Barbara Graham - Quilted 05 - Murder by Sunlight

by Barbara Graham

  “Divorced.” Tony couldn’t say for sure that Blossom would never kill someone, but he found it hard to believe she would be able to engineer a car accident. “How’d you know Blossom belongs here?”

  “Return address on the letter. It’s not like a thirteen-year-old sending anonymous letters. Ms. Flowers is not hiding out.”

  “What happened to your woman?” Tony could imagine Blossom being angry and pushing Kenny’s ex-wife, but he couldn’t picture Blossom intentionally killing anyone.

  “She lost control of her vehicle. Crashed into a guard rail, spun around, and hit it again.” O’Brien sighed. “It could be a simple accident, but I don’t usually find hate mail at accident sites. The woman was not wearing her seat belt and appeared to be clutching her cell phone. Maybe a telephone threat led to an accident or even suicide. Maybe I’m watching too much late-night television.”

  Tony considered a car crash probably accidental. It would be impossible for Blossom to be two places at one time, but he felt bad nonetheless. Kenny’s ex-wife might have been nine kinds of trouble for Kenny and Blossom, but she was the mother of two small girls. “Can you tell who she was talking with?”

  There was a pause while O’Brien checked the cell phone. “According to the call log, she sent a text message to your Ms. Flowers about the same time as she hit the rail.”

  “Texting while driving sounds like an accident looking for a place to happen.”

  “I agree.” O’Brien’s voice was sour. “Unless something else turns up to change my mind, I’m going with stupid accident, but you might want to chat with Ms. Flowers about making threats.”

  Tony was relieved. He was even more pleased that the accident had not occurred in Park County. It was not his department’s responsibility to investigate. He had more than enough to fill his time.

  He’d barely completed the call when the next one came in. This one he had expected. The TBI lab. Mike had driven the wrench and hammer removed from their suspected attacker to the lab and begged them to squeeze in a bit of testing on the tool surfaces. In spite of the existing heavy workload, their newest technician, Kiefer, had agreed. Tony suspected the man was as curious as he was.

  Kiefer began talking almost the instant their phones were in contact. “Sheriff, I do have some positive news. Positive in that the results are positive, not that you’ll necessarily like them. I really don’t have any information about what you want.”

  “It’s okay.” Tony laughed, enjoying the man’s enthusiasm. “Quit tap dancing around the news, Kiefer, I’m very interested in what you’ve learned.”

  “Well, these are preliminary results but some of the blood and skin and hairs on the wrench and hammer appear to be positive matches to samples you had labeled with full names and secondary identifiers, ‘Not Bob’ and ‘hitchhiker.’ I can tell you they were not the only blood and skin specimens we found on the items.” Kiefer paused to breathe. “However, we’ll keep the results on file, so if you find more victims, we might be able to have more matches.”

  Tony was very pleased the evidence matched the presumed attacker, currently waiting in the jail, to their victims.

  Tony was not as pleased with the news of additional blood types and hair and tissue samples. Somewhere out there, whether in Park County or somewhere else, other people had been attacked by the same man with perhaps the same level of ferocity. Tony considered the possibility of searching for other victims, maybe still alive but not reported missing, to be the stuff of nightmares. He made a note to himself. “Find out if there are others.”

  Kiefer sounded like he was prepared to chatter all afternoon.

  Tony interrupted him. “Did you find anything on either item matching our other case?”

  “No, sir. Not a hair, fiber, or spot on them belonged to either of the Tibbles, mother or son.” Kiefer spoke with assurance. “And there are no signs that any attempt to clean either tool was made, ever.”

  “A man can dream.” Tony wasn’t surprised. “Thank you for your help.”

  “I’m serving tea at four, Sheriff. I expect you to be here and bring the good-looking deputy. Not the girl.” Mrs. Fairfield’s voice boomed through the receiver.

  Tony did not recall having made a date to visit the woman. “I’m sorry.” He turned it into a question. “Why are you expecting me?”

  Mrs. Fairfield’s voice lowered fractionally. “You said you’d like to meet my husband. He’ll be joining us for tea.”

  “What’s the address?” Tony didn’t expect to share food with a dead man, but the woman did know how to pique a man’s curiosity. He was positive he’d have to fire Wade or lock him in a cell to keep him from coming along if he got wind of the invitation.

  The morning roll call was just about to start when Tony had received the invitation, or more precisely, a summons, to tea. “Have you all paid a professional visit to Mrs. Fairfield’s home?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “And, is her husband in a glass coffin?”

  His question was met with shaking heads, lifted eyebrows, obvious curiosity, or disapproval. But one face suddenly glowed with discovery. Sheila whispered almost to herself. “I’ll bet that’s what it was.”

  “What?” More voices than just Tony’s asked the question.

  “She’s got this long box on table legs sitting along one wall in the living room. It looks really top-heavy for furniture, and there’s a floral cloth, like a scarf, edged with long fringe covering the top.” Sheila whispered, “I can’t wait to hear more about it.”

  Tony watched as Ruth Ann took on her new responsibility with charm, dedication, and the enthusiasm of a professional matchmaker. She might even describe the task in the same terms. One at a time, she planned to match a person with a volunteer. The two needed to be compatible. It was especially important to be sure each party would feel comfortable sharing time and personal information with the other.

  Ruth Ann notified the senior center and encouraged them to help with the project. Most of those needing a volunteer were not people who could, or would, go to the center, but many of those who did would be able to help her make lists. She put out the call to churches, clubs, and civic organizations, asking not only for volunteers, but for recommendations of neighbors or individuals in need. And money. She hoped to be able to supply old cell phones to those who could not afford them. Simple phones, no bells or whistles, but ones that could connect to 911 and possibly save a life.

  Tony wasn’t surprised when Orvan Lundy became Ruth Ann’s first project. He was very surprised when she matched Orvan with her own husband, Walter. “Is it wise to have your husband and boyfriend comparing notes?”

  Ruth Ann winked at him. “I was thinking they’ll always have something, or someone, wonderful to talk about.”

  “I won’t allow dueling in my county.” Tony tried to look stern.

  “Oh, please.” Ruth Ann couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Can’t you just see it? Orvan and Walter, dueling pistols at dawn in dense fog, under the giant magnolia tree in the park. Spanish moss.” She sighed. “How romantic.”

  Tony relaxed back in his chair and closed his eyes, picturing tiny, wizened, and gray Orvan in his ragged overalls facing off against Walter, who was twice Orvan’s height, half his age, and had skin the color of caramels. “We don’t have Spanish moss.”

  “It was an entertaining vision while it lasted.” Ruth Ann rose to leave. “For your information, Walter and Orvan get along fine. It was a little difficult to find a match, because Orvan doesn’t have telephone service, but Walter said he wouldn’t mind, and I quote, ‘Taking food up to the old buzzard’s roost.’ ”

  Tony smiled. One down. Tony hadn’t realized the level of concern he had been experiencing and was ashamed he hadn’t fully recognized the tenuous condition of some of their citizens until it looked like help had arrived.

  Tony and Wade stopped by the Fairfield home a few hours before their tea-time invitation had suggested. In case Mr. O’Hara was interest
ed in meeting Mrs. Fairfield, Tony was going to offer to supply the pig farmer with her contact information.

  “It’s rude to come early.” Their hostess frowned as she opened her front door to them.

  Mrs. Fairfield had her hair wrapped into old-fashioned pin curls nailed to her scalp with bobby pins. If Tony’s mom didn’t do the same with hers, he’d have had no idea what she’d done to her head. It looked painful. “I apologize. We can’t come later.”

  Wade smiled gallantly. “So sorry.”

  The sight of the handsome young man giving her his very best smile melted the ice in Mrs. Fairfield’s attitude. “Come in then.”

  The moment they entered the living room, Tony realized Sheila had been right. Except the furniture in question did not sit along the wall, but had been moved into the middle of the room, and the fringed shawl was turned back to expose the dearly departed’s face. A white damask tablecloth was spread on the bottom half of the coffin and was set for a formal tea with an antique silver service.

  Wade gulped several times before vanishing outside for a few moments.

  Tony couldn’t think what to say. His mind went blank and he forgot why he stopped by her home. He backed toward the open door.

  Speaking wasn’t necessary. Mrs. Fairfield chattered about everything going on in town. Then she patted the coffin, about where the gentleman’s chest would be. “He never was much of a talker. So really, it’s not much different since he passed.”

  Leaving Mrs. Fairfield complaining about their manners, Tony drove out to the Jackson house with Wade as his passenger. They turned off the highway a little beyond Kwik Kirk’s, drove past the pig farm and the McMahon place, and just about dead-ended into a mountain. The house, the earthly residence of the late Hydrangea Flowers Jackson, was over a hundred years old but in pretty good condition. It had a new roof and the ladder-back chairs on the front porch were in pristine condition. Three of the chairs sat in a row. An old man sat in each of the end chairs, leaving the center chair empty. Hydrangea’s chair.

  “Tell me about your wedding.” Tony had already extended his formal sympathy speech.

  “I married Hydrangea when she was seventeen.” Tears welled in the old man’s eyes. “The purtiest woman I ever saw.”

  Tony couldn’t help thinking about his twin girls. He certainly didn’t want them sharing a spouse. “And your name is?”

  “U.Z.” His voice trembled. “Ulysses Zebulon.”

  “We’re twins.” The other brother spoke. “I’m also called U.Z. for Ulysses Zacharias, and I married her on the same day. We all eloped. Went to two counties and had two ceremonies.” He smiled. “It was a glorious day. We got home and wrote all the names in the family Bible.”

  “It would be harder for you to get away with that these days. Computers, more questions of identification. Passports.” Tony fell silent. He wasn’t going to ask why, but he wanted to know.

  Wade studied the empty chair. “No one knew?”

  “No,” U.Z. the first replied. “When we married, this was the end of the road. We used horses and wagons to get up here, and there was no pavement. We farmed a bit, growing tobacco and corn, kept a few hogs, and lived a quiet, simple life.”

  U.Z. the second picked up the story. “Hydrangea spent at least one day a week with her sisters, riding a mule down the hill, and later drove herself in an automobile. The cousins canned fruit together and sewed or just sat and talked, but Hydrangea never told them about the two of us. We knew it was not right, what we were doing.”

  “And no children?”

  U.Z. the second shook his head. “She lost several before they was born. Doctor said there weren’t anything she could do different, but she did spread love on her nephews and nieces.”

  “How did no one know?”

  “I worked in town and U.Z. the second worked the farm.”

  “But everyone knew you.” Wade mumbled. “Well, thought they did. Saw you at events, at church.”

  “We alternated Sunday’s at church.” U.Z. the first broke in. “Religion’s important, you know. And all them massive Flowers family gatherings, it was a relief for us not to have to attend but half of them.”

  U.Z. the second nodded vigorously. “You seen the way they was at the funeral home? Lawsy, the older women are a tough bunch. Our Hydrangea was a gentle soul.”

  “What about the pink book?” Tony saw nothing but grief and devotion to their shared spouse on the old men’s faces. “The one Calvin Cashdollar handed you.”

  “She come home with it one afternoon, just days before her death.” U.Z. number one reached into his shirt and retrieved it. “Said she took it from a neighbor’s burn pile and hid it in her treasure bag. Rescued it.”

  “She wouldn’t put it down.” U.Z. number two ran a shaking hand over his face, wiping away the tears. “So we thought if it was so dear to her, maybe she should carry it with her to beyond, along with her Bible.”

  “Mr. Cashdollar was powerful mad after the viewing.” U.Z. number one cut in. “He said he did keep her Bible with her and later he said he’d bury her and we could have a private service, but there was no way he was going to allow the family to destroy his business.” The old man wheezed as he finished his statement.

  “So we had a few people at the church and the burial.” U.Z. number two picked up the story. “Mr. Cashdollar handed us the pink book because it got knocked out of the casket and onto the floor during the fight, and he didn’t find it until later.”

  “I was there. I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed a fight quite like it before. May I see the book?” A gnarled, shaking hand held it where he could take it. Tony flipped through the pink book, feeling his heart beat faster as he read through the names. It was the solution to their puzzle. Candy was smarter than anyone had given her credit for. “Thank you for this.”

  Tony looked at Wade. “Let’s have another little conversation with Kirk. I’ll drop you off so you can get your car. Meet me at the convenience store in ten minutes.”

  It was closer to eighteen minutes by the time Wade walked into the store by his side. The antique cars were headed back to wherever they’d come from and created a traffic snag when they all stopped for gasoline and snacks on their way.

  Tony watched Kirk handing a credit card receipt to his customer even as he checked the movements of others nearby. “If he didn’t kill her himself, I’ll bet he saw the killer, whether he realizes it or not.”

  Wade nodded. “I agree. Kirk keeps a close eye on his customers and his store. He has to know when someone leaves a vehicle at the store and walks across the road to visit Candy.”

  “It’s quieter out here in the winter, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it without a customer.” Tony absently tugged on the neck of the protective vest under his shirt, hoping to let in a little cooler air. It didn’t help much. At least the store was air-conditioned. Kirk was expecting them and had a pair of security recordings set up for them to watch.

  They joined Kirk in his office. The two screens were a bit fuzzy, but it was possible to identify features and license plates. People coming and going. In and out of cars, shopping, pumping gas. “Wait a minute.” Tony leaned forward. “If you didn’t see the mustache and beard on that guy,” he said, pointing to a ponytailed customer walking out the door, “From the back would you immediately think male or female?”

  “Depends on the body shape.” Wade’s eyes sparkled. “Although my first thought would probably be female.”

  Tony nodded. “Both genders. All shapes and sizes. Did we just double our suspect pool?”

  Wade said, “I remember when I took the law enforcement aptitude test, there was a series of sketches, and the object was to recognize people from an assortment of pictures using different hairstyles and glasses or no glasses. It’s tricky to look past the features easily changed by something like a mustache.”

  Feeling like they were onto something important, Tony studied the people in the store and wandering outside. “So,
maybe you’re an older person or have poor vision, or just get a glance at a person, you might get it wrong.” Tony glanced at Wade.

  Wade pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head. “I’m thinking I’ve seen quite a few bodies from the rear that could belong to either gender and not all of them had a ponytail, but longish hair.”

  “A woman carrying some extra weight, a ponytail, and tattoos. Like Pinkie Millsaps or Santhe Flowers.”

  “Or a man who sometimes wears his hair in a ponytail, and sometimes doesn’t.” Wade smiled and paused the playback. “And is married to this woman.”

  Tony smiled. “Duke McMahon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  * * *

  “How much did you know about the coins?” Tony guessed they were the catalyst and decided to ask Duke about them in an informal setting, Duke’s family hardware store, but first he determined the man was unarmed.

  Duke McMahon frowned, twitched, then sagged, leaning against the counter. He looked defeated. “My dad and Candy’s dad were friends. They went through a period where they were all into investing in the future. Gold and other coins were something they felt strongly about.” Duke snuffled into his handkerchief. “I went along once on their buying trip. They’d drive all the way into the city, buy a gold coin with their whole cash-stash, and take it home and lock it up somewhere safe.” He stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “We didn’t even stop for lunch.”

  “Does your dad still have his coin collection?” Wade stood between Duke and the door.

  “Yeah, as far as I know.” Duke narrowed his eyes and managed to look insulted, like someone else was guiltier than he was. “Would you steal from your folks when some junky has more than plenty enough money? After blackmailing me all these years, she could afford to miss a few coins and payments.”