Vintage Whispers (A Cozy Retirement Mystery Book 1) (13 page)

“So you’re saying this iron skillet what…walked in here?”

“Oh no, it would’ve had some help,” Pearl said. “We don’t really believe in all that who-do magic stuff.”

“Pearl.” Sheriff Littleton held up his hand. “Why don’t we let Mary Louise and Opal answer the questions?”

“That’s just fine, but they’ll give you the same answers I would.”

“That’s debatable,” Opal grumbled, catching a glare from Pearl.

“How did the skillet get here?”

“Is it a murder weapon?” Pearl asked. 

“Answer the question.”

“You told me to let them answer and apparently they don’t know anything more than I do.”

Was this a lover’s quarrel? She shot Opal a sideways glance and shrugged. Apparently she was thinking along the same lines.

“What do you know about the skillet in question?” An edge of professionalism inched its way into his hardened tone.

“It’s a large one, but it’s not one of ours.” Mary Louise studied the bagged iron skillet. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“But you do carry them on occasion?”

“Even when we did, we never stocked one that size,” Opal said. “Why do I feel like I’m repeating myself?”

He turned to Pearl again. “Let’s revisit your theory. How did this skillet get here? As you said, it didn’t walk in by itself.”

“That’s a theory?”

“You go girl,” Opal whispered, turning her thumbs up.

“Let’s assume someone carried it in.”

“Yes. That’s a good assumption, Pearl. Any ideas about who may have been toting around a heavy piece of iron with the intent to kill?”

“You,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I haven’t trusted you since I found out that you kept things from the media. Why are you trying to set us up?”

“Careful, Pearl,” Opal said, grabbing hold of her wrist.

“Please tell me you don’t believe that nonsense.” He didn’t look at Mary Louise or Opal. Instead, he kept his eyes on Pearl. “You’re serious?”

“Seems perfectly logical. Don’t you think?”

“Depends on your definition of logical and I’m afraid to ask.”

“Good, because you just went to first spot on our list.”

“What list?” he asked angrily.

“Oh brother,” Opal groaned.

“Well?” He stuck his hand out. “I’m sure you have it on you. Let me see this list.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Opal asked.

“Because you’re the only one who has any street smarts here so hand it over.”

Opal glanced at Mary Louise and scowled at Pearl.

“Don’t look at them. They didn’t ask for the list, Opal. I did.”

Reluctantly, she pulled out the wrinkled piece of paper. For a split second, Mary Louise feared she might rip it to shreds. Instead, she wadded it up like a baseball and crammed it in his hand.

Sheriff Littleton acted as if she had just slapped him. He frowned at the piece of paper but he didn’t unravel it. Instead, he tossed it back at her. “Oh what does it matter? The last thing I need is someone else’s opinion on this case.”

“So what do you know about the coroner?” Mary Louise carefully asked.

“His head was bashed in and a bunch of cinderblocks were holding him underwater. Want more?”

“That’s enough,” Pearl assured him. “Did you check his body for the photos?”

“What photos? You mean from Oscar’s autopsy?”

Opal narrowed her eyes. “You do have those. Don’t you?”

“I’m sure we can get them,” he said sheepishly.

“You go fetch the pictures and we’ll go talk to Oscar’s widow,” Pearl blurted.

“Why would you want to do that?” Littleton shook his finger. “And I don’t need an old woman telling me how to do my job.”

“Old?” She screeched. “If I had a purse Sheriff Littleton, I’d swat you over your balding head!”

Littleton immediately checked his hair, skimming the gentle waves with a flattened palm. Pearl had struck a nerve.

Mary Louise waited. When Pearl didn’t add anything more, she said, “Maybe Kelly would open up to us. Trust us. We’re nonthreatening. We aren’t working with you.” He arched a brow. “We would help of course, but we aren’t on the county’s payroll.”

“I wouldn’t have a problem asking for your help if I could, but this is official police business now. We have a body and a missing corpse. Officers on both sides of the state line are working night and day.

“To add to your list of problems—and mine—we received an anonymous tip about the skillet. It wouldn’t be safe for you to start wandering around town asking a bunch of questions.”

“Anonymous?” Mary Louise asked. “Let me guess who called.”

“Our money is on Clarence,” Pearl said.

“I’ll be back,” Mary Louise said, breezing by the sheriff and barely glancing at her friends. “Watch the shop. Would you?”

“Where are you going?” Opal asked, creating opportunity so the locals could hear her response. That was the nice thing about best friends. They were always willing to help you hide or find a body.

“I left my car on that busy corner next to the bakery. I need to grab some personal belongings out of the trunk before Crane picks it up.”

“But—”

“Pearl, it’s fine,” she said, leveling her with a stare she would understand. She was going to see Kelly Leonardo and hoped Pearl and Opal would hang tight until she returned.

Opal winked in understanding. “We’ll be here. If you have any trouble with Crane, call another tow service.”

“You bet.” She brushed by the local officers and hurried up the sidewalk. Once she rounded the corner at State Street, she spotted Laws, a downtown cab driver who often hid in back alleys so he wouldn’t have to work.

She hopped in the backseat and startled the old fellow. “I’m on break.” He didn’t look in his rearview mirror. “You’ll have to find another driver.”

“Knock it off, Laws. I need a lift.”

He jerked. Instead of using his mirror, he threw his arm over the seat and stared at her in disbelief. “Ya runnin’ from the cops?”

“No. Why?”

“They’re at the shop. Figured you knew.”

“I saw them there, yes.”

“So I’m the getaway driver?”

“Would it matter if you were?” It was always good to know who your friends were in sticky situations.

“Heck no,” he replied with a grin. “Where to?”

“I need to find Kelly Leonardo’s art studio. Do you know it?”

“Yep. We travel together every now and again.”

“Okay then.”

“Want me to keep the meter running once we get there?”

“What’d you care? Your momma still pays you by the hour.”

“True,” he said, throwing the gearshift in drive. “But it sounded city-like, right?”

She laughed. “Yes, Laws. It sounded city-like.”  

A few minutes later they pulled in front of a narrow three-story home. Located directly behind the old Virginia Intermont College campus near Moore Street, the house looked more like a DC brownstone with its concrete steps and ironworks railing, rounded windows and brick and stone siding.

Mary Louise exited the car and leaned in the passenger’s side window. “Please knock if I’m not out in thirty minutes.”

“Ya got it,” Laws said. “And I understand why. Kelly and Oscar? They were a perfect match if ya know what I mean.”

She didn’t comment but she could only imagine. Pearl and her so-called sources believed Oscar had died from irritability. What kind of woman married a man with such a reputation?
Birds of a feather…

As soon as she approached the gate, Kelly stepped out on the front porch with paintbrush in hand. Tall and slender, the forty-something year old woman definitely looked like an artist at work, one who had been interrupted by uninvited company.

She sneered. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

“I’m Mary Lou—”

“I know who you are. I’ve shopped with you for years.”

“You have?” Mary Louise stopped about three steps shy of the small gate. “Then I owe you an apology. We only have you on record as a new customer. You’ve shopped with us quite a bit over the last couple of months.”

“And you came to extend your gratitude?”

“Something along those lines.” 

Kelly paled. “Is someone with you?”

“Laws drove me.”

“He drives me, too.” She wiggled her finger at the gate. “Flip it up and come in.”

Mary Louise glanced over her shoulder. Laws looked worried. She winced. Did he know something she didn’t?

A few moments later, she was surrounded by some of the most beautiful paintings she’d ever seen. “My goodness. I had no idea.”

“Most don’t,” Kelly said in a noncommittal voice. Stuffing a cigarette in an opera-length holder, she lit the tip and let it burn. “I imagine you didn’t stop by to talk about consigning my art.”

“We would, you know,” she said, unable to avert her gaze from a haunting seaside graveyard painting. The artist clearly had an eye for detail, an abstract mind. “This is lovely.”

“If you like that one then you should take a closer look at the one behind you.”

Mary Louise pivoted. Without thinking about any negative consequences, she whispered, “You must’ve painted this after Oscar died.”

Kelly inched closer. The cigarette continued to burn but she hadn’t taken a drag. “Some say detailed murals can take several weeks or even a few months. I say a mad woman or any random lunatic can complete one in a matter of hours. An artist’s work is only as good as his or her inspiration.”

Mary Louise focused on the black and white scene stretched across the wall. Fog rose from the ground. Twenty or more headstones showcased ancient scripts. A full moon and ghostly figures in the background only intensified the beauty in the fore. Several hands reached out of the mist and a few skulls were scattered about.

“
Dead or Hiding
,” she said. “All my works have titles, but not all my titles have works. It’s why I bury myself here, a living artist dying for her work.”

“You seem obsessed with death.”

Kelly indulged in a first puff. As smoke rings floated to the ceiling, she said, “And you came here to place blame.”

“Did you kill your husband?” It seemed like an appropriate time to ask.

She laughed, rested her cigarette on a windowsill ashtray, and brushed her long fingers through her silken hair. “No.”

“What about his sister?”

“She died of cancer. And she suffered for many years.” Her eyes watered but the tears never left her eyes. “She was a good person.”

“Are you?”

“Did you come here to judge me?”

“No,” Mary Louise readily admitted. “But I did come here to find out the truth.”

“I like that,” she said. “You tell it like it is.”

“From what I understand, you and Oscar have children.”

“Yes.”

“How old?”

“The two at home are fourteen and twelve. The others are in college.”

“I see.”

“Do you think I killed my husband?”

“I think you want people to believe you did,” Mary Louise said, indicating the wall. “You’re very talented.” Taking a page from one of her favorite CSI stories, she added, “I’ll show myself out.” 

To her surprise, Kelly followed her to the door. Before she started down the steps, Mary Louise turned. “Thank you for your time today. Your home is lovely.”

“It’s my studio.”

“I see.”

“You’ve listened to gossip.”

“I suppose we all listen to more than we should.” Mary Louise realized then that Kelly didn’t recall the conversation they’d had at Vintage Whispers. “Right after Oscar died, you visited the store. Remember?”

“You have a good memory.”

“Good records,” she said. “I’d forgotten all about it until—”

“Until a cop with something to prove asked you to dig around in your attic?”

“I think it was more along the lines of three old women with nothing to do.” She gave her a weak smile and waved farewell. “Again, I thank you for your time.”

“Don’t come back here, Mary Louise.”

She gauged the woman’s expression. Sure enough, she looked much like Clarence had looked the night before. Her eyes were cold, her face devoid of all emotion.

“You and your brother-in-law are good with those threats. It kind of makes me wonder about your mural.”

“What about it?”

“The title sort of says it all. Doesn’t it?”