Sharpe Mind, Hanging by a Thread

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Dan wiped his hands and reached out to put his plate on an empty table. He pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped through the pages. “Let’s decide exactly what to ask the neighbor, Mrs. Canfield. I made some notes.”

  “Do you know if she saw anything the night of the murder? Did she tell the police anything?” Deena pulled the toothpick off her sandwich and took a bite.

  “Nothing. Which was unusual in itself. The killer must have gone in stealth because she swears she didn’t hear anything.” He looked at his notes. “I’m going to ask about Fisk and any offers to buy her property. Also, if she has any idea why a buyer might want it.”

  “Can you add something to your notes for me?”

  “Sure. What?” He held his pencil at the ready.

  “Ask her if she’s ever noticed a suspicious white paneled van. My gut tells me there’s something suspicious about it, and she just might have the answer.”

  MILLIE CANFIELD HAD lived in her house longer than Deena had been alive. She and Barbara were on-again, off-again best friends, depending on whose dog was digging under whose fence and which tree roots were growing into whose pipes. Lately, they’d been “off.”

  Deena thought for sure Mrs. Canfield was going to slam the door in their faces.

  She made them both show her their Tribune ID, driver’s license, and a major credit card. Deena was anticipating having to reveal her social security number and birthmarks when the old woman reluctantly allowed them entrance into her home.

  “Sit down. Excuse this old housedress. I didn’t know I’d be having company.” She turned off the television. “Just move Chester out the way. He’s an old cat and can’t hear anymore. Can I get you some iced tea?”

  “No thanks,” Deena said, tickled by the question. Typical Southern woman. Offers ice tea no matter the circumstances. “We appreciate your taking time to talk to us. We just want to ask some questions about Barbara Wilde.”

  Millie sat down in a padded rocker, her hands clenched in her lap. “I can’t believe she’s gone. She’s been my dearest friend for...ever. I thought we would end up in the same retirement home together. We even talked about it. Once when my boy was here, he drove us out to Sunset Gardens, and–”

  Dan interrupted. “You say you talked about moving? I thought Barbara was determined never to sell her house. Was this a recent conversation?”

  Deena clicked her pen and opened her notebook.

  “Oh, heavens. I don’t remember. I meant when we were too old and sick to live alone.” Millie crossed her arms and pursed her lips, obviously annoyed by Dan’s abruptness.

  Dan tilted his head toward Deena, throwing the ball to her.

  Deena felt a sneeze coming on. Her allergy to cats was infamous. She rubbed her nose. “It sounds like you were a loyal friend to Barbara.”

  Millie’s face tightened. “Barbara was the reason the rest of us stayed here.”

  “Why is that? Did she ask you to stay?” Deena’s eyes began to itch.

  “No. She didn’t care what the rest of us wanted. You see, there’s a man in town who wants to buy up all the property in this area. He held a meeting for all us folks in the neighborhood down at the VFW. Now when was that?” She tapped her chin with her pointer finger. “I think it was in the summer. That’s right, because we all wondered why he would give us soup to eat when it was so blasted hot out. Even with those big fans blowing, the sweat was just dripping off of us. Why, Mr.—”

  “Hot soup in the summer? That’s crazy!” Deena laughed and shook her head.

  Dan crossed his legs and brushed cat hair off his pants.

  Deena felt it coming. She sneezed. Then sneezed again. “Sorry. Cats.”

  “Bless you, dear,” Millie said and pointed to a box of tissues.

  Deena took a few and walked over to stand by the screen door. “You say he gathered the residents for a meeting? What did he offer you?”

  “He offered us sixty thousand dollars each for our houses. That’s a fortune for some folks. But there was one condition. It was all or nothing. We either all sold and took the money, or it was no deal.” She sliced the air with her hand.

  Deena held a tissue to her nose, just in case. “Obviously, y’all didn’t take the deal. Why not?”

  “A bunch of us wanted to. Including me. Sixty thousand dollars is a lot of money. But there were several holdouts. Mainly Barbara.” Her voice grew more animated as she spoke. “She was dead set on staying put. Then he upped it to seventy-five thousand! That’s when things really got contentious. We even got together and talked it over a few more times, but she wouldn’t budge. Said memories were worth more than money.”

  “You disagree?” Deena asked.

  “Before long, I’ll probably lose my mind and won’t be able to remember the past anyway. That money could have gone a long way toward finding a nice place in a retirement center. Instead, I’m stuck in this old rat trap with a leaky roof and broken pipes.”

  Dan leaned forward on the couch. “Was this man Marty Fisk, by any chance?”

  “Sure was.” She rocked back and forth. “After a while, the other people just dropped it. Gave up. That is, until last week.”

  Dan look up from his notepad. “What happened last week?”

  Millie grabbed the arms of the rocker and stared back at Dan. “Well, jiminy crickets! Have you already forgotten that Barbara was killed last week?”

  Dan looked sheepish. “I meant—”

  “Just two days later, people were jawin’ about getting back in touch with that Mr. Fisk and trying to make a deal.”

  “And are you?” Deena asked.

  “You bet I am. But it all depends on Barbara’s grandchildren, Katy and Travis. If they sell, then we can, too.”

  Deena pulled out another clean tissue. “That seems like a lot of pressure for them. Did Mr. Fisk say what he planned to do with the property?”

  “Nope. We asked, but he wouldn’t say. Seemed kinda fishy. But bad money spends the same as good, you know.”

  Deena thought of several arguments she could make but just shook her head in agreement.

  Dan looked at his notes. “One last question. Have you seen any suspicious vehicles around here lately?”

  “You mean besides that red sports car sneaking around here the night Barbara was killed?”

  Deena cringed.

  “Yeah, besides that,” Dan said. “Maybe a van. A white van?”

  “I’ve seen a white van, but then I’ve seen a lot of trucks and vans. They looked like utility trucks to me. Mostly all from the same company with a big blue sign on the side.”

  “What company?” Dan asked.

  “Jackson Oil and Gas.”

  Dan made a note and stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Canfield. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Why, you are most welcome.” She walked to the door and patted Deena’s arm. “I would invite you to come back any time, but I’m hoping to be long gone myself. Not dead, mind you—just moved.”

  Chapter 18

  Two missed calls, both from Lloyd Pryor. He was probably looking for her story about Sister Natasha. Deena thought she’d have more luck squirming out of this hot water in person than on the phone.

  She and Dan both agreed that Mrs. Canfield seemed somewhat suspicious. Instead of a loyal, caring neighbor, she came across more as an old Grinch ready to take advantage of her neighbor’s misfortune. Dan said he would see what the police had on her. He was also going to look into Jackson Oil and Gas. Before he left, Deena gave him the license plate number of the white van so he could ask one of his friends at the DMV to check on it.

  Deena’s assignment was to talk to Natasha’s butler. She hoped he would call this evening. First, however, she wanted to smooth things over with her boss. Hopefully, she could then finally get to her antique booth and unload the boxes from her car.

  On her way to the newspaper office, she drove by the psychic’s house again just to see how business was going. S
ure enough, there were five cars, and several of them had more than one woman inside. She figured Sister Natasha must be pulling in a fortune.

  The Northeast Texas Tribune distributed their newspapers on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. The afternoons before distribution days were always the most hectic as reporters rushed to meet deadlines, page editors wrote headlines, and everybody proofed for possible errors.

  When Deena stood in the doorway of Lloyd’s office, she was surprised he shooed out the sports editor and waved her inside.

  “I’m working on it,” she said, trying to preempt his admonishment.

  “Shut the door.”

  That sounded serious. She swallowed hard. “I went to the psychic reader this morning, but—”

  “This isn’t about the story,” he said. “Actually, that is why I called the first time, but now it’s about something more important.” He pulled up an office chair with his foot and motioned for her to sit. “A phone call came in a few minutes ago from a Mrs. Canfield. She wanted to speak to you. I took the call because everyone else was busy.”

  She could feel the blood draining from her face. Her mouth felt like sandpaper.

  “Seems she wanted to tell you that she saw another one of those trucks you and Dan Carson had asked her about.”

  Why was he pausing? Just to torture her?

  “Have you been working with Dan on his investigation of the Wilde murder?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” It was all she could manage to say.

  He threw his pencil down on the desk. “I’m not going to ask you why you put this newspaper at risk of conflict of interest. I’m not even going to ask you why you would put yourself in the middle of a murder investigation where you were the first suspect.” He pushed his chair away from the desk and raised his voice. “But what I am going to ask is why you would go behind my back and disregard a direct order?”

  She looked away as “please-officer-don’t-give-me-a-ticket” tears poured down her face. She had no excuse. “I didn’t know...it was...such a big deal.” She grabbed some tissues from his desk and blotted at her face.

  “Oh, c’mon now. There’s no crying in journalism.” He pulled his chair back up to the desk.

  “I’m sorry,” she said between sniffles. “It’s just that Dan asked for my help, and I was excited to do real investigative work.”

  “I’ve already talked to Dan. He tried to convince me that I was wasting you on features. But that doesn’t change things.”

  “Does this mean I’m fired?”

  Lloyd furrowed his brow, looking like a concerned father. “You know I think a lot of you, but I have no choice. The publisher is already breathing down my neck about another personnel issue.”

  Her throat tightened. How could she have let this happen? She was a rules follower. Always had been. What would Gary think? Then, one consolation came to mind. “Does this mean I can keep helping Dan?”

  Lloyd shook his head in disbelief. “You really do want to be an investigator, don’t you?”

  She thought about the question, and her answer surprised even herself. “I don’t know. What I really want to do, though, is help people. If being an investigator means I can help track down a killer, then that’s what I want to do. I guess...I just want to make a difference, as corny as that sounds.”

  “I get that. That’s why I became a journalist.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now all I seem to do is try to keep everybody else on staff in line. It’s like herding cats.”

  “Meow,” Deena said as she wiped her eyes.

  “Maybe you should become a PI. Anyway, you don’t work here anymore. You can do anything you want.”

  She felt her insides settle.

  He stood and waved his hand toward the door. “Now get out of here. Clean out your desk. And try to look ashamed.”

  Deena lowered her head and stifled a grin. As she walked out of the office, she whispered, “Yes, boss.”

  A million eyes fixed on her as she headed to her desk. She tried to look upset. She grabbed an empty box by the copy machine and began to fill it with personal items. Something nagged at her. What was it? Then the words of the psychic came back to her like a slap in the face. When Deena told Natasha she was a reporter, Sister Natasha had said, “Not for long.”

  How could she have known? Deena shivered. She felt as if she were being spied on.

  The black stapler she had brought from her classroom at Maycroft High School stared at her from the desk drawer. She and that SwingMaster had been through a lot together. Time to go back home. She placed it gingerly inside the box. Was she starting to think like Sandra? Believing objects could have feelings and be haunted? She shook her head to untangle the twisted thoughts.

  The bottom desk drawer was stuck, as usual. That’s where she kept a sweater for days when the ancient heater would kick off and the old building would drop to sub-zero temperatures.

  “Sorry about this.”

  She looked up to see Dan towering above her desk.

  “It’s fine,” she said, yanking on the drawer and falling back on the floor.

  “The thing is, the police just picked up Travis Wilde for the murder of his grandmother. Looks like you lost your job for nothing.”

  “TRAVIS WILDE? THE GRANDSON?” Gary seemed surprised to hear about the arrest.

  They sat at the kitchen table eating the spaghetti and garlic bread Deena had made for dinner. She had timed it so that Gary could test the pasta for doneness as soon as he got home. She had a tendency to over or undercook it. The red wine was already open, and she was almost to the bottom of her glass.

  Deena cut her spaghetti. “I guess he’s the obvious suspect since he had the most to gain by her death. I just didn’t take him for a murderer. A first class jerk, but not a murderer.” She sprinkled on an extra dose of parmesan cheese. “But then I guess it’s hard for me to imagine anyone being a murderer.”

  Gary twirled long strands of noodles into his spoon. He took pride in his pasta prowess. “So the guy comes to town, strangles his grandmother, hides out, comes back a few days later, and tries to sell the house?”

  “And don’t forget that he also contacted the insurance company.”

  “The guy’s got guts, I’ll give him that.” He stuck the whole fork-full of spaghetti in his mouth.

  “I feel a little bad about suspecting Marty Fisk of murder. I still think he’s up to something, but at least he’s not a killer.” Deena looked down and rolled her eyes. Even with cutting her pasta into little pieces, she still managed to drop some on her blouse.

  She got up to get a towel to wipe it off. “I’ll be curious to find out what evidence they have against him. Just because he had motive, means, and opportunity, it doesn’t mean they have enough for a conviction.” She dabbed water and dishwashing liquid on her blouse. “By the way, did you set up a golf game with Ned Morrison?”

  Gary poured more wine into their glasses. “I told you, I’m not going on a play date just to snoop on one of my co-workers.”

  Deena plopped down in her chair and gave him her sad puppy face. She stuck out her bottom lip. “How else are we going to find out if he’s planning on getting a divorce to marry Katy?”

  Gary picked up his glass. “I decided to take the direct approach and talk to him.”

  Like a scene out of Carrie, Deena spewed red wine all over the table. “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t ask him if he was having an affair!”

  “Of course not,” Gary said, blotting the table with his napkin. “I simply asked him about his wife. I asked if they had any big vacation plans this summer.”

  Deena let out her breath. “And?”

  “He told me that they just bought a house by the lake.”

  “So? That doesn’t mean anything. He could be planning to take Katy there after he divorces.”

  Gary wiped wine off the edge of his plate. “They co-own it with his in-laws. Does that sound like a guy about to get a divorce?”

  “No. You’r
e right. That rat. I knew he was using her. Now I just have to figure out a way to tell her.” She picked up her plate and carried it to the kitchen.

  “You’ll leave me out of it, right?”

  “Of course. I can’t believe you asked me that.”

  “Sorry. I trust you.” He picked up the rest of the dishes and put them in the kitchen sink. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

  Deena carried her glass to the counter and sat on a barstool. She twisted back and forth, thinking of the best way to tell Gary her news. Finally, she spit it out. “Speaking of trust, I talked to Lloyd today. He found out I was helping Dan.”

  Gary looked back over his shoulder and waited.

  “It seems that it’s a violation of office policy to go against your boss’ orders.” She scrunched her nose. “I got fired.” There. She’d said it.

  “Fired? Again?”

  “Now wait. Technically I quit my teaching job, remember? Besides, I wasn’t going to be happy writing about the Junior League and Sunday socials.”

  “I know, but what are you going to do now?” He rinsed off the plates and put them in the dishwasher. “Take up baking? Gardening? Read to the blind?

  “They have audio books for the blind now. Anyway, I still have my antique business.”

  Gary cut his eyes at her. “It’s not much of a business when the stuff’s just sitting in your car.”

  “Ouch,” she said. “I guess I deserve that.”

  Her cell phone rang. It was Dan. What he told her came as a surprise. She promised to call him back if she heard from Natasha’s butler.

  “What was that all about?” Gary asked.

  “It turns out that Dan’s source at the police department jumped the gun. Travis Wilde was arrested for skipping out on his bail in Harris County, not for murder. The police are going to hold him as long as possible while they look for more evidence and check out his alibi for Tuesday night.”

  “So they must think he’s guilty.”

  “I’m sure. I can’t wait to see what happens next. For now, I want to keep helping Dan, for Katy’s sake. As for another job, I’m sure something else will eventually come along. You said we didn’t need the money, especially the little bit I was making part-time at the newspaper.”