“Details. Give me details.”
“ ‘How poor are they that have not patience!’ Othello, Act II, Scene 3.”
“I’m going to give you patience upside your head in a minute.”
He grinned and said, “Well, if you put it that way, how can I refuse? Now I have to admit that when I arrived at the V.F.W. post, I didn’t think I was going to uncover much. First off, it took me a good while to find a door that was unlocked. Then when I did and went inside, a surly gentleman snapped, ‘Bingo is tomorrow night.’ ”
“What did you say?”
“I said I was looking for someone. When I started to describe an imaginary man, the fellow cut me off and directed me to the basement so I could look for myself.”
“Then what?”
“I descended and found the bar, which is the post’s second favorite attraction. After the bingo, that is. Not a bad place. The shag carpet was somewhat threadbare and the panelling hadn’t been cleaned lately, but it wasn’t bad. There were only a few people there: the bartender, a older man staring at a beer and humming, two younger men talking earnestly, and a woman reading a book.”
“You went for the woman, of course.”
“Of course.”
I wasn’t jealous because I knew that the woman could have been as plain as a mud fence as far as Richard was concerned. It was the book that had attracted his attention. “What was a woman doing in there? I thought only veterans were allowed.”
“Your prejudices are showing. She was a veteran. An Army nurse, as a matter of fact, who served in Desert Storm.”
“Oops,” I said. Less than a week in Byerly, and I had already forgotten what decade I was in. “So what brilliant opening gambit did you use?”
“I asked her, ‘What are you reading?’”
I snickered.
Richard looked injured. “I thought I should keep it simple.”
“You’re absolutely right, and that’s about as simple as you can get.”
“Anyway, she didn’t seem to mind my asking. It was Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, by the way. Not my period, but a decent choice. We chatted for a while, she told me that her name was Vivian, I bought her a beer, and we ended up comparing the Laurence Olivier Henry V to the Kenneth Branagh Henry V.”
“I might have known that you’d find some way to get Shakespeare into the conversation.”
“I’ve never found it difficult to introduce Shakespeare into an intelligent conversation. In this case, it was quite applicable. After all, the first movie bordered on propaganda while the second clearly illustrated post–Vietnam sensibilities.”
“Richard, you know that I’d usually love a chance to discuss film versions of Shakespeare, but you did have another agenda. Did this lady give you anything we can use to find Aunt Daphine’s blackmailer?”
“You said you wanted details.”
He was right. That’s what I had said. “Sorry, dear.”
He nodded, mollified. “Once I had broken the ice, we moved onto other subjects. It turned out that Vivian has not been living here in Byerly very long.”
“Rats! I don’t suppose that she knew any of the fellows we’re trying to track down.”
“On the contrary. She was quite knowledgeable. You see, Vivian is a very energetic woman and she was appalled by the, and I quote, ‘sloppy record–keeping and half–assed organization’ at the V.F.W. post when she arrived. She appointed herself the task of bringing it all up to speed and even found the money for a computer to catalog data about local veterans.”
“What kind did she get?”
“Please, we had only met. I didn’t think I should get that personal.”
I grinned, but didn’t pursue the subject.
Richard went on. “Once I told her why I was there, she graciously opened up her office and we went through the files together.”
“You told her why you were there?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her the true story. I told her that my father was trying to track down an old Army buddy, but he couldn’t remember his last name and the only first name he had was a nickname. All he remembered was that he was from Byerly. Therefore, if we could track down where the Byerly soldier served, my father would be able to figure out which one was his long–lost companion.”
“That’s pretty good,” I said, “but Vivian must think that your father has a weird memory. I mean, remembering Byerly but not the man’s name?”
Richard shrugged. “Vivian said that she had heard stranger stories. Once she was asked to help track down a man when the only clue was a tattoo of a clown.”
We reached Aunt Maggie’s house about then, so Richard held off on the rest of his story until we got inside. Aunt Maggie was sleeping in front of the television, but woke up when we came in.
“How’s Daphine?” she asked. “Have you found her a way out of her troubles?”
Richard looked surprised, but I didn’t even bother to ask how she knew.
“Not yet,” I said, “but we’re still trying.”
Aunt Maggie nodded. “Well, I don’t know what Daphine’s got herself into, but you come to me if there’s anything I can do. All right?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but—”
“I know Daphine made you promise not to tell anyone.” She shook her head. “That girl always has had a lot of pride, never did want anybody to know it if she was in trouble. One time she lost a library book and the librarian told her that she was going to have to pay for it. Well, Daphine knew that her daddy didn’t have the money right then because times were hard, but she also knew that he’d try to scrape it up somehow if she told him. So she took it into her head that she wasn’t going to tell him, that she was going to get the money all by her lonesome.
“She went down to the dime store and offered to sweep floors or unpack boxes or do anything she could to get the money. It took her two months of hard work to do it, but she did it. And all that time she wouldn’t tell anybody what she was up to.” Aunt Maggie shook her head again. “That was I don’t know how many years ago, and she hasn’t changed not one bit. I’m just glad that she’s told somebody what’s going on. The rest of us know that you’ll do what you can.”
“Thank you, Aunt Maggie.” It made me a little nervous to know that the entire Burnette family was counting on Richard and me, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that any one of them would help if they could.
I don’t know if Aunt Maggie guessed that Richard and I had more talking to do or if she was just ready for bed, but she went on upstairs after that. Richard and I poured ourselves some iced tea, and then sat in the swing on the back porch while Richard finished his story.
“As I was saying, Vivian fired up her computer and listed Byerly’s fighting men according to the year in which they were drafted. Interestingly enough, there were names other than the ones we found in the newspaper.”
“Really? I got the impression that at least at first, every soldier was a hero.”
“Only the white ones. Vivian pointed out the fact that the names we didn’t have were of black men.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling embarrassed on Byerly’s behalf. Which was silly when I didn’t have anything to do with it, but liberal guilt knows no logic. “Sometimes I forget how much things have changed. Of course, none of those men would be suspects.”
“Why not? Several of them survived.”
“Because they were black.” Now I really felt like a redneck. “I never knew Uncle John Ward, but I’ll lay odds that he would never have told a black man something as personal as his making love to Aunt Daphine.” I looked at Richard sideways. “I know that sounds awful, but it’s true.”
“Don’t apologize,” Richard said. “You didn’t have anything to do with it. You’re just being realistic, and as you said, times have changed.”
I nodded, but like every liberal I know, Southerner or Northerner, I’m scared to death that somewhere deep inside, I’
m harboring racist feelings.
Richard went on. “Anyway, as it happened, none of those black men were in the same part of Vietnam as Uncle John Ward. Therefore the chance of their meeting was fairly low.”
“What about the fellows we read about in the paper?”
Richard pulled a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket and unfolded it with a flourish. “Vivian’s computer knew the assignments of each veteran, so she printed out the information for the pertinent people so we could see who was in Da Nang.”
“Da Nang?”
He looked smug. “I stopped at a pay phone on the way over to call Aunt Daphine and found out where Uncle John Ward was stationed.”
“You’re so clever,” I said.
“True.”
“So who was at Da Nang?”
“All of them, at one time or another. Vivian tells me it was a major base. In fact, she seemed to think that anyone should know that. I felt quite ignorant.”
“I’ll bet she can’t name all the major characters in Shakespeare’s plays,” I pointed out.
“Well put. The three men whose stays in Da Nang overlapped with Uncle John Ward’s are Larry Parker, Reggie Rogers, and Small Bill Walters.”
“Rats,” I said. “I had high hopes for Sid Honeywell.” I told Richard about Sid’s larcenous son. “I can eliminate two of your guys from what Aunt Nora told me. Small Bill died in Vietnam, and Reggie Rogers died here a good while ago. All that leaves is Larry Parker.”
“Vivian had an address for him in Charlotte.”
“Aunt Nora says he works for the Charlotte Observer.”
“Do you think a road trip is called for?”
“Not yet,” I said. “Let’s try talking to Hank here in town, first. After all, Larry could have told Hank and Hank could be the blackmailer.
“I hope not,” Richard said. “I like Hank.”
“I’ve known him for years, and he doesn’t act much like a blackmailer. But then again, what does a blackmailer act like?”
Richard had no answer for that.
“I trust you expressed your appreciation to Vivian.”
“She did mention that they were trying to raise money for some improvements to the bar, so I took the hint and made a donation. Unlike Vasti, however, she gave me a receipt so we can deduct it from our taxes.”
“Poor Richard,” I said sympathetically. “Here you are on vacation, and you’re spending all of your money on bribes and garden parties.” I batted my eyes at him. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
“Well,” he said shyly, “there is something.”
“Yes?”
“If we don’t have anything else to do tonight, that is.”
“Yes.”
“Can I read my new book? The Epstein book on Shakespeare? I hear it’s got some wonderful Bardic trivia in it.”
“I really had something else in mind,” I said, and then leaned over to kiss him for a long time.
When we finished, he said, “Oh, that’s a much better idea.” He hopped out of the porch swing, and took my hand as we headed inside and upstairs. “The book can wait.”
Afterwards, when I started to happily drift off to sleep, Richard slid out of bed for a moment. Knowing my husband as well as I do, I wasn’t a bit surprised to see him return with his new book in hand. I just curled up next to him, and went on to sleep while he read.
Chapter 15
The next day we decided that Richard would go back to the Byerly Gazette office to talk to Hank Parker and try to see whether either Hank or Larry were potential blackmailers. Since the latest edition of the paper had come out that morning, Hank would probably be at loose ends and willing to talk. The weather was bright and breezy, and Richard decided to walk so I could have the car in case I needed to pursue another line of investigation.
I considered pursuing another line of investigation, I really did, but I couldn’t think of one. So I called various aunts and cousins to see if anyone felt like having company, but was just as glad when nobody was available. I had a hunch that I might not have another chance to loaf during this trip, and I thought I might as well enjoy it.
Except the doorbell rang just as I was sitting down to read. I was expecting a salesman when I opened the door, but what I got was Junior Norton.
“Hi Junior. What’s up?”
Junior smiled her slow smile, the one that meant she wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I was just passing by, and I thought I’d stop in to see how you and Richard are enjoying your vacation. Can I come in?”
“Of course. Would you like something to drink?” I got us both Cokes, and we sat down at the kitchen table.
“Where is Richard, anyway?”
“He’s running some errands,” I said with a certain amount of truth.
“You’ve been running a fair number of errands yourself, I hear.”
“I suppose I have. How did you know?”
“You know how it is in Byerly, Laurie Anne. You can’t hardly blow your nose without someone calling up to say, ‘God bless.’ So how’s your aunt doing?”
“Which one?” I asked, but I knew who she was talking about.”
“Daphine Marston. I hear she’s been having some kind of trouble, but no one is quite sure what kind.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I’ll tell Aunt Daphine you were asking after her. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”
“Actually,” Junior said, “I have a hunch that she won’t appreciate it at all.”
I took an especially large swallow of Coke.
Junior asked, “Laurie Anne, how much goes on in this town that I don’t find out about?”
“Not much.”
“Now how much of what I find out gets beyond me?”
“I know you can keep things to yourself, Junior, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Good. Now let me run a question past you. One of those that isn’t real, but could be real.”
‘Junior, you know the word ‘hypothetical’ just as well as I do. I’m not some Yankee you have to act typical with.”
Junior grinned. “All right then, let me ask you a hypothetical question. Suppose one of the most pleasant women in town suddenly turned moody, started acting like something was bad wrong. Then suppose some man suddenly showed up dead somewhere where he didn’t have any business being. And suppose that dead man served in Vietnam with that woman’s husband.”
“Leonard Cooper was in Vietnam with Uncle John Ward?” That was news to me.
Junior nodded. “Now we’ve got the moody woman, and we’ve got a dead man. Then assume that the woman has a niece visiting, a niece who has been known to indulge in private investigations before. This niece just happens to be one of the folks who discovered the dead man’s body, and this niece and her husband start running all over town, talking to people. Assuming all of this, would you think that this niece was trying to solve herself another murder?”
I almost laughed, I was so glad Junior was barking up the wrong tree. “Speaking hypothetically, I might, but let me try a hypothetical question on you. Suppose that the niece told the police chief that she knows what’s bothering the aunt and that she’s trying to do something about it. And suppose she said that her being at that murder site was just a coincidence. If you were the chief of police, would you believe her?”
Junior nodded. “I imagine I would.” She finished her Coke. “These hypothetical questions are all well and good, but I best be getting back to work. Thanks for the co-cola.”
“Any time, Junior,” I said.
“Now since these were all hypothetical questions, I’m hoping that what we talked about won’t get spread all around town.”
“You’ve got it.” Okay, I was going to tell Richard, but telling Richard wasn’t like telling Vasti.
Junior was just about out the door when she turned and said, “Now Laurie Anne, I don’t know what your aunt’s troubles are, but I’m trusting you to let me know if it’s police business.”
/> “I’ll keep that in mind, Junior,” I said, and closed the door behind her.
I was grinning when Junior left, glad to hear that she didn’t know about the blackmail and kind of tickled that she thought I would want to track down a murderer on my vacation. Doing it once had been plenty enough for me.
I went back to the couch and opened up my book, meaning to finish it by the time Richard returned. Only I eventually realized that I had been staring at the same page for ten minutes. I just couldn’t concentrate on it. Junior’s hypothetical questions had started me thinking.
I had told Junior the truth, hadn’t I? Unless … Suppose that Uncle John Ward had told Leonard Cooper about him and Aunt Daphine, thinking that it wouldn’t hurt anything since Cooper had probably never even heard of Byerly. I could see it happening pretty easily. A bunch of guys sitting around, telling tales about who could drink the most and who had slept with the most women. It could have slipped out.
Then Cooper could have been Aunt Daphine’s blackmailer. Of course Aunt Daphine had received the latest ransom demand on Monday, after he was killed, but it was probably mailed on Saturday.
No, that was silly. How could Cooper have learned that Daphine was pretending to be a widow? How could he have learned about Arthur’s campaign? Then I remembered Cooper’s subscription to the Gazette, and the prominent ads and articles that Vasti had arranged recently. At least one of the articles Aunt Nora had sent me cited Vasti’s being the daughter of an old Byerly family, and mentioned Daphine by name. He could have figured it out.
But Cooper had been receiving the Byerly paper for years. Why did he care anything about Byerly? And surely there had been something about Aunt Daphine in the paper over the years, so he could have figured out that she was using Uncle John Ward’s last name long ago. Why did he pick now to blackmail Aunt Daphine? And how could the blackmail letters have been mailed from Byerly? Could Cooper have had a local accomplice? Could he and the accomplice have had a falling out serious enough for the accomplice to shoot him?
No, this was ridiculous. Respectable architects from Virginia didn’t blackmail strangers in small North Carolina towns. But then again, the average architect from Virginia didn’t end up dead in a North Carolina cotton mill. Damn! Junior had planted the seed, and now I was starting to think that the blackmail was connected with the murder.
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