Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music (29 page)

The way the ladies devoured the simple repast made Tony wonder when they had last eaten. By the time they were warm and full, Doc Nash was standing in the hallway, watching with professional intensity. Tony knew that he would call a halt to his questions if he had any concern about the way they were being treated.

Tony, Sheila and Doc Nash shared the table with them. “We need to know what happened tonight. Are you ladies up to answering some questions now?” They nodded their assent and clutched the cups more tightly, highlighting the blue veins in their almost fleshless hands. Tony sat near them, sipping his own tea. “I guess the first thing that I need to know is about what time did Emery die?”

After an exchange of meaningful looks with her sister, Muriel answered. “It was during his nap after lunch.” Letty bobbed her head in agreement. “We ate lunch about eleven-thirty or so and he stretched out on the sofa as usual, but he didn't wake up.”

“The three of you shared the house and expenses?”

“Yes,” said Letty. “Ever since Mama died.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Muriel. “Emery was the only one with a steady income. I'd have to say that he did all the sharing. Letty and I sometimes made a little on the sale of our preserves or a quilt, but nothing consistent.”

Tony laced his fingers and rested them on his knee as he leaned forward. Deliberately making his tone as gentle as possible, he said, “By any chance does Emery's steady income get deposited into your bank account?”

Two sets of red-rimmed eyes looked back at him. The ladies nodded.

“So you decided if you didn't tell anyone about Emery's death, the money would continue being deposited?”

They nodded again but more slowly, as if wary of what would happen if they did.

“Why bury him in Mr. Beasley's grave? Emery hated the man.”

Muriel straightened to her full height. “We know.” She patted her sister's shoulder. “We hate to admit it, of course, but Letty and I are not as strong as we used to be. We thought that it would be easier to dig in a fairly fresh grave. It was harder than we expected it to be. The dirt was loose, but there was so much of it, and we were going to put poor Emery on the top of Mr. Beasley's casket and cover them back up.” She seemed to wilt and grow smaller. “We just hadn't counted on there being so much dirt. It was so heavy.” Without warning, fat tears streamed through the dirt on her cheeks. “That's why we were still there when you came by.”

Letty hugged her sister. Defeated, she pleaded with her eyes. “We couldn't get him buried, and we couldn't just leave him either.” Both of the sisters started sobbing.

“I've heard enough.” Tony addressed Doc Nash. “I'm taking the ladies home. Do you want to come along?”

“Sure thing. Let me grab my bag.” He shot to his feet.

“You're taking us home? We don't have to sleep in the jail?” Letty clutched Tony's arm. She was so frail that he could barely feel her touch.

“For now. I don't see how keeping you two here will further the law in any way.” He gently patted her back as he helped her stand. “Tomorrow we might have to talk some more, but I don't see jail in your future.”

Muriel looked so much livelier at the news Tony decided he could ask one more question. “Just how did you all get over the fence? And with Emery too?”

Her giggle was almost girlish. “Living as close to the cemetery as we do, we've seen teenagers sneaking under the fence for years. We know where all of the good spots are.” She patted his big hand. “We waited until it was dark, and then we just dragged Emery over there on the quilt.” She batted her eyes at him. “That was the easy part.”

Theo didn't know what time Tony had gotten home. She remembered him mumbling something about needing more insurance, but nothing making any sense, before he trudged up the stairs again.

Her wheelchair fit nicely under the pull out cutting board in the kitchen. Her eyes still half closed, she had just started fixing coffee when the boys flew into the kitchen. It looked like they were ready to launch into an argument. She pointed to the sofa where Patrick and Celeste appeared to still be sleeping.

“Hush.” She gave them the “mom glare,” and they climbed up onto their stools and waited like little angels for her to start a pot of coffee and get them cereal and juice.

“Are they homeless?” Jamie's whisper was slightly quieter than a fighter jet.

“Can we watch cartoons?”

“No to both of you.” She paused, hearing water running above them. “Sounds like your dad is up. When you finish eating, I want you to play in your room or in the front room until further notice.”

Surprisingly, both boys nodded and started shoveling milk and cereal into their mouths. It looked like a race.

Tony appeared seconds after the boys bolted from the kitchen. “What are they up to?”

“Honestly? I'm not sure.” Theo handed him a cup of coffee. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

“I'll probably crash later, but I slept like a rock for the first hour.” He glanced over his shoulder at the couple on the couch before wheeling her into the front room.

“You haven't mentioned last night. What happened?”

Tony's broad shoulders sagged. “It was awful, and I still don't know what will happen.” Theo wrapped her arms around his waist and waited in silence. “There we were, J.B. and I, creeping through the foggy cemetery at midnight, or close enough to it for me, and we found a pair of grave diggers, strictly amateurs.”

Theo could tell from his expression that the attempt at humor was forced. “Who were they?”

“Misses Muriel and Letitia Bainbridge.”

“No! I don't believe it. Where was Emery? He doesn't let them go anywhere without him.” She visualized the threesome as they were so often, walking home from the store, Emery pulling a rusty wagon filled with their groceries.

“He was there, but he was wrapped in an old quilt for burial. The old gent died of old age, and the ladies were going to bury him and then pretend he was still alive so they would get his Social Security deposit.”

“Those poor old ladies.” There were tears glistening in Theo's eyes. “What will happen to them?”

“I'm not sure. I have a meeting this morning with Doc Nash and Archie Campbell. I doubt there will be any charges filed, but we have to find a way to help them live.” He touched her cheek. “I certainly don't want word of this to get around. It would be devastating to those old dears.”

Theo agreed. This was
not
a topic for the quilt shop gossip. “What about our little honeymoon couple?” She tipped her head toward the kitchen.

Tony lifted his coffee mug in a silent toast. “I'll shake them out of bed when I finish this.”

“The last time I saw my mother, she threw her champagne, glass and all, on the ground and stomped out. You saw her. No one could reason with her.” Patrick sighed. “I didn't plan for her to be there. I considered keeping my marriage quiet until after the wedding.” He held his empty hands palm up. “I did have to tell her I was getting married, didn't I?”

Tony remained quiet, notebook in hand.

Patrick gazed, apparently unseeing, at his breakfast. “She needed adoring fans or staff to make it through the day. For as long as I can remember, she craved the sound of applause, the flash of cameras and I knew I had to stay out of sight.”

“She's not much older than I am.” Tony eyed the groom. He looked like he was in his mid to late twenties.

“No.” Patrick twisted the brand new shiny gold band on his finger. “She just turned forty-two. I'm twenty-seven.”

“And your biological father? Where is he?” Tony didn't follow the lives of entertainment figures, except some baseball players. Maybe the life story of Elf was public information and he was expected to know all about this family.

“I don't know who he is.”

“Where did you grow up?” Tony really wanted to know how he had turned out to be a decent, level-headed young man.

Patrick didn't dodge the question. “I spent most of my time with Mom and Dad and only occasionally my mother.” A grim expression replaced his smile. Unshed tears magnified his eyes.“Elf never had much time for me, but when she did we were pals. When I was a little boy, she was still in her early twenties. She'd take me up in the hills. I can remember us running together, barefoot, laughing like crazy. Or we'd get all dressed up and go out to dinner or a concert. Amusement parks. We had lots of fun together.”

“Was this in Nashville?”

Patrick looked confused. “It was always someplace different.”

Tony thought he was getting the idea. It was probably whatever town she was performing in. “How did she get on with your parents?”

“Generally, she was fine. The only real fight I can recall was the year I turned sixteen. I wanted a car, of course, and my folks thought I should get a job and buy an old beater.”

“So, you told your wealthy mother, and what did you get?”

“An Italian sports car. Silver.” Patrick's eyes sparkled as he remembered. “I loved that car. It was fast and sleek and could hit a hundred miles an hour in fourth gear.”

“How long did it last?” Tony guessed a month.

“Two weeks. Then I wrapped it around a bridge support and broke an arm and a leg. And sliced up a lot of me.” He pointed to one shoulder.

Tony could see a series of scars where Patrick's sweatshirt with the cut-off sleeves and missing neckband exposed lots of skin and a small heart-shaped birthmark. He groaned in sympathy. “So, you were surprised by everything that happened at the wedding?”

“We weren't expecting her to come.” Patrick twisted the ring again. “She had a gig in Dallas and sent an extravagant wedding present with her regrets.”

“When did you learn she was coming?”

“When she arrived.” Patrick glanced up. “It's not like she sneaks into town in her touring home. She told me because her sister died, she could walk away from the gig.”

Tony felt his eyes widen. “She could? What about contracts?”

Patrick shrugged. “She pretty much did anything she wanted to. You know: the runaway bus approach to life. I guess the Dallas gig was different anyway—not part of a real tour. She said it was an informal arrangement and no tickets were sold specifically to see her appear. It was a charity deal and she was one of many. But . . .”

“Yes.” Tony could read the young man's expression. “I imagine someone was angry she didn't come straight back after the funeral.”

“I'd say you're the master of understatement.” Patrick stared at the floor.

“Can you think of anything else?”

“She has been different lately, more manic. I'm not sure how to describe it.” He waved a hand. “She asked me not long ago if I minded not knowing who my real dad is. I told her no. I've got a great dad. Then she got kind of snippy and said I might find out anyway.”

“Do you think she was writing some kind of tell-all book or something like that?”

“Maybe.”

Theo didn't mind the company. Having Patrick and Celeste stay at the house was the only reasonable place any of them could come up with. Evidently a horde of reporters was camped in front of Patrick's small house. Another group learned Celeste had been living at Martha's house before the wedding and patrolled her neighborhood.

Tony was on his way out when his phone chirped. “I'm going to bury this thing in the backyard if it rings one more time.” He glanced at the screen. “Hey, Doc.”

Theo watched and tried to listen, but got no information.Whatever the doctor was telling Tony made his head shake. He wasn't smiling when he disconnected.

“Leukemia.” Tony glanced past her. “According to the doctor, she has . . . er, had, leukemia.”

“So she might have been putting her house in order, so to speak? Could it be treated?”

Tony shrugged. “Should I tell Patrick?”

Theo considered what she would want if she was in his situation. “How would it help?”

“It might explain her recent behavior.”

“Then go for it.” Theo hoped it was good advice. “The honeymooners are playing video games with the boys.”

Tony, with Wade, drove up past The Lodge. From the road they could see yellow crime scene tape still fluttering from the balcony and surrounding the shrubbery where Scarlet was found. Tony found it hard to believe it had only been a week since Theo's discovery and call. He felt at least twenty years older.

“Do you suspect Dan?”

Wade's question snapped Tony back into the present. It was a fair question. “I don't think he killed either one of them. Not really. I am hoping he can fill in some of the blanks or identify the dulcimer strings.” He glanced at his deputy. “What about you?”

“I'd say no,” said Wade. “But, I think he's less of a recluse than most people think.”

“How so?”

“To start with, he runs an internet business. He sells dulcimers and supplies.” Wade paused. “So he could have sold the strings to someone he'd never seen.”

Tony glanced at Wade. “How do you know this?”

“My cousin drives a delivery truck. One day he mentioned his best customer is Dan.”

Before Tony could organize his thoughts, he turned on to the road to Dan's home. The home was small, a single story with a covered front porch running the width of the house. The wood had peeling white paint mixed with bare wood weathered to silver gray. There was no sign of life. No dog, car or light. When they climbed out of the Blazer, all they heard was the sigh of wind through the trees. A few birds were sitting on a feeder hanging from the porch cover.

Wade knocked on the front door. Nothing

Together they walked toward the back of the house on a driveway of two ruts. Behind the house was a cabin. Dan sat on the bench of a picnic table, his arms crossed on the table, his face buried in his arms. Great sobs wracked his shoulders, but he didn't make a sound.

“Dan?” Tony called. Nothing. “Dan.” He called louder.

Dan lifted his face and looked at them. Tears poured down his face, following the creases in his weathered skin. “She's really dead?”

Tony nodded and walked to the edge of the table. Beyond them, an open door led into Dan's workshop. He could see a partially completed dulcimer on a spotless workbench. “I know you and Elf were close.”