“Carla, this is a murder case. You know something that could help the sheriff find Maggie’s would-be killer. And probably Vivien’s killer, too. You have to tell the sheriff what you know. What if someone else gets killed? Think how you’d feel then. And Maggie’s your friend. Don’t you want whoever did this to her to be brought to justice?”
She reached over and jerked on the door handle, getting ready to bolt. I snatched her by the shirtsleeve. “Hold on! Okay,” I said, pulling her back into the seat. “Let me think about this. Maybe there’s a way we can tell the sheriff without her knowing who you are. My brother’s an attorney. I’ll talk to him and see if there’s some way around this.”
“Promise me you won’t tell her it was me,” she pleaded.
This making promises bit was getting more than a little cumbersome. There were several reasons why I shouldn’t make that promise and should instead go immediately to the sheriff and relay everything Carla had just told me. I had an obligation to tell the sheriff, didn’t I? But as I looked into Carla’s scared face, I felt another type of obligation. I had a feeling trust didn’t come easy for a girl like Carla, yet she had confided in me. How could I betray her trust? I sighed and said, “I’ll do everything I can to keep your name out of it. I promise.”
• • •
After dropping Carla by her aunt’s house, I headed back to the farm to change and get ready for my dinner with Cade. I rushed a little on the back roads, knowing I was running late and thinking he was probably already at the house waiting for me.
I was right. Halfway down our lane, I spotted his pickup parked in front of the house. And next to it, Hawk’s motorcycle.
My stomach churned as I eyed the bike’s black diamond finish and polished chrome, which gave off an ethereal sheen, sort of like a black mamba basking in the late-evening sun—alluring but dangerous. It suddenly hit me that these two vehicles really epitomized their owners’ personalities. Cade’s truck was sturdy, dependable and built for hard work, while Dane’s bike was a lot like him: buffed, polished to a tee and made for fast pleasure. Did I really just think that? Well, not my fast pleasure, that’s for sure. The one time I’d got caught up in all that had changed the entire course of my life. With a quick shake of my head, I put my runaway thoughts in check and parked my own truck: a bit dented, not always that dependable and in need of a thorough clean-out. I shook my head again.
As I started for the house, a bit of anxiety kicked up inside me at the idea of both guys being here at once. First they were sitting by each other at church, now at my own house. But I didn’t have long to contemplate the situation, because as I reached the top step, the front screen door popped open and Roscoe skyrocketed onto the porch. He scurried toward me, ears flopping and short little legs propelling him pell-mell across the wood planking. As he made his way, he paused and greeted me with a quick sniff before bounding down the steps and lifting his leg on Mama’s petunia bed. One whole patch had turned brown since Roscoe came to visit, but Mama, who was so enchanted with the little fellow, didn’t seem to mind a bit.
My eyes drifted from Roscoe back to the porch where Hawk was now standing, arms crossed over his strong chest and blue eyes flashing. Seeing him in my own territory always gave me the flutters. “Hello, Nola,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue like liquid velvet. How did he manage to make it sound that way? Or any woman’s name, for that matter?
“Hi, Dane.”
“Hawk.”
“Hawk,” I corrected myself and nodded toward Roscoe’s favorite spot. “You’re going to owe my mama some new flowers.” A weird look crossed his face as he looked at the brown spot. “I’m kidding. They’re just annuals anyway. Are you here to visit Roscoe?”
He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and nodded. “Yup. Just brought by some extra food for him.”
“Great. Thanks,” I said, glad he’d left the food and was on his way.
“He might be staying a little longer than I thought,” he added, catching me right before my hand reached the screen door. I turned back. “Oh? The job’s working out, then?”
His gaze roamed out over the orchards. “It’s okay. Keeps me in the area, I guess.”
There was only one reason a guy like him would want to stay in this area. I wasn’t sure how she did it, but Laney had managed to get him wrapped right around her red-lacquered fingers. Good for her. In my opinion, they were well suited for each other. “Well, good for you,” I said, turning and reaching for the door again.
“Can’t say I really care for my boss’s wife, though,” he went on, his voice tight.
I sighed, let my hand drop and turned back toward him.
He continued, “She’s always sending me on stupid errands. And she’s demanding. Throws a hissy fit when things don’t go her way.” He shook his head. “Don’t know how the congressman does it. I could never be married to a woman like that. It’d drive me crazy.”
“Still cleaning out the attic for the cotillion?” I asked, remembering he’d told me about clearing out the plantation’s third-floor ballroom and hauling a lot of donations down to the church.
“Oh yeah. That and tons of other crap.” He let out a long sigh. “Today, I drove over to Perry to pick up her dry cleaning and a bunch of tablecloths from some rental place, then by some retired Professor Scott’s house to deliver something, and then over to the Pack-n-Carry for—”
“Professor Scott?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“No, I don’t,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “But I’ve heard the name somewhere. What did you deliver to him?”
He shrugged. “Just a manila envelope. It was sealed. Why?” He stepped closer, eyeing me curiously. “What is it? You’ve got a strange look on your face.”
“It’s the name. Professor Scott. I’ve heard it recently, but I can’t place it.” I shook my head and chuckled. “Don’t you hate it when that happens?”
He looked down his nose and smirked. “Can’t say it ever happens to me.”
I was going to laugh, but I wasn’t sure he was kidding. Not that it mattered, because Roscoe suddenly appeared at my feet, whimpering and favoring one of his paws. Surprised, both Hawk and I bent forward and reached out at the same time, clunking heads. “Ouch!” I cried, straightening up and clutching my head.
“Sorry about that, darlin’,” Hawk said, reaching out to steady me. “You okay?”
Right at that moment, the screen door screeched open and Cade walked out.
I brushed away Hawk’s hands and bent back over to get Roscoe. Carrying him to one of the cane rockers, I sat down and examined his paw. He whined and tried to pull it back, even snapped at me, but I was able to see the source of the problem—a tiny rock wedged between the padding on his paw.
I told Hawk, and he immediately squatted next to me, rubbing Roscoe’s backside while gently holding his leg steady. “Okay, I’ve got him. Think you can work it out?”
“I’ll try,” I said, using my finger to work at the stone. Finally, it came out. “Got it!” Roscoe let out a little yelp and wiggled off my lap, immediately retreating behind the chair to lick his paw. Hawk and I exchanged a look of relief.
I glanced over toward Cade, expecting to see relief in his expression as well, but what I saw was hurt and maybe a little anger, too. I wasn’t sure. Regardless, I felt apprehensive.
Hawk must have sensed the sudden tension. “Well, I’d better get a move on,” he said, reaching behind the chair to give Roscoe’s ear a playful tug. “You’re in good hands, buddy.” He told us both a quick good-bye and strode back out to his bike. With a final salute and a rev of the bike’s engine, he was off.
Cade and I stood together in silence long after the sound of the retreating engine faded away. “I can be ready to go in a jiff,” I finally said. “Just a quick shower and change.”
He nodded and moved toward the rock
er to wait. He let out a long sigh and settled back, kicking out his legs and folding his arms across his chest. Roscoe came out from behind and curled up at his feet. “You know, Nola,” he started, his voice catching me as I pulled open the screen door, “watching you and Hawk just now, taking care of Roscoe . . .” He smiled sadly while gently rubbing his foot along the dog’s back.
“Yeah?”
“Just got me thinking that you two would have been good parents together.”
• • •
Time dragged on Thursday. Probably because I spent most of the day preoccupied with everything except my work at Peachy Keen. Truth was, my date with Cade the night before had left me in a funk. After getting a late start, we’d decided to forgo the new restaurant and just grab a couple burgers at the Tasty Freeze, where we ran into Hollis, Ida and the kids. That was okay; I always love spending time with my nieces and nephew, except that particular night I would have preferred some time alone with Cade—if anything just so I’d get the chance to alleviate the damper left by Hawk’s untimely visit. Why did that man always show up at the most inopportune time? But instead of a quiet romantic dinner, I spent the evening listening to Ida go on about her responsibilities as a cotillion board member and my nieces bantering between slurps of icy neon-colored drinks while I bounced a fussy Hollis Jr. on my knee and cast apprehensive glances toward a broody Cade. All in all, it wasn’t a date I wanted to remember.
Although, one interesting thing did come of the evening. Right before leaving the Tasty Freeze, I pulled my brother-in-law, Hollis, aside and asked him what he knew about Nate Crenshaw. Hollis, president of the Cays Mill Bank and Trust, was reluctant to divulge any information about his client’s business, but after quite a bit of finagling on my part, and a reminder of all I did for him last summer—speaking of extortion—I finally got him to confirm what I’d already heard through the rumor mill: Nate Crenshaw’s business was in dire straits. A few more months and he’d more than likely be filing for bankruptcy. So, for sure, Vivien felt desperate for money, especially considering pending college expenses and all of Tara’s pageantry costs.
At any rate, the residual doldrums over my bad date combined with a haze of confusion spurred by the new facts I’d learned about Vivien’s murder and Maggie’s attempted murder made it difficult for me to concentrate on even the tiniest tasks. Right off the bat, I mismarked a package of preserves being shipped to an online customer. Next, I spilled an entire glass of iced tea over a stack of brochures for my grand opening. Then, to top it all off, I whacked my chin against the corner of my checkout counter, causing me to drop a jar of peach salsa, which shattered and splattered orange guck everywhere. What a mess!
Nonetheless, sometime between answering online inquiries and picking bits of onion and pepper out of the cracks in the floorboards, I managed to place another call to Ray. Ever since talking to Carla, I’d wanted to get his take on what she had found in Vivien’s purse. Only I still couldn’t reach him in person. Finally, I ended up leaving a message with his secretary, who informed me he would be tied up in court for most of the day.
After leaving the message, I sat with my cell phone in hand, debating whether or not I should break my promise to Carla and call the sheriff. I knew the information regarding the contents of Vivien’s purse should be turned over to the authorities immediately, but how to do that without getting Carla in trouble? Would the sheriff press theft charges against her? She did take a couple hundred dollars from the purse. Or she might be charged for obstruction of justice, since she didn’t bring the purse forward in the first place. I hated the idea of Carla getting into trouble. Of course, I also hated the idea of me getting into trouble. Would I find myself facing the same charge if I didn’t come forth with this new information soon? Ugh! I finally decided to give it until the end of the day. Maybe Ray would call back soon.
About the only thing that lifted my spirits and carried me through that gloomy day was Pete’s pending proposal to Hattie. It was supposed to happen that very night. I was so happy for my friend! As off track as her emotions were now, I knew she loved Pete, and if she’d give him a chance, they could have a wonderful life together.
Not getting much accomplished, I called it quits around four o’clock. Once again, Ginny and I had canceled our afternoon cooking session. She’d needed extra time to clean up after closing to help Pete get things set up for the big dinner, most of which they’d planned to do while Hattie was busy running the cotillion rehearsal at the VFW. I didn’t mind putting off our cooking session, though. Ever since Carla told me about the photo of Debra with the dress and scissors, I’d been planning to pay a visit to the Beardens’ house. I had a few questions for Debra. For starters, why was she running out of the church right before I discovered Maggie?
• • •
Debra’s house was located in an older neighborhood behind the high school. Most of the houses in this part of town were built right after World War II, when a shortage of housing sparked the frenzied construction of prefabricated cookie-cutter homes. Now over seventy years old, some of the homes were being demolished and bigger, more modern homes built in their place. The overall effect was a mixed-up neighborhood—massive new homes with manicured lawns interspersed with one-story ranches with cracked driveways and overgrown landscaping. The Beardens’ home was one of the newer builds: two stories of vinyl siding, brick veneer and architectural shingles lording tall over its modest one-story neighbors.
Before I got to the front stoop, the door opened. A tall, dark-haired man stepped outside. “What can I do for you?”
I approached with my hand out. “Mr. Bearden? Nola Harper. I’m looking for Debra. Is she around?”
“I know who you are. And no, she’s not here.” He started to turn away.
“Excuse me!” I hurried forward, trying to insert myself between him and the door. “When will she be home? There’s something I need to talk to her about.”
His lips pressed into a thin white slash as he glared down at me. “She’s gone out of town for a couple days. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Oh,” I said, taking a step backward. “Out of town? But she’ll be back for the cotillion, right? I mean, Sophie—”
“Look, Ms. Harper,” he said, looming over me. Suddenly the front stoop seemed incredibly small. “Debra’s got nothing to say to you. And I, for one, don’t appreciate you siccing the sheriff on her. She’s been upset ever since Maudy Payne came by here asking questions about the preacher’s wife.” He reached for the door handle again. “Good-bye, Ms. Harper.”
I thanked Mr. Bearden, or at least said “thank you” to the door he slammed in my face, and plodded back to my car. I had to wonder if Debra left town because she was upset or guilty. Maybe she did have something to do with the attempt on Maggie’s life. Still, I couldn’t see Debra forcing pills down Maggie’s throat or choking her. She wasn’t that strong looking. Then something else occurred to me. Maybe Debra saw something, or someone, at the church that afternoon and now she was running scared. Who could blame her? First Vivien, then Maggie. Maybe she was scared of becoming the next victim. I’d assumed that Vivien was blackmailing several people and one of them had killed her. Meaning they’d all be off the hook for the blackmail if the purse holding the proof of their errant ways went missing. Which it did, except who would throw a purse with both money and evidence in a Dumpster? It was lucky that Carla found it and gave the evidence to Maggie. Only then Maggie also had that damning photo of Debra. She must have realized what it was and called Debra in order to return it, because surely Maggie wasn’t going to blackmail Debra; she had her own secret to protect. Could another of the blackmail victims have found out Maggie had the contents of Vivien’s purse? Someone who feared exposure enough to have killed Vivien and then try to kill Maggie? But who? The only other item Carla mentioned in the purse, a copy of an old letter, could have been anything. I had too many questions and not
enough answers.
I sat in the car for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do next. After thinking it over, I decided it was time to call the sheriff. I’d do my best to keep Carla’s name out of it, but if there was any chance Debra or anyone else was in danger, the sheriff should be informed.
I had just picked up my phone to dial when it started ringing. It was Ray. “Ray! I’m so glad you called.”
“Hey, sis. What’s going on? I had a couple missed calls from you, and my secretary said you sounded stressed about something.”
“I need advice.” I went on to explain the whole situation to him, including my promise to Carla. “She trusted me, Ray. But I’m worried if I don’t take this information to the sheriff, someone else may get hurt.”
“You did the right thing by calling me. I’ll give Maudy a quick call right now.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep Carla’s name out of it for now. But eventually the sheriff will need to talk to her. She might know something vital to Vivien’s murder. Just trust me. I’ve got a lot of tricks up my sleeve. Carla’s not going to get into trouble.”
I let out my breath. “Thanks, Ray. Oh, and just FYI, you don’t have to keep any secrets about Ginny anymore. I know where she was at the time of the murder, and the big event is going down in just a couple hours.”
He laughed over the line. “Wish I could be there.”
“Me, too,” I agreed, before disconnecting. Then I thought, why couldn’t I? Well, not there as inside the diner when he proposed, but certainly close by. At night, with the diner lit up, it would be easy to see right through the front windows without being observed. I giggled at the idea. No one would ever know!
• • •
Later that night, I parked my car on the north side of the square and worked my way across the courthouse green. The rehearsal was due to finish around eight o’clock, at which time Ginny was to trick Hattie into going to the diner under the ruse of helping her move some boxes of meat out of the freezer to put into the refrigerator for thawing. I thought it would’ve been easier to simply ask Hattie to the diner for a slice of pie and a late-night cup of coffee, but Ginny thought Hattie might turn down that offer. On the other hand, Hattie would never turn down a friend in need.
Rest in Peach Page 20