by Gail Oust
“I think someone took out their aggression on a piece of rubber.” He clicked off a series of photos with his cell phone. “Don’t suppose you happen to know who this car belongs to?”
“Never underestimate the power of a woman, McBride,” I said rather smugly. “It belongs to Madison Winters.”
Just then Caleb Johnson braked to a stop and hopped out of his pickup. He shook his head in disbelief at seeing the damage. “What the…?”
“Seems someone has it in for foreign sports cars—or its owner.” McBride took out a notebook and began writing.
Its owner? Surely Madison didn’t have an enemy who’d perform such a vicious act on her car.
“This is my fault.” Caleb tunneled his fingers through his longish hair. “I wanted to keep the car locked inside the garage where it would be safe but let Madison talk me into keeping it outdoors instead. She wanted to stop for it on her way home from Atlanta today.”
“I assume the ‘she’ you’re referring to is Madison Winters?” McBride asked, pen poised.
“Doug took Madison away for the weekend,” I explained. “His daughter’s very upset about the murder. He hoped a change of scenery might help.”
Squatting down, Caleb stared dolefully at the ruined tires. “Madison insisted it would be easier this way. Save her a trip into town. She said her daddy had a full schedule at the animal clinic tomorrow and needed her help.”
“Judging from the look of her tires, Ms. Winters isn’t going to be driving anywhere right quick.” McBride walked to the rear of the vehicle and wrote down the number of the license plate. “Have you had trouble with vandals before this?”
“No, never.” Caleb ran his hand over the cuts in the rubber. “I’ll have to call around, find out who stocks these babies. It’ll take days if I have to special order.”
McBride nodded. “Do you know anyone who might do this to Ms. Winters’ vehicle?”
Caleb’s head jerked up. “You saying Madison’s car was targeted—not a random act by dumbass kids?”
“Covering all the bases.” McBride’s expression gave no clue what was going on behind that cop mask he wore. “I did a quick check before coming over. No recent reports of tires slashed.”
Casey, who had been sitting quietly at my feet, barked, tired of being ignored.
Bending down, I rubbed behind my little dog’s ears. “Casey deserves the credit for spotting the slashed tires. If not for him, the damage might not have been discovered until Madison came for her car.”
“I’ll note his contribution in my report,” McBride said, turning his attention to me. “You and your dog were first on the scene. Did you see anyone coming or going? Any cars?”
I racked my brain for answers, but Sundays in Brandywine Creek tended to be quiet. This morning had been no exception. “No, to both questions. I guess people are either at church or sleeping late.”
“Sergeant Tucker is playing Dr. Phil to a couple with an ongoing domestic dispute. When he checks in, I’ll have him dust for prints. Caleb,” he said, “since you worked on her car we’ll need yours, too, in order to exclude you.”
“Prints are already on file.” Caleb stood, hands jammed into the back pockets of his faded jeans, and rocked back on the heels of his worn work boots. “Day I turned twenty-one I applied for a firearms license, and fingerprinting, as you know, is one of the requirements. Momma insisted I get a carry permit. She worries about me running a business and working late.”
Typical Reba Mae, I thought, smiling. “Your momma’s always looking out for you and your brother.”
“She sure is, Miz Prescott,” Caleb agreed. “Momma’s a damn fine woman. I dare anyone to say different.”
I detected a hint of belligerence underlying Caleb’s words directed at McBride. Caleb was primed and ready to defend his mother’s honor should the need arise. Can’t fault a boy for believing in his momma.
McBride chose to overlook Caleb’s tone. “Ms. Winters needs to be informed of the vandalism. Do either of you have her number?”
“I do,” Caleb volunteered so readily McBride raised a brow.
“They’re friends,” I said, hoping to spare Caleb embarrassment.
“Have her drop by the department tomorrow in case I have questions for her.” McBride snapped his notebook shut and slipped it into his bomber jacket. “I didn’t notice any security cameras. They’d make a good investment.”
“It’s not my call. I don’t own the place.”
“Well, if the time comes, let me know. I can give you the name of a person who’s done work for the department.”
Caleb and I watched in silence as McBride returned to his squad car and pulled away from the curb. Caleb was the first to speak when the cruiser was no longer in sight. “I really liked Chief McBride when I first met him. Especially because he remembered my daddy from high school. Now that he’s treating Momma like a common criminal, it’s all I can do to be polite.”
I felt my heart twist in sympathy for the young man I’d known since he was a child. He was so angry, frustrated, and confused that I could feel tension humming through him like electricity about to spark. “The chief is only doing his job. I’m sure, deep down, he knows your mother wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
He thrust out his jaw. “McBride can’t be very bright if he thinks Momma killed Miz Granger. Sure will be a relief when this whole mess gets sorted out.”
“Amen,” I said as we parted ways.
* * *
Home again, I fed Casey, then showered. Lindsey was awake by the time I finished dressing, so I made an omelet for each of us.
“SATs are a week from Saturday,” she said, taking a bite of toast.
“Try not to stress over them,” I advised. “Do the best you can. No one is going to compare your score with Chad’s.”
“My GPA isn’t all that great, but I’m crossing my fingers I’ll be able to get into a good school. I still want to be a physical therapist—or a nurse.”
I refilled my coffee cup. Physical therapy or nursing was the longest Lindsey had ever stayed focused on a career. In the past year, her career goals had bounced between veterinarian, videographer, and journalist. “You can always attend junior college like Clay is doing while you bring up your grades.”
“I suppose.” Lindsey rose from the table, cleared the dishes, and put them in the dishwasher. “Is it okay if I hang out at Taylor’s? Her dad just bought this amazing TV—seventy-eight inches, LED curved screen. Taylor said the color is awesome. They’re video streaming on Netflix.”
“If that’s the case, be sure to bring popcorn.”
After Lindsey had deserted me in favor of larger-than-life characters on a bigger-than-ever TV screen, I made a pot of vegetarian chili that I could reheat on weeknights. It was simmering on the back burner when Reba Mae came for a visit.
“I brought you a jar of Aunt Ida’s renowned mincemeat,” she said. “It should be enough to make a nice pie.” She set the mincemeat in the refrigerator, took out two diet sodas, and made herself comfortable at the kitchen table.
I popped the tab on the can she handed me. “Thanks, I’ll keep it to use at Christmas. This year I’m spending Thanksgiving by my lonesome.”
“Oh no, hon, that’s not right,” Reba Mae protested. “Why not join the Johnson clan for dinner? You know most of us already. Aunt Ida and Uncle Joe would be happy to set another place at the table.”
I gave my chili a stir, then took the chair opposite her. “I appreciate the offer, Reba Mae, but I’m going to take Lindsey’s suggestion and spend the day gorging on parades, football games, and old black and white movies. Besides, it’ll be nice to spend the entire day in pajamas with my feet propped up.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Reba Mae took a swig of her soda. “Put that way, honeybun, you’re makin’ me jealous.”
“Did Caleb tell you someone slashed the tires on Madison’s car?”
She shook her head, sending the gold hoops in her ears dancing. “Who
would do such a crazy thing? Think it mighta been kids with too much time on their hands?”
“Wish I knew,” I said. “McBride said there haven’t been reports of similar incidents.”
“What’s this world comin’ to?”
“I hope that’s a rhetorical question and you don’t really expect an answer.” I ran an index finger down the frosty side of my diet soda. “You’ll never guess what I did last night.”
“Shoot me. Put me out of my misery.” Reba Mae leaned back, arms crossed. “Don’t tell me the man of your dreams flew you to Paris on his private jet for a night on the town. And you didn’t even think to send your BFF a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Shame, shame, shame.”
“Close but no cigar.” I smiled at the fantasy she’d created. “I paid Marcy Boyd a surprise visit and was … persuaded … to babysit while she and Danny went to a birthday party. Seems cloth diapers are back in vogue along with something called crunchy parenting.”
“I like my crunchy served with salsa and margaritas.”
“Me, too, girlfriend.” I raised my can in a toast. “I looked up crunchy parenting, sometimes called attachment parenting, when I came home last night.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Enlighten the ignorant.”
“Best I can tell it involves cloth diapers with cute little covers, breast milk, and carrying infants in slings or backpacks. Some parents advocate co-sleeping. It has to do with bonding and being emotionally available.”
“Did I ruin my boys ’cause I wasn’t crunchy enough?”
“They seem okay to me, but then I went and ‘ruined’ my kids, too.” I smiled slyly. “And that’s not all. You’ll never believe who showed up to help me watch the twins.”
“Prince William? I read in People magazine he changes nappies for the wee royals.”
“Not a prince…” I paused for maximum effect. “None other than Wyatt McBride.”
“No kiddin’.” Reba Mae looked appropriately impressed. “Seein’ that would have been worth the price of admission.”
“For my trouble, Marcy told me where she was the night of the murder. She claims she and Mary Lou went to High Cotton after rehearsal for karaoke night.”
“And you believed her?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think their alibis merit further investigation. How about after McBride’s self-defense class tomorrow night we pay High Cotton a visit? I haven’t been to a karaoke night since college.”
“Time for a refresher course.” Reba Mae raised her soda and we clinked cans.
CHAPTER 24
AS A RULE Mondays tended to be on the slow side, but today had proved an exception. All morning customers filed in and out. Pinky Alexander introduced me to Lisa, her daughter-in-law, who had arrived from Seattle along with Pinky’s son to spend the week. Pinky was over the moon when the couple announced they were expecting her first grandchild. Her daughter-in-law, a foodie, oohed and aahed over my selection of spices.
“My mother-in-law raved about your friend’s spicy chicken curry!” Lisa gushed. “She gave me the recipe, and I’m going to serve it when it’s our turn to host gourmet club.”
“I told Lisa you stock several types of curry powder, but she insists on making her own,” Pinky said.
“I prefer mine ultra-fresh.” Lisa looped one of the small baskets I kept for customers over her arm. “Point me in the direction of your seeds—cardamom, cumin, coriander, and fennel.”
While Lisa shopped, Pinky examined an array of gift boxes I had assembled yesterday afternoon. In addition to my more popular spices, some contained a packet of recipe cards or a colorful tea towel. “I was reluctant to tell Lisa and Mike about our town’s recent murder for fear they’d cancel their trip. She’s coming with me to the self-defense class tonight, but only to observe.”
“That’s great,” I said, mentally adding Lisa’s name to the expanding list of those who planned to attend. “I’m sure McBride will give us some good tips on personal safety.”
Lisa’s selections combined with a gift box of baking spices Pinky purchased for a Secret Santa present would make a nice addition to the day’s total. I was enjoying a temporary lull and had just finished a peanut butter sandwich when Madison breezed in, jacket flapping open, ponytail swaying.
“I want to thank you,” she said in a rush. “Caleb told me you were the one who reported my tires slashed.”
Dusting off crumbs, I wiped my fingers on a paper napkin. “No thanks necessary. I’m only sorry it happened.”
“Because you noticed it when you did, Caleb was able to locate a dealer online yesterday who happened to have my tires in stock. They were delivered this morning, and Caleb put them on as soon as they arrived. My car’s good to go.”
I studied the girl surreptitiously. In spite of her weekend getaway, she seemed pale and drawn. She’d been horrified by Sandy’s murder. Madison was young, barely out of her teens. Until now, I’d been more resentful than sympathetic. Shame on me. Time for an attitude adjustment. Would the tire-slashing incident send her over the edge? Have her packing her bags? “Do the police have any leads on who might have vandalized your Miata?” I asked quietly.
Madison fidgeted with a button on her jacket. “Chief McBride said it could be an isolated random act.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know … maybe.” She tugged and twisted the hapless button some more.
What aren’t you saying? My intuition told me something was amiss. “Madison, I know we’re not close, but I’m here for you if you ever want to talk.”
I expected her to tell me to mind my own business, but she surprised me. “If I tell you a secret, promise you won’t breathe a word of it to my dad. I don’t want to scare him.”
“Promise.”
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, then blurted, “I think I’m being followed.”
“Followed?” Whatever I expected to hear, this wasn’t it.
“I know it makes me sound like a victim in some stupid stalker movie.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but the nervous flutter in her voice betrayed her.
“What makes you think you’re being followed?”
“It’s not as though I’ve actually seen anyone.” Madison shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s more a feeling of being watched. I can’t help wonder if it might be the same person who slashed my tires. Maybe they don’t like me because I’m new in town. Or maybe they’re jealous because I drive a sports car.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” I reached across the counter and rubbed her arm consolingly. “This might be nothing more than your imagination playing tricks. A perfectly understandable reaction considering a woman who befriended you was brutally killed. But, to be on the safe side, pay close attention to your surroundings until the vandal is apprehended.”
She smiled thinly. “That’s the same advice Chief McBride gave me.”
Suddenly I remembered the charm I’d retrieved from the opera house. I pushed a key of the cash register, and a drawer rolled out with a merry jingle—a tune I privately thought of as dance music. “Here,” I said, handing her the tiny gold charm I’d retrieved, “this ought to cheer you up.”
“You found it!” Madison rounded the counter separating us and practically smothered me in a hug, then, embarrassed by her uncharacteristic display of emotion, stepped back. “I never thought I’d see this again. It’s part of a gift from my grandmother. Where did you find it?”
“Ned Feeney discovered it when he cleaned the opera house. Sandy had instructed him to put any lost items in a box in the front office.”
Madison’s fingers closed tightly around the object as though she was afraid it might disappear. “I thought the opera house was off-limits.”
“It was. It is, but…”
Madison waited patiently for me to continue.
“Reba Mae and I—well, maybe me more than Reba Mae—thought we’d check out the scene of the crime.
A fresh set of eyes and all that. I hoped we might spot something law enforcement missed.”
“Did you?” Madison carefully relegated the cherished item to a zipper compartment of her purse.
“Except for Reba Mae being spooked by the opera house ghost, our visit was uneventful. Unless you include being caught red-handed by Chief McBride. We’re lucky he didn’t arrest us for trespassing.”
Madison nodded knowingly. “The chief strikes me as the type who’d lock you up and throw away the key. I bet he has a pit bull for a pet.”
“Nope,” I said, grinning. “Believe it or not, he adopted a feral cat. He named her Fraidy.”
Madison laughed at this. “As in ‘don’t be a fraidy cat’?”
“One and the same,” I said, walking with her to the door. “McBride’s holding a self-defense class tonight at seven in the high-school gym. Why not join us?”
“I’ll think on it. And, Piper, thanks for letting me vent—and returning my charm.”
Some say that no good deed goes unpunished, but, in this instance, I’d take my chances.
* * *
By six forty-five the parking lot at Brandywine Creek High School was rapidly filling up. I felt a keen sense of satisfaction at seeing all the sedans, compacts, SUVs, and a smattering of pickups. If anyone had won rights to I-told-you-so, it was me, not McBride.
Reba Mae scuffed the asphalt lot with the toe of her purple sneaker. “I’m not sure I shoulda come, seein’ how Mr. Police Chief views me as the person folks need protection against.”
“Nonsense.” I slung an arm around her shoulder. “Quit being such a pessimist.”
“Nothin’ in the murder suspect handbook calls for perky.”
“Hey, don’t forget after class we’re going to have ourselves a good time. A glass of wine, some music, a little interrogation. What more could you ask for?”
“I guess,” Reba Mae grumbled. “Remember, you’re buyin’ the first round.”
We joined the group of women who streamed toward the gym. As we neared the side entrance to the high school, I spotted Bitsy Jones loitering between a late-model Ford and a minivan. “Hey, Bitsy,” I called. “You coming in?”
