“Come on in where it’s warm. What can I do for you?”
“I only have a minute. I’m very busy you know. You see, your nose is broken.”
“Pardon me?” Deena instinctively reached for her face.
“Your nose is broken. On the Rudolph display in your yard. The red light is broken.”
“Oh.” Deena laughed. “Thanks for telling me. I noticed it yesterday. Gary said we have to buy a whole new light socket. We haven’t had time to fix it, but we’ll get to it this weekend.” She glanced back at Gary for confirmation.
“You know, the voting has already started for the Neighborhood Association holiday decorating contest. Cricket Lane came in second last year. Luckily, the Danforth’s moved, and I expect us to win this year. A Rudolph without a red nose does not speak well for any of us.”
“I know, Christy Ann. I said we’ll get to it this weekend—that’s tomorrow or Sunday. I’ve been really busy.”
Christy Ann tilted her head as if scolding a child. “Deena, you are retired. I, on the other hand, have three children to care for. When I came home on Monday from Tiaras and Tutus, I discovered a string of our icicle lights burned out. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Sherry Randall on June Bug Drive didn’t come over and sabotage them. Anyway, I drove to the store, bought new ones, and replaced the old ones myself within an hour.”
Deena felt her face redden but tried to keep her voice even. “Yes, I am retired from teaching, but I have a new job at the Tribune. You do read the newspaper, don’t you? Or are you too busy?”
Christy Ann put a hand on her hip and wagged her head. “I take my three children to dance, soccer, karate, piano, and Mommy and Me Yoga. I know busy.”
“Well, I also run a small business at the antique mall that keeps me very, very busy. And, if you must know, a close friend of mine just passed away on Tuesday. Carolyn Fitzhugh…maybe you’ve heard of her? I have been extremely busy helping her family with personal matters.” Deena flipped her hair, the international sign for ‘back off, man.’
“Tuesday? On Tuesday, I was at the community center with my three children. We were making care packages to send to orphans in Third World.”
Deanna frowned. “You do know that there’s not actually a country named ‘Third World,’ right?”
“Ladies, ladies. You made your point,” Gary said as he walked up behind them. “We’re all busy. I will personally take care of that task tomorrow, Christy Ann, so Rudolph can once again shine his light on this cozy little neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” she said curtly and turned to leave.
“Good,” Deena called after her. “I’ve got a ton of Christmas cards to finish addressing tonight.” She shut the door and turned around to see Gary standing right in front of her.
“Is there something bothering you, dear? You’re not going through the change again, are you?”
“Of course not,” she said, pushing him aside as she headed to the bedroom. “That happened twenty years ago when I had my hysterectomy.”
“Just making sure.”
Deena sat down on the corner of the bed and picked up Hurley. “I know I sound like a crazy person, but I just don’t know what to do.” She told Gary about the thrift store and the knife.
“What did Trey say about it?”
“He was skeptical that it was connected to Carolyn’s death. He told me just to keep stalling Estelle until the autopsy is released.”
“Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Gary! What are you saying?” Deena put Hurley back down on the floor and stared at him.
“I’m just saying that you all have made up a list of suspects for a crime that may or may not have happened, and several of those suspects are people in Carolyn’s will. Why didn’t you include Trey and that housekeeper—”
“Irene.”
“—Irene on the list? Wouldn’t they have a motive, too?”
“Are you just making fun of me now?” Deena felt hurt that Gary wasn’t being supportive.
“Not at all. But remember, Trey wasn’t totally honest with you last summer about your uncle’s murder. And he was at Carolyn’s house the night of the party. Not only that, but $100,000 is a fortune to a public servant.”
“You’re right, but I just don’t think he would kill his great-aunt for money.”
Gary sat next to Deena and put his arm around her. “Look, I’m just trying to show you how crazy things can get when you go looking for trouble. My main concern in all this is you. I don’t want you getting so frustrated and upset—especially if it turns out that this was just an unfortunate accident—which it probably was. Let Estelle go to the police if she wants. She’s not your responsibility.”
“I know, but Russell is. You know I’ve always watched out for him.”
“He’s a grown man. He will tell you if he wants your help. Besides, maybe someone working in the kitchen really did try to steal the knife. He—or she—could have cut himself on it when he took it upstairs to stash it. The movers could have taken the boxes out of the house before he went back to get it.”
Deena considered this theory. “I hadn’t thought of that. You could be right.”
Gary turned her face to his and kissed her. Deena knew this was his way of putting a period at the end of the conversation.
He was right. She would continue to keep her eyes and ears open, but not let it upset her. “I’m sorry about Mr. Gilbert.”
“Don’t worry. He’s not actually my client. I was helping out Lee Miller who’s on vacation. I calmed him down.”
Deena stood up and headed toward the bathroom. “Let me take a quick shower so we can get some dinner.”
“Sounds good. Are you and Sandra still going to Canton tomorrow?”
“Yes. We want to get some new holiday decorations and look for bargains to re-sell.”
“It will do you good to get your mind on something else. Now hurry up. There’s a frozen margarita down the road with your name on it.”
As the warm water washed over her, Deena couldn’t quite suppress the anxiety she felt. What if Trey did have something to do with Carolyn’s death and was trying to cover it up? As one of Carolyn’s only living relatives, he might have known she’d leave him something in her will. Why did he work last night instead of coming to Estelle’s for the reading? Maybe he felt guilty or was afraid of what his reaction might be.
She snapped the faucet off and grabbed a towel. These were just the kind of thoughts Gary had warned her about. Like Trey said, she was chasing rabbits. The same curiosity that made her a good journalist often got her into trouble. And unlike the curious cat with nine lives, she just had one.
Chapter Ten
Hunting was a mixed bag for Russell. Like many sportsmen, he loved the outdoors and the chance to commune with nature. Drinking beer, peeing in the woods, and hanging out with friends were as much a part of the experience as the actual sport.
Marshall Sinclair had taken his son out at an early age to practice shooting. Russell remembered the first time he shot at birds instead of just a target. Amazingly, he got one and ran out to retrieve his prey. When he saw the mangled bird lying dead on the ground, he threw up. Thus began his love-hate relationship with hunting. Things got worse after he left the military.
Despite his ambivalence, Russell was fascinated with firearms and had amassed an impressive collection. Because he suffered from PTSD and took medication for his migraines that often left him disoriented, he didn’t feel comfortable around loaded weapons. He liked to say that “Guns don’t kill people, ammunition does,” and he had a strict rule of never keeping any ammo in the house.
“This is the life,” he said to Cliff as they drove out to the lake early Saturday morning. “I don’t need a girlfriend. I’ve got you and Maggie and my family. That’s all I need.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Cliff said as he steered his truck around a dead possum. “We ain’t getting any younger, and it’s nice to have someone to cuddle up wi
th, if you know what I mean.”
Russell leaned his head back and stared out the window. Instead of the beauty of the tall pines, all he could see was Blake Whitman wrapped around Estelle like a bear devouring a meal.
Estelle.
What was it about this woman that seemed different? Special? It certainly wasn’t the money, although he could see how an outsider might think it was. Unlike the girls he had dated in his youth or the older women who were just looking for a husband, Estelle was more complex. Every time they talked, he learned something new about her. She was like a book, and each page brought new insight to the subject. She could be fun and feisty, serious and somber. Sure, she might be a bit clingy, but that wasn’t so bad.
Still, he couldn’t shake the picture of her with Blake. “Did I tell you I caught Estelle kissing another guy?”
“What? Are you kidding?” Cliff eyed his friend.
“Nope. After we got back from the funeral home, there was this guy at her house. I came out and there they were. She wouldn’t tell me what was going on, so I left.”
Cliff shook his head. “Two-timing—”
“Nah, it’s not like that. She told me about it later. Turns out she had been engaged to this guy until a few months before we met.”
“Engaged? And never told you?” He shook his head in wonder.
“She said he dumped her without much reason and left town. That day he showed up was the first time she’d seen him since he’d left.”
“So, what was the deal? Why did he come back?”
“Apparently, according to the guy, Estelle’s mother had run him off. Said he wasn’t good enough for her and threatened him if he didn’t leave. The Fitzhughs have a lot of power, you know. He told Estelle that he didn’t want to come between her and her mother, so he took off.”
Cliff rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted his cap. “So why did he show up now? And what are you going to do about it?”
“When he found out Mrs. Fitzhugh died, he came to see if Estelle would take him back. She said she was caught off guard and that’s why she let him kiss her.”
“What a coward. Probably came back for the money.”
“Maybe. I really like Estelle.”
“Enough to fight for her?”
Russell looked out at the pine trees lining the road. He had been struggling with that same question for the past two days. He had finally resigned himself to let Estelle choose who she wanted to be with. Turning to Cliff, he said, “I’m not a fighter anymore. Guess that makes me a coward, too.”
Chapter Eleven
Ironically, First Monday Trade Days in Canton isn’t actually on a Monday. It occurs on the weekend before the first Monday of every month. People come from all over the South to shop at one of the country’s most popular flea markets.
Deena and Sandra were like soldiers going into battle when they got out of the car Saturday morning to hit the booths. Like all serious shoppers, they came armed with large totes, bottles of water, and plenty of cash. They had a plan and were ready to attack.
They hit the Pavilions first. These indoor buildings housed mostly new gift items and crafts. Deena couldn’t resist getting Hurley a set of personalized dog bowls and Gary a George Strait t-shirt. She took pictures of several cute wreaths she wanted to try to make. Before long, it was time to head outside for the “good junk.” This is where Deena often found items to sell in her booth. It takes a good eye and deep digging to find the real treasures, but that’s what made it fun.
Sandra started down an aisle of mostly rusty barbed wire and tin that had been fashioned into yard art. Deena held back, trying to remove a rock that had found its way into her shoe. She finally managed to shake it loose when she heard Sandra. “Deena, come see this stuff.”
Sandra ooh-ed and aah-ed over a long table covered in vintage collectibles. Everything from porcelain figurines to art pottery to vintage jewelry cast a pretty light among the rust and dust around them. Several other shoppers perused the same items. On the back side of the booth were clothes, linens, and household goods. It was the pottery that caught Deena’s eye. “Look at this piece of Roseville.” She salivated as she held it up for inspection. “This pine cone design is rare and collectible.” The price was more than she wanted to pay but not outrageous. She set it back down and leaned in to get a closer look at several bakelite bangles.
“I love this old hand-mirror,” Sandra said. “Do you think it’s Victorian?”
Deena examined the piece. “I’d say it’s more Art Deco because of the shape. It’s really pretty and the price is about right.” She continued to inch toward the center of the table as some of the other shoppers moved on.
“This looks familiar,” Sandra said as she picked up a colorful vase with a distinctive Southwestern design. “Isn’t this like the pair of vases you bought last summer in my shop?”
“Looks like it.” Deena took the small vase and turned it around in her hands. “In fact, I gave one of them to Carolyn Fitzhugh when I first met her. The other one is still in the guest room in a box of glassware. I need to clean it and put in my booth to sell. Look at the price they have on it.” She showed it to Sandra. “I think it would be good to sell them as a pair. I should see if they’d knock a little off the price.”
Deena motioned to the booth’s vendors.
One of the young women walked over.
“Is this your best price on this vase?”
She turned around and called to the other girl behind her. “Marie, she’s asking about your stuff. Come help her.”
As if in one of those slow-motion scenes from a movie, Marie and Deena made eye contact, each taking a second to recognize the other.
Then it hit her. “Marie! It’s you. You said you sell at the flea market, but I didn’t know you meant Canton.”
Marie smiled but looked a little dazed.
She probably wasn’t expecting to see someone she knew, Deena thought.
“Hello,” Marie said at last, noticing Sandra there as well. “What do you need?”
“I was just wondering about this vase. I had a pair just like this, but I gave one to Mrs. Fitzhugh. I thought maybe I could get a deal on this one.”
“Um, uh…just a minute.” She went back to talk to the other woman. They whispered back and forth. Deena assumed they were discussing prices.
The other girl came back to the table. “The one you need to talk to is me,” she said stiffly. “All of these things in the booth—I mean on the table—are mine. You can have that vase for half price.”
“Wow! That’s very generous of you.” Deena reached in her pocket to get the money.
“These are some really nice pieces,” Sandra said, holding up a Lladro figurine of a woman and child. “Where do you find most of your merchandise?”
“I go to thrift stores and garage sales.” She took the money from Deena and handed her a bag and piece of newspaper to wrap around the vase.
“Are you and Marie related?” Deena asked, noticing that Marie had disappeared.
“She’s my sister.”
“Well, thanks. Tell her we said bye.” As Deena began to roll the vase in the newspaper, something caught her eye. On the side of it, camouflaged by the colorful design, was a small price tag that Deena recognized from Sandra’s thrift shop. She peeled it off with her fingernail and held it up to show Sandra as they walked on to the next space. “Look at this. Do you remember if you had three of these vases in the shop?”
“No way. I remember those coming in. Helen Burlington donated them. She said they were a gift from her daughter-in-law in Arizona and didn’t match her décor.”
They both stared at the tag.
“I honestly can’t remember if I removed the tag from the vase I gave Carolyn.” Deena looked back at the booth and saw Marie’s sister talking on her cell phone. Marie was nowhere in sight. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Only if you’re thinking that Marie has sticky fingers.” Sandra sounded dow
nright angry. “She works for several well-to-do families in town. I wonder if they’ve noticed anything missing around the house.”
“What should we do?” Deena wrapped the vase.
“I think we should go confront the little thief and tell her we are on to her scheme.”
She considered the idea and put the package in her tote bag. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We talk to her, and tell her we will give her a chance to explain her side of the story to Estelle after Carolyn’s funeral. If we make a big deal about it now, it will be all over town and have the Bluebonnets in an uproar.”
“That’s true,” Sandra said. “We don’t want them all in a tizzy right before Carolyn’s funeral.”
Deena looked back at the booth. “She’s obviously hiding from us. Let’s walk down to the end of this aisle and then circle back. We can come up from behind her booth and do the ol’ surprise attack.” She put on her sunglasses, feeling like a private eye on her first stake-out.
Sandra led the way. They stopped occasionally to appear as though they were interested in the merchandise. Deena glanced over her shoulder to see if their target had reappeared.
“Watch it!” Sandra took a step back before Deena ran into her.
“Sorry. I was trying to see through the crowd. I can’t tell if she’s come back yet.”
“After we talk to Marie, I want to look at these barbed-wire Christmas trees again. Aren’t they adorable?”
Deena pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head so she could see. “I love these. Look, there are wreaths, too. I really like this Western decor. Right now, though, let’s just keep our eyes on the prize.”
They rounded the corner and walked slowly down the aisle, ducking behind other shoppers. As they came closer, they saw Marie slipped into the back of her booth through another vendor’s space.
“Look, there she is,” Deena said. “I love it when a plan comes together.” She clapped her hands in satisfaction.
They cut through the racks of clothes and swooped in right behind their prey. “Hello, Marie,” Sandra said.
The girl jumped, letting out a shrill cry. When she saw who it was, her face turned ashen and her eyes began to water.
Sharpe Edge (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series) Page 8
