Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (21 page)

Before I knew it, Chief swung the car door open and began to slide from the car. “Whoever is in there will either lay low, or try to get away without being seen. I’m going to have a look. I can let you into Marion’s and you can start—”

“This black woman
ain’t
settin
’ her bunions into Marion’s shop until you get back. I’m no fool.”

His smile seemed a bit too condescending.
“Afraid of ghosts?”

“No,” I snorted. “I’m just not interested in being in there without the light of day and remembering what she looked like the day I found her.”

“Stay here, then. I’ll be back.” He took off at a quick trot, stopped in front of Payton’s shop, and cupped his hands on the glass to look inside. He took off again and dropped out of sight around the end of the building.

 
I relaxed back in my seat and let my mind wander where it would. My run-in with Marion that final day when I
quit.
. .was fired. . .whatever. . .fanned the flames of my aggravation with her. The woman had been next to impossible. No, not next to.
But whole-hog impossible.
Through and through.
All the time.
Never satisfied with the way I did anything. I’d finally had enough and told Marion to back off.

“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.