Peach Clobbered

by Anna Gerard

  “Okay, it sounds like the press conference is winding down. Give me the hatbox. You can wait here if you want, but if she specifically asks to talk to you, I’m blowing your cover.”

  I waited until the sheriff and her crew had left the gazebo and followed after her, catching up as she neared her squad car. Whipping off my sunglasses so she could see my face, I said, “Sheriff Lamb, it’s me, Nina Fleet. I’ve got something important for you.”

  The sheriff halted and turned. Unlike before, when she’d always appeared crisp despite the early summer heat, the woman was looking pretty wilted. Doubtless this media frenzy on top of a tabloid-ready murder was taking a toll on the sheriff.

  Still, she managed a polite smile. “I could use a hat like that today,” she said with a nod toward my oversized chapeau. “I’m afraid I’m on my way to a meeting, Ms. Fleet. Maybe you can stop by my office later?”

  “This really can’t wait. Please, just take a look.”

  Raising the hatbox, I pulled off the lid and let the top dangle as I carefully drew aside the towel.

  The sheriff leaned closer for a look. Her eyes abruptly widened as she saw the contents. She straightened and whipped her gaze back to mine.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Actually, Harry Westcott found it.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” she muttered. “So where did Harry find it?”

  “In the tower room of my house. To tell the truth, I didn’t even realize there was a way up there until Harry showed me. We were cleaning up the room, and he discovered some of the closet floorboards were loose. When he pried them up, he found this hidden underneath.”

  “It would have been better, Ms. Fleet, if you’d left this where you found it and called us before you removed it.”

  The expected LEO chastisement. I nodded.

  “I know, Sheriff, but you’re so busy working on solving Mr. Bainbridge’s murder, and frankly it was giving us the creeps, knowing it was there. But I took some pictures with my cell phone before we removed it from the hole. And I remember quite clearly that the dust on the floor was pretty thick when Harry and I first climbed up there. No footprints or anything, so it had to have been hidden for a while.”

  “No other bones or artifacts with it?” she wanted to know.

  I shook my head. “Nothing else. Just the—”

  She put a swift, silencing finger to her lips. Apparently, skull was a trigger word … at least, when the media were anywhere around. I tried again.

  “Nothing else. Just this.”

  She sighed, and I had an idea of what she was thinking. One more problem on top of all the other problems she had.

  “Wrap it back up again, and I’ll take it to the station so I can send it off to an expert. But my guess is we’re not looking at a crime scene … at least, not that sort of crime. This is probably a relic, and we’ll want to track down the person who hid it in your house. We’ll talk more once my expert gives me a report.”

  She took the hatbox from me, then gave me a keen look. “I’ll want to talk to Harry, too, since he found the item in question. I don’t suppose you know where he is right now, do you?”

  Since he was about twenty feet behind her taking pictures of the dwindling press activity on the square—or, at least pretending to do so—I pointed over her shoulder. “He’s the one dressed as Joe Tourist with the backward ball cap and fanny pack.”

  The sheriff looked like she wanted to say a few things that weren’t on the official list of sheriff’s department–approved public statements. All she said aloud, however, was, “Thanks, Ms. Fleet. I’ll have a little chat with him. And someone will get back with you about this.”

  Indicating the hatbox, she tucked it under her arm and headed in Harry’s direction. I busied myself with my own phone, watching surreptitiously while she did her chatting. Only after she’d made her way back to the squad car did I make my way over to where Harry was standing.

  “Mission accomplished,” I told him. “Did she yell at you too much?”

  “Not at all,” was his smug response. “Connie thanked me for being a responsible citizen in reporting my find. And now the skull is on his—or her—way to being examined by an expert. So now that’s one less thing to worry about. Unless the skull mysteriously reappears in the closet tonight.”

  “It does, and you have permission to perform an exorcism, or whatever you need to do,” I told him … kidding only a little. “Since we’re finished here, I think I’ll drop by to see Gemma and Daniel for a bit. Maybe you can head back to the house and make arrangements for someone to jump-start that hunk of junk for you.”

  “I take it that’s not a hint. Fine, I’m out of here.”

  Leaving him to sulk his way home again, I crossed the street over to Peaches and Java. I purposely hadn’t invited Harry to join me. Not because I didn’t want his company—okay, that was one reason—but because I wanted to finish off my list that I’d started that morning.

  Sister Mary George was near the top of the suspect list, second only to the mysterious Lana. And while I really didn’t think a nun could have done something so heinous, I couldn’t forget her juvenile conviction … that, and her obvious enmity when it came to Gregory Bainbridge. I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask the nun outright if she’d done the deed, but maybe Gemma could relieve my mind, one way or the other.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The coffee shop was busier than I’d expected at this hour, but things were definitely winding down. Gemma was working on a takeout order for a customer. She spotted me and gave me the wait a sec raised finger. I waited while she bade the customer a cheery goodbye. Then I ordered an iced latte—as much to counter the heat as to be polite. Once I had cup in hand, she gestured me over to a corner table to sit.

  “What’s with the hat?” was her first question. Not waiting for my reply, she jumped to another subject.

  “It’s crazy, but Greg Bainbridge has been a better neighbor to us dead than he ever was when he was alive. Seriously, our breakfast and lunch receipts have been double since the press came to town.”

  “I suspect a lot of shops in town are reaping the bounty,” I agreed once I’d pulled off the offending hat and taken a big swig of the chilly coffee. “Maybe that’s why they’re expecting a crowd at the Rosary service on Friday night.”

  Since Gemma hadn’t yet heard about that, I gave her what details I knew. “I’m tempted to go myself,” I added. “I’ve never been inside a convent before, and there’s something pretty intriguing about a vintage Tudor Revival.”

  “Sure, you’d enjoy a tour. But I think that’s a hard pass for me and Daniel.”

  “Right, bells and smells,” I replied with a smile, echoing the expression she’d used a few days earlier. Then, reminding myself why I’d stopped by, I sobered.

  “So, speaking about the convent …”

  I trailed off, trying to decide how best to broach the subject. As far as I knew, there wasn’t an official protocol detailing ways to gently inquire of a friend if her relative by marriage might be a murderer. And so I opted for bluntness.

  “Look, Gemma, I’ve got to talk to you about something that isn’t easy. I suppose Daniel already told you about the sheriff arresting Harry for Bainbridge’s murder yesterday, and then letting him go a few hours later?”

  “Yeah, he did.” Gemma paused and gave me a keen look. “And Jasmine mentioned that she saw that beat-up old bus of Harry’s parked in your driveway this morning. Is that what you want to talk about?”

  “Well, it’s related.”

  Skirting around the Lana situation and totally leaving out the part about the skull, I told her how the sheriff had been enforcing the overnight parking regulation and that I’d let Harry move his bus into my driveway. That, and the fact that he had offered to show me the secret door to the tower room if I’d let him stay there until he made other arrangements.

  “But don’t worry,” I added. “He’s paying me for the week.” />
  Gemma let out a laugh. “Well, he sure got you good, girl. If you’d have asked me, I could’ve showed you how to get up to that room. Remember, I told you I used to babysit for that boy when he was young. So is this what you’re all worried about?”

  “No. I mean, I’m not thrilled, but I’ve got something in writing. Besides, he gets along great with the nuns. I’m sure if I have any problem with him, they’ll step in and roust him out of there, if need be. But that’s not my question.”

  I hesitated, then forged on. “Gemma, do you think it’s possible that one of the nuns might have been responsible for Bainbridge’s murder?”

  She stared at me for a long moment before finally giving her graying locks a disbelieving shake. “You’re joking, right?”

  Then, when I shook my own not-yet-gray-but-probably-would-be-after-all-this head, she snorted.

  “Don’t tell me, is this Harry’s harebrained theory? It must be, because it’s totally out in left field. Can you honestly picture any of those old nuns skulking around in an alley with a knife going after the man. Oh, wait …”

  She gave me another look … this one harder.

  “You’re thinking it’s Laverna, aren’t you? What, because she got into trouble when she was a teenager?”

  “It’s not just that.” Though hearing the words said out loud, I understood Gemma’s upset. “I’m not supposed to say anything, so please don’t repeat it, even to Daniel. You see, Laverna—Sister Mary George—told me yesterday that they’d all be heading to Atlanta in a few days for their new assignment. But only she and Mother Superior know that the sisters are going to be split up and sent to different convents after they get there.”

  “Split up? But those old ladies have been together most of their lives!”

  “Exactly. And the thing is, Sister Mary George knew this was the plan even before they left the convent.”

  I set down my coffee and leaned closer.

  “Gemma, I promise I’m not trying to insult you or your family. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about how furious she was at Bainbridge for letting it happen … not for herself, but for the other nuns. I know she’s a wonderful woman, and I truly admire her, but I’m afraid that maybe she ran into him that day in the alley and just snapped.”

  Gemma sank back in her chair, her expression momentarily dismayed. No doubt she was picturing the scene in her head, just as I’d done when I saw the nun going after that innocent apple with her paring knife. And Gemma would likely be thinking the same thing that I had … that even the best of us could go momentarily unhinged, given the right circumstances.

  Then, seeming to rally, she straightened again.

  “No, she didn’t do it. Not just because she wouldn’t do it, but because it don’t make sense. For one thing, where would she have gotten the knife? And for another, even if she did have the knife, what are the chances she would have run across Greg in that alley the exact minute he happened to be there, just in time to kill him?”

  I frowned and reached for my latte again as I considered her argument. The knife, I could build a case for. It might have come from the convent, or even from my own kitchen, since the drawers there still held a jumble of Mrs. Lathrop’s silverware and serving pieces. And it would be easy enough to conceal the blade in the voluminous folds of her nun’s habit.

  But as for the timetable, Gemma had a point. The only reason the nuns had taken a break at that particular moment right before the murder was because Sister Mary Paul had gotten overheated. Even had Sister Mary George premeditated her plan to kill the developer, timing would have made all the difference. Sooner, and Gregory wouldn’t have yet been in the alley. Later, and he would already have been across the square in his borrowed penguin costume, well out of stabbing range.

  “You’re right,” I concluded, smiling as I allowed myself a small whoosh of relief. “The timing’s off. Besides, whoever did it had to have been there right on the spot following Gregory around until he got into that penguin suit. And I’m sure Sheriff Lamb would have followed up if she couldn’t account for which nuns were where, and when.”

  “Good. So that means you’re going to drop this nonsense right now?”

  “Consider it dropped,” I agreed, feeling a bit chastened by her tone, which—not surprisingly, since I’d all but called her sister-in-law a killer—was still rather sharp. Hoping to clear the air, I changed the subject.

  “Since the sisters are going to be with me at least through Sunday morning, can I take another look at the catering menu? I think it’s time to shake up breakfast a little.”

  After a few minutes’ companionable discussion, we agreed on egg puff pastries instead of quiche and fruit- and bacon-stuffed French toast instead of muffins, though we kept the usual peach cobbler. By now it was almost closing time for the coffee shop, so I made my goodbyes and pulled on the hat again, then headed out across the square toward home.

  I was only a block away from the house when I spied it.

  The it was a low-slung red convertible driven by a brown-haired woman. Nothing particularly odd in that. Except that, even at a distance, I could see what appeared to be a brightly inked armband tattoo on this driver’s bare arm.

  And, more importantly, she appeared to be steering her little red car in my direction.

  I froze there on the street corner as the speeding convertible rushed toward me. One voice in my head was yelling, Jump out of the way! while a competing voice was shouting, Get out your phone and take a picture of her license plate! Meanwhile, a third voice—the one I actually listened to—was busy reassuring me, Don’t act crazy; she doesn’t even know it’s you, not with that hat on.

  Sure enough, the driver didn’t glance my way as she abruptly rounded the corner without bothering to signal and then sped on down the side street.

  I stood there a moment staring after the car, trying to decide if that really had been Lana behind the wheel. In the end, I’d not had a close enough look at the woman’s face to say that for sure. Even the tattoo I thought I’d seen could have been some sort of jewelry instead.

  And then a disturbing thought hit me. Maybe she had tracked down Harry to my place, where she’d overpowered him and stuffed him into the small trunk of that vehicle. Maybe now she was driving off with him for parts unknown … and for reasons better left unsaid.

  What was it Gemma had said about harebrained theories? Still, I hurried that final block to the house.

  Mattie greeted me at the door, not seeming the least concerned about my absence. Hanging my hat on the hall tree, I gave the pup a relieved hug and a scratch behind the ears as I called up the stairs, “Harry, are you here?”

  He didn’t answer, but I didn’t panic. Not yet. The Aussie hadn’t appeared agitated, which surely she would have been had the actor been sprawled somewhere with a knife in him. She wasn’t pawing at the door to indicate something was wrong outside, either.

  I peeked into the parlor to see the nuns gathered there for their usual afternoon Rosary, the murmur of repeated prayer drifting into the hallway. No Harry hiding within their ranks.

  So the next step was trying to track him down by phone.

  I’d actually saved his number from a couple of months back, when he’d been threatening me by phone about the house. I’d filed it under CRAZY MAN, so when I saw that name pop up I would know to avoid answering. I gave the number a try now, only for it to go to voicemail after a single ring.

  “Okay, you can worry a little now,” I said aloud. And then I heard the outside kitchen door open and close.

  Mattie let loose with one of her patented hellhound howls and went bounding in that direction. I rushed after her, telling myself it wasn’t a crazed murderer breaking in, that Harry likely had been outside checking on his bus. Sure enough, I reached the kitchen just in time to see the dog make a dramatic leap straight into Harry’s arms.

  “Oof!” was his response as he staggered, not so much at the weight but at the way he’d been thrown of
f balance. Regaining his footing, he juggled her like an oversized soccer ball and managed a “Good girl” before he set her down again.

  “Where the hell have you been?” were the first reflexive words out of my mouth, even though the answer was pretty obvious.

  Harry apparently agreed, for he raised a brow. “If I recall our last conversation on the square, you told me to get back here and find someone to jump-start the bus. Which I did, and which I’m in process of doing.”

  “Sorry, you’re right. It’s just that I had a little shock on the way home that I thought you should know about.”

  I gave him a quick rundown of what I’d seen. His skeptical look once I’d finish made me realize that, much like with Gemma and my suspicions about Sister Mary George, I probably was making too much of a minor incident.

  That is, until I recalled Harry’s story about the time at an Austin motel when he’d been accosted by Lana wearing little besides a knife tucked into a garter. What if she was the one who’d shoplifted that missing knife from Mason’s store? Maybe she was driving around town in search of Harry’s bus … and, ultimately, Harry.

  Before I could offer up that theory, however, he replied, “The bus is pretty hard to see from the street, so unless she pulls into every driveway in town, there’s a good chance she won’t find me again … at least, not right away. Not that I don’t appreciate your concern for my well-being.”

  “Actually, my concern is for the sisters. Last thing I want is some crazy woman hurting one of them while she’s looking for you.”

  “Those nuns are tough. I’d be more concerned about Lana getting hurt.”

  I was trying to decide if he was serious or not about any of this when his cell phone abruptly rang. He glanced at the phone’s screen and said, “It’s the auto club guy. Got to take it.”

  Since the nuns would be occupied a while longer with their prayers, I spent the next hour doing what I’d dubbed B&B biz. First on the to-do list was advertising. And so I spent the hour scrolling through a few competitors’ websites looking for ideas on business cards and fliers and cute little promotional items like soap and shampoo with my not-yet-designed logo printed on them, making notes and saving links to reference back to later.