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

by Larissa Reinhart

  “I’m not harassing anyone. And Ada’s not sweet. Everyone knows that.” I snorted. “For weeks she can’t remember my name. But she certainly knew it well enough to file that complaint.”

  “That Ada is a feisty one,” said Todd. “She reminds me of you.”

  “I thought so too.” Luke slid his cool gray gaze to Todd. “By the way, how’s Shawna?”

  Todd’s face reddened. “Fine, I guess.”

  “We’re making a nice mess of things for Cody, aren’t we?” The corner of Luke’s lip lifted.

  “The mess was already there,” said Todd. “I caught the tail end of it. Besides, in court, they aren’t going to care who Shawna’s dating. But they will care who the arresting officer’s been seeing on the sly.”

  “Hey.” I snapped my fingers. “We’ve got elderly women who’ve run off.”

  “I’d think you’d be more concerned with your own mess,” said Luke.

  “Those ladies are my mess. They’re my students.” I didn’t feel it necessary to mention Hazel had dropped my class and Rosie disdained it. Small details when contending with an elderly drug ring. “Ada’s wily. She screamed and pretended to faint to get out of my questioning. We’ll have words tomorrow and get to the bottom of this. I’ll let you know what I learn.”

  “Not unless Ada drops the restraining order. No more Halo House for you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. How am I going to find out what Parker’s doing if I can’t go to Halo House?”

  “Don’t you mean ‘How am I going to teach my class if I can’t go to Halo House?’” Luke leaned into me. “You don’t need to find out what Parker’s doing. That’s my job.”

  “He’s not telling you anything and you know it. He’ll lawyer up faster than you can say ‘rich daddy’s boy.’”

  Luke turned to Todd. “Why do you encourage her in these schemes?”

  “It’s easier to step aside then get steamrolled. More fun too.”

  I ignored them. “Ada’s my friend. She’s not keeping the restraining order. Fred won’t let her.”

  “I met Ada and Fred,” said Luke. “Ada’s not going to listen to Fred. Ada’s going to do whatever it takes to get you off Hazel and Rosie’s backs.”

  “Luke, this is serious. There’s a drug ring involving Parker Brakeman-Newson at Halo House. If I can’t talk to Ada, then you need to arrest her.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Aiding and abetting.” I tapped my chin. “And obstruction. Yes, obstruction. She has information about a criminal activity. I know she does.”

  “So you think it’s unfair of your friend to file a restraining order against you, but you’re coming up with charges willy-nilly for a senior citizen?”

  “It’s for her own good.”

  “She’d say the same about you.” Luke’s smirk turned serious. “Listen, this is not just about Ada. The sheriff’s worried about you.”

  “What’re you talking about?” I hadn’t told Uncle Will or Luke about Palmetto. I feared he’d add “fleeing the scene of a crime” to my charges.

  “The sheriff’s thinking of holding you as a suspect in the murder of Coralee Brakeman.”

  “What for? You know I had nothing to do with her death.”

  “Sure, but the rest of the county doesn’t. Ron Newson, for example, who’s been giving us hell about your interference. That lawyer, Harry Hunt, is another example. Let’s see, I could name a few more—”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.” I flashed him my fiercest look. “I’ve done my best to not interfere with your investigation. Only asking a few questions here and there. Just keeping my ears and eyes open. And it’s gotten me nowhere. I don’t know any more than y’all.”

  “Considering we’re the authorities, I’d hope not.”

  “I thought I’d never live to see this day. If Uncle Will calls me a suspect, he’s trumping up charges to placate voters.”

  “This is not about his reputation. He’d do it to protect you while we continue the investigation. He seems to think your friendship with Belvia Brakeman might put you in harm’s way.”

  I waved off the complaint. It was my interest in Parker Brakeman-Newson that put me in harm’s way. Of course, I wasn’t airing that to Deputy Heartbreak.

  “You were first on the scene for two murders.”

  “Can I help it if I keep ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time? There’s no evidence to hold me.”

  “Oh, but there is. Remember that pencil planted in Coralee’s neck? And the chocolates she ate that were a gift from you? All of Belvia’s Lidocaine patches were soaked in digoxin. Someone had also injected the chocolates with digoxin. We found traces of it on the wrappers. Unfortunately for Coralee, they didn’t mix with the amount of Prozac in her system. Wasn’t it Prozac you found while you were doing what? Snooping in a private board meeting?”

  “Digoxin? In her pain patches and the chocolates? The Prozac I found was Coralee’s…” I straightened on the uncomfortable plastic chair. “Sounds like premeditated murder to me. I brought those chocolates over the day before Belvia died. You think Coralee’s death was just accidental?”

  “My thoughts on Coralee Brakeman’s death are not the point.” Luke’s cool gray gaze narrowed into icy points of hardened lead. “The point is, it was your chocolates and your pencil. If I didn’t know you, I’d put you on a list of potential suspects myself.”

  “Dammit, you know this isn’t fair.”

  Luke’s anger dissipated and he squeezed my knee. “Lucky for you, we do know you and your inclination to involve yourself with victims. Sheriff Thompson’s not locking you up.”

  “Good.” I brightened.

  “For now.”

  Todd and I set off in his Civic under the deeply disapproving gaze of Deputy Luke Harper. Under no circumstances was I to look for Rosie and Hazel, nor was I to contact Ada. I was also to leave Parker Brakeman-Newson alone. And for good measure, any other Brakeman.

  But he didn’t say anything about Palmetto. And I really wanted to squash that bug.

  “You’re not afraid of Palmetto?” asked Todd.

  He knew threat of imprisonment would not quell my vindictive nature. Not just my name and reputation were on the line. Nor my job. Part-time as it was. Parker and Palmetto had threatened my friends. Who happened to be little old ladies.

  Little old ladies who might have criminal tendencies and a ruthless streak when it came to protecting their interests. But that’s probably why we were friends.

  “I met Palmetto without knowing who he was,” I said. “I’m going in prepared this time.”

  “Prepared how?” Todd’s fingers tapped a rapid staccato. “Like going home to get your shotgun prepared? Or having police on standby prepared?”

  “I can’t have the police on standby, Todd. You heard what Luke said. Uncle Will would sooner lock me up on false charges than let me stand-off with Palmetto.”

  “So you’re getting your gun?” His quick staccato rhythm disintegrated into haphazard thrumming.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He let out a long breath.

  “If I had my gun, I’d want to shoot that sumbitch. Getting my gun would be premeditated murder. If I do something to Palmetto, I’d rather it be self-defense.”

  I glanced at Todd’s whitened features and laughed.

  “I’m joking,” I said. “We’re keeping this meeting public and civil. Palmetto’s just a wannabe thug. I’ve dealt with wannabe thugs before. If he wanted to gank me, he would have done it himself right there on the spot. That’s what a real thug would do. Very unprofessional to give me all that time to escape.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better.”

  Besides the corn crib, Todd and I created a list of Forks County ac
tive hot spots for wayward youth. There weren’t many at nine o’clock on a Wednesday night. The Tastee Treat. The paintball grounds. The bleachers behind Halo High School. And a cruising spot in Line Creek, a short length of asphalt between the Cinemaplex and Walmart that included a strip mall holding a Krystal’s and a questionable liquor store.

  We tried the Tastee Treat first because I was hungry and could go for a chili dog. Halo High had a stronger lock on the athletic fields than I remembered from my misspent adolescence. However, the paintball place, Splats, was busy. Wednesday night was their BOGO coupon night. They had to compete with the midweek church school crowd.

  The parking lot was filled with battered trucks, hatchbacks, and dirt bikes. All heathens, evidently. Looked like a young adult jackpot to me.

  We approached the tin shed admission booth. A young guy in a Coors Racing Team cap took tickets.

  “You want to be on the same team or opposing sides?” he asked.

  “We’re looking for someone. A dude named Palmetto,” I said. “Tall and gangly like the tree. Personality like the bug.”

  “Don’t know him. But you’re welcome to look for him on the fields.”

  “Great.” I turned toward the gate.

  “Got to buy a pass. You got your own gun and ammo?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then you’re gonna need that too. Plus you have to rent a team vest.”

  I looked at Todd. “This is some kind of racket.”

  But Todd had that boyish gleam to his eye. Like when young men caught sight of a Maserati or a Cowboys cheerleader. “Let’s play.”

  “We’re not here to play,” I said. “We’re here to squash a bug.”

  “You can squash him with paint,” said the guy.

  We entered the gates with two vests, two masks, one gun, and one paintball pack between us. I let Todd carry the gun because I didn’t like to see him pout.

  We entered into a thicket of color-splattered pines. A string of lights cast a ghostly glow on the trees. The vest over my coat didn’t help much with the cold and if it hadn’t been so chilly, I’d not have risked getting my wool coat splashed. Woodsmoke from a neighbor’s chimney mixed with CO2 vapor. Glimpses of players hiding behind trunks had us dodging from tree to tree to keep from getting paint smacked.

  “How are we finding Palmetto in this mess?” I said. “If he’s even here?”

  Todd raised the gun and fired off a round at a man in orange-streaked camo. “We stay alive. Work our way through the grounds. Defeat the enemy.”

  “Todd, you’re forgetting the original purpose of this mission.”

  In the distance, we could hear the splat, splat of an attack. Hoots and screams that could only be made by men or goats erupted from the next quadrant. Todd and I ran from tree to tree until we found the clearing. From a glare of field lights, the new area revealed plywood barriers, rusted-out cars covered in paint, and splattered metal drums. We crept inside, dodging low behind a piece of plywood nailed to a T of two-by-fours.

  A group huddled behind a barrier of stacked logs. Glancing over their shoulders, they spotted us and waved for our entry.

  Grabbing the gun from Todd, I dashed to the grown delinquents. One motioned to crouch. I ignored his command, shoved a gun into his back, then waved for Todd to join me. “I’m looking for Palmetto. Where is he?”

  “You’re on our team,” complained the guy I held hostage. “We’re wearing the same vest color.”

  A girl pointed at a double-storied plywood shed. “Palmetto’s in there.”

  Looking at Todd, I jerked my thumb toward the shed. We ran. Paint thwacked our heels. I adjusted my straight line into a zigzag, cursing those who dirtied my boots. We jerked to a stop under the shed stairs, throwing ourselves against the barrier. From the scent surrounding the plywood structure, Palmetto and guests were taking a recreational drug break.

  “Smell that?” I whispered. “They’re not paying attention. Can you cover me while I take a peek upstairs?”

  Todd nodded, then crouched beneath the stairs, gun ready.

  A deluge of paintballs hammered the front wall. I jumped, but my shivers were more from excitement than nerves. I climbed the rickety ladder and peered through the hole.

  Three guys—Jordan and two boys from the corn crib—had sprawled on the plywood floor with their backs against the left wall, passing a joint between them. They toked beneath their masks, allowing the smoke to cloud their goggles. Their attention fixed on the front cutout window, where an occasional paint pellet flew through and slammed into the wall.

  Palmetto slumped against the opposite right wall, shooting into the night sky. The wide arcs wouldn’t hit a human target, but he seemed content to watch them pummel a low-hanging tree branch and drip to the ground.

  I ducked my head below and signaled to Todd, a three-fingered tap against my bicep and point toward the left wall. One tap for the right wall accompanied by a finger waggle to portray the cockroach scuttle.

  Todd nodded, handed me the gun, and crouched beneath me. Placing his hands on my waist he boosted me through the opening.

  Before I recovered my balance, I’d fired off a round at Palmetto’s men, mostly hitting their masks. While they wiped their goggles, I turned my gun on Palmetto.

  “I’m back.” I smirked behind my mask. “Tell me about Halo House.”

  Palmetto pulled his trigger.

  I collapsed into Todd. We slammed into the wall, thankfully missing the open trap door.

  The low hoots from Palmetto’s men rang in my ear and I swallowed my pride with a lungful of paint fumes. Getting shot in the chest with a paint pellet stung like I’d been thwacked with a giant rubber band.

  The hit made me feel bad for shooting Palmetto’s men in their faces. Then remembered what they had done to me at the corn crib. I got over it, kneeled, and shot Palmetto. While he scrubbed at his face mask, Todd jerked the gun from his hand and held it on Palmetto.

  “We called 911 again,” I yelled through gritted teeth. “I expect Forks County deputies are already searching the arena for y’all. They were sorely disappointed not to snatch you at the corn crib.”

  Jordan, Tweedlee, and Tweedledum dove through the hole, barreling past Todd.

  “Your buddies ditched you, Palmetto.”

  “You’ve got nothing,” he said. “I don’t have anything illegal on me.”

  “Except what they’ll find in your blood tox screen.” I lowered my gun from his chest to below his waist. “Hope you’re wearing a cup.”

  His voice rose in panic. “You wouldn’t.”

  I did.

  Palmetto doubled over.

  I aimed at Palmetto’s privates again. “I want to know what y’all are doing at Halo House with those women.”

  Palmetto lay on the floor, twitching. “If you knew what was good for those grandmas, you’d leave it alone.”

  “I’m not letting this go. The police know all about your partnership with Parker. He’s lawyering up. Guess who’s taking the heat? You think Parker’s daddy’s letting his son go to jail? He’s grooming Parker to take over Meemaw’s Tea. You’re going down, son.”

  “I don’t need a lawyer,” he rasped. “My one call will be to my homies to hunt you down and gut you.”

  “Let me repeat. What’s Parker doing at Halo House? He wasn’t visiting his meemaw. Why does he know Hazel and Rosie?” My gunsight swung back to aim at his crotch.

  Parker responded to my vigilante justice with a couple new cuss words that had yet to enter my repertoire. I fired again. Palmetto curled, then flipped onto his stomach, whimpering.

  “Roll him over, Todd.”

  “No,” Palmetto gasped. “Parker buys drugs from the women. That’s why he’s at Halo House all the time. They get it from their friends or se
ll their own and he pays them in cash.”

  “That’s disturbing.”

  “How else do you think they can afford that place? It’s not like Medicare covers Halo House.”

  I didn’t know which was more surprising, that Palmetto knew about Medicare or that my elderly friends were selling their drugs. “What’s that got to do with Meemaw’s Tea?”

  “Nothin’.”

  I marked him with the laser, but Palmetto held up a hand. “I don’t know anything about his grandma’s company except it gets him into Halo House.”

  “Parker’s going to inherit, idiot. Where does that leave you? Turn him in and you can plea down.”

  “Parker doesn’t do this for the money, dude.” Palmetto pushed up and rolled over. “You ain’t figured that out by now, you can’t figure anything.”

  Palmetto had to be right. Why enter a life of thuggery when Parker had every opportunity handed to him on a silver platter, including the chance to run a multi-million-dollar company? Why risk it for small-town drug dealing? Belvia had been looking for psychopaths in her company while her daughter had been raising one next door.

  But how did I tell the police about the psychopath without revealing his involvement with my friends, who happened to be senior citizens? I had to find a way to separate the murders from the drugs. Prison was no place for elderly spinsters.

  “Cancel that 911 call,” I said to Todd. “We’re letting the bug go.” I eyed Palmetto. “For now.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Back at 211 Loblolly, I looked around my un-updated kitchen and sighed. The sale of Great Gam’s home would mean a certain amount of elbow grease and haggling over materials. That thought made me tired. And sad.

  “Dammit,” I said for lack of a better phrase.

  “Disappointed you didn’t turn in Palmetto, baby?” Todd thunked two longnecks onto the battered kitchen table and settled into the chair opposite my slump. “If it makes you feel any better, those paintball hits can bruise and Palmetto’s going to have a nasty welt. The thought of it makes me wince.”