“Phobic?”
“I’m guessing she meant psychic. Coming up with any ‘p’ word’s pretty good for someone in her condition.”
Tony felt like slamming the receiver on the desk. “Is the moon full? Never mind, have you got any idea where she is? Or where she’s headed?”
“I contacted Sheila and Mike, but they’re both tied up. Can you send Wade out toward Kwik Kirk’s convenience store on the highway? My guess is Emily Austin’s driving either a yellow Dodge pickup or a red Subaru sedan. At least those are the vehicles registered in her name.” Tony heard a more muffled comment. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard someone drunker than she is.”
“Heaven help us.” Tony lunged toward the door, following Wade. “Once we get to the store, maybe someone will be able to tell us which way she’s heading. All we need is a massive accident.”
“Still worried Grace might quit?”
“Nope, wondering how I might.”
Wade laughed. “You’re elected sir, you don’t get to quit.”
CHAPTER FOUR
* * *
Tony couldn’t believe his luck. After his and Wade’s chase through the entire county, it was his own mother who caught the intoxicated woman—or, rather, her museum did. Jane Abernathy claimed since she survived teaching high school Latin, the death of her husband, raising four children, and opening a museum, dealing with an intoxicated woman driving through one of her fences was nothing. At least that was close to what she told Tony when he drove into the museum parking lot, lights and siren signaling his approach.
“Really, Tony, did you have to make such a ruckus?” As Jane emerged from the office and headed for the next building, she flapped her arms, imitating one of the speckled chickens following her across the grass, squawking and fussing as if she was their leader.
The birds were recent additions to the folk museum, and it was clear to Tony that they considered her either their mother or their queen. He wasn’t quite sure who was imitating who.
“Turn that noise off. Think of your poor old mother.” Jane kept up her stream of complaints. “You could give someone a heart attack. Like me.”
Tony flipped off his siren and climbed out of the Blazer, but the horn in Mrs. Austin’s pickup continued to blare.
Not in the mood for his mom’s snarky attitude, Tony walked past her and approached the pickup. Wade wasn’t smiling either as he walked to the passenger door. The driver had taken them on a wild pursuit through the county and barely missed killing any number of people. Tony wanted to rip the driver’s door off but managed to content himself with tapping on the driver’s window.
Emily Austin glanced at him, gave him a little wave, and returned her attention to the cell phone clutched in her right hand.
Tony pulled her door open in time to hear part of the conversation over the blaring horn.
“Got to go, sweetheart. That nice policeman, you know the tall bald one, just asked me to dance.” Emily dropped the phone onto the floor and peered at herself in the mirror almost like she was checking her lipstick. Then she gave him a wide smile and threw up on him, coating his uniform with beer, whiskey, and her lunch. A salad of some nature. Lots of greens.
Wade, once he managed to silence the horn, made a sympathetic groaning sound. Tony thought it sounded like one Wade used to mask a laugh.
Probably because he was so relieved and grateful the three of them were all still alive after the chase, Tony felt a bit more philosophical than angry. Emily was not riding to the Law Enforcement Center in his vehicle though. He looked at Wade. “You get to transport her.” Tony did gently pull her out of the pickup and slipped handcuffs on her, carefully double-locking them so they couldn’t keep tightening around her fragile wrists. “I don’t want you to cut your hands off.”
“Thank you.” Slightly chastened, Emily stood quietly, waiting for instructions until Wade led her away.
Ignoring his mother, Tony stalked back to the museum office building, picked up the garden hose, and turned on the water. The first gush of water came out hot. The more he rinsed, the colder it got. He turned the water off. Without making eye contact with his mother, he went to the Blazer, got in, and drove away. He needed soap and a clean uniform. Lots of soap.
Theo was inundated with calls from the curious, asking about her husband’s girlfriend, sympathizing with her while trying to extract a modicum of fresh gossip. Blossom must have told everyone in her huge family what she thought she knew and asked them to tell everyone they knew or encountered. Wildfire would look calm compared to this blazing gossip storm.
There was no place for Theo to hide. The shop was busy with tourists, the locals, and the nosy. Up in her office, Theo still had work to do on the new pattern in progress, and Gretchen, her only full-time employee, was swamped down on the main level. Surrendering to better business practices, Theo pitched in to help. She could hear a clamor of excitement in the classroom, which doubled as the local gather and gossip site.
“Tony is cheating on Theo. Can you believe it?” Betty’s voice carried over the din.
Theo approached the speaker, Blind Betty, who was promptly shushed by her sighted companion, the much younger Dottie. “Believe what?” “Er, hi, Theo.” Dottie clamped a hand over Betty’s mouth and practically yelled in the woman’s ear. “Hush.”
With their sweet little drunken speed demon under lock and key, and Tony dressed in a clean uniform, he and Wade returned to their investigation of the surfing incident. “Let’s go see what Mom Proffitt can tell us about this situation. I really, really want to find the driver. Even if the men don’t drink at her establishment every week, I’ll bet she knows them.”
Wade agreed.
A short time later, the two of them walked into The Okay Bar and Bait shop. Run by tiny, feisty Caroline Proffitt, the woman everyone in town called Mom, The Okay was more clubhouse than saloon. It hadn’t sold bait in ages but the business’s full name was still painted on the sign. At this time of day, late afternoon, the regulars were beginning to arrive, looking for a beer or a cold drink and some television or conversation. Mom greeted Tony and Wade from behind her spotless bar.
“I’ll have a glass of lemonade, Mom.” Tony settled on a stool and relaxed. Next to him, Wade ordered unsweetened iced tea.
“What’s up?” Mom asked after delivering their beverages. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”
“There’s a couple of guys whose names have come up in an inquiry, I wonder if you know them.” Tony handed her a paper with several names written on it. Only two were ones he didn’t know. The last thing he wanted was some set of big ears listening in.
Mom Proffitt studied the list. “This first one comes in occasionally and always with a man from the school. Don’t know the next two by name. I don’t suppose you have pictures?” She paused.
“Hold on.” Wade pulled out his smart phone and tapped on the screen, his fingers flying across the surface, pulling up a driver’s license picture. “Here’s one of them.”
Mom shook her head. “He’s never been in here.”
Wade went back to his data search and showed her a different face. Their dead surfer. Mr. Curry.
“Yes. He’s been in from time to time. He’s a nice enough man but simply cannot hold his liquor. He doesn’t come in often, but when he does I always have to keep his keys overnight. He was in here the other night for a while. I still have the keys.” Mom picked a key ring off her board just as a couple of men walked through the front door and tossed their keys onto her counter. She picked them up and hung them on the board.
“I’ll go.” Wade took the abandoned keys and headed outside.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Mom rarely asked Tony any questions when he came on official business.
“There’s been an accident.” Tony hesitated. “I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about the man who left his keys and the first man on the list.”
Mom fielded a few more keys and filled some d
rink orders while she considered his request. “The one who left his keys—Miles is his name—anyway, he was saying something I thought was odd. He was going out the door and asking if anyone else wanted to go surfing.” Mom shook her head. “Since there aren’t waves on the lake unless a boat’s going too fast, it caught my attention.”
Wade returned, sat, and placed the keys on the bar. “The registration matches our guy.”
Tony asked again. “And number one. Was he here at the same time?”
“I’m not sure.” Mom wiped the bar. “I know number four was. His name is Bart Sullivan, and he’s in the game room.”
“Let’s see if we can learn anything from him.” Tony stood. “Maybe he hasn’t started playing his game.”
Number four, now known as Bart Sullivan, sat watching the others playing the video game with the intensity of a coach watching his team vie for the tie-breaking point to end a championship game. When Tony and Wade failed to gain his attention in any traditional manner, Wade stepped in front of him to block his view.
“Ah, man, move over.” Sullivan craned his neck trying to peek around the deputy and see the screen. He finally glanced up, a sullen accusatory expression on his face. “What?”
“You know Miles Curry?”
“Yep.” Evidently satisfied by his level of cooperation, Sullivan wiggled around, trying for a different vantage point.
Tony blocked him. “You know what he was doing night before last?”
Sullivan looked up, meeting his eyes. “I know what he was talking about doing. He wanted to surf on the top of my pickup, stand on it while I drove him around.” Sullivan shook his head. “Crazy man. I said no way. I walked home, ’cause I only live, like, half a mile from here and I figured Mom wouldn’t give me my keys back.”
“If you didn’t allow him to surf on your truck, do you have any idea who else he might have called on to drive him around?”
“Naw, we ain’t close.” Sullivan squinted up at them, his gaze shifting back and forth between Wade and Tony. “Why don’t you just ask him? Save us all time.”
Convinced Sullivan was telling the truth, Tony said, “We think he did find someone who’d drive him. He ended up dead, and we’re looking for the driver.”
“No way.” Sullivan shook his head, actually ignoring the screen, focused on the situation at last. “Well, don’t that beat all.”
Tony shifted out of Sullivan’s line of sight. “Let me know if you hear anything, especially like who did drive?”
“Yessir, I will. I swear, I had no idea.” Sullivan watched the game in silence, shaking his head.
Tony returned to talk to Mom while Wade quietly talked to a couple of men waiting to play a car racing video game. Mom went through her entire collection of keys, giving him names and general observations about them. No one sounded like their person of interest.
Wade waved his notebook and led the way outside. “I have an address. A couple of the video-game players came up with the same name. David Logan.”
“Let’s go pay him a visit.” Tony felt more irritation than curiosity. It seemed like people had nothing better to do than try to kill themselves or others, and it was creating lots of work for him and his department.
Unfortunately, finding Logan wasn’t as easy as Tony had hoped. The address was a rooming house on the edge of town. The proprietor, one of Blossom’s myriad sisters, met them at the front door. Santhe, short for Chrysanthemum, Flowers was a landlady to be reckoned with. Large, like most of her sisters, but more muscular, she dyed her hair a flat black and pulled it into a tight ponytail. And not only did she have more hair than the other sisters, she had colorful tattoo sleeves on her arms. Both of them. Tony thought they resembled holiday hams packaged with labels of large tropical vegetation. Leaves, vines, and flowers complete with a lizard capturing an insect with its tongue covered them from wrist to shoulder. Santhe’s eyes spoke of irritation more than a willingness to help when she looked at him.
“Sheriff. Wade.” Santhe narrowed her eyes and rested her fists on her wide hips. “What do you want?”
“Have you got a renter by the name of David Logan?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Tony saw no sign of concern or curiosity on her face. He found her attitude pretty remarkable. The few people he’d encountered who didn’t openly wonder why he’d come to question them already knew the answer. He took a step closer. “Which is it?”
Santhe didn’t back down. “Why?”
“I don’t think that’s really any of your business.” Tony leaned closer. “Unless you’d care for an obstruction charge.” He was bluffing, but he was also intensely irritated.
“Yes. And if it matters, he pays on time.” She started to close the door in his face.
Wade jammed a foot in the space, keeping it open.
Tony said, “Is he here?”
“I heard you’re cheating on your wife.” Santhe glared back. “Blossom told me. My little sister is not happy with you at all, so, neither am I.”
“I am not cheating on Theo.” Tony shook his head for emphasis. “Blossom witnessed me on a condolence call, added one and one, came up with thirteen, and then created some ridiculous tale and spread it across the county in record time. I am not happy with Blossom.”
Wade spoke up. “Sheila was there too. Did Blossom mention her?”
“No. I’m sorry.” Santhe looked chastised and convinced, even as she shook her head. She opened the door wide. “I’ll tell Blossom to fix it. How can I help you?”
“Is David Logan here?”
“No. He’s never here until quite a bit later.”
“Will you call my office and let us know when he returns?”
“Absolutely.” She raised one hand in the air like she was taking an oath.
The way she agreed so quickly made Tony think Santhe was eager to make amends for her sister’s faulty information. He decided she might be a good person to have on his side.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
Theo wondered why she could go for months without seeing a particular person and then for the next week, she’d run into them everywhere she went. Candy Tibbles was not someone Theo ever expected to see in her quilt shop. The woman had never expressed any interest in quilts or fabric. In fact, if Theo was honest, she wasn’t sure Candy was even aware of the things around her now.
Candy stood in the middle of the shop, staring. She showed the same amount of interest in the tools and toys quilters liked as she did the myriad colors of fabric, and as she did the floor. Theo thought she might actually be more interested in the faux wood-patterned flooring than in anything else in the room.
“Do you need something, Candy?” Theo spoke softly, almost tentatively. There was something so . . . so absent in Candy’s expression Theo did not want to startle her.
Candy spun around in a circle, stopping where she began. “Where’s my boy?”
“Alvin?” Theo asked automatically.
“Do I have others?” Candy’s question seemed honest, not flippant. She pressed a clenched fist to her chest and coughed.
“Not that I know of.” Theo edged closer, herding Candy out of the center of the shop and closer to the workroom. Was there someone she should call? “Are you feeling ill?”
Ignoring Theo, Candy stopped short of the doorway into the workroom. “What are they doing in there?”
Theo peeked around the taller woman. A small group of elderly women worked together on a colorful quilt stretched on an old-fashioned wooden quilting frame, stitching it by hand. “They are quilting a charity quilt. It will be raffled off to raise money.”
“Is my mother in there?”
Theo was seriously concerned now. Candy’s parents had been deceased for maybe four years. Four long emotional, traumatic years for Alvin, during which he lost his beloved grandparents, was taken from his mom, and given to foster family after foster family. He didn’t fit in. He was moved. He became an adult in a young body. Theo
touched Candy’s shoulder. “No Candy, your mother passed away.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Candy gave a little laugh and seemed to relax. “I couldn’t find her.”
Theo backed up slightly and glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. From the expressions and body language she saw, everyone was listening and pretending not to. No one made eye contact with Candy. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Candy shook her head, giving her lank hair a bit of a toss. “I was just curious.” And she left the workroom, passed through the main shop, and opened the door. A second later, she was gone as mysteriously as she arrived.
Theo exchanged puzzled glances with the quilters but there was really nothing to say.
“You do remember this Friday is the Fourth of July?” Theo handed Tony another screw, which he quickly tightened into place. The final curtain rod was almost up in the girls’ room.
“I’m trying very hard to forget it.” Tony stepped down from the ladder. “Two more screws on the other side, and we can hang those curtains.”
Theo’s smile was brilliant but she continued on her topic. “The quilt show is always held during the celebration for the Fourth. Can you help us hang quilts on Thursday?”
“As far as I know. What time?” Only half listening to what she told him, Tony focused on the screws. He knew he could depend on Theo to remind him several times before the event. Hanging quilts in their show was not his favorite job or, for that matter, his least favorite. He was part of a small, well-trained crew, mostly husbands, who know how to erect the display system consisting of poles, guy wires, and electrical conduit. The quilters owned the poles but borrowed the conduit from Duke McMahon’s hardware store, which helped the ladies and gave Duke free advertising.
Once the big quilts were hung, most of the smaller ones would hang on some collapsible frames. He’d make his escape as soon as the big quilts were up and assumed he’d be as surprised as usual to see it in its much improved final state. He thoroughly enjoyed the quilt show. It wasn’t the time and work involved in helping hang it that bothered him, it was his fear he’d accidently ruin a quilt. An action both awkward and unforgivable.
Barbara Graham - Quilted 05 - Murder by Sunlight Page 4
