Sharpe Mind, Hanging by a Thread

by Lisa B. Thomas

  “What?” Deena set her cup down and leaned in to see if he were serious. The playful twinkle in his eyes was missing. He wasn’t kidding.

  “Just thinking out loud. Don’t tell me it hadn’t crossed your mind?”

  Of course it had. Deena stared back at her notes. She recalled how angry Fisk was when he stormed out of the meeting. She nodded slightly, not wanting to commit to an answer.

  “Is there anything else?” He thumbed the pages of his notepad.

  “There’s a woman at the pawn shop. Georgia Parks. She seems more than casually interested in Fisk’s plans.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” He stood up. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Deena stood up and walked toward the front door. “Will you let me know if you find anything out?”

  “About Fisk?”

  “And the murder.”

  He flicked her a salute. “See? Even you think they’re connected.”

  Chapter 10

  Roscoe fidgeted with his hair. He’d been wearing it slicked down so often lately that it didn’t want to go back to its usual style.

  Tonya walked into the kitchen where he was drinking a beer. “What did you do? It reeks of cologne in here?”

  “I was trying to cover up the mildew smell.” He picked up the saucepan from the floor and emptied out the rainwater. Luckily, the shingles on the roof had swelled enough to quell the leak to a slow drip.

  “I thought you were going to get that fixed?” Tonya pulled the belt of her robe tighter around her waist.

  “It’ll happen. They can’t repair it until it stops raining and dries out.” He didn’t want to tell her he hadn’t had the nerve to ask Marty Fisk to repair it.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “To the market.” He stood up and walked over to the kitchen window. It was almost dark.

  “You went to the market yesterday.” Tonya took a drink out of his bottle.

  “I forgot some things.” He kept his back to her.

  “Okay, but just be sure to get some more candles. And some matches. I’m going to lay in bed and watch a movie.” She got up and put her hand on his back. “See you when you get back. Hope I’m not asleep.”

  He leaned down to kiss her. “Me, too.”

  As she walked off down the hall, he let out a sigh of relief. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long. He pulled out a photograph from his pocket and stared at it again. After studying the face for a minute, he put the picture back in his pocket and zipped up the front of his jacket.

  The front door creaked as he opened it, reminding him of a haunted house in an old Vincent Price movie. He jumped off the front porch onto the gravel drive, avoiding the muddy yard. He got in his car and headed south.

  The Hitchin’ Post Saloon was just a few blocks away. He pulled into a back parking spot. Thursdays were Ladies’ Night, and judging by the cars, there was a good-sized crowd inside. That would help him blend in. He waited for another car to pull up and then followed two men with cowboy hats through the front door. He quickly cased the room and headed for a table occupied by two thirty-something women.

  Just as he thought, they were more than happy to let him join them. He signaled for a waitress. She was a blond. Not the girl he was looking for. He ordered a Bud Light. Usually, he only drank imported beer, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  “Where are you from?” one of the women asked. She flipped her red hair back off her shoulder, revealing a tattoo of a snake crawling through a heart.

  “Dallas. I’m on my way to Houston and just stopped in for a beer. I didn’t know Mayberry had such pretty women.”

  “It’s Maycroft, silly, not Mayberry!” The other woman put her hand on his leg and gave it a squeeze. The white fringe hanging from her red rodeo shirt reminded him of the girls in Vegas.

  “Aw shucks. I forgot.”

  Tattoo woman giggled and pulled at her neckline, revealing ample cleavage. Fringe woman sneered at her.

  Last thing he needed was a catfight. “Can I get you two another beer?”

  “Sure, honey.” Fringe girl let her hand slide up his leg as he stood.

  He winked. “Now don’t you go lettin’ no snake charmer take my seat while I’m gone.”

  They both giggled this time, and he escaped toward the bar. Another waitress was carrying six beer bottles to a table near the dance floor. She had brown hair but didn’t look like the girl in the photograph.

  Then he spotted her. She was behind the bar pulling draft beer from taps. Even with the melancholy look on her face, she was a beauty. He nudged his way forward until his arm rested on the well-worn, wooden ledge.

  “What can I do ya?” she asked without making eye contact. She seemed intent on wiping down the counter in front of her.

  “What do you recommend?”

  Her blue eyes flashed annoyance in his direction. “Recommend? It’s a bar. You order beer.”

  “Then I’ll have a beer.” He smiled and looked at her anxiously, hoping she’d smile back.

  She grabbed a glass mug and yanked on the tap, filling it until foam covered the top. “Here!” She slammed it onto the counter and defiantly crossed her arms.

  “This guy ain’t giving you trouble, is he?” A surly man working the other end of the bar stared him down.

  “Not yet.” She grabbed the dish towel and started wiping up the mess she’d made.

  Roscoe pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slid it her direction. “Keep it.” He took a sip and pulled the glass away to reveal a foam mustache. “Is something wrong?”

  The girl looked at him and chuckled. “Don’t make me laugh. My heart is broken.”

  A broken heart? That reminded him of Tattoo and Fringe. He glanced back over his shoulder and lifted up on his toes. Luckily, they had found two other unlucky suckers to join them. He was off the hook.

  He watched as the girl at the bar with the soft brown hair and glittery blue eyes served several other men who occupied barstools. He fished for just the right words. He needed to sound caring.

  “I’m sorry about your heart. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Not unless you can bring my grandmother back. She died yesterday. In fact, she was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” He spit foam down the front of his shirt. That son-of-a-gun hadn’t told him she was murdered. What had he gotten himself into? He took another drink and tried to appear relaxed.

  The girl looked as though she would burst into tears.

  “I’m really sorry. What are you going to do with her house...and stuff?” That sounded so lame. What a stupid question. He must be losing his touch.

  As though having a conversation with herself, she began talking. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Her funeral mass is tomorrow. I used to live with her until I saved up for my own apartment. I could move back in, but that would be creepy. To live where she was killed. It’s full of so many memories. But it’s paid for and part of the family. Then there’s my brother. He—”

  She must have realized she was spilling her guts to a complete stranger. She stopped, and her ivory cheeks flushed to a soft pink.

  He smiled. “It’s fine. I’m sure things will work out.”

  Nodding, she took another order.

  As much as he wanted to stay—to take her in his arms and comfort her—he knew he needed to leave. Tonya would be suspicious. He chugged the rest of his beer and made his way to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he made a promise to himself. If things didn’t work out with Tonya, he would be going to Mexico without her.

  Instead, he would be taking Katy Wilde.

  Chapter 11

  Gary was like a bull in a china shop when it came to Deena’s antique booth. She only trusted him to load boxes of collectibles into her car with her walking right next to him, reminding him to set them down gently. She had filled eight boxes to take to the booth.

  Luckily, Gary had gotten a ri
de to work from a co-worker who also lived in Butterfly Gardens, telling him his car was in the shop. It wasn’t exactly a lie. There was probably a shop at the police station where they dusted for fingerprints and searched for hair and blood evidence. Her husband kept his car immaculate, unlike Deena, so they probably wouldn’t need as long to examine it.

  Before going to her booth, she needed to stop by the thrift shop to talk to Sandra. Besides checking up on her for Ian, she wanted to talk to her about the murder and Marty Fisk.

  Three cars were parked in front of the shop when she pulled into the parking lot. The promise of sun and heat had brought people back out of their houses that bright Friday morning. The streets, grass, and trees all glistened from their overnight bath. The weatherman predicted sunshine at least through the weekend. He was an optimist.

  Sandra was laughing with a customer who was trying on vintage hats. It was good to hear her laugh. Maybe she was in better spirits.

  “Hey there. Glad you stopped by.” Sandra glanced around to see if anyone needed her help, then motioned for Deena to follow her to the storeroom. Sandra’s eyes widened. “When you left here Wednesday, I thought you were going to the pawn shop. What happened?”

  “I did. Fisk wasn’t there, so I drove over to the neighborhood.”

  “I’m so glad you’re okay, but I can’t believe there’s a killer running loose in Maycroft. Wait here.” Sandra went to the counter to check out several customers.

  Deena looked around. Boxes of merchandise that had recently come in sat near the back door. Deena rifled through to see if there was anything interesting. She was disappointed to find they were mostly worn-out clothes.

  Sandra returned for coffee. “You know what you should do? You should go see Sister Natasha. She might be able to tell you who the killer is.”

  Deena put both hands to her cheeks. “Seriously? You don’t believe that, do you?”

  Sandra dropped her shoulders. “How can you be such a naysayer when you haven’t even gone? You should at least go one time before you make up your stubborn, closed mind.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She didn’t want to ruffle her friend’s feathers. “As a matter of fact, I’m planning to write a feature story on her. Maybe we should go together.”

  A frown crept across Sandra’s face. “I’d be surprised if she talks to you. People like her don’t really like to talk about their gifts.”

  Gifts. Deena tried to sound sincere. “What exactly does she do? Does she have a crystal ball? Does she read your palm?”

  Sandra’s eyes lit back up. “No. It’s really interesting what she does. Instead of tarot cards, she has a deck of regular playing cards. She asks you to shuffle, and then she places two cards down in front of you and turns three over in the middle of the table. She studies those for a minute. Then she places another one up, then another one. Finally, she turns over your two cards and has an epiphany. That’s when she tells you your fortune.”

  Deena stared. She pictured the scenario as Sandra described it. Her mouth dropped open. “That’s not fortune telling. That’s Texas Hold ‘Em!”

  “What? No.” Sandra shook her head. “You—”

  Sandra’s cell phone rang and interrupted her protests. Her eyes widened as she spoke to the caller. “What? Who? We’ll be right there.” She ended the call. “Let me get my purse! We’ve got to go!” She ran off to the storeroom.

  “Why? What’s happened?” A knot the size of Texas twisted in Deena’s gut.

  “The Coleman boy, Brandon. He’s gone missing down by the river. They’re calling people to help search. We’ll take my car.”

  Deena’s legs suddenly felt full of lead. Bile burned her throat. It was all she could do to make it to the car. The thought of a missing child was almost too much to bear. She had known the Colemans for years. She managed to get to the car and buckle up.

  Sandra raced down Main. Sirens blared in every direction.

  Deena’s head began to clear as they bounced across the railroad tracks. Then it hit her. Something was not right. “Where are you going? This isn’t the way to the river.”

  “We’re not going to the river.”

  TONYA PACED THE FLOOR. She had pretended to be asleep when Roscoe rolled into bed last night, smelling like he’d bathed in cheap beer. When she woke up to discover he hadn’t bought the candles and matches—or anything for that matter—she went ballistic.

  He brushed off her anger, slamming the door behind him as he left to go back to the market.

  At least she hoped that was where he was going. She already had three appointments this afternoon, and they usually saw a handful of walk-ins. Trying to concentrate on getting her make-up properly applied was next to impossible with her hands shaking with rage.

  Here she was, stuck in Texas with a guy on the run and no money. But that wasn’t the worst of it. She was crazy about Roscoe. Besides his good looks and boyish charm, he made her feel safe. At least he used to. If he left her...

  No. She couldn’t let that happen. The mascara wand slipped from her fingers and brushed across her cheek on its way to the sink.

  Someone banged on the front door, much louder than usual. She heard the door open and someone calling out. Darn that Roscoe! He must have forgotten to lock it behind him. She wiped at her cheek and grabbed her shawl. She looked at the turban, but there was no time to put it on. The last thing she wanted now was for a customer to pull back the curtain.

  “Wait! Wait!” She forgot about her accent. Luckily, no one was in the kitchen when she got there. Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the curtain into the parlor. Surprised, she saw one of her best customers, Sandra Davis.

  “Sister Natasha. Thank goodness you’re here. I need you to come with me.”

  Tonya took a step back. “Come? Where?”

  Sandra’s words came in short breaths. “To the river. There’s a child missing. You have to help find him.”

  “Natasha no come. No leave house.” She shook her head and walked toward the table.

  Sandra caught her by the arm. The look on her face was a mixture of terror and desperation. “Natasha. We need your help. You can do this. I know it.”

  Taken off guard by the woman’s pleas, she nodded her head and followed Sandra to the door.

  When they got out to the car, Tonya squinted against the bright sun. It had been days since she’d been outside.

  Another woman got out of the passenger’s seat and into the back of the car.

  Tonya got in and tried to steady her hands as she fastened her seatbelt. What was she doing? She wasn’t a psychic; she was a fraud.

  “Sister Natasha, this is my friend, Deena.” Sandra pulled out and sped off toward the river. “What kind of information do you need? The boy’s name? An article of his clothes?”

  Tonya’s mind was a blur. She knew she had seen this kind of search on TV or maybe in a movie. “Name.”

  “Brandon Coleman. He’s about four years old. His mother was shopping at Creekside Village. Have you been there?”

  Tonya shook her head. “No.” That was the first honest thing she had said in a long while.

  “There are stores and restaurants all along there. And walkways leading down to the river. But with all this rain, the water level is up. He might have...”

  Tonya closed her eyes. This was serious stuff, not the pranks she and Roscoe usually played. Sure, they would put money in a woman’s purse or take some out. Once, they put in a small mouse they had caught under the kitchen sink. Occasionally, Roscoe would show up at someone’s house or office in disguise. It was easy to find their addresses when he slipped their wallets out of their purses. He sometimes went online to find information. People were such suckers.

  But this was different. Her chest tightened as she tried to stop the flood of memories crashing through her head. Michael...her step-brother...just disappeared. Her hands flew up to her face as she yelled. “Stop!”

  “What is it?” Sandra turned wide-eyed tow
ard Tonya and pressed the brake. “Do you see something?”

  She hadn’t realized she’d screamed. “No. Drive.”

  Sandra parked behind a pack of cars jammed behind the Rounder’s Café. Scores of people were combing the water’s edge and calling out for the boy.

  They got out of the car. Deena headed down toward the water.

  Tonya surveyed the scene, holding back tears. For a moment, she didn’t know if she were crying for Brandon or Michael. She couldn’t do this. Not when there was a life involved.

  Sandra took her by the arm, more gently this time, and walked her behind the café where they had a clearer view of the water. She let go of Tonya’s arm and took a step back.

  Tonya closed her eyes. Lord, help me find this child. It was the first time she had prayed in years. She clenched her hands together and took a deep breath. As she let it out, a strange taste seemed to fill her mouth. It was sweet. What was it exactly? Cherry? Bubble gum? “Candy.” The word slipped out of her mouth.

  Sandra stepped in closer. “Did you say ‘candy’?”

  “Yes. Candy.”

  “Are you saying you want some candy?”

  “No.” Tonya opened her eyes and looked straight at Sandra. “I taste candy.”

  Sandra’s brows furrowed. Then she blinked several times and her mouth gaped. There’s a candy store down the way. “Do you think Brandon’s there?”

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t even bother to use her accent.

  “Let’s go check.” Sandra headed back to her car.

  Tonya got in. Her mind seemed blank. She had no thoughts about whether they were on a wild goose chase. All she could think about was the sweet taste of candy overwhelming her senses.

  They drove several blocks and pulled in front of Sally’s Sweet Treats. The building was old. Like many of the storefronts, this one had originally been built as a residence back before the area was zoned for commercial use.

  Sandra opened the building’s front door. The place was empty. “Brandon!” she yelled over and over.