bothered I was by what she’d told me. I imagined a shadowy figure creeping outside my cottage and carrying a shovel. Premeditated murder for sure. I mean, no one carries a shovel around in the middle of the night. I took heart in the fact that my imaginary figure was walking normally and not hobbling on crutches. Aunt Rowe was absolutely
not
involved. Even so, I didn’t want to discuss Bobby Joe with Daisy and have my comments come up in her conversations with customers.
I picked up my cup and took a long swallow. “So who killed Vicki Palmer?”
Daisy shrugged. ”From what I recall, they never solved the case.”
“Really? I’d expect the sheriff, whoever it was at the time, would have worked day and night on that one, local girl and all. Did they have any suspects?”
“I’m not sure. Deputies came out to the school. Talked to Vicki’s friends. That’s all I remember. I was thirteen or so at the time.” She glanced toward the kitchen and said, “Better get back to work.”
“Let me ask you one more thing real quick. Have you ever heard some crazy legend about a black cat in town that brings bad luck?”
“One cat?” Daisy laughed. “There’s more like two dozen cats hanging around our back door every night lookin’ for handouts.”
“Two dozen, seriously?” I said.
She nodded. “Come back after dark if you don’t believe me. There must be a kitty billboard somewhere, says ‘C’mon over to McKetta’s for leftover meat.’ Why are you askin’ about a black cat?”
“A couple people have mentioned this town legend to me lately.” I pushed my chair back.
“I don’t have time to fool with that kind of nonsense,” Daisy said.
But plenty of time to gossip about murders.
I didn’t say what I was thinking, though, and told Daisy good-bye after turning down a to-go box for the rest of my sandwich. The thought of food no longer appealed, and I wasn’t going straight home where I could refrigerate the leftovers.
As I made my way back to the bookstore, I hoped Daisy was wrong about Bobby Joe’s death making the Internet news. Aunt Rowe’s rental cottage business would probably suffer if it did—either that or business would pick up because of the types who like to visit tragic scenes.
With all traces of cloud cover gone, the early afternoon sun beat down on me. I was looking forward to stepping into the bookstore’s cool interior when I spotted Tyanne across the oleander hedge from her place. She disappeared into the Taste of Texas Wines shop.
I was glad to see she wasn’t still tied up with the church ladies and decided to follow her. Perhaps the shop would be a better place for us to chat for a minute, with no bookstore customers waiting in the wings.
The bell over the door sounded like crystal wind chimes. I stepped inside to a cool and serene atmosphere with classical piano music playing at low volume. Shelves lined with wine bottles took up the left side of the space. A corner cabinet held a selection of gifts—fancy napkins, corkscrews, liqueur-centered chocolates, wine-bottle stoppers. Tyanne stood by a bar, nearly shoulder high to her, made of burled walnut. No one else was in sight.
“Hey,” I said.
She turned and smiled. “Great, you’re back. Boy, do I have big news for you.”
A crashing that sounded like breaking glassware came from the back, followed by a woman’s voice. “Oh, dear, now look what you made me do.”
“Go ahead, blame me,” a man responded. “I’m used to it.”
Tyanne looked at me and whispered, “I haven’t seen a man in here before, and that doesn’t sound like Claire.”
I shrugged and said, “What’s your big news?”
Tyanne held up an index finger, her head cocked as she listened to the people in the other room.
The woman said, “Leo, please, I know you’re upset, but why don’t you go on back? I can handle the store by myself.”
“For how long?” The man spoke in a loud voice like a person who’s hard of hearing and
not
involved. Even so, I didn’t want to discuss Bobby Joe with Daisy and have my comments come up in her conversations with customers.
I picked up my cup and took a long swallow. “So who killed Vicki Palmer?”
Daisy shrugged. ”From what I recall, they never solved the case.”
“Really? I’d expect the sheriff, whoever it was at the time, would have worked day and night on that one, local girl and all. Did they have any suspects?”
“I’m not sure. Deputies came out to the school. Talked to Vicki’s friends. That’s all I remember. I was thirteen or so at the time.” She glanced toward the kitchen and said, “Better get back to work.”
“Let me ask you one more thing real quick. Have you ever heard some crazy legend about a black cat in town that brings bad luck?”
“One cat?” Daisy laughed. “There’s more like two dozen cats hanging around our back door every night lookin’ for handouts.”
“Two dozen, seriously?” I said.
She nodded. “Come back after dark if you don’t believe me. There must be a kitty billboard somewhere, says ‘C’mon over to McKetta’s for leftover meat.’ Why are you askin’ about a black cat?”
“A couple people have mentioned this town legend to me lately.” I pushed my chair back.
“I don’t have time to fool with that kind of nonsense,” Daisy said.
But plenty of time to gossip about murders.
I didn’t say what I was thinking, though, and told Daisy good-bye after turning down a to-go box for the rest of my sandwich. The thought of food no longer appealed, and I wasn’t going straight home where I could refrigerate the leftovers.
As I made my way back to the bookstore, I hoped Daisy was wrong about Bobby Joe’s death making the Internet news. Aunt Rowe’s rental cottage business would probably suffer if it did—either that or business would pick up because of the types who like to visit tragic scenes.
With all traces of cloud cover gone, the early afternoon sun beat down on me. I was looking forward to stepping into the bookstore’s cool interior when I spotted Tyanne across the oleander hedge from her place. She disappeared into the Taste of Texas Wines shop.
I was glad to see she wasn’t still tied up with the church ladies and decided to follow her. Perhaps the shop would be a better place for us to chat for a minute, with no bookstore customers waiting in the wings.
The bell over the door sounded like crystal wind chimes. I stepped inside to a cool and serene atmosphere with classical piano music playing at low volume. Shelves lined with wine bottles took up the left side of the space. A corner cabinet held a selection of gifts—fancy napkins, corkscrews, liqueur-centered chocolates, wine-bottle stoppers. Tyanne stood by a bar, nearly shoulder high to her, made of burled walnut. No one else was in sight.
“Hey,” I said.
She turned and smiled. “Great, you’re back. Boy, do I have big news for you.”
A crashing that sounded like breaking glassware came from the back, followed by a woman’s voice. “Oh, dear, now look what you made me do.”
“Go ahead, blame me,” a man responded. “I’m used to it.”
Tyanne looked at me and whispered, “I haven’t seen a man in here before, and that doesn’t sound like Claire.”
I shrugged and said, “What’s your big news?”
Tyanne held up an index finger, her head cocked as she listened to the people in the other room.
The woman said, “Leo, please, I know you’re upset, but why don’t you go on back? I can handle the store by myself.”
“For how long?” The man spoke in a loud voice like a person who’s hard of hearing and
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