by Karen White
“Um . . .”
Without asking her to elaborate, Wade starting dialing numbers. “One-one-one-one. I sure hope that doesn’t unlock this—” The lock snapped open.
“You said you wanted it to be something easy that both the kids and I could remember,” Merilee protested. “It’s the same password I use on my phone so we don’t have to think during an emergency.”
“This isn’t so critical,” Wade said as he slid the lock from the metal loops of the door. “But your phone?” He shook his head. “Pardon me for saying this, but that’s just not very smart. Did you know there are people trained to hijack phones and make your life a living hell? Of course, a toddler could hijack your phone, because there’s no challenge to getting past your password.”
“I know, I know. Give me another month or two, when I should be able to free up a few more brain cells to devote to things like changing passwords and balancing my checkbook.”
“You don’t balance your checkbook?”
Merilee gave him a pointed stare, and Sugar wanted to say something about the importance of always knowing what the bank was doing with your money, but she couldn’t. The sight of the opened cellar doors seemed to be restricting her ability not only to speak but also to breathe.
“Do you want to stay here?” Wade asked her. “The steps are kind of steep and narrow.”
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. He took her arm again and led her into the cellar, one step at a time. Merilee paused for a long moment, then ran down the steps as if someone might be chasing her.
He turned on several camping lamps, giving a bright glow to the small, cramped space. “It’s over here,” he said, leading them to a spot against the wall. He moved aside several blankets that had been piled on the floor in front of the trunk. Picking up a lamp, he held it closer. “Looks like a standard-issue army footlocker—but any identifying marks have been removed.”
She’d already seen enough. Backing up, she struck the side of a chair with her leg, and she gratefully sat.
“Who else had access to the cellar?” Wade asked as he removed a long, pointed tool from his tool belt and crouched in front of the trunk. “If it’s full of cocaine or something, I’ll need to explain it to the authorities.”
Sugar pressed her lips together again to show her disapproval. “Until my tenants, just my daddy. After Tom died, I moved back to the main house to take care of my mother, and he pretty much took care of the place after that. I didn’t cross the threshold until I hired you to clean it up before my first tenant moved in about ten years ago.”
Merilee stood within the circle of light from the lamp, glancing behind her every once in a while, watching as Wade moved the tool back and forth several times before a loud click sounded in the damp cellar.
The fluttering began in her chest again, and she had to close her eyes and take a deep breath before opening them. Placing the lock on the ground, Wade grabbed hold of the sides of the trunk lid and lifted it. “Oh.”
Both Sugar and Merilee leaned forward to see what Wade was looking at. The trunk was completely empty except for wadded clothing shoved in a corner and a pair of russet brown lace-up boots sitting in the facing corner, as if they’d just been placed there, awaiting their owner.
“Here,” Wade said as he handed Merilee the lamp. “Hold this up so I can see better.” He reached inside and lifted up what appeared to be a uniform of khaki shirt and trousers.
The first thing she noticed was that there weren’t shoulder loops on the shirt, meaning it had belonged to an enlisted man and not an officer. And then Wade turned the shirt around to the front, and they all stared at it without saying a word.
A dark hole stared back at them like a sightless eye, a crusty russet stain covering most of the front of the shirt, a thick river of it coating one side as flakes drifted toward the ground in the beam of the light.
“Looks like a bullet hole and blood to me,” Wade said.
Merilee held the lamp higher. “Is there any insignia or identifying marks on the shirt or inside the trunk?”
“Not that I can see.” He stood, sending Sugar a worried glance. “I’m going to need to take the trunk out of here to get a better look. Merilee, could you please take Sugar back to the house and get her some water?”
“Of course.”
Sugar allowed Merilee to help her to a stand without protest. She led her carefully up the stairs and into the front room, where she insisted that Sugar sit down, then put her feet up.
Sugar felt queasy and light-headed, but not enough to not be embarrassed by the hole in the toe of her stockings. She’d put nail polish on the hole to stop it from running, but nobody was supposed to see it.
Merilee went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of tepid water and handed it to her, keeping her hands near the glass while Sugar drank.
“You don’t need to hover,” Sugar snapped.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Merilee said with an uncertain smile as she sat back on her heels. “Just didn’t want you choking to death on my sofa. Hard to explain to the children.”
Their eyes met in mutual understanding, both clinging to a normalcy that might neutralize what they’d just seen and what it might mean.
Sugar took another sip of water, then handed the glass back to Merilee.
“Still no idea who that trunk belongs to?” Merilee asked gently.
Sugar met Merilee’s eyes. “I know it’s not Tom’s. He wasn’t army. Harry and Will didn’t return to Sweet Apple until 1950, when our daddy died and they took over the farms. Kept their houses in Atlanta, so they never saw the need to store anything here.”
“And Bobby?”
Something fluttered in her chest again. “He died in France. The only thing of his I remember Mama keeping was his dog tags. We buried her with them.”
Sugar turned her face toward the back of the couch, anticipating Merilee’s next question.
“What about Curtis?” Merilee waited, as if thinking Sugar might say something so she wouldn’t have to. Merilee continued. “That night, you said you left him there in the woods and when Lamar went back to check on him, he was gone.”
“And that was the truth. As much as I wish he had died that night, he survived to be shipped off to fight in the Pacific. Lamar, too.” She closed her eyes again, seeing Lamar’s face that night in the woods, remembering all his kindnesses and his friendship with Jimmy, and found herself very close to tears she’d promised herself long ago she would not shed. “I don’t know what happened to him, although I suppose he’d be dead now even if he wasn’t killed in the war. I hope not, though. He deserved a long and good life.”
Merilee stood and looked down at Sugar with concern. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Maybe call a doctor? You’re looking pale.”
Sugar considered for a moment. “You can bring me some of that iced tea. Just don’t forget to add some sugar. Yours is never sweet enough.”
She could see relief in Merilee’s face. “I’ll be right back.”
She was halfway to the kitchen when Sugar called her back. “Do you think we should call the police?”
Merilee stopped and turned around. “I hadn’t thought of that, but probably. It’s an old shirt and an old stain, but that’s still a bullet hole. It could be a hunting accident for all we know, or even a combat injury, given that it’s a uniform—it’s impossible to tell. I imagine the Sweet Apple PD has never seen an old case like this, but they’ll know what to do. I wouldn’t worry, though.” She smiled. “I’ll be right back with your tea—extra sugar.”
Sugar nodded and closed her eyes, the fluttering in her chest softer now, like little secrets whispered in the dark, searching for an escape.
Twenty-two
MERILEE
Wade met Merilee at Sugar’s house right before Officer George Mullins of the Sweet Apple
Police Department arrived. Sugar hadn’t asked for them to be there, had actually made it pretty clear that she didn’t want them there. But both had agreed they should be there after Wade pointed out that the sight of the bloodstained shirt was the one thing he could recall having ever subdued Sugar Prescott.
When Wade had called Merilee the previous night to plan the meeting, Merilee had been relieved to know that the topic of Sugar was the purpose of his phone call. The awkwardness of their conversation at the construction site was one of those scenes that played over and over in her head at night, pushing out all thoughts of sleep and filling her with mortification. She had no idea how she’d agreed to ask him to the gala. It had been either the champagne or her sheer loneliness, or simply Heather’s powers of persuasion. Most probably all three.
“You look nice today,” Wade said as Merilee approached the steps.
She glanced down at the blue silk blouse Lily had said looked pretty on her, trying to pretend she hadn’t deliberately pulled it out of her closet to wear because she knew she’d be seeing Wade. “Thank you,” she said, trying very hard not to notice how nicely his golf shirt fit, or how something zinged in her brain when he smiled at her. She must really be lonely. Time to binge watch Nicholas Sparks movies on Netflix to cure her of her romantic fantasies, assuming it would work in the same way that her children couldn’t bear the sight of candy for at least two weeks following their Halloween gorging.
Sugar answered the door wearing lipstick and a frown. “I can’t visit now. I have an appointment.” Her lips pressed together as the police cruiser pulled up in the drive. “You’ll just have to come back later.”
“Or we could stay,” Wade said as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, then gently moved past her so that he was standing next to her when Officer George Mullins reached the porch.
Merilee and Wade introduced themselves, and despite Sugar’s protests that they were just leaving, they all settled themselves in the front room, a plate of cookies and glasses of sweet tea in front of them. Even in her annoyed state, Sugar remembered her manners.
Sugar smiled at the officer. “I believe I knew your grandmama—Betsy Rucker. I was in her wedding when she married your granddaddy, Vern—probably have a photo somewhere I can show you. Nice people. I went to your parents’ wedding, too—just as a guest, though. Beautiful dress and flowers, I do remember that. It was over at the First United Methodist—that first wedding after the big fire.” Leaning forward, she slid the plate of cookies across the table. “I remember you as a baby, too. Fat little thing. I don’t think I’d ever seen so many rolls in a baby’s legs before. You might just have been the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”
The officer grinned as he took a bite from his cookie, and if Merilee had to take a guess, she’d say that Sugar Prescott had never once received more than a warning for any traffic offense.
The officer began asking Sugar the same questions Merilee had asked her the day they’d discovered the trunk, and Sugar responded without appearing to have to think about her answers—no, she didn’t know who the trunk belonged to, and no, she didn’t know how it had ended up in the cellar. Yes, tenants had access to the cellar, but to her knowledge none of them had ever had a reason to use it.
Officer Mullins was thorough and respectful of Sugar’s time, asking all his questions and jotting her answers down in a notebook in less than twenty minutes. “I think that’s all the questions I have for you, Miss Sugar,” he said as he stood and pocketed his notebook. “We’re going to do a cursory search of the property and the cellar. One of our detectives is going to come out and ask you a few more questions and do a mouth swab just to see if there’s a match with any trace evidence they can pull off the trunk or the shirt. My guess would be no, owing to how old everything is—any trace evidence would probably have degraded by now, but we have to be thorough.”
“That’s fine, young man. You do what you have to do, and I’m not even going to ask that the trunk and its contents be returned. You may dispose of it as you see fit whenever you’re done with all the testing and scientific whatnot you’ll have to do to it.”
Merilee met Wade’s gaze behind Sugar’s head. They both knew she watched Forensic Files and the Investigation Discovery channel religiously and could probably lead a forensic investigation by herself.
“Yes, ma’am. It won’t be me doing all the lab work, but I promise you it will be in good hands.” He picked up his hat from the hall tree, then tipped the brim as he left the house.
Sugar was right behind him, picking up her netted hat—the same one she’d worn to the Atlanta Woman’s Club—and then pinning it to her hair.
Looking in the mirror behind her, she said, “If you wouldn’t mind moving your truck, Wade, I need to get to Bible study. If the police need to get inside, tell them the door’s unlocked.”
“Bible study? Since when?”
“Since I turned ninety-three. Figured it was time to start studying for my final exam.”
Wade grinned, then held the door open. Merilee began to follow but paused in front of a low chest she hadn’t noticed before, two silver-framed photographs standing neatly on top.
“Is this you?” Merilee asked, holding up one of the photos. “I recognize the hat.” It was a black-and-white picture of a stunning young blond woman—not really more than a girl—tall and elegant, wearing clothes in the style of the nineteen forties, surrounded by three men. One was considerably older, the other two in their mid-twenties. All three wore suits and ties, looking uncomfortable, as if they were used to wearing more casual clothes.
Sugar stepped closer to see, then nodded. “That was taken at my mother’s funeral. My daddy wanted a keepsake. And he was right—this is the last photograph taken of him before he died just a few months later. That’s Harry and Will. That scar on Harry’s cheek—he received that at Normandy. That scar and his medal’s all he came back with. He left any sense of decency and honor back on those beaches, pretty much.”
Merilee studied the photograph, especially Sugar. She had always suspected that Sugar had been a beautiful woman, and this confirmed it. She was Hollywood-glamour beautiful, the kind of face and body you’d see on pinups at the time. Not that Sugar Prescott would ever have posed for a pinup. But there was something else about the photo of the woman with the three men. About the way she stood a little in front of them, the father’s hand on her arm instead of the other way around, as if she were the one offering support. And guidance.
“And this one?” Merilee asked, holding up a photo of an impossibly young Sugar with a handsome man in uniform. She was wearing a white suit with a matching hat and carrying a bouquet of flowers. “You and Tom on your wedding day?”
Sugar nodded. “I’m going to be late.”
“Sorry—coming,” she said, giving the photograph one last look. There was something about it that made Merilee pause. Both Tom and Sugar were smiling, but it was more than that simple expression. It was something that reminded Merilee of herself.
“Coming,” Merilee said again, carefully replacing the frame before following Sugar and Wade out the door.
Wade settled Sugar into her car and watched as she began to drive away before climbing into his truck. Leaning out his window, he called to Merilee, “Do I need to get you a corsage or something for the gala? Or coordinate the color of my cummerbund?”
“Nah. Let’s pretend we’re adults for one evening and dispense with all that.”
“If you say so.” His smile brightened. “Would it be nerdy to admit that I’m looking forward to the evening?”
She felt that zing again and made a mental note to check out Netflix as soon as she got home. “Yes,” she said.
“Yes?”
Before she could respond, she noticed a black Mercedes coming down the drive toward them, and Wade turned to look, too.
The car stopped and the window rolled down. “Goo
d to see you again, Wade.” Turning toward Merilee, Dan said, “You said you were free Monday morning, so I thought I’d stop by and pick up that package you’ve been holding for me. But if you’re busy . . . ,” he said, indicating Wade and the patrol car pulled up in front of Sugar’s house.
“Not at all—this is perfect timing,” she said as she walked toward the car. “If you give me a lift to my place, I’ll get it for you.”
She waved good-bye to Wade, ignoring the question in his eyes, then slid into the passenger side of Dan’s car. It smelled faintly of leather and a light scent of cologne that she thought was quite pleasant. Michael hadn’t worn cologne, maybe because he didn’t think he could carry it off. But Dan could. He was the kind of man who could get away with wearing a pink shirt or carrying his wife’s handbag without dinging his masculinity.
“You look pretty,” he said, and Merilee smiled, noticing the lack of a zing, for which she was grateful.
“Thank you. And don’t mind the police. We found an old trunk in the cellar complete with an army shirt and bullet hole. Sugar doesn’t know anything about it, so we’re not worried. It’s been there awhile.”
“So’s Sugar,” Dan said with a half smile, making Merilee laugh.
Dan continued. “Sorry to hear that Heather’s making all her committee heads work over the weekend. I hope you didn’t have any plans.”
Merilee was startled for a moment before she remembered that Heather had told Dan that she was staying home to work on the gala over the long holiday weekend. It was a white lie, Heather had confessed to Merilee, told only because Heather knew that Dan had been itching to spend time at his fishing cabin drinking beer and not shaving for four whole days, and if Heather hadn’t said she’d made plans to stay home and work, he wouldn’t have gone for a much-needed break.
Merilee found it sweet, the way Heather worked so hard to make sure her husband had a break. So completely different from Merilee’s now-defunct marriage, in which Michael called all the shots and everybody did what Michael wanted to do. Maybe if they’d seen Dan and Heather’s exemplary marriage, they might have been able to save their own.