'Til Grits Do Us Part

by Jennifer Rogers Spinola

  “Even the police can’t do phone taps, Clarence. That’s against the law.”

  “So’s what Marilyn Monroe did.”

  I started to turn back to my desk, rolling my eyes, but Clarence scooted his mail cart closer. “There’s more.” He tapped the metal rail on his cart for emphasis. “So then Amanda went on vacation just before her wedding with that Floyd fella and never came back. Never found her, and it turned into a cold case pretty quick. Just disappeared. No evidence whatsoever. Broke that Floyd guy’s heart.”

  “Clarence.” I cleared my throat. “This is going to sound awfully heartless, but was Ray ever a suspect?”

  “Ray Floyd? Yeah, briefly. Just because they were engaged and all. Nobody actually thought he’d do somethin’ like that. He loved her too much.” Clarence stroked his chin. “But they got proof he didn’t do nothin’. He was in Seattle when she disappeared. Even got a parking ticket there on the day they found her empty car and was just as surprised as the rest of us.” His eyes turned distant. “I think he spent some time in a clinic there to deal with his grief before he come back to Virginia to try and find her. Suicidal thoughts and all that. But he’s okay now, I hear.”

  “You were my first.” The words jumped into my head with startling force as I recalled the spray-painted message.

  “She wasn’t his first fiancée, was she?” I asked cautiously, searching Clarence’s leathery face. “Or first girlfriend?”

  “Nope. They done investigated all that stuff. He’d been engaged before, and both of ’em had other beaus in the past. Why do you ask?”

  I didn’t respond to his question but twirled my chair as I thought, listening to it squeak on the left side. “Is there any way to find out whose first she was?”

  “Hmmph. Easy. I can tell ya that.”

  My mouth went dry, and I stopped rocking the chair. “Why do you know so much about Amanda, Clarence?” I asked, feeling the tips of my fingers turn cold.

  He gave me a sidelong look, and I held his gaze, not sure if he was testing or teasing me. “Small town. Everybody knows everything.” He didn’t break my gaze, letting his pause drag out into an uncomfortable silence. “So ya wanna know or not?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Jim Bob Townshend.”

  The name rocked through me with palpable force. Townshend? I glanced at the blue folder on my desk, recalling the Japanese-looking woman near Fred Brewer’s farm.

  “Is he by any chance related to a Kate Townshend?” I squinted, trying to put all the crazy pieces of this cockamamy story together in my head. “After all, this is Staunton, right? How many Townshends can there be?”

  “Kate? I know her. She lives down by the Brewer’s place, don’t she? The one with the llama?”

  “That’s her.”

  “Yep. She’s Jim Bob’s great-aunt or somethin’. I forget now.”

  I inhaled sharply, remembering the photo of an Amanda-looking girl on her brick mantel. “Is Kate Japanese?”

  “ ’Course. You didn’t know that?” Clarence shot me a comic look of disdain. “Married to some military guy off the Yokotsuka base years ago. Been here ever since.”

  “Wow.” I rolled my chair back a few inches, tipping my head up to stare at the white-speckled ceiling tiles. “There’s a lot I don’t know about this town.”

  “Ha. You ain’t heard the half of it.” Clarence stuck his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. That ridiculous orangeplaid bow tie of his clashed horribly with his green-and-navy striped shirt. Between Clarence Toyer and Ray Floyd, I didn’t know which one deserved Worst Dresser of the Year.

  “Wait’ll I get started on the Jester brothers who live in your neighborhood.” Clarence grinned. “I got stories that’d curl your hair.”

  “No thanks. I don’t do perms.” I scrunched up my nose. “So Amanda was engaged to Jim Bob Townshend before Ray.” I toyed with the corner of the blue folder. “So…is it possible Jim Bob might have resented Ray at all?”

  “Resented him? I heard he wanted to kill him. ’Course that was years ago, and since Amanda’s been gone, nobody’s heard much from him. He shows up ev’ry now and then, I hear, but he don’t stick around.”

  Clarence looked away, wagging his head. “Jim Bob Townshend. Always a big troublemaker as a kid. Gettin’ in fights and whatnot. Why, I had to call the cops on him once for tryin’ to steal my car, right here in The Leader parking lot!” He scratched his shoulder. “But? I reckon all that’s in the past.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Shucks, the guy’s been gone for years. He’d been livin’ in West Virginia last we heard, a good year before Amanda turned up missing. Got a family and kids now, I hear. Makes good money. Turned out to be a real salt-of-the-earth guy.” He ran his hand through his wild hair. “Goes to show that people ain’t always what ya think, Shelly. Like I always tell ya.”

  “Shiloh.”

  “Right. Just keepin’ ya on your toes.” He crossed his arms, looking out the window at the summer haze. “Although it’s funny. Some folks said they saw him in town these days, sorta keepin’ to himself. Didn’t talk to nobody. And his car’s parked up at his pop’s house. I drove by outta curiosity and saw it myself, plain as day. Same ol’ Ford his mama used to drive, an’ after she passed, he won’t sell it.”

  “A Ford, huh?”

  “Taurus. Graphite-silver. Nice car. His mama won it in a Pepsi giveaway. I swear. She mailed in the winning entry form, and they let her choose the color an’ everything. Me? I done spent a fortune on them mail-in prize contests, and all I ever got was a pack of sunflower seeds. Go figure.”

  Clarence stretched and patted the cart. “Anyway. I hope you find who sent you them flowers.”

  He leaned closer and winked, showing his yellowish teeth in a grin that chilled my spine. “Angel.”

  My distaste for Clarence had diminished slightly, but it flared back up with a vengeance. I scowled as he pushed his creaky cart around the corner. Nearly flattening Meg, who jumped out of the way with a string of words I was glad I couldn’t hear.

  “Shiloh! I almost forgot.” Meg rushed to my desk and leaned over it, one hand on the back of my chair. “Kate Townshend. You asked about her yesterday.”

  “Jim Bob’s great-aunt or something. Clarence told me. But thanks for checking.”

  “Jim Bob? Who’s Jim Bob?” Meg wrinkled a freckled nose.

  I glanced up in surprise. “Isn’t that what you were going to tell me?”

  “No! But you’re right. The girl in that photo you saw yesterday in Kate’s house probably was Amanda.”

  I jerked my chair back.

  “Kate is Amanda’s grandmother.”

  I slumped over my desk, staring into the distance beyond my computer screen and Amanda’s blue folder. Barely hearing Meg as she rattled on about how the relation was probably by marriage because Kate’s Japanese and so forth. Blah, blah, blah.

  “So I guess Amanda and Jim Bob were related then, too?” I warily turned to Meg, not really wanting her to answer.

  “Jim Bob again. Who is this guy?”

  “Her ex before Ray.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah. I guess they were related.” Meg grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “This is the South, you know. And with a name like Jim Bob, well, what can you expect?” She put her palms up.

  “Don’t get me started.” I groaned and rubbed my face. “You know what? I need a Tylenol.”

  “That bad?”

  “No. I mean, it’s strange, but my mind’s already full. This is all too much.” I sighed and played with the mouse. “There’s so many other things going on in my life that I don’t have time for kissing cousins and kooky old love triangles. You wanna see what came for me this morning?” I dug in my purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper then plopped it in her hand. “Read it.”

  Meg took the paper and read, brow creasing in confusion. “ ‘Commonwealth vs. Jed Tucker.’ Who’s Jed Tucker?”

  Before I c
ould reply, Meg’s eyes popped. “It’s a court summons.”

  “Yes.”

  “To Winchester.”

  “Yes.”

  She tapped the paper thoughtfully. “Is this about that thing that happened before you started working here? Where you got jumped by rednecks at a Confederate battle reenactment, or something equally silly?” She put her finger on the name. “Jed Tucker. Yup. Definitely a redneck.”

  “And he’s a skinhead, too. He’s the one who kicked me in the side while they harassed me for being a Yankee—after they discovered I didn’t have any money on me.”

  I fiddled with my desk drawer, not relishing the memories. “I dealt with the other three guys in court in February—and they got jail time, all of them. But this Tucker guy is a slippery one. Looks like they finally got him. Now I’ll have to go back to court and testify against him.”

  I reached into a drawer and pulled out some silvery dried fish Kyoko had mailed me. Nice and crunchy. Their familiar briny flavor made me feel slightly better, but not much.

  “So when’s the trial?”

  “October third, just after my wedding. The prosecutor’s asking for jail time and damages. Good ol’ Jed did send me to the emergency room with bruised ribs.”

  “You’re paying a lawyer?” Meg glanced at my dried fish, probably figuring all I could afford was care-package food. To be fair, she wasn’t so far off.

  “No. He’s the prosecutor assigned to my case. Don’t worry. I don’t have to pay for anything since it’s in the interest of public safety.”

  “Yikes. You do have a penchant for trouble.”

  “That’s what Kyoko says,” I muttered to myself, taking the summons and folding it up.

  Meg crossed her arms and eyed me with a pitying look, turning up her lip at the sight of my fish. “That’s the pits.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m supposed to go wedding shopping with Becky tonight, but now all I can think of is this stupid summons.” I shook my head in disgust. “I knew Jed would turn up sooner or later, but I didn’t expect it to be now. When everything else in my life is going nuts.”

  “The flowers. Right.” She shot me a sympathetic look.

  “That’s not even the worst part, Meg. Adam’s been getting weird phone calls ever since Ray saw his face on that drawing.”

  Meg opened and closed her mouth in shock. “Shiloh Jacobs.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’d better watch out. Both of you. Has he talked to the police?”

  “He and his dad filed a complaint this morning. Adam’s worried about putting everybody else—his two brothers, his parents—in danger if the calls don’t stop. But there’s not much the police can do, unfortunately.” I shook my head and dug in the bag for another fish. “And then there’s Ray Floyd. I’ve called him a couple of times to ask questions about the case, but he turns kind of cold every time I mention Adam.”

  “Well, I’d be scared, too, if a drawing of some stranger’s face showed up in my mailbox with a threat.”

  “Exactly. I just hope he doesn’t file a complaint to the police about Adam.” I tapped the summons paper on the edge of the desk. “I mean, Adam clearly has nothing to do with this. The only connection we can find is that his dad taught Amanda geometry in high school years ago. But even he doesn’t remember much about her.

  “You know what? I promised to help Jerry give the restaurant a makeover.” I flailed my arm in the direction of the bridal magazines. “And I’m supposed to be planning a wedding, Meg! Less than two months until I walk down the aisle, and do you think I can manage a normal existence where I actually get to think about things like wedding cake and dresses?”

  I shook the summons in defiance and stuffed it in my purse. “But I’m going wedding shopping with Becky tonight no matter what. Hear me?”

  Meg gave a wry smile, her dark eyes blinking sympathy. “I’m really sorry about everything.” She shoved her stinky mug into my hands. “Here. Trust me. You need this more than I do.”

  I glanced down into the grainy, gray-brown depths, which smelled like horseradish and cheap vodka. “What…on earth…is this?”

  “Brewer’s yeast. A great way to get your chromium. And the dregs of that fermented maple syrup. It’s pretty potent stuff.”

  I felt my shoulders shake in an unexpected laugh. “No, really. It’s okay.” I pushed the mug back at her. “I’ll stick with my fish. And maybe make some miso soup since I missed breakfast.”

  “Jacobs. You know how unhealthy it is to skip breakfast.”

  “Believe me, I do. Sumo wrestlers don’t eat breakfast.” I reached for my desk drawer. “I couldn’t help it though. I got stuck on the side of the road with a bad transmission. But”—I raised a finger—“I found Mom’s transmission warranty last night, so I won’t have to pay for a new one.”

  “Good for you. I told you karma would sort things out.”

  “Well, if repercussions and rewards are based on my actions, past and present, I’m in a heap of trouble. Let’s call it instead God’s pity on a penniless writer. How’s that sound?” I tipped my head in a smile. “And I discovered something, too.”

  “That you’re a closet Buddhist?”

  “No way. Mom played the guitar.”

  I pulled a plastic packet of brownish stuff from my drawer, Japanese kanji characters for instant miso splattered across its glossy surface.

  “I found the guitar up in her attic while I was hunting for her transmission warranty. Funny, huh, the things you can still learn about someone who’s been gone more than a year?” My smile turned wistful. “She had a practice sheet in the guitar case. Untitled. Just the notes.” I hummed a few bars. “Do you recognize it?”

  “Nope. But I couldn’t carry a tune if my life depended on it.”

  “Me either. But I wish I could figure out what song it was.”

  I snipped the corner of the miso packet with scissors, lost in thought.

  “Ah. Miso. Now there’s one place we see eye to eye.” Meg patted me proudly on the shoulder. “Vegan in the making.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” I snipped the corner of the packet and squeezed it all out into an old Cornell mug, like gooey brown toothpaste. The Japanese are masters at instant everything—like instant noodles out of a machine. I reached under my desk and produced a thermos then pumped in a few squirts of hot water. Stirring with my spoon until it reached a thin, soupy consistency. I tasted and shook off my spoon, wishing somebody in Japan would invent an instant “solve-everything-in-your-life” packet.

  Maybe then I wouldn’t be getting married in my bathrobe.

  Clarence pushed his mail cart down the aisle and across a few of my bridal magazines, and I turned and scowled.

  “Don’t worry, Jacobs.” Meg looked up as I stomped over to the stack of magazines and snatched them out of the way. Smoothing the covers. “Cooter’s got a jumpsuit you can get married in. He uses it for skinning deer and changing car oil, but you can get the stains out with bleach or something. Recycle everything, I always say.”

  I plopped the magazines under my desk. “I’ll stick with something a little more capitalistic and wasteful this time, if you don’t mind.” I reached out to grab Meg’s arm. Lowering my voice to a whisper. “And listen. About Clarence.” I peeked around the corner to make sure he’d gone. “Do you think there’s any chance he’s the guy who won the lottery twelve years ago?”

  “What?” Meg screwed up her face. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “No, really! He used to live in Verona. He told me so once. And I know he plays lotto. I’ve seen him at the Shell station scratching off those dumb tickets.”

  “Shiloh Jacobs.” Meg put a hand on her hip. “If Clarence had won a million bucks, would he still be buying lotto tickets? Hmm? Or driving that clunker of a car?” She met my gaze. “Or working here?”

  “I guess you’re right.” I let Meg’s arm go, embarrassed. “He just seems like he’s hiding something. And”—I leaned over to whisper in her ear�
��“he’s left-handed. I purposely asked him to sign for an order yesterday, and he used his left hand. Just like whoever’s been leaving all those Amanda notes.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that fella’s hiding a lot more than lotto tickets. Please.” She rolled her eyes. “But I don’t think Clarence killed Amanda. Do me a favor and call the good doc your mom and Amanda both used, will you? Maybe he can help you, too. You’re cracking up.”

  She rolled her knuckles lightly on my head before turning back to her cubicle.

  Meg hadn’t even rounded the corner when I smelled them. Roses. A heavy, cloying perfume, like the strange bouquet that had enjoyed its remaining moments in the company trash can.

  “Do you smell that?” I turned toward the scent.

  “What?” Meg inhaled. Then sniffed at the armpits of her tunic and shrugged. “Nope. Unless you’re talking about my tea.”

  “No. This was a good smell.” I wrinkled my lip and inhaled again, but the floral odor had vanished. “Forget it. My overactive imagination, I guess.”

  But as soon as I turned back to the keyboard, I distinctly caught the scent of roses. Even Meg froze in place, nostrils huffing. Footsteps thumped on the carpet just around the corner of my cubicle.

  “That better not be…” I half-stood in my chair, hands clenching into fists.

  “Roses,” said Clarence with a grin. Appearing like a horrible vision, holding out a fat bouquet of dark red blooms.

  Chapter 10

  My jaw clenched in anger. “I don’t think so, Clarence. That’s not funny. Chastity’s desk is over there.” I pointed in the direction of her desk.

  “Ain’t fer Chastity,” grinned Clarence. “They got your name on ’em.”

  This time even Meg gasped. I still didn’t move to receive the vase. It just seemed too creepy with Clarence holding them, like another of his jokes. They’d probably squirt water on me or something.

  “ ‘Shiloh Jacobs,’ ” he recited, pointing to the card. “You gonna take ’em, or do I hafta sit ’em on the floor?”