Throw in the Trowel (21 page)

“Were you pregnant when you left New Chapel?”

“Same answer as previously. No.”

“Is Columbus the name of the town where you lived?”

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “How did you know that?”

“We've learned that a private detective named Pete Morgan was hired to find Kermit, and he found you instead.”

“How do you know he found me?” she snapped. Then in a completely different tone, she said to Seedy, “Hold still, little one.”

I pulled out the photo and showed it to her. “This is you, isn't it?”

By the sudden reddening of her face, I thought she was going to throw a fit, but then she tilted her head and studied the photo as though examining a painting. “I looked good, didn't I?”

“Beautiful,” I said, grabbing Seedy before she could leap off the table, “and pregnant.”

Frowning in concentration, Parthenia went back to sculpting. I waited a moment, then glanced at Marco, unsure of whether to say anything further. He put his fingers to his lips, so I stayed quiet and scratched Seedy behind the ears.

It seemed like an eternity before Parthenia spoke; then she said softly, “I lost the baby.”

“I'm so sorry.” I waited for her to say more, and when she didn't, I said, “It must have been a terrible time for you. Was it Kermit's child?”

“Yes.”

Doug had been right.

Again Parthenia worked without talking, until finally she said, “Was it Kermit's wife who hired the private detective?”

“That's our best guess. The only other person it could be is Henry.”

“Why would he hunt for the man he wanted out of his life?” she asked.

“How do you know what Henry wanted?” Marco asked, stepping forward.

“Pah! It was obvious to me. Remember, I heard Henry and Rusty discussing Kermit. I saw Henry's face when Rusty told him about Kermit's behavior. If it hadn't been for Rusty, I believe Henry might have done something to Kermit that day. That's how angry he was.”

“What did Rusty do?” Marco asked.

“Put his arm around Henry and said, ‘Don't get yourself so worked up, son. I only told you this so you'd know why I have to fire him. Don't you worry. I'll take care of Kermit.'” Parthenia shook her head, her expression bitter. “As though anyone could control Kermit.”

“You said before that Kermit called Henry a girl,” Marco said. “Then you went on to say that Henry wasn't secure in his manhood. Are you implying that Henry is gay?”

“I liked you better standing against the wall.” She waved him away.

Marco moved back, giving me a nod to go ahead with the questioning.

“Could you explain what you meant about Henry?” I asked.

“I don't know Henry,” she said sharply. “I told you what I observed back then and what Kermit told me about him. Now, silence, please! I must concentrate so I can finish.”

Marco's cell phone rang, so he quickly muted it and left the room.

Parthenia sculpted in silence for several minutes, then, still working, said, “Your husband, is he good to you?”

“Very good to me.”

“Consider yourself fortunate.”

“I do.”

“I wish to stop answering questions about Kermit. I've told you all I know, and in truth, it's painful for me. I pray that you never know what's like to be abandoned or lose a child.”

“I understand, but we'd really like to solve this case.”

“This little dog,” she said, standing back to examine her sculpture, “knows what it's like to be abandoned. Don't you,
aschimos
?”

“Is that a Greek name?”

“It's a Greek word.”

“It's pretty.”

“It means ugly. I am finished. You may leave.”

With that, she walked away.

“Wait,” I said. “Can I ask you one more question?”

She heaved a big sigh and turned to face me, her full lips pressed together in annoyance. “One more. That is all.”

“Do you think Rusty could have killed Kermit?”

She gazed at me for a moment, as though considering how to answer. “Let me ask you this, and it is my last word on the subject. You have given this dog a home, food, and love. Do you think your little
aschimos
would ever turn on you?”

I turned to study Seedy, who was wiggling her whole body as though she couldn't wait to get off the table. I picked her up and put her on the floor, snapping her leash onto her collar. “I don't know. I suppose if I treated her badly or she felt threatened, she might.”

“Then how can one say for certain that one man would never turn on another?”

“One can't. But I have a hard time believing Rusty could have killed anyone.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted your opinion.”

“No, you wanted
your
opinion confirmed.
My
opinion is that the murderer is either Doug or Henry.” She walked to the doorway and waited for me to leave.
“Yia sou.”

“Oops. I'm so sorry. One more.” Before she could object, I blurted, “Do you know what happened to the ten thousand dollars Kermit took from the business checking account?”

Parthenia had opened her mouth to put an end to my question, but upon hearing it, she tilted her head to one side like Seedy did when she was puzzled. “What ten thousand dollars? This is the first I've heard about any money of Kermit's. Who said this to you?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Pah! You don't need to tell me. I know it was Henry. He blames me for Kermit's death, doesn't he? Of course he does, so why wouldn't he blame me for taking the money? He was always jealous of the attention Kermit paid me. Now go away.”

“Efharistó,”
I said. Thank you.

I met Marco outside just as he was ending his phone conversation. “It was Reilly,” he said, as we walked to the car. “The forensic team just came across something interesting—a key.” He opened the door for me. “Maybe that will help us identify who was buried down there.”

CH
APTER TWENTY

“S
o what did we learn from Parthenia?” Marco asked on the ride back to the bar.

“That she lied about carrying Kermit's child, which makes me doubt the rest of her story.”

“I thought her comment about Rusty assuring Henry that he would take care of Kermit was noteworthy,” Marco said.

“I know what you believe, Marco, but I'm still having a hard time accepting that it could have been Rusty. And couldn't Parthenia be making that up, as well? She didn't mention Rusty as a suspect before we showed her the photo. Now suddenly she remembers Rusty's incriminating words? That's suspicious to me.

“But when I asked her about the missing ten thousand dollars, she seemed genuinely shocked. She wanted to know who had told me, and when I wouldn't say, she said it had to be Henry because he had been jealous of the attention Kermit paid her.”

“If that's true, Abby, we have a stronger motive for Henry.”

“If we can trust Parthenia.”

“Anything else come out of the interview?”

“Nothing about the investigation.” I rubbed Seedy's head. “Parthenia called Seedy
aschimos
.”

“Which means what?”

“Ugly.”

“Aschimos,”
Marco said. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Don't listen to him,” I said to Seedy, stroking her fur. “You're not ugly.”

She rubbed her bristly muzzle against my hand, then turned to gaze out the window, her lower teeth protruding in profile.

“Not very ugly, at least,” I said.

•   •   •

I had only a few minutes before I needed to be back at Bloomers, but I wanted to see the key that the police had found, so I followed Marco down to the basement, where the team was still sifting through dirt in marked quadrants.

One of the officers Marco knew from his stint on the force obliged him by showing him the key that was now bagged and tagged for evidence.

“What is that?” I asked, because it certainly wouldn't open any door that I'd ever seen. It was half the size of a house key and had a narrow barrel-shaped shaft.

“It looks like a briefcase key,” Marco said, taking a photo.

I pulled out my phone and got a photo, too, for backup. “I doubt that Kermit carried a briefcase to work. Could it be for a suitcase? Parthenia would have had a suitcase with her.”

“Why would her suitcase key be on Kermit's key chain?”

We puzzled over it as the men worked; then Marco said, “Maybe Kermit
did
have a briefcase with him that morning, Abby, and maybe it was full of the money he took from the business.”

“Then whoever killed him took away a lot of cash but had no way to open the briefcase.”

“They're not that hard to open. What I'd like to know is where the ten thousand dollars went.” Marco turned back to the cops and said, “Any sign of clothing, a wallet, ID, money?”

“This is all we found,” the other cop said, and showed us a bag with five buttons in it.

They were creamy white and less than half an inch across. “Common shirt buttons,” Marco said, “the kind you see on just about every men's shirt made. Someone must have been in such a hurry to get the clothes off the body, he popped the buttons.”

“We're done here,” the first cop said. “Once we leave, you can seal up your hole.”

“Great. Thanks,” Marco said. As we headed upstairs, he said, “Finally, I'll be able to get the floor fixed. I'm thinking of asking Doug Cannon to give me an estimate.”

“Are you serious?”

“I think I'll ask Henry to come, too, so he can give me a quote on putting in a bathroom.”

“Why would you put a bathroom down here?”

“I wouldn't. My intention is to see how they react to the scene of the crime. Nothing like bringing a suspect to the murder scene to see what comes out.”

“Are you going to bring Rusty here, too?”

“I haven't decided that yet. What I'd like to do is get back out to Blazing Saddles so I can question Rusty in more detail about how much money he put into the basement. Remember that he had Henry build the storage room and remodel the bathrooms and kitchen upstairs. That would take a good chunk of change. Figuring that the dollar was worth a hell of a lot more back then, I'd guess it would have cost him ten thousand dollars.”

“Let's talk about it at dinner,” I said, giving him a kiss. “I have to get back to work.”

•   •   •

Lottie and I worked hard all afternoon filling over thirty orders, while brave little Seedy sat in the shop's bay window to do some people-watching. By the time my mom got there at three thirty, I was ready to take a break. What I wasn't ready for was her newest art project.

“What do you think?” she asked, gazing proudly at her sculpture.

I studied it from one side, then walked around the table to study it from the other, and the whole time my brain was saying,
Think of something nice to tell her!

She had made a doglike creature using a neon green skateboard for the body, stubby blue metal cylinders for the legs, red ping pong balls, halved, for the feet, the white insole of a shoe for the face, a glossy green child-sized party hat for the snout, and a small red rubber ball for the tip of the nose. Around the floppy pink suede ears, about a dozen foot-long, half-inch-wide turquoise blue metal strips, twisted like peppermint sticks, stuck up all over the head. A shorter pink strip represented the tail.

But that wasn't the end of it. Riding on the skateboard was a miniature version that used a flip-flop sole painted purple for the body.

“Dogs?” I asked.

“Dachshunds,” she announced. “A mother and her precious little daughter. I was thinking of calling it
Madachshund and Child
to keep my theme going, but I'm open to suggestions.”

I had a feeling she wouldn't like the name running through my mind.

“Is Francesca gone?” she asked, looking around.

“She left at noon. She went to Jillian's house to train her terrier.”

“Oh,” she said in a clipped tone that told me right away I shouldn't have opened my mouth. “I didn't realize Francesca was also a dog trainer.”

“She's not, but she volunteered to help because Jillian's trainer quit. It was nice of Francesca to offer, Mom.”

Mom huffed to show she was disgruntled. “I suppose you're right.”

I put my arm around her. “Why did hearing about Francesca upset you?”

“Not upset so much as . . . I don't know, Abigail. Worried me maybe.”

“Worried you about what?”

She shrugged, looking suddenly young and vulnerable. “I don't want to be usurped.”

The jealousy thing again. “Mom, no one could ever usurp you.”

“I just feel so inadequate around Francesca. I can't cook like her. I can't help out here because I'm teaching. I don't speak a second language or have a voluptuous figure or . . .”

“I don't care about those things, Mom. You've got a lot going for you. So what if you're not Francesca? Would I want a mother just like my mother-in-law? Someone shoot me now!”

That made her laugh. “Really?”

“You just be my mom, the greatest mom anyone could ask for, the best kindergarten teacher in town—and a pretty darn creative artist, too. Okay?” Thank goodness I'd remembered to use
darn
. She hated when one of her kids used a curse word.

She gave me a hug. “Thank you, honey. I never knew you saw me that way.”

“Well, I do. So will you promise not to feel jealous when Francesca is here helping?”

“I promise.” We hugged, and then she said, “Where will you display my new piece?”

When cornered, punt. “I'll let Lottie decide. She decorates the shop.”

“Maybe I'll have a chat with her on the way out.” She kissed my cheek. “I have to run. I promised your dad we'd go to the park. We won't have many of these lovely fall days left.”

“Give Dad a kiss from me,” I said.

Soon after Mom left, the curtains parted and Lottie peered in. “What did she make?”

I picked it up by the skateboard body and got stuck in the chin by a piece of twisted metal. “Ouch! This,” I said, holding it up. Seedy came through the curtain, saw the large, dangerous-looking object in my hands, and gave me wide berth to get to her doggy bed.

“Oh, Lordy,” Lottie said. “What the heck is it and what are we gonna do with it?”

“With what?” my niece asked, scooting under Lottie's arm. She had Seedy's puppy, Seedling, on a leash, and the puppy immediately ran to her mother, where the two had a happy reunion.

Tara took one look at the dachshund duo and clapped her hand over her mouth so her laughter wouldn't be heard by the customers in the shop. “It's a wiener dog on drugs!”

She put it on the floor as though to skateboard on it. “Grandma made it, didn't she?”

“Yes,” I said, picking it up before she could attempt to ride it. “And it doesn't roll. What am I going to do with it?”

“Your mom suggested I put it in the bay window,” Lottie said.

“Then we'd need to sell it fast,” I said, “and I don't even know how to price it.”

“Want me to sell it for you?” Tara asked. “I can list it on eBay. Take a photo of it and I'll put it up right now. My mom has an account.”

“What if your mom tells Grandma what we're doing?” I asked. “She'd never speak to me again.”

“Mom won't even know. She hasn't bought or sold anything in months, and I have her password. But first let me see what to charge.” She sat at my computer, slipped off her bungee cord bracelet that held her keys and began to type. “Wiener dog made from skateboard. There. Now let's see what the search engine can find.”

The bell over the door jingled, so Lottie said, “Good luck,” and slipped through the curtain to wait on the customer.

I took photos of Mom's art from two angles, e-mailed them to Tara, then took Seedy and Seedling outside for a quick walk while she worked.

“Okay,” Tara said when I returned. “Photos are up. What do you want to say in the ad?”

We worked on the ad copy for ten minutes, trying to make the dachshund duo sound wildly artistic and desirable. Then we figured out a price, and just like that we had a live ad.

“I can watch the bids for you,” my niece said, “but it'll cost you.”

“You're becoming quite the little extortionist,” I said. “What's the cost this time?”

“Fifteen percent of the profit or twenty bucks, whichever is higher.”

“Deal,” I said.

“Awesome,” Tara said, swiveling the desk chair in a circle. “So what's the latest on the murder case?”

“Nothing new to report,” I lied, then, remembering that I was supposed to be off the case, I added, “or at least that's what Marco tells me.”

“Like I believe that. Maybe I'll wander down to Down the Hatch to see what I can learn.”

“Do you really think Marco will tell you anything?”

“You're not the only one who loves a challenge,” she said with a grin, slipping on her bracelet. That was when I noticed one of the keys dangling from it.

“Tara, what is that?”

“My bicycle lock key,” she said, showing me.

I slipped the bungee cord off her wrist so I could examine it. Then I pulled up the photo of the mystery key and placed them side by side. “What do you think?”

Tara hung over my arm. “It's not exactly like mine, but it could be for an old-fashioned bike lock. Why don't you bring it over? Dad still has his ten-speed with his bike lock on it.”

“How did he get to keep his bike? Grandma sold mine.” I studied her key and the photo, then handed her bracelet back. “I'll be over as soon as I close the shop.”

•   •   •

At five thirty, I locked up the shop and headed to my brother's house. I phoned Marco to let him know what I was doing, and we agreed to meet for dinner at Down the Hatch afterward. My brother and sister-in-law were out, but Tara was waiting for me in their big three-car garage.

“Get any new info from Uncle Marco this afternoon?” I teased.

She made a face. “He wouldn't talk about it.”

“I told you so.”

She turned away, but not before I saw her grin. “Tara, what are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing. I'm off the case, remember?”

The sly gleam in her eye said otherwise. “Please don't do anything dangerous.”

“I won't do anything you wouldn't do,” she said. It did nothing to quiet my stomach.

The garage was amazingly well organized, with white cabinets along the back wall that had labels on them, each cabinet holding items from garden supplies to tire polish.

“Did my brother do this?” I asked, running my fingers across one of the labels.

“Yeah, Dad's slightly OCD,” Tara said. “He says it makes him a good doctor.”