by Gail Oust
“Thanks.” Bunny accepted hers with a grateful smile. “I planned to phone, but Dennis invited business associates over for drinks and, well, you remember how that can go from your years with CJ. Drinks turned into dinner at Antonio’s, then more drinks after dinner. I was dead on my feet by the time the evening ended.”
“Yes, I remember those days,” I said, taking a cautious sip of the hot coffee. I recalled them but didn’t miss them. During such evenings, I had limited myself to a single glass of wine, nursing it to make it last. Not everyone, I’d observed, had developed the same skill set.
“Dead or alive, Sandy manages to find ways to make my life miserable. Dennis was on the phone with the airlines for hours yesterday. Practically everyone in town knows he bought tickets for my sister and her family to attend my stage debut. When the ticket agent told him the tickets were nonrefundable, he asked to speak to a supervisor. The supervisor finally agreed to send him a voucher, but we’ll have to redeem it within a year.”
“Mmm,” I murmured as I headed for the front of the shop. “How do you plan to use your voucher?”
Bunny, holding her cup with both hands so as not to spill, trailed after me. “After a lengthy discussion, Dennis and I decided we’d use it to travel to Punta Cana for CJ and Amber’s wedding. We’ve never been to the Dominican Republic, but we’ve heard the beaches are simply fabulous.”
“I thought you’d stopped by to ask what McBride had to say about our idea.” Talking about McBride’s refusal to hold a self-defense class was preferable to discussing CJ’s impending nuptials.
“What other reason would bring me here? You know I seldom cook,” she said. “Now, what about Chief McBride? Is he willing to hold a self-defense class or not?”
Setting my coffee aside, I arranged copies of the gingerbread recipe on the counter next to the clipboard holding the petition. I hoped customers would find the samples so tasty they’d want to make it themselves and purchase a spice or two along the way. “McBride said he’d put it on his agenda—his words, not mine—after he finds Sandy’s killer.”
“Hmph!” Bunny snorted. “No telling how long that might take when we have a clear and present danger in our midst.”
“A clear and present danger?” I mused. “Wasn’t that the name of a book, or was it a movie? Both maybe?”
“No need for flippancy, Piper. This is a serious matter that needs to be addressed.” Bunny placed her cup next to mine and removed her sunglasses.
I was shocked at the woman’s appearance. Last night’s wining and dining and her subsequent migraine had taken their toll. No amount of concealer could successfully disguise the dark circles under her eyes. “McBride,” I said, “insisted that now is bad timing, especially since he has reward money and a hotline with which to contend.”
“I’m not buying the I’m-too-busy excuse. Unless Chief McBride comes around—and quickly—I’m going to file a complaint before the mayor and town council.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve come up with a plan. Ta-da!” I smiled slyly as I pushed the petition toward her and handed her a pen. “Put your signature right below mine.”
“A petition!” she exclaimed. “Piper, you’re a genius.” After reading it through, she scrawled her signature. “Be sure to keep me in the loop of how this is progressing.”
“One more thing, Bunny,” I said as she started to leave. “Do you remember what time rehearsal ended the night Sandy died?”
“Why, of course I remember. I was M’Lynn. It ended about nine thirty or quarter to ten.”
That’s odd. Only last night, Madison told me rehearsal had ended closer to midnight. “Did you go straight home?”
“Straight home and into a bubble bath.” With this, Bunny shoved her sunglasses back in place and waved good-bye. “Now I’m off to Augusta to empty the shelves of pepper spray.”
I stared after her, my coffee forgotten. Why the discrepancy between Madison and Bunny on the rehearsal time? One of them was obviously lying, but for what reason?
* * *
Dottie sniffed the air as she came into the shop. “Mmm, something smells yummy. I just had to come inside and see what you had cooked up.”
“Gingerbread,” I answered with a stiff smile. If the woman’s conscience was troubling her for dropping a dime on Reba Mae, her cheerful demeanor didn’t show it. She seemed oblivious of the pain and suffering she had caused my BFF. “Care for a slice?”
Dottie giggled. “Thought you’d never ask. And I’ll take an extra piece, if you don’t mind, for my husband the mayor.”
Dottie and Harvey Hemmings were notorious moochers. Ladies from the Methodist church, I’d heard, hid their choice baked goods after funerals to prevent the pair from loading up goody bags. Since he was the mayor, people tended to look the other way while they filled Ziploc bags or Styrofoam containers. I don’t know this for fact, but I’d be willing to wager Dottie and Harvey were the original Meals on Wheels.
“What’s the occasion?” Dottie asked, accepting the gingerbread.
I eased the petition closer, laid a pen alongside. “Signature, please.”
Her penciled brows puckered in a frown. “What’s this?”
“I’ve started a petition for a self-defense class. If enough women—”
“Say no more,” Dottie interrupted. “I’ll spread the word.” Pen in one hand, gingerbread in the other, she scribbled her name beneath Bunny’s.
With Dottie spreading the word, I didn’t have to resort to Facebook or Twitter or take out an ad in The Statesman in order to advance my cause. “Another slice?” I offered, feeling magnanimous.
Dottie opened her mouth, but before she could reply Reba Mae stepped in. “I had a no-show so followed my nose.…” Seeing Dottie, she trailed off.
“Reba Mae?” I gasped. My BFF was a chameleon. For weeks she’d worn her hair teased and dyed Dolly Parton yellow to “immerse” herself in the role of Truvy Jones in Steel Magnolias. With stardom no longer on the horizon, she’d changed hair color again, this time to a flattering honey blond that complemented her pretty brown eyes. The style was different, too, no longer teased but softer and with bangs. “Practice makes perfect,” I said with a grin. “I love your new look.”
She smoothed her new do self-consciously. “Best I can recall, this is the closest to my natural color. Truth is, it’s been so long I’m not sure I remember my God-given color.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dottie swipe another piece of gingerbread, wrap it in a napkin, and tuck it into her shoulder bag. “It looks real nice, Reba Mae,” Dottie said, brushing crumbs from her fingers. “You ought to consider keeping it that way for more than a month or two.”
Hands on her hips, Reba Mae advanced slowly, but the older woman held her ground. “Shame on you, Dottie Hemmings! Quit actin’ all friendly-like. You couldn’t run to the police fast enough and tell ’em I threatened to strangle Sandy.”
“You can’t fault a body for doing her civic duty.” Dottie stuck her pug nose in the air, the portrait of righteous indignation. “Now, if you’ll kindly excuse me, I need to see a butcher about a pot roast.”
Together, Reba Mae and I watched her scurry across the square toward Meat on Main. “I didn’t know the old biddy could move so fast,” she said.
“I didn’t know she could cook.”
“I stopped by for some turmeric. I used the last makin’ curry. Tonight I’m tryin’ a new recipe for chicken cacciatore.” Helping herself to a slice of gingerbread, Reba Mae perched on the edge of the counter and crossed her legs. “At least Dottie had the decency to cancel her standin’ appointment at the Klassy Kut. Must be worried I’ll use the wrong formula for hair dye and she’d end up bald as a billiard.”
“When you’ve finished eating, put your John Henry on the dotted line. Figure if I get enough signatures, McBride will have to show us weaker sex how to defend ourselves.” After getting her a small jar of the peppery spice and since there weren’t any customers at
the moment, I cut myself a small wedge of the gingerbread I’d yet to sample. Between forkfuls, I explained about visiting Doug and the explanation Madison had given for coming in late the night of the murder. “Either Bunny or Madison is lying about the time rehearsal ended, but I’m not sure which one.”
“You’ve come to the right person for your answer.” Reba Mae licked her fork clean. “I recently found out that Madison and Caleb have started seein’ each other. My boy picked her up after rehearsal, and they drove to one of those chain restaurants down by the interstate for a late bite.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, why didn’t she say so? Why the secrecy?”
Reba Mae shrugged. “Who knows what goes on in that girl’s head? Caleb got the impression she doesn’t want her daddy knowin’ about ’em just yet, my boy bein’ a mechanic and not a brain surgeon.”
“Doug’s not like that,” I protested.
“Some daddies are real peculiar when it comes to guys datin’ their baby girls.”
“Still…” I stacked the dirty plates and cutlery in a pile to be washed.
Reba Mae wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, then wadded the napkin and lobbed it into a nearby trash basket. “Seein’ how Madison has a solid alibi, guess we can cross her name off our list.”
“Speaking of alibis,” I said, “I talked to both Wanda and Dorinda yesterday. Wanda refused to tell me where she was between ten and midnight. Between the phones ringing nonstop and workmen parading in and out, I never did get a chance to ask Dorinda.”
The regulator clock on the wall bonged the hour. At the sound, Reba Mae sprang off the counter. “Better run. Dorinda’s my last appointment of the day. I’ll worm an alibi out of her if I have to resort to my special brand of waterboarding. That’s when I duck her head in the shampoo bowl until she’s ready to holler uncle.”
For a long while, I sat quietly, thinking of the mystery that surrounded Sandy’s death. Although Craig Granger and Madison Winters had solid alibis, it didn’t mean there was a shortage of suspects. Wanda Needmore hadn’t been forthcoming, so she merited a more thorough investigation. Then there was Bunny Bowtin. Her earlier comment told me resentment still simmered below her well-groomed surface over mistreatment at the hands of a former friend. What other suspects would I find when I dug deeper?
All day long I’d listened to women express a variety of opinions and theories about what had happened. I’d even heard some hair-raising tales of the resident ghost. But Sandy hadn’t been killed by a ghost. There was a living, breathing, flesh and blood monster in our midst.
And I intended to find him—or her.
CHAPTER 14
IT WAS LATE in the day. I’d just finished washing the dishes that customers had used when Mayor Harvey Hemmings strolled into Spice It Up! He stood in the center of the shop, hands stuffed into his pockets, and rocked back on his heels. “Nice little place you have here,” he said. “Nothin’ fancy, but nice.”
“Mayor, this is quite a surprise. What can I do for you?” I dried my hands on a dish towel, set it aside, and stepped forward to greet him.
“Heard good things from Dottie. Been meanin’ to stop by and check it out for myself.”
Spice It Up! had been open since spring, but Hizzoner hadn’t seen fit to grace it with his presence until now. What’s the occasion? I wanted to ask but didn’t. “I’d offer you a slice of gingerbread, but all I have left are crumbs.”
“Hee-hee,” he chuckled, patting his tummy. “My wife keeps me well supplied with sweets.”
“Is there anything in particular I can help you with?”
“You’re a clever one, Piper.” He smiled, showing a mouthful of small, yellowed teeth. “Your idea of starting a petition was pure inspiration. Wish I would’ve thought of it myself, but it will be more effective coming from a woman.”
“Thank you,” I said warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m afraid our chief of police can be hardheaded. McBride tends to be out of touch with what the public wants—or expects. He forgets who’s paying his salary.”
“I’m sure Chief McBride is doing the best he can under the circumstances.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He nodded agreeably, his head bobbing up and down like a woodpecker on steroids. “It’s those very circumstances that brought me here today. I wanted to talk to you about the latest … tragedy … that hit our fair city.”
“All right,” I said slowly, “but I don’t know how I can be any help.”
“Don’t be so modest, my dear. You’ve been instrumental in the past when it came to ferreting out culprits who have committed unspeakable acts here in Brandywine Creek.”
“I own a spice shop,” I reminded him. “I’m not a licensed private investigator.”
Hemmings glanced around furtively to make sure we were alone, then lowered his voice. “I’m here to make you a business proposition.”
I tipped my head to one side and studied him. His pink, cherubic face didn’t reveal the thoughts going on behind it. “What sort of proposition?”
“I’d like to offer you an incentive in exchange for you doing a little snooping.”
“Snooping!” I said louder than intended. “I’m not a snoop.”
”Shh.” He held a finger to his lips. “Perhaps ‘snooping’ wasn’t the best word choice. Forgive me, dear, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s only that you’re more open-minded, more creative, than Chief McBride. I’m merely asking that you keep your eyes and ears open. Should you hear anything or see anything that might bring this case to a close sooner rather than later, the city would be happy to reward you.”
“Naturally, I’d go to Chief McBride if I find anything that needs further consideration.” Judging from the look on the mayor’s face, I didn’t think this was the response he wanted to hear.
“Naturally,” he repeated. “Don’t forget there’s a hefty reward for information leading to an arrest.” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Ten thousand dollars would go a long way in fixing this place up real nice. Make it more … modern.”
I bit my tongue—I literally bit my tongue—to keep from saying something I’d later regret. He sounded so much like my ex-husband I wanted to scream. I loved my brick walls, exposed ductwork, handcrafted freestanding shelves, and heart pine floor. My shop looked exactly the way I wanted it to look.
“I can even recommend a good contractor. He’d be happy to put up some Sheetrock, cover the bare brick, box in that ductwork. I’d put in a good word”—he winked—“maybe have him give you a nice discount.”
I counted to ten, then counted to twenty. “Mayor Hemmings,” I said, keeping my temper on a tight leash, “I like Spice It Up! the way it is.”
“Well then, little lady, you could use the extra cash for a nice vacation. I’m always hearing folks brag about going on one of those fancy cruise ships that boasts populations bigger than Brandywine Creek.”
“I get seasick.” I went behind the counter and started sorting credit card receipts in the hope he’d take the hint and leave, but no such luck.
“In that case, honey, I’m in a position to grant certain additional incentives.”
I stopped sorting and stared at him aghast. “Are you offering me a bribe, Mayor?”
He did his best to appear affronted, but his acting ability wouldn’t win him the role of an extra in a cast of thousands. “My dear young lady, the word ‘bribe’ isn’t part of my vocabulary. I simply wanted to offer a token reward as a show of the town’s appreciation.”
“Sorry if I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” I tried to sound sincere as I placed Visa receipts in one pile and MasterCard and Discover in another.
Hemmings sauntered over to watch. “Hmm … there are different incentives I could offer. I was thinking along the lines of, say … removing the no-parking ban on Main Street after six P.M. You’ll no longer have to go through a vacant lot to get to your car. That should make your life easier. Also, the chamber of commerc
e is commissioning a marketing firm to design a new brochure. Your quaint little shop would look mighty fine on the cover. Probably draw loads of tourists. We need to band together,” he went on, oblivious of my simmering temper, “and put an end to all the negative publicity these killings have rained down on us.”
Before I could frame a suitable response Madison Winters entered. She hesitated when she recognized the mayor whose life-size photo adorned a window at the chamber of commerce, as well as the public library and city hall. “I … uh … can come back another time.”
“No, don’t leave,” I implored, perhaps a shade too hastily. “You’re not interrupting. Mayor Hemmings and I just concluded our business. I don’t believe the two of you have been introduced.”
“My, my,” the mayor said when introductions were over, “all the way from the Windy City. I hope you’re finding Brandywine Creek to your liking and plan to make it your permanent home.”
Madison shoved aside a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What’s not to like?” Harvey beamed his best vote-for-me smile. “Can’t compare with a city the size of Chicago, but you gotta admit we don’t have traffic problems.”
Chuckling at his own wit, he wandered out.
“What brings you into town, Madison?” I asked when the door closed behind Hizzoner.
She withdrew a slip of paper from the pocket of her jeans. “My father wanted to know if you received fenugreek in your last shipment.”
“Ah, yes,” I said, coming out from behind the counter and taking it off a shelf. “Not a lot of call for this particular spice, but your father likes to experiment. Don’t tell me; let me guess. He’s making yellow curry?”
“Dad said fenugreek would be an excellent addition to a recipe he has for chicken. I’d never heard of it before,” Madison admitted, digging her wallet out of her purse.
“Fenugreek is used in dishes of southern India,” I explained as I rang up the sale and bagged it. “It’s actually a member of the bean family. The seeds are hard enough to break a tooth. Once ground, however, the seeds release a flavor similar to nuts and butterscotch, but it’s more bitter than the aroma leaves one to believe.”
