by Molly Macrae
“Waiting for what?” I asked.
“Do you think they tell me?”
“Yeah, I think they— She hung up on me. Of all the nerve.”
“It’s okay,” Debbie said. “Nervie told us.”
“Nervie? What did she tell you? And when?”
The camel bells jingled again, and Debbie waved and called hello to the people who’d come in. “That it was Belinda Moyer and it wasn’t natural causes,” she said when she turned back to me. “Why are you so surprised? You know official statements don’t keep tongues from wagging.”
Surprise was only part of it. “When was Nervie wagging?”
“She came in while you were upstairs.”
“Is she still here?”
“Mm, not sure.” Debbie pointed over her shoulder. “Customers.”
The trouble with investigating a crime—or even just being actively nosy—while running a business was the amount of time customers took away from it. Such an odd problem to have. Debbie had things under control, though, so I took a quick tour of the rooms downstairs. I didn’t find Nervie, but I met Abby coming down the front stairs. I crooked a finger at her, and we let a couple of women with knitting bags pass us.
“Is Nervie upstairs?” I asked.
“You missed her.”
“Was she here when that guy came in?”
“Is that who he wanted? He didn’t say. She’d already left, anyway.”
Customers flowed in, many of them finding something else to do after making the trip to Blue Plum for the canceled opening. I stayed to help out, happy for the distraction from what I should be doing, namely puzzling out what to do with Geneva’s information. Argyle contributed his expertise by supervising the display in the front window between naps. Geneva didn’t float in to curl around the ceiling fan.
Joe called late in the afternoon. I told him about the McDougal in the shop and the message I’d left for Clod. He was quiet for a minute, then said, “Good.”
“Gutters clean?” I asked.
“They are. I’m not. I’m going home to grab a shower. Mel asked Aaron’s group to play at the café this evening. Might be fun.”
It might be. Crashing early and ignoring the ruthless world sounded good, too.
“Ardis and Hank are going,” Joe said. “She’s going to let the old coot do a two-step.”
“Sold. That will definitely be fun.”
Ardis called soon after. “The call to Crime Stoppers was a piece of cake.”
“I hadn’t realized how relieved I’d feel knowing they’ve got that information,” I said.
“A burden lifted? I’ve been thinking about that, hon. The tip was anonymous. Let’s keep it that way for now.”
“You don’t want to tell the posse?”
“The information, such as it is, is in good hands,” Ardis said. “The posse has other questions to sift through. We can’t call that little gathering near the refreshment table this morning a meeting. I contacted Thea, Ernestine, and John. They’re meeting us at Mel’s.”
“Won’t it be too noisy and too public?”
“Perfect cover,” Ardis said. “If nothing else, all eyes will be on Daddy.”
Mel, officially off for the day, reserved two tables for the eight of us. She further reserved the seat next to herself for Hank. “I plan to keep him busy,” she said. “I haven’t been dancing in years.”
“Daddy hasn’t been dancing since before you were born,” Ardis said. “He gave it up after Mama died. It’s only since he started talking to her that he’s been itching to kick up his heels again.”
“I’ll try not to step on his toes or his heels,” Mel said. “You’ll dance with me, won’t you, Hank?”
“You give the word,” Hank said. “I like a woman with her hair on fire.”
“Where’s Aaron?” Joe asked.
“Stepped out back with Angie,” Mel said.
The café had a back door for customers just as we did at the Cat. Joe and I found Angie and Aaron on the small porch there, and we congratulated them on the impending twins with hugs and backslaps.
“You’re out there in the county now, aren’t you?” Joe asked.
“Watauga Branch,” Aaron said. “Mile beyond the bridge.”
“I took a big bass under that bridge a few years back,” Joe said.
“It’s our compromise location,” Angie said. “I’m all-town and Aaron’s all-mountain, and out there it’s some of both. It’s peaceful.”
Aaron said, “Heh,” crossed his arms, and looked at his feet.
“Well, except for the Riley and Taylor show.” Seeing Joe’s raised eyebrows, Angie added, “Aaron’s cousin Taylor and her boyfriend. Trust me, you don’t want to know more than that.”
“Your mom and Shirley mentioned something about it,” I said.
“What’d they say?” Angie asked.
“Not much. No details.”
“Good. We’re trying to keep it that way.” She leaned her shoulder against Aaron’s chest, and he put his arms around her. “You know what Mom and Aunt Shirley are like, though.”
“Actually, they said something about the day you had a housewarming,” I said. “About a guy sitting in a pickup truck on the side of the road, watching the house next door.”
“What house next door?” Angie asked. “There’s houses a half mile down in either direction, but no house next door.”
“Might be they saw one of Riley’s uncles,” Aaron said. “Waiting, though, not watching. Riley lost his license for a time, and they’d take him to work.”
“Did you see either of the uncles at the opening this morning?” I asked. “Does one of them have a beard?”
“He does,” Aaron said. “I didn’t see him, though. Too busy playing.”
“Do Shirley and Mercy know either of them?” Joe asked.
“Don’t know why they would,” Aaron said. “We only met them after Taylor and Riley hooked up.”
“Another episode in the Riley and Taylor show,” Angie said. “That’s a couple more names we won’t give the kids.”
We left them giggling over other names they wouldn’t give the new twins. While we ordered at the counter, Thea and Ernestine arrived. Thea parked Ernestine at our table and came to stand in line behind us. John walked in as we sat down with our drinks.
“Are you still lusting after that book you saw this morning?” I asked Thea when she joined us.
“Shh,” she said. She looked around, as though checking for who might be near enough to hear. “I don’t think he knows the value of some of his old paperbacks. The two I bought? Out-of-print romance. Not impossible to find, but worth more than he’s charging. That’s why I didn’t want to see the delectable Briggs Myers.”
“An old mystery,” I told Joe and Ernestine. Then, to Thea, “If he’s pricing low, why not look at it?”
“Because once I had that book in my hands, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. I’d buy it. And either he knows how much it’s worth, and I’d spend more than I can afford, or he’d doesn’t know and I’d feel guilty for cheating him.”
“The bibliophile’s dilemma,” Joe said. “Martha just came in. Be right back.”
“Who’s Martha?” Thea asked. She was territorial, on my behalf, as far as Joe was concerned.
“It’s all right,” I said. “She’s the enamelist at the Vault.”
“The bibliophile’s dilemma would be a good title for a book,” said Ernestine.
“Not for the book I’m writing,” Thea said. “We’ve had so much practice solving crimes, it’ll be a walk in the park. I’m calling it Dog-Eared to Death.”
“Are you really?” Ernestine asked.
“I wish.”
“You could do it, though,” I said. “What’s stopping you?”
“Time and typing.”
“They wait for no woman,” Ernestine said. “Don’t wish you had. It’s a hard place to be.”
“What are you wishing, Ernestine?” Ardis asked from t
he next table.
“It’s useless, but I wish I’d had more coffee this morning, so that I’d spent more time going back and forth to the restroom. I might have seen something. Or stopped it.”
“None of that,” Mel said.
Joe and John reached the tables at the same time. John took the empty seat at Mel’s table.
“How’s Martha?” I asked when Joe sat down.
“Shocked, like everyone else. Do you remember I wondered if she’d stay on with her shop? She says after this morning, she owes it to the Arts Council. To support the Vault and Sierra.”
“Good for her,” John said.
“Did she notice Belinda wasn’t in her shop this morning?” Ernestine asked.
“I doubt any of us had time to notice anything outside our own shops,” Joe said.
“But what do we know about her movements?” Ernestine asked.
“I thought we were working on what happened to the tablecloth,” John said from the other table.
“We might not be able to separate the two,” said Ardis.
“Didn’t they arrest the ex?” Thea asked.
I leaned over to Mel. “This isn’t going to work.”
“No kidding. Good thing I keep plan B in my apron pocket.”
Plan B called for enjoying our food and the music, leaving Mel’s in ones and twos, and regrouping at the Cat.
“I’ll stay here with Hank,” Mel said. “If he gets rascally, I’ll rascal right back.”
Plan B performed as smoothly as Aaron’s trio. Thea and Ernestine finished eating first and left with Ardis’s keys. John followed some minutes later, as Hank held a hand out to ask Mel for a dance. Before Ardis made her move, Simon the bookseller came to say hello, and Ardis invited him to sit.
“For a minute,” he said. “I’m meeting someone. She isn’t here yet. Terrible what happened this morning . . .”
“Shocking,” Ardis said.
“Did you know the ex was in the picture?” he asked. “I didn’t until I heard them fighting this morning.”
“Fighting?”
“Sniping more than fighting,” Simon said. “That’s what I told the deputies. Tight lips and nasty looks. As a theater director, you’d have loved it, Ardis. A perfect example of how to get across the idea of an argument without raised voices or physical contact.”
“Interesting. Are you still traveling so much for Embree?” Ardis asked, referring to the area community college.
“That’s what makes being department director bearable,” he said.
“Well, if you have enough time between that and your books, the next time we do Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, make sure you try out.”
“Really? Thanks.”
“Sad they fought on their last morning,” I said. “I hope it wasn’t over something trivial.”
“I shouldn’t have said fighting. That’s where subtlety comes in. That’s what I would explore in Virginia Woolf. This sounded like dialogue they’d gone over before, maybe for years. The ‘fight’ was there in the tone, the shading. Anyway,” he said, getting up, “I’ll let you be, and we’ll hope for better days ahead.”
Ardis watched him go, then said, “We’ll hope for better clues ahead, too. Subtlety’s fine, but I’m a big fan of a poke in the eye or a pie in the face. They’d make it easier to figure out what happened today, too.”
“I didn’t know you were thinking of doing Virginia Woolf again,” Joe said. “Gar played George last time.”
“I’ll make sure we don’t do it again. Simon is a director’s nightmare. He always wants to rewrite the script.”
“Then why did you tell him to try out?” I asked.
“Because it made him feel good about himself. Everyone needs a little bit of that. Like those two dancing fools.” She waved at Mel and Hank; then she did an energetic two-step of her own past Aaron’s trio, and slipped out the back door.
“She’s right,” I said.
Joe slipped his arm around my shoulders. “About feeling good?”
“About subtlety, which you’ve mastered. But wouldn’t it be nice to have clues even the Three Stooges couldn’t miss?”
“Right on cue,” Joe said. “Look who’re about to poke each other in the eyes.”
Clod and Rogalla were both headed for the order counter. Rogalla got there first and stood with his back as squarely to Clod as humanly possible.
“Did they come in together?” I asked.
“Maybe they’re following each other. Which one’s Moe, and which one’s Larry?”
“And where’s Curly?”
“Pooch parking?” Joe said.
Mel had a spot out front, with an awning for shade, where dogs could enjoy a bowl of water while their people went inside.
After ordering, Rogalla found a table farther from the music. When Clod stepped away from the counter, he took his time scanning the room, and then headed for us.
“Did you get my voicemail about that guy in the shop?” I asked when he sat down.
“Nice way to say hello. Yeah, I got your message. And I’d say that I didn’t figure either of those boys as yarn-shop types, but one of you two might stab me with a knitting needle.”
“That’s insensitive, under the circumstances,” I said.
“It gets the point across. Oh, and just so you know, I caught up with the buddy of the rat-faced McDougal. They were in the area scouting locations for their organization’s next annual meeting. Looking over the venue, as he said. Making sure the spousal members of the organization will have plenty of opportunities for entertainment and shopping.”
“What organization?” I asked.
“Tennessee Herpetological Society. And yes, I checked. Their next annual meeting is being held in Johnson City, near enough to make Blue Plum a day trip.”
“Huh.”
“Disappointed?” Clod asked.
“Wondering if you got their names and checked to see if they’re actually members.”
Joe, Mr. Subtle Intervention, stepped in before I went too far. “Any official word yet?”
“The Vault can open tomorrow,” Clod said. “We’re officially looking for a person or persons unknown.”
“I knew it.”
“Good for you, Ms. Rutledge. Is what you knew more than what you told us this morning?”
“Nope.”
“Did you see anyone else near that door? Anyone you forgot to mention?”
Someone he’d learned about from an anonymous tip? With complete sincerity, I shook my head. Then, also with complete sincerity, I jabbed back. “You know more than you’re letting on about Belinda. About all of what’s happened. But you’re looking for something else. A connection? Is that what you’re fishing for?”
“Sorry?”
“Your questions this morning; they weren’t just about what happened to Belinda. You’re fishing for something else.”
“Fishing,” Clod said. “Good point.”
“Huh?”
He ignored me and turned to Joe. “Fishing makes sense.”
“Fishing always makes sense,” Joe said, “but what are you talking about?”
“Gar. Maybe that’s what he was doing up there.”
Joe shook his head. “He never fished up that high. Water’s too cold.”
“You ever hear of insulated waders?” Clod asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Joe said. “Gar went after browns. Browns like warmer water than what you find up there above the gap. And even the warmer water was too cold for Gar these days. He always said browns and Browns stick together. They like the bigger, lower creeks and rivers. Besides that, he didn’t fish alone. Not for the past three or four years.”
“Won’t ever again, either,” Clod said.
“Catch this guy, Cole.”
“Catch both guys,” I said. “Or is there only one?”
SIXTEEN
Cole actually said the same person might have killed Gar and Belinda?” Ardis looked from me to Joe. She’d met us
at the door to the TGIF workroom.
“He said he doesn’t know if we’re looking for one person or two,” I said.
“Same difference. Do you believe him?”
“No question,” Joe said.
“I was only surprised he answered,” I said. “Not by his answer.”
“Well, come on in and sit down,” Ardis said. “We got that vibe from him this morning when he corralled us there in the gallery.”
We didn’t often use the TGIF workroom in the evenings. Before Joe and I arrived, the others had moved extra floor lamps over to the circle of chairs, making it cozier and easier to see stitches. They were all knitting. Even Joe, as soon as he sat down next to John. Where had his knitting and needles sprung from?
“Sorry,” I said. “I seem to have left mine at home.”
Ardis handed me a dry-erase marker and pointed at the whiteboard they’d brought from the other end of the long room. “You know your place. The board is yours.”
“Where do we start?” Thea asked.
“With this.” I tossed the marker up in the air, caught it, and drew two lines from the top to the bottom of the board, trisecting it.
“Showoff,” Thea said.
Along the top of the left section of the board, I wrote Connections? Then I made a list:
Belinda
Russell
Nervie
tablecloth
Vault
Gar
gang
John narrated for Ernestine as I wrote. “A long list,” she said at the end of it.
“Covering bases,” I said. To be thorough, and because I couldn’t help blaming them for setting our part of all this in motion, I added Spiveys. And then I felt something I couldn’t quite believe—a pang of remorse because maybe I was being unfair to them. A pang so small it was more of a ping, but still there. I erased Spiveys.
