B.J. said, “That’s odd. I had the same feeling this morning. I thought she crossed the street to avoid me.”
“Now that would be unlikely,” Mary Frances said. “She thinks you’re very nice and friendly. She’s told me about meeting you on her walks.”
And then she thought of something.
“What about her daughter? Has someone called Quincy? What about the poodles? Where are they?”
“Benton Tinsley is going to locate Miss Pinky’s daughter,“ B.J. said. “And the dogs are with Chip Stanley’s wife, Linda.”
Mary Frances, who had been an excellent administrator, nodded with approval.
“That’s very good. Benton is just the one to do that. He was such a close friend of Randall’s—you know, her son who died in the car wreck years ago. And Linda Stanley’s just wonderful with dogs.”
She paused, as if reviewing her own mental checklist, and said. “Floramae Hegley is going to be frantic. You know she’s co-hosting that luncheon with Pinky. Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell her.”
B.J. left, still worried, but with new information. It was a small thing in light of the problem at hand, but still a relief to think that Pinky might just have been preoccupied or worried, and not upset with her personally.
She wondered what Pinky Brayburn was worrying about, and who might know, but the worry was forgotten when Andrea called with good news.
“I’ve found a bullet,” she said. “It was right by one of the roots of that big tree by the entrance, sort of halfway into the park.”
“Wonderful,” B.J. said. “Now if we can find the gun, we’ll be in business, and we only need one. Don’t spend any more time hunting. Is Demetrius back?”
“Yes, he just got here.”
“Good,” B.J. said. “Let me speak to him.”
When Demetrius came on, she asked if he’d learned anything on Taylor Drive.
“People are getting ready for work or getting kids ready for school,” he said. “Nobody saw anything, but Mrs. James heard something. She’s the one who lives next to the alley who put up that big stockade fence because she was so mad about their putting the recycling center down there. She said she heard the recycling truck and that it woke her up before it was even light outside, and she heard shots later and thought it was somebody shooting at the buzzards on the water tank again, and she was planning to call Mayor Fuller about it.”
Evergreen had heard from Benton, who had said that Quincy was on her way, and that he had to be in court, but planned to see her at the hospital later.
“I was always fond of her,” Evergreen said. “Why don’t you bring her over here for supper? She could even stay here if she likes, and avoid having all the neighbors show up. I remember Quincy as a bit of an introvert.”
“I’ll ask her,” Benton said. “That would be a help. Ingrid’s got her book club and Meg’s got a science project due tomorrow. It’s all over the kitchen right now.”
When Evergreen got off the phone, she saw that Loki was managed to push the Laurel County Leader onto the floor, and was clawing at it.
“You’re right,” she told the cat. “Quincy doesn’t need to see all our bad news.”
Chapter 15
The Emergency Room admissions clerk was glad to get the information, B.J. brought with her. She scanned the driver’s license, the Medicare and Social Security cards, all of which were in the name of Agnes P. Brayburn.
“She’s called ‘Pinky’ by everybody,” B.J.
“Oh, we know that,” the clerk said. “Everybody knows Miss Pinky. Do you know if she has an advanced directive?”
“You mean a living will?” B.J. asked. “I don’t have any idea. Her daughter’s coming. I’ve got her card. Could somebody tell me how she’s doing? I’m really need to talk with her if she can communicate at all.”
“I’ll call and ask if someone can speak with you,” the clerk said, “But I think she’ll be in surgery for a while.”
“I’ll be in the waiting room,” B.J. said.
The waiting room seemed designed to keep injured people and their families on edge. There were orange plastic molded chairs attached to each other at the armrests, as if someone might try to steal one. A small coffee table held magazines about hunting and sports. There was one very old Gideon Bible, and somebody had left an empty Styrofoam cup.
The decorations on the walls included a framed sketch of the hospital, and an “Absolutely No Smoking” sign.
B.J. used the time to return a call from Darby, who had gone to a meeting at the Sheriff’s office and already knew about the shooting.
“I’m on my way,” he said. “Is the lady going to pull through?”
“Maybe,” B.J. said. “I’m at the hospital now.”
“Sheriff Harp says it could have been accidental,” Darby said. “He said he’s heard a lot about people shooting buzzards around that water tank and it could have been a ricochet.”
“That wasn’t it,” B.J. said, trying to conceal her exasperation. “There were four shots, and Andrea’s on her way up there with one of the bullets that missed. I haven’t seen any buzzards on that water tank for a year, Darby, and there sure weren’t any this morning. And besides that, it doesn’t make sense. She was at my end of the park, not the other end…”
“Gotcha,” he said. “The sheriff was wrong. Did you have breakfast? Do you want a ham biscuit?”
“Oh, please yes!” she said. “And coffee. I’m in the hospital waiting room. Here comes the mayor! Gotta go.”
It was when Mayor Fred Fuller arrived, that B.J. realized that she was still in her running clothes and should go home to change at some point.
“Have you heard anything?” he asked.
“She’s in surgery,” B.J. said. “The lady back there is going to see if anybody will come out and speak with me.”
“Could it have been an accident?” he asked hopefully. “I just saw Chip Stanley, and he said you thought it came from near the water tank. You know people shoot at the buzzards that roost on the water tank sometimes. There are snakes around there, too.”
“I’m pretty sure somebody meant to kill her,” B.J. said, as her phone buzzed again.
She gave the mayor an apologetic smile and took it.
It was Evergreen letting her know that Quincy Brayburn Holmes had been contacted and was on her way.
“If you want to talk with her, she’ll be here for supper tonight,” she said.
“Let me call you back about that,” B.J. said. “Thank you.”
B.J. turned back to the mayor, told him about the daughter’s being on the way, and picked up where he had left off.
“I was near the entrance to the park and she had just walked in when the shots started. I don’t think it was an accident,” she said. “There were three shots and she was the only one in the park. It didn’t hit her heart, but I think that was the target. The shooter probably thought he’d killed her.”
“That doesn’t make a bit of sense,” the mayor said. “Who would want to kill Pinky Brayburn?”
Darby arrived, shook the mayor’s hand and gave B.J. a kiss on the cheek. He handed her a paper bag and a cup of coffee.
“Your wife was at the right place at the right time,” the mayor told him as B.J. started unwrapping the ham biscuit.
“I heard about that,” Darby said, frowning slightly at B.J. “You weren’t even armed, were you?”
“I am not going to start taking my gun when I’m running,” B.J. said. “I was never in any danger. I just happened to be close to the park entrance, and I had seen her go in…”
“And you were in danger,” Darby said.
The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a stout nurse.
“Are you the family of Agnes Brayburn?” she asked, looking at Darby.
“Her daughter is on the way from u
p Decatur,” B.J. said, going toe-to-toe with the nurse for authority. “That will take a while. I’m Chief Bandry from the Laurel Grove Police Department, this is Detective Darby from the Sheriff’s office, and this is Mayor Fred Fuller.
“I certainly know Mayor Fuller,” the nurse said, looking B.J. up and down as if she had some doubts.
“Is she going to come around?” the mayor asked.
“We fully expect her to,” the nurse said, “Dr. Butler is an excellent trauma surgeon. I’m sure that shoulder’s going to take a lot of physical therapy and a long time healing, but fortunately she’s exceptionally fit for her age, and it’s on her left side.”
“How soon can we talk to her?” Darby asked with his most winning smile.
“The surgery’s not over yet, and it’s hard to say when she’ll be clear-headed,” the nurse said. “Certainly not before tomorrow sometime. Of course, a family member will be allowed in to see her once she’s moved to intensive care.”
B.J. was distracted by a familiar-looking young woman looking out from the emergency room door, and then stepping back out of sight. She was apparently waiting until the older nurse left.
“We’ll be in touch tomorrow morning then,” Darby said.
“I think I’ll wait here for Quincy,” the mayor said. “I remember her when she was a kid.”
As B.J. and Darby got to the exit, the young woman from the ER hurried after them and B.J. recognized her.
“Hi, Tania!” she said. “Darby, this is LaKeisha’s sister.”
“Hi,” Tania said with a smile, “Congratulations on your getting married.”
Darby thanked her. B.J. was impatient.
Was that what Tania had been waiting to say?
It turned out that it wasn’t.
“There’s something I thought maybe you ought to know,” she blurted out. “I called LaKeisha and she said she told you about our seeing Kasey Hill in the FoodStar parking lot talking and talking and…”
“Yes, she did,” B.J. said.
“Well, I don’t know if this matters, but that lady they brought in, the one that got shot. It was her. I mean she was the one that Kasey Hill was talking to for so long in the parking lot, and I thought she gave Kasey some money or something.”
Darby looked confused.
“You’re absolutely sure?” B.J. asked.
“Absolutely,” Tania said. “She was wearing pink and had that fluffy hair, and I was the one who got a good look at her face. I didn’t know her name, but she had that doll-faced look and the pink lipstick and those little circles of pink rouge. I saw her when they brought her in and I just felt so bad for her. It was absolutely her. It was the same lady.”
B.J. thanked her, and when she was gone, Darby asked, “What on earth was that about? What happened in the parking lot with Kasey Hill?”
“Let’s get back to my office,” she said. “I don’t know if it matters a bit but I’ll get LaKeisha to explain the whole thing there.”
“Okay,” he said, “and one more question. Is this the lady with the barking poodles? The one who lives on Willow Street?”
“Yes,” B.J. said sadly.
Evergreen had decided against serving Quincy Holmes leftovers and was in the grocery store getting ingredients for something lighter—salmon with wild rice and asparagus, and a bottle of white wine.
She was heading for the asparagus when LaNelle Hopkins came up beside her and asked “Hey, Evelyn. What have you heard about poor Pinky getting shot?”
LaNelle was an old classmate of Evergreen’s, and persisted in calling her Evelyn, but Evergreen liked her anyway, and her appearance had the feeling of significance.
“All I know is that it happened at the city park,” Evergreen said. “And she’s in the hospital.”
LaNelle could barely suppress her look of pride at having more information than Evergreen.
“I heard that they were looking around the water tank for the shooter.”
“Really?” Evergreen asked.
She must have looked properly interested because LaNelle stood a little taller and said, “Yes, my daughter’s friend lives over there near the park and she said they were asking everybody if they’d seen anybody going down that little alley. She says she won’t use those recycling bins because there are snakes around there. I never have gone down there since I heard about the snakes.”
Evergreen recycled paper and plastics and had never seen a snake near the recycling bins, but she didn’t argue.
Something else was on her mind.
“How are you liking retirement?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m so bored,” LaNelle said. “I thought I couldn’t stand another minute working at the plant, but now I finish cleaning my house, and then what? It was different when J.W. was still living, because I always had somebody to talk with and look after, but I don’t know what to do with myself now. I never got into the habit of watching those shows on television. It’s not even much fun to cook just for one.”
Evergreen, who loved her solitary life, nodded sympathetically, and then her mind was back on her dream about the recycling bins.
Who, she wondered uneasily, was the wolf?
“Was Mrs. Brayburn at Kasey’s funeral?” Darby asked B.J. after LaKeisha had retold the parking lot story.
“No. I’m sure she wasn’t, but she has asked me about Logan twice.”
“So she knew them?”
“I didn’t get the impression at the time that she knew them all that well. I think she said “the little boy,” not his name.”
“Did she seem grieved?”
“Worried,” B.J. said. “She seemed worried about Logan and once I told her that he was with his aunt and uncle, she seemed relieved. Now, I want to go home and put on my work clothes. That nurse looked at me like she had doubts.”
“I think you look cute,” Darby said, “But you’ve got biscuit crumbs in your hair, and when did you start carrying a pink wallet?”
“Oh, this is Pinky’s,” B.J. said. “I’m going to give it to her daughter. It’s got a bunch of cash and credit cards.”
Chapter 16
Home from the grocery store, Evergreen sat at her upstairs table with the candles glowing for a half hour before getting thoroughly exasperated. When such things worked, she thought, it could be brilliant. When nothing came of it, it began to feel downright silly.
Loki seemed to agree. He usually behaved with dignity in such circumstances, but this time he had gotten a peacock feather and was play-fighting with it.
All she could think of now was Pinky Brayburn and Floramae Hegley getting together to be hostesses for that fancy luncheon for their grandson’s bride-to-be. The one she had no intention of attending.
Evergreen had no doubt that Pinky was paying most of the costs and making most of the arrangements. Pinky knew how to do that kind of thing, she was the one with the money, and the cut glass punch bowl, and—of course—she was the one who was a member of the country club. All those two women had in common was a grandchild.
How on earth would Floramae manage? The RSVPs were in, and Pinky obviously wasn’t going to be the hostess of anything.
Evergreen reminded herself that it wasn’t her problem. Annette’s husband, State Senator Fulton Chase, had enough money to pay or whatever help they might need.
She blew out the candles, stepped over the circle and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Loki followed with the bedraggled peacock feather in his mouth.
B.J. took half an hour at home to shower and change into her gray slacks, white blouse and blue blazer. As she attacked her hair with the hairdryer and a brush, she thought about the shooter. Maybe it was one of those people who just wanted to shoot people, she thought. Maybe she’d be the one in the hospital if she’d arrived at the park first. There were times when there were four or five people walking. She shuddered
“Chip called,” Darby said when she got back to her office.
He reached for his notebook. “He went over to talk with Allie Painter at the school lunchroom, and she said she didn’t hear any shots and the only person she remembered seeing on Taylor Drive was…” he looked at his notes, “somebody in a silver truck, and the only reason she remembered that was because he turned onto Dogwood Lane right in front of her and she had to put on brakes and she sloshed her coffee. She said she might recognize the truck if she saw it again, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t hear any shots.”
B.J. got up to look at the city street map she had tacked on one wall. “This guy with the silver truck may have heard something. Dogwood Lane is only about two blocks long with a couple of little side streets and it’s not on the way to anywhere. Maybe Andrea can spot the truck. In the meantime, I’d like to know if she had some connection to Kasey Hill, so let’s go talk to Chloe Patterson and Jazz.”
Evergreen had her crystal in her hand and was trying another approach to understanding the dream.
Why had Loki been with her in the dream? Loki never went further than the back deck. He was an old spirit, a perceptive and wise cat, she thought. He loathed the car.
And then she looked at it another way. As wise and competent as Loki was in the safety of the mansion, or even on the deck when she was there, he was still just a little cat.
He could be hit by a car, or chased down by a dog—or even a wolf for that matter. Like Pinky, who had been safe all her life, and then met a predator in the park.
She shuddered.
And why would a wolf be in a recycling bin?
Well, he wouldn’t, she thought. It was just that once she had heard about somebody opening one of the bins and having a raccoon jump out, and she’d never opened one since without half expecting some animal to pop up.
She laughed at herself. Snakes didn’t worry her, but she had never forgotten that raccoon story.
As for the wolf, it was like forgetting a name, she thought, and having it right on the tip of her tongue. It was something she knew and couldn’t recall, and it would come back, she finally decided—in its own time.
Who Killed Kasey Hill Page 9
