“Pinky Brayburn?” Chloe Patterson asked after adjusting the dryer over a customer’s meticulously rolled hair. “Of course I know her. I heard all about her getting shot. Is she going to make it?”
“We think so,” B.J. said. “Did you know her well?”
“I’ve done her hair for years, all the way back to when she was still keeping it blonde. I went through the death of her son and her husband with her. You know she talks ninety-to-nothing, and some people think she’s silly, but she can keep up a good front when she has to. Why?”
“Did Kasey know her?” B.J. asked.
Chloe looked perplexed at the question.
“Well, I suppose she knew her name. Kasey mostly did shampoos and cuts, you know. I wouldn’t let her do perms or touch the old ladies’ hair.”
B.J. decided it wouldn’t hurt to explain. Jazz had just finished taking an appointment by phone, and had come to join them.
“Someone told us about seeing Kasey and Pinky Brayburn having a long conversation in the FoodStar parking lot,” B.J. began.
“Oh, I know about that,” Jazz said. “I was driving her because she had a flat tire. Roger was going to come over and change it when he got off work. She had to pick up some of those pull-up pants for Lucas. I was waiting for her in the car and I looked over and she was having this conversation with Miss Pinky, and it just went on and on. I had to start the motor to turn the air conditioning on.”
“Do you know what it was about?” B.J. asked.
“No, but I didn’t really care,” Jazz said. “I just wanted to get home. Who even told you about that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Darby said. “Just another shopper. “But I will tell you that she thought about it thought that maybe Mrs. Brayburn gave Kasey some money.”
Chloe and Jazz exchanged a quick, pained glance.
“Oh, Lord, I hope not,” Chloe said, lowering her voice, “Jazz and I have talked about this since, you know… and the thing is that Kasey was bad about coming up with sob stories to get us to lend her money. She didn’t want to ask straight out, but she’d have this pitiful story and wait for you to offer so she didn’t have to ask. And then she wouldn’t pay it back. She’d stopped pulling that stuff on me, because I’d take it right out of her pay the next week. We loved her but she did that kind of thing.”
“She was having real problems with money after Champ walked out on her,” Jazz said, more sympathetically, “And I gave her a hundred that day I took her to the store, because I knew she was broke. She didn’t have any reason to ask Miss Pinky for money though. That would have been really tacky. She did ask us a lot, and Holly and Roger, too, I think, and maybe Champ when he was living with her, but I don’t see her asking somebody like Miss Pinky.”
“I’ve got to see about my customer,” Chloe said. “I guess if Miss Pinky comes around you can ask her. She really is a kindhearted person and if she did give Kasey some money, I’ll see that she gets repaid.”
“You know,” B.J. said when they were back in Darby’s car. “I think we just made those two people sadder than they already were, and it’s probably got zero to do with either case.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think that unless the silver truck guy turns out to be a good witness, we might as well wait and see if Mrs. Brayburn’s going to have something to tell us. This could turn out to be a slam-dunk if she knows who had it in for her.”
“Right,” B.J. said, still worried about Pinky’s avoiding her that morning. “I could use a slam-dunk.”
Chapter 17
Back at the station B.J. found Emma Price waiting, and introduced her to Darby.
“Is this the guy you’re…?” Emma began, and then blushed. “Oh, never mind.”
“Yes, I’m the guy she’s married to,” Darby said with a smile. “Are you the Emma Price who wrote the story on the Hill case? That was well-done.”
“Thank you,” Emma said, zooming back in on B.J., “What can you tell me about the shooting in the park this morning?” she asked. “I heard you were out running and heard the shots—that you were right there.”
“Can’t we wait and do this story later?” B.J. asked. “We’re just starting the investigation. By your next deadline, we might have it all wrapped up.”
“But it’s not just the weekly paper now,” Emma said. “We’ve just started up our website. I need to write something and get it on there. I’ve already been by the hospital, and their public information lady wouldn’t say much except that Mrs. Brayburn had been brought to the emergency room with a gunshot wound and she was in recovery. Mayor Fuller says she’s a well-loved member of the community. I understand her nickname is Pinky and she wears a lot of pink. The lady’s daughter came in while I was there, but she didn’t want to talk to me.”
She stopped and flipped a page of her notebook. “A guy at the gas station—I’ve got his name—said that sometimes people shoot at buzzards that roost on the water tank and maybe it was an accident, but that didn’t make sense to me. Like they’d be shooting up, and it’s downhill from the water tank. Did you see the shooter?”
“Slow down!” B.J. said, starting to laugh. “No, I haven’t talked to Mrs. Brayburn, and there’s not much to tell you at this point.”
“Did you run through the gunfire? Did you shoot back?”
“No,” B.J. said. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Well, you were there, and there was shooting…”
B.J. gave Emma a serious look and said, “Off the record?”
Emma scowled and nodded. “Yeah, if that’s all I can get.”
“I hid behind a tree,” B.J. said. “I had no intention of getting shot, and I wasn’t armed. I was out for my morning run.”
“Well, can’t I say you were out for your morning run?” Emma asked. “It was seven in the morning, after all. It wasn’t like you’d be working.”
“I suppose,” B.J. said. “Just don’t make me sound like I ran into gunfire, because it wasn’t that way. I just happened to be nearby. She was walking her dogs in the park.”
“Dogs? What kind of dogs are they?” Emma asked “Do you know their names?”
Darby gave her a curious look.
“It makes the story better to have details like that.” Emma said to him. “I read it somewhere—always get the dog’s name. People love dogs, even if nobody in the whole county seems to know about that Sheltie.”
“They’re white poodles,” B.J. said happy to have Emma veering away from the investigative angle. “The small kind. Miniatures, I guess. They’re named Fifi and Pierre.”
“Thanks! That’s wonderful. French names! What happened to them? Were they scared? Who’s taking care of them? Did they have to go to the shelter or what?”
“They’re fine,” B.J. said. “Sgt. Chip Stanley was one of the first on the scene. He works for us part-time now. He and his wife raise cocker spaniels and have a kennel. He volunteered to take the poodles to his home so his wife could look after them.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Emma said. “Could you give me her number? Maybe I could get a picture of her with the poodles.”
B.J. knew that the Stanleys would like nothing better than some free publicity for their business, and focusing on the poodles might keep Emma Price busy.
She found their home number on her phone and read it out.
“His wife will probably be home now,” she said to close the deal.
“Oh thanks!” Emma said. “You know, this is such a nice, friendly town. I mean, except for people getting strangled and shot at.”
“I didn’t understand half of that,” Darby after Emma left.
“But somehow I think you’ll check their website,” B.J. said, laughing.
LaKeisha came to the doorway.
“I’m leaving now,” she said, “I still haven’t heard back from the recycling people. I think they m
ight be closed for the weekend. I just called again and left them your number in case somebody picks up.”
“Fine,” B.J. said. “Thanks.”
“And,” LaKeisha said. “Andy Abbott just pulled up out front.”
Chapter 18
Benton Tinsley called his mother at five.
“Quincy’s going by her mother’s house to shower and change,” he said, sounding a bit weary. “She’ll be over in about an hour for supper. You don’t need me, do you? I think she needs to talk with another woman.”
“Not if you need to go home,” Evergreen said. “How’s Pinky doing?”
“Quincy said she was still too doped up to make sense but she did recognize her, or at least she smiled. The doctor said that all that years she played tennis and golf at the country club must have paid off, but it’s just going to take a lot of therapy for her to get normal use of her left shoulder. Quincy asked her ‘Who shot you?’ and she said her mother just closed her eyes.”
“How’s Quincy doing?”
“All freaked out,” Benton said. “She’s still got a teenaged stepson and stepdaughter at home and she apparently thinks they’ll starve while she’s gone.”
“They don’t have a dad?” Evergreen asked.
“Well, they do,” Benton said. “But he’s not home from work yet, and one of the kids actually called her to tell her they’re out of chocolate milk and the other wanted to know how she was supposed to get to her piano lesson tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear,” Evergreen said. “That kind! I’m glad I thought to buy wine.”
B.J. and Darby were collapsed on her sofa, reaching for slices of pizza from the box on the coffee table.
There’s something I need to tell you about, she said.
“Not shop talk,” he said. “My brain’s burned out.”
“No,” she said. “Not really, well, sort of, but not part of the investigation, just something strange that’s been happening. This is about the Sheltie.”
“Again?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. ”Again.”
When she had finished telling him about the same Sheltie showing up to herd the poodles, he gave her a hug and said, “I don’t understand it but I love it!”
“You don’t think I’m nuts?” B.J. asked. “This time I was so fixated on getting help for Pinky, that I just said ‘Good Dog’ and left her to it.”
“No, I know you’re not nuts,” Darby said. “I don’t know anybody whose feet are planted more firmly on the ground and I don’t understand it any better than you do. I just love it that Evergreen’s ghost dog has decided to be your personal police dog.”
“Well, don’t tell anybody,” B.J. said. “Evergreen can say anything she likes and nobody around here seems to think she’s crazy, but I’m not a Tinsley from Laurel Grove.”
Darby considered that as he finished the last slice of pizza. Then he shrugged and changed the subject.
“You want to walk around and take a look at that house again while it’s still light? Pinky Brayburn’s dogs aren’t there to set up a racket.”
B.J. enjoyed the walk down Willow Street, noting how well-kept most of the houses and yards were, and even enjoying the cracks in the sidewalk where the roots of the old oak trees had broken through.
“I don’t see a single willow,” Darby said.
“There’s already an Oak Street,” B.J. answered “Maybe there was just one willow.”
They walked past Pinky Brayburn’s house and turned up the driveway of Marcilla Trice’s house.
“The roof looks like it’s in good shape,” B.J. said. “I’d want to paint the house a lighter color, but I love the porch swing and the shutters.”
“It’s nice,” Darby said. “Let’s see the backyard. Remember, the poodles are gone.”
They had just gotten to the backyard, when they heard a door slam and the back door of the Brayburn house swung open. A middle-aged woman came out, heading toward a van that was parked in the back. She stopped to give them a suspicious look.
“What’s she doing there?” Darby whispered to B.J.
“That’s got to be Miss Pinky’s daughter,” B.J. said, giving the woman a friendly wave, which was not returned. “I wish I had the wallet with me.”
The woman gave them a suspicious look, got into her car and drove off.
“I think that’s another sign that we’re not supposed to live here,” B.J. said.
“Look at this back yard,” Darby said. “It’s wonderful. Just needs a fence.”
Chapter 19
When Quincy Brayburn Holmes arrived for supper, Evergreen’s first thought was that Pinky Brayburn’s daughter was about to have a meltdown.
She had gray streaks in her hair and some of her mother’s fine features, but she was taller than Pinky by a few inches. She was wearing faded jeans and an oversized olive green sweater that was just wrong, and she was carrying a shopping bag.
“I found these RSVPs on Mom’s desk,” she said. “And her check list, and the estimates from the caterer and the florist. They’re for that luncheon she and Floramae Hegley are giving for Jack’s fiancée next weekend, and there is no way Mom can be bothered with that. And I cannot abide Floramae Hegley, so would you…”
“I cannot abide Floramae Hegley either,” Evergreen said. “But I will take care of it.”
Quincy gradually settled down a little and welcomed a glass of wine.
One of her stepchildren called before she finished the wine, but it seemed to be a simple matter of looking in the dryer. Another called regarding the lack of poster board in the house. Quincy’s husband called a few minutes later and, from what Evergreen could tell, asked questions about how to cook spaghetti which led Quincy to scream. “Google it, Frank! My mother has been shot, Frank! Shot! With a bullet!”
She slammed the phone down and burst into tears.
Oh, you must think I am just being hysterical,” she finally said.
“Quincy,” Evergreen said, pouring another glass of wine. “You have every right to be hysterical. Your dear, sweet mother was shot. Now you give me that phone, because we are going to have a nice dinner and you have all the wine you want, because you can always sleep in our guest room if you get too drunk to drive.”
Halfway through the meal, and on her third glass of wine, Quincy put down her fork and asked a question.
“Do you know if Marcilla Trice is still living in that assisted living place?”
“Yes, I think she likes it,” Evergreen answered. “She has friends there and they play bridge almost every day. In fact, I…”
“I was wondering,” Quincy interrupted. “Would that be a good place to put my mother?”
“Now, don’t go planning to put your mother anywhere,” Evergreen said. “I think she’ll recover quickly and be right back to walking the poodles and playing bridge. It’s not as if she had a stroke.”
“But she’ll need physical therapy,” Quincy said, “And I certainly don’t want her out walking or living by herself. I’d take her to my house, but we don’t have the room. And I don’t know what I’m going to do about the poodles. We already a Labrador retriever and two cats.”
“The poodles will be fine with the Stanleys until your mother comes home,” Evergreen said. “Laurel Grove is perfectly safe, and I can’t imagine your mother wanting to move”
“Safe?!” Quincy said. “My mother was SHOT! And I saw the paper at Mom’s house with the whole front page about that woman being strangled, and then I come out of the house and there’s a couple—a man and a woman that I have never seen before in my life, just wandering around in Marcilla’s backyard.“
“You’ve been living in the city too long,” Evergreen said with a gentle smile. “You’re mother’s going to be fine. Now, we’re going to have crème brulee, so I need to pay attention to melting the sugar without burning it.
”
Quincy had two more glasses of wine, and wound up sleeping in the guest room of Tinsley Mansion.
Chapter 20
Friday morning was cold enough to turn on the heat for the first time. Darby made coffee and when he started making pancakes, B.J. decided she wouldn’t run. Aside from the pancakes, she wanted to think her day through.
“Do you want to go with me to talk with Miss Pinky’s daughter?” she asked Darby.
“Oh, absolutely,” he said, laughing. “I want to see the surprise on her face. I’m forgettable, but you certainly aren’t.”
“I’ll start off by explaining that,” she said. “It’s not like we were trying to break in or anything, and as soon as we get a little time off I’m going to go and see Mrs. Trice, myself, and see if she’s really interested in selling, and if she’ll let us take a look inside, or maybe her daughter could go with us.”
“Sounds good,” Darby said. “I’m warning you though. I don’t want to have to do lot of work on the inside. Not that I’m not good at that sort of thing. I just don’t want to.”
“Right,” B.J. said with a grin.
“What else besides talking to the daughter and trying to find Silver Truck Man?” he asked.
“Seeing if we can talk to Miss Pinky herself. I’ll call the hospital and see how she’s doing.”
“Do you think there’s a chance she could have seen the shooter?”
“I doubt it,” B.J. said, as he put a plate of pancakes in front of her, “But she’ll know if there was anybody who was that angry with her. I told you about the neighbor saying she wasn’t herself, and then how she avoided me.”
“Eat those while they’re hot,” he said, going back to the stove.
Her phone buzzed and he got it for her.
“Chief Bandry, I hope this isn’t too early. This is Jamie Franklin. I’m with Laurel County Recycling, and I just now got the message to call you.”
Who Killed Kasey Hill Page 10
