"I see you have. Leave them, and on your way out tell my secretary to hold my calls."
"But Cordell," Wilkes said, "you’re on vacation."
"Thanks for reminding me. Ask Tressie to cancel the rest of my vacation too. And close the door behind you."
Gerald Wilkes’ face puffed up. He stomped out of the room and slammed the door.
"That boy is a little over zealous, isn’t he?" Judge Langford asked.
"Yes, sir. But we were all like that in the beginning, weren’t we, Harland?"
"I suppose."
Mr. Varner smiled at me. "Becky, I hear you’ve got something to tell me."
"Yes, sir, I do."
The county attorney picked up the yellow legal pad, tore off the pages filled with Wilkes’ notes. "I like to draw my own conclusions." He wadded up the paper and threw it in the trash. "Okay, Miss Becky. Tell me your story."
I took a deep breath, blew it out, and again recited the tale of how I’d accidentally killed Donald. Mr. Varner kept his eyes focused on me and made notes at the same time. When I finished speaking, he leaned back in his chair, folded his hands across his stomach, smiled, but said nothing.
His silence increased my apprehension. "That’s all I have to say, unless you have some questions, Mr. Varner."
He leaned forward and reviewed his notes. "I do have a few, if you don’t mind."
"I don’t mind. I have a question for you."
"Go ahead. Ask."
I pointed at the legal pad. "How do you take notes without looking at your hand?"
He grinned. "Practice. I’ve had years of practice. Any more questions?"
I shook my head.
"Okay, my turn." The prosecutor pulled at the skin on his throat. "You said Donald was afraid to turn off the truck because he’d been having problems getting it to start. But I recall Frank talking about how he kept his truck in tip-top shape."
"Frank did. The minute something starting going wrong, he’d take it over to Roger at Hunt’s Garage. But Donald didn’t take care of it. Frank would jump out of his grave if he saw how filthy his son let the Ranchero get."
"I see," Varner said. "Was Helen there when you got home?"
"Yes, Momma was there."
"She didn’t notice anything wrong with you?"
"Could I have some water, Mr. Varner?"
"Sure, Becky." He got a glass down from a row of cabinets and disappeared into the bathroom.
Judge Langford patted my hand. "You’re doing fine, Becky. Just fine."
Mr. Varner returned with the water. I drank half of it before continuing. "Momma was mad because I’d been gone so long. She screamed at me because her supper wasn’t fixed, but I ignored her and went upstairs."
Varner scratched his head. "How can you ignore Helen when she’s yelling at you?"
"Practice, Mr. Varner. I’ve had years of practice."
The two attorneys laughed. Then Mr. Varner’s questions resumed. "Becky, you said when you got home you took some medicine, went to sleep, and didn’t wake up until the next morning. What kind of medicine did you take?"
"A few days after Frank’s funeral, I fell down the stairs and hurt my wrist. Doctor Condray gave me some pain medicine. I’m supposed to take one every eight hours as needed. But I was in such a state that afternoon, I —"
"You were in shock, Becky," Judge Langford offered. "Anyone would be after seeing someone plummet off a cliff."
"You’re right, sir. My head hurt something fierce and my heart pounded in my ears. I couldn’t stop shaking so I took the pain medication and went to bed."
"How much did you take?" Varner asked.
"Two tablets at first, but it didn’t help, so I took a couple more. Four altogether."
"That would explain why you were groggy and confused the next day," the judge said.
"I thought it all a nightmare until Sheriff Hays and Deputy Santo told me of Donald’s disappearance."
Mr. Varner threw down his pen. "Why didn’t you come forward then?"
"Because she was scared," Judge Langford said. "Hell, Cordell, you’ve got two girls close to her age. Can’t you imagine how they’d feel if the same thing happened to them?"
"Yes, I can. But you have to admit, Harland, her not coming forward until now looks real bad."
"We’ve both been in this business long enough to know things are seldom what they look like on the surface." The judge tapped his index finger on the desk. "Remember what this child had been through. Her mother had divorced her stepfather. The family business half burned down by an arsonist your office has never caught, and Frank’s death. He was more than a business partner and stepdaddy to her. She tells me he ran interference for her with Helen. Now Helen is a nice woman, but she can be more than a little overbearing."
"You don’t have to convince me. I had a taste of Helen’s persuasive nature this morning at Minnow Creek. That woman should’ve been a lawyer." He picked up his pen, began twirling it through his fingers. "I didn’t know Helen divorced Frank."
"About a month before Frank died," I said. "Momma planned to move to Palm Beach and marry Henry Nash after she got her divorce settlement. That got delayed because we needed the money to rebuild the storehouse and buy inventory. She agreed to wait until the insurance check came, but then Frank died and left everything to Donald."
"Helen is going to marry Henry Nash?" Varner asked.
"She was. I don’t know what’s going on between them now."
"I’d heard Donald got everything," Varner said. "How did Frank talk Helen out of the store and the house?"
"Momma signed them over to him in ’67." I decided it best to fill the county attorney and Judge Langford in on some of our family history and long-kept secrets. I didn’t want them thinking bad things about Frank and I didn’t want to go to jail.
I told how Frank only accepted the property because I’d begged him to, and how Momma and Frank’s marriage had been a sham for over five years. I even told them I’d had been in Havenwood instead of in Alabama caring for Frank’s sister. Maybe if they didn’t believe Donald’s death was an accident, they’d think me innocent by reason of insanity. I didn’t tell them about Frank and me, or about my getting pregnant and Momma’s part in the illegal abortion. Some wounds never heal. Some truths can never be told.
Neither man spoke for a long time. It was lot to absorb. The shock on their faces served as proof that all the time and energy Frank, Momma, and I spent pretending to be the perfect family had been worth the effort. We’d fooled everyone.
"Why did Helen send you to Havenwood?" Mr. Varner asked.
Judge Langford reached for my hand. "That’s privileged medical information, Becky. You don’t have to answer that."
"I’ll tell him if he promises not to tell anyone else."
Judge Langford turned to the prosecutor. "Off the record, Cordell?"
"Okay."
"Do you remember making Johnny Santo choose between joining the military and going to prison, Mr. Varner?"
"I remember you and the Santo boy ran off to Tennessee and Helen had Roy Tate bring you back. She filed charges against Santo, which was her right to do. He was an adult and you were a minor. She dropped the charges on the condition he join the service."
"I went into a deep depression after that. So Momma sent me to Havenwood. She and Frank fought about it. He moved out after she committed me."
"I heard a rumor Frank had moved into the store." Mr. Varner rubbed his chin. "I’ve visited Havenwood. It’s hard to imagine you in such a place."
"I would’ve died if it hadn’t been for Frank. He came to see me every week."
Harland Langford and Cordell Varner had no doubt seen and heard many stories in their careers. I figured it must take quite a bit to move them. But I’d done it. The faces of both men became a mask of sympathy for me. Normally, I don’t like people feeling sorry for me, but if it helped keep me out of prison, so be it.
"Please don’t tell Momma I told you this. I
’d never hear the last of it."
Both men pledged their silence.
Varner checked his watch for the time. "I’ve got a few more questions, Becky. You said Frank had settlement papers drawn up that gave Helen some cash and a percentage of the business. He also made out a new will that left everything else to you. Is that correct?"
"That’s what he told me. But after his death, no one could find the papers. Momma believes Frank lied to us, and that he always intended to give everything to Donald."
"Do you believe he lied?" the judge asked.
I took a drink of water. "In all the years I knew Frank, he never lied to me. But the fact is there isn’t a new will to be found. I don’t know what to believe anymore."
The county attorney picked up the legal pad. "I have one last question, Becky."
The judge leaned forward. "She told you it was an accident, Cordell."
"And I want to believe her, Harland. But I have to ask the question."
"What question?" I asked.
"Your stepbrother ended up owning everything that rightfully should’ve gone to you and your mother." Varner stopped to slick down a wayward cowlick. "Becky, did you murder Donald out of revenge because he took everything from you?"
"No, sir. It was an accident. Donald wanted to try to run the stores, to see if he could do the job. That suited me fine because it was too painful for me to go down there. Everyone I’ve ever loved and lost is associated with the stores." I stopped, took another sip of water. "As far as the house is concerned, we had an arrangement. Momma and I agreed to take care of it and the greenhouse. In return, Donald let us live there. Now that he’s gone, Charlotte has informed us she’s selling the house as soon as Donald’s estate is settled.
Judge Langford pulled off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So you see, Cordell, it was to my client’s benefit that Donald Wooten stay alive."
The county attorney nodded.
"What happens now? Am I going to jail, Judge Langford?"
"That won’t be necessary. Will it, Cordell?"
"You’re not planning on leaving the county anytime soon are you, Becky?"
"No, sir."
"In that case, I think you’d be more comfortable at home." Mr. Varner stood. "I’ll have to conduct an investigation. Talk to Roger about the truck and to Doctor Condray about the injury to your hand."
The judge nodded. "I’ll tell him he has Becky’s permission to discuss that part of her medical record."
"Thank you, Harland. I’ll have Sheriff Hays search the canyon for Becky’s book. I need to see how heavy it is. The library can order us another one if Hays doesn’t find it." Varner came around the desk. "How often did you drive Frank’s pickup, Becky?"
"I never learned to drive a car." Technically that wasn’t a lie. I’d never driven a car.
Varner cocked his head. "You don’t have a driver’s license?"
"No, sir. My friends learned to drive while I was at Havenwood. The mental hospital doesn’t offer driver education classes. Whenever I need to go someplace, I walk or catch a ride." My explanation seemed to satisfy him. Momma would’ve been proud of the way I’d sidestepped his question.
We headed for the outer office. Mr. Varner assured Judge Langford he’d let him know as soon as possible if charges would be brought against me.
"Let’s go to Ferrell’s for lunch, Becky," Judge Langford said.
"Patsy’s House of Pies has a better blue plate special. All their cream pies are now made by my daughter." Helen walked over and put her arm around me. "Everyone knows Becky makes the best pies in the county."
"Momma, what are you doing here?"
"Waiting. I’ve been waiting all this time. Tressie wouldn’t let me in, Cordell."
"Blame me for that, Helen. I gave her strict orders not to disturb us."
"Since I interrupted your fishing, I’ll let you slide this time, but I don’t like being excluded when it comes to my daughter’s welfare. You will do right by her, won’t you?"
Mr. Varner took hold of Momma’s right hand. "You bet, but I’ve got to conduct an investigation. The taxpayers insist I at least pretend to earn my money."
She laughed.
He patted her hand. "How do you like being a free woman, Helen?"
"I like it, but it can be a little lonely. You let me know if that wife of yours doesn’t treat you right. A good man is hard to find." She gave him one of her teasing, tilted-head grins. "Come to lunch with us, Cordell."
A touch of red decorated the county attorney’s face as he returned Helen’s smile.
"I’d better not. I promised Becky I’d get this mess straightened out as soon as possible."
"I’ll give you a raincheck this time." She hooked her hand around Judge Langford’s arm. "Come on, Harland. You can buy me lunch."
"It would be my pleasure, ma’am." They headed for the door.
They say fish got to swim and birds have to fly. And if my mother couldn’t flirt, she’d probably lie down and just plain die. Even then, I’d wager she’d find a way to flirt with the undertaker.
CHAPTER 35
County attorney Varner’s office appeared smaller today than it had eight days prior when I confessed to accidentally killing my stepbrother. It wasn’t, of course. But thoughts of being locked in a prison cell made me acutely aware of sizes and dimensions.
Judge Langford called the night before to say Cordell Varner had finished his investigation and wanted us at his office at 9 a.m. today. Momma ached to come, but the judge convinced her to stay home. It was now half past nine and the prosecutor still hadn’t showed up.
Varner’s secretary, Tressie Grant, entered carrying a tray containing cups, ice water, and coffee. "Thought you folks might be thirsty."
"I could use some coffee," the judge said. "How about you, Becky?"
"No, thanks. I’m not feeling well. I threw up twice this morning."
Tressie handed the judge his coffee. "We get that a lot. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve had to clean this carpet after Cordell got through with a suspect."
"Is there a rocking chair around here?" I asked.
"Nope," Tressie said. "Why?"
I sighed. "No reason."
"You’re looking tired, Becky. Have you been getting any sleep?" the judge asked.
"Not really. A week before Frank died, I caught a bug I can’t seem to shake. One day I’m fine. The next, I’m sick to my stomach and dog-tired."
"Maybe you need more fluids." Tressie handed me a cup of water. "Drink this."
I did as I was told.
Judge Langford stirred his coffee. "When we leave, maybe you should go see the doctor."
I hoped and prayed I’d be allowed to leave. "Do you think Mr. Varner forgot?"
"This isn’t like Cordell," Tressie said. "I can’t imagine what’s keeping him."
"I’ll give him another ten minutes. Then I’m taking my client home."
The secretary’s eyes widened. "You can’t just up and leave."
Judge Langford put down his cup. "Are you trying to teach me the law, Tressie?"
Her face reddened. "No, sir. I’d never presume to do that. I just meant—"
The door to the office swung open and the county attorney walked in.
"Where have you been, Cordell?" she asked. "These people have been waiting on you for a half hour."
"Something unexpected came up."
"Tell them, not me." Tressie tramped out of the room and slammed the door behind her.
Mr. Varner hung his suit jacket on the back of his chair. "Right there’s a prime example why you shouldn’t hire your wife’s relatives. I’m sorry I kept—"
"I’d expect a cheap trick like this from a first year lawyer, Cordell," the judge said. "But not from you."
Varner sat down opposite us. "This isn’t what you’re thinking, Judge Langford. I’ve got too much respect for you to pull something like that here."
"Something like what?" I asked.
&nbs
p; Judge Langford looked at me. "It’s an old lawyer’s trick, Becky. The prosecutor tells you to be here, and then he doesn’t show up. In the meantime, the client gets nervous and is more likely to blurt out incriminating information. It’s a mind game."
Varner shook his head. "That’s not the situation here. I received a last minute phone call from Atlanta that had a direct bearing on this case."
"How’s that?" the judge asked.
"We’ll get to the call in a minute." The county attorney placed a large manila envelope on his desk. "I found answers to my questions, Becky, but every answer brought more questions. There’s a lot more going on here than you led me to believe."
"What are you referring to?" the judge asked.
"I don’t know how much Becky told you about her history with the victim, but I’d urge you to consult with her before we get started." Varner stood. "I’ll give you two some privacy."
A weird, hollow-sounding laugh penetrated the room. It took several seconds before I realized the laughter was coming from me.
Judge Langford reached for my hand. "Are you okay?"
"I’m sorry," I said, while trying to stifle another laugh. "It just struck me as funny. Donald . . . a victim?"
The county attorney loosened his tie. "Donald Wooten is the one who’s deceased."
I stood, grabbed the edge of the desk with both hands and leaned in. "He’s dead, but he was never a victim. Don’t you understand that?"
Varner frowned. "I’m not sure I do."
Judge Langford put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me back into my chair. "Relax, Becky. It’s going to be okay."
"I don’t feel well, Judge. Can we get this over with?"
"Sure. Cordell, why don’t you show me your hand, one card at a time? If things stray too far off course, I’ll stop you."
"Yes, sir." Varner picked up his pen. "I checked with Roger at Hunt’s Garage about the condition of the Ranchero. Frank told him the truck was getting hard to start and the transmission seemed to be slipping a bit. Your stepfather had an appointment to drop his pickup off for repairs, but didn’t keep it because of his heart attack. Donald never brought it in either. As far as Roger knows, the repairs were never made."
"You just confirmed my client’s testimony that there were problems with the truck."
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