“What exactly are you doing for Belvia?”
“It has to do with Della’s death. To be honest, I’m worried about working for Miss Belvia. She’s pretty insistent, isn’t she?”
“Belvia Brakeman doesn’t take no for an answer. But whatever she promised to pay you, she’s good for it. She took care of my retirement situation. Didn’t even sign a contract, she just made it happen.” Molly clasped her hands together and beamed. “Belvia always gets her way.”
In the hallway, I scanned the list. Apparently, Belvia didn’t trust anybody, including her own lawyer. Too bad Miss Belvia hadn’t involved herself in Halo House friendships. Thinking about corporate takeovers during her daughter’s unexpected death surely wasn’t good for a ninety-year-old woman. It wouldn’t be good for anyone.
Thinking about Halo House friendships, I followed my gut instincts up a floor and to another hall, toward Miss Hazel’s apartment. I rang her buzzer, knowing this time of day she liked to watch “that cute little Kelly” privately, without Ada’s peanut-gallery comments.
“She’s not home.”
I spun around, my hand on my chest. “Rosie. Didn’t hear you.”
The bartender I’d met at the Last Call stood behind me. Sweatbands circled her wrists and forehead. Burgundy pin curls swirled around the sweatband, matching the raspberry whirls in her shiny leotard. “I’m headed to that new yoga class. Don’t know where Hazel is, but haven’t seen her since early this morning.”
“I wanted to check on her.”
Behind Rosie, a figure slunk around the corner from the stairway. He paused, spotted us, then turned back to the stairs. I recognized the hat, but it was the swagger that caught my attention.
“Hold that thought, Rosie. Gotta go.” I hurried down the hall, grabbed the handrail for support, and swung around the corner.
Below me, the hat bobbed in view, then disappeared at the turn toward the landing.
“Hey,” I called, stumbling on the low deep risers. Safe for shufflers and cane walkers, but dangerous for a foot chase.
At the landing between the two floors, three women stood chatting. “You’ll fall running down the stairs like that,” said one senior. “Slow down.”
“Did you see the young guy?” I said. “Where he went?”
“Who?” said her friend.
“Sorry, I’m trying to catch someone.” I edged past them and tripped on the first step.
“Slow down,” they called after me.
Six more steps and I reached the next landing. Grabbed the handrail and swung to the second-floor hall. No Young Grabby Hands. My eyes fixed on Miss Belvia’s open door. A group of suits stood inside, chatting.
I could sense her, sitting on the throne/desk chair in the inner office sanctum, waiting for news on her daughter’s killer.
Ignoring that thought, I shot down the stairs, halted on the remaining landing, and gazed at the lobby below. Fred and Ada sat at the fountain. At reception, Krenzer chatted with a guest. The activity doors were closed. Another group of seniors filed out the glass front door toward a waiting bus.
I raced down the grand staircase and halted before Ada and Fred. “You see a young guy in a hat come through here?”
“You’ll break a hip taking the stairs like that, Chelsea.” Ada cocked her head. “What’s going on?”
I glanced around. “If he came down here, you must have seen him. Where’d he go?”
“Lose a date?” Fred winked. “Didn’t see any young man come down the stairs. Grab a coffee and sit a spell. Visitation’s this afternoon. Folks starting to pour in already though.”
My hands rested on my hips, but my neck prickled with anxiety. “How does he disappear like that?”
Eight
“When you invited me for a late breakfast, I thought we’d go to the Waffle Hut.” Luke cast a glance around Halo House’s lobby and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You can leave campus, can’t you?”
Having failed in my mission to find Young Grabby Hands and force him into a stalking confession, I called Luke and told him about Hazel. I also invited him to breakfast to begin feelers on my next mission. I hoped to convince (or connive) my deputy into sharing some background information on Della’s accident.
Besides, I was hungry.
“As much as I love to be scattered, smothered, and covered, you can get good eats here too. This is neutral territory. Last time we ate out, the waitress refused to serve me.”
“You threatened to draw her a picture in maple syrup. On her clean table.”
“After she made that remark about you ‘taking out the trash for dinner.’ What’d you expect me to do?”
“Let me handle it.”
“I don’t need you fighting my battles, Luke Harper.”
“Don’t I know it.” His gray eyes flashed.
I placed a hand on his arm and guided him to the fountain. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends.”
“This is the Ada and Fred you’ve been hanging out with?” Luke whispered as we approached the pair arguing about the most recent Castle rerun. “I thought they’d be younger.”
Fred shook his hand. “What are your intentions with Cherry?”
“Breakfast?”
“Lord, that was ages ago. Cheryl was going to sit with us and watch the Brakeman crowds. They’re showing up early for the viewing,” said Ada. “There may be a fight. Or at least a scuffle. We have front-row seats.”
“I see.” Luke folded his arms across his chest and cast me a long look. “I’m getting a better understanding about your choice in friends.”
I scowled at Ada. “There’s not going to be a fight. You’re making trouble.”
“Something’ll happen. Folks have been trickling in all morning, leaving messages for Battle-axe at the desk. Very few she grants a hearing, but they hang around anyway. By the visitation, this place will be packed to the gills. Krenzer probably didn’t consider that when she let the Queen Tea Bee hold a viewing here.”
Luke snagged my elbow. “We’re getting breakfast and you’re telling me all about what you and your buddies are doing stalking the Brakeman funeral guests.”
“Let her go,” said Fred, holding up a shaky fist. “Unless you’d like a bite of my knuckle sandwich.”
Luke dropped his hand from my elbow. “I’m law enforcement.”
“Means you can keep your record clean.” Fred pulled back his fist, then grasped the wrist to keep it upright. “I’ll do the time if it means protecting this young lady. I served in Korea, son.”
“He’s fine, Fred.” I placed my hand on his arm and guided his fist to his side. “Luke’s one of the deputies investigating Della Brakeman’s death. Fred was best friends with Grandpa Ed’s brother, my Great Uncle Stan. Fred gets a little overprotective.”
“Good idea bringing this cutie along for a gab, Cheryl.” Ada clapped her hands. “He’ll have insights on the visitors we don’t know. I’ll save your place while you get us more coffee.”
“Have you gotten any leads on who might have hit Della?” I asked.
“Nothing worth reporting.” He rocked back on his heels.
“Come on,” said Ada. “You gonna deny an old woman? I live for the 411. And my clock’s ticking.”
“You’re a feisty one.” Two dimples gleamed in Luke’s cheeks. “Okay, I’ll give you a small scoop. But you can’t tell this to anyone.”
“Who are we going to tell?” asked Ada.
Probably the entire staff, residents, and guests of Halo House. But I kept my mouth shut. If it took a seventy-eight-year-old woman to get a tidbit from Deputy Tight Lips, I’d take it.
“We’ve figured out the tires by the marks. Luckily, the soft shoulder gave us some imprints. Found yaw marks on the road too. They gave us an
idea of the types of vehicles that would use those particular tires.”
“And?” said Fred. “What kind?”
“Nothing special.”
“Do you know who the vehicle belongs to?” said Ada.
“Not like we’ve got cameras on a county road. I’m checking through the DMV plate registration for similar makes. It’ll take a while.”
“Could you tell if the hit and run was accidental or deliberate?” I asked.
“Happened at dusk. All sorts of things to consider.”
“Dang.” Ada rested her chin in her hand. “I’d like that sucker caught by the funeral. It’d sure make Battle-axe rest easier.”
“I thought you didn’t like Miss Belvia,” I said.
Ada shrugged. “She’s got a lot on her plate. Of her own making, but still.”
Maybe her full plate had brought on Belvia’s suspicions and crazy plan for me to play detective. “Is Miss Belvia the paranoid type?”
Ada rolled her eyes. “If you’re paranoid, you’d worry about what other people think. So, no.”
“Doesn’t that happen when some people age?”
“Sure, in dementia or Alzheimer’s. Or with certain medication. But that’s not the case with Battle-axe. If her enemies got a whiff of brain deterioration, they’d have forced her to step down a long time ago. She’s got her wits together, I’ll give her that.”
I frowned. “So if it seemed she was paranoid, they’d remove her as CEO? How can they do that? Meemaw’s Tea is her company.”
“A company that big couldn’t survive if it was run by someone who couldn’t play hardball anymore,” said Luke. “The shareholders would sell. Or threaten to sell. She’s had Della to back her though. She made Della work her way up to COO, but Della’s been in charge of operations for almost twenty years.”
“Did Della play hardball like her mother?”
“Yes, indeedy,” said Ada. “Della’s a chip off the old Battle-axe block.”
“Luke, did you know Della and Belvia were already fighting with the Meemaw’s Tea board over leadership issues? Some were threatening to call a shareholders’ vote for a takeover or merger if she didn’t go public.” Belvia had explained as much to me. “They think taking Meemaw’s from a private family-owned company to a public corporation would be more profitable to the shareholders. And themselves. Even though Meemaw’s Tea has been plenty successful.”
“Maybe they were tired of Belvia and Della keeping most of that success,” said Ada. “And money.”
The lines around Luke’s eyes tightened. “What’s your point?”
“Seems to me, if there’s a rival company who wanted to buy out the shareholders at a big price, the shareholders would make a whole lot of money. Except Belvia and Della are still the majority shareholders and no one can take over management without a majority vote or shares. It’d be easier to get the sale to go through if the Brakemans were out of the picture,” I said.
“You think someone took out Della?” said Ada. “Hoo boy. Belvia’d be on a war path if she knew what you were thinking.”
I chewed a nail. Yesterday I’d thought Belvia’s surviving daughter had messed with the will. Today I’d moved on to corporate takeovers. Matlock would tell me I was in over my head.
Luke scowled. “Who said anything about murder? We’re looking at a suspicious death. Now, if you excuse me, I’m strolling out to the visitor’s parking lot to peruse vehicle tires. Next time we’ll do breakfast with actual food.”
“Don’t you want to stay for the visitation?”
“Can’t. I’ll pay my respects later.”
“That tire thing was barely anything. Y’all will release that to the paper.”
“And like I said the other night, I don’t talk about active investigations.” He kissed me on the nose. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“If you knew what’s good for you, those words should never be thought, let alone uttered, in my presence.”
“Oh, I know. Makes you madder.” He winked. “And cuter.”
With a flash of dimples, he strolled to the parking lot.
“Cheryl, your boyfriend is a hottie,” said Ada. “When you’re done, send him to my place. I could listen to police stories and look at that eye candy all day, that’s for sure.”
“Ada, really.” Fred rolled his eyes.
“What?” Ada poked him. “Jealous?”
“Don’t worry, Fred.” I folded my arms. “Ada would soon learn Luke’s about more trouble than he’s worth.”
“Too much man to handle?” Ada polished her fist on her polyester blouse. “I can take him.”
“Nah,” I said. “It’s his family. They’re the bunion on my family’s heel. Always have been. We’ve always been rural route to their in-town address. Grandpa Ed said the Bransons walk like they’ve got a stick up their behinds and a crick in their necks from looking down their noses at us. But I’m hoping to fix that with my new job.”
With a wave of Belvia’s wand, the Bransons would look at the Tuckers differently. I smiled. But for that, I needed to find Della’s killer. My smile faded. I hadn’t done diddly in that respect.
“That boy’s a Branson?” Ada fanned herself. “I’d never seen a Branson look that good.”
“Step-Branson, actually. He takes after his real daddy.”
“Ballards hold grudges worse’n anybody in the county though,” said Fred.
“We call it remembering facts, not holding grudges.” My finger rocketed skyward. “Did you forget John Branson Senior vetoed my Uncle Bug’s nomination for town council? He hated the Ballards so much, John Senior went through the petition until he found Dan Cleermont had signed his nickname instead of his real name. Got Uncle Bug knocked right off the ballot. That’s the kind of stuff they do.”
“John Senior’s been dead at least twenty years. So’s your Uncle Bug.” Fred laughed. “No, you don’t hold grudges at all.”
“Calm down, Cheryl,” said Ada. “So your honey’s a Branson. You’d only have to put up with them for holidays, birthdays, and every other Sunday.”
“Luke doesn’t like the Bransons. There’s the kicker. JB’s his stepdad. They’ve never gotten along.”
Ada sucked in her breath. “JB? He’s worse’n John Senior. I can’t imagine any kid calling him grandpap, let alone one of yours. Better hope that Luke’s worth it.”
That thought had not crossed my mind. But now it was out there, flashing red neon inside my skull. JB could be my future child’s Papaw.
The Bransons’ only grandchildren would be Luke’s. JB’s only son had passed a year ago.
No wonder my family felt hostile towards Luke.
“Cherry don’t look so good,” said Fred.
Ada cackled. “That poor Luke. I just ensured a white wedding, if they ever get that far.”
Nine
I needed air. Although there were plenty of oxygen tanks around Halo House, I went for fresh. And because I needed something residing in my brain besides Branson babies, I decided Della’s murder would do the trick. I had a couple hours before the viewing and figured I’d get the ball rolling. Not knowing much about company politics, I began within my comfort zone. The scene of the crime.
The stretch of road where Della had been hit wasn’t far from Halo House. Meemaw’s Tea Factory had been built southeast of Halo on a thirty-acre spread, partially hidden in a small valley surrounded by pine-covered hills. The county highway had been recently paved, unlike the bumpy county road where Grandpa Ed’s farm resided. Someone had erected a small white cross to mark the scene of the accident, and a bouquet of flowers had been laid next to it.
I parked my truck on the opposite side of the road and cut across the highway to stand by the cross. A chain-link fence ran the perimeter of Meemaw’s property. W
ith the narrow shoulder and the fence, Della wouldn’t have had much of a chance to get out of the way.
“Why were you jogging here?” I muttered. “This may not be the city, but there’s still enough traffic to make it dangerous.”
Keeping my ears open to said traffic and my eyes open for scuff marks or tire tread, I sauntered along the shoulder. Reaching Meemaw’s Tea gates, I turned around and headed past the white cross. I had almost given up when I found a trampled area—likely made by deputy feet—and what might have been tread impressions.
The marks meant nothing to me, but I supposed Luke and his coworkers had lifted the area with Traxtone or another casting substance. However, if the white cross was a fairly accurate indication of where Della had been hit, it would seem the vehicle had driven onto the shoulder.
If Della had jogged out the gates and turned right onto the highway, she would have been running with the direction of traffic. More likely, she was at the end of her jog, headed back to the factory, and facing oncoming traffic. I didn’t know Della, but I figured she was smart enough to watch for approaching cars in this way. Most joggers did.
The skid marks Luke had mentioned were located in the middle of the road. On the opposite side was another trampled area, but this time, I guessed it had been created by a vehicle making a wide turn. Like they had been facing Della and swerved from one shoulder to the other.
After hitting her head on? I spun toward the white cross, then looked over my shoulder toward the tire marks.
Or coming out of the factory, the vehicle had passed Della and made a wide turn to go back toward her. Thereby crossing the road to hit her from behind. Going southeast. At dusk, the accident couldn’t be blamed on the sun.
Unless the driver had been out of their mind drunk, this first-degree homicide was murder.
No wonder Luke was keeping his mouth shut. This wasn’t just criminal homicide; the evidence implied a malicious intent.
A Composition in Murder (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 6) Page 6