On our way back to Flower House, Deena and I compared notes on our impressions of the three college students. Richard had filled the awkward silence following my outburst and Vince’s question with small talk, and shortly afterward we’d said our goodbyes. Deena and I had gathered our flower-transport boxes as quickly as we could and made our escape.
“They’re so suspicious, all of them,” I said. “Don’t you think?”
Deena hesitated. “Are they?”
We were driving toward the square, with me behind the wheel. At a stop sign, I turned to look at her in surprise. “Don’t you agree they’re acting strange? You thought it was significant that Vince apparently served time in prison.”
“I know. I’m just not sure it’s enough to implicate them in the murder of their teacher. I mean, what motive could they possibly have?”
I drove past the courthouse and turned onto Main Street. A minute later, I slowed as we passed by the town park and ball field. Laughing children chased one another around the playground.
I knew Deena was right. It seemed ridiculous to imagine a college student intentionally killing their professor, especially on a voluntary field trip. But, to me, it was even more ridiculous to imagine Calvin doing it.
“Well, who do you think did it?” I asked.
“My money is still on Bart.” She pulled down the visor to block the late-day sun, glaring brightly from the western sky. “Rocky said he’s a hothead, and you saw him go after Lowry about his driving. Bart probably saw his chance and walloped the professor in a fit of rage.”
I turned onto shady Oak Street and drove slowly toward Flower House. “With a candlestick?” I said. “He’d be more likely to punch the guy with his fists. Wouldn’t he?”
Deena shrugged. “We don’t know that. The guy is an enigma, remember?”
“True.” In fact, I had been wanting to talk to the deliveryman. I wondered exactly where he’d been and what he’d seen during the few minutes between Lowry’s last phone call and his last breath. If the three students were outside, Bart should have seen them.
“Should we stop by Dumbbells tonight?” asked Deena.
I pulled into the driveway alongside Flower House and parked near the back door of the shop. “I’ll ask Rocky to let us know when Bart comes in,” I said.
“Well, he did say Bart usually works out late on Monday evenings,” said Deena.
“He did?” I cut the engine and frowned. “I don’t remember that.”
“Oh, maybe he just said it to me. We talked for a few minutes after we left your house the other night.” She got out of the car and shut the door, leaving me feeling strangely perplexed. Rocky only knew Deena through me, and I’d never known the two of them to chat much before. Not that there would be anything wrong with that.
Deena had grabbed some boxes from the back of my car and taken them inside. I gathered up the rest and joined her in the kitchen, where she was talking with Calvin. We briefly brought each other up to date, and Calvin agreed to keep Gus a while longer.
“What do you think, Sierra?” said Deena. “Meet at the gym at seven?”
“Let’s make it ten after. That way my mom will already be leading her aerobics class.” It would be hard enough to strike up a conversation with Bart in a public place, let alone within earshot of my overly protective family.
Oh well, I thought, as I filled Gus’s water dish. Might as well give it the old college try. So to speak.
I had a little more than an hour to kill before meeting Deena at Dumbbells, so I went home to change and have a small bite to eat. It was strange being in the dollhouse without Gus. As I moved about, I kept expecting to see him at every turn. It was amazing how integral the pup had become to my life in just a few short months.
In fact, the lonely silence became so unsettling, I decided to head out early. Dressed in yoga shorts, a snug orange T-shirt, and sneakers, I locked up and took off. I thought I might drive around and reflect on recent events. But when I reached Main Street, I followed a whim and turned left instead of right. This route brought me to the west edge of town and Marla’s Mini-Mart. A few minutes later, I pulled up to a gas pump and cut the engine.
As I filled the Fiat, a stout, whiskered man in grubby jeans and a stained T-shirt hefted himself from a bench next to the mini-mart. He approached me and flashed a toothless grin. “Warsh your winders?”
I hesitated a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”
He smiled and got to work. “Name’s Pete,” he said amiably. “Where ya headed?”
“No place special. I live here.” Once my tank was full, I fished a five-dollar bill from my purse. “Thanks, Pete,” I said, handing him the money.
“God bless ya,” he said, before returning to his place on the bench.
I moved my car to an angled parking space next to the little store and went inside. There was one other customer checking out and a long-haired teenage boy behind the counter. Browsing the snack aisle, I quickly found what I was looking for: a 99-cent package of sunflower seeds. As I figured, they were roasted and salted in their white-striped black shells.
When it was my turn to check out, I walked up to the counter and held up the little package. “Are these the only sunflower seeds you sell here?”
The clerk nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Will that be all?”
“I just have a quick question,” I said, with what I hoped was an engaging smile. “Do you remember somebody buying a package of these sunflower seeds on Saturday?”
He scratched his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Are you sure? It probably would have been around one or two o’clock.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, do you remember a white van from UT stopping by on Saturday? With a tall silver-haired driver and seven younger passengers?”
He shook his head again. “No, ma’am. I wasn’t working here on Saturday.”
Ugh. Why didn’t he say that in the first place? I mentally slapped my forehead, as I fought to hide my impatience. “Who would’ve been here on Saturday?”
“Jimmy works weekends. He’ll be here next Saturday.”
I thanked the clerk and paid for the sunflower seeds. As I exited the store, Pete called out to me from his bench. “Spare some change, miss?”
I walked over to him and held out the sunflower seeds. “Would you like these?”
He grimaced and pointed to his gap-filled mouth. “I don’t do so good with hard foods.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—”
“But I’ll take it anyway,” he continued.
Feeling a bit sheepish, I handed him the snack. “Say, were you here a couple days ago, on Saturday?”
“I’m here ever’ day.”
“Do you remember seeing a white university van, probably around one o’clock or so?”
He surprised me by issuing forth a loud belly-jiggling chuckle. “Do I remember? Couldn’t forget it. The driver—tall feller with a white goatee—he caused quite a scene right over yonder. ’Bout got hisself whupped.” Pete pointed at a gas pump on the far side of the station.
“He almost got in a fight? With who?” I expected Pete to describe Bart. Maybe the deliveryman had followed Lowry’s van off the highway after all.
“A little ol’ lady!” Pete chortled again, as if this were the funniest thing he’d ever seen. “She drove in behind him in a ol’ Subaru. He’d pulled in ahead o’ her. I saw the whole thing.”
“He cut her off?”
Pete rocked his whole body, as he continued to laugh. “Yeah, he did. And when she tried to give him what for, he turned his back on her. O’ course, that only made her madder ’n’ a old wet hen. What’s that sayin’ ’bout a woman scorned?”
I’d heard enough. At least now I knew why Wanda had been so upset with Lowry on the street outside Flower House. She probably didn’t expect to encounter him again after he’d rebuffed her at the gas station. And that was after the butcher had slighted her that morning. Like Granny said, Wanda had had a rough day, and the more details I learned about it, the more like a suspect she seemed. It gave me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach to think about Granny’s friend like that, but part of me couldn’t help it.
I started to back away, then paused. Might as well see what else Pete could tell me. “By the way, did you happen to notice anybody leaving the store with sunflower seeds on Saturday?”
He wrinkled his forehead, apparently stumped. “Most folks have their stuff in a bag or their pockets when they come out.”
“That’s okay. Never mind. Last question. Do you recall seeing a green delivery van for Pauly’s Plants? It would’ve had pink and yellow flowers on the side.”
Pete brightened. “Oh, yeah. That one I remember. Surly driver. Wouldn’t give me the time a day.”
Sounds like Bart.
“It weren’t Saturday, though,” Pete continued. “It was a day or two before that.”
I found a ten-dollar bill in my purse and thanked Pete for all his help. Then I hurried back to my car. If I didn’t get a move on, I’d be late for meeting Deena.
I felt rather pleased with myself, as I pulled out of the gas station and headed back toward the center of town. My little try at playing detective had paid off. I now knew that all of the suspects—except Calvin, of course—could have bought sunflower seeds from Marla’s Mini-Mart.
However, my elation was short-lived. The information I’d learned didn’t bring me any closer to solving the murder. I hadn’t narrowed down the suspect list at all. I was just as baffled as ever.
As Granny liked to say, Dumbbells Gym was the baby my parents had before they had real babies. My folks, Hal and Mandy Ravenswood, had started their dream business right out of college—and had been running it, pretty much unchanged, ever since. It was a small facility, with two main workout rooms, one with exercise equipment and one for classes, both with rubber-mat flooring. Besides that, there were the locker rooms, a tiny office, and a small lobby. All the walls (except in the locker rooms, of course) featured glass pane windows, including the wall between the office and the lobby.
As kids, Rocky and I had spent so much time at Dumbbells, it was practically our second home. But, while Rocky would be challenging himself with every kind of free weight imaginable—and at ever-increasing weights and reps—I’d more likely be holed up in the office, writing songs or reading a mystery novel. Even today, exercising indoors wasn’t really my thing.
Yet, as I parked on the street in front of the gym, I had to admit it was nice to have a place where I could work out anytime I wanted, if the mood should strike. Granted, the mood hadn’t struck in several weeks now, but I had a good excuse. I’d been busy trying to get my own small business off the ground.
Of course, that didn’t stop Dad from making a big deal of it when I wandered into the lobby at a quarter past seven.
“Well, well, looky here! The prodigal daughter … in workout clothes? Will wonders never cease?” He stood up from behind the front desk and pretended to rub his eyes.
“Hi, Dad. Deena wanted to log some gym time, so I agreed to join her.”
“She beat you here.” He jerked his thumb toward the weight room. “Rocky’s been giving her the intro to all the equipment.” His eyes twinkled. “Maybe you need the intro again too, since you haven’t been here in a blue moon.”
“Har har.” Though I rolled my eyes, I couldn’t help grinning. “Got a towel back there for me? Or are you just gonna keep talking my ear off?”
He tossed me a white towel, which I caught in both hands. “Don’t overdo it now,” he said, serious this time. “Remember, quality over quantity.”
“I know, Dad. You don’t have to worry about me overdoing anything here.”
Pushing open the glass double doors, I entered the weight room. Through the window to the adjoining room, I caught a glimpse of my mom, and about eight or ten other ladies and gents, twisting to the oldies. I weaved my way around the equipment in the opposite direction and spotted Rocky, leaning over Deena on the bench press. As I approached, she caught my eye and subtly pointed toward the far wall.
Ah, so Bart is here. He was using the rowing machine. From the intensity of his expression, he might’ve been a Volga Boatman “yo-heave-hoing” against the flow of the river. With a curt nod at Deena, I made my way to one of the two treadmills along the outer windows. From this location, I could keep an eye on Bart—and hopefully be seen by him if he’d ever look around. I wanted our meeting here to appear accidental.
I set the treadmill to a moderate setting and began a brisk walk-in-place. I figured I might as well get a little cardio in. However, eight minutes later, Bart still hadn’t noticed me. And when he finished with the rowing machine and moved on to leg extensions, I found myself tempted to decrease the resistance. A few more minutes of this and I was going to break a sweat. Not quite the goal today.
Looking around, I realized the floor stretch area might provide a good spot to run into Bart. It was a padded corner of the gym with a watercooler, a couple of balance balls, and a shelf of straps, smaller balls, and extra towels. Leaving the treadmill behind, I plopped myself down on the padded floor and reached for my toes.
What is my game plan, anyway? Bart had to be the least talkative person I knew. I wasn’t sure what I expected to get out of him here. On the other hand, Deena was right. He was definitely a prime suspect.
I folded my legs into a butterfly pose and leaned down again. From what I’d read about road rage, it was usually triggered by stress. A driver’s personal stress level compounded with the stress of driving could create a very short fuse. Aggressive drivers weren’t necessarily bad people—they just had anger management problems. Once they cooled down, they probably felt bad about losing their temper.
Was that what had happened with Bart? If so, then it would make sense that he’d be feeling remorse for his actions. Maybe my best course of action would be to appeal to his sense of decency. Then, maybe he’d own up to the crime.
A shadow fell over me, as someone walked over. Feeling a large presence, I looked up, expecting to see Rocky. Instead, it was Bart himself, squinting at me like I might be a mirage.
I jumped, startled at his sudden appearance. Turned out I got my “accidental meeting” after all. “Oh, hello!” I said.
“I thought that was you,” he said. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you here before. I know your folks own the place.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t make it here as often as I’d like. How are you? Having a good workout?” I bit the inside of my cheek. Having a good workout? Why was I rambling like a nervous teenager?
“Pretty good,” he said.
I extended one leg for another gentle stretch. “What a weekend, huh? Did you have to talk to the police again? They’ve been making the rounds.” That was partly true.
“No. I told them everything I knew the first time.” He walked over to the watercooler and filled a paper cup. I thought he might saunter away, but he stood nearby as he took a sip. I kept jabbering, as I switched legs.
“I keep thinking the whole thing must be some kind of terrible accident, you know? Like, maybe whoever hit the professor didn’t really mean to hurt him.”
Bart glanced down, searching my face. Had I struck a nerve? Or was he a little hard of hearing? It was so tough to get a read on him.
“I figure it had to be spontaneous,” I went on. “Right? I mean, why else would someone do something like that with so many people around?” Bart didn’t answer, so I kept rambling. “Plus, the guy was acting kind of weird. Did you notice that? Maybe he was high, or had some preexisting condition or something. Maybe that’s why one conk on the head did him in.”
I had no idea where I was coming up with this stuff. It was so irreverent and nonsensical. Instead of coaxing Bart to open up, I was probably scaring him away. He stared at me with his inscrutable eyes.
I held out my hand to him. “Help me up?”
He obliged, pulling me strongly to my feet. Then he cleared his throat. “I thought I’d get a drink after this. Want to come?”
My jaw dropped open, but I recovered quickly. “Sure! That would be nice.”
My first thought was, Yippee! My friendliness is finally paying off! I mentally patted myself on the back—until I had my second thought.
What have I gotten myself into?