Sharpe Mind, Hanging by a Thread

by Lisa B. Thomas

  The writing was like neon graffiti on the old brick wall as far as Deena was concerned. Ned had used the grandmother as an excuse to string the poor child along. Now, he was going to have to invent another delay tactic. Maybe the dog ate his homework. Regardless, Deena didn’t have the heart to suggest it to Katy, at least not without more proof.

  “You don’t really believe in this psychic stuff, do you?” Deena hoped the question wasn’t too harsh.

  Katy looked mournfully around the room with its cracked ceilings and peeling paint. “I don’t know what to believe anymore or who to believe in. You know, Gran said she thought this house was haunted. In the last few months she started hearing and finding strange things. A few weeks ago—”

  “Ding-dong! Are you there? Anybody home?” A woman’s voice coming through the front screen door sang out through the house.

  Katy craned to see around the corner. “Who could that be? I’ll be back.”

  As she opened the front door, Travis barreled down the steps and blew past Deena toward the front door. Deena stood in the doorway of the dining room with a clear view of the den. She immediately recognized the caller.

  Katy stood in front of the screen door when Travis reached around and opened it. “You must be the realtor, Charla Hicks,” he said and waved her inside.

  “I am indeedy,” she chortled as she waltzed into the room carrying a brown leather satchel.

  Deena couldn’t believe all that bleached hair fit through the doorway. She suddenly felt like Boo Radley standing unnoticed in the corner of the Finch’s house. It was the closest she’d ever come to being a fly on the wall. The feeling was more dizzying than a second margarita.

  Katy’s face revealed a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “What’s this all about?”

  Travis beamed and flashed a pearly smile. “She’s a realtor. We have an offer on the house!”

  Katy scoffed. “An offer? I didn’t even know it was for sale yet?”

  Making herself at home, Charla took off her jacket and threw her satchel on the sofa. She’d obviously been there before. “Who’d have imagined this was such a hot property? But I have a buyer and he’s ready to play. Let’s sit.” She sat down and was joined by Travis, whose bounce would rival an excited Tigger’s.

  Katy sat in an upholstered wingback across from them. Her sour expression took some of the glow from the room.

  Charla pulled a manila folder from her bag. “Now to be clear, this offer is slightly less than the buyer offered your grandmother a few months back.”

  Travis bristled. “Less? Why?”

  “Because, my dear, a woman was murdered here. That has to be disclosed. No one wants to buy a haunted house.”

  “So the buyer is planning to live in the house?” Katy asked.

  “I don’t know that for sure. It shouldn’t really matter though. Once you sell, they can do whatever they want, as long as the sheriff doesn’t catch ‘em!” She gave Travis a flirty wink.

  “You’re right. It doesn’t matter,” Travis said. “What’s the offer? And skip all that realtor garbage. Bottom line.”

  “I just looove to see an anxious seller!” She turned to the last page of the packet. “Bottom line. One hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Sold!” Travis yelled and jumped up from the sofa.

  “Wait a minute! I haven’t agreed to anything yet. I’m Gran’s executor. She’s barely been in the ground a day, and you’re already trying to cash in on her death.”

  Travis kicked at the box of photo albums. “What are you talking about? That’s a lot of money for this broken down pile of lumber. Half of that is yours.”

  “Have you forgotten that she made us promise not to sell the house?”

  “You promised, maybe. I didn’t. What do you care anyway? Are you planning to live here?”

  Katy stood up. “Maybe I am.”

  Travis moved to within inches of his sister and held out his hand. “Fine. Hand over fifty thousand dollars and you can rot here for all I care.”

  Katy’s mouth flopped open.

  Charla stood up and gathered her papers. “Well, it looks like you two have some things to talk over. I’ll just leave my card here on the table and wait to hear from you.” She opened the front door and looked back at the two of them staring each other down like kids in a playground scuffle. “The offer expires in three days, so don’t take too long to decide. Ta-ta.”

  The screen door slammed behind her, causing Deena to jump. She started to move out of the shadows when Travis walked toward the front door. “I’m outta here. I’ll be back when you’ve cooled down.”

  “Stop! There’s one more thing.” Katy pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I got a call yesterday from a life insurance company. Seems you took a policy out on Gran. Care to explain?”

  Travis’ brow furrowed as he snarled. If it were possible for steam to come out of his ears, he could have fueled a locomotive. “I didn’t take a policy out on her. I just picked up the payments. She was going to let it lapse. I’ve spent a hundred bucks a month for the past two years paying on that thing.”

  “I see. And who are the beneficiaries?”

  “Beneficiary, single. Me.” He opened the screen door and bolted from the house.

  Deena rushed over to Katy and caught her by the arm, worried she was about to collapse onto the well-worn rug. Before she got her to the chair, a siren blared outside the house and lit up the room with flashes of red and blue. They both hurried back to the door.

  A police car and Detective Evans’ sedan pulled up and blocked the driveway where Travis had started to back out. Trapped like a rat, he rolled down his window.

  Evans walked up to the window flashing his badge. “Travis Wilde. Detective Evans, Maycroft PD. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” And in the blink of an eye, Travis was getting into the back of the squad car.

  “Do you think he’s under arrest?” Katy asked.

  “No. They’d have had him in handcuffs.”

  Katy glanced at her cell phone and walked back toward the kitchen.

  Deena looked next door in time to see Millie Canfield hoist a baseball bat onto her shoulder and close her front door with a decided bang. Wooden bats must be the weapon of choice in this area. Deena had noticed one leaning in the corner by the back door in Katy’s kitchen.

  Just as she was about to go back inside, tires squealed and a vehicle sped down the street in the direction of the police cars. It was the white paneled van.

  “YOU CALLED THEM, DIDN’T you?” Deena asked as she pulled into her garage. She wasn’t sure if she should be mad at Dan or not.

  “Yes. Had to.”

  She switched her phone from one ear to the next, hoping she’d hear a different answer. “Why?”

  “That’s how it works in this business. You give them a tip. They give you one. It’ll pay off, trust me.”

  “Katy thought I called the police. I convinced her it was probably her nosy neighbor. I think she bought it.” She stared at a dent in front of her on the garage wall that she had forgotten about. Gary always warned her about pulling the car in too far.

  “What else did she say? Any suspects?”

  Deena told him about the psychic reader, the married boyfriend, the offer on the house, and the insurance policy. “My gut says the offer was from Fisk. The realtor said the same buyer had made another offer not that long ago.”

  She gave him the Cliff Notes version of the information, knowing Gary would be out to check on her any minute. Hurley—the snitch— was barking on the other side of the door to the house. “So where do we go from here?”

  “I think the boyfriend is a longshot, but we should try to check him out. Can you get his full name?”

  “I don’t have to. I’m pretty sure I know who he is.”

  When Gary opened the door, Deena held up a finger to signal she’d be just a minute.

  “Okay. See what you can find out. I’m going to see what they have on the brother. Sound
s circumstantial, especially if he has an alibi for Tuesday night. Let’s get together tomorrow and compare notes. We may need to pay a visit to the neighbor.”

  Deena opened her car door to get out. “Call me.”

  “You done good today, cutie.”

  When she hung up, she was a tossed salad of emotions. The adrenaline rush had subsided, and she was left with the leafy greens. Katy was counting on her to help find the killer. She wanted to help, but she felt way out of her comfort zone. Maybe she should have listened to Pryor and stuck to her own stories.

  Pryor! He was expecting a story on Sister Natasha, and she hadn’t even stepped foot in the door. So much for lazy days at boring yawn-fests. First order of business tomorrow would be to pay a visit to the quack shack and see what skeletons she could uncover. She was determined to go at this story with an open mind. Unfortunately, when it came to psychics, she didn’t have one.

  Chapter 17

  Occasionally in Texas, a weird phenomenon would occur when the sky could look practically clear but rain would still find its way to the ground. Of course, there might have been a cloud over there a ways, but surely that wasn’t where the water originated. Such a day greeted Deena as she pulled up in front of Sister Natasha’s little house on Monday morning.

  She had waited until ten o’clock, having no idea when the paranormally-gifted rolled out of bed. By the line of cars already in front of the house, it looked like the clairvoyance racket was akin to dairy farming. She pulled up as close as she could get.

  A hand-written sign on the front door was too small to see from her vantage point of umpteen cars back, so she got out to read it. The question was...to umbrella or not to umbrella? She stared straight up, wondering where in the heck those raindrops were coming from. If she could serpentine in just the right fashion, she would avoid getting wet altogether. She opted for the skull and crossbones and a direct route.

  Moisture had caused some of the ink to drip in ghoulish blood fashion, but the message was still legible. She was to take a number from the pile rubber-banded in a shoebox next to the door. That explained everyone sitting in their cars. She counted the other vehicles, trying to calculate if it was going to be worth her time to wait. The front door opened and out popped a smiling woman clutching her handbag, dancing toward the street. Deena hadn’t seen such blatant public enthusiasm since the Chamber of Commerce announced it was increasing the city-wide Easter Egg Hunt by a hundred eggs.

  “You’re supposed to take a number,” a dark figure growled from inside the house.

  “I know. I was trying to figure out how long I would have to wait,” Deena said. She felt like she had gotten caught trying to cut in line in the school cafeteria.

  “Time waits for no man.”

  Deena smiled at the shadow. “Chaucer, right?”

  “No, Roscoe.” He shut the door and the smell of jasmine wafted up her nose.

  Who’s Roscoe? After a glimpse at the gate-keeper, she was determined to view the inner sanctum. She picked up a number and headed back to wait in her car.

  The front door opened again, and she turned around to see an arm appear holding a paper with the number twelve on it. She had number nineteen. As she got back in the car, she saw a familiar figure dashing toward the porch. It was Betty, the librarian. Hmm. It’s always the quiet types.

  The older she got, the more that naps seemed like little gifts from God. She leaned back the car seat and closed her eyes. She might as well make the most of her wait.

  What seemed like only a minute had actually been an hour. She jumped as a rapping sound brought her back from the dead.

  “Hey lady. Are you number nineteen? Hurry up or you’re going to lose your turn.”

  Her head was foggier than a London sky. She reached for her purse and the paper card. The sporadic raindrops had morphed into a drizzle. She didn’t bother with her umbrella this time. She sprinted to the door and pushed the buzzer. The door opened slowly. Was that a man-made creak she heard or was it original to the house?

  Her plan was to present herself as an ordinary customer—if there were such a thing—and then after her reading, announce that she was a reporter wanting to schedule an interview. That way, she would get the full-blown, hokey-pokey, smoke-and-mirrors experience.

  The same character who had spoken to her before motioned for her to enter. The room was dark except for candles on a small table. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark.

  A white palm appeared in front of her. “Forty dollars.”

  “Do you take credit cards? Just kidding.” She pulled out her wallet, barely able to see the dollar amounts on the bills she retrieved. “Nice place you have here.”

  No response from the butler.

  She handed him the cash and followed as he walked in slow motion toward the far side of the table.

  He pulled out the chair for her.

  She sat down and put her purse on the floor. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

  Still nothing. Obviously, they took this paranormal stuff seriously. She would have to control her nervous talking.

  The butler walked over to the corner of the room and croaked out, “Sis-ter Na-ta-sha.”

  By this time, Deena’s eyes had adjusted enough to see that there were blankets hung over the front windows, keeping the room bat cave dark. After he disappeared through the curtain, Natasha came out and sat across from her. They locked eyes, and it was clear to Deena that the girl recognized her.

  “You come back to Sister Natasha. Why? More missing boy?”

  The heat from the candle was starting to burn Deena’s face. She pushed it farther off to the side.

  “You remember me. I’m here for a reading...or a card trick... or whatever.”

  “You not believe Natasha’s powers.”

  “Is that a question or a statement?” She bit her lip, not wanting to be tossed out by the butler/bouncer. “Of course I believe. I saw how you found that little boy. I’ve just never done this before, so I’m a little nervous.”

  Natasha looked doubtful, but then placed the playing cards on the table. “Mix.”

  Deena shuffled and bridged the cards three times before setting them back down.

  “You have question for Natasha?” She picked up the deck and held it with both hands.

  “Should I carry my umbrella tomorrow?” Oops. “Just kidding. Seriously, I have an important question. Can you tell me who killed Barbara Wilde?”

  Natasha stared. She set down the cards. “Natasha no find killers.”

  “But there was a girl here last week. She asked you about her grandmother. You told her the killer was a man.”

  “Natasha no find killers! You have other question or no?” Her knuckles whitened as she clenched her hands around the cards.

  “How about this? Do you know what my job is?” Deena cocked her head.

  “Natasha not mind-reader! Natasha see future. Tell fortune.”

  “I work for the Northeast Texas Tribune. I’m a reporter.”

  “Not for long. Go. Go!” She pointed toward the door.

  “I just want to set up an interview. People are interested in new businesses in town. Can I come back?”

  Natasha stood up. Despite the darkness in the room, Deena could tell by the movement of her body and the quiver in her voice that she was shaking. “Go now!”

  The butler rushed into the room and caught Deena by the arm, practically dragging her out the door. He slapped two twenty dollar bills in her hand and pushed her out the door. Just before it closed behind her, he stuck his head out and whispered, “Leave your card in the box. I’ll call you.”

  Deena stood dumb-founded. Either he was a smart businessman looking for free publicity, or he knew something about the murder. Either way, she was excited.

  Ducking her head, she ran back to her car through the rain. She had finally gotten a good look at his face and had a feeling his mustache wasn’t the only thing about him that was crooked.

  THE
HIGHWAY CAFÉ WAS not exactly a parking garage, but Deena still felt like Bob Woodward going to meet Deep Throat when she pulled into the gravel lot. Dan was in “their booth” by the front window. He was already eating.

  When she came through the door, she hung her raincoat and umbrella on the coat rack.

  Clara headed over to the table armed with hot coffee. “What can I get you?”

  Deena gave her a Dan-style salute. “The usual.”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, a club sandwich. And I’ll have iced tea instead of coffee.”

  Clara glanced at Dan who shot back a half-grin.

  “So, you’re digging this investigative stuff, I see.” He picked diced onions off his burger.

  “This is just like I thought it would be.” She pulled out several napkins and pushed her tableware off to the side.

  “You realized there aren’t that many serious crimes in Maycroft, don’t you?”

  “I guess. Not that I’m sad about it or anything. You know what I mean.”

  He chuckled and took a bite of his burger. Grease dribbled down his chin and onto the plate.

  Deena handed him a wad of napkins. She had filled him in about her visit to Natasha over the phone, but he still had a few questions.

  “This guy at the door—the butler—”

  “That’s just what I called him. I’ve heard he might be Natasha’s brother.”

  “He was wearing a disguise?”

  “Seemed to be. His mustache was obviously fake, and he had on make-up. Weird hair.”

  Dan waved a French fry. “So he’s either playing a part or trying not to be recognized.”

  “Or both.”

  Clara brought Deena’s sandwich and glass of tea. “More coffee?” she asked Dan.

  “You bet, sugar.”

  They waited for her to return with the coffee then walk back to the counter.

  “I wonder what his story is,” Dan said. “By the way, did you know they’re working out of one of Marty Fisk’s rentals?”

  “Really? You know, now that you mention it, I think Marty said something about that at the council meeting. Interesting.”