Next, a procession of mourners came forward to say a few kind words. First, Mayor Payne pontificated on Scarlett’s virtue and talents, followed by his wife, who delivered a sweet eulogy on the deceased’s beauty and love for mankind. Well, she was right about that one thing. Scarlett loved men—even if they belonged to someone else.
Then Robert Burns stepped up to the front. The room remained quiet, but for the soft background music and quiet crying. Someone must’ve muzzled the cousin. I glanced at my sisters. Their eyes were trained on the front in anticipation of what Robert would say about Whiskey Creek’s local celebrity. I too was curious, because as far as I could tell, he’d shown no regret at her passing from the start. This might prove to be the most show-stopping performance of his miserable life. At least his hair looked nice. More than I could say for mine.
To give Robert his due, I must admit he spoke kindly and graciously about his former employee. He finished by announcing that a bronze plaque honoring her invaluable contribution—along with other Hall-of-Famers—to journalism would be placed in the front lobby of WXYB.
Cherry joined him. Together, they placed a single white rose on Scarlett’s coffin while another bluegrass song about going to the lonesome valley played over the speakers.
A strong perception of disaster gripped me. A streak of green velvet descended on the couple. I was the only one to witness Scarlett plow into Robert, knocking him into Cherry. She flailed her arms, and together, they crashed into the coffin. It landed with the top open; corpse flung halfway out.
Screams filled the viewing room at the sight of Scarlett’s mangled face. A mass exodus ensued, and I lost sight of my sisters in the melee. Keeping my seat, I watched in horrid fascination as funeral-goers scattered like leaves on a windy day. Only a few stragglers remained near the overturned coffin when Scarlett popped up at my side and said with a huge smile, “That popinjay reminded me that I have a laptop hidden in my house. It has software that’ll read the encrypted flash drive. Oh, and I gave you the wrong password.”
“I found that out last night in your office,” I growled.
“Sorry. Won’t happen again. You coming?”
“No. I’ve decided to hand over the flash drive to Bradford as soon as I find him. Let the police figure this thing out.”
“He’s not here. I promise nothing bad will happen.” She crossed her hands over her heart. “I swear.”
“Liar. That’s what you said last time,” I whispered.
“This time is different.”
“I don’t believe you. Besides, I’m being watched.”
“I’ll throw the dog off the scent.”
“How?”
“Just leave it to me. Besides, you can’t quit now. We’re close to cracking this case wide open. Think, Claiborne. You have the flash drive in your possession, and I have laptop. This is your last chance to know for certain what’s going on.”
She was right about that, and since Bradford hadn’t attended the funeral, the thumb-drive would remain with me until I could locate him. Still uncertain, I juggled the pros and cons on the risk for several more seconds before curiosity won out.
“I have a feeling that I’m going to regret this, but let’s go,” I said and headed toward the exit.
Chapter Twenty-One
Snuffed Out
The late afternoon heat bore down mercilessly, as I pulled my car into the back alleyway leading to Scarlett’s house. I was still uneasy about entering in broad daylight, but Scarlett had finally recalled where she’d hidden an emergency key to the back garage door since I didn’t have the automatic door opener. Making as little noise as possible, I located it under the indicated rock, unlocked the garage door, and parked inside.
The access door pushed open easily, and I cautiously moved into the small mud room leading from the garage. The gentle humming of household appliances closed around me. I slipped off my heels and, in stocking feet, trailed after Scarlett.
“Where’s the laptop?” I whispered to her green velvet form. “I want to be out of here in five minutes.”
“No need to whisper. You have my permission to be here.”
“Very funny,” I retorted in a tone heavy with sarcasm. My gut instinct screamed to cut and run because I’d made a colossal error of massive proportions. Bad vibrations surrounded me like fumes from a rotten onion.
Not making a sound, I followed her ghostly form up the staircase to the landing overlooking the family room, and then into a large guest room.
Scarlett pointed to a large dresser. “The laptop is in the false bottom in that drawer.”
Quickly, I retrieved the laptop and placed it on the bed. Following Scarlett’s directions, I inserted the flash drive into the computer and punched in the correct password. There were five files listed on the thumb-drive: Prototype-(Magnolia Manor?), Cantrell Plane Crash (mechanics report), Burns, Payne, and Brotherhood.
I clicked on the first file. After reading just the opening line of the investigative report, I was sure I’d found the motive for Scarlett’s murder. I closed the file and skimmed though the others. I whistled.
“I can’t believe this is happening under our noses,” I said as I continued to scan the remaining file on the Brotherhood. “Man, this is going to blow this town apart. Who would’ve thought the Georgia Mafia has been working underground in this town for years? You’ve named some heavyweights—they won’t go down easy—and there’s a lot of money involved. Bingo. Here’s Mr. Blackstone’s name. I have to get this into Bradford’s hands right away.”
“Did you hear that?”
“What?” I said, caught up in the shocking report. “If this proves to be true, the mayor will be out of a job. He and Burns could go to jail for a very long time. The mayor’s father too.”
“Someone followed us here—get out, Jolene. Run!”
Suffocating panic gripped me as footsteps sounded downstairs. Scarlett vanished through the wall, leaving me alone with evidence that could get me killed. Without wasting time, I gathered up the laptop and made for the stairs. The coast was clear, so I eased down them and ducked into the foyer closet just as the footsteps drew near. I waited until I heard an upstairs door closed and then, in stocking feet, made my way into the kitchen, retrieved my heels in the mud room, and went out the access door into the garage where my Mustang was parked.
Thankful that I’d left the garage door open, I slid into the driver’s seat, dumped my purse and laptop into the back seat, fired up the engine, and threw it into reverse. The Mustang spun out of the garage, tires screeching on the driveway. I stepped on the gas and raced down the twisting road, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror for any pursuers. The wheels spun out as I turned onto the main road without slowing down.
My heart lurched as the familiar blue sedan shot out of the neighborhood and raced toward me. Flooring the Mustang’s accelerator, I raced down the blacktop, with the other car close behind. Suddenly a shot rang out. Something pinged on the top of the Mustang. I ducked down low over the steering wheel. Another shot rang out, shattering the rear window. I screamed and jerked the steering wheel in reaction. The car rocked from side to side as I fought to regain control, the tires screeching in protest at such violent treatment. In the rearview mirror I saw the sedan behind me swerve, and then straighten. My teeth clenched as the Mustang careened around the curves of the road.
Sweat stung my eyes, making it hard to see. Up ahead, another car swung onto the road from a side street. Even from this distance, I could tell the car was traveling at a much reduced speed and if I didn’t slow down, I would smack into its rear. My clammy hands slipped on the steering wheel, causing the Mustang to lurch sideways onto the shoulder of the road, half-losing it as the back end slewed around on the gravel. Jamming my weight hard on the brake, I spun the wheel in a last-ditch effort to regain control of the car. For an instant, deadly calm settled over me as the Mustang bucked like a wild bronco before slamming headlong into a tree. There was a sickening sensation
of falling; a sharp and agonizing pain in my head, and then my body was hurled into nothingness.
****
“She’s coming around,” a voice said in my ear. “I believe she’s turned a corner.”
“Thank God,” I heard Mama respond. “Did you hear that, Jolene? The doctor says you’re fine.”
“He didn’t. He said she turned a corner.”
Billie Jo.
“I told her she drives too fast.”
Deena.
“Mom, Jacob and I are here.”
Becky.
So the whole gang, all but Daddy, had gathered around my death bed. I cracked my eyes to see their somber faces. My mouth felt like cotton. “Water.”
The nurse gave me a few sips. The relief was immediate, but I remained confused as to what had happened. A young man in a white coat stepped up to the bed and introduced himself as Dr. Hadley.
“You’re in the hospital,” he said in a kind, soft voice. “You were in a car accident.”
The memory came flooding back. Shock stole my voice. I gasped for air and tried to speak. The monitor above me sounded an alarm, and the doctor placed his hand over mine. “Calm down.” He increased the oxygen feed. “Breathe deep and slow. That’s it,” he said as the beeping quieted down. “You’re very lucky. Thanks to the seat belt and air bag, you sustained no life-threatening injuries. But you do have a concussion, and I’m going to keep you here under observation for a couple of days. Your blood pressure and heart rate are dangerously high, and you’re covered with scrapes and bruises.”
“I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, Dr. Hadley,” Mama said.
Dr. Hadley took Mama by the arm, propelling her toward the door. The others followed as the doctor said, “It would be better if we spoke in the hall. I’ve ordered pain medication with a light sedative for my patient. I want her to rest easy tonight. She’s had enough excitement for one day, wouldn’t you agree?”
Helplessly, I struggled against the fatigue weighing me down, but all I could manage was a squeak of protest at being left alone to the mercy of overworked nurses. I had to get the evidence into Bradford’s hands ASAP, but the pleading movement of my hand went unnoticed by the others as they followed the doctor, leaving me alone with only the beeping sounds of the heart monitor for company. My heart skipped a beat as anxiety gripped me. An alarm sounded on the monitor, and a nurse came through the door a minute later.
Turning off the alarm, she turned to me and said, “Everything’s fine, honey. Don’t you worry none. I’m gonna take good care of you.” A long needle appeared in her hand along with the smile on her face. “Dr. Hadley ordered you a cocktail to take the edge off.”
No, damn it! The only cocktail I wanted contained a shot of Jack Daniels, not some clear liquid inserted in my IV. My lips were dry, but I managed to croak out another protest. A deep, warm, heaviness came over me as the medication entered my bloodstream. My eyelids fought to stay open. “Detective Bradford—”
“Will have to wait.” I heard her say through the haze fogging my brain. “Dr. Hadley told the police they’d have to wait until tomorrow for any questions about your accident.”
With difficulty, I continued to struggle against the drug-induced medication dragging me down into oblivion. Footsteps sounded, then briefly, a male voice filtered through the opened door before fading away.
I slept through the night, waking only when the nurses came into the room to take my stats and shoot additional medication into my IV. Early Monday morning, I woke with a splitting headache, my muscles stiff and sore as Dr. Hadley had warned. Before eating a bland breakfast, I called the police station only to be told that Detective Bradford was out of town and unavailable, so I left an urgent message on his office voicemail for him to come see me at the hospital as soon as possible.
After breakfast, Dr. Hadley stopped by to check on my progress. I could go home tomorrow if I continued to improve. He promised to stop by later and left for rounds.
The rest of the morning was filled with visits from the family. Deena and Billie Jo were the first to arrive.
Deena set a vase of flowers on the bedside table as they walked in. “Becky sends her love. She wasn’t feeling well, so I suggested she stay home.”
“The nurse says we can’t stay long,” Billie Jo added. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a semi-truck ran over me,” I said. “And concerned about my car.”
“We haven’t seen it, but the police told us it was totaled,” Deena said.
“Don’t worry about that now,” Billie Jo advised. “Wait until you’re feeling better.”
“Did the police recover my belongings from the car?” I thought about the laptop and flash drive, and my purse with Mini Pearl tucked inside. I wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands. God, I needed to speak with Bradford. Perhaps Deena could get a message to him. I nixed that thought. Deena would ask too many questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer.
“One of the officers gave Mama your purse last night,” Billie Jo said. “Your gun was inside, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“What about my laptop?” I asked.
“The officer said the purse was the only personal effect in the car,” Billie Jo replied. “Your laptop will be covered under your automobile insurance. It can be replaced.”
Not this one. Of course, Billie Jo didn’t know that. I was the only one who knew of its importance, but I couldn’t share that knowledge with them—or the attempt on my life. Speaking up might place them in danger. Someone had taken the thumb-drive and laptop from my wrecked car. I thought about my pursuer in the dark blue sedan. He would’ve had time before the first responders arrived on the scene. I licked my lips, my mouth and throat suddenly dry. Had witnesses kept him from finishing the job and murdering me?
Mama arrived. With my mind occupied with more pressing matters, I let Mama to do all the talking. Fortunately, Billie Jo could see that I wasn’t listening and she suggested—strongly—that they let me get some rest. Before Mama could object, a nurse’s aide came into the room for the exercise Dr. Hadley had prescribed for me.
I spent the next hour painfully parading up and down the corridor with my IV pole, nurse’s aide in tow. By lunch I was exhausted, but beginning to feel better now that I was out of bed and moving my sore and bruised muscles. After repeating the procedure several times, the pounding headache returned, and the nurse gave me something for the pain so I could rest.
Unexpectedly, in the late afternoon, Linda Payne stopped by for a visit with a lovely bouquet of flowers. After placing them on the counter, she pulled a chair close to the bed and seated herself with a rehearsed smile. “The mayor and I were sorry to hear of your accident, Ms. Claiborne,” she said in a bubbly voice. “We do hope you’ll be up and about shortly.”
Still groggy from the pain meds, I pushed myself to a sitting position. “Thank you for the lovely flowers.”
“Henry begged his apology for not being able to join me in wishing one of his constituents a speedy recovery, but city business takes all his time, you understand.”
I couldn’t say I did, but the unusualness of her visit kept me quiet. The mayor’s wife and I were hardly buddies, and I couldn’t help but wonder why she was here.
She waved a delicate hand and her perfume wafted over me. “Henry and I were talking over breakfast,” she said. “First, that dreadful funeral, and then, in the same day, your near-fatal accident. You must be more careful, my dear. One never knows when the unexpected will happen.” She patted my arm. “And on top of everything else going on, you’ve got your hands full with the tragedy at the salon.” Her hands fluttered. “A break-in and a murder. Poor Scarlett—to die in such a manner.”
In an instant, my mind turned to the angry confrontation between the two women my daughter had unwillingly witnessed in the doctor’s office. In light of this knowledge, her statement rang false. There was something I should remember. Something…
“He
nry refuses to discuss the case with me,” she continued in my silence. “He says I should concentrate on getting well, but I’m frightened by the thought that we were in close proximity to a killer. What if I’d booked a facial that morning? I would’ve suffered the same fate as Scarlett. Was it a random act of violence? To think that one of our citizens is a murderer.” She shivered. “Now that Henry is mayor, he really must do something about the crime rate. I’m having nightmares about being murdered in my bed.”
A wave of grogginess poured over me as she continued chatting. I closed my eyes to block out her morbid words.
“Oh my dear, I’m so sorry for bringing up such a distasteful subject when you’re lying helpless in your hospital bed. Don’t give my babbling another thought. I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.” She stood. “I must be going. Take extra special care, my dear.”
As she left the room, I found her parting words vaguely disturbing, but the visit had sapped my strength, and I allowed the lingering effects of the pain meds to claim me once more.
****
In the wee hours of the morning, I awoke to the sound of someone entering my room—probably the nurse. Her footsteps were light, shuffling, almost halting. Through my drugged state, I struggled to make out her wavering form in the muted light as she paused at the foot of the bed. Lightheadedness made it impossible to focus on her, so I closed my eyes once again, giving into the extreme fatigue plaguing me.
The steady beep-beep of the heart monitor seemed loud in the silence, and I could just make out her footfalls as she stopped beside the bed and fiddled with the IV bag. For several seconds, the comforting sounds of her ministrations lulled me back to sleep. As I sank deeper into slumber a slight pressure rested over my face. An alarm sounded by my head, and I struggled against the suffocating weight pressing me into the bed.
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