by J. R. Ripley
“I heard what happened at the theater,” Moire began. “Do you think the show will go on?”
“I don’t know if that’s been decided or even discussed yet.” It seemed like everyone in town was interested in knowing if the show would continue. Then it hit me—was there anyone in particular who might want the show to close before it opened? Somebody who might gain by seeing TOTS shut down?
One of the line cooks called Moire’s name, and she told him she’d be right over. She eased the cash drawer closed. “If I were Ava Turner, you wouldn’t get me to go back there.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding?” Her right eyebrow arched in question. “If somebody was trying to kill me and missed and got the wrong person or something,” she said in a hushed tone, “I’d be afraid they’d try again.” She gave me a meaningful look. “And what if they succeeded?” The line cook sounded more flustered this time as he called his boss’s name a second time. “Gotta go!”
Moire twirled and headed for the kitchen.
The woman had a point. What if the killer did try again? I decided it might be worth trying to talk to Ava Turner once more. Her life could still be in jeopardy.
Speaking of jeopardy, I had my cousin to deal with.
* * *
As luck would have it, for once, I didn’t have to enter the police station to see what I could do for Cousin Rhonda. Pulling my van up to the curb outside the Ruby Lake Police Department on Barwick Street, I found her sitting on a bench outside the drugstore up the block.
I crossed over. “Rhonda? Are you okay?”
“Oh, hi, Amy.” Rhonda sat slumped on the bus stop bench, clutching her large black purse in her lap. Her eyes were red and her mascara blotchy. Seeing my cousin in such disarray was a rare sight. I’d sooner expect to find a bald eagle roosting in my fireplace than discover my cousin with her makeup smeared.
“Riley said Jerry had you over at the police station.” I looked up the street. Jerry Kennedy’s vehicle sat right outside the station.
“Yes,” Rhonda sniffed. I dug around in my purse and came out with a travel pack of tissues and handed it to her. She slowly pulled one out and blew. “He-he considers me a person of interest.” Her voice shook.
I squeezed in beside her. “Your brother mentioned that you and Patsy had had some . . .” I paused. “Conflicts, shall we say?”
Rhonda’s face hardened. “I hated that woman.” She squeezed the tissue in her hand into a tiny ball.
“Sure,” I said, forcing a laugh, “but not enough to kill her.”
Rhonda looked at me funny.
“Right?”
Rhonda blew her nose again. “Right.”
“From what I hear”—I watched a group of sparrows dancing in and out of the branches of a pear tree not ten feet away—“she could be difficult to work with.” The truth was, I hadn’t heard much. But it was beginning to look that way.
“She tried to tell me my job.” Rhonda scooched my way and our knees banged. “I know my job, Amy.”
I nodded. “Of course, you do.” I cleared my throat. “I did hear the two of you got into a bit of a shoving match?”
Rhonda frowned. “Wherever did you hear that?”
“Riley.”
Rhonda bit her lip. “You know, Amy”—she rested her fingers on my sleeve—“as much as you like Riley, I have to tell you, my brother can be quite the pain in the patooty sometimes, too.”
It was hard, really hard, but I resisted the urge to burst out laughing.
Rhonda talked. “We did have a few physical altercations. But nothing that ever escalated to—” Rhonda stopped herself.
“Stabbing her?”
Rhonda shivered. “It’s simply too awful to think of it, isn’t it?”
I agreed. “Have they found the murder weapon?”
“No,” said Rhonda. “At least that’s the impression I get. I did hear the chief and a couple of his officers talking about how the gun really was one of our, I mean, the theater’s prop guns.”
I stiffened. “The gun on the floor beside Patsy? It wasn’t a real gun?” Though we’d definitely heard a shot, so the weapon was at least capable of firing blanks.
“No, I don’t believe it was.” Rhonda pulled out a pack of gum and offered me a stick, which I declined. She popped a piece of spearmint in her mouth and chewed. She looked at me through red-tinted, makeup-smeared eyes. “I may not have liked the woman, but I certainly didn’t kill her.”
I patted my cousin’s knee. “Of course not.”
“Not to speak ill of the dead, but I do think she was the one who was stealing things around the theater though.”
“Really?” My brow shot up.
Rhonda nodded and wiped her red nose. If she kept rubbing, she’d be ready to play the part of Rudolph in the annual TOTS Christmas production.
“I can’t prove it though.”
“Do you suppose someone she was stealing from might have killed her because of it?”
My cousin seemed to give my suggestion some serious thought before she spoke. “I can’t see why. It was mostly small stuff. Nothing very valuable or irreplaceable. A person would have to be crazy to kill over a missing mug or a jacket.”
“So who do you suppose might have wanted her dead?”
Rhonda thought some more. “I have no idea.”
“What about someone who might want to see the show canceled?”
“Gosh, Amy, why on earth would anybody want to do a mean thing like that?”
I told her I didn’t know.
The bus pulled up, coughing out a cloud of diesel fumes in our faces. Rhonda stood and clutched her purse.
“Are you sure I can’t give you a lift?”
The bus door opened with a soft whoosh. Rhonda placed her foot on the first step. “No, thank you. The bus goes right to my place.” The driver waved to us both.
“Don’t worry,” I called, coming to a stand. “I’m sure everything will work out.” I watched as Rhonda trudged down the aisle and took an empty seat.
She waved me over to her window and slid it down. “There was one person she really made see red.”
“There was?”
Rhonda nodded. “Patsy did make quite the fool out of Nathan Longfellow.”
“But he’s the one who said he saw the two of you fighting.”
“He did?” Rhonda’s face screwed up. “Well, I don’t care what that jerk said.” She sniffed. “He’s got some nerve. Serves him right what she did to him.”
I stood on my tiptoes and leaned my hands against the side of the bus for support. “What did she do?”
Rhonda managed a smile. My cousin explained how Patsy and Nathan had been close from the beginning. “Like a couple, you know? Then, one day, Patsy came stomping backstage with Nathan at her heels. She was mad and he was madder.”
“What were they arguing about?”
Rhonda shrugged. “I never did figure it out. Only Patsy told him she wanted nothing more to do with him.”
I scrunched up my face as the bus’s engine revved. A cloud of diesel fumes belched out the muffler. “And you think he might have murdered her simply because she rejected him?”
Rhonda shrugged. “Patsy poked fun of him in front of everybody every chance she got after that. Nathan was furious. Patsy told everybody how he was chasing after her and that she’d sooner date a sow.”
The bus shuddered and lunged forward. I was forced to step back from the curb. Patsy Klein had told everybody she’d rather go out with a female pig than Nathan Longfellow?
Maybe Chief Sitting Bull had decided to exact his revenge.
11
I popped two aspirin and swallowed a cupful of lukewarm tap water. The noise from the construction next door was nearly unbearable. Whatever my new neighbor, Paul Anderson, was up to, he seemed to have ratcheted it up a notch. Or twenty.
I eyed the aspirin bottle, wishing I hadn’t opted for the time-release formula. I was also keeping an eye out fo
r my ex, Craig Bigelow. From what Anderson said, it was only a matter of time until the louse showed up.
I was alone in Birds & Bees except for a couple of children wandering loose. Mom was out somewhere, and Kim was off with Randy. Apparently, they planned to do some demolition over at Mr. Withers’s old house this afternoon. Kim had also mentioned something about a tile delivery. I’d helped Kim retile her guest bath once. The tile guy we both paid to redo our redo got quite a kick out of that.
The floor started shaking and the hanging bird feeders commenced swinging as whatever instrument of destruction was being employed at the beer garden kicked into high gear.
The racket was probably scaring away my customers as much as it was spooking the birds that normally hung around the feeders out front. There’s a song in the musical Hairspray called “You Can’t Stop the Beat.”
Sadly, that was true, but not in the way the tune’s writers had meant it.
I looked forward to the remodel of Brewer’s Biergarten being completed so my life could get back to semi-normal. It had been a couple of days since Patsy Klein’s murder, and the town was still buzzing with the story.
“Please stay out of the storeroom, kids!” I called in my friendliest tone to the boy and girl. “Can I help you find something?”
The boy met the girl’s eyes, then spoke for them both. “We’re just sort of looking,” he muttered. The girl reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who.
“That’s fine,” I replied, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I yawned and stared at the front door, willing a customer to walk in. None obliged. I had managed to sell one of my Aaron Maddley bluebird houses earlier to a tourist couple. Glancing at the shelf, I saw that I was getting low on inventory. I’d have to give Aaron a call and let him know how well his houses had been selling and that I’d be needing more. I only hoped he’d agree to provide me with some. He seemed to be holding a grudge.
Figuring there was no time like the present, I picked up the store phone, then set it down again when I noticed the police cruiser pulling up outside the store.
Officer Dan Sutton stepped out and adjusted his cap on his head, pulling the visor down low over his eyebrows, then walked over to my new neighbor’s camper.
Call me nosy. I crossed from the sales counter to the front window for a better look. Officer Sutton walked once around the battered vehicle. He then came around again, stopping beside the door of the camper shell. He knocked several times.
There was no answer, and Officer Sutton looked up and down the street. I could have told him that Paul Anderson was probably inside Brewer’s, but whatever was going on was none of my business.
Sutton sucked on his toothpick. A minute later, he reached into the passenger side of his squad car and pulled out what looked like a ticket book. I should know. I’d been on the receiving end of it myself. I blamed that on a squirrel that failed to signal before crossing the street. Sutton popped the top of his pen off with his teeth and began writing.
I watched in fascination as he tore the sheet from the pad, walked to the front of Paul’s monstrosity, and slipped the ticket under a windshield wiper blade. Yep, that had definitely been a ticket book.
“That’s them!”
“Oh!” I spun around. “Esther!” I clutched my heart. “What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?” I gasped for breath.
Esther the Pester rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to tell you, Simms. That’s them.” She nodded her head toward the back of the store.
I followed her gaze and squinted. “Them who? All I see are two kids.” The boy and girl marched around the main staircase that led up to the second floor. I’d attached a sign to a chain asking customers not to go the steps. Those were private quarters. Esther’s apartment was up there.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Probably come for the food and drink. She certainly never bought anything. I turned back to the street. Officer Sutton was gone. I frowned at Esther.
“Those are the youngsters who brought the toe heel.”
I gaped at the old woman. The toe heel? Was Esther finally losing her mind? “What toe heel?” Had she lost a shoe?
“Sammy,” Esther whispered loudly. “The bird in the box. Your mother’s pet.”
“Oh.” I studied the boy and girl. “The towhee.”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Esther crossed her arms over her chest. I suddenly realized she was standing in the middle of my place of business in a tatty pink bathrobe and threadbare slippers, with her hair up in curlers.
“I’ll handle this,” I said. I grabbed Esther gently and walked her to the stairs. “You go get dressed.”
“I ain’t had my coffee yet.”
I looked down my nose at her. So, she had come down for the coffee. “I’m not running a restaurant here, Esther. The coffee is for customers and employees only.”
“Are you offering me a job?” Esther asked enthusiastically.
“Heavens no! Look, there’s a perfectly good café right across the street.” I pointed at Ruby’s Diner.
Esther paused on the second tread. “I don’t feel up to going out.”
“Fine,” I acquiesced. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll bring you a fresh cup.” I waited for Esther to work her way up to her apartment, then searched out the children.
They were in the storeroom once more, despite my instructions, tiptoeing around behind the boxes of merchandise warehoused there.
I planted my hands on my hips and smiled. “If you’re looking for the bird, he isn’t here.”
The two kids looked at me, guilt and apprehension written on their tiny faces.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “The towhee is fine. I took him to a wildlife rehabilitator.”
“The what?” This from the girl.
“Towhee.” I gave the two the short version of the identity of the bird they’d left on my porch. “How about if I get you some cookies and juice?”
They agreed and we retreated to the kitchenette. “I’m Amy,” I said, offering the cookie jar.
“I’m Will,” said the boy. “This is Maeve.” He waved toward his friend. “She found that bird on the side of her house.”
Maeve nodded.
“Pleased to meet you both.” I poured a round of apple juice. I explained how the bird’s wing had been injured. “I’m grateful that you brought him to me. The vet told me he’ll be fine. All he needs is a bit of nursing.”
“At the wildlife rehabilitator’s?” Maeve asked.
I nodded. “That’s right.” I thought for a moment. “You know, I could take you to see Sammy,” I suggested.
“Sammy?” Will said.
I smiled. “That’s the name my mother gave him.”
“I like it,” said Maeve. Will nodded his agreement.
“Anyway”—I extended the jar of cookies for a second round, but both declined—“like I was saying, we could go visit Sammy. If you get your parents’ permission.”
“I can get mine,” Will said quickly. “After all, Mom’s the one who said we should bring the bird here.”
“Me, too!” Maeve said with delight.
“You aren’t brother and sister?”
“Nah.” Will made a face. “We’re friends.”
“We’d best be going.” Maeve tugged Will’s arm. The boy concurred.
I held open the front door and watched them bounce down the steps. “Wait,” I said. “Who are your mothers? Maybe I know them.”
“My mom’s Sofia Quiroz,” shouted the boy. The name was unfamiliar to me.
“And my mother is Amy,” said the girl, a bright smile on her face. “Like you! Wait till I tell her you both have the same name.”
“Amy?” I said with a cock of my head. My grip tightened on the door handle
The girl nodded briskly. “Amy Harlan.”
Amy Harlan, I thought, resting my back against the closed door and shutting my eyes. Derek Harlan�
�s ex. The woman who had threatened to kill me if I had anything to do with him.
How would she take it once she found out I’d also befriended her daughter?
12
I gunned the van as hard as I dared. I was late, but I was also less than two hundred yards from Ruby Lake Town Hall. No point tempting fate or traffic patrol officers. Besides, I could see two empty spaces at the very back of the parking lot that extends from the road to the south side of the building. Plenty of room.
I drummed my fingers across the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic in the opposite lane to clear, then gunned the motor again. “Hey!”
Paul Anderson’s mammoth old camper hit the curb with a thump and a scrape, then bounced into the lot. The heap filled about a space and a half.
I slammed on the brakes behind him and tooted my horn.
“What’s the trouble?” Then he stuck his head out the window. “Oh, it’s you. Hiya, neighbor!”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I glared at his vehicle. “I was about to pull in.”
“Sorry.” He smiled and batted his eyes at me. “Guess I beat you to it.”
I leaned out. “Can’t you move over a bit?” I gestured with my open hand.
He looked barely contrite as he said, “Sorry, this baby takes up a lot of space.” With those words, he climbed out of his cab and rapped the hood of my van. “Besides”—now he tapped his watch—“running late. See ya!” The brewer tossed his hand in the air and turned his back to me on his trot to town hall.
“Great,” I muttered, along with a hundred cuss words of many colors and syllables. “Now I’ve got to find another parking space, probably the next block over.” That was where the first off-street free parking lot was located. I threw the van into reverse and backed into the street, much to the consternation of the cars heading toward me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, yanking the wheel hard to my right. “Give me a minute, please.” It figured that Les Misérables would be spinning in the CD player, because trés misérable was what I was feeling.
