Killer Classics Read online

  “The manager seems to think Dean has been dating Maddie for the past month.”

  I didn’t want to believe it. Dean had a reputation for being a player. It had destroyed his first two marriages. His third with Maddie however, had been what Dean called a turning point in his life. He had married Maddie and stayed faithful, working hard to create a family with his young wife and child. That time, however, Maddie had strayed at the first chance she had to make it rich with a wealthy man, and Dean and Maddie’s marriage had fallen apart. The two had divorced when their son was barely a year old and had shared custody of Scotty since. But when Dean started dating Sugar, it had been Dean and Sugar who took care of Scotty ninety percent of the time while Maddie had been in search of one prince after another to ride into town on his white horse and saddle made of gold to rescue her from small-town living. She never found the prince she was looking for. She could have recognized that Dean was a better catch than she first thought. He had always been a hard worker and had a successful auto shop. Macalister’s Auto Shop was the only one in the county that people used and recommended. He’d built himself a reputation of being a reliable mechanic, if not a husband. Until Sugar. He and Sugar seemed to be the perfect couple, despite their nearly twenty-year age gap.

  I didn’t want to believe that Dean had been pulling the wool over Sugar’s eyes, and everyone else’s at the same time. It just didn’t fit the man who had a heart bigger than Texas when it came to giving to the community.

  “Do you believe that?” I asked Scarlet.

  She didn’t hesitate. “No. I think that’s what Maddie wanted her to think.”

  “Why? Why would Maddie want someone to believe she was back with Dean?”

  “Only Maddie can answer that question and…”

  And she was dead. But there was someone else we could talk to. It would be awkward, and we’d have to handle it delicately. “I think we need to go talk to Maddie’s mama,” I said.

  Scarlet winced. “Do you think we should? It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since she found out she lost her daughter.”

  “It’s time the Mystery Moms pay their respects to the family of our latest member.”

  Chapter 9

  It was two o’clock by the time we drove north on Main Street and headed toward Oak Grove in Scarlet’s little white Isetta two-seater. Maddie’s mom lived on FM 103 in a rundown ranch on forty acres. Greta Geer had never married, and the house and property had been handed down by her parents. It had been her saving grace since Greta had never held a job in her life. She did have goats, though, which appeared to be her major source of income.

  Scarlet pulled into the driveway that was at least two hundred yards long and blocked by a gate. “Do you think it’s electric?” I asked.

  “There’s no solar panel, so I don’t think so. You’ll have to get out and see if you can open it.”

  I looked at the goats wandering around at the entrance. “I’m not good with farm animals.”

  “You have a pet armadillo.”

  “And she didn’t like me when I first came to town. She tried to frame me for murder.”

  “Princess wouldn’t do that.” I didn’t think Scarlet was giving Princess enough credit. She didn’t see her knock Reba Sue over and expose her granny panties. Nor did she see her bring that skunk right up to Liza Twaine like she knew exactly how Liza would react. She could be diabolical.

  Which made me love her even more. She got to do all the things I couldn’t, and she got away with it.

  “I didn’t think Charli Rae Warren was afraid of anything.”

  “Now you’re just playing me.”

  Scarlet grinned, and I got out of the car. She was right about the gate, not so much me. The gate was latched and had a heavy chain wrapped around it several times that I assumed was there to keep the goats in. I eyed the one closest to the gate.

  It bleated in my direction and caused three more goats with large horns on their heads to walk toward me.

  Fuzz buckets.

  I glanced back at Scarlet and she shooed me forward. Her grin had grown. I took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. Goats stink almost as bad as skunks. I pushed the gate open and more goats started bleating. Across the field, I could see several begin to run in my direction, and I waved Scarlet through. She crept at the speed of a five-year-old riding a bicycle without training wheels for the first time.

  Something tugged my T-shirt, and I looked down and found a goat chewing on my clothes. I yanked my shirt out of its mouth, but I was too late. A piece of pink material disappeared between smacking lips, and I watched as it gnawed on it like a little kid chewing bubble gum. I wouldn’t be surprised if it blew a bubble and popped it in my face. It had a superior look in its eyes like it’d gotten one over on me. I glance down at my shirt and found a hole the size of the palm of my hand in the middle just below the advertisement, Killer Classics at the Book Barn Princess. In a matter of seconds, my shirt had been transformed into a rag.

  Scarlet made it through the gate, and I closed it and wrapped the chain around the posts. Then I ran for the car and got inside before another goat decided my clothing looked like a meal.

  “You should probably put my sweater on,” Scarlet said.

  “Why, because I don’t want Mrs. Greer to know that her goats attacked me?”

  “No, because I just realized your shirt is entirely inappropriate.”

  I looked down at the wording. “Oh yeah, you’re right.”

  I pulled on Scarlet’s fuzzy sweater that she kept in the car for when she opened the top late at night. During the heat of the day, the temperature was miserable, and I really hoped Mrs. Greer had air-conditioning. Scarlet drove up the driveway with a herd of goats following the car.

  “They don’t eat meat, do they?” I asked.

  “They will try anything, even things that aren’t good for them. They like to shop around.”

  “So that stupid goat just decided hey, I want that shirt?”

  “Chances are it said I wonder what shirt tastes like; it looks like a patch of flowers. I’m sure it spit it out after you ran away.”

  “I didn’t run away. I ran to the car because we’re in a hurry.”

  “Un-huh.”

  By the time we reached the house the entire herd was following her car like it was a feed truck. Scarlet parked, and we approached the house together. Safety in numbers as far as I was concerned.

  It was a traditional ranch with a few bushes around it that had been picked clean of leaves. The red brick on the front of the house had numerous white arcs from the sprinklers hitting it and mineral deposits changing the color of the brick from red to white. It almost looked like someone had painted rows of leaping white rainbows across the lower portion of the side of the house. It wasn’t like Greta was watering the flowerbeds, I knew from experience the sprinklers were there to water the foundation and keep it from cracking in the dry Texas heat.

  White square columns supported the porch that ran the length of the house. There were two white rockers separated by an antique painted milk can in front of a bay window that gave the mid-fifties home a cozy appearance. I could picture an older couple enjoying the sunsets together as they talked about their day. It made for a very peaceful setting.

  Provided the goats didn’t run up to gnaw the clothes off their bodies.

  I knocked on the front door. A dog barked from within, and we waited for Greta to answer the door. We heard her yell at the dog to be quiet, and then the deadbolt tumbled on the front door. The dog barked at us from behind the glass storm door.

  “Hush!” she told the scraggly white mop of a dog.

  Dressed in navy-blue, polyester pants and a wrinkled floral blouse, Greta showed every one of her sixty-some years. Perhaps even more. She had been a pretty woman once. Her unruly curls of platinum blond didn’t look like they’d
had a professional set in a long time. Her skin appeared jaundiced, and her light gray eyes were glassy and bloodshot, a telltale sign of a serious drinking problem. Greta opened the door and had to hold her little dog back with her foot as the odor of alcohol made its way out onto the porch. “Can I help you?” she asked in a surprisingly sober voice.

  Scarlet introduced us and offered the pot of flowers we’d stopped to pick up along the way. “We’re from the Mystery Moms, a book club at the Book Barn Princess that Maddie had just joined.”

  Greta blinked. “I didn’t know Maddie liked to read.” Her brows drew together as if she was trying to remember Maddie’s love of reading or if she’d ever seen Maddie hold a book in her hands. I was pretty sure she hadn’t.

  “To be honest Mrs. Greer,” I said, “this week was Maddie’s first meeting, but we felt the need to offer you our condolences.”

  Greta took the plant and smelled the hydrangeas then said, “Thank you.” Her eyes were surprisingly dry for a woman who had just lost her only daughter. Then she set the flowers down on the porch.

  They wouldn’t last two minutes with her herd of goats.

  “Maddie was a mystery to me. We never really connected. It’s kind of ironic that she would be a mystery to her mom and join a group called the Mystery Moms.” She stood back, picked up her dog who growled in my direction, and motioned for us to come in.

  I was more than happy to go inside since the goats had made their way to the front flowerbed and were circling around like vultures after carrion. They were even pushing at each other and knocking their heads together. I wasn’t going to let them get Scarlet’s sweater. The front entry, which consisted of a three-foot block of tile at the front door, expanded out into brown shag carpeting of the living room. Scarlet’s nose scrunched as she recognized the effects of a several pack a day smoker.

  Her sweater was doomed no matter what I did.

  The living room furniture was old with a yellow tint to the light tan upholstery from the amount of tar in the air. The coffee table was full of mail and magazines, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were too contaminated for Dallas Dover to take at his recycling facility. They would be if it was my business.

  From the looks of it, Greta liked magazines about home improvement and raising goats. I’d never realized there were so many magazines about goats. Apparently, we needed to increase the amount of goat magazines we kept in stock at the Book Barn.

  Scarlet and I sat on the couch while Greta took a seat in a wingback chair and put her feet on the ottoman. She took a drink from the tumbler sitting on the table that looked suspiciously like whiskey on the rocks, and not sweet tea. I suspected the living room may be the only clean room in the house—just to keep up appearances.

  “I appreciate you coming by. I’m not sure what to think about the whole thing. Part of me thinks she’s better off; the other part of me thinks she was too young to die.”

  I wondered what kind of mom would actually verbalize those horrible thoughts.

  “Have the police said how she died?” Scarlet asked. I couldn’t believe she got straight to the point.

  “She died quickly. Someone shot her and threw her body into the water tank.” Greta shook her head. “Why would anyone do that? Why wouldn’t they just leave her be on the roof?”

  That explained the search for Sugar’s gun. The queasiness I’d experienced while sitting on her kitchen floor debating whether or not to steal it returned. Maddie hadn’t accidentally locked herself in the tank and drowned. She’d been shot, and if Mateo found Sugar’s gun…

  I should have walked in that house, unlocked the safe and taken the gun.

  “There’s no telling what was in the killer’s mind. When was the last time you saw Maddie?” Scarlet asked.

  “She hadn’t been home in almost a week.”

  We waited for Greta to continue. The ice in her drink tinkled against the glass as she took another sip. “I still can’t believe Dean killed her. Every time I saw him he treated her with respect. What would make a man change like that?”

  I didn’t have an answer for Greta because I didn’t think Dean killed Maddie any more than Sugar did. I tried to refocus Greta’s attention on something that would help us find the real killer. “Who was Maddie seeing?”

  Greta shook her head and petted the little dog now nestled on her lap. “I have no idea. Maddie always kept that information to herself. But her manager at the hotel seems to believe she was seeing Dean. What’s to become of Scotty?”

  “Where is Scotty?” I asked.

  “Tiny wanted to bring him home, but I couldn’t take care of him while Tiny was looking for a job. Even I know that. Dean’s done a good job raising the boy without Maddie up until now…” Greta took another drink of whiskey and relit a cigarette that had burned halfway down in her ashtray. As an afterthought, she offered one to us. Scarlet and I politely declined.

  “You make it sound like Maddie didn’t have much to do with Scotty.” I waited for Greta to defend Maddie. She did the opposite.

  “That girl hasn’t had anything to do with her son since he was six months old and she walked out on Dean.”

  “Didn’t they share custody?” asked Scarlet.

  Greta shook her head. “Legally, yes. In reality, no. But I think Dean and his girlfriend were trying to change that. They seemed like they were trying to help Maddie become a better parent the past couple months.” She shook her head. “You never know about people.”

  “Will Scotty be put in foster care?”

  Greta looked up at me like I’d slapped her in the face. “We would never let him go there. Dean’s parents have him for now.”

  Scarlet turned the conversation back to Maddie’s brother. “I thought Tiny had a job,” she said.

  “He did. He was working at the recycling plant, but he got laid off last week. Not enough recycling business.” The cigarette burned down between Greta’s fingers, and she didn’t flinch. The red embers were growing, and I could have sworn I smelled burning flesh.

  I looked at Scarlet. Her eyes were nearly bugging out of her head.

  “Ah, Greta, your cigarette…”

  Greta’s dog jumped up and started barking at her cigarette.

  Greta lifted her hand and looked at the cigarette burning into her. As if it didn’t bother her in the least. She petted her dog with her free hand and flicked the tip of the cigarette off into the ashtray before stubbing it out. Then she rested her arm across the arm of the chair and didn’t look at the blackened skin between her fingers again. I was pretty sure I was feeling the effects of that burn more than she was.

  We left the house after Greta received a call from Tiny. He was the last person I wanted to run into. As we exited the front door, we saw what was left of our gift. The flower pot was knocked over, and dirt was scattered across the porch. I didn’t see a flower in sight. Scarlet began talking to the goats like they were precious puppies, which only seemed to encourage their attention as we fought our way to the car.

  I shooed one away that wanted to taste Scarlet’s sweater. “They are not pets,” I told her. “Stop encouraging them.”

  “Sure, they are. They’re no different than Princess.”

  “Princess doesn’t eat my clothes.”

  “No, Princess eats your books.”

  She had me there. Princess liked to eat some of the older books that came into the store. We’d never figured out why she chose some, and not others, but the ones she did decide to snack on and tear up, we used for our book art classes.

  “Should we call someone about her hand?” I asked.

  “I think her dog is the best caregiver she could ask for.”

  We got in the car, and I had to push one persistent goat back by his head. I kept waiting for it to bite me, but it never did. The door closed, and they immediately got out of the way of the car as Scarl
et backed out of the driveway and onto the gravel drive. When she stopped at the gate for me to open it, I was more than willing to let her have the honors.

  “If you’d like for me to drive, I can.”

  Scarlet laughed. “You’re afraid of being alone with a few goats.”

  “I’m not afraid. I just can’t read them.”

  “That’s the same thing.”

  I refused to argue such a trivial point. “Fine. I’ll get the gate.” I took off her sweater and got out of the car. The goats were immediately on me. Nudging my hands and nibbling at my shoelaces. I should have worn my boots.

  I opened the gate, and Scarlet drove through. I said goodbye to the goats, and one moaned. It stuck out its nasty black tongue and made this horrible belching sound as I got in the car.

  “Remind me to never eat hydrangeas.”

  Chapter 10

  The bookstore was dead. It was Saturday night, and I was wasting away with nothing to do. Our used book stock was incredibly low, and normally on weekends we’d get an influx of people wanting to sell their books. Not this weekend though. My reputation for being a book burner was hurting the store’s profits, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I picked up my copy of Woman Scorned and began reading it. I wanted to have it finished before our next meeting, and I wanted find the part that Scarlet had said was too close to real life for comfort.

  I wasn’t sure how more uncomfortable things could get than having an author predict how one of our residents would be killed, until I read the excerpt about my mama’s sign cracking the killer on the head. Another fact just too close for comfort. In the book, Sugar or Candy, ran out of the town tavern in pursuit of her cheating boyfriend. The bar’s sign fell and hit her on the head. The concussion she suffered then changed her personality and Candy became maniacal—devious in ways Sugar could never be.

  The problem with the scene was the lore behind the sign. The sign in the book didn’t protect its patrons the way some say the sign leading to my apartment protected me. The wrought iron sign swinging above the alleyway to my apartment had my mom’s name on it. Eve’s Gate was said to be a guardian angel watching over me.