Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery)

by S. Dionne Moore

  “You gonna make me mad, and you don’t want to see me mad,” I’d warned.

  “I need that paperwork done and filed and you’ve had three hours to finish,” Marion sniped back, as she wiped down the length of the piano with a dust rag.

  “If you hadn’t taken that long lunch break while I had three customers, I wouldn’t be so behind. Why don’t you do the paperwork for once?”

  Her eyes had flashed some powerful heat. “I hired you to do it.”

  “You hired me to help out in the store, not to run it.”

  Things had escalated from there. Memories I wanted to forget. I shut down the Memory Lane stroll and wondered when Chief would return. I sat up a little straighter, excited at the prospect that he might have caught Payton engaging in an activity that would explain his new relationship with Dana.

  I had my hand on the handle to open the door when I heard the whisper of voices. I became stock still and strained to hear, jabbing at the button for the power windows, frustrated when the windows didn’t lower. As quiet as I could, I opened my door a crack.

  Whispers drifted toward me and I turned my head to try to get the direction. I twisted the rearview mirror and saw the shadows of two people across the street near the school playground. One had longish hair, the other, taller, seemed pulled something out of his back pocket. Whatever it was, he handed it over.

  They didn’t stick around for long, both taking off in opposite directions; one toward the Grab-N-Go, the other toward town. I hoped it wasn’t drugs or something. I’d alert the chief.

  As if by mere thought I could conjure his image, Chief reappeared around the end of the building. I got out and met him at the door to Marion’s.

  “Something strange going on over at the school. Two shadows exchanging something. Lots of whispering.”

  Chief chuckled. “Can’t arrest kids for looking suspicious, but I’ll send Nelson to make sure things are in order.”

  I clamped my mouth shut and didn’t bother to pursue that avenue. I’d keep my ears open around the school. Hated to see kids getting into trouble. That’s when it occurred to me what a foolish thing I was getting ready to do going back into Marion’s this time of night.

  I held my breath as Chief fumbled with his keys, half hoping he wouldn’t be able to unlock the door.

  He looked amused when he motioned me to enter and I shook my head and motioned him in first. “There’s nothing in here, LaTisha. Just shadows and inventory.”

  I started forward. “It’s them shadows that give me the crawly feelin’.” It smelled musty and dusty. My eyes were drawn toward the counter and I shivered at the image that exploded in my head. “Let’s get to it and get out of here. I’ll check this here first bookshelf.” Without waiting for help, I squeezed my way past the dining table and shoved it out of the way, thinking, again, of Mark shoving the table. I began scanning titles. A strong feeling of that deja vu people’s always talking about raised the hair on the back of my neck. I rubbed my arms to soothe the shiver bumps. A breath of cool air stroked my cheek.

  At the second, smaller bookcase next to me, Chief searched the titles there. I finished the first row pretty quick and began on the second shelf. Third book from the left, I caught the word Diary and slid it out. Its burgundy cover, plain and worn, showed its age. “Look here. Found something. This must be it.” She flipped through the pages to find a name and came across one on the back cover. “Fiona Rogers? Dana said it was written by one of her relatives. Was her mother a Rogers?”

  Chief put out his hand. “Let me see it.”

  I handed the diary over to him and kept on checking the spines of the remaining books.

  “I don’t think so,” he tossed the diary on the table. “Mark’s doing a study on the history of Maple Gap for another article, maybe he’ll know. We’d better keep looking.”

  We worked in silence for another five minutes before Chief found another one. This diary had a goldish-brown, leather cover. It cracked open in his hands. He squinted down at the front cover. “Name is blurry. Looks like a Martin Sorenson.”

  “Add it to the stack.”

  Before we finished, we’d found three more between us. I stretched my back and rolled my head to work out the kinks from having my head cocked back so far during my search of the uppermost shelf. Chief hauled the books up in his arms, and, by unspoken agreement, we headed to the door.

  He took the books to the car. I offered to look through them for him. “You haul them into the kitchen for me and I’ll go over them tonight.” Saying as much reminded me of my own books. Needed to get both those boxes over to the school. If I didn’t set those boxes on the kitchen table to remind myself, they’d never make it over to the school.

  First thing I noticed as Chief drove down my road, is all the lights on in our house, as if Hardy was in the middle of some great party.

  “What’s that boy thinking having all them lights on?”

  “Maybe the thought of going to the shop really did spook him,” Chief offered as he piled the books up in his arms and used his foot to push his door open.

  I didn’t think so.

  I opened the side door for chief and told him to deposit the diaries on the table. “You mind getting that other box out of the car? I’m sure Hardy forgot all about it.”

  “Not a problem,” he said, and headed back outside.

  I blinked around the kitchen and noticed the bowl in the sink. Hardy’d been into the ice-cream. I declare, I could have the refrigerator groaning with food and he would still eat ice-cream.

  “Hardy!” I switched off the lights as I went from room to room. “Hardy!”

  “I’m on the phone!”

  “Well you get off there quick, I need some help down here.”

  “It’s Tyrone. Cora’s in labor.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Cora’s in labor?”

  Silence.

  I grabbed my broom and began thumping on the ceiling to get his attention. I had no desire to climb the steps just in time for him to hang up. I thumped again. Harder. A dent appeared.

  “Hold on!” he finally hollered. “Pick up the phone before you beat another hole.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? Too much stewing in my brain.

  When I picked up, the first thing that grabbed me was the excitement in Tyrone’s voice. By the sound of the crackling, he must have been on his cell phone. “I really got to go, Pop. Can’t use the phone in there and I want to get back to Cora.”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “How’s my girl doin’?”

  But it was too late. Tyrone had clicked off. Hardy’s laughter filled my ear. I slammed the phone down, grabbed the broom and thwacked it upward hard enough to make a hole. The vague sound of his laughter halted abruptly. I hoped he’d laughed his head off.

  “You didn’t!” He hollered.

  I crossed my arms and smiled up at that hole. “I sure did. You’ve got no business being so ornery. Get down here and tell me everything before I explode.”

  Hardy’s sock feet made a padding noise against the carpet as he came down the stairs, a grin on his face. “Just call me Pappy.”

  “What’s going on, she’s got a month to go.”

  “Doctor is going to work on slowing her down. Tyrone was telling me how he came home from the store and saw her straining. He called the doctor real quick and had her to the hospital in minutes.” He lifted the cordless still in his hand. “I’m keeping this close.”

  “So it’s probably not going to happen tonight. You remember Shakespeare was early. No use getting tied in knots, they’ll get those contractions stopped.”

  “No matter. They’ll keep her for a while.” He ran his hand over his hair, a dreamy look in his eyes. “Me. A Pappy!” he said, and gave the strangest little choked laugh. “Maybe they’ll name the little guy after me.”

  Hardy’s happiness pulled me along, and my irritation with him dissolved. I put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.
“Grandbabies. Can you believe it? Makes me feel old though. Don’t like that feeling at all.”

  “Naw,” he muffled against my shoulder. “Not old, just entering a different stage in our lives.”

  “He’s gonna call if something happens?”

  “He’ll call.”

  I released Hardy and glanced through the doorway at the kitchen table stacked with diaries, then back at Hardy. “You think we should start out?”

  He glanced in my direction and shook his head. “Would be a waste if Tyrone calls back and says all is well.” He had followed my line of vision. “Say, what you got there?”

  “We found more than one diary. We’ll have to search them all.” In the heat of the news, I’d forgotten that I’d asked the Chief to bring in the boxes. True to his word, there the boxes sat, on my kitchen table just waiting for me to dive in. Guess Chief figured he was done for the night and hightailed it home.

  “I got to finish the vacuuming,” Hardy said. “Too excited now to sit and read.”

  “Is that why you have all the lights on?”

  “Got home and ate so much ice cream, I couldn’t sit still, so I dragged out the vacuum.”

  “You’ve no business eating all that sugar.”

  He flashed his tooth at me. “It’s what makes me sweet.”

  I gave him a good once over and snorted. “You need all the help you can get. Now get, and let me look over these books.” Before he got too far away, I reached out and snagged the cordless phone from his hand. He frowned.

  I frowned back. “You won’t be able to hear over the vacuum if it rings. I will.”

  “I ain’t deaf, woman.”

  “I don’t want to risk it.”

  Returning to the kitchen, I fanned the diaries out in front of me. My stomach rumbled. Food called. I grunted to my feet, felt the pinch of my shoes, kicked them off, then yanked open the refrigerator door to itemize everything within. I studied the ingredients I had on hand—I really needed to go shopping—and decided on something quick. Garlic chicken. I flicked the switch to turn on the broiler, plopped two chicken breasts on the broiler pan and covered them with garlic powder, salted and pepper.

  In five minutes, I had sliced mushrooms and onions and begun to sauté them in a splash of olive oil. When they got tender, I added some frozen hash browns. As I stirred, I relaxed, bit by bit, the stress of the day sloughing off me like the paper skin of an onion.

  The first diary I started with was written in spidery handwriting that made it difficult to read. I gave up after the first three pages when the author began writing about the everyday life of a schoolmarm and single woman. My eyes thanked me for the reprieve.

  The smell of the chicken permeated the air. I paused long enough to turn it. The hum of the vacuum ceased and Hardy came into the room, guided by his nose, no doubt.

  “You makin’ one of my favorites.”

  “Finish up those potatoes for me while I read through this diary, will you?”

  “What do I look like, the maid?”

  “Nope. You look like a man who’s not going to eat if he don’t get to cookin’ those potatoes for me.”

  He pulled the skillet back onto the front burner and adjusted the flame. “Find anything in those?”

  “Lot of old writing about life way back when.” I set the diary down and heaved a sigh. This wasn’t getting me anywhere and I wasn’t even sure how I knew that.

  The letter I had found on Dana’s end table came back to me and I wondered if it had anything to do with the diary. Probably not. Who was Jackson Hughes anyhow?

  Hardy made a racket pulling the chicken out of the oven. I watched as he dumped the chicken on a plate and spooned potatoes on the side, potatoes falling off the spoon and bouncing off the stovetop. He was as sloppy as the person who had shoved Marion was sly. I felt no closer to a solution now than I had two days ago.

  Hardy plunked my plate down and sat down with his. “Let’s pray and slay.”

  He spat his typical prayer. Mentally, I added a postscript. There’s something here I’m not seeing, Lord. Open my eyes.

  We split the stack of diaries between us and ate in silence as we read. Page after page after page, until Hardy finally put down the last in his pile. “Maybe the diary isn’t a big deal. You bark up the wrong tree and you’re gonna waste more time.”

  “How’m I supposed to know what to look for?”

  “You don’t, which is why we’re going through these. I’m just saying you shouldn’t forget other avenues left unexplored.” He stood, stretched, and wiggled his fingers. “I’m going to go play the piano. Isn’t Payton coming to tune it after the funeral sometime?”

  “Supposed to. Wonder if Dana ever got hers in tune.”

  “We could try it out tomorrow. Give you a chance to ask her about the diary.”

  And possibly I could find out where she’d gone for those few minutes left unaccounted on the day Marion died. We’d go over all that after the funeral sometime.

  I stuffed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and worried over Regina. The girl’s love for her mother still touched me. If Marion had been the one blackmailing Regina before, who was taking up. . .

  I sucked in a breath. Betsy Taser!

  Certainty swelled in me. It made perfect sense. Betsy’s “Put it on my tab” comment, as if Regina somehow owed her something, coupled with the fact that Betsy would have insider knowledge of the events surrounding the theft of money. I felt good.

  I punched in the number for Chief Conrad’s private residence and waited for him to answer so I could pour all the details in his ear. Plus, he could pay Mrs. Taser a private visit to see if her fingerprints matched the ones on the envelope.

  He answered and I loaded him down with my theory. When I hung up the phone, I felt both relieved and confident that Regina’s part in Marion’s death had been solved. I could strike her name from my mental list of suspects.

  I peeked at the clock. Eleven fifteen. I knew I’d better get to work on the diaries again.

  In the background, Hardy played fun little tunes. When the kids had been young, they’d spent hours making up words to the tunes Hardy would concoct. The children got to where they begged their daddy to sit down with them every night and play their little game.

  The memory took the edge off my enthusiasm. Funny how a momma raises her babies to be loyal to family, then when they get out on their own, they put that in to practice by loving their own family . . . to the exclusion of their own mother and father.

  Time for me to realize that all children eventually spin away on their own axis, away from the sun and moon of momma and daddy. And that realization didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had two days ago. Grandmotherhood would be my future. If Cora had her baby tonight, I’d be in a real pickle, what with singing at the funeral and needing to talk to Dana and let Payton in to tune the piano.

  Hardy’s playing framed my thoughts as I hung the dishtowel over the oven handle and decided to get those boxes prepared to drop off at the school on Monday. It sure would be a relief to have them out of the way and off my mind.

  I nudged the big box closer and peered in. Right on top, its cover crinkled and ripped, sat a book with the word diary written in faded gold across the cover. I didn’t remember it being there when I’d purchased the neatly stacked books underneath it. My fingers grew warm as I reached in and lifted it out.

  I cracked the front cover and read the date and the name of the author, and I knew the search was over. The name matched the one I’d read in that old letter on Dana’s end table. Coincidence this was not.

  I opened my mouth to yell out to Hardy, then clapped it shut. Something about that tune he was playing. Something familiar. It brought to mind that day in Payton’s when I’d had this same sensation as Hardy played and the chief asked me his questions. I closed my eyes trying to capture that elusive connection between this tune and that moment. It scratched at my brain until I thought I’d scream. Maybe Hardy could help.
r />   “Hardy,” I yapped his name before rounding the corner into the living room.

  He didn’t miss a note, but the lack of music in front of him didn’t help me know the title of the piece either.

  “What’s that you’re playing?”

  “A tune I composed myself,” he said.

  “I know that. What’s the name of it?”

  He did a little flourish on the keys and finally answered, “I call it, ‘Breezin’ Across.’”

  The name didn’t push an automatic recall button as I’d hoped it might, but it tied into Marion’s death somehow, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “Well, I’m going to bed. Got some notes to look over for Tuesday’s class, before I read through this diary. I’m thinking it’s the one we’ve been looking for. Found it right on top of the other books in that box I bought.”

  Hardy, lost in his music, simply nodded.

  The music followed me up the stairs and floated over me, soothing, as I got ready for bed. I snapped on the light on my side, eyed my notebook from class, and shoved it aside. The diary drew me. In order to get peace, I needed to know for sure this was the one we’d been looking for. I read through what was obviously a man’s chronicle of events. Sentences were written tersely, with little description. After the first four pages, I almost put it aside to study my notes for class, but I read another paragraph, then another, until, finally, I found it.

  I worked on my new project. Took up the old wood. Easy work. Had to do it at night to keep it a secret, but tacked a blanket over the window to keep the light in. I’ll start small. Work my way up from there. People trust me and I’m the only assayer around for miles.

  So Jackson Hughes was the assayer of Maple Gap back in the days of Dana’s great-grandfather. And if this assayer was the same one murdered during Dana’s great-grandfather’s days as sheriff, I could understand the girl’s interest in the diary. Maybe Jackson even told the story of how he robbed the townsmen of their gold?