Rest in Peach

by Susan Furlong

  Sam began nervously wiping his hands down the front of his apron. Behind him, bacon and eggs continued to sizzle. “To question Ginny?”

  I nodded. “In the heat of the moment, she might have said a couple things that sounded a little threatening.”

  Ginny threw up her hands. “Like I told y’all, it was just talk. You know how I am when I’m angry.”

  Sam rubbed at his stubbly face, a day’s growth shadowing his jaw. “Oh no.”

  “Don’t panic,” Cade said, stepping forward and taking control of the spatula. He started removing shriveled bacon from the grill and scraping away at burnt eggs. “We all know Ginny didn’t do this, Sam. It just might be a little hard to convince the sheriff. You know how Maudy Payne can be.”

  Next to me, Ginny started breathing heavily. I took hold of her trembling hands. “Don’t worry. All you have to do is tell the sheriff where you were around six thirty yesterday evening.” I quickly explained the sheriff’s theory about Vivien’s broken watch. Then, I followed her worried gaze as she turned toward Sam, her mouth slack and eyes blinking double time. Sam turned a sickly shade of gray.

  “Mama,” Emily’s voice cut through the tension. She was peering through the pass-through at us. “Sheriff Payne’s here. Says she wants to talk to you.” She looked down at the empty grill and Cade standing by with spatula in hand. “Uh . . . Daddy? You okay? Table four’s waiting on their food.”

  Ginny sucked up her breath and straightened her shoulders. “Sam, throw a couple of those pancakes on a plate, and that bacon, too. Got any grits made up? Sheriff likes her grits buttered.” She turned toward us with a brave smile. “Maudy’s always easier to deal with when her stomach’s full.”

  After Sam handed her a loaded plate, she started for the kitchen door, shoulders back and chin held high. Cade stopped her along the way. “Maybe you shouldn’t answer her questions until we can get you a lawyer.”

  She shriveled. “A lawyer?” A nervous little laugh escaped her lips as she glanced Sam’s way again. “We can’t afford a lawyer.” Her chin jutted back out as she turned back toward the door. “Besides, I don’t need one. I’m innocent.”

  As soon as she was out of the kitchen, Cade turned to me and whispered, “Maybe you should call Ray anyway. Just in case things get out of hand.” My brother, Ray, was an attorney. His firm was in Perry, a town not too far from Cays Mill, and he’d been instrumental in helping my brother-in-law, Hollis, avoid a lifelong prison sentence last summer. I knew he’d be willing to help Ginny, too.

  Hattie leaned forward and added her two cents’ worth. “Please do call him, Nola. It’d be good to at least get his take on this whole thing. Get him up to speed, just in case . . . well, like Cade said, just in case things get out of hand. Our sheriff’s not known to be the most judicious person.”

  I glanced over to where Sam paced back and forth, wringing his hands on his apron. “Sam? Want me to give Ray a call? Just to let him know what’s going on? He might be able to suggest something.”

  Sam stopped and turned toward me, his face twisted with concern. “I think maybe you’d better do that, Nola. ’Cause Ginny was out most of the evening yesterday, and I have no idea where she went.”

  • • •

  “No one could ever convince me, not in a million years, that Ginny Wiggins could kill someone,” Mama stated. We were in the dining room Monday morning sitting across from each other, sipping coffee and eating breakfast. “I’ve known that girl since she was just an itty-bitty thing. She was just a few years ahead of Ida in school, you know. Both her and Sam were.”

  I took a gulp of coffee and nodded. Ginny was almost ten years older than me, so I never really knew her growing up. Surprisingly enough, though, ever since my return to Cays Mill, we’d struck up a friendship. Over the past few months, I’d grown to care about Ginny and her family. That’s why, right after leaving the diner yesterday, I immediately placed a call to Ray. Much to my relief, he promised to break away later this afternoon and come to Cays Mill to see what he could do to help.

  “She’s got a fierce temper, though, that one does,” Mama was saying. She paused for a second and took a tentative sip of her coffee before reaching for the sugar bowl. “Always did say redheads are unpredictable. But, if you ask me, Vivien Crenshaw probably had a lot of enemies.”

  “Oh yeah? Why do you say that?”

  She pushed a plate of leftover bacon my way. Mama always rose early during harvest to make a big breakfast for Daddy, who, by the crack of dawn, was already out in the orchards, supervising the picking. Around eleven, she’d start putting together a light lunch of sandwiches and snacks for him and the hands. She’d developed this habit over the years, never missing a single day. Sundays were different, though. On Sundays, the laborers would come to the house for their noon meal. Mama insisted. Of course, if she really had her way in the matter, there wouldn’t be any work at all on Sundays. But, as with most things involving our family business, Daddy had the final say.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Lots of reasons, really.” Picking up a piece of bacon, she took a dainty bite off the end, chewing while she deliberated her next words. “Ever since Vivien took over as the organist at church—”

  “Vivien was the organist?” That was news to me.

  Mama tucked her chin and pursed her lips. “Yes, it happened about a month ago. You’d realize that if you paid better attention in church.”

  I squirmed in my chair. How did I miss that? Ever since I was a kid, Betty Lou Nix had been playing the church’s magnificent pipe organ. Oh, the many glorious hymns she’d accompanied! Over the years, she’d practically become an icon of the church, poor lady. Her talents would be missed. “What a shame! When did Betty Lou pass?”

  “Pass?” Mama blinked a couple times. “Oh . . . no! Betty Lou’s just fine. Well, as fine as she can be considerin’ Vivien practically stole the organ bench right out from under her bottom.”

  Mama nibbled a bit more on her bacon, while I sat back and contemplated what she was saying. Unbelievable. I’d always figured Betty Lou would be playing the organ until the day she was called up to accompany the angels’ heavenly hymns. She was just that good. Guess I really was out of touch with the church, not to mention the local gossip vine, if I’d missed something as substantial as Betty Lou getting knocked off the organ bench by Vivien Crenshaw. Of course, I’d been sort of busy the past few months. “I can’t imagine how Vivien got that position over Betty Lou. Was Vivien a talented organist or something?”

  Mama set half the uneaten bacon slice on her plate and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Not in my opinion. Especially not compared to Betty Lou.” After a long sip of coffee, she waved her hand through the air. “Oh, there were plenty of rumors goin’ ’round at the time about why Betty Lou was replaced. Nothing anyone could really put a finger on, though.” Her face lit up as if she’d suddenly remembered something important. “Speaking of rumors. There were quite a few going around about the Peach Queen Pageant last year. If you remember, Vivien’s daughter won the crown.”

  My ears perked up.

  “Your Daddy and I were on our second honeymoon at the time, but when we got back, there was all sorts of talk about wrongdoings at the pageant.”

  “Wrongdoings?” Last year’s Peach Harvest Festival, as always, culminated in the Peach Queen crowning just before the festival dance. I’d missed that high point of the festival while sitting with my neighbor, Joe, in the hospital after a day of gunfire drama. But it sounded now like there were other dramas going on that I’d missed.

  Mama nodded slowly, her eyes slipping into a half-hooded gaze. “I got this information secondhand, mind you, so don’t go quotin’ me. But I heard something went wrong at the pageant. Something that caused one of the girls to drop out at the last minute.” She paused, trying to remember, then shook her head. “Afraid I can’t remember what exactly happened. Maybe you co
uld ask around. I just remember it all sounded fishy. Especially since just a couple of the girls made it to the talent portion.”

  “So, you’re saying Vivien might have been a little competitive.”

  “Competitive would be a nice way to put it. Cutthroat was more like it.”

  Her choice of words startled me, my mind flashing back to the scissors protruding from Vivien’s throat. I flinched, causing my last gulp of coffee to go down the wrong way and send me into a coughing fit.

  She handed me her napkin. “You okay, sweetie?”

  I hacked a few more times and blew my nose before commenting, “I wonder if the sheriff knows about all this?”

  “Don’t bet on it, sugar.” Mama stood and started clearing our dishes. “You know how single-minded that woman can be.” She started toward the kitchen, turning back at the last minute, gasping with a hand to her chest. “Oh my Lawd!”

  I stood so quickly, my chair almost toppled. “What is it, Mama?”

  “The cotillion dinner. Red’s Diner is catering the cotillion dinner! Oh my. What if Ginny ends up in jail, heaven forbid? Why, she’s in charge of planning the meal.” I rolled my eyes and sat back down. Speaking of single-mindedness. Here I’d thought she was having a heart attack or something. And it was just more stuff about the cotillion. Ever since she and Ida became members of the cotillion’s Board of Governesses—a highly sought-after position, held in the highest regard in our community—they’d talked of nothing but cotillion plans.

  She placed the plates back on the table with a thud and paced in front of me. “We need a backup plan.”

  “What do you mean a backup plan?” I didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I don’t really think there’ll be a problem. Ginny’s innocent. There’s no way she’ll end up in jail for murder.”

  Still pacing, Mama turned her head my way and raised her already well-arched brows. “Oh, really? You have a short memory, Nola Mae. It was just last summer that Hollis ended up in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. What’s to say the same thing couldn’t happen to Ginny?”

  She was right, although Hollis and Ginny were as different as night and day. Hollis was my heavy-drinking, conniving brother-in-law who lived life for the next big deal, and not always an ethical one at that. I thought back to Hollis’s brief incarceration. It was such a dark time for my sister, Ida. Her husband in jail while she was expecting their third child. And my twin nieces, Charlotte and Savannah, not really old enough to understand everything going on, but bearing heavily the weight of their father’s absence. I shook my head; those two were so lost without their daddy. Even the short amount of time he was locked up took its toll on Ida and the girls . . . the whole family, actually. I shuddered to think the same thing could happen to Ginny.

  Looking over at Mama, I could see the wheels turning in her mind. Something must have clicked, too, because she suddenly stopped pacing, placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side. Evident by the resolute expression on her face, she’d reached some sort of conclusion. That was the thing about my mama; she never admitted defeat. She’d even likened herself to Scarlett O’Hara many a time—that is, the strong-willed, determined Scarlett who persevered through Sherman’s torch, not the immature, spoiled Scarlett at the beginning of the book.

  She slid her eyes my way, the room practically pulsing with her determination. “Nola, I just thought of something.”

  I waited, dreading what was coming.

  “I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me before. This whole cotillion dinner, why, it’s the perfect opportunity for you to showcase a few of Harper’s Peach Products. Draw attention to our new line of merchandise. And the timing couldn’t be better with the shop opening and all.”

  My head bobbled a bit. “The shop? Ah, but there’s still so much to do before it will open, and I don’t see—” I started, but Mama was on a roll.

  “This is just the answer we’ve been looking for all along! A committee. Not just one person responsible for the entire meal, but a group of people. We knew Ginny couldn’t do it all anyway, her daughter’s a debutante this year and she’ll be tied up for most of the evening. We’d already asked Hattie to help out with the actual cooking, but this is even better—a bunch of people with food experience to both plan and prepare the dishes. You, Ginny . . . who else?”

  Food experience? Me?! I was the one who fumbled through batches of runny preserves before producing anything salable last summer—and that was only because Ginny, bless her heart, stepped in to save my bacon, or peaches, as was the case. But pointing any of that out would be a waste of breath. Once Mama was onto something, there was no deterring her. So, I simply watched helplessly as she placed her forefinger to her chin and slid her eyes upward while she ran through a mental list of possibilities.

  “Ezra Sugar!” she finally said. “Of course. He could work on the dessert end, Ginny on the main meal, and you with all the peachy accents. It is a Peach Cotillion, after all! We should have a peach-themed dinner. Ginny would probably be relieved not to have the responsibility of planning the whole menu. And, I’m sure it’s not too late to make that sort of change.” She waved her hand through the air, dismissing all the dirty little details as inconsequential. “This way, if something does happen, you’re all up to speed on the menu and. . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she regarded what must have been the terror-stricken look on my face. She came over and patted my shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. This is just a precaution. I’m sure all this will get straightened out and things will be just fine. Still, I’m going to mention it to the other board members at our meeting today. It never hurts to be prepared.”

  I managed a tentative nod, thinking it was a good thing Hattie was already on board. Because if Ginny did end up in jail for a while, heaven forbid, there was no way in heck I could ever pull off planning a dinner of that magnitude. Even coming up with Mama’s idea of “peachy accents” while finishing up my storefront would be enough of a challenge. Thank goodness Ray was coming home later that day. He’d certainly be able to get all this straightened out and head off any trouble coming Ginny’s way.

  Chapter 4

  Debutante Rule #079: Your best friend is someone who always watches your backside . . . and helps you shop for the perfect pair of jeans to cover it.

  “You really think I’m the type to just sit around and let someone come in and rescue me? You know me better than that, Nola Mae. No offense to your brother, but I’m capable of straightening out my own messes. I stayed up half the night thinking about my predicament and decided the best approach is to be proactive.”

  It was a little after four that afternoon when I’d finally caught up with Ginny again. We were in the kitchen of Red’s Diner, working on a couple large batches of Mama’s peach chutney recipe. The smell of spicy cloves and sweet peaches hung in the air. “Proactive? What do you mean?”

  Ginny looked up from her stirring. “I mean, I plan to figure out the real killer so I can get Maudy Payne off my back. And that pesky Frances Simms. She’s been nosing around asking all sorts of questions. Even tried to corner Emily.”

  Uh-oh. Today was Monday, meaning Frances was hot on the trail of a sensational headline for tomorrow’s edition of the Cays Mill Reporter. “How did it go with the sheriff yesterday?”

  She put down her spoon and turned toward me. “As well as could be expected, I suppose. I’m not sure she’s convinced I didn’t do it. Guess the facts are stacked against me. But you believe me, right?”

  “Of course! I just don’t think you should get involved. It sounds dangerous,” I said, remembering that the last time I got involved in police business, I ended up face-to-face with a crazed killer.

  “What else am I supposed to do? Everyone’s trying to blame this on me.”

  Well, actually, it had been Ginny’s own angry outburst that triggered Maudy Payne’s focus on h
er. But I decided not to bring it up. Why add fuel to the fire? “Weren’t you able to provide the sheriff with an alibi?” I prodded. It’d stuck in my mind what Sam said about not knowing where Ginny was that evening. Something about that didn’t sit right with me.

  Ginny shifted. “As a matter of fact, I did. The sheriff’s checking into it.”

  Her tone was clipped, giving me the impression that the topic was off-limits, so I moved on. “Okay. Well, did Maudy mention any other suspects?”

  “She didn’t say. But I got to thinking later, whoever the killer is, they had to have been in the shop to hear Vivien making plans to pick up the dress at six thirty.”

  I saw where she was going with this. “One of the gals who was at the shop?”

  Ginny moved across the kitchen and removed a piece of scratch paper from her bag. “That’s right. Let’s see. . . . Who all was there? You—”

  “Me?”

  Ginny held up her hand. “Bear with me. You, Hattie, Mrs. Busby . . .” She dipped her chin and raised her brows. “Debra Bearden, Maggie Jones and that’s it, except for the girls, but you don’t think one of them . . .”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So, crossing off you and Hattie, we’re left with Mrs. Busby, Debra Bearden and Maggie Jones. But I don’t think sweet ol’ Mrs. Busby could hurt a fly, do you?”

  I shook my head, my mind wandering back to what Mama told me about the “wrongdoings” at the Peach Queen Pageant last year. I wondered . . . “Do you remember if Belle Jones was in the Peach Queen Pageant last year?”

  “Sure was. She was in the final three but didn’t participate in the last round. If I recall, there was something wrong with her costume and she had to drop out.”

  “So the final round came down to . . . ?”

  “Tara Crenshaw and Sophie Bearden.”

  “And Tara won?”

  “Yeah. But it wasn’t much of a contest,” Ginny replied. “The final round was the talent competition, and Sophie blew it. She had this great act, too—baton twirling. But she just couldn’t hang on to the baton that night. Must have been nerves. Although, I’d seen her do that act at least a hundred times before, and she’d never messed up like that.”