What secret could possibly connect Art and Prudence? Had they conspired to kill Mr. Beasley? Or Scarlet? Was Art unwilling to do the deed in his own hotel? If so, Art might have let Prudence inside, but Tony didn't think she was an assassin. Certainly with all her experience arm wrestling, she might be strong enough to do it, but why on earth would she? If Blossom was correct, maybe both Prudence and Art had borrowed money from Mr. Beasley. What else tied them together? Moneylending didn't seem like the right answer. Too bad Theo hadn't been able to hear more of the conversation between Art and Beth.
Mike Ott should return soon with Art. Tony wanted the pair to see each other, but not be able to talk, before he asked a single question. The attorney opened the door and waved to attract Tony's attention. “I understand that you have sent for Art?” Tony nodded. “What about Claude?”
“Claude?” Tony almost swallowed his tongue. “Oh, he'll be here soon.” It was a bald faced lie when he said it, but it wouldn't be for long. The second after Mr. Mason closed the door, Tony radioed Sheila. “I want you to swing by and pick up Claude and bring him in. Invite him nicely.”
“What if he doesn't want to come?”
“Place him in protective custody, or at the very least sit there and hold his hand, figuratively speaking of course.” Surely it was static that made it sound like she was laughing. “I want him in your car now, and I want him here pronto.”
“Okay.” The radio made a hissing sound. “Does this concern what Pops Ogle was talking about with the highway department truck?”
“Just do it.” Tony didn't have an answer. After he disconnected, he mumbled to himself, “That's the jackpot question. What could Prudence, Art and Claude have in common? Besides being represented by the same lawyer. Think, man. They'll all be here soon.”
His focus moved to the bulletin board where photographs showed Mr. Beasley's office. Neither anything in the photographs nor any of the forensic details pointed to there being three incredibly disparate people involved with his death. How and why would a trash hauler, a hairdresser/fortune teller and a hotel owner conspire to kill Mr. Beasley? It was impossible. The old guy had died of a medication overdose. Tony believed it was more likely suicide than homicide.
What little he knew about Scarlet's death didn't point to a group action either. Were there members of some underground organization eliminating some of the less popular citizens of Silersville? Maybe they drew straws for the assignment? Although he'd heard it was an idea being passed around at Ruby's, Tony dismissed it. If that were the case, he'd bet Nellie Pearl Prigmore and Angus Farquhar would have been the first victims. Scarlet hadn't lived here in years, and Mr. Beasley wasn't awful.
Killing time, Tony flipped through the reports on his desk. In addition to Roscoe's report of the shooting at the trailer court, there were the normal complaints of shoplifting, vandalism and petty theft, domestic violence and public intoxication. A bar fight resulted in two arrests.
Tony concentrated on the vandalism report for a moment, thinking there could be a connection with the shots fired at Roscoe's trailer. Then he remembered Mrs. Smith and the red tube top. How could he have forgotten—there had been a lot more of the woman than there had been fabric. A report claimed someone had shot a mailbox multiple times with a small caliber gun, probably a .22. The highway department reported someone had broken into several trucks near the ongoing road construction. The details were sketchy, since the crime fell into the jurisdiction of the state and not the county, but it sounded like whatever his little trio might have been doing. Frank Thomas of Thomas Brothers' Garage said someone had taken a toolbox, coveralls and some miscellaneous items, including a heavy duty jack, from his business. Toilet paper was the artist's medium of choice used to decorate the front yard of the middle school principal's house. It had been a quiet school year so far. This was only the second time since classes began that such guerilla tactics had been used on this particular house. The previous year students used a record amount of paper on a roll. Tony's particular favorite report merely said that a caller reported someone picking up stuff along the highway.
Glancing up, he saw Deputy Mike Ott arriving with Art Trimble. Since the time Tony had talked to him earlier in the day, the innkeeper had developed a particularly unpleasant greenish-gray skin tone, and there was no bounce in his step. Tony said, “Take him through the tunnel and into courtroom one,” and thought thank goodness, on Saturday, court was not in session. He really wasn't set up for this kind of day. The Park County Law Enforcement Center was bulging at the seams.
Moments later, Sheila arrived with Claude in tow. She handed him a cup of coffee and pointed him to a chair. He grasped the container with all of the fervor of a drowning man clinging to a lifejacket. Instead of drinking any of it, however, he simply held it between his palms and stared at the floor.
Mr. Mason, the attorney, left Prudence after talking with her for about a half hour. He took one look at Claude and crisply informed Tony the man was not to be questioned without him being present. Tony merely nodded his agreement before leading the attorney to visit his third client. Sitting in the front of the courtroom, Art looked like he was relieved to be in custody.Just to be on the safe side, Tony made sure he read Art his rights in front of Mason, then he left the room. “Let me know when you are through chatting with your clients and we can proceed.”
Tony and Mike and Wade and Sheila held a quick conference in Tony's office. After offering his deputies the antacid bottle, Tony began munching its contents. “Does anyone have a clue what these three have been up to?”
Shaking his head slowly, Mike said, “Art just sat in the back seat with his hands pressed between his knees. He didn't look out the window, and he didn't say a thing. It was odd, but he acted like I should already know all about what he had done.”
Sheila glanced through the open door at Claude. The coffee cup sat on the floor next to Claude's foot. The man was sound asleep with his forehead resting on the edge of a trashcan. Air released in soft snores ruffled the plastic liner. “What little Claude said was in the same vein. He said he'd been expecting to be arrested, and he knew he would never get away with it and would I tell Katti he will love her forever,” she whispered. “He sounded pretty tragic.”
Tony groaned. “So all we have to do is figure out what it is.” Fatigue was not enhancing his thought processes. He could use a nap.
Theo had her hands full at the retreat.
Beth Trimble was sobbing inconsolably at the front desk. Everyone in the lobby had seen Art leaving with Deputy Mike Ott, and while he hadn't been handcuffed, the general consensus was Art remaining at the hotel had not been an option. The chatter in the lobby was focused on the drama. One elderly woman, not one of the quilters, was moaning and complaining that no one was safe in “the hotel of death.”
The woman's traveling companion was openly irritated. “For heaven's sake, shut up. This is not a hotel of death. Although,” she said, as she looked right at Beth and smiled encouragingly, “I'm sure we would all feel better if we had some information. Or maybe you would prefer it if we just checked out.”
“No.” At that, Beth raised her still damp and swollen face. “Please don't leave. If you are worried about what happened to Scarlet, this . . .” She waved to indicate Art's departure. “This had nothing at all to do with her death. I promise.”
“What then?” Martha stepped to the forefront. “I know all about being suspected of wrongdoing, and it is most unpleasant. Maybe there is some way we can help.”
The small bit of sympathy sent Beth into more spasms of grief. “Y-you don't understand.” She blew her nose several times on the same worn tissue. “He is guilty.” Beth looked into Theo's face. “But not of murder.”
Shocked, Theo barely heard Beth's last words which were all but drowned out by the swell of discussions around them. The increased volume of chatter was deafening. It was turning into chaos.
Theo slipped her fingers into her mouth and blew. The s
hriek of the whistle brought all eyes around to her and stopped all conversation. Jamie and Chris would have been impressed. Theo spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “I understood you to say that Art is not guilty of murder, didn't you?” Beth nodded and Theo continued, “So, Beth, do you want us to stay or go?”
“St-stay.” She was rubbing the ear nearest Theo. It had taken the full force of Theo's whistle. “In spite of what you might think, Art would never hurt anyone. He is totally nonviolent.”
Still insanely curious herself, Theo turned on her little group. “Stay or go? If you say stay, then we will respect Beth's privacy, okay?” The flock nodded. “We will have a show of hands then. Who wants to stay?”
All hands reached for the ceiling. Beth wiped her face.“Thank you, ladies.” She attempted a smile. “I think we need some nachos. My treat.” With that she headed for the kitchen.
Dottie, the oldest of the quilters, called to her retreating back. “You know, a beer or some wine would go well with nachos.” Almost all of the women looked like they were in agreement. Even the staunchest of the Baptists seemed interested.
Theo worked on her quilting for a few minutes before slipping off to her room to call Tony again. Most days she thoroughly despised the cell phone phenomenon, but today she loved it. Within seconds Tony was talking to her. “Whatever is going on, Tony? Mike Ott came for Art, and now Beth is weeping buckets and swears his arrest has nothing to do with Scarlet but won't tell us anything more.”
“Search me.” Tony's voice was muffled. “I've got an attorney from Knoxville and three suspects who look like they are getting ready to confess. The only problem is I have no idea what they've done.”
Theo recognized the familiar sound of his chewing antacids.
“I have an officer who needs to be disciplined, but I'm already shorthanded. There's an unsolved homicide, and Edith is cooking dinner because I don't have time. The boys are threatening mutiny.”
Theo smiled at the phone. It sounded like his plate was full to overflowing, but he hadn't lost his sense of humor. “You did make the scouts happy, though, on Friday night.” She gasped. “Was it only last night?”
“That, my dear, was the highlight of my career. I was fabulous. All the boys even said so.”
“I'm so glad. You seemed a bit reluctant. If you order pizza before Edith gets too creative, our boys will give you a medal.” Without warning, Theo remembered the idea she'd forgotten earlier. “I had a flash about Scarlet. Could she have been robbed? Like violently? I thought of it because nobody else I know ever wore cashmere and jewels to a quilt retreat before.”
“Jewels? Wait a minute.” Tony broke in. Theo heard papers being shuffled. “The only jewelry she was wearing when we arrived was a large gold ring set with a red stone, possibly a ruby, and a watch. Expensive. Are you saying she was wearing more jewelry last night?” His voice sharpened. His interest was definitely aroused.
“Oh, yes. Scarlet was positively festooned.” Theo closed her eyes and tried to visualize the scene. Color was always what she could remember best. “She had on a creamy cashmere sweater. Maybe it was oatmeal. No, there was a definite tinge of yellow in it.”
Her husband let her ramble through her thoughts without interrupting. Theo knew he'd wait patiently letting her work through her memory.
“Hanging over the neckline of the sweater was a woven gold necklace. It was longer than a choker, but it didn't come much below her collarbone. It was flat and maybe a half-inch wide. Hanging down from the center was a single large ruby. I mean a really big ruby. I remember thinking it was a lot of necklace to wear around a group that tends toward sweatpants and loose threads.”
A choking sound that might have been laughter came from Tony. Theo smiled and went on. “I'm pretty sure she was wearing matching earrings but her hair covered her ears. I'm sure she had on a bracelet matching the necklace. At first she wore it on her right wrist but it kept catching on her thread as she did her embroidery, so she made a big production of putting it onto her left wrist. She acted like it was new, but no one would dream of asking her about it.”
“So she had her watch and her bracelet on the left wrist?”
“Yes, for a while anyway.”
“Did she change clothes during the evening? Maybe she took it off.”
“No. She didn't change clothes. I'm sure she still had it on when I last saw her before she went upstairs. You searched her room, didn't you?” Almost against her will, Theo was drawn to the window, and she looked down to where the body had been. Maybe the gold would be visible if it had fallen to the ground. Only the dark green of the rhododendrons and the browns of the season met her eyes. There was no flash of gold.
“Of course we did. And you are right. No one found any extra jewelry. Not in her room or anywhere around the scene.” After a silence, Tony's voice was quiet. “Was she killed to steal them, or were they taken after the fact? Uh-oh, it looks like Mason is ready for me. I'll talk to you later.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tony saw Mr. Mason standing in front of his office doorway talking to Sheila. Tony was shocked to see the attorney looked like he had aged ten years since his arrival at the Park County Law Enforcement Center. There were lines of strain creasing his face. His auburn hair was no longer neatly combed. Now it was standing in tufts as if he had been repeatedly running his hands through it. His tie was askew. Even his suit had developed a wrinkle. Just one, but it was a real wrinkle.
Lined up in chairs behind him sat his clients, Prudence and Art. His third client, Claude, was still propped up against the wall where he had more or less collapsed.
Tony finally comprehended everyone was waiting for him. He stood and tucked in the loose end of his shirttail. Smoothing his scalp as if it were still covered with hair, he left his office. Tony attempted a glare at the culprits. “I hope this is not going to take long. I am running out of patience, but we can wait for the county attorney if you like.” He addressed Mason. “Archie Campbell is probably at the football game in Knoxville. What would you like to do?”
Tony observed as Mason looked at his clients. Claude looked like roadkill. Prudence sat with one leg crossed over the over. Except for the constant swinging of her foot, she looked composed. Art's hands were being crushed between his knees, and his color had deteriorated. In spite of the pleasant temperature in the room, he was perspiring heavily. Under his armpits, his shirt was soaked to the waist.
As one, they shook their heads.
“I'm afraid this may not fall into Archie's jurisdiction. We will let you decide who to call.” Mason didn't look like he agreed with his clients' decision but sank onto the chair someone had found for him and attempted to smooth the wrinkle out of his suit pants with his fingers. “I would prefer to limit this information to as few people as necessary.”
Fascinated, Tony and Wade and Mike and Sheila dragged chairs out for themselves and waited for the confession. There was more than enough confusion to go around. Tony was delighted he wasn't the only one in the dark.
Unable to stay seated, Mason lunged to his feet and addressed them like they were members of the jury. Maybe even the Supreme Court. “I'd like to preface this by saying my clients had the best interest of the community in mind. Truly, like other heroes, they didn't enter into this lightly, and neither did they ever expect to be absolved. They—” Interrupted by the tones of the “William Tell Overture” blasting from Tony's pocket, he stopped and smiled in spite of the serious nature of their meeting. Mason waved for Tony to answer his phone.
Under ordinary circumstances, Tony might have been embarrassed he had not switched off the sound, but the medical examiner in Knoxville was on the line. “I have some very preliminary results that might help you, Tony. Grab a pencil.”
Tony went into his office and closed the door. “What's up, Doc?” He wasn't smiling when he said it.
Doctor Blake, the pathologist, coughed a couple of times before he started speaking. “Sorry about that. I got som
e coffee down the wrong pipe. Your victim was attacked from behind. Her neck had a thin wire wrapped around it. Twice. I'd say she died quickly, but not immediately. Someone wearing knit navy blue nylon gloves had a hand over her nose and mouth at the time she died. We were able to find some of the fibers. We passed them on to the wizards. They will do their best with them, but they don't expect they can be traced. Too generic. If you find a pair of blue nylon gloves in your investigation, they might be able to make a match.” There was a pause for more coughing and then the sounds of a cigarette being lit. “The metal wire, the murder weapon, is a string for a musical instrument—a dulcimer, to be precise.”
Tony remembered Theo's description of Scarlet's jewelry. “Any signs that a necklace or other jewelry might have been involved?” He passed along Theo's description.
“A necklace? You mean like scratches or bruising? No. If she was wearing something, it wasn't caught between the killer and the victim or there would be clear marks on the skin. It must have been removed with some care because there weren't any scratches anywhere on her neck. Maybe she took it off herself. It certainly wasn't caught under the wire.” There was a pause. “I know there was something else I wanted to tell you, though.”
Tony lifted his pen from the notepad. He waited while the doctor searched for something in his file, coughing and wheezing the whole time.
Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music Page 13
