Music, Murder, and Small Town Romance

by K C Hart

  Katy blew a kiss at her husband and walked back down the hall to their bathroom. It would be good to get out of these smoke-filled scrubs that were too tight across the rear, and wash her out-of-date hair.

  Chapter Nine

  The circular orange sign in the window of Clay House Music flashed OPEN with a faint neon glow. Katy’s worries that Donnie Gibson would keep the business closed all week had been wrong. Her Honda dodged a little pothole as she pulled into park with other the vehicles scattered in the small lot. She didn’t have a clue what she was going to say to Donnie once she went in. He had lied about being at the auditorium last Saturday. Maybe he would slip up and say something that could help her figure out who the third man had been that the guys across the street had seen.

  The door chimed signaling her entrance, and she paused for a second, looking around the store, taking a minute to soak in the feel of the place. The building was cluttered near the front with stands and bins full of music books, sheet music, and small items like guitar picks, strings and straps, drumsticks, chords for amps, and other odds and ends. Amplifiers and speakers were stacked around on the floor’s outer edges. Beautiful guitars, banjos, ukuleles, violins, and small drums, along with a multitude of wind instruments, were mounted above her head all along the walls for viewing. Keyboards of different sizes stood scattered around the center of the store, and a full drum set was set up in the back near the counter on a display platform about a foot higher than the rest of the floor. A comic sketch of Willie and another of Lennon were hanging side by side behind the counter.

  The lighting was just a little dim and Katy squinted, trying to bring everything into focus, as the musical ambiance of the store brought a warm, fuzzy feeling into her gut. A middle-aged man wearing a bandana tied around his shiny, bald head was sitting on a stool playing an acoustic guitar near the wall to her left. He nodded to her as she walked to a rack of guitar strings. She picked up a pack, even though she didn’t really need any, and continued to wander toward the back.

  “Look, I told that no-good partner of yours that I was not going to take anymore threats from him. What makes you think I’m going to take them from you?”

  The voice was coming from an alcove in the back of the store where people used to listen to accompaniment CDs to decide if they wanted to purchase them. That market had become almost obsolete now that people could buy their music online, but apparently someone was in there. Katy stood behind a tall revolving stand covered in piano lesson books where she couldn’t be seen from the alcove and pretended to look at the merchandise.

  “If you want to keep your precious job at that school, you will get things back on track in a hurry.” Katy recognized Donnie Gibson’s voice. “Rob told me where he found you. I know about your pastime.”

  “You don’t have any proof,” the other man said. “I’ll deny it.”

  “I don’t need proof. All I need is the accusation. Besides, you don’t know what I have.”

  Katy peeked from behind the music books toward the alcove where the men were whispering. Donnie Gibson’s back was blocking her view from the other man. His body shifted slightly, and she ducked back out of sight.

  “Alright, look. She will get her spot back,” the unknown man said. His voice reminded Katy of a dog snarling right before it decided to snap at you. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

  Katy peeked out again, just in time to see the man push past Donnie and stomp off toward the front of the store. A speaker box was in his path, and he tripped over its corner in his hurry to exit. He turned to the side to keep from falling and Katy got a glimpse of the man’s face. It was Floyd Perkins, the high school drama teacher.

  Donnie left the alcove and walked back toward the counter. Katy quickly ducked her head into a piano fake book as he passed by.

  “Can I help you find anything?” he asked as Katy flipped the pages of the book.

  “Do these fake books really work?” she asked, trying to look like she had not been doing what she had been doing.

  “I think it’s according to the underlying talent of the pianist.” Donnie pulled out another similar book. “I have seen people who can read very little music go to the keyboard with one of these books and play every song in it, but others have said that it didn’t help them at all.” He closed his book and replaced it on the stand.

  Katy closed her book and followed him back to the counter, placing the book and her guitar strings in front of the register. He rung up her purchases and put them in a bag while she swiped her card. “I’m sorry about your cousin,” she said, as he handed the bag across the counter to her.

  “Thank you, he will be missed,” Donnie said rather mechanically, tearing off the receipt and placing it in her hand.

  “Are you going to run the store by yourself now?” she asked, hoping it sounded like casual conversation.

  “I’m not sure. I really haven’t made any decisions yet.” He walked around the counter and headed toward the man playing the guitar near the front, dismissing Katy with his back.

  Their conversation had been short and sweet, but the trip had not been wasted. She got back in her car and reached into the bag, pulling out the book. She laughed as she read the title. The Giant Fake Book of Eighties One Hit Wonders. Maybe she could use it as a dirty Santa gift next Christmas.

  She looked down at her watch. It was only ten. She was scheduled to meet a patient across town at eleven for an admission. She had plenty of time but decided to drive over to the address, just to make sure it was easy to find. Her phone started to buzz as she pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Katy Cross?” a male voice asked. He sounded familiar, but Katy couldn’t place him.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “This is Emmet Smith. I met you at the service station the other day.”

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Smith. I didn’t recognize the number. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, but I need to tell you something,” he replied rather urgently.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Well, you know that silver truck that was in the parking lot on the day that guy got killed? It’s here again.”

  “Oh.” Katy glanced back at her watch. “Is the same guy driving it?” She pushed the gas pedal a little harder. She was heading in the direction of the service station anyway. If she was lucky, she could get there before the truck left.

  “It’s the same guy. Me and Herm and Albert are all sure of it. That’s why I came inside the station to call you. The guy is pumping gas.” Mr. Smith paused. “Do you want me to go ask him to wait until the police can get here or something?”

  “No sir, that won’t be necessary,” Katy assured the old man. “You did perfect by just calling me and letting me know. I’ll take it from here.”

  “You be careful now, you hear?”

  “I will, don’t worry.” Katy hung up the phone just as she pulled into the school’s auditorium parking lot across the street from the gas station. She watched as Mr. Smith stepped out of the store and sat back down on the bench beside the other two men. A silver truck was at the fuel pump with a gas hose hanging from the tank, but the owner was not in sight.

  She should probably call Todd, but by the time he got here the truck would be gone for sure. She was also sure that he would tell her to stay where she was and not get involved. Shoot. She should have told Mr. Smith to get the license number from the truck. She watched as a young guy, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, came around the side of the truck and removed the gas nozzle. She had to decide what to do and decide fast, because the man was getting in the truck and starting the engine.

  She could just follow along close enough to see the license plate. Once she had it, she would call it to Todd. That would be safe. Nobody could object to that.

  She pulled onto the street behind the truck but saw immediately that her plan was not going to work. The truck must have been purchased recently because it still had a dealership tag. Now
what? She stopped at the stop sign behind the truck and watched as a car turned from the side street and pulled between them. She continued to follow the truck through downtown Skeeterville as they passed the library, post office, and all the other buildings that lined the street through the center of the small town.

  She watched the truck turn right at the next stop sign and head down a street that she had been on yesterday morning. The car between them continued straight, so she fell back in behind him. She slowed down as the truck gave a turn signal and entered into a parking space in front of the bright yellow building with the black writing.

  She passed by slowly and turned at the corner. So, this guy was somehow involved with Johnnie Mae Smithers? It was very hard to believe that the young guy she just saw had beaten up Rob Clay because of a mutual love interest. Maybe he just needed his house sprayed. No, she threw that idea away as soon as it popped into her head. That was too much of a coincidence. She made the block again and passed slowly in front of the pest control office a second time. Johnnie Mae and the younger man were back outside, and her arms were draped around the young man’s shoulders in an embrace. Katy tried not to stare as she passed by.

  She looked down at her watch as she drove on to the corner. She had to get back across town or she was going to be late for her admission. She turned right, then right again. She would have to try to figure this out after she got off work.

  Katy drove through the garden district and continued across the railroad tracks to the poorer section of Skeeterville. Small, uniformly built government subsidized homes were on either side of the street, with only a few feet of yard separating each front door from the small ditch that ran along the side of the street. She drove past these and pulled into the low-income, one-story apartments that formed a large cul-de-sac on the dead-end road. She continued slowly, reading the numbers on the apartment doors as she passed, looking for the home of her new patient. His apartment was second from the end on a row that was in the very middle of the complex.

  Katy parked in front of the apartment and grabbed her nursing bag. She knocked on the door and was let in by an elderly woman who introduced herself as her new patient’s wife.

  Their home looked like all the other low-income apartments Katy had been in over the years. The floors were covered with the little square tan tiles that had specks of gold scattered throughout them. The walls were painted the same shade of tan as the floors, and a small ceiling fan with a single bulb covered by a white globe hung from above.

  Katy sat on the couple’s brown plaid couch and explained that a nurse would come by every week to change the dressing on the venous stasis ulcer on the man’s ankle. The man agreed to the plan, so Katy got the paperwork signed, assessed the patient, and began the wound care.

  “So, you go into folks’ houses all over the place and do this kind of stuff?” the wife asked as Katy began removing the soiled gauze from the wound to measure it.

  “Yes ma’am, I sure do. I’ve been running all over Skeeterville for years taking care of the people.”

  The woman started to respond but stopped as the sound of barking came through the thin wall from the apartment on the end. “She knows good and well she ain’t supposed to have no big ole dog inside her place,” the woman said, distracted by the noise.

  “You know lots of folks got dogs and cats in their homes around here, Stella,” the man said as he watched with interest while Katy sprayed the wound cleanser on his ankle and scrubbed it with more fresh gauze. He winced slightly as she rubbed to loosen the dead tissue that was trying to form in the wound bed.

  “Sorry.” Katy watched the man’s expression. “Did you take your pain pill like I told you to when I called this morning?” She packed the wound with the prescribed dressing.

  “No.” The man paused as the dog started barking again. He waited until it had quieted before finishing. “I’m a little bit scared of them pain drugs, but I might have to take a half of one next time.”

  Katy covered the packing with gauze and wrapped the dressing with an Ace wrap. “Alright, done for this week.” She gathered her supplies and placed them back in the bag as the dog barked again. “He is really stirred up. He sounds like a big dog, too.”

  “He is big.” Stella raised her arm up above her waist indicating the dog’s size. “Some kind of police dog.” She paused as they heard the front door to the adjoining apartment slam. The dog quieted.

  “I guess the dog heard his owner drive up,” Katy said as she stood to go.

  “Yeah.” The man took his wife’s arm to stand and walked with Katy to the front door just a few feet away. “It really don’t bark that much, just when the girl leaves out or comes back home.”

  “But it’s still too big to be an inside dog in that little place,” Stella snapped. She seemed to be lot less compassionate about the situation than her husband.

  “Well, I imagine she is a little scared to be living out in these parts alone, Stella.” The elderly man smiled gently as he unlocked the front door and let Katy out. “Besides, it’s none of our business, anyway.”

  Katy said her good-byes to the couple and drove back across town. She passed the police station and saw Todd’s car parked out front. It was a little past noon. She would tell Todd about the silver truck, then see if she could get Emma some lunch if she was still there.

  She entered the station and found Todd in his office behind a desk, engrossed in whatever he was typing on a computer screen. “I hate to interrupt, Todd.” Katy sat in the metal chair in front of the battered old desk. “But I saw the silver truck that was in the school parking lot last week.”

  “Did you happen to see the license plate?” Todd turned from the screen to look at his aunt. “I really think whoever was in that truck is involved in this murder somehow.”

  “No, I tried, but it had a dealer tag instead of a real tag. I guess that won’t help any.”

  “It might.” Todd picked up a pencil. “Was it a local place? We might be able to talk to the dealership and see if they can tell us who bought a truck lately fitting the description.”

  “It was a Brown Motors tag,” Katy said, impressed by Todd’s idea. “But let me tell you what else I saw.” She leaned forward and propped her elbow on the desk. “The truck went over to the Smithers’ pest control place, and I saw the guy and Mrs. Smithers hugging.”

  “Aunt Katy,” Todd’s eyebrows drew together as he tapped the pencil eraser up and down on the desk. “You mean you followed that truck without letting anybody know what you were doing?” He shook his head, staring at his aunt. “You, of all people, should know how dangerous that is.”

  Katy leaned back in her chair and looked down at her nails, avoiding the glaring stare of her nephew. “Well, I didn’t have time to come up with another plan. Besides, Emmett Smith knew I was following the truck.”

  “The old fellow at the service station?” Todd stopped tapping the pencil. “Yeah, I’m sure he could have really come to your rescue.”

  Katy lifted her head and stuck her chin out in stubborn defiance. “I am fine, and you have a lead to follow up on.” She stood and shoved the metal chair back. “I’m going to visit Emma now.”

  “Aww, Aunt Katy,” Todd’s tone softened. “Don’t be mad. I just get worried.”

  Katy stopped at the door and turned back to her nephew. “I’m not mad, and I understand that I was not making the smartest choice. But don’t you forget that I used to change your diapers, young man.”

  “No ma’am, I won’t forget,” Todd grinned and rubbed his chin. “Oh, Emma made bail this morning. She ain’t here.”

  Katy left the sheriff’s office and drove home. She had to do all the paperwork for the admission and get it submitted before the office closed today so the on-call nurse would have access to the new patient’s records. Now that Emma was out of jail, she felt like she could breathe a little easier, even if it was just a temporary fix.

  Two hours later she stuck her work computer back in it
s bag and pulled the murder notebook out of the bedside table. She walked to the living room, plopped down in her recliner, and took a big swallow from her tea glass. She glanced at her jagged nails as she sat the glass back on the paper towel that was doubling as a coaster. The weekly manicure had slipped off of her to-do list about six months ago. She sighed and picked up her ink pen. New habits were as hard to follow through on as old habits were to break.

  She turned to the page titled “Donnie Gibson.” Under his name she wrote, Has something going on with Floyd Perkins that has Floyd over a barrel. She found Johnnie Mae Smithers name and added, Saw her hugging the guy from the silver truck in front of the bug office. She flipped to the page for Pam Newman, the gothic hairdresser, and drew a line through the idea that her brother owned the silver truck. She closed her eyes to think. So far, it had been a tiring day.

  Katy’s eyes shot open as soft vibrations riveted down her leg. She must have fallen asleep. She pulled out the phone and looked at the screen. It was a text from Todd.

  The truck belongs to Chase Smithers. He is her son. He lives in Buford County. Going to pick him up for questioning. Thanks for the tip.

  Katy smiled. So, Johnnie Mae Smithers was hugging her son this morning in front of the pest control office. She said a quick prayer asking God to forgive her for jumping to the worst conclusion concerning both Mrs. Smithers and her son. Katy wrinkled forehead into a frown. Chase Smithers had confronted Rob Clay because the old scoundrel was having an affair with his mother and breaking up his parents’ marriage. She wondered just how far the son would go to make sure that his mother didn’t leave his father for the other man.

  Katy let the foot of the recliner down as she heard John coming in through the carport door. She must have napped longer than she thought. Oh well, another supper on the cuff. She sighed as she walked toward the kitchen. How could she be so organized at work but so unorganized when it came to planning her meals?