by Jane Tesh
She hitched up one overall strap. I caught a glimpse of a flower tattoo on her shoulder. “Well, I last seen Kirby about three months ago, up at his hideout. He’s got a place up in the woods. He holes up there every now and then, tinkering on those contraptions of his like any one of ’em’s ever gonna work. Used to drive me nuts.”
“Would you give me directions to this place?”
“Well, I might. Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Whether or not you think my little Rosie has a shot at Miss Celosia Summertime.”
Did everyone in town want to deal? “I’m not judging the pageant, Mrs. Farrington.”
She took one last drag on the cigarette and tossed it into the flowerbed. “Hell, I’m not asking you to fix the pageant. You’re the expert. I just want your honest opinion.”
“I think Rose has as good a chance as anyone.”
She gave a snort that might have been laughter. “As good as that Donna Sanchez? She’s a tramp. Ask anybody. I was once Miss Celosia, did you know that? I told Rose she had to do the family name proud, keep the tradition going.”
So did that mean in another ten years Rose Farrington would be squat and sunburned, chain-smoking in the garden?
“I’m not really a pageant expert,” I told Poppy. “I have a new job now, and part of that job is finding Kirby Willet.”
Poppy lit another cigarette. “All right, about Willet’s secret place. Trouble is, he keeps moving it. Thinks somebody’s gonna come mess with his stuff or steal his ideas. That’s a laugh.” She turned the hose on a clump of daylilies. “You go up past the covered bridge about half a mile. You’ll see a wooden sign for Lucky Lakes, only there ain’t no such place. Some fella thought he’d build a development up there, but the deal fell through, so all that’s left is the sign. Wasn’t very lucky, if you ask me. Go past the sign, you’ll come to some big rocks. If Kirby’s camp ain’t there, it’s nearby. Like I said, he keeps moving it.”
“I understand you dated Willet once.”
“Yeah, once was about it. He was hopeless when it came to women. Too busy thinking about inventing things.” She chuckled. “Some of the girls kept on trying though, poor souls. That Bernice Coleman thought she’d have him for sure.”
“The same Bernice Coleman who works at the library?”
“Yep. She thought old Kirby was a catch, but then, she was lucky to have any boy pay attention to her.”
Bernice said Kirby Willet was a friend. She hadn’t mentioned what kind of friend. “Was Willet interested in Bernice?”
Poppy made a face that suggested I was crazy. “You ain’t been listening, have you? Kirby’s only interested in his inventions. I coulda walked around stark naked in front of him, and he wouldn’t look up. Did it, too, a couple of times.”
Way too much information. “Thank you, Mrs. Farrington.”
“No problem. You find the old boy, tell him I said hey.”
I went back to my car and jotted down the directions to Willet’s hideout. Despite some disturbing mental imagery, Poppy had given me my best lead yet. I was anxious to get back to the Eberlin House and share my findings with Jerry.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When I got out of my car at the Eberlin house, I could hear the piano. Since I’d been hearing songs from “The Music Man” for weeks, I recognized the tune, “Good Night, My Someone.” I paused at the parlor door to listen. When Jerry finished, I said, “That’s really nice.”
He turned around on the bench. “Thanks. How’d it go with the Deatons?”
“They didn’t know about Frye, but they said some things were missing from your house after the fire. So now I think the fire was a cover for a robbery.”
“And this Frye guy planned it all?”
“Looks that way. I managed to get Harriet to answer the phone, but she wasn’t very helpful.”
“What did you say, ‘Hello, Harriet. By the way, did your boyfriend set fire to the house so he could steal the candlesticks?’”
“But I think that’s exactly what happened. I think Jackson Frye came back to the house that night to steal something he’d seen earlier, knocked over the candles either by accident or on purpose and then ran like hell.”
“Then why would Harriet have me believe I was responsible?”
“That’s the main question she needs to answer.”
“Did you get to see Petunia?”
“Poppy. Yes, I did, and she gave me directions to Willet’s secret hideout. Want to go?”
“I sure do. We’ve got a dress rehearsal tonight, but it should be through by ten.”
“I’d like to see the show,” I said. “Don’t you need a page turner or something?”
“Yeah, come on down in the pit. That’s where the action is. Have you had lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“The kids are coming over. I promised them we’d roast some hot dogs outside.”
It wasn’t long before I heard Austin and Denisha as they argued their way across the meadow. They tossed their bikes on the grass and ran into the house. Austin had a bag of hot dog buns. Denisha had a bag of marshmallows.
“Jerry! Can we toast marshmallows, too?”
“You can toast whatever you like.”
“Where’s our campfire?”
“We’ll make it in the backyard.”
Austin volunteered to gather the wood, which made Denisha toss the marshmallows on the nearest chair. “Me, too!”
Jerry grinned as they dashed out. “Do you feel the urge to gather wood, Mac?”
“I’ll get the drinks.”
“I’ll make the fire. I’m good at that.”
Austin and Denisha had a battle to see who could find the most sticks, rushing up and throwing the twigs and braches into the fire until Jerry told them to slow down.
“We’ve got plenty, guys. Take it easy.”
Since Denisha had been the last one to add to the flames, Austin ran back for another load and returned holding a small piece of white plastic.
“What’s this from?”
“Let me see that, Austin.” He handed it to me. “Where did you find this?”
“In the driveway. Is it a clue?”
“Well, I don’t know. It might be.”
Immediately, Denisha ran around the house and down the driveway. Austin yelled, “Hey!” and followed.
Jerry took a closer look at the plastic. “Is it part of a bottle cap?”
“I think so.” There was something along the rim of the piece that peeled off like webbing. I rolled this stuff in my fingers. “This looks like dried glue.”
“Bottles aren’t usually glued shut, are they?”
“They are if you want to put something inside.”
“But wouldn’t you be able to tell if the cap was glued on?”
“I just happen to have some glue in my studio. Let’s experiment.”
I went upstairs. As I hunted for the glue, the faces in the half-finished portrait caught my eye. Damn, they weren’t bad. I stopped for a moment and examined the picture with a critical eye. Yes, it was just as good close up. I could do this. But not right now.
I found the glue I wanted, the white all-purpose kind, and brought it back to the campfire. Austin and Denisha had returned and were trying to see who could get the most marshmallows on a stick. I opened a bottle of Coke, took the cap off, and then put it back on, carefully sealing the edges of the cap with glue. I set the bottle aside to dry.
Austin’s mouth was full of marshmallow. “Why’d you do that?”
“I want to see if it will stay fresh.”
“It’s easier just to put the cap back on real tight.” His stick, overloaded with marshmallows, popped off into the fire. “Oh, man.”
Denisha licked her sticky fingers. “Ha, ha.”
I thought Austin might try to stab her with the remains of his stick, but he surprised me by laughing. “Look, Denisha. It looks like the Bubbling Blob from ‘Super Spies.’”
&
nbsp; The glob of marshmallow heaved and crackled in the fire. “It wants blood,” Jerry said. “Give it some ketchup.”
I checked my watch. “You’d better take care of the blob and put out the fire. Jerry and I are due at the theater in about an hour.”
After stuffing themselves with hot dogs and marshmallows, Austin and Denisha helped clean up. Austin used the garden hose to pour water on the fire, and then he piled dirt on the wet ashes.
“To make sure the Blob doesn’t rise again,” he said.
The kids thanked Jerry for the hot dogs and rode off on their bikes. I put my glued bottle on the kitchen table. I wanted to leave it overnight. Now it was time to shower, change clothes, and get in the pit with Jerry.
***
The noise and confusion backstage at the theater gave me flashbacks to my pageant nights. The dressing rooms smelled of powder and hairspray; trays of deli meats and cheese lay on top of doughnut boxes and plates of cupcakes; people ran in frantic searches for safety pins and tape; microphones refused to work or exploded with sudden booms of sound.
Jerry led the way past all this, pulling back a section of the heavy gray curtains to reveal a small flight of steps down into the orchestra pit. Members of the orchestra included a flutist, a trumpet player, a drummer, and two violinists. Jerry introduced me to everyone.
“Just pull up a chair, Mac. I don’t need you to turn pages, thanks. You can watch the show.”
“Not the best view in the world,” the trumpet player said, “but an interesting angle, nonetheless.”
“He likes to look up the girls’ skirts,” one of the violinists said.
“Jerry, don’t forget Kenna made another cut in ‘Wells Fargo,’” the other violinist said. “It’s from eighty-six to one hundred thirty-two.”
“She still wants a vamp at eighty-five, though.”
“Yes, and everyone comes in at letter B.”
“Is that cut time there?” the trumpet player asked.
“Just through the second repeat.”
The orchestra members continued to speak their special language as I unfolded a metal chair and sat down near the piano. The curtains opened. The dancers stretched their legs, and the cast came to the edge of the pit for a vocal warmup. Donna Sanchez gave me a little wave.
As far as I could tell, the dress rehearsal went well. I spent most of my time watching Jerry play and wondering how I could channel his love of music into a paying job. At intermission, we climbed out of the pit to get some colas from the drink machine in the lobby. Flynn Davis was sitting in the auditorium.
“I didn’t know you were in the orchestra,” he said. “You guys sound pretty good.”
I couldn’t imagine what allure a community theater production of “Music Man” would have for Davis. “I’m just visiting. What are you doing here?”
“Gotta have some way to pass the time. Are you leaving?”
“I’m going to get a Coke.”
“I’ll come with you.”
At the drink machine, Jerry put his money in and got his bottle. Kenna hurried up, clipboard in hand.
“Jerry, I need to go over a few cues with you.”
“Okay,” he said.
They went off together. I would’ve liked to have followed, but Davis’ unexpected appearance made me curious. I put in my quarters and punched my choice of Coke. “Are you a fan of musical comedy?”
“I’ve done my share. Nothing like live theater.”
My bottle rolled down with a clatter. I wedged it out. “This is probably too amateur for you.”
“It’s where all the good-looking gals hang out.”
Now I remembered. Davis was interested in Donna Sanchez.
“And,” he said, “I may be able to help you solve the crime.”
I knew he wanted to pin Gaskins’ murder on Henderson. “Not unless you can prove who did it.”
“It’s hard to choose between that goofy girlfriend of yours and Stephanie.”
“Stephanie? Why Stephanie?”
“Oh, I know she gave this big sob story about being Josh’s right hand girl and not caring about being in front of the camera, but that’s a bunch of bull. He’d promised her a leading role in his next film. When she heard he’d contacted Vivian Montrose, she was furious. I heard her giving him hell.”
“When was this?” I asked.
“Couple of days ago.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“No.” He leaned forward. “I’m telling you. We kinda got off to a rough start. I thought this might make things better between us.”
I began to slowly shake my bottle of Coke. “You won’t get anywhere by referring to Twenty as my goofy girlfriend.”
He eyed the bottle. “Sorry.”
“Or by lumping her in with your prime suspect.”
He took a step back. “We can talk about this.”
“Nope,” I said, still shaking the Coke. “We’re not going to talk about anything else. As far as I’m concerned, you had just as much cause to kill Gaskins. You were just as angry over Henderson’s narration as Stephanie may have been over Vivian, and believe me, I’m going to ask her about that.”
Davis backed further away. “You’ll find out I’m telling the truth.”
The lobby lights blinked to signal intermission was over. “Why are you really here, Davis?” I asked.
He smirked. “I’ve got a date with Marian the Librarian.”
“Donna Sanchez?”
“She’s a hell of a lot more agreeable than you are.”
Boy, were those two well suited. “I’m so happy you’ve found each other.”
I went back to the orchestra pit and carefully set the Coke bottle down beside my chair. It would be a while before the drink settled. I felt the same way.
“What’s up?” Jerry asked.
I indicated Donna Sanchez. “Flynn Davis is seeing Miss Congeniality.”
Jerry whistled. “Hope he’s got insurance.”
Interesting, yes, but it didn’t get me any closer to solving the mystery. Davis was the kind of man who could work anything to his advantage, even being stuck in a small town. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d take unnecessary risks. True, he’d been with me when Gaskins drank his last soda, but the poison could’ve been put into the drink earlier in the day.
Act Two went smoothly, although Kenna had to stop the last scene to reblock where the band members would stand for the finale of “Seventy-Six Trombones.” The cast rehearsed the curtain call, and everyone sat down in the auditorium for a few notes. Afterwards, Jerry asked if we could stop by Georgia’s.
“I promised Hayden I’d get in touch with his poltergeist.”
“Okay.”
Georgia’s closed at ten, but most of the lights were still on. Hayden unlocked the front door. “Come on in. I’m straightening the kids’ books.”
“Have you had any problems today?” Jerry asked.
“No, it’s been pretty quiet.” He stooped to pick up one of the many magazine inserts that littered the floor. “Do you want to start in the same section? I’m going to turn out the lights in the back.”
“Let me see what I can do.”
Jerry sat down in the New Age aisle. Hayden went to the back. He was turning off the lights over the magazines when we heard him yell. An avalanche of books fell with a crash. Something long and white streaked past, making an angry “duke-duke” sound. Jerry ran after the something. I hurried to Hayden.
“Are you all right?”
He pointed a shaking finger toward the front of the store. “It’s in here! It ran right by me.”
Jerry disappeared out the front door. I snapped on the rest of the lights and looked up and down every aisle. When I came back to Hayden, he was sitting in one of the little chairs in the children’s section. He leaned forward, his head in his hands as if he were going to faint.
I dug into my pocket for my cell phone. “What happened?”
“Something rushed pas
t, screaming. It was horrible. Its eyes were glowing.”
“Are you hurt? Do you want me to call nine-one-one?”
Before he could answer, Jerry returned. “You okay, pal? I’ve got your ghost.”
Hayden raised his head. We stared at the scrawny white ferret trying to struggle free from under Jerry’s arm.
“Is that what’s been causing all the racket?” I asked.
“Footsteps, whispers, strange cries, missing food, shelves knocked over? Yep, I’d say Snowball here’s your culprit.”
“But how did it get in?” Hayden asked. “Georgia’s very careful about the building.”
“Didn’t you have to repair the ceiling?” I said. He nodded. “I’ll bet it got in that rainy night when the tiles were loose, and it’s been hiding somewhere in the shop.”
Now that the ferret had calmed down, it didn’t seem to mind Jerry holding it. “It’s pretty tame. Does somebody around here have a pet ferret?”
“I’ll bet it got away from the pet shop that closed.”
To my relief, Hayden began to laugh. “A ferret.”
Jerry set the ferret down. “Let’s see if it’ll run to its hiding place.”
The ferret took off, leaped over a shelf, and disappeared behind one of the magazine racks. Jerry pulled the magazines aside. “There’s a nice ferret-sized hole back here.”
Hayden looked at the hole and straightened, shaking his head. “I feel like a complete idiot.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “If you’re not expecting a ferret to come dashing past your legs in the dark, it can be unsettling.”
There was a look of entreaty in his blue-green eyes. “I’ll pay you any amount of money not to mention this to Shana.”
“I won’t say a word,” Jerry said.
I agreed. “If you promise not to get so carried away with your ideas about ghosts.”
Hayden sighed. “I know, I know.”
“Are you all right? Do you want us to take you home?”
“I’m fine,” he said. He put his hand on his chest. “Heart’s still beating. I was sure it had stopped.”
Just to make sure he was all right, Jerry and I waited until he’d closed the store and gotten into his car.
“Think we ought to follow him home?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
