Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Page 16

  I fanned the pages, noticing the writings did not go all the way to the end, but stopped in the middle. I fanned the pages again, slower, and stopped at a crude drawing that took up two pages. Smudged badly, the picture sported rough lines that imitated the outline of a building with two smaller rectangles, like rooms within rooms. Not understanding exactly what I was looking at, it did occur to me the map might be one of the reasons Dana found the diary so interesting. The legend of gold and all that. To top it off, this map, combined with any other facts the assayer’s diary provided, could be the very reason Marion wouldn’t give it back to Dana.

  But Marion couldn’t read.

  I flipped back to the front and continued reading, but the assayer went on to other subjects and my eyes grew too heavy to continue.

  As I drifted off to sleep, one question rang in my head. Would Dana Letzburg kill for this diary?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Saturday morning, bright and early, the phone rang. Cobwebs clung to my brain until Cora came to mind. I sat bolt upright as the phone rang a second time, and nudged Hardy none too gently. “Did Tyrone leave a number?”

  “His cell phone, but he can’t use it inside the hospital.” He rolled toward me smothering a yawn.

  The phone rattled again. We stared at each other for one strained, anxious moment, then I yanked the receiver up, both excited and nervous.

  “Hello?”

  “LaTisha?”

  I blinked hard, not registering the voice. My heart slammed hard and sunk to my toes. A doctor? Definitely not Tyrone.

  “LaTisha?” Chief Conrad’s tenor finally registered a face to match the voice.

  “Who else would it be?” I barked, yanking my arm away from Hardy’s relentless patting. I shook my head at him, hoping he would understand my silent message and leave me be so I could concentrate on what the chief was saying.

  “Sorry, this is Chief Conrad. Something’s happened down at Marion’s shop. Since you were in there with me the last couple of times, I wanted you to come down and tell me what you think.”

  “Someone break in?”

  “I uh-,” his voice held a note of uncertainty. As if saying more than he was might reveal more than he wanted.

  Hardy slid up in bed and raised his brows in silent question.

  Chief’s voice came through, low and deep, as if he had cupped his hand around the receiver so his words wouldn’t be overheard. “Yeah, someone broke in.”

  “I’ll be there,” I promised.

  “Thank you.”

  I bounced myself to the side of the bed and lunged upright. Hardy’s voice trailed over my shoulder.

  “Can’t you get up without creating a tidal wave for the rest of us?”

  “You need to get your sorry self out of that bed anyway. Lots to do before the funeral. I want you to try calling Tyrone and make sure they’re okay. Then you can make the phone calls to cancel Regina’s appointments.”

  “I ain’t the one who volunteered to do all that.”

  “Maybe not, but that was Chief on the phone. There’s trouble down at Marion’s place and he wants me there. I can’t make those calls and get down there, too, so you’re gonna have to help.” I glared at him. “And what’s all that fussin’ in my face while I’m on the phone? If it’d been Tyrone, I’d have told you so.”

  “You weren’t talking a blaze like usual, so I thought it must be bad news.” He climbed from bed as if he was being slowly poured onto the floor. “This is the thanks I get for staying up most the night reading over that diary.”

  That brought me up short. “You read the whole diary?”

  “Sure did.” He stretched again, jaws wide open in a humongous yawn. “Know what I think? I think that there little drawing is what Payton and Dana were looking at the other night.”

  “You talking foolish. How could they when the diary was in the box in the car?”

  “Maybe she’d made a copy.”

  It gave me something to think on. “What else did it say?”

  “He confesses that he hid the gold under the floorboards in a niche.”

  “That’s all?”

  He sent me a look of pure disgust. “You want me to go dig it up for you, too? How’m I supposed to know if that’s all? That’s all that I read, I can tell you that.”

  When I glanced at myself in the mirror, my twists were lookin’ mighty sad. Since I had to go straight from Marion’s to the funeral, I’d have to do something with my hair, unless I wanted to look like a well-stuffed scarecrow as I sang.

  “You get Regina’s cell phone number the other night?”

  “Yeah.” He pointed at the pair of pants hung over the chair.

  It took me a minute to locate the piece of paper and make the call. No answer. I decided to call the home and see if I could get Regina that way.

  “Yes, I’m calling to talk to Regina Rogane, daughter of Eloise Rogane.”

  The nurse took her time responding, and a bunch of whispering voices in the background made me wonder what was so secretive. “Mrs. Rogane is still not doing well. Eloise’s nurse reported that Regina left early yesterday evening. If you see her, could you please send her back. Her mother has been asking for her.”

  I think I said good-bye. The shock of knowing Regina had left right after we’d dropped her off . . . The obvious questions flooded my mind. I knew if I sat and pondered for too long, I’d be late for everything the entire day. Best to think on my feet

  First, the problem of my hair had to be solved. I typed twistouts in the search engine on the Internet and got directions I could follow. When I took out all the twists Regina had so carefully put in, my hair looked lovely, though I had to do some greasing of the ends a bit to get them tamed and not so fuzzy. After all these years of relaxing my hair, I couldn’t have been more pleased at the simplicity of twistouts.

  By the time I emerged from the bathroom, Hardy had regressed back to the horizontal position. Instead of wasting time on him, I planned a new attack.

  I dressed hurriedly, pulling on a favorite suit. The skirt seemed not quite so snug. Exercise was doing me some good. I decided I’d put the jacket in Lou until I needed it right before the service started.

  A mountain of laundry reminded me I needed to run the washing machine soon. It’s not just death and taxes that’s a sure thing. Laundry is, too. No time now though. I skimmed down the steps, remembered something I’d wanted to tell Hardy, grabbed the broom handle, and whacked on the ceiling until I heard him moaning and muttering about something. Probably the new dents in the ceiling.

  “And don’t forget to check on Tyrone and Cora!” I yelled up at him.

  He yelled back with some type of gibberish that I didn’t bother to translate as I propped Regina’s appointment book against a glass of just-poured O.J. Sliced grapefruit and a bowl of cereal, all arranged on the table along with an “I love you” note, would hopefully be the peace-offering I needed.

  I checked the clock and started for the door when I felt it, the slight release of pressure running a path up my leg. A hole in my nylons. Already. Overnight, my chafed skin, relieved from friction, had soothed a bit, but walking around all day today with a run on my inside thigh . . . I hated the thought of waddling to the front of the church, bow-legged, for all the town to see, then trying to sing “Amazing Grace” with dignity and reverence—that was so not going to happen. I made the mad dash upstairs.

  Hardy stood with one leg in his pants, balancing himself against our footboard. He glanced up in surprise and stared, his expression fading into a smile of satisfaction. “You look good. No hat. I like it.”

  My hair. I’d forgotten. I leaned in and pecked his cheek.

  As much as I appreciated the compliment, I had no time to spare. I grabbed a box of new hose and began tugging them and stretching them before maneuvering them into place. And that was my aerobic workout for the day.

  Chief Conrad met me as I pulled up in front of Marion’s. I noticed Payton standing in
the window of his store busily dusting a display of CDs and music, alongside an armchair and occasional table with a flute across the surface, as if the instrument awaited its owner to come and blow sweet music.

  Conrad’s eyes sparked as I neared. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I caught onto his unspoken warning against saying anything out loud, and followed him into Marion's.

  What a sight! Books were strewn around the room as if a terrible storm had blown through, lifting and throwing everything less than ten pounds.

  Chief shut the door behind us. “State police are on their way. They think it’s directly related to the crime. Don’t touch anything.”

  A lone book, upside down, pages ripped out and scattered, lay on the floor five feet in front of the counter. Another lay spine up on the counter, its cover bent at a right angle. “Someone was really unhappy.”

  “What’s your full impression?”

  That was easy. “Just by the condition of the books, I’d say someone either was looking for something specific and didn’t find it, then took it out on the books, or this whole thing was staged.”

  Chief beamed at me. “My impression as well. The lock was broken, so the perpetrator entered through the front door.”

  I turned to him, gears churning. “Someone is trying to lead us along a path.” And then I felt it. I raised my face into the air and sniffed like a bloodhound. Ice ran through my veins. Chief opened his mouth as if to speak, I stopped him with an upraised hand.

  The draft flowed over me again. Old air. Hardy’s song title ,“Breezin’ Along.” Everything clicked into place.

  “You find something?” Chief’s voice probed.

  I didn’t offer an answer, caressing every surface with my gaze, every crevice. I lost the feel of the breeze as I walked closer to the counter, so I reversed my direction to the middle of the room, and I felt it again. A memory of Mark’s casual lean against the dining room table drew me toward the bookcase. Its position lay unchanged from that day.

  Emptied of its contents, the bookcase appeared forlorn. Another waft of air. I examined the cracks, hearing Chief Conrad’s near silent footsteps behind me. I refused to be distracted and ran my fingers along the line where the bookcase recessed slightly into the wall behind it.

  Nothing.

  I repeated the process on the other side and immediately my fingers felt a strong burst of cool air. I stepped back.

  “Find something?” Chief whispered.

  “There’s a draft.” I rolled my eyes to him. “You feel it?”

  He straightened, eyes studying the breadth and height of the bookcase. “Can’t say that I do.”

  I indicated the place where my fingers had touched the chill air. “Feel this.”

  His fingers smoothed down the seam, his face grave one moment, melting into a look of wonder the next. “Yes, I feel it now.”

  “We need to try and move this thing. This could be blocking another room.” What I didn’t tell him is about the drawing in the diary. Lines that had blurred as I glanced over them last night, took on new meaning. Smaller rectangles within one large one.

  Working from the side projecting the draft, I tried to get a good hold on the case while the chief skidded the dining table away allowing us more space in which to work. Beneath our combined coaxing, the bookcase budged an inch. Conrad saw the progress and we tried again, sliding the bookcase from its position in increments, until a five-inch gap of progress appeared. From there, the bookcase swung inward quite easily.

  A dark, narrow space beyond beckoned us. I held my breath as I wedged myself through the opening into the long, very narrow room. Cold, stale air assaulted us.

  Chief stared into the darkness, his whisper both hollow and overloud. “I don’t believe this. Do you think Marion knew?”

  I made my voice little more than a hiss. “She was always grouching about the cramped shop and its lack of storage. If she’d known of this, she would have used it.”

  “We need to get a light in here.” He took one step further into the room. My eyes, having adjusted to the lack of light, could make out Chief’s outline as he crouched beside something small and, by the glint of it, metal. “A flashlight,” he murmured, hefting the thing in his hand. “I guess we’re not the only ones who know about this little secret.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As soon as I walked into the church Saturday morning, the overpowering scent of flowers, mainly those huge mums that seemed the norm for every funeral arrangement, hit me right in the nose. Hardy’s nose twitched. I braced myself for one of his sneezing fits, but he rubbed at his nose with a handkerchief and seemed fine.

  I relaxed when I saw the closed casket. Valorie must have had a private good-bye earlier. Hardy and I sailed down the aisle toward her where she sat next to Mark. Despite Marion’s less-than-ideal personality, a good crowd showed. After all, despite everything, she was one of us.

  Little Sara waved at me as I passed. I beamed sunshine down on her. Skinny little thing—I’d have to be cooking for her again. Before I had a chance to worry over that, my eyes ran over someone I didn’t expect to see. Regina sat right behind Sara, looking fresh and relaxed in a navy blue blouse with white trim. I wanted so much to sit down beside her and ask where she’d been last night.

  Last night . . .

  Hardy poked me in the back, urging me to move along the aisle. I did, one foot in front of the other, trying to talk myself out of the idea that Regina would be involved in destroying Marion’s shop. No time for heading down that rabbit trail now, though. I had a girl to love on.

  Valorie’s friends sat behind her. Marie. Thelmina—if you can believe that name. Cindy and Mindy—twins. Bobby Walker. Justin Fillmore. They all greeted me and Hardy. These kids, with the exception of the twins, were homegrown. Valorie spilled into my arms the minute she laid eyes on me.

  From over her shoulder, Mark’s expression showed his concern. He got to his feet and spread his hand on Valorie’s back. I understood his agony. Any parent would. To stand by and watch your child suffer is a terrible thing, it rips your heart out and makes you feel bruised all over.

  “Will you sit with me?” she whispered into my neck.

  “Sure, baby. Why don’t you sit down, I think Pastor is getting ready to begin.”

  I kept my arm around her back as she took her seat. She leaned against me the entire time Pastor spoke about Marion’s contributions to the neighborhood and the legacy she left behind. When it came time for me to sing, Pastor nodded my way. Hardy and I went to the front and up the steps. I scanned the crowd, noticing for the first time Payton, dressed in black, a walking silhouette of his normal color choice. His upper body vibrated a bit. I think his leg must have been bouncing, but I couldn’t see. He didn’t look happy, but, hey, we were at a funeral. When he caught my stare, his eyes flitted aside. I followed his gaze to another familiar figure sitting at the end of the pew in back of him. Dana.

  No time to ponder more with Hardy’s music building. I zoned in on Valorie, letting her know with my eyes that this song was for her. Pinpointing one person always helps settle me when a crowd is watching.

  Hardy continued to weave a musical spell that floated out over the audience like a cloud, and a promise. This amazing grace, his playing seemed to say, is yours for the asking. I lifted my head and closed my eyes and waited. When the music slowed, I slid onto the velvet rainbow of the words and imagined that rainbow wrapping itself around Valorie. Around Mark.

  Around each one present.

  After the service, I didn’t need to make a jump for Regina, Chief Conrad corralled her into a corner as soon as Pastor finished his prayer. He’d milk her for the truth. I hoped.

  Hardy made a bee-line for who knows what. I lost track of him in the jumble of bodies swarming the aisle. My attention went to Valorie. Mark helped her up and they headed toward a side door that Pastor Haudaire held open for them. His private office.

  When Mark turned in my direction, his
expression appeared a little desperate. I took the cue—men are so clueless in the face of emotion—and followed them in the private study and planted myself on the rich, burgundy leather sofa. It smelled wonderful and felt butter soft. Mark sat in an armchair across the room, his eyes on Valorie, slumped in the sofa next to me, still sniffling and wiping her nose with a wad of tissues.Pastor whispered something in Mark’s ear, received a nod in response, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  “Pastor’s going to get us some coffee and donuts. We didn’t want a big meal or anything, so he said it’s the least he can do.”

  I’d wondered about that. No food after the funeral. But with Marion not having anyone other than Valorie, I supposed it made sense. I would rustle up something later and take it over to Mark’s place for the two of them.

  Valorie leaned her head on me. I stroked her hair. “It’s okay to miss your momma.”

  “I just wish I’d had the chance to say a proper good-bye.”

  There it was again, that zing along the edge of my mind that told me this girl had more than grief on her mind. It wasn’t just my curiosity making me want to hear what she had to say. She needed to get it out of her system. “You want to talk about it?”

  Valorie squelched a sob and buried her face in my arm. I glanced over at Mark, thinking maybe he knew about what was troubling the girl. His jaw firmed and he lowered his gaze.

  Alarm bells screamed in my head. He knew.

  “We had a fight.” Valorie pushed back a little, dabbing at her eyes. “A huge, terrible fight.” Her lower lip trembled hard. “I told her I hated her.” She broke down again into gut wrenching sobs. But I knew her confession would also bring healing. At least, I prayed that way.

  Mark crossed an ankle over his knee and jiggled his foot. “We all said some pretty terrible things.”

  “You were there?”