String of Lies (8 page)

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Authors: Mary Ellen Hughes

Tags: #Mystery

BOOK: String of Lies
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“Good evening, Vernon,” Ina Mae called. “How nice to see you.”
Vernon Dobson pulled the baseball cap off his balding head and joined the group, unzipping his jacket. “Mrs. Kepner,” he said, nodding.
“Oh, we’re all on a first-name basis, Vernon,” Jo said. “I believe you know Javonne. And Loralee?”
“Yes indeed,” Loralee said, bobbing her white curls.
“Drop your things over there,” Jo said, pointing to the pile of coats, “and grab a seat at the table. We’re just about ready to begin.”
Vernon settled in along with the others, folding his hands over the purple and white Raven’s sweatshirt stretched over his well-fed middle as he placidly waited. Jo noticed that Javonne seemed unable to keep from staring, as though still struggling to fit her former butcher with this beading workshop classmate. Jo smiled to herself and got down to business. She picked up a silver pin, about two inches long, and held it up for them to see.
“This, ladies—and gentleman—is what we will use to build our first earring,” she said. “It’s sterling silver, and it has, as you see, this little flat head at one end to hold the beads on.
“Spread over the table are boxes of beads, separated by color, size, shape—you name it—as well as spacers, bead caps, and such. Just about everything you could want to put on this pin to create your drop earring.”
“Oh, my, they’re beautiful, but there’s so many,” Loralee cried. “How do we know what to use?”
“I know!” Javonne agreed. “Look at all of them. They’re all gorgeous! What are these black ones, Jo?”
“Those are black agate. And over here are turquoise, then amber, and cat’s eye, all the gemstone beads. Then these,” she moved to another large group, “are the crystals, in so many beautiful colors. Here,” she said, pointing out yet another group, “are the metals—sterling silver, gold, pewter, and cloisonné.”
Jo picked up a box of beads she particularly liked. “And aren’t these wooden beads wonderful? Just look at the carving on them.”
The women oohed, agreeing.
“I realize it’s overwhelming at first,” Jo said. “But for now, just try to keep it fairly simple. Pick your color scheme for your earrings, as well as the size of beads. Play around with them until you find a combination you like. I’ll show you the basics, but then go with your own taste. Now, to begin . . .”
Jo demonstrated how to slip a round bead onto the head pin, then a spacer and a second larger bead. She made a wrapped loop above her second bead by bending the wire with her chain nose pliers, looping it, and twisting her wire tail around the wire stem above the bead, clipping the excess and pressing the end tightly to the stem with crimping pliers. She attached an earring wire—the little hook that would slip through a pierced ear—by opening the loop at the end of that wire, slipping it onto her wrapped loop above the beads, then closing it securely. The group watched, transfixed.
Jo held it out. “There you go. One beaded earring. What do you think?”
“I think I’ll never be able to do that,” Javonne said. “You’re going to have to draw me a few pictures, Jo.”
“It’s lovely!” Loralee cried. “And you made it look so easy.”
“It really is easy, once you get the hang of it. I’ll go through it a few more times, guys. Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up. And tonight you’ll be going home with your very own, custom-designed earrings.” Jo noticed that Vernon was already quietly picking through the bead boxes.
“My plan is to make a pair for one of my daughters,” Ina Mae stated, looking over the selection.
“Not me,” Javonne said, shaking her head. “I’m aiming to have earrings to match all my outfits. How about you, Loralee? You making these for yourself or your daughter?”
Jo looked over at Loralee and was surprised to see a pained look cross her face, which was quickly replaced with a weak smile to Javonne. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll just make them and then decide what to do with them. You have so many lovely beads here, Jo! I don’t know how I’ll narrow it down.”
“Vernon’s not having any trouble, I see,” Ina Mae put in. The women all turned to look. Vernon had transferred several oval-shaped beads and silver spacers to the Vellux work pad before him and was busily lining them up in a striking combination.
“Ooh, I like that,” Javonne said.
Vernon looked up. “Evelyn—my wife—likes blue. And silver,” he added matter-of-factly.
“Yes, but the ones you picked . . .” Javonne’s voice trailed off, clearly impressed. “Do you think you could choose a combination for me? To go with what I’m wearing tonight?”
Vernon glanced over, took in Javonne’s outfit, and said,
“Sure.”
Jo smiled. It appeared she had a natural in the class. She watched as Vernon’s stubby fingers hovered over the myriad of bead boxes, pausing, dipping, moving on, selecting, until he had several in the palm of his hand that he was satisfied with. He handed them over to Javonne, saying simply, “Here you go.”
Jo caught Ina Mae’s eye, which twinkled back at her. Who would have thought, she seemed to say, such talent lurked in the heart of the man who had cut her chops and trimmed her roasts each week?
The group got busy, trying to manipulate the wires as Jo has shown them, a silence settling over them as they focused. Eventually, though, conversation returned, and it centered on Parker Holt.
Jo listened to their comments on what they clearly still thought of as an accident, uncertain about passing on what Carrie had told her. But memories of how the group had aided her in the past by tracking down useful information when she needed it most, helped her decide.
“Guys,” she said, when their chatter came to a pause, “there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
Chapter 7
All heads at the workshop table tilted upward at Jo’s words, and all fingers, whether poised to slip a spacer on the pin or squeeze chain nose pliers on a wire, froze in mid-action. Jo spilled out the details of Parker Holt’s murder, including Xavier Ramirez’s grim situation as prime suspect, and saw the faces before her reflect many of the emotions she herself had felt, all resolving into “solemn.”
“Murder!” Javonne said. “I thought Parker Holt had broken his neck falling down the steps.”
“This certainly puts a whole new light on things,” Ina Mae said.
Loralee’s hand had flown to her mouth, but slid away as she said, “That poor man.”
“Holt?” Jo asked.
“No, I mean Xavier. Parker Holt’s troubles are over. Xavier Ramirez’s are just beginning.”
“That’s the truth,” Javonne said.
“Carrie and Dan,” Jo said, “are positive Xavier would never have done what the police suspect him of. But the trouble is he seems to be the only one in their sights. Can any of you come up with other possibilities? Someone who might have wanted Holt dead?”
“And had the opportunity too,” Ina Mae added.
“Of course.”
“And the means,” Loralee put in. “That person would have to understand wiring and electricity.”
“Yes, the setup Carrie described to me sounded fairly complicated,” Jo agreed.
“A person on Holt’s work crew? An electrician?” Javonne offered.
“It wouldn’t have to be an electrician,” Vernon said, speaking for the first time on the subject. The ladies turned to him in some surprise as though they had forgotten he was there. Jo noticed his earrings lay finished on his work pad and were quite well done. “I mean,” he said, “
I
know that much about grounding and all, and I’m not a licensed electrician. I just learned enough working around the house and on my car to keep from killing myself.”
“A good point, Vernon,” Ina Mae said. “And we all know how easily things can be picked up when needed, nowadays. The Internet is filled with information and instructions—even for making bombs, I understand. Someone like Loralee or me, for instance, could probably teach ourselves how to do just what Jo described.”
“Assuming,” Loralee added with a rueful smile, “we knew how to work the Internet in the first place.”
“Well, that opens up the possibilities, doesn’t it, Jo?” Javonne said.
“Too wide,” Jo agreed. “Can we narrow it down to people who might have a good reason to want Parker Holt dead?”
“He was making money hand over fist, from what I heard,” Javonne said. “That could make a few enemies along the way, wouldn’t you say?”
“Definitely,” Loralee agreed. “But which one of them would strike against him in this way? In Parker’s own home? It seems more personal, doesn’t it, I mean rather than a business sort of enemy.”
“Plus there’s the question of getting into his house,” Ina Mae said. “How many people would be able to do that? A pricey home like that must have had security protection, which I assume Dan and Xavier would have been able to turn off as needed in order to come and go. Xavier, I’m sorry to say, Jo, fits the bill very well what with having a personal grudge against the man as well as easy opportunity, not to mention the knowledge and tools available.”
“Yes, and that’s clearly why the police have zeroed in on him. What we have to do is find someone else who could get into the house somehow.”
“Mrs. Holt could.” Again, everyone turned to Vernon with surprise.
“
Mallory
Holt?” Ina Mae asked. “Yes, of course she could get into her own house.”
“But I saw Mallory Holt arrive home when I was waiting outside the house, after the police had come,” Jo said.
“But you don’t know where she was at the time of the murder setup,” Loralee pointed out.
“No, I don’t. That would be between four and six—after Dan and Xavier left the house together, and before I got there. As far as where Mallory Holt was during that time, I might be able to find out. I imagine she’s been asked that by the police too. But do we know of any reason she’d want to kill her husband?”
The women looked blankly at each other. Then Vernon spoke.
“Maybe.” He paused, squirming uneasily on his chair.
“What?” all four women asked at once.
“Well, when I had my butcher shop, most of my customers were women, and you know how two ladies running into each other like to talk?”
The four ladies in the room nodded.
“I couldn’t help overhearing things, of course, standing right there. But I always made it a point never to repeat what I heard. Customer confidentiality, you know, like with a lawyer, or, as Evelyn tells me, a hairdresser. I knew it could only cause trouble if I ever started, although the temptation often was there, I must admit.”
“Highly admirable, Vernon,” Ina Mae said, “and we certainly understand your reluctance to break that rule now. However, I’m sure you understand the present circumstances are quite special. Sharing what you know with us would be for the purpose of saving a man from being falsely charged and is far from the realm of idle gossip.”
Vernon nodded, agreeing. “Mrs. Holt,” he said, sucking in a long breath, “seems to have been unhappy in her marriage to Mr. Holt.”
“Oh!” Four reactions came out, with varying degrees of surprise and interest.
“Well,” Javonne said, “that doesn’t exactly knock me over, I’m afraid, Vernon. I mean, if Parker Holt behaved the way Jo says he did with Sylvia Ramirez and who knows who else, Mallory Holt must have picked up on it.”
“And,” Loralee said, “surely divorce would be her option, not murder.”
“Unless,” Ina Mae pointed out, “money was a factor. She could have wanted all of it instead of just half. Or she might have feared she would end up with much less than half if Parker got a better lawyer than she did.”
“A good possibility, then,” Jo said. “So I should learn more about Mallory Holt.”
“She’s been a very active member of the Abbotsville Women’s Club, president of it, lately,” Ina Mae said. “The other women in it would likely know her quite well. And,” she added, giving Jo a significant look, “Alexis Wigsley is also a member.”
“Why is that important?” Vernon asked.
“Alexis,” Jo explained, “was in the shop this morning, looking for gossip to spread. She dropped the hint that Mallory Holt wouldn’t be your typical grieving widow.”
“Well, there you go, Jo,” Javonne said with a grin. “Just go to Alexis and find out all you need about Mallory Holt.”
“But I’m afraid you can’t trust everything that woman says,” Ina Mae cautioned. “She likes a good story more than the truth. Whatever she tells you, Jo, you’ll need to find a second source to back it up.”
Jo nodded.
“Jo,” Loralee said, “please be very careful when you ask people about Mallory Holt. She could very well be innocent, and if so she could be genuinely grieving. We shouldn’t assume too much just yet.”
“You’re quite right, Loralee. I promise not to stir up false rumors.”
“Her uncle’s the mayor,” Javonne reminded them. “Another good reason to tread lightly.”
“Ah, yes. He showed up at the house even before Mallory Holt did. What is Warren Kunkle like?” Jo asked the group. “Would he be likely to put pressure on our Abbotsville police to solve this murder quickly?”

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