Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music

by Barbara Graham

  When she squeezed into one of the visitor chairs in his office, he realized she was not just sightseeing. Blossom had a mission. She shifted in the chair, not an easy feat because she filled every inch of it, and fluffed the puffy sleeves on her voluminous floral dress. “I was wondering.” She stopped speaking and stared, chewing something like a cow with its cud. Then she stopped chewing and sat staring at him with one finger pressed against the dip below her lips. Blossom's deep thinking pose. She sighed. “Is it true it's illegal to have two boyfriends?”

  “Two husbands, yes.” Tony shook his head. “Two boyfriends, no.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” Tony found himself fascinated by her expression. Thoughtful, intrigued and a bit like she'd found out she owned a winning lottery ticket. “Why? Has someone told you something else?”

  She nodded but didn't volunteer any additional information. She sat and smiled for a few minutes before hauling herself off the chair.

  “Wait a minute, Blossom. Did you talk to Carl Lee?”

  Tony knew Doc Wade had signed the death certificate calling Mr. Beasley's death a suicide. The family could squawk all they wanted to. Blossom and the children's hospital would share the bulk of the man's fortune.

  “Yes.” Blossom gave him her sweetest smile. “I wished I could thank Mr. Beasley. That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.”

  Theo decided she needed a scarf or shawl to wear to the wedding later in the day. The blue dress looked lovely without a blouse but the evenings were quite chilly. She asked Katti to push her wheelchair across the street to Lila's dress shop. Once they were inside, Theo glanced up at her assistant. “Have you met Lila?”

  “No.” Katti closed the door behind them. “She like pink too?”

  Theo laughed. “I don't know. We'll ask.”

  Theo quickly realized her timing was not good. The store was filled with other shoppers, bridesmaids, Miss Flossie and now her wheelchair and Katti. One girl stood in the center of the room, in a stunning taffeta gown, while Lila worked on the back of her dress. It was only hours until the wedding. While the bridesmaid looked panicky, Lila seemed cool and relaxed.

  Barely glancing up, Lila said, “Just get what you need, Theo. We'll settle up later.”

  So, with Katti searching for pink, Theo wheeled around the girls, studying the accessories. Pictures of Lila decorated a wall. Lila with locals. Lila with celebrities, including one with Scarlet's sister Elf and a much younger Gavin, Beth's brother. Lila as a child. One photograph made her laugh because it reminded her of Jamie. Dressed in a martial arts outfit, a very young Lila posed, her hands crossed in front of her. The grin exposed a huge gap where her front teeth were missing.

  Theo reached for a silky, silver shawl and slipped it around her shoulders. It felt as insubstantial as a cobweb. She loved it. However, studying the tag, she was not sure about the cost.

  Lila walked by and paused to carefully adjust the way it draped. She whispered, “Fifty percent off.”

  “Sold.” Theo smiled, but Lila had moved on.

  Katti found a wide pink leather belt with silver studs along the length. “Is pretty?”

  “Absolutely,” Theo agreed. They left notes on the counter saying what they took and promising to return to pay.

  Tony stared at the little man sitting across from him. Where did Orvan get his ideas? “What do you think is going on up there?”

  Orvan's initial complaint, this visit, was that a stealth bomber had landed in his cousin Otis's tobacco patch. Fifteen minutes into his discussion, his mood changed from indignant to contrite. He shifted his skinny rear end to the front edge of the chair and leaned forward, folding almost in half, and pushed himself onto his feet. Once standing, he straightened.

  At attention, he saluted Tony, exposing a band of pale skin between his sleeve and the gnarled, and permanently tanned, hand and wrist.

  “I have to tell you what I did.”

  Tony's heart sank. He'd hoped to get through a whole month without one of Orvan's tales of guilt and remorse. Instead, this was the old guy's second visit in a week. Nevertheless, there was always the hope this was the day Orvan would actually tell him something important. At least Ruth Ann would enjoy the day.

  His secretary's dark eyes sparkled when he escorted Orvan toward the greenhouse, their nickname for the interrogation room. Her hand paused, letting pink fingernail polish pool on her thumbnail. In a flash she replaced the brush into the bottle. “Water?”

  “Yes.” Staring at Ruth Ann, Orvan's eyes went glassy with desire.

  Ruth Ann used a tissue to clean up the polish.

  Orvan's steps slowed further as he gazed at this goddess. His hands pressed the bib of his good overalls against his heart. “My angel,” he whispered.

  Ruth Ann's smile widened. “Have you been bad, Mr. Lundy?” She put an extra bounce in her step as she headed for the water.

  “Yes ma'am. I have sinned.”

  As the three of them entered the starkly bare, tiled interrogation room, Wade arrived and set up the video camera.

  Tony glanced up the clock. It was ten-thirty in the morning.

  Orvan took a sip of his water and looked a bit surprised by its flavor or, more likely, its lack of flavor. He leered at Ruth Ann again.

  By noon they had learned little more than before. Finally, bowing to internal pressure created by the three bottles of water he'd sucked down, Orvan leaned forward, lacing his fingers together, officially ending his social visit.

  “You know them three families what live in the holler on the far side of McKee's land?”

  Tony nodded.

  “What they don't know is I've been awatchin' them.”

  A faint trickle of alarm slipped down Tony's spine. The ATF was watching them too. “Why?”

  “Well, ‘cause I seen them climb out of a what-you-call-it? A flying saucer.”

  “A flying saucer like the one on Miss Freddie's lawn?” Ruth Ann suggested. “Or Mr. Ferguson's?”

  Tony guessed Miss Freddie had crossed the Atlantic on the Mayflower. The tiny woman looked too frail to lift a tea cup, but she loved to build lawn artwork from castoffs. All bore definite signs of inspiration from old science fiction movies. Space craft of all shapes and sizes, robots, and aliens were visible from the road. She and old man Ferguson seemed to be competing in a lawn art contest for two.

  Orvan flapped his hands and shook his head. “No. Real.”

  “Are you confessing to spying on someone?” Tony growled in frustration. “Is this your crime?”

  “No, no.” Orvan stopped, holding his palms out. “I stole something from them, and I'm scared they'll kill me to get it back.”

  Tony tamped down the temptation to say “Good” or “I'll help them,” and managed to ask, “What?”

  “Dynamite.” Orvan's voice shook. “There's a guy who saw me take it, and he coulda shot me but didn't. This other even meaner lookin' guy didn't see me but was staring at the one guy. You know, the one what let me take it.”

  “Uh-oh.” Tony knew what he had to do. He stood abruptly and walked to the door. He punched a number in his cell phone as he turned and pointed at the old man. “Orvan, go home and stay there.”

  “I can get your man out.” Tony didn't bother with pleasantries. “Send me a warrant, and a photo, and I'll drag him down the mountain like any other piece of trash. Better yet, send me details on one of your co-conspirators, too.”

  “What's happened?”

  “One of my county's habitual idiots has been up there spying on the group. He's stolen some dynamite. Your man didn't shoot him.” Tony hoped he wasn't overreacting. “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Thank you, Tony. I'll owe you a big one.”

  Behind him, Tony heard the fax machine printing. He called Rex, who was thankfully in charge of dispatch. “You tell Wade and Sheila to get their rifles and tree climbing gear.”

  Within minutes, the three of them headed into the
higher elevations and separated. When Tony learned his two snipers were in position, he drove into the heart of the terrorists. He considered them nothing but a bunch of whiny, lazy losers. Very dangerous ones.

  Standing behind his open door, he called out, “Sheriff.” He waved his warrants. “I'm here to arrest William Baxter and Daniel Swinborne.”

  A tall man dressed in full camouflage stepped around the edge of a house. He cradled an assault rifle in his arms. “You and what army?”

  Tony recognized him as the leader of this group. The man had grown up around here and knew most of the members of the Sheriff's Department. Good. “Me and Wade and Sheila.”

  “I only see you.”

  “Exactly.” Tony smiled. “I've got them covering me. I believe you know how effective they are with rifles.” He wished the man wasn't wearing mirrored sunglasses.

  “How do I know you're telling the truth?”

  “Well, for starters, I can have one of them shoot you in the foot if you want proof. You won't be able to walk.” Tony stopped smiling. “Give me Baxter and Swinborne and we'll all go home.”

  No more than two minutes after they got back to the law enforcement center and locked Swinborne in a cell and put Baxter in the drunk tank with Quentin, Rex called Tony. In his normal, unflappable voice, Rex said, “The Volunteer Fire Department went to check on a chimney fire up at the Shady Nest when they came upon a vehicle partially blocking the road. They couldn't see a driver.”

  “And?” Tony squeezed the receiver. It wasn't like Rex to tiptoe around something.

  “They said music is blaring through the open pickup truck window. How could the driver not be deafened by it? Surely no one in the truck could hear the emergency siren or their horn. Actually, they said it didn't sound as much like music as a series of thumps, thuds and screaming that could disguise the sound of a gunshot. And it had.”

  “Don't tell me this.” Tony thought about sticking his fingers into his ears and humming. “I don't have the time or the resources.”

  “Yes, sir, I do know that, but you need to call in the TBI if you want them to help.”

  “Okay, okay. Where's the pickup? I'd better go up there first.”

  When he, Wade and Doc Nash arrived, the radio was still blaring. The pickup sat on one of the narrow roads leading from town to the housing development on the side of the mountain. As expected, the truck sat empty.

  Tony looked toward the nearest house. Smoke billowed out of the chimney and through the surrounding roof. The building was surrounded by firemen with hoses, axes and big boots. The chief waved them forward and pointed at one of the front windows.

  A neat hole pierced the screen.

  Tony looked inside. The main door was ajar. Even from this distance Tony could see a very similar sized hole had pierced John D. Smith, right between the eyes. The worst building contractor in the history of the profession was very dead.

  Tony sighed. His brother, Gus, had suggested something like this would happen. It was only a matter of time. Smith's enemies were legion—but dead, he would never pay them one penny of any legal judgment made against him.

  Mr. John Smith and his son-in-law built the units in record time. They hired day labor and paid them slave wages. Of course they got what they paid for: workers with no skills or pride in their work.

  Gus had been very outspoken in the community about Smith's workmanship. His complaints were referred to by Smith as “sour grapes,” since he and his son-in-law were making money hand over fist and the houses looked good. For a while. It took less than two months after move-in before the first lawsuit was filed. The foundation sank a foot. The house cracked like an egg dropped on a sidewalk. The other nine houses followed suit.

  Tony knew the pickup with the obnoxious radio belonged to the son-in-law and wondered where the man had gone. The moment Tony stepped into the house, he saw the man's body. It lay on the floor crumpled in a heap not far from Smith. Tony guessed the shooter had killed the proverbial two birds with one stone, or more precisely, two bullets. The stone in this case was most likely a high powered rifle.

  Across the narrow valley from where he stood, Tony could see Angus Farquhar's cabin. He was considering sending someone, or actually several someones, over to collect the man when Rex's voice came through the radio. He received a call from Darren Holt and said it was urgent Tony talk to his deputy.

  Still angry at Darren, Tony called him.

  “Sir, I've got an apparent suicide in a car up here.”

  Before Tony could ask where “up here” was, Darren continued talking.

  “There's a note on the driver's side window, facing out. It claims he just killed two men up at the Shady Nest. It's addressed to you.”

  “No kidding.” Tony waved for everyone around him to stop moving and be quiet. “Read me the whole thing.”

  Darren began, “ ‘To Sheriff Abernathy, I lost everything because of the developer known as John Smith. He cost me every penny I had, my wife and children. My home and my job. No legal means came to me, so I decided, on my own, to rid the earth of this plague. I shot him and his worthless son-in-law. The rifle is locked in the trunk of this car. Tell Nancy I will always love her and the kids, that is, unless you think telling them would make matters worse.’ ” Darren cleared his throat. “He signed it ‘yours truly, Henrik Anderson’. There's also an address and phone number in Michigan.”

  “What else can you tell me about the scene? Anything?”

  “Yessir. Looking through the windshield, it looks like he ate a revolver. It's still in his hand.”

  Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “The man addressed the letter to me, but I don't recognize the name.”

  Darren said, “I used to see him around sleeping in the car, but I had no idea he'd invested up at the Nest. He would move the car from place to place.” There was a pause. “It has Michigan plates.”

  “I'll send the doctor up but it sounds pretty clear cut to me.” Even though part of Tony was relieved to have the shootings easily solved, he regretted that the man had felt he had no other options.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Methodist Church was resplendent for Patrick and Celeste's wedding. Resplendent was the word of the day on Tony's calendar. He smiled at the apt description. When Tony was just a boy, his father, a Methodist minister, moved his family to Silersville to serve in this church and community. He'd died prematurely in a car accident.

  “My dad would have loved seeing it like this,” Tony whispered into Theo's ear. “I don't think it has ever looked better.”

  “Yes, your dad would be proud and no, I don't think it's ever been lovelier,” Theo whispered back.

  Nina arrived on the arm of one of the ushers. “I told him I wanted to sit with you two.” She fluffed her gleaming red hair as she settled next to Tony. She flashed him a wide grin. “You look good in a suit, but I trust you've got a gun handy. I heard this might be a dangerous place today.”

  Tony groaned but didn't comment.

  Nina wasn't fazed. She leaned over him to talk to Theo, parked in the aisle next to him. “The church looks terrific. Did the bride's parents really pay to have it painted and new carpet put in? That's what I heard.”

  “Yes. They were still hard at work in here during the rehearsal.” Tony pointed up at the stained glass window in the front. “And they had the glass mended and completely cleaned.”

  “With all the gorgeous flowers, I can barely see the fresh paint.” Theo shifted in her wheelchair, apparently studying the enormous but tasteful displays of roses and candles. She glanced over her shoulder toward the doors. “Speaking of flowers, Blossom's here with Kenny and DuWayne. They're getting to be quite a threesome.”

  Tony turned to watch the two men walking with Blossom, each clutching one of her arms. They apparently waved away the official ushers and kept their respective positions. If two escorts were company, three might be considered a crowd.

  Tony thought Blossom looked as resplendent
as the refurbished church. She was wearing a frothy yellow dress with big orange polka dots. When she saw him and Theo, she waggled her chubby fingers in their direction and her smile widened. After they made it past their pew, he whispered to Theo, “I think the polka dots match Blossom's hair color perfectly. What do you think?”

  “I think she looks like a lovely ocean liner with a pair of tugboats guiding her out to sea.”

  Theo was having a wonderful time. She enjoyed weddings as a rule. When the music began, everyone settled into their pews to enjoy the event. The first notes from the organ made her eyes widen in surprise. She leaned toward Tony. “Did they buy a new organ too?”

  “I guess. Or they found a magician to fix the old one.”

  “Must be nice to have a checkbook without limit.” Theo sighed. “It's certainly improved the quality of the music.”

  Tony reached for her hand. “Are you sorry you didn't marry a rich man?”

  Theo felt all warm and gooey inside. “Nope. I got just what I wanted.” She glanced over his shoulder at the woman being escorted down the aisle. “Uh-oh. Not good.”

  “What?” Tony didn't turn.

  “You'll have to see for yourself. Elf is making quite a statement.”

  Tony did turn then, his curiosity evidently winning out.

  Theo barely heard him groan. She couldn't stop staring at Elf. The singer wore a floor length black sequined gown with the neckline plunging all the way to her waist in the front and even lower in the back. “How does it stay on?”

  “She looks like a lounge singer from Las Vegas.” Nina sounded shocked.

  The youthful usher at Elf's side appeared to stumble against the end of the pew, but he didn't lift his eyes from the exposed cleavage.

  Theo glanced to the front of the sanctuary where Patrick and the minister and groomsmen waited. With the exception of the groom, the men appeared frozen. Patrick looked murderous. He took a step forward, his hands clenched into tight fists.

  The best man, the bride's older brother, reached forward and touched Patrick's arm, stopping him.