Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Page 10

  Hardy cleared his throat and resumed his dignified position. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Blightman. Will there be a table for two this evening, or are you expecting company?”

  “That’ll do. Not quite so formal though. People want to think they’re remembered.”

  “I used their names.”

  “Try again.”

  “Good evening, Hal and Beth, a table for two or are you expecting company?”

  “The Blightman’s aren’t Hal and Beth.”

  Hardy rolled his eyes. “I was making it up.”

  “How about something more homey? Act like they’re one of your best friends.”

  Hardy rubbed his belly and grinned at the imaginary Blightmans. “I’s hungry, let’s eat.” He gave me a cheeky grin. “That better?”

  “Mark won’t like it none.”

  Hardy covered his face with his hands, his words coming out garbled. “Don’t you have someone else you can make crazy?”

  I pushed myself to my feet and gave him the once over. “It’s time for you to visit Sasha and Livy and see what they can do for you.”

  His hands fell away from his face, his expression incredulous, “That’s a woman’s store!”

  “There’s a department for men in the back, and,” I said, pointing with my eyes at his pants, “they don’t have polyester. We need to get you in something where you not steppin’ so high.”

  A notorious non-shopper, Hardy’s idea of new clothes meant the thrift stores in the city, the section where everything was marked down because it was so out of date no one wanted to buy it. And even then I could only get him to go once a year, if I was lucky.

  “You comin’ with me, LaTisha. I ain’t being left to the mercy of a white woman who dresses like a care bear.”

  I loved to mess with Hardy’s comfort zone, and knew full well making him go into a department store such as Sasha owned would supply him with something to grumble about for an entire week. “We’ll aim to do it in the morning.”

  The phone started to ringing. Hardy snapped up the cordless from the table by the recliner. “Sure, Valorie. She’s right here.”

  I took the phone. Hardy motioned he was heading upstairs. “Valorie, honey, what can I do for you?”

  “I meant to ask you last night, Mrs. Barnhart, but it slipped my mind once you and Daddy got to talking. Would you be willing to sing at my mother’s funeral?” She paused and I heard the stress in her voice. “We thought you were probably the closest thing mom had to a true friend.”

  I frowned at that sad testament to friendship. Our relationship had been one of mutual toleration. I needed a job and, though I didn’t realize it at the time—Marion needed someone who could read and manage the store. Still . . . “I’ll do it, baby. No need to worry your head about it.”

  “Rehearsal is tomorrow evening,” Tiffany said. “Can Hardy play for you?”

  “Sure he can. And I’ve got me a favor to ask. Have the state police released your momma’s store? I’ve got a box of books in there somewhere that I paid for and I’d like to have them.”

  “Chief Conrad asked me to hold off on plans to do anything. My dad promised me he would take care of everything when the time came. I gave him the keys to mom’s—”

  I heard the catch in Valorie’s voice. Next thing I knew, Mark came on the phone.

  “Sorry, LaTisha, I’m sure you understand. It’s still hard for her to accept all the changes that have been thrown at her at once. You were asking about Marion’s personal belongings?”

  “No, not that. I have a box of books that I bought from her that morning. It’s a donation to the school library and I’d like to get in there and get them if I could.”

  “You’d have to run it by the chief. I need to get in there, too, so I can get an idea of how much there is to haul.”

  “Thank you. As I’ve already told Tiffany, I’ll be there tomorrow evening.”

  Officer Mac Simpson visibly cringed upon seeing me enter the police station. I felt the beginnings of a smile, then remembered Hardy’s unhappiness with my shenanigans. The wind left my sails and I vowed to be good.

  “How do you do this fine, bright morning, Officer Simpson?”

  Hands flat on the top of his desk, he dipped his head. “Doing well, thank you. That was a mighty fine pie you brought over, Mrs. Barnhart. I appreciate it.” He sat up straight in his chair. “Now what can I do for you this morning?”

  “I was wondering about that box in Marion’s shop. You said you’d leave a note for the chief about it, remember?”

  “Uh, yes, I did—I mean, I do. He’s been very busy and he probably forgot.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, sweetie, but I still need to ask him about it. Could you. . .?” I gestured toward the phone.

  Within minutes I was sitting across from the chief, Officer Simpson stood in the doorway, having escorted me back.

  “Thank you, Mac. Would you get Mrs. Barnhart a cup of. . .” he raised his brows in question. “Tea? Coffee? Water”

  “Nothing for me, Chief.”

  With a silent nod, Conrad dismissed Simpson and the door closed with a soft click. The chief’s face, I noticed, held signs of fatigue. Lines that hadn’t been there before Marion’s death.

  “This whole incident must be hard on you,” I offered my sympathy.

  “The state police are really pressuring me to let them question people. I tried to tell them they could play tough guy if they wanted, but everyone would clam up pretty tight.” He blinked slow. “Guess I hale back to the days when cops played the good guys and didn’t make threats and throw their weight around to get results. It’s probably why I’m a small-town cop. I like the peace too much.”

  “I’m with you on that. Are they done tearing apart Marion’s shop yet?”

  “They stopped in yesterday and did a few more things. Since I’m so short-staffed, they offered to post a guard, but I told them I’d just hang a lock on the door until I heard back from them. Mark called this morning and explained his situation—you could have knocked me over with a feather when he told me he was Valorie’s father. But what he really wants is to take a look at the inside of the store and get an idea of what he has to deal with when the time comes.”

  “I know. I talked to him last night.”

  That was part of the reason why I came today. You know about the donation the parents started for the school library? I bought some books from Marion that day. Only got one box out. So, if you’ll let me, I’d like to get the other and take it to the school.”

  “I don’t know.” Chief stretched backward and put his hands behind his head. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt anything. I’ll have you sign for the books.” He stretched out his arm and yanked a key ring off the board behind his head and sat up. “We’ll stop in at Mark’s and see if he wants to go with us.”

  “There’s something else, Chief.”

  Chief, half-way out of his seat, fell back into his chair.

  “I got to talk with Regina yesterday.”

  He pulled a pad of paper close and jotted something, then leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “And?”

  “I didn’t get the conversation turned around to the campaign, but Sasha came in to have her hair done and rattled on about how it worked out so good that Regina canceled their Tuesday appointments, ‘cuz a shipment came in and it took them from ten o’clock until noon to get everything put away. Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

  “Did she give a reason that I could check out?”

  “Said she had a long lunch date.”

  “I’ll ask around a bit. Unless her date was at her house, Mark’s is the only other place she could go unless it was in Denver. I wonder if she canceled all her afternoon appointments. Can you find that out?”

  “I sure can try. I’ve got another appointment with her tomorrow. She was going to visit her momma today and we’re going to try out a new hairstyle.”

  Chief stood, rounded his desk and held out his hand to help
me to my feet. Such a nice boy. “Makes me glad to have short hair.”

  As we walked toward the door, one other thing occurred to me. “I read in the paper that you guys were called to the scene of a supposed theft at Dana’s house Monday evening before Marion’s death. What’s up with that?”

  Chief hit the palm of his hand against his head. “It seems Payton was the only other person in Dana Letzburg’s house when an old diary of great personal value to her came up missing. She said he was there to tune her piano and was the only one who’d been inside.” We stepped into the sunshine together. I sucked in a deep breath of the fresh air. Fresh except for the pervasive scent of grease wafting down the street from Mark’s place.

  “What’d the boy have to say in his defense?”

  “Payton?” Chief’s brow creased in concentration. “He denied it, of course. Said he tuned the piano and left when he was finished. Even vowed that he locked the door.”

  I chewed on that a minute. If Payton tuned that piano, I was a bathing suit beauty. If I mentioned being at Dana’s that afternoon because I’d figured out she was the person Marion was talking to on the phone, would Chief get angry with me? Getting arrested for obstruction of justice didn’t seem a wise thing to do. “I visited with Dana that evening. She mentioned that diary to me. But I can tell you that piano wasn’t tuned.”

  Conrad didn’t seem interested. “It doesn’t matter now anyhow, Dana left a message at the station late Tuesday night saying she’d found it and thanking me for my help.”

  Since I didn’t drive Old Lou that morning, Chief insisted we take the police car to pick up Mark at the restaurant. The squad car smelled unused and musty. Chief kept it clean though, I’ll give him that. Probably didn’t have much mileage on it, either, since he only drove it on rare occasions, preferring to walk, as did most of the townspeople.

  “It’ll get everyone to talking if they see you in here,” Chad said. “Could loosen the tongue of the guilty person if they think I’m zoning in on you.”

  I sat in the back to make our little drama look more official. “Never had a chauffeur before. Makes me feel like Mrs. Eugene Taser acts. Speaking of which, can’t you ask some well-placed questions of the mayor about. . .”

  He put the car in reverse and twisted in his seat to back up. “About?”

  I lifted a finger to indicate he should be quiet. “Just a minute. Something’s brewin’ in my brain.” For sure it was! When Betsy told Regina to put it on her tab, I thought it strange since Regina has customers pay cash. Why would she allow Betsy Taser special treatment? I doubted she did it because she liked Betsy.

  Chief parallel parked in front of Your Goose is Cooked. I wondered if the police had to fill the parking meter or not. He slid out and hunkered down until he could see me through the back window. “You stay put.”

  I lifted my hand as if to open the door, but there wasn’t a handle. “Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere anyway.” But that was fine with me. I had some more thinking to do.

  Chief Conrad stopped to feed a coin into the meter before he disappeared into the shop. I rolled around the Regina-Betsy Taser connection. Like a flapping moth, some important connection between the two kept eluding me. The mayor. . . scandal . . . Money missing. . . Regina. . . Her mother. . .

  It rolled into my mind just as a burst of heartburn from my huge breakfast burned my stomach. It made sense. Testing the theory would prove tricky. If I was wrong it could really crush Regina. I would need to exercise great caution.

  Mark and the chief came out together, laughing over some inanity. When Mark started for the front seat, the chief stopped him and walked him around the car to the back door behind the driver’s side. If they were playing to those folks who had stopped to watch, they weren’t doing a very good job by laughing the whole way to the car.

  As Mark slid in, he gave me a rakish grin. “Howdy fellow inmate.”

  I scowled. “You just best be stayin’ on your side of this here car.”

  As the chief slid behind the wheel, Mark tapped on the wire cage separating the front seat from the back. “Can you turn the light on for real effect?”

  “Already got a gang of people staring,” the chief said as he waved at the small group gathered outside. “Their curiosity is probably killing them.”

  “I’m glad Valorie isn’t here. I’ll have to explain before news gets to her that her father rode off in a police car.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chief Conrad followed us into Out of Time. In the dim light from the front window, it took my eyes a minute to adjust. I raised my hand to flick on the light switch beside the door. Chill bumps raised along my arms.

  A fine coating of fingerprint powder covered almost everything. Without Marion’s strident voice to bring life to the store, it felt like the bricks and boards themselves were grieved over what they had witnessed. Tendrils of musty air, coupled with a whiff of some unidentifiable chemical, swirled under my nose.

  Mark’s expression was unreadable as he stared around the shop. “She sure has a lot of stuff.” His eyes darted to mine. "Had."

  “You’ve never been in here before?”

  His gaze fluttered away from mine. "Never."

  Hm.

  Chief Conrad tucked his thumbs into his belt. “Let’s get to what we came here for and get going.”

  So he feels it too. . .

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I murmured.

  The chief squeezed past me in the narrow room. “Where would your books be?”

  “The one I got was on the counter. Hardy took it out that day. Never did find the other one before I found her.”

  Chief lifted his head and peered up at the tall bookshelves and down at the floor. “Don’t see any boxes here. Maybe behind the counter? Don’t know where else it could be.” He went to the end of the soda fountain counter and looked back at me. He must have sensed my reluctance. “Come on, LaTisha. It’s okay.”

  My heart started to pound real hard and I took a deep, steadying breath to steel my nerves before I took the first step in that direction. But my mind wouldn’t let me go further than the counter. “You do the lookin’ for me.”

  Chief’s eyes creased at the corners and he braced a hand on the counter as he bent to look behind it. “Bingo. There’s a huge box here on the floor. Looks like they lifted some prints.” He sucked in air and let loose, launching a cloud of fingerprint powder into the air. He hoisted the box onto his shoulder and headed for the door.

  “You need more time, Mark?”

  Mark had shimmied underneath the piano. “A few more minutes. This thing sure is old. It’ll cost a bundle just to get it moved out.”

  “Maybe Payton’ll take it off your hands,” Chief offered.

  Seeing that Mark’s interest in the piano was minimal, I ran my fingers over a few of the ivory keys. “It’s definitely out of tune. What does anyone know about John Broadwood pianos?” I asked to no one in particular.

  Mark scooted out into the aisle, stood up and brushed off his knees. “There’s a number under there. Is there a pen and paper anywhere?”

  “I’ve got some in the car, it’ll give me a chance to put this box down, too.” Chief maneuvered past me, toward the front door.

  “With Hardy being such a natural, you’ve probably seen a lot of pianos. Know anything about how to identify one?”

  “It’s a Broadwood. They’re made in England. What more do you need to know?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of the year it was made.”

  “Should be a serial number. Probably the one you saw underneath. Best way I know to identify these things is by the name.” I folded my arms to squelch a shudder. Being in this store was worse than I thought it would be.

  “Maybe I will have Payton come look it over.” He raised the lid of the piano and propped it open with the stick. “Sure is dusty.”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say you’d get more for Marion’s books than for that
old piano. Hardy wouldn’t touch the thing.” In an effort to distract my imagination from the constant replay of Marion’s body as I had found her, I ran my eyes along the various titles of the books. “If you give me a good price, I might try to buy these for the school library.”

  “The bookcases sure are huge. They don’t look to be in bad shape, either.” He rubbed his chin. “How about you pick out the ones you want and I’ll sell the rest?”

  “My money’s good.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Consider it a donation to the donator, and Valorie won’t care.” He came to stand at the end of the dining room table that one had to skirt to get to the bookcase and raked his eyes over the spines of the various books. “Quite a few on local history. Maybe I’ll take a couple to read to help with my article for the paper.”

  “They’re your books.”

  His expression grew sad. “Actually, they’re Valorie’s. She inherits everything, as she should. She’s a little reluctant to come here right now though, so I offered to help clear things out.”

  Most of the titles were still easy to read, so I skimmed them, noting which ones would make good additions to the school’s collection. It took me a few minutes to realize that Mark, though he held one of the two books he’d pulled out, wasn’t reading at all. He seemed to be studying the bookcase itself, tracing it with his eyes. Probably trying to decide how much profit it would bring for Valorie. When he caught me staring at him, he snapped the book he held shut and placed it on the dining room table.

  Chief came back in then. In his right hand, he clutched a pad of paper, which he slid across the dining table toward Mark.

  I decided I’d had enough of the place and followed Mark. He took a minute to recheck the number and jot it down. We made it to the front door when Mark pivoted back toward the room. “Almost forgot my books.”

  Chief rattled his keys. “I’ll unlock the car.”

  As much as I’d wanted to leave that shop, something made me stand right where I was and follow Mark with my eyes. He reached across the dining table and grabbed his books. Then he tucked them underneath his arm and paused. In profile, I could see his eyes lift toward the bookcase again. He put a hand down on the dining room table as if to rest his weight, but he must have pushed, because the table slid across the floor and butted up against the bookcase. One of the chairs fell backward with a thud, and the other one tilted and wedged itself underneath the lip of the bookcase.