Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries) Read online

  Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot

  Teresa Watson

  Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot

  A Lizzie Crenshaw Mystery

  By Teresa Watson

  Copyright 2011 Teresa L. Watson

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Behind every writer is a group of people who alternate between encouragement and checking the phone book for a good treatment center for demented writers. I want to thank the following people for not having me committed:

  My husband: for allowing me to quit my job to pursue my crazy writing dreams. You may not always listen to all my ideas, but your support has been unwavering! I love you!

  My parents: who started my love affair with books when I was a kid. You have been with me through thick and thin, good times and bad. You held me up and pushed me on when I wanted to give up. I couldn’t ask for better parents than the two of you. I love you more than words could ever say.

  My son, my co-conspirator, my sounding board: Thank you for listening to me read every chapter, for all the ideas you gave me (I promise a bigger explosion in a future book!), and for all the laughs I got from hearing you beg to know who did it as I closed your bedroom door every night. When I became discouraged and said I was going to give up, you told me “NO WAY! It’s a great story! I won’t let you give up!” I love you, sweetie. I won’t let you give up, either!

  Jamie Lee Scott: I was perfectly content hiding in the shadows. You dragged me kicking and screaming down a road I never thought of walking. You have been so supportive and patient, answering all of my questions, designing my freelance editing website, and creating the wonderful cover for this book. My father told me to stop hiding my light under a bushel; you brought the light out so it could shine brightly. Thank you!

  Bente Gallagher: One of my favorite authors who writes a wonderful DIY series by Jennie Bentley. You have been great! Thank you so much for the encouragement, for posting the links to each new chapter for your followers, and for virtually holding my hand when I wailed that I couldn’t do something.

  April R. Denton, Jen Leigh, Lonnie Wolgamott and Mom: The four of you took the time to edit this story for me. Your comments and suggestions were wonderful! Thank you so much!

  My Twitter cheering section: Bente, Jen, April, Jeanne V. Bowerman, Elysabeth Williams, Sherree Worrell, L.M. Stull, Kimberly Kinrade, and so many others!

  Finally, to my Dotters group on Facebook: I wrote this story for you! You all embraced the story from the beginning, pushed me to write more when I slacked off, and gave me great ideas that I used in the story. To all of you – YOU ROCK!

  Chapter 1

  The bullet hole between Amos Gardner’s eyes guaranteed that he hadn’t seen the sunrise.

  Brookdale was a relatively quiet town. We all knew each other, and if we didn’t, well, you just weren’t worth knowing, I guess. But a small town also meant people knew when you did something stupid. In Amos’ case, that was darn near every day.

  He drove around town in a 1947 pistachio green Chevy truck. He had it painted that color every two years, and Babe, his red bloodhound, rode in the cab with him. If his wife Earline wanted to ride inside, she had to sit in the middle because the passenger window belonged to Babe. To tell the truth, no one remembered seeing Earline riding in that truck too much – mainly because Amos usually slammed the gearshift into her legs so hard it left bruises.

  There wasn’t a more cantankerous man in town than Amos. He went out of his way to tick somebody off, then sat there and laughed about it in the person’s face. “I’m old, what are you gonna do about it?” he’d cackle in the offended party’s face. “I’ll sue ya for elderly abuse!” At one time or another, he had threatened nearly everyone in town with a lawsuit. Heck, he’d park his truck in the middle of the street around Town Square, go inside a store, take care of business, and come back out to find five people standing around his truck complaining. “I gotta right to park where I want,” he would say, “and ain’t nothin’ you can do about it!” He’d climb in his truck and drive off, laughing the whole time. People around here didn’t like that kind of treatment, especially when it was from him.

  Town Square was where all the excitement was in Brookdale. There was a park in the center of the square, surrounded by beautiful oak trees, with benches, tables and the usual playground equipment. Some of that equipment had been there since I was a kid. They just didn’t build stuff to last like they used to. Anyway, the main business hub was located around the park. Women got their hair done at the ‘Curl & Dye Beauty Salon’ on one side of the square while the men went to ‘Ray’s Barbershop’ on the other side. Actually, if you stopped to think about it, the square was divided into his and hers sides. Everything that you needed you could get in the Town Square shops.

  It was 7:30 on a Friday morning, and I was driving into town for some paint. The shed in my backyard was old and in dire need of a face lift. The last time I painted it, Mama had picked the color, a hideous bright pink. This time, I was going for a more muted, subdued color, like brown or blue.

  As I came around the corner, I had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting Amos’ truck, which was parked in the middle of the street. I knew Amos never came to town before 9 a.m. because he couldn’t make a nuisance of himself without a crowd around. The second unusual thing was that Babe wasn’t in the truck; she sat in the middle of the park near the merry-go-round. Amos never let that dog out of the truck because he was afraid someone would run over her. He cared more for that dog than he did his wife.

  Backing up, I parked in front of the Eat it or Starve café and looked inside the truck. The keys were in the ignition, which was no surprise because he always left them in there. I felt the hood of the truck; it was cold to the touch. Very odd. Thinking it may have broken down, I toyed with the idea of trying to start it up, but changed my mind. Amos would probably have me arrested for trying to steal it.

  I looked over the hood toward Babe, who was watching me with a wary eye. After whistling and calling her name for a minute with no reaction or movement from her, I walked over to her. I discovered the reason she wasn’t moving from her spot.

  Amos Gardner was sprawled out on the merry-go-round, mouth and eyes open, staring up at the sky. It wouldn’t have done me any good to check for a pulse. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he was dead.

  Chapter 2

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Owen Greene said ten minutes later. “Someone finally shot the old son of a gun.”

  A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, mostly the breakfast crowd from the café. If I noticed Amos’ truck sitting in the middle of the street, and Babe sitting in the park, why didn’t anyone else?

  “Did you notice anyone leaving when you got here, Lizzie?” Owen said as he looked around.

  “Just Babe,” I replied.

  “Hey Owen,” Gladys Norwell sai
d. “Is that really Amos on that spinning wheel?”

  “It’s a merry-go-round,” Charlene Sims, owner of the beauty salon, told her.

  “I don’t care what it’s called,” Gladys snapped. “I just wanna know if that idiot is dead.”

  “Yes, Gladys, he’s dead,” Owen confirmed.

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” she said. “It’s about time someone did something about him.”

  “You confessin’, Gladys?”

  “How dare you, Owen Greene! I have a good mind to call your momma and tell her you just accused me of murder!”

  Owen chuckled. “I was just checking, Gladys.”

  Gladys glared at Owen while the rest of the crowd laughed. Frankly, I wondered how he was going to narrow down the list of suspects. I didn’t think there was a person in town that, at one time or another, hadn’t wanted to kill Amos.

  Owen motioned for T.J. Reynolds, one of his deputies, to move closer. At 6’ 6”, T.J. stood out in the crowd like a sore thumb. He had recently retired from the military, and had come to Brookdale for some peace and quiet, or so he said. I was sure he didn’t expect to run into a murder in a small town. Being a bachelor, there were plenty of women chased after him, and who wouldn’t? Black hair, brown eyes, a smile that made his eyes dance, and rippling muscles that strained against his khaki deputy’s shirt. I glanced at my own outfit and cringed. Paint-stained overall shorts, an old Texas A&M t-shirt and tennis shoes, with my red hair pulled back into a ponytail. Not exactly a man-catching outfit, but then again, I wasn’t really looking. Was I?

  “T.J., call Mabel at the station and ask her to get the state crime unit in here. They’ll know how to handle a murder. I don’t have the first idea how to go about investigating this.”

  “Do we have any crime scene tape?” T.J. asked.

  Owen shook his head. “The worst crime around here is someone stealing a six-pack of beer from the Grab ‘n Go on the outskirts of town.”

  “Why don’t you get some crepe paper from the dollar store?” I suggested. “You can at least block off the area to keep people from getting too close to the body.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” T.J. said. He walked off and I couldn’t help but watch. I didn’t realize I had been staring until Owen snapped his fingers in front of my face.

  “Are you done undressing my deputy? I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “I wasn’t doing anything of the sort. He just happened to be walking in the general direction I was looking,” I said as my face turned bright red.

  “Uh-huh. Is this how you found Amos? You didn’t touch or move him in any way?”

  I shook my head. “It was obvious he was dead when I walked up.” I leaned over and patted Babe on the head. “She was sitting right there, not moving, looking rather sad.”

  “You said you didn’t see anyone leaving the area when you pulled up. Was anyone watching you from one of the storefront windows?”

  “How the heck would I know that? When I came around the corner, I almost rear-ended Amos’ truck. I wasn’t worried about someone watching me.” I looked at the crowd, who obviously did not intend to leave any time soon. “Owen, how are you going to narrow down the list of suspects? We have all had problems with Amos at one time or another.”

  “Some grudges run deeper than others, Lizzie,” Owen said.

  I looked at Gladys, who was talking to Iris Griswell, her best friend, and Charlene. She glanced our way, but when she saw me watching her, she quickly turned around and left, dragging the other two women with her. “What was Gladys’ problem with Amos?”

  “Gladys accused Amos of tricking her daddy out of a prime piece of land. Apparently, Amos convinced him that the land was worthless, and that he wanted it for his grazing cattle. Caleb, that was her daddy’s name, needed the money, so he sold the land for lower than market value. The day after he bought the land, Amos had an oil rig erected on the land and struck it rich a short time later.”

  “So that’s where Amos got his money.”

  “One of many places he got it.”

  Tires squealed, followed by a sickening crunch, and interrupted our conversation. We turned to see that a pink Cadillac had slammed into the back of Amos’ truck. A blond-haired woman got out and stumbled into the park, stopping by the merry-go-round. She didn’t say anything, just stood there with her mouth open. I braced myself for the wail I knew was coming.

  Instead, Earline Gardner started laughing and dancing. “I’m free, I’m free! The old son of a bastard is dead!”

  Nice to see she was taking it so well.

  Chapter 3

  The crowd gasped as they watched Earline dance around the merry-go-round with glee. I had to admit that I was a bit stunned by her reaction. Granted, Amos had been a royal pain the butt, but I thought Earline had lost her mind.

  Gladys raced over, grabbed Earline’s arm and slapped her. “Get a hold of yourself! Your poor mother is rolling over in her grave right now because of the way you are behaving. Your husband is dead! That is no reason to act like some heathen at Mardi Gras!”

  Earline jerked her arm out of Gladys’ grasp. “Oh, shut up, you old goat. After thirty years of putting up with all of his garbage, I have a right to celebrate. I can finally start living my life the way I want to! No more playing second fiddle to that flea-bitten hound dog!” she added, pointing at Babe. “That mutt is going to be the first thing to go.”

  “What are you going to do with Babe?” I asked. I didn’t want to believe that Earline would do anything to intentionally harm the bloodhound, but in her current state of mind, I wouldn’t put it past her, either.

  “I’m going to send it to the pound, what else? I hate that dog. Amos always treated her as if she was the mistress of the house, while he treated me like a dog. The house is mine now, and I don’t intend to share it with that mutt.”

  Bending down, I put my arms around Babe, who licked my cheek. “I’ll take her,” I said impulsively.

  “Fine by me,” Earline said. “Take her now. I don’t want to see her ever again.”

  I looked up at Gladys, who looked shocked by her friend’s behavior. “Earline, are you sure you should be making any rash decisions right now?” she said. “You’re distraught. Why don’t you wait a few days before you make any other…”

  “Oh, dry up, Gladys,” Earline interrupted. “I’m not distraught, upset or irrational. I’ve been planning for this day for years.”

  “Where were you last night, Earline?” Owen said.

  “I was at home, where else?” Earline snapped. “He never let me go anywhere unless I went with him. I bought this car three years ago and kept it hidden. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds, either. He was always going through my things, taking any money I had squirreled away, keeping me a prisoner in my own home.”

  “Can anyone verify that you were there all night?” Owen asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

  “Well, that’s a stupid question, Owen Greene,” she retorted. “Everyone around here knows how to shoot a gun.”

  “I didn’t ask about everyone else, Earline. I asked you.”

  “Yes, Sheriff, I know how to shoot a gun. Amos made sure of that. He told me it was my job to keep people off our property when he wasn’t around. He said, ‘Shoot first and ask questions later, Earline. The police can’t charge you with anything because you are protecting private property.’ Not that I ever had to; no one ever came out to see us.”

  “How did you know to come down here?”

  “Someone called me, said Amos was dead in the middle of the park. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t one of his stupid pranks.” She looked down at her dead husband. “Good luck finding his killer, Sheriff. Your list of suspects is probably a mile long.” She started walking off.

  “Want me to come with you, Earline?” Gladys asked.

  “What for? I’m not going home to fall apart. I’m going home to pack. I plan to
take a long vacation.”

  “But you need to make arrangements for his funeral!” Gladys replied. “He deserves a Christian burial.”

  “Then you make the arrangements, Gladys. Everyone knows you have been carrying a torch for him for forty years,” Earline tartly replied. “The only reason you were friends with me was to stay close to him.”

  Gladys’ mouth fell open, and tears sprang up in her eyes. “That’s not true, Earline. I swear!”

  “Oh, dry up, Gladys,” Earline said as she walked to her car.

  “Don’t leave town just yet, Earline,” Owen told her. “I’ll need to come out to your house and take a look around, check your guns to make sure they haven’t been fired recently.”

  “Do you plan to arrest me?” Earline glared at him.

  “Not at this time. No reason to.”

  “Unless you are planning to lock me up and throw away the key, I am leaving on a nice, long cruise. And I may not come back.” She got into her Cadillac, started it and rolled down the window. “You can haul that piece of junk truck away and crush it. I never want to see that puke green thing again.” She backed up and sped off.

  “Unbelievable,” I muttered as she squealed around the corner. “She’s as heartless as Amos was.”

  “He made her that way,” Gladys replied. “She’s got more fire in her than I have seen in years.”

  “Do you think she’s capable of killing, Gladys?” Owen said.

  She thought a moment before replying. “If you had asked me before she got here, I would have said no. But after that display, I’m not so sure.”

  It looked like Earline just placed herself at the top of the suspect list, with Gladys a close second. Oh boy.

  Chapter 4