Mistletoe Murder (Dewberry Farm Mysteries Book 4) Page 7

  "Maybe some bath oils, too," Flora suggested. "My skin always gets so dry in the winter."

  "You're a natural marketer," I told her. "You'll have to come help me experiment sometime."

  "Really?" she asked.

  "Really," I said. "I've been thinking of putting up an online store for my soaps; it would be great to add some of these other products, too."

  She took another whiff of the soap. "I'd love to help. I'm afraid I don't have very many good ideas, though."

  "Are you kidding me, Flora? You just suggested a whole new product line!"

  She beamed. "I'd love to help, Lucy."

  "Let's get started after Christmas," I said. I'd put a lot of projects on hold—including my own future guesthouse, which needed serious renovation—until after the holidays. There would be a brief respite before calving and kidding started in February, and I hoped to get the website designed and a good bit of the guesthouse done. Ideally, I'd have it open and for rent in time for spring bluebonnet season, but I'd just have to take it as it came.

  The Buttercup Middle School Choir knocked it out of the park with a medley of traditional carols mixed with fun modern holiday favorites like "Jingle Bell Rock," and the shoppers were in a spending mood. By the time the Market wrapped up, I had sold at least forty bars of soap, and most shoppers had expressed interest in the idea of a line of complementary bath products.

  As the Market wound down, Flora was increasingly edgy, and I saw her cast more than one nervous glance across to Gus. When we closed up shop, I told her to go ahead. "I'll take care of it," I said. "There's not that much left to pack up anyway."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure," I said as she whipped out a cracked compact and reapplied the lipstick Opal had given her earlier. "Go relax and have fun," I advised her. "And one step at a time."

  "Thanks, Lucy." No sooner had she spoken than Gus appeared, wearing what looked like his best button-down shirt and jeans that had been ironed into creases. Flora wasn't the only anxious one, I was guessing as I watched him run a meaty finger under his collar.

  "I wrapped up a few minutes early," he told her, "so I'm ready to go whenever you are."

  "Have fun!" I told them. Flora hesitated, then smiled tentatively.

  "Okay," she said, and I watched as they walked toward the Hitching Post together. When they started, you could have driven a tractor between them and not touched them. By the time they got to the corner, though, the distance had decreased to horse-width. I took it as a good sign.

  8

  Tobias dropped by the stall as I was loading the rest of my stock onto the back of my truck. "How'd you do?" he asked.

  "Not too bad; I think I'll be able to pay the mortgage this month," I answered. "I've got tamales from Rosita's; want to come over and share them with me?"

  "I'd love that," he said. "Need help packing up?"

  "I've only got that box of soaps and I'm done," I said, pointing to the small wooden box on the table. As he picked it up, I noticed the mayor coming out of the courthouse door. I hadn't heard any more about the courthouse discovery... but I wanted to let her know what I'd seen the night before.

  "Mayor Niederberger!" I called. She caught my eye and waved. "Can you keep an eye on the stall for me?" I asked Tobias. "I want to touch base with her."

  "Happy to," he offered, and I hurried over to greet the mayor.

  "How are things at the farm?" the mayor asked as I approached her.

  "Fine for now," I said. "Of course, that could all change tomorrow, but I can't complain. Any more news on the bones, or on the paintings you found?"

  "Nothing on the bones, but making progress on the paintings. An appraiser in Houston came out to look at them. I won't lie; they could be worth a bundle. Enough to pay for the renovations... but we'll have to decide if we keep them or sell them."

  "Whose are they?"

  "That's the question," she said. "Nobody knows. I've got the police seein' if they can figure out who might have stashed them. We're lookin' to see if there might be more hidden in the building somewhere, but so far we haven't found any. I’ll show you where we found them, if you want to see."

  "Sure," I said, following her to the door of the courthouse.

  She pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked it, then opened the door and shone a flashlight inside the dusty, wrecked interior. On the outside, the courthouse was all white paint and Christmas lights, but the inside wasn't much more than a shell of weathered lumber and rotten floorboards. An electric drill and a few saws lay around, along with other construction—or, in this case, destruction—debris. A whiff of candied nuts eddied through the open door, but it wasn't enough to dispel the smell of age and must.

  "Where were the paintings?" I asked as she flashed her light around.

  "Someone walled them up over there," the mayor said, pointing to a square made of studs. "There was a loose panel, it looked like. Someone hid them; if they were going to come back for them, they never did."

  "This place used to operate as a jail, didn't it?" I asked.

  "It did," she said. "Folks say it's haunted, but I never saw anything. I think it's just because it's run-down and old." She pointed up to the framed ceiling. A few boards lay across it, and the remnants of a staircase squatted in the middle of the first floor. "The cells were up there. You can still see some of the metal cages. It must have been miserable in the summer, with the heat."

  "I'll bet," I said as the light glinted on a bit of metal. From what I could see, they looked like two oversize rabbit hutches. "They certainly must have been a disincentive to crime."

  "You'd think," she said, "But there was a lot of cattle rustlin' back then. We had a few famous prisoners here in Buttercup."

  "Who?"

  "One was supposedly a train robber," she said. "He stayed in one of the cells for two days, but he escaped before he could go to trial."

  "I didn't know we had a famous train robber in town," I said.

  "Briefly," she said. "He was killed a week later in Dallas. Turned out he would have been better off staying put."

  "That still doesn't explain the paintings, though, does it?"

  "No," she said. "It's a mystery. I keep hoping the sheriff’ll turn up something, but that’s probably a pipe dream. We'll see what the appraiser says." She walked over to the back door and tried the knob; the door swung open. "I locked this last time I was here," she said. "What the heck?"

  "Maybe it's the ghost of the train robber," I suggested jokingly. "Doesn't like being cooped up."

  Together, we picked our way back to the front door. "You should come take a look at the paintings; I have them in my office for now, but we're going to have to figure out what to do with them."

  "I guess if they're worth something, they'll need to be insured."

  "We'll take that as it comes," she said. "In the meantime, I've got other fish to fry. Like our sheriff. Wounded in the line of duty, he tried to tell me. Wounded in the act of drinking one too many Lone Stars in the deer blind, if you ask me. I feel bad for the man, but you can see why Lacey filed."

  "I'm more worried about Isabella Stone," I said. "I've been asking around, and it sounds like Randy Stone had something of a reputation around town."

  "I'd heard that, too," she said. "I might put a bug in Deputy Shames's ear, see if she might want to look in to that a bit more. Just between you and me," she added in a low voice, "our sheriff isn't the sharpest blade in the drawer on the best of days. And now, with Lacey filin' for divorce and him shootin' himself in the foot..."

  "I understand," I told her. I was about to mention Rhonda to her, but something held me back. I was pretty sure Rhonda was currently bunking at the Stones' ranch. Besides, I wanted to go check out Shear Perfection before raising the alarm. If Rhonda didn't show up for work, I decided, I'd get in touch with the deputy.

  "Stop on by whenever you like," the mayor offered again. "They're pretty paintings."

  "Thanks," I said. "And thanks for ta
lking to Deputy Shames."

  "My pleasure," she said. "I just hope we get all this unpleasantness cleared up. Not the best way to go into the holiday season."

  I wasn't sure it was possible to clear up the unpleasantness—after all, Randy Stone was dead—but I knew I'd sleep better knowing the wrong person wasn't in jail for the crime.

  "These are fabulous," Tobias said as he took his first bite of tamale at my kitchen table forty minutes later. After I'd finished packing up, he'd followed me back to my place, and together we'd steamed the tamales Mandy had given me.

  "They are," I said. "She promised to give me the recipe, but I think I'd rather pick them up from Rosita's. They're pretty time-consuming, and I'm not what you'd call a gifted corn-husk wrapper."

  "You have other gifts." Tobias paused to take another bite, then added, "And speaking of your other gifts, what's for dessert?"

  "I thought I'd toss a pudding cake in the oven," I said. "It only takes a few minutes to whip up, and they're best warm."

  "I'm happy to be your sous chef," he volunteered, and took another bite of tamale. "Another couple of years of eating like this, and I'm going to be a natural for Santa." He patted his flat stomach, and I rolled my eyes.

  "I'll just put you to work doing chores," I reassured him. "That'll burn off any excess."

  "No, thank you," he said. "I've got enough on my plate as it is." He speared another piece of tamale and dipped it in salsa. "All that talk of the courthouse got me thinking, by the way; where are you on renovations of the little house?" I'd shared what the mayor had told me while the tamales were steaming.

  "I've got a few contractors lined up. The German Club made a donation to help, and I have a little bit of reserve left from those gold coins we found," I said, "but I'm not sure it'll be enough."

  "Renting it out in the spring and fall should pay for it pretty quickly, though, don't you think?"

  "That's the hope," I said. "Maybe you can go over the plans with me sometime." I'd sketched out what I wanted for the contractor a few weeks ago: a bathroom downstairs, under the stairs, a living area on the left side and a kitchen on the right, and the upstairs loft partitioned into two bedrooms. The estimate had been disturbingly high, and I was still trying to figure out where to cut back. When it was finished, the house wouldn't be huge, but it would be cozy. I was hoping we could restore the wood floors, but if they were too far gone, I'd slap a coat of paint on them.

  "Are you keeping that blue stencil on the downstairs walls?"

  "Of course," I said. "The big expenses are going to be the kitchen, the bathroom, and the HVAC system. And bracing the building so it doesn't collapse in the next tropical depression."

  "Not to mention patching the holes in the roof," Tobias added.

  I groaned. Right now, I had a variety of pots and pans scattered around to catch drips. I sometimes wondered if I'd made the right decision, letting myself get talked into moving the old homestead to the farm. This was one of them.

  Tobias must have seen the dismay on my face; he reached out and touched my hand. "You don't have to do it all at once," he said. "And it doesn't have to be House Beautiful. There's charm in 'just enough.'"

  "Thanks," I said. "I just hope 'just enough' isn't 'way over my budget.'"

  "What is it they say about old houses and money?"

  "Whatever it is, don't tell me. I own two of them. And my water heater's going south, too."

  "Maybe we should start on that pudding cake," he suggested. "And maybe a beer or two."

  "I like how you think," I said as he got up and grabbed two Shiner Christmas ales out of the fridge. He took the tops off and handed one to me.

  "Now," he said after I'd taken a swig. "Let's talk about more cheerful things."

  "Like Randy Stone?" I suggested. "Or Rhonda Gehring?"

  "You really think you saw her today, don't you?"

  "I do," I told him. "I just can't figure out why Jenna would be harboring her."

  "I hope she is," Tobias said. "I hate to think of anything happening to her."

  "I'm going to the hair salon where she works tomorrow," I told him. "If she didn't show up for work, I'm going to file a missing persons report."

  "Has anyone heard from her husband?"

  "Keith? I didn't see him at the Market tonight. Opal told me she left a message for him, but she hasn't heard back. Which worries me."

  "You think he might have done something to Rhonda?"

  "I hope not," I said. And I hoped I was right about what I'd seen at the Stones' ranch that afternoon.

  "I guess you'll know more tomorrow," he said. "Now, tell me more about this pudding cake of yours."

  "Let me just finish this tamale, and I'll show you!"

  We had the cake in the oven fifteen minutes later. I nibbled on the remains of a tamale, savoring the spicy, hearty combination of masa and beef freshened by tomatillo salsa laced with fresh onion and cilantro, and then slipped Chuck a piece while Tobias wasn't looking. "Don't tell," I whispered to him, and petted him on the head. He rewarded me with a few licks, then went and stood by his food bowl. "Subtle," I told him.

  "How's he doing on the Light and Lean?" Tobias asked as I opened the oven and checked on the cake.

  "He doesn't love it," I confessed.

  "But you're not giving him extra treats, right? Other than carrots?"

  "Well, occasionally," I admitted. "He's not a big fan of carrots."

  "Try celery, then. Or cucumber."

  Chuck gave me a look that made me wonder how much he really understood, and I nodded and promised to up Chuck's vegetable consumption. Or try to.

  At least I didn't give him any cake.

  Tobias stayed until eleven, and I was half-hoping he might spend the night again, but he deferred. "I've got to check in on one of the cases at the clinic, and I've got a seven a.m. appointment," he told me as he kissed me good night. "We'll do it soon, though."

  As I watched his truck head down the driveway, I wondered about things. I'd sensed some hesitation, some drawing back. Had we pushed things too fast? We still hadn't discussed our Christmas plans, either. My parents were going to Italy for Christmas, so I was planning on tucking in at home. Molly had invited me, but I'd been hoping to spend the time with Tobias; the topic hadn't come up yet.

  I'd bring it up tomorrow, I decided. Why were relationships so challenging? I thought of Isabella and Rhonda and Keith and Randy Stone, and the tangled mess they had made. My thoughts turned to Flora, and her jitters over her first date. Had it gone well? I wondered. Or would her heart be broken a second time?

  Life was full of challenges, I told myself as I turned and went back inside. And on the plus side, at least we weren't stabbing each other in the back with kitchen knives.

  9

  Shear Perfection was a small store in a strip mall not far from the H-E-B grocery store in La Grange. I walked past ads for Brazilian blowouts and highlights and opened the glass door, letting out the small of chemicals and floral shampoo. I scanned the eight chairs lining the walls. Three of them were occupied, but there was no sign of Rhonda.

  The young man at the front desk smiled at me. "Can I help you?"

  "I'm looking for Rhonda Gehring," I told him. "I was hoping she could fit me in."

  "Rhonda's not working today," he said.

  "Oh, that's too bad," I said. "The shop owner told me she'd be here today. Is she sick?"

  "She requested some personal time, I believe," he said. "Is there someone else who can help you?"

  "I was really hoping to have Rhonda take care of me," I said. "Any idea when she'll be back?"

  "Let me get the manager," he said, and headed to the back.

  As he disappeared, one of the stylists, a thirty-ish woman with vivid red hair that was most likely not the color she was born with, excused herself and walked over to me. "Just between you and me, I'm not sure she's coming back. I'd be happy to help you out."

  "Thanks," I said. "What's your name?"

 
"Sadie," she told me.

  "I'm Lucy," I told her. "Did you talk with Rhonda?"

  She nodded. "Something's going on... she's leaving town for a while. Wanted to keep it quiet, but I don't know why."

  "I'm actually worried whether she's okay," I confided. "Did she tell you where she was going?"

  "No," she said. "Just that there was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. She wasn't allowed to tell me details, though."

  That didn't sound good.

  I looked up; the young man was emerging from the back with a woman in tow. I fished in my pocket for a card and gave it to her. "Please give me a call if you hear anything. I'm worried about her."

  She looked at it. "Dewberry Farm? My boyfriend got some of your jam at the Buttercup market this summer; it was amazing!"

  "Really?" Thanks!" As I spoke, the manager came up to me with a bright smile. "I hear you were looking for Rhonda?"

  "I was," I said. "I was hoping she'd be able to clean up this mop," I said, tousling my hair. It was getting a bit overgrown.

  "I've got an appointment free in ten minutes," Sadie offered.

  "You know what? I'll take you up on that," I said. I could use a haircut... and I had a feeling Sadie might be able to help me out a bit more than she already had.

  "I'll be with you in a few, then," she said with a smile.

  I sat down in the little waiting area and browsed through magazines filled with impossibly perfect women, and recalled why I hadn't put in a TV at my house; I somehow felt better about myself when I wasn't surrounded by images of airbrushed models. I was looking at a Real Simple magazine, which was suggesting buying organizers to organize your excess stuff, when Sadie called me back.

  "What are we doing today?" she asked, fluffing my hair when I sat in the chair.