“Earl Smith goes to Pastry Delight every day between nine and ten. He could’ve overheard Wanda talking to me and decided to take Clara and me out. He could’ve parked and waited behind Beverly’s old stables because I definitely didn’t hear a vehicle pull into the driveway.”
“Okay. Maybe. But what about a motive?” Cal scrubbed his hand over his face. “Why would Earl murder Beverly and Clara—and try to kill you?”
“I don’t know.” I stared at my hands and tried to make sense of everything. “Did you get my message last night? About what Carol Powers witnessed with the smartphone and the microfiche reader?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t even want to ask why he hadn’t called me back. “Was there a smartphone at Beverly’s house?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but I’ll double check.”
“Maybe Beverly figured out a secret about Clara’s past, and somebody felt threatened and silenced them both. Or Denise killed her mom and her sister because of the will and then decided to take me out because I’ve been asking questions.”
“You focus on recovering. I’ve got this.” He bent over and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. “I’ll talk to Earl and dig into Wanda’s background—just in case.” He walked toward the door.
“Wait.”
Cal turned around.
“Is it true you looked at a house in the country last night?”
“How did…?” He furrowed his brow and then closed his eyes. “Preston and Austin.”
“Were you going to tell me?” I didn’t manage to keep the tremor out of my voice.
“I’ve been working with a realtor since I moved here, and when this place came on the market, he sent me the listing because it’s what I’ve been looking for.”
“Did you put in an offer?”
“Not yet.” He shoved his hands in his leather jacket pockets.
“But you’re going to?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided.” His phone buzzed, and he took it out and glanced at it. “I need to go. We’ll discuss this later.” He strode out the door.
I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.
“Mom, I promise. I’m fine,” I croaked as I shifted to adjust my position on her basement couch that evening after the ER doctor had released me. I hadn’t put up a fight when Mom insisted on me staying in her guest room as I’d predicted. She’d even invited Cal for dinner and to stay the night in Preston’s old bedroom, and he’d agreed.
Gus rested on the floor next to me, even though I was certain Dan had never before allowed an animal in his fancy house.
Mom draped a blanket over my feet. “I need to make you some tea with honey for your voice.” She patted my shoulder and handed me an issue of Good Housekeeping. “I’ll go do that.”
“Thank you.” I had to be able to sing at the wedding on Saturday.
Mom hurried upstairs to the kitchen where she’d put herb-crusted chicken in the oven. The scent of garlic, butter, and oregano made its way to the basement. A random thought assailed me. Would Cal like me better if I cooked?
I shoved the thought away and busied myself by flipping pages, which didn’t distract me as much as I’d hoped. I put the magazine aside as Mom returned with a mug of tea, which she handed me before sitting at my feet.
I tested the tea with the edge of my lip, but it was too hot to drink. “Beverly and Clara’s murders have me thinking a lot about Daddy’s murder.”
Mom folded her hands. “I know. Ever since that night, I’ve gone over and over his last days in my head trying to remember something—anything—that could help the detectives break the case.”
“Me too. It’s hard to accept that his death was random.” Tears filled my eyes. “But having answers doesn’t change the outcome—for Daddy or Beverly.”
“Or Clara.”
“Do you think God has forgotten us?” I whispered. “It feels that way. Like justice doesn’t matter to him.”
“Oh, sweetie, I know. Trust me.” She slid off the couch and knelt beside me. “Just because we feel a certain way about God doesn’t make it true. I can’t tell you how many times after your dad died I sat with my Bible open searching for reminders about God’s true character. I was so angry at God for taking my husband—and my children’s dad. But every time I got my mind off my feelings and focused on who God is, my perspective changed.” She kissed my forehead. “I know it’s not easy, but that’s what helped me.”
I nodded. God, please help my perspective.
Chapter Seventeen
Thursday night, Cal had arrived at Mom and Dan’s house for a late dinner, and there hadn’t been an opportunity to discuss his house situation. The next morning, he needed to talk to Taryn Anderson at Pastry Delight and invited me to go with him before I had to help Grandpa and Wanda decorate.
I drove into town, and he followed behind. When we walked into the bakery, we were the only customers.
“What can I get for you this morning?” Taryn directed a flirty smile—as sickeningly sweet as her shop’s pink walls—at Cal.
I clenched my jaw and approached the counter. “Two chocolate chip cookies, please.” My voice was still hoarse from the smoke.
“How about you?” Taryn raked her gaze over my boyfriend.
“Nothing for me, thanks.” He took out his wallet and hand her a few bills.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled at me before turning to Taryn. “Do you remember if Earl Smith was in here yesterday at his regular time?”
Taryn nodded, and her top knot bounced as she handed him his change. “He bought his usual three cookies at a little after nine and then left a little before ten.”
Plenty of time to kill Clara and set the fire.
“So it was a regular day for him.” Cal handed me the cookies.
Taryn glanced at me. “Not exactly.”
Cal’s forehead wrinkled. “What was different?”
She ran her hand over her spotless counter. “I shouldn’t say.”
“Not even if it could help a murder investigation? If you know something, I need you to tell me,” he said.
She fiddled with the strap on her white apron. “Wanda Morris came in, and she was on the phone. Something about trees in a barn.”
“Wedding decorations,” I said.
“Gotcha. Anyway, after she finished her conversation, we confirmed her wedding cake order, and she bought half a dozen double chocolate muffins. She seemed like she was in a hurry, but when I was done waiting on her, she sat at Earl’s table, gave him an envelope, and they talked.”
“Did you happen to overhear what they were discussing?” Cal asked.
“Most of it. That’s the problem.” She flicked her gaze in my direction.
I should probably volunteer to leave, but my boyfriend had invited me, and I was going to glean every possible tidbit until I was told to scram. “Don’t mind me. It could be important.”
She glanced toward the pastry case. “I couldn’t hear the first part of their conversation because I was refilling cookie trays in the back, but when I came out, Earl told Wanda not to marry Ron Winston.”
My jaw dropped. Seriously?
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to cause trouble. I’m just reporting what I heard.”
“It’s fine.” Cal gave her a smile that was ten times more reassuring than necessary. “Did Earl elaborate?”
“He said Ron was abusive to his first wife, and he didn’t want to see Wanda get into the same mess.”
“That’s not true!” I croaked. My fingers curled into a fist. “He’s making that up. My grandparents didn’t have a perfect marriage, but Grandpa never hurt Grandma. She wouldn’t have tolerated abuse.”
Taryn raised both hands. “I’m sorry.”
“How did Wanda react?” Cal asked.
“Like Georgia did. She denied it, but Earl told her Ron wasn’t who he appeared to be and that he knew things about Ron’s past.�
��
“What things?” I managed to choke out.
“Wanda asked him the same question, but when he didn’t go into detail, she stormed out.”
“How did Earl act around Wanda before this conversation?” Cal asked.
Taryn studied him. “Like a kid with a crush. He perked up when she came in. Flirted with her a little, even though he knew she was taken.” She smirked at me. “Basically, Earl acted the same way everybody says Hamlet Miller acts around Georgia.”
Cal’s eyes clouded as he looked my way.
That did it. I would never, ever darken the door of Pastry Delight again. One catty baker was enough to turn me off cookies for life.
“Is there anything else?” Cal asked.
“No. I’m sorry. I can call if I remember something.” She looked at him with a little too much hopefulness in her expression.
Seriously? I’m right here.
“Thanks for your time,” he said.
We left the bakery and walked down the sidewalk in silence. Town was starting to awaken as shops and stores opened. When we came to my truck, I opened the door and tossed my purse inside. “Are we going to talk about what Taryn said?”
“If you want.”
I slammed the door. “First of all, Earl’s lying about my grandpa.”
“Given Earl’s reputation, I tend to agree.”
It wasn’t lost on me that he was hedging, but I’d deal with that later. “And I can’t help how Hamlet acts.”
“I know. But when were you going to tell me he’s been coming to your Bible study?”
I bristled. He was not going to blame that on me. “When were you going to come and find out for yourself?” I put my hands on my hips and stared at him. “By the way how did you know?”
“I drove by and saw him leaving Ashley’s house last Sunday.” Cal’s expression remained unchanged, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “Forget about him. I got a call on the way here, and I have some news.”
“What’s that?” Sure. Ignore my other question.
“Yesterday afternoon I put in an offer on the house, and the seller accepted.”
My stomach lurched. “Congratulations. I’d like to see it sometime.” I wasn’t quite sure how I was forming words that made any sense.
He removed his phone from his pocket and held it out so I could see. “Here’s the listing. The pictures don’t do it justice, but I love the original staircase and woodwork.” He scrolled through the pictures.
The house was beautiful and didn’t need a single update because the sellers had clearly done work within the last few years, judging from the modern farmhouse décor that was so prevalent. “How much land?”
“Two acres. Has some established trees.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist. “That’s great. Give J.T. a call if you need a lawnmower.”
“Absolutely.”
A burgundy minivan parked behind my truck, and a tall, middle-aged man wearing a tweed flat cap got out. Cal nodded at him as he approached.
“Howdy, Perkins. This Georgia?” His weathered face crinkled into a smile.
“Sure is.” Cal turned to me. “Georgia, this is my buddy Pat Hillyer. He’s a retired cop who owes me a favor, so he’s going to keep an eye on you today.” His tone made it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
I wanted to protest that I didn’t need a babysitter, but since I liked living, I literally bit my tongue as I looked back and forth between the men. “How’s this going to work?”
“I’ll keep my distance. You’ll hardly know I’m around,” Pat said. “I’ve been working in private security for five years.” He fished a piece of nicotine gum from his bomber jacket pocket and popped it in his mouth.
Cal leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the lips. “I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you tonight at the rehearsal. Be good for Pat.”
As I watched him stride down the street, I opted to look on the bright side. At least Cal had cared enough about me to provide a bodyguard.
Thursday night, Grandpa and some of their friends had replaced the trees lost in the fire, but someone had to purchase new white string lights. Wanda had assigned that task to me, and after leaving Pastry Delight, I drove to William’s Home Supply in Richardville to complete my mission with Pat hot on my tail.
In the store, I filled my cart with every box of white lights in stock while Pat observed from a distance. I was high-tailing it to the checkout when Hamlet darted out of the aisle that held toilets and vanities.
I swerved to miss him, and he jumped out of my path.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“No problem.” Red crept up his neck. “Are you okay? I heard about the fire, and I almost called you, but I didn’t want to overstep.”
“I’m fine.” Except for my hoarse voice and sore hands.
“It’s hard for me to fathom why anyone would want to hurt you.” He shifted. “Is your boyfriend taking care of you?”
“Yes.” I pressed my lips together and gave a reassuring nod to Pat who’d edged closer. Would he report this encounter to Cal?
“Are you sure?” Concern radiated from Hamlet’s eyes.
“I’d better be on my way to the checkout. We have a lot more decorating to do for the wedding.” I pointed to my cart full of lights. “Yesterday’s fiasco put us behind.” I set my jaw, turned toward the front of the store, and blazed toward the checkout with my rattling cart, praying Hamlet wouldn’t notice Pat following me and start asking a bunch of questions.
“I’ll walk with you.” He caught up to me. “I’m pricing pieces for my bathrooms.”
I passed by the paint samples and kept my gaze straight ahead. “How’s the renovation going?” Keep him distracted.
“Slow. I was able to get the concrete out of the old pool. I need to fill the gigantic hole in my backyard, but I keep getting calls to sub since it’s flu season.”
“How’s subbing?” All of the checkout lanes were busy, so I chose the line with one woman in it. But she’d crammed her cart with so many artificial flowers, it looked like a rolling bouquet.
“The world of education isn’t for me.”
“I hear you.” The mechanical words came out by habit. Forget Nice Georgia. Even Bad Georgia had vanished.
I was Robot Georgia.
I tightened my grip on the cart and stared at the woman in front of me as if that could make her move faster. How many fake flowers did one person need?
Hamlet rested his hand on my shoulder. “Georgia Rae, I’m not going to ask what’s wrong because I can see you don’t want me to. And it’s none of my business.”
The lump that’d spent entirely too much time in my throat resurfaced with a vengeance thanks to the kindness in his voice.
“Please just know that I’m praying for you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
With my bodyguard in tow, I arrived at Harrison Event Center, which was housed in the old Harrison township school. The historic brick building had been repurposed after people protested its demolition. Even though the structure was in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by fields, it was a popular venue for wedding receptions.
As soon as I walked into the gymnasium-turned-banquet-hall, Wanda hurried over to me.
“It’s time I let you in on a secret.” She pushed her bangs aside.
I took in the tables that’d yet to be decorated and wondered why we were having this conversation now. “What’s that?”
She looked over my shoulder. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking after Georgia today.” Pat entered and removed his cap and coat.
“Cal hired him,” I said. “Pat, Wanda. Wanda, Pat.”
“I’ve got five daughters and survived a wedding for each one,” he said. “You need help decorating, let me know.” He saluted.
“You may be sorry you offered. Now.” She took my arm. “About that secret.” With Pat following, she led me out a side door where an Oliver 7
7 Row Crop tractor was parked behind the building. “Ta-da!”
I stared at the tractor’s flawless yellow and green paint that had clearly been restored. “Is this the 1951 Oliver that was sitting in Grandpa’s barn?”
She beamed. “Sure is. I had it refurbished as a wedding present.”
Enter Lumpy Throat. I was going to give him a name since he was around so much. Louis. Louis the Lump. “That’s really thoughtful. Daddy and Grandpa bought it to fix up right before Daddy died, but Grandpa never got around to it.”
“Ron wanted to sell it because of the move, but I didn’t want him to do that. I had Earl Smith pretend to buy it and then restore it for me. I want to display it at the reception in honor of your daddy, so Earl drove it over this morning.” Her face darkened. “Although, after the way he talked to me yesterday morning at Pastry Delight, I’m sorry I hired him instead of someone else.”
“I heard.”
She grimaced. “I think the whole town heard.” She waved a hand. “But most people know not to believe everything they hear from Earl Smith—even his own daughter has told me that.”
“He’s not invited to the wedding, is he?” I had a mental picture of him jumping up and stopping the wedding.
“Oh heavens, no. We tried to keep the guest list fairly small.” She ran her hand over the tractor’s seat.
I hugged her. “This is such a thoughtful gift.”
We walked back inside.
“I sure hope he’s surprised.” Wanda smiled. “Beverly knew and was afraid the secret had gotten out. One afternoon, she called me because she thought Earl was going to spill the beans.”
I took off my coat and hung it on the back of a chair. “Wait. Were you talking about that at the museum? Like a week ago Wednesday?”
“Yes.” She opened a container full of white pillar candles. “Well, Beverly was there, and we were talking on the phone. She had her hands full chatting with me and trying to flag down the mailman since we had fundraising letters that needed to go out.” She tilted her head. “How’d you know about that?”
Deadly Heritage Page 13