Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 02 - Dead Ringer

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  When I expressed my admiration for the house, Dorcas had a maid give us a brief tour before firmly escorting us out onto the grounds. It wasn’t the Biltmore House, but it was pretty darned impressive.

  So was the garden party. After all was said and done, Vasti had done a wonderful job. She had scattered tables of food and drinks all over the lawn so that there was never a wait for anything. Roger Bailey and his band were playing by the lily pond, with Aunt Ruby Lee watching proudly, but there were plenty of quieter places for people to go and talk. I wasn’t convinced that it was what the English would call a garden party, but it was perfect for a fall evening in Byerly.

  Most of the Burnettes were there. I saw Thaddeous go by with Joleen, who was dressed a little more appropriately this time, and chatted with them for a few minutes. Joleen glared at me the whole time, as if daring me to mention her date on Thursday evening, but I didn’t say a word. Thaddeous was a grown man, and he could sort out his own love life.

  The triplets were there, wearing matching dresses as usual and eyeing the available men speculatively. Someday the three of them were going to stage themselves a triple wedding, and it was going to be a sight to behold. The problem wasn’t going to be finding men, because they dated a fair amount. The problem was finding three at the same time.

  Richard and I went our separate ways soon after we arrived. Though he enjoys parties once in a while, this one was a little large for his taste, and he didn’t know everybody the way I did. After a while, he got tired of being introduced, explaining what he did for a living, and learning how it was that I knew the person to whom he was being introduced. I suspected that he was going to find a quiet corner and pull out the paperback copy of The Tempest I had seen him tuck into his suit pocket, but I didn’t mind. I’d wait until a little later before getting him to dance with me.

  The food was wonderful, which didn’t surprise me. I had sampled quite a bit when picking it up. Still, I had somehow missed some of the best stuff and I was munching happily on a miniature country ham biscuit when Vasti appeared at my elbow. “Great party, Vasti,”

  I said.

  “Have you seen Aunt Maggie?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Go find her for me.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to find out what she’s wearing. If she’s got those horrible sneakers on, I’ve got to make sure that Dorcas Walters doesn’t see her. Dorcas will pitch a fortified fit if she sees her in those shoes.”

  I turned and looked around. “Isn’t that Aunt Maggie heading for Mrs. Walters right now? And isn’t that Big Bill Walters standing there with Mrs. Walters?”

  “Oh Lord! Come on!”

  Since she yanked my arm nearly out of its socket, making me drop the country ham out of my biscuit, I had no choice but to follow. Vasti was aiming at the area between Aunt Maggie and Mrs. Walters, presumably intending to use her own body as a shield to keep them separated. If she hadn’t been so intent, she might have noticed what Aunt Maggie was wearing.

  Vasti reached her vantage point, turned her back toward Aunt Maggie, and pulled me beside her. I guessed I was part of the shield.

  “Mrs. Walters,” Vasti gushed. “Didn’t I see your husband looking for you over by the band?”

  “Oh, he’ll find me if he wants me,” Mrs. Walters said carelessly. “Big Bill and I were just saying how nice you’ve arranged everything.”

  “Mighty nice,” Big Bill said, peering over our two heads, despite Vasti’s attempt to stand taller. “Isn’t that Maggie Burnette?”

  “Where?” Vasti asked, but she was fighting a losing battle. Aunt Maggie was coming right toward us.

  “Good evening, Miss Burnette,” Big Bill said, and he even bowed and took off his hat to sweep the air. “You’re looking particularly fetching this evening.”

  Vasti stiffened, and I knew she was wondering which sarcastic comment Aunt Maggie would spout.

  Instead Aunt Maggie smiled widely, and said “Mr. Walters why don’t all men talk like you do?”

  “Perhaps they just don’t know how to treat a lady like you.”

  “I bet they don’t. Excuse me, Vasti, Laurie Anne.” She stepped between us and said, “I had to come tell Dorcas what a lovely party this is.”

  “Thank you, Miss Burnette, but actually your niece Vasti did most of the work,” Mrs. Walters said.

  “Is that right?” Aunt Maggie said, as if she hadn’t known. “Vasti, where do you find the time?”

  Vasti didn’t answer. She was looking at Aunt Maggie, having finally noticed she wasn’t wearing jeans or a T–shirt. Instead, she had on a very nice blue gingham dress with a white lace collar and a flared skirt. Her shoes were light blue flats, not the hot pink and purple sneakers that had been giving Vasti nightmares.

  Oddly enough, Big Bill seemed to be staring at Aunt Maggie’s outfit, too.

  “Excuse me, Miss Burnette. That dress of yours—”

  “Do you like it?” Aunt Maggie asked, twirling a bit and sounding more like a Southern belle than I had ever heard her sound. “I’ve had it for years.”

  “The fabric …” He reached out, and it was clear that he wanted to touch the cloth. He was too polite to actually do it, but he did bend over to get a closer look. “It is! It’s Walters gingham!”

  Aunt Maggie nodded with a smile. “It certainly is.”

  How he knew, I will never figure out. Once I thought about it, I could tell that it matched that bolt of gingham locked up in a glass case at the mill, but it still just looked like plain old gingham to me. The mill only made socks and towels these days, nothing as fine as gingham.

  “Where on earth did you find it?” Mr. Walters asked.

  “It was my mother’s. You Walters may have the first bolt of cloth from the mill, but we Burnettes had a good piece of the second. Mama made this dress herself, and of course I kept it.”

  “Remarkable,” he said.

  “I don’t wear it often,” Aunt Maggie confided. “But I thought that today warranted it. What with Arthur planning to speak and all. I think that he’ll make a fine city councilor, don’t you? Just what Byerly needs.”

  “I must say that I admire his taste in supporters. May I get you something to drink, Miss Burnette?” He offered her his arm, and Aunt Maggie delicately took it.

  “I’d be honored,” she said. “You know, you really should call me by my first name. We’re not on opposite sides of a picket line anymore.”

  “Maggie, then. And I hope you’ll call me Bill. Excuse us, ladies.” They ambled away, but Aunt Maggie managed to catch my eye long enough to wink.

  Dorcas said something polite and went away, too. I don’t think Vasti even saw her go.

  “I don’t believe it,” Vasti said. “I just don’t believe it.” She repeated it a few more times, and might have still been at it if Hank Parker hadn’t shown up right then, camera in hand. Some sixth sense prompted Vasti to transform her expression of disbelief into a gracious smile before Hank snapped the picture, and I heard Hank mutter something unhappy under his breath.

  “Well, Hank Parker,” Vasti said in honeyed tones. “I’m so glad you made it. Are you having a good time?”

  Aunt Nora always said that it was a good thing that Byerly had a newspaper for Hank Parker to work at, because otherwise he’d have no way to support himself by being nosy. He wore that same straw hat all year long because it gave him a place to put his press pass.

  Hank smiled genially, and said, “A very nice spread, Mrs. Bumgarner, very nice indeed.” Then he jerked his head around in that dramatic way that warned that a searching question was coming, and barked, “Can you tell me how your husband’s campaign can afford this kind of luxury?”

  Of course Vasti had seen him jerk his head, so she was ready for him. “Hank, you know that this party isn’t a political event. It’s for charity, to help poor little orphans.” Vasti must have finally found out what cause she was raising funds for.

  “But isn’t it true that your h
usband is going to give a speech in a few minutes?”

  “Oh, it’s not really a speech. He just wants to recognize Dorcas Walters and the other ladies on her committee for their dedication.”

  He nodded amiably again, which meant he was working on another question. He turned his gaze toward me. “Mrs. Fleming, how nice to see you back in town. I’ve enjoyed the opportunities to speak with your husband. Are y’all having a nice visit?”

  “Very nice, thank you.”

  I never did find out what he was planning to ask me about, because he was only halfway through the head jerk when Burt Walters strolled by. “Mr. Walters,” Hank called out, “would you join us for a moment?”

  Burt Walters always tried to be as dapper as his father, but he just didn’t have the style to carry it off. Somehow he always looked overdressed, and his hair dye, though impeccably applied, just didn’t convince anybody.

  “Hello there, Hank,” he said. “Vasti, Laurie Anne. Don’t y’all look pretty this evening. Vasti, you’ve done a wonderful job putting this party together. Dorcas has just been raving about it.” Vasti tried to look modest, and Walters winked at Hank. “Feel free to quote me on that.”

  “Could I get a shot of you with the ladies, Mr. Walters?” Hank asked.

  “Certainly, if the ladies don’t mind.”

  Vasti managed to look both surprised and delighted at the request, which she had no doubt been hoping for. Mr. Walters stood between us with his arm around our shoulders, and we all smiled for Hank to take a picture.

  “Just another couple of shots, if you don’t mind,” Hank said, and we kept smiling. Then I caught the hint of a head jerk from behind the camera, and Hank said, “Mr. Walters, can you explain how Leonard Cooper looked so much like your father?”

  I could only guess at the expression on Walters’s face when Hank quickly snapped several pictures.

  Walters let his arms drop from Vasti’s and my shoulders. “I told you before, Parker, I didn’t know that man and I don’t know why he was at the mill. I hardly think that now is the time to be asking about such a thing.”

  “But isn’t it true that you were expected at the mill that day?”

  “That’s enough!” Walters said. “I’ve said all that I’m going to say.” He stomped off.

  Hank grinned, tipped his hat to us, and said, “Ladies. Thank you for your time.”

  As soon as he was gone, Vasti fumed, “Of all the nerve, asking questions like that at a party.”

  “He is a reporter. He’s supposed to ask questions,” I reminded her. “Besides, you know he’s not going to print the picture of Mr. Walters looking furious. He never does. He only takes that kind of picture because he can.”

  Vasti made a few more indignant noises, then spotted someone she thought might be important to talk to and headed away again.

  I decided that it had been too long since I had seen my husband, and tracked him down sitting in a corner of the veranda. He shoved his book back into his pocket as soon as he saw me and tried to look innocent.

  “Having a good time?” he asked.

  “Pretty good. Something interesting just happened.” I told him about the encounter with Hank Parker and Burt Walters.

  “That was a dirty trick,” Richard said.

  I shrugged it off. “Hank always pulls that. Aunt Nora thinks he must have seen it in a movie or something. I’m just surprised that Burt got so angry.”

  “You think he doth protest too much?”

  “Something like that. Hank did remind me of something. Do you remember what Ralph said about Burt Walters calling to say he was coming over? It’s a funny coincidence that he planned to come to the mill on the very day a man got murdered there, and a man who probably knew his brother at that. I don’t know that Burt has ever come to the mill on a Sunday before.”

  “But Walters never made it to the mill. Or rather, he made it, but only after Junior called him.”

  “True,” I acknowledged, “but it still sounds suspicious to me. Byerly gossip considers him a strong possibility.”

  “What about motive?”

  “Suppose Cooper killed Small Bill so Burt could get his share of the mill, and was now blackmailing Burt as well as Aunt Daphine. Then Burt killed him to keep from having to pay more.”

  “It sounds a little farfetched,” Richard said, which was putting it pretty mildly.

  “It sounds pretty farfetched to me, too, but I swear Burt is lying about something.”

  “I think you just don’t like him.”

  “I guess it’s reflex. No one is supposed to like the mill owners.”

  “Is that why you couldn’t wait for a chance to come to their house?”

  “Call it a love–hate relationship. So much of the town is dependent on the mill, and we’re grateful for the work, but then we resent that we are so dependent. Kind of a Shakespearean irony, don’t you think?”

  He looked doubtful, but nodded anyway.

  I said, “I think I’ll go mingle some more. Want to come?”

  “No thanks. I think I’ll just enjoy the ambiance from here.”

  I gave him a quick kiss, started to go, then turned and said, “Enjoy your book.”

  Richard only grinned in response.

  I chatted with more friends and family members, even to Linwood when I ran into him by the drink table. He was as polite as he ever was, probably because he must have realized that I hadn’t told anyone about Sue working. It would have been all over Byerly by then if I had.

  I was about ready for a rest when I came across Aunt Daphine alone at a table. She looked very nice, much better than she had at the family reunion, and I told her so.

  “Thank you,” she said. “How are you doing?”

  “Pretty good. Vasti throws a nice party.”

  Aunt Daphine nodded, looked around to see if anybody else was within earshot, and then said, “How are things going?”

  I had been afraid that she would ask that. “I wish I could tell you something more, but so far Richard and I haven’t found out much.” My ideas about Dorinda and Cooper and Burt Walters were way too tenuous to mention to her.

  “That’s all right,” she said, patting my leg. “I know y’all are going to come through for me.”

  I just smiled, hoping that she was right.

  Mrs. Walters’s maid Charlene came over to us about then. “Mrs. Marston? You’ve got a telephone call,” Charlene said.

  “Here?” Aunt Daphine said. “Did they say who it is?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s Chief Norton.”

  Aunt Daphine went pale.

  “Thank you, Charlene,” I said. “We’ll be right there.”

  “Junior’s found out,” Aunt Daphine said in a harsh whisper, her earlier confidence gone. “It’s going to come out, Laurie Anne, and Vasti is never going to forgive me.

  “Stop that!” I snapped. “It might be nothing at all.” I started pulling her toward the house. “The only way to find out is to ask.”

  “You talk to her, Laurie Anne. I just can’t think right now.”

  Charlene led us into a room I think was the parlor, and I picked up the phone. “Junior? This is Laura Fleming. Aunt Daphine can’t talk at the moment. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Is Mrs. Marston there at the party?” Junior asked, sounding oddly formal.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “How long has she been there?”

  “I believe she got here early this morning to help Vasti out,” I said, and Aunt Daphine nodded in confirmation.

  “And she hasn’t left there since that time?”

  “No, she’s been here all day,” I said. Aunt Daphine nodded again, looking confused. “Junior, what’s all this about?”

  “Well, we’ve got us a situation down at your aunt’s beauty parlor.”

  “What kind of situation? Did someone break in? There hasn’t been a fire, has there?”

  “No, nothing like that. We got a report that somebody heard a gunshot in thi
s area a little while ago, and saw the lights on in your aunt’s place. When we went inside, we found Dorinda Thompson laying on the floor.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s dead, Laurie Anne. I’m sorry to interrupt the party, but I need Mrs. Marston down here right away.”

  “We’re on our way,” I said, and hung up the phone.

  Chapter 22

  We left as soon as I told Aunt Daphine what was going on. Richard wasn’t on the veranda anymore and I didn’t have any idea of where he was, so I gave Charlene a note to pass on to him. In it, I told Richard what had happened, and deputized him to come up with an excuse for Aunt Daphine’s and my disappearance that wouldn’t worry anybody.

  An ambulance was just pulling away from the curb when we got to La Dauphin, which was fine with me. After finding Cooper at the mill, I had had my fill of dead bodies for a while. I guessed that the town’s best gossips were still at Vasti’s party, because only a couple of people were hanging around and trying to get a look inside. Junior’s deputy Mark Pope was standing outside the door to keep them out, but he let Aunt Daphine and me into the shop.

  Junior or one of the other police officers milling around had drawn the customary outline around where Dorinda’s body had been found, in the main room out of sight of the door. The floor of La Dauphin was often covered in hair clippings and rolling papers, but this was the first time that I had seen blood staining the linoleum.

  Junior was looking through a drawer of hair pins and brushes, but when she saw us, she stopped and led us to the back room where Aunt Daphine stores supplies and keeps her desk.

  I kept a firm hand on Aunt Daphine’s elbow. She hadn’t regained any of her color, and I was afraid she was going to faint. Junior pulled over a stool, and waved Aunt Daphine to the desk chair. “I appreciate your bringing Mrs. Marston over, Laurie Anne,” she said. “You can wait out front. Just stay out of the other officers’ way.”