Murder of the Month

by Tegan Maher

  "Thanks," I said, puckering my lips and pushing them to the side as I examined it from all sides. "I'm wondering if I should close up the bottom half with a Coke can or something so the handles don't slip through. I need to find a couple auctions though. I'm running out of supplies."

  She shrugged, examining the piece as if imagining my vision. "You could do that. Either way, it's cute. Speakin' of auctions, I found a couple great ones for tomorrow. Wanna go?"

  Anna Mae's antique shop, Things Remembered, carried unusual items or accent pieces such as old washboards that were currently in fashion yet hard for the average person to find. She had a special love for period clothing, jewelry, and utilitarian pieces.

  "Absolutely!" I said, relieved. "I can't wait. With everything going on, I haven't even looked for any sales this weekend, so you're saving my bacon."

  I thought of Rose. "Wait, though. What about Ida's funeral? I don't want to make Rose go through that by herself."

  Anna Mae shook her head. "The viewing's tomorrow night, and the funeral's Sunday morning. Preacher's doin' a graveside service."

  "Okay, then, as long as we're back in time for that, I'm good to go." The thought of digging through old stuff and hearing the whispers of history in them excited me. Sometimes a piece was so full of history I could feel the past. Other times, I’d imagine where it may have been and what it may have witnessed. Silly, I know, but it was something that drew me in.

  "I feel bad for Rose," Anna Mae said. "Havin' to go through that all alone."

  "I know," I replied, setting the utensil holder on a shelf, being careful not to smudge the paint. "But we've tried to keep her occupied, and Coralee and Alyse are doing her hair and nails tomorrow."

  "Okay, then," she said, running her fingers across one of the lampshades. “You did a fabulous job on these, by the way. “ I'll pick you up in the morning, but for now, wanna go grab a beer at the Cat?"

  I glanced at my watch. It was almost time for Hunter to get off work, but I still had an hour or so.

  "It'll have to be quick. I'm going out to Hunter's and helping him finish paint his kitchen. He got all the tile work done in there last week, and that's all that's left. We should do a proper girls' night tomorrow after the viewing though."

  She smiled, showing off the dimples on either side of her pearly whites. "I'm in. We haven't had one of those in a long time, and I miss 'em."

  She stopped on her way past a particular set of matching coffee table and end tables that I'd had for a while. I'd found the set right here in Keyhole at a yard sale, put a frame around the tops and filled them with seashells, then poured epoxy over them. They were one of the few projects I'd had a hard time getting rid of even though I got a ton of compliments on them. The only flaw was a place on the underneath where some kid had drawn a stick horse and a flower with a red magic marker, but since it wasn’t visible, I’d left it there. I figured it was part of the history of the piece and didn’t have it in my heart to sand it out.

  "I can't believe these haven't sold," she said, running her fingers over the smooth, clear top of one of the end tables.

  "Yeah," I said, frowning. “Me either. I figured for sure they'd be a hit."

  During the fishing tournament several weeks back, I'd had a psychic tell me they were meant for somebody else, so I guess that somebody just hadn't shown up yet. Either that, or it had been her way of saying nicely that she didn't want to buy them. They were outside of the norm for what I usually made. I tended to go for more of a country vibe, but for some reason, seashells had seemed like a good idea. Live and learn—seashell furniture wasn’t as easy to sell as I’d thought.

  Erol popped in before we could leave, just in time to ask me to put the TV on Lifetime because there was a movie he wanted to watch later. I tossed Norman and Sammie some crackers and made sure their food bowl and water bottles were full, then shut off the lights and locked up behind me.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE CHESHIRE CAT WAS a Keyhole Lake institution. It served up some of the finest craft beers the world had to offer, which was a surprisingly popular feature. We may not all know the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork, but we do love good beer. There was also a huge brick oven that they used to make pizzas and all of their sandwich buns.

  The smell of baking bread and frying meat was just as welcome as the rush of cold air that hit my face as I pulled the door open, Anna Mae right on my heels. I squinted when I stepped into the darker interior but didn't stop walking. I knew every inch of the place, and made it to my favorite stool just as my eyes adjusted.

  Monty, the owner and bartender, glanced at us, then at the clock. "Beer or tea?"

  "Beer, please," I said, and Anna nodded and held up two fingers. We didn't have to say more than that. After owning the place for longer than I'd been alive, he pretty much knew what everybody drank. And ate, too, for that matter, at least for those of us who were consistent. He could even guess what a stranger was gonna order nine times out of ten. It was a game we played when he was slow and I had nothing better to do. That was his superpower.

  He poured our beers while we got settled.

  "How you girls doin'?" he asked as he slid them in front of us. "You hungry?"

  "Nah, I'm not eating," I said, and Anna Mae shook her head too. "And I've been okay," I continued. "How 'bout you?"

  "Not bad. Same ole, same ole. You know how it is," he said, smiling, then shook his head. "I hear your sheriff's been keepin' busy, though."

  "Yeah," I said after I took a drink of my icy cold Big Wave. "And there's not much to go on, either."

  "No," he said, "I don't reckon there is." He paused. "I heard Jim was takin' a second look at Merriam Wallace's death, too."

  I don't know why I was surprised he knew that. As far as gossip went, he was almost as in the loop as Coralee was. The one advantage he had over Raeann and the coffee shop as far as information went was that everybody chats up the bartender, and the more they drink, the more they talk. There wasn't much he didn't know about.

  Still, I had to ask. “How do you know about that already? That just became a thing earlier today.”

  He winked at me, his eyes sparkling. “A respectable bartender never reveals his sources.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. Lemme guess—a little bird?”

  “Two, as a matter of fact,” he replied.

  “Angus and Trouble.” I should have known. As the former town drunk, Angus had a forty-year relationship with Monty.

  “Maybe. And maybe somebody else said they overheard Hunter ask Peggy Sue what she knew about Merriam. I happen to know Jim keeps blood samples of everybody who dies around here, so it only makes sense that if you told Hunter what Angus told you, and he was asking Peggy about Merriam, then he’d have Jim checking the samples.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You duped me into confirming what you only suspected.”

  Anna Mae laughed. “To be fair, sweetie, he had all the pieces. I even heard Martha Jean Stewart telling Stephanie Phillips that at the shop this afternoon.”

  Sighing, I marveled again at how much Keyhole had grown, but how small it still was at its core.

  "Them two was about as different as night and day,” Monty said, moving on. “Merriam was plucky but kind, and Ida could scare the stink out of a skunk with just a look. She could be pleasant when she wanted, but that wasn't often."

  "That's the truth," Anna Mae said, taking a drink of her beer. "Still, I feel bad she died that way. Nobody deserves that."

  Monty tossed his bar towel over his shoulder. “No, they don’t,” he said. “And for the millionth time, I’m glad I’m a bartender. I wouldn’t trade places with your sheriff for love nor money.”

  “I know.” I took a big draw off my beer. “The poor guy thought he was leaving big-city crime behind, only to move here and find himself in one backwoods mess after another. It’s a wonder he hasn’t already made a mad dash back north without so much as lookin’ back.”


  Anna Mae scoffed. “Shoot, girl. Don’t matter how many little old ladies or crooked sheriffs bite the bullet. Long as you’re here, so’s he.”

  That should have made me feel better, but somehow it made me feel even worse for him, poor guy.

  CHAPTER 22

  WE CHATTED WITH MONTY about the comings and goings of Keyhole and other non-murderous subjects for the next twenty minutes, and it was nice hanging out with them. I hadn’t made it to the Cat in a couple weeks, so I was due.

  Once we finished our beers, it was time for Hunter to get off work, so Anna Mae and I left, making plans to meet up at my place the next morning.

  Hunter and I managed to finish painting the kitchen and had everything cleaned up way sooner than we thought, so we went into town and grabbed a Redbox and a pizza from Duck's.

  "So what do you think about Millie and Felix?” I asked. “I just can’t seem to make any sense of that relationship.

  "I think the more I learn about that woman, the less I understand what Felix sees in her. He seems like a nice guy other than being a bit of a doormat, and from everything I've seen, she’s awful."

  "Yeah," I said, enjoying the view of the lake as we drove alongside it. "But do you think she coulda killed Ida?"

  He was quiet for a minute, focused on driving. "I don't know. I mean, if I've learned one thing since I moved here, it's that I can't overlook anybody."

  He was right. We had several folks who were just as likely to have done it as the others, and nobody was standing out.

  Sighing, he turned to me. "I haven't wanted to mention this, but you do realize Rose just came into half a million big ones and then some, right?"

  "Yeah, so?" I asked, then realized what he was implying. I shook my head. "Nope. No way. She wouldn't have done it. Cross her off the list."

  He shifted his weight. "You know she has no alibi, right?"

  "I don't care. She didn't do it." As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it. He let it go, though he was a good enough cop that I knew he wasn’t able to give her the same benefit of the doubt I was.

  Addy popped in right between us, pretty as you please, and I about jumped out of my skin. No matter how many times she did it, there’s just no way to dampen the startle reflex.

  "Jeez, Louise," Hunter snapped. "Would you please stop doing that?"

  "Doing what?" she asked, all sweetness and sunshine.

  He scowled at her. "You know what."

  She waved him off, her translucent hand shimmering just a little in the dark. "I figured you'd want to know what I just heard."

  When she didn't speak for a few seconds, Hunter rolled his fingers. "You almost killed me to tell me, so let's hear it."

  She whacked him in the back of the head, except her hand went right through his melon.

  He glowered and rubbed the back of his head. "You know I hate it when you do that. It feels gross."

  "Then don't sass me," she said. "Belle just told me that Harriet Blount was in to get her hair done today."

  Again, a pause.

  "Okay," I said, drawing in a breath and grabbing hold of my patience with both hands. She’d become a bit of a drama queen since she died—I wrote it off to her closer relationship with Belle. "I'll bite. What did Harriet Blount have to share?"

  Scowling, she said, "You watch your tongue, too, missy, or it'll be your head next." She heaved a put-upon sigh. "Harriet said Ida'd been talking to Felix about getting back together. She overheard her on the phone during an auxiliary meeting a month or so ago."

  "Wait," Hunter said, holding up his hand. "Did she hear those exact words?"

  Addy waggled her hand. "She may not have overheard the whole conversation, but she heard Ida ask Felix if he wanted to move back in."

  I mulled it over, trying to make sense of it. If they were trying to work things out, then what was up with Millie?

  "I'll ask Rose if she knows anything about it," I said, though it seemed like something she would have mentioned if she had.

  "You do that," Hunter said, "and I think it's time I had a private talk with Felix, sans his translator."

  Addy nodded as she faded out. "You're welcome," she called, her words trailing off as if somebody was turning her volume down. If only.

  We talked about it for the next few minutes until we pulled into Duck's, then let it go. Without more information, all we were doing was talking in circles.

  When we got to his house, he popped the DVD in and we settled in with the pizza and a couple beers. It was nice spending time at his house with just the two of us. I couldn't imagine ever living anywhere but the farm, but it was a good escape and a chance for us to get some one-on-one time.

  Halfway through the movie, his phone dinged with an incoming text. He did his best to ignore it, but we both knew that wouldn't last more than a couple minutes.

  I reached toward the coffee table and scooped it up, plopping it into his hand. He sighed when he saw who it was.

  "What?" I asked when I felt him tense.

  "It's Jim,” he said, pushing out a big breath. “Merriam was poisoned."

  "Same way?" I pushed to an upright position on the couch.

  "Yup," he said, hitting the remote to stop the movie.

  "So now what?"

  "Now I have to solve two murders rather than one."

  "Yeah, that goes without saying," I said, nudging him with my elbow, "but what's the next step? Did you learn anything this afternoon about where they may have intersected?"

  He shook his head. "They were pretty much opposite in every way. Merriam was into her farm and loved gardening. She volunteered at the local youth center for story time and with the ladies' auxiliary. As you know, Ida did some work with the auxiliary, but they didn't work on the same projects together. Ida tended to be more on the fundraising side of things, and Merriam enjoyed doing things like planting the flowers in the town square and working on the floats."

  I shrugged. "It's a commonality, though. A place to start. You should talk to Roberta; she knows everything that goes on with that group. Shoot, she basically runs it singlehandedly."

  "Yeah," he said, settling back into the couch and restarting the movie, "but it's too late to do anything tonight."

  So we curled up and watched an action movie and tried to pretend there wasn't a murderer on the loose.

  CHAPTER 23

  HUNTER DECIDED HE WANTED to go see Merriam's house the next day, so we got up early. Merriam’s daughter had built a house on the back of the property so she could stay close to her mom. Since it was the weekend, Peggy Sue was off and we had no way to get a number for her, so we just popped out there, hoping it was early enough to catch her before she left so we could see her mom’s house.

  "You know, it's been a while. She's probably already gone through the house. She may even have it rented out," I said when we were within a mile or so of her farm.

  "Yeah, maybe," he said, keeping an eye out for the turn. "But I want to talk to her about the days leading up to her mom’s death anyway. Plus, she needs to know her mom didn’t die of natural causes."

  That made sense.

  Their driveway was a lot like ours—long and curving, and the house at the end was similar, too. Another big, two-story Victorian with a gorgeous porch. Whereas the front yard at the farm had some dirt spots where we parked, Merriam's didn't. Her yard was pretty as a picture. Green grass, flowers overflowing the beds and pots hanging on the porch, and a concrete pad that had a carport over it.

  A smaller dirt road cut off from the driveway and ran up the far side of the yard. Unless I missed my guess, that one led to her daughter's house. We'd pulled in behind a classic yellow 'Vette in the carport, so we backed up and pulled onto the dirt road. Sure enough, it led to a smaller, ranch-style house a quarter mile or so from the main house.

  It looked fairly new, and Merriam's daughter Kensey, a woman about Anna Mae's age, was washing a Ford pickup in the driveway. She looked up as we approached and turned off the hose.
Drying her hands on the back pockets of her jean shorts, she smiled and headed toward us.

  Hunter pulled the truck up behind hers, but stayed far enough back that he didn't drive into the water standing in the twin ruts of the driveway. We climbed out, and I smiled at her.

  "Hey, Noelle," she said when she recognized me. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

  "Hey Kensey. First, I'm sorry about your mama. I didn't hear she'd passed until yesterday."

  "Thanks," she said, a shadow crossing her face. "It's been rough, mostly because it was such a shock. The woman was healthy as a horse. Shoot, I think her blood pressure was better than mine. She was hardly sick a day in her life ’til a few weeks before she died."

  I blew out a breath. "That's sorta what we're here to talk to you about." I looked from her to Hunter. "Kensey, this is Hunter Woods, the new sheriff of Keyhole. Hunter, meet Kensey Wallace, Merriam's daughter."

  Kensey's eyes were a little guarded now, as if she was expecting bad news, which, to be fair, was accurate. "What's wrong? Did something come up in probate? Let me guess, I owe more taxes," she said bitterly.

  I held my hands out and shook my head. "No, no. It's nothing like that. Those days are over. Hunter runs a clean ship."

  She glanced back and forth between us, relaxing at least a little.

  He stepped forward. "It's nice to meet you, and I wish it were under better circumstances. I'm sure you've heard about Ida Crenshaw's murder."

  "Yeah," she said, drawing the word out. "What does that have to do with me?"

  Hunter shifted his weight. "There’s no delicate way to put this. It turns out, your mother didn't die of natural causes. Somebody ... we realized the deaths were similar and it seemed suspicious, two healthy women dying so close together. So we had Jim take another look at your mom's blood sample and it had traces of poison in it."

  She sagged against her truck, soaking the shoulder of her T-shirt. "So, you're sayin' somebody killed her? Why would they do that? Everybody loved her."