Fixin' To Die (A Kenni Lowry Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

Chapter Five

“Don’t tell me you are lollygagging around here and not finding my jewelry.” Viola White ripped the police tape in front of the propped open door and waltzed right on in, blue feathers flying behind her. “Because me and the good people I begged to vote for you didn’t vote you in so you could lollygag.”

Viola might have been five foot four, but her presence was larger than life. Finn Vincent knew it. He had his eyes wide open and mouth gaping trying to take in the compact bomb in the light blue pantsuit. Viola was by far the richest woman in Cottonwood, as well as the most eccentric.

Her suit coat edges were trimmed in the blue feathers. Thank God PETA didn’t know about her or they’d be stalking her. Viola wore a lot of fur, feathers, quills, and other animal parts that made my skin crawl, but she didn’t care.

The baseball-sized turquoise beads around her neck intertwined with six more strands of various-sized beads and matching bracelets along her arm.

“Lollygagging?” Finn’s lips turned up and a sparkle came into his eyes. “Cottonwood has very colorful residents.”

“I appreciate all you did to help get me elected.” I rocked back on the heels of my shoes. “And I’m going to find out who did this.”

“Yes.” Finn stuck his hand out. “I’m Finn Vincent. I’ll be assisting Sheriff Lowry with this investigation.”

Viola White had known me all my life. She was a friend of my granny and Poppa.

“Where’d you get that?” Viola didn’t care about personal space. She jerked the scarf off of Finn’s shoulder.

“Miss Lulu.” Finn smiled. I could tell he was trying to figure out what Viola White was all about.

“Lulu?” Viola harrumphed, flapping her bright red lips.

She ruffled the edges of her short gray hair with her pointer finger and middle finger. A big turquoise ring stuck up in the air along with her pinky finger. Her heavily mascaraed eyes looked magnified beneath her coffee-cup-sized black-rimmed glasses.

I couldn’t help but grin. Viola wouldn’t be caught dead out in public without makeup.

“Heavens to Betsy, if you are going to stay around Cottonwood, you need to know that Lulu McClain is crookeder than a three-dollar bill.” Viola’s nose turned up and she moseyed over to the broken counter. “Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

I listened to her give Finn the business. He looked so lost. He had no idea that he had just been what we called “Viola’d.” She was good at giving a tongue lashing and hugging you afterward.

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” Finn began, but Viola quickly threw up her finger and wagged it in his face. “Please don’t touch anything as this is a crime scene,” he finished.

I bit my lip. He was about to get Viola’d again.

“Listen here, all due respect to you, but Polly called me in a tizzy. That is the only girl in town I trust with my jewels and I’ll be damned if this gets put on the back burner to Ronald Walton.” Viola didn’t miss a beat, barely taking a breath between sentences. Her lips pursed. “Who ever heard of a doctor’s office being in a house?” She turned to me and took her wagging finger out of the air and jutted it toward me. “Kenni, when you took away his driver’s license, you should’ve taken away his doctoring license too.” Viola’s eyes scanned over the broken glass all over the floor.

“Ma’am, that would be the job of the Medical Board,” Finn said. He glowed as he took pride in trying to converse with Viola, but I knew better.

“Around here we use the town council board to decide what is best for Cottonwood.” The bracelets on her wrists clinked together when she planted her fists on her hips, and they disappeared behind all the feathers. “The quicker you figure that out, the quicker people around here will like you, Yank. Looks can only get you so far around here, sonny boy.”

Finn and I stood silent, neither of us daring to move as Viola walked around the broken glass. She was writing away on a piece of paper she’d plucked from her purse.

I’d heard about Viola’s tongue lashings but never been present for one. They were as awful as I’d heard, and Finn was the victim today. It would be all over town as soon as Viola went to her prayer circle meeting down at First Baptist Church.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She circled her finger around the crime scene. She handed me the piece of paper. “You better hurry up because we are burning daylight and I want my jewels back by tonight,” Viola demanded before she stomped over to the door. “And Kenni…”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My voice sounded like a little girl’s. I looked at what she’d written on the paper. The jewels were listed with a price next to each one.

“You be a good girl and take that scarf over to your mama and daddy’s.” Her face was stern. “You solve these crimes and show them that you are a good sheriff. They’ll come around.”

“Thank you for caring about my personal life. How are you feeling?” I asked. I knew Viola was a patient of Doc Walton’s and Polly Parker did say she was here because Viola had a head cold.

Her voice wasn’t nasally nor was her face blotchy, or did those symptoms only happen to me?

“I’m fine.” She took her hands and ran them down the lining around her neck. Feathers went flying. “Are you trying to put me at the scene of Ronald’s house? Are you thinking I broke into my own store?”

It did cross my mind that Viola could have broken in. I’d overheard some woman at Euchre talking about a rumor that White’s was closing down due to low sales. I couldn’t discount that there might’ve been some insurance money somewhere.

“Polly said she was here because you had a head cold.” I smiled, waiting to see her reaction.

“I’m better.” She straightened her shoulders and stomped out onto Main Street.

Chapter Six

“What was that about?” Finn asked, tossing me the scarf. He cocked his head to the side in curiosity.

“I’ve seen Viola White sick with a cold.” I pointed out the door where she was jerking her head back and forth, talking to the small crowd that had gathered on the other side of the broken police tape. “And she doesn’t look sick to me.”

“Are you really saying you think she had something to do with this?” he asked, scratching his chin. “Not that it couldn’t happen.”

“Think about it.” I started to play the “what if” game, deciding to leave out the fact that I was going off gossip alone. “Viola is used to living a certain life around here. Being the wealthiest woman has its advantages.”

He snapped his fingers. “And I’m sure she had a nice insurance policy.”

“I’m sure she did.” I grinned and grabbed the pad of paper and a pen out of my bag. I scribbled a reminder to ask Hart Insurance about any policy Viola might have on the business.

“I have to run, but can you just scour this place one more time for fingerprints, clues, and anything else you see out of place?” I asked, gathering my stuff.

I left Finn at White’s Jewelry to look for any signs of forced entry since there was nothing visible. I decided to make a pit stop by the cemetery, which was on Main Street down a block or two from the jewelry store and across from Ben’s, the oh-so-original name for Ben Harrison’s diner.

A few people were walking down the sidewalk and stopped to wave at me as I passed. The looks on their faces seemed curious about where I was going in case there was another crime. At least that was what I saw in their eyes.

The old cemetery was the only public one in Cottonwood. The big cement urns were popping with yellow, purple, orange, and white flowers.

Not everyone who died was buried in the cemetery. Some residents had family cemeteries on their property. Just a few blocks south of Main Street was Second Street, or the Town Branch as we affectionately called it, because a small creek bed, sometimes wet but mostly dry, ran right through the entire length of town. Second Street had a lot of old Victorian homes that were built in the twenties. Back then people buried family members on their property.

I took a right on Cemetery Road into the old cemetery and stopped to see what some of the city workers were doing along the slave wall that surrounded the area. The large stonewalls were all over Kentucky. They were built by slaves, and by state law, had to be kept up and preserved. That was what it looked like they were doing today.

“Mornin’, Sheriff,” Rowdy Hart hollered out and waved. His expanding gut tumbled over the top of his pants. It was a shame too. Rowdy had always been in such good shape.

“Hey, Rowdy.” I waved out of the window of the truck.

The old truck groaned around the curvy one-lane road that weaved in and around the gravestones. Some of the stones were so old mold had grown up over them. Recently the city had opened up a couple of acres in the back of the property for new plots and from what I’d heard, people were buying them up before they were even dead.

Today I was going to the older part, where I was a frequent visitor. I pulled the passenger-side tires into the grass and kept the driver-side tires on the road, pulling over to stop right in front of the grave and leaving enough room for other cars to drive by.

I peered out the passenger-side window and stared at the three-foot-tall typical cement gravestone. I pushed the steering wheel gear shifter into park and took out the keys, dropping them on the floorboard.

“Ugh.” I sighed and looked between my legs, scraping my foot on the floorboard to help kick them back toward me, but like everything else today, they weren’t cooperating with me either.

I opened the door and bent down into the truck.

“Where in the hell did they go?” I questioned, as if someone was going to answer me.

I patted my hand underneath the seat and jerked it out when I felt something stick me.

“Shit!” I put my bleeding finger in my mouth to stop the blood, and then took it out to inspect where something had poked me. “Damn,” I said, looking at it closer and pinching it, causing the blood to come out in little drops.

I grabbed the flashlight out of my handy dandy bag and bent back down, shining it under the seat, where I found my keys and a little lapel pin next to them. I raked both of them forward, careful not to poke myself again. I put the keys in my pocket and held the pin in the palm of my hand while taking a look at it from all angles.

I smiled.

It was my Poppa’s pin from when he was Cottonwood sheriff, though I wondered why they hadn’t buried it with him. After all, he was buried in his uniform.

“Somehow you knew I was coming.” I took a step forward, an inch closer toward the most important man from my past. I put the pin in my pocket. I ran my hand along the top of the stone and cleared off any loose debris. “There is something strange going on around here, and I’m not so sure I’m going to win this one.”

Tears stung the rims of my eyes at the sheer thought of Poppa being gone. One day he was here, healthy as a bull, and then the next day I found him next to his bed, dead of a heart attack. People say time healed all wounds; I wondered when my time was going to start. My heart was just as broken now as it had been when he died.

“I’m so scared that I’m not going to be able to put all the puzzle pieces together to solve these crimes.” I plopped down crossed-legged in front of Poppa’s stone like I was plopping down on his sofa as I’d done so many times before and kept talking. “I sure do wish you were here to help.”

In some strange way it did make me feel better to visit Poppa’s final resting place. Sometimes I walked away with answers to the questions I was fighting within me.

“I don’t know where to start. Doc Walton has been murdered. Someone broke into White’s Jewelry.” I wiped my face with the palm of my hand. “None of this ever happened when you were sheriff.” I put my head in my hands.

I remembered the pin and pulled it out of my front pocket. I sobbed. “I found this pin in the truck today. And Wyatt said something about the old police beacon light and how I still use it. I guess he was right.” I picked up a blade of grass and twirled it between my fingers. “I’m going to make you proud. I’m going to figure out who killed Doc and who broke into the jewelry store.”

“Kenni, you alright?” Rowdy asked from behind me.

I jumped up, wiping my face and turning toward him.

“Rowdy, are you sneaking up on me?” I asked. He looked at me cross. “Sure, I’m fine.” I waved off the real concern he had written all over his face. “Why?” I couldn’t tell if Rowdy was fishing for information about the two open investigations or if he was just being kind. He wasn’t the nosy type, so I was going with kindness. It was something I needed to believe in.

“Aw, I don’t know.” He bent down and plucked a couple weeds out of the grass. “It’s just that I’ve seen you here quite a bit lately.” He pointed to Poppa’s stone.

“I’m fine.” I laughed and walked past him. “Are you okay?” I asked, taking the heat off of me.

“Just tired.” He ran his hands through his curly brown hair. “I’ve been out at the fairgrounds all night making sure the drainage was working.” He shook his head. “I told Mayor Ryland he might have to postpone it.”

“I don’t think the mayor would like that.” There was no way Chance Ryland was going to postpone anything that made Cottonwood money. I took the first steps back to the truck. I had to get out of there.

Stop loafing. You have a job to do.
The whisper was a tad bit louder.

I swallowed hard. I gritted my teeth. Shuffling my feet, I did the best I could to ignore the voice in my head. I picked up the pace.

“It would be safer for the town if he did.” Rowdy trotted alongside me. “There is no way the carnival is going to put up rides in that mud puddle out there. It just wouldn’t be safe.”

“I’ve got a few cases to solve,” I called over my shoulder, now with another thing to worry about on my mind. I was going to have to check out the fairgrounds and make an assessment of the situation, and possibly make a doctor’s appointment to check my head.

I raised my hand in the air. “Bye,” I hollered.

Jerking the keys out of my pocket, I jumped into the truck and jabbed them in the ignition, dropping them back on the ground along with the pin. “Damn!” I grabbed my palm, bleeding from another pin stick.

Nothing was going right today. Nothing.

I pushed in the walkie-talkie and said, “Betty.”

Pulling out of the cemetery, I took a right on Main Street. I really wanted to please Viola, but Doc Walton’s murder was more important on the list of crimes.

“Betty,” I yelled, thinking she didn’t hear me the first time.

“Kenni, I’m here,” she snapped, sounding out of breath. “You wouldn’t believe all the calls we’re getting. And people stopping in to get information.”

Oh yes I would. I shook my head. She continued talking and I heard some whispering in the background.

“They are all curious to know if you have any leads on the murder and the break-in. And if the seedy condos by Doc’s house are where it all started?” Betty asked.

“Betty, you can tell everyone that’s hanging around Cowboy’s and drinking coffee that I do not discuss official business. They should go home.” If I stayed on the walkie-talkie any longer, I just might lose it. “Can you please call Wyatt and ask him to drive out to the fairgrounds and check to make sure there’s no flooding?”

“Sure can, Ken—” She stopped herself. “Sheriff Lowry.”

“Oh, I’d almost forgotten, I need you to call the mayor. I’d like them to call an emergency meeting as soon as they can get it scheduled.”

“Kenni.” Betty stopped me from hanging up. “I mean, Sheriff, Max Bogus just called. He said he had something to show you, so you need to stop by the funeral home.”