Die Die Blackbird: Piney Woods, #3

By Teresa Trent

Financially challenged paranormal investigators, Jack and Daisy Foley, check into the Tunie Hotel looking for Santa Anna's gold to save their internet program. They interfere with a local quilting group by taking up reserved rooms at the hotel, which makes Grace Howe, owner of Fabricadabra, very unhappy. The ghost hunters find the location of an old brothel under Butch Allman's Garage parking lot, which could be a key to the gold. After the owner of the garage is found dead, they break through the pavement with a jackhammer. Butch Allman was not an easy man to deal with and the town suspects he refused to pay a local gang, the Alamo Runners extortion money to keep his business intact.

When a second man is murdered, Nora finds there is a connection between the two men that no one else suspects, not even her boyfriend, Tuck Watson, who is investigating the case for the local police department. Tuck has other things on his mind. He would like for Nora to move in with him. Nora has trouble saying yes, even though she is in love with him.

Nora Alexander, the owner of the Tunie Hotel in Piney Woods, Texas, finds herself playing host to a team of ghost hunters in search of the ghost of Sam Houston and a lost chest of gold.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Trent
• Release date: May 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798990262614

Teresa Trent

Teresa Trent writes the Pecan Bayou and Piney Woods Mystery Series, both of which take place in Texas. Pecan Bayou is in the Hill Country of Texas and Piney Woods is in East Texas. Same state, two completely different places. Teresa lives in Houston Texas with her family and has been writing mysteries for over a decade. You can visit her website at TeresaTrent.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dang it, girl, don't bleed on the quilt! As the pain of the needle seared through the tip of her finger, Nora Alexander knew she had just violated the cardinal rule of quilting. Never, never, never bleed on the quilt. Such an infraction among quilters had to have left at least one pioneer woman dumped off behind the wagon train heading west. That tiny drop of blood splashing onto the light-yellow triangle of fabric had subjected Nora to quilting purgatory filled with bloody thumbs and tears.

Nora's grandmother, Rosalyn McCardle, whose snowy white hair had once matched Nora's auburn, laid her hand gently over her granddaughter's. Don't worry, dear. It happens to the best of us, even her. She scowled at Grace Howe, owner of the Fabracadabra Quilt Shop and issuer of the stern warning. Grace wore a cloth tape measure around her neck that hung down over the quilt when she applied her razor-straight running stitch. Her bifocals were balanced on the end of her nose, but she shot a look at Rosalyn after hearing her criticism. Nora was thankful for the calming influence her grandmother had over her. Rosalyn McCardle, a full-time resident of Shady Sunsets Assisted Living, now spent most of her time in a wheelchair but would run through hurdles where Nora was concerned. 

The throbbing in Nora's jaw was not helping matters. She was due at the dentist tomorrow for a look-see. She would have preferred to do it all in one visit, but she had to beg to be put on his schedule. There was one other dental office in town, a new franchise called The Happy Smiley Dentist, but Nora had a hard time imagining herself at a dentist who used an emoji in their logo. She rubbed her cheek.

It's the tooth, right? Arnette Cooper said as she stood at the makeshift ironing board, pressing out seams. Arnette almost always accompanied Nora's grandmother. She worked at Shady Sunsets even though she no longer needed the money. I'll be living there soon enough, she told Nora once. Besides, that's where all my friends are.

Yes. I should never have let it get this bad, Nora answered.

Sorry, I'm late. Marcia Allman rushed into the banquet room at the Tunie Hotel, throwing her cowskin purse under the table. Laurelynn called and said her club was running late at school, so I took the opportunity to catch up on my paperwork.

How is everything at Bottom Line Accounting? Rosalyn asked. Even at Rosalyn's age, she had a keen mind for details.

Marcia sighed. Everything's great. We're ahead of schedule, and my boss is happy. Even with her outward appearance, Marcia was excellent at her job, showing a business acumen no one expected. Marcia pulled a headband out of her bag, pushed shaggy blond curls from her eyes, and then looped a pocketed sewing apron around her neck that said, Quilters Never Grow Old. They Just Go to Pieces. She picked up her needle. Where should I start?

Grace gestured toward a section on the right side of the quilt. Start over there. This pattern is extremely intricate. Be sure to follow the stitching lines with no straying.

Marcia walked over next to Nora, who was hunting for scissors to cut a thread. She immediately handed her a pair of fine dressmaking scissors. Here. Use mine.

Nora eyed the heavy-duty silver scissors. M.A. was etched on one of the blades. They looked sharp and, like Marcia, well-qualified for the job. They are so nice. I hate to use them.

I paid a pretty penny for them, that's for sure. These are the finest dressmaking scissors you can buy on the market. Don't be afraid of them. Go ahead.

Nora took the scissors and snipped the thread, while the pleasant rhythm of a sewing machine hummed in the background. Tatty Tovar, the owner of the Piney Woods B&B, was busy machine piecing their next quilt top. Their future project would feature the classic double wedding ring pattern, whose intricate curves graced many a newlywed's first bed. Grace had cautioned against pressing the pieces right away because they would not be as flexible, making the curved part difficult to assemble. Luckily, the quilt they were currently working on was much simpler, with a myriad of colors against a black background.

Nora set the scissors on a sideboard behind the quilt and then tried to stitch the tiny straight stitches she now observed Marcia doing effortlessly. Watching Marcia's hand too closely and not her own, Nora misjudged the insertion point of the needle and pricked her finger. Grace shouted from across the table, Good God, woman, you're a menace to finely sewn cotton. Stand away from the quilt. Nora put her needle down and did as she was told. From the quilt shop owner's disgusted tone, she had to wonder if Grace's next words would be... and no one gets hurt.

I'm sorry. I guess I'm not much of a quilter, Nora admitted, holding onto her stabbed finger.

The Frederick's sisters, Azalea and Violet, who had been putting their needles in and out of the quilt in tandem, both nodded. Azalea muttered, Fumble thumbs.

Maybe you could cut some material for the flying geese quilt? Rosalyn suggests.

Yes, let's give her a bigger, sharper thing, Violet Fredericks said in exactly the same voice as her sister.

Nora had agreed to let the Piney Woods Stitchers use the banquet room after they were kicked out of St. Andrew's for the more profitable bingo night in their fellowship. Always wanting to share the hospitality of the Tunie Hotel with the community, she welcomed the group on a temporary basis. She also felt a need to offer the space at the Tunie because not only was her landlady in the crunch, but she couldn't let down her grandmother. Once they were on the schedule, Nora entertained the idea of joining them. Her grandmother had a beautiful quilt of red and gold on her bed, and Nora loved it. Quilting was simply sewing a running stitch in a straight line. Anyone could do that, right? She had no idea the pressure she had put herself under.

How's that man of yours? Azalea asked, a flush coming to her angular face. Nora's boyfriend, Tuck Watson, was a handsome guy, and Azalea's lingering stares had not gone unnoticed. Tuck had no idea what was going on. He thought she was a nice, wacky old lady with a twin who finished her sentences. Nora was surprised Azalea's glasses weren't steaming up every time he walked into the room.

He's fine.

Azalea gave a deep smile as if to said, I'll just bet he is.

Violet joined her sister and chimed in. I'm so glad we have such an incredible man in blue around here. I feel safer when I get in bed at night thinking about him being out there. They stood shoulder to shoulder with their hands in the same position over their hearts. Violet and Azalea were identical twins, never married, and always, always together.

Marcia, who had been quietly stitching since her late arrival, was stirred from her concentration when her phone began chirping at her feet. She grabbed it out of her bag and, punching it on, began to listen. From the scowl on her face, it didn't take long to figure out that it was not good news.

What do you mean you can't get there? It's our daughter, for goodness' sake. She called you, not me. The police called you. I can't help it that she listed you as the first parent to call. An angry sound emanated from her throat. Fine. Don't worry about it. I'll pick her up. Tapping the call off, Marcia threw the phone back in her purse and rose from the quilt in progress.

Sorry, ladies. I have to go, she said, removing her apron and stuffing it into her bag.

I hope everything is all right. Is Lauralynn okay? On one level, Azalea sounded caring, but on another, Nora was sure she was getting the scoop to ignite the town gossips.

Sure, she is. I'm happy to report the cops think she'll be sober in an hour or two, Marcia answered.

Nora stepped forward. I thought she was at some sort of school thing.

Didn't we all? Since the divorce, Lauralynn has been nothing but trouble, and this is the worst thing yet.

Feeling she was no longer allowed to quilt anyway, Nora walked Marcia out of the banquet room. I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do, let me know, okay?

Marcia's mouth trembled. I just might take you up on that. Sometimes, I feel like I've been a single parent all of Lauralynn's life. Even when I was married to Butch.

Nora opened the glass lobby door on a cloudy November night, cool air seeping in as she exited to the street. She had always thought having a child would be wonderful. Listening to the cautionary tale of Lauralynn Allman, it didn't seem quite as enticing as a cute little baby. Unfortunately, babies turned into teenagers.

When Nora returned to the banquet room, intending to tell the quilters she would spend her time at the front desk, the chatter was centered on Marcia.

Honestly, I don't know why that woman has even tried to be a member of this group, Grace said, her lips pressed together. First, she shows up late, and then she leaves early.

Tatty looked up from the sewing machine, pulling out a pin that she had held between her lips. Come on, Grace. That woman quilts better than all of us put together, you included. She told me her grandmother taught her how to quilt, and even though she has some difficult things happening in her life, quilting has always been a form of therapy for her. She is exactly the kind of person who needs to be in this group.

Grace harrumphed. That's all fine and well, but we're trying to complete this quilt for the competition in Lufkin, and we're already behind schedule. I'm not here to provide some sort of pseudo-hippy therapy. If we don't have it finished on time, we can't exhibit it. This is very important to both me and my shop.

My goodness, Rosalyn said, raising an eyebrow. It sounds like making this quilt is all about your store. I would hate to think that we are putting in this much hard work just to increase fabric sales and enrollment in quilting classes at Fabricadabra. Arnette nodded in agreement with her old friend.

Not in the least. It's just that when I thought about creating this quilt group, I thought that the women that would be involved would be of the same caliber as most of the quilters I've worked with in the past.

Trying to keep out the poor white trash quilters? Rosalyn asked. At her age, she didn't waste time getting to the point.

Grace tied a knot and snipped the thread with the efficiency of a Marine assembling a rifle. I am not even going to acknowledge that statement, but as long as we're on the subject, she is married to one of the most notorious criminals in Piney Woods.

Was married, Arnette reminded Grace.

Fine. Everybody knows that her ex uses that garage of his as a front to deal drugs to the desperate people of East Texas. Now we have to put up with that criminal element in our quilting group.

Marsha's husband was involved with drugs? Nora wondered if Tuck was aware of that. Tuck discussed little of his day-to-day business if it didn't directly involve her. He preferred to talk about other things, and lately it was the idea of the two of them moving in together. She spent so many nights at his neatly kept ranch home already that moving her things in would be easy. She loved the view from his kitchen window that showcased the area's pine trees. It was a restful place for her, and she loved spending every moment she could with Tuck. For the last year and a half, she had lived with Tatty and Ed Tovar at the Piney Woods Bed-and-Breakfast. Tatty and Ed had become like family to her, and moving out would be difficult emotionally. Moving in with Tuck was a big step, and there was just something holding her back from making the commitment. She had never thought of herself as prudish, but something was stopping her.

Poppycock, Grace. You have absolutely no proof that Butch Allman is dealing drugs out of his garage, Rosalyn said, shaking her head.

Azalea raised her chin and looked down her thin nose. I heard he was knee-deep in the dark and sinister criminal world.

Me too, Violet echoed. Everybody knows it.

Grace Howe smiled with satisfaction at the Frederick sister's support and waved her hand over the rest of the quilters to emphasize her point. Don't believe me, Rosalyn McCardle. Just ask the rest of the town.

Even with this information floating around, Nora still liked Marcia Allman and couldn't believe that she would ever be involved in anything of that sort. For Marcia's sake, she hoped what Grace was saying wasn't true. Because she was new to Piney Woods, she thought of it as a picturesque little town in East Texas. Hearing about gangs and drugs shattered that Mayberry fantasy.

Uh, I think I'll leave you ladies to it, Nora said as she backed out of the banquet room.

Good, Grace said flatly. Bleeders make lousy quilters.

Now free of her responsibilities for the quilting group, Nora checked on Dominic Fazio at the front desk. He had agreed to take her shift tonight so she could attend the quilting group. Marty wanted to quilt too, but was busy helping Max, their night auditor, study for his upcoming bar exam. Max had been studying online for his law degree for the last couple of years and was now slated to take the Barbary course in Dallas in February. This would be his final preparation for his law degree, and he would be in class with individuals who went to traditional law schools. Max confessed to Nora one night that, now that he was about to take the bar exam, he worried that his online education had not prepared him.

It surprised Nora that Dominic was so eager to volunteer. When she approached him, his eyes were fixated on the computer. She picked up a stray newspaper someone had left in the lobby. The Piney Woods football team, the Ravens, were turning in a losing season with a record of five losses and no wins. Uncle Wiley told Nora that the team had not won in ten years. They were getting known as a joke around Texas, where football is as important as going to the right church. As sad as the news was for the fans, the local paper had a picture of Little Dudley from Dudley's Brew on the front page. He attributed their loss to a lack of caffeine, something Nora was sure that his father, owner of the town's only coffee shop, had instructed him to say. She glanced out at the early November rain. The temperatures had dropped, and with the Texas humidity, there was a chill in the air. The ache in Nora's jaw was gradually descending to a deep, unrelenting throb. She grabbed a cup of coffee and downed a couple of ibuprofen pills she had been carrying in her pocket.

What's up, Nora? I thought you were in there with the quilters. Dominic spoke with a New York accent that stuck out, especially in East Texas. He walked into the Tunie one day, asking for a job. Nora and Marty were elated to find such a great front desk clerk without even putting an ad in the paper. The Tunie had been struggling in the past few years, and maybe this was a sign of success. Their arduous work was paying off. He later admitted that he wanted to work at the hotel because of its historic past and the high probability of spirits wandering around. Paranormal science was his real passion, right after customer service.

I bled on the quilt, she answered, her eyes cast to the floor.

Dominic clucked his tongue in disappointment. Jeez, Nora. You should never bleed on the quilt. Talk about ruining a piece of art already. Nora noted that even a city boy knew about the unwritten law of quilting.

It was an accident! Nobody has asked how I am doing after stabbing myself.

Are you hurt?

Well, no.

Then, don't worry about it, Dominic said, his New York accent sounding like a wise guy from a Mafia movie. I wanted somebody to talk to anyway. Did you know that we're about to rent a room to Jack and Daisy Foley?

Nora had no idea who these guests were, but it was nice that Dominic did. Things had been slow around the Tunie. Their newest hire, Val, was working as their sales generator. She had spent hours contacting various groups, trying to get them to schedule events in the gloriously wooded East Texas area. Dominic knowing about these guests might mean future bookings.

No. I didn't. Do you know these people?

"Only by their reputation. The Foleys are world-famous ghost hunters. I read their blog religiously. Their show, Paranormal Party, breaks records on YouTube. They're coming to Piney Woods to try to contact