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

by Larissa Reinhart

  “Tell me about it.” I rested the cold beer against my chest. “And my pea coat is ruined. Although I like that shade of yellow against the green. I may have to Jackson Pollack the back similarly.”

  Todd’s eyebrows creased at my art reference.

  “At least I know what Parker’s been doing at Halo House. I wish I knew what to do. If I report what I know, Hazel and Rosie could get arrested. And Ada could be charged with aiding and abetting for real. All this to afford a lifestyle of comfort and convenience in their twilight years. What is this world getting to?”

  Todd pushed from his seat and left the room. A moment later he returned with a sketchbook and a cup of drawing pencils. “This’ll help you think.”

  “You always know what I need, don’t you?” I wondered if Todd did these little things for Shawna, then pushed away that thought. I beamed a smile at him, while feeling a wave of nostalgia and longing similar to the homesickness I had felt at SCAD when separated from my family. I missed Todd already.

  “You’re easy to read, Cherry. You want to bust this Palmetto and Parker, but you’re not a snitch. You’re too loyal to your friends.”

  My head thunked the table at the thought of ratting out the elderly. “At the same time, I can’t allow my friends to be drug dealers. Think about those medications out on the street. All those boys taking the little blue pill and not knowing the side effects. The horror of it fills me with dread.”

  “Little blue pill?”

  “That sumbitch Parker Brakeman-Newson. I wonder if his daddy knows his kid is a dealer.” I drew a wolf on my sketchpad. “I need to know if this drug thing is related to the Brakeman deaths. Although I don’t see how. Parker is the only link. I figured him for a wannabe gangster, not a homicidal maniac.”

  “Didn’t Deputy Harper say drugs made Mrs. Brakeman have a heart attack? And Coralee was poisoned by the same stuff? Maybe Parker wants to take over the company.”

  “I don’t think so. At the board meeting, he sure didn’t act like King Sweet Tea. Parker looked bored out of his skull.”

  “You think his father killed them for Parker? Maybe got the drugs from him?”

  “Ron Brakeman-Newson had an alibi for his wife’s death. But no alibi for the other deaths. Ron’s also involved with Della’s ex-assistant.” I drew a broken heart, then looked up. “I wonder if Donna Sharp’s his alibi. Maybe she knows about Parker’s drug dealing too. Now that it’s been a few days, I might get her to talk. Luke didn’t say anything about not speaking to Donna again.”

  Todd’s brows inched toward his hairline. “You do realize you’ve been shot and threatened with a knife tonight?”

  “Paintball shot. That’s a typical Wednesday night for a lot of people my age.”

  “Isn’t it late?”

  “Late? It’s barely past ten. You got a booty call or something?”

  Scarlet-faced, Todd shook his head and searched the ceiling. “I’m supposed to call Shawna…”

  I took a deep breath. I’d force myself to get used to this, just like he’d had to swallow that lump of bitterness named Luke Harper.

  “Do your Shawna thing. I’m going. If Donna’s gone or asleep, I’ll leave it alone.”

  “And if she’s awake?”

  “Then we’re gonna have a PJ party, me and her.”

  I drove to Donna’s, switching my brain from drug deals to Brakeman deaths. Ron and Parker still had much at stake. As did Wally and Pris and possibly the Meemaw’s board members. But Parker was the only logical connection between the heart medication and the murders. And he did ride with a posse who threatened ganking. Making him, at the very least, an associate of violent crime thuggery.

  So if Ron didn’t kill Della, did Parker? Would a thug wannabe kill his own mother? Then grandmother and aunt?

  For a whole lotta money, maybe.

  My phone sang “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” alerting me to Todd’s call. “You know this isn’t Shawna, right?”

  “Hey, Cherry, you should come back.” Todd sounded strangely serious. “I was tossing our bottles in the recycle bin and saw a car drive down the street after you pulled away.”

  I glanced in my rearview but didn’t see any taillights. “What kind of car?”

  “A sweet Audi S8, turbo-charged. 605 hp. You should have heard that engine.”

  “Are you calling me to car talk or do you think I’m being followed?”

  “Not sure. But never seen a car like that on our street.” Todd’s phone beeped. “Gotta go.”

  “Did you see the driver?” I spoke to a dial tone. “Dammit, Todd. Not helpful.”

  My feet went cold despite the blast of hot air in the Datsun. My skin crawled, but I made myself pull over to watch for vehicles. After a few minutes, I relaxed and drove on to Donna Sharp’s bedroom community. Dark and quiet, her subdivision gave me more heebies. A desolate ghost town would be less creepy. At least the ghosts would know their neighbors.

  No vehicles loitered in Donna’s drive, but a light flickering in the rear of the house told me she still pretended vacation. I parked on the curb, then crept around the side of the house to look in the window. If Ron played happy homewrecker with Donna, there was no way she would talk to me tonight. Hopefully Ron would have the decency to sleep in his own house. At least until after the funerals.

  The back of the house also had curtains, but these were sheer. Someone needed to give Donna better tips on hiding out. She was curled in a blanket on the sofa, again in sweats and a ponytail. With her box of tissues and the TV blasting an LED light show across her face. Probably watching a movie about the other woman and crying about the fate of chatelaines.

  I returned to the front door and rang the bell. Considering the circumstances, Donna shouldn’t answer. But there was something about late-night callers. I was more likely to answer a ten thirty p.m. door ring than a ten thirty a.m. Bible thumpers didn’t tend to come around after dinner.

  As I suspected, Donna was like me.

  “Hey, Donna,” I said at her door crack. “It’s Cherry Tucker again. I know it’s late, but I want to chat with you about what’s going on with the Brakemans. You heard about Coralee?”

  Donna sniffled. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “You can’t or you won’t? It’s important. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here this late.”

  An engine growled as a car pulled onto Donna’s street. A jolt of electricity buzzed under my skin. I glanced behind me then twisted forward as the door hit my boot.

  “I already spoke to the police.” Donna glared at my toe jammed in the doorway.

  My boots were going to have a permanent door indentation.

  “This isn’t about the police,” I said. “This is personal. Someone wants to make me look like I was involved with these deaths.”

  “Why would you have anything to do with the Brakemans’?”

  “Exactly. I was trying to help Molly. Miss Belvia had asked me to look out for her.”

  “Poor Molly.”

  “Yep, poor Molly is losing folks right and left. You can’t help me with Coralee or Belvia’s demise, but it all started with Della. Della’s death was different than the others. Did anyone visit Della the day she died? One of the board members or family? Parker or Wally?”

  “I gave the police the appointments. Della was busy that day. The board members hounded her all the time after Belvia made the public announcement Della would be taking over Meemaw’s. Belvia hadn’t formally announced it to the board before going to the press. They were pissed.”

  “Which board members?

  “Lisa Russell, especially. She’s in charge of Human Resources. She felt she had a right to know before everyone else.”

  “Lisa Russell wanted to hire leadership from outside the factory. She also wanted to take Meemaw
’s public.”

  Donna nodded. “Molly was there when Lisa came in. She can tell you about the fight Della and Lisa had in front of us. It was awful. Molly was real upset. Della had asked her to visit and they barely got to talk because of Lisa.”

  “Molly saw the fight too? Did you report that to the police?”

  “Of course.”

  Luke had checked into Lisa Russell. If Lisa’s testimony didn’t verify, he would have brought her in. She must have an alibi. Like Ron. “Anyone else who was there that day? Like Parker? Did he visit his momma much?”

  “Sometimes he stopped by. Usually for money. But Parker would slip in when I wasn’t around because he knew I was to keep him out of Della’s office.”

  If Della left the door open for her son, maybe he wouldn’t have become a drug dealer. “What about Coralee? Were she and her family in the factory? They were already in town.”

  “I don’t think so. If she visited Della, it wasn’t in her office.”

  “Here’s the thing. Parker is buying drugs from Halo House to sell on the streets. I’m concerned it’s tied to these deaths.”

  Donna covered her mouth to hide her gasp. Her bloodshot eyes brimmed with more tears. “Poor Ron. And Della.”

  It was hard to feel sorry for Ron. Particularly when it seemed Donna would soon dehydrate with all her crying over him. “I guess you didn’t know. Do you think Ron and Della were aware of what Parker was doing when he visited his grandmother?”

  “How would I know that? Della would never tell me anything so private.”

  “Maybe not Della.” I felt a surge of bitterness toward Donna’s protection of Ron. How could she be this blind? My eggshell walk around Donna’s secret relationship wasn’t working. I was in a hurry for answers. “I know about you and Ron. Ron never mentioned Parker being in trouble?”

  “Ron’s just been trying to console me,” she mumbled.

  “Uh-huh.” I couldn’t help my scornful tone. “Ron hasn’t struck me as the consoling type. He’s threatened me. Pretty much the opposite of sympathetic.”

  “You don’t know Ron like I do,” said Donna. “Della ignored him. He was always nice to me when he’d see me at the factory. We started meeting for coffee. I know better than anyone how demanding Della can be.”

  “I get the picture. He’s misunderstood and lonely.” I rolled my eyes. “Usually, you’re the guy’s secretary in this situation. Not the wife’s.”

  She blanched.

  “I don’t care about the infidelity. There’s something bigger at stake. Could Ron be covering for Parker? Do you think Parker could have killed his family? Even accidentally?” Not that I thought anyone had accidentally killed any Brakemans. Except maybe Coralee. But softening the blow made for an easier confession.

  Donna pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. “I don’t know.”

  “Donna, if I were you, I’d take that vacation for real. And I’d think about men who let their wives bring home the bacon while they date their wife’s assistants. Especially when the wife is murdered.”

  “Murdered? I thought she was hit by a drunk driver.”

  Donna not only floated on that river in Egypt, she had parked a houseboat on it.

  “All three Brakeman women have been murdered. Donna, you don’t want to be a Brakeman woman.”

  A clattering thump, like a tumbling plastic bin, sounded from near Donna’s garage. I slipped from the door to peer around the porch and scanned the drive. The garage’s security light didn’t reveal any darting shadows or hooded figures.

  The door creaked. I spun back to find Donna closing it.

  “Just wait,” I said. “Whatever you do, don’t call Ron and tell him about this conversation. Parker—and Ron too—are dangerous.”

  She shook her head.

  “I mean it, Donna. Go somewhere safe.”

  The lock bolted.

  I stepped off the stoop. I didn’t feel safe either.

  Donna cut her porch light.

  Somehow I didn’t think I could get Donna to let me back in the house.

  The willies danced along my spine. Someone was out there, I could feel it. I didn’t think Palmetto would come after me, but punks like Palmetto had done dumber. I ran from her porch to the security light, opened my satchel, and began searching for my pepper spray.

  I’d parked on the street and didn’t trust my slow feet. If someone skulked nearby, I wanted to be prepared. I dug through the assortment of pencils, lipstick, and Band-Aids and pulled out a metal tube.

  The small flashlight I’d needed at the Tea Grove plantation.

  Mentally cursing, I reached inside the bag again. Heard a quick shuffle of feet behind me. I pivoted.

  Too late.

  An arm walloped me across my face, knocking me backward. I missed the garage wall. Before I reached the ground, the attacker was on top of me, rolling me onto my back.

  Pressing me into the concrete with his body, he slid a bag over my head. I bucked, trying to free my arms from his weight. At the sound of tape ripping, I kicked. A hand reached beneath the bag and slapped the tape over my mouth. He rose a few inches to yank my arms free and gather my wrists. I pressed my palms together as he bound my wrists. A quick jerk to my feet and he hoisted me over his shoulder.

  I was tossed in the back of a vehicle and driven off into the night.

  Thirty

  I had one major hope pinned on Donna. Maybe she had been watching from the window, too scared to assist me. Maybe she hadn’t shut the door, flipped off the light, and crawled back to her couch to finish watching The Misunderstood Mistress. I prayed she’d call the police.

  Unless this was Ron. You’d think her thing for Ron would sour if she saw him kidnap me. However, it was possible she’d protect him. Because sometimes women were that stupid.

  I forced myself to take an inventory of the situation. My jerking breaths began to slow.

  The vehicle moved slowly. Donna’s cul-de-sac was located at the far end of the subdivision. The driver still wormed through the neighborhood streets. I had a little time. A fact in my favor. For a minute or two, anyway.

  My messenger bag had fallen. Hopefully, my kidnapper hadn’t grabbed it and the chartreuse satchel lay in Donna’s drive, leaving a clue for my rescue team.

  Although my hands were taped behind me, my legs were free. I was in the back of a car. A fairly comfortable car with leather seats. Better than a trunk. Silver lining.

  I couldn’t speak or see, but I could listen. Mostly to a screaming hate-infused rap. Not my favorite, but at least it wasn’t creepy circus music. That would really freak me out.

  The music covered the thumping made by my legs as I felt around for people who might be in the back with me. No people. I suspected my attacker wasn’t actually a clown-loving serial killer.

  As kidnapping went, I could do a lot worse.

  The music lowered enough to stop my ears from bleeding. I hollered. With the tape and the bag, a muffled “Mwwww” seemed my best articulation.

  “I warned you.” Parker’s voice shook. “I warned you not to screw with us. Now look what happened.”

  Considering my bag-over-the-head state, I had to use my imagination to fill in the literal blanks. Parker was anxious and desperate. I didn’t know what that meant for Hazel and Rosie. I hoped they had gotten away.

  A desperate Parker meant I was in trouble.

  Big trouble.

  I could rat him out on a number of crimes, but he was now looking at charges of kidnapping and assault. Bigger felonies. And he knew it.

  “Palmetto told me to take care of this, so I’ve gotta. You know he’s got mafia connections?”

  Palmetto’s mafia would be Atlanta gangs. I knew as much from Luke and Uncle Will’s tales about local drug rings.
This meant Parker was more scared of Palmetto’s higher-ups than prison.

  This also didn’t bode well. Maybe Parker and Palmetto’s crew killed his mom, meemaw, and aunt. But poison was tricky and they’d have to know a thing or two about heart medication. I didn’t think him smart enough for that kind of murder.

  However, I did think him desperate enough for another kind of murder. One that involved snitches.

  While Parker told me how I had gotten myself into the situation I now faced, I’d pulled my legs into my chest. With a small amount of pain and a large amount of sweating, I threaded my butt and knees through my taped arms. My shoulders and arms were sore but at least were now in front of me. I grasped the bag and yanked it off my head.

  And there he was. Still yabbering on about my extreme stupidity and how I didn’t have the sense to leave well enough alone.

  Like I was going to allow Hazel to be bullied by Parker and Palmetto’s gang into practically stealing pills to sell them to children on playgrounds. Parker did not know me at all. I left nothing alone. So much so that my entire life had been one ginormous donkey-load of trouble. But at least I had a clear conscience.

  Except for holding onto information about Shawna’s father. I still felt guilty as hell. But that was a different donkey-load of trouble.

  The luxury car slowed. I reckoned this was the last stop before we turned onto the highway. Without pausing to think, I smacked the unlock with both hands, grabbed the lever, and flung myself out the open door. I rolled into the street. Then continued to roll and squirm into a yard to avoid Parker’s high-performance tires.

  The Audi skidded to a stop. The car door swung shut on itself.

  I didn’t wait to see if Parker had spotted me. With my hands tied before me and my mouth taped shut, I ran toward the first house. Cut across their drive and into the backyard. Continued into the next yard. I couldn’t breathe. I paused to rip the tape from my mouth. Bit my tongue to keep from screaming. Ran to the next yard, praising the neighbors for not building fences. Then stopped behind their garage to pant and listen.