Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 06 - Death of a Damn Yankee

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  “Of course you do,” I said firmly. “There’s not one thing wrong with your seeing anybody you want to.”

  “I told Linwood that, but he said that if I married Caleb, I’d be no better than… no better than a whore!”

  “He said that?” I said, aghast. I’d known Linwood was mighty messed up, but him saying that to his own mama shocked me worse than the idea of him burning down buildings.

  Aunt Edna looked down at her hands as if she were ashamed, and I went from being shocked to being furious at Linwood for making her feel that way.

  “I had to hold Caleb back, as you might imagine,” Aunt Edna said.

  I nodded, thinking what Richard would have done in that situation. My husband isn’t a violent man, but he can be when it comes to people he loves.

  “Then I told Linwood that he had no business talking to Caleb or to me that way, and that maybe he was a grown man, but while he was in my house, he darned well better watch his mouth. He started to say something about it being his daddy’s house, but I told him it was my house and my life and who I decide to spend my time with is my business. And moreover, if and when I decide to get married again, that’s my business, too.”

  Now her eyes were flashing, and I remembered stories Aunt Nora had told me about Aunt Edna as a young woman, how she was the spirited one in the family. The spirit was still there, even after her years of being browbeaten by Uncle Loman, and when it came out, it was something to behold. Then she seemed to deflate as she remembered the next part.

  “Linwood got real still, the same way Loman used to when he got mad. It wasn’t Loman yelling that you had to worry about—it was when he was quiet that you knew it was bad. Then he stood up and walked out the front door. A minute later, we heard the station wagon start up. He just drove off, with Sue and the kids sitting right there.”

  “What time was it?” I asked.

  “Early enough for him to have set the fire, if that’s what you’re asking. Caleb kept apologizing for springing it on me and Linwood that way, and Sue didn’t say much of anything other than to tell us that she and the kids needed a ride home. The poor kids didn’t know what to think—I felt so bad for them having to see and hear that. Of course, being kids, they still wanted their ice cream, so it was probably an hour or more before we finally got ready to go, but I figured it was just as well because Linwood needed some time alone. Caleb wanted to come with us, but I told him to go on home because I thought I should talk to Linwood by myself. I had Sue in the front seat with me with me, so I saw her face when we got to their house and the station wagon wasn’t there. She looked scared, Laurie Anne, and she wouldn’t say a word. She just took the kids inside.

  “After that, I couldn’t seem to make myself go home. I kept hearing what Linwood had said about it being Loman’s house. So I went to the church and got Reverend Glass to let me in so I could sit and think things through. It was close to midnight before I finally left there, and when I drove back by Linwood’s house, he still wasn’t home. This morning Nora called to tell me about Marshall Saunders being dead. I tried to call Sue and Linwood, but they didn’t answer, and when I went to their house, I saw Junior Norton’s squad car in the driveway.”

  “Did she arrest him?” I asked.

  “No, but she wanted to know where he’d been last night. Sue swore that he’d been with her and the kids the whole time.”

  “Even though he hadn’t been,” Richard said.

  “I was so glad the kids weren’t in the room to hear their mother lie that way, but the thing is, if Junior had asked me, I’d have lied, too. I’ve never lied to the police before, but maybe not telling her the truth is the same thing.”

  I patted her hand. “I’d probably have done the same thing. What else did Junior say?”

  “She asked Linwood about gasoline. I guess she’d checked around town and found out that Sid Honeywell has sold Linwood gasoline in a can several times these past few months. Linwood said he needed it for the lawn mower.”

  “Oh Lord,” I said, remembering how high the grass had been at Linwood and Sue’s house. “What did Junior say to that?”

  “There wasn’t much she could say, but after she left Sue and Linwood’s house, I saw her going up the drive to the neighbor’s place. I know she’s going to try to find out if anybody saw him coming or going last night. Maybe he was lucky and nobody was looking out the window. I don’t know because I wasn’t there long enough to see if she came back.”

  “Why not? What did Linwood do?”

  She sighed so deeply it hurt to hear it. “As soon as Junior was gone, he looked at me so hateful and said, ‘This is my house.’ I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen, and Sue said that she thought I should go.”

  “Oh, Aunt Edna, you know he’s just mad—he’ll get over it.”

  “I hope so, Laurie Anne. But no matter what, there are two things I decided while I was at the church last night. First off, I can’t marry Caleb if it’s going to ruin things between me and Linwood. I love Caleb, Laurie Anne, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him, but I can’t stand the idea of losing Linwood. I’d be miserable if I went ahead and married Caleb, and it would just sour our relationship.” I started to object, but she said, “I know what you’re thinking: that I ought not let Linwood keep me from what I want. But I don’t want to lose my boy. He’s the only child I could ever have—I had to have a hysterectomy when he was just a little thing—and he and his children are the world to me. You’ll know what I mean someday.”

  She was right. Until I had a child of my own, there was no way I could understand how the possible loss of one would affect me. I already knew I’d lie to the police for Linwood—I didn’t know what lengths I’d go to to protect a child.

  “I decided something else, too,” Aunt Edna said. “You two and I have never talked about religion, but there are some things I believe. One of those is that a person has to redeem himself when he sins. Murder puts a blot on a man’s soul, one that stays there until he repents. If Linwood killed that man, he’s got to admit it and ask for forgiveness. If he doesn’t, he’ll be damned for all eternity.” She took a ragged breath. “I won’t have that, Laurie Anne. I asked y’all before to find out if he was setting those fires so we could stop him ourselves, but it’s too late for that. If Linwood didn’t do it, I don’t want him taking the blame for it, but if he did, he’s got to go to jail and redeem himself, even if that means my losing him forever. I’d rather lose him than have him lose his soul.

  “Laurie Anne, I know y’all don’t want to be responsible for sending your own cousin to jail. It should be my responsibility, and I’d do it if I could, but I don’t know how. So I’m asking you two to help me save my boy’s soul.”

  It should have sounded melodramatic—people just don’t talk about redemption and saving souls that way—but I knew Aunt Edna meant every word of it. She was willing to forgo her own happiness with Caleb, but she wouldn’t risk her son’s eternal soul for anything. Could I live with myself if I didn’t take a risk to help her?

  I repeated what I’d told her before. “We’ll do what we can, Aunt Edna. That’s a promise.”

  Chapter 18

  Aunt Edna gave us both long hugs after that, and then went back home. She didn’t say so, but I think she hoped Linwood would come by to apologize. I didn’t have any idea that that would happen, so I called Aunt Nora and, without giving her any details, suggested that Aunt Edna needed company. A hint was all it took, and Aunt Nora rushed off to be with her sister.

  “Damn it!” Richard said when I got off the phone. “I should have watched him last night.”

  “Come on, Richard, we thought he’d be at Aunt Edna’s. How could we have guessed that he’d go off like that?”

  “After the way he’s been acting, I should have known better than to try to predict what he’d do. He’s not rational, Laura. This latest fire only proves that.”

  “If he set it. We still don’t know that for sure.”
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  Richard didn’t say anything.

  “Richard, you don’t honestly believe Linwood killed Marshall Saunders, do you?”

  He still didn’t say anything.

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “I don’t know, Laura. What do you think?”

  I wanted to tell him that there was no way Linwood could have committed a murder, but I just couldn’t. It was funny, there was a time when I’d suspected Thaddeous of murder, even though I’d always liked Thaddeous better than I had Linwood. The difference was that I hadn’t much felt like a Burnette then. Now that I’d found my place in the family, I couldn’t stand the thought of turning against one of my own. Could I put my own cousin in jail if it came to that?

  “I need a quote,” I said sadly. “Something about honor before family, or the truth coming out no matter what.”

  Richard put his arms around me and kissed me on the forehead. “You don’t need a quote to tell you what to do. You’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, “but I know I did the right thing when I married you.” I leaned up against him, just breathing in his scent and feeling glad that he was there. I could have stayed that way all day, but the phone picked that moment to ring, and I had to get up to answer it.

  “Burnette residence.”

  “May I speak to Laurie Anne, please?” a voice whispered.

  “Mr. Walters? This is Laura.”

  “Have you heard the news about Saunders?”

  “Yes, sir, we did. That’s one of the reasons we’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”

  “Miss Hunsucker gave me the messages, but I haven’t had a chance to call back until now. It took a while for me to come up with a good excuse.”

  I knew it wasn’t really any of my business, but I couldn’t help asking, “You needed an excuse for your secretary?”

  “Miss Hunsucker is a distant cousin of my wife’s,” he said, which explained a lot. I’d always known that Dorcas Walters kept Burt on a tight leash, which didn’t keep him from slipping out of it now and again, but did make it a lot harder. “Please don’t call here again unless it’s absolutely necessary. Even if you don’t leave a message, Miss Hunsucker has caller ID, so she’ll know where you’re calling from.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. That is, assuming that we’re still on the job.”

  “Y’all aren’t backing out, are you?”

  “To tell you the truth, we didn’t know if you wanted us to go on with Mr. Saunders dead. Is the buyout still going to happen?”

  “Grace says she wants to go through with it, and I think Daddy wants to move quickly before she changes her mind. I don’t know what else I can do to stall.”

  More time pressure was the last thing I wanted, but I said, “Then we’re still on the job.”

  “Good,” he said, sounding relieved.

  “We do need some help from you. You said your father had the Saunders investigated—we want a copy of the report.”

  “But I told you there was nothing useful in there.”

  “I know, but we’ve got to start somewhere. We can’t go to a lot of our usual sources without word getting around. After all, we’ve got no legitimate reason to be nosing around the Saunders.”

  “With Saunders dead, can’t you pretend to be trying to solve his murder?”

  I blinked. His solution was perfect, not just for his purposes but for ours, too. What better way to prove Linwood innocent than to find the actual murderer? Admittedly, I was assuming that Linwood was innocent despite the circumstantial evidence to the contrary, but I just couldn’t think about it any other way right then. “That’s a great idea,” I told him. “It might not fool everybody, but it should be enough to cloud the issue.”

  “Good.”

  “But we still want that report,” I said.

  “All right, but I have to figure out how to get it to you.”

  “Don’t you have a copy?”

  “Yes, but it’s in Miss Hunsucker’s files.”

  The dread Miss Hunsucker again. “Can’t you get it while she’s at lunch?”

  “She eats at her desk.”

  “How about after she leaves for the day?”

  “She never leaves before I do.”

  “Could you get in early tomorrow morning?”

  “Sometimes I’d swear that woman comes in at bedtime and sleeps at her desk.” I was starting to think that we’d have to have to stage a terrorist attack to distract her when Burt said, “Why don’t you two come with me to the mill this evening? I can make a copy of the file and put back the original, so Miss Hunsucker will never know.”

  “All right,” I said. We arranged to meet at the Methodist church parking lot, not far from the mill. That way, we could all go in Burt’s car and maybe nobody would notice Richard and me.

  I did consider asking Burt to copy the file without us, but from the way he was talking, I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to find it. Besides, I wanted a chance to find out what he knew about Marshall’s murder. Big Bill was almost certainly breathing down Junior’s neck to get the details of the investigation, and he was sure to pass them on to Burt.

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I explained the plan to Richard. He reminded me that we wouldn’t be able to keep watch over Linwood if we both went to the mill, and after what had happened the night before, we weren’t about to risk that. Fortunately, a quick call to Aunt Edna took care of the problem. The fire brigade was having its monthly meeting that night, and Aunt Edna was sure Linwood wouldn’t miss that. I was glad he was out of the picture for the night, but I hated knowing that Linwood’s enthusiasm was all too typical of arsonists.

  Chapter 19

  Once that was settled, we had the rest of the day free, and with the week slipping away, I should have been ready to get to work, but what I wanted was to crawl into bed and hide. Richard knew me well enough to know that what I really needed was something to eat.

  Hardee’s had quit serving breakfast by the time we got there, so we had to settle for hamburgers and fries, but at least we had something to read. Somebody had left a copy of Sunday morning’s Byerly Gazette on the table next to ours, and I flipped through it as we ate.

  The Gazette only came out on Sundays and Wednesdays, which was usually more than enough to cover any news in Byerly, but the past two weeks had been exceptional. From the looks of this issue, Hank Parker had been having a field day writing about it all. The front-page story was about the buyout, and most of the second page was devoted to a background piece about Marshall and Grace.

  I read through it twice, hoping to find something useful, but it was pretty bland stuff. They’d been married just over five years, and had met through mutual business acquaintances. Grace’s field was marketing, which didn’t surprise me, and as I’d suspected from things Marshall had told me, his family was old money. The family owned a home in Boston’s Louisburg Square, a piece of Beacon Hill so exclusive that you had to wait for somebody to die before you could hope to buy your way in. If Marshall had owned the place himself, I could almost consider it as a motive for murder, but since his parents lived there, it wasn’t likely.

  Still, looking at the paper gave me an idea. I said, “For now, I’d like to assume that Linwood had nothing to do with Marshall’s death. That means that somebody else killed him.”

  “Logical.”

  “Now, since Marshall and Grace only came to town last week, and probably spent most of their time on mill business, I don’t imagine they had time to make any personal enemies around here. That gives us two kinds of motive. One, something to do with the buyout.”

  “Such as a disgruntled mill worker trying to stop it?”

  That came too close to describing Linwood for comfort, but I said, “Right. Or two, it was something Marshall brought to Byerly with him. Does that make sense?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I pointed to the article in the Gazette. “Hank Parker has been d
igging into the Saunders’s background. What do you say we go visit him and see what he knows?”

  “Don’t you think he’d have put it all in the paper?”

  “Not necessarily. He could have heard hints of something more, or rumors he couldn’t print. He loves to twit Big Bill, but he knows better than to go too far.”

  “Then I say it’s an excellent idea.”

  The office of the Byerly Gazette looks more like an old dress store than a newspaper office, but since it used to be a dress store, that’s no surprise. I vaguely remembered the old office, which was appropriately fitted with mahogany railings and such, but the Gazette had moved years ago, lured by closer proximity to the highway, a parking lot, and probably the most important, central air conditioning. The current location was smaller than the old, but since the huge printing presses had been left behind for the wonders of desktop publishing, they had more room than they needed.

  The only staff who actually worked in the office were the editor/publisher, a man from Statesville who owned several small papers around the state so was rarely around; a secretary, who took subscription orders, dealt with the paper carriers, and sold advertising; and star reporter Hank Parker. Other than his articles, the paper’s pages were filled with wire stories and the work of half a dozen stringers scattered around town, most of whom covered society events like weddings and church socials.

  With the paper scheduled to be printed that night, I halfway expected Hank to be out chasing the murder story, but we found him typing away at his keyboard. When the bell over the door jingled as we walked into the office, he looked up and smiled.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Fleming,” he said. “I’d heard y’all were in town.” Hank’s reddish brown hair was thinning, but he usually wore a hat that covered his bald spot. From Labor Day to Memorial Day, it was a brown fedora, and from Memorial Day to Labor Day, a straw boater. Either way, he always had a press pass stuck in his hat band—maybe that was the reason for the hats.