“Then what’s with the suitcase?”
“It’s none of your business. I don’t owe you an explanation for anything.”
I brought my hand to my pocket and quickly withdrew my cell. While I hated to play hardball with Buck, he’d left me no choice. “Why don’t we get the detective on the phone, then, and see what he says?”
“For the love of God.” He picked up the suitcase again. “Fine. I’ll stay here. Just like a prisoner. ‘The Prisoner of Honeycutt Hall.’ It sounds like a bad horror flick.”
He swiveled around, and the minute he did that, the suitcase burst open. A blur of books and knickknacks flew in every direction. Some of it landed on the grass, while most of it rolled under the beautyberry bush.
“Now look what you’ve done!” He glared at me.
“Me? You’re the one who huffed out of here.”
I bent to help him, although he quickly tried to scoop everything up before I could. I spied an antique textbook under the hedge, which I bent to retrieve. The minute I straightened, I spied something else amid the bush’s thorny roots. It was long and shiny, and about as round as a rolling pin.
I lunged for it with my left hand, since the textbook weighted down my other one. It was a candlestick, of all things. A beautiful silver candlestick, burnished with age, and inscribed with the distinctive HH logo on its side.
“What’s this?” I brought the candlestick into the sunlight.
“That’s just something Mrs. Honeycutt wanted me to appraise.” He held out his hand for it. “Here. I’ll see if there’s any damage.”
“Not so fast.” I pulled the candlestick out of his reach. “It looks like you were hiding it in your bag.”
“Hiding it?” he scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I told you…Mrs. Honeycutt wanted an appraisal. My father owns an antiques store in the French quarter, and I work there with him. She’s having everything appraised, for some reason.”
“I see.” I began to hand over the candlestick and the book when I spied something else winking up at me from the ground. It, too, was shiny, although the hedge obscured most of it.
I reached for it before Buck could stop me. Chunks of bark mulch dusted the surface, which I brushed aside to unearth an exquisite picture frame, inlaid with rows of semiprecious stones. Amethysts, jade, pearls…the stones glinted prettily in the sunlight. “My gosh. This is gorgeous!”
Buck grabbed it from me. “It’s been in the Honeycutt family since the Civil War. Someone buried it in the backyard for safekeeping, and no one knew it was there until last year.”
“Let me guess…it’s something else Mrs. Honeycutt wanted you to appraise?” While I could believe his explanation for the silver candlestick, the frame seemed terribly expensive to be thrown into a suitcase like that.
“Yes. She asked me to take it back to the store.”
“Look, Buck. All of this seems pretty incredible. Think about it: you’re calling for a car, you have a suitcase stuffed with things from the mansion, and, between you and me, you can’t wait to get out of here. What am I supposed to think?”
He hemmed and hawed a bit, probably trying to think of a plausible explanation. “If you don’t believe me, ask Mrs. Honeycutt. She’ll tell you it’s true.”
“Just in case…do you mind if I hold onto those things in the meantime? You told me you weren’t going to go anywhere, and I’d feel better if I got them back to Nelle myself.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re really being difficult, you know that? But if you insist.” He threw up his hands.
“I do.”
“You’re going to feel like a fool when she backs up my story. She’ll tell you I’m legit. And when she does, I expect a full-blown apology.”
“And you’ll get it. Just as soon as your story checks out.” I handed him the textbook, but I kept the candlestick and the picture frame firmly in my grasp. Buck had no choice but to beat a hasty retreat with his much lighter suitcase, which trailed behind him.
I watched him turn and walk away from me, so much slower than when he first barreled down the path. After everything that had happened just now, it was time to catch my breath and have a good, long chat with Lance. Maybe Buck was the one Lance warned me about, and I didn’t even realize it at the time.
Chapter 9
By the time I turned around and headed for the wine cellar, Lance had already left. Electric-yellow caution tape stretched along the top of the stairwell, and a Master Lock padlock secured the door at the very bottom.
I thought about calling Lance on my cell. But then I realized I might as well head for the main house, since no one else seemed to be outside anyway. If I couldn’t find Lance, I could always look for Nelle, since I was dying to know whether Buck was telling the truth about the antiques.
This time, I watched where I was walking as I headed up the path. After a moment, I passed a large holly tree, and something rustled loudly on the other side. It piqued my curiously, and I paused long enough to determine the source of the sound.
Apparently, two people stood on the other side of the bush. Their voices drifted through the branches, just loud enough for me to hear.
“I thought you’d still be hiding in your room.” The speaker was Violet, Wesley’s mother. She sounded dubious, as if she never expected to find her companion away from the house.
“I wasn’t ‘hiding’ anywhere.” The second voice belonged to Lorelei, of all people. Unlike before, when she turned soft-spoken and weepy after she heard the details of Wesley’s death, she sounded revived now. As if she’d mustered the strength to get through the terrible weekend, by whatever means necessary.
Thankfully, the holly bush was immense—one of those Nellie Stevens Hollies—and it provided more than enough foliage to keep me covered. I settled back on my heels and waited for Violet to respond.
“Well, that’s what it seemed like to me,” Violet said.
“I don’t necessarily care what you think.” Lorelei clipped the ends of her words, her anger barely concealed.
“Now that you’re here, though,” Violet continued, “I need to talk to you about something. About the ring Wesley gave you. It belonged to Foster’s great-great-grandmother, you know.”
“The ring? You want to talk to me about the engagement ring?” Lorelei seemed incredulous.
To be fair, it seemed awfully sudden for Violet to bring up the poor girl’s engagement ring. She only learned about his death a little while ago, and the ring wasn’t exactly going anywhere. Surely, Violet could wait.
The older woman’s voice brought me back to the present. “He never asked us if he could give it to you, you know. We always thought he’d wait a little longer before he got married.”
“He said the ring belonged to him. He said it was his to give away.” Lorelei’s voice had hardened, as well. Apparently, there was no love lost between Wesley’s fiancée and his mother.
I decided to lean a little closer to the conversation. The minute I did that, though, something pricked me on the arm, and I flinched.
Sweet mother of pearl!
The jagged edges of a leaf scraped against my skin and left an angry red mark. Although the Nellie Stevens Holly wouldn’t sprout berries until later, the edges of its waxy green leaves were shaped like needles. So I nursed my arm while I tried to remain silent.
“What’s the use?” Lorelei sounded resigned now. “Here. Take it. I don’t want it anyway.”
I carefully pried apart a branch in front of me, careful to avoid the needle-sharp edges this time, and saw two women on the other side. Lorelei stood with her back to me, and, just as I thought, she held the ring out to Violet. The older woman hesitated, but then she reached to pluck it from Lorelei’s hand.
Before she could grab it, though, Lorelei released the ring.
“Oops! Clumsy me.”
Violet�
�s eyes widened as she watched the ring fall to the ground, where it landed in the dust. Even from where I stood, the diamond glittered in the sun, like a drop of water splashed on the earth.
“How could you?!” Violet shrieked. “You…you brat! Pick the ring up right now.”
“Make me.” Lorelei jutted out her chin, daring Violet to move.
“Why…why.” Violet seemed caught between a rock and a hard place. Between wanting to teach Lorelei a lesson and wanting to get her heirloom off the dusty ground. It was a no-win situation, since neither party looked willing to back down.
Now, I had been privy to some nasty conversations in my day—after all, I worked in the bridal business, where I’d seen more than my share of bridezillas—but this one seemed particularly harsh. These two women supposedly loved Wesley, so why couldn’t they get along?
“Excuse me.” I skirted around the bush until I stood in the open. “Is there a problem?”
Neither woman expected to see me, and neither one answered.
“I was just walking around the grounds, and I thought I heard something.” When in doubt, it’s best to pretend you’re an innocent bystander, I’d found. That way people think you never intended to eavesdrop, so they’re not offended.
“We were having a private conversation.” Violet spoke a bit more harshly than necessary.
“Then why did you pick a public place to have it?” I reminded her. “Oh, look. You dropped something.”
I carefully juggled the picture frame and candlestick in one hand while I bent to retrieve the ring, since it was a shame to leave a five-carat princess-cut diamond ring lying on the dirty ground. Heaven only knew how many feet, hooves, and paws had trampled over the same dirt.
“Thank you,” Violet said, as I handed her the ring. “It belonged to Foster’s great-great-grandmother.”
“I know. He told us.” I turned to leave, since I’d accomplished my goal for the moment.
If the two women couldn’t even be civil to each other, I’d rather play referee now than see the argument escalate.
“He didn’t even tell us he was going to give it away,” Violet said.
“He didn’t have to,” Lorelei countered. “The ring belonged to him, fair and square. But since you want it so badly, you can keep it.”
I shook my head as I strolled away from their argument. They didn’t even pretend to like each other. There was some bad blood between those two, and it was anyone’s guess why.
I continued to walk until I reached the pull-through drive-in. That was where I spied Lance, who stood by one of the water towers. “Hey, Lance!”
He shaded his eyes from the sun as he looked for me on the horizon. I moved over to his side, my footfalls creating the only sound within earshot.
“Hi…I looked for you by the wine cellar, but you’d already left.” A trickle of sweat worked its way down my cheek and stopped just shy of my chin. “You’ll never believe the conversation I just overheard.”
He eyed the booty in my hand curiously before he focused on the crux of my comment. “Really? Tell me about it.”
“I happened to find Violet and Lorelei having a private conversation.” I rolled my eyes, since I couldn’t understand why they’d fight in plain view of the main house. “Anyway, Violet asked for the engagement ring back.”
Lance grunted. “Huh. Now, I’m no expert, but I thought the ring always stays with the girl, even if the wedding doesn’t happen.”
“You’re right. Though how you know that is anyone’s guess.”
“I read the newspaper. And Dear Abby always says the girl doesn’t have to return it. By the way, what’s that in your hands?”
“These are the things I got from Buck Liddell. He was trying to leave the property with them.” I held out the candlestick and jeweled photo frame, which I’d managed to balance in one arm.
Lance’s eyes widened. “Did those come from here?”
“Sure enough. Buck tried to hide them in a suitcase. He said Mrs. Honeycutt wants him to appraise them at his dad’s antiques store. But I don’t know…”
“I’m glad you took those away. For all we know, he was trying to make a getaway and thought those things would come in handy if he needed cash.”
“That’s what I thought. Here…I’d feel better if you took them.” I carefully placed the candlestick and frame in his hands.
“Fair enough. I’ll take these back to the squad car. Why don’t you go look for Mrs. Honeycutt, and we’ll get her side of the story.”
“Gotcha. She’s probably near her daughter’s room. That is, unless Stormie had other plans for her.”
Lance shot me a funny look. “You really don’t like that newscaster, do you?”
It was hard to tell whether he was curious or simply amused by my relationship with Stormie.
“It’s not that I dislike her so much. Well, maybe a little. But I don’t trust her. Stormie’s the type who will say or do anything to make herself look better.”
“Why do you let her get under your skin like that? If you know what she’s like, you should just accept it and move on.”
“It’s not that easy. For some reason, we keep running into each other. I think she’s trying to shadow me or something.”
“Well, you know what they say about small towns.” Lance chuckled, which meant he really did think our relationship was funny. “Even if you don’t know what you’re doing at any given moment, someone else will.”
“Very funny, Lance. I’ll remember that the next time she and I cross paths.”
I turned to leave, anxious now to escape the noon heat and slip into the air-conditioned hallways of the main house.
Thoughts of the argument between Violet and Lorelei stayed with me, though, as I scurried down the walk. Not to mention the items in Buck’s suitcase. If Nelle wanted Buck to appraise those things so badly, why didn’t she just ship them to his father’s store in New Orleans? Or, better yet, have Buck appraise the objects right here, since this was where they belonged?
I debated those options as I crossed the property, prepared to finally find Nelle. I’d almost made it to the staircase when my cell buzzed again.
“Oh, shine.” I quickly withdrew the phone. At this rate, I was never going to find out whether Buck Liddell was lying or not. “Hello?”
“Missy?”
I immediately relaxed. My favorite assistant—who also happened to be maid of honor at my wedding—always managed to cheer me up.
“Hi, Beatrice!”
“How’s everything going over there?”
Of course, she knew all about Wesley Carmichael by now. People couldn’t wait to share bad news in our town…but only if it happened to someone else.
“It’s been a rough morning. Lorelei is devastated, of course. And the medical examiner found an extra pair of footprints by the body, so she’s treating it as a homicide. But please don’t tell anyone that. I don’t want anyone to panic about a murderer being loose.”
“No, you’re right. I won’t breathe a word. Do you need any help down there?”
I paused to think it over, since Beatrice was a pro at handling details I couldn’t get to. It happened all the time at our store, when she rode herd over the thousand and one things that needed to be done while I was tied up with a client, vendor, or another shopkeeper.
“I can’t think of anything at the moment, but I’ll let you know if I think of something. How are things going at the studio?”
She didn’t answer for a beat or two.
“Beatrice?”
“Nothing’s going on over here. Same old, same old. You know…just another crazy Saturday morning during the wedding season. Ha, ha.” Her laughter sounded hollow, though. “Nothing you haven’t seen a million times before.”
“Beatrice Rushing, something’s up. I can tell it by your voice.
Out with it.”
“But you’ve got so much other stuff going on.”
Whether she knew it or not, I could read her like a book, and I didn’t like the story in this one. “And?”
“And I only wanted to help you out. Really, that’s all.”
“Help with what?” I sounded about as suspicious as I felt. There was something she wasn’t telling me, and my patience was wearing out.
“You know your veil? How you used that pretty French lace to edge the sides?”
“Yes. I love that lace.”
Being a milliner, I could get any lace I wanted, including antique, impossible-to-find French lace like Alençon. That was my choice when it came to my veil, and I found a sample from the eighteen hundreds. The seller wanted five hundred dollars a yard for it, but she was willing to give me a fifty-percent discount, since I worked in the trade. Praise the Lord for my wholesaler’s license, since I could never afford the lace otherwise.
“I love that lace, too,” Beatrice said. “But there was a crimp on the end of it, so I thought I’d steam it out for you.”
“Well, that was nice of you. But you had me worried. I thought for sure something was wrong. Don’t scare me like that!”
When she didn’t laugh along with me, I quickly sobered up. “Wait a minute. Did something happen to the lace?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, a little sniffle sounded over the receiver.
“Beatrice…are you crying?”
“I’m so sorry! I only wanted to get the wrinkle out!”
“But you steam veils all the time. What happened this time?”
More sniffling. “I may have gotten rust on it from the hanger.”
It took a moment for me to realize what she was saying. After the morning’s misadventures, I felt like throwing my cell in the nearest bayou and crawling back into bed. But that wouldn’t do anyone a lick of good, so I marshalled my best attitude and tried to get my emotions in check. “First of all, here’s what you shouldn’t do. You shouldn’t feel guilty about it. You didn’t mean to stain the lace. And I’m not mad at you.”
What the Hatmaker Heard Page 8