Seconds later, they were pouring out the back door and into the yard.
It took them no time at all to locate the swing set and start climbing all over it, shrieking like a family of monkeys who had gotten hold of some fermented coconut milk.
Even Vidalia was having fun as Waycross settled her onto a swing seat and held her injured leg straight as she gently rocked back and forth.
Jesup brushed an inch of snow off the other seat and helped Alma onto that one. Jesup steadied her sister as she gently swung to and fro. The swing moved less than a foot in each direction, but it was enough to delight Alma, who giggled all the while.
Savannah stood beside Stella, watching rather than participating. Whether her lack of involvement was due to the fact that she had grown a bit too old for candy-cane swing sets or to her inexplicable lack of holiday cheer, Stella couldn’t tell.
“Don’t feel like playin’ with the rest?” Stella asked her.
Instead of replying, Savannah started to walk toward the shed.
“What is it, honey?” Stella asked.
“Look! There’s something on the door,” Savannah called back. “A piece of paper.”
Stella caught up with her and saw that she was right. Someone had thumbtacked a piece of bright red paper to the shed door.
As they got closer, Stella could read what was written there in large bold print.
ALL NICE KIDS,
LOOK INSIDE!
LOVE, SANTA
Savannah turned to her grandmother. “What’s in there? What is it?”
“I have absolutely no idea whatsoever.”
“You don’t?” Savannah looked doubtful.
“I swear, Vannah Sue. I don’t have a clue what’s on the other side of that door.”
Chapter 24
Stella looked around her living room at her grandchildren, who were knee-deep in what appeared to be the contents of an entire toy store. Each had several gifts, appropriate to their age, gender, and interests. Even Savannah had a stack of assorted children’s mystery classics, as well as a Barbie doll and a carrying case filled with clothes. She also had a pair of warm fleece-lined boots, which she was wearing.
Stella predicted she would sleep in them that night.
With the children all deliriously occupied, Stella sneaked off to the kitchen to make a phone call.
She debated whether to dial the station number or Manny’s home phone. Something told her that since he had no family within driving distance and had a penchant for hard work, he would be on the job.
She was right. He picked up after the first ring.
“Sheriff’s station. Gilford here.”
“Hello, Gilford here. Reid here,” she said, imitating his deep, authoritative tone.
“Stella! Merry Christmas!”
“It most certainly is over here.”
“Oh, good. Glad to hear it.”
“Like you had nothin’ to do with it.”
“Uh, well . . . maybe not as much as you might think. I had a lot of help.”
“Hooey. If it hadn’t been for you, my shed would not have been stuffed to the gills with toys and warm clothes this Christmas mornin’. If it wasn’t for you, my grandkids wouldn’t be sittin’ in my front room right now, playin’ with things they’ve only dreamed of havin’.” Her voice cracked. She had to fight to add, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, honey,” he said softly. “You’re well thought of in this town. Dearly loved. By a lotta folks. Word got around about what happened there on the highway, and that you’ve got the kids now. Everybody jumped at the chance to help you out.”
“Yeah, and I know just how ‘word got around’ and how that stuff got bought and carted over here and set up all nice like that. Them kids’ eyes ’bout bugged outta their heads when they opened that door a while ago. Last time I saw a bunch of people so happy was when that MoonPie truck dumped its load all over Main Street that summer in sixty-eight.”
He laughed, and they sat for a few moments in companionable silence.
“What’re you doin’ for Christmas dinner?” she asked, her heart in her voice.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll catch a bite somewhere.”
“We’re havin’ Florence and Elsie over. Florence’s bringin’ ham, and Elsie’ll have her apple pie and a pecan one, too. You’re more’n welcome to join us. We’d be proud to have you.”
He waited so long to respond that she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her.
“I appreciate your kind offer, Stella,” he said at last. “You have no idea how much. But I’d best pass.”
His refusal surprised her. She could tell he wanted to accept.
“I never thought I’d see the day you’d turn down a piece of Elsie’s apple pie. Waycross’d be plumb flabbergasted to hear it. Are you sure?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s best. Under the circumstances.”
She wondered what circumstances in particular he was referring to, but the sadness in his voice kept her from asking.
“Okay,” she said. “But I’ll put a piece of that pie back for you and get it over there to the station sometime tomorrow. How does that sound?”
“That sounds wonderful, Stella. I’ll look forward to the pie. And to seeing you.”
“Thank you again, Manny. I’ll never forget this Christmas. Or what you did for me and mine.”
“It’s not a Christmas I’m likely to ever forget, either. Not if I live to be as old as Methuselah’s great-granddaddy. Good-bye, Stella.”
The moment she heard the phone click on the other end, Stella felt lonely.
With a house filled with seven rambunctious grandchildren, she felt alone.
Eventually, years after Art had died, she’d begun to feel a bit less lonesome. There were moments when she could almost bear to realize that the man she loved was alive in memory only.
Now she noticed that when Manny Gilford wasn’t in the room, she missed him. But not the way she missed Florence or Elsie if she didn’t see them for a day or two.
This was a new kind of loneliness, and she didn’t like it.
She couldn’t afford the distraction.
Maybe she could have handled it before. But her life had changed so drastically in the past few days. Everything was so different now.
She heard someone knock on the front door, and the children scramble to let them in.
It was Elsie with her pies. In a few minutes, Florence would be there, too.
Stella had a Christmas dinner to prepare.
She also had a granddaughter with a knee that needed re-bandaging and another child with a broken hand to contend with.
She had seven grandchildren to raise; and arthritis in her left knee and right thumb; and a roof that needed to be replaced, because it leaked like a sieve with a hole blown in the bottom of it; and a pension that wasn’t enough to support both her and a goldfish.
She had a daughter-in-law headed for prison, and she had court appearances ahead, which racked her brain and her nerves just to think about.
Lord only knew, Stella Reid had problems and complications up to her eyeballs.
The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man who made her feel lonely all over again just by hanging up the telephone.
* * *
“I thought the best part of Christmas was the toys, especially now that I got me them sparkly high heels I been wantin’,” Marietta said as she pushed her plate away from her and rested her hands on her belly. “But now I’ve decided it’s the food. I’m full as a tick and too tired to move a muscle.”
“What a convenient time to declare that you’re paralyzed,” Savannah muttered. “Just when there’s dirty dishes to be done.”
“That was a fine meal,” Waycross said in his most grown-up voice. “Thank you, Granny and Miss Elsie and Miss Flo.”
Once the “Thank yous” and “You’re welcomes” were finished, Elsie rose and started gathering up the dishes from the table.
“Come
along, Marietta and Savannah,” she said. “You two hard workers help me out, and we’ll have these dishes done in a jiffy.”
“We’ll all lend a hand,” Stella said, doing the same, “and we’ll be in the front room, singin’ carols and eatin’ fudge, before you know it.”
“I’m afraid I’ve gotta go,” Florence said. “Y’all divide up the ham among you. I got another one in the freezer for Easter.”
Stella watched as Florence walked away from the table, not a single plate in her hand, and sauntered toward the back door.
Since Stella could remember, Florence had offered to bring the main dish to any feast—usually a ham or a turkey—and apparently, she seemed to feel that excused her from any menial cleanup chores. No sooner had the last bite been taken from the last plate than she would skedaddle out the door.
On her way out, Florence stopped and kissed the top of each child’s head and wished them a Merry Christmas.
Stella couldn’t help noticing that when Florence bent down to kiss Savannah, the girl seemed to shrink away from her touch. That surprised Stella, as Savannah had always liked Miss Flo. For the past five summers, since Savannah was seven, Florence had hired the child to come weed her flower garden. Flo had paid her well enough, and Savannah had been grateful for the money. Once, Florence had even given Savannah a pretty headband that Flo had grown tired of.
Stella couldn’t think of anything that might have caused the change in the child’s opinion of her neighbor.
Stella decided that Savannah’s reaction was just part of the girl’s moodiness. After all, she was approaching adolescence. The sulking and irritability were bound to show up soon.
Having just gone through the reverse of adolescence, menopause, Stella had already decided she would cut the kid some slack.
Hormone fluctuations weren’t for sissies.
As they cleaned the kitchen, Stella kept a close eye on her oldest grandchild and noticed that, if anything, her mood was deteriorating. Quickly. She snapped at Marietta even more than usual and left food on the plates she was washing.
When she finally dropped and broke a glass, Stella took her by the arm and said to the kitchen crew, “Y’all please excuse us for a minute or two. Savannah and I are going to sit out on the porch for a while.”
“In the cold?” Marietta asked.
“It ain’t that cold, and we wanna look at the snow some,” Stella replied.
She grabbed a wool blanket and her coat, which she handed to Savannah, and got a heavy sweater for herself. Then she put a hand on Savannah’s shoulder, and as they headed for the front door, she said, “Okay, darlin’. Let’s go sit and swing a spell. Ain’t nothin’ quite like it to clear the head.”
Stella and Savannah settled onto the front porch swing and leaned back against the soft floral-print cushions. After spreading the thick wool blanket that she had brought with her over both of their laps, Stella tucked it around them snugly.
“There,” she said, taking her granddaughter’s hand in hers and pushing the swing with her feet. The chains began to creak, a sound Stella had always found most comforting. “Just look at them pretty fields,” she said, “all covered with snow and tell me that ain’t a lovely sight to behold.”
Savannah looked and said, “It is, Granny. It looks like a Christmas card with glitter on it.”
“Even prettier than when the cotton’s open.”
“Yes, and you don’t have to pick it.”
They both chuckled. A little. Picking cotton in the hot Georgia sun wasn’t much of a laughing matter, as both of them knew all too well.
“Have you had a nice Christmas, sweet cheeks?” Stella asked, turning so that she could watch the girl’s ever-changing expressions.
“I have. The best ever. Except . . .” Her lower lip began to tremble, and tears sprang to her eyes.
Stella thought Savannah was going to talk about the accident and how badly it had frightened her, so she was taken aback when she heard Savannah say, “Except for something that happened yesterday.”
“What’s that, honey? What happened?”
Savannah turned to look at her with eyes filled with anguish. “I have to tell you something, Granny. Something bad that I did and something, maybe bad, that somebody else did.”
“Savannah girl, don’t you worry about nothin’. We’re gonna talk this out, and all will be well. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“All right. Tell me all about it.”
“Remember when you said that if I looked through the jewelry, if I picked out the pieces for Miss Carr to wear, I had to take really good care of them? You said it was my responsibility.”
“Yes. That was the deal.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Okay. What happened?”
“I’m not sure. But yesterday, when I took the things all out and sorted them and looked them all over, there was this one piece that was extra pretty, and I noticed it. I thought it might be a nice one to choose for her, but then I thought of the pearls and the purity thing, and I decided against it.”
“I see. And then . . . ?”
“Then, later, when I was putting the stuff all back into the box, it was missing. Gone! I thought I must have dropped it, so I looked under the table and under the cabinets and inside my sleeves and pockets and everywhere I could think of, but it just wasn’t anywhere.”
“I understand. Is that what you were doing this morning there in the kitchen?”
“Yes. I couldn’t get to sleep last night, worrying about it. So, I went in there again when we got up to see if maybe I’d just overlooked it. But it wasn’t there.”
“What was it, this missing piece?”
“A necklace. I think it was real gold, too. It was probably expensive. I’m sure Miss Carr’s little girl would want it, and she would have wanted her to have it. I tried to do something for Miss Carr, but I messed it up.” She began to cry. Stella put her arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.
“Don’t cry, sugar. I’m sure Miss Carr would understand. You didn’t lose it on purpose. We’ve talked before ’bout how a body shouldn’t feel too bad about somethin’ that went wrong if it wasn’t done on purpose or in carelessness.”
“But I was careless. It turns out, I didn’t lose it, after all. But I left it in the kitchen, unattended, and it got stolen.”
“Got stolen? What on earth do you mean? Stolen outta our kitchen?”
“Yes, Granny.”
“If one of your little sisters nabbed it, they probably just wanted to play with it. But either way, we’ll find it and—”
“’Twasn’t one of us.”
“Then who? Waycross wouldn’t—”
“Miss Flo.”
“Miss Flo?” Stella was dumbfounded. Surely, the child was mistaken. “Honey, that’s a serious accusation to make against an adult, a person who’s old enough to know that what they’re doin’ is wrong. A crime even. What makes you think she stole it?”
“She was wearing it today. When she bent down to kiss me good-bye, I saw it around her neck. She had it inside her blouse, but I saw it hanging there, clear as day.”
For once, Stella wasn’t happy to have her special power of discerning the truth from falsehoods. Her granddaughter was telling the truth. No doubt about it. Which meant that one of her best friends was a thief.
She put her own shock and disappointment aside. Savannah’s concerns needed to be addressed first.
“Savannah, I want you to listen to me. You did nothin’ wrong. Nothin’ at all. There was no way that you could’ve known that Florence would take the necklace when you left the items unattended there in the kitchen. I woulda done that myself in a heartbeat. You don’t ever have to feel bad about that again. Okay?”
Savannah smiled. “Okay. Thank you, Granny.”
“Now, tell me, what did this necklace look like?”
“It was a pretty little gold cross on a fancy chain. It had a purple stone in the middle of it.”
Stella felt her stomach lurch and thought she might be sick.
“I know that necklace,” she told Savannah. “I was there at Florence’s thirteenth birthday party, when her aunt Lovenia gave it to her. Flo was real close to her aunt, and that necklace meant a lot to her.”
Savannah brightened. “Oh! Then it was her necklace, anyway. If it already belonged to her, she didn’t really steal it.”
“That’s right,” Stella said, still feeling nauseous.
“Then it’s okay that she took it.”
Stella nodded, distracted, as the wheels of her brain whirred like a cotton gin at full speed.
“But how did Miss Flo’s necklace get into Miss Carr’s jewelry box?” Savannah mused. Then a look of awkward realization dawned on her face. “Oh. I guess Mr. Bagley was one of Miss Carr’s ‘special’ friends. He must’ve given it to her.”
“Yeah. He must’ve.”
“Why didn’t he come to Christmas dinner today, Granny? Not that I wanted him to, ’cause I’ve never really liked him that much, but seems like he’d want to eat Christmas dinner with his wife.”
“Just between us, darlin’, Miss Flo and her husband aren’t doing so well right now.”
“Well, yeah. If he’s giving her jewelry away to other women, it’s not likely they’re gonna get along so good. Did she know he gave it away?”
“I’m not sure,” Stella said, trying to remember the conversation she’d had with Florence about Bud trying to take her jewelry when he left.
“Where’s Mr. Bagley at now?” Savannah asked.
“I’m not sure about that, either. Sheriff Gilford said he saw Bud’s big monster truck on the river road, heading north toward the county line, a few days ago.”
“What’s up north? Why would he go up there?” Savannah asked.
Stella could see that Savannah’s brain was doing some spinning of its own.
“I don’t know,” Stella replied. “There’s not much up there by the county line except farms.”
“Mr. Bagley never seemed like a farmer kinda guy.”
“No, he’s a town guy. Florence is the one who loves farms. She lived on one for a while when she was little and—”
Murder in Her Stocking Page 25