Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Page 2

  Officer Simpson scribbled in his book. “Did you see anything suspicious? Hear anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I smelled blood.” And still did. I swallowed hard. “Took me awhile to figure out what that smell was, but I did. That’s when I thought to look behind the counter.”

  Voices carried over from the doorway of the shop. The chief of police and a man I didn’t recognize talked for a minute before the stranger went back inside. Chief Chad Conrad caught my gaze and headed our way.

  Simpson saw his boss coming. His expression became severe. “I must say you’re pretty calm for someone who just saw a dead body.”

  I latched onto his eyeballs with mine. “Look here, I’ve had seven children, five of those are boys. Between bumps, scrapes and breaks, there isn’t much more that’ll shock this momma. If one of them boys didn’t drop blood every day they’d thought they was girls. You feelin’ me?”

  “Uh, I—” Officer Simpson’s face became a fiery red and he gave his boss a mortified look. “Why, no, Mrs. Barnhart, I’d never—”

  “That’s not to say I’m not sorry for Marion. She was a pillar in this community, but she’s also a woman who is well known for her high-handed ways and churlishness. I figure most folk wanted to give her a good push at some point or other, but that doesn’t mean I did it!”

  Chief Conrad presented a slick authority figure beside his younger counterpart. He also maintained the honor of Maple Gap’s most eligible bachelor, though Officer Simpson’s hand, sans ring, might mean the chief’s days retaining that honor were numbered.

  The chief leaned to whisper in Officer Simpson’s ear. Relief flooded the younger man’s face. He sent me one last, almost terrified glance and went back inside.

  Conrad hooked his thumbs over the edge of his thick black belt. Squint creases on either side of his eyes, coupled with his thin lips and dark widow’s peak, gave him the look of a tough guy. “I should appoint you to the force, LaTisha. The way you intimidate people is amazing. You and I could do the good cop/bad cop routine quite well.”

  Hardy snorted to life. “Yeah, but you’re a little too mean looking to be the nice guy, Chief.”

  The two laughed themselves stupid at that. I crossed my arms and glared. But the idea of being a cop, an investigator, or an officer on the force. . .

  “I’ve only got one more semester before I’ll have my degree in police science,” I offered, pointing a finger after the departing Officer Simpson. “Bet that boy doesn’t have one of those.”

  “I can’t be too choosey at this point, LaTisha. The budget restraints are stretching us as it is.” His gaze shifted to the store and I could almost hear his brain churning. He doesn’t know how he’s going to manage a murder investigation as short staffed as he is.

  Conrad pulled his gaze from the store. “How are you two feeling?”

  I glanced at Hardy, relieved to see the familiar sparkle in his eyes. “We’ll survive.”

  Couldn’t help but wince at Hardy’s choice of words. Chief just grinned.

  My curiosity got the best of me. “How do you think it happened?”

  “We won’t be sure for a while. State police are on their way with a mobile crime lab vehicle. Could be she just had a bad fall and slammed her head against that radiator.”

  “She’d have to have fallen awful hard. It’s not like she weighs a lot.”

  Conrad pursed his lips. “True. We’ll let the state men do their thing to find out. In the meantime, there are a few more things I need to ask you. Payton has offered us the use of his store while Nelson finishes taking pictures of the bo—”

  I shook my head and ran a finger across my neck so he wouldn’t shake-up Hardy again with reminders of Marion’s body.

  “—uh, the details.”

  “Does Hardy need to stay?” If Conrad insisted on talking bodies and blood, my man needed to leave or we’d be sweeping him up in a dustpan after he shattered.

  “How about I talk to you first. While we’re talking, if Hardy could play us a tune . . . ?”

  Hardy pushed to his feet. “Sure thing, as long as Payton doesn’t try to sell me anymore banjo books.” He laced his fingers together and stretched them palm out in front of him until his knuckles cracked. “I’m a piano man.”

  Chapter Two

  Payton O’Mahney needed no introduction. His store décor said it all. Walls swirled red and green with vertical stripes of blue. Purple carpet. It all screamed at you as soon as you opened the door and set a foot across the threshold of the music store, Offbeat. Never did understand what the boy hoped to express with such bold patterns. Oh, right, his sense of style. Uh-huh. That was it.

  Two grand pianos sprawled along the sides and a row of four uprights lined the wall adjacent to the antique store.

  Payton strutted into view from the back of the store with a wide smile stretched across his face and sporting a new look. Last week he matched his walls. This week he had apparently gone to the other extreme with monochromatic white. Even his hair was a dull pearl. He wore sharp-pleated white pants with rolled up cuffs and a linen vest over a stark white shirt. He looked like he’d stepped off the page of a coloring book. If I’d had some crayons, I would have gladly done the honors of coloring inside the lines.

  Hardy cocked his head one way then the other, a puzzled expression drawing his brows together as he followed Chief Conrad into the store. “Am I senile or did you move things around since I was in here this mornin’?”

  I didn’t miss the way the chief perked up at this observation, and narrowed his eyes to study Payton’s reaction.

  Payton’s smile didn’t waver. He tugged a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed at his upper lip. “Swapped those uprights with my sheet music and CD display. Looks better this way. Quite a job though.” He motioned toward the grand. “The grand hasn’t moved. Go to it, man.”

  Hardy needed no further invitation. He gravitated to the nine-foot concert Grotrian like my knit skirt clings to my pantyhose. Speaking of which—I frowned down at the unflattering outline of my legs. Static cling. I peeled the material away, disgusted when it returned to mold around my thighs all over again. I’d have to get some lotion and rub it on my legs. If I didn’t have all these males looking, I’d spit on my hands and rub them over my hose. That’d take care of the problem. For a while anyhow.

  Payton hopped closer and extended his hand to me as if he’d never met me before in my life. I smacked his hand away. “You knows me, boy. What’s wrong with you?”

  Without missing a beat, Payton spun away and grabbed Chief Conrad’s hand, cranking it up and down. “You can use my store for as long as you need, Chief. I’ll walk down to the corner and get some donuts and coffee if you’d like.”

  Chief’s look of disdain as he disengaged his hand was quickly replaced with what could only be his stern, I’m-on-duty expression. “That won’t be necessary, Payton, thank you though. I just wanted to talk to LaTisha and Hardy somewhere out of the way of the coroner.”

  I kept a close eye on Payton. He seemed more jumpy than normal.

  A loud bass chord shattered the peaceful silence as Hardy began his attack on the keyboard. I recognized Chopin as he began to weave a spell of sound around us all. Even Chief Conrad stopped to admire my man’s skill. Hardy’s hands ran up and down the keyboard with a nimbleness that belied his gray hair.

  When Hardy got nervous or upset, the piano was where you would find him. If the rather fragile upright at our house didn’t fit his emotional liking, he would traipse down to this place and play either the Grotrian or the Mason & Hamlin. One of these days I planned on buying him a baby grand, but it would have to wait until our two youngest finished college. Not to mention me finishing my own degree.

  “And to think he’s never had a lesson in his life.” Chief motioned me to take a seat on the sofa while he sank into the nearby armchair. The nice thick cushion felt like heaven after the hard Windsor. And speaking of things hard . . .

 
“Who’s going to break the news to Valorie?”

  Chief Conrad stroked his jaw. “Why, I suppose I am.”

  “She acts tough but she’s really a sensitive little thing.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He flipped open a small notebook and pulled a stubby pencil from his breast pocket. “Now you told me earlier that you returned to the shop to pick up some books you had paid for this morning.”

  “I told Marion I’d bring Hardy back to help me lug the books out of there. After lunch, I headed over to Marion’s, Hardy in tow, but we detoured to the library. Hardy must have got lost in the place, because I didn’t see him until we met up at the antique store. He told me later he’d left the library and come here to visit Payton.”

  Conrad glanced over at Payton who had positioned himself halfway between the sitting area and Hardy. Payton nodded his affirmation. The chief scribbled something and directed another question my way. “How was Marion this morning? Anything about her behavior seem unusual?”

  “She was on the phone. Talked on the thing the entire time I was there. All I got out of her was a nod when I handed her my money, and a grunt when I asked about picking up the boxes later.”

  Chief frowned at his notebook. “Did you hear anything or see anyone?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say no, but I slowed down to ponder the question. In the background, Hardy spat out a series of short staccato notes and slid into a song with a definite blues undertone. One of the songs he had composed. Something about the music tickled at my brain. An impression. I couldn’t get it to reveal itself fully.

  I narrowed my eyes and focused on Hardy’s hands, hoping to force the thought into focus, but I could only recall that sickening, permeating scent of blood. “I can’t think of anything, Chief.”

  “Did you by chance notice something out of place on the counter?”

  And why would he be asking that unless it was important? I did recall a flash of white. Rectangular. An envelope or something. I decided to reverse the table, so to speak, to see if he’d drop a little more info for me. “Was it big?”

  Conrad’s right eye squinted as his lips curved slightly. “You tell me.”

  Beans! The man wasn’t going to give anything away if he didn’t have to. “I think I remember glimpsing a flash of white as I stood at the counter. An envelope, I think.”

  He nodded and jotted something down in his notebook.

  “All right. Let me talk to Payton and Hardy and I’ll get back to you. Someone’s got to know something. One of the officers mentioned hearing a rumour about a feud between Marion and Dana Letzburg, Valorie’s teacher. Do you know anything about that?”

  Did I! “I was at Regina’s the other day and overheard Dana complaining to her that Valorie didn’t deserve to graduate after what she’d done.”

  Conrad raised his eyebrows. “That’s it? That’s all you know?”

  “Course not. I asked Dana about it as we left and she said she’d caught Valorie cheating. Had evidence, too. Marion hit the roof and accused Dana of having it out for her daughter.”

  He bounced a steady tempo against his chin with the end of his pencil. “Interesting. Anyone else you know who had a problem with Marion?”

  “Sure. Half the town. Regina gives her a bad haircut every chance she gets.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, Regina Rogane. The hairdresser. She declares that Marion gets to talking and debating and it makes her so mad that she always manages to mess up her haircut. Then there’s that new guy in town, Mark Hamm, something strange there, for sure. Whenever Valorie would float into the shop saying she’d gone to his restaurant to eat, Marion’s lips would get tighter than a clam. She sure didn’t like the news.”

  “Hmm. You think. . . ?”

  “Never know now days.”

  I leaned forward, motioned him to come closer and lowered my voice. “Payton’s another one to keep an eye on. You know the row he’s started about this building. Marion wanted to sell to some contractors and Payton kept pushing it to be declared a historical site. When I worked here, they were always arguing back and forth over something. And he was always late on his rent. Drove Marion crazy.”

  One last note lingered in the air, Hardy’s dramatic ending punctuated what I’d just shared with Conrad. Hardy lifted his hands from the keyboard as Payton broke into applause. Chief and I joined in as Hardy slid off the bench and crossed over to us.

  Chief gripped Hardy’s hand hard, then relaxed back into his chair and tucked the pencil behind his ear. I knew another question was on its way. “If I might ask, what made you quit working for Marion?”

  Hardy fell onto the sofa beside me with a loud laugh. “Oh, she didn’t quit, Officer

  Conrad, Marion fired her. Made Tisha madder than a hooked fish.”

  Chapter Three

  “Would you hurry yourself up?” I glared at Hardy, who hung three steps behind as I hustled from Payton’s music store on Spender Avenue, past Out of Time, to the hotel on the corner where Spender intersected with Gold Street.

  “I’ve not got your zest, woman. Would have driven the car around here if you’d let me.” He mopped his face with a bright red handkerchief, stuffed it into his back pocket and raised his chin. He looked like a Banty rooster ready to crow. “Um. The smells coming from Mark’s place are mighty tempting.”

  As if the man didn’t know every day of the week the smell of good cooking.

  Mark Hamm, owner of Your Goose is Cooked, managed to draw more customers off the streets with the fragrant air his restaurant produced, than for the quality of the food. I knew this to be true—I’d eaten there.

  But food is not what had me hauling Hardy toward the restaurant. I wanted him to do some investigating for me while I went to another section of town. I had no patience to sit and wait until the state police did their tests to figure if Marion’s death was an accident or not. Falling against a radiator would put a hurting on someone, sure, but kill them? Nah. My gut told me Marion’s death was no accident. Questioning those residents of our fair town who Marion had penciled in her little black book would give me a jump start on the chief.

  I lifted my head to catch the scents wafting across the street from the restaurant. “Smells an awful lot like fried chicken. You have any money on you?”

  Hardy slipped a thin wallet from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it open for my perusal.

  “Three dollars?”

  He glanced down into the wallet. “Living with you makes me a poor man. I saw you snitch my ten out yesterday.”

  “Only because of your overdue library books.”

  Hardy folded his wallet. “Where’s the change?”

  I glanced right, then left, making sure no one was looking in our direction, and patted my chest. “Between the two of us we’ve got nine dollars and some change,” I assured him. “I’ll give you the five and you go eat at Mark’s. Ask him some questions about Marion and Valorie.”

  Hardy stared at me from under his bushy brows. “I’m not the nosey one. If I go there to eat, I’m gonna eat, not talk.”

  “Was you who suggested to the chief I had a motive for murdering Marion, the least you can do is help to clear my name.”

  Hardy’s brows drew together, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Don’t know. Being married to a murderer. . . They arrest you and you move to the pen, I’ll have room for that Grotrian.”

  “How you gonna pay for that thing?”

  “How else? Write a book on the torture I endured being married to a cold-blooded murderer. Probably even get a movie made about me.” His eyes shifted down the street toward Marion’s store, where Chief Conrad stood talking to the coroner. “Maybe I’ll just hitch myself down there and have a little talk with our man in blue.”

  As he started off in that direction, I latched onto the back of his collar and yanked hard. “Unless you want to be the main event at the next funeral, you’d better get your skinny self back here.”

  “Se
e? I’m threatened with bodily harm every day.”

  “If you hadn’t shot off your mouth to the chief about Marion firing me, I wouldn’t need you to do this.”

  “She did fire you.”

  How could this man be so thick? “No. I quit.”

  Hardy crossed his arms, his lower lip pushed out in his classic look of pure mulishness. “Only after she fired you.”

  “And you saw how fast Conrad jumped on that. Like a man with a pimple, he was going to squeeze and squeeze until he got something.”

  “Well if you didn’t do it, what are you worried about?”

  “I’m not worried!”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you yelling?”

  “I’m not−−” My jaws snapped shut when I noticed the two patrons outside of Your Goose is Cooked, picking their teeth and staring my way. Good town folk. I waved at them and beamed a huge smile. “What’s the special today, boys? Smells like fried chicken.”

  Wilbur Gates rubbed his ample stomach. “All you can eat.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I trilled over at Hardy. “What about you, honey-babe?”

  “Sure, dumplin’,” Hardy drawled. “Whatever you want.”

  Wilbur and company moved off down the sidewalk as Hardy and I crossed the road arm- in-arm, acting fine and dandy.

  I stopped at the door to the restaurant and did another quick glance up and down Gold Street to make sure no one else would be privy to my words. “You get yourself in there and do that askin’ before they put a ball and chain around my ankle. You’ll starve to death without me.” Before he could reply, I plunged my hand down the front of my dress and rooted around for my small stash of cash.

  Hardy flashed his gold tooth.

  I glowered and passed him the five-dollar bill.

  “I know I’m gonna regret asking this, but what do you do with the coins?”

  “Don’t you worry your head about it. You just go on in and get busy. I’ve got some investigating of my own to do. I’ll meet you back at the house.”