by Amanda Lee
The bells over the door jingled, and I looked up to see Sadie. She joined me in the sit-and-stitch square, peeping at my project before sitting down on the sofa.
“That looks majorly complicated,” she said.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. I think it’ll be pretty when it’s finished,” I said. “I’m going to frame it and give it to Mom.”
“She’ll love that.” Sadie glanced around the shop. “Did Angus stay at home with her again today?”
I nodded. “It does her good to have him with her. He stays right by her side, and she spoils him rotten.”
“So it’s a win-win . . . at least for them,” she said.
“Yeah. It gets lonely here for me. If it wasn’t for the fact that the media is still hanging around, she could bring him here and hang out.”
“Yeah . . . I guess the media swarm is even worse now that Henry Beaumont has died.”
“At least they aren’t camped out in front of my house,” I said. “The police have done a good job of keeping the fact that Mom found his body out of the media. I don’t think it’s even been leaked to any blogs.”
“That’s good,” Sadie said. “Has any progress been made on the investigation into Henry’s death?”
“They learned on Saturday that he was poisoned.” I gave Sadie a wary look. “They searched my house and yard. I brought Angus here, and Vera and Paul watched him and minded the shop.”
“That’s terrible!” She frowned. “Of course, they didn’t find anything . . . did they?”
“No . . . and they searched Sonny Carlisle’s hotel room too, so Mom wasn’t the only suspect.”
“Did they find anything on Sonny?” she asked.
“Not that I know of,” I said. “The Tallulah County Police Department is keeping most of their information to themselves with regard to the murders of Babs and Henry. They’re only sharing what they absolutely have to with Manu.”
“How’s your mom holding up?”
I shrugged. “As well as can be expected. Right now, she can’t do much more than wait to see what happens next.”
Sadie smiled. “I know that’s not all you’re doing.”
I grinned too. “I’m doing everything I can to help the Tallulah County detectives find the real killer, despite the fact that they desperately don’t want my help.”
“I need to be getting back, but before I go, I want to ask you, Ted, and Beverly to dinner before class tomorrow evening,” she said. “I’m taking tomorrow off, and Blake is going to leave at five o’clock. I’m making chicken cordon bleu, and I’d love to have you guys join us.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “I’ll check with Ted and Mom and make sure that works for them. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you can make it.”
Sadie left as a customer came through the door.
• • •
I was helping a customer find a sturdy needlepoint yarn later that morning when Deputy Preston came into the shop. He was out of uniform, and today he wore jeans and a V-neck sweater. He gave me a polite wave and then wandered around the shop while he waited for the customer to make her purchase and leave.
“Hey, there,” I said, approaching him as the customer walked out the door.
“Morning, Marcy,” he said. “I’m off today, but I worked yesterday and saw the report on where they’d searched your house and all. I’m glad they didn’t find anything incriminating on your mom, but I know she must be upset over everything. Is she doing okay?”
“She’s fine,” I said. “Thanks for asking. You . . . you don’t know whether anyone else emerged as a more viable suspect after Saturday . . . do you?”
Deputy Preston laughed. “Now, Marcy, you know I’m not at liberty to tell you how the search went at Sonny Carlisle’s hotel room . . . even if they didn’t find anything there either.”
“Thanks . . . I mean, for explaining why you can’t tell me.”
The sunlight glinted off the medallion he wore, and I examined it more closely. The letters TCMSA were embossed on the round pendant.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I was just noticing your medallion. What do the letters stand for?”
“Tallulah County Mud Slingers Association,” he said.
“Mud Slingers? Is that a political group?”
“No.” He laughed. “We ride dirt bikes.”
“Oh, I get it. That’s cool,” I said. “I think I’ve seen a medallion similar to this before. It was where the movie was being filmed. Is that a popular bike-riding trail?”
“Yeah, a lot of guys ride over there . . . experienced riders, that is . . . even though they’re not supposed to. The terrain is challenging, but the view is beautiful. Or so they tell me.”
“Did you know the guy who was found shot to death on the trail just before Henry Beaumont began filming there?” I asked.
“No.”
“Hmm. I thought maybe he was a mud slinger,” I said.
“Why would you think that? Was there a bike found near him?” he asked.
“No, but there was a dirt biker coming over the hill just before we stumbled upon the body,” I said. “Of course, you probably read all that in the report.”
“Yeah, I glanced at it,” Deputy Preston said. “But, to be honest, I was more interested in the movie than I was in the body. I know that sounds bad, but I got caught up in all the Hollywood excitement.”
“That’s easy to do,” I said. “By the way, you were caught on film when one of the cameramen was recording an outtake. You looked pretty impressive. Have you ever considered a movie career?”
He chuckled and lowered his head. “Me? No way. I don’t think I have the talent for that. Besides, I’m taking criminal justice courses at Tallulah County Junior College. I just want to move up in the career I already have.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do that,” I said.
Just then, one of my regular customers, a woman in her midsixties named Christine, came barreling through the door. Christine is normally a bundle of barely contained energy, and today the energy was less contained than usual.
“Marcy,” she said breathlessly, thrusting a piece of felt in my direction. “Please help me with this blanket stitch. It’s driving me bananas.” She glanced at Deputy Preston. “Sorry for interrupting, but this is an emergency.”
He grinned and waved good-bye. “See you later, Marcy.”
“Enjoy your day off, Deputy Preston.”
“Deputy?” Christine asked. “I figured he was just some hoodlum in here hitting on you.”
I laughed. “Nevertheless, you have an emergency. Let’s sit down here and work on that blanket stitch.”
• • •
At lunchtime, Ted brought burgers, fries, and a new chew toy for Angus.
“I didn’t know whether he’d be here or whether you’d leave him home with your mom, but we can always give it to him later,” Ted said.
“You’re so thoughtful.”
“What can I say? You bring out my sensitive side.” He winked.
I locked the front door and put the clock on the window stating that I’d be back in thirty minutes. Then Ted and I went into my office to eat.
“Before I forget, Sadie came over and invited the two of us and Mom to have dinner with her and Blake tomorrow before my class,” I said. “She’s making chicken cordon bleu. And trust me, Sadie makes fantastic chicken cordon bleu.”
“Sounds good,” he said, getting our food out of the bag while I retrieved sodas from the mini-fridge.
“It’s been a little hectic today, so I haven’t called Mom to ask her yet. Maybe I’ll get a chance later this afternoon.” I opened the box of fries. “Deputy Preston came by this morning. It’s his day off, but he said he was concerned about Mom. In a round
about way, he let me know that nothing was found in Sonny’s hotel room either.”
“Deputy Preston was concerned about your mom?” Ted asked. “Has he even met her?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe he met her on the movie set. He did strike me as being a little starstruck over the whole Hollywood thing.”
“Yeah, wasn’t he the one in the outtake yesterday?”
“He was. I asked him if he was interested in a movie career, but he said he wasn’t.” I poured a packet of ketchup on the empty side of my burger box. “He says he just wants to advance in his law enforcement career and is taking criminal justice classes at the community college.”
“Well . . . good for him.” Ted frowned as he took a drink of his soda. “I might have to watch that guy though. It sounds like he might have a crush on you.”
“Nah. Like I said, I get the feeling he’s starstruck. When the movie people ship out, he’ll move along,” I said. “Besides, my heart belongs to someone else.”
He grinned.
We both dived into our food. After a couple minutes, Ted told me that while I’d had a hectic day, his had been fairly quiet.
“I even had time to do a little on-the-side investigating,” he said. “Remember the outtake where Babs had lost her phone?”
I nodded.
“I managed to find out the name of Babs’ accountant, and on a hunch, I called and asked him if any of her financial accounts had been hacked.”
“Had they?” I asked.
“Yep. Two of her credit card accounts had been hacked and the bills ran up the day Babs died,” Ted said. “The accountant said she was livid over it.”
“And you think the fact that the credit card accounts were hacked had something to do with her losing her phone?”
He nodded. “It’s the same MO as the gunman and his partner. That was one of their rackets—steal smartphones and hack financial accounts. They’re bound to have felt like they hit the mother lode when Henry Beaumont brought his film crew to Tallulah Falls.”
“But how is that possible?” I asked. “The gunman was dead by then. He died the day before the film crew arrived.”
“True,” said Ted. “But he had a partner. Just because the partner was tired of the gunman didn’t mean he was tired of the money they were making off their criminal activities. My guess is that he found another hacker.”
“And another victim—Babs,” I said. “Maybe you were right yesterday when you said that it’s possible all three murders are connected.”
• • •
During the afternoon lull in business that often comes around three o’clock on weekdays, I called Mom and told her that Sadie had invited her, Ted, and me to dinner tomorrow evening before I head back to class.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Is that doable?”
“Yes, that works for me,” she said.
“Are you all right? You sound tired. Did you sleep okay?”
“Hey, who’s the mom here?” She chuckled softly. “I’m fine. I am a little tired . . . or maybe weary is the better word. I love being with you, Marcella, but not under these circumstances. I want all this to be over. I want to go home.”
“I want that too, Mom.” My eyes widened as I considered the possibility that she might misunderstand what I was saying. “I mean, I want the murder investigations to be over. I don’t want you to go home.” I didn’t like the sound of that one either and decided to try once more. “What I’m saying is that, I want you to go home when you’d like to go home, but—”
“Relax,” she interrupted. “I get what you’re saying.”
“Thanks. Hey, were you on the set that day when Babs lost her phone?”
“Yes. I thought it was mainly just another excuse to throw an elaborate tantrum,” she said. “Babs was famous for those. Why?”
“Ted checked with Babs’ accountant and learned that two of her credit card accounts were hacked on the day her smartphone went missing,” I said. “He thinks now that all three murders—the gunman Reggie stumbled upon in the woods, Babs and Henry—could be connected somehow. If the gunman-slash-hacker had a partner who stole Babs’ phone to hack the accounts, then he might’ve ultimately killed Babs and Henry.”
“Wait,” Mom said. “I’m not following you. If the gunman-slash-hacker was dead, then why would his partner steal Babs’ phone? And furthermore, why would he kill her?”
“Ted thinks the partner has found another hacker. Maybe Babs caught the thief putting her phone back, and he killed her.”
“I don’t think so,” Mom said. “Babs had her phone back before she died.”
“Okay,” I said. “But Ted said the accountant told him she was livid that her accounts had been hacked. Apparently, the thieves ran up some serious bills on her.”
“Again, I think that was just Babs being dramatic,” she said. “Sure, it’s horrible that her accounts were hacked, but I’m certain that the companies wouldn’t make her pay since she caught it in time. I mean, that’s what they have fraud insurance for, right?”
“That’s true. Maybe the three deaths aren’t connected after all,” I said. “But it would be kind of nice if they were . . . if they had nothing to do with the movie whatsoever . . . then you could be cleared to go home.”
“Since two of the main players in this movie were killed, though, I doubt that’s the case,” Mom said.
“Yeah . . . I suppose you’re right. But it was a nice thought.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I was sitting in the sit-and-stitch square working on the impressionist painting cross-stitch project as the afternoon wore on. I was beginning to feel like all of Tallulah Falls had turned in for an early nap and that I was the only one who didn’t get the text instituting the new policy. There wasn’t even that much traffic on the sidewalk.
“Maybe I’m just lonely without Angus here,” I said to Jill, the mannequin who is a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe. “What do you think?”
She figured that was probably it—along with the fact that I was concerned about the Movie Murder Madness. Was that a good name for it?
“It’s as good as any, I suppose,” I said. Before you think I went entirely off my rocker, I was fully aware that Jill could not actually communicate with me. But when a person is bored, she’ll come up with all sorts of imaginative distractions.
“So, what’s your take on this movie murder madness, Jill? Do you think the gunman’s death is—as Ted suspects—tied in to the other two murders? Or is it completely coincidental that the gunman was killed near where Babs met her untimely death?”
Jill gave this some thought. She decided that we needed to deduce why each of the three victims was most likely killed.
“Good thinking,” I said. “Let’s start with the gunman. He was probably killed over a disagreement with his partner. No one has ever hinted at any other motive for his death.”
Jill reminded me that I wasn’t privy to all the information pertaining to that investigation but admitted that I was probably right. “Besides, we strongly suspect that the person leaving the area on the dirt bike was the gunman’s partner, do we not?” I sometimes imagined Jill putting a proper, Jane-Austen-y spin on her phrases.
“We do suspect that, Jill. Or, we might call the person on the dirt bike—as Deputy Preston pointed out—a mud slinger. I thought that was a clever moniker, didn’t you?”
“Indeed,” I imagined Jill responding. “And he had a similar button, which we now know to be a medallion, to the one Vera found. So now I’m wondering if the two men knew each other . . . if perhaps they were in the same mud slinging club.”
“I wondered that too, but if you’ll recall, I asked Deputy Preston about it. He denied knowing the young man.”
“He did. . . . Let’s move on to Babushka Tru. Why would someone want to kill her?”
; “You mean, besides the fact that she was as mean as a snake?” I asked Jill.
“Now, now. . . . There simply has to be a better reason than that, or else there would be no hateful people in the world. And as I stand here immobile watching the public come and go, I realize that hateful people—even people as hateful as Babushka Tru—are allowed to remain alive all the time.”
Jill had an excellent point. Most often, our desire to stay out of prison is much stronger than our desire to strike a hateful person, even if we don’t intend the strike to result in said person falling off a ledge to her death.
“Jill, you’ve got me talking like you,” I said. I sighed and resumed stitching.
But Jill insisted we weren’t done. We needed to dig for the deeper motive behind Babs’ death.
“If it wasn’t out of sheer exasperation on the part of someone she was haranguing, then it had to have been because someone wanted her out of the picture . . . meaning the film—get it? Or it had to be that she saw something she shouldn’t have seen,” I mused. “Let’s say Ted is right in his assumption that Babs’ death is tied to the gunman’s death. She must’ve found some sort of evidence that pointed to the killer, or she might’ve connected him to the gunman.”
Jill pointed out that Babs’ phone had gone missing and that during that time two of Babs’ financial accounts had been hacked.
“What if Babs had learned who’d had her phone?” I wondered aloud. “Then she would’ve known who’d hacked her accounts. She’d have filed a police report, and the thief and his new computer hacker would have been in deep. That could be the motive.”
And what about Henry? Jill still didn’t see why he’d been murdered, and frankly, neither did I.
Could Henry have been killed over something—or someone—he saw with Babs? Mom had said she spotted Henry heading in Babs’ direction after she left the young diva that morning. Maybe Henry saw her with the killer.
But Henry was Babs’ father. He wouldn’t just let someone hit her on the head and knock her off the edge of the loft. And if he had witnessed the murder, he’d have surely reported what he’d seen.
