Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music

by Barbara Graham

  “You're a bad man. Why didn't you tell me why you wanted me at the shop? You said she was dead, not that she was murdered, I thought she'd been in an accident. I could have used a bit of warning,” Theo hissed. “I was blindsided by about twenty customers this morning. Each one them had a different story to tell, but I gather the main fact is accurate. Elf really was murdered?”

  “Yes. There's no way her death could have been accidental.”

  “One of my ladies claims there is a curse on the Flowers women,” Theo fumed. “And I'm standing there, er sitting, with my mouth open because I didn't know anything about it.”

  Tony thought a little change of subject might help settle her down. “Today's Halloween.”

  “What?” Theo caught up with him. “Oh, no. I'd almost forgotten. We were working on the cookies when you sent us into the madhouse.”

  “I doubt I'll be home to take the boys trick or treating. They won't want to stay home, and I don't want you wheeling around in the dark either.”

  “I have to say, neither of those sounds very pleasant to me either.”

  “Maybe Nina will take them with her merry band.”

  Tony heard Theo sigh.

  “I'll call later.” He hung up and returned to the parents, who were now discussing Elf in hushed tones.

  “I seem to have lost my appetite.” Mrs. MacLeod placed her napkin on the table. “I didn't always get along with Elf, but I never stopped thanking her for Patrick. He is a wonderful son.”

  “She put on quite a display of temper last night.” Mr. MacLeod reached for his wife's hand. “Frankly, I was surprised. When we talked a couple of weeks ago, she was all sweetness and light, and she said if she was able to attend, she would just sit back and enjoy the party.”

  Mrs. MacLeod nodded. “I think that's why we were so irritated. She promised one thing, and the next thing we know Elf's dancing down the aisle in that red cocktail dress at the rehearsal. Her behavior was terrible.”

  “Not to mention wearing black to the wedding,” Tony added. “Her dress was not the usual wedding attire.”

  “I thought Celeste and Patrick handled it very well.” Mrs. Durand jumped into the conversation. “I'd say she looked like she'd just come from singing in a bar. We met her for the first time at the rehearsal.” Her expression conveyed a combination of displeasure and unwillingness to speak ill of the dead.

  Minutes after the boys left to trick or treat with Nina and her kids, Theo knew it was great decision. For a while, she considered leaving a bowl of candy on the front step and taking the boys herself. She enjoyed trick or treating with the boys as a rule, but rolling her wheelchair in the dark held no appeal.

  While the boys were away, the doorbell never stopped ringing. Only half of the people on her doorstep were children. The adults weren't looking for candy—they wanted gossip, and Theo knew less than they did.

  Theo finally parked her wheelchair on the porch and sat wrapped up in an old orange fleece blanket from her college days. She had to look like a huge pumpkin. She wished she had a green hat to wear like a stem. What she did have was a small digital recorder tucked inside the blanket. She turned it on to help her keep track of the comments and questions right after old man Ferguson hobbled up the sidewalk to ask if it was true Elf left a million dollars to every resident in the county.

  Theo said something in response about how she doubted it but thought it sounded like a lovely gesture.

  Out of candy, she was about to head inside when Patrick and Celeste walked up, having returned from their half-day honeymoon. They expected to find Tony at home. Disappointed, they perked up when she offered them a place to hide—her kitchen—while she called Tony. “I've got the honeymooners stashed in front of the television. What do you want me to do with them?”

  “Hide them from the press, I guess. I'll be home as soon as I can.” His jaw cracked nosily when he yawned. “Do you think I should I come in the through the kitchen?”

  “Yes, absolutely, but don't park here.” Theo glanced outside and saw a small horde of people standing in the park across the street. “Unless you want to get mobbed by more nuts than you'd find at a squirrel convention. It's been a madhouse. We've been out of candy for an hour.” Theo felt like a big baby complaining. It wasn't as if Tony was off having fun. At least she managed not to sniffle. “Even turning off the porch light hasn't stopped the parade. I've had children, grumps, greedy souls and reporters. Enough is enough.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The media frenzy was even worse than Tony had anticipated. By the time he dragged himself home at close to one in the morning, he'd been subjected to national reporters, state, local, television and print, entertainment reporters and a psychic with no credentials. Paperwork was usually the bane of his existence. Dealing with the media eclipsed it and made him want to impose not only a news blackout but actually have none of the press allowed within the boundaries of Park County.

  The first one he'd toss out personally: Winifred Thornby representing the Silersville Gazette. The woman was not winning any points with him. First she'd printed a list of the women going to the quilting retreat, practically begging petty thieves to help themselves. No. He shook his head. First she'd stalked him in high school. Their relationship had not improved.

  This evening, Winifred had arrived in the front row of the first wave of the press, trying to push through the locked doors of the law enforcement center. Even the unflappable Rex almost lost his temper. He sent them all to the conference room at the courthouse with vague promises about someone coming soon to give them details and updates.

  Unfortunately, Tony was “the someone.”

  Fortunately, he arrived with sandwiches and coffee and made his escape while the starving members of the press were too busy fighting for a meal to realize he'd slipped away. They'd find him soon enough.

  In the meantime, he was met at the kitchen door by Daisy. Awakened from a nap by him deviating from his normal behavior, the big golden retriever alerted the room with a “woo, woo” instead of her normal bark.

  Tony saw the newlywed couple cozily ensconced on the sofa in the kitchen, near the fireplace. Theo was curled up on his recliner, wrapped in a quilt, sound asleep.

  “We tried to get her to go to bed.” Patrick started to stand, but settled back when Tony motioned him down. “But she insisted.”

  Not surprised by her behavior, Tony picked up his wife, quilt and all. “And Chris and Jamie?”

  Celeste laughed. “They sorted and counted their candy, taught us how to play a new video game and went to bed hours ago.”

  “Let me put Theo to bed,” Tony whispered. He took one step away and turned back. “That sofa opens into a fairly comfortable bed. I'm too beat to think or talk, and there are reporters sitting in every bush and shrub, waiting to pounce on you like a duck on a bug.”

  Patrick glanced at his new wife who nodded. “Thank you. We'd love to stay.”

  “I'll be right back with some sheets and stuff.”

  Tony managed to get Theo tucked into her bed without waking her. He found a couple of unused emergency toothbrushes, clean sheets and a down comforter for the couple. They looked as tired as he felt.

  Five minutes later, he was upstairs in his own bed, sound asleep.

  Halloween ended officially at midnight. At two minutes past two in the morning, the telephone rang in Tony's ear. He croaked a greeting into the receiver, sounding more like a bullfrog than a human. He didn't feel human either.

  “Sheriff?” J.B. Lewis was the one deputy who enjoyed night duty.

  A thirty-year veteran of the sheriff's department, he was both unambitious and unflappable. J.B. would never call Tony unless something extraordinary had occurred. He didn't sound happy.

  Instantly alert, Tony sat up. “What's up, J.B.?” He moved the receiver away from his ear. Why wasn't J.B. talking to dispatch? Had the army of reporters marched on the law enforcement center and taken over the building?

 
As expected, J.B.'s voice boomed into the room. “I thought I'd call you direct because I thought you'd want to know this. Dispatch alerted me. A caller said we ought to check for someone in the cemetery digging up Mr. Beasley.”

  “That's ridiculous! Why would someone steal his body? He's been buried for over a week.” Tony's bare feet hit the cold floor and he shivered, realizing the temperature was dropping. “Are you sure the phone call isn't a Halloween prank?”

  “I don't know, Sheriff. I'm almost to the cemetery now, and there does appear to be a faint light and some movement in there about where Beasley's planted.” There was a burst of static. “It's probably kids, but it doesn't feel like it.”

  As close as his house was to the cemetery, Tony could probably reach it faster than any of the patrol cars. “Park by the side and turn out your lights. I'll meet you there in five minutes.” He decided not to wear his uniform, but grabbed jeans, his vest and a sweatshirt with the department logo embroidered on it. Grave digging was a dirty business.

  Tony pulled the sweatshirt over his head as he trotted down the stairs. After retrieving his gun from the safe, he glanced into Theo's makeshift room. She lay, wide-eyed, watching him finish dressing. He didn't know what to say so he just kissed her and left. At least he'd had almost a full hour of sleep.

  The fog was back. Rising from the ground, it swirled in the headlights. At least he was hidden from prowling reporters. Half smiling, half concerned, Tony glanced around, his eyes searching for grave robbers or vampires flying about looking for dinner. At this hour, there should be a wolf howling somewhere in the distance to complete the spooky movie scenario. Illuminated by the streetlights, the mist made it look like things were changing shapes. Surely that was all that J.B. was seeing, he thought, and immediately dismissed the idea as ludicrous. J.B. was not given to hallucinations. The man simply did not have an imagination.

  Tony's Blazer rolled up behind the patrol car, and as he climbed out, he saw J.B. standing by the driver's door, staring into the cemetery. J.B.'s voice came to him, as soft as the fog. “There is definitely something going on in there, but I can't tell what it might be. Could be drug dealers hiding their stuff.”

  Nodding his agreement, Tony joined J.B. and they headed toward the light, carrying their heavy flashlights but leaving them switched off. They picked their way through the hedge hiding the cemetery fence. The gates would be locked at this hour, so they climbed the chain link fence. The mayor, also the town undertaker, lived out of town a few miles. He had the key to the gates, but neither police officer wanted Calvin Cashdollar flapping around like a buzzard. Luckily the fence was only about four feet tall.

  Once over the fence, the going was slow. Uneven ground, vegetation and fog conspired against them. Tony stubbed his toe on a flat tombstone but managed to swallow his curse. The same heavy air that muffled some of the sounds of digging made it possible for Tony and J.B. to walk up to the gravesite without betraying their presence. A chill breeze teased the back of his neck as he and J.B. freed their weapons from the holsters.

  The muted, wavering light J.B. had spotted was held in the palsied hands of an elderly woman. It was lighting a new hole in the dirt covering a fresh grave. Another elderly woman was laboriously digging in the loose dirt.

  Tony's mouth dropped open. He would have been less surprised to find a hunchback named Igor collecting body parts for his demented master than to find the Bainbridge sisters, both of whom were in their eighties, digging in an occupied grave. A glance at J.B.'s face in the wavering light showed the same dumbfounded expression. Tony slid his gun back into its holster and cleared his throat.

  Neither of the old women heard him. Tony didn't want to scare them to death. He tried again, slightly louder.

  Finally the one doing the digging stopped and looked around, her eyes wide and fearful. “Is someone there?” she asked softly. Her hands looked blue as they quivered, and her voice shook. Whether it was more from fear or from cold would be hard to tell.

  Tony made an effort to keep his voice soft and soothing. “Yes, Miss Bainbridge, its Tony Abernathy and J.B. Lewis.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and she let the shovel fall at her feet.

  The woman with the flashlight leaned forward. “What's the matter, Muriel? Do you want me to dig for a while now?”

  “No, Letty. It is over. We have been found out.” She pointed toward the men.

  Startled, Letty jumped and swung around, momentarily blinding the men with her flashlight. “Oh, no.” Her eyes filled with tears, and even though they overflowed, she made no effort to wipe them away, obviously defeated. “Oh, no.”

  Fearful for their fragile health, Tony didn't move. “You two ladies are the last ones I'd suspect of grave robbing.” He wasn't smiling. “Why don't you come down to the station with us? We can have a little coffee and a chat.”

  “Do you have tea?” Letty asked. “I really don't much care for coffee, but a cup of hot tea would be most welcome.”

  “I believe there are still some tea bags down there.” Tony stepped forward to assist the women.

  Muriel whispered something into her sister's ear. Whatever it was, it made the last vestige of color disappear from her faded face. “Oh, no, we can't, I forgot about Emery.”

  “Is Emery here too?” J.B. flicked his flashlight over the shrubs and tombstones sending a bright light over the area. “I don't see your brother.”

  Tony didn't see the old gentleman either but expected to. He escorted his sisters everywhere.

  Muriel pointed at an old quilt rolled up under a tree. J.B. began unrolling the quilt but stopped as soon as he realized it was Emery's shroud. Startled, an oath escaped him. “I apologize for my language ladies, but I didn't expect to find a corpse.”

  “Neither did we, J.B., but these things do happen.” Muriel wrapped an arm around her sister and turned to Tony. “Do you suppose we might sit in your car until we go for tea? It has been a long evening, and it's very cold out tonight.”

  Tony led the way. He half expected to see a mummy strolling out of the bushes. It wouldn't be as peculiar as what was actually going on here tonight. “I'll get the ladies settled and call Doc Nash and be back as soon as I can,” he told J.B.

  “I appreciate that, Sheriff. I can't say I relish the idea of staying out here in the fog with a fresh stiff and a partially open grave.”

  Tony lifted the ladies, one at a time, over the fence. He wondered how they had gotten into the cemetery with Emery's body, but at the moment, they were clearly not up to answering any questions. When he had them settled in the back seat of his Blazer and covered with a blanket, he phoned the doctor and returned to the gravesite.

  It didn't take long for Dr. Nash to arrive. By the light of their combined flashlights, he was able to make a preliminary examination of the body. “I'll bet he just up and died of old age, Tony. I'll do an autopsy tomorrow, but it's probably just a formality. One thing for sure. He didn't die here, and he has been dead for at least twelve hours, I'd say.” He pulled the quilt back over Emery's face and stepped away. “You'd better go to the old ladies and get them home as soon as possible, or you'll have two more deaths.”

  “I'm taking them to the station now, so why don't you drop by after you get Emery moved?” Tony turned toward the fence. “I doubt they've eaten much, if anything, all day. I'm going to fill them up with something warm and ask them a couple of gentle questions before I take them home. Sheila's on her way to the station. It might not hurt to have you check them out, healthwise.”

  Doc Nash yawned widely without covering his mouth. “Since I'm up and wide awake, I might as well.”

  No one spoke in the Blazer. The ladies still huddled together under the blanket, but Tony could see them shaking. Their fright didn't make him feel good, but he thought he had a fair idea what they'd been up to tonight, and it certainly wasn't stashing drugs.

  Sheila met them at the station and helped the ladies out of the back seat. As soon as they were seated at
the table in the lunchroom, she covered each of them with more blankets.

  It didn't Tony long to make some strong, hot tea and several cheese sandwiches and heat some soup. Silently blessing Marigold Flowers, who fed the jail inmates, for keeping the big refrigerators stocked with homemade soups and sandwich fixings, he wrote her a note detailing what he'd taken and dropped it in a jar on the counter. Like her sister Blossom, Marigold cooked well. Members of the department often enjoyed the bounty, paying on the honor system.

  The way the ladies devoured the simple repast made Tony wonder when they had last eaten. By the time they were warm and full, Doc Nash was standing in the hallway, watching with professional intensity. Tony knew that he would call a halt to his questions if he had any concern about the way they were being treated.

  Tony, Sheila and Doc Nash shared the table with them. “We need to know what happened tonight. Are you ladies up to answering some questions now?” They nodded their assent and clutched the cups more tightly, highlighting the blue veins in their almost fleshless hands. Tony sat near them, sipping his own tea. “I guess the first thing that I need to know is about what time did Emery die?”

  After an exchange of meaningful looks with her sister, Muriel answered. “It was during his nap after lunch.” Letty bobbed her head in agreement. “We ate lunch about eleven-thirty or so and he stretched out on the sofa as usual, but he didn't wake up.”

  “The three of you shared the house and expenses?”

  “Yes,” said Letty. “Ever since Mama died.”

  “Well, not exactly,” said Muriel. “Emery was the only one with a steady income. I'd have to say that he did all the sharing. Letty and I sometimes made a little on the sale of our preserves or a quilt, but nothing consistent.”

  Tony laced his fingers and rested them on his knee as he leaned forward. Deliberately making his tone as gentle as possible, he said, “By any chance does Emery's steady income get deposited into your bank account?”

  Two sets of red-rimmed eyes looked back at him. The ladies nodded.