Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A)

by Susan Furlong

I studied my sister, thinking she might be giving her husband just a little too much credit when it came to his fidelity. But, instead of bringing up Hollis’s philandering tendencies, I’d need to turn things around if I wanted to get any information out of her. “Hollis is such a catch,” I started. “I bet there’s always women clamoring after him.”

  Her expression shifted from self-pity to indignation. “You bet there is.”

  “How about at the party. Anyone flirting with him there?”

  Her eyes rolled upward as she considered my question. “No, not really. Well . . . Laney Burns, but she’s always chasing after Hollis.”

  “Big-haired Laney Burns?” I croaked.

  Ida scrunched her nose in disgust. “Yes, that’s the one. But Hollis doesn’t pay her any attention.” She leaned in and whispered, “He would never be attracted to such low-rent trash.”

  And she was off telling me all the gossip on Laney, complete with sly looks and whispered tidbits, none of which pertained to what I needed to know, and my mind zoned out as all I could think of was how much this community thrived on—and died with—its gossip in full swing.

  Chapter 7

  Georgia Belle Fact #092: A true Georgia Belle cooks like Paula Deen, drives like Danica Patrick and dresses like Daisy Duke.

  Laney Burns wasn’t my favorite person, that’s for sure, but for Ida’s sake, I thought I’d drop by and pay her a little visit. At the very least, if Laney had been following Hollis around at the party, she might have seen something helpful. Unfortunately, knowing Hollis the way I did, there was a good chance Laney was the reason he was late getting home that night. In that case, she was his alibi. At any rate, it would be worth seeing if I could learn anything at all. Ray was already stressed out working on other angles, and I wasn’t too sure I wanted Loose Laney sidling up to Ray anyway. Plus, heaven knew, if I handed these possibilities over to the police, there was no way our barber-cut Maudy would get a thing out of the coiffed Laney!

  By the time I made my way to the Clip & Curl, it was almost closing time. Nonetheless, there were still a couple gals with their heads under the dryers, leafing through magazines and sipping colas. Doris Whortlebe, the owner, was busy putting the final touches on a newly washed and set head of gray curls. At the sight of me, she stopped mid-spray, put down her can of Aqua Net and held out her arms. “Well, I’ll be! Get over here and let me see you!” she ordered.

  I obediently scurried over for my plushy, aerosol-infused hug. I let out a little cough. “Hello, Doris.”

  “I heard you were back,” she enthused, releasing her grip and holding me at arm’s length. But the delight left her eyes as she saw my short locks up close. “Oh Lawdy,” was all she said.

  My fingers flew to my head as everyone craned their necks to get a glimpse of the oddball in the room of big-haired heads. I cleared my throat. “I’m not here to get a haircut,” I started.

  “Thank you, sweet Jesus,” Doris belted, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. “Because if you’re plannin’ on going any shorter, you might as well head over to Earl’s and let him go at you with the buzzers.” She turned her focus back to the head of billowy curls in her chair and started in with the hair spray again. “Well, if you’re here for extensions, sweetie, it’s a little late in the day, ’cuz I’m closing up in about a half hour.”

  “No, ma’am,” I responded, my eyes drawn to the bright little orange balls that swung from her earlobes as she moved about. They perfectly matched the coral-colored flowers stretching every which way against the black background of her blouse. “I came in to see if Laney was here. I’d like to get my nails done.” I glanced around, not seeing Laney anywhere. “Is she already out for the day?”

  “Naw. She’s just out back taking a smoke break. Take a seat over there,” she said, indicating one of the waiting chairs and giving a cursory—and disapproving—glance at my work-battered nails. “I’m sure she can fit you in before closing.”

  I’d barely settled my bottom on the pink vinyl seat before the back door popped open and Laney sashayed into the room, a cloud of nicotine wafting in behind her. Her bottle-blond hair was teased higher than ever and secured into a mini-pony with a jeweled clip. She wobbled toward me in poured-on jeans and impossibly high stilettos that clacked against the linoleum floor until she spied me and stopped in her tracks. “Hey, there, Nola Mae. What are you here for?” Her sugary sweet smile didn’t quite reach her heavily lined eyes.

  I stood, holding out my nails for her inspection. “Think you can do anything with these?”

  She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose at the sight of my jagged-edged nails. “Well, I suppose I could try. I charge twenty-five for a manicure; pay now and you won’t smudge your polish afterwards.”

  I fished the bills out of my pocket and settled at her table where I perched on a small white chair and laid my hands atop a padded countertop. “Put your hand in here,” she said, pushing a sudsy bowl of pink liquid my way before sliding her own perfectly manicured nails over a rack of polishes. She finally settled on the gaudiest shade of pink I’d ever seen.

  “Maybe I should try something a little less . . .” I struggled for words. The shade she’d picked reminded me of Pepto Bismol. “It’s just that I don’t think I’m a pink type of gal.”

  “Don’t be silly. Every girl loves pink,” she assured me with a twisted little upturn of her highly glossed lips. “‘A Knowing Blush’. Isn’t that the cleverest name ever?”

  “A Knowing Blush”? Why that particular shade? I wondered. Was she trying to tell me something? I narrowed my eyes as she bent over and started rummaging through her purse, pulling out a stick of gum and doubling it into her mouth before lifting my hand from the bowl and patting it dry. “Put your other hand in the bowl,” she told me, wielding a torturous-looking instrument, which she used to snip at my cuticles, her drawn-on brows furrowed with concentration as she began prattling on about how long it had been since she’d seen me, how busy she’d been with learning her trade (which I avoided questioning) and other minutiae of her life I wouldn’t recall later. None of which required any response other than my occasional nod.

  “Did you have fun at the party the other night?” I injected, trying to steer the conversation my way.

  She popped her gum and nodded. “Sure did. The food was to die for and that band y’all had . . .” She fingered her hair and smiled. “I haven’t twirled like that since I took my last spin on ol’ Bodacious.”

  “Who did you get to dance with?” I tried slipping into the real reason I’d sat at her chair in the first place.

  She shot me a nasty look and snipped extra hard.

  “Hey, take it easy. That thing looks like it could be dangerous.”

  “Don’t be a wuss, Nola Mae. I’ve got to get at these cuticles. I swear, I’ve never seen nails such a mess.”

  “Kind of hard to keep nice nails when you’re scouring rubble for earthquake survivors or picking rocks to clear land for a life-sustaining vegetable plot,” I shot back.

  “Well, bless your heart. You have been a busy girl, haven’t you?” She branded a nail file and, with a slight sneer, snatched back my hand so she could saw away at the tips of my nails. “I bet your sister sent you over here today, didn’t she?”

  “Ida? Why would she do that?” I hedged.

  She eyed me suspiciously. “She didn’t send you over here on a witch hunt?”

  I gave her my most innocent look. “A witch hunt? What do you mean?”

  She clenched the nail polish, shaking it until the little bead inside quit pinging. “No offense, but your sister has poor Hollis on a short leash. Hardly ever lets him out of her sight. She’s paranoid, you know. Thinking every woman around is out to get that husband of hers”

  I peeked at Laney’s own nails. Long, clawlike nails, painted hussy red and sharpened for action. Meooow!

  “Be
sides, all Hollis wants to do is have a little fun,” she went on, straining to open the bottle of polish. “There’s no harm in that, now, is there?”

  Depends on what type of fun you’re talking about. “No. No harm,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show. I grabbed the polish and opened it for her. “So, did you get much of a chance to talk to Hollis at the party?”

  She snatched my hand back again and started painting on the pink. “A little.”

  “Oh, yeah? What all did you guys talk about?” I asked, trying to stay focused despite the hideous color she’d started gliding over my nails. “Business and such?”

  “Business? Oh no. Why would I care about such things? No, we just—oh heck. We didn’t really talk about much. Just small stuff.”

  “Small stuff?”

  She faltered and ran a pink smudge over the top of my thumb. “Oh, shoot!” Flustered, she drenched a cotton ball in polish remover and started scrubbing my finger. The chemical smell of acetone rose up and tickled my nostrils.

  “The weather, perhaps,” I pressed. “I’d forgotten how hot it can be around here.”

  She stopped polishing and fanned herself. “You ain’t kiddin’.” Glancing over her shoulder, she shouted out, “Is the air broke, Doris? It’s hotter than Hades in here.”

  “No. Don’t think so. I don’t feel hot. Any of y’all feel hot?” she asked around the room.

  A chorus of no’s rang out.

  I swiveled my gaze back to Laney. She’d moved my first hand aside and started the whole process again with my other hand. I kept staring until I could see her start to crack. She glanced nervously around the room before leaning in and hissing, “For Pete’s sake, Nola. What’re you trying to do, ruin my reputation?”

  I fought hard not to laugh out loud. “No, Laney. Nothing like that. I was just wondering if you happened to see Hollis with a scarf that night.”

  “Ida’s scarf, you mean?” Her eyes took on a mischievous look. “Well, perhaps I did. Hollis and I were playing a little game of keep-away with it out in the orchard behind the tent. Just for laughs, you know? Nothing came of it.”

  Not for a lack of trying, I bet. “Where did the scarf end up?”

  She hesitated a beat. “I don’t rightly know. The last I remember, it was caught up in a tree branch. Is that what this is all about? Did Ida send you over here looking for that scarf?”

  I shrugged and she continued, talking in between cuticle snips. “Well, tell her that I didn’t take her ugly scarf. It’s not my style.”

  No, but trying to take her husband is just your style. Ida’s words—“low-rent trash”—popped back to mind. I shook it off, trying to stay on track.

  Laney chomped hard on her gum a couple times and went on, “Anyway, Hollis was too drunk for much fun, so I got bored and went back to the party. I never would have left him if I’d known what would happen.”

  “What do you mean if you’d ‘known what would happen’?”

  “I mean”—she moved her hand over her heart—“if I’d known he was going to strangle Ben Wakefield, I never would have left him out there. Especially since he’d been drinking so much Peach Jack.”

  I felt my jaw go slack. “You think Hollis actually did it? I thought you two were so friendly and all.”

  My line of questioning must have been frustrating her, because I noticed she’d skipped a couple of steps and went right to applying polish. Not too neatly, either. “I just know what I read in the paper. I can’t believe Hollis strangled that man with his bare hands. He never seemed like the violent type. He’s just a big ol’ teddy bear, you know.”

  Bare hands? I tried to think back to what the paper article had said about the actual death. Did it mention the scarf? Maybe Maudy hadn’t made that information public yet? I needed to tread carefully. I kept quiet for a few minutes, mulling over the scarf bit, while Laney slicked on the rest of the polish. Finally she finished my last nail and sat back to admire her handiwork. “There. That pink looks so pretty.” I looked at my nails and shrugged. They did look kind of pretty. It’d been years since I’d worn polish.

  Laney started cleaning up her workstation, while I stood and made my way toward the door. “Hey, wait a minute,” she called after me. “Why all the questions about that stupid scarf?” Then her eyes lit up like a bulb as she put two and two together. “Oh my goodness. That’s how it happened, isn’t it? Hollis strangled that poor man with Ida’s scarf!”

  A southern-fried explicative sounded from across the room as Doris dropped a comb. She stared at me wide-eyed, her mouth agape and earrings still swinging from a whiplash head snap.

  Uh-oh. Now I’ve done it. I ducked out the door before they could corner me for more information. It wouldn’t be good if that little detail hit the Cays Mill rumor hotline. Heck, who was I kidding? If? Gossip spread so fast in our town, the telephone company practically had to install speed bumps on all the lines. Now that I’d let the cat out of the bag, it’d be only a matter time before everyone in town knew it had been Ida’s scarf wrapped around Wakefield’s neck. What have I done? Ida was going to kill me. That was if she got to me before Maudy Payne.

  My only consolation was learning that Hollis didn’t have possession of the scarf the whole evening. And if it wasn’t with him the whole time, there was a chance someone else got ahold of it and strangled Wakefield. A slim chance, sure, but hope often comes in small packages.

  • • •

  Back at the house, I found a brown paper grocery bag on our front porch. I peered inside to find another covered casserole dish. I didn’t even have to lift the foil to know it was tuna noodle this time.

  I carried the bag into the kitchen where I removed the container and found a notecard from Candace, Hollis’s secretary at the bank. In addition to instructing me to heat the casserole at 350 degrees until warmed through, she let me know just how sorry she was that Hollis turned to violence and landed himself in jail. But not to worry; she’d hold down the fort until the bank could find a new president.

  For crying out loud, I thought. Did this whole town think Hollis was guilty? I wadded up the note and threw it into the garbage can. My pride didn’t extend to the casserole, however. After all, I was starving, and I just happened to know, from years of attending potlucks, that Candace made a killer tuna noodle casserole with tastes of sour cream and scallions mixed in and finished with a topping of crushed potato chips.

  While I waited for it to heat, I called Ida to see if she wanted to bring the girls over and join me for dinner. I held the phone against my shoulder while mixing one of my mama’s zipped baggies of corn bread makings she’d left for me.

  “Ida?” I asked. Her voice was so low I wasn’t sure if it was her or one of the girls that answered.

  “Yes, it’s me,” she said a little louder. “Sorry, but the phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

  “People calling to see if you’re okay?” I was hopeful that some of the townspeople had finally decided to show Ida some neighborly love.

  “No. That pesky Frances Simms. She’s called me three times already.”

  Uh-oh. “Frances? What did she want?” I innocently asked. It probably wasn’t a good time to tell Ida about my conversation with Laney. Although I’d found a bit of news that might shine a little light in Hollis’s favor, it was tainted with bad news. Namely, that Hollis and Laney were flirting around with each other after the party.

  Ida went on, “Somehow she found out Wakefield was strangled with my scarf. Or at least she’s heard a rumor to that effect. She’s trying to get me to confirm her suspicions. Now, how do you suppose she found out? The paper didn’t say anything about the scarf.”

  Hmm . . . Yet another reason not to mention my conversation with Laney. “Oh, you know how this town is. Nothing’s a secret for long.” I readjusted the phone between my ear and shoulder and started beating the heck out o
f the corn bread mix, taking out my frustration on a couple eggs rather than the blabbermouths that occupied this town.

  “What’s that noise?” Ida asked.

  “I’m making corn bread,” I replied, jumping at the chance to change the topic. “Candace dropped off a casserole—”

  “What! She didn’t bring me a casserole.”

  Oh, no. Here we go with that casserole-snubbing bit again. “I’m sure she just assumed you were staying here at the house.”

  “Well, if the whole town is so into my business that they can figure out it was my scarf wrapped around that poor man’s neck, certainly they can figure out that I’m still in my own home.”

  She had a point.

  I could hear Ida huffing over the line, working herself into a real frenzy. She started up again. “Why, that—”

  “Say what you want about Candace,” I interrupted, trying to redirect her agitation. “But she makes a mean tuna noodle casserole. Why don’t you and the girls come over and have dinner with me. Ray’s supposed to be home tonight.”

  “No, thanks. Frances Simms has been driving by all day. The second I set foot out this door, she’ll accost me with her pen and notepad. I’m just not up for all that right now.”

  I told her I understood and promised to come by for a visit tomorrow. After hanging up, I poured the batter into a cast-iron skillet and slid it into the oven next to the heating casserole. I’d just shut the oven door when I heard the sound of tires on gravel outside. I glanced through the kitchen window to see Ray’s SUV pulling down the drive.

  “Just in time,” I greeted from the porch. “I’ve got a casserole and a skillet of corn bread heating in the oven.”

  He pulled out his briefcase and a small bag and started for the house. “Perfect. I’m starved.”

  “You didn’t bring a very big bag,” I commented, noticing his duffel was only half-full at most.

  “That’s because I’m only staying tonight. I’ve got to get back to Perry tomorrow afternoon to see about another client.”