by Vickie Fee
“Nope. Don’t think so,” Earl said.
“Why not?” Larry Joe asked.
“Because I took my truck with me when I went to have lunch with your mama,” he said, looking over to me.
I could tell Earl wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Do you remember seeing anybody loitering in the general vicinity of your truck or ducking into the woods?”
“Nope. But it wouldn’t make much difference.”
“Why not?” Larry Joe said. I could tell he was trying his very best to sound patient.
“’Cause I always lock my truck.”
“You could have forgotten to lock it this once,” I offered.
“Nope. I didn’t forget,” he said.
I decided to approach this from a different angle.
“Earl, did you see anybody passing through or near that parking area around the time of the fireworks? Specifically, did you see Webster Flack or Lynn or Cassie Latham or Nonie Jones?” I asked, tossing out a few possible suspects.
“I did see Lynn Latham leaving just before the fireworks, even waved at her. But she told the sheriff it wasn’t her,” Earl said.
“Did Leonard see her?” I asked, referring to the man I had seen working the parking area with Earl.
“No. He’d left already. His sciatica was giving him grief, so I told him to go on home and I’d manage without him.”
Earl turned to Larry Joe and asked, “Could I trouble you for another splash of whiskey? Then I’d better be heading out before Virginia starts to worry.”
It was getting late and I knew Earl’d had a rough day.
“You can bring that whiskey with you, if you want, and I’ll run you over to Mama Walford’s,” Larry Joe said.
I couldn’t help wondering what Larry Joe was going to call Mama when she changed her name from Walford to Daniels.
The two men started toward the kitchen. Earl paused in the doorway and looked back at me.
“Virginia got all excited telling me about the wedding plans you two are cooking up. Do me a favor, Liv, and keep your mama busy with wedding planning so she’s not worrying herself over me. Give her whatever she wants and I’ll write the checks. I just want her to be happy.”
They left and I could feel hot tears spilling over my lower lashes. Earl wanting Mama to have the wedding of her dreams—her crazy, outlandish dreams—was just about the sweetest thing I’d ever heard and it made me want to give him a big hug. Knowing that he was going to do absolutely nothing to help me rein her in made me want to wring his neck.
Since I often have these kinds of conflicted feelings where Mama is concerned, maybe she and Earl really were perfect for each other.
Chapter 7
Friday morning I parked on the square in front of my office. When I got out of the car, I could see through the front window that Winette was sitting at her desk. I decided to pop in for some coffee and a chat, if she had the time.
“Mornin’, glory,” she said as I walked in, jangling the bell on the door. Winette is definitely a morning person.
“Good morning. Can I steal some of your coffee?”
“There’s a fresh pot. Help yourself.”
Next to the sink and counter that housed the coffeemaker, there was a gleaming stainless steel logo on the wall for Residential Rehab. RR is a worthy nonprofit that brings together volunteers to do house repairs and maintenance for the elderly and disabled in our community. Winette is its chairperson and tireless advocate. I was especially proud of the logo that Winette’s son, Marcus, a college student studying architecture, had designed. I had coordinated with a local fabricator to donate his time to fashion the stainless steel sign from Marcus’s design and Mr. Sweet paid for the materials. Since Winette often holds RR board meetings, as well as meetings with volunteers and benefactors here, it was the perfect spot for the sign.
I poured my coffee and took a seat in the chair facing Winette’s desk.
“How’s your mama holding up?” she asked.
“Pretty good under the circumstances. Fortunately, Earl was able to make bail pretty quickly. I don’t think Mama would have handled it well if he were locked up right now.”
“I don’t for a minute believe Earl Daniels is a murderer, but I know Sheriff Davidson must have had some kind of evidence before he’d arrest him.”
“Unfortunately, it appears Earl’s rifle was the murder weapon. Since there was a well-known and long-running feud between Earl and Bubba, somebody decided to use that to frame Earl for murder.”
“Mmm-hmm. I sure do hope the sheriff can get to the bottom of things in a hurry.”
“You and me, too. Winette, I’ve been meaning to ask your take on the proposed development that Webster Flack and his crowd are so dead set against. What do you think about it?”
“I don’t have an opinion on the conservation aspect. All I know is that the city attorney said the development won’t violate conservation areas or protected wildlife habitats—at least from a legal perspective. I can tell you from a real estate perspective, I have some doubts,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s too big, for one thing. When you add together the larger single-family homes, the zero lot lines, and the condos, I think it’s more units than they’ll be able to sell in ten years.”
“Are they going to build in phases, filling up as they go?” I asked.
“My understanding, and I could be wrong on some of this, is that they plan to build the condominiums and a good number of the zero-lot-line houses on spec and then custom build the single-family homes as the lots sell.
“But it’s not just the housing. It’s a mixed-use development, meaning there’s a retail component as well. And I’m all for having convenient shopping where it makes sense. But again, the plans don’t add up to me. They’re proposing a coffee shop, a dry cleaner, a bakery, and a car wash to start, with other stores possibly later on,” Winette said.
“You don’t think that will work?”
“I don’t know about the coffee shop, but most people who live in this development are going to be commuting to work, some nearby, but many to Hartville and Memphis. People might drive through for coffee on the way to work in the mornings, but they’re not likely to hang out and buy a second or third cup. We already have two dry cleaners in town, and most people drop off and pick up dry cleaning on their way to and from work. I guess some folks might switch to using the one closer to their house, but a lot of people, me included, are pretty loyal to their dry cleaner when they find one that does a good job. And car washes are small-margin businesses for profits. And lots of people around here just use a garden hose and wash their own cars anyway.
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t sound like something that would fly around here. And I can tell you, confidentially of course, that Mr. Sweet didn’t invest and you know that man never misses a chance to make a dime, which tells me he doesn’t think it’s a sound investment. It makes me wonder if the developer is just incompetent or up to something shady.”
“Will Sweet Deal Realty be involved in selling the properties?”
“No, and as far as I know neither will any of the other local real estate agencies. The developer has a real estate broker’s license.”
The phone rang and Winette answered a call. I waved and walked out the front door. Strolling next door I thought about what Winette had just told me. Bubba being heavily invested in what Mr. Never-Misses-a-Deal Sweet deemed an unsound investment was puzzling. And I couldn’t help wondering if it had some connection to why Bubba was killed.
* * *
I went upstairs to my office and tried to immerse myself in work to get my mind off of Earl’s arrest and Mama’s broken heart, at least for a little bit.
I had a conference call scheduled for early in the afternoon that I needed to prepare for. Phillip Clenk, the CEO of a local company, was retiring in late fall and the staff wanted to put together a big send-off for him. There had been a few e-mail exc
hanges with the CEO’s administrative assistant, but this would be our first conversation.
I’d looked at the company’s Web site to get some sense of the company’s style and some background on the retiring boss. All I was able to discern was that the company seemed conservative and that the CEO was approximately the same age as Methuselah. Not very helpful, but I felt certain I could scratch potato sack races off the list of possible party activities.
The administrative assistant, Miss Payne, brought the human resources director, Hal Banks, into the teleconference call. After introductions, I told them to call me Liv and Hal was comfortable with being on a first-name basis. Miss Payne preferred to be called Miss Payne.
Since Miss Payne was a buttoned-down type and was clearly in charge of the party arrangements, I decided to take my cues and clues from her.
“Mrs. McKay, Liv, Mr. Clenk is a serious and accomplished man and what we’re looking for is a very dignified affair to mark his retirement. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Banks?”
Not surprisingly he agreed with everything she said and I got the feeling he was just there to take notes. I could tell this party was going to be a lot of fun.
There would be a dinner—nothing spicy, because Mr. Clenk has a delicate constitution. There would be a PowerPoint presentation highlighting his many accomplishments. And there would be tasteful gag gifts to add a touch of “whimsy.”
After Miss Payne ended the call, I phoned Holly to give her an update.
“I just got off the phone with the CEO’s secretary. Her instructions for the retirement party are clear. There will be no fun allowed. She basically wants a wake.”
“Even a wake can be fun if there’s enough alcohol on offer,” Holly said.
“I don’t see that happening on this one, but we’ll hope for the best. I did ask if Mr. Clenk had any pastimes he enjoyed outside of work, looking for something to grab hold of.”
“And?”
“He collects stamps. Any ideas?”
“Let me think it over and I’ll get back to you,” she said.
I wrapped things up at the office and turned my thoughts to Earl’s predicament.
I intended to grill Dave about arresting Earl, but I knew if I stormed into the sheriff’s office he’d just ignore me. I called Di and she suggested it would be better to talk to him away from his lawman lair, where he’s in charge. She said that he was coming over to her place in an hour and that I should “drop by” shortly thereafter to have a go at him.
I wrapped things up at the office, keeping one eye on the clock, anxious to put Dave on the ropes. In an hour, I locked up and drove over to Di’s place. After I tapped on the door, Di let me in and I tore into Dave without bothering to exchange pleasantries first.
“Dave, you can’t actually believe that Earl killed Bubba Rowland. I understand that you’d need to bring him in for formal questioning, but to charge him with murder is ridiculous.”
“Look, Liv, I know you’re very fond of Earl, that he’s practically family—I like him, too. But I can’t ignore the evidence. Ballistics tests show his rifle is the murder weapon.”
“I know Earl gave you permission to test the rifle,” I said. “But how come you zeroed in on his rifle as the possible murder weapon to begin with? Was it just a fishing expedition?”
“No, several witnesses remembered seeing a rifle in Earl’s truck and it was parked beside the woods where the killer was most likely positioned when he shot Bubba.”
“Earl’s truck was parked all day at the festival. Anybody could have taken the rifle out of it.”
“It’s not that simple,” Dave said. “Earl insists he always locks the truck and there were no signs of a break-in.”
“So he forgot for once, or somebody—maybe somebody at his company—had a key made or took his spare.”
“Maybe. But that he had a rifle in his gun rack is a little suspicious in and of itself. People don’t usually keep a gun inside their truck outside of hunting season,” Dave said.
“Earl explained that, too. His brother-in-law has been having coyote trouble. They’ve recently gotten into the chicken coop—more than once.”
“That’s what he says,” Dave said. “But there are other problems with his story.”
“Like what?”
“You know I don’t have to talk to you about the case, don’t you? Probably shouldn’t even be discussing it,” he said.
“Is this the part where you tell me to butt out and mind my own business, because I think we both know that’s not happening. Like you said, Earl’s practically family.”
“Okay, okay,” Dave said. “Just calm down, take a seat, and I’ll walk you through the crux of it. His attorney already knows this anyway.”
I propped my bottom against the edge of the dining table and crossed my arms. That was as relaxed and calm as I could manage at the moment.
“His truck was parked right next to the woods where the shooter was when he fired at Bubba. Earl worked that area, helping with traffic, and Leonard Cates worked with him most of the afternoon. But just before the fireworks started, Earl told Leonard to go on home, that he could handle it, thereby eliminating a witness.”
“Leonard’s sciatica was acting up,” I said. “He was in a lot of pain, so Earl told him to go home. I’m sure Leonard confirmed that. How could Earl possibly have planned for Leonard’s sciatica to flare up so he could get him out of the way?”
“Maybe Leonard’s sciatica flares up with regularity, maybe it just provided a convenient excuse. The fact remains that Earl dismissed a witness shortly before the shooting. And Lynn Latham, the person he claims to have seen and waved to, and who could provide Earl at least a partial alibi, says she doesn’t remember seeing him,” Dave said.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to admit to being anywhere near those woods at the time of the murder because she’s a suspect,” I said. “She had good reason to want Bubba dead. She believed he caused her daughter to lose the Miss Dixie pageant; she was overheard by witnesses confronting him about it. And the winner of the Miss Dixie Beauty Pageant gets entry into the Miss Tennessee Star Teen pageant, which, with her talent, could possibly land her a recording contract in Nashville.”
“She may have had motive, but how did she retrieve Earl’s gun without him seeing her? Earl said himself that he saw her leave,” Dave said. “And getting back to motive, Earl definitely has a strong one. There were plenty of people who didn’t like Bubba, but most people don’t commit murder because someone rubs them the wrong way. Bubba’s activities on the council and planning commission may have been costing Earl a substantial amount of money—Earl certainly believed so. And construction in the area has been pretty slow for a couple of years. Providing materials for this new development could put a lot of money in somebody’s pocket.”
“Or maybe, because Earl and Bubba had a long-running and public rivalry, somebody decided Earl would be the perfect person to frame for murder.”
“Earl had motive and opportunity, and his rifle is the murder weapon. Some others may have had motive, but there’s no evidence that anyone else had the opportunity. I had to arrest Earl. It’s up to the D.A. and the grand jury now.”
“So you’re just going to stop looking for the real killer?”
“Liv, you—both of you”—he shot Di a look—“should know me better than that. Ted and I will continue to check out every lead. We’re still digging through photos and videos. But some of that photo evidence has already confirmed that Earl’s rifle was in the rack in his truck earlier in the day, but late in the afternoon it was gone.”
“Do those photos show who was around Earl’s truck in the afternoon?”
“That’s one of the things we’re specifically looking for,” Dave said. “Unfortunately, it’s not like we’re looking at a constant stream of surveillance footage from a security camera. It’s just random photos and video shot by eventgoers who have turned them in as we requested. Some of them are time stamped; some aren’t. W
e’re doing our best to put together a timeline.”
“So what about these photos showing Earl’s truck?”
“Some of the pictures were taken of a vintage Corsair that was parked directly across from Earl’s truck earlier in the afternoon. The guy who took them said he has been looking to buy a Corsair to restore. Earl’s truck is in the background of some of the photos, and they clearly show the gun in the rack. There’s also some video shot by a man of his wife with the grandkids shortly before dark. They were mainly coming for the fireworks but wanted to buy the little ones some glow sticks and junk food before the show started. Grandma wanted pictures of the kids in their matching outfits before they got cotton candy or whatnot all over them. So they shot some footage in the parking lot as soon as they got out of the car. They were also parked in the row across from Earl’s truck and their video shows from two different angles that the rifle was not in the rack at that time.”
“So Earl was toting a rifle around and nobody noticed? Why would he take it out of the truck before he intended to use it?”
“I can only speculate about that,” Dave said. “But he could have taken it out of the truck at a convenient time when nobody was around and hidden the rifle in some brush in the woods. We do know Earl had a digital camera on him with a telephoto lens. He said he had been shooting some photos and hoped to get some nice ones of the fireworks. But looking through a zoom lens would also have allowed him to keep track of Bubba. When he saw Bubba heading for the porta potty, he could have seized upon the opportunity to shoot him during the fireworks when the sound of the rifle blast would be masked by the explosions. He could have entered the woods, retrieved the rifle, which had a scope on it, aimed and fired, then slipped out and placed the rifle back in the truck.”
“That’s nothing but a load of bull crap,” I said, so angry I could feel myself shaking.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” Dave said, getting up from the sofa and putting on his hat. “Liv, I know you’re not going to let this go. But Earl has an attorney, a good one I might add. Share any information you think will help Earl with his lawyer and let him build a defense. And if you run across any real evidence, you had better tell me about it right away.”