Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable

by Barbara Graham

  Claude came out of the house when Theo turned into the driveway. He must have seen her pull off the road. With the flashy yellow paint job on her new SUV, a blind man could see her coming.

  “That's some vehicle. Would you like to trade for my truck?” He gave her a big wink. “Either one, the dump truck or the Crown Vic.”

  “Maybe the pink Cadillac?”

  “I'm not the owner of the caddy.” Claude ambled toward the aromatic dump truck. “And since Katti loves the car and I'm sure she'd go wherever it went, I'll have to say no.” His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for Theo. “She's not been feeling too good, mostly in the mornings. Maybe you can help.”

  Theo nodded, understanding. “It's different for everyone, but morning sickness usually passes in a few weeks.” She carried the girls into the house and looked into the living room for Katti. The mail-order bride was stretched out under a pink blanket. Not surprisingly, a long array of crocheted, antebellum girls sitting over rolls of toilet paper, rescued from the post-festival garbage, had found homes on a bookcase in the cramped space next to her.

  “How are you feeling?” said Theo.

  Katti's complexion was slightly green. “I feel . . .” She struggled to find the word in English. “I feel like dog poop.”

  Theo handed her a package of saltines and a large bottle of sports drink she'd brought with her. “Only a little at a time.”

  Katti waved her toward the deep rose velvet sofa. “You sit. Tell Katti of joys of motherhood.”

  And Theo did.

  Frustrated by Gus's refusal to explain what was going on, Tony drove to the museum after asking Wade to meet him there.

  “Tell me about the process followed at the food booth. I have a witness who is allergic to walnuts who had an attack after eating some ramp pie.” He raised his palm toward his mother to keep her quiet. “Aunt Martha, you start.”

  “We have a commercial, inspected, and licensed kitchen, Tony.” Martha clicked her heels together and placed her right hand over her heart. “I swear, I have no idea what could have happened.”

  Jane shot to her feet and stood next to her sister. “Honestly, Tony, you can't think we poisoned the man. If we were going to do it, we would never have waited this many years, and we certainly wouldn't have done it at our own party.”

  Tony released a sigh in a gust. “I don't think you actually did it. You two couldn't have kept it a secret, at least not for more than fifteen minutes.”

  Jane crossed her arms over her chest and sat again. “That hurts.”

  “I don't mean it as a criticism. You're just too nice, too honest and . . .” He stopped, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

  “And a chatterbox.” Martha finished his sentence. She hugged her sister. “I don't think we want to be suspects.”

  “He's insulting our kitchen.” Jane apparently wasn't over being miffed.

  Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “Let's attack this from another angle. Who else besides you two worked in the kitchen that day?”

  “Well,” Jane raised her left hand in a fist. “Martha and me.” Ignoring his request to leave themselves out, two fingers went up. “The church ladies.” One at a time a finger went up as she went through the list. She passed ten and was starting through her hands again when Tony surrendered.

  “Let's try this another way.” Tony thought for a moment. “Was there anyone in the kitchen you were surprised to see there, or who shouldn't have been there?”

  The two women conferred for a few minutes.

  Tony felt like humming a game show tune always played before the big answer. When they shot him a dirty look, he realized he had started doing it out loud. “Sorry.” He concentrated on being quiet.

  “No.” The women spoke. “Everyone in there had a job and was doing it.”

  “Wait,” said Jane.

  Tony and Martha leaned forward waiting.

  “The man from the burger booth. He was in there when we arrived.” Jane rubbed her left ear. “I was surprised to see him. He put something in the refrigerator.”

  It wouldn't surprise Tony to learn that the man did put something in the refrigerator, but he couldn't imagine it was nutty. Still, he'd better find out.

  “Yes, I put mayonnaise and some of my meat in their refrigerator. Wasn't I supposed to use it?” Big Ed snarled at Tony. “I certainly wasn't the only one besides your mom and aunt storing food in there. There were some mighty tasty looking desserts in there too, and real cream for coffee.” Big Ed looked like he was just warming to his subject, his face was turning a deep red. A large vein in his forehead throbbed and grew even larger.

  Tony thought it was fine for Ed to use the refrigerator. If a bunch of people had gotten sick on spoiled food, the situation would probably be worse. One man dying of an allergic reaction was far removed from the potential disaster with hordes of aging people and small children suffering from food poisoning. Tony shuddered at the horrendous idea. “I'm sure Mom and Martha were just answering my question about who was using the refrigerator. There's no reason to be concerned. As you said, there were many hands involved in the feast.” Which, as Tony saw it, made the whole issue of the nuts even more complicated.

  “Well, that's good.” Big Ed's high color eased a bit.

  Big Ed might not be mollified, but at least he wasn't clutching his chest. Tony wanted to do CPR on the cook about as much as he wanted a heart attack of his own. “Did you see anything unusual in the refrigerator or notice anything that contained nuts?”

  “Some of them little cakes had nuts on them, but they was wrapped up good and tight.”

  Ed looked a bit miffed about it, and Tony wondered if he had hoped to snag a treat without paying for it. “Unless there's something else you can tell me, I'll look into those. Thanks for coming by.” Tony watched Big Ed waddle out the door and promised himself he'd cut back on the pie and spend more time exercising. Tony turned to Wade. “You learning anything we can use?”

  Wade flipped through his notes shaking his head, then he grinned. “I'm learning I might want to eat less at Big Ed's booth. The man looked like he was about to have a heart attack.”

  “I agree.” Tony turned back to stare at the empty doorway. “What are we missing? There were nuts on the desserts, but everyone, including the pathologist, swears Ragsdale didn't eat a dessert. Everything was wrapped up tight, so the nuts didn't fall off a cookie and land in his burger.”

  Theo stared at the shop telephone. She was elated, excited, and thrilled. The call she'd just ended came from a well-known quilting magazine. Her shop had just been chosen as one of the top ten in the country by a committee. The wonderful news was followed by the immediate request to set up the appointment for a photographer to come and take the pictures for the magazine. Theo glanced around. Currently the shop looked like the back of her closet—a mess comprised of some really good stuff and some trash. They needed to do some serious cleaning. And the article was supposed to remain a secret for a while. Keeping such a huge secret was not going to be easy.

  “Gretchen!” Theo trotted down the stairs, made sure they were out of earshot, and whispered, “Guess what? We can't tell anyone yet, but we're going to be in the magazine—one of the top ten.”

  Gretchen presented her normal unflappable persona but Theo saw her hands shaking. “How wonderful! What should we do first?”

  Before Theo could say a word, Nellie Pearl Prigmore, whose dementia had continued to worsen daily while she still lived in Silersville, slammed the door open and stalked inside. “Where is she?” Anger vibrated in every syllable.

  Behind Theo, a customer quietly approached. “You think she escaped? I thought her daughter took her to California or something.” Theo thought so too. Nellie Pearl's daughter had spent a couple of months living with Nellie Pearl, trying to sort out the good possessions from the garbage she collected and make sure her mother took her medicines as scheduled. At the end of that time, she had put Nellie Pearl's house on the market and l
eft town, taking her mother with her. Theo greeted Nellie Pearl with as much warmth as she could summon. The two women had never been friends. “Hi, Nellie Pearl.”

  The old woman turned toward Theo. She bared her teeth and hissed at Theo. Taking a step closer, she raised her hands, holding them like claws ready to attack.

  Theo froze, thinking there were wild animals you should try to outrun, and there were others where staying absolutely still was the recommended approach. What kind was this demented old woman? Nellie Pearl looked much cleaner than she had when she and her daughter had stopped by on their way out of town. At least she wasn't wearing her former clothes: layers of dirty clothes, usually men's shirts. If it weren't for the anger and confusion in her expression, she'd actually be a very pleasant-looking older woman. She wore jeans and a clean blue and green plaid shirt, open, over a navy T-shirt. It was weather appropriate. The hands held like talons were clean and the fingernails neatly trimmed and polished.

  The next moment, like an internal switch flipped, Nellie Pearl relaxed and looked around the shop, a soft smile on her face. Curious, but nonviolent.

  The bell on the door chimed softly as someone entered. “Oh, thank goodness, she's in here.” The speaker addressed someone on the sidewalk.

  Theo thought Nellie Pearl's daughter looked better too. She had been so exhausted and bedraggled by the time she left town with her mother that the two women looked almost the same age. There were still lines of strain in her face, but nothing like there had been.

  “Mom?” The daughter walked up to the older woman but didn't touch her. “Have you come to talk to Theo?”

  “Theo?” The older woman's manner changed again. “Yes, I remember her. She's a tiny little thing with big eyes and glasses. An orphan. Lives with her grandparents.”

  “That's right.” Theo realized Nellie Pearl was living somewhere in the past as her grandparents had died almost twenty years ago.

  The daughter smiled at Theo. “We've come to sign the papers. Mom's house has sold.” Her shoulders lifted slightly in a gesture conveying uncertainty. “I hope it's not too upsetting for her, but I've decided not to take her out to the house. You've known her a long time, do you think I should?”

  “I can't see how it would be of any benefit. Her reality is not present day but maybe twenty to thirty years ago.” Theo herded them to the back room. “Some coffee? Some of her contemporaries are working on a quilt.”

  “That would be lovely.” The daughter looked a bit anxious, but bravely guided her mother. “Mom talks about them all the time now. When we first moved her away from here, she was so frightened and angry, but now she's become quite sweet.” Her grimace told Theo she hadn't forgotten her mother's behavior mere moments ago. “Usually.”

  Theo thought Alzheimer's, or any dementia, must be the most awful of all diseases, robbing people of their memories, even of themselves.

  Tony decided to take the trailer out on another night's foray. He wasn't quite ready to demonstrate his skills, or lack thereof, in the very public venue of the law enforcement center parking lot. The lot sat in plain sight of not only law enforcement, including the jail, but search and rescue headquarters, the fire department, and the court house. He hadn't ever been the class clown and wasn't prepared to begin now.

  It was two in the morning when he silently left his sleeping family and headed for the trailer. The night dispatcher, Karen Claybough, was an efficient but decidedly uncurious person. Perfect. Tony eased the Blazer into place to hook up the trailer. The task went fairly smoothly, much better than his first night attempts. Feeling more confident, he headed out, determined to travel around most of the county's main roads. As before, he saw little traffic and lots of critters. Making his way around the treacherous Dead Man's Curve, he had to travel quite slowly to keep to the right-hand lane. He hadn't picked up any speed when his headlights illuminated a man in overalls, kneeling by the side of the road at the ever-increasingly large memorial.

  Tony eased past the man and parked in the first turnout. As he climbed out of the Blazer and headed toward the shadowy figure gardening by the glow of an old-fashioned kerosene lamp, he recognized old Nem. Nem held a pair of trimmers that looked like one of the antiques in the museum, like shears for sheep. The old man did not attempt to stand, but continued kneeling even as he greeted Tony.

  “Evening, Sheriff.”

  “Nem.” Tony studied the memorial display. At the center of it was a handmade cross of two branches lashed together. Surrounding it was a colorful array of plants, a mixture of blooming spring bulbs and newly planted summer flowers. Bright yellow pansies and a blue flower he didn't recognize shared space with some thin, sad, red petunias. Next to Nem was a small arsenal of garden implements, all antiques, a plastic watering can and a small wooden box. The box looked homemade and reminded Tony of an old-fashioned coffin. It hadn't been long since someone had said something about Nem “building boxes,” but at the moment he couldn't remember the context. “Why are you out here in the dark?”

  “It's public land, ain't it?”

  Tony wasn't sure but nodded anyway.

  “Well, I'm public.” Nem turned back to his gardening, ignoring Tony.

  Although it irked him the way Nem dismissed him, Tony wasn't sure he could dispute the old man's logic. Tony studied the assortment of wreaths on stands and small statues in amongst the plants. A wooden cane protruded from a cluster of flowers. “There seems to be quite a display here, a mixture of real flowers and fakes.” He leaned forward, shining his flashlight into the garden, and spotted a plastic fire plug. “That looks like a dog toy.” The moment the words passed his lips, he suddenly understood. “It's a pet cemetery.”

  Nem didn't flinch. “Yessir, they needed burying.”

  Tony glanced at the small box again. “A casket?”

  “Made it myself.” Nem sounded quite pleased with himself.

  Tony thought for a moment. “What kind of wood is that?”

  “Dunno. I took apart an old shed on my place.” He cackled. “It's even older than me.”

  “Could it be chestnut?”

  “Ain't they all dead?”

  “Pretty much, but not all.” Tony considered the question. “Your shed has to be over a hundred years old.”

  Nem nodded and poured some water on a new planting.

  Tony had hoped the old guy would volunteer some information, but it wasn't happening. “What's in the box?” He pointed with the light.

  Nem dusted off his hands. “A bird.”

  “And the rest of these?” Tony ran the light over the various memorials.

  “Cats, dogs, critters.” Nem patted the box. “God's creatures.”

  Feeling half sick, Tony asked anyway, “A bear?”

  “No, sir. No bear.” Nem shook his head, emphatically. “If you're a-thinkin' I've planted Roscoe's Baby in here, you're wrong.”

  Tony believed him, if for no other reason than Roscoe wasn't weeping and wailing all over the county, and Nem couldn't have hidden what he was doing from Roscoe. As he glanced up and down the highway, he saw no sign of a vehicle, a meaningless situation since the old guy didn't normally drive unless he was delivering eggs or selling boiled peanuts. He must have walked a million miles over his lifetime. “How'd you get out here?”

  Nem cackled. “If'n you was to walk straight through there”—he pointed at the woods across the road—“you'd come out at my place less'n a mile away.”

  Tony realized he was right. The road made an almost complete loop. He felt like he'd made enough small talk with the old man. “We found a slender stake with a sharp point embedded in Ragsdale's side.”

  Nem nodded. “I tried to kill him.”

  Tony saw moonlight reflect in the sheen of tears in the old man's rheumy eyes. He suspected they were from frustration, not regret. “Tell me.”

  “It come to me whilst I was a-workin' on this here memorial patch of ground. I could carry a sharp stick inside my suit coat and just slip it out and
stab him in the heart, even as small as it was.”

  “But you didn't.” Tony almost felt guilty about insisting Nem admit failure.

  “Oh, but I tried.” The old man stared at his palsied hands. “I ain't got the strength no more and couldn't keep a tight enough hold on it. It slid right through my hand and stuck in his shirt.” He sighed deeply. “I'd have pulled it free and given it another try, but he walked away.”

  Tony thought the old man was the personification of disappointment. “I'm glad I won't have to arrest you for murder.”

  Nem smiled, cheered up by his words. “I reckon I wouldn't like life in jail very much, and the hens would probably stop layin' too. They don't cotton much to strangers.”

  “Tell me about the cane.” Tony returned the flashlight's beam to the curved wood.

  “I found it on the ground after the ambulance carted Ragsdale away.” Nem stood straight. “I figured these poor critters would enjoy having it here amongst the flowers.”

  “Why?” Tony thought they'd hate it.

  “Long as it's here, he'll never use it on another poor beast.” Nem lifted rheumy eyes to meet Tony's. “I didn't think anyone would want it. Do you?”

  “No.” Tony couldn't imagine a better place for it.

  Satisfied, Nem returned to his gardening.

  Following Ada's specific instructions for her memorial, Theo arranged the buckets of flowers on the long tables. Other helpers had covered them with white paper and taped it in place. The caterer's truck sat at the opposite end of the dining area from the tables displaying the remaining possessions of Ada Walker. The small crowd milled about, waiting to learn whether food or shopping was first on the afternoon agenda.

  Theo and Nina had worked late into the night sorting through every item in Ada's house. Thankfully, the old woman had already done a fair job of disposing of many of her possessions. She had even put price stickers on a few items herself. Theo had felt ghoulish at the beginning of the process, but pricing and loading the contents of Ada's house into her SUV cured her. Everything, even a box of toothpicks for a penny, went to the sale.