Revenge Is Sweet Read online

  Actually, she was picturing something like that.

  “It takes days and days to get a DNA analysis back. Sometimes weeks. Or more. I’ll try to put a rush on this. Then, after that, we have to match it to someone. Not everyone’s DNA is on record since this isn’t a futuristic police state.”

  “Oh.” That would make everything harder. Not that she wanted to live in a futuristic police state. That sounded awful.

  “A shortcut would be to find someone who knows who this shoe belongs to,” he said.

  * * * **

  Tally drove home wondering why on earth someone would discard one shoe after killing someone else. But why leave it in the alley? And why only one shoe? Detective Rogers was most likely right, though. It was the killer’s shoe. Nothing about Gene’s death was simple.

  If the shoe was connected, she had something concrete to work on. She was determined to figure out who could have done it—and then, gradually, by process of elimination, who actually did do it.

  Who to start with? She cast her mind back to the many mysteries she had read. Aha—a light bulb lit above her head, figuratively. The police always suspected those closest to the dead person, right? Family. She would see what more she could find out about Gene’s parents. They should be easy to eliminate. Parents didn’t kill their own children, did they? Not that Gene was actually their child, but she couldn’t see killing an adoptive child either, unless something was very wrong with that parent.

  After she’d been home for half an hour, her doorbell rang. It was Mrs. Gerg, her landlady. Tally hoped she hadn’t brought her another box from a yard sale.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gerg. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine and dandy. There are so many yard sales today. Even more than yesterday. I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t bring you anything.” She held a large, round plastic container. It looked like she had brought Tally something.

  “No, that’s fine,” Tally said, uncertainly.

  “I brought this instead.” She shoved the container toward Tally, who took it.

  It was hot. She noticed that her finger was bending some and wasn’t sore anymore. The bandage had fallen off sometime during the day. She was glad to be rid of that sore finger.

  “I had to come see if you were all right. I noticed your shop is closed and wondered if you’re sick.”

  “No, I’m not sick. I had to close the shop because…”

  “Oh, because that young man, the mayor’s son, was killed there?”

  “No, that was a few days ago.” She might as well tell her. Everyone would know eventually, even without Mrs. Gerg spreading the word. “Someone else died there yesterday.” Or maybe the day before that. She hadn’t been told exactly when Mart had been murdered.

  It was a good thing Tally had a good hold on the container, because Mrs. Gerg let go and took a step back, almost falling off the porch. “Someone else?”

  Mrs. Gerg was horrified, rightly, that another person had been killed there.

  “And I didn’t hear about it?” Mrs. Gerg added.

  Oh, thought Tally. She’s more surprised that she didn’t know. Actually, Tally was surprised about that, too. Now, for sure, everyone in town would know.

  “Is it that girl who works for you? The one who jogs down my street in the evenings?”

  “No, it’s the other one. Mart Zimmer.”

  “Oh my.” She glanced upward to process the information. “I was afraid you were sick, so I brought you some chicken soup.” Mrs. Gerg pointed to the plastic tub Tally held.

  “That’s awfully nice of you. I’m not sick, but I’d love to eat the soup, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s yours. I made it for you. Take care now.” Mrs. Gerg stumped down the two steps from Tally’s porch with her short legs and walked away briskly, on her way, Tally thought, to seek out more yard sales. And more boxes for her. And spreading the news as she went.

  * * * *

  Tally was still working on a way to approach Gene’s parents again on Monday morning when his mother walked into her shop, soon after she unlocked the front door and opened up. She seemed overdressed to be shopping, in a mauve silk pant suit, but maybe, Tally thought, a mayor’s wife always dressed to the hilt.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Faust,” Tally said. She had planned to stay in the room, working the sales counter. Andrea hadn’t come in yet, but should show up any minute. She was certain the mayor’s wife had never been to her shop before. She wondered what she was doing here now. Tally had offered to show her where Gene died, but she hadn’t acted interested. She decided not to bring that up.

  She wanted to blurt out, Did you kill your son? But instead she asked, “Are you looking for something special?”

  “I believe so. The garden club is meeting at our house tomorrow and I’d like to serve something different.”

  The garden club? With her son just murdered? Tally showed her some of the newest items, the Twinkies and the Baileys Truffle Fudge.

  “Could I have a taste of that?” She pointed to the fudge.

  What was wrong with this woman? She wasn’t a bit upset being in the building where Gene died.

  “Sure thing. Hang on a sec.” Tally scurried to the kitchen to get a small piece of the fudge so she wouldn’t ruin the batch on display in the case.

  “My goodness. That’s terrific,” Mrs. Faust said after she tasted it. “I’d like a pound of that. I’m baking white chocolate cookies, and I’ll have these on the plate for contrast. The colors should be complementary. I’ll still have to decide on the wine to serve. I wonder, though. That might be a problem with this variety of tastes.”

  “When is Gene’s funeral going to be?” Tally felt bold asking that question, but it distressed her that Mrs. Faust hadn’t even mentioned him. If Tally had lost a son, she doubted she would be hosting a garden club and worrying about wine choices a few days later. She shivered at the coldness of the woman.

  “Oh, the funeral? I’m not sure. You’ll see it in the paper. Josef is handling that.”

  “I see.” So, she wasn’t even helping plan her son’s funeral. Colder than cold. Frigid. No wonder Gene had gotten into so much trouble. She couldn’t imagine her own mother showing so little concern for her if she died.

  “Josef says we can’t plan anything until the body is released anyway,” Mrs. Faust said, gazing out the front window.

  “The body?” Had the woman called Gene “the body?”

  “That’s what Josef says. The authorities are talking to him, you know.” She said it like Josef was privileged to be talking to them. Tally hoped they were talking to him as a suspect. And to Mrs. Faust, too.

  Tally busied herself measuring and wrapping Mrs. Faust’s purchase. She was angry about the woman’s cavalier attitude and decided to delve into it further. “Where were you again when he died?”

  “Let’s see, that was Tuesday, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Tuesday afternoon. Did you hear about it right away?”

  “Oh, heavens, yes. The whole town was buzzing instantly. As if he hadn’t given us enough grief when he was alive.”

  His death gave her grief?

  “I was at the hairdresser’s that day. I have a standing appointment at three o’clock every Tuesday afternoon.”

  The police hadn’t said they knew exactly what time he died, but it was some time in the afternoon. She had found his body at around seven o’clock, but Yolanda had to have found him earlier, before six, maybe around five forty-five, if she remembered correctly. Would Mrs. Faust, were she so inclined, have had time to murder her son after a three o’clock hair appointment and before five forty-five? That would depend.

  “Where do you get your hair done?” she asked. “I’m looking for a place,” she added quickly. “I haven’t had a cut for weeks.” That much was true.

  “I use Fancy’s Curl
s on South Adams Street.”

  “I’ll have to try them. Thanks for telling me.” Tally handed Mrs. Faust her batch of fudge, avoiding touching her. The woman was creeping her out. She wondered if her skin would feel cold, like lizard skin. She certainly wasn’t going to touch it. She was going to check her alibi, though, just in case the police hadn’t followed through.

  While the shop was still empty, Tally called Fancy’s Curls and made an appointment for Tuesday at nine, an hour before her shop opened. She didn’t want to be there when Mrs. Faust was, in the afternoon, but she wished she had thought to ask Mrs. Faust who she used.

  Andrea came in through the front door, dropped off by her mother this time, and asked if Mrs. Faust had been in. “I saw her driving off.”

  “She was getting goodies for a garden club meeting at her house. Isn’t that cold? She cares more about her garden club than about her dead son.” Tally immediately wished she could take back her words. That was an insensitive thing to say to the woman who had dated Gene.

  “She’s no prize,” was Andrea’s terse reply as she tied on her smock and got to work.

  * * * *

  Allen Wendt called a few minutes before closing to ask if Tally would like to join him for a drink at Java Joe Corral around the corner.

  “What time will you be there?” she asked, wondering if she wanted to do this or not.

  “You close at seven. How about eight?”

  An impulse seized her to find out more about the Fausts through him. That might be a good avenue. “How about quarter after seven? I’ll walk over right after I close up.” She could get Andrea to handle the end-of-the-day tasks. She had done it before. What drove her impulsive decision was that Allen had worked closely with Gene. He might know something about his strange family.

  As soon as she settled on a bar stool next to him, she started off asking Allen about his family, planning to segue into Gene’s situation. “Where are you from?”

  “Here and there. I’ve never really settled down.”

  “That’s interesting.” Well, it sort of was. She spun slightly on her bar stool and sipped the wine the bartender had set in front of her. “Where does your family live?”

  “They never settled down either. How about you? Are you from here?”

  Okay, she would approach it from a different angle. “I grew up here. I left, but came back when Yolanda talked me into opening my store next to hers. I knew Gene when he was younger. I’d almost forgotten his name was Schwartz before he was adopted. He used to make the news quite a bit, being in trouble a lot.”

  “I guess he ended up in the news, too, didn’t he?”

  Tally shivered. Yes, he did. “How well did you know him?”

  “Not well at all. I got the job through a want ad in the Austin paper online.”

  “Yolanda didn’t kill him. I know that,” Tally said, leaning toward him and lowering her voice. “I need to know more about him to find out who did kill him.”

  “Whoa, girl. You’re going to play detective? Is that a good idea? That Rogers guy seems like a serious sort. He might not like that.”

  She was sure he wouldn’t. “I’m not telling him, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either. But what about Gene? Was anyone angry with him lately?”

  “Besides me?”

  Tally leaned away, surprised he’d said that. “Why were you angry?”

  “He owed me money. It was beginning to look like he was never going to be able to pay me for the work I’ve done. His credit was no good at the hardware store. I doubt he had any funds.”

  “What did he do with his money? Yolanda and I paid him for his work and I know other people did, too.”

  “Beats me. It’s obvious that he underbid some of the jobs. I’ve heard him on the phone with his father asking for money. His Honor, the Mayor, as far as I can tell, never loaned him any.”

  “His mother doesn’t seem to have liked him. Did anyone like him?”

  “I felt bad for the guy, with those parents. They weren’t supporting him in anything he did. He was kind of out on a limb by himself, and the limb was breaking. But still, I do need to get paid when I work.”

  Tally gazed into her dark red wine, feeling an acute pang of pity for Gene, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t liked him. An alarm went off in her head. Allen was angry at Gene, and he was not very far away when he died. On the other hand, Allen had bought her a drink, so he wasn’t broke. Was he telling her the truth about Gene?

  A booth became available, and they moved to it to have a bite to eat. They talked about the town and some of the German oddities, like the Sunday Houses and the museum devoted to Admiral Nimitz, a famous World War II naval commander who had been born in Fredericksburg. They also talked about all the German names of places. Tally felt herself relaxing with Allen, in spite of the mystery he insisted on surrounding himself with. He was attentive and pleasant, and not at all bad to look at.

  When their food was finished, he offered to walk her home and she accepted. She had walked to work that morning, so her car was still in her driveway.

  The streetlamps cast flowing bars of light across the sidewalk as they strolled, the songs of tree frogs and cicadas flowing down over them. The evening air was soft on Tally’s skin.

  Allen talked about a project he’d done in another town, his voice silky and low. The customer had designed a storage shed that couldn’t be built, but the guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. Allen had to figure out how to engineer the thing so it would resemble something like the amateur drawing, but would still have four walls, a roof, and a door. The customer didn’t want a boring old rectangle, but more of a diamond shape, to fit in an odd corner of his lot. She couldn’t help stealing glances at Allen’s face as he talked. It wasn’t quite handsome, but was attractive in a rugged way. When he talked about his work, she saw a spark of animation that made it interesting.

  At her front door, he thanked her and said maybe they could do it again.

  “What’s that?” he asked when a yowling racket started up inside her house.

  She laughed. “That’s Nigel. He knows I’m out here and his din-din is late.”

  “Puma? Tiger?”

  “No, he’s merely a cat.” She opened the door and scooped Nigel up to meet Allen. Nigel sniffed his outstretched fingers and licked one.

  “I must have some barbeque sauce on my finger,” he said, smiling at the cat. “You’re sure that’s not a puma?”

  “He’s a Maine coon. They’re large, but they are domesticated pet cats.”

  “He’s big, all right.” Allen stroked Nigel a couple of times, said good-bye, and left.

  Tally didn’t know if she wished he’d kissed her good night or not. The only thing she felt at the moment was an emptiness inside.

  Chapter 13

  Yolanda half listened to her stylist at Fancy’s Curls talking about the fish her son had caught last weekend while she strained to hear the woman two chairs over. Her voice was loud, but the place was full of chatter, so she couldn’t make out every word.

  Tally had called Yolanda last night and said she wanted to find out everything she could about Gene’s parents. Neither of them seemed to even like him, let alone love him. Yolanda doubted that would prompt them to murder him in Tally’s shop. But Yolanda agreed to scout out the hairdresser on the off chance she hear something that would lend a clue to the murder.

  Just now, by an amazing coincidence, Yolanda deduced that the woman two seats over was talking about Gene’s mother.

  “She’s always been mad at Josef for adopting him. He was a hard-case juvenile delinquent, you know.”

  “I know,” the stylist answered. “She comes here to have her hair done. She was here the day he was killed.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when he threw it right in the water. I mean, we hadn’t even weighed it yet.”


  Yolanda nodded to Khristie, her own hairdresser, and strained to hear the other conversation.

  “Was she?”

  Now Yolanda held her breath, listening. Did Mrs. Faust have an alibi in the hairdressers’ shop? Or did she get her hair done and then go kill her son?

  “It was nine pounds if it was an ounce,” her own stylist said, continuing the fish saga.

  The customer in the other chair continued, “So at least she didn’t kill her own son.”

  “I’m not so sure. She hated him.”

  “What time was she here, though? You said she was here when he was killed.”

  “I don’t know if it was exactly when he was killed. She showed up late because her car wouldn’t start. Or so she said. She also left early for some reason. She ended up getting a trim when she was scheduled for a perm.”

  Yolanda wondered if the stylist was trying to make more out of the situation than it warranted, to make herself the center of attention. Several patrons were staring at her, wide-eyed. The one between them and Yolanda said, “So you think she killed her own son?”

  “I didn’t say that. Only that she wasn’t here as long as she was supposed to be. She mentioned to me in the grocery store that the police had asked her about that day and she said she was here all afternoon.”

  Yolanda’s own hairdresser asked, “Have you told the cops that?”

  The gossiper stuck her chin out. “They didn’t ask.”

  A chorus piped up, telling her she needed to talk to the police.

  It occurred again to Yolanda that she didn’t have the world’s worst parents. Even if Gene’s mother didn’t kill him, she was an awful mother. His father could just as well have killed him, too, since neither of the older Fausts wanted him. And they had, after all, adopted him. Why, if they didn’t want him? Was it truly a publicity stunt by the mayor, as so many people said? How awful to play with a person’s life like that.

  The shop had grown quiet as each of the five hairdressers returned to concentrating on their clients, one by one. Yolanda’s stylist finished her up. Yolanda paid and headed for the door, almost bumping into Tally, who was coming in. She grabbed her friend’s arm and whispered, “I’ll talk to you later. I have some dirt on Gene’s mom.”