Rest in Peach

by Susan Furlong

  “Carla will fill you in. Just call the cops, will you?” I started toward the back of the kitchen then halted, realizing I didn’t want to chance being on the deserted back stairway again. What if Stephanie was lying in wait for me? Or, maybe she had another goon working for her. Who knew how many of those she had up her sleeve.

  After a quick shuffle step, I headed out the other way, sprinting down the hallway toward the front foyer. My feet pounded as I bolted up the steps, slowing a little as I passed the landing between the second and third floors. By the time I reached the top floor, I was sucking wind. Leaning forward, I placed my hands on my knees and took a few deep breaths.

  “Is there something I can do for you, miss?” one of the door ushers asked.

  I righted myself and held up my hand. “No . . . no, thanks. I’m fine,” I managed, trying to slip inside the ballroom.

  “Hold on a minute,” he said, taking in my ragged appearance. “The waitstaff use that door down there.”

  Not willing to take the time to argue, I shuffled down the hall and entered through the service door. The door opened up on the far side of the ballroom, near a bank of large potted ficus plants.

  I hung close to the back wall and surveyed the room. If circumstances had been different, I would have taken time to really appreciate how elegant everything appeared: sparkling gowns in the candlelight, white-gloved waiters . . . oh, and there they were, the congressman and Mrs. Wheeler, sitting at the head of the room at the table of honor. And about five yards behind them, practically blending into the wall, was Hawk with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes scanning the room of people in front of the congressman. Stephanie was next to her man, of course. And by the looks of it, she was thoroughly enjoying her shrimp skewer. Guess murdering people didn’t curb her appetite.

  I deliberated for a second then decided my best bet was to stand my ground and keep an eye on her until the sheriff arrived. I stepped to the side, trying to look casual and not call attention to myself. Only my mother, who was sitting at the Board of Governesses table across the room, caught sight of me. She pointed to her dinner plate and shot me two thumbs up. I smiled and shot her a tentative wave, sinking further back into the wall and hoping no one else noticed my presence. But then, Ida, who was right next to Mama, decided to come over and say a few words.

  I tried to shoo her away as she approached, her chiffon dress swishing and her heels clicking, but she was a woman on a mission and there was no stopping her. “I just had to come over and tell you how wonderfully tasty the food is tonight. I’ll admit, when Mama recommended your assistance to the board as part of the catering committee, I thought she was crazy. Why, the whole family knows you can’t cook worth a . . .” I tuned her out, arching my neck to see past Ida’s impossibly large hairdo. But when I caught sight of the Wheelers’ table again, I saw Stephanie stand and quickly excuse herself. Uh-oh! She’d spotted me and was making her way down the opposite side of the ballroom, making a break for the front door.

  What if she gets away? Where is that sheriff anyway?

  “And did you see those gorgeous cakes? They’re almost too pretty to—”

  “Excuse me,” I said, starting to break away. There was no way I was going to let Stephanie get away. Except Hawk intercepted me before I could get very far.

  “Hey, darlin’, why don’t you come with me?” He grabbed me by the crook of my arm and escorted me through the ballroom doors, waving away the concerned usher as we passed. Back out on the front landing, he looked down at me with concern. “You’re not lookin’ so good.”

  “That’s because your friend Franco just tried to kill me,” I hissed into his ear.

  That got his attention.

  I continued, keeping my voice low, “And, your boss is a murderer.” I gave him a quick lowdown on everything.

  What I said must have induced mental whiplash, because his expression changed from shock to anger and then back to shock again. But when his features finally settled, it was definitely rage I saw. With a sudden lurch, he broke into a full sprint. I took off after him, barely keeping up as he bolted down the stairs and out the front door. We paused on the front porch. There was no sign of Stephanie anywhere. Or the sheriff. What was keeping Maudy?

  We were about to head back inside to look for Stephanie when off to the right we heard the sound of an engine firing up. “It’s coming from the carport,” Hawk said. “Come on!”

  He half pulled, half dragged me across the lawn until we reached his bike. I hesitated. “No way, Hawk. I can’t.”

  He snapped his helmet in place and handed me the one from the bike’s back rack. “Get on,” he ordered.

  I shook my head. “I just can’t.”

  “Fine. Stay, then.”

  I couldn’t do that, either. So, abandoning all caution, I buckled the helmet into place and threw a leg over the seat just as he revved the motor to life. Leaning into him, I wrapped my arms around his torso and tightened my grip as we roared into action. The sensation of the engine and the feeling of air as it moved over my face took me right back to that fateful night. For a second, I felt the same reckless abandon I did then, flying free as we tore over the road, scenery flashing by. . . .

  “Those are her taillights,” Hawk yelled over his shoulder, then accelerated the bike to full throttle. I clung harder, melding against his back as we moved in unison, leaning through each turn and racing ahead toward Stephanie’s vehicle. I knew where she was heading. To the freeway. Only at this speed, she was never going to be able to navigate the turnoff. What is she doing? She wasn’t slowing down a bit; instead she was speeding up. I watched in horror as her car blew past the exit ramp and hit the ditch on the opposite side of the road, the impact sending her vehicle hurtling through the air. In an explosion of metal and glass, the car flipped over and over before finally settling on its roof.

  Hawk screeched to a stop and kicked down the stand. Immediately, I slid off the back, shedding my helmet and dodging pieces of metal and glass as I ran toward the decimated vehicle. I could hear Hawk’s heavy boots pounding the ground behind me.

  Dropping to my knees, I crouched down and peered through the shattered glass. What I saw would stick with me for the rest of my life: Stephanie’s head, slumped at an unnatural angle against the steering wheel, blood trickling past her lifeless eyes.

  Chapter 20

  Debutante Rule #090: A debutante knows that family isn’t just blood and relations. It’s the people who love you no matter what.

  Through the next week, I replayed the vision of that horrible wreck over and over in my mind. Could Hawk and I have done something different? Would Stephanie be dead if we hadn’t chased after her? If I hadn’t invaded the ballroom to watch her? And surely it was my confrontation with Maggie outside the restroom that day at the tea that tipped off Stephanie and started this whole ugly chain of events. I couldn’t shake the fact that I’d contributed to Stephanie’s death somehow, even though logically I knew it was her own actions that led to her demise.

  As expected, the death of a congressman’s wife drew both state and national media. In a matter of hours, our little town was overrun with reporters and camera crews. Not to mention our own duteous reporter, Frances Simms, who stuck to me like white on rice. It seemed everywhere I went, she was there, notepad in hand, staring me down with those beady eyes and firing off questions like a Gatling gun. Unfortunately, I couldn’t answer half of them. Not that I would, but there was still a large part of me that fretted over the loose ends of the case. What was in that envelope that Stephanie had Hawk deliver to Professor Scott? Was the professor somehow involved? Where was that original letter that proved that General Aloysius Wheeler was a traitor? Was it still out there somewhere? Without it, there were still so many unanswered questions. Sadly, there was only one person left who might have the answers—Franco. And that was a problem. Because despite being stabbed and run into
by a sport utility vehicle, Franco somehow managed to make an escape. Although, the sheriff was confident that he’d soon be found. I had my doubts.

  So far, no charges had been brought against the congressman. He’d maintained that his hands were clean of all wrongdoing, and, of course, to demonstrate his innocence, he’d hired a team of attorneys to design an airtight defense strategy. Fortunately, the one person in all this who really did need a defense strategy was receiving free legal representation from Ray. In exchange for her full cooperation, Ray convinced the sheriff not to bring any charges against Carla. So on Monday, Carla and I spent the entire morning in the sheriff’s office, rehashing bits and pieces of the case, including Maggie’s secret career as an erotic romance author and Debra Bearden’s ploy to eliminate the competition at the Peach Queen Pageant. I had to shake my head every time I thought of Debra’s dilemma. Why anyone would go so far to win a pageant was beyond me. But, the fear of the truth coming out was weighing heavily on her, evident by the fact that she’d been spending all her time out of town “visiting relatives.” As for the damning picture of her sabotaging the costume, it was still missing along with the other blackmail fodder. The sheriff, Carla and I spent almost a whole day tearing through the junk piled in the church basement, finally coming to the conclusion that Franco must have taken the evidence the day he tried to kill Maggie. Either that, or Stephanie destroyed it all.

  Something good did happen midweek, though. Defying the odds, Maggie Jones woke from her coma and was expected to make a full recovery. The news of her “awakening,” as the town folk have come to call it, came to us when the bells of the Baptist church started ringing. Since that usually only happens Sunday mornings and after an occasional wedding, it sent a ripple of alarm through town. Within minutes, a large crowd gathered at the church. Expecting the worst, we slid into the pews with downcast eyes and sullen spirits. Imagine our astonishment when Betty Lou took to the pulpit and announced that Maggie was awake. Of course, Mama was just sure it was the power of her prayer chain that led to Maggie’s recovery. Maybe she was right. Nonetheless, the news was just what the town needed to banish the dark cloud left over from the shock of so much tragedy.

  Thursday evening, I went with Carla to the Crenshaws’ house to return the money she’d “found” in Vivien’s purse. I wasn’t too surprised to find a “For Sale” sign outside the Crenshaws’ residence. With the family already devastated by Vivien’s death, the realization that she was a blackmailer had about sent Nate over the edge. I felt horrible about the assumptions I’d made about Nate killing his wife. He was broken. My heart went out to him that evening Carla and I visited. I wished there was something I could do to ease his agony, but sometimes there aren’t any words. In the face of all his pain, however, Nate managed to do something extremely generous and kindhearted. He promptly turned the money back to Carla, placing it in her palm and covering her hand with his. He insisted she keep the money, telling her to use it for something that would make her happy. I thought I knew exactly what that would be—a ticket back home. Much to my surprise, however, Carla informed me that she planned to send the money to Reverend Jones. She figured they might need help paying all their medical bills since Maggie’s hospitalization. I wasn’t sure if that meant she’d changed her mind about leaving Cays Mill or not. I hoped she would stay. I was really feeling attached to the girl.

  For all the confusion, upset and hubbub of the week, I still managed to pull together the final preparations for Peachy Keen’s grand opening. And when I threw open those doors on Saturday afternoon, I found a crowd of friends, neighbors and family gathered outside on the walk. Everyone was there, including Daddy, who’d taken time away from the orchard, something he rarely did during harvest. Mama was there, beaming with pride. And of course, both Ida and Hollis with the kids in tow, and even Ray, who’d popped back over from Perry just for the occasion. In a ceremonious gesture, Ginny and I stretched a long peach-colored ribbon in front of the door, which Mayor Wade Marshall snipped with the town’s official ribbon-cutting scissors before running over and picking up his banjo. For the next few hours, the mayor’s band, the Peach Pickers, serenaded the crowd with lively bluegrass tunes.

  • • •

  “Well, I’d say that was a success,” Ginny gushed later that day after the shop had finally cleared out. She, Hattie and Cade stuck around to help clean up after all the others left. Actually, they’d been there the whole afternoon helping out with everything from ringing up customers to restocking shelves. I’m not sure what I would have done without them. All in all, it was one of the best days ever. And making it all the better was the fact that my friends and family were there to share it with me.

  I was just about to turn over the “Closed” sign when I spied Maudy Payne coming down the walk. I held the door, and she sauntered in, an aura of confidence and bravado coming in with her. Once inside, she removed her Stetson and threw it down on the counter, taking a deep breath and puffing out her chest. “We apprehended Franco late last night over in Marion County. Seems he was trying to get to the Alabama line. I just returned from questioning him.”

  “And?” Cade prompted. The rest of us listened anxiously, waiting to hear if she’d unburden our curiosities or if she’d only stopped by to reassert her position of authority in the case. She’d been a little touchy ever since I’d figured out the murder.

  “He was delusional with pain.” She nodded my way. “Seems our little Nola here messed him up pretty bad. But lucky for us, he was willin’ to talk. ’Course, it’s not hard to compel a confession from a man who needs medical attention. He was more than eager to tell us what we needed to know while he waited for his pain meds.” Her lips curled upward in some sort of half smile, half sneer. I shuddered. I didn’t even want to think about the tactics Maudy used to ferret his confession. Not that I felt sorry for the guy.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “he maintains that the congressman didn’t know anything about the murder or the attempt on Maggie’s life.”

  “Of course not,” Cade said. “The congressman is probably going to pay his legal fees.”

  “Was he the one who forced the pills down Maggie’s throat?” I asked. I heard Ginny sigh and looked over to see Hattie put an arm around her.

  Maudy nodded. “Yup. Said Stephanie paid him extra money for all sorts of side jobs. Trying to kill Maggie was just the tip of the iceberg. Luckily, Debra came by and interrupted him before it was too late. But get this . . . right after the cotillion, he was planning a little trip up to the hospital. Stephanie was concerned that Maggie may make it out of her coma and start pointing fingers. They were planning to finish her off.”

  “What a coldhearted witch,” Hattie exclaimed. We all nodded in agreement.

  Maudy shook her head. “Yeah, Vivien really underestimated Stephanie. She must have figured the Wheelers would pay a fortune to hide a letter that proved General Aloysius Wheeler was a traitor, but she met her match when she went up against Stephanie.”

  Ginny let out a little whistle. “General Wheeler a traitor! No matter how many times you explain it to me, I still can hardly believe that’s true.”

  I glanced her way. “I have no doubt that it’s true, but we still haven’t been able to locate the copied letter that Carla said she gave to Maggie.” Or the other blackmail evidence, for that matter. “There must be an original of the letter somewhere, but where? Without it, no one can really prove that General Wheeler was guilty of treason.”

  Maudy shook her head. “No, we may never find it.” She glanced over at me. “By the way, I followed up on that envelope Hawk said he delivered to Professor Scott. Surprisingly enough, the professor’s neighbors said he packed up and left town late last week, supposedly on a European vacation. No one’s really sure which country, though.”

  “Payoff money to keep quiet,” I surmised. “I bet that’s what was in the envelope Hawk delivered.”

  “To
keep quiet? What do you mean?” Cade asked. He’d gotten in late on the explanations I gave Ginny and Hattie last night, so he hadn’t heard how the blackmail letter had ever surfaced in the first place.

  “When Vivien was sorting items for the church bazaar, she found an old Civil War field desk; that’s where she found the letter. The desk was delivered with some other donations from the Wheeler Plantation. Carla said she’d seen Vivien at the library, reading books on the Civil War. She’d assumed Vivien was helping her daughter with that huge project due soon.”

  Ginny nodded. “It’s a big one. Practically worth fifty percent of their grade.”

  I went on, “Only I think Vivien was trying to learn more about General Wheeler and the letter. When she couldn’t figure it out on her own, I bet she turned to our local expert.”

  “Professor Scott,” Hattie threw out.

  I nodded. “Yup. I even remember Maggie telling me something about Vivien getting the field desk authenticated by the professor. She probably showed him the letter at the same time.”

  “So, how did Stephanie know about the professor?” Cade asked.

  “Probably, Vivien mentioned that she’d had the letter authenticated. In a town this size, it wouldn’t take too much to figure out who would have been best suited for that type of job.”

  “Okay, hence the payoff,” Cade cut in, nodding. “But Vivien only carried a photocopy of the original with her. That means that either she hid the original somewhere for safekeeping or gave it to the professor. Either way, it’ll probably never show up again.”

  I tended to agree with his theory. Shaking my head, I said, “Sadly enough, with Stephanie gone, we may never have all the answers about the letter. But at least with Franco’s confession we’ve got some answers about Vivien’s murder.”

  “That’s right,” Maudy said. “Franco said Stephanie masterminded the whole thing. She was the one who used a throwaway cell to cancel the appointment to get Mrs. Busby out of the way. Then, she had Franco break into the shop, unlock the front door and lie in wait to murder Vivien. She also told him to plant the purse outside the diner to frame Ginny.”