Café. It’s one of Lilyvale’s historic spots.”

“I don’t mind, but isn’t the café attached to the inn where Hellspawn is staying? You want to risk running into her?”

Sherry’s eyes twinkled. “It’s Elsman, child, and I’m hoping to be there when my favorite detective comes in to arrest her.”

“She’ll froth at the mouth.”

“We’ll simply cover our food with Lorna’s lovely, large napkins.”

“You have an evil streak, Sherry.”

“Well, I did teach junior high and high school. I learned from the best.”

I snorted and led the way to my Camry. Sherry and I almost matched today, she wearing black jeans and a white cotton blouse, me in black capris and the white T-shirt from my thrown-together church outfit. We both wore white tennis shoes, too, though Sherry’s looked much cleaner than mine. She wore her bangs loose today. I still wondered if I should offer to take her to the hair salon, if I could suggest it without offending her.

The sun shone brightly and the temperature was mild again. Purse. Check. Sunglasses. On. Directions. Sherry, my navigator. We were off.

I powered down the windows as Sherry pointed me back to the square, which was almost deserted at this hour of the morning. She explained that most businesses didn’t open until between nine and ten, though city and county offices opened at eight. Lilies Café opened at seven to catch the early bird workforce and vo-tech college students.

Once in town, we stopped by the police station, but Shoar was out. He had, as promised, left the paperwork for Sherry to sign.

I could tell she was disappointed that he wouldn’t be tearing over to arrest Hellspawn, but we stuck to our plan. I slid into a parking space smack in front of the Lilies Café, which sat next to the pharmacy. I hadn’t noticed the café on Saturday morning, but then I’d had other things on my mind.

“Come make yourselves comfortable,” Lorna Tyler greeted as soon as we entered the café.

She ushered us through the empty dining room to a round table for two at the front window. She was dressed in a blue flowered apron over black slacks and a black polo shirt, and her black waitress shoes hardly made a sound on the wide-plank pine floors.

“Morning rush is over, so you get the best seats in the house.”

We thanked her and settled in. The white tablecloth was pristine, and the mismatched bentwood chairs added charm. Not original Michael Thonet bentwood pieces, but the style fit the café perfectly.

Lorna handed us each a single-sheet menu listing the breakfast selections, and Sherry told me what she liked while Lorna went off to get our coffee and water. I’m more of a breakfast-protein-bar person, so I opted for an English muffin and mixed fruit. Sherry asked for a half order of eggs Benedict.

Lorna disappeared into the kitchen behind an oak bar right out of the set of a Western movie. I gawked at the former saloon with its historic pictures of old Lilyvale lining the walls, a staircase at the back of the room. I didn’t know how much of an old West sort of flavor Lilyvale had back in the day, but I could almost see cowboys clomping their way up that staircase to the rooms they let for the night. Accompanied by a saloon girl perhaps.

“You can almost smell the boot leather, trail dust, and whiskey, can’t you?” Sherry said with a faraway smile. “Lorna’s great-great-grandfather was an original owner of the saloon and took over when his partner died.”

“A gun fight?”

“A mule kick. The Stanton family’s general store was across the square where the antiques store is now. We’ll go over there later.”

“Great. So, Sherry, who turned the saloon into a diner?”

“Lorna’s grandparents did that, and modified the rooms upstairs. Lorna helped her parents modernize more, and got interested in hotel management, or whatever the term is now. She studied at Oklahoma State, got a job in Shreveport, and came back here when her parents died.”

We held a respectful silence for a moment, then Sherry said, “The guest rooms are very nice. Two are suites with their own bathrooms, and two share a bath. Some of our folk art festival patrons stay here.”

“How many rooms did the saloon originally have?”

“At least seven, as I recall. They were much smaller rooms, but then the baths and the outhouses were out back. Some say outlaws came through here, though there were never any reliable records about that.”

I grinned. “So Lilyvale wasn’t always a sleepy little town?”

“My, no, child; we had our rough and tumble times. The upstanding and the scoundrels, and both groups created a few scandals in their time.”

“Too bad Lorna has to put up with a scoundrel now.”

“At least there’s no sign of her this morning. I’d hate to be put off of Lorna’s excellent food.”

There isn’t much you can do to ruin English muffins and sliced fruit. Still, Sherry’s eggs Benedict looked tantalizing, and the homemade cherry marmalade Lorna served with my muffin had me vowing to come back next time I visited.

That train of thought reminded me again that the clock was ticking to help solve the Hellspawn problem.

Lorna refilled our coffee cups once and left us to eat. I wondered if her bushy-bearded husband was in the kitchen but didn’t ask. The second time she brought refills, she plopped in the third chair to visit.

“What are you girls up to today?” she asked with a smile.

“I’m showing Nixy Lilyvale,” Sherry said, and I couldn’t miss that note of pride in her voice.

“You’ve never been here? I didn’t realize.” Lorna waved a hand. “But then I stay so busy running the inn and café, I’m not always paying attention.”

Sherry shook her head. “Lorna, you know about everything and everybody in town. You just don’t gossip.”

Lorna grinned. “But I occasionally pass along news.”

“Is there news this morning?”

“It’s been strangely quiet upstairs. No stomping, yelling, or complaining from Her Royal Painness.”

“Hellspawn?” I asked.

Lorna grinned. “Is that what you call her?”

“I discourage it,” Sherry said reprovingly, though her eyes sparkled, “but, yes. Nixy cuts to the chase.”

“Well, neither she nor that assistant of hers, Trudy, came down for breakfast. Of course, Hellspawn—oh, I do like that!” Lorna flashed another wide smile at me. “She never eats much, which is probably why she’s so foul-tempered. Clark told me she nearly hit Bryan’s car yesterday. What a piece of work.”

“So she’s still upstairs?” I said.

Lorna shrugged. “I don’t know. She could’ve gone out the back way.”

“There’s a back door?”

“There’s an enclosed back staircase. It leads to the alley and parking lot. After café hours, or during them, for that matter, my guests can enter a personal code on the keypad to get in. The back stairs are a holdover from the saloon days, but it’s also a fire exit.”

“That’s a nice safety feature,” I said, but I was thinking about Hellspawn being able to sneak in and out of the inn at will.

The check paid a short while later, we thanked Lorna and headed into the spring morning. Businesses were beginning to open their doors, and some hauled merchandise out to display on the wide sidewalks.

We walked the long way around the square where the main drag cut through downtown. The area held more charm now that I had a chance to enjoy it with Sherry. Round concrete planters as high as my knees stood here and there at the edge of the wide sidewalks, and each overflowed with lilies, daisies, and tulips, ivy draping over the sides. Some shops sported flat façades, while others had recessed doorways that emphasized large windows beside the doors. Colorful awnings over the stores invited strollers to stop and window-shop.

I noticed clothing and shoe stores, and, somewhat surprisingly, a computer sales and service store. In the next two blocks, the Happy Garden Florist and Nightlife Restaurant marched alongside multiple attorney, CPA, and insurance offices. Really, for a small town, there were a lot of businesses on the square.

“The antiques store is at the end of this next block,” Sherry said, hooking her arm through mine. “Then we’ll stop anywhere else you like.”

Amazing aromas drifted out of the Great Buns Bakery and Coffee Shop as we strolled past. Next door, Virginia’s carried high-end jewelry, and then came Be Sweet, a candy and ice cream store advertising a big sale on boxed chocolates. Gaskin Business Center occupied a larger space, and the store window signs boasted mailboxes for rent, UPS service, packing materials, office supplies, and printing and photocopying services.

As we neared Square Deal Antiques (and Collectibles, the sign read in subtitle), Trudy, Hellspawn’s assistant, blew through the door, smiling, almost skipping, and carrying one of Sherry’s woven oak baskets clutched to her ample chest. I knew it was Sherry’s design because the braided blue gingham fabric handle was my aunt’s signature touch.

Trudy spied us and galloped over.

“Mrs. Cutler, I’m so excited!” she said in that deep, breathy voice. “I wanted to buy a basket at the festival, but that didn’t work out. I had no idea you sold them out of the antiques store!”

I thought I heard Sherry mutter, “I don’t,” but Trudy gushed on.

“I hope I can find another one. This one is a gift for my cousin.”

Sherry gave Trudy a kind smile. “You’re welcome to come to the house to look at what I have left.”

“As long as you come alone,” I added.

Trudy flushed as her gaze darted between us. “That’s very gracious considering, well, just everything. I will come alone, and I am sorry about Jill. I hope your little tree will live.”

“If it doesn’t, I can get another one. It’s not your fault.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Trudy said. “I’d better get back to the inn and hide my basket. Y’all have a good day now.”

We watched Trudy’s awkward-puppy walk as she crossed catty-corner across the courthouse grounds and on to the inn.

“She has to hide my basket?” Sherry asked. “From Ms. Elsman?”

“I would. The woman stomped on your hemp basket. No telling what she’d do to that one.”

“Poor Trudy.”

“Not so poor if she has an admirer. Isn’t that Bryan Hardy on the courthouse steps? He’s been staring at her since she crossed the street.”

“The young lady is rather well-endowed.”

“I can’t tell if his expression means he’s admiring or astonished.”

Sherry gave me a playful slap on the arm. “Likely both. Come on.”

A bell rang as we entered the antiques shop where a motherly-type brunette in an apple-print apron stood behind yet another old-fashioned counter. I grinned to myself, wondering if every shop in town had these counters. This one looked like pine instead of oak, which made sense considering yellow pines grew everywhere around here.

“Hello, Sherry Mae,” the woman said, hustling to meet us. “I guess you got our notice.”

“I did, Vonnie.” Sherry indicated my presence. “Vonnie Vance, this is my niece, Nixy.”

“You’re Sue Anne’s daughter, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I had to smile. Tracing family connections was a way of life in the South.

“Welcome to Lilyvale, honey,” she said as she walked to a grouping of retro furniture near the counter and cash register.

We followed and sat on a curved love seat upholstered in an orange fuzzy fabric while Vonnie settled in a turquoise plastic chair. The wood floors had taken a beating over the years but looked original. The beams accenting the ceiling appeared to be original, too, although the ceiling itself and the walls needed fresh paint. I imagined the space as a general store with shelves upon shelves of dry goods, tools, bags of flour and sugar, an old-fashioned pickle barrel near the door, and penny candy jars on the glass-front counter.

“It’s a lovely place, isn’t it, Nixy?”

“I love it,” I returned with a smile, though the sheer volume of furnishings and knickknacks began to make me feel hemmed in. The art gallery was more about negative space. Here it was about cram-filled space.

Vonnie leaned in. “Sherry Mae, I know we didn’t give you quite enough notice according to our contract, but with Mary’s husband being deployed again, the sooner we move closer to her, the better. Between the four-year-old and the twins, she’s having a heck of a time.”