• • •
The Cays Mill Bank & Trust was situated about two blocks north of the square on Gala Avenue, creating a transition between the business section of town and a quieter residential neighborhood. The bank itself stood out like a sore thumb among the surrounding bungalows and well-kept one-story ranches. Wanting to give the appearance of well-heeled stability, the town’s founders constructed the bank to look like a scaled-down version of Mount Vernon, complete with white pillars and a red roof. The entrance was flanked by two large urns filled with ferns and colorful annuals. I paused to admire some trailing petunias before entering through the large double doors.
I bypassed the tellers and headed toward the back of the bank to Hollis’s office, where I found Candace perched at the secretary’s desk. She stopped typing the moment she saw me. “Nola Mae! Oh my goodness, what’s this?” she asked, pointing to my bag. “Sugar’s Bakery? Well, you shouldn’t have. But what a sweet way to thank me for the casserole.” She laughed. “Get it? A ‘sweet’ way to thank me.”
I glanced from the bag still clutched in my hands to her outstretched ones and sighed. “Of course, Candace. Thank you so much for the casserole. It was delicious.” I reluctantly handed over the bag, craning my neck for a glimpse toward Hollis’s office. “I think I’ll just pop in and check on Hollis,” I said, scurrying around her desk while she was still distracted by the contents of the bakery bag.
“Oh, my favorites,” I heard her exclaim as I stepped over the threshold into Hollis’s office.
He looked up from a pile of paperwork and smiled. “How nice to see you, Nola.” Although his tone was slightly subdued, his smile seemed genuine.
“How you holding up?” I asked, sliding into one of his guest chairs, my gaze drawn toward a shot glass next to his desk blotter. A little amber liquid remained in the bottom.
He sighed and tossed down the file he was holding. “Okay, I guess.” Then he shook his head. “That’s not true. You’re family, so I might as well say it straight. I’m scared, Nola. Real scared. Those few days in the county jail were the worst days of my life. I can’t even imagine what the state pen would be like.”
I shuddered, mental images of bars, stainless steel cots and large ugly men with piercings and gang tattoos forming in my mind. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Hollis leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Let’s hope not. Ray’s a good lawyer, but he’s up against a lot of damning evidence.”
“Like the report they found in your pocket when they arrested you? The one investigating all of Wakefield’s assets.”
“Yeah, that; plus lots of people saw me with the murder weapon. And they pretty much confiscated everything to do with the bank’s deal with Wakefield Lumber. It looks bad.”
I bobbed my head in agreement. No sense denying the obvious.
“Truth is,” he continued, “I really did want to kill Ben Wakefield. He’d scammed me big-time. But you know me better than that, right? You know I could never kill someone.”
He seemed relieved when I nodded. “I’m glad,” he went on. “Because most of the town thinks I’m guilty. Hell, even my own secretary thinks I did it. Everyone’s looking at me like I’m a criminal.”
I pointed toward the shot glass. “You may not be a killer, Hollis, but you’re not giving people a lot of reason to believe in you these days.”
Snatching up the glass, he drained its contents. “Just a little something to calm my nerves,” he explained, opening a desk drawer and stashing the glass inside. “Can’t blame me for tipping a little back now and then. I’ve been under a lot of stress.”
“Well, like you said, we’re family so we might as well say it straight.” I leaned in to emphasize my point. “Your drinking is getting out of hand, Hollis. It’s hurting your family and your business. And drinking’s not going to do anything to help this mess of trouble you’ve got yourself into. In fact, it’ll probably make it worse.”
He scowled and started tapping his pen on his desktop. “What exactly is it that you came in here for, Nola? To harass me? Or is there something else you needed to talk to me about?”
I sat back, lowering my chin to my chest and studying my hands. I should have known better than to take such a direct approach with Hollis and his drinking. I’d seen this type of thing over and over in my work. You can’t just scold away someone’s addiction. Hollis needed professional help, but still, what a louse! Ida and the girls deserved better than this. I rotated the kinks out of my neck and took a few calming breaths before continuing. “I actually came in here to ask about Wakefield Lumber.”
“What about it?”
“Who takes over now that Ben Wakefield is dead?”
“It was a sole proprietorship, so his heirs inherit, just the same as they would any other assets, like a home or a car.” He waved the last part off. “Well, it’s obviously more complicated, but that’s essentially how it works. Why do you ask?”
“Did you know Ben had a wife?”
Hollis lurched forward. “Ben Wakefield was married?”
“Yes. Didn’t Ray tell you? The thing is, I just found out that she apparently held a meeting up at the lumber mill this morning.”
Hollis’s eyes darted back and forth. “I had no idea. That means she could have had motive to want Wakefield dead. I need to call Ray about this right away.” He started reaching for the phone.
“Hold on,” I quickly interjected, a little surprised with how quickly he pounced on this Millicent Wakefield thing. Of course, Hollis was probably desperate for any way out of his current situation. I should have thought this whole thing through before questioning him about the mill’s new ownership. After seeing his desperation up close and personal, I decided not to bring up my other theory about Floyd Reeves. Hollis might just go renegade with anything I gave him. No, best to just hand over any new information directly to the professionals: Ray and, heaven help me, Hawk. “Ray will be back in town tomorrow,” I said, trying to distract him. “You can talk to him then. Have you met with Dane Hawkins, the investigator?”
“Yes, Ray introduced us.” He rolled his eyes.
“What?”
“I didn’t have a good first impression. He doesn’t seem all that . . . capable to me.”
I shrugged. True enough. With his tight jeans and leather, Hawk came off more like someone running from the law, not someone aiding it. But I tried to stay positive. “Ray believes he’s the best person for the job.”
Hollis didn’t look convinced, so I switched gears again. “I wanted to ask you about something else.”
He must have sensed another loaded question, because he started tapping again with the pen. “What?”
“Laney Burns.”
“Laney? What about her?”
“Do you have a thing going on with her?”
“A thing? You mean an affair? No!” He stopped tapping and tossed the pen aside. “Okay, so she’s fun to flirt around with, but it never goes further than that.”
Fun to flirt with? This coming from a guy who made a pass at me the night before his own wedding? What a lecher! My shoulders tightened as I began to fume. “Are you sure, Hollis?”
“What do you mean? Of course I’m sure!”
I held his gaze for a moment, then felt myself begin to soften a bit. He seemed sincere, but still, he’d been drinking so much lately. Maybe he didn’t realize what he did in his drunken stupors. “She said she was messing around with you in the orchard after the party.”
“You didn’t go telling all this to Ida, did you?”
I squinted across the desk. “No, but I will if it comes to that. I’m not going to let my sister be played for a fool, Hollis.” Of course, my younger, less confident self never had the heart, or the nerve, to tell her what happened the night before her wedding. To this day, I wasn’t even sure Hollis remember
ed what he did that night, or any time he drank heavily. Regret overcame me. If I had told her, or at least talked to her about my suspicions that he had a drinking problem, maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, trying to come up with something to save her sorry excuse for a husband from a murder conviction.
He shook his head, his hand hovering by the desk drawer where he stashed his liquor. He must have had second thoughts, though, because he took a deep breath and folded them on top of his desk instead. “Look. I already explained all this to Ray.”
“Good. It shouldn’t be too hard to explain it to me, then.”
He sighed. “There’s nothing to explain. She was coming on to me that night, that’s all. She’s like that, you know. Always flirting around with men. I had just helped Ida get the girls settled into the car and was heading back to my vehicle when, out of nowhere, Laney showed up. She saw the scarf hanging out of my pocket and grabbed it, teasing me with a game of keep-away. All I could think was how ticked Ida would be if I didn’t get that scarf back.”
“So you played along?”
“I tried to get it from her, but she ran into the trees. I chased after her for a while, then gave up. I don’t know what happened to the scarf after that. Well, not until I found out how it was used, anyway.”
“That’s not the story Laney is telling. She said you guys messed around together in the orchard, but you were too drunk for much fun, so she left you there alone.”
“She’s lying. Ask Ida. I’d been drinking that night, but I’d sobered up before it was time to leave.”
I mulled this over, remembering that Ida did say something about Hollis being sober enough to drive home that night. But could I really believe anything Hollis said? And what reason would Laney have to lie about such a thing? Was she covering up something else? “So, why’d you get home so late?”
“I’d been expecting a fax from that investigative firm I hired to look into Wakefield Lumber.”
“The report the cops found in your pocket.”
“Exactly. I came by here, to my office. I knew Wakefield was up to something. He was late with his payments. In fact, I questioned him at the party about it and things got heated between us. But when I saw that report . . . well, it confirmed everything I suspected. Wakefield had scammed me out of a boatload of money.”
“So you were upset.”
“To put it mildly.”
“Did you go back to the party looking for Wakefield?”
“No!” He slapped the top of his desk. “I swear that’s not what happened. And I’m getting sick and tired of retelling this story.”
I ignored his antics. “Where’d you go then?” I pressed.
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk and head buried in his hands. “I couldn’t go home after that. I needed to get my head together before I went home and told Ida. . . . I mean, I’d just found out we were ruined financially, and mostly due to my negligence. So I went by the liquor store and got a bottle of Jack and headed out to this spot I like to go to.”
“Up McManamy Draw by Hill Lake?”
He looked up. “You know about that?”
I nodded. “This is Cays Mill. No one has secrets around here.” Well, maybe a few, like Wakefield having a wife, but still . . . I stood and shouldered my bag. That was when one of the files on his desk caught my eye. “What’s this?” I said, pointing at a file marked with a familiar name. “Is that Puckett, like in Joe Puckett?”
Hollis shrugged and tidied up the pile, Joe’s file disappearing into it. “It is, just normal banking stuff.” He looked at the door as his other hand moved toward the desk’s side, where his liquor drawer awaited.
“Sure. I understand.” Still, I was surprised to see Joe’s name attached to anything to do with the bank. As far as I knew, the old fellow rarely came to town. Especially not to use the bank. I imagined what money he had, he kept hidden away under his mattress. But I didn’t push the issue any further. By the looks of Hollis, he’d had enough interrogating for one day. Judging by the haggard look in his eyes, as soon as I left, he’d more than likely be back into his liquor drawer again. So I told him good-bye and turned on my heel. On the way out, I passed by Candace, who waggled a set of sticky-lemon fingers my way and wished me a good day.
Right. Like there’s anything good about this day so far.
Chapter 12
Georgia Belle Fact #071: In a Georgia Belle’s eyes, any man who plays the banjo is simply divine.
“Nola, over here!” Ginny called, waving at me from the other side of the room full of festival participants. Red’s Diner was put up neat, so to say. Everything polished to a T with stainless steel glimmering, the floor sparkling, and even the red vinyl glistening with cleanliness.
I made my way across the room to where Ginny, Sam and Hattie were huddled together. “Glad you made it,” Hattie said, squeezing my arm. I was glad, too. After the day dealing with messes—Hollis and then the leftover party mess—it was good to be around friends.
“Me, too,” Ginny added, leaning in front of Hattie. “I’m so excited you’ll be selling your jams at the festival this year. You’ll have to talk to Margie Price before the meeting is over. She’s in charge of organizing this year’s vendors.”
“Sure. Where is she?” But I’d no sooner asked than a booming voice cut through the crowd, telling us all to take a seat. I settled at one of the tables next to Ginny and Sam; Hattie sat across from us with Pete taking the chair next to her. The room was packed, but I recognized a few in attendance: Ezra Sugar, Sally Jo from the Cays Mill Mercantile, Mrs. Whortlebe from the Clip & Curl, and Frances Simms. It stood to reason that most of the town’s business owners would be there. It was probably one of their biggest sale days of the year.
After everyone found a seat, a wiry man with a tattered hat jammed atop his head moved to the head of the room. “Who’s that?” I asked Hattie, eyeing his handlebar mustache and long braid trailing down the back of his T-shirt.
She giggled and whispered back, “Don’t you recognize Wade Marshall? He’s our mayor now.”
That’s Wade Marshall! You could have knocked me over with a feather. But this was what happened after being away for several years. People I knew in my youthful prime changed, while I, at least in my own mind, stayed the same. I’d noticed quite a few examples of this since I’d returned. Small things, like Mrs. Whortlebe, bless her heart, who had put on at least fifteen extra pounds and changed her hair color from mousy brown to a shocking black. Despite the changes, though, she was still recognizable. Wade Marshall, on the other hand, had undergone more than just a little change. The once-upon-a-time baby-faced, nerdy boy, who took the 4-H blue ribbon every year for his bug collections, had morphed into a . . . a . . .
“He looks like one of those Hell’s Angels, doesn’t he?” Ginny leaned in from the other side.
That’s it. A Hell’s Angel.
She went on to explain, “But he’s done a great job as mayor. He’s working on bringing the town back to life.”
I sat back, trying to keep an open mind as Wade began his spiel. Not about his looks, mind you. I’d been raised to value people for their actions, not their appearances. No, I needed to keep an open mind because I just couldn’t imagine Wade Marshall as anyone other than a pesky seventh grader who terrorized me in science class by dangling a hairy-legged spider in front of my face. How in the world did he ever get elected as mayor?
“It looks like we’re going to have a record turnout for this year’s festival,” Wade was saying. “We’ll have artists and vendors attending from around the county. I’m also pleased to announce that we’ve been able to secure a carousel for this year’s kiddie carnival.”
An enthusiastic round of applause erupted.
He cleared his throat and continued. “It’ll be set up on the courthouse green along with the other children’s activities.” He pointed to a crud
e map, drawn on foam board and propped up on an easel. “Both Blossom and Orchard streets will be blocked for vendor booths, with food stands here, and a stage here.” He turned back to the table with a glint of pride in his eye. “I’m happy to announce that my bluegrass band, the Peach Pickers, will be playing on the stage Saturday night. Hope y’all stop by for a listen!”
“He’s in a band?” I hissed in Hattie’s ear.
“Yup. Banjo,” she confirmed. A sense of awe suddenly overcame us. To a Southern gal, the banjo was the end-all of instruments. Why, a guy could be the homeliest man alive, but if he played a banjo . . . Well, what more need I say?
“And more good news, folks,” Wade continued. “Judging by the booth fees we’ve collected already, we should be right on track with our budget.”
Another round of clapping started up, but abruptly ceased when the diner door flew open and Maudy Payne stepped inside with her bad attitude preceding her by a couple steps. She briefly caught my eyes, her lips twitching upward in a snarly grin. I shuddered and turned away, focusing again on Wade, who was now droning on about revenue and budgets. He finally wrapped things up with a nod toward Maudy. “Again, a huge thank-you to Sam and Ginny for providing the meeting place and refreshments this evening. Now I’m turning the podium over to Sheriff Payne, who’ll be discussing this weekend’s security concerns.”
Wade settled back into his chair as Maudy sauntered over to take his place. While she went on about various security rules, I found myself thinking about my own festival projects. I had a lot of work left if I was going to get my preserves ready in time. Starting with making them palatable! I leaned toward Ginny. “Are you still available to help me with my recipes?”
“Sure. How about Sunday? We close early right after the church crowd finishes up, so say around four o’clock? That’ll give me time to get the kitchen cleaned up and ready.”
Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) Page 14