During my babysitting gig the day before, I’d munched my way through a bag of popcorn and a dozen cookies while watching The Parent Trap and enduring a makeover that left me looking like a spiky-haired clown, before Ida finally returned home with a bedraggled Hollis in tow. Even so, the extra calories and “new look” were a fair trade-off for the opportunity to witness the sweetest homecoming ever. Because nothing, not even Hollis’s scruffy face, stale-smelling clothes and sullen expression, could deter my nieces from giving their daddy the world’s most enthusiastic welcoming. I still smiled when I thought back to their chorus of shrieks and the way they threw themselves at him, smothering him with hugs and covering him with tiny kisses.
This morning coffee was especially satisfying because, in addition to the glorious sunrise, I was also watching Deputy Travis Hanes pull down the crime scene tape. Apparently, Maudy had finally come to her senses. Either that or she was overly confident that she had all the evidence she needed to put Hollis away. Nonetheless, as soon as Deputy Travis finished, I swilled down the rest my coffee, scooped up Roscoe, who was napping at my feet, and headed straight for Daddy’s den, where I phoned the rental place. Despite the short notice, I managed to get them to agree to come out later that afternoon to remove the tent. I certainly didn’t want to pay for an extra day’s rental. Ida, Ray and I had long ago agreed to split the cost of Mama and Daddy’s party, but as things were, I’d probably just put the extra rental fee on my own card and ask Ray to ante up his portion. It didn’t seem right to approach Ida about such things, especially with everything she was going through.
Feeling good about checking off that item, I took a small break to play with Roscoe before moving on to the other tasks on my list. I hated to admit it, but I was growing fond of the little fellow. Especially in the evening, when every single creak and groan of the old house seemed to spook me. “You’d protect me, wouldn’t you, sweetie?” I said out loud, taking the slight raise of his floppy ears as a yes. On impulse, I took his long basset ears, pulled them to the top of his head and tied them in a loose knot. “There!” I laughed at his solemn expression. “I must say, Roscoe, not even the gals at the Clip and Curl could give you a better updo than that.” He let out a playful woo-woo sound and shook his head until the ears flopped apart. He shot me an indignant look; then, incident forgotten, he tooled off to his food bowl, in case some morsel might remain. I, in turn, got back to more pressing matters. I added a couple more tasks to my list: I needed to do a quick once-over of the yard and orchard again. Most of the debris had blown from the orchard by now, but there was still a lot of litter inside the tent that needed to be cleaned up. But I’d save that task for a little later in the day. First, it was off to town. In addition to picking up parts at the Mercantile and attending the planning committee meeting that evening, I wanted to run a jar of my failed preserves over to the diner and see if Ginny had any idea what might have gone wrong.
Next, I opened Daddy’s desk drawer and pulled out the petty cash envelope he’d left to cover any minor expenses, like the engine parts. With the envelope came the scent of Daddy’s cigars, which he stored in the same drawer. I inhaled and smiled. The smell always took me back to one particular fall day during my childhood. We’d gone up to Atlanta for the State Fair. Mama had entered her peach chutney in the homemakers’ exhibit—and won, too! We were all so happy, riding home that night in Daddy’s Oldsmobile: Ida, Ray and I crammed in the backseat with our souvenirs clutched in our sticky, cotton-candy fingers and Mama in the front seat with her blue ribbon and the prettiest smile on her face. I remember sometime on the way home, rain started pouring down and I fell asleep to the rhythm of the wipers, tucked in safely between my siblings and covered in Daddy’s old Muskegon jacket—the rough material laced with the scent of bourbon and spent cigars. I don’t think I’d ever felt safer or happier than that night.
Those were the good old days, filled with hard work and plenty of fun, too. Before life got complicated and before I’d made a few bad choices that sent me running from home. Funny how things changed. Coming back to Cays Mill the other day, the biggest thing on my mind was keeping a low profile to avoid stirring up the town’s gossipmongers while I took care of the farm and figured out my job situation. Now I was facing down not one but two major family crises: losing the family business and a brother-in-law charged with murder. And, if that wasn’t enough, my past—wearing tight jeans and looking better than ever, no less—had come back to haunt me.
It was all enough to make me want to lay down my head and have a good long cry, but instead I sucked it up and turned my focus to the things I could control. Like getting the tractor and irrigation pump back up and running. I counted out the bills in the envelope, which turned out to be barely enough, if even enough, to pay for the parts I’d ordered at the Mercantile and Joe Puckett’s roofing supplies. Hopefully Cade could scrounge together enough supplies from his surplus stock to cut down on the overall cost. I tucked the bills into my shoulder bag along with a jar of peach goo, checked to make sure Roscoe had plenty of food and water, and headed for town.
• • •
“Did you follow the recipe?” Ginny was tipping my jar of runny preserves from side to side, observing the liquid as it sloshed about. I’d already run by the Mercantile and picked up parts and a few other supplies before stopping by the diner, so most of the lunch crowd had already dispersed, leaving only a few stragglers behind, sipping coffee and chatting over an extra slice of pie.
“To a T,” I declared.
“And it was your mama’s recipe, right?”
“Right.” I took another spoonful of chili. Despite the stifling heat, Sam’s spicy chili hit the spot. “I was hoping you could tell me where I went wrong.”
She swiped a red curl off her face. “Did you measure the fruit and sugar exactly like the recipe said?”
“Yup.”
“Used pectin?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Brought it up to a full rolling boil before adding the sugar?”
“Yes, I did all those things and it still turned out like that.”
“Well, how should I know, then? I’m no expert jelly maker.”
“Yes, but you’ve made it before, right?”
“Sure, but just here and there. Nothing like your mama does. Maybe you ought to wait until she gets home and ask her where you went wrong.”
I shook my head and explained my plan to start marketing and selling some of my family’s recipes. “You see, I think we could sell some of this stuff online. It seems to work for the bigger orchards up north. And we could use a little extra side income. But first I need to figure out how to make the stuff. Mama always makes it look so easy.”
“It’s not that hard, really. Just takes practice.” She swiped at the counter with a wet rag while she considered my dilemma. “I’ll tell you what,” she finally said. “Why don’t you bring your ingredients by one day and we’ll give it another try. In my kitchen this time. That way, maybe I can see what you’re doing wrong.” She lifted a huge tray of silverware and started rolling them into napkins. “You coming to the meeting tonight? It starts at six and I reckon it’ll wrap up sometime around seven thirty.” Red’s Diner only served breakfast and lunch, closing down every day at four o’clock. The schedule had worked well for Ginny and Sam over the years, allowing them to spend evenings at home as a family. Of course, they were always willing to open back up for special events like the occasional party or tonight’s Peach Festival planning meeting.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I explained to her my plans for testing the market at the Peach Festival. “There’s already enough jars stored up in our pantry for this weekend, but I’d love to be able to crank out a few more.” Especially since Mama wouldn’t take well to coming home to an empty pantry.
She seemed pleased. “Well, like I said, I’ll be glad to help.” She paused for a second and then added, “Does this m
ean you’re planning on sticking around a little longer this time? ’Cuz we’d sure love to have you back in Cays Mill, you know.”
It was a valid question, one I’d been tossing around in my own mind, but I didn’t have an answer yet. Deep down, I knew this plan for selling peach products wouldn’t be successful unless I stayed and saw it through. After all, there was no one else in the family who had the time or the ambition to take on a project this big. But was I ready to give up my job, however unappealing it now seemed, and stay in Cays Mill? I hadn’t decided. Truth be told, I couldn’t even make that decision until I had more information. For starters, was anyone even interested in buying Harper Peach Preserves?
I looked up from my chili, realizing Ginny was still waiting for my response. Luckily, the bells over the door jingled, momentarily distracting her. “Just take a seat anywhere. I’ll be right with ya,” she called out, leaving me to my lunch while she grabbed some menus and scurried over to a couple of well-dressed ladies.
Just then, the doorbells jingled again, and in walked Hawk with none other than the tittering, gum-chomping Laney Burns hanging on his arm. Catching sight of me, she dragged him over for an introduction. “Hey, there, Nola. This is Hawk,” she purred, looking quite proud of herself. “Isn’t he just something?” Hawk was rolling his eyes and grinning as if agreeing to Laney’s assessment.
My eyes darted from her to Hawk, and back again, getting sidetracked by her candy-red claws tracing circles on his biceps, which he flexed in response. Unbelievable! Is there no limit to his ego? “Yeah, he’s something,” I mumbled.
She giggled and batted her clumpy lashes his way. “Hawk is just taking me out for a bite. Ain’t that sweet?”
“Depends on who might get bitten, I guess.”
Hawk smirked, but my comment seemed to fly right over Laney’s head. She licked her lips and continued, “Hawk’s just in town for a few days on business.” She shimmied in a little closer to him. “But I’m thinking I might find a way to convince him to stay on longer.”
That did it. I abandoned the rest of my chili and stood abruptly. “I’m sure you will,” I said through a forced smile. I tossed a couple bills down and made a quick break for the door. Was this what he called an investigation, philandering with one of the main suspects? How dared he waste my brother’s good money! And that blasted Laney Burns. Was there any man she didn’t try to catch with those claws of hers? Of course, I could expect that type of thing from Laney. It was Hawk that surprised me—Mr. Studly Detective. All biceps and no brain—that was what he was.
I burst outside and stopped on the sidewalk, my heart pounding and fists clenched, momentarily disoriented in my own haze of anger. I was searching the square, trying to remember where I’d parked, when I spied Frances Simms making her way toward me. My anger turned to panic and I started considering escape routes. Before I could make a break for it, though, she was upon me.
“Hello, Frances,” I said, bracing myself.
She shot me a curt nod and breezed past me on her way into Red’s. I blinked in confusion. Just the day before she was on me like white on rice; today she barely gave me a second look. What was up with that? Had she already gotten the story she wanted? If so, from whom? Thank goodness the Cays Mill Reporter only came out on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Although, with all the days between issues, it meant that Frances had more time to build up her story. I cringed. Tomorrow’s headline was probably going to be a real eyepopper.
There’s a reason “stressed” equals the word “desserts” spelled backward. Because as my stress levels ratcheted, my eyes were naturally drawn to Sugar’s Bakery. Suddenly, nothing sounded more soothing than a sweet, sugary, sinfully scrumptious cupcake.
Ezra Sugar’s head snapped up the moment the door opened. “Nola Mae! I was hoping to see more of you. Great party last weekend.” He patted his ample belly. “Really enjoyed the buffet,” he added, flashing a toothy grin. Ezra was a hulk of a man, nearly six and a half feet tall with dark brown skin and a bald head that reminded me of a twelve-pound bowling ball resting on top of his humongous rack of shoulders. If you saw him on the street, you’d think he was a linebacker, not a baker. But his desserts were magical. Already the yeasty smell of dough and warm sugar had relaxed my shoulders and calmed my heart rate.
“Well, thank you again for the cake you made for Mama and Daddy. That was so generous of you. Everyone raved about it.”
He waved off the compliment. “Glad to do it. I think the world of your parents.” He lowered his eyes and took a more serious tone. “I was so sorry to hear about the trouble Hollis got himself into. Too bad for Ida and those little girls of theirs.”
I winced. Again it was “the trouble that Hollis got himself into,” with the immediate assumption of the guilt on Hollis’s part. I nodded. “Yes, but my brother, Ray, is working the case and we’re hopeful the real killer will be brought to justice.”
Ezra grimaced. “If you say so, Nola. Anyway, I was glad to see Hollis back at work today.”
“He’s at the bank?” I was surprised. I would have thought he’d spend a couple days at home catching up with Ida and the girls.
“Yes, ma’am. Saw him there this morning when I went in to make a deposit. He looked bad, real worn-out. But working is probably the best thing for him right now. Keep his mind off the trouble he’s got. Although, it made me wonder how long they’ll allow him to keep that job. It doesn’t seem right for a bank to let their folks’ money be handled by a criminal.”
“He’s not a criminal,” I started, but stopped myself and sighed. I realized it was useless to try to defend Hollis when everyone already seemed to have their minds made up, so I let the topic drop. Instead, I scanned the case, trying to decide between the lemon with buttercream frosting or the death-by-chocolate cupcake.
“Ya know, speaking of Ben Wakefield,” Ezra continued, “something strange happened just before you got here.”
I looked up. “Oh yeah? What was that?”
“A woman came in. A real looker. Shoot, I’d never seen anyone so dolled up in my life. She said she was Ben Wakefield’s widow. I didn’t know he was married. Did you? Heck, that man had been coming in here at least twice a week for a couple months to buy coffee and a treat.” He paused and tapped on his case. “He had a thing for my smart tart. Ordered it every time. It’s my healthy take on the normal tart, made with honeyed yogurt instead of sugar and cream.”
That’s not the only tart Ben Wakefield had a thing for, I thought. But, instead of actually saying that, I just nodded and smiled, hoping he’d get on with the story.
Ezra adjusted his apron straps and continued, “Anyway, like I was saying, I had no idea he was married. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“It is sort of strange, isn’t it?” I agreed. Come to think of it, in a town like Cays Mill it was hard to figure how such a basic detail would have escaped detection. Still, Millicent had explained it away as a logistical coincidence. I shrugged, my eyes wandering to the raspberry-filled cupcakes. Decisions, decisions. “Millicent told me she lived mostly in Macon. Didn’t like it down here in Cays Mill. Not enough shopping,” I added, as if that explained everything.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you knew the woman.” My head snapped up from the case and, seeing his wide-eyed expression, I realized he’d misinterpreted me. I started to explain that Millicent and I weren’t friends, but he cut me off before I could get the words out. “Don’t get me wrong. She seemed like a nice enough lady,” he said, backtracking. “Just not the usual type from around here.”
I almost laughed. This coming from a man who really stood out in a crowd. “Well, I’m sure after she tastes your baking, she’ll be back for more.”
He blushed.
“I’ll take one lemon and one chocolate,” I finally ordered, giving up on choosing.
Using a piece of tissue paper, he reached into the case and plucked my
choices off the shelf. “Hope you’re right. I’d like to see her come back to my shop. She’s a big spender.”
“A big spender? What do you mean?”
“Made a big order. ’Bout cleaned out all my bagels and scones first thing morning.”
“Really?” That seemed strange. When we spoke at the boutique, I’d gotten the impression she didn’t know anyone in the area. Why would she need such a big order? “Did she happen to mention why she needed so many?”
He’d bagged my purchase and starting ringing up my order. “I think she said something about a staff meeting up at the lumber mill.”
The lumber mill? Of course! Why didn’t I think of that angle before? Next to peach farming, the mill had been one of the leading industries in the area, employing hundreds of people and sustaining the town through many economic slumps. Despite rumors of financial trouble, if Millicent gained possession of the mill, she could probably close the place down and sell off the company’s assets: machinery, buildings, inventory and maybe even land holdings. I wondered what assets the mill still owned and if they would amount to a motive for murder. Did ownership transfer to Millicent after Ben Wakefield’s death? If so, and if there was money to be made, Millicent may have had just as much motive as anyone for wanting Wakefield dead, especially since it looked like her marriage was in trouble. But before I jumped to conclusions, I needed to find out who actually acquired the mill after Wakefield’s death. I knew just who to ask, too.
“Nola?” Ezra’s voice cut through my thoughts. I realized he must have been waiting for me to pay for my order. Blinking a few times to clear the fog, I apologized and quickly fished some money out of my shoulder bag. After collecting my change and thanking him again, I left Sugar’s Bakery and marched down the street toward the bank.
Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) Page 13