Polly Dent Loses Grip (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (21 page)

Sara’s head tilted up at me, eyes bright. “What? What is it?”

I touched the tip of her nose. “Lela’s coming home tonight. She’ll be here with you tomorrow.”

Sara clapped her hands. “Oh!” She scampered back inside. “Mom! Lela’s coming back. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Suzanne Buchanan appeared from the back family room, gaunt, stress lines evident around her eyes and mouth. I held up the basket I’d retrieved and Suzanne nodded, her wan smile speaking volumes about the emotions she held in check.

“Sara, why don’t you take the basket to the kitchen for Mrs. Barnhart.”

Sara’s huge grin exposed the gap in the front. “I’m hungry!”

When she was out of hearing range, I faced Suzanne. The young mother fell into my open arms. We spilled tears all over each other, sniffling and whispering words of encouragement. Then we pulled apart, exchanged smiles, dried our eyes, and went into the kitchen to join Sara.

We women have a language that needs no words.

As soon as I got home, I ate a bowl of soup and tried calling Chief Conrad. There were some things brewing, and I wanted his opinion to know if he’d heard anything about Bridgeton Towers that should set me on edge.

“Haven’t heard of the place, LaTisha, but I think Shiny’s right. If anyone is going to know something, it will be Michael.”

I filled Chief’s ear with all the bits of evidence and accusations, motives and strange incidents that I’d run across in the investigation so far, then waited as he processed everything.

“It sure sounds interesting. If you were acting in an official capacity, it would make things easier. If you want, I can call the police in that town and
—
”

“No sense in it. If your friend Trevor finds something suspicious, then I’ll know to tip the police off and hope they investigate, but most of what I got is going to be laughed out of the police station.”

Chief agreed. “But one thing you can do is swallow that pride of yours and work with Sue Mie. She’s got an inside track being a CNA hired by Otis Payne himself.”

It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

“The affair gives Mrs. Payne a motive to knock off her husband, but not Polly. If Polly was great friends with Otis, as this Thomas guy indicated, and Gertrude too, then maybe they were more than friendly?”

“With such a huge gap in age?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

True. “I can’t see Louise being jealous of Polly and Otis.” It didn’t feel right to think about Polly and Otis having an affair.

“Polly was getting privileges from Otis. Why?”

“She acted like she was, but that doesn’t mean Thomas is right in thinking Otis let her into the gym. Maybe she got in some other way.”

“Those threats, too. . .Why would anyone threaten her like that? Was she the curious sort?”

“I really didn’t know her.”

“Others knew her. See if she was a trouble maker. Maybe she knew more about someone or something than she should have and that person was getting really ticked and trying to scare her off.”

It didn’t seem real to be hearing about death threats and the possibility of someone murdering an elderly lady. “You think I’m crazy?”

 
“I think, LaTisha, that if someone is thinking they are going to get away with murder while you’re around, they’re in for a huge surprise.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

About six or seven stores down from Big Sky Grocer and Wig Out, I entered the offices housing the Distant Echo, our weekly newspaper. Besides the printing equipment, Michael Nooseman’s “office” probably held the award for smallest working cubicle. How that man managed to direct a newspaper from a five by eight area, mostly covered with paper, pencils, pens, with a desk and chair wedged in for good measure. . .it was a miracle he hadn’t died of asphyxiation.

I stood at the entrance of his office, arms crossed, ready and armed to rankle my good friend.
“If you think for one minute that I’m going to fit in there with all the stuff you have
—
”

“You stop eating so much and you’d fit in here fine. It’s the reason I stay thin.”

Whoo-wee! He was dishing it out today. I never could recall one smile out of the old coot, but Michael didn’t need to smile, everyone knew his crustiness hid a soft heart. Not that you’d know it by his verbal assaults.

Michael unglued his eyeballs from his computer monitor and spun his chair in my direction, eyebrows lowered like storm clouds. He saluted me with his coffee mug that said, ‘Write What You Know. . .’ with sheets of blank pages stacked up high on a desk. Editorial humor, I suppose.

He scratched his chest and sucked at his coffee cup. “To what do I owe the distinct honor of your presence darkening my doorway? I thought you were out of town.”

“Something told me I’d better come back and give you a scoop before your one subscriber gets bored with the drivel you print and stops paying.”

Michael wiped his mouth on his sleeve, probably to wipe away remnants of the slurp of coffee, but I think it also hid a smile.

“Your momma taught you better than that. Use a napkin.”

His nostrils flared, eyes dark. “I’ve already got her spinning in her grave like a rotisserie chicken.” He pushed to his feet and squeezed between the edge of his desk and the wall, knocking a stack of papers over in the process.

“Hope what you spilled wasn’t important.”

“Nah, just some bills that need
paying
.”

That gave me pause and I wondered, in all honesty, how the paper stayed afloat. Townspeople had speculated for years that Michael Nooseman’s side business developing Websites supported the newspaper. Maybe it was time to have a fund raiser to keep the Distant Echo going strong.

“Got my copy today but haven’t had a chance to read it. Had me some excitement last night and thought we might work an exchange.”

Michael ducked back into his office and tried to pull out his office chair. He finally had to lift it over his head to get it free from the cubicle. “Why don’t you have a seat? Got some hot coffee if you’re interested.”

“Any hot chocolate?”

“Have to be difficult, don’t you?”

“You gonna get me a drink or not? Seems to me I could take this story of mine somewhere else.”

“My charming personality draws you here. You can’t help yourself. One cup of hot chocolate coming up.”

“With a splash of coffee, if you please. I need another one, didn’t finish the one I had this morning.”

Michael grunted in mock disgust. Purely dramatics. He moved toward a small kitchen area in the back of the room. “So you came here to pester me into making another one for you.”

“Easier than making a fresh one at home.”

Steam rose from the cup as he poured, then stirred in the hot chocolate mix. “Spill it before they nail my coffin shut, declaring I died of boredom. I’ve got a paper to run, you know. There’s not a lot of time to have high tea with every citizen who waltzes into my office.”

“I’m gonna waltz on your grave if you don’t bite that tongue of yours.”

His eyes sparkled a bit. There’s nothing he loved better than a good insult match and with me. Why do you think he offered me a drink? Because he wanted the visit to be extended. I suspect he does get
bored
with just computers and words to keep him company.

“You know we’re trying to get
M
omma settled at Bridgeton Towers. What do you know about that place?”

With slow, measured steps, he crossed the room and presented my hot drink. “Bridgeton Towers, you say? Hm. . .” He rubbed his jaw and shifted in his seat. “Bridgeton Towers. . .now why does that name sound familiar.”

His eyes cut to mine.

I was having none of it. “I know you know something. You got a mind sharper than glass.”

“A compliment, LaTisha?”

“Prelude to the threat on your life if you don’t stop messing with me.”

“Bridgeton Towers. Quite the subject of late. Someone asked me the same question this morning.”

This morning! My heart skipped a beat as I settled my hands around the warm cup and mulled the gleam in Michael’s eyes. This boy was sitting on some piece of information like a bee guarding honey. I was going to have to smoke his hive.

“I know you’re not playing games with me. Who’d call an old has-been like yourself if they wanted to know current events?”

“That’ll cost you, LaTisha.” He folded himself into a straight back chair. “I can get your news from Chief Conrad.”

The gauntlet had been slammed onto the floor.

What did he think I was? Inexperienced at negotiation? Seven babies who all grew into teens. I knew how to negotiate.

I leaned forward, eyes wide. “If I tell Chief to stay mum because the whole thing is part of a larger investigation, who do you think he’s going to listen to?”

Talk about being left out in the cold. I’m thinking Michael felt the chill already. But I wasn’t done yet.

“And.” I let the word linger a bit on my tongue. “Since you don’t know what I know, and what I know isn’t happening where you’d know about it, I guess that means what I know is going to stay what I know unless you want to know what I know. In that case, you’d have to let me in on what you know for me to tell you what I know.” I took a nice long sip of my drink, reveling in the idea that I’d talked him cross-eyed.

Laughter is not what I was prepared to hear out of him.

“You’re a savvy one, LaTisha. But I’m sure I’ve won this round. You see, the person I talked to this morning about Bridgeton Towers was. . .”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Hardy Barnhart!” I shut the door to Matilda’s apartment a little louder than I should have, but with all the unused hearing aides sitting on dressers and vanities around Bridgeton Towers, I figured it probably sounded like the regular click of a door.

I huffed at the silence. “Hardy Barnhart! You’d better show your face this minute.”

I’d stewed and fretted myself exhausted over Hardy’s call to Michael the entire trip back to Bridgeton Towers. Okay, not really that he had called, more that he had thought of it before me. Couple that with all the fun Michael had at my expense while I was breathing fire.

I strutted to our bedroom and threw the door open. Sure enough. There he was, dead to the world in the middle of the afternoon. “You stop playing possum and rattle yourself vertical.”

He stirred a bit and an eyelid cracked open. “Weird to dream of a bellow fanning a hot fire and open my eyes to see you.” Hardy rolled onto his back and sat up. “Guess it’s that hot air that keeps me warm.”

“Why didn’t you answer when I called you? Then I find out this morning that you called Michael asking the very question I’d gone to him to ask.”

“Made ya mad, huh?”

He hauled himself off the bed and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Missed you, baby. Never the same without you nearby.”

 
I resisted the urge to forgive him, zeroing in on the offensive pastel plaid pants he had hiked higher than a Puritan’s morals. “What rock did you drag those out from under?” Just when I thought I’d exterminated the last pair of plaid pants from our home.

“Manny and me were jawing
,
and he was throwing them out. I told him I’d take them.” He gave a vertical tug that should have made his eyes bulge. It sure made mine pop.

I reached out and gave a hard downward tug. “Can’t be seen in public like that no how.”

Hardy flashed his tooth at me. “You can’t stay mad at me anyway, I’ve found out too much good stuff.”

Him and his insufferable grin. I was melting, but not quite ready to cave. “You could have called me.”

“I did. I even left you a couple of messages.”

What? I whipped out my cell phone, or would have if I’d had it. I eyeballed the little table by the bed where I’d left it charging and flipped it open. Five messages.

Hardy had that look on his face. That ha-ha-ha-I-was-right-you-were-wrong-but-I-know-I’m-dead-if-I-say-it-out-loud-so-I’ll-just-grin look. His eyes twinkled and he rubbed his non-existent stomach. “That humble look means I’m getting a pie, right?”