Cinnamon Toasted (33 page)

Melly tried to reason with him. “It’s not too late, Thompson, to see something
of the world.”

Thompson gave a mirthless laugh. “Hell with the hardware store. I’m sick to death of being the good son. I wish I’d never returned to Brandywine Creek. Every time I mention moving on, Mother has a spell of some sort. When it comes to guilt trips, she’s the queen. Like it or not, I’m stuck here.”

“So what are you going to do now that we know the truth about Chip?” I darted a look
toward Melly. Her eyes were distended with fear, her skin milky pale. By her own admission, she didn’t do well in a crisis. And as crises came, they didn’t get much bigger than this.

Perspiration dotted Thompson’s upper lip. “I tried to kill Melly once by tampering with her furnace. I planned to make it look like a suicide. It was easy to swipe a piece of Melly’s notepaper. I’ve seen her handwriting
often enough to forge an ‘I’m sorry.’ With her out of the picture, McBride would drop the case. No more worries. Now I have a different plan.”

Calmer, Thompson almost smiled, which frightened me even more. If he let his guard down even for an instant, I was going to slam into him, try to knock the gun from his hand, then grab Melly and run like crazy.

“Too bad you nice ladies interrupted a robbery
in progress and, in the bargain, got yourselves shot. To make matters worse, the shooter got clean away.” He motioned with the barrel of his .38. “Turn around and head downstairs.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Melly clutched her stomach and groaned as her knees folded.

That’s all it took. Instead of falling to the floor, Melly pivoted, latched on to her Vera Bradley tote, and hit Thompson
upside the head. Dazed, he wobbled like a Weeble, then dropped the gun before sinking to his knees. Before he had a chance to recover, I dived for the pistol. It felt big, heavy, awkward, but I didn’t let that stand in the way. Using both hands to keep them steady, I pointed the barrel at Thompson’s chest. “Call nine-one-one,” I told Melly.

“First things first, dear.” Melly calmly removed a bottle
of wine from the tote bag and set it on the table. “Nothing like a nice bottle of California Chardonnay, I always say.”

C
HAPTER
35

T
HE CALM AFTER THE STORM.
It was peaceful sitting on a bench in the town square. A gray squirrel industriously gathered nuts. A goldfinch rested on a branch in a willow oak. The statue of a Confederate soldier, frozen forever at his post, guarded the town with sightless eyes. Puffs of white clouds floated across a bright blue sky. A picture-perfect day. If I closed my eyes, I could
pretend last night had never happened—almost.

Reba Mae interrupted my musings. “Melly is sure a tough old bird.”

“A real steel magnolia,” I agreed.

Reba Mae took a bite of her chicken pesto wrap, a swallow of sweet tea. “Melly actually clobbered Thompson with her tote bag?”

“It wasn’t the tote bag so much as its contents.” I wiped a dab of sauce from the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “Felicity
insisted we take the extra bottle of wine we’d brought along home with us. I suspect the Piggly Wiggly isn’t Felicity’s usual source of vino.”

“What’s going to happen to Thompson?”

“McBride hinted he plans to plead temporary insanity.”

“Nutty as a fruitcake, if he thinks he can get away with claimin’ he’s crazy.”

“As for Chip Balboa, Thompson said all he wanted to do to him was give him diarrhea.
Things sort of … escalated.”

Reba Mae finished her sandwich and bunched up the wrapper. “What’s goin’ to happen to the hardware store, now that Thompson’s been arrested?”

I polished off the last of my Diet Coke. “According to Melly, Mavis Gray plans to put it up for sale. Use the money for Thompson’s defense.”

“Did you ever find the owner of the button?”

“Lindsey recognized it as hers. She
said it came off at her meemaw’s one day while roughhousing with Casey.”

“Don’t know about you, honeybun, but I’m ready to get back to normal. I’ve had enough excitement to last awhile.” She brushed crumbs from her leopard-print slacks. “Say, did Lindsey happen to mention what’s goin’ on with Sean Rogers’s knee?”

“After reviewing the CT scan, the orthopedic doctor diagnosed it as a bad sprain.
Sean’s hoping he gets the green light to play in the homecoming game.”

“Great! Folks have been worryin’, what with the rumor Dottie’s been spreadin’ about him bein’ crippled.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised at hearing this. “Dottie’s a Grand Master of the Outwardly Cheerful, Inwardly Morbid Society. But there is a bright side to all this,” I said, smiling. “As a result of Sean’s injury, Lindsey
is determined to become a physical therapist—or a nurse.”

Reba Mae grinned. “Knowin’ your girl, she’s liable to change careers another dozen times before makin’ up her mind. Speakin’ of schoolin’, I’ve got news, too. Clay enrolled at the junior college as a full-time student, come the winter semester. He has his sights set on a degree in criminal justice. Wants to be another Wyatt McBride.”

“I’m happy for Clay.” I began to gather up our lunch debris. “McBride, I’m sure, will make a great mentor. By the way, when do play rehearsals begin?”

“Seven o’clock tonight.” Reba Mae fluffed her blond bouffant do. “Sandy promises to be a real stickler. Some of the cast members are grumblin’ already.”

“I’m sure the play will be a huge success. Sandy has seen stage productions in both New York
and London, so her standards are high.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Reba Mae stood to leave. “Time to get back to work. Mary Lou Lambert begged me to squeeze her in between a perm and two color-and-cuts. This time, she decided to try cuttin’ her own hair. Now she’s bawlin’ her eyes out and expects me to work a miracle. Says not even her Yorkie recognizes her.”

Reba Mae headed off to the Klassy Kut, me
to Spice It Up! The instant Melly caught sight of me, she whipped off her apron and grabbed her purse. “What took you so long?”

I glanced at the regulator clock on the wall, but it read the same as my wristwatch. From my vantage point across the street, I hadn’t noticed a horde of tourists descend, all of them eager to purchase spices. “Melly,” I protested. “I was barely gone a half hour.”

“Cot—er, Judge Herman—called while you were out. He invited me for a late lunch at the country club. He said there are some things he wants to discuss with me.”

“Things?” I asked, instantly suspicious. “What kind of ‘things’?”

She waved her hand airily. “Get your mind out of the gutter, dear. Not those kinds of things. The judge is considering stepping down from the bench, maybe travel a bit
while he’s still able. He said he values a woman’s perspective. He’s missed that since his wife passed. If I leave now, I’ll have just enough time to change into something pretty. Perhaps the blue silk blouse that brings out the color of my eyes.”

Bemused, I watched her hurry off for her luncheon date. She had a certain bounce in her step I’d never noticed before …

 … and a certain twinkle
in her eyes.

During the remainder of the afternoon, townspeople flowed in and out of Spice It Up! Curiosity prompted most of the visits, but many neighbors left with a jar of this, a bottle of that. All of them, however, expressed shock and disbelief at Thompson Gray’s actions.

It was nearly closing time. I was at the counter, totaling the day’s receipts, when Doug came through the door. We’d
talked at length earlier about the events of the previous night. As I’d anticipated, I received a well-meaning lecture about staying out of trouble, which translated meant “minding my own business.”

“Hey, pretty lady.” He kissed me soundly, then held me at arm’s length to inspect for damages. “Lucky for me, my hair already turned gray. Hearing about your recent escapade made me a little bonkers.”

Casey was more interested in doggy treats than in my “escapades.” He danced at our feet until Doug produced a dog chewie, then went off in a corner to gnaw on it.

“I would have been here sooner, but the president of the Humane Society dropped by and asked for help writing a grant. Naturally, instead of thirty minutes, it took most of the afternoon. If they get the grant, however, it’ll be used
for spaying and neutering.”

I thought I saw Casey wince at hearing “spaying and neutering.” “Besides wanting to see for myself that you’re still in one piece,” Doug continued, “there’s something I need to talk with you about.”

Uh-oh.
“It sounds serious.”

Smiling sheepishly, he massaged the nape of his neck “I’ve got good news … and bad news. Well, actually, they’re one and the same.”

“All
right,” I said warily. “Why don’t you tell me the bad news first?”

“My daughter called last night. She’s dropping out of Northwestern.”

Well, I don’t know what I’d expected to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it. He’d told me his only child, a daughter, had elected to live with her mother in Chicago following their divorce. Doug usually referred to her simply as “my daughter.” I tried to recall
her name. If memory served, she was named after a city or a street. Finally, her name came to me—Madison.

“Madison said she’s failing all her classes and needs a break.”

I placed my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Doug. I know how proud you are of her accomplishments.”

“There’s more,” he continued. “Madison and my ex-wife are at odds. My daughter is quite upset by what she views as her mother’s
irresponsible … behavior.”

“Exactly what type of ‘behavior’ are you referring to?”

“Since my ex and her former high school sweetheart, now a pilot with Delta, are no longer an item, Tracy’s heavily into Internet dating—and the bar scene. Madison is unhappy with her mother’s choices in male companions. Both Tracy and I feel a change of scenery might be beneficial. Even though Madison’s twenty,
she took our breakup hard.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Lindsey is still experiencing fallout from my divorce.”

“Well, the news isn’t all bad. Madison is coming to live with me. While she’s here, she’s going to act as my receptionist/assistant until she figures out what she wants to do with her life.”

“That’s wonderful, Doug. You’ve wanted to hire a person for some time. I’m sure your daughter
will be a great help.”

“I can’t wait for the two of you to meet,” he said, drawing me into his arms. “I’m sure you’ll hit it off.”

*   *   *

Closing time now, I started across the shop to lock up for the night when McBride pushed through the door. “Don’t suppose you can offer a poor underpaid public servant a cup of coffee?” he asked.

I was about to explain the meaning of “closing time” but
relented when I noticed the dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. He looked exhausted. “Sure,” I said. “I was just about to brew a fresh pot.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he said with a tired smile. After flipping the sign in the window to
CLOSED,
he followed me to the rear of the shop. “I thought you might be interested in knowing what’s going on with Thompson Gray.”

I measured French roast
into the basket of my coffeemaker and added water while he watched. “Have a seat,” I said, indicating a couple of stools nearby.

Casey trotted over to sniff McBride’s pant leg and was rewarded by having his ears scratched. “Your mutt probably smelled my cat.”

“How’s Fraidy doing these days?” I asked, setting out mugs. “Is she any less timid?”

“I’m happy to report she’s making progress. It’s
just certain redheads she avoids like the plague.”

“I tend to rub some people—and some animals—the wrong way. But”—I smiled brightly—“to know me is to love me.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He chuckled.

When the coffeemaker ceased gurgling and hissing, I poured us each coffee and sat next to him. “Sorry, but I’m fresh out of goodies to go along with the coffee.”

McBride took a deep
swallow. “Mmm,” he purred. “This makes me feel almost human after only four hours’ sleep last night. Darned if Thompson Gray didn’t want to press charges against Melly for assault and battery.”

“You’re kidding!”

He shrugged broad shoulders. “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

“If Thompson really feels that way, maybe the judge should accept an insanity plea. If not for a bottle of Chardonnay,
Melly and I would be in the morgue right now.”

“I reminded the man, he’d tried to kill Melly Prescott not once but twice—and almost killed you in the bargain.” McBride’s laser blues studied me over the rim of his coffee mug. “Thompson finally admitted to tampering with the chimney vent at Melly’s house by stuffing it full of clothing. He planned to return later and retrieve the evidence.”

“But
discovered me instead. Thompson scared the beejeebers out of me.” My hands tightened around the coffee mug, remembering the spooky basement, the disembodied hand at the top of the stairs. The eyedrops that had been centered on a blue and white place mat as a warning. “The entire time I was convinced Chip died at the hands of a stranger in town—Cheryl, Troy, even Rusty—while the real killer operated
a business two doors down. He was the man who replaced my broken lock and helped install a garbage disposal. I never guessed Thompson capable of violence.”

McBride drained his cup. “Everyone’s capable of violence given the right circumstances.”

“That’s downright cynical, McBride.”

“Occupational hazard.”

I sipped my coffee, which had cooled by now. “What happens next?”

McBride set his empty
cup aside. “A good defense attorney might’ve gotten Gray off with voluntary manslaughter if he’d quit his murdering ways with Chip Balboa. Now he’s also charged with two counts of attempted murder. The nuts and bolts in his hardware store will have rusted long before he sees the light of day again. Time comes”—he got to his feet—“we’ll need you and Melly to testify.”

“I’ll circle the date on
my calendar in red,” I said as I walked with him to the door.

“Almost forgot to tell you,” he said, pausing. “Beau Tucker’s no longer on probation. He’s not the only one you wheedle information from. I can’t in good conscience hold Beau to one set of standards and myself to another. I’m just as guilty when confronted with those big green eyes of yours.”