by Celia Aaron
A brisk knock at the door interrupted my sister’s fiery sermon. She stared past me as the knock came again.
“Coming!” I grabbed my cup of coffee and walked to the foyer.
Arabella stood on the porch, her green eyes tired but still bright. “Morning.” Her breath puffed in the chill air, the late summer turning to fall with all the ceremony of taking out the garbage in the dead of night.
I stepped back. “Come in.”
“Thanks.” She walked past me, and I shut the door behind her.
Her lack of hesitation warmed me more than the coffee.
Porter strode in from the kitchen. “Howdy, Arabella.” He opened his arms for a hug.
She eyed him, then pulled out a notepad from her pocket.
Denied. I shot him a smug glance.
“Sorry, Porter, but I need to speak with Benton. Alone.”
“Not a chance.” Charlotte barreled past Porter, her dark brown hair whipping as she shook her head. “I’m his attorney, and unless you are arresting him, you aren’t going to—”
“Charlotte.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Arabella is here to help.”
She shrugged me off. “If she were helping, she’d be out finding who did this to Daddy…” Her voice cracked on the last word, and I squeezed her shoulder.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Arabella kept a steady gaze on Charlotte. “And I can assure you I’m doing everything in my power to figure this out. But what I need right now is a moment to speak to your brother.” Even in rumpled clothes and a messy bun, Arabella still had the presence of a hardboiled detective.
“Charlotte, I can handle myself here, okay? Go eat some breakfast.” I turned to Porter. “Make sure she eats.”
He nodded. “Come on, sis. I’ll show you the right way to cook eggs.”
Charlotte crossed her arms over her stomach. “Let me know if you need me.” With one more suspicious look at Arabella, she followed Porter into the kitchen.
“She’s a tough customer.” Arabella’s lips hinted at a smile.
“She can be.” I gestured toward the living room. “I think she’s still in shock, honestly. But she wants answers. We all do.”
She walked into the sunny living area and sank onto the tufted couch near the fireplace.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love some, but let’s talk first.”
I sat across from her and leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, anxious for any information. “Must be important if it comes before coffee.”
Another hint of a smile ghosted across her face until she pulled a small evidence bag from her jacket pocket. She held it up to the light.
“My business card.” I could see the stark lines of my name through the baggie. I wanted to ask why it was evidence, but the queasy feeling in my stomach told me I was about to find out anyway.
“We found this.” She spoke carefully, her gaze on the card. “This morning.”
“Where?”
“Letty Cline’s house.” Her gaze shot to me and focused, as if she were recording every minute movement of my face.
“Why were you in the florist’s house?”
“Because she was found dead this morning.”
My breakfast sloshed around inside me, threatening to erupt. “Letty Cline is dead?”
“Gunshot wound, much like your father’s.”
“Jesus.” I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “And my card?”
“Clutched in her hand.”
Maybe I should have let Charlotte stay after all. “Are you saying I’m a suspect?”
“I’d like to know if you’ve seen this card before.” She flipped it around and showed me the back. “If these numbers mean anything to you.”
I took the baggie and smoothed the plastic over the card. Scrawled on the back was a series of numbers. “No clue.”
“Recognize the handwriting?”
I peered closely at it. Something was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Not Dad’s, not mine, not Porter’s, not Charlotte’s.” I wracked my brain. “Was it Letty’s?”
“Don’t think so. I found some examples of her writing in her house. Nothing like this.” She flipped open her pad and poised her pen over the paper. “How did you know Letty?”
A brief image of her in a yellow dress at one of my mom’s parties flitted through my mind. My mom had been the town socialite when I was little, having get-togethers and charity projects at our house all the time. Letty had been one of her close friends, always around, always bringing fresh flowers for the white vase in the hall. “I’ve known her since I was a kid. She was close with my parents.”
“Was she still on good terms with your dad?”
“As far as I know.” I tried to think of the last time I’d seen her. “She was one of the Dancing with the Stars contestants last year.”
She raised a brow. “I’d only heard about it in passing until I got involved in this case. Apparently, I’ve been missing out.”
“Not at all.” I sighed. “I mean, the competition is held at the senior citizens’ center, if that tells you anything. It’s just a way to raise money for charity and to give the older folks something to look forward to every year.”
“So you saw her last year?”
“Yeah. Dad tried to talk me into being her dance partner.” I’d laughed at him and returned to the case file I was working on.
“You don’t dance?”
“Not if I can help it. Besides, she partnered with Vaughn Somers, the one who owns that brand new studio just off the square. He’s a pro.”
“Your dad won last year, right?”
“Yeah.” I could still hear him in my head, bragging about how he was the best dancer, not just in Azalea, but in the state.
“Was that the last time you saw her?” She scribbled a few notes.
“As far as I know, yeah.”
“What about your dad? Did you know if they were still close?”
I shifted in my chair. The way she watched me told me she already knew about the rumors. “Yeah, I think so.”
“How close?” Her pen still moved as she glanced at her notepad.
“Close.” I put enough inflection in the word to get my point across.
“That’s what I heard.” She clicked her pen. “A casual sort of arrangement.”
“Right.” I knew he’d been seeing Letty for years. I didn’t begrudge him the relationship, not since Mom had passed so long ago.
Inspecting the card, I tried to decipher what the numbers meant. “It’s too long to be a security code. I know it isn’t the law firm safe’s combination.”
“It could be an account number.” She sat forward and peered at the card.
“Yeah, maybe. It’s far too long to be at First Bank of Azalea, though.” I handed the card back to her.
“Logan’s running it through a web search right now, trying to figure out what it could be.” She stuffed it back in her pocket. “Why do you think she wrote it on your card?”
I laced my fingers together. They were clammy, slick. “I don’t know.”
“Any reason you can think of why she’d have it?”
“My card?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
She clicked her pen. “Nothing at all comes to mind?”
“No.” I wiped my palms on my pants. “I wasn’t her attorney. Dad was. Maybe she grabbed it when she dropped by the law firm at some point.”
“Wouldn’t you have seen her if she’d come by?”
I shrugged. “Not necessarily. If I was in my office or at court, I could have missed her.”
“Did she come by often?”
“Not sure.” I shrugged. “Dad met with a lot of people at the office, at Shady’s, at his house. I mean, he was an alderman, could have been mayor if he’d wanted to. Hang on. I have an idea.” I rose and hurried into the kitchen.
“What’s going on in there?” Charlotte cocked one fist on her hip
.
“Letty Cline’s been murdered.”
Her mouth actually dropped open.
“You shitting me?” Porter slurped down a cup of coffee.
I grabbed one of the travel cups stamped with King & Morris on the side and filled it up, tossed in a couple of sugar cubes, and splashed a few spoons of creamer inside before snapping on the lid. “Hand me my phone.” I jerked my chin at it on the counter.
“Are you full service now?” Porter grinned—the first time I’d seen him smile since the previous day—as he stuffed my phone in my back pocket.
“I’m just being hospitable.”
“She doesn’t think you had anything to do with Letty, does she?” Charlotte tensed. “If she’s trying to drum up some sort of charges—”
“No. She’s just trying to piece it together. Letty had my business card in her hand when she was killed, so Arabella is—”
“What?” Charlotte’s eyes widened.
“Yeah.” I know it sounded bad, but I couldn’t change it. “I don’t know why.”
“Where are you going?” She pointed at the travel mug.
“That’s a good question.” Arabella strode in, looking around the kitchen before settling her gaze on me. “Looks like you’re halfway out the door.” She glanced at the travel cup in my hand.
“This is for you.” I handed it to her.
“Oh.” She wrapped both hands around the cup, as if she needed to warm up. “Got cream and sugar?”
“I already put some in.” I hustled into the hall and grabbed my jacket.
“Where are you going?” Charlotte’s voice rose.
“We need to see Margaret.”
“Margaret?” Porter and Charlotte asked in unison.
Arabella just nodded and took a sip of coffee. She gave me an appreciative nod. “Perfect, thanks. I needed this.”
“Why Margaret?” Porter scratched his head.
“Because her memory is a steel trap. Not a speck of rust on it.” Charlotte’s tone was thoughtful.
“Right,” I said. “She knows everything about the firm. Who comes and who goes. Maybe she can tell us if anything was up between Letty and Dad.”
Porter coughed into his hand. “I think you know that Dad was porkin—”
Charlotte held her hand up. “Stop.”
“Sorry.” Porter shrugged.
“I’m aware.” Arabella’s voice was back to all-business, not the conspiratorial tone she’d used with me. Was she playing good cop, or did she genuinely like me? I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. She continued, “I need to find out what other links they had between them. There has to be something—other than Dancing with the Stars—that they had in common. And I need to find out fast.” She opened the door. “Margaret sounds like a good start.”
“Don’t move too fast.” Charlotte’s hackles were still up. “You’ll miss something.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to waste. Another note was pinned to Ms. Cline’s back.” She walked out onto the porch. “Someone else is next.”
13
Arabella
“There are people stealing my okra, I’m telling you! They come at night. They steal it and then they go in my garage and eat it, or maybe they—I don’t know—maybe they do some kind of experiments in there? I don’t rightly know, but I do know my okra is missing, and I hear noises in my garage!” Millie Lagner’s shrill voice was like a needle in my ear.
“I understand, Mrs. Lagner. But we have two murders in town, and—”
“It’s gone! I even had my son go out there with me and look, and he said there was okra missing. I can’t be making this up if Lenny saw it too, okay? So I need you to take this seriously…”
I took a right toward the old mill while Mrs. Lagner continued her tirade against okra thieves.
Benton must have been able to hear her through the phone’s speaker, because an amused expression pulled up one side of his mouth. Handsome. Even though he was unshaved, tired, and beaten down from his father’s death, he was still an attractive man, and that little smile of his made something flutter inside me. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time, and something I would never trust. Not again. Not after Dale.
“Did you hear me?” Mrs. Lagner finally took a breath.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll send Detective Dearborn over when he’s done with his current assignment, all right?”
“Chief Garvey has been promising me for a week—”
“I know. Today, okay? Either Detective Dearborn or I will be out at your place this afternoon. I give you my word.”
“I’ll be waiting. Bye.” The line went dead.
“Okra theft, is it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get me started.”
“A bit late in the season for okra, no?”
I imitated Mrs. Lagner’s high, angry voice. “Well, my papa always told me to plant okra late. Cooler weather will keep the aphids off. And if the aphids are off, then so are the ants. And if the ants aren’t there, other pests won’t be drawn to the okra.”
“I had no idea okra was such a serious business.” His genuine smile reached his eyes where it crinkled at the corners in laugh lines I hadn’t realized were there.
“More serious than murder, according to Millie Lagner.”
His smile faded, and I wished I hadn’t said it.
“It’s the yellow one.” He pointed to a small bungalow, the flower boxes neat, the grass neater, and not a blade or a petal out of place.
“This definitely screams Margaret.” I pulled up to the curb, and we got out. The cool wind swirled the newly fallen oak leaves pooling in a neighbor’s yard.
The door opened before I could ring the bell. Margaret’s gray hair was in the same no-nonsense style as she wore at the office, but instead of professional attire, she wore a navy track suit.
“Benton.” She smiled at him, then lowered her brows at me. “Detective.”
“Can we come in?” I tried my warmest tone. “I have a few follow-up questions.”
She was already motioning Benton inside. “Get out of the weather.” It was more of an admonition for me than an invitation, but I treated it the same.
“Thanks.” I glanced around at the neat little house—a few old photos on the wall and a vase of silk flowers to greet visitors. I caught the scent of something that reminded me of my grandmother’s face cream.
Margaret led us to a small sitting room, the furniture pristine and the white carpet a little too white. The low hum of voices came from a back room, likely the TV in her den.
We all sat, the firm couch promising that my ass would fall asleep if we stayed too long.
“What can I do for you?” She clasped Benton’s hand in her own weathered ones.
“Can you tell us if Letty Cline came to visit Dad anytime recently?”
“Letty? Sure.” She looked up. “Let me see here. The last time I saw her would have been…” She pulled her hands back and tapped her index finger on her chin. “A month ago, on a Wednesday.”
I made a note on my pad.
“She came in at about 10:30 that morning.”
“Where was I?” Benton asked.
“Up in Tupelo for that school bus case.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Okay, so do you know why she stopped by?”
Margaret cut her eyes to me. “I don’t have any idea.”
“You can tell her everything you know.” Benton grabbed her hand and squeezed. “She’s trying to find out what happened to him, and we need your help.”
Her eyes watered a bit, and I hoped that meant her guard was coming down.
“I don’t know exactly.”
The way she said “exactly” had me leaning forward.
She continued, “Letty had been by off and on, you know.” She swallowed, color creeping into her papery cheeks. “Because she and Mr. King were…”
“We know about that.” I bit my tongue when she gave me a sharp look.
“Anyway, on that Wedne
sday, she came in on a tear. Didn’t stop at the desk, just stomped on down to Mr. King’s office and slammed his door. After that, I heard them arguing.”
I was like a hound dog with a scent. Instead of broaching her for more, I let her tell it in her own time, though her dramatic pause was a bit…dramatic.
After a few moments, she broke. “Letty was doing most of the yelling. Every so often, Mr. King would raise his voice, but it was Letty who was on fire.”
“What about?” Benton’s brows were furrowed.
“From what I was able to hear, it sounded like Mr. King had been…” Her chin trembled as she glanced at me. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. And especially not of Mr. King.”
I wanted to yell “out with it!” Instead, I sat with my pen poised over my pad.
“Your father was always so good to me, you see?” A single tear escaped her right eye and meandered down her face.
“I know.” Benton’s voice was gentle, but there was a strain to it. “And you aren’t speaking ill of him. You’re helping get justice for him.” He gentled his tone even more. “It’s okay. Tell me what they were fighting about.”
She took a deep breath. “Your father had been seeing…another woman. Or, at least that’s what Letty was accusing him of.”
I gripped my pen a little too tight as Margaret melted into full-on tears. I’d spent half an hour interviewing her at the law firm, and not once did she say a word about Letty Cline having beef with Randall King. “Why didn’t you mention that yesterday?”
Benton shot me a warning look.
I fumed. Silently.
“It’s all right, Margaret.” He patted the back of her hand and kept holding it.
“No.” She blubbered something unintelligible. “I’m sorry. I should have said something, but I didn’t think it mattered. It’s not like Letty would have done something like that to him, especially not after they made up.”
“They made up?” I tried to keep the reproach from my tone.
She nodded. “He had me book a stay for them at a hotel in New Orleans for the next weekend. They left together.”
“I remember that.” Benton gave her hand one more pat, then pulled back.