A Composition in Murder (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 6)

by Larissa Reinhart

  “Goodnight, Cherry.”

  I’d check on Hazel myself. Tomorrow after class. If the young guy was harassing her, I had to help. Grandma Jo had taught me to always take care of my elders.

  Four

  The next morning, as I was put off breakfast by thoughts of Todd with Shawna, I decided to avoid Todd, skip my microwavable Jimmy Dean, and grab something at Halo House. Todd wasn’t always the sharpest wrench in the toolbox, but he made up for it with steadfast loyalty, easy companionship, and overall good looks. I figured Shawna had an ulterior, nefarious motive for dating him.

  I’d made a promise to Uncle Will to “cool it on the hijinks and whatnot” until Cody’s trial. The slip of paper I’d kept from Todd was exactly that. Ammunition against the Bransons, particularly Shawna. By finding this information, Luke betrayed his mother’s-by-marriage people. For me. To help clear up the god-awful mess that put my brother Cody in jail, helped my sister into unemployment, and made me lose my Halo art base.

  However, as much as I wanted to get Shawna to drop the charges against Cody, I didn’t know if I had it in me to blackmail her. Or to shame her family. Not to mention the repercussions that would ensue, like the exhuming of our Tucker family skeletons. Namely my mother.

  In the Halo House parking lot, I hopped from the Datsun and strolled into the marble lobby with a box of Dixie Delites under my arm. At eight in the morning, the place was already hopping. Today I had Hazel to check on and a class to teach, but also felt anxious to find out what Belvia Brakeman wanted with me. The box of chocolates was my excuse to drop by.

  At the front desk, Krenzer waved me over. “Belvia Brakeman wants to see you.”

  No excuse needed.

  I grinned. “I’m free. I’ll see her in a minute.”

  “Considering you teach one class a day and it’s not for,” she checked the schedule, “another five hours, I’d agree you’re free.”

  I shrugged. “I miss college.”

  “You can learn a lot from your elders.” Krenzer smiled. “That’s all right then. Just don’t wear anyone out.”

  I decided not to elucidate her on the difference between missing college and missing learning and headed toward the stairway. A small crowd hung around the fountain, holding coffee mugs and chatting.

  “Morning, Fred. Miss Ada,” I called. “And Miss Hazel.”

  Miss Hazel looked away, but Fred waved.

  I scooted to the fountain, unsure of the best way to broach Hazel’s situation with Young Grabby Hands. Particularly when she hung with the two biggest gossips in Halo House. Fred liked to chew the fat as much as my Grandpa Ed, and Ada had the lowdown on nearly everyone. I’d known Fred all my life, but had met Ada and Hazel through my art class. Just like in school, a common interest had joined us together.

  Unfortunately, the common interest was our interest in everyone else.

  “Charlene, you’re late,” barked Ada. She eyed the box under my arm. “Who’s that for?”

  “It’s Cherry. And actually, I’m early.” Ada seemed sharp in most areas but my name. Considering she was seventy-eight, I forgave her. “The chocolates are for Belvia Brakeman. My Grandma Jo said to always bring an edible to the grieving. If they don’t feel like eating, their kin surely will. Lucky I did because Miss Belvia wants to see me.”

  “If you bought that at the Piggly Wiggly, it’s not good enough for Battle-axe,” scoffed Ada. “Might as well hand it over to someone who will appreciate store chocolate.”

  I smiled and tightened my grip on the Dixie Delites. “Battle-axe?”

  “In school, they used to call her Battle-axe Belvia Brakeman. Not my class. My oldest sister’s. I’m younger. And better looking.” Ada opened her mouth and pointed. “Still have my own teeth too.”

  I turned toward Hazel, who stared into her coffee. Normally, she’d have a comeback for Ada’s sass. “What’s going on today?”

  “We’re interested in seeing who shows to visit the CEO,” said Fred. “You heard Coralee, the younger sister, is here? She hasn’t been back in more than thirty years. She ran off to California—”

  “Iowa,” said Ada. “Joined a commune or some such nonsense. And Battle-axe said, ‘Don’t bother coming back until you get your head screwed on straight.’ So Coralee didn’t.”

  “I guess they came back for the funeral?” I asked.

  “Coralee didn’t show for her father’s funeral but did for her sister. Shows you who wears the pants in this family,” said Fred. Then added, “The Brakeman women,” in case we couldn’t guess.

  Ada glowered at Fred, but couldn’t find fault in his statement. “I bet Coralee thought this was her chance to play prodigal daughter. Maybe nose her way into the family business.”

  “You think?” My mind took a Matlock wander.

  “Anyway, we’re hoping to see a skirmish.”

  “That’s horrible.” I gave Ada my best “grow-up” eyebrow raise, usually saved for my own siblings.

  “Get off your high horse, Charlene,” said Ada. “Back in the day, Coralee and Ron, Della’s husband, never got along. And Coralee’s husband, Wally, is about as opposite from the Brakemans as you can get. It’ll be plenty entertaining.”

  “Poor Miss Belvia.”

  Ada snorted. “Battle-axe did nothing to stop it back then. She all but encouraged the rivalry between the two sisters. Thought it’d make them stronger so they’d have an edge in the business world.”

  “Times were different for women in the workplace then. Have you seen Mad Men? Now that Joan Holloway...” Fred whistled. “Never saw anyone like her in my office, I can tell you that.”

  Ada smacked his arm. “Are you still binge watching that Netflix stuff? I told you to cut down on the idiot box.”

  “It’s an award-winning show, Ada.” Fred rubbed his arm. “Take it easy. You know I bruise easily.”

  I eyed Hazel, still ignoring us. “You okay, Miss Hazel? You seemed shook up last night.”

  Ada and Fred stopped their tussle to check out the flush creeping through Hazel’s powdered cheeks.

  She shot me a hard look. “Everything’s just fine.”

  “What happened?” asked Ada. “Did you have a spell or something?”

  “No, I did not have a spell.” Hazel rose from the bench. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to attend to in my rooms.”

  I watched her leave, then spotted Ada and Fred’s questioning gaze.

  “Should we be keeping an eye on Hazel?” asked Ada. “She might not admit to feeling puny, but someone should know if she’s sick.”

  I chewed on my lip, thinking about Hazel and Young Grabby Hands with the pistol tattoo. “Does she have a grandson who visits much?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Fred. “Hazel doesn’t get many visitors.”

  “Poor Hazel,” I said. “I wonder if she’s lonely and this guy is taking advantage of her.”

  “What guy?” Ada’s eyes gleamed.

  I considered Hazel’s privacy amid these nosy Nellies, but my concern for Hazel overrode that propriety. “Last night, I saw a young man with a gun tattoo messing with Hazel. He took something from her, but she claimed it wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Hazel’s savvy,” said Ada. “Likely it wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Do you have something against tattoos?” Fred rolled his sleeve and flashed the U.S.N. eagle on his bicep.

  “It’s not the tattoos, it was the attitude accompanying them that bugged me.” I fixed my fists on my hips. “It looked like the guy was pressuring Hazel to give him something.”

  “Forced her? Like a mugging?” said Fred, cracking his knuckles.

  “No, she took too long getting something out of her purse, so he grabbed it.”

  Ada rolled her eyes. “Hazel has arthritis.”

&n
bsp; “She looked scared. Where’s your concern for Hazel?”

  “Hazel’s a big girl.”

  “No, Ada, she’s not. Hazel’s actually tiny.” I eyed the troublemakers. “If y’all would keep an eye on Hazel, that’d be helpful. Let me know if you see anything amiss.”

  “We’ll watch out for her,” said Fred. “Don’t you worry, Cherry.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” I turned toward the grand stairway. I needed to see Belvia before the visitation visitors consumed her time.

  “That Charlene,” said Ada. “Thinks we can’t take care of ourselves. Hazel knows what she’s doing.”

  “I heard that,” I said. “I’m still standing right here.”

  “Fred can’t hear if I whisper,” said Ada. “And I can’t help it if you’re rude enough to listen in.”

  “Look out for Hazel.” I waved the Dixie Delite box. “Humor me.”

  Ada rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about us humoring you, Charlene. You see enough of that in your art class.”

  Five

  At Mrs. Brakeman’s door, I buzzed, pleased I’d spent the five bucks to get the chocolate. Then swooped the box behind my back when Coralee answered. Her eyes had zipped past me to the Dixie Delites like a hawk sighting a baby bunny.

  I was just mean enough to want to get credit from the Queen of Halo House. Particularly knowing I had been summoned.

  “What do you want?” Coralee centered herself in the doorway.

  “Nice to see you. Once again, sorry for your loss.”

  Coralee’s eyes did not waver from the chocolate. It seemed my sentiments couldn’t compete with Dixie Delites. She pointed at my box. “If you’re dropping that off, I’ll see Mother gets it. She’s busy.”

  “Actually, Miss Belvia asked for me. Left a message at the desk.”

  “If she’s expecting you, I guess I’ll let you in.” Coralee swung open the door. “There are a lot of people who want to talk to my mother. Trooping in since daybreak. Mother is up early and they all know it.”

  No Pris on the couch reading today. Nor anyone else. I guess the visitors had already untrooped.

  I followed Coralee through the small living room toward Belvia’s office.

  “I can take the candy for you.” Her hand darted toward the box.

  “Is Miss Belvia diabetic?” At her head shake, I smiled. “If Miss Belvia’s been up for hours, she might want a little sugar.”

  Rolling her eyes, Coralee rapped on the office door, then opened it. A droning electronic voice shut off.

  “It’s that girl...” She looked at me. “Who are you again?”

  “Come in, Cherry,” called Belvia Brakeman.

  I stepped around Coralee and into the office.

  “Coralee, make yourself scarce. I want to talk in private.” Miss Belvia’s imperious voice rose from the desk. Turned toward the computer, the tall-backed leather office throne effectively hid her.

  Just like the Wizard of Oz, I thought.

  “I’ll wait in the living room,” said Coralee. “And Mother, she brought candy. I’ll take the box for you?”

  I tightened my grip on the Dixie Delites.

  “I’d like you to leave the apartment,” said Belvia from behind the chair. “Give us some privacy.”

  “Really, Mother.” Coralee’s lips pulled tight. Glancing at me, she slid them into a smile so artificial it gave me the willies. “I can stay in the apartment without interrupting your meeting. Where else would I go?”

  “That will be all, Coralee.”

  “I guess I could check on the room for the viewing.”

  “Good idea.” Miss Belvia waited until we heard the front door shut. “Sit down, Cherry.”

  “Can I put the chocolates somewhere for you?”

  “Not now.” Belvia swiveled to face me. “I called you in because of your behavior yesterday. It affirmed something I’ve heard about you.”

  Having heard this conversation starter previously in my life, I squirmed and resisted the urge to chew my bottom lip. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for whatever I did.”

  “I don’t normally have strangers suspecting I may be cheated by fraud.”

  “I get suspicious about a lot of things, and I promised my Uncle Will to curb that habit. I’m trying. It does get me involved in business that is not my concern. Sometimes with a certain criminal element. Although those involvements, I think, have been good for the community, by helping folks and such. But particular parts of the community tend to—”

  “Your concern for my welfare is appreciated, Cherry. But I’m not worried about what the community believes. I respect people who say what they think. Particularly when the thinking is strategic.”

  I straightened. “Thank you.”

  “Why did you think my will might be fraudulent?”

  Considering her current high approval of my intelligence, I forewent any mention of Matlock. “Mostly because of your sight. And your age. Also with a company like Meemaw’s Tea, you’re worth a penny or two. Forgive me for saying so, ma’am.”

  Her chin lifted a notch. “Of course. And this Uncle Will. That’s Sheriff Will Thompson, isn’t he?”

  “He is. At least for now.” I sighed, thinking of Uncle Will’s recent stress. “The election’s coming and he’s running against an outsider. It’s been a while since he’s run against anyone.” I didn’t mention Della’s hit and run didn’t help. Or that the outsider was backed with Branson bucks.

  She brushed past the politics. “So you have some knowledge of law-enforcement procedures. The police are investigating Della’s death.”

  “Yes, ma’am. An accidental death is normally manslaughter. But for a hit and run, that’s first-degree homicide. You bet Sheriff Will’s investigating.”

  “And if it was deliberate? Della’s death?”

  “Hit her on purpose?” I wouldn’t admit my thoughts had gone there for a minute. “You think Della was murdered?”

  “The police are still calling it a suspicious death, but they think there’s more to it. I believe they are investigating Ron Newson, Della’s husband. He has an alibi though.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Must be awful, having just lost his wife.” No wonder Luke wouldn’t tell me anything. “But what can I do for you?”

  “I know the police will need sufficient evidence before they can make an arrest. If the perpetrator is associated with Meemaw’s Tea, they may have the resources to make an arrest difficult.”

  “By resources, you mean expensive lawyers.”

  She smiled in acknowledgment. “My intention was to pass the CEO chairmanship to Della this month when I officially retire. I want to keep Meemaw’s Tea a family-run company. For some, Della’s death is a game-changer, as harsh as that sounds.”

  “You think someone in your company murdered Della? To advance their career? Can’t you do a mental-health screening? Weed out the psychopaths?”

  “Do you know anything about multimillion-dollar companies with private shareholders?” She eyed me, despite the blindness. “They’re not run by the weak or by fools. My board members can be ruthless. I hire my administrators for that quality. You may joke about psychopaths, but by definition, they can be found in the business world. Egocentric, amoral mercenaries. Not necessarily violent, but still obsessed with their own agendas. Usually, that’s money and power. Meemaw’s Tea is worth a lot of money and the CEO is a position of power.”

  Almost made me glad to be poor and powerless. But now scared to drink bottled tea.

  “I sense your discomfort. I’m not a psychopath and neither are Meemaw’s Tea employees.” She stroked her neck and pulled at her pearls. “This is not someone outwardly insane. Just protecting their interests.”

  “Protecting their stakes with murder?” I didn’t
know much about business, but Belvia sounded too eager to find Della’s slayer in her company. At ninety and facing a crisis in her life’s work, maybe her daughter’s death was too much of a shock. “Can’t you fire the board?”

  “They are shareholders themselves. Since the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, anything to do with company governance has become complicated, particularly for the CEO and chairman.” She grimaced. “I relented to shareholder demands for an independent board of directors, but I’ve been fighting with them ever since. We all want profit, but I intended to keep this company in the family and closely held.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Cherry, with your background, your relationship with the police, and your work at Halo House, you can be useful to me. I want you to find out the culprit before their name hits the news, particularly if they are related to Meemaw’s Tea. You’re an outsider with my company, but an insider here at Halo House. A fresh set of eyes on my people and you can visit me without notice. I’m under quite a bit of scrutiny now.”

  “This is a criminal matter, ma’am. I can’t interfere in an investigation. Not only would my Uncle Will tan my hide, he’d have me arrested.”

  “I’m not speaking of interference. A separate investigation. I know you’ve done this before.”

  “My previous experience was helping friends when they had nowhere else to turn.” I didn’t like the thought of someone like Belvia Brakeman assuming I’d do a job. Particularly a job where my qualifications were vague at best. The friends I’d helped were the downtrodden, not the trodders. That’s what bugged me about the upper crust of small towns. Assuming the rest of us would willingly lick their boots because we hadn’t reached their apex of success.

  I didn’t lick boots. I wore them.

  “You see me as rich and powerful, but I’m still ninety and blind, Miss Tucker. And vulnerable. Remember those feelings you had yesterday when you suspected tampering with my will?”