Read Between the Tines (7 page)

"No way." Adam's gaze met mine. "Paige, get that look out of your eyes. You are not getting any more involved in this."

"But I—"

Adam laid a hand on my shoulder. "No, Paige. I forbid it."

Forbid it? Was he serious? I eased back and out from under his grip. He was just like all the other guys I'd dated. Thinking once we were in a relationship, he could control me. Make me do what he wanted. Why did he wait so long for his true colors to come out?

I opened my mouth to speak and looked into his now softened eyes.

"I'm sorry, Paige," he said. "I can't tell you what to do. I don't even want to boss you around. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Well, Paige, you have a choice. You can let him have it and send him packing, or you can compromise, relax the control obsession God is trying to eradicate and keep Adam around.

I turned toward Daisy. Despite tears dripping from a quivering chin, I said, "Sorry, I can't help you."

Adam let out a rush of air. "That's my girl."

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a quick hug.

Guilt tugging at me, I pulled away. If I was his girl, why was I still planning to help Karen solve the murder? Worse yet, now that the topic had come up, why didn't I tell him about it instead of keeping silent?

Earl ushered Daisy out the front door with his hand fixed on her shoulder. After a curt nod goodbye, Adam traipsed behind the odd couple. The often-cantankerous Earl had surprised me by his sincere concern for Daisy's well-being. He'd raced into the office, gathered her up in a fierce hug, and asked what he could do to remedy the situation. The four of us decided not to waste any time. Daisy would immediately go see Mitch and fess up.

I wanted to accompany them, but Adam adamantly refused. Hmm, Adam. . .adamantly. A word created just for him? Was this a clue to my sweetie's true personality? Was the honeymoon period of our dating life ending? Had he been hiding inflexibility and stubborn traits that he knew I'd run from? Was he being as duplicitous as I was?

Maybe. Not likely the duplicitous part. We'd only been together a short time and not having any real long-term relationships, I wasn't sure how long it took really to get to know someone. I would call Lisa tonight, and she could advise. That is, if she was talking to me.

Still, adamant or not, the thought of Karen's pain took over my brain, and I headed toward the back to retrieve the notes I'd taken at Karen's house. On the way to my truck, I found Hazel seated in a wrought iron chair in the classroom section of the shop. One hand gripped a large mug decorated with bright yellow tulips and the other supported her head as she leaned on the table.

At my approach she looked up, but her head seemed nearly too heavy to lift. "Daisy gonna be okay?" she asked in a dull tone.

I crossed over to her table. "I think so. Adam will take good care of her."

"That's good. She might be a pain in the neck most of the time, but she's kinda growing on me." Hazel stabbed her finger at the back of her hand. "Kinda like this wart." Normally, she would have had a big belly laugh over her joke; instead, she let her voice fall off as if talking was an effort not worth making. She stared over my shoulder as if I wasn't there.

I studied her face, surprised to see puffy eyes, rimmed in red. Had she been crying? My rugged sedum never cried. Never even came close to opening the tear faucet. Come to think of it, she'd never taken a break in the middle of the afternoon like this before, either.

"Is something wrong, Hazel? You seem upset about something."

She shrugged. "I'm fine. So where was Adam taking Daisy?"

As I fixed a cup of coffee for myself, I explained Daisy's split personality. Of course, I didn't admit that I, too, had experienced a similar split. That would mean I'd have put my deception into words, and I wasn't ready to do that with anyone but Adam.

I walked back to the table, inhaling the nutty coffee fragrance as I went. "Good thing you told me about her fight with Gary or Mitch might have heard this on the grapevine. She'd really have been in trouble if that happened."

"Yeah, he'd crucify her if he caught her lying, all right." Her voice was flat as if physically here but not really present.

I set my mug on the table and pulled out the chair next to her. "Okay, enough. You're going to tell me what's wrong, and you're going to do it now."

She rubbed a weathered hand across her eyes. "Zeke's having troubles at work."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

She shifted away. "It's nothing, really."

I took her shoulders and forced her to look at me. "Nothing doesn't make you cry. Nothing doesn't sap all the life out of you like this. It's not nothing. So what is it?"

"He got fired."

"Wow." Her news forced me against the back of my chair. "But he's worked there for twenty years. What happened?"

She straightened as if rigid posture would make the telling easier. "Guess twenty years doesn't matter much these days. He was up for this promotion. Instead of giving it to him they brought in a guy half his age." She fidgeted with a napkin, shredding it into long strips. "Zeke was so mad he nearly quit. But we decided he needed to stay on for his retirement. One day the guy asks him to sweep up the floors. Zeke was gonna do it, but then the guy disrespected him and treated him like a bumbling rookie. So Zeke got mad and punched the guy out."

I laid my hand on hers now resting on the table. "I'm so sorry, Hazel."

"Yeah me, too. Sorry I married that louse."

"You don't mean that. You're just upset."

"I know, but what're we gonna do for retirement?"

I had no easy answer. I hadn't even pondered my retirement other than after a day of crazy callers at my radio job and I wanted to quit. "Can I do anything to help?"

She jerked her hand free and shoved the napkin scraps into her empty mug. "Don't tell me. Let me guess. You want to give him a job here like the rest of us strays?"

"First of all, you aren't strays and second if you think he'd like to work here—"

"Ha!" She swatted her hand at me. "You are a hopeless bleeding heart. Don't know how we keep this place in the black with all your charity work. But no thanks. I'd rather have a root canal than work next to Zeke."

"Okay, fine. So I won't give him a job. Maybe he can find something at Pacific Pickles."

"You know I don't like that place. Gary Buzzy gettin' killed just proves the place is cursed."

"We don't know
Gary
's death had anything to do with the factory. At least not yet."

"What do you mean not yet? You planning on looking into this?"

I couldn't lie to her, but I also couldn't admit I was checking into
Gary
's murder until after I told Adam. I averted my gaze and stood. "Let me know if I can do anything to help Zeke find a job. You know I'll be praying for him."

"Nice one, Paige. Telling me you'll pray for him so I stop asking about what you plan to do."

I gave her an innocent smile and walked to the hallway.

"That's it," she called out. "Force the news oughta me and then run away when I turn the tables on you."

Chuckling at the return of her feisty attitude, I went to my office to drop off the coffee mug then headed for the alley. I pushed open the heavy metal door and the sun hit me square in the face. With as much force as a hurricane, I let out a honking sun sneeze.

"Paige? That you Paige?" Verna Meyer, owner of the Scrapbook Emporium called from down the alley.

I stepped around my truck and gave her a friendly wave. "Hi, Verna."

She stuck her cane into the gravel and started my way. Before making her cross over to me, stressing her arthritic joints, I rushed to her. She kept plodding my way, her elephant leg pants swishing in the breeze. The purple gauzy pants were topped with a gold and violet swirly patterned tunic that I was certain was a sixties holdover.

"Can I help you with something, Verna?" I asked when I reached her.

She grabbed my sleeve with a gnarled hand and pulled me close. "Please tell me you didn't really find Gary Buzzy's body."

News traveled so fast in this town, I was surprised people didn't know what I did before I even thought about doing it. "Daisy was the one who found him. Then she called me to come help her." I eased back forcing Verna out of my personal space so I didn't have to inhale the minty but obnoxious scent of ointment she'd rubbed on her joints.

"That girl doesn't know how lucky she is to have a good friend like you. Giving her a job when she's down on her luck. Then keeping her on even when she's about as handy to have around as a bent screwdriver."

Ooh, slam.
I could comment on my quirky employee all I wanted, but that didn't mean I'd let others bad mouth her. I opened my mouth to defend Daisy, but let it close when I saw Verna's eyes cloud with worry.

"What's happening around here, Paige? Two murders in a little over a month. I don't even feel safe anymore." She adjusted her stance, shifting the weight off one leg and settling on the other.

"I don't think you have to worry. This wasn't some random crime.
Gary
was most likely killed by someone close to him."

"Does the chief already have a suspect?"

"No, not yet. But I'm sure it won't be long before he arrests someone."
Especially if I, super sleuth, get to work and turn the killer over to him.

"Someone like his wife, maybe?"

Karen? Did Verna know something I didn't know? Her smug smile said yes, but her evasive eyes said no.

"You have a reason to think Karen might have done it?" I locked eyes with her.

She quickly averted her eyes. "No, I guess not."

Yes, you do.
I stepped into her line of sight. "You know something, Verna. What is it?"

She glanced around the area as if checking to see if others might be listening into our conversation. With the way gossip spread around here, I didn't think she was overreacting in the least.

She finally settled on my face and shuffled back into my personal space. "Karen's an avid scrapper. One day at a workshop, I saw her hacking away at a photo like she was kinda angry about it. After she left I looked in the trash and found the remnants of the picture. She'd cut
Gary
's face out leaving a gorgeous blonde in the trash. Maybe he was stepping out on Karen."

What? This was nuts. "I don't think this is anything, Verna. If he were having an affair, Karen wouldn't have a picture of him with the woman. And she sure wouldn't want to cut it up and put part of it in an album she was working on."

"Unless she hired someone to follow him and take pictures."

"Karen wouldn't do something like that."

"Never know what you might do when your man is cheating on you."

"Okay, so let's say he was. What were the two of them doing in the picture?"

"Standing outside the
Alamo
."

"Well there you have it. A tourist spot. Probably
Gary
's sister and maybe Karen doesn't like her. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about any further." I bid her goodbye, and with the thought of Karen as a suspect dancing through my mind, I retrieved the note pad and went into my office.

I laid the pad on my desk and studied my notes from Karen. Karen whose name now went onto my note pad along with the information Verna had told me. Below that, I added Daisy's comments about her warning at work and argument in the shop. At this point—very preliminary to be sure—Daisy was the clear-cut suspect. A suspect I'd include on the list even though I really didn't think she had it in her to kill a man. I didn't agree to work on this for her, but I could try to clear her name as I helped Karen.

My first task was to find out what
Gary
did in the wee hours of the morning after he left home. I'd start by talking with Nathan Jacobs to see if
Gary
had arrived at work. With luck, Nathan would provide information to give me a clear direction to proceed.

On the internet, I located the phone number for Pacific Pickles. I bookmarked the page in case I wanted to look at it again and dialed. A perky receptionist agreed to connect me with Nathan. As I waited on hold, I hummed along with the elevator version of Barry Manilow's
It's a Miracle,
thinking a miracle was just what I needed right now.

"Nathan Jacobs," the deep, very professional voice split through Barry's a true blue spectacle line.

Somehow, I didn't think Mr. Jacobs was a true blue spectacle. In fact, I was hoping for a rather normal, run of the mill pickle factory manager. A talkative one. "Hi, Mr. Jacobs. My name is Paige Turner. I'm a friend of Gary and Karen Buzzy."

He drew in an audible breath and exhaled slowly. "Terrible news about Buzzy. We're all still reeling from it. How's Karen doing?"

Could he have played into my needs any better? "Actually, that's why I'm calling. She asked me to help find out why
Gary
was at the ball field this morning instead of work. The police will investigate, of course, but I think she feels less vulnerable by asking me to help. I was wondering if you might have seen
Gary
this morning."