The Feed Store Floozy (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series)

by Nickles, Judy

  “Really?”

  “She said so.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “People should write down old family stories even if they’re only half true.”

  “Maybe so, but if Hal writes about Harry’s family, there’s going to be you-know-what to pay.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows. “What’s for breakfast, honeychild?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  If Brice Dolan dug up any information at the archives, and if he shared anything with Hal Greene, the town of Amaryllis remained unenlightened. In the week before the Dog Days of Summer, everybody stayed too busy to care about the secrets of an empty building on the square; and in the week afterwards, they were too busy cleaning up and recuperating.

  The B&B’s last guests, having stayed for a family reunion, didn’t leave until mid-week. Penelope was glad to see them go and thankful they’d been undemanding and hadn’t left a mess on the third floor. Mary Lynn, arriving to help clean, made the same observation, adding, “I’m glad there’s nothing coming up in September.”

  “When is Harry thinking about setting up Founders Day?”

  “Well, since Jeremiah Bowden arrived in this area in May, he might stick it in there. That would still give us three months before next year’s Dog Days of Summer.”

  “Works for me.”

  “But the community center will be ready to open by Christmas, so he thinks we should have a pageant in the auditorium. Get the school kids involved.”

  “When are we going to get started on the museum upstairs?”

  “When we get enough to display. Right now all we have is Edgar Ragsdale’s photographic stuff. Millie Dancer volunteered to go to the newspaper and have more prints made of his pictures to go in the display. She said she’d even pay to have them framed.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  “But nobody in town wants to turn loose of any family heirlooms.”

  “You can’t blame them.”

  “I guess not.”

  “You could always get Brice Dolan to donate all the stuff from the…”

  Mary Lynn turned on Penelope. “Don’t even think it.”

  Penelope snickered. “Or maybe he’ll fix things up and offer tours once he gets his antique store opened.”

  “Whose side are you on anyway?”

  “There’s no side to this, Mary Lynn.”

  “Harry’s so worried about what Hal Greene’s going to write in the paper.”

  “He hasn’t written anything yet.”

  “Oh, but he will. You can just bet he will.”

  “History, Mary Lynn. Past and forgotten.”

  “It won’t be forgotten if he spreads it all over the newspaper.”

  “How many people read the Bugle anyway? It’s not like it has national circulation. It probably doesn’t even leave the county.”

  “You never know.”

  Penelope stopped mopping the bathroom. “Was that the doorbell?”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I’d better go see.” Penelope leaned the mop against the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  ****

  “Hello there, Penelope, remember me?”

  “Sure, I remember you, Brice. What in the world are you doing here?”

  “I brought someone to meet you. This is Wally Powers. We went to college together.”

  Penelope unlatched the screen door. “Come on, in. Can I get you anything? Tea?”

  Brice, tall and clean-cut, smiled and shook his head. The other man, slightly shorter with a beer belly and what Jake called ‘shifty eyes’, said, “I could use a drink.”

  “Sorry, I don’t keep alcohol, but I’ve got tea or soda.”

  “Tea then.”

  “Just make yourselves at home there in the parlor. I’ll be right back.”

  “Interesting old place,” Penelope heard Wally Powers say as she returned with a frosted glass of iced tea. “Old family home, Mrs. Pembroke?”

  “Actually, it is.” She sat down across from Brice.

  “Nice.”

  “Thank you.” Penelope glanced at Brice. “What can I do for the two of you?”

  Brice sat forward on the sofa. “I guess you heard I bought the old feed store.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wally’s a journalist. I ran into him the other day, and when I told him what I found upstairs, he thought it would make a good story, maybe even a screenplay.”

  “I thought you promised Hal Greene the exclusive. Or so the grapevine says.”

  “Well, I did, but Wally’s a professional writer. He’s worked in Hollywood and also for several large papers. Won some awards for his stuff, too.”

  Penelope thought Wally looked smug. “Hal’s not an amateur. He has a degree in journalism from UALR.” She said.

  Brice nodded. “But Wally’s got the name to make this fly.”

  “Where’s it going?”

  Wally laugh grated on Penelope’s ears like a finger on a chalkboard. “Farther than some two-bit hometown paper,” he said.

  “Wally needs a place to stay while he does some research,” Brice said, anticipating the retort he saw forming on Penelope’s lips. “Dog Days of Summer is over, and you take a break in September, so I thought…”

  “How long are you looking at?”

  Brice glanced at Wally, who grunted, “As long as it takes.”

  “Why here instead of a hotel on the interstate?”

  “I want to get to know the town,” Wally Powers said, condescension dripping from his full lips. “Talk to the locals. See what their families knew about the town in its early days. Give me a feel of the place I’m writing about.”

  If I let this troll stay here, Mary Lynn will never speak to me again. Besides, Brice promised Hal the story, and he shouldn’t have brought someone else into it.

  “I’d like to help you, Brice, but Daddy and I look forward to having the house to ourselves during the time between events here in Amaryllis. Sometimes we take a little trip, so there wouldn’t be anyone here to look after things.”

  Brice stood up. “I understand, Penelope.”

  Wally’s mouth pulled back in a semi-snarl. “I don’t. It’s money, Mrs. Pembroke.”

  “I don’t do this for the money, Mr. Powers,” Penelope said, affecting the icy tone she’d used with smart-aleck interns in the emergency room. “I can recommend a good hotel just about twelve miles up the interstate.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Brice said. “But he wanted to stay in town if at all possible.”

  “I’m sorry,” Penelope said. Sorry like I’m sorry I don’t have a wart on the end of my nose.

  Wally Powers set the half-finished glass of tea on a table so hard it sloshed over. “Small-town, short-sighted, so-called loyalty.”

  “Wally, that was uncalled for,” Brice said.

  Penelope shook her head. “This is my home, Mr. Powers, the place where I grew up. Yes, I’m loyal to it.” She looked at Brice, but he dropped his eyes.

  From the hall, Mary Lynn called, “Pen, I finished mopping. What’s taking you so long down here?” She paused in the door of the parlor. “Brice Dolan, you snake-in-the-grass, what do you think you’re doing here?”

  ****

  Penelope opened two cans of soda and handed one to Mary Lynn. “Cool off.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “I turned him down, Mary Lynn. What else did you want me to do? Run him off with a pitchfork?”

  “For starters.”

  “I’ll admit I’m disappointed in Brice for going back on his agreement with Hal Greene.”

  “That Powers guy will get him more publicity for his new store than Hal, of course. I’ve seen his name somewhere.”

  “If he comes around acting like a big-shot, looking down his nose at Amaryllis folks, nobody’s going to give him the time of day.”

  “That’s true.” Mary Lynn sipped her cold drink.

  “I still don’t understand what the bi
g deal is about Harry’s great-grandfather owning a saloon.”

  “And that place upstairs.”

  “Even that. It happened everywhere.”

  “I know that, and so does Harry, but—I don’t know why Brice wants to make something out of this.”

  “I guess he knows. Look, you and Harry just need to stay out of it. Let Brice do what he wants to do. He’s going to anyway.”

  “But that toad Wally Powers will embellish the facts and embarrass us all.”

  “Not if we don’t let ourselves be embarrassed.”

  “Stay above it, you mean?”

  “Right. We ought to fast-track the community center and give Hal something else to write about. Something positive.”

  Mary Lynn considered that. “I guess the museum can start out small with just one exhibit.”

  “Edgar Ragsdale took hundreds of pictures. They’ll fill every inch of wall space in that front classroom. We’ll worry about the others later.”

  Mary Lynn narrowed her eyes. “You’re right. We’ll beat them at their own game. The people of Amaryllis are going to be a lot prouder of a community center than a wh—a you-know-what.”

  “You can say the word, Mary Lynn, or maybe not. It all sounds nasty, I guess.”

  “Whatever. I’m going straight down to the Bugle and talk to Hal. Maybe he can help us build some momentum to get people to donate things for the museum. And we could go to Little Rock tomorrow and hit up a couple of craft stores to donate some frames for Ragsdale’s pictures. Millie shouldn’t have to buy all of them herself.”

  “Tomorrow’s Thursday, Shana’s half-day off. Let’s take her with us and have lunch.”

  “I’ll stop by the library after I talk to Hal.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Mary Lynn rinsed her empty soda can and deposited it in the recycle bin on the service porch. “We’ll beat that weasel at his own game.”

  “Brice or Wally?”

  “Both of them.” Mary Lynn let the screen slam behind her as she left.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Within twenty-four hours, Wally Powers had made himself the most unpopular visitor ever to set foot in Amaryllis, Arkansas. By the end of the week, there was talk of an old-fashioned tar-and-feathering. “He has a monumental ego,” Shana said as she helped Penelope, Mary Lynn, and Millie frame and hang Edgar Ragsdale’s pictures in the second floor front classroom of the old school.

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” Millie said. “I thought Mike was going to throw him out of the Sit-n-Swill last night.”

  “Do tell.” Penelope reached for another frame from the box donated by a craft store in Little Rock.

  “He came in and ordered some fancy drink I never heard of, and I don’t think Mike ever heard of it either. When Mike told him the only alcohol he served was beer, Mr. Wally Powers made a few ill-chosen remarks about hick towns.”

  “Oooooo.” Shana raised one eyebrow. “Mike’s not one to tangle with.”

  Millie shook her head. “He didn’t say anything, just asked him if he wanted a beer.”

  “Did he?” asked Mary Lynn.

  “Yeah. He ate the whole bowl of those special chips Mike orders from Dallas, drank two beers, and left without saying kiss my foot.”

  “I hope he paid his tab,” Penelope said.

  “Oh, yeah, he did that. I think Mike was hoping he wouldn’t, so he’d have an excuse to get tough with him.”

  “Wally Powers is the kind who’d file charges for assault and battery if you looked at him wrong,” Mary Lynn said. “Maybe he’ll find all the dirt he needs pretty soon and get out of town.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Shana said. “I saw him this morning with a woman.”

  Mary Lynn looked up. “Surely not anyone from around here?”

  “I’ve never seen her in town before. She had the big-city look.”

  “I wonder who she is,” Penelope said.

  “She was lugging a couple of camera cases into the feed store. Wally Powers had a big light and a tripod.”

  “A photo shoot at the local..”

  Mary Lynn glared at Penelope. “Even if people don’t read what he wrote, they’ll look at pictures.”

  “We’re going to scoop him,” Penelope said. “We open next week.”

  “If we pass the fire inspection.”

  “When is Ed Biggs coming?”

  “In the morning so he said.”

  “We’ve got the smoke alarms and the sprinklers,” Penelope said. “The boiler’s in good shape, Peter’s friend built the handicap ramp for the back door, and Jessie Ruth and Jeremiah have moved on to greener pastures.”

  “Or deeper holes.” Shana giggled.

  “I was afraid we were going to have to have an exorcism,” Millie said.

  “Not a joking matter,” Mary Lynn cautioned her in an almost-whisper. “The Church takes that very seriously.”

  “Sorry, I’m Methodist, remember.”

  “Afternoon, ladies.” Police detective Bradley Pembroke stood in the door.

  “Please tell us this isn’t official,” Mary Lynn moaned. “Every time you show up here, there’s trouble brewing.”

  Bradley grinned. “Yes and no.”

  “I knew it.”

  Bradley strolled into the room. “Actually, I just brought you a little inside information.”

  Penelope reached to pat his cheek and thought better of it. “That we might take.”

  “Wally Powers brought in a professional photographer from out of state.”

  “We knew that,” Shana said. “I saw her.”

  “Ah, but I know who she is. She’s got a list of credits and awards as long as both my arms. Brice Dolan showed me her resume. Jill Jerome from St. Louis.”

  “Why did he show it to you?” asked Penelope.

  “I’m not sure. He also mentioned he had the downstairs ready to move into. A truck is bringing a shipment of antiques this afternoon. He wants to open next week.”

  “Just because we’re opening the community center, I’ll bet,” Mary Lynn said. “He’s a snake-in-the-grass, and I wish somebody would step on him. Or better still, go after him with a hoe and whack his head off.”

  “Now, Aunt Mary, he’s okay. You can’t blame a man for doing what’s good for his business.”

  “But not good for this town.”

  “That remains to be seen. And speaking of that, I guess you know Parnell’s been digging around in the old police records, trying to find out something about Malachi Sanborn and Daniel Dolan.” Bradley crossed his arms, the way Penelope had seen him do a hundred times when he was about to drop a bombshell.

  “And?” Penelope prompted him.

  “And he found the file.”

  In unison, the women stopped what they were doing and gave him their full attention.

  “It seems Daniel Dolan found out one of his daughters was working upstairs on the sly. He told Malachi to put a stop to it, or he’d go public with what everybody already knew anyway. When Malachi refused, Daniel drew on him. He wasn’t a marksman, however, so it wasn’t a clean kill. Old Malachi lingered for a week, and Daniel cooled his heels in the jail that used to be where the fire station is now. Meanwhile, Malachi’s wife, who just happened to have title to the property, closed the saloon, and started proceedings to sell it.”

  “Why’d she wait so long?” Shana asked and snickered.

  “You know the old saying about the wife being the last to know. Well, she didn’t know about the second floor, just the saloon, and while she didn’t approve of her husband being in the saloon business, it was bringing in a nice living for her and the kids.”

  “So why kill the goose that laid the golden egg?” Penelope asked.

  “She took the money and left town as soon as Malachi was buried.”

  “What happened to Daniel Dolan?”

  Bradley grinned. “He was acquitted.”

  “But it was cold-blooded murder,” Millie said.

  �
�Apparently, the jury thought it was good riddance to bad rubbish—the saloon, not Malachi, Aunt Mary.”

  “Did Daniel Dolan leave town, too?” Mary Lynn asked.

  “No, he stayed, and when his first wife died, he married again and had seven more children—one of whom was Brice’s grandfather.”

  “What a mess.” Mary Lynn picked up another frame and began to unfasten the clips. “Wally Powers will make a splash with that, I bet.”

  Bradley shook his head. “Not unless he writes his story and gets it published before Wednesday when the Bugle comes out. It seems that after Parnell Garrett shared his find with Chief Malone and me, he took everything straight to Hal Greene. I think Chief put him up to it.”

  “I don’t blessed believe it!” Penelope spun around again to face her son. “That sneak!”

  A slow smile spread over Mary Lynn’s face. “Yeah…that sweet, wonderful sneak.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Amaryllis Weekly Bugle hit the newsstands at the courthouse, the Daisy Café, the Garden Market, and assorted other places around town at two-oh-nine on Wednesday afternoon. By two-sixteen, there wasn’t a copy to be had, and non-subscribers were storming the newspaper office demanding another print run. Only a promise by Editor and Publisher Hal Greene, looking smugly innocent, quelled a potential riot and probable mayhem on the persons of the paper-carriers delivering to individual homes and businesses around town.

  Jake sat at the kitchen table listening to Penelope read the story aloud, trying not to distract her with his nearly uncontrollable laughter. “Parnell’s a good boy,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I bet that Powers fellow is furious.”

  “I bet Brice Dolan is wiping egg off his face and wishing he’d stuck to what his parents taught him about not selling out.”

  “What a story!”

  “No pictures though. Wally Powers will have those.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll bet Edgar Ragsdale took a few of that place, and Hal Greene will find them in his files.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s putting out a special Sunday edition of the paper.”

  “Maybe so.” Jake pushed back from the table. “I’m going uptown and see what’s happening. Maybe I’ll stop by the Sit-n-Swill for a beer.”