“Nope. J.B. called.” He paused. “Doreen’s dead. Probably murdered.”
There was nothing but stunned silence from Theo.
“No details are being released. Really, few are known, sweetheart. I wanted you to know just in case someone comes into your shop this morning with the news.” He waited, knowing he’d awakened her. She would catch up in a second.
“Oh, my!” Theo exhaled loudly. “I’ll keep track of all the rumors I hear.”
“That’s what I need you to do. I’ll fill you in on my secret confessor when I can see your face.” He told her about his rain delayed travel and disconnected.
The rain grew even stronger, so he reclined the seat and closed his eyes. He fell asleep almost immediately. When he awakened, sunlight poured through the windows and he realized he was sweating, baking like a potato wrapped in foil. He’d slept for the better part of two hours.
The nap had done him good. After the ballpark excitement, Tony and some of the Cincinnati police chewed the fat. He owed them big-time. He hadn’t been in bed more than a couple of hours when J.B. called. He didn’t want to think about how long it might be before he would get to sleep again.
Mid-morning, Theo ran to the post office for a minute. When she returned, Vicky Parker was in the quilt shop, standing at the bottom of the stairs to Theo’s studio. The first thing Theo noticed was that she didn’t have her little boy with her and wondered if he was somewhere with his father. The next thing she noticed was Vicky’s expression as she studied the items on a wall rack next to her. It held quilter’s rulers, marking pens and other notions. Vicky seemed mesmerized by the razor-sharp rotary cutters. Something in her expression made Theo doubt that fabric would be what she wanted to cut.
“Good morning, Vicky,” said Theo, pasting a smile on her face. “Can I help you find something?”
“No, I’m just admiring your store. I couldn’t stay long the last time.”
Her bright blue eyes focused on Theo’s face, although Theo didn’t see anything that looked like admiration. She didn’t know how or why she felt like Vicky wasn’t quite right. Mentally.
“What’s up there?” Vicky pointed to the door of Theo’s private space.
“Just my office.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sorry, no visitors.” Theo shifted, moving away from the stairs, hoping Vicky would follow her.
“I hear voices,” said Vicky.
Theo didn’t doubt that at all. Then she realized she heard voices, too. And the laughter of children. Chris and Jamie were up there playing with the cat. “My children.”
“How old are they?”
It was not an unusual question. For some unknown reason, it spooked Theo. Tony’s phone call from Kentucky to tell her Doreen had been murdered and he was delayed on the road home was likely the reason for her odd mood. Hearing that a killer roamed somewhere in their quiet community made her uneasy. She certainly didn’t think Vicky was responsible. Finally, she managed a smile. “They’re six and eight.”
“Fun ages.”
Theo nodded. Why was she having so much trouble being polite? “How old is your little boy?”
“One.” She smiled proudly. “He’s just starting to walk.”
Theo searched for words to discourage an extended visit and edged closer to the counter. Gretchen stood behind it, chatting with a customer.
The front door flew open, slamming into the supporting wall. Startled, all eyes turned toward the sound. “The Queen is dead.” Nellie Pearl Prigmore stalked into the shop, raised her arms high and shouted, “May she rot for eternity!”
Dead silence reigned in the large room, for a count of three. Theo should know. She started counting the instant Nellie Pearl fell silent. The tourists looked confused as every local shopper rushed toward the old woman, begging for information. Theo edged around Vicky and joined the group, wondering what Nellie Pearl would say.
It was early afternoon by the time Tony arrived in Silersville. Convinced Doreen wouldn’t get any deader and smelling a bit rank, he stopped by the house, took a thirty-second shower and put on a clean uniform.
Only Daisy witnessed his visit. The big dog wagged all over and attempted to get him to spend the rest of the afternoon scratching her ears.
Tony assumed Theo and the boys were at the shop.
He ate a peanut butter and banana sandwich as he drove to the museum site. Just as he arrived, an ambulance he assumed was bearing Queen Doreen to Knoxville pulled onto the road. Tony saw Doc Nash standing in the parking lot near his open car door. It looked like he was about to climb in. Tony waved, catching his eye and Doc closed the car door and walked toward the Blazer.
Doc Nash started talking before Tony could get out of the Blazer. “I came by intending to stay just long enough to declare her officially dead. As usual, I ended up staying to watch. I’m no better than the rest of the ghouls.” Doc Nash nodded toward the clump of bystanders standing across the road and shook his head. “I’d have sent her to Knoxville anyway. It’s going to take an expert to determine the actual cause of death, although I can promise you it was murder.” His voice faltered.
“Can you tell me anything else?” Tony rarely saw any signs of uncertainty in Doc Nash.
“At a glance, it looked like a single massive blow to her throat with that vicious thing.” Doc’s brown eyes mirrored his disappointment in his fellow humans. “It would take a strong person or one in a rage to use it.”
Doc’s focus shifted to Wade, watching as the deputy emerged from the wall of vegetation near the highway and joined them.
Tony glanced at his deputy. Wade’s face, predictably, was a shade of green that meant serious problems except when seen on a plant. His lopsided grin told the rest of the story. Wade’s latest meal had reappeared and had probably been deposited behind one of the bushes. A dead body got him every time.
Wade began his report. “The Knox County Coroner will call when she’s ready to perform the autopsy.”
“So, what else have you learned?” Tony’s gaze took in the yellow tape draped around the trailer/office and a fair amount of the real estate as well. At the far side of the yellow tape, the work crew, Quentin, Mac and Kenny, all stood with Gus, drinking coffee from steel thermos bottles. No one was joking around. Jane sat in a folding chair under a tulip tree near the road, holding hands with her sister. He was surprised how old his mother looked. A small crowd gathered on the far side of the road. Water filled every rut and depression. Tire tracks of all descriptions ran in every direction through the construction area.
“Someone used a crowbar or something like one to rip the hasp and plate right off the door.” Wade pointed to the mutilated trailer. “I took lots of photos and then bagged the hasp and plate.”
“Any obvious attempt to pick the lock?”
“Nothing I can see. Maybe if we send it off an expert can tell for sure.”
“I doubt it would make any difference,” Tony said. “Did you find the tool?”
“Nope. We’ve searched high and low. The killer must have taken it with him.”
“Have you formed a theory about what happened?”
“I think Mrs. Cashdollar and her killer went inside. Not necessarily at the same time or in that order. Very little seemed disturbed in there. Your aunt checked for us and identified the murder weapon. It’s a flax hackle. I guess it was used like a comb to separate the strands of flax or hemp, maybe even to card some wool. Evidently, they have a whole collection of them in different sizes.” Wade’s color worsened. “It is an evil-looking thing.”
Tony agreed, nodding as he asked, “Any time frame?”
“Gus said things were locked up and tidy when he and the crew left at six in the evening. No one admits to being here until J.B. did his check at four-fifteen or so this morning.”
Tony turned to the doctor. “I don’t suppose you’re prepared to take a wild guess about time of death?”
“Not really.” Doc Nash frowned. “She’d most likely been dead for at least a couple of hours.”
“Okay,” said Tony, wishing for something exact. “So sometime between six P.M. and four A.M., she and whoever killed her are in the trailer. And what? This person picks up the hackle thingy and just shoves it into her throat?”
Wade frowned. “Don’t you think she would have to be unconscious first? We bagged her hands, although they looked pretty clean. No defensive wounds that I could see. Nothing obvious like a broken fingernail or blood or dirt was on either of them.”
“And then what do you think happened?” Tony studied the area, seeing nothing out of place.
“Then whoever did it covered up the body with a quilt and left. J.B. said if her feet hadn’t been sticking out, he might not have even looked under it.”
Tony said, “Did you find her car? I didn’t see the Volvo when I drove up.”
“Her car isn’t here.” Wade shook his head. “And I know it’s not parked in the Cashdollar garage, either. I looked.”
“Which means?” Tony didn’t like the feel of the setup. He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him. “Was killing Doreen the plan all along?”
“You think she drove the killer out here? Willingly? And then what?” Wade took off his hat. With the back of his fingers, he wiped the sweat up from his face and onto his closely cropped black hair. “Nothing makes any sense. They break into the office. Take nothing obvious. There isn’t a knock-down drag-out fight and they don’t throw things. Suddenly her partner kills her and drives off in her car? Why?”
“And who?” Tony looked at the muddy mess created by construction and rain. “Where did they park? I don’t suppose there are footprints?”
“Not that we have matched. Her shoes had pretty high heels and yet they were clean. That tells me she didn’t walk far in this area and it was definitely before this morning’s little downpour.”
Doc Nash cleared his throat. “Maybe the killer carried her from the car to the trailer.”
Tony nodded. “Where’s the whatsit? The flax hackle?”
“It went with the body.” Wade paled. “Should I have kept it here?”
“No.”
“How about her purse?”
“I haven’t seen it.” Wade looked around, his expression wary. “If anyone has found it, they haven’t told me.”
“Maybe it was the reason she was killed. Do you suppose she had something in her purse worth killing for besides her keys?” Tony tried not to make any guesses ahead of the evidence but couldn’t help himself.
“Like what?”
“Like I don’t know. Anything. Money? Blackmail pictures? Prescription drugs?”
“Even if she did,” said Wade, “why come out here?”
At Theo’s shop, Nellie Pearl’s announcement about Doreen’s death held the attention of the quilters for only a moment. It didn’t take the women long to realize that more information would have to come from another source.
As one, they turned to face Theo. Their expressions showed hope that the sheriff’s wife would be able to add to Nellie Pearl’s information. She could only shrug. In truth, she knew little more than Nellie Pearl did.
Behind her, Theo heard the gossip sound level in the workroom rise. Doreen’s name was on all lips. Still, each voice carried a tone of shock.
Susan, one of the newer residents, asked if Doreen was originally from Silersville.
“Not exactly.” Nellie Pearl jumped back into the conversation. “Her people live a bit farther south. Her father is—was, I guess now—Sonny Cochran.” She pronounced the name with tones of great reverence.
“Who’s that?” Gretchen, pulled away from the counter by the gossip, moved to stand in the doorway.
Understanding the Indiana native would know little about local family histories, Theo explained. “They are old money and own a large farm, like a plantation, and are famous for the Tennessee Walking Horses they raise.”
“The whole family is very uppity.” Another woman tilted her head and looked down her nose at her neighbor. “Very left nostril, you know.”
“Yes. I think they have always been in the horse business.” One of the older quilters looked up from the frame and blinked. “I wonder if they’ll have the funeral out there. I’m sure they have a cemetery on the property.”
Theo noticed the mention of a funeral lowered many voices. Reality was setting in. As she wandered through the workroom, Theo picked up bits of different conversations. Maybe Doreen hadn’t been popular. Shock that a murderer roamed their community kept down any excitement. No one except Nellie Pearl appeared to celebrate her death.
Instead, undertones of fear were woven in every word, every phrase. If the mayor’s wife could be killed, couldn’t any of them? Was her death random or personal?
Theo glanced around the room. Nellie Pearl and Icky Vicky Parker seemed to have vanished in the excitement about Doreen. That was fine with Theo. She felt once every twenty years was often enough for a visit from Icky. Now she’d had two in a short period.
Theo considered her own feelings about the mayor’s late wife. She had never liked Doreen and most of the time she was irritated by her husband, Calvin. The mayor was unfailingly polite, to the point of insanity, and she considered him a cross between a cartoon and a pompous pain in the butt. His hair was a straight blond mop, usually in need of a good trim. It wasn’t overgrown from a lack of funds. The mayor had more money than Croesus and sure didn’t spend any of it on his clothes. Tall and gangly, he wore mail-order suits with too-short pants and sleeves that didn’t reach his boney wrists.
Calvin might not be her favorite person, but his wife had been brutally murdered. Theo was at a loss about what to do next.
If Nellie Pearl was announcing Doreen’s demise to all and sundry, she felt like she could acknowledge the woman’s death without spilling anything confidential. No details had been released, and she hadn’t seen Tony since his return from Ohio.
Still, it seemed way too early to descend on Calvin with a casserole, so she called Nina. When her friend answered, Theo spoke without preamble.
“You should have been in the shop this morning. Nellie Pearl told us Doreen’s been killed.”