Cat's Claw (31 page)

“That’s
grisly
, China!” Ruby cried. She clutched at her necklace, as if it might save her from a similar fate. “Killed by a mountain lion! What a horrible way to die!”

“It’s unimaginable,” Ramona whispered thinly. “I hope they
shoot
the beast! The idea that in this day and age, a person could be mauled to death by a brutal wild animal—”

“It’s the natural order of things,” I countered, cutting Ramona off. “The mountain lions were here first.” It was my considered opinion that the lion had given Timms pretty much what he deserved, and that the jury was still out as to which of the two was the real “brutal wild animal.” But I didn’t share that. Instead, I said, “It’s pretty likely that the lion is already dead,” I said, and told them about the one that Tom Banner had shot.

“So that’s it,” I said, when I had finished. “Thank you for covering for me here at the shop, Ramona. I really appreciate it. And now that we’ve all heard the story, I vote that we go back to work. I for one am certainly ready to stop thinking about this stuff.” I looked in the direction of the customer and saw that she was still busy with her browsing.

“But we can’t go back to work, China,” Ruby said, very seriously. “Not just yet, anyway. There are some ladies who are anxious to talk to you about something important.” She gestured toward the door to the tearoom. “I gave them a table and a pot of tea and a plate of cookies. Now that you’re here, they’ll be very glad to see you.” To her sister, she added,
“Ramona, if you don’t mind, you could keep an eye on both shops for us while China and I sit down with a cup of tea and talk to the ladies. I don’t think it’ll take too long.”

“I hope not,” Ramona said. “I promised Molly McGregor that I’d stop in and see her this morning, so we could continue our talk about the possibility of my going into business with her at the Hobbit House. I had to break our date yesterday, you know.”

I was frowning. “What ladies?” I asked. “Really, Ruby, I’m certainly ready to sit down with a cup of tea, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather skip the powwow with—”

“Sorry,” Ruby said regretfully. “You can’t skip it. They’ve been waiting for almost an hour. They don’t think Larry Kirk killed himself.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice confidentially, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that the customer wasn’t listening. “They think they know who did it.”

She had my attention. “They think
what
?” I asked, startled. “Who are
they
?”

“The Texas Stars,” she replied. “You know, the quilting club.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling deflated. “You mean neighborhood gossip central.” Ruby had taken me to their meetings as a guest, so I spoke from personal observation. The ladies claimed that they got together to make quilts, and their quilts were truly beautiful. But they also got together to trade, barter, and embellish all the local news, about three-quarters of which was garden-variety gossip. I’d be very surprised if they had a single shred of genuine information.

“Well, yes,” Ruby conceded. “I suppose they do gossip a fair amount. They don’t have much else to do. On the other hand, sometimes neighbors see things they aren’t supposed to see. And they tell other neighbors, who have seen other things, and so on.”

I had to acknowledge the truth of that. Still— “Who’s in there?” I asked, gesturing toward the tearoom.

Ruby began ticking the Stars off on her fingers. “Ethel Wauer from next door—next door to me, that is. I think you know her.”

“Oh, I know her, all right,” I said. “She’s the ringleader. I hope she didn’t bring that yappy little dog. Oodles, isn’t that his name?”

“Of course she didn’t,” Ramona said in a snarky tone. “She left him at home to annoy the neighbors.”

Ruby continued. “There’s also Jane Jessup, who lives on the other side of Ethel—the one with the beautiful vegetable garden. And Mildred Ewell from across the street. And Hazel Schulz. She lives on the far side of the Kirks’.”

“Sounds like a quorum,” I said, feeling resigned. “But if they have some serious information, they should march right down to the police station and tell the cop at the duty desk. Somebody will be glad to take their information and pass it along to the investigators.”

“Well, it’s not
that
kind of information,” Ruby said, almost apologetically. “I mean, it’s not the kind of report that they can walk into the police station with. It’s more…” She waved her hand. “It’s vague. They’re not really sure what they
know
, you know. They just know what they think they saw and heard. And it’s all kind of mixed up.”

I rolled my eyes.
What they think they saw and heard
. It wasn’t every day that a neighbor was killed in his kitchen, especially in a small town like Pecan Springs. Larry’s death was likely to be the subject of dozens of wild stories flying around the neighborhood. Somebody had seen a mysterious male visitor in the dead of night. Another person had noticed an unfamiliar car parked down the block. The lady on the corner had seen a stranger loitering in the alley. And these sweet little old ladies had compiled all these rumors and bits of gossip into a story they were dying to share.

“Anyway,” Ruby went on, “they don’t want to tell the police. They’re here because they want to tell
you
.”

“Me?” I asked, surprised. “Why me?”

“Because you’re famous,” Ramona replied, with a chuckle that just missed being sarcastic.

“That’s ridiculous,” I scoffed. “I’m not famous. I—”

“Yes, you are,” Ruby said. “Last summer, you helped to locate Jessica Nelson when that guy kidnapped her. And before that, there was the burglar you squirted with pepper spray right here in the shop—remember? And before
that
, it was the drugs that somebody was trying to smuggle in those pots of yucca. If it hadn’t been for you, the smugglers would have succeeded.”

She paused, and I knew she was thinking of Colin Fowler. He’d been investigating that drug smuggling ring when he was killed. She touched her devil’s claw necklace again, swallowed, and went on.

“The Stars have heard all these stories, China, and they’ve decided that you’re a regular Miss Jane Marple.”

Ramona smothered a giggle.

“Miss who?” I asked blankly.

“Miss Marple. You know—in Agatha Christie’s mysteries. So they want you to listen to what they have to say.” She patted my arm. “And anyway, it’ll be a chance to sit down and have a nice cup of hot tea and a couple of cookies. You look like you could use a break.”

I couldn’t argue with that. With a sigh, I followed Ruby into the tearoom.

Thyme for Tea occupies the back half of the building that Ruby and I share. Like our shops, the dining room has limestone walls, well-worn wide-board floors, and an embossed tin ceiling. With its green-painted wainscoting, chintz chair seats and place mats, and pots of ivy and
bundles of dried herbs hanging everywhere, it’s a friendly and attractive space, appealing to the local clubs and groups that like to meet there for lunch.

But the lunch crowd wasn’t here yet. The dining room was empty except for four little old ladies sitting around a table. They were wearing dresses, hats, and gloves, as if they had come for high tea. But one of them had apparently brought a deck of cards, for they were playing bridge while they waited. They were totally engrossed.

“One spade,” Ethel Wauer said.

“Pass,” said Mildred Ewell.

“One heart,” said Jane Jessup.

“Pass,” said Hazel Schulz.

They all looked at Ethel, who hesitated. “Four hearts,” she said tentatively. “Or maybe—”

“Ladies,” Ruby said, “China Bayles is here. Do you still want to talk to her?”

“You bet your boobies we do,” Ethel said brightly, folding her cards. Ethel is a spry eighty-something, with very white hair that she wears in a boy’s cut, as short as possible. “Girls, put away your cards.”

“But Ethel,” Mildred said, looking at her hand, “I was about to—”

“Never mind, Mildred,” Jane said. “We’re here to talk. We can play cards later.”

Feeling resigned, I pulled up a chair. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“I’ll bring another pot of tea,” Ruby offered, and went off.

I waited as the ladies handed their cards to Ethel, who put them carefully into their box and the box into her handbag. Then I repeated my question. “What did you want to talk about?”

The ladies looked from one to the other. “You tell her, Jane,” Hazel urged. “You’re the one who looked out the window.”

“No,” Jane said, shaking her head. “That was Ethel. Ethel, you tell her.”

“All right, I will,” Ethel said, and straightened in her chair. “Mr. Kirk was a very nice man and we all liked him. We don’t think he killed himself.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that wasn’t the kind of person he was,” Jane said indignantly. “He disinfected my grandson’s computer. And anyway, we saw—”

“Ethel
saw her,” Mildred corrected her. “Two different times.”

“
After
Mr. Kirk had gone to the shop,” Hazel said.

“But I also saw—” Jane began huffily.

“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. I turned to Ethel. “Mrs. Wauer, are you going to tell me what you saw, or am I going to have to guess?”

Mrs. Wauer leaned forward, blue eyes sparkling in her lined face. “Well, it’s like this, China. I wash my dishes at the kitchen sink, once or twice every day. I was washing dishes, and I looked out the window and saw—”

“You need a dishwasher, is what you need,” Hazel said. “My cousin works at Jim’s Appliance Store. He’d be glad to install one for you, Ethel.”

“Get a KitchenAid,” Jane advised. “They’re the best. I have never had a minute’s trouble with mine, except for the time a fork got into the—”

I broke in. “Mrs. Wauer, just what did you see when you looked out the window?”

“A woman,” Mrs. Wauer replied. “Walking down the alley. Two different times—and both of them after Mr. Kirk had gone to work.”

“How do you know he’d gone to work?” I asked.

“Because Oodles doesn’t like bicycles,” Mrs. Wauer said.

I frowned. “What does Oodles not liking bicycles have to do with—”

Mildred Ewell leaned forward. “Oodles barks at bicycles,” she said
darkly. “He goes totally bananas when he sees a bicycle. Once he knocked down his gate and chased Mr. Kirk down the street. He bit him on the ankle and tore his pants.”

“Oodles was very sorry afterward,” Mrs. Wauer said repentantly. “He just lost his head for a moment.”

“So Oodles barked and you knew that Mr. Kirk had ridden off to work,” I said, trying to keep the conversation on track. “And then what?”

“And then I saw the lady in the alley,” Ethel said.

“Not just once,” Hazel put in excitedly. “Twice!
After
Mr. Kirk had gone to work! Now why, I ask you, would somebody be going to Mr. Kirk’s house when he wasn’t there?”

“How do you know she was going to Mr. Kirk’s house?” I asked reasonably. Ruby appeared at that moment with a pot of hot tea.

“It’s mint,” she said. “I thought you might need a picker-upper.” She pulled up a chair and sat down at the table.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully, wishing it were laced with something very strong. I poured myself a cup, sweetening it with honey. “How did you know she was going to Mr. Kirk’s house?” I asked again.

“Because she went in his back gate,” Mrs. Wauer replied. “She walked down the alley as pert as you please, right past my kitchen window, then opened the Kirks’ back gate and went in.”

“When was this?” I asked.

Mrs. Wauer frowned. “Well, one time it was Monday, because that’s the day Mr. Hamer comes to cut the grass. Monday two weeks ago. The other time…” She paused. “I’d have to check, but I’m pretty sure it was the day I took Oodles to the vet to get his shots. That would’ve been on a Friday. Friday before last.” Her voice took on a defensive tone. “And I don’t call it snooping, the way some folks do.” She gave Mildred Ewell a reproachful look. “When I see people walking down the alley, I notice,
especially when they’re all dressed up. In fact, I think everybody ought to make it their business to pay attention to strangers in our neighborhoods. There’s too much crime everywhere, even in Pecan Springs.”

“I agree with that,” Hazel said sadly. “Mrs. Howard’s mother’s watch was stolen at the nursing home. And the police didn’t do a blessed thing about it.”

“What did she look like?” I asked.

“Mrs. Howard’s mother didn’t get a look at her,” Hazel replied. “She was taking a nap when it happened.”

I sighed. “No. The woman in the alley. What did she look like, Mrs. Wauer? Can you describe her?”

“Black hair,” Mrs. Wauer said. “Straight, with bangs. Once, she was wearing a red suit, skirt above her knees.” She clucked her tongue. “Other time, it was blue. Don’t know how women can walk in those short skirts and high heels. Ridiculous.”

“Stylish,” Jane said, “but too much makeup, in my opinion.” She smiled at Ruby. “Although we love
your
makeup, dear, because you’re our friend.” She turned to me. “I saw her myself, China. Once. But not in the alley. She was getting into a car, out in front of the McNallys’. Fortysomething, trying to look younger. But the red lipstick didn’t help, if you ask me.”

“Mrs. McNally’s daughter Polly knows her name,” Mildred Ewell offered. “Polly was there when she parked her car out front. She recognized her.”

“Hyundai,” Hazel said.

“Her name is Hyundai?” I asked, surprised.

“No, that’s her car,” Hazel said. “Or something like that. One of those cute little foreign things. That’s what Mrs. McNally said.”

“Bright red,” Jane said disapprovingly. “Like blood.”

“The car?” I asked. “Or her suit?”

“Her lipstick,” Jane said. She gave me a withering look, as if I hadn’t been paying the right kind of attention. “Her suit was blue. Her car was sort of silver colored. I don’t know whether it was a Hyundai. It might have been something else.”

“A Corvette?” I asked sharply, thinking of Timms’ car.

“No, no. Nothing like that.” She waved her hand. “If it had been a motorcycle, I could probably tell you what make. My nearest and dearest used to ride Harleys, when he was alive.”