DEAD AS a DOORNAIL

by Tonya Kappes

  While she looked in the back room, I took a stroll around the salon. The two massaging chairs for the pedicures were clean and ready for the next customer. Between them was a small table with tabloids from two years ago. The cabinet on rolling wheels that Cheree and Tina brought over to finish up the pedicures was tucked neatly behind them.

  I rolled it out and looked at the colors on top and the jars with blue cleaner. The pedicure tools were emerged in them. When I didn’t see the distinctive nail color, I pulled out the top drawer and found the spongey things they put between toes. The second drawer was the packages of flip-flops they supplied and the third drawer was filled with cotton balls.

  After I rolled the pedicure cart back where I’d found it, I walked over to Cheree’s nail station. On the right side of the table were the few nail colors that were on display. There was a black folded towel on each side of the table where the customer’s hands rested while Cheree filed, trimmed, and painted. On the left side of the table was the acrylic nail light where the customer put her hands in the glowing tube for the nails to dry. I’d never done those; I was more of the naked nail kind of gal, but not Lucy. Her nails were as fake as could be.

  In the drawers were new nail files and all the ingredients that were used for the acrylic nails. There wasn’t anything different on Tina’s side. Then there was the front desk. Besides the register, there was a landline phone, an appointment book, and a fake plant.

  In front of the desk were two wire lawn chairs and a small table with more tabloid magazines that were just as old as the ones by the pedicure chairs.

  I picked up the cordless phone and almost hit the redial button, but noticed there was a caller ID screen. I used the left arrow to scroll through and there was Lucy’s name along with her phone number. Lucy Ellen did say that she’d called earlier that day and the timestamp did go with her story.

  “Did the phone ring?” Tina came back in the shop with a fist full of glass polish bottles. “I couldn’t find it, but I did have these that I can use in its place until I can make more up.”

  She held up a bottle with pink polish, but not the exact same color.

  “No.” I hung the phone back up. “I was looking to see your caller ID.”

  “Kenni, you’re making me feel like I’ve done something wrong. Is there something you need to tell me?” she asked.

  The phone rang.

  “Hold that thought.” She put her finger with a dagger-like nail up in a hold-on gesture. “Tiny Tina’s, best sal-lon and spa in Cottonwood.”

  Her accent made “salon” sound like two separate words and she did leave out the fact that she was the only salon and spa in Cottonwood so it was automatically the best.

  “I heard she died.” Tina twisted her piece of gum around her finger and planted her hiney up against the front desk with her back facing the front. “Mm-hm. Heart attack? She came in here yesterday all wound up tight. No wonder.” Tina nodded her head like the person on the other end could see her. “Poor girl. From what I heard, she was knock-kneed when she was little and I bet that’s what made her crazy as a June bug.” She stood silent for a minute. “That was ridiculous. I saw it and I can’t believe that after all these years she decided to give me a bad review. And you know, people won’t remember her for her. When her name comes up, they’ll remember this mean review.”

  About that time the front door opened and the bell that was bread-tied on the arm of the hardware of the door jingled. The customer sat down in one of the lawn chairs, waiting for Tina to get off the phone.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go, but put me down for some deviled eggs.” She stopped talking, then picked right back up. “I am bringing something. I don’t care if she didn’t like me as of the time of this paper hitting the streets. She was a client of mine for two years. I know her deepest, darkest secrets.” Tina hung up.

  “Deepest, darkest secrets?” Poppa and I asked at the same time.

  “When you sit your tushie in that chair, it’s like getting a shot of truth serum,” she snarled. “Right now I’m not ready to talk about the dead when her body isn’t even cold.”

  “Something to remember when you drag her in for questioning.” Poppa eyed Tina.

  “What about deviled eggs?” I asked and decided to let the darkest-secret thing go until Max confirmed that Lucy Ellen was murdered. Then it was fair game to press Tina for answers.

  “They’re getting together the repast for Lucy Ellen’s funeral, though they don’t know when Darnell is going to have it.” She gave a simple shrug and pulled a black apron off the back of the chair and tied it around her waist. “Hon,” she got the customer’s attention, “you ready?”

  The customer got up and headed on back to the manicure station.

  “If you find that bottle of nail polish let me know.” I put my hand on the door.

  “I’ll see you Thursday,” she said.

  “Thursday?” I turned and questioned with the door partially opened, wondering if the funeral had already been planned.

  “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded with pinched lips. “Tibbie Bell left a message on the machine and said you’re stepping in to be Polly’s number one and she’s got the sal-lon booked for nails on Thursday.”

  “Yeah. See you Thursday,” I muttered and left the salon with a feeling that I’d be back real soon with more questions.

  “Polly,” I groaned and remembered the dress fitting Tibbie had scheduled for me. “We’ve got to get you to the station.” I rubbed Duke’s head before I shoved him to the backseat of the Jeep.

  “Where are we going?” Poppa asked. “Camille Shively’s I hope, because you’ve got to find out about that stuff Darnell was spouting off about Lucy’s health and we’ve got to prove she wasn’t sick so we can get him to agree to an autopsy.”

  “That might be a good angle.” I never thought about getting Camille on my side. “I’m not sure how forthcoming she’ll be with information regarding Lucy Ellen and I know I won’t be able to get a warrant for Lucy’s records on a just-because-I-want-to-see excuse to the judge. No judge will give me that warrant.”

  Camille Shively wasn’t one of my friends in school. She was a little younger than me, but old enough to be the new doctor in town now that our former baby doctor was no longer among the living.

  “Somehow someway you’ve got to figure out how we can get an autopsy on that body before Max cremates it. Speaking of the dead.” Poppa pointed to my left over to the Old Cemetery, the only graveyard in Cottonwood and his final resting place along with everyone else’s. “I better go check up on my friends.” Poppa ghosted off just as the first light of the three on Main Street turned red.

  Chapter Seven

  Duke jumped up in the front seat and stuck half of his body out the window. His tongue hanging out of his mouth made his slobber fling up on the windshield. I watched as Poppa’s ghost crossed Main Street and floated along the old limestone slave wall that surrounded the cemetery. The walls were historically preserved and couldn’t be touched. They were built by Irish immigrants and they could be found all over the state of Kentucky.

  When the light turned green, we drove south on Main Street. The Sweet Adelines had been busy this morning hanging up new banners on all the dowel rods from the carriage lights that dotted Main Street on both sides. The summer baskets of flowers provided by Myrna Savage’s Petal Pushers Florist had been replaced with new baskets filled with mums of a variety of reds, oranges, and yellows. It was the perfect flower choice for the between-seasons décor.

  Kentucky in the autumn was a beautiful place; if only the death of Lucy Ellen Lowell wasn’t hanging over my head I’d have enjoyed the drive to the office that much more. Normally I’d take a right off of Main and pull down the alley in front of the department, but there was a prime parking spot in front of Cowboy’s Catfish Restaurant. I jerked the wheel and pulled right on in.

  Co
wboy’s Catfish had the best catfish and hushpuppies around. And it just so happened that the sheriff’s department rented the room behind Cowboy’s from owner Bartleby Fry. It was cheaper for Cottonwood to rent the room than building and running our own one-cell facility. The only job hazard was smelling the home-cooked food. Today’s special was Kentucky round steak, also known as fried bologna. Duke and I loved nothing better than a piece of fried bologna with mustard between two slices of white bread and a side of Bartleby’s sliced potatoes and onions.

  “My oh my.” I rubbed my belly when I walked into the front door of the restaurant. “Something sure does smell good.”

  It was good to see all the tables in use and the dining room filled with conversations.

  Duke trotted back to the kitchen where he knew he was in for a treat.

  “Why is it that you always walk in that front door when I’m cooking up bologna?” Bartleby laughed when I passed him on the way to the department.

  “Luck, I guess.” I winked and opened the door of the office where Betty Murphy was sitting at her desk talking on the phone. “Come on, Duke.” I patted my leg and shut the door after he meandered in. “Oh, stop pouting.”

  I walked over to Finn’s desk and grabbed a dog treat out of the tin sitting there as Betty hung up her call.

  “I sure did hate to hear about Lucy Ellen this morning.” Betty looked up from filing her nails. “She sure will be missed at bell choir.”

  “Bell choir?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” Betty looked up over her glasses. “She’s a member of the First Baptist Church bell choir. She’s our gyro handbellist.”

  “Handbellist?” I questioned if that was a word, but went with it anyway. “What is a gyro?”

  “It’s the vibration of the bell when held in a certain position and gives a different ring than just fluidly ringing the bell. There’s so many techniques.” Betty held her hand in the air and pretended as if she were ringing her handbell.

  “Isn’t Blanche Bailey a member of the bell choir?” I asked about the lady who did all the alterations in town and just so happened to be doing my Scarlett O’Hara dress fitting.

  I wasn’t the best church-going gal in Cottonwood. Making sure that all the fine citizens of our community and their property were safe while they were in church was the great excuse I gave Preacher on why I wasn’t able to attend on a regular basis.

  “She sure is. She’s getting our Christmas Cantata ready.” A worried look crossed her face. “Oh dear,” her brows furrowed, “I’m not sure who’s going to take Lucy’s spot since she was our only gyro and the crowd goes nuts over that. And to think the women of the Hunt Club are doing the annual gun show without her.”

  “I’m sure Blanche will have all of that worked out.” I glanced up at the clock over top of the one cell and noticed by the time I got home, grabbed my dress, and got to Blanche’s house, it’d be time for my fitting. “Speaking of Blanche, I’ve got a dress fitting.”

  “I heard all about you doing that silly maid-of-honor thingy while I was at Lulu’s Boutique this morning when I stopped to get breakfast from Jolee’s food truck.” Betty’s face softened into a smile. “Your mama was asking everyone to pray that you’d catch the wedding bouquet.”

  “That would just make Mama’s year, wouldn’t it?” I asked.

  Out of nowhere, I imagined me standing in that ugly dress watching the bouquet of flowers floating toward me, hitting me in the head and falling to my feet when I refused to catch it.

  Right then I vowed not to even participate in the stupid tradition. I’d already compromised my values to be in the wedding (and by agreeing to wear the ugly dress in front of all Cottonwood), but to give an inkling that I was ready to walk down the aisle by catching some silly bouquet that was attached to an old wives’ tale? Forget it.

  “Do you mind keeping an eye on Duke?” I asked Betty, since he was all curled up and sleeping on his bed near my desk. “I won’t be long.”

  “You know I don’t mind.” She smiled at him like everyone did when they looked at the big lug. “He keeps me company. And he keeps the best secrets.” She winked.

  I shook my head, grabbed my bag, and headed back through Cowboy’s Catfish, but not without stopping and popping a hushpuppy in my mouth.

  “I’ll have a plate for y’all in the department when you get back,” Bartleby called through the chattering crowd.

  I gave him the two-finger toodles on my way out the front door since my mouth was stuffed with the delicious golden crispy ball of dough.

  Blanche lived on Second Street. It was only a couple of blocks over from the department. There was a small creek that ran alongside Second Street and all the houses. Each house had a small bridge going over the creek that connected the road and the driveway. It was just another cozy feature of Cottonwood that made the small town so lovely to live in.

  I double checked the address Polly Parker had given me because there were several cars in the drive and the last thing I wanted to do was to try a dress on in front of anyone. Being a few minutes early, I’d decided to give Darnell Lowell a quick call and check up on him as well as throw in the question about Lucy’s health.

  “Hi, Darnell. It’s Kenni Lowry.” I didn’t say Sheriff because I felt that saying my name without the title was a lot less formal. When I didn’t have my uniform on, people saw me as a regular person and didn’t worry about what they were saying around me. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m just not sure what I’m going to do.” He didn’t sound any better than he had in the wee hours of the morning. “I just feel like she’s gone to one of her meetin’s this morning and will be home directly.”

  “Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to get him to even think about an autopsy when he wasn’t even accepting that she was gone. “As sheriff, I do need to make sure that you are positive you don’t want an autopsy to find out exactly how she died.”

  “I just figured it was a heart attack. I mean, she’d been going to see Dr. Shively and all. Lucy Ellen said she was seeing stars. Like shooting stars. One of the women down at Tiny Tina’s told her that shooting stars meant high blood pressure. Then she came home with some little pills after her doctor’s appointment.” I could hear an uncertain tone in his voice. Maybe I was getting to him.

  “And wouldn’t you like to know for sure that Lucy Ellen had high blood pressure and that’s what killed her? I mean, I don’t want you to beat yourself up over it for years wondering.” I crossed my fingers, squeezed my eyes together, and gave a little prayer that he’d change his mind.

  “I never thought of it like that.” There was a hesitation. “I don’t know, Kenni. I just want to let her rest in peace. We are firm believers that when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go.”

  My phone beeped. I pulled it away from my ear and looked at the screen to see who was calling in.

  “Darnell, I’ve got to go, but you think about it. I just want to make sure that you’re doing okay and since you don’t have any children, I wanted to offer my suggestion. I’ll check in on you later.” I didn’t wait for his response. I clicked over. “Hey, Max. It doesn’t look like I’m going to get Darnell to change his mind about an autopsy.”

  “Sheriff, it doesn’t look like you have to,” Max said. “I started inputting all of Lucy’s information into the database to register for the death certificate. Lucy Ellen popped up as a certified organ donor. I’m not sure even Darnell knows that.”

  “And? Are you trying to tell me that you found something out?” I asked.

  “All of her organs looked pretty healthy and when I ran the preliminary tests to start to register them…Well.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure how you knew, but none of her organs are viable. She’s full of poison.”

  “Poison?” I asked.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see
Poppa appear in the passenger seat.

  His round checks were puffing out with a big smile on his face, his comb-over was neatly splayed across the top of his head, and his sheriff uniform was just as pressed and pristine as it was the days he wore it.

  “Cyanide, to be exact.” Max’s words were music to my ears.

  “Cyanide?” It was like we were in a repeating game. There was really no reason for me to be shocked, but I was. It was wrapping around me, making me feel like I needed air. Lots of air. I rolled down the window and let the breeze fill the Wagoneer with fresh air as I took a few deep breaths.

  “It looks like she died between seven p.m. and four a.m. You’ve got another homicide on your hands. If you want to stop by, I’ve got a copy of the organ report. I’m going to call Darnell to let him know that I’ve turned the case over to you, if that’s okay?” Max asked.

  “Yeah. Of course it’s okay. Listen, I’ve got to run into Blanche Bailey’s and try on a dress for her. I’ll stop by after that.” I stared at Poppa and slowly shook my head.

  Max laughed.

  “I heard you’re the new maid of honor for the Parker girl’s wedding.” He laughed harder.

  “Word sure does travel fast around here,” I noted.

  “Yep. And I better get off the phone. Do you want me to call Darnell?” He asked.

  “You know what.” I hesitated because I should’ve probably told him, but now Darnell had no choice but to accept the autopsy. It was one last step I had to worry about. “I do want you to call Darnell and tell him that I asked you to call him and we are moving forward with a full autopsy.”

  “Sounds good. Well, I need to get back to finding out the source of this poisoning. I’ll see you soon.” Max clicked off the phone.

  “Weeee doggie.” Poppa smacked his leg. “Go on. Get out of here. We’ve got a murder to solve.”

  “I wish I could. I’ve got to get in there and have Blanche fit me in this dress. It’ll give Max time to call Darnell about Lucy.” I gnawed on my bottom lip. “And some time for him to process it. Now my questions for him and Tina Bowers are much different.”