Death Crashes the Party by Vickie Fee Read Free Book Online Page B

specimens—yes, I counted them—on wooden shelves Daddy Wayne had built specifically for the collection.
    Some of the shakers made sense, at least as much as any collection of never used objects makes sense. She has lots of shakers from her travels over the years, from Route 66 to Graceland to the Golden Gate Bridge. She has a set of tiki salt and pepper shakers she brought back from the thirtieth-anniversary trip she and my father-in-law took to Hawaii. These kinds of souvenirs I can understand. But some of the sets, such as the pair that looks like shotgun shells or the one of a peasant woman pushing two pigs in a cart, just don’t compute with me.
    Just before 3:00 p.m., Larry Joe finally arrived, with his dad in tow. Daddy Wayne looked as pale as if he’d just survived a bloodletting. Larry Joe took me aside and briefly brought me up to speed. His dad hadn’t actually been charged with anything. Apparently, the handcuffs were only because he got belligerent when the agents attempted to bring him in for questioning. Ralph Harvey and the attorney were coming over to his parents’ house later in the evening to go over paperwork, look for any irregularities in shipments, and brace for an audit. Larry Joe said I should go on home and not to expect him for supper.
    After I arrived at the house, I pulled a page from my own playbook and took the phone off the hook. I figured anyone I really wanted to talk to would call my cell phone, anyway. I left a trail as I dropped my purse and kicked off my shoes on my way to the den. I stretched out on the sofa and promptly dozed off to the droning of some television talk show.
    I woke up a little after 4:00 p.m. With Larry Joe out of the picture for supper, I called Di to see if she had dinner plans.
    â€œI was just about to call you,” she said. “Dave phoned and asked me if I could drive home the professor that came to look at all the Civil War stuff in the storage unit. His car won’t start, and Dave says he can’t really spare a deputy to drive him to Memphis. You want to come along for the ride? That way I’ll have someone to talk to on the drive back.”
    â€œAre you sure you don’t want to have the distinguished professor all to yourself?”
    â€œNo. I think he’s some old coot. Dave says he’s harmless but chatty. Maybe we can find out something about the Civil War gear he examined.”
    â€œOkay. Count me in. When do we leave?”
    â€œTed was just about to run the professor over to Town Square Diner. They skipped lunch, and he was getting hungry. Dave said he was sure the professor would enjoy the company if we wanted to join him for supper.”
    I texted Larry Joe to let him know where I’d be, put on some lipstick, hurried over to the square, and parked in front of my office. Less than a minute later, Di pulled in next to me. We walked past the courthouse to the other side of the square. Deputy Ted was just getting the professor settled into a corner booth when we arrived at the diner.
    â€œProfessor, may I introduce Ms. Souther and Mrs. McKay? Looks like you’re going to be treated to the pleasure of their company for dinner.”
    The professor rose in a gentlemanly fashion and greeted each of us with a nod and a smile. We slid into the booth, facing him. He waited for us to be seated before sitting down again.
    â€œThis is Dr. Maurice Shapiro, ladies. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I better get back to work,” Ted said, putting on his hat and turning toward the door.
    â€œLadies, I’m charmed. I’m also grateful for a ride home. I understand the nice sheriff has pressed you into service on my behalf. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
    â€œNot at all,” Di said. “It’s our pleasure.”
    â€œDo you recommend anything particular on the menu?” he said.
    â€œThe daily special’s always a safe bet,” I