Paint the Town Dead

CHAPTER ONEPoplar Street was peaceful. Lined on both sides with elegant old houses, it was Post Oak's bastion of old-money opulence. At least that was the impression it gave. In fact, there was no old money in Post Oak. The town had only been established as a railway stop in the late nineteenth century, and most of the residents of Poplar Street were retirees in from Dallas looking for the simplicity of small-town living. Even though it had been established by horse thieves and carpetbaggers, the neighborhood still gave the newcomers a feeling of stability and old-world charm.At dusk one windy day in March Benjy Rainey rode his bicycle home from school. He had been kept in once again for talking in class and was carrying a note from his teacher in his pocket. He rode as slowly as he could without falling over, because he dreaded getting home.Angela Schultz slowed her Suburban in front of the Paschal house to drop off Missy Paschal. It was Angela's day to drive the team home after soccer practice. Missy was the last, and Angela was glad. She had a splitting headache, and the shrill voices of the preteen girls had not made it any better.Across the street, a well-worn panel truck pulled into the driveway of one of the homes. Printed on its sides were these words:DICKIE'S DELI CUSTOM CATERING FOR ALL OCCASIONSThis home was perhaps the most impressive on the street. Greek revival in style, it was surrounded on three sides by a wide veranda fronted by Doric columns. Red geraniums in black urns stood guard between the columns. The immense front door, painted turkey red, was topped by a leaded-glass fan light. A gravel path around one side of the house led to a smaller building out back. More gravel provided parking space for several cars. A sign on the door identified the place as the home of Del-Max Realtors. It was here that Dickie Deaver was going.He got out and looked at the gray sky. A slow drizzle had started to fall and the wind had died down a little. Dickie decided that this was not enough moisture for any rain gear, only enough to run down your collar and fog up your glasses and make you downright miserable. He took a deep breath of the heavy air and opened the rear doors of the truck. He drew out an old gurney that he had purchased at the hospital's tag sale when he first started out in business and money was tight. It worked just fine and would carry more food than anything else he could purchase now that he could afford to. He had scrubbed the top thoroughly with Lysol and re-covered it with plastic, but he still wondered from time to time what that gurney had carried before he came to possess it. He started loading things on it: a large ice chest, several silver trays and bowls, and two one-gallon containers of iced tea. Pushing the gurney, which rattled and complained over the graveled ground, he headed toward the door of the office. Dickie had been asked to cater the monthly meeting of the Tri-County Realtors Association that was meeting that evening. He parked the gurney and rapped on the door.He stood listening for a minute, and when there was no answer, he rapped again. Still no answer. He put his ear against the door and listened for sounds of life inside, but all he heard was the ticking of a clock and the hum of the air-conditioning. He knocked again, this time pounding the door with the side of his fist. Shaking his head, he went back to the truck and picked up his cell phone from the front seat. He slid into the passenger's seat to get out of the rain, which was now coming down harder, and dialed a number. He waited for several rings. When the answering mechanism kicked in, he reported that he was waiting outside in the rain and asked why wasn't anybody there to meet him. Dickie shook his head and looked at his watch, obviously irritated that he had been stood up. Tom Delgado, the ownerBell, Nancy is the author of 'Paint the Town Dead' with ISBN 9780312362812 and ISBN 0312362811.