by Jessa Archer
The crowd was sparse, too. Maybe people had already had their fill with the first service, or more likely the weather had driven them back home. There were barely two dozen of us gathered at the gravesite to pay our respects. Wren was there, but she was in her official capacity as funeral director now, so I just gave her a little wave and stuck close to Ed and Cassie.
It was cold, with the sun hiding behind big dark clouds. My dress wasn’t nearly as warm as I’d have liked, and Cassie’s apparently wasn’t either. She was shivering, huddled between me and Ed as if we could shelter her from the biting Tennessee wind. Although in her case, I couldn’t entirely discount the possibility that her shivering was only partially due to the wind chill. I doubt that anyone is ever really comfortable at a funeral, but Cassie had sat like a statue inside the church. Looking like she’d rather be almost anywhere else, her eyes kept scanning the room. When I’d asked if she wanted to skip the graveside service, she’d said no, and again, once we arrived at the cemetery, her eyes kept moving, slowly surveying the grounds as the minister spoke.
When the last shovelful of dirt had been turned over, Clarence stood in front of the freshly placed flowers and cleared his throat as everyone turned their eyes toward him. “I just want to thank you all for…uh…coming to Mom’s service. It would’ve made her happy to know all of you cared enough to brave this cold day.” He wiped at his eyes, even though I hadn’t seen a hint of tears. “We’ll be welcoming family and friends back at the house. Please stop by. There’s more chicken and casserole there than one man could possibly eat.”
He smiled, and there was a polite smattering of laughter among the crowd. I searched his face for something. Some telltale sign that my suspicions about him were unfounded. That he hadn’t pushed Edith to her death on the promise of a windfall. Yes, he had been out of town, but in a cabin with no witnesses. That seemed awfully convenient to me.
And I guess the real problem was that there was this little tiny voice in my head that kept asking whether you could entirely blame him if he had pushed her. From the sound of it, his own mother had taken money that really should have been left to him by his father and used it to dictate his life. Here he was, at best only a few decades from the grave himself, and even now, he was at the funeral alone.
When the service ended, Cassie and I followed Ed back to his truck. She got into the backseat and I climbed up next to Ed, who quickly started the heat. My fingers were numb, and I began massaging them in front of the heater.
“Do you mind if we stop by Edith’s house?” Cassie said from the backseat.
Ed shrugged. “Sure. I don’t have anything pressing.”
I’d never mentioned anything about her aversion to funerals to Ed, so I didn’t want to say anything openly. Instead, I turned and gave her a questioning look. Are you sure?
“I’m fine, Mom. I know you want to go, and I think you’re right to be suspicious. Something feels off to me, and if there are any clues to be had about Edith’s death, her house seems like the best place to start.”
She was right. I definitely wanted to go. I’d just been worried about pushing her too far too soon.
“Okay, then,” Ed said. “Let’s go do some post-funeral sleuthing.”
✰ Chapter Nine ✰
I stepped through the doorway of Edith’s house, my eyes frozen on the exact spot at the bottom of the stairs where I’d seen her body. There was nothing there to suggest anything at all had happened in that section of the house, which shouldn’t have surprised me, but somehow it did. I didn’t really think that it would be marked off with tape like you see on the police shows, but it was just a square piece of hardwood flooring weathered over the years by countless footfalls, sunlight, and dust. It felt like there should be flowers, maybe, or one of those wooden crosses often seen on the side of roadways to mark the spot where someone died in a car accident.
The house was crowded. Even those who hadn’t bothered to drive out to the gravesite had apparently still gotten the memo. Heads were bowed in quiet conversation, whispering, and soft laughter traveled through the air as if we were attending a cocktail party. Suddenly I felt very much out of place. I didn’t really know these people anymore. Maybe coming here had been a mistake.
Ed put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, and together we walked in. Cassie followed, her eyes again scanning the room, clearly searching for something or someone. She seemed uneasy too.
“Do all funerals end like this?” she asked. “With a…party?”
“For the most part, yes. There’s been a reception of some sort at most of the funerals I’ve been to. Even when we lived in Nashville, they tended to invite family and friends back after the service. Although I think in a small town like this, more people might take them up on the offer. But keep in mind that almost everyone here also sent a casserole or a pie.”
“Ah-ha,” Cassie said. “That’s where that second apple pie went. I thought you’d just gotten extra hungry in the middle of the night.”
Ed laughed. “A whole pie? I doubt Ruth could manage more than a slice. Two at the most.”
I smiled demurely. It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t been around to witness my post-divorce consumption of Ben & Jerry’s.
The kitchen and dining room had been turned into a potluck buffet. Dishes in aluminum pans and Tupperware containers were spread out on all available surfaces, along with plates of fried chicken, potato salad, cakes, and pies. Thistlewood had circled the wagons, as they say, and Clarence had been right. There was way more food than any one man could ever hope to eat.
Apparently our discussion in the hallway had whetted Ed’s appetite for pie. He helped himself to a slice. Cassie and I settled for some coffee and went in search of an out-of-the-way corner to stand.
Clarence was in the parlor, where a long line of friends waited to speak to him. I thought about joining them but figured I’d hold off a few minutes. Maybe let it clear out a bit. I’ve never been good at talking to people in these types of situations. I’m always deathly afraid that I’ll say something asinine, and if that happened, I’d prefer to have a smaller audience.
Ed was standing in the doorway chatting with Carl Smith, one of his poker buddies. He’s much better at the socializing thing than I am, but then he’d have to be. I’m sure he’s been to far more funerals, given the years that he spent as sheriff. Plus, the job requires an election every four years, so you have to learn how to engage in small talk. His main challenge seemed to be steering clear of Blevins, who was at the center of a small group of people across the room.
I turned to say something to Cassie and found that she’d wandered off. Maybe she decided to get some food after all. In search of something to do so that I didn’t feel quite so awkward, I went over to the table that had been set up with pictures of Edith. A few were recognizable—Women’s Club yearly photos, and one rather awkward picture of her with a little dog, who must have crossed the Rainbow Bridge before his owner. Others were from her youth. She’d been very pretty, tall and curvaceous, with dark hair that fell around her shoulders. Something about her smile in a few of those pictures seemed familiar, and I stared at one of them for a long time, trying to figure out where I’d seen it before. I didn’t think it was simply that I’d seen an older version of that smile on the few occasions when I’d run into Edith Morton. Older Edith’s smile was nothing like this. It was formal, reserved. It never looked like she was about to burst into laughter.
As I flipped through the album, I realized someone was watching me. I casually scanned the room from the corner of my eye to see who it might be, eventually arriving at an old man sitting across the room. There was something about his eyes that I didn’t like. They weren’t warm at all. In fact, they seemed slightly reptilian.
The old man didn’t break the stare when I caught him, and I was determined not to be the first to look away. After a moment, he struggled to his feet, and using a shiny black walking
stick, clacked his way over to where I stood.
“You’re that newspaper chick, aren’t you?”
I bristled but tried not to let it show. I’m generally hard to offend, but chick is one of the words that sets me off. It was all too easy to imagine this guy at the height of the disco era. Middle-aged, already balding, wearing a gold chain and a leisure suit, and totally convinced that he was hot stuff.
“Ruth Townsend.” I offered my hand for him to shake. “And yes, I own the paper.”
“Samuel Winters.” He took my hand in his own. “Everyone calls me Sam. Nice to officially meet you. Just wish it were under different circumstances.”
To my surprise, he didn’t shake my hand. Instead he bent forward and delivered a papery dry kiss to the top. I’m sure he thought it was a courtly gesture, but I was instantly repulsed. It took everything I had not to jerk my hand back and slap him with it.
Instead, I simply pulled it away and said, “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Did you know Edith well?” he asked, leaning forward on his walking stick.
“Not especially. Did you know her well?”
Sam smiled and took another step forward. My back was against the wall now, and I couldn’t move away without bumping into either him or the walking stick.
“Yes,” he replied. “You could say that. Edith worked for me for many years.”
“At the garment factory?”
“Indeed. She was a godsend in that office. Best bookkeeper I ever had.”
Sam glanced over at Clarence, still on the sofa accepting condolences. I could tell the old man was deep in thought about something. Maybe thinking about Edith manning the phones and balancing books so long ago. Had they been in a relationship back in the day?
“Edith came to me for a job when her husband left her. He owned several hotels up near Pigeon Forge. That town had just started to boom back then. He moved up there when Clarence was barely out of diapers. Took up with someone else, from what I heard.”
So Edith had gotten a job to help support her and her son. While child support was a thing back then, I suspected that it wasn’t enforced nearly as strictly as it is these days. From the little I had gathered about Edith over the past few days, she seemed like a proud woman. She might not even have sought money from Clarence’s father.
On the other hand, I kind of doubted that. She’d apparently held on to his money really tight when she finally got it.
“I gave the girl a job. Made sure she and the boy were able to keep food on the table. Then she up and quit.”
“When her ex-husband died and left her money?” I asked.
At first Winters didn’t answer. He looked disturbed, almost angry. “Obviously,” the old man said finally. “Otherwise she’d have stayed at the factory. Otherwise…”
He looked around for a moment while I continued to study his lined face. What had I said to trouble him? Finally, his eyes settled on someone across the room.
“I need to talk to my grandson. Nicholas,” he yelled, or at least tried to. It came out more as a hoarse whisper. “Nicholas.”
A man in his late twenties turned toward us. He was rather short, and his black dress shirt was stretched tautly over a body that looked as if it had been chiseled from stone. He was talking to Cassie, and they seemed to be having a nice conversation. I envied her. She had definitely gotten the more pleasant of the two.
“Well, I see you’ve made a friend,” Sam said as they approached.
“Actually, we’d already met,” the young man said, smiling at Cassie. “I saw her at the diner earlier this week and I complimented her taste in books.”
“Then you wasted a conversation, Jeffrey.” The younger man opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but his grandfather kept going. “You should have complimented her lovely eyes. What’s your name, sugar?”
Cassie started to speak, but I interrupted her. “This is my daughter, Cassandra Tate.”
“Just Cassie,” she said with an odd look at me. I never introduced her as Cassandra, but for some reason, I didn’t want this old creep to know anything personal about her, even something as innocuous as her nickname.
“This house…it belonged to Edie…” Sam leaned on his stick again, looking confused. Fortunately, he didn’t reach for Cassie’s hand to kiss it like he had done with mine. If he had, I’d have been tempted to yank the stick out from under him. That would have been quite a scene for a funeral. No one would have soon forgotten it, and I doubt they’d be lining up to buy newspapers from the crazy woman who’d kicked the cane out from under an old guy who had to be at least ninety.
The grandson reached out to shake my hand. “Nick Winters. Very nice to meet you, Ms. Townsend.”
“Ruth. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” I smiled a little more brightly than I might otherwise have, probably because I was feeling guilty about my intense dislike of his grandfather. It wasn’t Nick’s fault the old man was an obnoxious old coot, and it was clear that Sam Winters’s mind was no longer firmly on track.
“Jeffrey, find your mother and tell her it’s time to go.”
Nick gave a half grin. “I’m not Uncle Jeffrey, Grandpa. I’m Nick.”
“Of course you’re Nick,” Sam said angrily. “Whoever said you weren’t?”
“Why don’t I get you back to your chair?” Nick cajoled. “You’ve got a piece of cake over there you’ve barely touched.”
“That ungrateful Mexican probably took it. He takes everything else, the dirty bean—”
“Grandpa! Cake!”
Nick walked the old man back over and then joined us again.
“I hope my grandfather hasn’t been talking your ear off,” he said, smiling apologetically. “And I’m sorry he backed you into the corner. He was quite the ladies’ man back in the day, and he always seeks out a pretty face to chat with. But he’s grown hard of hearing and doesn’t want to admit it, so he gets right up in your face. And I’m afraid sometimes his mind wanders. He can tell some really wild stories when he gets going, and he has absolutely no filter.”
“Oh, it wasn’t a problem,” I lied. “I hadn’t even noticed. Are you about ready to leave, Cassie? I’ll just speak with Clarence later. There are so many people here, and I’m sure he’s feeling overwhelmed.”
Cassie hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Sure. I just need to visit the restroom. It was nice seeing you again, Nick.”
“I’ll find Ed,” I told her, anxious to get out of the room. “We’ll meet you at the front door.”
When I located Ed, he was talking with Clarence. I stepped in and told Clarence how sorry I was about his mother, and when the next person stepped forward, I whispered to Ed that we were ready to go.
“Me, too,” he said. “Too many people. I’m starting to feel claustrophobic.”
We went to the door and waited for Cassie. Ed introduced me to a couple who was leaving. He knew the woman from the local Kiwanis Club, and I realized I went to school with the guy, although I’d never have recognized him on the street, since he’s nearly a hundred pounds lighter now. When he heard that I’d lived in Nashville, he said they had a daughter currently at Vanderbilt, which reminded me that my own daughter still wasn’t back. I was about to go upstairs to check on her when I spotted her at the bottom of the stairs, talking to Nick Winters.
“What took so long?” I asked.
She gave me a look that clearly said not now. Then she continued toward the door, clutching her purse against her chest like a shield.
“Did you see something?” I whispered. “You’re white as a sheet.”
“Yes, you are,” Ed said, with a concerned look. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
When we reached the truck, Ed unlocked the door and then went around to the driver’s side.
“What’s wrong?” I said softly. “Did Nick Winters say something to you?”
“No. I just…I think I found Edith’s diary,” she whispered, glancing nervously at Ed.
My mouth dropped wide open. I gave her one last perturbed look and then climbed into the Silverado.
We definitely were not having this conversation in front of Ed.
✰ Chapter Ten ✰
When we arrived back at the house, I discovered that Cassie had somehow managed to bake a cake and buy me a tiara with 50 & Fabulous in rhinestones. She invited Ed in, and they did the whole Happy Birthday routine, complete with slightly off-key singing and candles.
It was a sweet gesture, but I spent most of the time staring at Cassie’s purse. It was the only place she could have hidden the diary, plus she hadn’t let the darn thing out of her sight since we walked in the door.
Once we’d finished our cake, which Ed made room for despite the wedge of apple pie he’d eaten at Edith’s house, he said that he needed to get back home and try to get a bit of writing done. I walked him out to the truck and thanked him for escorting us.
“You sure Cassie’s okay?” he asked. “She seems kind of jittery.”
I assured him that she just wasn’t good with funerals. As soon as his truck was out of the drive, I hurried back into the house.
“You did what?”
“Okay, Mom, first of all…I’m going to need you to lower your voice.”
“You. Did. What?” I hissed.
Cassie cringed as she pushed the small black leather notebook across the counter toward me. “I found Edith’s diary,” she repeated. “There are recent entries. Take it.”
I stared at the book as if I was afraid to touch it. And I’ll admit, there was a small part of me that was. The word Journal was embossed in the spine, with the current year written in marker just below.
“Oh, Cassie. Why?”
She went behind the counter, picked up Cronkite, and sat down at the kitchen table. The cat looked suspiciously between the two of us, probably sensing that he was being used as a feline shield.