Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (15 page)

Chief’s eyes creased at the corners and he braced a hand on the counter as he bent to look behind it. “Bingo. There’s a huge box here on the floor.
Looks like they lifted some prints.”
He sucked in air and let loose, launching a cloud of fingerprint powder into the air. He hoisted the box onto his shoulder and headed for the door.

“You need more time, Mark?”

Mark had shimmied underneath the piano.
“A few more minutes.
This thing sure is old. It’ll cost a bundle just to get it moved out.”

“Maybe
Payton’ll
take it off your hands,” Chief offered.

Seeing that Mark’s interest in the piano was minimal, I ran my fingers over a few of the ivory keys. “It’s definitely out of tune. What does anyone know about John
Broadwood
pianos?” I asked to no one in particular.

Mark scooted out into the aisle, stood up and brushed off his knees. “There’s a number under there. Is there a pen and paper anywhere?”

“I’ve got some in the
car,
it’ll give me a chance to put this box down, too.” Chief maneuvered past me, toward the front door.

“With Hardy being such a natural, you’ve probably seen a lot of pianos. Know anything about how to identify one?”

 
“It’s a
Broadwood
. They’re made in England. What more do you need to know?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the year it was made.”

“Should be a serial number.
Probably the one you saw underneath. Best way I know to identify these things is by the name.” I folded my arms to squelch a shudder. Being in this store was worse than I thought it would be.

“Maybe I will have Payton come look it over.” He raised the lid of the piano and propped it open with the stick. “Sure is dusty.”

“If I had to guess, I’d say you’d get more for Marion’s books than for that old piano. Hardy wouldn’t touch the thing.” In an effort to distract my imagination from the constant replay of Marion’s body as I had found her, I ran my eyes along the various titles of the books. “If you give me a good price, I might try to buy these for the school library.”

“The bookcases sure are huge. They don’t look to be in bad shape, either.” He rubbed his chin. “How about you pick out the ones you want and I’ll sell the rest?”

“My money’s good.”

 
“I don’t doubt that. Consider it a donation to the
donator,
and
Valorie
won’t care.” He came to stand at the end of the dining room table that one had to skirt to get to the bookcase and raked his eyes over the spines of the various books.
“Quite a few on local history.
Maybe I’ll take a couple to read to help with my article for the paper.”

“They’re your books.”

 
His expression grew sad. “Actually, they’re
Valorie’s
. She inherits everything, as she should. She’s a little reluctant to come here right now though, so I offered to help clear things out.”

Most of the titles were still easy to read, so I skimmed them, noting which ones would make good additions to the school’s collection. It took me a few minutes to realize that Mark, though he held one of the two books he’d pulled out, wasn’t reading at all. He seemed to be studying the bookcase itself, tracing it with his eyes. Probably trying to decide how much profit it would bring for
Valorie
. When he caught me staring at him, he snapped the book he held shut and placed it on the dining room table.

Chief came back in then. In his right hand, he clutched a pad of paper, which he slid across the dining table toward Mark.

I decided I’d had enough of the place and followed Mark. He took a minute to recheck the number and jot it down. We made it to the front door when Mark pivoted back toward the room. “Almost forgot my books.”

Chief rattled his keys. “I’ll unlock the car.”

As much as I’d wanted to leave that shop, something made me stand right where I was and follow Mark with my eyes. He reached across the dining table and grabbed his books. Then he tucked them underneath his arm and paused. In profile, I could see his eyes lift toward the bookcase again. He put a hand down on the dining room table as if to rest his weight, but he must have pushed, because the table slid across the floor and butted up against the bookcase. One of the chairs fell backward with a thud, and the other one tilted and wedged itself underneath the lip of the bookcase.

“What’s going on in here?” Chief said as he came back, pad of paper in hand.

Mark’s gaze met mine. He pointed. “Guess the table wasn’t as heavy as I thought. I leaned against it and it slid.”

“Better leave it, then. The state police will be breathing down my neck if everything is messed up. Are you ready?”

Mark and I filed out to the car ahead of Chief. He stopped to secure the store.

“If you don’t mind, Chief, I think I’ll head out on foot. I need to get over to city hall for the council meeting.” He paused, eyes shifting back toward the store. “Do you think I could get in there again with a piano mover to get an estimate?”

“You call me,” was all
Chief
conceded. He held the front door open for me and I fell onto the seat, glad to be off my feet.

 
I watched as Mark walked to the front of the hotel and turned the corner toward his restaurant, wondering about his little stunt in the shop. Something about his interest in that piano and those books and bookcase didn’t ring quite true, but if someone asked me why, I wouldn’t have any idea how to answer. It was just a feeling.

The citizens of Maple Gap put in a strong showing at the city council meeting on Marion’s building. Councilman Lester Riley seemed pleased by the turnout, evidenced by the twinkle in his eye at every person who walked through the back door. Rumor had it that Lester was working to replace Eugene
Taser
as mayor in the next race. I’d vote for him. Lester’s heart was in the right place and his wife, Mary, would see no sense in puffing herself up like the current Mayor’s wife.

Dressed in his best—a clean pair of overalls—Lester, greeted us as he would anyone;
a howdy
for me, and a sound slap on the back for Hardy. I made sure to check out his boots, too. Never can tell when a farmer, especially a dairy farmer, might be carrying lethal cow patties on the bottoms of their boots. To my surprise, he had on fancy cowboy boots. Who’d have thought for a minute he owned anything other than those galoshes thingies he always wore, even around town.

I spied Payton sitting in the front row, still in monochromatic white. His expression matched his clothes. Made me wonder why this whole incident with Marion’s building concerned him so much. It had certainly surprised everyone when he blocked Marion’s sale by spouting arguments of the building’s historical value. Secretly, I doubted the city council had been impressed by the arguments he’d presented two weeks ago. After all, building more houses equaled more taxable households for the city.

Other familiar faces lined the rows next to and behind Payton, mostly older townsfolk who hated to see the building be torn down because they didn’t like change.

I didn’t like change either, but I knew it was inevitable.

Shock ran along my nerves when I spotted Dana
Letzburg
. Slouched in a chair in the last row, her gray t-shirt and black jeans gave the impression that she wanted to disappear. When she caught me looking, she gave a wan smile, like one recovering from serious illness. It seemed fitting she be present, somehow. The building had been part of the legend that had made the
Letzburg
name so well known.

 
Mark sat in his usual place with the rest of the council.
Valorie
sat with those citizens who supported the building being destroyed. She looked confident and fresh, though I figured the townspeople would be torn in their feelings about her. On one hand, she’d been caught cheating and branded untrustworthy as a result. On the other, her mother had just died and most would feel it noble of her to take up her mother’s cause.

As Lester called the meeting to order, I found my seat. Hardy had slipped up to talk to Payton. He skedaddled back to me, his grin wide.

Lester began by allowing some of the citizens to speak on behalf of saving the building, citing historical reasons. Then the opposing side spoke.
Valorie
didn’t say much. She really didn’t have to. As soon as she hit the podium, the tears started.

“My mother needed the money and felt the town needed the new growth to survive since many of the children raised here move away shortly after graduating.” She paused for a long beat and made good use of the wad of tissues in her hand. “I hope the city council will vote to fulfill my mother’s dream for the town.”

Short, sweet and to the point. Payton didn’t look up once during her entire talk. I think he knew he was going to lose the vote.

And he did.

The council voted four to one, minus Mark’s vote, in favor of selling the building to the contracting company. Mark never breathed a word of explanation as to his recusal. Maybe it had something to do with him being a history buff? Or that his daughter now owned the building? But for that to be the case, Mark would have had to have known Marion would die, then get the news to the paper in time for it to be in the hands of Maple
Gapites
the next day.

Lester caught me before I left, pumped my hand and asked me when I was going to run for city council. I laughed. He didn’t.

Out of my peripheral vision, I caught Hardy dashing away as I listened to Lester list the reasons I’d make a good councilwoman. Mark snuck by the crowd, sheltering
Valorie
from the people with a polite smile and forward momentum.

“You’d make a great councilwoman,
LaTisha
. Think on it,” Lester encouraged me.

“Bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo isn’t my cup of tea. I even hate tea.” From there, my mind split between the conversation with Lester and puzzling over where Hardy had got off to.

It took me awhile to disentangle myself from Lester, but I managed, only after promising to think things over. The crowd had thinned considerably, but I didn’t see Hardy’s hiked drawers anywhere in the building.

Night air, warm with a cool breeze, sharpened my temper. That man had better not taken off without me.

A low whisper of voices caught my attention as I descended the two steps to the curb. The voices were coming from behind a tall privet hedge. Neither sounded like Hardy. I continued down the sidewalk, curious enough to take a peek and see who it was and ask if they’d seen Hardy. I stopped cold when I glimpsed Hardy’s body wedged between two of the bushes, his ear obviously cocked toward the conversation.

“What you
doin
’ in there?”

He brought his finger to his lips and rolled his eyes.

The voices stopped talking. He frowned at me.

How was I supposed to know he was eavesdropping? I thought he’d gone and lost his mind, pretending he was a shrub or something.

Hardy slipped out of the hedge and wagged his hands in front of him, hustling me toward our car. I moved as fast as I could, trying to shut my door as quietly as possible. Hardy hunkered down behind the steering wheel.

“I can’t get down that low.”

“Then sit there and act as if you’re waiting on me,” he said. “Let me know who comes out of that hedge.”

We waited like that for about ten minutes before Payton slid out of the break in the bushes about ten feet farther up from where I’d found Hardy. He got into his car and left.

“Payton.”

“Did he see you?”

I crossed my arms. “It’s dark.
Hard to see black skin in the dark.”

“No one else?”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Dana popped out of the privet hedge opening, looked up and down the sidewalk, and made a bee-line for her car.

“Dana,” I said. “She’s getting in her car right now.”

Her headlights wiped a circle around us as she pulled out of her parking space.

Hardy unfolded himself from the floorboard. “As soon as the meeting was over, I saw Dana and Payton pass each other in the hall.
Looked like they were giving each other some kind of signal, so I followed them.
Not a bad piece of detective work
if I do say so.”

“What’d you learn?”

He turned on the motor and flicked on the headlights.
“Couldn’t hear too much.
Something about his shop and them getting together there after midnight.”

What in the world did Dana and Payton have going?

“There’s another little thing.” Hardy dug around in the breast pocket of his seer-sucker shirt. “As Payton high-tailed it out of that meeting he slipped his wallet out and these fluttered to the ground.”

These turned out to be a receipt from the dry cleaners and several stubs of lottery tickets. “He must be playing hard.”

“Guess he’s stopped terrorizing the fire-hall bingo regulars and expanded to the Lotto.” Hardy whistled low.

 
My mind shifted from one thing to another. If
Hardy’d
overheard Payton say something to Dana about his apartment, I might think they had a thing for each other.
But his shop?