Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 01 - Gunfight at Grace Gulch (14 page)

“—because too many people would complain if you substituted a modern weapon.” Dina nodded. “And the mayor offered to let us use guns from his collection. He has some cool stuff, a flintlock rifle and Winchesters. That sort of thing.”

“And you. . .” Audie looked in my direction. “You and Cord figured out which weapons would have been used in the gunfight.”

“The Colt model 1892. Cord had given Bob Grace’s gun to the mayor for a Christmas present.” I didn’t like the direction Audie’s questions had taken. It felt like a police interrogation, only the tables had turned. Dina and I were the bad guys, and Audie was the detective hot on our trail.

“So the mayor had Bob Grace’s original Colt—in prime condition, according to him—and several others of similar vintage. And he offered to loan three of them to us, in case something went wrong with one of them. Three, not two, right?”

“Yeah. I kept them locked up at the MGM.” Dina’s facade slipped back into place, pleased at the memory of the confidence Audie had shown in her. “Cord, Penn, and I test fired them a week before the festival. They all worked.”

“And they both took the guns home after our last practice. And after the. . .incident, the police bagged both of those guns.” Audie’s face reflected his distaste of the memory.

“That’s the way I remember it.” I recalled the look of shocked disbelief on Cord’s face, the way the gun had slipped out of his fingers into the evidence bag in Reiner’s waiting hand.

“But they didn’t know about the third gun? They didn’t take it?” Audie asked.

“They asked me where the guns came from, and I told them. I don’t think I mentioned the extra gun. Why should I? We didn’t use it in the play.” Dina shrugged. “I haven’t checked the gun case since Saturday. Maybe I should have, but I couldn’t put the guns back until the police finished with them. They weren’t props anymore. They were
evidence
—” She pronounced the “i” with an “ee” sound—“in a murder investigation. I didn’t want to think about it.” The worried little girl tone returned to her voice.

Audie’s questions began to make horrible sense. “Why?” I demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“I checked the gun case when I thought about it this morning, when I was putting away some of the other props.” Audie’s face set into grim lines, the hint of wrinkles marring his pale forehead. “It was empty. The third gun is missing.”

14

When I rode out yesterday, searching for the cave, Gaynor followed me out of town. He as much as accused me of cheating. For a moment, I wanted to challenge him to a duel for the insult. But then I thought of you and our future, and I relented.

He told me that he has pointed me out to the marshals as a troublemaker, and that any move I make will be closely watched. After he left, I found the cave in a perfect spot, hidden by leafy sycamore trees. I wonder if I can escape the marshals’ attention long enough to return to the spot before Tuesday.

I wonder about Gaynor’s motives. Maybe he is also seeking a way to speed his race. I sense that you are disappointed in me, but I will do whatever I must to secure our future.

Your loving fiancé,

Robert Grace

~

Wednesday, September 25

“The third gun is missing?” Dina repeated. “But that’s impossible. I was very careful with the keys.” Her hair fluffed out like a rooster’s hackles, preparing my sister to take offence against any accusation of failing to do her duty. For all her rebellious style, she was a responsible young woman. She never missed a day’s work or flunked a class.

“I know you were.” Audie jingled the keys in his pocket. “But I had a second set, and I kept them at the office. Somebody might have borrowed them, or made a copy, or something.”

“But that’s. . .” Dina’s lip trembled. “That’s terrible. Have either one of you read the paper this morning?”

I shook my head. Yesterday’s immersion in news would last me for a while.

“Not yet,” Audie said. “I went straight to the theater.”

“Look at this.” Dina shoved the
Herald
at us. “I have to keep up with the competition.”

Penn’s murder remained on page one—the
Herald
would keep it there until the case was solved and the murderer sentenced—and today’s headline screamed:
Hardy Shot with Vintage Gun
.

“Does it mention the murder weapon?” Audie asked over my shoulder.

I scanned the paragraphs. “It doesn’t say. But the police are sure that Hardy was shot by a Colt revolver—”

“—Probably a model 1892,” Dina finished for me. “The same kind we used in the play.”

The three of us looked at each other. With all the guns in our part of the world, why didn’t the murderer choose a more modern weapon?

“They’re going to suspect me again. Me and Cord.” Dina kept her tone light, but I could tell that the cloud of suspicion bothered her. “It was one of our guns. You know it was. It must have been.”

“There’s no need to jump to conclusions,” Audie said. He used the kind of soothing voice that worked with babies. I could have told him that it wouldn’t work on my sister. “It says here that the police have sent the weapons used in the reenactment to the crime lab in Oklahoma City for further testing. It sounds like they don’t have a match for the murder weapon yet.”

I could have warned him that logic probably wouldn’t work with Dina either.

“But don’t you see? People are going to talk. They’re going to say, ‘I wonder what revolver they used in the play. That Wilde girl must know something about it.’ ”

“No one is going to think that,” Audie said. He held the paper and read the article for himself, as if hoping the contents would change.

“Hah! You don’t know small towns. That’s
exactly
what they’re going to say.” Dina sniffed.

The rumor mill wouldn’t stop there. I hoped Dina could see that. “They’re also going to be asking each other, ‘Don’t you have your grandfather’s old Colt? What model was it?’ The next time I stop in at Gaynor Goodies, Jessie will have a more accurate listing of all the model 1892s in existence in Grace Gulch than if the tax assessor took an inventory. It’s not all that unique.”

Dina glared at me, challenging my logic.

“I’ve noticed that people here hang on to old guns and farm implements the way some people refurbish classic cars.” Audie grinned. “Half the towns in Lincoln County have a historical society, and the most popular item after period clothing”—he nodded at me—“any clothing Cici hasn’t laid her hands on, that is—seems to be old guns.”

“Think of Mayor Ron’s office. You’ve seen that special case over his desk where he keeps Bob Grace’s original gun.” Every tour of the town hall ended at the mayor’s office, and the gun case drew all eyes. That, and all the memorabilia he had collected from other Grace cities.

Dina stomped her foot. “But no one cares about everybody else’s guns. Not even the mayor’s guns, because we borrowed them for the play, and he didn’t take part. A Colt model 1892—one that
I
handled and that
I
vetted for use—did shoot Penn Hardy. And now we know that a Colt model 1892 killed him. Ergo, I supplied the gun, and Cord shot the one that killed Penn Hardy.”

Audie cleared his throat to protest.

“Okay, okay. The same model of gun that killed him. Big difference.” Dina wandered into the front room and came back with the doughnut holes I had bought at Gaynor Goodies that morning. “These are delicious. You should get them more often.” She swallowed three of them whole. “I’ve got class in half an hour. See you later.” She crammed headphones over her ears, her head already bobbing before she shut the door behind her. Maybe her favorite Christian music would soothe her spirits where our words had failed.

“I have to talk with the mayor.” I couldn’t put it off any longer. Ever since his name appeared on our list of suspects, I had dreaded the idea of questioning the most powerful man in our town. Even if he was Cord’s cousin and a loveable eccentric.

“Him, and Mitch Gaynor.” Audie rolled up the newspaper and drummed the table with it. “I can get away again tomorrow morning. Does that work for you?”

Knowing Audie intended to come with me made my insides wiggle like a happy puppy. “The city offices open at nine. I can come in to work late.”

“Good.” Audie looked up the phone number in the slim city directory I kept behind the cash register and called for an appointment. “Nine tomorrow morning. Thanks. We’ll be there.” He hung up the phone, rapped the edge of the desk with his fingers, and frowned. “I was hoping that Dina had checked the gun boxes after the play. Maybe she had already returned the third gun to the mayor. That would have been the simplest solution.”

“Yes. But—”

“Now two of his weapons are in police custody. I don’t know how long they hold on to things like that. Until the case goes to trial?”

“Probably. And now the other gun has disappeared. He’ll rue the day he agreed to lend us anything. He might turn the blame on us, you know.”

“Hmm?” Audie scrubbed his hand over his jaw.

“Like all good politicians do, to wiggle out of a tight spot. He might say that if we hadn’t come up with this harebrained scheme to reenact the gunfight, no one would have died. And his guns wouldn’t be involved in a homicide.” If the mayor said that, he’d be blaming Audie even more than me. Tears threatened to spill out. “Somehow the blame always seems to fall on me or someone I. . .care about.” Did I almost use the word
love
? It was far too soon.

“I won’t let that happen. This time you have me.” Audie lifted my chin with one long, slender finger and looked into my eyes, his eyes as clear as our city lake, hints of forever in their depths.

“All right.” My fears faded away. This man would direct the next few days as effectively as he staged a play. “All’s well that ends well.”

“That’s my girl. Of course you’re scared of thinking the worst of people you know. Wilde said, ‘The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis for optimism is sheer terror.’”

Oscar Wilde again. Who else would Audie quote to lighten the mood? I really needed to rediscover the playwright. I searched my limited knowledge. “Dorian Gray?”

“That’s it.”

“I have to admit that he has a point. Again.”

“But after all, we have God on our side, and whom shall we fear?”

“Hey, not fair, now you’re quoting from the Psalms. Even I know that one. Psalm 27.” Our music director had sung an unforgettable rendition of the lyrics more than once. The thunderous refrain echoed in my mind and I relaxed. “The Lord is my light and my salvation. He will show the way.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I stayed busy for the remainder of the day, but that didn’t prevent me from thinking about the investigation. Which gun killed Penn? Was it one of the guns borrowed for the play? Don’t think about that now, you’ve got new customers to add to your client list. I grabbed the guest register from the weekend—almost full after only one weekend’s business—and added new names to my growing database of potential customers.

Who took the third gun? I updated my accounting files with recent shipments and printed out monthly statements. I couldn’t pay bills if I didn’t get paid.

Is the
Sequoian
in financial trouble? And if it is, does it have anything to do with Penn’s murder? If so, the connection didn’t seem obvious. I added recent bills to my tickler file and wrote out checks for bills due within the next week.

Cord called mid afternoon. “What’s this I hear about a missing prop gun?”

I should have known. The grapevine didn’t need listening devices to keep up with the latest news. It plucked information out of thin air.

“Reiner came around to ask me about it,” Cord explained.

So Audie must have told the police about his discovery.

“What does he think? That I had both guns in my holster and shot two-handed? Even my great-grandfather didn’t pretend to do that.” His voice softened. “Not that I know of.”

“A gun is missing.” I twirled the phone cord while we talked. “Please don’t add to the rumor mill. Audie and I are going to talk with Mayor Ron tomorrow morning and explain the situation.” And ask some questions, but Cord didn’t need to know that.

“I want to come with you.”

“That’s not a good idea.” The last time Cord met Audie face-to-face, they pecked at each other like roosters. If that happened again, we wouldn’t get a thing out of the mayor.

“If you say so.” Cord must have heard about all the time I spent with Audie this week, and my refusal probably felt like a rejection. I didn’t like to hurt him—he was a good friend—but I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Why don’t we get together some time this weekend, and I’ll tell you everything that I’ve learned so far.”

“It’s a date.” Cord sounded positively cheerful as he accepted my alternative and hung up.

Customers came and went until it was time to close up shop. The Word of Truth’s Wednesday night Bible study and prayer meeting kept me occupied for a couple of hours. After that, I puttered around the house, vacuuming the living room floor, and decided to call it an early night about nine thirty.

As usual, I headed for my closet to decide what to wear the next day. Cecilia Wilde, you are beautiful just as you are. Don’t you dare change on me
.
Audie’s words ricocheted through my body, spreading warmth from head to toe in its path. I giggled. Even so, a paint-stained OU shirt wasn’t appropriate office wear. I dressed to please myself and to model my product.

I chose a pair of purple bell-bottom slacks that would slide well over black leather boots, a tie-dyed long-sleeved shirt, and multicolored beads. I could leave my hair in its flyaway state for my ’60s look. Which coat? I grinned. My trench coat, of course. It didn’t quite match the ’60s-style, but it fit in with my detective plans for the day.

~

The doorbell rang at half past eight the following morning. Audie
.
I rushed to open the door. He hunched his shoulders against the predicted rain that splashed on the ground, turning the red dirt into mud.

“Good morning, Detective Wilde.” He grinned at my trench coat. “You’re looking good. If you don’t mind, I thought we could drive to the city offices in your car. My windshield wipers need to be replaced.” He hung up his windbreaker on my coat rack and headed for my desk. “I thought we should take Bob Grace’s letter we found with us. Ask the mayor if Penn had shown it to him.”

The doorbell rang again, startling me. Who else would come to my house at this early hour? I looked out my peephole. Cord. Oh, no.
I couldn’t leave him outside in the rain, so I opened the door. “Come in.”

“Howe! I thought I would find you here.” Cord removed his Stetson and hung it on the coat tree, rain drops clinging to his springing golden curls. “I wanted to catch you both before you take off for Ron’s office. I know you too well, Cici. You’re going there to question him about the guns. I can’t believe you’re seriously considering my cousin as a murderer.” He cocked his elbows at an angle to his waist, poster boy of belligerence.

Audie and I looked at each other. He shrugged. This one is up to you.

I plunged ahead. “The mayor was in an ideal place to see what happened.”

“And if he saw anything, anything at all, he’s already told the police about it. They did question him, you know. Reiner couldn’t resist the opportunity to grill one of the Graces.” Cord’s chin jutted out, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He gestured at my trench coat. “This is just like you. You think you’re a Samantha Spade and that all you have to do is talk to people and they’ll tell you things they never mentioned to the police.”