Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music (16 page)

Everyone looked exhausted. The early morning arrival of the sheriff's department, the crime scene unit, and all that was triggered by the discovery of Scarlet's body draped so obscenely in the shrubbery, had taken its toll. Several of the older women had vanished in the late morning for a nap. They were back now and appeared to be greatly refreshed and ready to roll.

“Theo?” Susan waved her hand to attract her attention. “When do we get the next clue for the mystery quilt?” The circles under her eyes were dark, but her eyes were clear and she was smiling. At her question, every quilter stopped and looked up expectantly.

“Is everyone ready to go on?” Theo didn't want to admit that she had forgotten all about the mystery quilt.

As a resounding chorus of “yes” answered, Theo pulled out the sealed envelope holding the next clue. Passing the sheets around, she watched their faces as they read the next clue. Some of the women looked like they had guessed what was coming next and some looked totally bewildered, but all of the ladies doing the mystery quilt jumped into action. Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of sewing machines and the scent of chocolate.

Theo decided she would take advantage of the moment to slip to her room and take a quick shower. Somehow she had missed getting one earlier in the day. She'd almost reached her door, when upstairs, the sounds of an argument coming from the veranda made her pause. The voices were those of Beth and Art. More precisely, it was Beth telling Art exactly what was on her mind. Her voice was tight and strained, but easy enough to understand.

“I think you had better tell the sheriff what you and Prudence were doing. I am not going to lie for you one more time.” There was a pause while Beth blew her nose. “Enough is enough. What am I supposed to believe, anyway? You hated Scarlet. For all I know, maybe you did throw her into the bushes.”

“Beth, honey.” Art's tone sounded sad and restrained as he pleaded with his wife. The voices were fading as the pair moved along the hallway. “You can't believe that. You know where I was and what I was doing. Surely you can't really doubt me?”

As soon as they were out of sight, Theo wheeled her chair as quickly as she could, going to her room. Before she climbed into the shower, she double-checked her window. It took all of her resolve not to look down into those rhododendrons. Uneasy, she locked the door and put a chair in front of it. “Prudence and Art? No way.” She mumbled to herself as she adjusted the water temperature. “I'll call Tony when I get out.” Beth had certainly sounded angry, but it was not the kind of anger Theo would expect if she were talking to a cheating spouse. But then again, who ever knew what was really going on in someone else's mind? “Prudence and Art, with Beth reluctantly covering up for them?” The pieces of the mental picture didn't fit together.

The hot water eased some of the stiffness from Theo's joints. She hadn't realized the effect the day had had on her until now. It was bliss for her as she stayed in the shower longer than her allotted three minutes, luxuriating in the continuous spray of hot water. As much as she loved her house and family, there were days when the promise of enough hot water to go around was merely an unfulfilled dream. Wrapping herself in one of the oversized hotel towels, she hummed a little tune. She wrapped another towel around her head, turban style, and headed for the telephone.

Theo dialed Tony's cellular phone. If he didn't want to be disturbed, he would have it turned off. Knowing Tony, it might be under the seat of the patrol car.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Theo warbled. She grinned at the phone when Tony groaned. “Don't worry, I haven't found any more bodies.”

“That's a blessing.” There was relief attached to each syllable. “What's up, then? You never call in when you are at a retreat. Did you forget your thread?”

“Hah!” Hearing the concern in his voice, she smiled. “Well,” she said, adding a vowel and making it sound like way-ell, “You know, this one has been a bit out of the ordinary, but actually, I just got out of a long and luxurious shower.”

“So, what's up?” Amusement replaced Tony's concern.

“I happened to overhear an argument between Art and Beth. It was hard to make out the sense of it, but somehow it involved Art and Prudence, and it sounds like Beth has been covering for them. Does this mean anything to you?”

“Not really, but maybe. At the very least, it gives me an edge. Thanks for the hint. Anything else?”

“I don't think so offhand. It seems like I overheard something I meant to pass on to you but can't place it at all.” She yawned and stretched. “You know this is not exactly gossip central. We're all working like slaves.”

“Well, you have fun, take lots of showers and I'll see you tomorrow.”

As she carefully combed the tangles out of her wet hair, Theo tried to pin down what she had heard, but it was elusive, teasing the corner of her memory, so she shrugged it off and finished getting dressed. The memory would return eventually. Theo just hoped it wouldn't be three o'clock in the morning when it came back.

Tony wasted no time getting Prudence delivered to his office.

She wasted no time calling her attorney, almost as though she was expecting to be interviewed. Through the small window, he could see into the interrogation room where Prudence was deep in conference with her attorney, Mr. Mason. Mason was his real name. Originally from Kentucky, his parents hoped he would be inspired to become a successful lawyer and enjoy a life that did not include mining coal. The ploy had worked like a charm. Driving a gleaming silver sports car, he had arrived from Knoxville in almost record time. On one level, Tony admired Prudence's ability to get her lawyer to Silersville so quickly on a Saturday afternoon, and on another, he wondered why a hairdresser in Silersville would even know the name of a defense attorney, much less have the phone number committed to memory.

Tall, thin and in his early forties, Mr. Mason appeared to be very businesslike, even wearing an expensive gray business suit and spotless white shirt. Although it was a Saturday, the man obviously hadn't come directly from a football game. There wasn't even any orange on his tie. By all appearances, he had been expecting to be in Silersville today, dressed for court. And as he thought about appearances, there was something about the shade of his auburn hair that reminded Tony of Prudence's middle child. Grinning wryly to himself, Tony knew he had settled back into small town life when he started noticing such a detail. Did small town curiosity stem from knowing everyone, or did the door swing in the other direction? Either way, he doubted city people would even be aware the children had different fathers.

What secret could possibly connect Art and Prudence? Had they conspired to kill Mr. Beasley? Or Scarlet? Was Art unwilling to do the deed in his own hotel? If so, Art might have let Prudence inside, but Tony didn't think she was an assassin. Certainly with all her experience arm wrestling, she might be strong enough to do it, but why on earth would she? If Blossom was correct, maybe both Prudence and Art had borrowed money from Mr. Beasley. What else tied them together? Moneylending didn't seem like the right answer. Too bad Theo hadn't been able to hear more of the conversation between Art and Beth.

Mike Ott should return soon with Art. Tony wanted the pair to see each other, but not be able to talk, before he asked a single question. The attorney opened the door and waved to attract Tony's attention. “I understand that you have sent for Art?” Tony nodded. “What about Claude?”

“Claude?” Tony almost swallowed his tongue. “Oh, he'll be here soon.” It was a bald faced lie when he said it, but it wouldn't be for long. The second after Mr. Mason closed the door, Tony radioed Sheila. “I want you to swing by and pick up Claude and bring him in. Invite him nicely.”

“What if he doesn't want to come?”

“Place him in protective custody, or at the very least sit there and hold his hand, figuratively speaking of course.” Surely it was static that made it sound like she was laughing. “I want him in your car now, and I want him here pronto.”

“Okay.” The radio made a hissing sound. “Does this concern what Pops Ogle was talking about with the highway department truck?”

“Just do it.” Tony didn't have an answer. After he disconnected, he mumbled to himself, “That's the jackpot question. What could Prudence, Art and Claude have in common? Besides being represented by the same lawyer. Think, man. They'll all be here soon.”

His focus moved to the bulletin board where photographs showed Mr. Beasley's office. Neither anything in the photographs nor any of the forensic details pointed to there being three incredibly disparate people involved with his death. How and why would a trash hauler, a hairdresser/fortune teller and a hotel owner conspire to kill Mr. Beasley? It was impossible. The old guy had died of a medication overdose. Tony believed it was more likely suicide than homicide.

What little he knew about Scarlet's death didn't point to a group action either. Were there members of some underground organization eliminating some of the less popular citizens of Silersville? Maybe they drew straws for the assignment? Although he'd heard it was an idea being passed around at Ruby's, Tony dismissed it. If that were the case, he'd bet Nellie Pearl Prigmore and Angus Farquhar would have been the first victims. Scarlet hadn't lived here in years, and Mr. Beasley wasn't awful.

Killing time, Tony flipped through the reports on his desk. In addition to Roscoe's report of the shooting at the trailer court, there were the normal complaints of shoplifting, vandalism and petty theft, domestic violence and public intoxication. A bar fight resulted in two arrests.

Tony concentrated on the vandalism report for a moment, thinking there could be a connection with the shots fired at Roscoe's trailer. Then he remembered Mrs. Smith and the red tube top. How could he have forgotten—there had been a lot more of the woman than there had been fabric. A report claimed someone had shot a mailbox multiple times with a small caliber gun, probably a .22. The highway department reported someone had broken into several trucks near the ongoing road construction. The details were sketchy, since the crime fell into the jurisdiction of the state and not the county, but it sounded like whatever his little trio might have been doing. Frank Thomas of Thomas Brothers' Garage said someone had taken a toolbox, coveralls and some miscellaneous items, including a heavy duty jack, from his business. Toilet paper was the artist's medium of choice used to decorate the front yard of the middle school principal's house. It had been a quiet school year so far. This was only the second time since classes began that such guerilla tactics had been used on this particular house. The previous year students used a record amount of paper on a roll. Tony's particular favorite report merely said that a caller reported someone picking up stuff along the highway.

Glancing up, he saw Deputy Mike Ott arriving with Art Trimble. Since the time Tony had talked to him earlier in the day, the innkeeper had developed a particularly unpleasant greenish-gray skin tone, and there was no bounce in his step. Tony said, “Take him through the tunnel and into courtroom one,” and thought thank goodness, on Saturday, court was not in session. He really wasn't set up for this kind of day. The Park County Law Enforcement Center was bulging at the seams.

Moments later, Sheila arrived with Claude in tow. She handed him a cup of coffee and pointed him to a chair. He grasped the container with all of the fervor of a drowning man clinging to a lifejacket. Instead of drinking any of it, however, he simply held it between his palms and stared at the floor.

Mr. Mason, the attorney, left Prudence after talking with her for about a half hour. He took one look at Claude and crisply informed Tony the man was not to be questioned without him being present. Tony merely nodded his agreement before leading the attorney to visit his third client. Sitting in the front of the courtroom, Art looked like he was relieved to be in custody.Just to be on the safe side, Tony made sure he read Art his rights in front of Mason, then he left the room. “Let me know when you are through chatting with your clients and we can proceed.”

Tony and Mike and Wade and Sheila held a quick conference in Tony's office. After offering his deputies the antacid bottle, Tony began munching its contents. “Does anyone have a clue what these three have been up to?”

Shaking his head slowly, Mike said, “Art just sat in the back seat with his hands pressed between his knees. He didn't look out the window, and he didn't say a thing. It was odd, but he acted like I should already know all about what he had done.”

Sheila glanced through the open door at Claude. The coffee cup sat on the floor next to Claude's foot. The man was sound asleep with his forehead resting on the edge of a trashcan. Air released in soft snores ruffled the plastic liner. “What little Claude said was in the same vein. He said he'd been expecting to be arrested, and he knew he would never get away with it and would I tell Katti he will love her forever,” she whispered. “He sounded pretty tragic.”

Tony groaned. “So all we have to do is figure out what
it
is.” Fatigue was not enhancing his thought processes. He could use a nap.

Theo had her hands full at the retreat.

Beth Trimble was sobbing inconsolably at the front desk. Everyone in the lobby had seen Art leaving with Deputy Mike Ott, and while he hadn't been handcuffed, the general consensus was Art remaining at the hotel had not been an option. The chatter in the lobby was focused on the drama. One elderly woman, not one of the quilters, was moaning and complaining that no one was safe in “the hotel of death.”

The woman's traveling companion was openly irritated. “For heaven's sake, shut up. This is not a hotel of death. Although,” she said, as she looked right at Beth and smiled encouragingly, “I'm sure we would all feel better if we had some information. Or maybe you would prefer it if we just checked out.”

“No.” At that, Beth raised her still damp and swollen face. “Please don't leave. If you are worried about what happened to Scarlet, this . . .” She waved to indicate Art's departure. “This had nothing at all to do with her death. I promise.”