Page 81 of Dead Men Tell No Shells

“You’d have to explain that to your next date,” Tammy said.

“I’d tell him the truth. Love is wonderful, but properly roasted poultry is forever.”

“Then you can marry the chicken,” I said, passing him the green beans.

He accepted the bowl with a dignified nod. “I’ll need a moment to consider the proposal.”

For a while, we settled into the familiar rhythm of Sunday lunch. We talked about ordinary things, laughed at Ricky’s running commentary, and ate more than we probably should have. The murder had occupied so much of our attention over the past several days that it was a relief to sit around a table with people I trusted and talk about something that didn’t involve threats, old secrets, or a dead man.

That didn’t mean Harvey Sinclair was far from my thoughts. I was trying to let the sheriff do his job rather than turning every quiet moment into an opportunity to work out the case myself or grab some of his attention to find out how it was going. At least I told myself that was what I was doing during our texts and little meet ups. I was halfway through my second helping of chicken when Ricky’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then grinned at the rest of us.

“It’s Denise.”

Tammy put down her fork. I looked up from my plate as Ricky answered the call and switched it to speakerphone.

“Guuurrrrllll!” Denise exclaimed before he could even greet her. “You are not going to believe what just happened here!”

Ricky leaned back in his chair, delighted. “Then you’d better tell us everything.”

“Oh, honey, I intend to. Just before lunchtime, the sheriff came in, and Joann Minotte got herself arrested after saying a bunch of stuff about not meaning to kill Harvey Sinclair!”

Tammy and I exchanged shocked expressions. We’d known there was a possible connection thanks to the name Shelby being brought up, but her being the killer had definitely not been on our bingo cards.

“You said she confessed?” I asked.

“She sure did,” Denise replied. “She admitted to shoving him, and him falling and hitting his head and everything! She checked him, realized he wasn’t responding, panicked, and basically just ran.”

The words settled over the table, taking some of the warmth out of the room. I could picture the scene too easily: the noise of the festival, the crowd, the sudden violence of the fall, and Joann realizing that the confrontation she had imagined having for years had ended in something she could never take back.

“So she didn’t mean to kill him?” Tammy asked quietly.

“Nope. She lost her temper, something about her sister Shelby and some money they had, and he tried to write her a check with some kind of half ass apology or something, and she lost her shit and shoved him, and everything went wrong in a matter of seconds.” Denise paused. “But she left him there, and that’s something she’ll have to answer for. And get this…apparently she cashed the check he gave her because that’s the first thing we heard the sheriff say when he walked in before they went in the back. He wanted to talk to her about a check she’d cashed. How’s that one for the books, huh? And I was just standing there rinsing perm solution out of Ella Grimsby’s hair when it all started to go down!”

“That’s, like, wow,” Ricky replied.

“Josiah will have to confirm her confession is true and finish building his case,” I said.

“And I’m sure the sheriff knows that. He’ll be following the money wherever it leads. But it’s crazy! Our boss is a killer! Never in a million years would I have thought her capable of it. I wonder what’s going to happen to the salon now?”

We talked a little longer, with Denise and Ricky hoping they still had jobs to go to, as they had bills to pay. When the call ended, Ricky sat back and let out a long breath.

“Well,” he said, “that’s a great deal of drama to digest along with a roast dinner.”

We finished lunch more quietly after that, although Ricky eventually managed to revive the conversation by insisting that his work peeling the potatoes had been essential to the meal’s success. Tammy informed him that the potatoes would have been peeled by someone else if he hadn’t been there, and he declared that such ingratitude was precisely why artists suffered.

Dessert helped restore the mood. Tammy brought out the Smith Island cake she had made the day before, and we each took a generous slice. The layers of cake and chocolate frosting were rich without being too heavy, and I found myself wishing I had room for another piece. I resisted, mostly because I knew I’d regret it later. Ricky, however, managed two slices and, before he’d finished the second one, had decided to call the sheriff’s office in the morning to find out if he could use the keys he had to open the salon for business, as it wasn’t the actual crime scene, just where she’d gotten arrested.

“Because if we can, you know we will be full of walk-ins as everyone will be wanting to come gawk and gossip,” he added. “Tragic as it all is, I’ve got to be able to make my rent and buy groceries. Plus, she’s going to need money for a damned good lawyer.”

After lunch, we cleared the table and washed the dishes. Ricky carried the plates to the kitchen while Tammy packed away the leftovers, and I wiped down the counters. Once everything was clean and the kitchen was back in order, Tammy wrapped a generous slice of Smith Island cake for me to take home.

“Consider it payment for your hard work,” she said.

“I peeled no potatoes.”

“You helped cook, and you put up with Ricky. That counts for something.”

“I heard that,” Ricky called from the sink.