Free Throw in the Trowel by Kate Collins Page A

past.
    â€œWhat a tragedy it was,” Grace said. “Kermit’s wife was left with children to raise and a business to run, while Parthenia returned to town years later as a renowned artist and resumed her life as though nothing had happened, with nary a mention of Kermit or what the two of them had been doing.”
    â€œAnd ol’ Kermit,” Lottie said, “never came back, probably too ashamed, the scalawag.”
    â€œOr he was onto another woman,” Grace said. “Kermit had quite an eye for the ladies.”
    â€œAnd they had an eye for him,” Lottie said. “He was a looker, tall, well built, and a real charmer, too.”
    I pursed my lips and stared at the key chain, my mind spinning their tidbits of gossip into possibilities. “Was there ever any proof that Kermit actually did leave town, like sightings of him or reports of him contacting his children?”
    â€œNot that I can remember,” Grace said. “The
New Chapel News
kept the Cannon scandal alive for months and would revisit it annually, but nothing interesting ever came of it. That’s not to say Kermit never contacted family at some point.”
    â€œInteresting,” I said. “It’s as if Kermit vanished into thin air, leaving his key chain behind.”
    Grace glanced at me with a sly gleam in her eye. “I believe I know where you’re going with this.”
    â€œWhere?” Lottie asked, looking from Grace to me.
    â€œTo the basement, dear,” Grace said. “She’s wondering whether it’s Kermit who’s buried in the basement. I always felt that there was something peculiar about Kermit abandoning his family. He was an extremely jealous man who watched over his wife as though every chap in town was after her. He got himself arrested on a number of occasions for battering men who looked at her too long. However, that didn’t stop Kermit from going after other women.”
    â€œIt seems like quite a leap to go from Kermit being a cheating husband to a murder victim just because of a key chain,” Lottie said.
    â€œNot just because,” I said, “but this key chain is the only link to those bones that I have.”
    â€œMight I inquire as to why you have the key chain and not the detectives?” Grace asked.
    I was about to explain how I’d ended up with it, but we all knew holding on to what might turn out to be crucial evidence wasn’t a good thing to do, so I decided to take Grace’s advice and say no.
    Her eyes widened in surprise; then she nodded approvingly. “Good for you, love.” She looked at Lottie and said with a knowing smile, “She’ll tell us eventually.”
    â€œHelp me out,” I said, grabbing my tablet and a pen. “Who besides Kermit might have had one of these key chains?”
    â€œLet me think,” Grace said, tapping her chin. “As I recall, it was just Kermit in the company for years until he took on a younger partner. Nice fellow by the name of Henry Greer, who, it’s been said, Kermit treated better than his own son. I believe you met Henry once, Abby, when we had a plumbing problem. He owns Greer Plumbing.”
    â€œI remember meeting him,” I said. “He seems like a nice guy.”
    â€œVery conscientious and hardworking,” Grace said. “Unlike Kermit, who liked to imbibe a little too much. Toward the end, as I recall, Henry was doing the lion’s share of the work due to Kermit’s drinking problem.”
    â€œI don’t remember that,” Lottie said.
    â€œYou’re a lot younger than I am, Lottie, dear,” Grace said. “You were probably staging a protest on the university lawn, or burning your bra.”
    Blushing, Lottie said, “I did do a lot of that, come to think of it.”
    â€œDid the business do okay or did Kermit’s drinking affect it?” I asked.
    â€œIt seemed to do well despite Kermit’s