Black and Blueberry Die (A Fresh-Baked Mystery Book 11) Page 13

  “Or maybe wherever Brian lives,” Sam said. “To tell you the truth, I never did any sneakin’ around like that, so I don’t really know how it works.”

  “Neither did I,” Phyllis said.

  Carolyn turned her head and gave Eve a long, speculative look.

  “What are you looking at me for?” Eve demanded. “I never played around with a married man!”

  “Really?” Carolyn said.

  “Yes, really! Why do you think I got married so many times? If they wanted it, they had to put a ring on it. I’m no more an expert on adultery than any of the rest of you.”

  “All right,” Phyllis said. “Let’s start with Estelle Prentice, Sam. You remember her.”

  “The lady who keeps her horses in the field across the road from the Jackson place?”

  “That’s right. She said she lives in White Settlement. Let’s see if we can find an address for her.”

  ••●••

  Looking up someone’s address and phone number online was fairly easy if you didn’t mind paying for the service. Phyllis had found in previous cases that the expense was well worth it. Jimmy D’Angelo would usually reimburse her for things like that, but she didn’t even make a note of it this time.

  This was Danny, Mike’s old friend, and her efforts were strictly pro bono. She couldn’t make any money off someone who had sat at her kitchen table eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  There were a number of people named Prentice who lived in White Settlement, but only one with the initials E.F. Phyllis recalled that Estelle had said her husband had passed away, so it was possible the phone was in her name. The fact that it was a landline was another indication that its owner was an older person, since a lot of young people had done away with what they considered an antiquated system.

  “Are you gonna give her a call?” Sam asked when Phyllis had found the name and address on the computer.

  “No, I don’t think so. Maybe we can catch her at home. I’d like to talk to her face to face.”

  “That’ll probably mean droppin’ the story about paintin’ old farm houses.”

  “That’s fine,” Phyllis said. “I think it’s probably time we started dropping some pretenses.”

  She put the address she believed belonged to Estelle Prentice into her phone, then she and Sam set out. White Settlement was on the west side of Fort Worth and had been there since pioneer days, but it had only begun to flourish during the Second World War, when it served as a bedroom community for the nearby Consolidated-Vultee aircraft plant where the B-24 Liberator bomber had been manufactured. The so-called “bomber plant” was still there, although it had gone through numerous name and ownership changes and had turned out many different types of aircraft over the years, but many of the people who worked there still lived in White Settlement. A lot of other businesses had moved in, too, and it was now a bustling suburban city.

  Many of the residential streets still looked the same as they had fifty or sixty years earlier, however, including the one Phyllis and Sam found themselves driving down half an hour after leaving Weatherford. It was lined with frame, one-story houses, most of them appearing to be well cared for behind neat lawns and flower beds.

  “If it weren’t for the cars parked along here, it’d be almost like we were back in 1957,” Sam commented. “In some ways, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  “But in some it would,” Phyllis said. “There have been a lot of advances in society and technology since then.”

  “That’s true. It’s a shame we can’t sorta take the best of both worlds and leave the bad parts behind.”

  Phyllis couldn’t argue with that.

  She pointed out the street number they were looking for. It was painted on a mailbox next to the driveway of a light green house with white metal awnings extending over the windows. Shrubs grew along the front of the house, next to the small front porch. There was an attached one-car garage and a pickup parked in the driveway. Phyllis thought she recognized it from their encounter with Estelle Prentice a few days earlier.

  “This must be it,” she said.

  “And it looks like she’s home,” Sam replied. He parked his pickup at the curb, and they got out.

  Phyllis pushed the doorbell next to the screen door. A moment later the wooden inside door opened and Estelle Prentice looked out. She said, “Can I help—Wait a minute. I recognize the two of you.” She nodded toward Sam. “Especially you, Stretch. What can I do for you? I know you’re not here to make a painting out of my house!”

  “I’m afraid we fibbed a little bit to you the other day, Mrs. Prentice,” Phyllis began.

  “So you are real estate people. I don’t care if you want to buy my property out there on Silver Creek Road. It’s not for sale. The scavengers can come along and fight over it when I’m dead and gone.”

  Sam held up a hand and said, “We’re not realtors, and we’re not lookin’ to buy any property.”

  “We’re investigating Roxanne Jackson’s murder,” Phyllis said.

  Estelle’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You’re detectives? A couple of old geezers like you?”

  Sam grinned and said, “Right on both counts.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s true,” Phyllis said. “We’re working for the attorney handling Danny Jackson’s appeal.”

  “You mean you’re trying to get him off after he killed that poor girl?” Estelle reached for the door as if she intended to slam it.

  “We don’t believe he’s guilty,” Phyllis said quickly. “We’re not just investigators. I’ve known Danny since he was a little boy. He was my son’s best friend in school. Regardless of how the case looks, I know he couldn’t have killed Roxanne.”

  Estelle squinted suspiciously at them for several seconds, then said, “Well, why didn’t you say so to start with? What are you doing here? You got questions for me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, come on in,” Estelle said, still with obvious reluctance. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  She let them into a living room that looked very much like the one in Phyllis’s house, not surprising since they were from the same generation and same general background. Phyllis and Sam sat on a sofa with crocheted doilies draped over the tops of the cushions. Estelle sat in an armchair opposite them, next to a big TV in a heavy wooden cabinet that had to be at least forty years old.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Phyllis had saved and printed out two pictures from Facebook: the one of Danny and Brian when they opened their shop and the yearbook picture of Brian and Roxanne. She took them from her purse and stood up to hand them across to Estelle.

  “Could you look at them and tell us if you’ve ever seen that blond man?”

  Estelle took the pictures and studied them. A couple of minutes went by before she said, “This is the same guy in the yearbook picture and the later picture, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He was Roxanne’s boyfriend in high school?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Danny’s friend now.”

  “They’re business partners,” Phyllis said.

  Estelle looked up. “Does Danny know about this guy and Roxanne?”

  Phyllis shook her head and said, “We don’t think so.” Eventually they were going to have to confirm that with Danny, she told herself. She had hoped to postpone that until they had more answers, just to avoid upsetting Danny unnecessarily, but that might not be possible.

  “You ever see that fella out at the farm house across from your pasture?” Sam asked.

  “Especially if he was with Roxanne when Danny wasn’t around,” Phyllis added.

  “Oh, I get it,” Estelle said. “You think there was some hanky-panky goin’ on.”

  “It’s possible. High school sweethearts getting back together again...” Phyllis’s voice trailed off as Estelle began shaking her head.

&
nbsp; “I hate to disappoint you, but I never saw this guy before in my life.” She poked at one of the pictures with a fingernail, and Phyllis knew she was indicating Brian Flynn. “I can’t say he was never there, mind you. But I never saw him.”

  “We’re not disappointed,” Phyllis said. “We just wanted to know what information you might have, and you told us.”

  “Roxanne never confided anything about her personal life to you, did she?” Sam asked.

  “You mean like telling me she was havin’ an affair?” Estelle let out a curt bark of laughter. “Not hardly. We were friendly acquaintances, that’s all. It’s not like she would spill her guts to me.”

  That comment made Phyllis frown in thought as something tickled the back of her mind again, but she couldn’t identify it.

  “Look, I wish I could help you,” Estelle went on. “I was friendlier with Roxanne than I was with Danny, but I don’t have anything against the kid. If he didn’t do it, he shouldn’t go to prison for it.”

  “That’s the way we feel,” Phyllis said. “Thank you for talking to us.”

  “Sure.” The woman cocked her head to the side. “So you don’t paint pictures of farm houses after all, eh?”

  “I have no artistic ability whatsoever,” Phyllis said. “Being able to paint is like...magic to me.”

  “But she can solve murders,” Sam said. “That’s an art.”

  Phyllis was starting to be not so sure about that.

  Chapter 19

  “Where to now?” Sam asked as they got back into the pickup a few minutes later.

  “Why don’t you drive by the paint and body shop?” Phyllis said. “I want to talk to Brian again, if I can do it without spooking him.”

  “If he didn’t do anything, there won’t be any reason for him to spook.”

  “Maybe not, but I intend to be careful anyway.”

  It took about ten minutes to reach the stretch of Highway 377 where Lone Star Paint and Body was located. As they approached the business, Phyllis said, “Slow down. Brian’s out front talking to someone.”

  “I’ll pull in here at this convenience store,” Sam said as he turned the wheel and steered the pickup smoothly into the store’s parking lot. There was nothing about the move to draw any attention. “Can you still see the place from here?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure there’s any real reason for us to be skulking around like this. He’s probably just talking to a customer.”

  The conversation was taking place in front of one of the open repair bays. An expensive SUV was parked in front of the office. Brian, wearing his usual coveralls, was talking to a woman with long blond hair. He moved back a little, just inside the bay, and the woman went with him. Phyllis could still see both of them, although they were in the shadows now and not as clear.

  Clear enough, though, for her to see Brian take the woman into his arms and kiss her.

  “Well,” Sam said, “probably not a customer after all, unless Brian’s runnin’ a special deal on, uh, body work.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he carries on with some of his customers,” Phyllis said. “A young man as good-looking as he is probably has plenty of opportunities. He told us he doesn’t intend to settle down any time soon.”

  Inside the repair bay, the kiss continued for a long moment. The woman, whose hair fell halfway down her back, had her arms around Brian’s neck and her body plastered to his. Eventually, though, they moved apart. They exchanged a few more words, then the woman walked to the car in front of the office, climbed in, and drove away. Phyllis had gotten a good enough look at her to know she was attractive, but that was all.

  “You still want to go talk to him?” Sam asked.

  Phyllis thought about it, then nodded and said, “Yes. Just because one of his girlfriends stopped by his shop doesn’t change anything.”

  Sam parked the pickup in front of the office. Brian came out of the repair bays, wiping his hands on a rag. He smiled at them and said, “Mrs. Newsom, Mr. Fletcher, good to see you again. Have you got news about Danny? You’re gonna get him back here pretty soon so he can help me out with all this work, right?”

  “I still hope so,” Phyllis said, “but we don’t have any news, just a few more questions.”

  “Sure. Come on in the shop, out of the sun.” Brian grinned. “If you don’t tell the insurance company, I won’t.”

  He leaned against a car with a crumpled front fender and crossed his arms, waiting to hear what Phyllis had to say.

  “Do you remember Danny mentioning anything about Roxanne getting in trouble at the beauty salon?” she asked. “About a customer who was so upset they were talking about a lawsuit?”

  “A lawsuit?” Brian repeated. “Over a haircut or a facial? That’s crazy!”

  “Some people’s appearance is very important to them.”

  “Yeah, but hair will grow back.” Brian shook his head. “No, I don’t recall Danny saying anything about that. He didn’t talk much about the salon. I don’t think Roxanne told him a lot about what went on there.” He shrugged. “And Danny wouldn’t care about a lot of gossip, anyway. No offense, but isn’t that what women do in places like that? Just gossip and talk trash about their friends?”

  “Sometimes,” Phyllis said. “Were you ever with Danny when he stopped at the salon?”

  “Once or twice, I think. Sometimes we’d go get something to eat, then stop by there if he needed to talk to Roxanne. But like I said, that only happened a couple of times, at most.”

  “Do you know any of the other people who work there? The lady who owns the salon, maybe, or the receptionist? Aurora is her name, I believe.”

  Brian thought about it, then slowly shook his head. “No, not really. I kinda remember the girl who works up at the front. Always has her hair dyed some funny color.”

  “That’s her,” Phyllis said.

  “I guess I’m an old-fashioned guy in some ways. I like for a woman’s hair to be its natural color, or at least a color you can find in nature. Never cared much for all the blue and pink and green hair, things like that.”

  “Got to say I agree with you about that,” Sam put in.

  Brian looked more serious as he said, “Do you think Roxanne’s murder was caused by something that happened at the salon?”

  “We’re still just trying to consider all the possibilities,” Phyllis said.

  “That doesn’t sound too promising.”

  “So far it’s not. But we’re not going to give up. We’ll keep digging until we get to the truth.”

  “For Danny’s sake, I’m glad to hear that. If there’s anything I can do...”

  “We’ll let you know,” Phyllis promised.

  As they drove away a few minutes later, Sam said, “Well, I don’t reckon we know any more than we did.”

  Phyllis didn’t say anything, but her forehead was creased in a frown when she didn’t respond and Sam looked over at her.

  “You’ve figured it out,” he said, excitement coming into his voice.

  “No,” she said, “I haven’t. But I’ve seen or heard something that’s important. I can tell that. Let’s go to the salon.”

  ••●••

  If anyone had pressed her, Phyllis wouldn’t have been able to say why she told Sam to head for Paul’s Beauty Salon. It was instinct, a sense that a connection existed she hadn’t made consciously, but something in her brain was trying to tell her what it was. She hoped that by following her hunch, everything would become clear...or at least less obscure.

  Along the way, she took out the copy of the yearbook picture she had printed and studied it intently. The other times she had looked at it, her attention had been focused on Brian and Roxanne. Now she looked at the other four young people and checked their names in the caption. The handsome football players were Derek Nelson and Nathan Morgan. The pretty cheerleaders, a blonde and a brunette, were D.J. Hutton and Kirsten Gregory. None of those names meant a thing to Phyllis, and she didn’t recognize
any of them.

  “You got a mighty serious look on your face,” Sam said. “Hate to interrupt you, but we’re almost there.”

  Phyllis looked up from the photograph and sighed. “I’m not doing any good anyway. I’m trying to cudgel my brain into working, but it doesn’t want to cooperate.”

  “Cudgel,” Sam repeated. “That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. It’s a good one, though. Sometimes it really fits. Like bludgeon.”

  “That reminds me too much of what happened to Roxanne. On the other hand, reminders are good, because they help keep me focused on helping Danny.” Phyllis looked over at him. “Do you remember how many times Roxanne was hit, according to the medical examiner’s testimony at the trial?”

  “I couldn’t tell you for sure,” Sam said as he pulled into the parking lot in front of the salon. “Quite a few, though. A couple dozen? Enough to make it a really ugly murder. Is that important?”

  “It tells us the killer was angry.”

  “Well, he’d have to be pretty mad to—”

  “Not necessarily. A killer can strike with cold deliberation. If all he wanted was for Roxanne to die, a few blows might have been enough to accomplish that. The way he kept on hitting her again and again tells me he had a lot of rage directed toward her bottled up inside him.”

  “Which takes us back to Brian or Danny, the two fellas we know were involved with her romantically. You know the old sayin’ about there bein’ a thin line between love and hate.”

  “You don’t have to be in a relationship to feel rage toward another person.”

  “No, but if somebody snaps, passion—one way or the other—could sure fuel what comes next.”

  Phyllis nodded. Everything Sam said was true, but it didn’t seem to fit with the vague picture forming in her mind. She tried to force it, and it just wouldn’t go.

  She put that aside for the moment and opened the pickup door.

  “You don’t have to come in with me,” she told Sam.

  He opened his door as well. “When you’re on the trail of a killer like this, you’re not goin’ anywhere without me,” he said.

  They walked into the salon, which was busy as usual. Aurora was the only one in the reception area, however. She looked surprised to see them and said, “Hello. I don’t think your mani/pedi appointment is until next week, Mrs. Newsom, but I can check...”